Chapter 13

CHAPTER 14

In the darkness my fingers slip across your skin
I feel your sweet reply
The room fades away and suddenly I'm way up high
Just holdin' you to me
As through the window the moonlight streams
Oh, won't you, baby, be in my book of dreams
            Book of Dreams -- Bruce Springsteen

        Starsky sat and watched Hutch with an almost surreal detachment. His partner was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the dojo with Tsuka and her husband Yoshi, discussing this insane plan he had to involve the patrons of the Green Parrot in a non-violent civil rights protest. Hutch was bright, alert, animated, and as upbeat as Starsky had seen him since this whole mess had started. Starsky felt a little bad that he couldn't work up the same enthusiasm, but frankly, he was too tired.

        The stress of the night before had nearly wrung him out. The effect of it had surprised him, considering what he usually did for a living. But his work as a cop, even the physical demands of chasing bad guys and getting into fights, had always exhilarated him. It was what he was supposed to be doing. Prowling the strange atmosphere of the Parrot was like stepping into another dimension. The first night had nearly sapped him. He felt that every hour he spent there took him farther and farther away from his real life, his real identity. Instead of working the streets where he felt at home, knowing he was watched by men who feared and often hated him, and by women who sometimes wanted him, at the Parrot, everything was upside down and backwards.

        There, even though most of the men feared and probably hated him, that didn't stop them from wanting him. He figured at least half the women hated him, but none of them feared him, and they sure as hell didn't want him. It didn't help that most of the guys dressed a lot better than the women, whether they were in drag or not, and that half the time he couldn't even be sure what sex the person he was looking at was. He thought of Spike and her friends and realized he wasn't being completely fair. She'd gone out of her way to befriend him, and even if it was motivated by an obvious lust for his car, that was at least an emotion he could relate to and understand...though he would've expected that reaction from a guy! It was all way too confusing.

        Hutch asked him something, so he fixed an attentive expression on his face and nodded, even though he had no idea what he was agreeing with. Hutch turned back to Tsuka and continued the animated conversation.

        Hutch was such a good talker. He really shined in that area. He could convince people to do the weirdest things just by talking. Starsky found himself staring at Hutch's mouth as he outlined his plans.

        He didn't have to do any talking last night, though. He just rolled over, took me in his arms, and put that mouth on me and nothing had to be said at all, did it?

        Unlike the night he was drugged, Starsky could feign no ignorance of his complicity last night. Or of the surge of desire he'd felt when Hutch had turned on him in a rage in the Black Parrot. While he might have kept his mind away from the reality of his feelings before they turned the lights out, Starsky knew once they were in bed, there was no way he could refuse any advance Hutch might make. And Hutch knew it, too.

        As Hutch's lips parted in a smile as he talked to Tsuka, all Starsky could see was those glistening lips descending over his body, nuzzling his neck, nipping him sharply, sucking his nipples so hard he wanted to shout in joy. Then finally, when he thought he couldn't bear any more, that mouth took him in completely. Hutch's hand had tightened around him like a vise, holding off his orgasm with deliberate cruelty, until he was shaking violently, until the imploring Please! had been ripped from him against his will. And only then had Hutch let him come, controlling him as no lover ever had, ever could. It had been devastating, rocking him physically and emotionally and scaring him to death. His dream image of Hutch was merging with the real man and Starsky wasn't sure he could cope with that at all.

        "David, are you really comfortable with all this?" Tsuka asked. The lilting tone of her voice shocked him out of his carnal reverie, and he blinked rapidly, realizing he needed to answer.

        He shrugged. "Hutch and me are partners. If he wants to do it, I'm-I'm...." He nearly said, I'm in him with it, but stopped himself in time. Blushing furiously, he coughed, covering up his nearly disastrous faux pas. Then he said, "That is, I'm ready to support anything he wants to do."

        When Hutch raised his eyebrows in apparent surprise, Starsky stumbled, wondering if he'd said too much. Guiltily, he added, "I mean...you know...at the Parrot...." Helplessly, he turned to Hutch who was giving him a smirky smile. "That's right, isn't it?"

        Hutch just patted his arm and he and Tsuka renewed their conversation.

        At least I got a little of my own back last night, Starsky thought, and then was annoyed with himself for letting his mind wander back to that dangerous territory. But he'd been so shaken by Hutch's overpowering passion, his willingness to give, that he knew he had to do something to even the score. It wasn't like he'd never done it before. Some women loved it, and Starsky had always been willing to accommodate almost anything that would make a lady happy. But still...this was Hutch.

        The minute he'd finished coming, the second he'd regained control of his body, he'd shoved Hutch over onto his back. It'd surprised him, and that had made Starsky glad. He was tired of being the only one in this bed that was overwhelmed. He'd moved down in the bed and took a rough hold of Hutch's heavy member, palming it hard, moving his hand the way he'd already learned Hutch loved. But that wasn't enough for him now. He wanted to do more. Even though Hutch was obviously loving his touch, humping his hips in rhythm with Starsky's hand, it wasn't satisfying Starsky's own need to please him. If he were honest he'd admit that pleasing Hutch was only half of what he wanted. He wanted to rock him to his soul. He wanted to shatter him. He wanted to devastate him the way Hutch had done to him. He wanted to give him an experience that could compete with anything Whitelaw could ever offer. And so, as he'd pulled and pumped Hutch to his pleasure, he'd impulsively slid his other hand beneath him and entered him with his finger. He was shaking when he did it, and knew he was too rough, too quick. He couldn't help it. Hutch was so hot inside, so tight. His cock had come up like a snake wanting to strike as he did it and he couldn't lie to himself about how it made him feel. His dream fantasy came on him in a rush, and as Hutch thrashed frantically and clawed his back while calling his name, he finger-fucked Hutch to orgasm and nearly came himself when Hutch fountained all over his own chest.

        He found himself staring at Hutch again. You jerk. You could hold him with just a kiss. But he couldn't do that. Couldn't deal with what it said about him. No, but you can penetrate him and jerk him off, and think you're still a man. You're not a man. You're thirteen years old again, with no hope of growing up. Hutch is a man. Willing to own up to his honest feelings. You're just a hypocrite.

        "Well, that's the way it is with partners," Hutch said, and sat back in his seat, as if done with the conversation.

        Tsuka shook her head dubiously. "If you need any help discussing it with Sugar, let me know. But I think you should broach it first."

#

        "You boys have been hanging out with queers too long," Sugar said bluntly, hands on hips. "Have you lost your minds?" For once, the entertainer wasn't in drag and Hutch found himself identifying the slightly-built, short-haired man wearing everyday casual clothes with the pronoun he.

        "You're the one who started all this," Hutch reminded him. "You're the one who wanted to make a public statement of support. Well, if we don't back that up with some careful planning it could blow up in all our faces. Are you going to stand there and tell me that you don't have political activists in this crowd? They'll know how to work this out. We need to protect the customers who need protection, and get enough regulars who are willing to passively protest--"

        Sugar flapped his hands in the air in denial. "It'll never work. It'll just kill business dead. People don't come here for politics! They come here to have fun. They come here to get laid!"

        Hutch stood dumbfounded with no argument left, his mouth ajar. And it stayed that way when Starsky chimed in beside him.

        "You're underselling your customers, Sugar. While that may have been true at one time, now, at least half of them are involved in some kind of community action work, if the conversations I heard last night were a fair indication. Whitelaw's campaign showed 'em the public would listen to the right message. You've got people here involved in the gay press, in the ecology movement, in civil rights in minority neighborhoods, in voter registration drives.... A bunch of 'em volunteer for Callahan and Whitelaw both. And all of them remember Stonewall. Sure, they come here for fun...but they come here to connect, too."

        For a minute Hutch thought he was going to get misty-eyed. He knew Starsky's support was important to him, but on one hand he expected it, if only nominally. But whenever Hutch thought he really knew a situation, Starsky could always surprise him with his insights.

        Like last night.

        His anus tingled with the physical memory of Starsky's sudden, shocking invasion. That tingle traveled rapidly down his legs and into his cock, throbbing at the head in time with his pulse. He took a deep breath and focused elsewhere.

        Sugar was staring at Starsky. "Well, haven't we become the community activist overnight? Don't tell me you were suddenly struck by lightening on the road to your bedroom, big boy?"

        That hit a nerve. Starsky's body went bowstring tight but he didn't protest. His face just got that cool blank expression, but his complexion darkened. The distraction gave Hutch the time he needed to collect himself.

        "Peter thinks it's a good idea," he said quietly. Starsky wouldn't look at him when Hutch said that, but his non-reaction spoke volumes. You don't like my mentioning him? Too bad, Hutch thought, surprised at his own response.

        Sugar let out a theatrical sigh. "Well, of course, Peter thinks it's a good idea! Ever since he won that election, there's been no living with him!"

        "Will you just think about it?" Hutch asked.

        Sugar pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay. Okay. You two are scary when you work together--but I suppose you know that already. I'll think about it."

        "Good," said Hutch conversationally. "Because Tsuka and Yoshi will be by tonight to talk to you about how we might organize it."

        "I just said I'd think about it!" Sugar insisted. "And if they show up tonight, I can't guarantee I'll have time to talk to them You boys haven't got a clue what Friday nights are like around here, do you?"

        "I'd hope a little busier than last night," Starsky suggested.

        Sugar just laughed. Hutch felt a flash of guilt as he realized he'd forgotten to give Starsky Peter's warning.

#

        Ladies Night, Starsky thought, as he stared at the growing crowd. It was only eight p.m. and already the line was wrapped around the corner. Traffic was heavy as cars slowed down near the bar to let people out in a steady stream. He'd spied some expensive foreign cars pulling up tonight, cars he usually only saw in magazines. Besides the foreign jobs there were plenty of beat up heaps, fancy wheels, and sleek sedans--most of them disgorging the most outrageous passengers he'd ever seen.

        He'd given up trying to tell the men from the women, even when the women clearly had real cleavage and the men were front-heavy. With this mob, you couldn't tell what was really real and what was kind of real and what was waiting to become real. And the dazzling display of outrageous get-ups made him feel like he was working security for the Oscars, if the Oscars were tripping on LSD. He'd tried to keep his expression bland, but more than once tonight he'd felt like a Tex Avery cartoon character with bulging eyes and a jaw clanging down to the ground.

        As an afterthought, he wondered how the hell they were going to fit all of these people into the bar?

        "Good thing the crowd's light tonight," the regular Friday bouncer, Emil, told him. "If this was a normal Friday, we'd already be pushin' capacity." Starsky suspected that Emil might work a regular job as Arnold Schwartzenegger's stand-in, but he wasn't asking. "You let me worry about who's comin' in. I can keep track of who's in and who's out, make sure we don't exceed code. Your job is to make sure things stay nice and sweet inside. Things get rowdy and we could have a riot real easy."

        Starsky blinked, totally dazed. In his previously stereotyped world-view, gay bars were full of happy dancing guys who were too swishy to start any trouble. That he was still clinging to that prejudiced notion after last night's incident in the Black Parrot's bathroom was simply embarrassing. He needed to snap out of it or he'd find himself with an out-of-control mob with only himself to blame.

        "We usually oust the troublemakers without too much hassle," Emil continued to brief him, "but if you need assistance, the bartenders can lend you their helpers."

        He must've looked confused. He knew he could rely on Hutch if things got dicey, but with him all the way behind the bar...?

        "They've got baseball bats under the bar," Emil explained. "Almost never need 'em, but wanted you to know, just in case."

        Baseball bats. Starsky considered quelling a riot with nothing but his force of personality and a baseball bat and wondered if he was in over his head.

        "Yo! Bro'!" a familiar voice called out, and he and Emil turned to see Huggy sauntering up to them. The Bear was dressed in a dazzling combo of orange and green with a matching big apple cap, yet he was definitely one of the more conservatively-clad people on the scene.

        "What it is, Mr. Bear?" Emil greeted Huggy warmly, and the two men exchanged a complicated series of ritual handshakes that ended up with them slapping each other's shoulders.

        Huggy draped an arm ostentatiously around Starsky. "You pull m'man's coat here, 'bout Ladies Night at the Parrot?"

        "Yeah, I gave him the scoop, much as words can, Huggy," Emil said and laughed.

        Starsky was beginning to feel like the student who got left behind last year. "Nice to see ya, Hug. Why don't'cha come say hi to Hutch. I know he'd be glad to draw you up something cold." Then, realizing he'd allowed Huggy to step in front of the entire line, he looked at Emil for guidance.

        The big bouncer just waved them on. "The door's always open for Huggy. But, Dave, stay in touch with me, say every fifteen minutes. You'll have to spell me for dinner break around ten. And someone will spell you at nine-thirty."

        "Got it," Starsky agreed as he and Huggy entered the crowded bar. The bar was even noisier than the traffic on the streets. The rumble of sound from the people trying to converse over the deafening din of music blaring at the dancers was like a wall of vibration as they passed through the front door. Queen was declaring, "We Are The Champions," and the crowd was eating it up.

        Huggy leaned in close to him. "Step into the back with me a minute, huh? I need words with you."

        The normalcy of Huggy's request was just the reassurance Starsky needed. It was like Huggy was acknowledging that in spite of everything Starsky was still a cop, and Huggy was still his connection to the street.

        "What's goin' on?" Starsky asked as they slipped backstage to a discreet, relatively quiet corner. "You hear something about that tape?"

        "Naw, my cousin's still away. But the streets are rumblin' with somethin' else. Somethin' bad."

        "I should've known it would take a serious event to pull you outta the Pits on a Friday night. What's the word?"

        Huggy shook his head. "That's the problem. I don't know. And information is hard to come by. People know we're tight, and not a lot of info has been comin' my way."

        Starsky was really confused now. "You must have some idea."

        Huggy looked perplexed. "You know I hate givin' you half the message, but it's all I got. And I wouldn't have gotten that, except for Callahan's people. I put the word out with her staff of volunteers. Everyone's got their ear to the ground. But you guys've stirred up something, and it's hummin'. Stay sharp, Starsky. Make sure your partner knows, too. I think there's some players in this who ain't real interested in havin' their day in court."

        "Our case is against the city. You think some politico is holding hands with Gunther?"

        Huggy shrugged. "It doesn't have to be a politician, Starsky. It could be the Chief of Police. Could be the D.A.'s office. This whole thing ain't makin' them look none too good, y'know. And for that matter, it's not like Gunther is a name I'm gonna hear on the street. That's why the information's so spotty. Just be prepared, huh?"

        For what? Starsky wondered. Another film starring him and Hutch? He thought of last night and felt dizzy. No, that wouldn't work twice in a row. Still, he'd have to be on his guard. He patted Huggy. "Go on. Talk to Hutch. He'll pour you a cold one. Can you hang out for awhile?"

        Huggy nodded and they separated as Starsky began to prowl the packed bar.

        Around nine p.m., Starsky started moving toward the front doors to do his routine check with Emil. Things were intense inside, but amazingly peaceful. People were dancing, partying, having a rousing good time, but even in the leather bar and the punk hangout, the vibes were good. The wild disco music throbbed through his body and more than once he found himself twitching to get on the dance floor and show a few of these guys how it was really done. He'd started to relax, especially as more and more people acknowledged him as though he belonged there. He'd shared a few jokes with Spike and her friends, found a nice way to turn down the offer of a beer in the biker bar, and in general began to feel like working here wasn't a whole lot different from hanging out at The Pits. There the clientele was often into a variety of illegal activities, but he and Hutch had always felt at home among the street crowd that filled Huggy's place. The Green Parrot and its satellites favored a different flavor of street folks, but there was a familiarity to the vibe that Starsky couldn't ignore. Well...except maybe for the bathrooms.

        Every time he'd looked over at Hutch, his White Knight had been busy serving his part of the bar. More than once, he'd seen some guy lean close to Hutch, smile, getting real friendly, sometimes laying a bill on the bar. Whenever he'd spot something that, Starsky would go tense all over, but Hutch never lost his cool. He'd just smile politely, push the bill away, and in a pleasant way gently say no. Starsky admired his style even while tying his own stomach up in knots with feelings he wouldn't put a name to. He could no longer pretend he was worried about Hutch's ability to defend himself. Not after last night. He was relieved that Peter Whitelaw was nowhere to be seen.

        He finally got to the front doors, but masses of people were blocking them. Fearing a fire trap, he shoved his way through the crowd, forcing people to go in or out, or right or left, just so long as they cleared the area. There was a stir of activity immediately outside the entrance, and as he emerged, he blinked in the glare of painfully bright lights.

        Don't tell me Sugar's ordered spotlights! Like we need more attention here!

        As he finally pulled free from the crowded entrance, he was nearly blinded by bright Kleig lights aimed right at him. Even his shades couldn't protect him against that much glare.

        He put a hand in front of his eyes to dim the light just as Emil snapped, "Dave! Get back inside! Now!"

        Huggy's warning and the tone of Emil's voice set every hair on his body on end. His left hand moved toward the inside of his jacket before he could stop himself. He felt so naked without his gun.

        "Dave!" Emil called warningly again, then muttered, "Oh, damn it!"

        Starsky couldn't even see him in the crush of bodies and the overly bright light. Suddenly, the spotlight shifted off his face, giving him a better view of the area through squinting eyes. He spotted the reporter at the same time she spotted him.

        "Detective Starsky! Is this where you and Detective Hutchinson are working now? Or are you just socializing?"

        The microphone was shoved so close to his mouth it nearly hit him on the lip. The reporter was the same black woman with the quick wit who'd been at the restaurant that morning. He recognized her now, having seen her numerous on-the-spot reports during the eleven o'clock news. Glancing around the street, he spied the TV van parked near the corner, electric lines snaking all over the street. Traffic was a congested mess as cars slowed down to see what the TV crew was up to. Some of the cars were going around the block again and again just to get a good view. He recognized a yellow Corvette that he'd seen before, and a plain, dark sedan with one headlight out. Dozens of cars just seemed to be idly cruising by.

        The cameraman moved into his line of sight and he suddenly wondered if he was on a live feed. His whole body tensed with stress.

        "That's right," Emil said to the reporter defensively, clamping a vise-like grip onto Starsky's arm. "He's working. And he don't have to talk to you while he's on the clock." To Starsky, he said quietly, "Go on, Dave. You don't have to deal with this. Go on inside."

        He didn't like feeling like a deer in the headlights. He casually extracted himself from Emil's grasp. "It's okay, man. I can handle it." He turned to the woman. "Is this live?"

        "Does that matter?" she asked in an off-the-record tone.

        "Yeah," he said bluntly.

        He glanced toward the truck and saw another cameraman filming some of the more flamboyant patrons. Spike and her entourage had come outside and had hooked up with some other friends waiting on line. The punks immediately played to the camera, going into character, camping it up wildly. Spike shrugged off her leather jacket and flexed her prominent biceps, showing off her tattoos.

        Starsky had to stifle a laugh. Even as he worried about what clips the station would use to frame the piece, he had to admire the blatant courage of the gays who stood defiantly flaming at the camera, demanding the world accept them as they were. I don't have half the balls that little girl does, he thought ruefully, watching Spike strut her stuff.

        He looked back at the reporter. "Is it live?" he asked again.

        "I'd like an answer to that, too, Barbara," said a quiet voice behind him.

        Startled, he turned to find K.R. Callahan walking up to them. Primly dressed, bun firmly secured, briefcase in hand, she looked as if she'd arrived for court. He didn't have to ask this time if she'd brought this publicity down on them. She wasn't happy, not at all.

        The reporter dropped the microphone and swung it around on its cord. She waved her cameraman away, sighing tiredly. "Come on, K.R., I got a job to do just like you." She turned to Starsky. "No, it's not a live feed, but I need film to run at eleven."

        "A little color reporting?" Kelly Rose asked. Her voice was clipped, precise. She looked grim.

        "Well, what did you think?" Barbara asked her. "That these guys were going to be able to work at this place, the most notorious gay bar in L.A., and no one was gonna do a piece on it? Come on, girl! At least you know I'll play it serious, not like Donald would if he'd gotten the call." She was referring to the station's other on-the-scene reporter who was known for his sarcastic social commentaries. She grinned at Starsky. "He'd be right up in your face, baby, asking when you were gonna get in drag so he could be sure and get some tape on that."

        "He'd only get to ask once," Starsky said quietly.

        Callahan glanced at him warningly, recognizing a tone in his voice that concerned her. She placed a hand on his arm. The difference between her light, warm touch and Emil's overpowering grip made them seem like two different life forms. That made Starsky think of another contrast--Hutch's hands--touching him lovingly last night. He shuddered and was grateful when K.R.'s serious tone brought him back to the problem at hand.

        "Look, Barbara, if your station is going to play this for a lot of sensational anti-gay hype, you can forget about any cooperation from us. I won't have any choice but to advise my clients to say nothing to the press, to give no interviews--"

        "Okay, okay," Barbara conceded, swinging the microphone absently while considering her options. "You know I only have so much control over how the station edits the piece--"

        "They can only edit what you give them," Callahan reminded her. She pointed to the cameraman still working the crowd on line. "You know what they'll do with that footage."

        Barbara sighed, clearly exasperated and torn between her own journalistic conscience and the demands of her job. She leaned closer to the lawyer and said quietly, "You think it's easy playin' the game with those fat white cats at the station? You know how easy it is for them to bring in some new pretty little thing and send me on my way? You're asking a lot, girlfriend."

        Another woman's voice chimed in from the side. "Oh, come on, Barbara, it can't be that hard. I mean, we're all so much smarter than they are, anyway."

        Starsky blinked as C.D. Phelps joined the other two women. Standing behind and to the side of her was a still photographer.

        Callahan grinned and Barbara chuckled quietly.

        "Well...that is the truth...," Barbara drawled. "What the hell are you doing here, lady? I thought you were forbidden to put any work in on this scene."

        "Christine?" Callahan asked, obviously surprised to see her.

        C.D. nodded at Starsky, but she was clearly here to talk to the other two women. He was beginning to feel like an afterthought. Like him, the cameraman and the photographer were also standing by and waiting for direction from these women. He wondered, for the first time, if this was how most of the female police officers felt when the guys pulled rank on them and took over their most interesting cases. He cringed, wondering how often he'd done it.

        "I think I found a way around that," C.D. was saying. "I've got an ally on another paper. She's gonna run my piece in her rag as being staff written."

        Barbara looked stunned, and Callahan didn't seem too pleased either.

        "You'd give up your byline...?" Barbara said, dismayed.

        "Christine, that'll violate your contract," Callahan warned. "You could not only lose your job, you could lose your professional standing and get sued besides!"

        C.D. just shrugged. "That's okay. I've got a really good lawyer. Right?" She looked meaningfully at Callahan, who smiled and nodded in reassurance. "Hey, look, I think there's a good story here. I'm not passing it up because my boss is a jerk. And besides, we are smarter than those fat cats in charge. My boss never reads the competitor's paper. In fact, most of us don't think he reads ours, either. There's a rumor going around the office that he can't read at all. Of course, I started that one...."

        The three women all laughed, while Starsky just stood there feeling out of his depth as they plotted. He thought of that modern adaptation of Shakespeare's MacBeth that Hutch had dragged him to last year. The three witches in that play hadn't been haggard crones, but stunning Hollywood starlets. They'd played their roles as women who were in contempt of all the foolish men who didn't have the sense to listen to their good advice. He shuddered a little, glad at least two of these three were on his side. He still wasn't so sure about Barbara.

        "How are you going to play this?" C.D. asked Barbara pointedly, putting her on the spot.

        The black woman looked tired. "You know how I want to play it. I just don't know if I can get away with the sympathy angle." The other two women stared at her. "Okay! Okay! You're right. We are smarter. I'll think of something...."

        "Good," Callahan said agreeably. "In that case, I'll make sure my client has time for an interview. That all right with you, Dave?"

        Realizing someone was finally interested in his input, he nodded on cue.

        "You okay?" C.D. asked him solicitously. She must've sensed his consternation.

        He had to smile. "Are you kidding? I haven't had this many women worried about my well-being since my mom and my Aunt Rose came to my Police Academy graduation. If you three represent the new career woman, then us guys are in big trouble! You ladies are something else."

        "How about it, Dave?" Barbara asked him. "K.R.? Come on, give me a statement, some tape. I've got to have something to work with or they'll take it totally out of my hands and show nothing but clips of the circus." She indicated the line waiting to get into the bar.

        Callahan looked at him, waiting for him to decide.

        "Sure. Okay," he said, then hoped he wouldn't make a total jerk of himself on camera. Hi, mom! It's me, Davey. Working security at a gay bar on Ladies Night! But it's okay, mom. I'm still your butch son. I'm a little worried about Hutch, though....

        "How about if we stand over there?" Callahan said to Barbara. "You can get the logo of the bar, yet avoid the noise of the crowd."

        Four of the drag queens were going into a dramatic chorus of "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" that would do Judy Garland proud. There was no way they could a do piece of film and not pick up strains of that. Well, Starsky thought philosophically, at least they're in tune.

        "Sure," Barbara said agreeably, signaling to her patient cameraman, "we can do that. Here, the two of you stand side by side over here...."

        "I'll give you a statement, Barbara," Callahan said, "but I want you to take some footage of Dave by himself. And maybe we can get Ken out here for some tape, too. I don't want people to think they can't speak for themselves."

        Barbara rolled her eyes. "Well, hey, girl, why don't you just come down to the station and edit this thing for me, too?"

        She smiled charmingly. "Oh, could I? That would be real helpful!"

        C.D. Phelps had moved to the side and was jotting notes, while her cameraman took a few candids, but all three of the women laughed when Kelly said that.

        "Come on now, K.R.," Barbara's cameraman chimed in, focusing. "You know how this works. Move closer to your client so I can frame this right." He looked around the camera at them for a minute and smiled. "Dave can you slouch down a little? Or can someone get that lawyer a box to stand on? You look like a midget, K.R."

        "I was always told good things come in small packages," Starsky said quietly, and the group laughed good-naturedly as Callahan's freckles stood out from her blush. The look she gave him was not strictly business-like.

        You're a pretty lady, Starsky thought, gazing back at her. Hutch's right. You don't deserve to be jerked around by a couple of cops who can't figure out what they are. But he couldn't deny how good, how normal it felt to be standing beside her just as one man and one woman.

        "Do I look okay?" he asked her quietly.

        She gave him a perfunctory once over, straightened the lapel of his leather jacket, then pulled off his shades. "Wearing sunglasses after dark makes you look like a hood," she said, as she tucked the folded glasses back into his pocket. "Or a vampire. Besides, we wouldn't want to hide your lovely eyes." That last statement seemed to have escaped against her will, and she looked slightly uncomfortable.

        For some reason, he found himself giving her the grin Hutch called his moving-in-for-the-kill grin. "You like my eyes, huh?"

        She didn't answer, but for a moment she gave him an intense stare, her green eyes more captivating than he remembered.

        "I like yours, too," he said.

        Then the moment was broken as the cameraman cued the reporter. "Okay, we're on."

        Barbara came right to the point. "Ms. Callahan, did you think it was a good idea for your clients to take on jobs at L.A.'s most prominent gay bar, the Green Parrot? Is that the kind of work policemen should be engaged in?"

        "It's an honest job," Callahan said distinctly, "and they're currently suspended without pay. How many of us can afford to be without a salary? The gay community wants to support these men against the discrimination they've endured at the hands of the city. But, of course, what we really want is to see them back in their careers, protecting all of the city, not just some of its citizens...."

        While the tones of her lilting voice washed over him, Starsky became more and more aware of the sense of her physical self as she stood close to him. He caught the pleasant scent of something she was wearing--perfume? soap?--and was able to admire the clean shine of her tidy hair. Next to some of the glamorous starlets that he'd seen tonight, both the real women and the elaborate drag queens, her simple suit and the way she underplayed her own attractiveness was a refreshing change. As Starsky listened to her defending him and Hutch against the entire world, he felt drawn to her on many levels. It wasn't just because she was the only woman in the city willing to look at him as a man, either. In a city of a million liars, she was totally honest and sincere. How often did he and Hutch ever find anyone like that?

        He realized suddenly that she had stopped talking and that he'd lost track of what she was saying.

        "Okay, Dave," Barbara said as her cameraman moved into a different position. "You're the star now."

        Callahan smiled reassuringly at him as she stepped away, and there was a glint in her eye that he wanted to believe was just for him. He felt his emotions careening back and forth. Hutch had told him to go ahead, ask her out, go with her...but the memory of Hutch's touch still burned on his skin.

        If he didn't stop thinking about all of this, he'd be so confused he'd never be able to act on anything. He blanked his mind, softly hummed a silent ohm and tried to regain his center.

        "Just stand there, Dave," Barbara advised him as her cameraman refocused, "and try to look natural, okay? Then we'll go get your partner and get some more tape with him." She looked back at the cameraman to see if he was ready, as he proceeded to adjust his settings.

        Starsky fidgeted and scanned the street, aware of the crowd watching the taping and calling encouragement to him. C.D. Phelps was talking to Spike and her friends and taking notes, while her photographer wandered around snapping pictures. When Spike caught his eye, she gave him a big grin and pantomimed driving his car. He started to laugh, then had to struggle to compose himself for the camera. He didn't need to look like a grinning idiot during this interview.

        "Okay, Dave, we're on," Barbara said, when her cameraman nodded finally. "Detective Starsky, were you and your partner regular customers of the Green Parrot before your suspension? Is that why the owners offered you work?"

        The question, and its blatant implication, startled him and he glanced over at Callahan for guidance. She smiled and nodded encouragingly and he remembered her telling him to answer honestly and simply.

        He turned back to the reporter. "No, actually, the only association my partner and I had with this establishment was during a murder investigation involving another police officer several years ago when...."

        He trailed off as his peripheral vision spotted a plain, dark sedan with a missing headlight rounding the corner to cruise by the bar. He'd seen that same car four of five times tonight, always moving slowly, going around and around the block.... He couldn't remember seeing it ever letting anyone out or picking anyone up....

        "When what, Dave? Dave?" Barbara sounded exasperated. "Did you forget what you were going to say? Listen, that's okay, but let's take this again from the top and call that practice. Dave, you need to make your statement all at once and get it out. Let's take it from the beginning, okay? I'll ask the same question and you give me a complete response this time. We ready?"

        But Starsky was too distracted by the dark sedan. Behind him, by Emil's station, he could hear Huggy's voice as he joked with the big bouncer. And that reminded him of Huggy's warning.

        The streets are rumblin' with something...something bad.

        So when the sedan slowed down even more and the snout of an automatic weapon emerged from the passenger's window, Starsky wasn't even surprised. The weapon took aim at Callahan standing alone on the sidewalk.

Continued in Chapter 14b