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ANGEL'S FLIGHT
by
Starsky's Sweet Angel
PART FOUR
***CHAPTER THIRTEEN***
Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson arrived at the front gate of the Colchetti estate and were let inside by the butler. He opened the main door to let them in. He did not look thrilled to see them.
"You're here to see Mrs. Colchetti, correct?"
Hutch showed him his badge. "Yes, we are. Could you tell her we're here, please?"
"Of course, right away, gentlemen. Follow me."
He led them through the mansion's expanse until they came to the door of a small room; they went down several carpeted steps and ended up in what looked like a game room of sorts. There was a pool table, a big screen television, a full bar and a dartboard game secured to a paneled wood wall. The room seemed totally out of step with the rest of the place and the bewilderment on the detective's faces showed. The butler noticed their curious looks and addressed them. "You're probably wondering about this room. This was Mr. Colchetti's favorite spot. When he wanted to enjoy the simpler things of life, he came here. It gave him much pleasure." They nodded. "Please make yourselves comfortable. Mrs. Colchetti will be with you shortly."
"Thank you, Charles, "they said.
After the butler left, Hutch walked over to the dartboard and pulled off some darts that were stuck in the middle of the bull's eye portion of board. He stood back a good length from the toe line, aimed and threw a couple of practice throws at it. Starsky took a seat on one of the barstools, braced his elbows behind him on the bar and tucked his feet in behind the foot rail to watch him. He marveled as each dart his partner threw landed in a spot scoring higher than the last.
"Hey, you think you could do that with your eyes closed?" he asked him.
Hutch poised to throw the last dart, his face the portrait of fierce concentration; he answered his partner without looking. "Don't know, Starsk. I've never tried." He tossed the dart in his fingers and watched it land directly in the middle of the bull's eye. He smiled, moved forward and pulled the thrown darts out of the board to start again.
"I'll bet I could do it."
"Do what?"
"Play with my eyes closed."
Hutch laughed. "That's a sucker bet, Starsky. And I'd be a fool to take it. Besides, if you lost, it might screw with your self-esteem, hurt your pride, and I wouldn't want to be responsible for letting that happen."
"Yeah, sure, you're just afraid that I might beat ya."
Hutch turned around and looked at him, poising one of the darts at him as if he were about to throw it. "Don't tempt me, Starsky. I might just try some practice tosses on you."
"Yeah, whatever."
Just then Mrs. Colchetti walked into the room. She was wearing a short-sleeved white blouse with wide lapels over a pair of khaki slacks; on her feet were sand-colored espadrilles. In casual wear, she was still a knockout. Both men stopped what they were doing when she came into the room. Hutch jammed the darts that were still in his hand back into the board in one motion and his partner extricated himself from his seat. He went over to greet her as she approached.
She offered her hand to the darker man. "Hello. Nice to see you again, detective."
"Nice to see you again. Ah, this here is my partner, Detective Hutchinson."
Hutchinson shook her hand; appearing somewhat mesmerized by her beauty, he smiled effusively. "Glad to meet you, Mrs. Colchetti, we were both sorry to hear about your husband."
"Thank you." She released her hand and motioned to a fabric sofa. "Won't you both sit down?"
"Sure."
When they were seated, she smiled at them and they smiled at her. There was an uncomfortable pall in the room. She folded her arms across her body and grabbed her forearms, rubbing her palms against them, her face nearly pale. She took a deep breath. "Are either of you guys cold?"
Both men shook their heads. No. The room felt fine.
"Well, I'm freezing. Do you mind if I make myself a drink?"
"Not at all," Hutch answered. But it looked to him like she'd already had a couple before they'd gotten there. "Go ahead."
After she made the drink and took a couple of sips, she resituated herself between them on the couch. The warmth of the liquor seemed to have the desired affect and she turned towards both men, the color returning to her face. "Oh my, that's better," she said breathlessly. "I don't come here too often. It's always a little chilly. Ah, you said on the phone that you had some questions for me?"
Hutch smiled, his head slightly bowed. "Yes, there are a couple of areas we need clarification on and we think you might be able to help us."
"If I can."
"I take it you've already gotten a call from the medical examiner and he told you about his findings?"
"Yes. They told me he'd been poisoned." She changed her position on the couch slightly and looked straight into his eyes.
"Any idea why anyone would want to kill him?"
"My husband had a large estate. There are probably a lot of people out there who might have liked to get at his money." She sipped the drink again, holding the glass loosely in her hands.
Hutch leaned toward her. "I think you should know that we did some checking into your background, just as a matter of routine."
Her forehead wrinkled, she didn't have a cigarette, but she looked like she needed one. "The spouse is always the first one the cops suspect, isn't that right?"
"That's true."
She nodded knowingly.
"Can you tell us anything about your job at Warwicke's?"
"Um, I worked there for a couple of years, in the cosmetics department. Did some modeling. Then it went out of business, only a few years ago I believe."
"Is that how you met Mr. Colchetti?"
"Um, yes, he would come into the department store regularly, to buy some things. We just hit it off."
"Did you know that he was a married at the time?"
"Yes, he told me he was...after a while. But he also hinted that the marriage was on the rocks."
"So he gave you the go ahead to make a move?"
"Yes."
"During the course of our investigation, we spoke to an insurance agent named Bruce Emerson at Penn State Mutual earlier today. And in addition to being the insurance company holding the life insurance policies on the family, it also happens to be the insurance company that insured the late Mrs. Colchetti's BMW. The car she was driving the day of her accident. Were you aware of that?"
She looked a little confused, but then said, "Yes, John told me after we were married that we should get a policy written in my name with that company."
"Um hum. We had a file check done by their personnel office, one on the last name Colchetti and the other on the last name Milner; they came up with two: A. Colchetti and Sharon Milner. After we found out that they both worked with Emerson, we went to his office and asked him about them. He told us, rather reluctantly, that A. Colchetti was Angela Colchetti, your husband's daughter. When we asked him about Sharon Milner, he gave us a description of the woman who worked for him. He concluded that the fact that your maiden name and her last name were the same was a coincidence, and that we couldn't possibly be talking about the same two women. In our line of work, coincidences like that don't happen very often, so when one does, of course, we have to check it out."
"I understand."
"Okay, so here's what we know so far: one, that you were employed at Warwicke's department store until it closed down a few years ago and two, that is how you happened to become acquainted with John Colchetti, eventually coming to marry him. Unfortunately, we're unable to verify that information because the store has been closed since you last worked there. Thirdly, we know that Bruce Emerson had a close relationship with Colchetti's daughter while she was working at his office and that he fired her because she suspected that he was the father of her unborn child. And fourth, we know from speaking with his secretary that he has a reputation of bedding the ladies, particularly secretaries, and that he likes to live beyond his means. What we still don't know is what you and a secretary named Sharon Milner have in common? Can you tell us anything?"
She didn't answer immediately, but her slow reaction alerted the blond to the possibility that his question had touched on a sensitive area. If they were to prod a little deeper, there was no telling what they might find out. Starsky was on edge; he got up and began to pace on the other side of the couch.
She fussed nervously with the bangs on her forehead as they strayed into her eyes. "I--I don't know what you mean."
The darker cop's voice seemed to come from another part of the room, even though he was just a few feet away. "How is it that you and Sharon Milner have the same last name?"
"We're sisters," she muttered.
"Ah. Nope. We already thought of that. It might interest you to know that a background check on a person also includes their birth records, and the ones we found on Sharon Milner indicate that she was an only child."
She lowered her eyes. "Th-that's not possible."
"Sure it is. And you know what I think? I think, after you found out that Colchetti was a lonely guy with lotsa dough to play around with, you rigged a plan to get rid of his wife and get the money all for yourself."
"That's not true, that's not how it happened!"
The detective moved closer to the sofa and brought both of his hands down hard on the back of it. "Then tell us what did happen? Was it luck that led you to him? Or did you plan it?"
"I swear I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't even know about John until Bruce introduced me to him."
Both men looked at each other. Aha. A revelation.
Starsky continued. "So it was Emerson. I knew there was something rotten about him. Why don't you tell us about it?"
"If I do, then it's all over."
"It's already over. The captain of detectives has medical proof that Mr. Colchetti's death wasn't an accident. If we look hard enough, I'm pretty sure we'll find out his wife's wasn't either. That would mean that someone planned to kill them and wanted the police to think their deaths were accidents. We think you know who it is." Hutch said bluntly.
She shook her head.
Starsky moved in closer. "If you don't tell us now and we find out later on that you knew, but didn't tell us, we'll have to take you down as an accessory to double murder. And I'd sure hate to see someone with your looks and personality doing hard time. It's not very pretty."
She took a long hard look at both men and mentally weighed her options. "What will happen to me if I tell you what I know?"
"We'll put a good word in with the judge. If you're lucky, he may be lenient with the sentencing. But we can't promise anything."
She thought about it another moment, and then let out a sigh. "All right, I'll tell you what I know." She finished what was left of the glass in her hand and set it on the coffee table. A sorrowful noise escaped her lips. Starsky was sitting on the back of the sofa, staring at the right side of her face, watching her collect herself. Hutch readied his notepad and she glanced at him.
"Okay. You got a lot of paper on that pad? This is a long story."
"That's okay, I know shorthand," he said.
"Okay, first of all, you were right about Sharon and me not being sisters. My birth name is Sharon Jessica Milner. I'd been out of work for a good three months in a row when I got a call to come down to Penn State for an interview. I didn't look the way I do now, back then I was a mousy, dowdy brunette. I had the right skills and the right background, so they hired me. When my probation period was over, I was offered a chance for a promotion, which I accepted. I was still playing catch up, you know, struggling to pay my rent; my car was in the shop, you know how it goes."
Both men nodded.
"Eventually, they reassigned me to the sales department as a personal secretary in the life policies section, that's when I started working for Bruce. It was strictly business for a long time; I guess he was feeling me out. After I'd been there for about six months, I noticed him giving me the eye more and more. I was surprised and kind of thrilled at the same time, that a guy who looks like he does and dresses like he does, was actually interested in plain little old me, I guess it just about knocked my socks off. So we went out a few times, secretly. Then after a while, we didn't even bother trying to hide it. But you know how it is; soon enough the word gets round and before we knew it there were other women, other secretaries, coming and telling me about his past. So, of course, I confronted him with what I knew and surprisingly he admitted it. He promised me that that part of his life was over, in the past. And I was naïve enough to believe him." She shrugged.
"Did he do what he promised?" Hutch asked.
She nodded. "That and much more. He once told me that he saw more beauty in me than he'd ever seen in any woman before in his life. He wanted to bring that beauty out. He said that I was special, and that he wanted more for me. It was the first time anyone had every said anything like that to me."
"Go on," Starsky pressed.
"So anyway, it wasn't so long after that that John starting coming by the office with his lawyers. It must have been right after he'd gotten the inheritance, because he told Bruce that he wanted to open up life insurance policies for himself and his wife and daughter. The policies were very lucrative and Bruce knew then that he had his man." She paused.
"Keep going."
"About a year after John requested the policies, he came by to see Bruce to finalize some of the papers, and during the course of their conversation, he must have mentioned that his daughter was looking for a summer job. That was when Bruce found out that Angela was John's daughter. That's when he got the idea to hire her. He started seeing her after that, not before."
"What a prince," Starsky said, and Hutch shushed him.
"He just figured it would be a good way to find out if there was a way to get at the money. So he hired her as an intern to help around the office. She'd just gotten out of school for the summer and she seemed to be a perfect source of information. You know, good looking, book smart, but impressionable, and Bruce used that to serve his purpose. All the while he promised me that he was still faithful, and that he was only doing this for us. He certainly seemed to be getting the information he needed, so I never questioned his methods." She stopped and looked at them both.
"A regular wolf in sheep's clothing," Starsky grumbled. Hutch gave him a pointed look.
She stared ahead and ventured on. "So I looked the other way while he seduced John's daughter, because it was the way he learned about their family and their weaknesses. He knew all the ins and outs of the business and had the connections, and those connections were the key to getting at the money."
"Did you know beforehand what he had planned for Colchetti and his wife?" Hutch asked.
"No. Not until after it happened. He wanted me to have as little knowledge as possible of what was going to happen in case I was ever suspected."
"So the less you knew, the less you could tell the police," Starsky said.
"Right." She crossed and uncrossed her legs at the ankles, folded and refolded her hands. "After a while, the casual thing with John's daughter got more serious. He had her so comfortable with him that she was confiding all her deepest, most private thoughts to him. And about two months into it, she came to see him, unannounced and out of the blue, goes into his office and closes the door. She's in there for a half an hour with the door closed. When she comes out, she's in tears, and after she's gone, I ask him what happened. He tells me she told him she's in the family way. He says he doesn't believe the child is his, and that it's not possible for them to continue seeing each other."
Came the reply: "What a peach of a guy."
Hutch ignored his partner's comments from then on.
"So he let her go with the explanation that it wouldn't look good for him to let her stay on considering her condition. And with things already shaky with her parents, him firing her was just the last straw I guess."
Hutch tapped his pencil on the notepad. "So when he didn't need her for information anymore, he dumped her. How'd you get involved?"
"By then, Bruce had already enough background on the family, and he knew what their weaknesses were, it was very easy to play on them. He knew that John was disinterested in his wife, so he sent me to a hairdresser, brought me the right clothes, we worked on my diction and carriage and we had the woman you see before you today, Jessie Milner. After I was comfortable with my new persona, he sent me out to the estate to start working on John. Which was easy, because John was already open to the idea of a relationship that existed outside of his marriage. Of course, after I came into the picture, it made life a little more complicated for his wife and his daughter. Then the car accident happened, and his daughter ran away shortly after we got married."
Hutch put up his hand, staring at his notepad. "Okay, wait a minute. Something doesn't add up. When did she tell Emerson that she was expecting?"
She thought about it for a moment. "It must have been about four months ago."
Hutch turned to Starsky, frowning. "You said it was a summer internship. Was that high school or college?"
"High school. I think John told me that Angie was born August of sixty-one. So that would make her about seventeen or so."
A mask of apprehension swept over Starsky's face. "Are you sure about that? I was under the impression that she was twenty-one, maybe twenty at the youngest."
"No, she's just a girl. And Bruce knew that, too. If John had gotten hold of that information he would have had him on a statutory rape charge for sure. The way it was, it was just her word against his about the affair and the baby."
Both men shook their heads.
"I don't believe this guy," Starsky muttered.
"Okay, you know Emerson," the blond detective said after closing the notepad. "What's he capable of?"
"I think he'd do just about anything if he felt he had to. It costs him a lot of money to live the way he does, and I know for a fact that there are some dangerous men out there that he owes a lot of money to. That was part of the reason he needed to make this happen so desperately. The last thing he said before you two got here was that he was going to have to take care of the last detail of the plan himself. I know he's going to do something awful."
Both men pointed at each other at the same time, but it was Starsky who got the words out. "Hutch. You left him the card with Frankie's number on it."
"Damn." Hutch shot up from the couch. "I need to use your phone."
"Sure, go ahead, it's over there." She pointed to a phone set behind the bar.
Starsky rose from the sofa and put his hand on her arm. "You're gonna have to come with us, you know that, right?"
"Yes, I know."
Hutch picked up the receiver and anxiously dialed Frankie's number, but all he got for his trouble was a steady beeping on the line. "Busy," he announced to Starsky. "I'm gonna call Kraft." His partner nodded and he broke the connection and redialed, waiting for someone at the station to answer, and someone did. It was the dispatch operator. "Hello, this is Detective Kenneth Hutchinson, Captain Kraft please...okay." There was a brief pause before the captain came on the line. "This is Hutchinson, Captain. Starsky and I have a potential problem going down and I think we're going to need some major back up at the house where we're staying. You know how to get there? Okay...yes...we'll meet you there...okay, thanks." He hung up, stuffed the notepad into his breast pocket and fell in step with his partner and the woman as they headed for the door.
"Am I under arrest?" she asked.
"For now, no. If Emerson does what we think he will, you might be able to help us talk to him."
She nodded solemnly. As if summoned, Charles appeared at top of the stairs. "Madam, would you be needing any assistance?" he asked, looking grave.
They stopped at the door and she faced him, then looked at both detectives. "No, Charles. Someone will...um, no...I guess not. Thank you."
The butler frowned and followed after the trio as they left the game room and went up to the main entrance. The two detectives led the woman outside and put her into the back of the Dodge. The butler watched them until they drove away, then shrugged and closed the door.
***CHAPTER FOURTEEN***
Emerson found his way to the address that Mrs. Brown had given him easily enough. He parked his sky blue Camaro close to the bushes outside the wood frame two-story house and found his way in by climbing a garden trellis that led up to the roof. From there, he clambered up into a half-open window. He stepped quietly onto the carpeting and went out of the door, stopping in his tracks when he heard a female voice coming from below. Pulling back and peeking past the retaining wall enough to see down, but not enough to be seen, he saw a woman, probably the owner, sitting in the living room talking on the telephone. Fortunately for him, she did not seem aware of his presence. He edged his way back up the stairs and into the hall standing next to what appeared to be the bathroom. Past it, there appeared to be a set of ascending stairs leading down and out to the rear of the house. He waited.
He moved his stocky frame smoothly along the wallpapered hall, moved and waited, moved and waited. Stopped. He pulled the pistol out of his pocket and held it closely, beginning his search by entering the first of the three rooms on the floor. In the interior of the first room, the one nearest the window, he found no one. The condition of the room alerting him that it was in use, but had not been recently occupied since that morning. He closed the door. Next he checked the bathroom, and came to the same conclusion. No one had used it since that morning. Crossing the hall to the second room, he blinked, tried the knob, and found it locked. He stepped back and closed his eyes, remembering, and then returned to the first room he'd gone into and went in. Sure enough, the connecting door he'd thought he'd seen, was there. He took in a deep breath, let it out, and tried the knob. To his relief, it opened. He peered in and saw Angela lying on her back, asleep on the bed. He stole toward her softly, and when he was close enough he put his right hand over her mouth, waking her. When she opened her eyes, he put his index finger to his lips, the gun plainly visible. He was wearing dark sunglasses and a black fisherman's cap, carefully tilted over his eyes to partially disguise his face. She stared at him, eyes terrified and questioning. He kissed her roughly on her left cheek.
"Hello, Angel. How've you been?"
She moved her head a little, her eyes still wide.
"If you promise not to scream, I'll take my hand off your mouth. Do you promise not to scream?"
She nodded her head several times, very quickly.
He removed his hand, but held the gun on her where she still could see it. "How've you been?"
"I'm all right. What are you doing here?"
"This is it, Angie, I've come for my payoff. I'm taking you with me."
"Taking me with you where?"
He laughed. "Someplace where you and the kid won't mess up everything. Come on--get up. Get some shoes on. Hurry up."
Angela sat up on the bed and slipped her feet into a pair of tennis shoes that were tucked halfway under the side of the bed. She didn't bother with socks. When she had them on he grabbed her by an arm and pushed her toward the door. "I want you to get the owner of this place up here."
"Why? What are you going to do?"
"I've got to get her out of the way. Go on, call her up."
"You won't hurt her, will you?" she asked plaintively.
"Not if I don't have to. Go ahead, call her up here."
Emerson stood behind her at the landing, pressing the gun into the base of her spine as motivation. She squeezed her eyes shut and then called down shakily, "Mrs. Brown, I need you. Could you come up here please?"
The woman took the phone away from her ear and called up. "What's the matter, child? Are you all right?"
"I need you to come and help me with something. Hurry, please?"
"Why surely, I'll be up there in a minute."
Mrs. Brown finished with her call, hung up the phone, and got up from her chair; she made her way up the stairs. When she was halfway up, Emerson pulled the girl behind him, whispered in her ear, "Don't move, or she's a dead woman. Do you understand?"
Angel nodded that she understood and pressed herself against the wall.
"What's the matter, baby?" Mrs. Brown watched her footing on the steps as she went up, when there was no answer from the girl, she let her eyes travel up until her sightline met with the black leather oxfords waiting at the top of the landing. She followed the shoes up from the floor and past the creased pants legs to the white business shirt, eventually settling on the face. The half smile on her own disappeared as soon as Emerson started batting at her with the gun. "Get up here, now!" he ordered.
She did as she was told, letting Emerson grab her. He clamped both of her arms behind her and when he spoke, his breath was hot in her ear. "I'm not going to hurt you. But I can't have you warning the police. So..." He started steering her towards Angel's bedroom. "I need to get you out of the way." He motioned to Angel and said to her, "Stay close to me." She followed him into the room after he had steered the owner inside. He needed something to tie her up with, but didn't see anything suitable for the purpose. Quickly exploring the interior of the room, he hunted until he found what he sought, a partially open closet door. Figuring that it would do, he led her over to it. "I'm going to lock you in here. If you do as you're told, and keep quiet, maybe the cops will come and let you out after we're long gone."
Mrs. Brown braced stiffly against the doorjamb in an effort to keep him from pushing her in. She thought that maybe if she could get him talking, she could stall him long enough for the two officers to return. "Why are you doing this?" Then something registered. "Wait a minute, now I know who you are. You're that man on the phone...why?"
"Look, lady, I don't have the time to explain to you right now, just get in the closet!"
Emerson unceremoniously shoved her inside, watching as her thick body thumped against the inside of the closet and slid down to the floor with a soft thud. He shut the door and went for the skeleton key, turning it so that it locked, then dropped the key into his pocket. When he looked up he saw Angel standing on his right, uncharacteristically quiet and impassive, and something stirred inside him. He yanked her arm out roughly, breaking her out of her trance. "Come on, we've got to get out of here before those cops get back."
"Why are you doing this?"
"I've got a lot of money riding on this. You're my ticket to the good life."
Emerson lifted the cap from his head slightly and wiped his brow of the sweat that had built up there. Exhausted, he led her out of the bedroom and down the front of the stairs; he heard the sound of sirens in the distance and stopped in his tracks. Then he half led, half-dragged the girl down the rest of the stairs until they were standing in the living room, just at the front door. He peeked through the shirred curtains that covered the large rectangular pane of glass in it, and that was when he saw them.
A green Dodge was pulling to a halt in the front of the house and parking. Inside the car, Detective Ken Hutchinson carefully scanned the area surrounding the perimeter of the house, almost missing the blue Camaro someone had parked there. He motioned silently to his partner and pointed the car out. Starsky nodded. Mrs. Colchetti followed what they were looking at and saw the car too. She knew immediately whom it belonged to. The darker detective turned and saw the look on her face. "That's Emerson's car, isn't it?" he asked.
She nodded her head slowly, looking sick.
Hutch leaned his head back against the upholstery. "Which means he's inside, possibly armed and already has Angela and Frankie. What'll we do?"
"The first thing we have to do is get him outside. Get him talkin'."
"Yeah, and then what?"
"Then we try negotiatin' with him."
"I don't think he'll listen to you," she told them.
Hutch turned to her. "Do you think he'll listen to you?"
"Maybe. He loves me. He did this for me, for us. I think he'll listen."
Starsky was almost sympathetic. "The things we do for love, huh?"
"Well, some of us more than others," she replied softly.
Hutch checked the side view mirror and saw what looked like half a dozen of Philadelphia's finest pulling up behind them. After they'd parked he got out of the Dodge and went over to the captain as he exited an unmarked blue sedan. He shook the blond's hand as he approached. "Hutchinson, I've got half my men out here," he said. "What the hell's going on?"
Hutchinson stood next to him. "We've got a possibly volatile hostage situation. The guy's in there with two women, only he hasn't made a move since we showed up. As it turns out, we might have an ace in the hole, it seems the widow and Mr. Emerson have a closer relationship then we might have suspected. We think she might be able to influence him to give himself up.
"Where is she?"
"In the car with my partner."
Kraft pulled off his glasses and cleaned them, a nervous habit he'd acquired over the years whenever things got a little tense. "Okay. Let's see what he wants." He put the glasses back on and turned to his men. "We're gonna see what this guy wants, if we can accommodate him, we'll do it, up to a point. If it gets down and dirty, then we'll have to get down and dirty with him. But I don't want anything happening until we've heard what he has to say, got it? Everybody got that?"
All of the officers assented and stood ready at their vehicles, their guns drawn. Kraft turned to the detective beside him. "He's all yours. See what you and your partner can do with him. If we have to, we'll move in and take him."
Hutch nodded, went back to the car and got in, closing the door behind him. He put his hand on Starsky's shoulder. Even his lips looked grim. Starsky glanced at him sideways. "Well, what's the plan?" he asked.
"Well, it's like this, buddy, I thought maybe, just maybe, once we could get Emerson outside, get him talking to the lady here, then you could probably get around to the side or the back of the house and make it inside the same way he did. Then while you're in there you could check and see if Frankie's okay and maybe try and get her out of there. If that goes okay, we'll take it from there. How's that sound?"
"I don't like it."
"What's not to like?"
"It involves heights. And you know how I hate heights."
"Well, squelch it, turkey."
"Hey, who you callin' a turkey, Chicken Little?"
Sharon Colchetti sat forward and addressed them from the backseat. "I'm so glad you two are comfortable enough to joke at a time like this."
Hutch peered at her. "And this too shall pass", a wise man once said. Don't worry, he does that when he gets anxious." He turned back to the curly haired man. "Well, don't just sit there, Superman, get going."
"Wait a minute, just gotta readjust my cape." Starsky winked and got out of the car. He hung back and disappeared into the assemblage of police officers gathered in a vigilant half-circle around the perimeter. On his partner's signal, he would wait for Mrs. Colchetti to distract Emerson long enough for him to try and slip around the side of the house without being seen.
Inside the house, Emerson showed signs of losing his composure. His brawn and his connections meant nothing now. He felt horribly impotent and weak to the point of nausea. He heard the muffled sounds of the owner's attempts to free herself from the closet trickling down the stairs. Angela sat in an armchair across from him, staring blankly. Without warning, the sound of an amplified male voice broke through the near silence.
"Emerson! We know you're in there, come out and tell us what you want!"
Emerson jumped up from where he sat, going to the front door and looking out of it again, jerking the curtains aside. Outside, he saw a tall, solidly built older black man dressed in a dark business suit and tie, probably high ranking, holding a bullhorn to his lips. The breath caught in his throat. He was running every option he could think of in his head for a way out. But no matter what scenario played out in his head, each seemed to come to a dismal end, like that Newman and Redford flick he'd seen a few years back.
Kraft used the bullhorn again. "We're waiting, Emerson! But we're not going to wait long. What are your demands?"
Angel saw a wild look of fear grip Emerson's face, and thought it looked horribly incongruous for someone who looked as imposing as he did. He looked over and glared at her, but said nothing. The next thing she knew she was out of the chair and being led towards the door. He held her arm stiffly with his left hand while the other steadied the gun; and then he told her to open it, which she did. "I'm coming out!" he yelled. Then using the girl as a shield, they walked outside and stood under the overhang.
"Nobody move!" he screamed at them. "I mean it!" He was holding the gun to her head.
The minute Emerson came out of the front door the officers went into alert mode. Captain Kraft handed the bullhorn off to Hutchinson and he put it to his mouth. "It's okay, Emerson. It's okay. Calm down. Tell us what you want, and we'll try to negotiate something. There's no reason for anyone to get hurt here!"
"I just want to get in my car and leave! And I want to take the girl with me!"
"We can't let you take the girl. But if you let her and the owner go, maybe we can try and work a deal. You haven't hurt anyone yet, so let's keep it that way."
"What kind of a deal could you possibly offer me that would make a any sense? If I don't get out of this, then I'm as good as dead. Why should I deal?"
"How about for the love of a good woman?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You and Sharon are in love with each other, aren't you?"
Emerson looked around, his composure lost for the moment, and then stopped in the detective's direction. "Is Sharon here?"
Hutchinson now made eye contact with his partner in the crowd, signaling to him that Emerson was adequately distracted. When Starsky saw it, he acknowledged the gesture, and with a turn of his head slipped away from the squad of officers watching the stand off take place. The blond cop put the bullhorn back to his lips and waited until his partner had disappeared then addressed the suspect again. He stood watching the man's eyes dart back and forth. Searching... waiting.
"Would you like to speak to her, Bruce?"
Emerson's eyes glazed over. The orbs searched the area as though lost. Feeling the time was now at hand; Hutch handed the bullhorn back to the captain and walked over to the Dodge; he opened the passenger door and helped Sharon Colchetti out of the car. She swung her legs out, taking the detective's hand when it was offered to her, and they walked side by side up to the front of the house, going as close as they dared. Emerson forcefully put up his free hand. "Stop! Don't come any closer."
"She wants to talk to you, Bruce. What harm can that do?"
"She might get hurt. I don't want her hurt!"
"No one wants that. So why don't you just listen? See what she has to say. Hopefully, we can solve this thing."
He turned to her. "Sharon?"
She turned to the man beside her and looked once into his eyes, communicating to the detective without words that she needed to do this alone. Hutchinson backed up about ten feet. Far enough to give them the distance they needed, but not so far away that he couldn't tackle the man if he had to. When the detective was behind her, she moved closer to Emerson, her hands stretched out to him. "Let it go, Bruce. I told them everything, it's over."
"No. We can still do this. You and me, we could charter a jet and go someplace, get out of town. We could take her with us."
"No. Innocent people have died. We need to put a stop to this, right here. Right now."
"But the money. All that money..."
"Don't you know that all I ever wanted was for you and I to be together? It never was about the money for me. You've always thought that it was about the money."
His attention diverted, emotions running high, she moved a step closer to him and with each step he backed away, trying to keep his eyes on her, the girl and the policemen all at the same time. It was like an intricate dance. Hutchinson inched forward from where he stood as well, but the minute movement put Emerson on his guard. He held onto Angel's arm a little tighter with his left hand and pointed the gun at the blond with his right. "I said, nobody moves!"
Hutch put up his hands in a placating manner, returning himself to where he'd been standing earlier, though not exactly.
Sharon put out her hand out to him again, pleading. "Please, put down the gun."
Emerson fixed on her again, a pained expression on his face. "You told them? How could you tell them, Sharon?"
"I had to. It was the only way out."
Starsky was in a holding pattern; watching and waiting as the hostage situation before him played itself out in front of a captive but volatile audience. With Emerson still preoccupied with his girlfriend, he started for the roof. Climbing had never been his strong suit, but he didn't shirk it. For him, the trick was resisting the urge to look down after he was up. He was wearing his blue and white Adidas running shoes and a royal blue work shirt over a pair of weathered jeans, properly dressed for the task ahead. When he was onto the slanted portion of the roof, he inched across it carefully until he was at a right angle with the corner of one of the upstairs bedrooms. Once he was there, he could see the slightly open window that Emerson must have gotten in through earlier. He inched over to it, grabbing onto a pipe attached to the wall by several metal strips, and swung himself over, his hands sweaty and unsure, hoping the strips would hold his weight. He put one hand in the open window space and pushed up, opening it wide enough for him to climb through.
Once he was inside the house he knew what room he'd climbed into. His and Hutch's suitcases were still lying on the double beds. He heard muffled noises coming from the room next door, the one that Angela had been using. He walked over and tried the connecting door, breaching it cautiously, brandishing his Beretta in the process. The muffled noise was clearer once he was inside the room and sounded as if it were coming from the closet. He tried it, but found it locked from the outside. He didn't see a key, so he knocked. Surprisingly enough, someone answered.
"Who's out there?
"Is that you, Frankie??"
"David? Yes, it's me. Can you let me out of here?"
He looked around the room and whispered through the door, "I'd like to, but there doesn't seem to be a key."
Frankie was quiet. "That man who grabbed Angela must have taken it. Wait a minute." He could hear her shifting around. "Maybe I have a copy. It's dark in here, but...hold on...just a minute."
Starsky waited with his gun still drawn, just in case Emerson decided to leave his reception committee downstairs and make a run for it the way he'd come in.
"Here, try this," she said, painstakingly pushing a spare skeleton key through the narrow space between the bottom of the door and the floor.
As soon as it appeared, he knelt down and picked it up. He put it into the slot and turned it, trying the knob and opening the door. Light flooded in and he saw Frankie Brown sitting on the floor, unharmed, neither bound nor gagged. He put the safety on his gun and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans, then pulled her up with both hands. She stood next to him adjusting her eyes to the light.
"What's happening out there?"
"Emerson's making everybody nervous."
"What do we do?"
"We wait."
"How long?"
"Until bright eyes out there gets wise or the police get tired of waiting to negotiate with him. Does this place have a back door?"
"Yes, it does."
"Then I think we'd better high tail it outta here."
***CHAPTER FIFTEEN***
Sharon Colchetti was at the bottom of the porch stairs now, her stepdaughter was close to tears and Emerson's hand was trembling as he held the gun lax at his side. She moved slowly to the next step, inching ever closer. "Bruce. Please, I'm begging you, let her go."
"I can't. She's all we've got."
"Bruce. She's not a bargaining tool. Let her go. If you don't, I'll have to go away."
He moved the gun from his side back to the girl's head. "No! You can't do that! I did this for you, for us. If you leave, then it will have been for nothing."
"I know you wanted to make me happy. But I also know that what you did wasn't just for me, wasn't just for us. Part of what you did was out of pure greed and selfishness, not love."
"You're right."
"You want us to be together, don't you?"
"Yes, I do."
"Then there's a way. All you have to do is give me the gun."
As Sharon Colchetti pleaded with her lover to give himself up, Hutch found himself measuring and analyzing her words, how she said them, her body language as she spoke, putting all the elements together and trying to see if there was something in her tone that should make him uneasy. If he had to make a sudden move, things could go badly, Emerson could panic and might pull the trigger before he could get there, innocent lives might be lost. It gave him pause. He watched her continue forward and stayed where he was.
"Give me the gun, sweetie. It's going to be all right."
Her voice was soft, almost cooing. And in response to her gentle appeals Emerson lowered his head and began to weep. They were harsh sobs that seemed to come from somewhere deep within himself. Hutch thought he felt the clutch of officers behind him surge forward, felt the captain stay them with a hand in the air. Emerson lowered his gun hand from the girl's head and dropped it to his side. Then Sharon climbed the third and last step until she was close enough to reach the girl, extended her hand so that she could take it. "Take my hand, honey. Come on. I want you to go to Detective Hutchinson. You'll be all right, I promise. I won't let him hurt you."
Angel took the woman's hand with caution, stepped off the porch steps carefully. When she was safely out of his reach, she paused and looked back at the man who'd held her captive and a kind of sadness overwhelmed her, but only for a moment. She let go of Sharon's hand and hurried down the steps into the blond man's arms and he held her close, but kept his eyes on the couple. Mrs. Colchetti was standing in front of Emerson now; and he couldn't see Emerson's face anymore. She whispered to him as if he were a child. "Now, give me the gun, Bruce."
He wasn't sobbing now, but tears still fell down his cheeks, splotching the front of his expensive shirt. "I love you, Sharon. I always have, I always will. You know nothing can change that."
"I know. Give me the gun...please," she whispered again, and then she held out her hand to him, and he obediently put the gun into it, butt first. He dropped to his knees, contrite, waiting to be forgiven. Her hand immediately went to caress his lowered head. He put his arms around her hips, encircling them, and held onto her for dear life.
Starsky watched the entire scene take place from his vantage point at the side of the house. The owner, Frankie, was behind him, not seeing the full scene, but hearing everything. He alone could see Sharon Colchetti's face and the glimmer of hopelessness that shown in her eyes. She looked at the gun, then down at Emerson, then back at the gun again. She turned her head toward the knot of policemen, their captain, the girl and the blond detective who stood between them, waiting for her. Then she did something strange, she turned her back to them all, shuddered, seeming to come some decision in her mind. Starsky inched forward a bit. Then she turned the gun around in her hand, away from her. It was then that he realized what she was going to do. At about six running steps away from them, he wasn't close enough to prevent a catastrophe, but he was close enough to make the effort.
Just as she was aiming the gun at Emerson's head, Starsky clambered onto the porch, shouting as he ran. "Hutch, gun!" In that split second she quickly and mercifully cocked the lever back on the gun and pulled the trigger. There was a solid bang and blood splattered. Now Starsky was up on the porch hitting her full force with the solidity of his body, tackling her onto the planking as Emerson's now lifeless body toppled off the porch, settling at the bottom of the steps in a heap. Hutchinson reacted viscerally to his partner's alert, but was too far away to be of any real assistance. When it was over, he stepped away from the girl and scrambled up the stairs, his gun drawn, but useless.
Sharon Colchetti was near hysterics as she struggled with the darker detective for control of the gun, apparently intending to turn it on herself. Starsky instinctively straddled her body just below her chest and held both of her arms down over her head, grimacing. He glanced outward and saw his partner and most of the officers running toward them, then he looked back down at her. Her face was contorted into an awful mask of grief and anguish and she was screaming at him.
"Please let me go! I have to do this! It's the only way!"
"Nope, we can't let you go out this way, little lady. Somebody's got to pay the piper."
Hutchinson tucked his gun away, stepping around his partner and the woman to try his hand at getting the gun away from her, but without success. Finally, he lowered his head and spoke to her, his voice soothing, "Let him go, Sharon. He's gone now, it's all over." She froze, and then her fierce hold on the gun relaxed and she started to cry, softly. Hutch took the gun from her and held it up for one of the nearby officers to confiscate. Then Starsky released his grip on her arms and lifted himself off of her chest. Hutch put his hand on his partner's knee as he sat down. "You all right, buddy? That was some tackle. I didn't know you could run that fast."
Breathing hard, he looked down at Emerson's lifeless body. "I wasn't fast enough."
Hutch nodded and both men watched as two uniformed officers helped the distraught woman onto her feet, handcuffed her and put her in the back of a patrol car. After Starsky had caught his breath, the blond pulled him to his feet and they walked toward Frankie, who had taken Hutch's place as Angel's comforter. She turned her head toward them and nodded. Hutch nudged his partner. "Let's go, huh?"
"Wait a minute, Hutch. I got some loose ends to tie up."
Hutch put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Okay. Just don't be too long, okay?"
"I won't."
As his friend walked toward the two women, Hutchinson drifted over to Captain Kraft's car and talked with him for a while. Starsky put his hand on the black woman's shoulder and she looked into the girl's eyes. "Detective Starsky wants to talk to you. I'm going back inside now, I'll see you later." She gave the detective a sympathetic smile and left them alone.
Angel took a deep breath, canted her head up and gave him a wry, hopeful smile. "So you know, huh?"
"Not everything. How about clueing me in?"
"I will, but not here. Let's go to the tree." She pulled him by his arm and he hesitated.
"I don't know about that."
"Please, for me? This is probably the last time I'll see you again."
Despite himself, he acquiesced. He followed her to the same sycamore tree where he'd promised to marry her only a few days earlier. Though preoccupied with formalities, Hutch watched them go.
Birds were nestling in the trees above them and a cool breeze rustled through the leaves. She sat down on the grass and crossed her legs Indian style and he knelt in front of her, a too serious look on his face. "I don't know how to begin," she said to him.
"How about at the beginning?"
She reached for his hand but self-consciously withdrew it, then shuddered and lowered her head. "I...I never meant to hurt you."
"I just wanna know whose kid you're carrying. I've pretty much figured out it's not mine."
Her lips trembled as she spoke. "It's Bruce's. I knew it was his all along; he was the only one, before you. I lied to you about everything. That's why I went to the clinic alone. I was afraid you'd find out. I'm really sorry."
"So you knew it was Emerson's kid and you were going to let me take responsibility?"
"I...I didn't know what else to do. I mean, you were so there for me. The way I wished he was. But he was in love with Sharon or Jessie or whatever her name is. So I lied about the pregnancy and the identity of the father, because I wanted you to be its father."
He lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger and looked into her eyes. "How old are you really?"
"Seventeen." She gave him a lopsided smile. "And a quarter."
He dropped his hand away and whistled through his teeth.
"It wasn't your fault. I look older than my age."
"And act it too, apparently."
She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I do. Does that make me a bad girl?"
"Not necessarily."
"What's going to happen to Jessie?"
"She's an accessory to two murders, and she just executed a man in front of several eyewitnesses. I doubt whether the judge will go easy on her. She's going to have a tough time."
"I guess she was really in love with him, huh?" Starsky nodded, she pursed her lips. "So, now that you know everything what's going to happen?"
Starsky leaned forward and looked into her eyes. "Well, it's somethin' I don't understand myself yet. I mean I know you had your reasons for doing what you did, and in some weird way, I kind of understand them. Even after I knew what I knew, about Emerson, about the kid, I still thought maybe we could work things out. I was willing to try. But after I found out how old you were, well, that's where things started to turn for me...I mean, I'm a cop, and I have to abide by the law, no matter how I feel about people, I have to do my job, that's the bottom line. What scares me is, I don't know for sure if knowing your age beforehand would have made any difference, 'cause how I feel about you is that strong. And as for the father thing, well, I mean, look at it this way, I chase criminals for a living, the possibility of me getting shot or killed out there is 50/50 out of my favor. I do business with snitches and other lowlifes on a daily basis. So what kind of a role model would I be for a kid?" He put his hand on her cheek. "What I guess I'm tryin' to say is, kid, I don't think we stand a chance."
She smiled, covered his hand with hers and caressed it. "Don't sell yourself short, David. You'd make a great role model, and a great father." She averted her eyes. "Just my luck, huh? I find the absolute most perfect guy in the world and it's against the law for me to be with him. If you ask me, the law stinks." She swung her eyes back and they were pleading. "Couldn't you quit your job and come stay with me? I'll bet you could do that and nobody would ever have to know."
"Yeah, but that wouldn't be very grownup, would it? Even if nobody else knew, I'd know, and so would my partner. I know me, and as tempting as it sounds, I know that eventually the novelty would wear off and I'd be itchin' to be back on the streets again. I think it'd be pretty selfish for me to try."
"So I guess I can't give you a look this time and make you change your mind, huh?" He smiled, shook his head and she frowned. "You and your principles, I guess that's why I love you so much." He grinned at that, and she lowered her gaze. "Well, I guess there's nothing else to be said then." The last words were hard for her to get out; she looked up at him and tried to put on a brave face. "If...I...if I...would it be all right...if I asked for a kiss?"
Starsky's eyes began to tear a little, his Adam's apple bobbed up and down and a weak smile tore at his lips, he nodded, pulled her close to him and kissed her. A long kiss, seemingly endless, that did nothing to dispel the sense of longing between them. But the spell was soon broken by the appearance of a large, familiar hand on his shoulder.
"Starsk?"
"Yeah?" He said and opened his eyes, his lips still on hers.
"Hey, buddy, I hate to break this up, but we gotta go."
He pulled himself away and made a study of her face; committing the features to his memory, wiping away her freshly shed tears with a thumb. He held her hand as he stood, not wanting to let go, but knowing that he must. Finally he did and she looked after him, her eyes still hopeful praying that this was not the end. His partner turned away, offering them a few seconds more privacy. And Starsky turned to her. "Tell you what, what say I look you up in, oh, about eight years? If you're still available and I'm not an upholder of the law, we can hook up from then."
Her face shone brightly. "Okay, it's a date. And I'm holding you to it. You don't even have to call first. Just show up. You know where I'll be."
"I sure do. So long."
"So long, Dave."
"Come on, let's go." Hutch put his arm around his partner's shoulders and squeezed. And she watched the two men as they left. Starsky regarded His Blondness and smiled. "You know after all this I'm feelin' kinda homesick for Dobey and some of your home cookin'."
"Oh, boy, now I know you're sick. We'd better get you home fast."
They both laughed as they went up to the house to pack up and head for home.
***EPILOGUE***
Kenneth Hutchinson was puttering away in his kitchen, putting the finishing touches on what looked to be a very elaborate candlelit dinner for a very special someone. He was dressed to impress, wearing a cream-colored cable knit sweater over a pair of snug blue jeans and a pair of tan Frye boots. His blond hair was freshly layered and coiffed and he was wearing the most expensive cologne he owned. As he checked the heat under a saucepot on the stove a knock came at his front door, prompting him to run and answer it.
"Just a minute!"
When he opened the door, David Starsky and Huggy Bear Brown were staring back at him. His disappointment obvious, Hutch craned his neck past the two men for a glance down the stairs, saw no one else, and then turned back to them with a half-smile on his face. "You're not exactly who I was expecting."
Starsky appraised his friend's appearance. "We can see that. Mind if we come in?"
Hutch didn't have a chance to answer as they brushed past him and came into. He shut the door and watched Huggy Bear make a beeline for his kitchen, sniffing the air inquisitively and opening the oven door a crack to see what was cooking. He noticed that Starsky was holding a bottle shaped brown bag in his hand. "What's in the bag, Starsk?"
"I brought over some vino. You know, to make up for draggin' you along the last two weeks."
"Hey, don't worry about it, Starsk. It's in the past, forgotten." He checked his watch, still standing very near the front door with one hand in his pocket as he did so.
"Yeah, but I still feel kinda bad though, draggin' you all the way out there on somethin' personal."
Huggy now lifted the lid on the saucepan of the something on the stove, sniffed it and covered it again. "Hey, Hutch, my man Starsky is bein' as close-lipped as a monk about the whole incident. What's the scoop?"
"Ah, let's just say Starsky got a little overly involved in the investigation."
Starsky slid the bag off the already chilled bottle of wine walked into Hutch's kitchen and set it on the counter. He took down three wineglasses from Hutch's cabinet and started pouring. "It was really nothin', Hug."
"Come on, Starsky, spill it. What happened? Some chick get you hooked?"
"It was nothing, Huggy."
Hutch sucked his teeth. "Nothing, he says. Would you call nearly getting married to someone you've only known for few days and almost becoming an instant father nothing, Huggy?"
The black man whistled. "No, I'd definitely call that gettin' carried away." He leaned against the counter. "But you've gotta tell me, Starsky ...why? How?"
Starsky winced. "Well, there were a few things the young lady neglected to tell me."
"More like you didn't care to find out," Hutch tossed back.
Huggy smiled. "Well, you know what they say about true love, Hutch. It's blind."
"Yeah, but in this case, it was also deaf and dumb." The blond man consulted his watch again. "Hey, you guys, I hate to rush you, but I do have a date coming over in about three minutes. I really would like you two not to be here when she arrives."
Starsky took a glass of wine over to the couch with him and sat down, not ready to leave just yet. "I was out of the loop for a while, they ever find out who it was that wasted Angel's parents?" Huggy took a glass of wine for himself and motioned to Hutch to see if he wanted one, but got a declination.
Hutchinson answered, but exasperatedly. "It was like Kraft said. Apparently Emerson needed a lot of cash to pay off some heavy debts, so he paid some guy, a mercenary, to do the hits for him. Whoever he got rented a truck under an assumed name; did the job, and ditched the truck. Kraft's men found it abandoned in an alley somewhere not long after we left. They dusted it for prints and checked it for a match with the flecks of paint we got off the BMW and got a match on the paint. They have to assume that the same guy who did Angel's mother was the same one who pretended to be the pool man at the estate. Colchetti must have thought the guy was long gone and left his glass unattended or the guy must have stuck around and waited for an opportunity to slip him the poison. Any way you look at it was a pretty cold deal. Emerson got off easy. On the up side, with both parents' dead, and Sharon in jail, Angela stands to become a very rich young woman. I think you missed out, Starsk."
"Whatever. You think they'll ever catch up with the guy?"
"Not a chance, he's probably out of the country by now."
"Long gone, huh?"
"Yeah, like I wish you were," Hutch said under his breath.
"What was that?"
"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about the situation between you and Angela. Basically, you did something for her that neither her father nor Emerson was able to do."
"What's that?"
"You showed her what it was like to be unconditionally loved."
"Humm. I guess I did at that, didn't I?"
Hutch nodded and watched in dismay as Huggy picked up the bottle of wine and exited the kitchen, pausing to refill Starsky's glass before plunking himself down on the couch with him. The detective was just about to hint again that they should get ready to leave when there was another knock at his door. He went over and opened it, and this time Cassandra stood there looking as gorgeous as ever. She'd flown all the way out to California from Philadelphia to be with him for a few days. She was wearing a chocolate brown jumpsuit zipped low in front to reveal a comely bosom, a visual enhanced by the flowing brunette hair that cascaded onto her shoulders in luxurious waves. A medium sized overnight bag stood to her right. She brightened as he opened the door and stood there agog.
"Hello, Ken. Sorry I'm late. How've you been?" she purred.
"Fine. Fine. How was your trip?"
"Good, good."
"That's great." He stood there gazing at her, not realizing he hadn't invited her in yet.
"Um, is it okay if I come in?"
"Oh...ah...I'm sorry, sure. Come on in," he said, quickly bending over to pick up her bag, inhaling her scent as she walked by him. Starsky and Huggy Bear looked at each other and stood up as she entered the living room.
"Cassandra, you've met my partner, David Starsky."
Cassandra stepped forward and extended a hand to him. "Yes, so nice to meet you again, Detective Starsky."
Starsky took her hand. "Same here. But call me David."
"All right, David."
"And this exotically dressed gentleman to your right is our mutual friend, Huggy Bear."
Huggy took her other hand and kissed it. "Charmed, I'm sure."
She took her hand back and glanced at the table setting. "Will the two of you be staying for dinner?" she asked, letting Hutch know with a look how much she disapproved of the idea.
"Ah, no, they were just leaving. Weren't you, guys?"
Starsky looked at his half-finished glass of wine. "Well, ah. We would like to finish up before we go."
"Oh, but of course," she answered.
Hutch set the bag down next to the couch and put an arm around her waist, guiding her away from his friends and into the kitchen for a private moment. He held her in his arms and kissed her lightly on the lips. "Don't worry about them," he said in a low voice. "Starsky just came by to get debriefed on the case we were working on out there. As soon as they're finished, they'll be on their way out, I promise. Then we can spend some magic time together." He smiled.
"Well, as long as they're not staying for dinner," she pouted, touching his full bottom lip. "Because I have plans for you when we're finished."
Hutch raised an interested eyebrow and snuggled up to her, more determined now than ever to get rid of his unwelcome guests. As the two of them made their way back into the living room, both Starsky and Huggy looked up at them. Hutch noticed that their glasses were both very empty. He picked up the bottle and held on to it. "Well, I guess you guys will be on your way now, " he said.
"You know Huggy and I were just talking it over, and we were thinkin' maybe we could stay for dinner, after all. Whatever you're cookin' sure smells good."
"That is, if the little lady doesn't' mind," Huggy added.
Hutch looked at Cassandra and he at her. Her eyes were polite daggers. He knew what he had to do.
"I'm afraid that's not possible, guys. Cassandra and I have other plans."
Something menacing about Hutch's tone made Starsky lift himself up from his seat, furtively motioning for Huggy Bear to follow his lead. With his date's arm fixed around his waist the blond man started forward, physically forcing his partner and their friend toward the door. When they were there, he opened it for them, waiting for them to leave. "I'll see you two tomorrow."
"Aw, c'mon, Hutch. You wouldn't throw out your two best friends, wouldja?"
Hutchinson took another look at the beautiful woman on his arm and had no trouble making up his mind. He nodded and said; "In this case, yes." And then promptly helped them out the door.
"That's pretty cold deal, Hutch!" Huggy shouted through the door.
After they were gone, Hutch turned to Cassandra to kiss her, but had to stop mid-way as the door opened up and Starsky poked his face in the crack. "You sure you won't change your mind?"
The blond detective put steady pressure on the door with his left hand without looking until it was shut again, his eyes remaining on the ravishing creature in front of him. "Positive," he answered, and then kissed Cassandra on the lips.
FREEZE-FRAME.