“Small Change”

by Pepper Ckua

The boy shoved the greeting card down into the front of his pants.

Christ, he was going to steal it, just like he did those magazines at the newsstand the other day! It had been so easy on Wednesday; just wait until that runty idiot walked a newspaper to another old lady in a taxi. The boy had grabbed a Newsweek, and then was out of there. It didn’t matter he couldn’t read half the words in it. He dropped it in the trash two blocks later

Right now, nobody at Crestner’s Drug was paying any attention to him. Stupid fucking people. Didn’t they know they should always keep an eye on a guy like him?

The boy pushed the card down below his belt line and felt himself stiffen a little bit. It always felt so good to do this.

He decided to go to a couple of other aisles to throw off any suspicion before leaving. He browsed the candy and then the row of hair stuff. Then he walked out.

That moment was one that almost made his heart quit; the moment when someone could yell or put a hand on his shoulder. But no buzzers sounded. No one stopped him, and the boy found himself standing on the sidewalk. He felt something almost electrical move over him, a feeling not unlike shooting his wad. Christ, I need a cigarette, he thought.

Outside, the air was sultry and suffocating. He felt like he was breathing through a very thin straw. The boy felt his pulse beating in one corner of his eye. He felt his pulse beating further down.

He decided to head to the alley behind the Alibi Tap. He wanted to check out the dumpster, seeing just what people threw away. Maybe they were things he could use? Man, was he a street warrior or what?

The boy was holding the lid open of the dumpster behind the bar when a worker came out the back door. The man looked at him suspiciously. He should, the boy thought, ‘cause I’m one bad motherfucker, so says me, so says the man.

The worker went back in the door. Throwing what he had in his hand, a half-empty bag of squishy potatoes, against the back door made the boy feel even better. He’d never done that before. It felt great. That must be why people opened up and shot people at random on streets. Because it felt so fucking good, that’s why. I should steal a car, the boy thought. Or maybe I should bust my way in somewhere, really shake some people up?

He walked the few blocks to the Salvation Army and went into the bathroom. The boy opened a stall and sat down on the toilet. A crunch in his pants surprised him. He stood up, pulled the greeting card out of his pants and stared at it. “Congratulations on Your New Job” it read.

Fuck that. His new job was nothing you’d send a card for. His new job was something you did, picked up ten bucks here, twenty bucks there, fifty bucks if the man really got you connected. It was certainly nothing you’d send a greeting card for.

He tore it into strips and dropped them into the toilet bowl. For the second time that day the boy wondered if he should shave his head. For the third time that day, he wondered if the man would let him see a doctor about the ache he had in his gut. He pictured himself asking, and then imagined the answer he’d get. So forget that.

That’s when the boy hit the street. He had a job to do, strawberries and whipped cream the man called it. He needed to get it done tonight if he wanted a place to sleep.

Berries and cream, red and white, they were the color of blood and bone.

That’s what he saw when the boy broke the arms of the stooge he lured into the alley behind the Watering Hole.

Afterwards, he thought about putting a dime in the phone in the lobby and dialing the man’s number, to let him know he’d completed the deal. It made him hot to think of calling from the very spot he’d done the job. But then he remembered he had to lay low.

He decided to head over to Big Chucks instead.

XXXXXXXX

“So, you got any more information on your Dennis the Menace?”

“I’m going to run by his cousin’s house again this afternoon, right after our shift ends. Frankie’s got to know something more.” Hutch closed the mug book. “Steve’s mom’s not being much of a help, keeps talking about how fourteen is old enough to take care of himself, that she was that age when she became a mother to ‘that little fucker’.” He pinched the bridge of his nose.

Starsky grimaced. Hutch couldn’t tell if it was more for him or for Steve.

“Hey, you know what I’d say to a burger right now?” he asked.

“I’ve seen you play with your food, Starsk, but you gonna start talking to it, too?”

“Maybe I’ll go all out and sing it a little number from ‘Oklahoma’?”

“Very funny. Man, though, am I starvin’. Let’s swing by Doodle’s when our shift is over.” Starsky stood up and pushed his chair in. He grabbed his cap and snugged it down on his head. “I gotta run these reports over to Detective Fargo. He’s been chomping at the bit for the last hour.”

Hutch rolled his eyes. “That guy’s such an ass. All he’s after is a promotion. Rumor has it he’s aiming for Internal Affairs.”

“IA?” Starsky made a face. “Who aims for that?”

Hutch shrugged. “Takes all kinds.”

“Really.”

XXXXXXXX

Hutch backed the car into the space at Metro’s parking lot.

“Bay 54, our lucky number,” Starsky said, grinning. He grabbed some files off the seat.

“Guess that makes you Officer Toody,” Hutch replied.

“Whatever works for you, blondie.”

“What works for me is for you to make sure you get all your lunch trash out of here. I’m tired of being hassled for leaving junk in the unit. You’re giving us a bad reputation.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Starsky said as he picked up the mic. “Dispatch, this is Car 54, I mean, Adam Six. We’re signing off at 1900 hours.”

“Roger that, Adam Six.”

“Hey Hutch, you want to run the paperwork up, or should I?”

“I’ll do it. I need to check in with Juvie and see if anything’s come up on Steve,” Hutch said, straightening his cap.

“You gonna run by his cousin’s house tonight?”

“I am, though it will have to be late. Vanessa’s got a client in town, and I have to be home, looking nice. Which reminds me, I need to pick up the suit she dropped off at the cleaners.”

“Another big night on the town for Mr. Hutchinson!” Starsky held open the front door to Metro. “See you in the locker room.”

XXXXXXXX

“Man, Hutch, you look dead on your feet.”

“You’re looking at a man who spent half the night fighting with his wife and the other half trying to get some sleep on a too short couch.”

“Another row, huh? What was it about this time?”

“I decided to swing by Frankie’s house before the thing with Vanessa, forgetting I had to pick up my suit at Roxy’s. By the time I swung by the cleaner’s, it was closed.”

Starsky shuddered. “Which meant your old suit, the one you wore to your high school prom. A little too small and a little too powder blue.”

“You got it. Between the wrong suit and my very wrong job is where the argument ended up. I earned a spot on the sofa.”

“Tell me two things, Hutch. First, why did you marry Vanessa? And second, why are we driving to the fish place on Washburn?”

“You want the easy answer first? I have no idea why I married Vanessa. It just seemed like a good idea at the time.” Hutch looked up at the rearview mirror. “And we’re visiting the fish place because Frankie said Steve had been spending more and more time there. He said to look for someone named Decker, fourteen years old, a guy who looks like he’s been rode hard and put away wet.”

Hutch pulled the car up in front of Mac’s Fish House and cut the engine. He sighed. “Starsk, I think this thing with Van has to end.”

“By ‘this thing’ you mean arguing all the time?”

Hutch looked into his lap. “No, I mean the whole thing. Being married to her.” He didn’t give Starsky time to respond. “You comin’ in or waiting here?”

“While I think this is probably a waste of time, I don’t really want to sit out here and bake in this Easy Bake Oven you call a car.”

Starsky got out and slammed the door. He had to give it a knock with his hip to make it shut all the way.

“Starsk, you didn’t have to come along. You gotta have better things to do with a day off than hang around with me. I know Vanessa does.”

“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.”

Hutch held the door open to Mac’s and ushered his partner through.

They found Decker sitting in a booth by the kitchen. Hutch slid on one side, Starsky on the other.

“Dudes, what is this, some sort of power play? All you gotta do is just flash some cash, and we can party.” Decker pushed his long, curly hair back. His voice cracked a little on the last word. It showed his age. “Though if you want a three-way, it’s gonna cost you.”

Starsky didn’t have to glance at his partner to know the look on his face.

“I got some advice for you, Waif Garret. You ought to shut up before you talk yourself into the back of a squad car,” Starsky said, his voice mild.

“Cops, huh? Funny you don’t look like cops.”

“We’ve been told.”

“In any case, cops either arrest my kind, or take us home for the night. Either way, I’m fucked.”

“What are you? Bay City’s youngest cynic?”

“Nah, that honor belongs to a little cat named Dickie. He’s got me beat by two years. He works the little magic kingdom about a half a mile from here.”

Starsky watched as his partner rubbed his face and looked up at the ceiling.

“What’s with Prince Charming there?” Decker gestured towards Hutch. “The thought of a twelve-year old doing dudes makin’ him mad or makin him hard?”

“Fuck you, Decker,” Hutch said, his voice quiet.

“I can do that but like I told you, ya gotta flash the cash first. Then we can get down to business.”

“Starsk, call it in. Tell Juvie we got an under-aged solicitation here.”

Starsky started to get up.

“Wait!” Decker grabbed Starsky’s jacket. “Don’t.”

Starsky sat back down.

“Tell you what, buy me a beer.”

“How about a 7-Up?”

Decker shrugged. “It was worth a try.”

Starsky got up and brought the kid a green bottle. “I’m Starsky. This is my partner, Hutch,” said as he sat back down. “He’s got some questions for you.”

“So you’re Hutch. Steve-a-reeno talks about you sometimes. Says you can be an asshole, but for a cop you ain’t terrible.”

Starsky didn’t think that was a half-bad reference. He could tell Hutch thought so, too.

“I’m looking for Steve. He left home a week and a half ago, and I’m worried about him,” Hutch asked.

“So this isn’t official police business?” Decker’s voice cracked again.

“Do we look like we’re in uniform?”

Decker took a long drink of his soda. “I never could understand why Steve signed up for that Big Brother program. Then I couldn’t figure out how he got his ma to sign all the papers. He likes you, you know. Said you treat him decent.”

“Decker, do you know where he is?”

The boy drew back his long hair and pretended to study the label on the bottle.

Hutch pulled his wallet out of his pocket and slid a twenty-dollar bill over the table.

Decker just looked at it. “I guess the money helps, but I’m more worried about who I think he’s hitched up with. That dude’s one scary mister.”

“What’s this cat’s name?”

“Solkin. Artie Solkin.”

XXXXXXXX

“Babe, catch.”

He reached up and barely caught the sandwich in the air. The boy was relieved. He didn’t think he had the reflexes to make the shot. The little pills the man kept handing him seemed to dull him down.

Artie reached into the paper sack on his lap and pulled out another bundle.

“Tuna fish on white, baby. Man, just like my ma used to make.”

Charlie didn’t want to hear about Artie’s mom. It just seemed wrong.

“You break that guy’s arms, Charlie?”

“Yeah, like toothpicks.”

“Good job. This calls for another quarter. I know I’m in the mood.” Artie dug in his pocket and held up a coin. Then he dropped it in the glass jar on the table. “I like my boys as old as my quarters, but you’ll do. Come here, Charlie.”

Then Artie put his sandwich down and came closer. He brought his mouth down, and Charlie tasted tuna fish and scotch and hard, dry lust.

It made Charlie think of the sandwiches his sister used to pack for him in the last year he went to school.

It also made him feel like gagging

And then for a moment, between the pills and the wet feel of Artie’s mouth on his, Charlie forgot he was in the Hotel Osmond, a two dollar a night dump with shared bathrooms and the feeling of always having to watch your back. It felt a little bit like home. All in all, he thought, it was not all that different than home.

Steve, who was sitting in the corner, did gag. The sour liquid that came up his throat burned all the way to the trashcan he leaned over.

Steve tried to keep his eyes away from the desperate coupling on the twin bed in front of him. He tried to ignore the grunting and brief screams.

And failed.

Steve thought this would be a good time to call Hutch.

XXXXXXXX

Starsky and Hutch pulled up and parked a block away from the Hotel Osmond. Hutch lifted the mic and called their position into dispatch.

“Adam Six here. Clocking in at 1400. We’re here to meet Zebra One for the questioning of Arthur Finegal Solkin.”

“Roger that, Adam Six. It’s recorded. That’s a 10-2.”

“So why is Fargo always late?” Starsky asked.

“Is he?”

“You know he is. Every time he makes a meet and wants backup, he’s late. He’ll tell us 3:00 and show up at 3:30. Or remember tryin’ to pull Ralphie in? He had us sitting in front of that theater for close to an hour. Every time another call came over the radio, we had to defer. I hated that. Why can’t the guy just be on time? If he needs a good watch, I’d be happy to help him pick one out.”

“Do you really want me to say what you’re already thinking?”

“Forget it. You and I both know he just likes to jerk people around. I tell you, when he puts his hat in the ring for a job in IA, he’s gonna be a natural.”

“That he is. Which is also why it would be wise to stay on his good side,” Hutch agreed.

“No kiddin’. Do you think that’s why Fargo lets everyone know he’s got his eyes on that department? So people will steer clear of his crap?”

Hutch shrugged. “Makes sense doesn’t it? Me, I’m happy enough to wait all day if it gives us a chance to listen to him question Solkin. Our chat with Decker yesterday has me real anxious to find out what he knows about Steve.”

“You talked to Fargo about Steve, about how you think he knows something about him?”

“I did. Though he predictably didn’t take it too seriously. He wants to get Solkin, or one of his minions, on that beating behind the Watering Hole. Finding anything out about Steve will be an afterthought for him. ‘Purely personal, Hutchinson. That sounds like a case for Juvie, not you,’ were what his words were.”

“Not to take his side or anything, but is he right?”

“It is a case for Juvie. I’m sure his ever-diligent ma has filled out all the appropriate forms for a missing minor. And, if she did, that paper would now be residing in a stack of about four hundred other papers. What kind of a Big Brother would I be to this kid if I can’t even be bothered to try to find him when he disappears?”

Starsky jerked his head towards the Hotel Osmond. “Shit, that’s him, isn’t it? That ratty guy with the black greasy hair? That’s Solkin.”

Hutch picked up the mic. “Dispatch, Adam Six here, can you patch us through to Zebra One?”

“10-4, Adam Six.”

“Zebra One, Fargo here.”

“What’s your ETA, Detective? The contact is leaving the scene.”

“Officer Hutchinson, I’m just leaving Metro now. I’ll have to follow through another time.”

“Detective, can we…?”

“No.”

“Roger that.”

Hutch put the mic back on the receiver and slammed his hand on the steering wheel. They both watched Solkin get into a battered four-door sedan and drive away. Starsky scratched the license plate number down on a piece of paper and stuck it into the visor.

Hutch took his cap off and ran his fingers through his hair. “Man, here we waste forty-five minutes sitting out here, when we could be doing something else. And to top it all off, we end up letting Solkin go without talking to him, all because Fargo can’t get his ass over here on time. Dammit, that’s, that’s…”

“Really.”

“Tell me that when we’re out of black and whites that we’re gonna do a better job than that guy. Actually get the work done and not jerk the uniforms around.”

“I’m plannin’ on it.”

XXXXXXXX

The rest of the afternoon was spent serving a writ on a witness named Big Tony, doing a welfare check on an apartment on Wall and arresting a shoplifter with her pockets full of cheese and Listerine.

“Please, please don’t bring me in, Officers. I got kids at home. They’re gonna get taken away, please just let me out.” The woman wept all the way to the station. Her crying wasn’t loud and noisy, but soft and hopeless.

Hutch pinched the bridge of his nose.

Starsky kept telling her they’d call Child Protection as soon as they could. Really, he thought, how can this shitty situation get worse? Nobody really had a good choice here. The manager at Mike’s Grocery insisted on pressing charges, despite the fact that the value in her pockets was less than six bucks.

“They’re robbin’ me blind, officers. I figure I catch one of them for every ten. You tell me what you’d do? I got kids of my own, man.”

Starsky didn’t have an answer. All he knew was that his uniform wasn’t feeling very comfortable right now. It seemed to be strangling some of the common sense out of him.

Starsky and Hutch didn’t look at each other as they made their way to the station.

As they pulled up to Metro, Starsky offered to drop the shoplifter off in Booking if Hutch would call Child Protection. This statement earned another sound of sobbing from their backseat passenger. It made both men get out of car.

Hutch said across the roof of the black and white, “I’ll meet you upstairs. Figure we’ve got about three hours of paperwork. Hopefully, I can get out of here no later than 5:30. Vanessa has really been riding my tail. ‘What’s the point of being a lowly beat cop if you at least can’t have a regular schedule?’ she says.”

Starsky was thinking about the point in much more general terms.

XXXXXXXX

Detective Fargo came out of a meeting with Sergeant Brad Mullins and the new captain from Vice. He saw Hutch in the hall and gave him a wave.

“Hey, sorry about not getting there in time to get a lead on that Solkin guy. Maybe I’ll have better luck next time, huh? Though, just knowing I got such great back-up in the black and whites makes a guy’s job that much easier.”

“Sir, any time. Just what are the plans for talking to Solkin, anyway?”

“Why are you so curious for, Officer? He’s just another two-bit canner, up to no good. No more, no less than any of the other whippos I gotta corral.”

“I thought you needed to bring him in to question him about the guy behind the Watering Hole?”

“I’ll get around to it. With two broken arms, the vic’s not gonna get too far. The guy can’t even feed himself, much less get the door to his hospital room open. And hey, if you got any ideas about lousing him up about that kid you were asking about, I don’t want to hear about it. Don’t you dare go anywhere near him. My job’s hard enough already without him getting spooked about some nobody, got it?”

“Yes, I get it, sir.”

Fargo slapped Hutch’s back. “Good boy. Get some distance from that hot-headed partner of yours, and you’re gonna go far.”

Hutch pulled on the collar of his uniform. He felt like it was strangling him.

XXXXXXXX

Steve looked down at the money in his hand. Thirty-five bucks. Thirty-five bucks was apparently what his soul was worth.

Helping Charlie kick the shit out of that fry cook from Huggy Bear’s was actually worse than he’d imagined it would be. When Artie had sent them out, he’d thought, “Yeah, I can do this, how bad can it be?”

Steve found out it could be pretty damn bad. As they waited in the alley for the man to bring the trash out, Charlie had leered at him, “You just let big brother here do most of the work. Just keep the cat from getting away, I’ll do all the heavy lifting.”

Heavy lifting, my ass. Two blows, one to the face with half a two-by-four and then a punch to the stomach that made a sound that made Steve think of warm, raw hamburger, and it was clear there was no heavy lifting involved.

It didn’t stop Charlie from continuing in his work. Steve was just getting ready to find out if he was brave enough to pull Charlie’s arm back when a shout from the door sent them running.

“Man, oh, man, shit!” Charlie laughed, when they stopped behind the Mercado. “That was some action. Tell me, little brother! That had to make you hard! Tell me you don’t got a woody right now!”

Steve didn’t know what to say. It wasn’t a woody he had; he had a stomachache.

“Man, that was a rush. I’d say we earned out daily bread. I think Papa’s gonna be real pleased,” said Charlie, still a little out of breath. “You comin’ with me to the Osmond, or do ya got some scoring to do of your own?”

What Steve really wanted to do was go home. But he thought it was too late for that.

XXXXXXXX

“Adam Six, see the man named Huggy at the bar on Lincoln, cross street, Wabash.”

“That’s that guy, Huggy Bear. What does he want us for?” Starsky asked, as he made a u-turn and headed north.

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s gonna report a stolen case of beer or a major homicide or something?”

“C’mon, Huggy’s a good guy. A little rough around the edges, but he hasn’t given us any trouble. We play our cards right with him, he could be a real asset later.”

“I think he likes you more than he likes me.”

Starsky reached over and cuffed the back of Hutch’s head. “Jealous, eh? Must be my boyish charm.”

“Watch it!”

“Or maybe he takes one look at your aw-shucks farm boy face and can’t help but think of barn dances and hay bales.”

“Sorry, those are two things Huggy’s probably got no experience with. Try dark alleys and abandoned warehouses.”

Starsky smirked. “If you say so, blondie.”

They found Huggy wiping down tables.

“So, what’d you call us for, Huggy? It seems like a straight-forward, run of the mill, alley beatings that seem to happen with regularity in this fine city of ours.”

Huggy leaned against the bar. He had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

“Glad to know the cops are just about as cynical as your’s truly.”

“We do our best.”

“All Fargo wants to do is pin this beating on something Jackie’s got going on personally. See, Jackie’s a good worker. And he keeps his nose clean. And I know his getting the shit kicked out of him has nothing to do with his personal time.”

“So, you tell Fargo that?”

“I did, but the man didn’t even think enough of what I said to right it down.”

“He’s a good cop. Maybe he put it all right up here.” Starsky knocked a finger on his temple.

“Naw, I’ve been around long enough to know when something’s been written off. Fargo didn’t even put it on his radar. Which means he’s gonna head off on the wrong path.”

“What are you sayin’, Huggy?”

Huggy ground the cigarette out in a smell, metal ashtray. He watched a young woman go to the jukebox . She plugged the selection for “Shaft.”

“Actually officers, I’m thinking this is all a big mistake.” He stared Starsky in the eyes. “I think I’ve called you down here for nothin’.”

“You got something, you should spill it,” Hutch said. Huggy didn’t look away from Starsky’s face.

“My partner’s right, you know. We might be able to help.”

“What? And go up against…? You’re just a couple of uniforms. What kind of power do you have?”

“We’re also a couple of good guys. Smart, too. We can do some digging around, but you gotta trust us.”

“Trust you?” Huggy snorted. “I don’t even know you.”

“Then it goes both ways. C’mon, you thought it would work when you called us down here. At least, tell us something to get us going.”

Huggy sighed. “Word is, some dude’s been running boys. He’s pimping them up, setting them up and running a real unclean machine, if you know what I mean.”

Hutch nodded, and Huggy snapped, “Like Mr. America here even knows what I’m talkin’ about.”

“Mr. America here knows exactly what you’re talking about. It accounts for how he has trouble sleeping most nights,” Hutch snapped back.

“Ahhhhh, Prince Charming here has some spirit,” Huggy said, approvingly.

“Knock it off, Huggy! Just tell us what you know,” Starsky said.

“Fine. All I know is Jackie’s getting beat on has got something to do with some intimidation thing. And I’m not the only one this guy is threatening. Word is, he’s being fronted by the mob, trying to move their boys in from San Diego. Pretty serious stuff.”

“And you think Jackie was your message?”

“Lots of people are gettin’ messages lately. Try the guy at the Watering Hole. And that chick with the broken jaw by the bus station. Word is, this dude has some of his spooks do all this dirty work. And worse.”

“You gonna give us a name?”

Huggy lit up another cigarette. “It gets back here, and I’m done for. Why I’m telling a couple of rookie cops this, I don’t know? I oughta get my head examined.”

“A name, Huggy?”

“He’s one bad cat.”

“A name.”

“Shaft” ended. There was a crash of dishes from the kitchen.

“Solkin. Arthur Finegal Solkin,” Huggy said as he turned and walked away.

XXXXXXXX

Hutch’s assignment was guard duty. His job was to stand in the exterior hallway and make sure no one came in or out of interrogation room seven without permission.

Hutch could hear Fargo talking to Detective Setterholm just around the corner by the vending machines. That meant Solkin was sitting alone, in the room behind him, cooling his heels, wondering just how much they had on him.

“… You’re telling me anything else is gonna have to wait?” Setterholm asked. His Midwestern accent made Hutch think of home.

“That’s right.”

“Okay, so right now we’ve got him here on a charge of contributing to the delinquency of a minor. He was seen taking money from Little Dickie, and we pulled him in. The kid, too.”

“Little Dickie, that’s the boy who can…?” Fargo lowered his voice.

“Farg. Keep it clean. You got enough trouble with Mrs. Fargo. You don’t need that.”

“Listen, Setterholm. You follow my lead. I got some people I owe, and I don’t need the waves. We get this creep on something, something to keep him occupied long enough for me to put together something big, something that is gonna look real good to the Chief.”

“Fargo, what’s with you?”

There was a long silence.

“Forget that I asked. I think I don’t want to know.”

“I’m going to go in, Setterholm. You can take push or shove. Decide now.”

“I’ll take good cop,” Setterholm’s voice sounded weary.

“Now why am I not surprised?”

Both men went past Hutch without giving him a second look. As the door opened, Hutch could see the slumped figure of Solkin, sitting at the long table. He looked tired and more than a little angry.

“Oh, so you’re back for more. Couldn’t…”

And the door shut.

XXXXXXXX

“What do you mean Solkin was released?” Hutch was in Booking and had the clerk in his sights.

“I’m sorry, Officer, but I just do what people tell me down here. You gotta know the feeling.” He gestured towards the phone. “All I know is I got the call to return his stuff and book him out. It’s not my fault you guys didn’t have enough on him, though I gotta tell you, that slimeball’s been in here so often, he should have a nameplate on his holding cell. The way I figure it, shit or get off the pot with Solkin. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Of course not,” Hutch growled and turned to go back upstairs.

“Hutchinson! Out in the hall.”

It was Fargo.

“Yes, sir?” Hutch took off his cap and followed the detective.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“What I’m doing, sir, is trying to ascertain the whereabouts of Mr. Arthur Finegal Solkin, the suspect I thought you were going to charge, or at least get some information that might help us take him down.”

“Are you questioning my abilities, Officer?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

“Though perhaps your motives,” Hutch said. The minute it slipped out, he knew he’d made a mistake.

“I see.”

Hutch looked down at the hat in his hands. The badge on the brim was shiny. Hutch wondered how it stayed that way. By rights, it should look a little cloudy, at least a little tarnished. It didn’t seem right.

“Kiddo, what you are is a wet-nosed, run-of-the-mill, rookie beat cop who hasn’t been around the block enough times to get the real picture.” Fargo moved in close to his face. Hutch could smell Fargo’s breath, a mixture of cigarettes and something metallic. “You see, Officer, sometimes you have to see the forest for the trees. And when you’ve been a cop as long as I have, seen what I’ve see, you know there’s a whole lot of trees that can slow you down. Tell you what. You come to me in about ten years, Hutchinson, if you last that long, and we’ll have nice talk about what’s important. I’ll even buy you a beer while we do it.”

Fargo stepped back and slapped Hutch’s back. “You’re gonna go far, Officer Hutchinson. I can tell. And when you do, you’re gonna find out it beats beating a beat.”

XXXXXXXX

“So, tell me again what you heard,” Starsky asked. He was hanging up the jacket to his uniform in his locker.

Hutch sighed. “That’s the problem. I know what I heard. I just don’t know what it meant. It’s too vague.”

“You said you heard Fargo telling Setterholm that he wasn’t gonna lean on Solkin that hard about the boys he’s runnin’ because he’s trying to get Solkin in for something bigger, something that will make him look real good to the Chief?”

“That’s right. The guy’s got a promotion on the brain and not a whole lot of cop work.”

“You think he’s dirty?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, but also don’t have any proof of it. It’s more like he’s lazy and self-serving.”

“Those are hard things to pin on someone, Hutch, especially by a rookie cop.”

“I know,” said Hutch, glumly. “I’m heading over to talk to Steve’s mom again before I head home. You want to come with me?” He put his cap on the top shelf and bent down a little to look in the mirror, brushing his hair back off his face

“Seeing how there’s no way I’d leave you alone to tangle with that lady, the answer’s yes.”

It was a quick drive to Steve’s mom’s apartment building but a long walk up; a broken elevator had seen to that.

“Look on the bright side, buddy.” Starsky said as they rounded the stairwell and pushed the door open to the sixth floor. “At least the bad guys don’t have another way down. We can catch them all here, like flies in a web.”

“We’re not here to catch a bad guy, just here to check in with a certain Miss Reisner.”

“You could’ve fooled me, blondie.”

A knock at the door of apartment 6C got Starsky and Hutch a two-word welcome.

“It’s open.”

The Reisner home was a two-room affair with a hot plate and a shared bathroom down the hall. Hutch remembered Steve telling him he slept on the couch.

The couch was now occupied by two people, one of them Steve’s mom, a woman who looked barely old enough to drive. She was smoking a cigarette and holding a bottle of beer. Looking up at Hutch, she simply said, “He ain’t here, haven’t heard from him.”

The man sitting slumped against her was dressed only in a pair of shorts. He moaned and turned his unshaven face towards her neck.

“You’re sure he hasn’t come in, even in the night, to get his things?”

“Look, when I say he ain’t here, then he ain’t here. And before you ask me where I think he’d go, remember I already told you I don’t know. Get out of here before I take those papers back. I never would have signed that Big Brother shit if I’d known it would mean I get pestered like this.”

Hutch felt Starsky move towards the door. “Hutch, let’s…”

“Listen to your friend, he’s got the right idea,” she shooed at Hutch with her hand. “Me, I gotta date. You’re buggin’ me.”

Hutch looked around the small room. One couch, two chairs surrounding a card table, stacks of old newspapers and the smell of trash that needed to have been taken out a while ago. There was no sign that a fourteen-year boy had even lived there.

“Makes you glad you didn’t grow up there.” Starsky said as they headed back downstairs.

“Makes me glad about a lot of things,” Hutch replied.

XXXXXXXX

They’d been sitting outside of the Hotel Osmond for four hours. Hutch reached into the back seat and grabbed a paper sack.

“Here,” he said, tossing it to Starsky. “Grab a sandwich. There’s tuna fish and there’s peanut butter.”

“Vanessa make ‘em?”

Hutch looked at his partner. “Are you nuts? She’s angry enough that I’m spending my Sunday staking out Solkin. Packing me a lunch is the last thing on her mind.”

“You ever think, Hutch, that maybe if you spent more time with her, she wouldn’t be so mad at you?” He reached in and grabbed a tuna fish sandwich.

Hutch kept his eye on the hotel’s front door. “Sometimes. But if I spent more time with her, I’d be a lot madder at her. I figure this is the only reason we’ve lasted this long.”

“You know, for a naïve Midwestern farm boy, you’re pretty cynical.”

Hutch didn’t answer.

“Hey, Hutch.”

“What?”

“You don’t make a half-bad tuna fish sandwich. They remind me of the ones my ma used to make. My Peter Rabbit plate, an apple peeled just the way I like it, my sandwich cut in quarters, a glass of milk and The Maxi Malone Show.”

“You had a pretty happy childhood? I guess I don’t ask you about it much. I figured with your dad…you know…”

“Dying. I know.” Starsky dug into the bag. “Got anything else in here?”

“Sorry, just the sandwiches. I was going to bake you cookies, but I was plumb out of raisins.”

“Just as well, I don’t like raisins.

“Nature’s little bits of sunshine, c’mon, Starsk?”

“Little bits of sunshine that get stuck in your teeth…hey, Hutch, the door.”

They watched Artie Solkin get out of his car. He was with two young boys.

He handed a six-pack of beer to one of them and a grocery sack to the other. Then all three went into the front door.

“So what do we do now?”

“Sad to say, we do nothing. We’re out of uniform. We don’t have a warrant. We don’t have a weapon. Fargo has told us to stay clear. We’re as helpless as a couple of civilians.”

“So we’re here to…”

“We’re here to look for Steve.”

XXXXXXXX

Steve wasn’t at the Hotel Osmond.

But he wasn’t too far away. He’d spent the morning stealing cigarettes and other small things Artie could have someone sell.

Steve also sat and watched the hookers near Emerson Park.

Arnie had told him the next step, his promotion, would be something that would bring in more money than stolen stuff off the shelf.

Steve knew what this promotion meant.

He watched a light green Ford come around the block for the third time, then pull over to where a group of hookers stood. Through the car’s back window, he could see the man lean over to the passenger window.

One of the women walked over to the open window and bent down. The other two hookers looked away as the woman opened the car door and got inside.

Steve wasn’t a baby. He knew what had just transpired. It wasn’t all that much different that went on in his mother’s apartment.

“Beat it, Stevie, I gotta date,” she’d say. Or he’d come home to a rubber band around the door handle, something that said the same thing.

His mother’s dates rarely lasted more than a half an hour, so unless she had a lot of them close together, Steve usually went down to sit on the front stoop to wait it out.

Steve tried to picture himself leaning into a car window. He tried to imagine saying to a guy who came up to him on the street, “Hey, wanna party?”

That’s where Steve’s imagination ran out. Even being trapped in the same room with Artie and Charlie, or with Artie with Joshua, or with Artie with the boy he only called Baby, didn’t give Steve what he needed to continue the vision of what would happen after he got into the car or followed a man into an alley.

Steve thought about finding Hutch. From the lobby of the building across the street, he watched him and that curly-haired guy go to his mom’s place.

Hutch and his friend hadn’t stayed long, which was good. It saved Steve from putting a note on Hutch’s car, one that said he was fine and don’t worry.

Steve figured a note like that would make Hutch worry even more.

XXXXXXXX

By Captain Henson’s orders, Starsky spent the next day teamed up with Dan Paynor, another uniform. Paynor’s partner was out with a sprained ankle, and Henson wanted to mix things up a bit.

That left Hutch stuck in the office doing paperwork.

Hutch used the excuse of a missing address to make a trip down to R & I. He hoped he could get the officer there to give him information on Solkin, anything that would help make a connection between him and Steve.

“Sorry, Hutch, but unless you have an official reason or orders from a detective, I can’t give anything to you.” Officer Bob Stone looked apologetic enough when he told this to Hutch, but it wasn’t enough to bend the rules.

“You can’t even slip me something, maybe by tying it into Fargo’s report?”

“I wish I could, Hutch. I really do, but I could get my ass canned if I start doing stuff like that.”

“C’mon, I can’t be the only uniformed cop that’s asked you for information not directly related to a case?”

“Believe it or not, I don’t get a whole lot of those type of questions. Most uniforms just put their noses to the pavement and keep them there. It’s the detectives who are always down here, asking for stuff, things related to their cases and not. And they do it because they can. Trust me, sometimes I think I run a dating service down here.” Stone flipped the pencil he was holding. It landed in the can by his phone. “Two points for me. But no points for you, Hutch. I really am sorry.”

When Hutch got back upstairs, Starsky was in the squad room.

“I’m clocked out with Paynor. And get this, Hutch, I hear we’re back on together tomorrow. So says the roster.”

Hutch looked up from the desk. “And not a minute too soon. Even paperwork’s tolerable when I’ve got you here to hassle.”

Starsky walked over to the Silex and poured himself a cup of coffee. He took a sip and grimaced.

“It would help if you weren’t drinking yesterday’s coffee. Even the vending machine’s better than this stuff.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Gotcha. Any word on Steve?”

“Nope. Juvie’s got nothing, his mom’s phone’s off the hook, and Stone wouldn’t give me anything to hook him into Solkin. I’m at a dead end. All I can do is hope the kid gets a hold of me. What else can I do?”

Starsky emptied his cup. “I’m heading out with some of the guys from Robbery. We’re gonna grab a burger and then hit the Mar-de-Lin Lanes. Wanna join us?”

“Can’t. I promised Vanessa.”

“Maybe she’d like to come, too? There’s gonna be some other wives and girlfriends.”

Hutch laughed. “Right. Can you just see Vanessa eating a hamburger and bowling?”

Starsky shrugged. “Anything’s possible, right?”

“Anything, but that. I’ll catch you tomorrow.”

XXXXXXXX

Starsky and Hutch drove to the Cheep Skate Roller Rink. They needed to drop a warrant to someone named Raymond “Dogbite” Bease. The rink was only half a mile a way from where the man lived.

Hutch could see a large group of kids standing outside Cheep Skate. Half of them scattered at the sight of their squad car.

“I hate being so visible. I wish we could drive a normal car.”

“Anything in mind?” Starsky asked, looking interested.

“Something subdued and tasteful. Nothing wild.”

Starsky laughed. “I got something in mind for when we bust out of uniform, but I’m afraid it doesn’t match that description. I got my Uncle Al already keeping an eye out for it.”

They pulled up in front of the rink’s sign. It showed a garish chicken on roller skates wearing a baseball cap.

Hutch got out of the car.

The kids all put their hands in the air and laughed. “You gonna take us in? We disturbin’ the peace?”

“No. I’m looking for someone for a friend of mine. His name’s Steve Reisner. Anyone seen him?”

There were shrugs and disinterested looks all around.

“If anyone does see him, can they ask him to get in touch with a guy named Hutch?”

Hutch heard the crackle from the radio.

Starsky picked up the mic, responded and waved Hutch back over to the car.

“We got a call. A dead body in the alley behind Finkleman’s. I told Dispatch our ETA’s three minutes.”

Hutch slid into the car. “Looks like Ray Bease just got a break. We’ll have to serve him later.”

“Yeah, Dogbite, if nothing else, is damn lucky.”

XXXXXXXX

Finkleman’s shared an alley with a print shop and an abandoned Mercado. Usually a quiet spot, it was now filled with cars.

Starsky pulled the squad in behind two others. He turned on the light bar and radioed in their arrival. Hutch recognized Detective Fargo’s Buick Centurion parked at an angle, mars light flashing.

Hutch got out just in time to see two people take a gurney out of the back of an ambulance. He followed them over to the small crowd by Finkleman’s back door.

Detective Setterholm was giving instructions to the lab guys, waving his notebook at the photographer. “Make sure you get a shot of that shoe. Right there, that’s right.”

Detective Fargo was crouching down by a small body under the medical examiner’s blanket. He pulled it back, sighed and laid it back down. Standing, he caught a glimpse at Hutch.

“Officer, glad you’re here. See if you can’t get those folks back, way back. My people need room to work.”

“Who is the vic?”

“Looks like a kid named Richard Petty, also known as Little Dickie.”

“I thought he had been brought in and…”

“Hutchinson, I said, get those people back. Move it!”

He could hear Starsky pushing back the small crowd. “All right folks, move along. There’s nothing to see here.” Seeing Hutch, he asked. “Who? What?”

“It’s Little Dickie.”

“I thought Child Protection had taken him in?”

“I did, too.”

“What killed him?”

“Who or what?”

“Both.”

“I don’t know. Fargo’s not giving anything away. But I highly doubt Dickie was killed by kindness.”

“Really.”

Hutch saw Decker, the kid they had interviewed at the fish place, standing on the outskirts, next to the print shop’s dumpster.

“Hey,” Hutch said, slowly walking towards him.

“Hey, yourself.”

“You know what went down here?”

“I know it’s Dickie spread out like so much ground beef.” Decker looked down. Then he jerked his head up, looking right at Hutch. “That detective of yours is asking all the wrong questions, you know.”

“You trying to tell me you know the right ones?”

Decker put his thumbs in his jeans pocket and looked away, down the darkened street. “Dickie, man. He was nothing but a little kid,” Decker sighed.

Hutch thought Decker was also just a child. He was the same age as Steve. They were all just little kids.

“Decker, do you know something about this?”

“You tell your detective it was Artie’s pet punk, Charlie. He’s from Indianapolis, been running in the pack for about six months. Charlie had an apprentice tonight, don’t know the dude’s name. He’s pretty new.”

“You need to fill out a report, Decker, make this all official.”

“I ain’t fillin’ out nothing. You make it work the way I told you, or forget it. I don’t trust your man over there.”

Decker pulled pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and hit it against the palm of his hand. “I didn’t see it. I just heard about it. You can’t pull me in.”

Hutch thought he probably could, but decided to wait.

Hutch heard the sound of the ambulance doors being slammed shut, the two hits with a fist on the back panel and the wail as the siren started up.

He also watched Decker walk away slowly.

Hutch turned and went to the activity in the alley and helped clear the scene.

XXXXXXXX

“So, Fargo doing anything with what Decker told you?” Starsky pulled his uniform pants out of a locker.

“Besides telling me Decker was probably yanking my chain? No. Fargo is convinced, I think, that Dickie was done in by a john. At least, that’s the direction he said he and Setterholm are taking.”

Cinching up his regulation belt and adjusting his holster, Starsky looked up in surprise. “He actually let you in on what direction the case was going?”

“Only after I heard them talking about it in the hall. I knew I had to get Decker’s information to him, and ran into both of them coming out of the cafeteria.”

Hutch finished buttoning up his uniform shirt and reached for his cap. “Fat lot of good it did anyway. I thought having Setterholm with him might make him work a little harder, but I doubt it.”