INSURANCE

(c) September 2019 by Charlotte Frost

A sequel to Critique

Starsky looked up from his computer when Lois entered.

She placed a check on his desk. “You need to sign this.”

He looked at the payee. “Don’t they send a bill at the end of the month?”

“They’re our new vendor for office supplies. They’re a new company, so they’re offering a two percent discount if we pay on delivery. We told them we would, and they just now delivered. The man is waiting.”

Starsky sighed while signing the check. “Why did we change who we buy office supplies from?”

“Because this new company has lower prices.”

Starsky handed her the check, muttering, “Then that probably means they won’t be in business very long.”

“You’re grumpy,” she said amiably.

Starsky took a deep breath, realizing that he probably was.

Lois went on, “It must really bother you to have Ken out of town.”

He shrugged, not particularly interested in sharing his feelings.

“I hope he’s not doing anything dangerous,” she added, with a hint of worry.

“Not supposed to be,” Starsky muttered.

She turned away.

Starsky glanced at the empty corner desk. Their case earlier in the summer, of solving the murder of Ellie Porterson, had extended consequences. Or opportunities, depending on one’s point of view. The following month, the sheriffs of the rural counties in the area got together for their quarterly poker game. Sheriff Calvin Clayborne had mentioned help from the two private investigators who used to work at the same Bay City precinct that he had, that had solved Ellie’s murder. That led to Sheriff Larry Owens of Talcum County telephoning Starsky & Hutchinson, Inc. for assistance.

Owens had gotten word from an ex-cop that a woman was wanting to hire someone to murder her husband, as she’d been making inquiries at a bar. The ex-cop had approached her, saying he might know someone, and then promptly called the Sheriff. Since everyone knew each other in those rural areas, the Sheriff’s Department needed someone unknown to the citizens to go undercover as a hired hitman. Hutch had experience, considering his much more dangerous assignment as sophisticated hitman Eddie Carlyle, so he was the obvious choice for what should be, relatively speaking, a much less dangerous and less sophisticated undertaking than the Carlyle case. He had made the half day drive to Talcum County three days ago and was staying in a rundown motel, while waiting for the carefully planned setup to be put in place.

Starsky almost made the trip with Hutch, but they had reluctantly agreed that it would be too much strain on the smooth running of their firm for them both to be away for an undetermined amount of time.

In his phone call last night, Hutch had said that he’d made contact with the suspect, and they were supposed to meet in a Walmart parking lot this morning.

Starsky’s attention returned to his computer.

“Okay,” Hutch spoke into shirt, where a tiny microphone was clipped to the inside of the button seam, “this looks like her. Dark green Chevy pickup truck parking next to the light pole at the south end of the lot. I’m getting out of my car now.”

He emerged from the brown Mustang that the Sheriff’s Department had provided for his undercover job.

The woman inside the pickup watched him approach.

Hutch waved, glad that the Walmart parking lot was nearly full, since the store pulled from the population over a fifty mile area. It meant that the cops who were listening in could easily blend in their vehicles with the other automobiles.

The woman nodded at him, and when Hutch was next to the pickup he tried the passenger door. It opened. “Mrs. Lindy?”

“Yes, have a seat.”

Hutch sat in the passenger side and closed the door. “I’m Tyler.”

She turned to shake his hand. “Hi, Tyler.”

She was sixty-two years old according to her driver’s license records, plump, with curly hair dyed a light blonde, and wore sunglasses.. The truck smelled of cigarette smoke and was somewhat messy. She was dressed in shorts and a button sleeveless blouse. She looked like a typical grandmother.

She studied him a long moment. “You don’t look like someone in this line of work.”

“It helps make me good at what I do.” With deliberate irony Hutch noted, “You don’t seem like somebody who would be looking to hire someone like me.”

She laughed without humor. “Well, I admit that my past self wouldn’t have ever expected to do something like this.”

He nodded, feigning sympathy. “Things change. Often in ways we never expect.”

“That’s for sure.”

When she was silent, he prompted, “The target — it’s your husband?”

She nodded while reaching for her purse and removed a cigarette. “I hope you don’t mind if I smoke.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the smoke out the window.”

She rolled down her window a couple of inches. Hutch would have preferred to roll down his own window, but he didn’t want distracting outside noises to be picked up by the microphone, especially since the open lot next to Walmart had construction equipment operating in the distance.

Mrs. Lindy blew out a long line of smoke, with her head turned toward the window. Then she glanced at him. “You aren’t a cop, are you?”

“No.” He calmly asked, “Why would you think so?”

She shrugged. “Saw a movie a few months ago, where a cop went undercover as a hitman.”

Hutch considered that the more truthful he was, the more believable he would be. “Actually, I used to be.” He could imagine Sheriff Owens and his deputies being exasperated by his reply.

Her eyes widened behind the glasses. “You aren’t any more?”

“No. But that experience as a cop… that’s what makes me good at what I do. I know what cops look for at the crime scene. I know how to fake things, and how to keep any evidence minimal.” He shook his head and embellished, “Never even been a suspect in any of the jobs I’ve done.”

“How many have you done?”

Since he didn’t want to sound hesitant, and wasn’t sure what kind of experience she expected, he replied smoothly, “I do all sorts of jobs.” That gave him time to come up with a confident number. “If you’re talking murder, I’ve done four, but don’t ask me details because I’m not going to reveal that. Just like I’ll never tell anyone else about the deal between you and me.”

Mrs. Lindy put her hands on the steering wheel and gazed out the windshield. Hutch wondered if she was having second thoughts. Owens had emphasized what Hutch already knew — she had to be given every opportunity to back out of her intention to have the murder committed, and she couldn’t be arrested until money had changed hands, which no one expected to happen today. Otherwise, a jury would never convict someone who appeared to only be kind of, sort of thinking about having their spouse killed.

Gently, Hutch prompted, “Does your husband mistreat you?”

She drew a breath, not looking at him.. “It’s nothing like that. He’s been a good man. A good father, too.”

Hutch waited, silently exasperated.

“He got laid off from his factory job a few years ago. Now he makes a lot less, working for the gas station. I just —” She shook her head. “He’s not useful to me anymore.” She looked at Hutch. “You know?”

Hutch nodded, determined to remain calm and complacent.

She returned her gaze to the windshield. “The romance was gone a long time ago. We never had much money. The bills have built up. We always kept the life insurance policy. But now he’s been talking about letting it lapse, because we really can’t afford to keep paying the premiums….”

“So, you figure it’s time to collect on it,” Hutch replied smoothly.

Worriedly, she said, “I don’t want him to suffer. I want it to be quick. Like, can’t you just shoot him in the back of the head, so he’s dead before he even knows what happened?”

Hutch shifted in his seat. “In order for me to do it that way, I’ve got to take him by surprise. Sneak up on him from behind. That’s hard to do if I break into the home, or something like that.”

She drew another breath. “I may need to think about how to go about it. Maybe I can let you into the house when he’s away, and you can hide inside. Then I’ll leave and when he comes home….”

“You need to be far away when it happens,” Hutch said. “The police always look at the spouse first. So, you need to be somewhere where you can prove where you were. Like have store receipts, or witnesses that can say they were with you at the time of the murder.”

She nodded.

Hutch reminded, “I’m in this for the money, so I need to be sure that I’m going to get paid. I can’t wait around for a life insurance payout.”

“I know. I’m still working that out. I know someone who I’m pretty sure I can borrow ten thousand from, but I don’t know how I’m going to explain getting a windfall to pay it back, without giving away that I know my husband will soon be dead.”

“Maybe you can tell them that you have a relative back east that died, and you’re in the will and expecting to get paid from their estate.”

She nodded. “That might work.” She looked over at him. “So, once I have the money, I give you five thousand up front, and five thousand after the job is done?”

Hutch nodded and reminded, “Cash.” Then he said, “So, when do you want this to happen? I’m not wanting to hang around this area too long. The fewer people that see me, the better.”

“I think I can get the money in two days.”

“Okay,” Hutch said. He didn’t like staying in his grungy motel room at least that much longer, but he didn’t want to be discouraging. “Call me when you have the down payment together. The sooner, the better. If I don’t hear from you in three days, I’m going to assume it’s a never-mind and split.”

“You’ll hear from me,” she assured. “I want this done as soon as possible.”

When Starsky entered the conference room, spiral notebook in hand, he was struck by the blank look on the face of Evelyn Williams. She was staring at the wall, her expression one of melancholy that was palpable. In glancing at the information sheet, Starsky saw that she was twenty-eight years old. A bit young to deal with a cheating spouse.

“Uh, Mrs. Williams?”

She turned her head to look at him and didn’t try a smile. She merely nodded.

“I’m David Starsky and I’ll be supervising your case.” He didn’t bother offering his hand, since she hadn’t hers, as he sat next to her.

There was finally a slight softening. “Hi.” She nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.” Starsky flipped through the thin file. “You want us to perform surveillance on your husband?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“I assume because you suspect him of cheating.”

She looked away wearily. “I hope that’s what it is. At least, that’s something I could understand.”

Starsky tilted his head, not expecting that reaction. “Why don’t you give me a little more information.” He uncapped his pen.

She looked down at her hands, which held a wadded tissue. “Finley and I dated for three years and got married a few months ago, in February.” Finally, the hint of a smile. “I felt we knew each other well. He was a gentleman. Attentive. Then we got married and — “ she shrugged, tearing at the tissue. “It’s almost like a light switch. Within a matter of weeks, it’s like he’s turned into someone else. I asked some of my girlfriends about it — if that was normal after getting married. They said they saw some changes with their husbands after a time, but not to that degree.”

“What’s he doing that’s so different?”

“He hardly talks to me. Just wants to watch TV when he’s at home. He’s out a lot, when he’s not at work. Or he comes home late from work. I ask him where he’s been and he gets mad. If I press him, he gets madder. He even handles all our money now.” She snorted. “I always thought we were a great team. Everyone else did, too. Everyone else couldn’t understand why we waited so long to get married. But now,” her voice quavered, “it’s like I’m in the marriage alone.”

Starsky had a myriad of questions and settled on the most immediate one. “Is there any specific reason that you think his change in behavior is due to an affair?”

She shook her head. “No. But what else would it be?” Her eyes rose to meet his.

Instead of answering, Starsky asked, “When you look back now, do you see any signs from before you were married that could hint that he was cheating?”

Her gaze grew intense. “I have thought back. I can’t think of any signs. Seems we were together most of the time. Now we’re married and it’s like he’s not interested in me anymore.”

Evelyn’s pain was palpable, but not with the outrage that Starsky was accustomed to seeing in these types of case. He asked, “If he was cheating, do you have any idea who it might be with?”

“No. I mean, he works in an office all day, doing data analysis for a marketing company. There’s attractive women around. But I don’t know why they’d suddenly interest him now, after we’ve gotten married.”

Starsky rubbed at his chin as he mentally reviewed her words. Carefully, he ventured, “You said that it would almost be a relief to find out he’s cheating. If it turns out that’s not the reason for his lack of interest in your relationship, what other reasons do you think it might be?”

“I don’t know,” she said firmly. “That’s why I’m here. I can’t figure this out myself. It’s just that, if he is seeing someone else, at least then I’d know the situation and could decide what to do about it.” She looked at him directly. “What’s your experience, when you have these types of cases? If the husband isn’t cheating, then what is he doing that makes the wife suspicious?”

Starsky put down his pen and settled back. “Well, we’ve had one husband who was just going to the movies when he’d disappear in the afternoons. He had a night job and would sleep in the mornings. And then go to the matinee every chance he got. Then there was the husband that never told his wife about the child he’d had with another woman before their marriage. He was slipping away to watch his son’s soccer games. Sometimes, the husband will go to a bar because he finds it easier to talk to strangers than to his wife. Or he’ll go to some place where he can gamble.”

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed. “And when the husbands are doing these things, they can’t simply tell their wives where they’re going?”

Starsky’s mouth corner twitched. “I think, with a lot of married men, they feel a need to carve out some semblance of independence for themselves. However much they might love their wives, they like having the feeling that they don’t need to answer for where they are every moment of every day. It’s just that, with some, they tend to take that determination too far. They don’t seem to consider how they would feel, if it was their wife getting away by herself to an excessive degree.”

Evenly was thoughtful a long moment. “But why wouldn’t Finley have wanted that independence when we were dating and together so much?”

“I suppose because he knew he could simply break up with you, if he ever felt smothered. Now you’re married. That reality can be a bit jarring for people sometimes. He might feel trapped in a way that he never expected.” Starsky tried a reassuring smile. “He might just need more time to get used to the idea that he’s permanently hitched to you. I assume this is his first marriage?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Mine, too.”

Starsky became more formal. “How we normally handle these situations, for our package price, is that we’ll tail your husband for two weeks, until he’s home for the night, and that’s often all the time we need to figure out what’s going on. If we don’t feel we have enough information at the end of those two weeks, we’ll discuss with you how much more time we think we need and any additional cost.”

“That sounds good.”

Starsky’s browsed her information sheet. “Is this number your home number?”

“Yes. I do some part time clerical work from home, for a relative. It’s all right to call me during business hours, when my husband is away.”

Starsky made a note on the sheet, then tried a smile. “All right then, Evelyn, we’ll get started on this, and give you an update as soon as we know anything.”

Hutch closed the mystery novel he was trying to read, because his mind kept wandering. He was sitting on a park bench in the early August evening and cursed his own restlessness. Ideally, he’d be able to enjoy this respite from his daily routine. The fact was, there simply wasn’t much to do in this region, especially since he didn’t know anybody. He only knew Sheriff Owens and some of his deputies, and he couldn’t risk being spotted with them.

He left the bench, resigned to spending the rest of the evening in his grungy motel room.

That night, Starsky lay on the bed with his ear to the phone.

“Her husband is no longer ‘useful’,” Hutch scoffed. “So, time to have him murdered.”

Starsky wanted to counterbalance Hutch’s disgust. He quipped, “Guess that means I’d better make sure I’m always useful to you. Our life insurance policies on each other are what? A quarter million?”

“Oh, and let’s not even get into the insurance money,” Hutch huffed. “The cops have already looked into that. Fifty grand. And she’s expecting to pay me ten, fronting it with a loan from somebody she knows. Does she have any clue how little one can do with forty grand in this day and age?”

“I bet she has it all spent within a year,” Starsky agreed.

“But hey,” the sarcasm was thick, “it’s worth murdering her ‘good man’ husband to go on a spending spree for a few months.”

Starsky’s voice sobered. “So, you think she’ll give you the money in a couple of days?”

“Sure hope so. Once she gives me half down, and I’ve verified with her how I’m supposed to murder her husband, I can leave her truck, and then the cops will swarm in and arrest her for solicitation to commit murder.”

“Does the husband know yet?”

“They’ll surely tell him after she’s arrested. I bet he won’t believe it, because he has no reason to think that his so-innocent grandmotherly wife considers him useless.”

“Well, hopefully you’ll be able to come home soon.”

“No kidding. Nothing to do around here.” Abruptly, Hutch calmed. “What’s up at the office?”

“I’m going to be doing a lot of legwork on a new surveillance case.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Young wife that doesn’t know why her husband has suddenly turned into a different person within a few months of getting married. And they even dated three years before that.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. I got a feeling about it. I mean, that it’s not your normal cheating spouse situation. She even said that it would be a relief if that’s all it is.”

“What’s her other theories?”

“She doesn’t have any. At least, none that she would admit to. I get the feeling she’s suspecting something that she’s afraid to voice. She seemed almost shell-shocked at how different her husband is, now that they’re married.”

“How much legwork do you think it’s going to be?”

“The husband has a regular office job, so we can tail him during the daylight hours. Even though he leaves a lot in the evenings, he’s usually home by eleven, and then gets up for work about seven. So, we don’t need to tail him at night.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. I’m going to put in as many hours as I can myself, because I want to know what this guy is up to.” Starsky suddenly recalled, “Oh, hey, I’m meeting with Mandy tomorrow. We’re have lunch.”

“Oh, good.”

“Yeah. We’ll finally be able to catch up.”

Starsky smiled as he took a bench in the booth opposite Mandy at a family restaurant. “Good to see you again.”

She put down her menu. “Good to see you! I can’t believe how long it’s been. Seems like we could never connect.”

“Yeah.” Starsky picked up a menu. “Hutch is out of town on a case, so it’s just me and you.”

She nodded.

Starsky decided to express what was most on his mind. “You know, we haven’t talked since that evening when you and Judith were over. And we told you about Daniel Wildenstein’s book….”

“Yes, I’ve read that chapter. And a few others, actually.”

Starsky drew a breath. “We were getting a little worried that you were bothered by it.”

She waved a hand. “Oh, no, no. I’m sorry if if my lack of contact made you feel that way. But there’s been extra hours at work this summer for a big project and —”

“It’s fine,” Starsky said quickly. “It’s just, you know, that kind of subject matter… it’s hard to know how people will take it.”

A waitress walked up. “Have you decided?”

Starsky asked for the cheese melt and Mandy got a chef’s salad.

After the waitress left, Mandy said, “First, tell me if there’s any updates on Bri. How she’s doing?”

Starsky thought back to the weekly phone calls. “Well, we were hoping she’d debut at Del Mar before the meet ends on Labor Day next month, because she got over that splint bone thing and was back to galloping. But then Mike told us a couple of weeks ago that the flu went through his barn, so now she’s set back again.”

Mandy blinked. “Horses get the flu?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said with a grin. “Coughing, running nose, fever, all that. Except it’s usually just the young horses that get it. Mike said every two-year-old in his barn got infected, and so did a lot of other barns. They were even vaccinated, but sometimes there’s a mutant strain. Anyway, Bri’s recovering from that, so now he’s thinking she’ll debut at Hollywood Park next November. Most of his barn is stabled there now, since so many are sick, and he’s just shipping the ones that run at Del Mar when he needs to.”

Mandy released a breath. “Seems like there’s always something.”

“Yeah. Like a football coach never seems to have his complete starting team healthy for any particular game. Somebody’s always got something going on, physically.” Starsky grinned broadly at the memory. “But Mike said, ‘Keep the faith. All this waiting will be worth it.’” He nodded, emphasizing, “He really likes Bri. I mean, he was always pretty blunt about Danny’s chances, but he’s never said a derogatory word about Bri’s ability. He just frets a lot about her weight, because she’s so high strung that she burns right through calories. And now the flu has taken more out of her.”

Mandy held up her crossed fingers. “Let’s hope she gets back to full health soon, and turns out to be really special.”

Starsky nodded firmly.

Mandy played with her silverware. “As for that chapter in the book,” she looked up, “that was really bizarre. I mean, it was so hard to associate those two guys with you and Ken.” Her eyes narrowed. “Do you really not remember any of it?”

Starsky shook his head. “I suppose that’s a blessing, considering that some people who have had those experiences are pretty traumatized by it and have nightmares and stuff. Hutch and I have gone on to have ordinary lives.”

“Have you heard what Judith thought?”

“Hutch went to lunch with her a week or so after you guys were over. She told him that she sees a lot of closet believers in her profession.” Starsky thought back and then shrugged. “Otherwise, she was just glad that we came through it okay.”

“Man,” she said, “I just can’t imagine how I’d go through life if something like that happened to me.”

Levelly, Starsky said, “You would go on with your life, because what other choice is there?”

“Yeah. I guess so.”

The waitress brought their food and they spent a few moments enjoying their meals.

Mandy said, “You know, between that chapter and other reading I’ve done — maybe one would call it non-religious spiritual reading — I’m starting to wonder if a whole lot of stuff that I used to think was true really might not be. Like, my whole life has been grounded in assumptions and beliefs that maybe aren’t even how things really are.”

Starsky reached for the ketchup. “Well, let’s not get carried away.” He pounded the bottle. “I’m sure a whole lot of people, men and women both, would love to be where you’re at in your life. To me, you seem amazingly successful, and you seem to have accomplished it pretty independently.” He put the bottle aside. “So, I can’t see that a lot of beliefs you’ve always had have done anything but be of benefit.”

Her gazed was lowered as she poked at her salad.

“On the other hand,” Starsky continued, “I think it’s pretty normal to start questioning one’s status quo, so to speak, at various points in their life. But if you change your outlook, that doesn’t mean that how you looked at things before was wrong. But right for where you were at the time. And now maybe a different way of looking at things is best.”

She looked up at him and nodded. “That makes sense. I suppose I should stop trying to look at things as right or wrong.”

“Especially things in the past,” Starsky emphasized. “We can’t go back and change anything, so why bother fretting over the past?” Then he muttered, “Geez, I sound like Hutch.”

She smiled and then took a few bites of salad. She ran a napkin across her mouth and said, “Actually, there’s a specific reason I wanted to talk to you, other than just caching up.”

“Yeah?”

Her eyes shifted left and then right. Then she straightened and looked at him. “There’s something I’m thinking about doing. Haven’t told anyone yet. Would like to get your opinion.”

“Okay.”

She drew a breath and closed her eyes. “Okay. Here it goes.” She opened them. “I’m thinking about quitting my job and starting my own tech writing business.”

Starsky blinked. Then he shifted with discomfort. “You’ve got a really good job, don’t you?”

“Yes, I make more than any working woman I’m acquainted with.” She threw up her hands. “But that’s the problem. I feel like I’ve done the proper, safe thing. I just… sometimes, I feel like I want to just break out of my shell and fly high, you know?” She picked up her fork and rummaged around the remains of her salad. “I feel confined. Like there’s more to me than… this.” She looked back up at him. “I know the tech industry. And I’ve stayed current on all the stuff going on with computers. There’s lots of one-man geeks out there, developing their own software. For the ones that are actually able to sell that software, most don’t know the first thing about how to write an instruction manual. The personal computer industry is booming. I feel like this would be the best possible time for a tech writer to go independent.”

Starsky regretted that his first words hadn’t been supportive. He ducked his head. “I guess it’s just instinctive to say ‘watch out’ and stick with what’s successful and secure. But you make a good argument. It’s just, thinking back to when Hutch and I started out, we were mostly living off savings for a while. Took a couple of years or so to really build up a clientele.”

She nodded. “Yes, I’ve thought about all of that. Like I’ve told you before, my house was paid off by my parents. I don’t have a rent or mortgage payment. If I had to, I could live off of savings for a couple of years, without touching my retirement funds. Plus,” she leaned forward, “if it didn’t work out, it’s not like I couldn’t get a job again, as an employee. There aren’t a lot of people out there with my qualifications.”

Starsky pushed his empty plate aside and rested his chin in his hand. “I wish I’d had your confidence when I was your age. All I knew was being a cop… and recovering from some life-threatening injuries. And then a bad illness. When you’ve got this much passion and desire, you’ve got to do what makes sense to you.”

She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “I’ve thought in terms of what the worst is that could happen — like the whole thing fails and the economy goes bad when I’m trying to get employed again — and one of the books I’ve been reading pointed out that we tend to put too much emphasis on the worst that can happen, and live our lives defensively from that standpoint, which just makes it likely we’ll only achieve the lowest bar that we’ve set for ourselves. He said we should keep in mind the best that could happen, because if we hold to that thought, we have a much better chance of achieving it.”

Starsky considered her words while thinking back to his and Hutch’s vacation to the east coast a decade ago. “I remember Hutch and I specifically having a conversation about how we might loose all our savings if our business wasn’t successful. And we decided if that happened, we’d be okay with it, because we had to give it a shot. We certainly had some rough times financially, but we never considered giving up, and now we’ve got a half dozen employees and own our own building.”

“I don’t think I’d want to be so busy that I’d need employees,” she said, “but I love the idea of not having to fight traffic, driving to and from work, and being able to make my own hours.” She brightened. “And I could go to the track to see Bri run, without having to come up with some stupid lie about why I need to leave work.”

Starsky sipped his drink, and then asked, “So, what are your next steps?”

“I’m signed up for a couple of seminars about starting your own business in the next couple of months, and I’ll start getting registered with the state and that kind of thing. I think I’ll plan on resigning at the end of the year. Though, if I get my first customer before then, I might resign, because I don’t want to be working day and night.”

Starsky offered, “If you get some of those little brochures made, we can set some out in our reception area. If there’s anything else we can do, let us know.”

She smiled. “I’ll do that.”

“She’s here,” Hutch said into the microphone clasped to the inside of his shirt, as he saw the dark green pickup park in a space on the south end of the Walmart parking lot. The next lot over was open space, and construction equipment was moving dirt around. Some of the equipment was noisy, but shouldn’t be as noticeable once he was in Mrs. Lindy’s pickup.

Hutch waved as he approached, and she reached over to unlock the door. “Hi, Tyler,” she greeted as he opened it.

“How are you?” he asked, settling into the seat and closing the door.

She gazed out the windshield. “I’ve been thinking.” She pulled a cigarette from her purse, lit it, and then rolled down her window a few inches.

“Uh-huh?”

“My husband is pretty trusting, and he’s been wanting to get a car for himself, since we just have this pickup, but we can’t afford a new one. I think if I can tell him that I know someone — you — who has an old car that you’re pretty much willing to give away, and you can pick him up to take him to the car while I’m out with the pickup, doing errands. And then maybe — “

Another piece of construction equipment, much nearer the fence, started up. It was loud, and Hutch felt momentary alarm that their words wouldn’t be heard on the wire.

“— you can take him out in the woods somewhere — like along Highway 121 — and when you stop, tell him you have to walk a ways, and maybe say you have to take a leak so that he’s walking in front of you — and you can just shoot him. Leave him there. That way, there’s no mess in the house.”

Hutch furrowed his brow, making his irritation obvious. “Can you roll up your window? I have damaged hearing.” As she obeyed, he forced a smile. “I guess my pride won’t let me buy a hearing aide. It’s just not usually a problem, except when there’s loud noises around.”

Still though, the construction equipment was loud and some of the other equipment was coming closer.

She put out her cigarette.

“Thank you.” Hutch then prompted, “You were saying something about Highway 121.”

“Yes. It’s along the creek. Lots of little inlets, where people stop to fish or whatever. But woodsy. So, you can figure out ahead of time where you want to take him. And then get behind him and shoot him. Then you can leave.”

Hutch wondered if his microphone was picking up their words, or only the blaring noise of the construction equipment. He wanted to ask Mrs. Lindy to drive them to another part of the parking lot, so the noise wasn’t so distracting, but he was leery of making her suspicious that he might be recording them. After all, at their last meeting, she had outright asked if he were a cop.

He was resigned to hoping for the best. “So, you want me to shoot him and leave him there?”

“Yes. But, you know, you need to get me a picture of him dead. So, I know the job is done before I pay you the rest of the money. It’s hard to know how long it’ll be before he’s found. But I’ll need to report him missing sometime the next day.”

Hutch raised his voice to be heard over the construction equipment. “You have five thousand with you now?”

She reached into her purse. “Yes, I do.” She pulled out a thick envelope and handed it to him. “There’s some hundreds. But mostly twenties. I wrote our address on the front.”

Hutch reached into the envelope and started to count it out loud. It took over a minute. Then he said, “Terrific, thank you.” Then he shifted and turned toward her. “When do you want it done?”

“I’ll go out on errands tomorrow between nine and eleven-thirty. I’ll tell my husband that you’re picking him up about nine-thirty.”

Hutch nodded. “Okay.” Then his voice firmed. “Look, Mrs. Lindy, once I leave here, this is locked in place. There’s no going back. I’ve had people get cold feet at the last minute. Are you absolutely certain you want me to kill your husband?”

“Yes,” she replied immediately.

Hutch had the money and her directions, so she could be arrested as soon as he left the truck. He almost forgot to cement one further detail that she didn’t know was irrelevant. “All right. Let’s plan on meeting here at one o’clock tomorrow afternoon. I’ll have a Polaroid of your husband’s dead body, and you give me the other five thousand. And then I disappear.” She was going to be in custody within a matter of minutes.

Mrs. Lindy nodded. “We’ve got a deal.” She reached to shake his hand.

“All right then,” Hutch said, opening the pickup door, and inwardly cringing at how the construction noises were all the louder. “Tomorrow at one.”

She nodded again. “I’ll be here.”

Hutch began walking in the direction of the brown Mustang. He said into his shirt. “She’s all yours.” He listened without looking back, but didn’t hear anything, beyond Mrs. Lindy’s pickup starting.

Once in the Mustang, he looked over and saw her starting to ease out of the parking lot. No cop cars swarmed around her. Maybe they were waiting until she was out of the lot, so there would be fewer onlookers.

He watched a while longer, as she pulled onto the main street in the area.

Damn. Sheriff Owens must not have felt he had enough proof to arrest her.

Hutch returned to his motel room, and shortly after got a call from the Sheriff’s Department to drive to mile marker 46 on Highway 121.

He did so, hoping that his assignment was over, but considered it unlikely. Otherwise, Owens would have arrested Mrs. Lindy at Walmart.

There was a plain car with four occupants parked on the side of the road. Hutch recognized the man in the passenger seat as Sheriff Owens and pulled the Mustang next to them. Owens got out and went to Hutch’s car, sitting in the passenger seat.

“That damned construction noise,” Owens grumbled, “we didn’t feel that we were getting a clear recording. Any defense attorney could say that we heard the words saying anything we wanted to hear, because it’s not clear enough what’s being said.”

Hutch sighed heavily. “I was afraid of that. I didn’t want to tell her to move to a quieter part of the lot, because I was afraid it would make her suspicious that I was wired, since she asked me last time if I was a cop.”

Owens nodded. “I assume she paid you.”

Hutch opened the glove compartment and pulled out the thick envelope, which Owens accepted. “Five thousand. She wants me to pretend that I have a car for her husband to look at, since he would like to get his own vehicle and they can’t really afford one. She tells him I’m picking him up about nine-thirty tomorrow morning to take him to see the car. She leaves at nine for errands. I pick him up, find some secluded place along this Highway, shoot him in the head, take a Polaroid, and then meet her at Walmart at one. I show her the picture and she pays me the other five thousand.”

Owens rubbed at his chin. “We’re going to have to see this thing through and bring her husband, Jerry, into it.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning, you go ahead and pick him up tomorrow at nine-thirty. Drive him out here, where we’ll be waiting. We’ll tell him what’s going on, and then we’ll need him to play dead and paint a bullet hole on his head and take a picture. Then you’ll have to meet with Mrs. Lindy at one and have the picture to show her. Since it’s a Sunday, the construction equipment won’t be running. Then we’ll be able to arrest her after she pays you the rest of the money.”

Hutch released a heavy sigh. “Okay. One more day then.”

“Hope so,” Owens agreed. “We should have this all wrapped up by early tomorrow afternoon.”

The sunshine was hauntingly high and bright on Sunday morning.

So far, so good. Hutch drove slowly up Petunia Street, and to the faded red house on the right. There wasn’t any sign of Mrs. Lindy’s dark green pickup, so she was sticking to the plan to be gone.

While Hutch killed her husband.

For the hundredth time, it seemed, he pushed the reality of that hard thought out of his mind, so he could stay with the script.

An elderly skinny man, with a scruffy beard, watched Hutch pull up He propped his rake next to the door and approached the Mercury. “Are you Tyler?”

Hutch nodded through the passenger window he’d left rolled down. “Yes, I am. You must be Jerry.”

“Sure am. The wife told me you have a car for me to look at.”

“I certainly do. Why don’t you hop in and I’ll take you to see it.”

Jerry opened the passenger door and got in the seat. “My wife didn’t give me many details. I hope you realize we don’t have any money.”

Hutch started down the block. “Well, I’m pretty resigned to not getting much for it. It’s been sitting idle for years. I really need the space now, so I’m looking to get rid of it. Seems a shame to junk it. It still runs. I started it up yesterday to be sure.”

“What is it?”

Hutch didn’t know what Mrs. Lindy had told her husband about the car. He wanted to kick himself for not being more attentive, because he had thought Mrs. Lindy would be arrested yesterday, so the story about a car didn’t need to be accurate. “Uh, it’s a 1975 Chrysler LeBaron.”

“Huh. I thought Mabel said it was some old Ford.”

“I don’t even recall us getting that far in the discussion. She just said you really wanted a car of your own, and I was so eager to think someone might take it off my hands, that I don’t think we said much else.” Hutch turned onto Highway 121.

“Yeah, she seemed real eager for me to see it.” Jerry grunted. “Sort of insisted on it. I guess you’re not a church going man, to be out and about on a Sunday morning.”

Hutch shook his head once. “No. Not a religious man.”

“You have family around here?”

“No. Well, distant relatives, decades ago. I haven’t been in the area that long. Been staying with various people, here and there. I’m hoping I can get a job with my uncle, up in Eureka. But I haven’t heard back yet.”

“Eureka, huh? That’s a ways.”

“Yeah.”

They were silent as Hutch watched the mile markers. Then Jerry abruptly asked, “What’s your last name? I don’t think Mabel told me.”

Hutch hadn’t yet had reason to voice it. “Foster.”

“Hmm. I’ve been in this area my whole life and don’t remember any Fosters.”

“It’s complicated,” Hutch said smoothly. “Divorces and adoptions, stuff like that. It’s not an easy family tree to follow.”

More silence, and then Jerry said, “You haven’t been around long, but you’ve got this old Chrysler sitting around for a long time?”

“Well, it’s not parked anywhere,” Hutch quickly explained, wishing Jerry would stop thinking so hard. “It’s sort of hidden away. On public property,” he said with a bashful grunt. “I don’t want it to get towed, so it’s sort of hidden in the trees.” He nodded. “Just up this way a bit.”

Jerry looked over at him. “I thought you said you wanted to get rid of the car because you needed the space.”

“I meant that it’s sort of has me weighed down, because I need to figure out what to do with it.”

Jerry’s voice had the edge of suspicion. “How did you meet my wife?”

“Through a mutual acquaintance,” Hutch answered as he turned into the dirt road that dipped below an overgrowth of trees.

Owens’ regular car was parked there, as were two police cars.

“What in the world is going on here?” Jerry demanded.

As Hutch slowed the Mustang, he said, “Mr. Lindy, as you seem to be figuring out, I’ve brought you here under false pretenses, but it’s for good reason. Your life is in danger.”

Thankfully, the construction equipment was quiet in the lot next to Walmart. Hutch watched the dark green pickup pull up into its usual spot.

“Okay, she’s here,” Hutch said to his shirt. “Get ready.” He padded his shirt pocket to make sure the Polaroid photo was there, and then got out of the Mustang.

He was gratified to see that Mrs. Lindy appeared nervous — smoking as he approached.

Hutch decided that it might seem more real if he, too, appeared slightly rattled. He opened the passenger door and got in the pickup. “I didn’t enjoy that,” he grumbled as settled into the seat.

She had the window down and flicked ashes outside it. Then she asked breathlessly, “He didn’t suffer, did he?”

“No. I did it like we said. Took him to where I’d told him I had a car he could have, by the river, and said I had to take a leak. So, when he went on in front of me, I took out my gun and shot him in the back of the head. Simple. Still, he seemed like a nice enough fellow.”

“Well, I’m not paying you to be his buddy.”

“Nobody can be his buddy now.” Hutch reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the photo. “I didn’t hang around there long. I heard traffic along the road. I won’t be surprised if he’s found sometime today.” He hoped that explained why he only took one photograph and it wasn’t very detailed.

They’d asked Jerry Lindy to lie in the grass with part of his face showing, so she’d know it was him. That was after they’d painted a round reddish-black mark on the back of his head, of which only the outer edge was visible in the photo. It was a quick job and surely wouldn’t pass scrutiny if examined by a coroner or undertaker.

Mrs. Lindy gazed at the photo for a long time.

Hutch said, “You probably need to give that back to me. You don’t ever want anyone to find it in your possession.”

“It doesn’t seem real,” she said, continuing to gaze at it.

Hutch’s heart skipped a beat. “It’s him,” he said firmly. “And I need my money so I can get out of here.”

Quietly, she said, “I mean, it doesn’t seem real that he’s gone. I thought I would be sad, but I don’t feel anything.”

“Well, you’ve got the life insurance money coming, so…” Hutch shrugged. He wondered why she expected to feel sad when she’s the one who wanted Jerry murdered. Now that the case was almost over, he wanted her arrested so he could go home.

She suddenly looked over at him. “What will you say if anyone ever asks you about it?”

With forced patience, Hutch countered, “Why would anyone ask me about it?”

“On the off chance someone saw you near where his body is going to be found.”

“Nobody saw me.” Hutch didn’t need to feign offense. “I’m a professional. Now I want to get paid. You need to go home and start making phone calls, so it’s on your phone records that you called around to various people your husband knows, trying to find where he is.” She was still holding the photograph, so he asked, “Are you going to keep that? You’re welcome to, but I don’t recommend it.”

She blinked. Then she handed the photo to him and opened her purse. “Listen, my friend wasn’t able to come up with another five thousand in cash. I only have two thousand.”

Though the money wasn’t going into his own pocket, Hutch felt outrage and demanded, “When am I going to get the other three?”

Her voice quavered. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait until I get the insurance.”

Hutch’s eyes flared. “I don’t appreciate this deceit one damn bit. Our agreement was that I kill your husband for ten thousand dollars. I’ve only gotten seven and now I’m leaving town.”

“I’m sorry. But you’ll have to come back in a few weeks, after I receive the money. I assume you don’t have a way for me to get in touch with you?”

Hutch grabbed the envelope from her hand. As he leafed through it — not really caring how much it was — he firmly said, “You’d better have that three thousand when I come knocking. Otherwise, I can make your life miserable. I don’t appreciate being toyed with.”

“Please,” she said, now sounding like a frail grandmother. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. My friend told me he’d have ten thousand. But he couldn’t come up with the second five thousand. Just the two. I’m not trying to cheat you. I’m not.”

Hutch leaned toward her. “You’d better have it when I come back.” He abruptly opened the door. After getting out, he slammed it shut behind him. Still fuming over an imaginary affront, he said into his shirt, “That had be better be enough.”

He heard the pickup start. And then revved motors and squealing tires that halted abruptly.

Hutch didn’t look back until he’d gotten into the Mustang. Three cops cars surrounded the pickup, and Owens and a deputy had their guns drawn on Mrs. Lindy and were pulling her from the pickup. She was gasping, “What’s going on? Why are you doing this?”

Owens barked, “You’re under arrest for solicitation to commit murder.”

“What?” Mrs. Lindy demanded, now back to being the frail grandmother as handcuffs were applied to her wrists. “What am I doing here? Where am I? My last memory is having gone to bed.”

Hutch shook his head. Ah, the sleep walking defense. No doubt, once she was at the station, Owens would enjoy bringing Jerry to see her, alive and well. They’d had him listen to a recording of her prior conversations with Hutch to convince Jerry that his wife was paying to have him murdered. Hutch suspected that Jerry would still support his wife, now that she needed him.

The police cars were leaving, with Mrs. Lindy in custody. Hutch started the Mustang to follow them back to the station. He would need to complete his report and turn in the money she’d given him. Then he could go home.

Starsky had to admit that his new white Firebird wasn’t exactly the best car to use for following someone. Most times he was proud of how it stood out, and enjoyed other drivers glancing over at him enviously. Now, he made sure he kept a couple of vehicles between himself and Finely Williams’ silver Toyota sedan.

Since this was Sunday, Starsky had no idea where Finley would be driving to alone, once again leaving his wife Evelyn at home. He was certain that Finley wasn’t going to church for afternoon services.

First stop, hardware store. Starsky waited at the curb for twenty minutes, and then Finley emerged with a small sack. Second stop, automotive parts store. Finely was there for over nearly a half hour, but came out with only a tire pressure gauge in hand.

Killing time, Starsky decided. Was Finley really not wanting to spend Sunday at home with his wife, even if he didn’t have anywhere specific that he needed to be?

After driving a few miles, Finley next stopped at a mens’ clothing store — a independent shop, rather than a retail chain. He was there nearly forty minutes, and then emerged with a shoe box tucked under his arm.

After that, Finley went through the drive thru of a fast food chain, and then drove to a nearby park and ate his lunch while sitting on a bench that oversaw a pond.

Starsky was intensely bored after parking at a curb near the pond. He wondered how Hutch was doing in Talcum County. Hopefully, his mark would finally be arrested today so Hutch could come home.

What a sad case that was, a grandmotherly old lady deciding she wanted her husband killed for the not-really-that-much insurance money. She apparently felt that she may as well collect the insurance since her husband was no longer useful.

Starsky shook his head. The things people were willing to do for money.

Money. Insurance money.

Starsky cocked his head as he let the thought settle in. Finley was now crumbling up his empty sack and looking around for a trash can.

Was it possible that a young couple like Finley and Evelyn could afford high insurance policies?

What if Finley was waiting for the right time to murder Evelyn or have her murdered? That might explain why he’d suddenly become less interested and was no longer wanting to spend time with his wife.

Starsky tried discarding the thought, but it stubbornly remained rooted in his mind. He cursed that this was Sunday, because he couldn’t call Lois and asked her to check with the contacts she’d gotten friendly with in the insurance industry, to the point where some were willing to give out confidential information.

In the meantime, he needed to keep an open mind. When Finley left the park, he followed.

Starsky had fallen asleep when he heard the garage door open at the opposite end of the house. He looked at the clock on Hutch’s side of the bed. 11:20 PM.

Hutch sighed heavily as he made his way down the darkened hall. “Buddy?”

“Yeah, baby.” Starsky sat up in bed.

Hutch began divesting his clothes as he came into the bedroom. “Man, I’m glad to be done with that.” He reached into their bathroom and switched on the light.

“You won’t have to go back for trial?”

“Hope not. They’re hoping she’ll confess, especially if her husband convinces her to take a plea deal.” Hutch moved into the bathroom and the shower came on.

“Her husband is supporting her?” Starsky asked in puzzlement. Hutch had said little before he left for home later this afternoon, as he was eager to get on the road.

Hutch appeared in the doorway while removing his watch. “Yeah, if you can believe that. She wanted him murdered, but he still has a soft spot for her and doesn’t want to see her spend much time in prison.” He placed his watch on the nightstand and began removing the rest of his clothes.

“Man.”

“Yeah.”

Naked, Hutch returned to the bathroom.

Starsky fondled himself beneath the covers, knowing that Hutch was likely as eager as he was to get reacquainted.

When the shower was turned off, there were noises at the sink. “What did you do today?” Hutch called out.

“I tailed the husband on that case I’m working. He didn’t go anywhere interesting. Like he was just killing time, with his wife at home That got me to thinking.”

There were noises of Hutch spitting and then the question, “About what?”

“Insurance fraud. I know it’s a longshot, but the more I think about it, the more it seems it could fit.”

A moment later, Hutch appeared in the doorway while wiping a towel across his mouth. “Aren’t they a young couple?”

“Late twenties. But he has a good job. I’ll have Lois check into it tomorrow.”

Hutch tossed the towel aside, flipped off the bathroom light, and approached the bed.

“Ah, man,” Starsky sighed, welcoming Hutch into his arms, “I’m so glad you’re home.”

The kissed sweetly a few moments. Then Hutch’s minty breath drifted across Starsky’s face as he said, “I could sure use a good fucking.”

Starsky throbbed at the words. “A good Starsky special ‘welcome home’ fucking? Natural lube only?”

In answer, Hutch kissed him passionately, and Starsky fingers curled into the blonde hair.

When his lips were released, Starsky gasped, “Want it standing up? I’ll drill you into the next room.”

Abruptly, Hutch moved off Starsky and threw the covers aside.

Starsky watched as Hutch’s mouth lowered over his erection, and then felt the liberal helping of saliva.

Starsky throbbed as Hutch made noises of contentment. And throbbed further with frustration, as Hutch was trying to moisten more than pleasure.

Starsky began to shift. “Take your position, baby.”

A final, teasing lick, and Hutch left the bed. He leaned against the dresser and spread his legs.

Starsky moved to him. He took a breath, wanting to slow things down, now that he had Hutch where he wanted him. He ran a hand slowly against a buttock, the paleness softly penetrating the darkness of the room. His hand then brushed against the delicateness of Hutch’s scrotum.

Hutch’s feet shifted.

“Love you so much,” Starsky whispered. His finger found the seam that part Hutch’s balls and ran the length of it. “Missed you.”

Hutch made a noise and his feet shifted again.

“Need to get you all lubed up, because I’m gonna fuck you really, really hard.”

Starsky took a moment to listen to his love’s harsh breathe. Then he knelt and parted the ass cheeks. He pressed his face against them, and his tongue found the textured center. His tongued liberally and forcefully.

Hutch made a soft cry and a quiver went through his body.

Starsky wanted more of that reaction, and enjoyed how eager Hutch was.

There was a soft word. “Please.”

Starsky left with a strong helping of saliva. Before standing, he bit into a pale buttock.

Hutch yelped and his feet shifted yet again.

Starsky grabbed Hutch’s hips and moved them farther away from the dresser, lowering his target. “Wider.”

Hutch spread his legs more.

“It’s gonna be a hard ride, baby. But I’m gonna take good care of you. All you gotta do is hold still and take it.” Starsky brought his hand to his mouth and drooled upon his fingers.

“We’re going to Mars,” he said, smearing the saliva along the tip of his erection.

The only response was Hutch’s harsh breathing.

“Get ready for takeoff.” Starsky placed his rocket against between Hutch’s ass cheeks, and let it rest against depression. He was too aroused to bother with a countdown.

He pushed. When Hutch opened for him, he pushed hard. He felt satisfaction as Hutch gasped at the thickness, and pushed even further.

He wrapped his hand around Hutch’s cock as he felt his flanks rest against the firm ass.

It was too good and he thrust hard, using his well-practiced hand to stroke in rhythm to his own motions.

Hutch cried out. Again and again.

 The following morning Hutch stood in his open robe before the stove, scrambling eggs. He listened to a seated Starsky crunching on bacon behind him.

“Did I tell you that I met with Mandy?”

“You said you were going to.” Hutch divided the eggs between two plates.

“Yeah, well we met last week. She’s okay with the chapter and everything.”

Hutch turned to the table. “That’s good.” He put a plate before Starsky and sat down. “What else is going on with her?”

“She’s pretty sure she’s going to quit her job and start her own tech writing business.”

That sounded ambitious and Hutch felt worried for her. “Oh.”

Starsky waved a hand. “She’s got it all thought through. If anyone can be successful at something like that, she can.”

Hutch found faith in Starsky’s confidence. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Starsky scarfed down forkfuls of eggs. Then he said, “With her going through all this stuff about questioning her life, it’s got me to thinking.”

“Uh-oh.”

Starsky paused and looked up. Then he smiled. “It’s nothing heavy.”

Hutch released a breath. “Good.”

“It’s just that you and I have always bounced things off of each other. Seeing her try to figure things out on her own, it got me to wondering how I might now see things differently than before, without realizing it.”

“What do you mean?”

Starsky put down his fork. “Like when were were cops. There’s right and wrong. You either follow the law or you don’t. We always liked to think it’s a black-or-white thing.”

“But it never was,” Hutch admitted softly.

“Exactly. And we damn well knew it wasn’t. We’d go easy on Huggy and things like that. But we still liked to pretend that people breaking the law were bad, and people that followed it were good. We were operating in endless corridors of shades of gray, but we found it easy to rationalize to ourselves that we were always doing the right, proper thing, and anyone outside the law was doing a bad thing, even if they weren’t a bad person.”

Hutch considered his words. Then he shrugged. “There’s a degree of hypocrisy in all things. We’re all sinners and all that.”

Starsky shook his head. “You don’t think our relationship is a sin.”

“No, I don’t.”

“So, like everyone else, you pick and choose what you truly believe is a sin.”

Hutch wasn’t sure where Starsky was going with this. “I suppose.”

“And at various points in our lives, we might change our minds about what’s a sin and what isn’t.”

Hutch waited.

“Like, you’ve used your gun to kill people. And once you left the force, you decided you didn’t want to kill anyone anymore.”

Hutch didn’t know why Starsky was going back to a point in time from probably a decade ago. “Yes. But I wasn’t sorry that I’d killed those people before. It was the necessary thing at the time. I just wanted to believe — and I was correct — that I was no longer going to be in a position where killing was the necessary thing.”

When Starsky was silent, Hutch went back to eating his eggs, which were cold.

After a long moment, Starsky said, “I sort of said a similar thing to Mandy. That just because she’s developing a different way of looking at life now doesn’t mean it was wrong how she looked at it before, especially when it made her successful.”

Hutch shrugged. “No argument from me.” Then, “Where are you going with this?”

“I dunno,” Starsky muttered Then he straightened in his chair. “I guess I’m just realizing that I’m a different person than I used to be. But I never made a decision that I wanted to be different. It just sort of happened, because our lives changed, so I changed, too.”

Hutch considered that, then asked, “Other than knowing that homosexuality is okay, how do you think you’ve changed?”

Starsky tilted his head thoughtfully. “I don’t try to pretend that there’s such clear lines between right and wrong. I don’t care so much who’s obeying the law and who isn’t. I just care as it relates to our work. But if John Jones down the street is dealing drugs, I don’t really care. Before, I would care. I would feel he’s doing something wrong.”

Hutch pointed out, “You would care if his dealing drugs affected the housing prices in the neighborhood.”

“Yeah, if there was a reason to care. But if there isn’t a reason to judge what he’s doing as right or wrong, then I’m not interested in judging it.” Then, softer, “Spent too many years looking at things as right or wrong. That’s what’s different about me from before.”

“It’s not like you ever went around lecturing people.”

“I know. But I was always willing to pull out the cuffs if somebody did something wrong. I’m glad we’re not in that kind of life anymore.”

“We are in a way,” Hutch countered.

Starsky said firmly, “We do what people pay us to do. If they aren’t paying us, we don’t care what people are doing, and who’s cheating, and all that.”

Hutch waited. When Starsky said nothing further, Hutch prompted, “Come on, buddy, why all the philosophizing? Why is this important right now?”

Starsky drew a breath. “I don’t know. It’s just that whenever I think about Mandy, I think about her cousin Millie, and her killing herself because she genuinely thought she was helping save the world by doing so. She got herself all caught up in very rigid beliefs about what people are supposed to do to treat animals well and treat the Earth well. Funny how being good to the animals and the environment ends up being anti-people. Like, people aren’t supposed to exist unless they live in a very limited way.”

Hutch let that sink in a moment. “I’m kind of rusty on my Bible studies, but it seems like you’re getting into original sin and all that.”

Starsky’s eyes darted to him. “If there is a God, do you think He’s anti-human? Like, He’s sorry He’s created us and is disappointed in us?”

Hutch’s stomach felt uncomfortably full and he got up to carry their empty plates to the sink. Then he turned around, leaning back against the counter. “The only way I can come up with any kind of answer to that is to look at ourselves as an example.” He smiled, which felt good. “I love us and what we are together.” He shook his head firmly. “I can’t imagine that God is disappointed in what we are together.”

“I can’t, either.” But Starsky didn’t return the smile.

“We aren’t better than anyone else,” Hutch went on. “So, if God is happy with us, then He’s got to be be happy with humanity as a whole. We, as humans, might not be very happy with each other at times, but — “

“Most of the time,” Starsky corrected, getting up with a pat to his stomach.

“Okay, most of the time.” Hutch moved to circle his arms around Starsky and gently said, “Maybe that says more about the people doing the judging, than the ones being judged.” Then, with humor as he hugged Starsky, Hutch said, “You know, considering last night, I’m feeling a little hurt that you’re in such a melancholy mood this morning.”

“I’m not melancholy,” Starsky protested, starting to pull away.

Hutch held him and reached to move Starsky’s mouth corners. “Then how ‘bout a smile?”

Starsky’s expression softened as he gazed up at Hutch. “All right, lover boy, here’s your smile.” Instead, he kissed Hutch.

They engaged in that activity for a few moments. Then Starsky said, “Remember, we haven’t gotten back to Nick and Lanette about their dinner party next weekend.” There was going to be a family get-together.

Hutch said, “Let’s call them from the office.”

Later that morning, when they were both in the office, Starsky said, “I’ll call Nick.” He put his phone on speaker and pushed the button that had the number memorized.

There was the noise of the number being dialed, and then the phone ringing.

“Hello?” Lanette answered.

“Hi, there,” Starsky said cheerfully. “Put your husband on.”

“Here’s not here, David. He’s in Las Vegas.”

Starsky deflated. “Oh. I thought he was going to Vegas last week.”

“He did.” As Hutch turned in his chair to listen to the conversation, Lanette went on, “He won a couple of hundred dollars, so he wanted to try to parlay it into something more.”

“Oh.” Starsky couldn’t help but mutter, “I hope that doesn’t get to be a habit.” Nick had gotten over a quarter million dollars in an insurance payout from his car accident.

“I told him he could only bet his winnings,” she replied smoothly. “That’s all the cash I let him take.”

Starsky met Hutch’s worried eye as he silently considered that Las Vegas had plenty of ATM machines, to say nothing of the ability to do wire transfers. He inwardly cringed at the words they’d spoken at breakfast about judging people, and forced his voice back to cheerfulness. “Well, if he wins more, I hope he shares it with the rest of us.”

“Hey, Lannie,” Hutch said, “how’s the remodeling going?” She was spending some of the money to upgrade her retail stores.

“Slower than they told us,” she replied. “They don’t always show up when the say.”

“That seems to be the nature of construction,” Starsky sympathized. “Anyway, we wanted you to know that we’ll be there Saturday night.”

“Great. Mom and Clark will be there. She said they’ll have some news. I’m thinking he’s asked her to marry him.”

“Ah, let’s hope so,” Hutch said.

“Yeah, that would be great,” Starsky chimed in.

“You need us to bring anything?” Hutch asked.

“No, I think I’ve got it tall handled. We’ll be having steaks and potatoes and lots of choices of vegetables.”

“Sounds great,” Starsky said. “See you Saturday.” He clicked off the phone.

“Hopefully,” Hutch muttered, “Nick’s being truthful when he’s telling her he’s just betting his winnings.”

Starsky forced an ironic smile. “Let’s not judge.”

On Thursday afternoon, Starsky dialed Evelyn Williams from his Firebird’s phone.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Williams?”

“Yes?”

“This is Dave Starsky, the private investigator. I assume this is an okay time to call.”

“Yes. My husband’s at work. Have you found out something?”

“Possibly. I would like to talk to you. Would it be all right if I drop by your house? I’m just a few minutes away.”

“Yes, that’ll be fine. Finley doesn’t get off work for a couple of hours.”

“It won’t take near that long. I’ll be driving up in a white Firebird.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Evelyn opened the door for Starsky as he was coming up the sidewalk of her small ranch style home, which had lots of vegetation on the outside. “Come in.”

“Thank you,” Starsky said. He was carrying a manila envelope.

She wore crisp jeans and a snug shirt. “Have a seat. Can I get you anything?”

“No, I’m fine,” Starsky said, taking an easy chair and leaning forward.

She was also leaning forward from where she sat on the sofa. “I got the feeling that you felt this is urgent.”

“I don’t mean to alarm you, and it may be nothing. But I need to ask you some important questions.”

“Sure.”

“Do you and your husband have life insurance policies?”

Her mouth opened in puzzlement. Then she said, “Well, yes, he has insurance benefits at work. I think the life insurance is twenty thousand.”

“That’s all you’re aware of?”

“Uh, no. Shortly after we got married, we took out fifty thousand dollar policies on each other. Why?”

“You’re not aware of any other policies?”

“No. Why would there be? We can barely afford the fifty thousand ones, as it is.”

Starsky kept his voice level. “As far as you know,” he emphasized, “since you’d told me that Finley handles all the finances now.”

“Yes,” she replied hesitantly. “What are you getting at?”

Starsky removed the paper from inside the envelope. He stood and held it out to her. “Is that your signature?”

She studied the bottom of the form. “Yes.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. That’s definitely my signature.” Her eyes darted to the top of the page. “What is this?”

“It’s a half million dollar policy on you, with your husband as beneficiary.”

“What?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“The date of your signature is April 2nd of this year. Do you remember signing this then?”

She laid the paper on the coffee table and ran her shaking hand through her hair. “On my God. That’s when we signed the fifty thousand dollar policies.” Abruptly, she was on her feet, her back turned. “That was a Saturday night. We were going out with friends. Before we left, Finley wanted me to sign the life insurance forms. It seemed odd to me that he wanted to do it right then, because the forms had been on the table for a few days. And we were running late, so why stop to do that right then?” She turned to look at Starsky. “So, I didn’t argue. Just signed the top form, and then he lifted up the bottom and had me sign the form underneath it. And there was a third one below that. I thought that last page was just another part of the same forms. But now…”

Starsky nodded at the paper on the coffee table. “But the third paper you signed was actually this form. He didn’t want you to know about it. And that would explain why he suddenly wanted to be in the charge of the finances, so you wouldn’t see the high amount of the premium payments.”

She collapsed onto the sofa and demanded, “But why?”

Starsky suspected she knew, but he drew a careful breath before spelling it out. “Mrs. Williams, I have no way of knowing this for certain. But we’ve been tailing your husband for a few days, and during his free hours, when he’s not sleeping here and he’s not at work, he’s doing a lot of driving around and stopping at stores, usually without buying much, as though he’s just killing time. We haven’t uncovered any evidence of an affair, or anything he’s doing that would be a threat to your marriage — other than he doesn’t want to be around you much. And he has this half million dollar life insurance policy that he doesn’t want you to know about.” Starsky paused, then said, “Worst case scenario: he’s hoping to collect eventually.”

In a hushed whisper, she asked, “You mean murder me?”

“That, or have someone else do it. We haven’t seen him meet with anyone. Maybe he’s still trying to figure out how to go about it, or arrange an accident.”

She sat staring at the coffee table.

Starsky shifted with discomfort. “There’s no way we can know for certain that this is what he’s planning. But at this point, it’s the only thing that fits him hiding the policy from you, as well as explaining why he’s not interested in being around you.”

“So, are you saying,” she demanded in disbelief, looking up at him, “that our whole relationship has been a lie? We were dating for three years before we got married.”

Starsky admitted, “I doubt he would have invested that much time in your relationship, if insurance fraud had been his plan all along. If — and I stress IF — that’s what his intent is, he surely thought of it fairly recently.”

She was silent, staring at the coffee table.

Starsky waited a moment, and then said, “Until you can get a concrete answer from him — about why he had this secret policy — I’d feel a whole lot better if you went somewhere for a while. If what we suspect is true, he could have already hired someone to do away with you. Do you have friends or relatives in the area?”

“My mother is in Santa Monica.”

“Then maybe you can stay with her a while? Until you’re ready to confront him? In the meantime, I’d suggest canceling this policy and making him aware that it’s been canceled. Then he’d have nothing to gain from your death.”

“Can I keep this?” she asked, eyes on the paper.

“Yes.”

Silence.

Starsky shifted again. “You know, Mrs. Williams — “

“Evelyn.”

“Evelyn, when I first met you, I sort of got the idea that there was something you weren’t telling me.”

Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at him. “What do you mean?”

“I had the feeling that there was something you suspected about your husband, beyond the possibility of an affair.”

She gazed at the paper a moment more. Then she said, “When we decided to get the fifty thousand dollar policies, he was telling me how he knew someone who had a boat, and that person had collected a lot of money on the boat by claiming it was stolen. In actuality, the owner had a friend take the boat away to another state. So, it was a fake theft.” She snorted without humor. “So, he made a comment about how maybe we could fake my death so we could collect the fifty thousand.” She shrugged. “He was just joking. Or so I thought. He never said another word about it.”

Starsky offered, “Maybe he was toying with that idea. Maybe his intent is to eventually tell you about the half million dollar policy. But if so, why would he be keeping so much distance from you?”

Evelyn released a heavy breath, her face softening as she looked up at him. “I guess there’s no point in you continuing to tail him. So, you can send me a bill. To the house here. I don’t care if he sees it.”

Starsky nodded, realizing he was being dismissed. He stood. “Please take care of yourself. I hope you’ll let me know what happens.”

She nodded. “I’ll call my mother right now. I’ll have to show her that,” she indicated the form, “before she’ll believe it. And then we’ll figure out what to do.”

“Unfortunately,” Starsky said, moving toward the door, “the police aren’t going to be interested in you thinking there’s merely a possibility that your husband might be planning your murder. They’d need proof that he’s going to actually do something.”

She sighed. “Yes, I understand.”

As Starsky drove away from the Williams’ home, his thoughts bounced back and forth between wondering if he’d assumed far too much about Finley’s intentions, and concern that he hadn’t been forceful enough that Evelyn needed to be cautious in every moment until Finley knew the half million dollar policy was canceled. Even in the latter situation, if Finley had already hired a hitman, he might not be able to call off the hit in time to save Evelyn’s life.

Starsky had done what he could, with what little was known about Finley’s actions, and at least Evelyn sounded like she was going to take immediate steps to stay at her mother’s.

As Starsky waited at a traffic light, he glanced at the dashboard clock. 4:40 PM. Finley would get off work at five. Evelyn had bought the surveillance package of two weeks, and Starsky and Hutchinson, Inc. had only worked eight days. Another few hours wasn’t going to cost her anything more.

As soon as traffic moved, Starsky signaled, and then eased over to the right lane. He turned at the next intersection and drove to Genesis Marketing. He parked on the curb across from the parking lot. After twenty minutes, he spotted Finley moving to his silver Toyota. Starsky waited, wondering if his target was going to repeat what he did most days after work — stop for fast food and then eat it at the park.

That’s exactly what happened.

As Starsky sat his car, watching Finley eat on a park bench, he tried to imagine all sorts of annoying things that could get him into a seething rage. He tried to make Hutch the subject of those fantasies, but that was difficult. He found himself imaging all sorts of non-existence women, mouthing to himself about how she did this and she did that.

Starsky got out of his car and walked briskly along the blacktop of the park. His made sure his expression was in a scowl, his shoulders slumped, as he made his way toward the bench where Finley sat eating.

Starsky spotted a small rock on the payment. He kicked it harshly toward the bench.

The stone popped up and hit Finley in the knee.

Finley looked up with an angry scowl, and Starsky wondered if he was going to return home with a black eye.

Starsky held his hands up. “Sorry. So sorry. I didn’t mean for that to happen. Are you okay?”

Finley still appeared angry while he rubbed his knee. This his expression eased. “Bad day at the office?”

Starsky snorted. “Bad days at the office I can handle. My fucking old lady is a whole ‘nother story.”

A grin spread across Finley’s face as he nodded at the bench. “Have a seat.” He reached into his white sack and held out a potato chip bag. “I picked up the wrong kind. I hate vinegar chips. Feel free.”

Starsky took the bag. “Thanks.” He tore it open. Self-consciously, he said, “Sorry about the rock. Didn’t mean it.”

“Rocks I can handle.” Finley ate a French fry. “My fucking old lady is another story.”

This was more than Starsky could have hoped for. He nodded. “Sometimes I wish mine would just drop dead. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with her anymore.” His hand formed a fist. “Sometimes….” He let the threat linger.

“Whoa,” Finley said. “I wouldn’t recommend anything like that.” He finished off the last fry, crumbled up the empty bag, and sat back with his arms spread along the top of the bench. “Treat her well.”

“She doesn’t deserve it.” Starsky munched a few chips, wondering what Finley would say next.

“I’m serious. Treat her well. Then, if she were to ‘drop dead’, nobody suspects you. Especially if it looks like an accident. You have any life insurance on her?”

Starsky appeared contemplative, and then shrugged. “There’s something through my job. A twenty thousand dollar policy, or something like that. It would pay for a funeral but not much else.”

“Yeah. That’s why you should get your own policy. Make sure it’s enough to help you out. If, you know,” he grinned, “she were to ‘drop dead’.”

Starsky focused on the chip bag, muttering, “I’d never really have the nerve to do something like that.” When there wasn’t a response, he snorted with humor. “I mean, it’s not like you can look in the yellow pages for Hitmen for Hire.”

Coolly, Finley replied, “You wouldn’t want it to be a murder, anyway.”

Starsky blinked. “What do you mean?”

“A murder means the police have to try to figure out who did it. As the spouse, you’re the first suspect. Better to make it look like an accident. Then there aren’t all the questions. Especially if you’re the grieving husband who’s always treated your wife like a queen.”

“Too late for that.” Starsky ate more chips and then decided to be bold. “You sound like you’ve thought about this a lot.”

Finely shrugged. “I was happy with dating her. For a long time. Then everyone kept saying we should get married. I didn’t see why it was necessary, but we got married. Made everyone happy.” Another shrug. “Everyone but me.”

Starsky snorted as he fished the final chips out of the bag. “I hear that. I never wanted to get married. But everyone kept insisting.”

“So, maybe eventually,” Finley said in an overly-casual tone, “it’ll be worth it to me.”

Starsky pretended to consider that for a long moment. He slowly crumbled the chip bag, and barely glanced up. “You mean… you’re thinking she’s going to have an accident?”

Another shrug. “Hard to say. But the insurance is in place. Everything has to be just right.”

“I don’t know how one could be certain that the police would call it an accident. I mean, if you, say, cut the brake lines in her car, the police could tell that they were cut, right?”

“Probably. But what if, say, she has the gas burner on, on the stove? And a grocery sack gets too close and catches fire?. The whole house burns down. Or maybe she turns on the gas, gets distracted, and never lights it, so eventually the house blows up.”

Starsky appeared to be seriously considering it. Then he shook his head. “I still don’t see how I could do something like that and make sure I didn’t get blown up, too. Or burned up.”

“That’s why it takes planning.” Abruptly, Finley slapped Starsky’s knee. “Hey, I’m just talking. Bottom line, I wish I wasn’t married. It’s one thing to want to spend time with someone, a whole ‘nother thing to be hitched to them. I just fantasize about stuff sometimes.”

Starsky forced a crooked grin. “Yeah. I suppose the fantasizing is easy, if you got a life insurance policy that’ll help ease your ‘grief’.”

“That’s for sure.”

Starsky felt it would be suspicious if he lingered. He stood. “Thanks for the chips.” He tossed the bag into the nearby trash can.

“Oh, hey,” Finley said, rising to his feet and reaching for his wallet. “Let me give you my card, if case you just feel like venting sometime. I come here a lot to eat.” He held out his card.

“She doesn’t have dinner waiting for you at home?” Starsky accepted the card.

He chuckled slightly. “Hopefully, she’s figured out by now that I’m really not that interested.”

“Finley Williams,” Starsky read. He tucked it into his pocket. “Thanks.” He started to turn away.

“Hey.”

Starsky paused and looked back.

“What’s your name?” Finley asked.

Starsky quickly rifled through possible responses. He presented a sly smile. “In case my old lady happens to have an ‘accident’, I don’t think I’d ever want anyone to know I’d discussed it.”

Finley’s smile went away and he appeared perplexed, as though wondering if he’d been had, considering that he’d shared his name while also discussing the idea of his spouse having an accident.

Starsky waved, hoping his smile appeared reassuring. “Maybe I’ll see you around.” He moved off.

As Starsky went up the grassy bank to the Firebird, he wondered if he’d handled their parting in the best way. But he was reluctant to give his name, and certainly couldn’t give out his phone number, in case Finley were to discover he was a private detective.

When he was in the Firebird and started the motor, he looked in his rear view mirror. Finley was still sitting on the park bench, but he had turned so that he was watching Starsky drive away.

Starsky felt all the more concerned about what Finley thought of their conversation.

After arriving home, Starsky told Hutch about what had gone on that day, over a barbecued chicken dinner.

“Keep wondering if I blew it,” Starsky admitted. “I mean, what if Finley noticed my Firebird tailing him before, and then he made the connection when he saw me leave in it?”

Hutch cut into a chicken leg. “Even so, it’s hard to imagine that it made things worse. If he suspects you know Evelyn and now know his intentions, that’s all the more reason for him not to harm her.”

“Yeah, I suppose. Still, he never stated his intentions in a direct way. And, like I said, he sort of stepped back toward the end and said he was ‘just talking’.”

Hutch glanced up. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

“No. Surely, he’s not expecting to keep spending all his free time at the park and just going around shopping. I got to figure that he’s pretty close to having something planned. Otherwise, he’d be more attentive to her.”

“But now she’s at her mother’s?”

Starsky nodded. “She said she was calling her mother when I left. She seemed to understand the urgency of it. I told her that I hoped she’d let me know when something happened with the case.”

Hutch took a sip of iced tea, and then said, “You’ve done everything you can, buddy. That was pretty clever of you to get Finley talking to you.”

“Since he doesn’t seem to hang out with anyone, I figured he might appreciate being able to unload on someone.” Starsky’s mouth corner twitched. “Just had to get myself worked up into a funk, like I was angry with ‘my old lady’.”

They ate in silence a few moments, and then Starsky admitted, “Still can’t figure how he could have dated Evelyn for three years, and was apparently happy doing it, and then they get married and suddenly he isn’t so happy any more.”

Hutch shrugged. “Guess it takes all kinds, huh?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said with a sigh. “No kidding.”

“David, Eveyln Williams is on line one.”

“Thanks.” While listening to Hutch type at his computer, Starsky picked up the phone. “Hi, Evelyn.”

“Hi, Mr. Starsky. I just wanted to give you an update.”

“Oh, good.”

“My mother and I got a divorce attorney, and we canceled the life insurance policy. While we were in the attorney’s office, we called Finley and let him know that I was filing for divorce and that I’d canceled the insurance policy. He tried to sound casual and act innocent, like it was no big thing and he couldn’t understand why I wanted a divorce and all that, but there’s no going back. I can’t thank you enough. I’m mailing your payment in full.”

Starsky released a breath. “I’m so glad to hear that you’ve taken steps to protect yourself and are getting that jerk out of your life.”

“Yes. Thanks again.”

“Thanks for calling to let me know. Take care, Evelyn.”

“Goodbye.”

Starsky hung up the phone and smiled. That had been an important, quick job well done.

Hutch pointed to the liquor store ahead on the right. “Pull in there.”

“Why?” Starsky asked as he slowed the Firebird.

“Let’s bring a nice bottle of wine.”

As Starsky pulled into the lot of a standalone building, which was surrounded by shady trees, he said, “She said we didn’t have to bring anything.” He chose to park beneath them, rather than to the more crowded row next to the entrance.

“Anyone can use an extra bottle of wine. Besides, what if Mom and Clark announce that they’re getting married? Would be nice to have some quality liquor to celebrate with.”

Starsky shut off the motor and they got out of the car.

“Can I help you?” the clerk greeted.

“Looking for some nice wine,” Hutch said.

“How much do you want to spend?”

“Forty or fifty bucks?”

The man moved eagerly from behind the counter. “This row over here.”

While Starsky hovered silently, Hutch spent a few moments making a selection. A short time later, Hutch paid and the man put the bottle in a paper sack, saying, “There you go. Have a great evening.”

“Thanks,” Hutch said, and they left the store.

“What if they aren’t getting married?” Starsky challenged as they walked to the Firebird. “What do you think Lorraine and Clark’s news could be?” He reached into his pocket for keys.

“I don’t know,” Hutch replied, pausing beside him. “Maybe they’re moving?” He hoped not. He shifted the bottle to his left hand, to reach for the car door with his right.

A sharp ping sounded and dust kicked up at their feet.

Instincts kicked in and Hutch dove to the ground by the front passenger wheel of the Firebird, grateful that the wine didn’t break.

Another ping hit.

“Starsk, you okay?” Hutch shouted. He assumed Starsky was taking refuge by the left front wheel.

“Yeah! Is someone shooting at us?”

Hutch listened.

Silence.

“I don’t know!”

The door of the liquor store opened and the cashier came running out. “Are you okay? I’ve called the police.”

Hutch gathered himself and rose to his feet. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Starsky was also on his feet, brushing off his jeans. “I’m fine. Has this happened before?” he asked the clerk.

“No. I just saw you guys go for cover and the ground kick up. Didn’t hear any shots from inside.”

Starsky was looking around, as was Hutch. “He must have had a silencer, whoever it was.”

In the distance, a black car sped away from the curb.

Hutch watched but it was too far away to make out the license plate or make of the car.

Starsky was watching, too. “Wonder if that’s him.”

Over an hour later, they were back on their way to Nick and Lanette’s house. They’d used to Firebird’s phone to call ahead to apologize for being late, but they were witnesses to gunshots being fired and left it at that. Lanette had assured, “The potatoes are still baking,” and didn’t seem concerned about the delay.

They’d told the police what happened, and the only possibility Starsky could think of, as the culprit who might want to harm them, was Finley Williams.

“He had to have been following us,” Starsky said, glancing repeatedly at his rearview mirror.

Hutch was also watching the mirror outside the passenger door. “Yeah, assuming it was somebody after us, and not simply trying to give the liquor store a bad name.”

“Well, we got to be extra careful. If it’s Williams or someone he hired, we’re being watched. He’s probably mad as hell that I interfered with his plans to kills his wife and get a payout of a half million.”

“Yeah.” Hutch finally took his eyes off the mirror. “I think they’ve abandoned the chase for now. All the cars that have been behind us have turned off. And nobody knows there Nick and Lannie live, but us.”

“Yeah.”

Hutch reached over and squeezed Starsky’s arm. “Let’s not let on and worry everybody.”

Starsky nodded. “And let’s not forget that I’ve got a loaded gun in the glove compartment.”

Ever since Starsky was robbed of forty dollars while on a case, he’d kept his pistol in the glove compartment of his vehicle. Hutch hoped they would never have to use it.

They’d been eating a while, and three-year-old Melinda had been excused from the table to play with her toys. Lorraine looked at Hutch and said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you that your cousin Patricia called. I haven’t talked to her in a long time.”

“Oh,” Starsky said, “How is she and Julie doing?” Julie was her teenage daughter who was a passionate horse lover and followed racing.

“She has a boyfriend.”

“Julie or Patricia?” Starsky asked.

“I meant Patricia. I guess I never got around to asking if Julie has a boyfriend yet, because when we discussed her, Patricia said they got one of those VCR players, and she said you guys have a video camera that does the —” Lorraine looked at Clark beside her, “what do they call it?”

“VHS tapes,” Clark replied.

Starsky nodded. “Ours does VHS, not Beta.”

“Yes, that’s what type they have. VHS. Anyway, Patricia said Julie wanted to know if you could make a VHS tape of that racehorse you have and send it to her. What’s her name?”

“Her legal name is Flying Waters,” Hutch replied. “She’s Bri around the barn. Julie is the one who suggested the mating that created her.”

Starsky grinned broadly. “Smart girl. Because it’s sounding like Bri could be good.” He just now realized how much they owed to young Julie for suggesting that Darla be bred to Storm Bird.

“Has she raced yet?” Clark asked.

“No, should be a few more months,” Hutch said. “She had an injury in the spring, and then got the flu. She just started back galloping. And when she’s strong enough, they’ll do some timed workouts to get her more in shape. And then she’ll race.”

Starsky nudged Hutch while looking at Lorraine, “Sure, we can take our video camera out to the track, one morning when we know that Bri will be galloping, and get some footage of her on the track and hanging out at the barn.”

“Julie will enjoy that,” Lorraine approved..

They all fell silent as plates were cleared of final bits of their meal.

Lanette glanced at her mother. “Anything new with you and Clark?”

Clark sat back in his chair and draped his arm loosely around Lorraine’s shoulders.

She reached to her feet and brought up her purse. “Well, I took it off so it would be a surprise.” She unwrapped a tissue and held up a ring. As she placed it on her finger she said, “Clark and I are engaged.”

They all clapped and Starsky took his wine glass. “Congratulations.”

The rest held up their glasses and made similar noises.

“So, when is the big day?” Hutch asked.

Clark said, “We’re still debating. Probably around October. We aren’t planning anything big.”

“We’ll be honeymooning in Hawaii,” Lorraine declared.

Nick reached for a roll. “I say it’s about time. It was looking like you two were going to be dating forever.”

Lorraine quipped, “He wasn’t sure he wanted to ‘mess with a good thing’.”

“But she won me over,” Clark agreed.

Lanette stood and began gathering empty plates. “I’ll put on some coffee and I’ve got chocolate cake for dessert.”

Nick patted him stomach. “Easy on the cake, Lan. I’m putting on a few.”

Starsky deadpanned, “Rich and fat. Maybe you ought to come back to work.”

“I am working,” Nick said. “Honing my skills at poker. The airfares to Vegas are super cheap. You can leave in the morning and return in the evening for eighty bucks.”

“Plus whatever you lose,” Starsky muttered.

“Negative Nanny,” Nick grumbled. “I won nine hundred dollars the other night. And I’m just a neophyte.”

From the corner of his eye, Starsky saw Hutch glance at Lanette, who was carrying more dishes into the kitchen.

Lorraine got up to assist.

“All I’m saying,” Starsky said in a deliberately measured voice, “is that Hutch and I have seen a lot of gambling situations that turned out poorly. Nobody wins money consistently. If they did, Las Vegas couldn’t stay in business.”

Nick said firmly, “There’s professionals who make a living at it. You just don’t hear much about them because they lay low. Don’t want to share their secrets, because they want to keep beating everybody else.”

With puzzlement, Hutch asked, “Is that what you’re shooting for? Having gambling as a profession?”

Nick shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just feeling my way for now.” As Lanette came back into the room, his voice was more amused. “Lighten up, guys, I’m just having a little fun, and seeing how far it can go.” He glanced at his wife. “The Boss keeps her fingers tight on the purse strings.”

Lanette smiled as she grabbed another plate. “That’s right. And don’t you forget it.”

On Tuesday the following week, Lois beeped Starsky’s phone. “I have a call from a Detective Bill Ryan with the Bay City Police. He says he’ll talk to either one of you. Line three.”

As Hutch turned in his office chair, Starsky said, “Thanks.” He pushed line three and then the speaker button. “Hi, Detective Ryan? This is Dave Starsky and I have you on speaker phone so Ken Hutchinson can hear.”

“Hi, Detective Ryan,” Hutch said. “What have you found out?”

“Nothing definitive, I’m afraid. I went over to Finley Williams’ house and talked to him. He said he had no idea who you guys are and said he was bowling with some friends Saturday when it happened, and I was able to confirm that. So, if he hired someone, he’s not giving anything away. Also, it turns out that the owner of the liquor store has an ex brother-in-law that has caused some problems for the family. So far, it’s nothing more serious that slashing tires, but since he doesn’t have an alibi, he’s still a suspect. But until we have more evidence, we can’t act on anything.”

Hutch released a breath. “Those bullets hit damn close for someone just trying to scare away customers.”

“No kidding,” Starsky muttered.

“Yeah, I hear you,” Ryan said. “But I need something I can prove. If you can give me anyone else I can talk to, I’m happy to check it out. In the meantime, I suggest you guys be extra careful. If someone does want to cause you harm, I doubt they’ll give up.”

“Yeah,” Hutch said, “we’re fully aware of that. Thanks for the update.”

Starsky cut the line and looked at Hutch. “We may never know.”

“Right. Especially if nothing further happens.”

“I’m not sure if I hope it does or it doesn’t. I’d love to have a reason to put Finley Williams behind bars.”

Hutch shook his finger at Starsky. “You’re not going anywhere alone.”

The following Thursday morning, they were at the barn area of Hollywood Park. They had video taped Bri moving in a gallop around the racetrack, accompanied before and after by a lead pony. Now, they had followed her back to the barn area, where she was greeted by her groom, who was a quiet thirty-ish man with Navajo features.

As her exercise rider dismounted, Hutch said, “Sure looks like you had her under a strong hold the entire way.”

He nodded while gripping the bicep of one arm. “She gives me quite a workout every single morning. She’s always got a head of steam, but we didn’t want to do too much with her since she just got over being sick.”

As the groom led Bri over to a concrete area where a water hose was, Mike Hawkins said, “We’ll have her going a little longer and faster in a few days.” He nodded toward another saddled horse, “Go ahead and take Bronco. Make sure he goes a full two miles.”

“Will do.” The rider moved off.

Starsky put the Camcorder to his eye as the groom began to spray the hose over Bri. She pinned her ears back occasionally, as the groom moved around her, and sometimes stamped her foot, but otherwise seemed to appreciate the water running over her chestnut coat.

Hutch said, “I haven’t noticed that groom before.”

“Yeah, he’s only been here a couple of months,” Hawkins replied. “He worked with horses on the reservation in Arizona. Then he had a relative marry into a white family and when they moved out this way, he decided to move, too, and get a job with horses. I’m glad I found him. Bri has already been through two other grooms.”

Starsky lowered the camera. “Really?”

“Yeah. One was sort of afraid of her, and she took advantage of it. And the next one tried to boss her around and she wasn’t having any of it. Sani fits her well. He’s got a confident, quiet way about him.”

Starsky put the Camcorder back to his eye as Sani now rubbed soap into Bri’s coat. She stretched her neck out to the rail where she was tied, which had various grooming tools along the top. With one push of her nose, a curry comb tumbled to the concrete.

“HEY!” Hawkins shouted toward her. Sani didn’t look up from his bathing, but Bri’s ears pricked toward her trainer’s voice.

“Your Royal Highness,” Hawkins enunciated. “Behave yourself!”

Hutch glanced at Hawkins with amusement. “She knocked off that comb on purpose?”

“Yes. She can’t stand not being the center of attention.” With that, he moved toward her, and Starsky and Hutch followed. “She’s got me so trained,” Hawkins muttered. He reached to stroke her face, easily avoiding the bared teeth that she tossed his way. Then he said, “If I get ulcers, know that it’s because of her.”

“I got that move on camera,” Starsky said with satisfaction, lowering it again. He moved his hand to her wet neck and stroked it. “Oh, man, I know you’re gonna be worth all the trouble you cause.” She turned her head as far as her lead would allow and made a snapping motion with her teeth.

Starsky stepped back. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave you alone.”

Hutch chuckled softly. “She wants attention, but apparently not of the affectionate kind.”

Hawkins noted, “She just wants everybody to know that she rules the world.”

Sani was now working with the hose again, rinsing off the soap. Bri suddenly kicked, and Sani moved smoothly away from the threat, without interrupting his motion with the hose.

While Hutch admired the calm demeanor of the groom, he noted, “Doesn’t look like her gallop took much out of her.”

“She needs to gain about fifty more pounds, so I’m hesitant to work her very hard right now. But I’m also hoping that being back to regular exercise will improve her disposition and therefore improve her appetite. She didn’t have much padding on her to begin with, and that flu knocked more off of her. She wasn’t very interested in eating for a while.”

As Hutch studied her, with Sani now using a flexible metal strip to scrape the water off her coat, he could see the slight outline of her ribs through her coat.

A phone rang from inside the barn and Hawkins moved off. “I’ve got to get that.”

Starsky said, “Well, buddy, I think I’ve got about a half hour of footage. That should give Julie something to watch.”

“I brought her address. Maybe we can stop at the post office and mail the tape right now. I know they have special mailing boxes made just for video tapes.”

“Okay, let’s do that.”

They moved to Starsky’s Firebird.

When they were driving out of the stable area, Starsky chuckled and said, “Man, that was funny, Mike calling her Your Royal Highness.”

“Yeah, she’s quite the character.”

“Geez and when she was on the track, the way she was pulling so hard on the reins.”

“Yeah, that made my arms sore, just watching.”

Starsky marveled, “I guess it takes a certain personality to put up with a horse that’s constantly wanting to take a bite out of you.”

“That groom — Sani — seemed nonchalant about it. And I guess Mike doesn’t mind it being part of the package, if the rest of the package is going to be something special.”

Starsky grinned at him. “You actually sound optimistic, baby. You usually aren’t very optimistic about the horses.”

“Well, Mike hasn’t ever said anything against her ability.” Hutch realized, “Yeah, I guess I am starting to feel optimistic.”

They had left the track grounds and were now driving on a road that was leading them away from the city.

Starsky said, “Where’s the nearest post office from here?”

“I don’t know. Let’s just head back to the office and stop at the one on Almond Street. They usually have lots of supplies, so we can get one of those video boxes.”

“Yeah. We should run into Turnstone somewhere up here, and then get to Piketon from there.”

A few moments later, Hutch was aware that the atmosphere in the car had changed. Starsky kept looking in his rearview mirror.

Hutch asked, “What’s behind us?” He didn’t want to turn to look, in case it was important to not give away that they’d noticed.

“A black car has been following us ever since we left the track.”

Hutch’s stomach tightened. “You think it could be the same one that drove away from the liquor store?”

“Could be.” Starsky eyes continued to shift to the rear view mirror. “My gun’s in the glove compartment.”

Hutch pushed the button to the glove compartment, which fell open. “Maybe we should pull over before we get back to residential areas. Maybe he’ll pass us and we can get the plate number and have Detective Ryan check it out.”

Starsky slowed the car. “And if this creep is looking for a confrontation, we’re ready.”

Hutch took the pistol in hand and was surprised at how comforting it felt to know they had a way of defending themselves. He hadn’t held a gun in years.

Starsky pulled over to the shoulder, coming to a stop. He stared into his rear view mirror. “Dammit, he’s making a U-turn to go back the other way.”

Hutch turned in his seat to watch the black sedan, about fifty yards behind them, swing into an arc, so that it was heading back toward Hollywood Park.

There were other cars behind him, and they had to slow while the black sedan turned around.

“Can you get the license plate?” Starsky asked.

Hutch tried to focus. “No. Too far away.”

“Come on,” Starsky growled, as the cars that had been behind the sedan now came toward the Firebird, so Starsky couldn’t turn around.

Hutch saw the last car that blocked them from moving onto the road. “After the blue car,” he said, wishing they had a mars light and siren.

The blue car passed them, and Starsky turned sharply onto the road, turning back into the direction of the track. As soon as he was heading straight, he accelerated to a high rate of speed.

Hutch could see a black speck in the distance. “There’s a chance we can catch up to him. Gun it!”

Just as the Firebird approached the area with the barns to their right, a massive hay truck slowed from the opposite side, turning left into the track grounds, thereby blocking their path.

Starsky slammed on the brakes. “Goddamnit!”

Hutch felt likewise and bellowed, “Whatever happened to waiting for traffic to clear?” He flipped his finger at the hay truck, though the driver couldn’t see it.

Starsky was now going twenty miles per hour, and when the hay truck had moved off the road, he accelerated once again.

Hutch waited a moment before stating the obvious. “We’ve lost him.” Many cars were at the traffic light ahead. He placed Starsky’s gun back into the glove compartment.

Starsky released a heavy breath of frustration. “Well, now we know that whoever shot at us at the liquor store had nothing to do with the liquor store owner.”

“We need to call Detective Ryan when we get back to the office. Let him know what just happened.”

“It’s not enough evidence. We can’t prove that anyone in the black car had any malicious intent toward us, or that the black car turning around wasn’t the driver simply realizing he’d gone the wrong way.”

That was all too true. Hutch decided, “We still need to let Ryan know, so he can include it in the file. So, the next time something happens, it’s an obvious escalation.”

They were back in city traffic. Starsky asked, “So, what do you think happened? This guy followed us from home, or our office, and then, since the track has a guarded gate, waited somewhere outside the grounds, for us to come back out?”

Hutch considered the scenario. “We were there over two hours. That’s quite a commitment of time. It has to be somebody that Finley paid, since Finley has an eight to five regular job.”

“So, what was the black car planning on doing? Waiting until we stopped somewhere, where he could out of his car and find a secluded place to aim a rifle at us?”

“Yeah, for all this guy knows, it could be days before he has a chance to shoot at us again. Or you, at least. It’s got to be a professional.”

Starsky began slowly shaking his head. “But now that the life insurance policy is canceled, it seems like that’s quite an investment of money, on Finley’s part, just to show how angry he is it at me.”

Hutch’s mind was following another train of thought. “Why did he turn around? We were pulled over on the side of the road. He didn’t know we had a gun. Why not pull over behind us and shoot at us?”

“Too much traffic, maybe? At the liquor store, they were all the trees surrounding the parking lot, so he could be hidden in an urban area. Plus, maybe he realized we’d spotted him and he wasn’t prepared for that, so he hightailed it out of there to re-think his strategy.”

Hutch’s fist curled. “Boy, when we catch him, I can’t wait to hear him sing and see what’s going on.”

“We’ve got to make it easy for him, Hutch. Try to draw him out. Stick to a routine.”

Hutch felt similarly, but didn’t relish putting Starsky in further danger. “I think you need to start wearing a bullet proof vest.”

Starsky sighed, and then pointed out, “He’s obviously not the best aim, or he would have shot me at the liquor store.” He tilted his head. “How good of a professional can he be?”

Hutch replied thoughtfully, “Maybe just somebody trying to make a few bucks by doing a hit.”

“If he’s somebody desperate for money, then why give up so easily just now?”

Hutch slowly shook his head, and then muttered, “So many questions.”

“Yeah. And I wonder if he’ll switch vehicles, if he thinks we realized he was tailing us.”

Hutch let the curtain to the living room window fall aside. No strange cars parked along the street. Three days now, they had been extra vigilant, looking for anyone tailing them or waiting for them.

Starsky had refused the idea of an uncomfortable bullet proof vest, unless and until they had set up a trap where he was the lure. For now, they weren’t sure of their next move until they knew if whoever was tailing them would try with a different car.

What they did know was that the constant vigilance, and driving the same roads to and from work, and driving in earlier so that the roads were less crowded — so they would be a more convenient target — was fraying their nerves.

The following week, Hutch entered the office after meeting with a client in the conference room.

Starsky was saying into the phone, “I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’ll let Ken know. Once Bri is running, you’ll need to come out sometime and watch. I’ll let you go. Goodbye, Julie.” He hung up the phone. “She was needing to get out the door, or I would have put you on the phone.”

“She got the video tape?”

“Yep. Was very happy that we got it to her so quickly. Can you believe she’s seventeen now?”

Hutch was surprised. “Time flies, huh? Does she have a boyfriend or anything like that going on?”

“She seemed pretty bashful talking to me about anything except Bri.” Starsky nodded at the notepad in Hutch’s hand. “How did it go?”

“I want to drive out and see this new possible witness.” It was for a missing person’s case, where the missing person was suspected of leaving the state without letting relatives know. “She used to be Chad’s girlfriend, so I thought I’d talk to her. It’s out in the Forline area. Want to come?”

“Na,” Starsky replied. “I’ve got all this stuff I’m writing up for this ancestry case, and I told them I’d have it done by tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Hutch said. He slapped the back of Starsky’s chair. “Don’t go anywhere.” It was a partial joke, since they drove into work together and Starsky didn’t have his own vehicle.

Starsky turned back to his computer, his mouth in a firm line, as though determined to not complain about the constant need to worry about his safety.

Hutch made his way down the hall and around the corner to the reception area. “I’ll be back within a couple of hours,” he told Lois as he passed her desk.

“Okay,” she replied.

As Hutch excited the building, his eyes darted around the parking lot, as they always had in recent weeks. Their personnel had been updated on the possible threat to Starsky’s life and encouraged to be vigilant, as well, in case they were able to spot any suspicious people or vehicles in the area. Now, Hutch didn’t have Starsky with him, but that didn’t mean somebody wasn’t watching.

After getting in the Honda and driving for a few minutes, Hutch began to relax. He and Starsky had been together so much that he felt it was a nice break to take a drive out to an area that he rarely got to see. Forline was partially rural, and it was a beautiful day, with autumn just around the corner.

“Thanks so much for your help, Flora.” Hutch shook her hand once again. He was in her living room, in an old house that was well shielded from the main road with a row of trees. “With this new information, I think we’ll be able to conclude this case pretty quickly.”

“Glad I could help,” she said, holding open the wooden door.

Hutch walked down the old porch steps, briefcase in hand. He appreciated the cool breeze provided by the trees, as it was now mid afternoon. He walked down the lane to his Honda, tossed in the briefcase, and then got into the driver’s seat.

He spent a few moments backing out of the dirt lane, and then turned onto the two-lane highway. He was thinking about the case, and how one or two phone calls might determine the subject’s whereabouts.

As he drove a few minutes more, he realized the steering felt awkward and he heard a rumble noise on the passenger side of the car.

Hutch pulled over, already suspecting what he was going to find, and wondered how long it would take his auto club to come out this way. He recalled going through an intersection that had glass along the shoulder of the road, likely from a recent accident. Apparently, the road hadn’t been completely cleared of glass.

Hutch moved around the front of the car and looked down at the front passenger side tire. It was flat. He again wondered about calling his auto club, since he hadn’t changed a flat tire in years. Though he didn’t look forward to getting dirty, he realized that he could have the job done far quicker than waiting for someone to drive out this way and change it for him.

Hutch went around to the back of Honda, silently cursing that he was going to have to get a new tire for a car that was just six months old. He inserted his key into trunk. As the lid popped open, he heard a motor, and then the sound of gravel. He turned around.

A black sedan was pulling up behind him.

Hutch’s heart kicked into high gear, as he realized with a sinking feeling that they’d read this all wrong, and he was the intended target. His tire had been flattened on purpose — or at least the air let out so it would flatten eventually. He was a sitting duck, with no weapon. He wondered if he should run to the front of the Honda for cover.

He wanted this to be over. He wanted to know who the driver was, with his thick glasses and dark hair. He appeared to be white and middle aged. If he went for a weapon, Hutch would dive for cover and attempt to get the upper hand.

Hutch stared at the man behind the wheel, watching for the slightest movement.

He should call the police, call Starsky. He should get the license plate number, in case the black sedan drove off again.

The man just gazed at him.

He’s not sure of himself, Hutch realized. He wanted to walk up to the black car and pull the driver out by the throat and demand to know what this was all about. But the man could have a weapon waiting in his lap.

Hutch started walking backward to the driver side of the Honda, keeping his eye on the man. He opened the door and quickly ducked down to grab the notepad and pen he kept in a cup between the seats.. He quickly scribbled down the license plate, feeling emboldened by the thought that the driver realized he was doing it. Hutch tossed the notepad aside and knelt in the driver’s seat, still watching the sedan. He finally turned his head to pick up the phone and quickly dialed the office number.

He straightened just enough that the driver of the black car should be able to see that he was on the phone, and calling for help. The driver still seemed to be sitting quietly, watching Hutch.

“Starsky and Hutchinson,” Lois answered.

“Lois, get me David.”

“He’s on the phone and has another call waiting.”

“Okay, listen. Interrupt him and tell him I’m near — “ Hutch turned his head to read the piece of paper with his destination address “12488 Rosebud Highway. I have a flat tire and a black sedan is parked behind me. He’ll understand. Interrupt him and tell him now.”

“Will do. Did you want to stay on the line?”

The black sedan’s door opened.

“No. Tell him now!”

Hutch tossed the phone on the seat, prepared to dive for cover.

The man wasn’t holding a gun. He could still have a knife or other type of weapon.

“What do you want?” Hutch called out, as the man approached.

The man’s mouth was in a firm line. “I want my money.”

“What?” Hutch didn’t think he’d heard correctly. “What money? Who are you?”

The man stopped three feet from Hutch. “Who I am isn’t important. You’re Ken Hutchinson, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“You tricked Mabel Lindy into hiring you to kill her husband. I gave her seven thousand to pay you. Turned out,” he spat, “it was all a big setup. Now the cops have my money and say they can’t give it back, because it’s evidence, since they got it from her, not from me.”

Hutch’s head was filled with a myriad of thoughts, and he tried reason. “I can’t help you with that. I’m sorry.”

“You tricked her!”

“She wanted to have her husband killed!” Hutch responded with exasperation. “She may seem like a nice old lady, but that’s the consequence of loaning money.”

“This is your fault,” the man insisted. “You tricked her. She didn’t deserve that, and I don’t deserve to be out all the money I have to my name.”

Hutch knew logic couldn’t fight this kind of stubbornness. He abruptly changed the subject. “Why did you shoot at us?”

“So you’d know I was serious.”

“That’s attempted murder.”

The man seemed hesitant, but then declared, “You can’t prove it was me.”

“We have the shell casings that we can match to your rifle.” He didn’t know if the man had the rifle in his possession, but stated it with confidence.

The man’s fists clenched. “I just want my damn money! It’s all the money I had.”

Just as forcefully, Hutch declared, “Then you shouldn’t have loaned it out! What kind of idiot loans money without knowing the reason for it?”

“She said she would pay me back! That she has insurance money coming, and now she’s in jail. And that’s your fault.”

Hutch held up his hands in a hopeless gesture. “Take it up with her husband. The man she tried to kill, with your money.”

“I didn’t know why she needed it. I’ve known her most of my life. There wasn’t any reason not to trust her.”

“Well, you trusted the wrong person. I can’t help that.” Hutch made his voice challenging. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’ve hung around this damn town long enough to know that you have your own business. You must be well off, in a ritzy area where you live. What’s seven thousand to you?”

Hutch realized that he felt sorry for the man. But he wasn’t going to cover for another’s mistakes. He firmly shook his head. “I don’t owe you any money, mister. I never took any money from you, only from her, and accepted it on behalf of the sheriff. Now, I’m not completely without compassion.” Hutch pointed to the black sedan. “You go back to your car, and get the fuck out of town, and I’ll forget this whole thing. Otherwise, you’re going to be arrested for attempted murder.” Hutch nodded toward the Honda. “You saw me on my car phone. The police are on their way. I don’t know your name, but I can find it out easy enough through your license plate number. Your choice.”

The man’s face hardened.

In the distance, there was the sound of police sirens.

More gently, Hutch said, “Go. Now. Or it’s all over.”

Abruptly, the man turned and ran back to his car.

Starsky’s heart took another leap as he turned onto Rosebud Highway. In the distance, he saw a car parked on the side of the road. He wondered why he didn’t see any police around.

As he got closer, he realized it was a beige Honda with its trunk open. Closer still, and he saw that the right side of the car was propped on a jack. Then he realized that Hutch was sitting in the dirt, doing something with a tire.

Starsky furrowed his brow. According to Lois, Hutch had a flat tire, with the dreaded black sedan sitting behind him. Starsky assumed the black sedan had something to do with Hutch having the flat. He’d immediately called Detective Ryan.

Starsky parked behind the Honda, noticing that Hutch didn’t bother looking up. Instead, Hutch had moved into a crouched position and was trying to tighten a bolt with a lug wrench.

Starsky got out of the car he’d borrowed from Carlos, their most senior employee. “What are you doing?” he demanded as he approached.

“Changing a flat tire,” Hutch replied casually. “You’re a bit late, partner.”

Starsky crouched down next to him. “I thought you said the black sedan was here.”

“It was. It left.” Hutch continued to work with the lug bolts.

“Where are the cops?”

“They left, too. I told them all it was a big misunderstanding.”

“Misunderstandin’? Starsky muttered. “What misunderstanding?”

Hutch finally looked at him, his expression calm and content. “The situation with the black car is over and done with. He wasn’t after you, partner. He was after me. This didn’t have anything to do with Finley Williams. Instead, it had to do with Mabel Lindy.”

“Mabel Lindy?” Starsky asked, not sure he was placing the name correctly.

“Yeah. In order to hire me to kill her husband, she had to borrow money from a man she knew. That man was the one tailing us and trying to get our attention. Because he’s not going to get this seven thousand back, since it’s State’s evidence. So, he was mad at me for being the one who caused Mabel to be arrested, which means he’s not going to get his money back, and that money was all he has to his name.”

Starsky wasn’t sure he followed all that. “Then why didn’t he just come see you at the office? Why did he shoot at us?”

Hutch grunted as he tightened the final bolt. “He said to get our attention, to show he was serious.” Hutch straightened with a sigh, and then began to lower the jack. “I don’t think he was sure what he wanted to do. Aggression isn’t his forte, but he really wanted his money back.” Hutch shrugged. “I sort of feel sorry for him. So, before the police arrived, I told him he’d better get the fuck out of Dodge, or risk going to prison for attempted murder.”

Hutch removed the jack from the lowered Honda. He stood and smiled at Starsky. “He decided to leave.” He began to carry the jack and other tools to the back.

“Is he the one who flattened your tire?” Starsky asked, as Hutch flung the tools into the trunk. Then Hutch turned to the tire that was propped against the car.

“I assume so,” Hutch said. “While I was talking to the lady up the road. She’s in a secluded area and I was with her for a while, so he had time to do something. And conveniently appeared shortly after I left her place.”

Starsky stood with his hands on his hips while Hutch lifted the flat tire into the trunk. “Well, this almost feels like a let-down, after all this worry. But I guess we shouldn’t complain that it all worked out okay.” Starsky blinked. “And to think he was actually after you all this time.”

Hutch slammed the lid shut. “Yep. I guess we were guilty of being presumptuous.”

“What do you mean?”

Hutch smiled warmly and brushed a finger across Starsky’s face. “When we ass-u-me, we make an ass out of you. And me.” He brushed off his hands. “I need a shower.”

“Yes, you do,”

Hutch glanced at the red Chevy behind the Honda. Regretfully, he said, “You borrowed Carlos’s car, huh? Guess you need to drive it back.”

“Uh-huh,” Starsky agreed reluctantly.

Hutch grinned and took Starsky’s chin in hand. He kissed him, and then whispered, “Well, I’m going to go home and take a shower. I think I need an outlet for all this… relief… I feel.”

Starsky felt fuzzy all over. Hutch was giving off all the signals that he was in a rare mood to top.

“Okay,” Starsky said. “I’m gonna take Carlos’s car back. And then — Wait a minute. If you’re driving home, how am I going to get home?”

Hutch patted Starsky’s head. “Have Lois or someone else drop you off.” He winked. “Don’t keep me waiting.” He moved off to the driver’s door.

Starsky ran back to the Chevy.

FINIS

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