This follows my story “Aftershock” and takes place early season III. Thanks as always to Theresa for her valuable (and often entertaining!) feedback, and to Kass who gives my stories a beautiful home. Comments, feedback and S&H thoughts in general are all welcome at: veniceplace12@verizon.net

Payback

A semi-sequel to Aftershock

By Kate (CMT)

Being buried in paperwork was not the high point of Ken Hutchinson’s day, particularly after enduring a dreary week of mind-numbing desk duty. Sighing, he shuffled through a stack of manila folders, halfheartedly looking for the Greer file. His partner had wandered away some time ago in search of the nearest vending machine, or maybe it was the cafeteria - - Hutch couldn’t recall which. He’d grown accustomed to tuning out Starsky’s whining, a necessity when mingling one overly energetic partner, four walls, and piles of stagnating paper. Starsky’s attention span was notoriously short when it came to updating folders, filling out reports and cataloging facts . . . all necessary evils that had encompassed their working lives for the last six days.

Hutch had been restricted to desk duty by the departmental doctor after one look at the extensive bruising to his throat. It was almost healed now, the laddering splotches of color fading into an assortment of garish purple and yellow stripes. He’d been careful to stick to turtlenecks or shirts with zipper collars since returning from Playboy Island, effectively concealing the hideous marks from view. Not even Captain Dobey knew the full extent of what had occurred in the tropical paradise. Hutch’s official report said only that Papa Theodore, a local voodoo priest, had kidnapped and restrained him, tying him to an altar-like table then attempting to strangle him. There was no mention of Starsky’s involvement or the fact that while under Papa Theodore’s spell, Starsky had tried to kill him too.

It had been no easy matter working through Starsky’s guilt. For a time, Hutch had thought he’d lost his friend permanently. Now with their relationship back on firm ground, he took every precaution necessary - - including turtlenecks and fudged police reports - - to make sure Starsky didn’t have to be reminded of the assault ever again. Although Hutch doubted little of what had happened was ever truly far from Starsky’s mind.

His partner could have elected to work with another detective for the past week, staying active on the streets. Instead he’d chosen to muck through their backlog of case files, putting up with the same daily drudge as Hutch because even now he felt responsible for his blond friend’s predicament.

“Hutchinson!” Captain Dobey’s broad frame filled the doorway as he stuck his head into the squadroom. “You square things with the D.A. on Greer?”

“Working on it,” Hutch said quickly, locating the elusive file at last. His voice was almost back to normal. As long as he didn’t have to shout or speak above a conversational tone he was fine, but once he tried to raise his voice, it completely cut out on him. Until he got full control and volume back, he’d be stuck chained to a desk - - probably another three to four days at least.

Leaning back in his chair, Hutch thumbed open the folder. He knew the information by heart without looking: Benedict Greer, white male, 24, 6’2”, 208 lbs., arrested on three counts of drug trafficking. What the file didn’t say was that Greer was a promising quarterback with a high profile collegiate team and the potential to turn pro. His father owned one of the largest manufacturing firms in the city and his mother frequently appeared in the society pages touting her pet charity - - an anti-drug campaign aimed at the city’s youth.

Dobey speared a pencil in Hutch’s direction. “You make sure your partner gets his fanny down to the D.A.’s office and works that case ‘till it’s airtight. Trial’s two weeks from now. Nobody wants any slip ups, and I sure don’t want this department ending up with egg on its face ‘cause some slick lawyer found a loophole in your partner’s testimony.”

“It’s already airtight, Captain, but I’ll tell him.” Hutch scratched a note on a piece of paper. He hadn’t been in on the bust himself when it had gone down three months ago. Starsky had soloed while he’d been on quick trip to Minnesota for a cousin’s wedding.

Starsky’s phone rang and Hutch snatched it up. “Detective Hutchinson,” he said into the receiver.

There was a slight pause before a familiar female voice came across the line. “Ken? It’s Nat. Is Dave around?”

Natalie Trent. Hutch conjured a quick mental image of a petite, twenty-eight year old with auburn hair and flashing brown eyes. Starsky’s latest entry in his girl-of-the-month club, she’d lasted longer than most, stretching their on-and-off-again relationship to an amazing three-and-a-half weeks.

“Sorry, Nat, he’s off feeding his face somewhere.”

She gave a soft chuckle. “Not chocolate, I hope. He’s high strung enough.”

Hutch smiled. He liked her but knew Starsky’s heart hadn’t connected to any woman since Terry. The moment things started feeling a little too serious, Starsky panicked and bolted, a normal occurrence around the four-week mark, hence Hutch’s “girl-of-the-month-club” philosophy. “Don’t worry, I’ll peel him off the walls.”

“Just make sure he’s still got enough energy left over for tonight. Did he say anything to you?”

“About what?” Even as he asked the question, Hutch knew what was coming - - yet another night of Starsky and Natalie babysitting him. Ever since they’d returned from Playboy Island, Starsky had been oddly reluctant to leave him alone. If his dark-haired friend wasn’t camped out with cards and pizza himself, then he and Natalie were dragging Hutch along like a third wheel on some nightly adventure. It wouldn’t have been so bad if Hutch had a girlfriend, but he was currently between relationships.

“Dancing!” Natalie said brightly.

Hutch sighed into the phone, pausing to scuff a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Nat.” A commotion from the hall drew his attention and he looked toward the door in time to see a female officer escort a group of middle school students into the room.

Field trip. He’d forgotten today was the department’s “Awareness Day,” reserved for seventh and eight grade students to tour the police station and get a crash course in everything from police procedure to personal safety and the dangers of drugs.

The officer - - Edith Smithfield - - the department’s official spokesperson and information specialist was in the middle of explaining the requirements to gain the rank of detective as she lead the children further into the room.

Hutch smiled as a group of girls pointed in his direction, blushing and giggling behind their hands. The tallest already looked three years older than she probably was, decked out in blue eye shadow and pale lip gloss. Sidling closer to his desk, she and her friends moved around a sullen boy with straight black hair and an overly angular face. Perturbed, he cast them an annoyed glance, but the girls only had eyes for Hutch. Edith’s dry commentary droned on in the background like the barely heard hiss of white noise.

Feeling like the prize in a fishbowl, Hutch flashed another smile at his admirers then turned his shoulder, tucking the phone closer to his ear. “Nat, I’m not sure about dancing - -”

“Then we’ll do something else. Dave thought it would be fun for the three of us to spend the night out.”

“We’ve spent the night out for the last two nights in a row - -”

“ . . . Detective Sergeant Hutchinson,” he heard Dobey say suddenly and glanced up to find Dobey now speaking to the group of children gathered in the vicinity of Starsky’s desk. “ . . . is one of our veteran detectives despite the fact he and his partner are relatively young for their rank.” He smiled gamely in Hutch’s direction, a smug twinkle in his eye. “Right now, I’m sure the Sergeant is involved in a vital phone call regarding critical issues to one of his many important cases . . .”

“Then how ‘bout Big Belly Behemoth Burgers?” Natalie said into his ear.

“Uh . . .”

“It’s that new place on Sixth, and Dave’s dying to give it a whirl - - ”

Realizing he sounded anything but intelligent, Hutch scratched some make-believe notes on a sheet of tablet paper, trying to look engrossed in the phone call. The girls to his left were still whispering and giggling behind their hands, enough so that he could feel a flush creeping up the back of his neck. There were three uniformed officers and another detective in the room, all four apparently conferring over a folder while secretly enjoying the show. From the corner of his eye Hutch could see the detective, Phil Baker, grinning like a guppy. Even Dobey looked amused, smiling good-naturedly at the adolescent twittering. The boys in the room look bored, but the small group of girls had closed ranks behind Hutch.

“I think I’m going to have to get back to you, Nat,” he said into the phone.

To his left the girl with the eye shadow and lip gloss raised her hand. “Captain Dobey, can I ask a question?”

“Of course.” Dobey grinned congenially. Baker and the three officers stopped what they were doing, watching with animated smiles. Hutch heard a preteen giggle and closed his eyes briefly, knowing he’d live to regret the girl’s question.

“My name’s Patty,” the girl said clearly, her voice carrying through the room as if she was used to being the spokesperson for her small clique of friends. “What I’d like to know. What we’d all like to know . . .” She included the girls around her and there was another series of twittering giggles. “Is what we need to do to get arrested by him.” Hutch felt a finger stab in his direction. Behind him he heard Baker guffaw.

He dragged a hand over his face. “Uh, Nat. Something’s come up here. You and Starsky decide what you want to do and I’ll go along for the ride.” He chanced a glance at Edith Smithfield. An older woman with a precise disposition, she wore a pinched expression as her eyes flicked over him in clear distaste. Obviously she didn’t find the same humor in the situation that Baker and Dobey did.

“That’s enough, children. I think it’s time to leave now and let Detective Hutchinson and the rest of the men get back to work. There’s plenty for them to do.”

“Can’t we take pictures?” the girl to Patty’s right spoke up. “I never saw a cop that looked like him before.”

Hutch turned to glance over his shoulder and before he could blink, a flashbulb went off in his face followed quickly by another.

“That’s enough,” Edith said sharply. She shooed the class toward the door. “Next stop is processing and there will be absolutely no pictures in that area. You’ll leave your cameras outside.”

“Talk to Dave, Ken. I’ll call back later to see what the two of you decide. See ya tonight!” The line clicked in his ear echoing the bright refrain of Natalie’s perky voice.

Hutch looked behind him. Baker had his head down on his desk, vigorously laughing into his arms. The three uniforms were trying not to appear obvious about it since he outranked them, but all three had their backs turned, their shoulders shaking silently.

“Too bad you don’t have that effect on perps, Hutchinson,” Dobey cracked before disappearing into his office. The girls and the rest of the class no sooner filed from the room than Starsky bounded in from the hall, munching contentedly on the last piece of a Three Musketeers bar.

“Hey . . .” Slightly bewildered, he looked around the room at the laughing patrolmen and Baker. “What’d I miss?”

“Not much.” Trying to contain himself, Baker raised his head, gleefully wiping tears from his eyes. “But next time you and Hutch hit the street, you might wanna make sure he’s got a stack of 8” x 10” glossies. Probably get him a heck of a lot further than using that Magnum.”

“Yeah, but only if you’re a twelve year old girl,” one of the patrolmen ventured.

Hutch frowned. “Stuff it, Baker. You too, Carlini.” The phone rang again and he snatched it up with a growl. “Hutchinson!”

“Ken . . .” A hesitant voice was followed by a fluttery laugh. “Ken, is that you? It’s Julie. Julie Wallace.”

His brow drew down in a frown, the girls and their silly crush quickly forgotten. “Julie?” His voice carried a clear note of incredulity. “What . . . I mean where . . . where are you?”

“Bay City, silly. I’m here for a convention. I’m in paper products now - - sales, you know - - and there’s that big thing going on at The Plaza. Don’t tell me you haven’t heard about it? All the hotels are booked.”

“I . . .” He hesitated, uncertain what to say. Across from him Starsky sauntered toward his desk, tossing the candy wrapper into an overflowing waste can. Hutch shoved the note about the D.A. under his nose, half concentrating on the voice in his ear . . . a voice from his past, not altogether pleasant. “You’ve got me at a loss, Julie. It’s been what - - ten years?”

“Closer to twelve, but I saw Kell just a few months ago. She told me what you were up to . . . playing cop and all that. She’s awfully proud of you, Ken. You should have heard how she went on and on about her beloved big brother. What kind of friend would I be to your sister if I didn’t drop in on you when I had the chance? I thought as long as I’m in town . . .”

“Sure . . . okay.” He hedged, still uneasy. Across the desk, Starsky picked up the note, gave it a brief glance then tossed it aside. He started to reach for the phone, but his hand stopped halfway, changing direction, lighting on a wooden yo-yo shoved beneath an open folder instead. Playing with toys now, Starsk? “Where are you staying?”

“I got a room at The Plaza but I’m at the airport right now. Don’t suppose you’d like to play knight-in-shining-armor and give a damsel in distress a ride?”

Hutch shot a glance at the wall clock. “My shift doesn’t end for another forty minutes.”

“That’s okay. It’ll take me that long just to find my luggage. You still blond and beautiful?”

“You still too fresh for your own good?”

A throaty chuckle came over the line. “Same old, Kenny. See you in an hour, lover.”

The phone clicked in his ear.

Bewildered, he eased the receiver into its cradle and sat back in his chair. “Dobey wants you to go over things with the D.A. on Greer,” he told Starsky absently, his mind still trying to wrap itself around the phone call. Julie Wallace might have been his sister’s closest friend growing up, and yeah, he’d made that dumb mistake his fourth year in college by sleeping with her, but she wasn’t the kind of person to drop by on a whim. Sales? Paper Products? Would she really do something that mundane - - the girl who’d rode the fast lane through life, who was always looking for an easy score and who’d once said she’d settle for nothing less than the High Life?

“Hey, Hutch.”

Starsky’s voice intruded on his thoughts and he blinked rapidly as if waking from a fog. A glance in his partner’s direction told him Starsky was just as distracted as he was. Still studying the yo-yo, his friend cupped it in the palm of his hand, the string hooked over his index finger.

“You leavin’ me toys now?” Starsky asked. There was a flippant edge to his voice, but it sounded forced. “Where’d this come from?”

Hutch shrugged. “How should I know?” More disturbed by Julie’s phone call than he wanted to admit, he shuffled brusquely through the folders on his desk. He’d been drunk that night when he’d slept with her. She’d taunted and tempted him, no longer a gawky sixteen-year-old with a crush, but a wantonly seductive young woman who knew exactly what she’d been doing.

Still . . . his alcohol-induced lapse had been no excuse. She was Kelly’s closest friend, clearly off limits. He’d tried to fix his blunder by forgetting her but she’d become oddly addictive like a high priced narcotic. Their one night stand grew into a compulsive relationship that hadn’t ended until he’d met Vanessa. Until, in the process of satisfying and pleasing himself, he’d hurt his sister.

Aggravated, Hutch dragged a hand over his face. Damn!

“It’s wooden,” Starsky announced, catching him off guard, that strange hint of abstraction still in his voice.

Hutch frowned. “What is?”

“The yo-yo, dummy.” Starsky stepped toward him, extending his hand to display the tiny toy. “It ain’t one of those cheap plastic things, and it’s not butterflied out. See? They don’t make yo-yos like this anymore. Feel how heavy that is.” Grabbing Hutch’s hand, he plopped the wooden trinket in his palm. “You know what kind of wrist action it takes to work somethin’ like that? I ain’t seen one of these since I was a kid.”

Hutch’s frown dug deeper. “What do you want, Starsky - - a prize?” Irritated, he dumped the yo-yo on the desk. “I’m busy here. I don’t have time to waltz down memory lane with you.”

“Where’d it come from, Hutch?”

“How the hell do I know?” Irked, Hutch threw his hands in the air. The twittering school girls, Julie’s phone call and his exasperation at being stuck behind a desk all caught up with him at once. “There was a group of kids in here. Maybe one of them left the freaking thing behind, figuring anyone as juvenile as you are would have to appreciate it!”

His voice shuddered to a halt, already raspy and strained with force. In the sudden silence, haunted by Starsky’s bewildered expression, he suddenly realized how unnecessarily cruel he’d been. Blowing out a breath, he bowed his face into his hand, wedging an elbow against his desk. “I’m sorry, Starsk. You didn’t deserve that.”

Starsky shoved the yo-yo in his pocket. Across the room, all but one of the uniforms had left and Baker was in the middle of a phone call. If anyone noticed Hutch’s outburst they didn’t comment on it.

“All right Blondie, I’ll let you slide, but you only get one free insult a day.” Moving into Hutch’s space, Starsky sat on the edge of the desk facing him. He butted a blue-sneakered foot against Hutch’s chair. “What’s with the attitude?”

“Since when do I get a free insult?” Hutch shot him a perturbed look from under his lashes. “Quit coddling me, Starsky. If you want to bite my head off, just do it.” He cleared his throat, irked that his voice had lost some of its volume and was turning noticeably hoarse. Self-consciously he fingered the wheat-colored fabric of his turtleneck. When Starsky merely stared, refusing to look away but unspeaking, Hutch rolled a shoulder in defeat. “What’s the big deal about a yo-yo anyway?”

It was Starsky’s turn to shrug. “Isn’t one . . . not really.” With one leg planted firmly on the ground, he let the other dangle free, idly tapping against Hutch’s chair. “Just brought back some memories, that’s all.” He gave a soft snort of laughter. “This kid I used to hang around with - - Frankie Nello - - he was always playin’ with a wooden yo-yo. Used to have one that looked just like this.” Starsky patted his jacket pocket where he’d stashed the toy. “So . . .” He shifted gears, pointedly changing the conversation, smiling a little too sharply for easy humor. “What were all those girls gigglin’ about?”

“Like you don’t know.” Hutch parted with a smirk. Starsky might not have been in the room when the girls were visiting, but he’d gotten a clear picture on his return thanks to Baker and Carlini. Dobey would probably rehash the whole embarrassing scene too, given the chance.

“Is that why you’re so all-fired pleasant?” Starsky plopped a hand on his shoulder, leaning forward to grin broadly into his face. “A couple of swoonin’ little girls got you all frazzled, Blond-and-Beautiful?”

“Starsky - -” Hutch warned, but got no further, cut off by his friend’s ringing laughter.

Clearly enjoying himself, Starsky crossed his arms over his chest, smiling brashly. “Now I know it’ll be rough for a sizzlin’ heartthrob like you, but if you can somehow manage to tear yourself away from that throng of admirin’ fans, Nat and I wanna take you out tonight. Burgers and dancin.’ How ‘bout it, pal?”

Hutch suppressed a sigh. Here it came - - another night of Starsky playing babysitter because he thought his partner hadn’t fully recovered from the trauma of Playboy Island . . .that maybe if Hutch was alone, he’d spend the time dwelling on those ugly moments when Papa Theodore had bound him to a table and tried to make him a sacrificial offering. On the other hand, planning something with Natalie and Starsky would mean he could bow out gracefully of any entanglements Julie might present.

“Sure. Okay.” Relaxing slightly, he managed a smile. “Um . . . there’s just one problem, Starsk. A friend of mine called from the airport. She needs a ride to her hotel.”

“She?” Starsky raised a brow. “Someone I know?”

Hutch shook his head. “She’s actually Kelly’s friend. They were really close growing up, then things sort of . . . well . . .” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “ . . . uh . . . they had a kind of falling out.” Because of me. He waved the observation off, trying to shake aside his uneasiness. “It was a long time ago. A really long time ago. Anyway - -” He drew a breath that stung his still-healing throat and rattled deep into his lungs. “Things are better now and they keep in touch. Julie’s in town for some kind of convention and needs a ride to The Plaza.”

Starsky gave a low whistle. “Doesn’t stay cheap, does she?”

“Never did,” Hutch muttered, but Starsky didn’t hear. He smiled up at his friend. “Since my car’s back at my apartment, I thought - -”

“ - - you want me to drive you home?”

Hutch hedged. “I . . . I was hoping you’d take me to the airport.”

“You want me to pick up your friend?”

“It’ll just take a few minutes,” Hutch tried to smooth over the odd request. “Then you can drop me back at my apartment and I’m up for whatever you and Nat have planned. Oh - - and don’t forget the D.A.,” he added quickly hoping to deter any further questions about Julie and the airport.

Starsky glanced at the wall clock. “It’s on the way to the airport. I’ve been over that case with Fitzwater until it’s nailed tight. If Dobey wants me to give it another glossin’ over, we can stop on the way to pickin’ up your friend. I don’t know about you buddy, but I’ve had about all I can take lookin’ at these four walls.”

Hutch pushed from his chair, pausing only long enough to snag his denim jacket off the rear. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s get out of here.”

+++++

Starsky found a vending machine inside the airport and added an Almond Joy to the Three Musketeers he’d devoured earlier. He didn’t know why he was so hungry. He’d had a chili dog with a side of fries and a large Coke for lunch but he still felt hollow. Maybe edgy was the better word. Sitting confined behind a desk was tantamount to surviving lock-down. He’d be glad when Hutch was fully healed and they could hit the streets again, though from the way his friend’s voice had cut out back at the precinct, Starsky had a feeling it was going to be awhile.

“Flight 2016 from Denver has been rerouted to Gate 17,” a female voice announced over the loudspeaker. “Baggage claims are lower level Carousel D.”

“Hey, where’s your friend flyin’ in from?” Starsky asked, swallowing the last bit of candy bar as he kept pace at Hutch’s side. His partner looked distracted, his face set in a tight mask as he cut a long-legged path through the milling crowd of people. Overhead the loudspeaker paged Jane Nichols to the security desk.

“She didn’t say. She hung up before we had a chance to talk.” Hutch hedged, oddly unsettled as his gaze tracked to the side. “Starsky, I haven’t seen her in twelve years. I’m not even sure why she called me.

“That’s a no brainer. Big brother to her best friend?” Starsky skirted a group of teens gathered outside a hamburger stand and lobbed his candy wrapper into an open trashcan. He was getting damn good at hook shots, a fact clearly appreciated by one of the teens who gave him a thumbs-up for the effort. With a grin he ducked back to Hutch’s side, hopping onto the down escalator one step behind his partner. “If she’s still friends with Kelly, why wouldn’t she look you up?”

“It’s complicated,” Hutch said. His posture was a little too stiff. If Starsky didn’t know better he’d think his friend was annoyed . . . or maybe apprehensive. Since neither emotion seemed to fit with the circumstance, Starsky chalked his strange irritability up to the clogged congestion of the airport.

They’d reached the lower level now, walking quickly to the baggage claim area along with a hundred other passengers and milling travelers. White arrows lead the way, pointing them down a causeway and into an open area where baggage carousels slowly rotated beneath blinking green lights. Overhead the loudspeaker continued to chirp a series of announcements: “Air Trans Flight 44 to Chicago now departing from Gate 6 . . .American Airlines Flight 1636 to Minneapolis has been delayed. . . Mr. Frank Nello please report to the Delta customer service desk. Mr. Frank Nello - -”

“Hey!” Starsky grabbed Hutch’s arm as the name connected in his brain. Something cold and unsettled slithered through his stomach. “Didja hear that?”

“Hear what?” Hutch kept walking, forcing Starsky to fall in stride beside him.

Frustrated, the dark-haired man tried to grapple the memory . . . make sure he hadn’t mistaken it for something else. With all the commotion and noise of the airport, it was hard to be certain. He’d only been half-listening, paying more attention to the crowd than the overhead speakers. “Th-that page,” he stammered, strangely shaken. “ . . . . for Frank Nello?”

“Starsky, what are you talking about?”

“That was the name of my friend - - the one with the yo-yo - - Frankie Nello.” Starsky uttered a hollow laugh, the candy bar turning rancid in his stomach. “Don’t’cha think that’s weird?”

Hutch frowned, It was clear he’s wasn’t really paying attention, more so that he wasn’t interested. “There’s probably a couple dozen Frank Nellos in the city, Starsky. Odds are, at least one of them is in this airport.” Coming to a stop, he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his light denim jacket, fidgeting nervously. “Maybe she decided to call a cab.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think - - Julie Wallace, you idiot.”

“Did I hear someone throw my name around?”

Still focused on the disturbing page, Starsky was unprepared when a slender brunette walked up behind Hutch. Almost as tall as his friend, she had a dancer’s build with long, shapely legs, showcased in a short cranberry skirt and heeled sandals. Her hair was heavy and straight, hanging free to the middle of her back. When she flashed a smile, her dark brown eyes turned warm and copper-colored sending a flush of rose across her cheeks. Hooking an overnight bag higher on her shoulder, she angled her head to better study Hutch.

“Hello, gorgeous.” Her smile thinned a little, turning sultry. “You look different, but just as deliciously lean and sexy as ever.” Her eyes raked him from head to toe, clearly enjoying what she saw. “No wonder I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve.” Amused by his poorly concealed embarrassment, she pressed a suitcase into his hand. “Carry this for me? It has my lingerie inside. I seem to remember you liked pink and black the best.”

Shocked by her boldness, Starsky sputtered a cough. The sound drew Julie’s eyes in his direction and her smile bloomed another notch. “Well, hello. And just who is this impossibly stunning Adonis?”

Starsky felt his face flame red. “Uh . . .”

“Julie.” Hutch’s voice held a vein of ice. “This is my partner, David Starsky. He’s going to give you a ride to The Plaza.”

“Oh.” A frown line appeared on her brow. “Well, that’s awfully nice of him. Of both of you actually, but it looks like I messed up and made a mistake.” She was suddenly demure, appearing mildly uncertain as she smiled at Hutch. “I booked my room for the wrong night and it turns out my reservation doesn’t kick in until tomorrow. I’m sort of stranded. Silly, huh? I can’t believe I did something so stupid.”

Hutch scowled, looking hard pressed to buy the blunder.

“I’ve spent the last hour on the phone trying to find another hotel,” Julie said with a hint of desperation. “But everything’s booked because of the sales convention. I was hoping maybe - -” One slender hand crept onto the sleeve of Hutch’s stone-washed jacket. “Do you think you could put me up for the night, Kenny? It’s just for one evening and - -”

“No.”

Starsky jerked, startled by his friend’s flat denial. Hutch was usually a lot more accommodating to someone in need, particularly when that “someone” happened to be his sister’s closest friend. Of course she’d made some very pointed, off-color remarks about Hutch too. Odds were Julie Wallace had been more than just a little friendly with Starsky’s partner - - in the basest sense of the word. Still, you didn’t strand a lady at an airport.

Perturbed, Starsky elbowed Hutch in the ribs. “What’re ya doin’?” he demanded from the corner of his mouth. Trying to cover for his abruptly unpredictable partner, he sent Julie a showy grin. “He didn’t really mean that. See his place is a bit messy right now, and - -”

Hutch threw him an acid look. “Starsky, ‘no’ means ‘no.’”

Shaking her head, Julie slipped her arm through Hutch’s. “Now, Kenny, don’t be such a stone. I promise to be a good girl and keep my hands to myself if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Julie - - no games. Do you need a ride to The Plaza or not?”

Huffing out an exasperated breath, Julie snatched her arm back as if stung. “A lot of good that will do me without a room.”

“I guess you should have thought of that before you called.”

“You can stay with me,” Starsky interrupted quickly. Hutch’s gaze swiveled in his direction, hitting him with the heat of a full-fledged Viking glare. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t making points with his irritable partner, but - -

“Starsky - -” A finger jabbed beneath his nose.

Geez, now he’s really pissed. “How many bags you got?” Starsky asked Julie, pointedly ignoring his fuming friend.

“Just my overnight bag and one suitcase.’ Julie pulled the suitcase in question from Hutch’s hands, shifting it to Starsky. “I really appreciate this, David.” She smiled brightly. “Can I call you David?”

“David’s fine. Or Dave.”

She smiled again, tossing her hair over her shoulder. It shimmered and rippled, infused with light even in the mucky butter-churned glow of the airport. He felt like a kid with a first-time crush.

“Gimme that.” Hutch snatched the suitcase from his hand. Seething, the taller man looked to Julie, his teeth gritted in a tight line. “One night.”

“I knew I could count on you, Ken!” Smiling triumphantly, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. It wasn’t so much a sign of affection, but of victory. “We’ve got to go out tonight to celebrate.”

“Can’t.” Hutch’s voice was still clipped. He started walking, forcing the others to fall in beside him. “I’ve already got plans with Starsky and his girlfriend.” He put extra emphasis on the word “girlfriend” making sure Julie understood the implication.

At his side, Starsky was still trying to adjust to his partner’s rapidly shifting moods . . . uneasiness, frustration, irritability, outright anger. Hutch definitely had a lock on the grimmer stuff. “Hey, no problem,” he said, trying to ease the tension in the air. “Julie could join us. Nat would probably love havin’ another girl along for a change.”

“Starsky - -”

“That settles it!” Julie cried brightly. Moving between the two men, she hooked her arms through each of theirs, presenting a picture of delighted enthusiasm. “This is going to be great - - my friend’s big brother and his partner. You know what I’d love to do?” She turned her head to look between them. “ - - that is if you don’t have anything definite planned.”

“Nothing definite,” Starsky said.

“Just shooting myself,” Hutch muttered. “Him too, for getting me into this mess.”

“What?” Julie asked.

“Nothing.”

“Then I’d like to go to that big amusement park on the pier,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “Someone on the plane was talking about it and it sounded like fun. I always loved amusement parks. Remember Kenny? Like that time I got sick at the summer carnival from eating too much cotton candy and you drove me home in that sporty yellow car of yours. I was twelve and you were . . .?” Her voice lilted up on the question.

“Sixteen,” Hutch said flatly.

“You had a sporty car?” Starsky asked incredulously. A yellow car?”

“It was a Ford Thunderbird convertible,” Julie chimed in. “A two-seater, banana yellow with a black roof and chrome wheels. I remember because I always wanted to ride in it, and that day at the carnival, Kenny took me home. He was always taking Suzanne Myrtle up to Lookout Pointe and fogging up the windows. Kelly and I tried to hide a tape recorder in his glove box once so we could hear what they were up to, but Kenny caught us.” Her smile turned calculating, a bit too pointed. “Of course, all the guys took Suzanne Myrtle up to Lookout Pointe so I guess we could’ve taped any of them.” She chuckled. “Personally, I just wanted to get a cassette of Ken moaning.”

“That’s enough, Julie,” Hutch warned tightly.

Starsky was still stuck on the car. “You had a Thunderbird? A Thunderbird? What the hell happened to your taste?”

“My dad bought it for me,” Hutch said, sparing him a brief sideways glance. “A colleague of his was selling it and I needed wheels. At the time I guess I liked flash, but I grew up and grew out of it. That’s what happens when you get older, Starsk.”

“What - - you get dull and borin’?” Starsky reached behind Julie and swatted his arm. “You’re just lucky I’m around, Blintz. If it weren’t for me you’d probably be on Geritol by now. Don’t know what kind of fun you’re gonna be at an amusement park. Maybe I should ring up those twelve-year old girls and put ya on the merry-go-round with ‘em. Probably just your speed.”

“Up yours, pal.”

Starsky laughed. “Sorry. You ain’t pretty enough to rate that kind of action. I’m holdin’ out for someone with a larger fan base.”

Hutch cracked a smile. “You moron.”

It was the first hint of humor Starsky had seen from his friend since they’d arrived at the airport . . . the first in a long time, now that he thought about it. The sight made him grin goofily. Hutch muttered something he didn’t catch and shook his head, but he was still smiling. The banter had done its trick. Starsky felt his partner’s tension slither away like a shed skin. By the time they were driving toward Venice Place, Hutch was actually talkative, pointing out some sights of Bay City for Julie’s benefit.

Starsky left his partner and overly attractive guest at the apartment on Ocean Avenue, then drove home. He needed to give Natalie a call and bump back their get-together with Hutch by an hour. The amusement park was just as good as a night of dancing, and they could always get burgers or pizza at one of the vending stands. Nat would probably enjoy the change, and Hutch, who sometimes tended to be klutzy, would do better off the dance floor.

Starsky grinned fondly at the thought of his long-legged partner. Put him in a tux with chamber music and a ballroom dance floor, and Hutch was sophistication and grace, but take him to a disco and he suddenly had two left feet. The music would probably be too loud anyway, forcing Hutch to strain his still-healing voice just to be heard. Besides, there was something about an amusement park . . .

Starsky closed the door to his apartment and plopped on the couch. Amusement parks, yo-yos, twelve-year-old-girls, even friends from the past . . . they all seemed to fit together. Hutch hadn’t seen Julie in twelve years and he hadn’t thought about Frankie Nello in - -

Grimacing, Starsky dug in his jacket pocket and extracted the yo-yo he’d found at the station. The wood was maple-colored, highly varnished with a navy blue emblem stamped in the center. An eagle with spread wings held a ribbon in its beak proclaiming the manufacturer’s name - -Blue Eagle.

Just like the one Frankie had as a kid.

Frankie, who never went anywhere without his yo-yo in hand, who used to dazzle his friends with complicated tricks and always said he was going to win the Northampton Alley Championship. Frowning, Starsky rubbed his thumb over the surface, distracted by the small ribs of wood beneath his fingertip. He’d played with a yo-yo too, never as good as Frankie, but his friend had managed to teach him a few stunts. Just enough that even now when he flicked his wrist backward, the yo-yo jumped from his hand then quickly climbed back up the string, snapping into his palm with familiar ease.

Memories of a lazy summer spent with Frankie on his grandparents farm crowded into his head. He could still smell the giddy scent of sun-heated grass, taste the sweetness of wild strawberries plucked from the field behind an old watertower, feel the scrape of bark against his palms as he and Frankie climbed higher and higher in a small grove of black walnut trees.

But it was never high enough. Dwarfed in the shadow of the watertower, the trees didn’t give them height enough to soar. To be eagles on their own and fly higher than any yo-yo could ever climb.

Starsky closed his eyes, stopping the memories before they spiraled out of control.

Had he really heard that page over the airport speaker system for Frank Nello? In all likelihood Hutch was right. There were probably a dozen Frank Nellos in the city, at least one of them passing through the airport. In any event, the page couldn’t have been for the Frank Nello he’d grown up with.

That Frank Nello - - his closest childhood friend - - had died a long time ago.

+++++

Hutch showered then changed in the bathroom, giving Julie the privacy of his bedroom. He was uneasy about having her in his apartment for the night but decided they were both mature enough to live with some ground rules. Their breakup hadn’t been on the best of terms - - mostly because of Kelly’s involvement. If he closed his eyes and thought backward, he could still hear his sister’s enraged voice in his head.

“How could you do this to me? You could have any girl you wanted, Kenny. Why did you have to go after Julie? How could you be so irresponsible as to get her pregnant?”

Hutch felt a flash of anger as the scabbed-over wound reopened. Yes, he’d kept up the relationship when it probably would’ve been wiser to let it go, but Julie had been the one to come onto him not vice versa. She’d tried several times prior to seduce him, and he’d rebuffed her each time until the night of Tim Hannerman’s party when he’d had a little too much to drink. As for her pregnancy, the timing was all wrong. He hadn’t been with her in over three months, but rather than admit they were through and she’d been sleeping with Tim, she’d lied to Kelly, insisting he was the father.

It was the only time he could ever recall - - in the midst of a heated shouting match about owning up to responsibility - - that his father had actually struck him. It did nothing for an already strained relationship, and a few months down the road Hutch had made it worse by dropping out of med school. Julie had eventually owned up to the lie - - she’d never been pregnant, but the damage had already been done. His new and tenuous relationship with Vanessa St. Claire was suddenly on fragile ground, his father considered him an irresponsible failure and his sister wasn’t talking to him. The only consolation in the whole ugly mess was that Kelly had actually decked Julie for making such an underhanded accusation when she found out the truth.

Sighing, Hutch shrugged into a black turtleneck. It was all water under the bridge. Kelly and Julie had eventually made up, keeping in touch over the years, though their relationship was never quite the same. He’d never really gotten an apology from his father, probably because the whole untidy mess took place around the same time he decided to leave medical school. Grant Hutchinson might have eventually forgiven him for doing something shameful, but he’d never fully recovered from Hutch’s decision to become a cop.

Hutch pulled on a pair of snug white jeans then added a black belt and a comfortable pair of shoes. He could survive one night with an ex-girlfriend, even one as calculating and manipulative as Julie Wallace. Tomorrow she’d be out of his hair and he could go back to forgetting she ever existed.

Outside the bathroom, he pulled his brown leather jacket from the closet, then snatched his key ring off the coffee table. Thumbing open his wallet, he did a quick count of the bills inside. “Julie, you about ready? I told Starsk we’d meet him and Nat around 7:30.”

“Ready.” Smiling brightly, Julie breezed from the bedroom, smartly dressed in a pair of tight black jeans and a pink crop blouse with jet trim.

Pink and black.

The combination wasn’t lost on Hutch. She hadn’t been kidding earlier about her lingerie and his taste in color. Rather than commenting on something she clearly hoped would get a rise out of him, he shrugged into his jacket. “Let’s go.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me I look nice?” On the pretext of reaching for her purse, Julie stepped around the couch, moving closer to his side. Tilting her head back, she smiled up at him, all sparkling cocoa eyes, rose-flushed skin and parted lips. “You look incredible, Ken. I didn’t think it was possible, but you’re even better looking than when we were dating.” Her hand slid onto his chest and her fingers glided beneath his lapel. “You’ve filled out . . . lean and muscular at the same time. I don’t suppose . . .” Her hand skimmed higher, rounding his shoulder, inching up to his neck.

The moment her fingertips made contact with his throat, Hutch flinched. He caught her arm and pulled it to the side. After what he’d suffered through on Playboy Island, he wasn’t comfortable with anyone touching him there. Well . . . anyone except a certain dark-haired partner who could eradicate even the most hideous memories with a gentling touch and soothing tone of voice. Starsky had earned a level of trust no one else could ever hope to match.

“Don’t mistake a favor for something it isn’t, Julie,” he warned darkly. The mere phantom of remembered strangulation made his voice turn momentarily rasp. “Spending the night’s got nothing to do with going to bed together. You wanna go to the pier - - fine. You wanna sleep here tonight because you don’t have a hotel room - - fine. But that’s where it ends. We gave the other thing a try and it was a mess. You lied - - remember?”

The staged warmth left her eyes, replaced by a hint of frost. “Because you were with that witch, Vanessa. Doesn’t look like that lasted long either. I guess you’re no better at marriage than you are at sleeping around, huh, Kenny?” Snatching her purse from the couch, she brushed past him toward the door. “Let’s go. You aren’t the only game in town, and I plan on having a good time tonight - - one way or the other.”

“All right.” Hutch trailed after her, pausing with his hand on the door knob. He glared down at her, his eyes glacial and bitingly cool. “But let’s get one thing straight up front. I don’t care what you do, but stay away from Starsky. He’s off limits.”

“Afraid he can’t resist my charm?” Julie laughed lightly. “He’s awfully good-looking you know, and he’s got that wonderful swagger. I could watch that man walk away from me all day long.”

“I’m not kidding, Julie.” Irked by her conceit, Hutch gripped her upper arm. “Starsky’s got a girlfriend . . . a healthy relationship. He doesn’t need a poisonous one.”

For a fleeting moment something sad touched her eyes. “Is that what you think I am, Ken - - poison?” The melancholy was gone as quickly as it came. The playful spark returned to her gaze, part siren, part imp. Pulling free of his grip, she sprinted down the steps, a trail of light laughter ringing behind her. “Come on, Kenny! I want to go to the carnival, and this time I promise not to eat too much cotton candy.”

She was out the exterior door, dancing onto the street before Hutch had even set the lock to his apartment. Digging his keys from his pocket, he followed at a slower pace praying the night wouldn’t turn into something disastrous.

+++++

Julie might have been a siren, but she knew how to play off another woman too. Starsky admired the chatty friendliness she displayed to Natalie even as he recognized the occasional lingering glances she sent in his direction. Always when Nat wasn’t looking of course . . . when she was hanging onto Hutch’s arm and giggling over something he had said.

Nat was a good friend to his partner and Starsky appreciated the brotherly-sisterly bond they shared. His own relationship with the perky auburn-haired secretary was uncomplicated. He enjoyed her company immensely and couldn’t deny they were good together in bed. They had fun and great sex, but he just wasn’t ready to let go and actually engage his heart. The loss of Terry was still too fresh, despite the passage of close to ten months. For her part, Natalie seemed to understand his hesitation, never pushing past what he was willing to give. In truth she deserved someone better. Someone who could actually say “I love you,” but she seemed willing to ride out his reluctance, more patient than any girl he’d encountered since Terry.

Which made the restlessness he was feeling all the harder to swallow. He cared about her, but was terrified of caring more. Terrified that if he actually opened his heart and allowed her to get close to him, someone would snatch her away too. She’d become a target like Terry had become a target, her life cut violently short by some low-life scum. It was better to stay isolated and alone, never again having to worry that the person he cared about would meet with an unjust death. Never again responsible for the cost of someone else’s life.

His eyes strayed to Hutch.

Like his friend on Playboy Island. Starsky swallowed hard. Hutch could take care of himself, but he felt a shiver of apprehension all the same. Frankie Nello had died because of him and Hutch had almost died because of him . . . by his own hand, no less. Watching the brilliant flash of his friend’s smile, Starsky found his mind wandering. Had he really wrapped his hands around Hutch’s throat? Spell or no spell, had he really tried to kill his best friend?

Like Frankie. Did I really lead him up onto that damn watertower?

“ . . . good to me. What do you think, Dave?”

Starsky blinked, realizing that Natalie was talking to him and that the two girls, along with Hutch, were watching him expectantly. Jolted from his thoughts, he gave a nervous smile, trying not to appear distracted. Ever since he’d found that damn yo-yo, ever since he’d heard the page at the airport, he’d been digging himself deeper into a hole mired in the past. “Huh?” Brilliant response, but he was out of options.

Releasing her hold on Hutch, Natalie sidled closer, wrapping an arm around his waist. “You’re really out of it tonight, you know that, Dave? Julie was just saying it might be fun to go through the haunted house. What do you think?”

Haunted house? Big surprise there. Odds were Julie just wanted a reason to cuddle up to Hutch and a dark house with a coven of hobgoblins and creepy-crawlies was the perfect excuse to do it. Starsky sent a glance to his friend, trying to gauge his expression, but Hutch’s face was composed, betraying little of his thoughts. “Sure, okay,” he said, deciding a mausoleum-like atmosphere went hand-in-hand with his suddenly dour mood.

He tried to shove his gloominess aside as they walked down the pier, threading in between milling crowds of people. Music and laughter floated on the air, tangling with a mesh of voices and the rhythmic crash and pound of the ocean. It rolled to their left, blue and gray, tipped with white where waves curled majestically against the shore. The air smelled of funnel cakes, peanut oil and hot caramel popcorn. Normally he would have stuffed his face with something sticky and sweet, but he’d already had his fill of hamburgers and fries at an oceanside stand. Not Big Belly Behemoth variety, but obscenely-sized enough to satisfy even him.

Afterward, Hutch had talked him into a dizzying spin on the rotor and he’d come to the hasty conclusion his stomach needed a break. The ride should have been labeled a torture machine or at the very least a health hazard. Whoever thought being plastered to the wall by gravitational force, having the floor drop out from under you, then being turned upside down on your head and spun in a circle was amusing, had probably interned with a sadist. It was all Starsky could do to walk, putting one foot in front of the other, when the contraption finally stopped.

His blond friend on the other hand, was being anything but merry-go-round-dull, and Starsky feared if he wasn’t careful, Hutch would try to goad him into something involving heights. He’d already figured out the Rotor was payback for his Geritol crack, but it didn’t matter. Despite the unexpected presence of Julie, Hutch was enjoying himself . . . enjoying having Starsky with him . . . doing something that wasn’t job-related or mired in one of their cases. And he was laughing. A sound that was pure magic to Starsky’s ears.

“Ya know,” he said, wrapping his arm around Nat’s shoulders and doing his best Bogey impersonation. “I might need ya to hold my hand in there.”

“What about you, Ken?” Julie spoke up to Starsky’s left. She smiled coyly up at Hutch. “Do I get to hold your hand too?”

“Sure. Why not?” Rather than take her hand, Hutch wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tightly against him. The move surprised Starsky who’d gotten the feeling Hutch wasn’t eager to renew any sparks that had once simmered between them. Then again, if Julie was focused on Hutch, she wouldn’t be so eager to send signals in his direction . . . something she’d been doing all night whenever Natalie wasn’t looking.

As attractive as she was, the woman really was a barracuda.

Up ahead, the silhouette of the “Haunted House” jutted from the pier, bulky and black against the heavens. An asymmetrical roofline sloped to empty windows, most boarded over, some with shutters hanging broken and askew. A rear tower soared cold and ominous against the sky, crowned by a pointed witch’s hat. The effect was gothic and brooding, broken only by a series of garish red letters emblazoned over the front door that read “ Haunted Mansion. Enter at Your Own Risk.” A ticket attendant in a long black robe, his face heavily painted with black eye makeup and white powder sat to the side, listening to Warren Zevon on a portable radio. A half-eaten hamburger, watery soda, money tray and spool of bright green tickets littered a small folding table.

Natalie giggled. “Talk about ruining the effect.”

“Don’t worry.” Starsky nuzzled her ear playfully. “I’m sure it’ll be dark and creepy inside. I turn into a vampire at midnight, ya know.”

“Pity the vampires,” Hutch said. He raised a single brow, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. “You’d starve on a diet of blood anyway - - all liquid and no junk.”

“Only if I had to suck blood from a health-conscious sap like you,” Starsky cast back, falling immediately into the spirit of their familiar game. “Probably taste like stagnant wheat germ oil and river kelp. Yech!” He made a face. “Any self-respectin’ vampire would spit it back out.”

“It’s sea kelp, Starsky, and wheat germ oil doesn’t stagnate.”

“In your blood, Blondie, anything would stagnant. Probably be like drinkin’ a multi-vitamin straight.” He gave an overly dramatic shudder.

“Guys - -” Natalie interrupted, sensing a lengthy string of cheap shots.

“Hey, what’s that?” Julie interrupted. Still nestled against Hutch’s side, she raised her arm, pointing into the distance.

Distracted, Starsky followed the direction of her finger. Over a mile down the beach, a spine of black rock jutted into the ocean, marking the entrance to an inlet. Incoming waves broke on the jagged surface, crashing apart, sending white foam spraying high into the air, frothing up sides of cold stone. A light flashed at the end of the rock splinter, guiding incoming ships clear of shoals and sandbars.

“That’s just the old South Jetty,” Starsky said. “I don’t think that inlet’s used too much anymore, not for commercial traffic anyway.”

Julie wrapped her arms around her chest. “Looks dangerous.”

“That depends on your perspective.” Leaning close, Hutch breathed softly into her ear. “Under the right conditions anything . . .” He paused, tugging her closer, letting his lips graze her hair. “ . . . or anyone can be dangerous.”

Her eyes widened in surprise at the intimate attention. Starsky was surprised too, given his friend’s earlier frost when talking to his ex. But then Hutch was a game player when he wanted to be, and Starsky had the feeling the blond-haired man had just initiated the first round.

After purchasing tickets from the cadaver-like attendant, they ventured through a loudly creaking door into the “haunted” house. A short hallway with squeaky wooden floors lead into a drawing room heavily draped with filmy cobwebs. Flickering candle scones topped by low-wattage amber bulbs lined the walls, sending shadows leaping madly across a vaulted ceiling. Organ music thrummed through hidden speakers, the ominous melody broken now and again by a burst of maniacal laughter.

A few steps into the room, a hidden panel abruptly swung free of the wall and the wax figure of a butler popped out. Dressed formally in black, the life-like figure held an ornate silver tray littered with dismembered body parts. A gore-encrusted knife handle protruded from the center of his chest. “Stay for dinner?” a gravelly voice boomed over the speakers and the organ music swelled louder.

“Mmm, looks good,” Starsky cracked, reaching for an eyeball. “Just needs some ketchup.”

Nat squealed in delight, swatting his hand aside. He felt a shove to the center of his back and knew that Hutch was ushering him from the room into the next. This one was darker, cooler too, as if frigid air was pumped through