This story was first published in 1980. Thanks go to SHaron for scanning and proofing, and to Myha for not eating the entire last page of the zine when it was accidentally left within range of her inquisitive teeth .

PART FOUR

MY HEROES HAVE ALWAYS BEEN COWBOYS

by

TERI WHITE

PART Five

XII

Starsky knocked, waited, then knocked again. When there was still no answer, he pulled out his key and opened the door. "Jeez," he said to himself. "This place smells like a brewery." He pocketed the key, staring, bemused, at the two figures sprawled together on the couch. "Terrific. Not bad enough to have a lush for a client. Now I've got a drunken partner, too." He crouched beside Hutch, poking him lightly. "Hey, buddy. Wake up."

Hutch stirred and after a long time one blue eye cracked open, peering at Starsky. Recognition slowly dawned. His lips moved, but no sound came out. He swallowed, grimacing, and Starsky could imagine what the inside of his mouth must taste like. "Hi," the blond managed to say at last.

"Hi, yourself."

"We...uh...got sort of loaded."

"I noticed." Starsky glanced at Tyler, who was resting against Hutch. "You know, somebody could get a pretty funny idea about what the two of you were doing last night," he said.

Hutch seemed to consider that for a moment. He tried to sit up, but the weight of the other man's body against him defeated his feeble effort. "What idea did you get?" he asked.

Starsky snorted. "Hell, I know exactly what happened. You two idiots drank and mourned the night away."

Hutch nodded glumly, reacting to the obvious pain the movement caused. "Yeah, that's about it. Trying to chase the ghosts."

"His or yours?"

"Both, I guess." Hutch closed his eyes briefly, then looked at Starsky again. "His grief and my guilt, if you want to know."

"Ahh, the famous Hutchinson guilt. Thought you turned that in with the badge, partner."

"I wish." Hutch grimaced again. "Get him offa me, will you, please?"

Standing, Starsky carefully eased Tyler away, resting his inert form against the couch. Tyler stirred, but didn't open his eyes. "S'okay, boy," he mumbled. "S'okay." Then he sighed and relaxed again.

With an assist from his partner, Hutch managed to stand and get himself headed in the direction of the bathroom. Starsky waited until he heard the shower running, then he took some orange juice from the refrigerator and carried it to the living room. Flopping into the chair, he drank straight from the bottle, staring morosely at Tyler.

Leave Hutch alone, he wanted to say. Don't lay all your grief at his feet and expect him to handle it. Hutch can't do it. He'll break. He'll break, dammit, and then it'll all fall apart again, and I don't know what the hell I could do to fix it this time.

But Tyler was asleep, and Starsky knew that he wouldn't have been able to say those things to him anyway. It wasn't the cowboy's fault. It wasn't anybody's fault, not even Hutch's. It was just his partner's way, to care so much.

Starsky sighed. He took another gulp of the juice, watching Tyler sleep, and listening to the sound of the shower coming from the other room.

~~~

Joe McCann's yellow sheet ran four pages, just for the local stuff. They told Minnie to let them know what else might turn up from the state or the feds, and then they went to give Dobey a fast report on their progress. Such as it was.

The plump black man swiveled in his chair, frowning thoughtfully. "Too many pieces. How do they all fit together?"

"Tell us and then we'll all know," Starsky said, the words muffled around a Snickers bar from the candy machine.

"Well, you two better watch your step around Kingman. P.I. licenses can be lifted, you know."

Hutch shrugged. "Kingman doesn't scare me." He was sipping a cup of black coffee.

"I didn't say get scared; I just said be careful."

Starsky was perched precariously on the arm of Hutch's chair. "You know us, Cap'n. We're always careful."

Dobey grimaced. "Where's Monroe?"

"Dropped him by his van a little while ago. He wants to find a motel room. He doesn't intend to budge until this is resolved. One way or another." He crumpled the candy wrapper and tossed it into Dobey's ashtray.

"Don't you already know how it's going to come down?"

Hutch was absently tapping out a tune on his thigh. "Yeah. I've known since day one. So has Ty, really. But we've both been playing make-believe."

Starsky pushed himself to his feet. "Thank god there's one realist in this partnership."

"Oh, yeah," Hutch snorted. "David Michael Starsky, the world's greatest cynic."

They started for the door. Dobey leaned forward to pull a file closer. "Tell him I said hello."

"Yeah." Hutch stopped. He finished the coffee and stared glumly at the brown scum in the bottom of the cup. "It's just so damned sad, Cap'n, you know?"

"It always is, Hutch."

"I know. I know."

Starsky gave his arm a squeeze. "Come on, partner. The sooner we can wrap it all up, the better it'll be."

"For who?"

"Tyler. You. Maybe even Andy."

Hutch crushed the paper cup and followed Starsky out.

Joe McCann was the strongest lead they had at that point, so it was Joe McCann they hunted. It felt good to be back on the street as a team again Most of the work they handled for Confidential Investigations was one-man stuff. This was almost like the old days. Chasing down the snitches, rattling a few cages. It felt good.

The name Joe McCann drew responses in several places. He was, as per his rap sheet, primarily a small-time hustler. A sometimes fence. Been known to run an occasional scam. Numbers. Nothing bigtime. Until now. Lately, he'd been talking money, a lot of money, although no one they talked to had any idea what the deal was. Only that it was big.

By lunchtime, they had worked their way to the Pits, and since Hutch had decided to survive the hang-over, they parked in the alley and strolled in. Huggy was his usual frantic midday whirl, but he managed to find them a table—albeit behind the kitchen door—and even drew a couple of beers himself. "Got a message for you," he said, pulling a paper from the pocket of his lime green jumpsuit. "And while we're on the subject, if I'm going to be acting as your personal answering service, I expect a raise in my retainer."

They ignored his complaint. Starsky was watching the new waitress, and Hutch was gazing balefully at the beer.

"A guy named Monroe called and said to tell you that he's presently ensconced at the Lowell Motel, room 214. He will await your arrival or other communication."

Hutch finally took a sip of the beer. "Is that what Tyler said?" he asked skeptically.

"That was the essence of his message."

Hutch nodded and stuck the paper into his pocket. Huggy dashed off. They waited, not talking, until he returned, bearing a special for Starsky and a tuna and bean sprout sandwich for Hutch. Ignoring Starsky's disgusted expression, Hutch took a big bite and chewed. He ate about half the sandwich before speaking. "What can you tell us about a creep named Joe McCann? "

Huggy thought. "He's a creep."

Starsky glanced up, surprise in his eyes. "You know him?"

"Not personally. Never had the pleasure. But a friend of mine has a grandmother who bought a roof from McCann. The old lady paid him three thousand dollars to paste black paper on top of her house."

"Sounds like a real sweetheart," Starsky muttered.

Hutch finished his sandwich. "Any idea where we might find him?"

"Nope. Let me give it some thought." He left hurriedly, as a new swarm of customers entered.

"He must be getting rich," Hutch said. "We should've gone into the greasy spoon business, Starsk." He reached into his pocket and took out the slip of paper Huggy had given him. "I better call him," he said.

"Anybody ever tell you that you'd make a great mother hen?" Starsky asked, smiling a little.

"Yeah, I've heard that. At least, they said I was a real mother. Is that close?"

"Close enough, I guess."

Hutch paused. "I just like the guy, that's all."

"I know. It was only a joke, buddy."

Hutch nodded and headed for the phone. Tyler answered on the second ring. The TV set was blaring in the background. "Get all settled in, Ty?"

"Yeah, Ken, sure."

"Just thought you'd like to know that we're closing in on McCann, and once we get him, I think this whole thing will fall into place."

"Good." Tyler's voice still had that empty sound.

Hutch could see Huggy heading back toward their table. "Gotta go, buddy. I'll be in touch."

"Yeah."

Hutch frowned, but didn't take the time to say any more to Tyler. "Got something for us, Hug?" he asked, when they both reached the table.

"It occurs to me that the creep in question has been known to spend time in the company of a lady of the evening named LaBelle."

Starsky and Hutch exchanged blank looks. "We don't know the lady," Starsky said.

"She is a friend of your friend, Sweet Alice."

They thanked him profusely, told him to put the lunch on their tab, and escaped before he turned nasty.

Sweet Alice was easy to find and they didn't even have to dislodge a customer. Apparently taking the day off, she was sunbathing by the pool, her attention centered on a paperback book entitled PASSION'S SWEET FLAME. She smiled up at them. "Darling Hutch, how're you doing?"

"Okay, babe, you?"

"I'm just fine. Haven't seen you two boys in a long time."

"We've been busy."

She stretched lazily. Her face was beginning, slowly but surely, to show the signs of ageing and the life she led. Her spirit, however, seemed as bright as ever. "You boys look like you're in need of some information."

Hutch pulled a chair closer and sat down. Starsky was studying the cover of Alice's paperback. "You know a girl named LaBelle?" Hutch asked.

"I surely do. She and I are real close. Hope she's not in any trouble?"

"Not as far as we know. We're really interested in her boyfriend, Joe McCann."

"Oh. Well, I never met him, but LaBelle is living over at the Garvey House."

Hutch leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thanks, sweetheart."

Starsky reluctantly handed back the book and they left.

No one answered their knocking at LaBelle's door, so they adjourned to the car for a little reconsideration. It was decided that one of them should sit on the place until either LaBelle or McCann himself showed up. Starsky volunteered, mostly, Hutch suspected, because he figured it beat going back to keep Tyler company.

Whatever.

Hutch walked three blocks and then caught a bus home, where he picked up his car. After making a quick stop at the office to check the mail and write a couple of checks for bills that were past due even more than usual, he drove over to the Lowell.

Tyler was sitting on the bed, his attention centered on a game of solitaire, He didn't ask any questions about the investigation. In fact, he didn't say anything beyond monosyllabic answers to Hutch's remarks.

Hutch paced the room restlessly, feeling the walls beginning to close in on him. He picked up the Gideon Bible from the dresser and thumbed through it for a moment, then slammed it shut again. "What are you going to do, Tyler?" he asked suddenly.

Tyler looked up from the game. "Don't worry about me so much, Ken," he said mildly. "Dave said you're like that. You'll end up in an early grave, fretting so much over other people's troubles."

"Yeah, probably. But that doesn't answer my question."

Tyler gathered the cards and shuffled them. "I don't have any answer for you, Ken. I ain't given it any thought."

"Okay."

Tyler seemed to sense his dissatisfaction with that answer. "I just figure that it doesn't make much sense to start thinking about the future until...well, until I know."

Hutch nodded. "Yeah, okay."

"I mean, until I know for sure." The cards suddenly spilled from his hands. "There's still a chance. Isn't there, Ken?"

He sighed. "Yeah, Tyler. There's always a chance."

The cowboy began to pick up the cards slowly, his head ducked. Hutch started looking through the yellow pages, hoping to find a place that would deliver some food. He didn't want to leave the room in case Starsky called.

~~~

It was a long night. Stakeouts never seemed to get any easier, no matter how many he sat through. He listened to an all-night radio talk show, the topic of which was My Fantasy. He also smoked a lot of cigarettes and did a little fantasizing himself. The images he conjured up were an interesting combination of PASSION'S SWEET FLAME and Huggy's new waitress. It passed the time. He also dashed out to a corner store at one point for a box of doughnuts and a bottle of milk.

Finally, long after the sun was up, a man parked in front of the garden-type building. Starsky watched as he crossed the patio and let himself into LaBelle's apartment. While he was inside, Starsky checked the license number with the one they had for McCann. It was the same.

McCann was only in the apartment for a few minutes. He came out carrying a small duffel, which he tossed into the back seat of his car, and then he drove off quickly.

Starsky followed.

They headed out of town, toward the mountains. When, an hour or so later, the car in front stopped for gas, Starsky pulled into a station across the street. While both cars were being filled, he went into the phone booth and dialed the office. Hutch answered. "Hi. It's me."

"What's up?"

"I'm on McCann's tail. We're heading into the frigging mountains. Somewhere toward Big Bear, as near as I can figure it now."

"Big Bear?" Hutch seemed to be thinking quickly; Starsky could almost hear his brain clicking over the phone wire. "I read that the Kingman family has a cabin up there."

"Coincidence?"

"Yeah, sure, and horses fly, too."

Starsky was watching McCann. "What now?"

"Stick with him. Be careful. I'm going to lower the boom on the Kingmans."

"Okay."

"Be careful."

"Yes, mother. Gotta run." He hung up and ran back to the car, shoving a bill at the pump operator, and pulling out in pursuit again.

They drove through Big Bear City without even pausing. McCann finally pulled off the main road. Starsky was keeping way back, but the other man didn't seem at all worried about a tail.

Just when Starsky was about to conclude that he was destined to spend the rest of his life driving through the damned mountains, McCann turned into a private drive and parked. Starsky went past the drive before stopping, then walked back. He made his way toward the cabin. Cabin it might have been called, but the redwood and glass structure was anything but primitive. A large stone patio extended along one side and Starsky headed toward it.

He reached a point from which he could see without being seen and stopped. Paul Kingman, looking like his newspaper pictures was there and a moment later, McCann appeared. Starsky was too far away to hear what the two men were saying, but it seemed obvious that they were fighting over something.

Starsky watched curiously. McCann turned to fix himself a drink from the rolling cart that was serving as a bar. He lifted the lid of the ice bucket. Kingman took a gun from his pocket and shot him in the back. McCann fell with a crash of bottles and glasses.

The sudden violence stunned Starsky. He leaned back on his heels to consider the matter. Kingman was either the coolest customer he'd ever seen, or he wasn't cooking on all four burners.

The slight rustling of leaves behind him caught his attention. As he turned, half-expecting to see a bear preparing to pounce, something hard caught him just behind his right ear and everything went black.

~~~

The guard at the front gate didn't want to let them in, but when Hutch told him to pass along the message that Richard could either talk to them or to the police, they were waved through. The same black maid ushered them into the library.

The old man sat there, waiting. "My son is dressing for his press conference," he said. "He will join us shortly." The still-shrewd eyes raked over Tyler. "This is your client?"

"Yes, sir."

Tyler pulled off his Stetson and stood quietly, almost casually. Hutch, however, could see the darkness in his eyes, and again he worried about what might be happening beneath the surface.

Kingman sighed. "Apparently you chose to disregard my words of the other day."

"About the greater good of the masses? Yes, Senator. Frankly, I think that's a crock. I'm not concerned with saving western civilization, or with the future of this great nation, or with making sure your son gets to the White House. I only care about one thing right now and that's finding Andy Jones."

"Jones, again."

"Jones still," Hutch said flatly.

Kingman nodded.

"Excuse me, sir," Tyler said softly. "Do you know where Andy is?"

"I do not."

Richard Kingman stepped into the room, knotting his tie, looking harried, but efficient. "What's this all about anyway, Hutchinson?"

Hutch leaned against the desk, studying the man carefully. "How much do you want to win this election?" he asked finally.

"Very much, of course."

"Enough to lie? Enough, maybe, to kill?"

A look of disbelief flickered across the campaign-poster face. "Of course not."

Hutch, for some reason he couldn't explain, thought it was the truth. His gaze went back to the old man. "What were you doing in 1950, sir?"

Kingman nodded again, as if he'd been expecting the question. There was a tone of resignation in his voice. "I was running for the Senate of the United States."

Hutch could sense Tyler watching him, watching the whole scene, trying to understand what was happening. "Did you know a girl named Maggie Jones?"

Tyler stiffened, but Kingman only shrugged. "You seem to have all the answers." As they watched, the old face changed, becoming softer, looking somehow younger. "Maggie was so beautiful. Young, sweet, the light of my life. A trite phrase, that, but true. She did light up my life in a way I had never thought could happen. Can you understand that?"

The question was directed at Hutch, but it was Tyler who answered. "Yes, sir," he said very softly. "I can understand."

Richard moved closer. "Dad, what's going on? Maybe you shouldn't say anymore until I call the lawyer."

But Kingman shook his head. "No truth can stay hidden forever."

Hutch spoke again. "Everything was fine until Maggie got pregnant, right? And had her baby right in the middle of your campaign?"

"Times were so different then. The voters never would have understood. Maybe even today they wouldn't. I loved her, but I had to give her up for the good of the country."

"You are Andy Jones' father, right?" Hutch pressed.

"I am."

Richard made a choking noise and turned away to pour a drink.

Tyler was very still.

Hutch ran a hand through his hair. "What happened to Maggie?"

"She died." Kingman seemed, for a moment, to want to stop there, but then he took a trembling breath. "She came to the house one night, bringing the child with her. Luckily, everyone else was asleep. We spoke in this very room. She...she was a frightened, desperate young girl, unable to understand that forces larger than either of us were in control of the situation. Her fear drove her to make threats. Finally, she simply put the child down and turned to leave. I only wanted to stop her. I grabbed her arm and she tried to pull away." He paused again, but no one else spoke. "As she fell, her head struck against the stone fireplace there. Didn't really seem a hard enough blow to do any harm, but she was dead. She was dead."

Hutch thought that probably he should feel some pity for the old man, but his eyes were on Tyler, and all the sympathy he had went out to the cowboy. "And there you were," he said. "With the dead body of your mistress and your illegitimate child in the library. Just before the election."

"Yes. An unhappy situation. But Maggie was dead, after all. I had to consider the priorities."

Now Tyler moved. It wasn't an act of violence, however, but one of helplessness, hopelessness. "There was the baby," he said, stepping closer to Kingman. "The poor little baby. Didn't you think about Andy at all?"

"Of course, but...there was so much to be done. I carried the body to my car. I wrapped the child in its blanket again and we left the house. Maggie is buried somewhere on the desert. I took the child to the McCanns."

"Nobody saw all this?" Hutch said after a moment. At the same time, he rested a hand on Tyler's arm, feeling him tremble. He squeezed the arm reassuringly.

"No one saw." Then Kingman straightened a little. "Except...but he was only a baby, too. Five years old. And, besides, he was asleep."

"Who?"

"Paul. I found him sleeping behind my desk. It was a habit of his, to sneak in and hide as I worked. But he was too young to understand. And he was asleep."

Richard was leaning against the bar, working on another drink. "Paul," he murmured.

Hutch looked at him. "Would Paul kill to win this election?"

Richard was a long time answering. "Paul has had...problems," he finally said carefully. "There have been doctors. We've kept it from my father, But I never really thought..." He set the glass down with a crash. "Yes," he said hollowly. "I think Paul could kill. God help him. God help us all."

Hutch let out his breath in a long sigh. "I think Andy came to Paul to find out about his past. Paul must've seen him as a threat to your campaign."

The old man seemed to shrivel. "One son killing another. The mark of Cain."

"Where is Paul now?"

"He was worn out from the campaign. I sent him out of the city for a couple of days."

Hutch felt an itch begin at the back of his neck. "To Big Bear?"

"Yes."

"Where, exactly, is your place?"

"What are you going to do?"

Hutch's voice was tight. "My partner was on his way up there. Your brother is a killer. I don't want to give him another chance."

Richard grabbed a piece of paper from the desk and began to make a quick sketch. The old man looked at Tyler again. "You love Andy?"

"Yes. Since he was fifteen."

"What kind of a boy is he?"

"Andy is fine. A good boy." Tyler followed Hutch to the door, then paused. "Andy is the light of my life," he added quietly.

"Call the state police," Hutch ordered over a shoulder, hoping they'd do it. He ran for the car, followed by Tyler.

~~~

The pain began in his spine and moved up into his skull. He kept his eyes closed for a little while, just to be sure that he wouldn't keel over when he opened them. He needn't have worried. The ropes that were holding him to the chair kept him quite efficiently upright.

Paul Kingman sat across the room from him, and a sullen-looking man in a brown uniform hovered nearby. "You people just couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?" he asked, when he saw Starsky looking at him. "You just had to keep coming around, making trouble."

Starsky managed to nod toward McCann's body, which was visible through the sliding glass door. "Like him? Was he making trouble?"

Paul snorted. "Him? He was a coward. Like his friend Crane. Besides, McCann was trying to play both ends against the middle. Pretending he was going to help me get rid of Jones, when really he was the one behind it all."

"So now he's out of the way."

"Yeah." Paul laughed softly. "Yeah, he sure is."

"People who get in your way don't live long, do they?"

"I guess not."

"What about me? Why am I still here?"

"Because I need to know what you know. And who else you might have told."

"So you'll know who to kill next?"

"Right."

"Very smart."

Paul seemed pleased. "Yes. No one ever gives me credit for having any brains, not even Rich or my father. They'll apologize when they find out how I saved the election for them."

"By killing Andy Jones."

"Jones," Paul said with a sneer. Then he turned. "Jack, maybe you better go out and get rid of McCann. Take him out someplace and dig a deep hole."

The man nodded and left. They watched him drag the body away. "People know I'm here," Starsky said after a moment.

"Yeah? Who?"

"My partner. And probably the police, by this time."

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?"

Paul didn't answer. He got up and walked out of the room. Starsky could hear ice cubes being dropped into a glass. He tested the ropes around his wrists desperately, but they didn't budge. He tried scooting the chair, without really knowing what good that would do, but the grating noise brought Paul back immediately, a glass of what looked like Coke in his hand. "Settle down," he said mildly.

That sounded like pretty good advice for the moment, and Starsky decided to follow it. Now was the time to see if all his lessons to Hutch on how to be a paperback hero had paid off. He sighed and waited to be rescued.

~~~

They didn't talk much during the fast drive to Big Bear. Hutch was grimly attentive to the road, and Tyler sat huddled against the door, his face unreadable. "Guess he's really dead," he said at last.

Hutch didn't look at him. "I'm afraid so, Ty," he said. "I'm sorry."

"So am I. I really hoped... I wanted him to be okay."

"I did, too." Hutch reached over and touched Tyler's shoulder lightly, hoping the gesture would comfort where words could not.

The endless journey ended at last and Hutch parked at the foot of the drive. "Wonder where the hell the state guys are," he muttered as they got out and started toward the cabin, keeping to the cover of the trees.

They heard the sound of someone digging before they spotted the uniformed man. McCann's body lay in a heap nearby and it was obvious why the hole was being dug. A look of pain flickered across Tyler's face and Hutch understood why. Was this the fate that had befallen Andy? A shallow ditch in the wilderness? Again, Hutch touched the other man's shoulder lightly.

After motioning Tyler to remain where he was, Hutch pulled his Magnum from its holster and crept forward. He waited until the man was bending to drag the body toward the makeshift grave, then he moved. A single blow across the skull dispatched the guard, who sprawled forward onto McCann's body.

Hutch crept back to where Tyler was waiting. "Come on," he whispered, leading the way toward the house. As he moved, he tried to keep his own fear submerged. The bodies were beginning to pile up with wearisome regularity, and he had a cold knot in his stomach. How did he know that the next body wouldn't be Starsky's?

"Dave can handle himself," Tyler said from behind him. "I expect he's all right."

Hutch glanced back, letting Tyler know that he appreciated the remark.

They reached the house and worked their way around until they were on the patio. Hutch crept forward until he could see into the room. The sliding glass door was open a little, so they could hear what was being said.

Starsky was tied to a chair, facing Paul, who held a glass in one hand, and a gun in the other. Paul was talking. "—people don't understand, you see. Rich will do a lot of good in Washington. He'll help everybody."

"Except the ones you've killed."

Paul shrugged it off. "They don't matter. Why do you keep talking about them?"

Starsky's eyes flickered toward the patio and Hutch realized he knew they were there. "But they do matter, Paul. McCann was a creep, and maybe Crane wasn't much better, but they deserved a hearing, at least. But Andy Jones... Andy Jones deserved a lot better. He never did anything to you at all."

Paul jumped up. "Be quiet, dammit. I don't want to talk about this. Where's Jack, anyway? He should've been back by now." He moved over to the front door and opened it. "Jack?" he yelled, keeping the gun leveled at Starsky.

Hutch pushed aside the sliding door quickly and stepped into the room, the Magnum covering Paul. "Jack won't be coming," he said quietly.

Paul barely glanced at him. "Get out of here, or Starsky's a dead man."

Hutch didn't waver. "If he is, so are you," he replied, hoping his voice didn't reveal how dry his mouth felt.

Paul was very still. "This used to be called a Mexican standoff."

"Right." Hutch could sense Tyler behind him, moving away carefully, around the corner. "It's all over, Paul. Face it."

Paul shook his head. "No, no, it's not. I've done what I had to do. It was all for my brother. My father will be proud of me now. We're going to put Rich in the White House."

"On a campaign platform built of bodies?"

"Those people would have stopped us. The country needs Rich, but if the press had gotten hold of the story, we would have been crucified for a stupid mistake my father made years ago."

"Andy Jones wouldn't have hurt you. He only wanted to find out who he was."

Paul snorted. "Yes, so he said. You don't think I believed that, do you? Get serious. McCann told me that Andy was going to blackmail us. Jones wanted money, just like everyone else."

Starsky shook his head. "That's not true, Paul. Andy had a life of his own. He was happy. All he wanted was to know the truth about his past."

"Oh, sure. That's what he said. That's what he tried to say, at least. Hell, the dummy couldn't even talk. P-p-please, n-n-never mind. F-f-forget I c-c-came...p-p-please, don't k-k-kill m-m-me." Paul gestured with his free hand. "He begged me not to kill him, but I could see right through his act. The idiot. The bastard idiot."

No one saw Tyler move, but they heard the low groan that came just before he leaped through the half-open front door and collided with Paul. They both fell to the floor, sending Paul's gun skidding across the room. Hutch jumped for it. By the time he turned around again, Tyler had both hands around Paul's neck, beating his head against the wooden floor. "You killed him," Tyler said over and over in a voice that was surprisingly soft. "You killed Andy."

Hutch tried to pull him away, but Tyler's grip on Paul was tight. "Ty," he said urgently, "Ty, don't. He's not worth it. Is this what Andy would want?"

Tyler stopped, staring at Hutch. "He killed Andy," the man whispered one more time.

"I know. I know."

After another moment, Tyler rolled away. Paul didn't move, but Hutch grabbed a length of rope from the floor and tied his hands anyway. The wailing of sirens could be heard coming up the mountain. "Better late than never," he muttered, going to untie Starsky. "You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. You pull off a pretty good rescue."

"I try." He turned back to Tyler. "Hey? You okay?"

Tyler nodded. He looked at Paul for a long moment, then raised his bewildered gaze to Hutch. "I still don't understand, Ken. I still don't understand why Andy had to die."

Hutch rested a hand on Tyler's shoulder.

Starsky was rubbing his wrists to get the circulation going again.

"It doesn't make any sense, Tyler," he said. "Remember? We have it all figured out and it still doesn't make any sense. Mishegoss."

"The world is full of craziness," Tyler said, looking at him.

"Right. Rotten, goddamned craziness. And sometimes it swallows up the good."

"Like Andy."

"Yeah, like Andy."

The room was suddenly filled with men in uniforms, all talking in loud voices. Hutch felt very tired, so he let Starsky deal with trying to straighten it all out. He and Tyler stepped onto the patio. Tyler lit a cigarette, staring out over the trees. "What happens now?" he asked.

Hutch shrugged "They'll look for the body," he said. "The press will have a field day. Paul will probably end up in a padded cell someplace."

Tyler nodded.

They didn't talk anymore.

**

XVIII

Starsky pulled into the Lowell Motel parking lot and turned off the engine. "Why don't you go on," he said. "I'll wait here."

"Why?"

He sighed. "Tyler feels more comfortable with you."

Hutch shrugged "All right. I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

"Take your time."

He climbed to the second floor and knocked at the door of Tyler's room. He could hear music through the closed door.

You are my star in the darkness of night,
My campfire at the end of the trail.
You are the beacon that pilots my flight,
Only with you can I sail.

"Yeah?" Tyler's voice came above the sound of the guitar.

"It's me," Hutch said.

"Come on in."

He stepped inside, closing the door again. A small tape recorder was set on the bed. Tyler raised a hand for quiet.

We've traveled together a long dusty road,
Remembering dreams as we roam,
Of green valleyed ranches, where clear water flowed.
I'm ready now; come, take me home.

Tyler punched off the machine and looked up at Hutch.

"That was Andy?"

"Yep."

"He was good."

"Yeah, I think he could've made it."

Hutch nodded. "Probably."

"He wrote that song." Tyler rubbed his hand across the bedspread. "It was a surprise for my birthday last year."

click illo to see larger image

Hutch sat down in a chair by the bed. "Ty," he said.

"Wait," Monroe said quickly. "Don't you want to hear the rest of the song?"

Hutch stared into the emerald eyes that were knowing and scared. "Sure," he said.

Tyler turned the machine back on.

You are my harbor, my port in the storm,
Protection from all of my fears.
In the coldness of winter, you keep me warm.
No wonder I've loved you for years.

Hutch got up quietly and went into the bathroom for the two glasses there. He pulled the paper off and then took the bottle of whiskey from the top of the dresser.

We've traveled together a long, dusty road,
Remembering dreams as we roam,
Of green valleyed ranches, where clear water flowed.
I'm ready now; come, take me home.

Hutch poured whiskey into the glasses, then handed one to Tyler.

Take me home to our valley in your loving arms.
I'm ready now; come, take me home.

The music died.

Hutch sat down again, as Tyler turned the tape recorder off. They lifted the glasses in a silent toast. "They found him, Ty." Hutch said quietly, after each had sipped his drink.

"Yeah, I figured." Tyler turned the glass around in his fingers. "There's no chance it isn't...I mean...."

Hutch shook his head. "It's Andy. I was there." Tyler didn't say anything, and Hutch took another sip. "If it helps any," he said softly, "he must have died instantly. The coroner said he didn't suffer."

"Thanks. It helps."

Hutch reached into his pocket and pulled out a Marine Corps ring.

"Here..."

Tyler held the ring for a moment, then slipped it onto his finger.

He looked at it for a long time, before pushing himself up from the bed. "I've got your check here."

"What?"

"Your check. Hundred and fifty a day, plus expenses." He took the check from a drawer and held it out. "I sorta guessed on the expenses. If it's not enough..."

Hutch took the check, barely glancing at it. "It's fine, Ty," he said hoarsely.

Tyler sat down again. "I appreciate all you've done, you and Dave both."

"Hell, we didn't do anything."

"You found Andy, like I hired you to."

"Yeah, sure," Hutch said bitterly. "We found him." He put the check into his pocket. "I'm really sorry about the way it turned out, Ty."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for."

They were quiet for a moment. "What are you going to do now?" Hutch asked.

The other man shrugged. "Don't know. Probably stay on the circuit awhile yet. After I take him home."

"To the ranch?"

"Yeah. That's the only home we have."

"You won't stay there?"

Tyler finished the drink in a gulp. "Don't know if I can quite yet. That place was supposed to be for both of us. Gonna be pretty lonely..."

Hutch frowned. "Think about it, huh? That circuit is rough."

"I know. And I'm too damned old." He tried a grin. "Hell, maybe I'll get lucky and break my damned fool neck one day real soon."

"You don't mean that."

Tyler fumbled for his cigarettes and lit one. "If I could just understand what happened, you know? Why it happened. And not just because of that mish-e-goss, like Dave said."

Hutch smiled a little at the butchered pronunciation. Then he shrugged. "Paul Kingman is insane. McCann was greedy. Together they managed to do a lot of damage."

"How come he got Andy signed up with that Brustein?"

"The best guess is to make sure he'd stay around town long enough so Kingman would feel the pressure." Hutch swallowed the rest of his drink. "Probably there was a little spite thrown in, too. Just for old time's sake. McCann didn't really think Andy would get killed. Probably figured to enjoy humiliating him with the worthless song deal. But mostly, it was just greed. He had Kingman convinced that Andy was going to blackmail the family, so Paul was paying him to handle it."

"Poor Andy."

"Poor everybody, Ty." Hutch pushed himself out of the chair. "I better go. Starsky's waiting."

"Sure, you're busy." Tyler got up from the bed and held out his hand. "You take it easy, Ken, hear?"

"I will. Let me know how things go, will you, Ty?" Hutch said, taking the hand.

"Sure," he said again.

After a moment, Tyler released the grip he had on Hutch's hand, and Hutch walked out, closing the door quietly. He stood there a moment, hearing the music begin again.

Take me home to our valley in your loving arms.
I'm ready now; come, take me home.

Hutch went down the steps and across the parking lot to the car.

Starsky turned the key. "Everything okay?"

"Oh, sure," Hutch said bitterly. "Everything is just fine." He held out the check. "Here."

Starsky took it and looked at the amount. "Maybe the old man will stop bitching about the rent."

Hutch slumped in the seat. "Don't you think it stinks?"

"What's that, partner?" He handed the check back.

"This whole thing."

"Sure it stinks." Starsky stopped at a light. "Hutch, I feel bad, too."

"I know." Hutch banged his fist against the dash. "I hate the fact that he gave us that money."

"We earned it, Hutch. It's our job."

"He paid us a thousand dollars to destroy his life."

The car behind them honked, and Starsky pulled into the flow of traffic again. "We didn't destroy his life, Hutch. Kingman did." Starsky glanced at him. "You want to know what we really did?"

"What?"

"We made it possible for him to start putting his life back together again. He needed to know about Jones, so he could go on living. Now he can. That makes sense, doesn't it?"

Hutch was quiet for a while.

"I'm hungry," Starsky said suddenly. "Think I'll stop at Taco Town." The Torino made a sudden right hand turn into the parking lot of a garish pink and orange stucco building. "You want something?"

"Like ptomaine, maybe?" Hutch muttered.

Starsky patted his arm, grinning. "I'll get something special, buddy. Trust me."

"Hah."

Starsky just grinned again and got out of the car. Hutch watched the blue-jeaned figure cross the parking lot and disappear inside. It didn't pay to contemplate what dreadful concoction he might return with, so Hutch slid out of the car as well, and took a seat at one of the outdoor tables.

He closed his eyes. Probably Starsky had a point. Tyler couldn't have gone on not knowing. They couldn't kill the messenger for delivering the message, could they? He took out the check again, studying the neat script "You may be right, buddy," he said aloud. "But it's still a rotten way to make a living. I wonder if Lew Archer ever feels like just chucking the whole damned thing?"

He sighed, watching as Starsky emerged, balancing several ominous-looking cartons. There was a packet of hot sauce jammed between his teeth. He reached the table and dumped the bundles. Hutch reached over and pried the sauce packet from his mouth. "Is any of this stuff edible?" Hutch asked unenthusiastically.

click illo to see larger image

"Sure, it'll be great." Starsky sat down and started opening the food. "You feeling better now?" He wasn't looking at Hutch.

"Sure, Starsk," he replied. "I'm fine."

Two pairs of blue eyes met across the food. Starsky smiled at him. Hutch returned the smile, then shoved the check into his pocket once more, as Starsky dug joyfully into the meal.

Hutch sighed deeply and took the foil-wrapped burrito that Starsky was shoving at him "Thanks," he said.

***********

Everybody loves cowboys and clowns,
You're everybody's hero for just a little while.
But when the good-byes are said,
And the spotlight goes dead,
There's no one left who cares to hang around
To love the cowboys and the clowns.

END