Outcast

by Cynatnite

cynatnite@chartertn.net

Slate gray, smooth and featureless, the casket stood in sharp contrast to the bright sun overhead. Starsky stood by it as family and friends comforted one another at the end of the short service.

Memories assailed him like a rainstorm backed by a strong wind, the intensity of one in particular nearly bringing Starsky to his knees.

Starsky was almost out of breath by the time he reached the end of the alley. He was relieved to see his friend there, taking out the trash. “Jackson.”

As Starsky slowed to a walk, Jackson looked up and shook his head. “What are you doing here? You’ll get caught.”

Collapsing to the cement, Starsky leaned back against the wall to catch his breath. “Nope. Aunt Rosie and Uncle Al are playing bridge with some church friends of theirs.” The fourteen-year-old dug a wrinkled pack of smokes out of his jacket pocket. He lit one and looked up at Jackson. “I wanted to make sure you didn’t get in trouble.”

With an uncertain smile, Jackson said, “Almost got caught. Got away thanks to you, Dave.”

Starsky took a long drag, then lowered his eyes. “I’m no snitch, Jack.”

Jackson kneeled down, resting an elbow on his knee. “What’ll happen to you?”

“No record if that’s what you mean.” Toying with the cigarette, Starsky remembered the look on his uncle’s face at being brought home by a cop. Not just any cop, but a neighbor, John Blaine. “I gotta work off the damage at the garage and do some volunteering at a homeless shelter. Guess I’ll be in the doghouse for a while.”

“Would you have got off if you had told?”

“Maybe. Some,” Starsky guessed. Seeing the troubled look in Jackson’s eyes, Starsky hunched closer. “It’s okay, Jack. You’ve been okay with me. Not like those other guys.”

Jackson got to his feet and grabbed the trashcan lid from the ground. “I’ve been thinking, Dave. Maybe it’s a good idea if I quit hanging around Mike and the guys. Mamma’s been real worried about money. I should get a job, help out.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Ma sent me out here to get me away from the gang at home.”

“Thought you hated her for it.” Jackson set the lid on the garbage and turned.

“She meant well.” Though he shrugged, Starsky would never forget the tears on his mother’s face. He looked up. “Are you quitting school? You only got a year left.”

“No, I’ll stay in for Momma, but soon as I’m done I’ll find something fulltime.”

“Jackson.” Starsky’s eyes lowered again and the doubts inside made his heart ache. “I won’t have any friends if we’re not hanging out anymore.”

“Sure you will.” Jackson came forward and held out his hand. When Starsky took it, he pulled him to his feet. “I’m your friend. Always will be.”

Relieved, Starsky smiled. The screen door creaked, and Starsky tossed the cigarette aside, looking up at Jackson’s mother.

“David Starsky!” she scolded. “Get home right now before I call your aunt!”

“Yes, ma’am.” Starsky flashed Jackson a smile and darted down the dark alley.

Someone touched his arm, and Starsky turned. “Sorry, just needed a minute,” he said.

Hutch nodded. “You okay?”

Starsky gave a smile a shot. “Gotta be. They’ll be expecting us at the house.”

Hutch patted his arm. With a nod, Starsky followed Hutch away from the site. They were almost to the car when he turned and gave the casket another look. It felt as if he’d left a part of himself behind—a part he wasn’t ready to leave.

Throwing his arm over his face, Officer Raymond T. Andrews tried to block out the bright sun pouring in through the sheer curtains. The hangover raged, and even the Wild Turkey from the night before couldn’t wash away the memory of the last few days’ events.

He kicked the covers off the twin size bed and sat up. After getting a handle on the rolling nausea and his pounding head, Ray got to his feet and staggered to the window. He pulled down the old blind, thankful he didn’t have to fight with it.

Ray found his crumpled jeans on the floor, slipped them on and pushed open the door leading out to the hallway. In the living room, he stopped long enough to grab three empty beer cans off the end table near the couch.

With a tired sigh, he groaned at the dirty kitchen and dropped the remnants of the night before in the trash. Ray took a glass from the cabinet, then turned to the fridge and saw his father walking into the small kitchen. After pouring some orange juice in the glass, he leaned against the counter to take a drink. He couldn’t look at his father.

“Get a little more of the hair of the dog,” Tom said. He rubbed his overhanging stomach and moved to the fridge. “You could use it.”

Ray didn’t answer, just drained the glass. He put some dirty dishes in the sink and turned on the water.

“Hey, boy.” Tom popped open the beer can and took a large drink. “Can’t let this get you down. You did the right thing. You’ll be back to work before you know it.”

“I’ll have to find another job till then.” When the sink was filled, Ray picked up the rag and started on a plate.

“The boys are gonna do what they can. We won’t starve, son.” Tom watched Ray and slugged back another drink. “Listen, we’re getting together tonight. You’ve missed a hell of a lot of get togethers since you put on a uniform. It’d do you good.”

Keeping his eyes on the task in front of him, Ray said, “Sure, Dad.” Anything was better than moping around the house for the next three months of his suspension.

Hutch shouldn’t have let Starsky get his way this time. When Helen died, he got his way by dragging his partner over to his place. The dinner they shared seemed to help, but this time Starsky wouldn’t come over. Said he needed to be alone.

Hutch sat down at the table with a sandwich, chips and a beer, his mind going over Jackson’s funeral. Starsky put on a hell of a good front for family and friends, but just under it was the painful loss of a childhood friend.

He knew the story well enough. One of the worst times of Starsky’s life was when his mother shipped him from home all the way to the opposite coast to live with his aunt and uncle. Jackson was the first friend he’d made there. After some trouble with the law, they’d made a pact to live on the right side of life.

Hutch wished he had thanked Jackson. If not for the friendship, he wouldn’t have his partner. Now Starsky was shutting him out, trying to deal with the loss. He had to find a way to help him past it. Trouble was, Hutch didn’t have the first clue how.

It was late, almost eleven, when Ray parked his pickup across from Venice Place. He stared at the lit window. Thinking back to the surreal events earlier this evening, he ran through a list of names. Cops from his precinct who might be able to do something. With every name came a reason as to why they wouldn’t help, or a memory of being shunned.

Detective Hutchinson had a reputation for seeing all sides. He listened with an open mind, never passing judgment until all the facts were laid out.

Well, he’d been judged. There was no doubt about that. Would the event of a few days ago keep Hutchinson from helping? Ray didn’t know. The entire department had turned their backs on him, so there were no guarantees anyone would listen, but Ray had to do something. He rubbed his face, worrying about how he would be received. Or if he’d even be believed.

He pushed open the car door and stepped out, crossing the street after a passing car. Once up the stairs, he stood in front of the door, knocking before his courage ran out on him.

The breath left Hutch’s chest when he saw who stood in his doorway. He stared at the young rookie before him. “What are you doing here?”

After swallowing the lump in his throat, Ray said, “I have to talk to you.”

“What do we have to talk about? You’re on suspension, and I won’t lift a finger to get you off.”

“It’s not about that.” Ray half-expected Hutch to slam the door in his face, but was taken aback when he motioned him inside.

Hutch brushed passed him, going into the kitchen. He took the teapot off the stove and poured the hot water into a waiting cup. “It’s late. Say what’s on your mind.”

Taking an awkward look around, Ray wasn’t quite sure where to begin. He shifted his feet before starting. “Some people I know . . . ”

Hutch shifted the cup on the table, watching Ray. Gone was the cocky rookie from a few days ago. This person was subdued, nervous and unsure of himself. “So, what about some people you know.”

Ray couldn’t believe he was going to say it. What he was about to do went against everything he had been taught. “They want your partner dead.”

Frozen in place, it took Hutch a moment for the words to soak in. He took the chair and sat. “Who?” He watched the struggle play out on Ray’s face, and it was then he realized how hard it must have been for Ray to show up with this information.

“Friends of my family.” Ray turned away. “Some family.”

“Starsky had nothing to do with your suspension.”

“Word got back to them about what happened after . . . ”

“Over hitting you?” Hutch got to his feet and moved to him. “Don’t you think that’s a bit of a stretch?”

“He’s a Jew.” Stepping away from Hutch, Ray started for the door. “I knew you wouldn’t understand. Even if you did, you don’t believe me.”

Hutch beat Ray to the door before he could leave, grabbing his arm. “Wait. Would they do it?”

Ray hesitated. “I don’t know. They’ve never talked like this before.”

Holding his hand up, Hutch said, “Just wait, Andrews.” He went to the phone and picked it up. “I want you to head to the precinct.”

“No way I’m going there.”

Looking into the young cop’s eyes, it was obvious he was unwilling to take another trek through the place. Hutch had heard Clayburn was already asking for a new partner. “You know the Pits?” Ray nodded. “Go there and wait for me. Don’t leave until we talk.”

Starsky turned off the TV as Hutch came through the door. “You said it was important.”

Hutch crossed to the couch. “Sit down.”

Surprised at his partner’s intensity, Starsky did as instructed. “Must be some piece of news, Hutch.”

“I had a visitor tonight, Starsk.”

“Yeah? Who?”

Hutch began to realize how hard this conversation was going to be. He swallowed. “I don’t have the full story yet, but apparently some people want you dead.”

Taking a deep breath, Starsky nodded. “Well, it won’t be the first time someone’s had it in for me. Who?”

There was no getting around it. “Some of Andrews’ family.”

“Andrews? Raymond T.?” At Hutch’s nod, Starsky shot up and put his hands on his hips. “What makes you think he’s telling the truth this time around?”

“Starsk, if you’d seen him . . . ”

“Don’t try and sell me on him, Hutch.” Starsky headed for the kitchen, taking a beer from the fridge. He looked up as Hutch walked in. “He killed Jackson.”

“We have to talk to him,” Hutch said evenly. “We have to find out what he knows.”

“So where is this shining example of a cop?”

Hutch sighed. Starsky was furious, as he’d known he would be. “The Pits. We’re meeting Dobey there.”

Setting the bottle back in the fridge, Starsky moved around Hutch and retrieved his jacket. “Let’s go.”

“Starsky,” Hutch followed him to the door. “It took a lot of guts for him to come to me.”

Slipping his jacket on, Starsky nodded. “Sure. Don’t want to scare the punk off.”

Hutch trailed behind him, foreseeing a hard night ahead.

Ray looked nervously at the door and when a group of women walked in, he sighed. He took a look at his watch. For almost half an hour he’d been waiting. He would have asked for a beer, but given the hard look coming from the owner, Ray knew he wouldn’t be served.

He wished he smoked or something . . . anything to pass the time. A large shadow moved past the table, and Ray straightened when Captain Dobey sat down in the chair across from him.

Dobey motioned for Huggy and got a wave in return. He turned back to Ray. “You sure you want to be seen with me?”

“I didn’t know you’d been called.”

“When one of my men’s life is involved.” He looked up at Huggy, who set a beer in front of him. “Put it on my tab, Huggy.”

The nod and quick departure told Dobey enough. He looked at Ray. “If this is anything but the full truth, Andrews, any future hopes you have about being a cop won’t mean a damn thing.”

“Yes, sir.”

For some reason, Ray was relieved to see Hutch headed in their direction. When he saw Starsky coming in behind him, he stiffened. They stopped long enough to pick up two glasses of beer.

Ray set his hands on the table and ignored Starsky’s eyes boring into him. His bitterness towards the detective churned in his gut.

“Okay, Andrews,” Dobey said. “Start at the beginning.”

“Some nights . . . ” Ray swallowed. He couldn’t believe what he was about to do. “Family and friends get together, drink, talk . . . you know.”

“Why would they want Starsky dead?” Hutch asked.

“What happened in the alley was more than just him slapping me.” He licked his dry lips, wishing for a drink, and stole a quick look at Starsky. The heated gaze on his never wavered. “He’s a Jew and my people’ve got a lot of pride.”

“And you killing Jackson?” Everyone’s eyes went to Starsky. “What do they say about that?”

Ray’s eyes lowered and he tightened his mouth. “You get the idea.”

The tension was growing thick. Hutch watched Starsky, on the alert. “You said ‘my people.’ What does that mean?”

“Tight group of family and a few friends.”

“Any of them cops?” Dobey asked.

Ray shook his head. “No, most of them work at the oil refinery.”

“How many people are we talking here?” Hutch asked.

“Five or six people were talking about it.”

Dobey leaned forward. He’d been around long enough to know the truth when it looked at him. “How organized is this group?”

“It’s a small chapter. Enough to go on about business without being noticed by most. Thirty people . . . maybe forty.”

“Chapter?” Starsky was confused. He looked from Dobey to Hutch. “What does that mean?”

“Starsk.” Hutch turned in his seat and put a hand on his arm. “The KKK.”

Gripping the glass until his knuckles whitened, Starsky’s rage upped another notch. He could feel the heat of his anger racing into his face. “What the hell is a cop doing in the KKK? They’re the bad guys!”

“There’s some good people there!” Ray fired back. “All we’ve got is each other!”

“Bullshit!” Starsky yelled.

“Easy!” Hutch squeezed Starsky’s arm. “We’ve got a crowd here, Starsk.” Snapping his mouth shut, Starsky took even breaths.

Dobey brought his attention back to Ray. “Why did they trust you with this?”

“I’m one of them.” Ray shrugged his shoulders.

“Captain,” Hutch said. “There’s no telling if this is just a bunch of talk or if they’d go through with it. Given what’s involved, I don’t think we can ignore it.”

“We need more than just talk,” Dobey replied. “We need a plan. Conspiracy charges are tough to prosecute.”

“Everything’s done a certain way,” Ray offered. “A lot of it is just talk during the meetings. When they’re over . . . that’s when they get down to business.”

“We need an experienced cop in there.” Hutch leaned back in his chair and looked at Ray. “Can you get me in?”

“I don’t know. You’re his partner. They’d suspect.”

“Hutch, if what he says is true, they’d put a bullet in your head just as easy as they would mine,” Starsky said.

Dobey rubbed his jaw. “Andrews?”

“You’d have to get a blessing from more than just me,” Ray told Hutch.

“Starsky, all they know is that we’re partners on the job. They don’t know we’re friends. I can talk a good line.” Hutch looked at Ray. “How can I get a pass?”

“My Dad.” Ray lowered his gaze and focused on his hands. “He started the chapter. If you’re in good with him, there wouldn’t be a question.”

“Okay,” Dobey said. “Hutchinson, toss in a line and see how it goes.” He looked at Ray. “I’ll walk you to your car.”

When they were gone, Hutch watched Starsky nurse his beer for a few minutes. “Well?”

“Well what? You’re going in without backup.” Without me. Starsky’s voice was terse. “You already made up your mind.”

Hutch took a quick drink. “So’ve you.”

No way Starsky was answering that. “I’m not the one putting my neck on the line to get in good with a bunch of racist motherfuckers.”

“Listen, until we get a better idea, why don’t you stay at my place?”

“Not a good idea. What happens if a white-sheeted asshole should show up?”

“You can slip out the back quick enough. I don’t want to chance them coming to your place.”

Starsky raised the glass to his lips. He looked past Hutch, gazing at nothing in particular. “Just don’t ask me to give him a reprieve because he suddenly got a conscience, Hutch.”

Early the next morning, Starsky arrived at the Walters’ residence. Elma Walters opened the back door. The sadness in her eyes was like a punch to the gut. He wondered if such intense pain ever subsided when a parent lost a child.

He hoped he’d never find out.

“You’re here early.”

Starsky walked past her into the kitchen. “I thought I’d get a start on fixing that hole in the roof.”

Elma went to the stove. “Just sit right down, David. Breakfast’s just about done.” She stared down at the scrambled eggs and bacon still in the pan. “Jackson always complained about not getting the bacon cooked enough to suit him.”

The words made Jackson’s absence even more apparent. Starsky expected his friend to walk in, kiss his mother on the cheek and swipe a piece of bacon as she scolded him. He couldn’t count how many breakfasts he had shared with this family.

Resting his hands on her shoulders, Starsky leaned in close. “I miss him, too.”

Patting his hand, Elma smiled. “He cared so much about you, David. Always looked up to you.”

“Me?” Starsky was stunned. Jackson had managed to keep his family together through so many tragedies, while it only took one to almost tear Starsky’s apart.

“He wished he could help people the way you do. It’s a gift he never thought he had.”

With a little smile, Starsky said, “I always thought he was the smart one.”

Wiping away the tears, Elma shooed Starsky towards the table. “Get the milk out and let me finish cooking this before it burns.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Starsky grinned and went to the fridge. “Junior already leave for school?” He took out the carton and turned when he didn’t get an answer. “Mrs. W?”

Elma scooped the eggs out of the pan and onto a plate. She set it on the table and looked at Starsky. “No.” She turned back to the stove and finished cooking the bacon.

Starsky poured milk into a glass and put it back. “Junior’s strong. He’ll be okay.” Once the bacon was finished, Elma went to the table, set the platter down and took a seat.

“Maybe you can talk some sense into him, David.”

Starsky salted the eggs and picked up his fork. “What’s wrong?”

Worry etched her features and she looked as if she would cry again. Starsky hated that she had to worry about Junior after losing her son so recently.

“He quit school yesterday.”

“Quit?” Starsky was floored. “Whatever for?”

Looking down at her tea, Elma picked up the spoon and stirred it. “Jackson’s life insurance will pay off the house and most of the bills, but it don’t leave much for getting by. Junior plans on finding a job to help support us.”

“But he’s gotta finish school. Without it . . . ” Starsky stopped. He didn’t have to say any more. Elma knew what it meant. “Want me to talk to him?”

“Junior’s out looking for a job, David. He’s trying so hard to be a man . . . doing what his father did.”

Jackson didn’t quit school. Starsky almost said it out loud. “I can ask around and see if anyone’s got anything he can do after school.”

At the gratitude in Elma’s eyes, Starsky reached over and took her hand in his. “It’ll be okay. I promise.”

That afternoon Hutch met Ray at a small café. He waited until the waitress left after serving them coffee. “Any problems getting away?”

Ray shook his head. “No, I told Dad I was looking for a job.”

“Good.” Hutch picked up his cup.

“Since the refinery’s full up, I’ll be looking elsewhere.” Ray stirred sugar into his coffee.

“I need a little history, Andrews. How’d your father wind up starting a chapter of the KKK in Bay City?”

“We moved out here from Kentucky when I was ten. The coal dust gave him the headaches and he had to quit. Back then, most everyone was leaving and he thought California would give us a good start. He got in good with management at the refinery.”

“Family and friends followed?”

“Yeah.” Ray kept his gaze low as he sipped the coffee. “A lot of ’em got on at the refinery. Those that didn’t looked other places, but jobs were getting harder to find.”

“And they blamed anyone who wasn’t white who got jobs instead of them.”

“Some had to work for ’em. Blacks, Jews, Koreans . . . it wasn’t easy.”

“Pride,” Hutch muttered. “That’s when the chapter started.”

“Dad said we couldn’t rely on anyone but ourselves. The KKK helped a lot when we lived in Kentucky. Food, bills, medicine. Being a part of it meant something then. Getting government help means mixing with them, and Dad never thought we’d get a fair shake.”

“How’d you wind up a cop?”

Running his finger along the lip of the cup, Ray remembered how excited he was upon being accepted into the academy. “I wanted to do my part. Help my family pay the bills, help make the world the way they thought it ought to be.”

“You believe that’s how it should be?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember a lot of Kentucky, but to hear them tell it, life was about as perfect as anything. Maybe it wasn’t, but the good outweighed all the bad they found here.”

Hutch rubbed his eyes, then leaned forward. “Any doubts about what we’re doing, I need to know right now, Andrews. I’m not putting my hide on the line for you to have second thoughts.”

“I know.”

“Do you? This is your family . . . your father. Think you can pull the wool over his eyes?”

“I don’t want anyone else to die. Does that answer your question?”

Hutch searched his eyes. Was he sorry for killing Jackson? He didn’t know. After getting to his feet, Hutch pulled a few bills from his pocket. “Let’s go. I’ll follow you over there.”

Pulling in behind Ray’s truck, Hutch looked at the house. He shouldn’t have been surprised by how it looked, but seeing it formed a knot in his gut. Three old tires sat stacked near the porch, a broken down old Chevy sat on blocks in the driveway and the trashcans near the curb were left lying by careless garbage men. The lawn was littered with trash and the house looked like it hadn’t seen paint in twenty years.

Hutch got out of the LTD and met Ray near the truck. “As far as your father is concerned, I came to you. Don’t forget.”

“Before we go in there . . .” Ray looked at the house, then back at Hutch. “Things like family, loyalty and honor go a long way. They’re not just words to people like my dad, no matter how rough he talks.”

“Sure.”

Ray wasn’t convinced Hutch understood. “Mixed in with it you’ll hear nigger, kike, Chink, gook. Probably more.”

“I expect it.”

“It’s different when they’re in your face.”

“What do you think Vivian Fellers thought when you said it?”

Ray didn’t bother to answer, instead walking past Hutch towards the house. His anxiety increased, perspiration popping out on his forehead. He took steadying breaths the closer he got to the house.

Inside, tacked onto the far wall above the couch was a full-sized Confederate flag. Aged, well worn and frayed, the symbol was more than just a reminder of days long past. It overshadowed the old, worn furniture in the room.

“Where you been, boy?”

Hutch’s attention went to the man standing in the doorway leading from the hallway. Ray’s father was as he expected—late fifties, thinning gray hair, crooked teeth, belly hanging over his jeans. Tom Andrews wore an old white T-shirt that was a few inches shy of covering his pale stomach.

Ray took a deep breath and stepped forward. “This is my Dad, Tom. Dad, this is Detective Ken Hutchinson.”

Putting on his best smile, Hutch held out his hand. “My friends call me Hutch.”

Stepping back, Tom turned on Ray. “What the hell’s the matter with you, boy? He’s the partner of that goddamn kike!”

“Dad . . . ” Ray was surprised his father knew who Hutch was. Sweat dripped down his temples.

“Mr. Andrews,” Hutch said. “If I were in your shoes I’d feel the same way, seeing the partner of the man who struck your son. I asked Ray to bring me here.”

Unsure of what Hutch was doing, Ray looked from him to his father.

“What the hell for?” Tom asked, his mouth curling into a half-snarl that told Hutch this wasn’t a man to turn your back on.

“I wanted to assure you I’m doing everything I can to see Ray is reinstated. Some of us at the station think Sgt. Starsky should’ve been the one disciplined.”

Tom brushed past Hutch and went to the well-worn brown chair in the corner of the living room. He sat and appraised Hutch as if he were an old truck. “You talk like a college boy.”

Seeing the mistrust in Tom’s eyes, Hutch stuck his hands in his pockets. “You’re right about that, sir.” He moved to the center of the room keeping his focus on Tom. “I always liked Ray and thought he made a hell of a good cop.”

“And you think you can get him his job back?” Tom was skeptical.

“It’ll be tough.” Hutch took a look around the room. “May I sit?”

Permission was given with a motion of Tom’s hand. As Hutch sat, Tom said to Ray, “Get us a couple of beers. I want to hear what he’s got to say.”

Ray went to the kitchen and Hutch leaned forward. “The department’s not like it was twenty years ago.”

“Yeah, you got that nigger captain.” Tom took the beer from Ray and pulled off the tab. “I know what goes on there. What Ray and a few others tell me is you boys let all types in.”

After taking a drink, Hutch nodded. “We’ve got our work cut out for us, but we’re not giving up.”

“You get my boy back on the job and I’ll take a second look at you.”

Ray stepped forward. “Dad, it’s not that easy. You heard what Hutch said.”

“You just do what you’re told,” Tom ordered. He looked at Hutch. “Sometimes he don’t know when to shut up. Get him back to work.”

The man wasn’t about to listen to a long list of excuses. If Hutch didn’t deliver, they wouldn’t get far. After taking a large drink, Hutch stood and handed the can to Ray. “I was thinking of going out tonight and hitting a few clubs, Ray. You up for it?”

Ray was a little surprised at the invitation. Hoping it didn’t show, he nodded. “Sure.”

“Come by about nine and we’ll go tear up the town.” Hutch reached over and shook Tom’s hand again. “It was nice meeting you, Mr. Andrews. I’ll be in touch.”

When Hutch was gone, Ray went to the kitchen and poured out the rest of the beer. He had little taste for alcohol after the other night. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Tom in the doorway. “He’s okay, don’t you think?”

“Never thought you’d bring the likes of him here,” Tom grumbled.

“I need him to help me get my job back, Dad. You know that.” Ray tossed the can in the full trashcan and began pulling out the bag to take it out. “I like him, too.”

“Suppose you do, boy,” Tom admitted. “Watch out for him. He’s partners with that son of a bitch that hit you.”

“Not his fault. They got assigned together.” After tying the ends of the bag, Ray straightened. “That’s how it works.”

With a deep chuckle, Tom stepped forward and gave Ray a firm pat on the cheek. “Sure, Ray. You always had a good heart, just like your Ma.”

Ray didn’t answer. He stepped around Tom and left to take out the trash.

It took over four hours of work to patch the holes in the roof. Years of neglect and a lack of money had taken its toll. If Starsky could have afforded it himself, he would have had the thing replaced.

He climbed down the ladder and was met by Elma holding a cold glass of lemonade. With an appreciative smile, he took it and went to the chair. They chatted on the front porch while Starsky finished. Afterwards he went to the bathroom to wash away the grime and noticed the faucet leaked. He took a look under the sink to find the problem.

After telling Elma he’d be back, Starsky drove to the hardware store and purchased the needed items. What he’d thought was a twenty-minute job turned into two hours of work. By the time Starsky finished, he was half-soaked and exhausted.

A towel was tossed in his direction and Starsky looked over his shoulder at Junior. “Hey.”

“What are you doing?”

“Oh.” Starsky wiped off his face. “There was a leak and . . . ”

“I know about it.” Junior folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “I planned on fixing it this weekend.”

“Well, I figured since I was here . . . ” Starsky stopped. He felt like an intruder given the hard look he was getting from Junior. “Next time I’ll ask.”

Junior turned and started down the hallway. Starsky caught up with him and stopped him at the top of the stairs. “I heard you quit school.”

“I told Grandma not to tell you.”

“She’s worried about you, Junior.”

“Jackson,” he corrected.

Starsky nodded. It was Jackson now. He wouldn’t forget again. “You gotta get your education. You know that.”

“It’ll have to wait. Grandma can’t pay for her medicine on what she gets now.”

“Listen, I know some people. I bet I can help get you something after school.”

Shaking his head, Jackson wished Starsky would understand. “It’s gotta be full time. Part time don’t do me or her any good.”

As much as he’d have liked to, he couldn’t force Jackson to go back to school. Treating him like a little kid could only backfire in the worst possible way. “You put it off now, you won’t go back later.”

“Maybe.”

Feeling helpless, Starsky didn’t move as Jackson went down the stairs. There had to be something he could do. He needed rest and a shower to clear his thoughts. And maybe Hutch would have some ideas.

Hutch looked up from the car window at his apartment. He was relieved to see the light on. Inside, at the top of the stairs, Hutch opened the door and found Starsky in his kitchen. He could smell onions in the air. “Smells good. What are you making?”

As soon as Hutch walked into the kitchen, Starsky opened the oven door.

“Meatloaf?” Hutch asked.

“I can’t remember the last time I had a good meatloaf.” Starsky looked at his partner studying the dish. “You don’t like meatloaf? It’s the all-American dish.”

Hutch pointed at the meatloaf. “What’s that?”

“What?

“That.”

Starsky leaned in to get a better look. “Oats.”

“Oats? As in my organic expensive oats that I use for my health shakes?”

“Yeah, it helps the texture. Besides, I didn’t think you’d mind me adding a little bit into it. What’d you expect me to use, that instant crap they call oatmeal at the store?” Starsky closed the oven door and went to the fridge. “Hutch, you of all people should appreciate gourmet cooking.”

“It’s not gourmet, Starsky. It’s meatloaf.” Hutch took the beer his partner held out.

“For one who appreciates a fine meal such as myself,” Starsky said with pride, “it’s gourmet.”

Hutch grunted and took a drink of his beer. He watched Starsky set the salad on the table next to the condiments. Rather than get into a discussion of the current case, Hutch finished off the bottle, tossed it in the trash and headed to the bathroom. After a brisk shower, he dressed and returned to the kitchen to find dinner served.