This story is part of the zine, Commitment, which was published in 1988. It is still available through Agent with Style.  Her web page is: http://www.agentwithstyle.com, or you can email her at: zines@agentwithstyle.com. The zine originally was produced on a high quality cream-colored paper. It is reproduced to look as much like its original appearance as is possible. Enjoy! Comments on this story can be sent to Flamingo who will forward them to the author.

PART TWO

The letter didn't make much sense and the second page was missing, so Starsky figured the coded message must be somewhere in the section of the letter he had. Pulling a piece of paper out of a drawer, he started copying the words, leaving space beside each letter and under each line. Finishing, he put the corresponding number under each letter and tried to make new sentences with various combinations of letters and numbers, much like a cryptogram. He was still at it when the phone rang.

"Starsky..." 

He was shocked to see how late it was. He'd lost all sense of time. That was the way it always was.

"Hiya, babe, ready for dinner?" Hutch sounded relaxed, happy, with none of the tension from this morning.

"Am I! It's been suggested that we eat at a Vietnamese place called Number One, on Pico. I'll pick you up." Starsky thought of saying something about Jimerson, but didn't. Hutch had sounded too happy. He didn't want to bring back the stress.

"I'm not in the squad room, but I'll hurry. I've missed you." Hutch lowered his voice and Starsky heard the velvet promise behind the words.

"Me too." Hanging up the phone, he put the envelope, its contents, and his notes into the locked file cabinet, locked it, and left.

It didn't take him long to reach Pico; he had no trouble finding the restaurant or a parking space. Despite the garish exterior, the inside was neat and tastefully decorated. A young girl led him to the table where Hutch waited. He felt right at home. The waitress was even wearing an ao dai and he was willing to bet a week's pay, she was Vietnamese, Chac vay," he said softly.

"Chac vay," the girl smiled as she placed a menu in front of each place.

"Hidden talents, Starsk?" Hutch grinned, his glance drifting slowly over Starsky.

Starsky could feel his body respond to that look, and covered it by sitting down and picking up the menu. He couldn't help grinning back at Hutch even as he took refuge in indignation, "Hey, I worked very hard to learn that. Vietnamese is one of the hardest..."

"Sergeant Starsky!"

Surprised, Starsky stood, turning toward the speaker, a small, wrinkled oriental who hurried their way. He was impeccably groomed from the top of his gleaming bald head to the glossy black low quarters. His starched white uniform looked like it was just put on and the creases were knife sharp.

"Tho! You made it to America!" They shook hands. "I wondered if you ever got outta there."

"Yes, but not for some time. Always, I think, Sergeant Starsky say, 'Tho, if Americans leave Vietnam, you go to America.' So I go."

"Your family?" He studied the other man.

"Daughter here, she give to you menu." Tho grinned from ear-to-ear, crinkle lines around his eyes deepened as he all but laughed at Starsky.

"That was Ly!" Starsky turned to Hutch, "Last time I saw her, she was this big." He indicated a spot just above the table top. Shock registered as did the years, evident in the growth of the young woman he'd known as a child. He turned back to Tho. "Your wife?"

"Wife died in boat before we come. America number one. I think to never see you. Many times want to say thank you." The change in the man was startling. Starsky wondered what hell he'd been through to humble him so.

"I'm just glad that you made it, Anh Hai. This is my friend, Hutch. We'll take whatever's on special. I know that, if you're cookin', whatever it is will be great."

"I cook your favorite. It not take long. Cha gia first, then thit kho nouc dua. You no pay. Too many times you help Tho." The little man whisked away the menus.

"Tho, do you have any ba muoi ba?" Starsky called after him.

Tho laughed, "No, only have G.I. beer."

"Bomb-be-bah?" Hutch looked at him, eyebrows raised, and Starsky realized he'd been neglecting his lover.

"Yeah, Vietnamese beer. The first time I tried it, the team sergeant warned me, but I didn't believe him and got so drunk I missed patrol the next day. The Vietnamese in our unit never let me forget it." He looked at Hutch and smiled, happy to be sitting across from him, "How was your day?"

"Quiet morning, busy afternoon. Two gangs butted heads and a body was found when the smoke cleared. The Youth Diversion people called for detectives and Dobey sent Ray and me."

"Homicide?" Starsky wanted to hold his partner, make the creases in his forehead fade, bring a smile to his lips.

"Nah, junkie O.D'd. But I've gotta finish the preliminaries and get them on the captain's desk tonight, so I'll be late." He smiled weakly, making it clear that he'd rather be home. A fact Starsky already knew.

"Sergeant..." Ly was back. Hair hung straight to her waist, reminding Starsky of her mother.

He smiled, "Just Dave, I'm not a soldier, anymore. Ly, you're a young lady, now. Your mother would be very proud."

"Dave ta, so sorry not to know you." Her eyes were wide with apology.

He tried to make her feel better, "You were very little the last time I saw you, how could you know me?" She had been so frightened of the Americans back then. Starsky wondered about all the other little kids caught up in that particular nightmare.

"You and my father, good friends. Ly should know you," she persisted. She sat a bowl of peanuts and a plate piled high with finger-length fried objects, in front of them, then laid out two plates and two pair of chopsticks and left.

"Go on, Hutch, try the peanuts, they're roasted in sugar." He reached for one of the fried objects that looked like egg rolls. "These are cha gio. The crust is made with rice flour and it's filled with mushrooms, onion, egg, bran threads and chicken or pork." Starsky dipped one in the clear sauce that sat in its compartment at the side of the plate. "They're real spicy. I remember the first time Tho's wife served them. I was afraid to eat them because Tho told me they were made with dog meat. Boy did mama-san chew him out for that one."

Hutch tried one, swallowing quickly and reaching for a glass of water, "It's great, Starsk, but I think I'll try it without the sauce next time. Boy, that makes your tacos seem tame."

Starsky laughed and Hutch smiled, the brow wrinkles leaving. They munched on the appetizers and sipped tea that Ly brought until she returned with soup.

Starsky pounced on it eagerly, Pho, it's beef broth, sort of. It's good."

"You and Tho were good friends." Hutch looked at him over the rim of his cup.

Starsky thought back to the days when he and Bobby had been almost family. An Hai...brother two. "Yeah, we were. He and his wife used to let us stay with them, away from the rest of the guys in our unit. Mama-san treated us like her sons. They were much older than Ly. The V.C. killed them before I met Tho."

Silence followed his statement and they ate quietly, each absorbed in his own thoughts. When the thit kho nuoc dua arrived, Starsky tackled it, chopsticks moving deftly. "Be sure to leave a little on your plate when you're finished. Tho will lose face if he thinks he didn't give you enough."

"What is this?" Hutch asked, plainly interested.

Starsky looked around the room, not yet filled to capacity, but the dinner crowd was slowly gathering. Mostly other Vietnamese, but there were a few occidentals as well. He made a show of letting Hutch in on a big secret, leaned forward and whispered, "Monkey. Tho raises them."

Hutch stared dubiously at his plate. Grey-tan lumps with herbs and a white sauce sat on top of a mound of rice. The faintly sweet scent was familiar, but eluded identification. "That's a different attitude from my usual, make sure it's dead, partner."

"We lived with the people, pal. Either we ate what they did or we ate c-rations. Believe me, this is a lot better than c-rations." He lifted a savory bite to his lips and began chewing, "C'mon, live a little."

"I'd like to live a lot, but here goes." Hutch too a bite, chewed and his face cleared and he grinned at Starsky, "It's pork and it tastes like it has coconut in it."

"Coconut milk, actually. It was always one of my favorites."

When they finished, Starsky looked around for Tho, but he was nowhere in sight.

"I've got to call in, Starsk."

"Go on, I'll meet you at your car. I want to talk to Tho."

"Sure, I'll wait for you." Hutch left and Starsky looked around the increasingly crowded dining room, but it was several minutes before he spotted Tho at a far table. He motioned for Starsky to wait where he was.

Moments later, Tho approached and escorted him to the door, "So sorry to make you wait. There was a dispute over a bill."

Starsky pulled out his wallet, but Tho pushed it away. "C'mon, Tho, I just wanta..."

"Pay. But family not pay. Go now, but remember, Tho here. You and Hutch, you come back."

"We will, count on it."

Starsky turned to leave, but Tho stopped him with a hand on his arm, "Sergeant, if you need help, come to Tho."

Starsky looked over his shoulder at Hutch who leaned against the Escort.

"Thanks. I might need your help, at that. Jimerson's on my case again. I can't explain anymore than that, but he's made some threats." Again he sent a worried look in Hutch's direction.

Tho nodded knowingly. Dai Uy Jimerson was here just before you. He go out back door when you come in front."

The ice was back in his stomach. Was Travis working for Jimerson? Is that why he suggested they eat here? "If anything happens to me, go to Hutch. No one else, only Hutch." Starsky watched the old man and remembered the look he wore when digesting something no one else understood.

"Tho never like Dai Uy. I have friends watch out for your Hutch. Remember, the burden is always heaviest before it is lifted." Tho looked very wise and sympathetic.

"Thanks." Starsky hurried to the car, strangely calm. "Tho asked us back again." He said when he reached his partner.

The blond head nodded, "Sure, seems like a nice friendly place, friendly people." He pulled Starsky's wrist up and looked at the watch. "I gotta meet Ray at the station. See you later."

"Not too late, I hope." Starsky felt a surge of disappointment that he had to go home alone.

"Shouldn't take very long. Are you off duty?"

"Yeah," he paused, then smiled, "Maybe we'll have a little time to ourselves?"

The taller man touched his arm, "I always have time for you. I'll be as quick as I can."

Starsky stood looking at his lover and Hutch looked back, seconds ticking by before he punched Starsky lightly, got into the Escort, and pulled away from the curb. Starsky, feeling an undefined sense of loss, turned slowly and trudged on leaden feet to the Torino. He got into the driver's seat and just sat there, head resting on arms folded across the steering wheel. Finally, sighing deeply, he switched on the ignition, and headed home. He was beginning to get the idea that someone out there didn't want him to be happy. Acknowledging that happiness was a state that came from within, he still argued that life was even better when you could share it with someone who added to that happiness. Hutch added to his happiness in spades.

He pulled into traffic. Halfway home, he stopped at the all night market near their apartment and bought the latest edition of each of the biggest daily papers. Loading his purchases in the car, he continued home. Once at home and inside their apartment, Starsky dropped his armful of newspapers on the couch and, futile though he thought it might be, took the time to check all the windows and doors for signs of visitors. There were none, there weren't any after each of the candy episodes either. Next, he checked all the lamps and telephones for bugs or other electronic snoops. Again he found none. Finally convinced that his home was secure, he pulled the code textbook from the inside pocket of his jacket and a copy of the letter from his hip pocket. Laying them on the dining table, he walked over to the big aquarium they'd installed to separate the living room and dining room.

Various species of fish played tag with each other among the fake seaweed and a sunken ship. A treasure chest in the middle, opened and closed releasing bubbles at intervals. Starsky picked up a container of food, and watched as two of the angel fish darted to the top.

"Travis would have a fit if he knew I brought my work home, wouldn't he, Gladys?" He talked to the yellow and black striped fish closest to the top. Another tap on the food box brought the second fish closer, "But we won't tell him, will we, Alice?"

He watched the fish for several minutes, absorbing the peace and comfort he always found there, then returned to the table. Smoothing the wrinkles from the paper, he tried another combination of letters and numbers, to no avail. His frustration mounted as the minutes crawled along. Unable to make sense of the message, yet knowing there had to be one because the letter itself barely made sense, he stopped long enough to rewarm left over coffee. Nine o'clock came and went and still no Hutch. All he got from a phone call to Metro was, "He's out on a call." Starsky cleared away the coffee clutter and filled the pot, setting the timer for morning.

He couldn't stall any longer, so he went back to work. This time, though, he started on the papers. Let's see if I can find out why I'm on this assignment, instead of the experts. Uncounted time later, he put his head down on his arms. Just need to rest my eyes for a coupla minutes.

"Starsky, wake up, it's late. C'mon, babe, let's go to bed. Sorry I took so long. What's with all the newspapers?"

"Huh? Oh, one of the best ways to gather information. See why I'm on this detail." He stopped, staring, "When did you get home?"

Hutch rubbed Starsky's arm, soothingly, trying to give his startled lover more time to wake up. "Just walked in. Those papers will tell you what's going down in this country that the Eastern Bloc might want to know about?" Hutch was skeptical.

"If you know what to look for, but I haven't come across anything that makes sense. Why're you so late?"

"A floater, John Doe. It was ugly. The guy's neck was broken."

Alarms went off, but Starsky suppressed them. A floater could be anyone, even if his neck was broken. "Do you wanna snack?"

"No, too tired. All I need are a couple of aspirin and you."

Starsky smiled, "Ya got me. How much do ya want, right now?"

"Your arms? Just hold me. I'm too tired for much more activity."

"Me, too." He stretched his head up and kissed the blond. "Hit the shower, I'll lock up."

Quickly stacking the newspapers and locking the code materials in their desk, Starsky turned out the lights and joined Hutch. With his lover's arms securely around him and the illusion of peace offered by the night, he was able to sleep...a quiet dreamless sleep for a change. His sleep was disturbed by someone shaking him. When he rolled over and opened one eye, he saw Hutch standing there, dressed, coffee cup in hand.

"Wake up, Starsk. I'm leaving for work."

"So soon? Don't even have time to talk, huh?"

Hutch bent down and kissed him, "Sorry, but I've got reports to finish from last night, and I'm due in court at eight."

"Lunch?"

"Not unless you meet me at the courthouse."

Starsky considered that for a minute, "Huh-unh, can't spare the time. The sooner I get this done, the sooner life gets back to normal."

"Life is never normal with you babe." Hutch stuck his thumb in his ear and wiggled his fingers.

Starsky heard Hutch's laugh even as the pillow thudded against the door. Fully awake, he got out of bed, showered and dressed. Getting up early had advantages, he arrived at the office before anyone else. He puttered around the deserted room, making coffee, straightening his desk, leafing through yesterday's mail, anything to delay starting on the elusive code. Starsky hadn't lied when he told Hutch that he wanted to finish the assignment, but he wasn't eager to start the tedious task of breaking the code, either. Finally running out of excuses to keep him occupied elsewhere, he unlocked the file cabinet and pulled out the packet, adding it to the papers on his desk that he'd taken home the night before. Rereading the letter and his notes, he couldn't find where he'd missed any steps but to be thorough, he recopied the letter and repeated the steps several more times, still without any breakthrough. Either they're using some code I've never heard of, or a book code and I don't have the book. Maybe? Hmmm? Picking up the phone book, he quickly found the number he was looking for.

"Hello, is this the county library? Could I speak with someone in the children's section? Thank you." At least it sounds like a kid's book. "Do you have a book or series of books called The Golden Goose Collection?" Silence while he waited, "No? You're sure? Is there another library that might? It's not listed in the Title Index, oh. Thanks for your help." Shit, there goes that idea.

Pulling the letter closer, he stared at it in disgust. Maybe he was trying too hard, rushing in his fear and urgency to protect Hutch. "Aw, fuck it!" He shoved his papers, the book and notes into a drawer, grabbed his cup and headed out the door.

Halfway back to his office, he met Neal, one of the Federal men assigned to the task force.

"Hey, Starsky, I was going to your office. You're handling the local end of Gunther's import/export trade, aren't you?"

"Yeah, why?" Starsky followed the reed-thin suit down the aisle way, past his own office into the man's cubicle.

Neal was older and looked like he'd seen just about everything and bits-and-pieces had etched themselves onto his face. Hair, once a mousy brown, now a flat grey without the natural thinning age seemed to bring to most people. He walked like his feet hurt, but was a good man, one of the more friendly Feds who didn't think Starsky's part in the investigation, unnecessary. Or, if he did, he hadn't voiced it in Starsky's hearing.

Neal held up a chart showing dates, names and destinations. "I kept running into the same name over and over, so I charted his activities. Captain Percy Williams. He gets the captain from the U.S. Army. But, that's all the information I have on the man. Intelligence, ours and theirs, clams up tight when I ask questions." He pointed to the chart, again, "See, here he goes to Germany and returns the next day, here,...here and, uh...here. Then he doesn't return for a week, but I can't find him anywhere. All I have is the departure and return dates to tell me he was outside the country for that week. No hotel reservations, no plane or train reservations to anyplace and no evidence he rented a car. Then the cycle repeats itself every two weeks. The Presidio won't tell me where he's assigned. What do you make of it?"

The name didn't ring any bells, but San Francisco did and Army intelligence was refusing to talk. Starsky was full of questions. "I haven't run across that name, but give me a copy of that chart and I'll see what I can flush."

Returning to his office, Starsky closed and locked the door. He was reaching for the phone when it rang, "Starsky."

"Hi, lover. Just checking in. How're things going?" Hutch's voice sounded good.

"Slowly. Haven't gotten anywhere with anything. How's your day?"

"Boring. Court broke for lunch, gotta be back at two. Maybe they'll call me then, and I can testify and leave. Get home early for a change."

"Let me know if you do. I'll meet you at home. I love ya, Hutch. Remember what I was doing to you in my dream?" Starsky lowered his voice and breathed the words into the phone. Hutch's voice was a lifeline and he didn't want to let go.

"Starsky! I'm at a public phone and there's no booth!"

Starsky laughed, delighted as usual with his partner's response, "Sorry, babe, didn't mean to turn you on."

"Like hell, you didn't. You'll pay for this when I get you home."

"Looking forward to it." Reluctantly he hung up the phone.

Punching out Travis' number, he waited, listening to it ring. Not really expecting an answer, he jumped when a man answered, "Perkins."

Perkins? Who the hell is Perkins? Oh, that's right, Travis' partner. "Who's Percy Williams?" Tired of the bull shit and run-around, Starsky cut straight to his objective.

"Where did you get that name?" The surprise in Perkins' voice was evident, even through the tinny inflection caused by the scrambler.

"His name comes up repeatedly in our investigation of Gunther Industries."

Silence from the other end. "He's Jimerson' s aide." The harsh voice softened slightly, "Better crack that code, soon."

"Yeah, I'll get back to you." Starsky slowly replaced the receiver. Jimerson, again, and this time connected with Gunther. Somehow he was directly connected with Gunther, he wasn't after Starsky because of the codes.

Knowing the only way to stop the craziness that had become his life, Starsky returned to the letters. Deciding that he'd covered the Vietnam era codes and all the newer ones as thoroughly as possible, he went back to the code book to search through the less familiar ones, those not often in use. The nagging fear that he was trying to break a book code ate at him.

Three hours later, out of desperation, he tried a code used as far back as the Revolutionary War...and broke it! A message within a message, clear once he put a cover sheet over it.

"All right! I gotcha now, Jimerson!" It figures that he'd use the same code Benedict Arnold used. Starsky moved to the phone and tried Travis' number. No answer. Not from Travis. Not from Perkins. Not from anybody.

Suddenly hot, then cold, Starsky felt the walls closing in on him. He was alone and he knew it. He had to get to Hutch. Between them, they could bring this nightmare to an end, he hoped. He gathered all the papers and jammed them into the file cabinet, then spun the lock. Grabbing his jacket, he was out the door and, running into Jim, the kid that had taken Jason's place.

"Lay it on the desk, I'll get it later. I don't have time for the mail, right now." But the boy resolutely stood in his way.

"It's a Special Delivery letter. The boss said to give it to you and no one else. We ran it under the x-ray, no bomb."

Sensing that Jim thought he was on a mission and wouldn't quit until Starsky actually took the letter, he did just that, then made the mistake of opening it. He immediately wished he hadn't. A snapshot of Hutch, just like the one he carried in his wallet, was in the envelope. But, unlike the one he carried, this, one had an ink sketch of a crocodile across it. Crocodile! The American pronunciation of a Vietnamese word meaning kill or dead or something close to that. In Vietnam, soldiers used to look at an enemy and while sliding a finger across their finger across their own throat from side to side, say crocodile. The implied threat was never mistaken and neither was this one. "Oh, my God!"

click illo to see larger image

Shaking, he dialed Metro, Captain Dobey...Starsky. Where's Hutch?"

Please, please let him be there, he begged the fates, but the sinking feeling in his stomach told him it wasn't to be, as he listened to Dobey in open-mouthed astonishment. What the hell's happen' over there? "Whatta ya' mean, he never went back to court after lunch? He called me about one, told me they'd just broke for lunch and that he had to be back at two. It's after three, now, why wasn't I called sooner? I'm coming over there." Desperate, he dialed the secure number, hoping Travis or Perkins was back. Instead, he stood listening to the phone ring and ring. Just as he started to hang up the receiver lifted and a man's voice said, "Hello..." Jimerson! He slammed the phone back in its cradle and bolted out the door.

Starsky barely noticed the traffic on the way to Metro. His mind was full of pictures of Hutch dead a hundred different ways. Why hadn't he taken Hutch on a vacation somewhere safe, somewhere secret? Why hadn't he insisted Travis use his influence to get him transferred back to Robbery/Homicide where he could keep an eye on Hutch? Shoulda called Tho, maybe he knows where Hutch is. I'll call him from Metro, he thought, absently wondering where the hell his partner was.

So immersed in his own fears and worries, he was entering Dobey's office before he was more than marginally aware that he'd arrived at Metro.

Dobey hung up the phone when Starsky burst through the door, "Starsky," he growled, "I've been trying to reach you. Hutch's car is still at the courthouse. Nobody's seen him since lunch. No one realized he hadn't returned until they called him to testify and he didn't answer."

Okay, calm down, you can't help Hutch if you panic. What do you know so far? Hutch is missing. Jimerson has him. How do you know that? I just do, dammit! "You got a name for that John Doe, yet?"

Dobey looked startled at the question, "No."

"I wanta see the body."

"It's not Hutch."

"I know that!" He snapped. Did Dobey think he'd be standing there if it was? He'd be out tracking down Jimerson for the rest of his life.

"Okay, come on, I'll go with you." The captain heaved himself out of the chair and lumbered around the desk to join Starsky. His face was a drooping mask that matched Starsky's worry line for worry line.

The drive to the morgue would've taken less time if it wasn't rush hour. Starsky needed to know who the John Doe was. He had his own suspicions, but hesitated to voice them, not wanting to start a manhunt that would prove fatal to Hutch. He hated the morgue. Logically, as Hutch often reminded him, he knew that a dead body was a dead body, whether it was on the street or in the morgue. He still hated the morgue. it was a place he never wanted to be in, even dead.

The body was familiar and blond, it was Travis. Jimerson was dangerous. He was cornered and fighting for his life. Starsky turned to Dobey. He knew the captain would help as much as possible, but he didn't know how much he should tell him. Dobey wasn't his boss, but he was a friend. He hated lying to him, but had no choice. "Don't know him. I thought I might. Thought I might get a line on who snatched Hutch if I recognized him."

"Keep me posted on what you find, I'll clear it with Davis."

"Make sure he knows that, with or without his permission, I'm going to find Hutch."

Starsky made arrangements to meet Tho that night at nine. Five hours to search the streets. It didn't take long for word to get out that Starsky was on the prowl. He sat on a barstool in the Pits nursing a beer, waiting for Huggy to get off the phone. He hadn't found any trace of Hutch and that had angered and reassured him at the same time. If Jimerson, no, when Jimerson killed Hutch, they'd find a body, because the bastard would want to be sure Starsky knew his partner was dead. No body meant that Hutch was still alive somewhere. Another beer was set in front of him, and he looked up to see Huggy leaning on the bar. "What'd you find out?"

"Nothing, nada, the streets are dry, man. Nobody has seen or heard nothin' 'bout Hutch."

Starsky's fist came down hard on the bar top, rattling glasses on either side. People at the bar cast glances at him under lowered lids. No one wanted to catch his attention. "Someone's gotta have seen something! People don't just drop outta sight." But he remembered people who seemed to do that very thing, people he'd helped disappear to force the family's co-operation.

"Easy, amigo, we'll find him." Concern was written all over Huggy's face, but it did nothing to comfort Starsky.

"Will we, Huggy? I'm not so sure about that." He slid off the stool and headed out. Away from the crowds, into the streets.

Two more hours of looking achieved nothing but alienating half the street people. Starsky's temper shortened in direct proportion to his frustration level. The longer Hutch was missing without word, the greater his fear and, therefore, the greater the anger he turned loose on the world. He hadn't tried to contact Perkins' since he'd seen Travis' body, so no one at G3 knew that he had cracked the code or that Hutch was missing. He wasn't sure who to contact. This was personal, now and he wanted to keep it that way. Me and Thee would've worked, but Thee was absent. He found the unicorn nestled against his chest, and fondled it, but it didn't talk to him, either. Might

as well go home and get ready for tonight. He would hunt for Hutch, using all the skills he'd buried so long ago. He'd never felt the need to use them on the streets until now. Now, he wasn't sure he was better than his opponent.

At home, he dug out a deeply hid suitcase and lugged it up to their apartment. Once inside, he picked up the phone and, dredging up a number learned after 'Nam, dialed. That number had been burned into his memory before he'd been allowed to return to civilian life and had lain dormant until need flushed it out.

"Scorpion," I hate that name. Always have and always will. "This line is not secure. Travis is dead. My partner is missing. If you want a meet, I'll be at the Pits 'til eight. After that, I'm looking for my partner." He dropped the receiver onto the cradle and finished dragging the suitcase into the bedroom.

Opening the suitcase, he pulled out a pair of black pants with pockets everywhere, a black sweater and boots. Next came the utility belt, specially made for his left hand. Strapped on, he had a survival knife tied snug against his left thigh. Hutch would call this a Bowie knife. Another knife, this one a thin stiletto, rested, hidden, in its sheath at the back of his neck and, last of all, an almost invisible coil of wire. Black leather gloves tucked in his belt and he was ready. He stood there in the old uniform, eyes closed, and let the training of the past become a part of him. Training that he'd fought hard to suppress, but needed now, if he was to save Hutch.

Arriving at the Pits before seven, he chose a table near the door, ordered a beer and settled down to wait. Huggy was nowhere to be seen. Luckily, the place was smoky enough and noisy enough to offer him some cover.

He had been there almost an hour, when a big man in a dark suit took the chair opposite him. "Starsky?"

Starsky was sure he recognized the voice as Perkins, but it was difficult be sure since there was no scrambler between them, now. "Travis is dead." He wondered if this guy was the boss. He had the years behind him, but Travis called him his partner. Cover maybe? He was good, whoever he was. His eyes moved constantly, missing nothing. His face was grim, but not overtly belligerent. If someone were to ask, later, who was sitting at the table, chances were very good that only Starsky would be remembered with any accuracy.

"We know. Do you have the papers you were decoding for us?"

"They're safe." And you're not getting them until I'm sure Hutch is safe.

"When do we get them?" The spook looked distinctly irritated.

Starsky hardened his look. The guy might be a pro at cloak and dagger, but, face to face, all the aces were on Starsky's side. A slight twitch at the corner of the man's mouth was the only sign that Starsky's was under his skin. "You'll get them when I've found my partner, and not before." He echoed his earlier thoughts.

"We'll find him." The twitch had moved to become a glitter in his eyes. He had lost control and wasn't one bit happy about it. Starsky wanted to sing.

"You couldn't find your way outta wet paper bag with a leak in it. I'll find him."

The shoulders sagged just a little, but surrender was complete. "Let us know when you do. Keep in touch, I don't want the locals to pull you out of the river like they did Travis."

"They won't." Starsky stood, ready to leave. "I'll call you when Hutch is safe."

"You need back-up."

"I've got all the back-up I need."

"Tho." Perkins spit the word out like it was poison.

Starsky nodded. He didn't want to waste anymore time, here.

"He's a civilian!"

"So am I. I trust him."

There was no argument left and Perkins knew it, "Keep it clean." He lounged back, lit a cigar, and when Starsky walked out the door, he was blowing huge puffs of smoke.

Starsky headed crosstown to meet Tho, who was waiting for him on the street, when he got there. He was dressed much like Starsky.

"Did you get a line on...Hutch?" God! It even hurt to say his name.

Starsky felt the first real echoes of pain. Bobby.

"No, but Dai Uy Jimerson spend much time in old building on..." Tho consulted a piece of paper he held. "...Vignes Street. Near Little Tokyo."

He got in the car.

Starsky didn't question Tho's information. He had as many contacts among the Orientals as Huggy did with the rest of the street people. Tho had always been able to pick up snippets of information. Here was no different. Many people wandered into his restaurant and few hesitated to talk in front of the self-effacing old man. Tho played the part to the hilt. Starsky had seen him do it many times.

Silent on the way, each man was alone with his memories. At Vignes and Banning, Starsky slowed to allow them to check out the area without slowing enough to attract attention. A trash-strewn yard on the corner left a wide open area between the dirty red building they were interested in and the building nearest it.

"Two men on building, hiding, now." Tho stated, looking up at the roof.

"There's at least one in that car on the corner. We'll take out the men

on the roof. How many of your friends are here?" Starsky tried to see everything without looking like he was watching.

"Two. They work with me in Vietnam.. .A.R.V.N. Rangers."

A.R.V.N Rangers, South Vietnam's answer to Special Forces. They were specially trained, often by American Special Forces and were more dedicated than the usual South Vietnamese grunt. If they were Tho's buddies, they knew their business. For the first time, Starsky believed that they had a chance to rescue Hutch.

Turning into the street behind the building, he pulled over and parked. Two soldiers materialized out of the dark and joined them.

"Tran Van Duc and Vin Lo Diem," Tho pointed to each man as he said his name. Both Vietnamese, both younger, or at least less wrinkled, than Tho. Both were dressed in basic black and knives.

"Thanks for helping out." Starsky shook hands with each man.

"Tho said he friend need help, so we help." Shrugging, the one called Duc said.

Starsky squatted down and the Orientals followed suit. He sketched out the area in the dirt, "Two men on the roof and one in the car on the corner..."

"Man in car not bother us. He sleeping very good, for long time, now." The other ranger said, his grin a white slash in the dark.

"Dead?" Shit, Dobey'll kill me if we leave too many dead bodies lying around...

"No."

"What else do you know? Is my partner inside?" Please let him be there, I don't know where else to look.

"Not know, but Dai Uy Jimerson go inside long time ago, not come out."

Starsky nodded, a plan quickly forming, "You two..." He motioned to the rangers, "...take care of the creeps on the roof. Try not to kill them. Then act like you belong there. Tho and I will take the front and inside." As he talked, he spread camouflage paint on his face, Tho and the others did the same.

Keeping to the shadows, Starsky and Tho moved to the front of the building. No alarm was sounded and no one questioned their presence at the door. Aw shit, Starsky thought when he saw the telephone mounted next to the door. It was a buzzer system and could only be opened with a key or from inside. While it was not impossible to force the lock, the chances of alerting someone inside were significantly increased. Just as he was deciding they'd have to try it, the door opened. Both men flattened themselves against the wall on either side of the door. A man, dressed for hustling in the bars, stepped out. Starsky grinned inwardly as he caught the door before it closed all the way. No one would mistake that guy for one of Jimerson ' s men.

I

Tho leaned over and whispered, "He have picture shop on top floor."

Starsky nodded his understanding and they entered the stairwell. There was a door to their right and iron stairs leading upward. No name was on the door and all was silent inside when they listened, and it was locked when they tried the knob.

"Which one?" Starsky whispered to Tho, the metallic taste of fear/excitement strong on his tongue as always.

"Not know tha..."

Tho was interrupted by a long, chilling scream that pierced the air, and Starsky froze in terror when he recognized Hutch's voice. He forced himself to move slowly, quietly, up the stairs to the door on the second floor where the cry had originated. Surprise was their strongest weapon.

Tho worked the lock, it was a talent Starsky didn't possess and hadn't been able to learn. After several hour-long minutes, the door moved silently inward and the sight that greeted Starsky started him shaking.

Hutch sat tied in a chair, shirtless and shoeless. Alligator clamps on a finger of each hand were attached to wires that led to a double-E eight, a portable telephone generator that generated electricity when the handle was cranked. Jimerson stood facing Hutch, turning the crank.

Another scream brought him back to the present. Sensation assaulted him, he could smell the fear each electric jolt brought, feel the fire arc across his body, the scream start at the soul of his being and climb out his raw throat to join Hutch's. Only Starsky's scream, now silent, was heard a decade ago and reverberated from wall to wall in his tiny cell and buried itself deep in his subconscious. Catlike, he stalked his nemesis, one thought consuming him. Kill Jimerson. It was part of him, necessary, as breathing was necessary. Hutch had been saved from the ordeal of Vietnam, he couldn't have handled it. So many people hurting and everyone a victim American and Vietnamese. Unbidden, the garrote was coiled around his hands. He could smell his prey, smell the scent of evil, of hate and, seconds before the wire sliced into Jimerson's flesh, the smell of fear. A quick tug and twist, hands and feet spastic, crank turning once then free, as the suddenly limp body hung on the wire. Now, reality cleared away the red haze and Starsky unwound the garrote from his hands, letting the body drop. Without a backward look, he stepped across it and moved to where Hutch sat slumped, supported by the bonds that held him.

Gloves dropped to the floor, unconsciously peeled from shaking hands. Starsky patted the sweat-damp face, gentle, insubstantial touches as if Hutch might break. He pushed blond hair' back from the white forehead. All the time, his heart was in his throat. "Hutch, oh, babe, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Hands busy, loosening ropes that sank into fair skin of ankles and wrists and chest. Now free, he pulled the beloved body close, cradling it in his arms for moments before easing it out of the chair to lay it gently on the floor. Tho was there with a blanket and he covered the still form.

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He didn't want to leave his lover's side, but there was work to be done, work that only Starsky could do. Probably should take him to a hospital, get him checked out. But all he wanted to do was take him home and help him forget. Instead, he found the phone and called the number that would link him with Perkins. When the summons was answered, he was relieved to hear his contact's voice. Finally, one stable occurrence in this mosaic of chaos that had become his existence. "Jimerson's dead, come clean up the garbage. Vigness and Banning, second floor. You can't miss us. I've gotta get my partner outta this. He needs a doctor...all right, I'll wait for your man."

"Sergeant, your Hutch wake up, now. You come. I cover Dai Uy's body so he not see." Tho's quiet voice startled Starsky and he moved to Hutch's side.

He crouched down next to Hutch, again brushing hair back. To Tho, over his shoulder, without turning away from Hutch, "Go tell your friends to bring Jimerson's flunkies into the building so they won't attract attention. Keep them in the stairwell so they don't see Hutch."

Tho sounded puzzled, "They already see Mr. Hutch when Dai Uy bring him."

"Just keep 'em outta here, okay? Someone's on the way to pick 'em up."

"Okay, Tho do as sergeant wishes. You need help with Mr. Hutch, you call Tho."

Starsky turned, then, and smiled at his friend. "I'll do that, thanks." He went back to Hutch, who was still groggy, but slowly regaining consciousness.

He remembered how he'd felt after his first encounter with a similar generator. He'll be sore, shit, every muscle in his body'll hurt, but he'll be okay.

Hutch groaned as he tried to move his hands, stifling a cry of pain when he saw Starsky, "Starsk?" There was a note of doubt in the hoarse voice.

"Who else?" He looked away, in response to a soft touch on his shoulder. Tho stood there a paper cup of water in one hand.

"Men tied up outside," he whispered. "For him." He handed the cup to Starsky and left.

Starsky lifted Hutch's head with one hand and held the cup to the cracked lips with the other, "Here, drink this. Hey, slow down, you're spilling it. Now, feel better?" He chuckled at his partner's expression as the pale blue eyes traveled up and down, taking in the paint and uniform. "Look like a ninja, huh?"

The head shook from side to side, "Not to me. More like an angel of mercy." The effort to speak was too much and he slipped into sleep. Starsky laid him down gently, cradling his head on a blanket supplied by Tho.

One of the rangers, Duc, Starsky thought, entered, "Tho say come. Big man outside want talk with you."

What now? "You stay with Hutch. If he wakes up, call me." Starsky hated leaving him, but knew that if they were ever to get home, he had to talk to Perkins. He hoped it was Perkins.

Walking to the door, he prayed it really was his contact and not some new threat. When he got there, Tho was holding a small hand gun aimed at Perkins' middle. The spook wasn't alone. Three other men stood there with him, two in green fatigues with arm bands identifying them as Military Police. The third man carried a black doctor's bag.

"Well, well. Got you outta your nice quiet office twice in one night, must be some kinda record."

Perkins didn't respond to the remark. He pointed to the civilian, "This is Doctor Adams. He'll check your partner and make sure Jimerson' s dead." Perkins ignored Tho and his gun.

"Jimerson's dead, I don't make mistakes. Those two..." Starsky nodded to the two guards from the roof, now tied and gagged and propped up against the wall of the stairwell, ....worked for Jimerson. There's another in the car on the corner."

"We got him." Perkins turned to the Military Police. "Get them out of here and let me know as soon as the body wagon arrives." To Starsky, "Let's talk inside while Doctor Adams checks your friend, I brought some coffee."

Starsky relaxed nearly giving in to his own exhaustion and the man's kindness. Leading the way inside, he pointed to the blanket covered mound that was Jimerson's body, then Hutch, "He's dead. My partner, Hutch. I don't know how long, but they had him hooked up to that," He pointed to the generator. "He was awake once and I gave him coupla sips of water."

"He'll probably be okay. Those things don't put out enough juice to kill a man." The doctor moved toward Hutch, dismissing the other two.

Starsky stood there, wanting to go to Hutch, but knowing that he couldn't, unable to move. Perkins touched his shoulder, urged him towards chairs placed around a card table, "He's right, you know."

"I know," Starsky spat out between clenched teeth. "I walked away from a few sessions like that...I..." He couldn't continue. The memory too strong. Dropping into a chair, he closed his eyes and rested his head on his hands. Thank God Jimerson hooked the connections to his fingers.

"Here," he looked up to see Perkins pushing a steaming thermos cup toward him. "Drink this, it'll help."

Starsky sipped the bitter liquid; it didn't have cream or sugar but it did have a generous helping of whiskey. "Can you get Jimerson outta here before Hutch wakes up enough to notice?"

"We'll try. Will you answer my questions, now?"

"Yeah," Starsky yawned and rubbed his face, his hands coming away greenish-black, he'd forgotten the grease paint.

"Here," Perkins handed him a huge handkerchief. "Did you decode the letters?"

"Only one, but it was from Jimerson. He used a code Benedict Arnold used in the Revolutionary War. He was warning his network not to contact him."

"What spooked him? What was he selling and to who?"

"Percy Williams, Jimerson's aide? Over the last year, he made frequent trips to Germany and other countries, meeting with businessmen. I think he was selling information to Gunther Industries. Secrets dealing with when to buy and when to sell interests overseas. Probably let Gunther know when to ship contraband, too. He wasn't your mole. Military secrets were safe. He wasn't a traitor, just a man trying the wrong way to get rich. He never did care who he had to step on to reach his objective.

Perkins did a double take, "James Gunther?" At Starsky's nod, "I thought some hotshot detective brought him down?"

Pride bubbled up, momentarily replacing the exhaustion, "Hutch did."

"Gunther tried to kill you, that's why you were in the hospital, last year?"

Starsky hated the big brother effect, but once privy to your country's biggest secrets, you learned to live with it. "Yeah, anything else on your mind?" Anything else Perkins wanted to know about Starsky, he could get from the records.

"No, no, you go on, take your partner home and take care of him." Perkins looked suddenly old. Old and tired. He had been kind, as kind as he was able and for that, Starsky was grateful. I'll bet he had a partner once.

"Thanks for your help. I...well, thanks." Standing, Starsky held out his hand. He was totally spent. He stood there looking at Perkins, wanting to say something, but didn't know what.

Perkins took the offered hand, "I'll pick up the papers from your office." And Starsky knew he would.

He walked to the other side of the vast open room, some kind of studio. Starsky looked at it with new sight. Jimerson's body and the generator had been removed and all that remained was the card table and chairs. Over by the far wall was an old army cot and issue foot locker. Two large beams cut the room into thirds. Surely he had seen all this earlier, but, then, his mind had only registered the drama acting out in front of him. Now, he searched for one of the participants. And found him, huddled at the base of the far beam, knees drawn up under the brown wool blanket held tightly under his chin. Head down, pale hair awry, he looked lost. Starsky started toward the shattered man, but was stopped by a hand on his arm. Whirling around, ready to fight, he relaxed when he saw Doctor Adams.

"He's all right. No permanent physical damage, but he'll be sore for several days. Only time will tell about lasting emotional and psychological effects. I've given him a shot of Valium to help his muscles relax and calm his nerves. Here's a prescription for more, if he needs it." Doctor Adams handed Starsky a paper.

Starsky looked from the doctor to Hutch on the floor, shivering, "Why's he on the cold floor?"

"He wouldn't stay on the cot any longer than it took for me to examine him. There's no sign of any other injury or torture, except the electric burns on his fingers."

Starsky looked at Hutch, not knowing how much he'd been through, only knowing that he had to get him through the aftermath of the ordeal. Unconsciously silent, he approached his lover, squatted down, and reached to gently brush sweat-dried hair from the eyes. Hutch, startled by the unexpected touch, flinched away, hunching the near shoulder up for protection.

"Easy, babe, we're going home, now." Looking down at the bare toes peeking out from under the blanket edge, "Where'd they put your shoes?"

Starsky looked around, finally finding the shoes near a pile of clothes in the corner, that he recognized as Hutch's. Precious moments wasted when all he wanted was to get Hutch home. But necessary because he didn't want to leave him long enough to bring the car around front. Everyone else had gone. Perkins and his men left to finish their reports and to cover-up. After checking to see if Starsky needed help with Hutch, and getting a negative response, Tho and his friends had, also, gone, home to their families. Now, as he struggled to get shoes on the zombie, he worried about Hutch coming out of this. His partner was gentle and caring. He'd grown up in a home without much demonstrative love and often was unsure how others perceived him. He wasn't soft, but came from a comparatively sheltered home and had had to work hard to build the tough facade he wore everyday. Seldom did anyone, other than Starsky, see the true depth of his partner's caring. But this...this insane torture was something so out of Hutch's realm of experience that Starsky was frightened for his sanity. He was frightened for himself, too, because he realized that without his own involvement in the past, this wouldn't have happened. He'd take Hutch home, care for him until he was recovered, and stay, if Hutch would let him. He didn't want to be a constant reminder of tonight.

Shoes in place, Starsky reached to help lift Hutch to his feet, "C'mon, ya' big lug, help me. You're no lightweight, ya' know." The blanket fell away and Starsky saw that someone had found him a clean pair of fatigue pants to wear, probably out of the footlocker.

"Starsky?" Voice harsh with hoarseness from screaming, but a beautiful sound.

"Right here, babe. I ain't gonna leave you."

"I want to go home." The words were deliberate and weary.

"That's where we're headed, if you'd start putting one foot in front of the other."

Gradually, with numerous starts and stops and a lot of huffing and puffing on both parts, they made it to ground level. Starsky propped Hutch against a wall and opened the door. Outside, parked at the curb, sat the Torino. He couldn't think of a more beautiful sight. Starsky didn't know who was responsible, but since picking pockets was a fine art developed by most good operative, he never questioned how it got there, only thanked the Gods that it had.

Soon Hutch was bundled into the passenger seat and they were headed home. Home, what a lovely word, one Starsky wasn't sure would include himself. Hutch slept all the way and was stronger for the rest. Just inside the apartment door, he stopped, shoulders drooping, head bowed, a picture of infinite exhaustion. Starsky touched him and he looked up. With a hoarse sob and more speed than Starsky thought him capable of, Hutch pulled him into a fierce embrace. No passion, just a soul hungry for contact. Starsky returned it and they stood there desperately hanging on to each other.

"I'm here, Hutch. Aw, babe, I'm here." Starsky crooned over and over to the clutching him convulsively.

"Starsk," Harsh whisper, ragged with relief.

"I'm here."

"I don't like the people you play with. Let's not do this again."

"Wish I could promise that we won't."

"They'd try this again?"

"Actually, it could've been worse, I coulda been sent out of country to kill some anti-American political big-wig, and you wouldn't have been told anything."

A shudder swept through Hutch, and Starsky tightened his hold. Finally, a quick hug and Hutch straightened up, "I'm...I'm all right, now. I'm going to take a shower."

Starsky pulled back slightly to take a good look at his partner. Framing Hutch's face with his hands, he looked critically at the strained countenance. The blue eyes weren't vacant, now, or confused and his heart lightened. "Okay, you go on, I've got a few phone calls to make."

After thoroughly locking all the doors and windows, he dialed Dobey's home phone number. The captain's voice was gruff, but awake and alert. "Captain, it's Starsky. Hutch is home..."

"You found him." Statement, not a question, as if the captain was affirming a fact he already knew. "How is he?"

"He'll be sore for a while, but he'll be okay."

"I talked to a Mr. Perkins. He claimed the John Doe. Who is he?"

CIA probably. "Just a man with the right connections." And the wrong ones and some in between.

"You won't talk, either."

"Can't. Look, the doctor said Hutch needed a few days off..."

Dobey interrupted. "Of course he does. You both do. Report back to work on Monday. I'll clear it with Davis. Now, go take care of your partner."

Slowly Starsky laid the receiver in its cradle. The captain never stopped surprising him. How he, David Michael Starsky, had ever had the good fortune to be assigned...the captain wasn't his boss. The thought was sobering, but he squashed it and let the earlier beginnings of a grin take form as he joined his lover in the bedroom. Hutch was already in the bed sleeping. Valium shot probably still keeping him down. Even the fact that he hadn't been able to say good night to his lover, didn't disturb the peace that he felt; the almost euphoria that the operation was over and they'd survived, beaten Jimerson at his own game.

The knives, sheaths and utility belt were cleaned and packed away. The sweater, boots and pants would follow after a thorough cleaning. A quick shower and he joined Hutch. Starsky pulled his lover close and held on tight, something he'd been afraid he'd never do again.

The ringing phone roused him and he answered quickly, trying not to wake Hutch, "Yeah?"

"This is Dobey. How's Hutch?"

"He had a coupla bad dreams during the night, but otherwise, he's getting better fast." Starsky looked down at his sleeping partner, affectionately. Face soft and slack in sleep, expression finally clear of the ravages of the previous night.

"Let me talk to him."

Starsky turned back to the phone, "He's still sleeping."

"No, I'm not. Give me the phone."

He looked down at Hutch, eyes bright and clear, smiling, reaching to touch Starsky's leg, to make certain of his presence. Holding the phone away, "Good afternoon."

"That late, huh?"

"Yeah," Starsky smiled in return.

"Let me have the phone," Hutch reminded him.

Reluctantly, he handed over the receiver. Before he could do anything else, his stomach reminded him that he'd missed dinner the night before and Hutch's chimed in on cue.

"Guess I'd better put together something to eat." Hutch waved his understanding, not shifting attention from the phone.

He didn't feel like anything heavy, so he pulled out the skillet and scrambled some eggs, adding some left over hot dogs and cheese. Two plates were on the table and the coffee brewed, when Hutch entered. He looked only slightly stiff, not nearly as sore as Starsky had expected. Boy, I could hardly move for days. "How long did they have you rigged up to that generator?"

"Dunno, couple of hours, I guess." Hutch pulled out a chair and sat. "That was bad, Starsk, real bad. I'm surprised I hung on. How long do you suppose a man could hold out before he broke down and answered any and all questions?"

Three days, six hours, two and one-half minutes. "I don't know. The Vietnamese used it for interrogation. Most people talked pretty fast."

"What happened to Jimerson? I don't remember seeing him when I woke up."

"Jimerson's dead." Starsky kept his voice from shaking, but was unable to face Hutch.

"You kill him?"

"Yeah. When I saw what he was doing to you...well, I lost it." He peeked at Hutch up through his lashes. There wasn't any accusation on the beloved face, only open love and concern.

"I'm all right, you know."

"Uh-huh. I...I don't want you remembering every time you look at me."

"I won't. I love you. I knew you were looking for me and that's what kept me going. I'm glad you got there when you did," He took a bite of egg.

Starsky sipped his coffee, fighting for control. He hated emotional scenes but there didn't seem to be any wisecrack that fit this situation. "It won't happen again. I promise."

"Shit, Starsk, how can you stop it?"

"I don't know, but I will, somehow." I'll have them lock us both in a security cell, together.

"Did you ever break the code?"

"Of course," Glad of a change of subject, he stuffed egg into his mouth, swallowed coffee; Hutch hated him talking with his mouth full of food, "It connected Jimerson with Gunther. The Feds are taking that investigation out of our hands."

"So he wasn't a traitor?"

"Nope, but he woulda come after us anyway because I was getting too close."

Starsky finished his eggs, then, noticing that Hutch was finished, picked up both plates and started for the kitchen.

"I understand we have four days off." The laughter in Hutch's voice made Starsky turn. The grin was infectious and he matched it.

"You understand, right."

Hutch wiggled his eyebrows in a good Starsky imitation, "Wanna find a cabin with a skylight?"

Warmth and love and hope washed over him. Hutch was going to put this behind him. It was as if they'd traded places, Starsky worrying about the effects of things and Hutch, accepting and going on, "Oh, yeah..."

He sat the dishes down on the counter top, moved back to his partner and pulled him into a deep, soul-satisfying kiss. "Wanta check out the bedroom, here, first?" His voice was suddenly husky, overwhelming emotion had turned into passion.

"Lead the way, love."

Starsky held Hutch's hand and led him, slowly to the bedroom. He wanted to run, to crush Hutch to him and make wild, desperate love, but somehow, this slower pace seemed more confirming.

"By the way," Hutch said conversationally, "I forgot to tell you, Ray's transferring to Ventura. I get a new partner on Monday."

Starsky's heart beat faster and it had nothing to do with sex; it was pure, unadulterated fear/hope. He forced his voice to sound casual, "Yeah? Who?"

Hutch's eyes were soft, kind of dreamy., "Don't know. Dobey just said he was transferring from the D.A.'s office and he'd better be on time."

commitment - a) pledge or promise

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