CHAPTER 24
Welcome to the Hotel California,
We are programmed to receive,
You can check in any time you like,
But you can never leave.
Hotel
California -- Eagles
"Hey, old man," the prison guard said brusquely as he smacked his club against the bars. "Gunther!"
Gunther turned to see what the guard wanted. It was early, only six thirty in the morning and they hadn't had breakfast yet.
"Let's go," the guard said. "You've got a visitor."
Only his lawyer could get access to him at this hour. His heart started pounding. Had it worked? Had Cantrall finally defeated them? Obtained Gunther's release? His palms started to sweat. He rubbed them against his prison-issued clothes, and without saying anything, stepped out of the cell and preceded the guard to the meeting room.
There was no one waiting for him when they got there.
"He'll be here in a minute," the guard said in that same disinterested voice. "Make yourself cozy." Then he chuckled at his own witticism and left, locking the door behind him.
Gunther listened to the clanging doors and clung to hope. But when it opened again, the person who entered wasn't someone he recognized. It was a young man, startlingly handsome with bright blue eyes, his red hair perfectly groomed. Two other, bigger men stood behind him, shoulder-to-shoulder. Gunther didn't need to be told who they were. They might as well have had FBI stamped on their foreheads.
Gunther waited, saying nothing. Where was Cantrall? What was going on?
"Mr. Gunther?" the young, handsome man said. "My name is Robert Kincaid. I'm your lawyer."
A cold flash ran through Gunther's spine. "No, you're not. Josh Cantrall is my lawyer."
"Mr. Cantrall is currently in police custody," Kincaid said matter-of-factly. "He's been charged with several counts of conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to undermine the authority of the state, conspiracy to overthrow the police department...well, let's just say he's going to be too busy working on his own defense to be worrying about yours." Kincaid cocked his head to one side and gave Gunther a small smile. "These gentlemen are here to serve you with some subpoenas."
Without another word, one of the FBI agents stepped forward and placed several legal papers on the table in front of Gunther. He did not look at them. Instead, he kept his eye on Kincaid.
"Since Mr. Cantrall," Kincaid went on, "is currently unable to serve as your attorney, and since his law firm is currently under orders to freeze all its assets and records for the court, and since Mr. Cantrall claims that you are involved in the alleged conspiracies with him, the court has assigned me to represent you."
"You're a public defender," Gunther said, staring at this boy who couldn't have been out of law school more than a year.
"That's correct, sir," Kincaid said respectfully. But the subtle body English that went along with that statement chilled Gunther even more than the lawyer's inexperience.
You're a public defender fresh out of law school--and you're gay. The drab room suddenly seemed ten degrees colder.
"I have the right to choose my own attorney," he insisted. "As long as I can afford...."
One of the FBI agents stepped forward and placed a blocky finger on one of the papers. "The remains of your personal assets have been frozen by the courts, Mr. Gunther. Mr. Cantrall has indicated those assets have been used in an ongoing conspiracy and have been used to fund other crimes. While our investigation proceeds, your remaining assets are unavailable. If it is determined that those assets were, in fact, used to facilitate a crime, they will confiscated."
"So, I can't afford a private lawyer," Gunther said, trying to keep the defeat out of his voice.
"In addition to the freezing of your funds," Kincaid said, "I must advise you that the courts have found ample evidence that you have repeatedly used your assets to corrupt your legal advisors. You need to know that while you still maintain the right to private counsel, our interactions will be under the court's scrutiny. If there is any suspicion that you have again attempted to coerce illegal activity from your legal counsel--me--the courts will remove me and reassign another lawyer in my place."
To ensure that my defense is perpetually fractured, Gunther realized. As if there were anything in this smirking faggot that he could use to his advantage. It was not the first time Gunther had felt a frustrating hopelessness when going against his two adversaries, but it was the first time it felt so final.
"What has happened to the policemen, Starsky and Hutchinson?" He shouldn't ask this man, but now he had no other source to the outside world.
"I brought you this," Kincaid said in a kindly way. He snapped open his elegantly appointed leather briefcase and brought out several newspapers. Dropping them on the table, he said, "The coverage in these should give you all the information you need. I'd like to set up an appointment with you for a consultation after I've gone over your court records. I know I have a lot of work ahead of me to prepare for your defense."
Gunther barely heard those last comments. Any "defense" this ridiculous baby would come up with could only be slightly better than nothing.
His attention was captured by the garish headlines and bizarre photographs on the front page of the daily papers.
"GAY COPS UNCOVER VAST CORRUPTION IN POLICE FORCE."
"GAY COPS SAVE THE CITY AGAIN."
"MAYOR MAY RESIGN UNDER CONSPIRACY CLOUD."
"GAY COPS USE PEACEFUL PROTEST TO WIN JUSTICE."
Once again, their pictures were staring him in the face. Happy. Smiling. Hugging. Touching each other right on the front page. Winning. Beating him. Again. His eyes roved the page and he saw a quote.
"'Justice isn't for only a select group,' Detective Hutchinson said. 'Justice is for everyone. That's what Starsky and I will always fight for. Whether we have a badge or not.'"
Gunther felt the blood drain from his face. He sat heavily in the nearest chair, not really hearing the FBI men take their leave, or his new lawyer assure him he'd be back within three days to plot their defense. The door clanged shut behind them as Gunther sat alone and stared at the taunting newspapers spread across the table.
~~~
Starsky opened his eyes to see bright sunlight streaming through his bedroom window. Birds were singing, fresh air was gently blowing the curtains around, and he could hear some kids playing street hockey on noisy roller skates. All of it perfectly normal. He was comfortable in spite of the cool breeze. He was still encased warmly within his velveteen patchwork bedspread, and around his back was wrapped the man he loved.
The man I love.
He rolled that thought around his brain for a few minutes.
Hutch clung to him like a spider, his arms wound securely around Starsky's chest and middle, trapping his right arm, while his left remained free to hold Hutch in return. His fingers were entwined with Hutch's, gripping firmly. Hutch's legs were so thoroughly entangled with Starsky's, it felt like no inch of his skin was not in contact with Hutch's warmth and smoothness. The ball of Starsky's right foot idly rubbed against the top of Hutch's in a reassuring caress.
Starsky lay perfectly still, assessing his surroundings on this new, strange day. His head was nestled comfortably both by his own pillow and also by Hutch's shoulder. Against his ear, he could feel the warm draught of Hutch's breath whistling against his neck and shoulder. It felt good. He didn't want to move, knowing that the minute he did the aches he'd acquired from last night would remind him of everything he'd been through at the rough hands of the rogue cops. Better to just lie here and feel the texture of Hutch's golden skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath, the security of his strong gun hand. Much better to feel all those things--along with the steady bloom of arousal from Hutch's impressive shaft currently growing along the crack of Starsky's ass. He shivered uncontrollably, unable to stop his body's reaction to the subtle suggestion Hutch's body presented.
I offered it to you once out of fear of losing you, Starsky thought. Can I find it in me to offer it again, out of love? Because you're deserving and so worthy? Because I want to give you all that I am?
The involuntary shudder must've roused Hutch slightly. His arms tightened protectively as his mouth moved against the shell of Starsky's ear. "'Kay?" he mumbled groggily.
"Ssssh," Starsky soothed, cuddling back against him. "Everything's fine." His shifting caused Hutch's now substantial morning erection to nestle confidently in the furrow of his body.
God, you're big, he thought with not a little trepidation. He moved his ass slightly, testing the length of it, the breadth. Could that really fit in me? Could I possibly like it? Immediately, he felt a stab of guilt. Hutch had taken everything from him without complaint. Even when he'd been too rough, too hurried. It didn't matter whether Starsky could handle it or not. They were partners. He would not let their love affair--he ran those words through his mind again, love affair--alter the basic fairness that had always been part of them right from the beginning.
"You keep wigglin' 'round like that," Hutch said sleepily, "and things'll be a whole lot more than fine before you know it." He tightened his already possessive grip and shifted his hips subtly, deliberately rubbing his hard-on up and down Starsky's crack.
Starsky hissed at the sensation and managed to whisper, "It's yours if you want it." Then he closed his eyes and froze.
Hutch kissed the edge of his ear. His voice was still thick with sleep. "You said that that first night. Do you remember?"
Starsky sifted through his memory warehouse. He saw himself in the mirror, sprawled, wanton, hotter than he'd ever been. They'd been tickling, wrestling, playing around, and Hutch's heavy cock had found its cradle just as it had now. It's yours if you want it.
"I remember," he told Hutch. "I meant it."
Much to his own surprise. He recalled the white-hot desire curling inside him, the craving to give himself to Hutch, to use their passion to bind Hutch to him forever--his desperation to make that happen--his fear that their passion was just a romp for Hutch, a one-time aberration he would not be willing to repeat. Was any of that fear still there? "I still mean it." Whatever else he felt, that was the truth. Hutch deserved it. Deserved anything he wanted. It didn't matter what Starsky feared, how it felt, what the consequences were. He belonged to Hutch. Hutch deserved to know that.
"I'm yours, babe. All of me. Now and always." His own cock rose to the promise.
Hutch's hand found him, gathered him up in his big palm. Starsky swelled more at the warm attention, pulsing in Hutch's loving grip. Hutch breathed a purr of pleasure against Starsky's ear. "I see waking up with you every day is going to be a test of stamina."
Starsky grinned to hear the easy banter in his sleepy lover's voice. "Think you're up for it, cowboy?" he teased back.
Hutch chuckled wickedly and warned, "Don't push your luck."
They hugged each other and just rested in their mutual warmth, letting the excitement skitter enticingly along nerve endings. "I could make us breakfast," Starsky offered. He wanted to give Hutch everything right now. Comfort, food, coddling, endless hours of long loving.
Hutch's hand tightened warningly around his cock. "Haven't you heard? You're breakfast. The perfect health food. Quick. Convenient. Warm. Nutritious. Cholesterol free. High in protein. And packaged so beautifully." He nuzzled the juncture of Starsky's neck and shoulder, making electricity dance along the knobs of his spine.
"Who's quick?" he challenged, affronted.
Hutch deliberately tickled him with his nose, making him snort in laughter and scrunch up his shoulder.
"We both need a shower," Starsky said. Hutch's semen was now a flaking dry patch on his belly, gluing his body hair to his skin.
"Ummm. Guess you're right. Okay. One wet breakfast coming up." Hutch's hand slid lower to toy with Starsky's balls in a way that made his eyes roll up.
"Hutch!" he breathed as his lover played with his testicles with an expertise that amazed him.
"Feel good?" Hutch murmured provocatively, even though he obviously knew the answer.
Starsky shifted his legs, spreading them, slinging the outside one over Hutch's. If Hutch kept that up, he'd have him begging for it. Fill me up with you. Possess me and make me love it.
Hutch shifted, his cock slipping between Starsky's thighs, his crown sliding back and forth against Starsky's perineum, the wet tip kissing the back of his balls. "Starsky...?" Hutch said softly, a sudden edge of urgency in his voice.
Starsky gently enclosed Hutch's long shaft with his thighs, purposefully stimulating him. "Yes...." He shuddered, not wanting to think too much. Not wanting to examine the unreasoning fear that stoked his adrenaline that much higher.
Hutch shifted in the bed, his arms tightening around Starsky, making him feel trapped.
Isn't that the way I made you feel the night I took you before you were ready for me? Go on, Hutch. Hold me down. Make me take it. I know I'll love it from you.
"Starsk--?" Hutch breathed.
The phone rang suddenly, startling them both.
"Goddamnit!" Hutch swore, wide awake now.
"Should I let it go?" Starsky asked, praying Hutch would say yes while his cop's instinct screamed at him to answer it.
Hutch paused for another ring before muttering disgustedly. "Could be Dobey. Kelly. Better get it."
Shit! Starsky swore silently, then grabbed it on the fourth ring. "What?" Just because he'd answered the damned thing, didn't mean he had to be nice about it.
"Starsky?" a breathy voice asked. "That you?"
"Yeah," he said grumpily, trying to place the voice. He propped himself up on one elbow, and moved the phone to his other ear.
"It's Trixie. Tried to get you over at Hutch's but no one answered there. I've got a surprise for you."
Yeah, we already got it, he thought, annoyed. But he softened his voice when he said, "This better be good, Trixie."
He felt Hutch's curiosity as he sat up and leaned over to share the earpiece.
There was a rattling sound over the phone as if Trixie were handing it off to someone else. Then suddenly a voice rough with disuse rasped, "Hey, amigo, que pasa?"
Starsky's eyes widened. "Tomas? Is that you?"
"Sort of," the voice said with a slight laugh. "I'm kinda in pieces here, bro'. But I'm doin' better. ID'ed the cop who set me up today. Thanks to Baylor and Meredith. And, Starsky, they think they're gonna be able to save my eye."
He was surprised when his chest suddenly tightened up hard and he couldn't answer.
Hutch took the phone from him as if realizing he was too overcome. He held it where Starsky could still hear what was going on. "That's great news, buddy! The best. We'll try to get over to see you today, okay?"
"Not today," Tomas warned. He was sounding tired already. "I'm going in for some more surgery on my leg. That's why we wanted to call you now. Trixie'll let you know how it goes. She told me about everything that's happened. You get your badges back yet?"
"Not yet," Hutch said, "but Dobey thinks it's going to happen. Don't you worry about us. Just get well and get outta there, okay?"
"You got it," Tomas said. "And, hey, we heard about the scene in the lockup. Trixie's all kinds of mad she missed it. Wants a rerun just for her. So, like, uh, when's the wedding?" He chuckled delightedly.
"Soon as we can find enough bridesmaids," Hutch said, grinning.
Starsky could hear Trixie let out a squeal in the background.
"Good luck, Tomas," Hutch said. "We'll talk to you tomorrow." Hutch leaned past Starsky to hang up the phone, then put a big hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "You all right?"
He was being Hutch, the old Hutch, his partner, checking on him, making sure he wasn't in too much pain inside. It felt good to know that was still there.
Starsky nodded. "Still hurts, y'know. What happened to Tomas. 'Cause of us."
"Not because of us," Hutch said wisely. "Because of Gunther. Because there were cops so crooked they could do that to another cop."
Hutch was right. Starsky leaned back against him. Hutch slung a long arm around him and gave him a hug, then a quick kiss on his cheek. Well, that wasn't quite like the old Hutch, but who was Starsky to complain about new and improved? He turned his head, wondering if he dared try a morning kiss before brushing his teeth.
Then someone knocked on the door.
The two of them collapsed back on the bed in dismay.
"Didn't you put out the 'Do Not Disturb' sign?" Starsky asked irritably.
"Thought that was your job," Hutch fired back. The knock came again.
"We're never gonna be allowed to make love in the morning, are we?" Starsky asked plaintively.
"Doesn't look that way, does it?" Hutch agreed mournfully.
Starsky got out of bed, accepting reality. He grabbed his robe and donned it hastily. "Why don't you catch that shower and let me see if I can get rid of the bad news in a hurry."
"You're on," Hutch agreed, shedding the quilt and moving stiffly toward the bathroom.
The sight of all that golden skin covering the body he was so desperately in love with exposed in the bright sunlight nearly caused Starsky to walk into the door. Hutch grinned at him and shook his head as he closed the bathroom door behind him.
"I'm comin', I'm comin'!" Starsky called at the front door, wishing ruefully that was true. His erection had subsided during the phone call with Tomas so at least he wasn't sporting a tent pole under his robe. He scratched his hands through his unruly curls, probably only making them worse, just before he squinted through his see-through at the offending visitor.
"Did I wake you guys?" Peter Whitelaw said regretfully, as he took in Starsky's sleepy countenance.
"Oh, no," Starsky said, opening the door and ushering Peter in. "The phone call just before you did that."
Peter smiled. "Sorry about that, Starsky. But a lot of stuff's been going on while you've been catching your beauty rest." He grinned wider. "And by the looks of things you could probably use some more."
"Cute," Starsky said, but smiled back at him. Peter was in the very same suit he'd been in when they'd been arrested last night. His face was not clean shaven as it usually was, but was covered with a day's growth. "You haven't been to bed yet!"
Peter shook his head. "If I'm lucky I'll get there soon. A lot's happened this morning after you guys were released. K.R. and I have been in a bunch of meetings.... And the Mayor resigned an hour ago."
Starsky blinked and settled on the arm of his couch. "He resigned?"
"Cantrall fingered him hoping to make a better deal. Was able to show a transaction of Gunther's stock trading hands. Of course, it'll have to go to court, but the suspicion was enough for the D.A. to demand his resignation."
"Hard to believe how far reaching this is," Starsky said, a little stunned. "All of that, just to get rid of two street cops?"
"Two street cops who'd consistently undermined Gunther's operations, who'd brought a halt to his illegal activities over and over. And this time, it looks like you've ended them totally. His assets have been frozen. He's going to have to use a public defender since he can't be trusted not to corrupt his private ones. Uh, listen, I really wouldn't have bothered you guys, but before I went home to collapse, I wanted to show you this. I figured I owed you, after bringing you the bad news that first morning."
He opened his briefcase and tossed at least six different papers onto the coffee table. Three were local and one of them Starsky had seen. But there was also The Chicago Tribune, The Daily News from New York, and The Dallas Morning Times. They were national news again, but this time, in every paper, the words "GAY COPS" were equated with heroism, with protecting and serving their city. Starsky just blinked at the headlines.
Peter waited for a moment, then said quietly, "Are you okay with this, Starsky? The label?" He seemed worried, concerned for Starsky's feelings.
He could only smile in reassurance. "You kidding? Hell, it's nothing but the truth now, right?"
Peter had witnessed so much between them. Starsky couldn't help wonder how confused he was by it all, by them, by their relationship.
"You don't know what to think about us, do you?" Starsky asked gently.
Peter shrugged, looking tired and confused. "I guess I don't. I mean, it's not like you two have followed any typical pattern for gays coming out late in life. You really think you're gay now?"
"Well...I can't imagine cruisin' the guys at the Parrot on Friday nights, but I know how I feel about Hutch. I'm in love with him. And I feel great about that."
"I...uh...never saw two men show the ferocity that you two showed for each other when you were both under attack. When we were in the bar during the raid and Hutch broke position to go after the cops assaulting you...I realized I didn't know him, didn't know either of you at all. It was...kind of sobering."
"Well," Starsky said, "that was an extreme moment. But Hutch and me, we've had many of those. Each of us would die for the other, and we've always known that. This other thing...the passion...the love...we're still working that out. Trying to handle it. But we'll figure it out. Now."
"Uh...is Ken...is Hutch here? I went to Venice Place first but no one answered. Or," Peter smiled wryly "do you have him stashed somewhere, handcuffed to the bed?"
Starsky felt the blood rush to his face, but before he could answer, Hutch said behind him, "No, not this morning anyway. How are you, Peter?" He squeezed Starsky's shoulders in greeting as he had a million mornings before. He was showered, shaved, long hair wet and combed back out of his face, moustache trimmed neatly. He looked beautiful. Starsky wondered how long it would be before he could get him alone.
Hutch plopped a few aspirin in his hand. "Here. Go take those, you'll feel better. Why don't you hit the shower?"
So you can be alone with Peter? Starsky wondered for one traitorous moment, then realized Hutch probably had some ends to tie up there. He deserved the chance to do that. He tossed the aspirin to the back of his throat and swallowed them dry, then excused himself to go see if hot water would work some of the kinks out of his bruised body.
~~~
"I don't know about you," Hutch said warmly, genuinely happy to see Peter, "but I need some coffee." He went over to the kitchen to set up the pot and Peter followed him.
"I feel like I'm always asking you this," Peter said, "but are you okay? Those cops really mauled you last night."
Hutch shrugged dismissively as he turned the heat on under the pot. The aspirin and hot shower had eased some of his aches, but it was the anticipation of loving Starsky that made him feel like a nineteen-year-old with a perpetual hard-on. Even now, the whisper of Starsky's offer thrummed through his blood like an illicit drug. It's yours if you want it. Had there ever been anything he'd wanted more? Unless it was the thought of Starsky taking him again.
Don't think about that or you'll throw a rod you'll never be able to hide in this robe. But he couldn't hide from the truth that bewildered him even as it excited him. If Starsky discovered he couldn't handle it, didn't like it, couldn't tolerate Hutch possessing him, that was okay with Hutch. He'd discovered the blissful freedom of giving himself totally to Starsky. The joy of that voluntary surrender to someone he loved and trusted so implicitly was unlike anything he'd ever known with any bed partner, even the women he'd really loved. He knew he would be a happy man if they were limited only to that. The labels meant nothing to him. When he was under Starsky he was free to truly love and be loved in return. There was nothing like it in this world.
He collected his thoughts enough to answer Peter. "Me and Starsk, we've had hairy scenes before. A little out of the ordinary, but--"
"Just part of the job," Peter finished for him. "Hutch...I've never known any men who would really die for each other. It was a pretty incredible thing to see."
Hutch paused. He tried to imagine himself from Peter's point-of-view. When he'd interviewed Peter about John's death, he'd been thoroughly professional, interested only in facts he could assemble to get to the bottom of a good cop's suspicious end. The next time Peter saw him was on film, nude, making love to his partner. Then they met in person, at Venice Place. Hutch was rattled, confused, but still professional and calm. Between him and Starsky, he was definitely the rational one of the team. Even after the shootout at the bar, Hutch had been once more cool and collected when Peter had come to see him afterwards. Through all the passive resistance training sessions at the bar, Hutch had been almost Zen-like in leading the classes, playing at being a bad cop, a demonstrator, showing a strong, centered togetherness he'd learned from yoga and martial arts.
And then, in a heartbeat, he'd lost it all completely when he saw Starsky on his knees, imprisoned by Russo, being offered to Wilson. It wasn't as if he couldn't remember what had happened then. He could remember every second. The rage had filled him like a demonic spirit. He'd nearly levitated from where he'd been sitting in lotus, knocking people out of his way like bowling pins. He'd had no time to think. All he could see was Starsky facing the terror of rape again, just like in Brooklyn. There was no way he could let that happen.
Peter had been near him when he'd broken formation. Hutch had been urging calm to those around him just before he'd acted. Peter must've thought he'd been possessed. Yeah, Hutch realized, no doubt Peter had never seen anything like that before.
Hutch smelled the coffee boiling and turned off the heat. Reaching for three cups, he tried to remember what kissing Peter had felt like and realized he couldn't. He couldn't remember Peter's kiss...or Kira's...or Abby's...or even Gillian's. He couldn't remember anything before the magnetic pull of Starsky's mouth in that jail cell, the feel of those lips against his, the sweet taste of his tongue, the erotic touch of his teeth--
"Hutch?" Peter asked, pulling his attention back, "are you happy?"
He felt his face split into an easy grin, one of the most genuine he'd had in a long time. "Oh, hell, yeah. I'm happy. I'm the happiest man in the world." Or rather he would be if he could get everyone the hell out of here and off the phone so he could be alone with Starsky, preferably for the rest of their lives.
He poured three cups for them, doctoring Starsky's with sugar the way he liked. Distantly, he heard the shower turn off and worked at not imagining Starsky exiting the tub, wet as a seal, water dripping off the end of his cock, like some kind of god emerging from the sea. Damn, he had it bad. His face began to hurt from smiling.
"I'm happy for you, Hutch," Peter said sincerely. "I mean it. Happily ever after doesn't happen that much in our community. I think it's great whenever it does."
Hutch met his gaze, feeling the sting of poignancy for this man who hadn't found anyone worthy of his love since John Blaine. "It'll happen for you, too, Peter. I believe that. Once you stop mourning and let John go."
Peter looked startled and the shadow of pain passed over his eyes.
Impulsively, Hutch grabbed him in a comforting hug. Peter stiffened for a moment, then relaxed and accepted the comfort, hugging back.
~~~
