SquidgeWorld Archive

"How'd I get myself into this?" Hutch pulled the tight-fitting black tee-shirt over his head and tucked it into black leather pants. "I look ridiculous." He addressed the room in general.

"You look gorgeous, but personally, I think the skull and crossbones is a bit overdone." Starsky came into the room to see how he was doing. "You'd look like you were goin' trick-or-treatin' if it wasn't for those britches."

"Ever since the Grateful Dead, every group seems to have 'dead' in their name." Hutch sat down on the bed to pull his boots on. It was made much harder than it should have been by his partner pushing him over onto his back and landing on him. An extremely talented tongue took possession of him and traced a fiery path across his mouth before possessively demanding entrance; firm lips closing around his.

When he was allowed to talk again, Hutch sputtered, "C'mon, Starsk, these pants are tight enough as it is. There's no room for me to be expanding any in here."

Starsky chuckled. "Too late to worry about that now, baby."

"Hey, I need to go over those lyrics one more time."

"Hutch, you know 'em backwards and forwards." Starsky took time for one more kiss and started to get up. "Guess the honeymoon's over." He pouted.

"I've created a Frankensteinian nymphomaniac." His blond partner groaned, but he couldn't resist rubbing his hands over that spectacular rear as soon as the other man pulled himself away. Starsky looked great, too and he knew it.

Eschewing leathers, he wore tight black jeans and had actually invested in a silk shirt in a gray-and-blue abstract pattern. He'd regained most of the weight lost during his convalescence and through the strenuous physical therapy, he'd attained a lean, trim look that was very attractive. Hutch had lost the extra weight he'd gained and although not as thin as his partner, he looked great. Starsky had convinced him to shave the moustache and with his hair cut somewhat shorter and shaped, he resembled the man he had been a couple of years earlier.

"I'll be keeping a close eye on you tonight," Hutch warned.

"I sure hope so," Starsky held out a hand to help his lover off the bed and smiled as he watched him try to tuck everything back in again. "I'm gonna be as much of a target as you are....maybe more."

"That's not what I meant." Hutch argued.

"What....you think just because I've accepted that I'm in love with you, I've embraced the weird philosophy of homosexuality and will be tryin' to get laid by every man I see?"

"I didn't mean that, either."

"What...then, damn it?" Starsky exploded.

"I'm petrified that you're gonna sing and mess me up like you did at the Saddle Bar Club." Hutch burst out laughing at Starsky's stunned expression.

"And you claim to love me." He said sadly.

"Aw, c'mere, ya big baby." Hutch held him tightly, letting his hands slide down and squeeze his butt.

"You keep doin' that and you're not gonna get there." Starsky warned. "We'd better get going. You nervous?"

"What do you think?" Hutch asked

"That's what I thought."

The bar was packed for a weeknight, with a line outside. The band was well-liked and everyone wanted to see how the new lead singer would affect it. They were met at the door by Karl, who was the bouncer. The man was huge, well over six feet and certainly capable of handling himself in any situation. They'd met him earlier that day when Hutch had come in to jam with the group. He was belligerent and appeared to dislike just about everyone and everything, which made warning bells go off in each detective's mind. He let them through and gestured toward backstage, without a word of greeting.

The band members made up for the lack of warmth. Hutch had begun to develop a rapport with them during the long afternoon session and was beginning to feel more comfortable, although the butterflies were definitely there.

They were soon joined by a curvaceous redhead in her mid thirties. Flawlessly poured into a low-cut dress, she was a very classy-looking lady. Her big emerald-green eyes and creamy white skin had both the partners looking guiltily at each other. She was only a couple of inches shorter than Starsky and had legs that seemed to go on forever.

Other than his appreciation for a beautiful woman, Hutch wasn't interested, but he had a sinking feeling that Starsky was cataloguing her attributes much more closely than he was.

"Josh, this is Isabelle Hammond. She owns the club." Andy introduced her. "Isabelle, this is Vince, a really close friend of Josh's." He said, grinning broadly and making a point of placing a hand on Starsky's waist supposedly to push him forward and present him. Hutch frowned at the maneuver, which was obviously a ruse to create an opportunity to touch his partner.

They exchanged pleasantries with the woman, who actually batted her eyelashes and fawned on Hutch, flirting outrageously, while virtually ignoring Starsky. This forced a grimace from the dark-haired man which mirrored Hutch's earlier reaction. Starsky felt compelled to stake his claim, so he swaggered over to Hutch and with his hand splayed firmly across his lover's ass, planted a kiss on his lips, complete with plenty of tongue action. Dipping him slightly, he smiled into the glazed-over blue eyes and whispered, "Break a leg, babe."

There were catcalls and applause from the band, but Ms. Hammond stalked angrily away, her face flushed.

"His mind ain't gonna be on singin' now, man." Ratch, the drummer, razzed Starsky, chuckling at Hutch's still dazed expression.

"Long as he's singing just to me, it will." Starsky smiled mysteriously, before leaving to find himself a seat out front.

The long night went well and Hutch was a big success with the patrons. He watched several men make forays to his lover's table, but they were all met with a smile and a firm shake of the head.

Hutch spent some of his breaks with Starsky out front and met a few of the regulars. The heavy cloying smell of pot gave him a headache and an excuse to escape the confines of backstage. He only flubbed his lines once and was glad to see the night come to an end. The band played until midnight on weekdays, while on weekends, he would be performing until two o'clock.

Once in the parking lot, Hutch tossed his keys to the other man.

"I'm beat....you mind drivin'?"

"This car....yes....but I'll do it, just for you." Starsky grinned.

They were using the LTD over Starsky's objections, because Hutch was afraid the Torino would be recognized and he was supposed to be a starving musician, after all, so it just felt right.

He turned to confront his partner.

"By the way, can I expect to be embarrassed by more public displays of lust, or do you think you've pissed in enough corners to mark your territory now?"

"You didn't enjoy that? Kept me warm all evening." Starsky teased him.

"And what was the deal with licking your fingers one at a time and then running your tongue all the way around your mouth? You made me screw up my lines."

"I had some onion rings. You know how messy they are."

Hutch scowled. "I think I liked you better as a homophobe." He took the sting out of the words by scooting closer to Starsky and lying his head on the other man's shoulder. "Michael told me I should keep you on a short leash. You know where I can get one?"

"Watch it, Hutchinson....you're liable to find yourself handcuffed to my bed if you try something like that."

"Sounds kinda interesting." Hutch chuckled. "Not tonight, though....I have a headache."

They pulled up to Venice Place and climbed the stairs tiredly.

"How are you doing? Hutch asked, concerned. "You're not used to so much activity. You look tired."

"Kinda, but I'm okay. All I had to do was sit there and listen. You know I could listen to you sing forever."

"Just remember, the doctors weren't really enthusiastic about this whole idea. The only reason they let it go down was because I was gonna be with you most of the time."

"I'm fine. Want me to fix you a sandwich or something?" Starsky asked.

"No, but I'll take a beer and then I just feel like lying down and talking about the case."

Starsky got them both a Coors and then, grabbing Hutch by the hand, he pulled him over to the couch, where he sat down and put a pillow on his lap. "Your wish is my command."

Hutch sank down with a grateful sigh. They each took a swallow and were quiet for a little while.

Starsky looked down at Hutch's closed eyes and asked, "So what do we know so far?"

"None of the band members could have done it. The murders all happened when they were performing." Hutch opened his eyes. "Mark, the lead singer was killed on a night when he didn't feel well and stayed home. Did you get any vibes from the patrons?"

"Yeah, three-fourths of 'em wanted to take me home and fuck me."

"I noticed." Hutch smiled, reaching up and caressing his cheek. "Give out any phone numbers?"

"You know better than that." Starsky caught his hand, turned it over and kissed the palm. "There was one guy who acted kinda weird, relatively speaking. His name was Bruce and he definitely wasn't friendly, but he did want to buy my services. Was a real jerk."

"So, what do you think of Karl?"

"Not much. But I can't tell if he's homophobic or just acts that way with everyone." Starsky set his beer on the end table and began to gently rub Hutch's temples.

"M-m-m-m-m. I hope nobody else gets killed while we're tryin' to figure it out."

"I hope the bodacious Ms. Hammond doesn't get her hooks into you before we figure it out." Starsky stressed. "She's definitely got herself in a dither over you.

Hutch looked up at him. "Bodacious? You been reading the dictionary again."

"I pick things up here and there." The dark-haired man said defensively.

"Let's go to bed. Tomorrow'll be a big day, the start of the weekend. Maybe we'll learn a lot more about the workings of Means to an End by Monday."

Friday night and the line was much longer, the crowd was more unruly and Karl had a helper....a smaller, but dangerous-looking man named Mack. He was friendlier, introduced himself and waved them through the swarm of humanity.

The night passed uneventfully enough. Starsky was startled when Isabelle Hammond joined him at his table midway through the band's fourth set. She ordered them drinks and proceeded to pepper him with questions about his relationship with Hutch.

"So....how long have you two been together, Vince?"

"We've been friends for a long time, but just really 'discovered' each other." He explained.

"So it could be just a fling?" Isabelle asked wistfully.

Starsky grinned. "Time will tell, but I really don't think so. Josh is pretty special and I'll do everything in my power to make him happy."

"So what do you do for a living....manage him?"

Starsky chuckled. "I learned long ago that the man is unmanageable." He turned toward Isabelle. "I'm between jobs right now, but I've done a little bit of everything."

"Well, I hope you know how lucky you are."

"Oh, I think I do, ma'am."

She flounced away from the table and Hutch, who'd been curiously watching the by-play from the stage, was surprised when Starsky got up and went outside a few minutes later.

Mack was still on the door, although there were few customers coming in now.

"How's it going, man" Starsky asked the weathered-looking man.

"This is the part of the evening I like best." He answered with a smirk. "You can just kick back and get paid for it."

"Worked here long?" Starsky pushed him.

"Only a few weeks."

"What do you think about the murders? Doesn't that scare you?"

"Nah, I ain't no homo. Don't even like 'em much."

Starsky looked at the man oddly. "Why do you work around 'em, then?"

"I enjoy getting' to throw 'em out if they get rowdy. Most fags are just pansies, anyway, so I don't have to work very hard at it."

Starsky gritted his teeth and turned to go back inside, but saw something out of the corner of his eye that startled him. A dark green Chevy cruising slowly by....a dark green Chevy that he recognized from Parker Center. To be sure, he looked for the bumper sticker as it went by....'Gun Control Means Using Both Hands'. It was there. Frank Callini....what the hell was he doing here? It was nowhere near his regular beat and he wasn't in his cruiser anyway, so he must be off duty.

He went back in to find that he'd lost his table, so he took a seat at the bar. Hutch was singing Time In a Bottle and he knew it was meant for him. One of his favorite Jim Croce songs, it had come to mean a lot to them both through the years, especially during this last attempt on his life. Hutch had often crooned it during physical therapy and it had soothed him and spurred him on to do bigger and better things.

It was difficult to concentrate on even the beautiful, melodious voice, though. There was something about this case that was troubling him. The names of the men he'd earmarked as suspects flowed through his mind. There were just too many of them. How were they going to narrow it down to one?

He jumped when Hutch tapped him on the shoulder.

"Hey, where were you?' The blond detective questioned.

"You ever have a case like this with way too many suspects before?" Starsky asked him.

"That's how it's shaping up, huh?"

"Yep....you done for the night?"

"About half an hour ago." Hutch smiled.

"What've you been doin'?" Starsky turned his full attention to his partner.

"Watchin' you. It's one of my favorite hobbies."

Starsky chuckled. "I've gotta make an effort to get you out more."

"Just get me home. This is harder than police work." Hutch sighed.

It was raining and they were soaked by the time they reached the car. They were cold, wet and there was just enough traffic from the bars in the area closing that they failed to notice the dark car that stayed just far enough behind to be unobtrusive.

Filled to capacity on a Saturday night, the bar was a madhouse. Halfway through the evening, Starsky caught a glimpse of Frank Callini on the fringe of the crowd. He tried to get to him, but couldn't get through the mass of humanity in time to catch the man.

Around one o'clock, Hutch was just picking his guitar up for the next set, when he saw Mack approach Starsky and ask him something. The detective nodded his head and got up to follow Mack. He flashed an okay signal to Hutch before he left. He didn't come back.

Starsky still hadn't returned by two o'clock and Hutch was troubled. He called home, but there was no answer. He searched the club from top to bottom and found no sign of his partner. He talked to everyone who worked there and all he got was the same thing he'd seen for himself. Mack had come and gotten Starsky and no one had seen him since. Mack himself was nowhere to be found, either. He sat down at the table Starsky frequented and tried to think what he should do.

One of the younger busboy, who'd been struck with hero worship and had actually asked Hutch for his autograph approached him.

"Mr. Winters, I don't know if it means anything, but your friend left this on the table. I figured it was for you and was going to give it back to him....but since he's gone, you should probably have it."

In spite of his anxiety, Hutch had to smile at the scrap of paper. Starsky had drawn a reasonably accurate picture of a cross-eyed frog-like creature, complete with warts and a hollyhock upside-down on its head.. Underneath the reptile, he'd printed 'I'm toad-ally in love with you!' Beneath that was written in big letters, 'Hey slugger! When you gonna try for that home run?'

Hutch was about to put it in his pocket when he realized there was something very familiar about the paper itself. He turned it over and recognized the yellow duplicate copy of a fingerprint form. Printed neatly on the form was a list.

KS-6058912-A
MT-6058913-B
BB-6058914-C
IH-6058915-D

Frank Callini?

Evidently Starsky had been buying his suspects drinks and had taken the glasses out to the car, calling a cruiser to come and take them to headquarters. Now he would have to see if one of the nameless people on the list had his lover and was quite possibly determined to kill him.