Chapter IV
The Hidalgo Grande was crowded, and no one paid attention to the pair that passed through to the door at the rear. Jolie was a regular visitor.
Hutch walked at her heels, fitting the new information into the pattern, and wondering what else McGregor knew that he was not letting on.
"In here," the girl said, tapped once on the door. "Honey, it's me," she hissed through the cracked boards. "I'll be across the hall if you need me. Just holler." Hutch didn't hear a reply, but as Jolie disappeared the door slowly opened, and a child peered round. Huge gray eyes studied him, something near to panic in their depths.
"Primrose sent you?" she whispered.
"Uh, yes," he said. "Sophie?" disbelief in his voice. She nodded.
"Come on in," and stood aside to let him enter.
Remembering the kind of girl Nick had fancied in Los Angeles, Hutch had been expecting a long-legged beauty with a certain glossy sexuality. Sophie was none of these. She was not beautiful, but lovely, with a childlike, frail-boned perfection that stopped the breath. She could not have been more than five feet tall, and without makeup, wearing a Victorian smock dress, she looked about twelve years old. Long tousled ringlets of sun-streaked honey-blonde rippled down her back, and in her pointed, fragile flower-face, small full lips quivered with fear.
Hutch took a deep lungful of air, reminding himself that this personification of innocence had been--maybe still was--a hooker, and that her very appearance was her stock in trade. But it could not change his initial reaction to her because that was bone-deep, an integral part of him. Besides, what did it matter how she earned her keep? She was lost and afraid.
"Hey, it's okay," he said gently. "I'm not gonna hurt you. I'm a friend, Sophie. Didn't Primrose tell you that?"
She blinked up at him. "Yes," she said doubtfully. "Told me you wanted to talk about Nicky."
"Yes."
"I don't know anything. Where he is, whatever."
"I know," he smiled. "I know where he is. He's in Los Angeles, and we'll take you back with us, if you want. He's worried sick about you."
"Yeah?"
"Yes. He left because he thought he'd be a danger to you," he improvised, and she shrugged, a small smile taking away some of the uncertainty and fear from her mouth.
"That's a pretty lie, cowboy, and I guess you'd like it to be true," she said. "You in his line of business?"
"No," he answered. "We're here to help him, and you, out of this mess with as little fuss and pain as possible."
She gave an almost silent giggle, all fear gone. "You're wasting your time. You with his brother?"
"Yes."
"Is he like Nicky?"
"They look alike, yes. Sophie, what do Henderson and Lazero have to do with Nick? Do you know?"
"No, and I don't want to. You don't--he didn't tell you?"
"No. If he had it'd be that much less complicated."
The fear was back in her face. "If he hasn't told you, I sure as hell won't," she snapped. "Even if I knew for sure, which I don't."
"So tell me what you suspect," he said evenly. There was a harder core to her than he'd let himself realize. "Is it to do with Andromeda? Who holds the lease?"
"Nicky does," she whispered. "Who're you with? Henderson? Or Lazaro? I don't know anything! Tell them, I don't know anything!"
"Hush, it's okay," he said. "Sophie, I'm not with either of them. I've come in from LA with Nick's brother because he came to us and asked for help. Please, let us help."
"Guess he's said he'll cut you in on the action?" she said suddenly, child-eyes narrowing, "but he hasn't let you in on that angle. Hell, he won't even let me in on it--said it was too big, too risky for me!" She moved jerkily to the couch, took a pack of cigarettes out of the clutch-purse lying there, put one of the white tubes in her mouth. "Got a light?"
He lit the cigarette for her, squashing the urge to tell her that on her lips it looked obscene--a child aping grownups--
"What angles are you in on?" he asked. This interview was not going the way he'd expected.
"What d'you think, knowing our Nicky?" she drawled, blowing pale smoke towards him.
Anger hit him, suddenly, and he took one swift stride towards her, snatched the cigarette out of her fingers and threw it down, treading it into the carpet.
"Sophie, don't play games with me. I know Nick from way back, and while I don't know what he's gotten into out here, I can make a rough guess." He heard himself say the words, but still could not accept a truth he felt instinctively. "What is it? Blackmail? Extortion?"
"B-blackmail," she stammered, "at least, that's the racket we got going behind Andromeda--the boutique's for real, though--that's how we started out--but it didn't pay, enough--"
"You brought Nick into a blackmail setup? How?"
"No! No! It was his idea--he got the camera--planned it out-- I'm not lying! P-please believe me?" She moved forward, raised small hands to his chest and looked up at him, eyes swimming in lakes of unshed tears. "Don't be mad at me?" He could feel the trembling of her body as she crept closer, and automatically put his arms around her.
Sophie nestled her head on his shirt, arms sliding round his waist, and she let out a shuddering sigh. But he knew she was aware of the gun in its shoulder-holster hidden beneath the leather jacket, and would be wondering how far she dared play him along. "I-I didn't want to do it--been trying to get out of this game--but he m-made me."
Hutch looked down at the tousled curls, smelled the light flower perfume she was wearing, and mentally thanked her for over-playing her hand.
"Do you," he said gently, a laugh in his voice, "take me for a sucker?" and caught held of her arms, holding her away from him, and tried to ignore the fragility of the bones under his hands. "Sophie, I'm a cop. I've been dealing with little ladies like you for years. So just give it to me straight; right from the beginning, like you were down at the station house. I guess you know the drill."
"Oh, shit!" she wailed, but did not pull away.
"Yeah, honey," he said. "And guess what--it's about to hit the fan. Talk to me."
"I don't--"
"Talk, Sophie!" The smile was still in place, but his eyes had gone cold and there was a bite in his voice that started a new trembling in her. "From the beginning."
"Don't hurt me?" she whispered, sliding her hands up his braced arms. "Please, I'll be good--"
"Yeah, I'll bet you will," he said dryly. Her tongue moved over her lips, moistening them, and her eyes widened, clear, translucent as spring water, "Is it a turn-on, Sophie? Tough luck. Hookers who cater to the under-age market aren't my style. All I want from you is words. Talk to me. Now!" and he shook her, once, snapping her head back on the slender neck. "Or else you'll find yourself on the receiving end of real pain. I'm not into S & M, but I guess you're not that much of a masochist, either. Are you? Ever had a broken arm?"
"No!" A flash of genuine fear, and this time, she tried to pull away.
"Or how about a mark or two on that lovely face?"
Sophie stared up at him with something akin to horror, not seeing the self-disgust behind his ice-cold mask, and believed him.
"I-I met Nicky a while back--nearly two years," she said, and he let her go, half-thrusting her to the couch. It struck her behind the knees and she sat down abruptly, an unintentional flounce of sprigged muslin and child-grace.
"Where?" he snapped, standing over her.
"On my turf, the other side of town. I'd tried to make it with Andromeda, when it was over on the Boulevard but--well, I got into debt, ran out of cash, and went back to turning tricks to pay it off, try to keep going with the shop."
"Go on," he said as she hesitated.
"Nicky was there, too. We--"
"You picked him up?"
"A john? Hell, no. He was cruising, turning the tricks--"
"What?" he gasped, unable to cover the shock. "Hold on, there. You better find another script, sweetness."
"It's true!" she cried, raising her hands to protect her face from an expected fist.
"Are you telling me Nick is gay?"
"I didn't say that." Cautiously she sat up. "Said he was cruising, hustling for trade."
"Why?"
"Money." She shrugged. "Why else?"
"He didn't need it. His brother gave him cash when he left LA."
"Yes, but he wanted more. Was going to get a stake behind him, and move in on the action. He did pretty well. He's not the best-looking of guys, but the way he moves gets 'em going, and his eyes are something special, aren't they?"
"Not in my book," Hutch said grimly. "The only thing I'd like to do to his ass is kick it. Okay, get on with it."
"That's about it." She shrugged again, helplessly. "We pooled our cash, Nicky got the lease, and we moved in. I told Primrose I didn't want to work for him, and things began to go real well for us."
"Where does the blackmail fit in?" he prompted.
"It sort of--just came," Sophie said, raising wide candid eyes to his face. "We both like the good things of life, and they cost money. More money than the boutique made. So Nicky set up the camera, and I brought in the johns. Family men. Business men. We never made them pay too much, always gave them the films, and didn't hit them again for more payment--"
"Hearts of gold," Hutch said, voice sibilant with control. "That's how he planned to make Lazero and Henderson sweat?"
She shook her head. "I don't know. Maybe. But it wasn't with me. Could be it was him and a wife or daughter, I guess. The camera's got an automatic control, it doesn't need an operator."
"They've got family?" Hutch ignored the technical details, and she blinked, startled.
"Uh, yes. Lazero's got a wife, two boys and three girls, all teenage. Henderson's wife is dead, he's got a son and a daughter. The girl's sixteen, I think."
"And you know absolutely nothing more about it?"
Her eyes did not waver, rather they widened. "Nothing," she whispered.
"Sophie. You are lying."
"I'm not!" Her lips quivered, and the facile tears spilled over.
"Okay, if that's the way you want it. I'll tell them at the station house you fell, trying to get away. Broke your arm. Maybe cut your face on glass you knocked over--" tipping a slender vase from the mantelpiece, watching it fall and shatter so that he wouldn't have to watch the fear grow in her child-face, and risk losing his resolution.
"I-I don't know anything more for sure," she said quickly, "but--"
"But?"
"I-I've got a key."
"Go on."
"I--guess it's a deposit box somewhere, but I don't know. It came in the mail the day after Nicky skipped. Didn't know he'd gone until it arrived. Recognized his writing on the envelope, but all it had in it was the key."
"Let's have it," he said grimly, holding out his hand. She fumbled in her purse, took out a key ring, and with shaking fingers removed one.
"Don't know where it fits," she said, laying it on his palm. "Is Nicky under arrest?"
"No. What happened to Pinto Chadd?" he asked. And if you say I don't know one more time--
"He was searching the pad above Andromeda for the films, Primrose said. That's where Nicky lived, and where we had the camera set up. I think he tripped him down the stairs--then he cut out, I guess, and sent me the key."
"Whose man is Chadd?"
"Henderson's. That's an awful bad man to cross."
"Then why so reluctant to hand over the dope on him?"
"Nicky'll go crazy," she confessed. "Besides, it's one hell of a meal ticket if he can pull it off, whatever it is. Wow, to have both those guys jumping when he whistles--"
"Yes," Hutch said sardonically. "Jumping straight on his back so that he has to go running to his big brother for help."
"Huh. --Hey, you haven't read me my rights, or anything." Suspicion was suddenly in her voice.
"No, and I'm not going to. I told you. We're here to help. If we can," he added.
"You're not even a cop?" outraged.
"Not in Vegas. Sophie, Nick's a louse; worse, he's a loser. Why don't you find somewhere else to start Andromeda?"
"Me 'n' Nicky get along," she shrugged.
"You're sticking with him?"
"Guess so. You see, cowboy," she went on, deliberately provocative, "he kind of goes for what I can do for him, and I like the way he hands it out. He likes power over people--likes to run the show. Know what I mean?"
"He ran out on you," Hutch reminded her.
"Sure. But--" and shrugged again.
"When he snaps his fingers you'll come running," he said.
"That's the way it is." She sounded almost complacent.
"Okay, Sophie." Hutch dropped the key into a pocket, stood back from her. "You better sit tight, wherever Primrose puts you. We'll be in touch."
"You're going?" Surprise and disappointment pouted her mouth. "Hey, don't leave yet. Want some coffee?"
"No."
She came to him, slid her arms about his waist again, leaning close, her small fragile body trembling against him.
"Sure?" she murmured. "Please, stay a while? We could have a lot of fun, you 'n' me."
"No," he repeated. "Sophie, I don't get off on ladies who look like twelve year old school kids. No way is that my scene." He put her away with brusque care, and left.
A tap on the door brought Jolie out to join him.
"Got what you wanted?" she drawled. He didn't answer, but a glance at his face was enough. "Yeah, I guess you did, an' I guess you don't like it none, huh?"
"You could say that," he snapped coldly, took held of her elbow and hustled her back into the room.
"Hey," she protested. "Cool it, Blue-Eyes, I--"
"Shuttup," he barked. "Until I tell you to speak. What do you know about Nick and his racket?"
"Me? Nothin'." And she laughed up in his face.
"Jolie," he said softly. "Don't push me too far." Her amusement died. "What do you know?"
"Only that him an' Sophie had some cute tricks with the home movies," she said, losing none of her poise. "You gonna beat up on me, big boy? It'll cost ya. Primrose don't--"
"If I beat up on you, Jolie, there won't be a thing Primrose can do about it, because I'll be moving in on him next, if I have to, and he is likely to end up in the bed next to Pinto Chadd. You read me?"
Jolie understood, and hid her nervousness. But he knew it was there, alongside her increasing wariness.
* * * * * * *
Hutch drove to the Ponderosa, pulled up outside and leaned across the girl to open her door.
"Get McGregor," he ordered. "He'll be at Andromeda. Tell him I want to see him, and if he keeps me waiting he'll regret it."
"I'll tell him," she said lightly, climbing out with much display of long, elegant ebony legs. "But he don't hop none when a honky hollers."
"I'm not hollerin'. I'm promisin'," he countered. "Scoot."
She slammed the car door, pursed sculptured lips in a long-range kiss and flipped the finger at him. He did not notice.
* * * * * * *
The key was burning a hole in his pocket, and he needed a little time to think things through before he faced Starsky with what he knew. Anger and disgust grew to a slow furnace heat, and if he could have stretched out a long arm to haul Nicholas Marvin back to Vegas for a reckoning, he would have done so. And the Whizz-Kid's feet wouldn't have touched the ground.
Hutch bit out a single obscenity and slammed his fist on the steering wheel. This was going to hurt Starsky, far more than he would ever let on, and Hutch did not relish the prospect of telling him. If he hadn't already found out.
In need of a drink, he pulled into the first parking lot he saw, left the car and walked to the nearest bar. He ordered a beer, then saw the pay-phone, and put through a call to the motel. But there was no answer from their room.
There had been several incoming calls, reception told him, all by the same person, but he had left neither name nor message.
Hutch collected his beer and retreated to a corner booth, trying to remember if Nick had said how he got to Los Angeles. Starsky would probably know, but Starsky was still at Andromeda, and a phone ringing in the boutique would not get answered. He wished he'd questioned Nick more closely, at the same time acknowledging that it was only retrospection being wise. There had been no need, beforehand, to investigate small details like that.
He fished out the key, and looked at it. Apart from a stamped number, it was unmarked, nothing to show where it came from. Okay, so put yourself in Nick's place, he told himself. You've just dumped a guy down the stairs and maybe killed him. Because of what you know, Henderson isn't going to let the cops in. So what do you do? Light out. The fastest way you know.
Nick hadn't taken his car--at least, he'd shown up in LA without it, so that left the airport at the top of Hutch's list. A place where left luggage lockers would provide safe storage, and a mailbox would take the key in its envelope, while he climbed aboard the first plane to LA.
* * * * * * *
He did not drive directly to the airport. Instead he took a circuitous route that left him reasonably certain he was without a tail. Then it was an easy matter to locate the ranks of lockers, find the number that matched the key, and try it in the lock. It opened, revealing a bulky package. He took it out, slipped it inside his jacket and headed for the nearest men's room. There he locked himself in a cubicle and investigated Nick's meal ticket.
Two reels of film in separate envelopes, one marked with Henderson's name, one Lazero's. Plus two large flat manila envelopes. He opened one labeled 'Henderson. Print sent Feb. 10th.' and found himself looking at an eight by ten still, probably blown up from a frame on the reel. Nick he knew at once; a slim, arrogant figure, half-naked in tight black leather, a whip coiled in his hands. Henderson he did not immediately recognize. The strong, rugged features were blurred under a layer of cosmetics, his mouth a dark red gash. The lipstick had left crimson traces on Nick's chest and belly, visible even against his body-hair. The fly of the leather pants was open, and lipstick stained his rigid penis, the circumcised glans darkened the same red. Henderson knelt at his feet, head thrown back, hands clutching leather-clad buttocks, and over his massive, coarse-haired body was a pink lace shortie nightgown, his erection swinging grotesquely beneath flounces that did not cover his hips.
Incredulous, disbelieving his own eyes, Hutch stared at the photograph. He had thought himself unshockable, inured through years of police-work that dealt with, among others, vice and porn-peddlers, putting a stop to some of the more vicious and sick aspects of the trade. The picture was tame compared to most; he'd seen far worse, but--this was Nick. Starsky's brother.
He shoved the thing back into its envelope, and with gritted teeth opened the other. Lazero, this time, and the positions were reversed. Pallid and slightly paunchy in the black leather, the man stood over a kneeling Nick. He, face innocent of the make-up that had made a travesty of Henderson's hard features, was naked but for silver chains and cuffs bright at his wrists, throat, looped across his chest and thighs.
Anger cancelled out transient nausea, a rage that if it could be expended on the distant Nick would leave him a hospital case. If the man had been gay, somehow he felt that would have made the offence less. But he wasn't. Selling himself for the money, and not caring what he had to do to get it. Worse; expecting his brother to come barreling in and clear up the mess, and not giving a damn that he would find out the whole sordid story. Well, he wouldn't learn of it from Hutch. But on the other hand, who better to hear it from? Who else would he, Hutch, trust to tell Starsky exactly what was coming down, using love and trust and compassion to cushion the shock, to be there as a storm-anchor for the inevitable reaction? No one. There was something else he could do, as well. Do the clearing up himself.
But for that he would need the help of Mr. McGregor, whether that elusive gentleman would give it willingly or not. Should he prove difficult, he'd find a way to persuade him.
Grim-faced and cold eyed, Hutch left the airport, drove to the Ponderosa, but saw no lanky, skeletal figure in the smoky, noise-packed room, and returned to the motel. Neither Starsky nor the black was there. So he put a call through to Los Angeles.
Huggy took a while to answer, and when he finally did, Hutch gave him little chance to talk.
"Tell Nick we're making good progress," he said. "Don't let him skip, he's to sit tight, Hug. There could be some heavy repercussions if he does anything hasty. Make sure he knows that, huh?"
"Yeah, sure--Hutch, hold on, let me get a word in, willya? I've been tryin' to tell you--"
"He's still there, isn't he?"
"Yeah, but--"
"Good. Keep him there. See you around, Hug. I've got to have words with your cousin." And put the phone down on the impatient "--Hey--!"
* * * * * * *
Hutch fidgeted around the motel room for nearly an hour, a growing sense of unease triggering a need for action that could not be released. Not yet. Surely it didn't take Starsky this long to check out a store and an apartment? So what else was coming down? Had he found-- Bleakly he realized there was nothing he could do about anything at the moment. Not until Starsky showed up, or got a message through to him. Nor did he dare leave the motel room, in case he came back and they missed each other--
"I should have my head examined!" he said, the harshness of his own voice in the quiet room startling him. I should never have let him go on his own--McGregor is no substitute for a partner at your back, buddy.
Finally his impatience got the better of him, and he took the risk of setting up his own meet with one of Nick's clients. Henderson he knew could be reached, sooner or later, at the Riverboat, though this phone call at first seemed fruitless.
"If you'd care to leave your name and message?" said the polite voice. "Mr. Henderson or his secretary will get back to you."
"No," said Hutch. "Henderson or no one. And the name's Sinclair. Nick Sinclair."
"Oh. Hold the line, Mr. Sinclair, I'll check again. Mr. Henderson may have returned through his private entrance."
"You do that."
There was a long silence, then the phone clicked, and a crisp, emotionless voice said, "Well?"
"Henderson?"
"You're not Sinclair. Who is this?"
"Doesn't matter. Listen to me, and don't interrupt. And if you've got anybody listening in on this line, get rid of them."
"Why?"
"In case I have to convince you I've got what I say I've got."
"I see. The line is clear. Just you and me. So what's your angle?"
"I've got me a film and a print blown up from it, and they've both got your name on them. I sure as hell don't want them, so you can have them with pleasure. But it will cost you."
"Naturally. How much?"
"Nick Sinclair's skin. I want him left alone, unhurt, safe. You read me?"
"Yes." There was a sibilance in the otherwise calm tones that put Hutch's hackles up. "You've seen the film?"
"No. Nor do I intend to. The print is more than enough. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to hold on to that for a while, security for Sinclair, you understand, but there's no way he is going to get his hands on it--and neither is anybody else. Unless you don't cooperate."
"That's all? I find it hard to believe."
"That's all, and I don't give a damn what you believe. Sinclair is a poisonous little rat, but he isn't going to get his comeuppance from you."
"Where is he?"
"Don't be stupid. Well, Henderson? Do we meet?"
"Yes. Do you have the other film?"
"What other?"
"He has Lazero on the hook as well, hasn't he? Bring them both along, and I'll pay--"
"No deal," Hutch snapped. "I'm not in this business for health or profit. You get your own property back, mister, no one else's."
"What surety do I have that this'll be the last I'll hear of it?"
"Only my word that I wouldn't touch this kind of trade with a ten foot pole," he said, letting all the loathing and contempt he had for Nick Starsky show in his voice. "And I'm not hauling Sinclair out of trouble as a favor to him. This is strictly a one-off."
"Guess Lazero and me aren't the only ones on Nicky's hook," Henderson said, cynically amused.
"Wrong again." A whisper of control. But at the same time, part of him acknowledged that the man was right. Whether he knew it or not, Nick had him as firmly gaffed as he had the two gang-bosses. "My motives aren't up for discussion. The Ponderosa, seven-thirty tonight."
"All right."
"No tricks, Henderson. The print won't be with me, but the film will."
"No tricks. How will I know you?"
"I know you." And he put the phone down. It rang again almost immediately.
"Hi, big boy," came Jolie's purr. "Primrose wants t'know what's the sweat."
"Where is he, and I'll tell him myself."
"Hey, cool it. You c'n tell me--"
"Jolie, have you gone deaf? Do I want a messenger, I'll send a pigeon. Where is he? And don't pussyfoot around."
"The Ponderosa," she said, predictably.
"Yeah. Where else," said Hutch. "Okay. I'm on my way, and he had better be there."
"He will, but, honey, he don't like--"
"Sure, sure. You already said that," slamming the phone down.
* * * * * * *
Early though it was, the Ponderosa was beginning to jump, but McGregor's attenuated height was easy to pick out. Hutch headed for him with the single-minded determination of a quarter back making a touchdown, and McGregor decided that in this case, attack was the best defense.
"Hey, listen, man," he snapped. "I gotta tell you I don't get off on your attitude. Like I ain't your lackey. This nigger don't hop when Massa snaps his fingers."
Hutch did not appear to have heard him. "Where's Starsky?" he demanded.
"Ain't you hearin' me? I--"
"You're the one who's switched off his ears. Where is my partner, McGregor?" The steely control in the quiet voice, combined with eyes like chips of ice, gave McGregor pause.
"Likely he'll be back at th' motel any time now," he said easily, relaxing back against the bar. "Said he'd found a lead in Andromeda an' he wanted to follow it up on his lonesome. Hell, I wasn't about to argue."
Remembering what he'd found in the locker, Hutch nodded, clenching his teeth on the backlash of anger and disgust.
"Okay," he snapped. "I got one more thing you can do for me, then this whole stinking affair is done with. Set up a meet between me and Lazero for tomorrow. Here, in neutral territory. Nick Sinclair and X-rated film should be all you'd need to mention to get his cooperation. Tell him I'll be keeping a print as a safeguard."
"Yeah?" McGregor's flat eyes lit up with a gleam of avarice. "You got 'em for real?"
"I've got them, hidden in a safe place," he said coldly. "You're not getting your paws on them, either. They go back to Henderson and Lazero, and with any luck, I've bought Nick a whole hide. So get that meet set up. At ten, tomorrow morning."
"I don't know if that's convenient, friend."
"Did I ask? Do it."
"An' what's my cut?"
"Cut?" Hutch repeated. "The way I heard it back in LA, Huggy was calling in debts."
"Sure, but this goes way above the call of duty, an' all that."
"Then look at it this way. You now have a debt to call on Huggy."
"Or on you."
"No," Hutch said softly. "Because you're kind of attached to your skin, aren't you? Friend."
"Okay, okay," McGregor sighed. "I can take a hint. I'll set up the meet."
"And while you're here, check this place over for Henderson's goons. I'm meeting him at seven-thirty. Don't think he'll risk pulling any stunts, but I'd sooner be safe than sorry."
McGregor studied him with a certain amount of wall-eyed respect.
"Yas-Boss," he drawled. "You're quite a roller-coaster when you get goin', ain't you?"
"You better believe it." He turned to leave, but stopped. "As soon as I've dealt with Lazero, we're pulling out, heading back to LA, and then it'll be up to Nick what he does and where he goes. But he'll be crazy if he stays around in this town. Keep Sophie safe, he'll probably come and pick her up, go on back to New York."
"'Kay," said McGregor. "I take care of my ladies, anyhow. Even when they retire from business for a while."
"Yeah. Tell her things are working out," Hutch said over his shoulder.
"I'll do that," the black said, but Hutch was already plowing through the crowd towards the door.
* * * * * * *
The red light almost took him unawares, and he slammed on the brakes, cursing. A lead, McGregor had said, found in Andromeda. Which meant that Starsky had got--what? The camera? More film? Enough to tell him what his brother was in to, so that he wanted to go it alone, keeping outsiders out. All outsiders. Including Hutch himself. Because it came to him now that this couldn't be a completely new thing. That no way could Starsky not know what Nick was, what he was doing, even if he wasn't clear on detail. So why hadn't he said anything?
"For Christ's sake, Starsk." He hit the steering wheel with the flat of his hand in frustration. "Why didn't you say something? Are we partners or not?" And provided the answer himself, unwillingly. For the past ten months--not. Maybe trust is a thing that must be constantly reaffirmed and renewed. Maybe he'd expected too much in thinking they could recover their working relationship just like that. And it wasn't just an ordinary case, either. Starskys stick together. Maybe that was it. Starsky shielding his little brother's indiscretions from the world. Once it had been 'me and thee against the world.' He had thought it still was. Now it looked as if he was mistaken and that knowledge somehow hurt more than anything else. Pain brought anger. What had he done, or failed to do, that Starsky couldn't trust him now?
