CHAPTER 10
All of the old faces ask you why you're back...
You remember the faces the places the names
You know it's never over it's relentless as the rain
Bruce Springsteein – Adam Raised A Cain
"So, we gonna be having clandestine meetings in this car for the rest of our lives?" Huggy asked as he slipped into the Torino's passenger's seat.
"Maybe," Starsky said noncommittally, but he could smile a little as he said it, even if he still wasn't ready to step foot in the Pits. He turned to admire his friend's latest apparel -- a purple jacket and orange shirt topping iridescent pants -- and wondered what Huggy would say if -- when -- he got a look at Starsky's new leatherwear. He waved the beta cassette in Huggy's direction. "We think we found something."
Huggy eyed it warily. "Is that right?" He glanced around the car ostentatiously. "What'chu mean 'we,' white boy? Where's your partner?"
Starsky struggled to keep his smile genuine. "Hutch is on a date."
There was a long silence, and finally Huggy said in consternation, "A date? With -- ?"
"A woman!" Starsky clarified, then winced when he realized he had to. "He's out with our lawyer. K.R. Callahan. He asked her out and she said yes. I think they're gonna hit it off great!" He hoped he sounded as sincere as he meant to, but the empty words sounded hollow in his own ears.
The disapproval radiating from Huggy was ominous. The thin black man crossed his arms and frowned. "What the hell were you thinkin', sending that man out with that woman?"
Starsky couldn't mask his confusion. "Huh?"
"Don't give me that 'poor, dumb, white cop' routine. 'Member who you talkin' to. This is Huggy, right? Known you since you got off the bus from that wilderness called Brooklyn. There's only one reason Hutch would go out with a woman now, and that's if you engineered it. You should be ashamed."
Starsky blinked. "What -- what the hell are you -- ?"
"You're cold, Starsky, really cold. I didn't think you had it in you to be like that. You not only playin' now with your best friend's heart, but with an innocent bystander."
"At some point maybe you'd like to give me this in a language I can understand, Hug? Hutch asked the lady out, and she seemed happy to agree -- !"
"I guess she did. I don't know the lady personally mind you, but I know she's probably the hardest-working lawyer in this city. She lives on a pittance, on half a shoestring budget, and burns the midnight oil every night. The only staff she can afford is volunteers. Her clients are the kind of folks the rest of the world has turned its back on. That's the kind of lawyer she is -- the kind of person she is. Left to her own devices, she might actually give lawyers a good name."
Huggy shifted in the seat, warming to his subject. Starsky wanted to groan out loud. "You wanna know why I don't know her, even though she's had more dealings with people I know than even you two? 'Cause she has no social life at all, and her still a young woman. Think about it, Starsky. The only people she ever meets are down-and-outs and gays, or the sleazy bastards she's fightin' in court. Her idea of a hot night on the town is a meeting with a couple of clients over at the Green Parrot. Sugar usually makes sure she gets a free dinner out of it, and that's the highlight! I imagine Hutch in all his tall blondness must have looked pretty good to that lady. And you sent him out there with her. Hutch, who hasn't looked at a female in a solid year. Hutch, who's got eyes for no one but you. I know you're behind this. You tryin' to kill two birds with one stone or what?"
Starsky stared at his steering wheel. "It was for his own good, Huggy. He'll get over all this if he just -- "
"Gets laid?" Huggy said cruelly. "You somethin' else, Starsky. I've seen you dump a lotta ladies--"
"And I been dumped by more'n my share," Starsky reminded him defensively. He'd lost more than his share to Hutch, too, if truth be told.
"That may well be, but Hutch ain't some disposable female. And neither is K.R. Callahan. I'm tellin' you, bro', you better walk soft this time around. Or some good peoples' gonna get hurt. Maybe even you. And I'm always gonna be here to let you know who's responsibility it was."
Starsky wet his mouth and wished he was somewhere else. The world had gone all upside down on him and seemed intent on staying there. Even his relationship with Huggy was skewed. These days he felt like Huggy was Hutch's friend, not his.
He'd done the right thing getting Hutch to ask the lawyer out, he wasn't going to apologize for it to anyone. Even if his own gut was all in knots about it. Even if he couldn't figure out why. He was determined to pull Hutch and him out of this damned rabbit hole if it was the last thing he could do.
He shook his head. "This is gonna work, man. You'll see. They were meant for each other. Two White Knights, fightin' society together. She'll be good for Hutch, a lady like that. And like you said, she needs a good man -- "
"Who ain't in love with his partner," Huggy said frankly. "Look, man, you weren't 'round when that hit on you went down. You were just layin' back in the bed, cuttin' zee's, working on staying alive. Now, we all glad you had it in you to do that, but I was there with Hutch. It was hard on all of us, the other cops, the Captain -- you know he didn't eat nothing for two days? I mean, nothin'! -- but Hutch...! Well, Hutch went a little crazy. You laying there nearly dead, every minute ticking away, Hutch able to do nothing but watch them fill you up with tubes and stuff and wait and wait while fighting off a steady stream of dudes trying to kill you both."
The recitation of events felt eerie to Starsky, like a movie he starred in but never got to see.
"Finally, Hutch couldn't stand it no more and hit the streets, so then you decide to die a little. I'll never forget his face when he came flying back into that hospital. I never seen that man scared of nothing, but at that moment, knowing you were dying without him, he was terrified. Somewhere inside me I always knew how Hutch felt about you, even if I never put the words to it, or pulled it out to look at it close. But at the minute, seeing him like that, it was all there on his face. All that love."
Just shove the knife in, why don't'cha? Starsky closed his eyes. He felt like this was the longest day of his life. "Can you help me with this thing, or not?" He waved the cassette again.
Irritably, Huggy yanked it from his hands. "What'chu you got?"
"Some code numbers, or partial numbers. I've stopped the tape a few seconds before an editing split, and there's some other numbers way at the end. It doesn't mean anything to us, but it might to the right person."
Huggy turned the cassette over and over in his long, elegant fingers as if he'd never seen one before. "I might know a few dudes.... I got a cousin works in the film labs, but he's on vacation right now. I'll probably give Peter Whitelaw a call. I know he's got contacts in the industry."
Starsky's eyebrows shot up. "Peter Whitelaw! You gotta ask him?"
Huggy stared at him, face completely passive. "Starsky, what is your problem now? How come you can pimp for Hutch when you spy some lonely lady, but you ready to call out the Marines if you think some mutual interest with Whitelaw might be involved?"
Starsky glowered. "It must be nice being the world's most open-minded person. Sorry I ain't it. Look, Hug, I'm dealing with this the best I can, but I just don't trust Whitelaw. I don't trust his motives. I don't trust his rap. And I don't trust his intentions towards my partner. Forgive me if I'd like my little world restored to its former balance. It's a fantasy of mine. Okay?"
Huggy just sighed. "You want help with this, I gotta call on Whitelaw. It's that simple."
Starsky took a deep breath and tried to relax. "Okay. Fine. Call him. But promise me one thing. When your cousin gets back from vacation, you call him, too."
Huggy shrugged. "Won't hurt to get a second opinion. Okay, deal. Anything else?"
Starsky looked away. "Just one thing. Try and be patient with me, will ya, Hug? I'm swimming upstream here."
The cop felt his friend's long hand settle on his shoulder and give it a reassuring squeeze. "Sure. Just as long as you don't drown your partner while you're at it."
"Yeah. Sure." He felt the hand leave him, felt the car shift and heard the door click shut as Huggy left.
The rest of the evening stretched out before him. It wasn't even nine o'clock. He needed more clothes, but that meant going to his apartment. So, what are you gonna do for the rest of your life -- make Hutch pick your stuff up in bits and pieces? You gotta face it sooner or later. He turned the key in the ignition, and aimed the car towards his abandoned home.
~~~
Hutch couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so self-conscious before a date. When he was sixteen? Maybe not even then. He'd always known he was a handsome man -- hell, no one ever let him forget it. But tonight, as Starsky had argued with him about every item of clothing he'd tried to put on, he'd gradually become more and more nervous about his appearance until he'd gotten so angry he'd frosted his friend out of the apartment. He'd had the distinct feeling Starsky was real pleased with himself, too, as he left.
He must think I'll be more enthusiastic about Kelly if I'm furious with him. Typical Starsky rationale.
But what the big lummox didn't understand was that Hutch's feelings didn't ebb and flow with his moods. He could be completely enraged with his aggravating partner and still be totally in love with him. He was funny like that.
Which only made the blond feel more ill-at-ease. He felt like a liar climbing the six -- six? -- flights to Callahan's apartment. He was a liar, a pretender, a fraud. This wasn't an undercover assignment, and Hutch was never good at pretense under any circumstance. As he drew closer to her door, he wondered again how he would flub his way through this evening.
He paused at the head of the stairs to catch his breath and allow the color to subside in his face. It occurred to him that this aged building was of the same type and quality as the cheap apartment dwelling they'd found Vic Bellamy hiding in. Hutch would've thought a lawyer could've afforded something nicer. Or was that just another stereotype he was laboring under?
Look, God, if this whole mess is your way of teaching me to be more open-minded, I got the message!
Moving closer to Kelly's nondescript door set in a nondescript hallway, he lifted his fist to knock just as the door opened inward. To Hutch's dismay, a man stood there staring at him in surprise.
Caucasian. About five eight. Medium weight. Probably thirty years old, Hutch cataloged automatically. And gay, he added without even thinking about it.
The minute he thought that, it surprised him. That wasn't part of his typical analysis unless he was dealing with hustlers. But the neat, middle-class fashions the man was wearing and his conservative grooming told Hutch this was no hustler.
Dark brown eyes glanced over him quickly, thoroughly, then returned to his face, widening in surprise. "Oh, wow!" the young man said quietly, taking a step back. "You're one of those cops."
"I'm here to see K.R. Callahan," Hutch said quickly, using his typical cop voice. "Who are you?" He was not about to defend his identity. Damn straight I'm one of those cops! Who the hell are you, buddy?
The man backed up farther into the apartment, and Hutch used it as an excuse to follow him in. "I'm Joey Langdon. I do some work for K.R. when I get the chance. I'm one of her volunteers -- there's maybe ten of us. She helped me once in a legal matter. She was supposed to be here an hour ago, but she got hung up. She called me and told me to leave a note on the door when I left." He held out a small piece of paper Hutch hadn't noticed before.
He took it. "K.R. might have to break the date. She'll try to get here by eight thirty, but says it's okay if you don't want to wait. Her friend, Joey Langdon."
"You can wait in here," Joey offered. "K.R. won't mind. But, knowing her, she'll probably be late."
"She working?" Hutch wondered.
"Sure," the man said. "What else? I mean, that's all she ever does. Isn't that why you're here? To help her with her work?"
"Not exactly," Hutch said, meeting the man's gaze. "I'm supposed to be taking her out for a date." He smiled at Joey's quizzical expression. He looked as if the words simply wouldn't compute.
"You? And K.R.? On a date?"
"Is there a problem with that?"
The man shrugged. "I've just never known her to go on a date. Not something that didn't have to do with a case. Weird. And I guess I thought you were -- "
Hutch stilled the man with a look which caused him to clamp his mouth shut with a snap.
"Well, I hope she makes it!" Joey added with a false cheerfulness. "It'd be nice for K.R. to do something fun for a change. She's really good people, K.R. She deserves it."
The way he said it was almost a challenge, and that oddly made Hutch feel better about him. He really cares about her. He's worried about me, about my intentions. He tried to smile reassuringly. "I'll try to make her have some fun."
The man grinned back at him. "That'd be good! Really!" He started to leave the apartment, then turned back at the door. "If she doesn't get home and you want to leave, the door locks when you shut it. Okay?"
Hutch nodded. "Okay. Good night, Joey."
"Don't let the cat out!" The man's voice trailed out the door as it shut behind him.
Left alone in a strange apartment, Hutch felt oddly adrift. Standing aimlessly in the living room, he wandered over to an aged radio and turned it on, then turned it off again when he found it tuned to a dry, news-only radio station. There was no television. The furniture was utilitarian and functional. And every flat surface, including strategic areas of the floor, held piles of documents.
As Hutch strolled around and eyed the formidable stacks, he realized there was a kind of organized chaos to it all. Each stack was about a specific topic, like an open filing system. He eyed one that was labeled, "A.T.&T. vs Blackwater." The next was "The State of California vs Abramovitz."
Nothing like taking on the big challenges, huh, Kelly?
From the partially opened door of a darkened room that might be a bedroom, a large orange and white tomcat stepped out silently, blinking enormous golden eyes and yawning hugely.
"Did I wake you?" Hutch asked the animal. The cat blinked in silent reproach and stalked into the kitchen. "Sorry, old man."
As he walked around another group of towering papers piled neatly on the floor, he spied the words "Gunther Industries" written on one of the file folders. The neatly printed words were like a bullet to his heart. Cautiously, as if it might be a trap, he lifted the folder to peer inside.
There were assorted materials in this top folder, most of it personal, most of it news to Hutch -- Gunther's past marriages (four!), foreign connections, personal and financial ties to numerous politicians including presidents -- it seemed an odd jumble of information to Hutch, but he quickly realized it was only the top of the pile. Everything beneath it -- over two feet of paper -- had to do with Gunther. And all of it looked well thumbed. Then he realized that right beside it were two other stacks. One was labeled "Starsky" and the other "Hutchinson." The paper piles were not nearly as tall as Gunther's, but they were substantial.
He hesitated.
Better not to know. It was information she thought she needed, after all. It was confidential. Still –
His hand crept over to the Hutchinson folder and hesitantly, he started to open it.
Struck with the sudden sensation of being watched, he looked up to see the cat staring balefully at him. He pulled his hand back. "I was just going to straighten it out," he told the feline, who stared unblinking.
The cat sat slowly, primly tucking its tail around its feet and continued to observe the cop.
"Look, I won't tell if you won't, okay?" he offered, and reached again for the top of the "Hutchinson" pile.
~~~
K.R. Callahan jogged up the first three flights of stairs then halted, gasping for air, on the third. Damn, she was late, really late! She groaned, clutching her chest as her lungs screamed for air. Would she ever remember to take the stairs at a normal pace rather than running up faster than she could handle? No, of course not. Not as long as she was always late.
Swallowing, she stormed up the rest of the way. Maybe Joey would still be there. Maybe Hutch had forgotten what time they were supposed to meet and came late. Oh, forget that! No doubt he'd come and gone already. Did it matter? There was no way she could make the time for a date tonight! When had she ever?
She hit her door running like she always did, way too fast, and it banged open loudly. "Damn! Joey, are you still here?" she called out while peeking around the door to see if she'd done any more damage to the wall. How many times could she repair that spot anyway? At least Buddy had learned to stay away from it and no longer got smashed behind it when she entered in a rush.
She heard a sound and looked up. A big blond cop clutched his heart in surprise as he sprawled against mounds of paper. It looked as if he'd stumbled against her mobile filing system and toppled a couple of piles. His right hand had settled on his breast bone only after it had groped uselessly under his left arm.
Looking for his gun, the one he had to turn in. He still feels lost without it. I must've really surprised him.
K.R. moved to the center of her living room, blushing furiously. "Oh! You're here! I thought maybe Joey told you -- that is -- well -- !" She paused, dropped her briefcase and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd wait. I didn't really expect to see you at all."
Her big yellow cat jogged over to greet her. Yowling softly, he wrapped himself around her ankles. She never knew if he was really happy to see her or was trying, subtly, to kill her. She stepped cautiously around him, and stroked his head.
Having recovered a bit of his aplomb, Hutch managed a thin smile as he struggled awkwardly to his feet. "Sure, I waited. Hey, I'm a cop. I know what it's like to be late for a date because of work. I can't tell you how many times Starsky and I've been ditched over that. Listen, uh -- " he looked guiltily at the piles of collapsed paper work and tried restacking them. "Any chance I can blame this on the cat?"
"Nope," she told him, joining him before he scrambled her system hopelessly. When she realized the most flattened one was his pile, she suppressed a smile. "Buddy never knocks anything over. He's had too much stuff fall on him."
"Buddy, huh?" Hutch said, then murmured, as if he didn't want the cat to hear, "I don't think he likes me."
"He meets a lot of strangers," she explained. "It takes him a while to warm up. And he's not crazy about competition." Indeed, Buddy was sitting on the back of the couch looking imperious, staring at the cop with cold yellow eyes.
"Uh, Joey had to leave," Hutch told her. "He said you were running late."
She frowned. She felt guilty and knew she looked totally bedraggled. Her hair wasn't all neat and trim in its confinement anymore. She looked liked she'd been running all day just to stay the same distance behind. She may as well tell him the truth. "I'm not just running late, Hutch, I'm running! I'm still working. I've got to meet someone -- damn, I feel bad about this."
"Hey, hey, come on," he soothed, moving closer to her. "You've had a long day. Will you sit down for a minute and take a breath? What exactly do you have left to do?"
"I've got to talk to someone about -- well, about your case, actually." She plopped herself unceremoniously on her couch and leaned over to rub an ankle. Buddy landed on the floor beside her hand and tried to convince her to rub him instead. "It could be nothing, but it could be important, you know how these things go." Her feet were killing her, but she hadn't noticed it till she'd stopped moving.
"You mean you've got to meet an informant?" Hutch asked.
"I don't usually call them that. I usually consider them 'sources.' But, yes."
"Well, if it's about our case, why don't I go with you?"
She hesitated, then considered it. "He might not talk to me if you're there."
Hutch's smile lit up his face, making it, if possible, even more beautiful. "So, I'll drop you off nearby and cruise around where I can keep an eye on things. He'll never know I'm there. Believe me, I'm good at this."
She returned the smile. "I've never had a cop for a client before. I could see where there might be some advantages to it."
"Will you be done then? After you talk to your source? We can go from the meeting right to dinner, if you want. I'll bet you haven't eaten since lunch and that was a long time ago. I can tell your feet are bothering you -- why don't you take off those shoes?"
She groaned. "Don't mention food or I'll pass out. And I'm afraid if I take my shoes off I'll never get them back on."
Hutch shook his head. "Where are you meeting this source?"
She told him. It was hooker's row.
He blinked in surprise. "That's a pretty heavy part of town. Were you planning on going alone -- like that?" He indicated her lawyer's garb.
"You'd be surprised the places I go like this," she said mildly.
"I bet I would. Why don't you freshen up, get into something more casual --including some comfortable shoes -- and we'll hit the road. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can get some food into you. It really makes me look bad when my dates pass out on me."
"Yes, sir!" she said, saluting smartly, as she forced herself to leave the couch and head for her room. Buddy jogged ahead of her, knowing as he did that he could usually scrounge a few ear rubs while she was changing. She paused in the doorway. "Are you always this nurturing on a first date?"
Hutch grinned. "Starsky says I have the soul of a frustrated Jewish mother."
She nodded, and disappeared into her bedroom, mumbling as she closed the door, "Well, the last thing I'd want is for you to be frustrated!"
~~~
Starsky sat in his car for fifteen minutes before he finally got up the nerve to approach his own front door.
This is ridiculous, he told himself. You're actin' like a baby.
He fit his key into the lock and swung it open, then stood there frozen in indecision. Stay or go? Enter or leave? Placing one foot over the threshold seemed as difficult as entering the vacuum of space. Finally, he did. A second step, then a third, then shut the door. He was inside.
It's your place, your home. Stop acting like this!
He took a deep breath, looked around. All so familiar, yet all so different. His plants were still in place, the ones Hutch had given him. He'd water them while he was here. His mail was on the floor where it had fallen through the front door slot. The place smelled a little stuffy from being closed up, and who knew what was going on in the refrigerator. He should clean it out before he left.
He nodded, liking the concept of busy work. He scooped up the mail and sorted through it, leaving the bills on his coffee table and tossing the junk. He watered his plants quickly, removed some science projects from the refrigerator, and straightened up.
But finally, the busy work was over. He needed to pack some clothes. He needed to enter his bedroom.
He turned and looked at it, seeing the door half-open, and the mussed bed just lying there looking all innocent. He approached it as if it were a suspect, as if it might rise up and grab him. His own bed.
He leaned against the door frame, staring at the bed as if it had landed there from Mars. Hutch had been able to come in here, grab some clothes, and come right out again, none-the-worse for wear, like it didn't even touch him, being here. Starsky wet his mouth, staring at the bed. He could still see the impression of Hutch's body in the sheets. He thought if he bent over he might still smell Hutch in this spot, his own unique cinnamon-like clean scent. Hutch had been curled around him all protectively that morning, surrounding him with his arms and legs, keeping him safe from harm.
That's all I remember, just waking up. Not knowing, not realizing -- not remembering. But Hutch did.
What must that have been like for his partner, waking up with a new lover who was an old friend in his arms and finding out that lover remembered nothing? Finding out that lover didn't want to be his lover, did not want to want him anymore. Boy, that must've hurt bad. Starsky remembered how he felt when he saw Hutch walking out of Kira's bedroom. He wondered if that was what Hutch had felt like, that raw kind of hurt. He wouldn't wish that on anyone, least of all Hutch.
He found himself walking towards the bed, sitting carefully on the edge on Hutch's side, not wanting to crush the impression. There were a few blond hairs on Hutch's pillow.
If felt good waking up like that, with Hutch all around me. Felt safe. Nice. And after I puked so hard and got so cold, he warmed me up with his own skin and kept me close just to comfort me. That felt good, too. So why can't I remember the rest?
He didn't like thinking about it, but the truth was he'd hated giving Huggy that tape. He wanted to watch it again, wanted to see if it would open up the memories, even though he'd watched it enough and nothing had happened. And he wanted to see himself loving Hutch, until it was imprinted permanently on his brain. Himself, going down on his friend. Himself, kissing, loving Hutch as ardently as he had any woman. Himself offering his body, asking Hutch to fuck him --
He shook his head, unable to believe that had really been him, his desire. Oh, the desire could be found, he knew that, Hutch had proven it just last night. It scared him how easy Hutch had proven it. But it wasn't them. Couldn't be them.
He'd always seen their future so clearly, dancing at each other's weddings, being the favorite uncles of each other's children. Painting each other's picket fences. It'd been such a clear vision, even though it had been tarnished somewhat after Teri's death, and after Rosie left him. The personal disaster area that was Hutch's love life hadn't restore any of its bright promise either. But still, Starsky clung to the vision. The two of them, married, fathers, retiring at advanced ages from the police force, vacations together, maybe even sharing a vacation property for both their families -- Had it all been a fairy tale?
Always together. Every image you ever had of the future included Hutch. Ever think about that? The faces of the women were always a blur, but the picture of Hutch beside you was always clear as a bell.
He tried to imagine Hutch now, out with K.R. Callahan. He tried to see Hutch doing his charming cowboy routine, half "gosh-shucks, ma'am," half blond bombshell. How many women had Hutch charmed away from him like that? How many times had it made Starsky crazy jealous?
He tried to see Hutch wooing the attractive lawyer, tried to see them in bed together, but it was too hazy, too insubstantial. It didn't matter whether he could see it or not. It would happen, if he knew Hutch. What woman could resist all that Nordic beauty, and hadn't Huggy said Callahan was practically a nun? She didn't stand a chance. She'd probably pounce on his partner before they ever got to dinner.
He imagined Hutch dragging his ass home as the sun rose, saw himself waking alone in Hutch's brass bed and ribbing him good-naturedly about his conquest when the sleepy blond traipsed into the shower looking beat. Yeah. That's just how it would go.
Inexplicably, Starsky felt a hardened lump of anxiety lodge in his gut. He tried not to, but last night's gentle passion flooded his mind, and suddenly, Hutch's hand on him was as real as if the blond was sitting beside him. He grew stiff just thinking about it. His friend was so tender, so loving, had worked so hard to give him whatever pleasure he could stand, whatever joy he could tolerate. It had been so good between them, that simple act....
He plucked the shed hairs from the pillow and twisted them around his fingers as he felt a sudden stabbing need to remember the first night, remember what had transpired between them. He could recall every warm female body he'd ever slid into, even when he couldn't bring back their names or even their faces. Why couldn't he remember loving Hutch, the most important person in the world to him? Him loving Hutch with his own free will. Loving him with all the passion he had inside him. The kind of hungering, loving passion he'd only rarely shared with special women.
It was a unique love locked deep inside him, a feeling he'd hidden away for years, afraid to release it, afraid to share it, for fear that its overwhelming emotion would give too much power to his lover. But that night, he suspected, that was the exact thing he'd given to Hutch. The one person he knew would never abuse it. The yearning to remember squeezed his heart hard and water filled his eyes.
No! Stop it!
Furious with his own weakness, he lurched off the bed and went to his dresser and roughly began pulling out clothes. He couldn't remember. It was better not to remember. And besides, trying to remember only brought on more dreams --
-- of Hutch in white leather kneeling before me. Touching me. Taking me into his mouth.
He slammed the underwear drawer so hard he nearly broke his thumb, and shouted a curse. He went into the closet, yanked out jeans, shirts at random, stuffed them into a bag. He wouldn't look at the bed. He'd looked at it long enough.
He had to get out of here.
He was nearly at the front door when he thought of something. Walking back to the phone, he lifted the receiver and dialed a number from memory.
Three rings. "This is the Pits. What's your pleasure?" Huggy's voice said in his ear. The bar was really hopping; Starsky could hear the racket in the background.
"Huggy, I need another favor," he said, without introduction.
"I guess one's better'n the list you usually give me," his friend said laconically.
"The crew that cleans your bar, can you get them to come to my apartment? The crime lab's been here, there's fingerprint dust everywhere, the place is a wreck." It was the truth, but he'd barely noticed it when he'd entered.
"Sure, no problem. They'll be happy to have the work. What else?"
He breathed in, breathed out, trying to control his respiration. "Have them strip the sheets, do the laundry, make up the bed fresh, okay?"
The pause was barely half a beat but Starsky heard it. "Sure. Got it." Another half-beat. "You there now?"
Starsky didn't answer. Couldn't.
"You okay?" Huggy said softly.
"I will be," he murmured. "Thanks, Huggy. I'll drop off the key and a check." On my way home -- to Hutch's. He hung up the phone gently.
How long could he consider Hutch's place home? How long could he keep sleeping with Hutch, knowing what might happen while they shared a bed?
Hutch was with a lady tonight. This could work out for him, it could! It had to. Starsky rubbed his face roughly. He left the apartment without looking back.
~~~
Continued in Chapter 10b
