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Duty Calls
 

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The Last Word

Duty Calls

by Amye
 

"I'm changing the roster." Dobey told his best detective team as the three men entered his office, closing the door behind them. "I'm putting you two on night shift to go under to solve a series of assaults."

"Nights? Aw, Cap'n, there's lots of other guys..." Starsky began pacing and whining. He hated working night shift. It usually meant boring stakeouts and even more boring paperwork.

"Stop right there Starsky. You two were specifically requested for this assignment."

Immediately Hutch was suspicious. "By whom?"

"By the agent and representative for the dancers who are being assaulted."

At the word 'dancers', Starsky's mood picked up. Maybe this won't be so bad. "Hey Hutch, maybe they need bodyguards or somethin'. And the only kinda dancers I know that work nights are 'exotic'." He lifted his eyebrows suggestively.

"Go see Lee McLellan over at 'Peaches' on State. He was in here yesterday, saw you two and was assured by your arrest record; he thinks you'll be the best men for the inside job." Dobey gave them a card Lee had left. "Give this to the doorman, he'll take you right to McLellan. If he wants you to start tonight, let me know, and I'll take you off the roster for the rest of the day."

They grabbed for the card, and just as they were about to leave Dobey called Starsky's name out. "Oh, and Starsky? He's not looking for you to be bodyguards -- you're going under as dancers." The sly smirk that Dobey wore on his face was worth his weight in gold, as was the dropped open mouth of the darker detective.

After pulling his stunned and stuttering partner out to the LTD, Hutch sat behind the wheel and sighed deeply, sinking into the cracked vinyl seats. Running his hand down his face, he managed to break the meaningless grunts coming next to him. "I can't believe this. What did we ever do to Dobey to get pulled into this assignment?"

"Uh Hutch? I seem to remember a couple of months ago when you played a nasty little amnesia trick. And since you were still hurting, you didn't have to pull traffic duty for long." Starsky tried his best Hutchinson point imitation "This is Dobey's way of paying us back."

"I'm not happy about this either Starsky, let's just go and see McLellan. Maybe we can talk him out of it, and see if there's another way we can work this assignment." Hutch put the car in reverse and pulled out of the garage, neither one speaking during the 20 minute drive to 'Peaches'.

The parking lot was empty, save for a few cars in the back of the lot, most likely the manager and kitchen personnel. The doors to the club were locked, but there was a buzzer next to them. A well-dressed black man in a brown suit with a thin black tie answered; when shown the card he admitted the two detectives without question.

The club consisted of one wide open room with a long, curved bar on the right, dozens of tables, a large dance floor and a stage in behind it. It was darkened at the moment, but the color scheme appeared to be reds and blues. Recessed lights were interspersed throughout the ceiling. The place smelled of a combination of Murphy's Oil Soap and vanilla.

"McLellan's in the back, using a spare office. I'll show you the way." The three men walked to a small door next to the stage, which led to a hallway and other doors.

"Probably dressing rooms and offices," whispered Starsky to his partner.

"Have you ever been here?" asked the manager.

"No. Can you tell us about your clientele and what type of shows you offer?"

"We're basically a dance club. But we found that the ladies like their entertainment as much as men do, so we have a contract with the Chippendale's to come in and perform twice a month. Those are two of our busiest nights." Stopping at the third door on the left, he knocked with his knuckles before opening the door.

"Lee, I've got two prospects for you. They had your card."

A small, white man with wispy brown hair combed over to hide a balding forehead sat at a desk which, other than a few chairs, was the only piece of furniture in the room. He was very non-descript, with the look of an accountant rather than a talent agent for seductive strippers. "Thanks Logan." McLellan indicated for the two detectives to come in and take a seat.

Starsky began to talk, but McLellan held up his hand, listening for the sound of Logan's retreating footsteps. "Sorry Officer Starsky, but I don't want anyone to know you're officers of the law. No one inside knows that but me."

"I'm sure you have some reservations about this assignment, but I believe you two are the best qualified for this." He put his pencil down and rubbed his eyes. "Several of our dancers have been attacked and beaten. Not life threatening, but they seem to be increasing in intensity, I want this person, or these persons caught before it gets to the point where someone loses a life or at the very least their ability to continue in this business."

"What can you tell us about the attacks?" Asked Hutch.

"They started a month ago at a place called 'Two Steps' on the south side of town. The first guy survived with a light beating by a wooden table leg, which the police later found to match a broken table that had recently been thrown out by the club's manager. The attack happened in the alley. The next two were the following week, a day apart at a club also on the south side called 'City Lights'. Same thing, beaten with something wooden. One guy got a broken arm. Then two weeks ago, here, in the hallway to the back entrance one of my main dancers was jumped and not only beaten, but bitten all over, drawing blood. That's when the police determined it was more than likely a female and got the idea that it might be a follower of the dancers. Last week another two clubs -- another two victims. One with a busted elbow, the other with a concussion, both men beaten, bit, and choked with a thin piece of leather, probably a purse strap. Both happened on this side of town." He paused and looked at the two men before him. "Didn't your Captain give you all these details?"

"He gave us the files, but we haven't had a chance to read through them yet." Hutch explained, not wanting to seem senseless.

Starsky broke in with the question he'd been wanting to ask. "What I want to know is why us? If these attacks are taking place all around the city, you've got a wide pool of cops to choose from. And maybe we'd be of better use as bodyguards."

McLellan smirked. "I asked your Commissioner for a list of the best detectives for this case. Then I went to each precinct so I could take a look at all of you. As far as not being bodyguards -- that would seem too obvious, and he doesn't want to scare the attacker away. We want to catch her off guard. What other way than to have two cops posing as dancers? Nobody would ever guess. And I was told you wouldn't have moral issues with your Internal Affairs, since it's job related."

"But why us?" Starsky pressed.

"Well your partner here is exactly what the women swoon over. Tall, blonde, handsome. Classic good looks, long legs; and the glowing hair helps." Hutch blushed with the description.

"And me? I'm not that good-looking."

"Detective can you stand up?" Starsky complied. "Turn your head and look into the full length mirror on the back of the door."

"Yeah?"

"Detective Starsky you have an ass, if you'll pardon the language, that the ladies would swoon over. And watching you yesterday, I could sense the sex appeal oozing out of you." If possible, Starsky was even redder than Hutch, who was trying not to laugh.

"Pardon the bluntness gentlemen, but that's my game. I know sexuality when I see it, and I know how to sell it. I'm very good at my job and I treat my dancers well. Your Captain also told me that you, Officer Starsky, have had classical dance training, which will help. Mostly though, the dancers use the music to make their own dance steps up. As long as it conveys sex, mystery, and intrigue -- anything goes."

He opened a drawer and tossed out a tape. "Here's a tape of some of our dancers. Study it and come up with a persona. Every dancer has a persona that they start out their performances with. We don't perform tonight, but you'll need to be back here tomorrow at 6:30. The show starts at 8:00. We'll put you two on somewhere in the middle."

Starsky took the tape and looked thoughtful as he studied it. "Screaming, horny ladies, huh? Sounds liked we found a new dating pool Hutch."

"Sorry boys." Said McLellan, "dancers aren't allowed to fraternize with the clients."

"Damn." Replied a chagrined Starsky.

"Well there goes my idea." Said Starsky as he got up and took the Beta tape from the machine on top of his new television.

Hutch closed his eyes and grimaced. "Dare I ask?"

"A blonde cowboy and an Arab with funny shoes."

"Huh?"

"You know... Rrammmon & McCabe." Starsky shrugged his shoulders. "But since there's already a cowboy; well, that idea's out the window."

"You could still be Rrammmon. Flirting with all those bored married housewives. Look at it this way: it's basically the same thing. Instead of teaching them to dance, you're dancing for them."

Starsky didn't say anything, instead he went to the kitchen and got himself another beer. He heard his partner call from the other room, asking for one also. "Hey buddy, wanna bring me one too?"

"Get up and get it yourself, you big lug you. You're not helpless."

Sighing, Hutch hauled himself off the couch and walked into Starsky's kitchen, where his partner was preparing some Jiffy popcorn over the stove. "Hey Hutch -- hand me that clear yellow bowl up on the second shelf of the cupboard above your head."

As Hutch reached up to get it, Starsky abruptly grabbed his partners by the shoulders and waist, turn him, and gave him another infamous dip.

"What... what the?" Spluttered the blonde.

In an exaggerated Argentinean drawl, Starsky proclaimed to his partner. "What's a Rrammmon without a McCabe? Hmmm?"

Grasping onto his partner with one hand and the countertop with the other, Hutch tried to get his balance and remove himself from his partner's grip. "Starsky! Stop that!" The other released him. "Dammit! I hate it when you do that."

An impish grin was the only reaction Starsky showed as he grabbed his beer, a pencil, and some paper and sat down at his kitchen table. Hutch sat across from him, wondering what the idiot was up to now.

Biting on his lower lip, Starsky began to write: "Okay, can't do cop, cowboy, Indian, construction worker, biker..." He looked up at his partner with a grin, "looks like the Village People are taken -- or pimp."

"What is that?"

"A list of the character's we saw on the tape. Can't repeat any of them."

And what do you suggest? Hutch mentally implied to his partner with his eyes.

"Okay, okay. I guess I could be Rrammmon. I mean, the dj can tell the audience I'm a professional dancer from Argentina and I can come out and do my thing -- which I'm very good at I might say..."

Light blue eyes rolled at the egotistical remark.

"...and you could be the teacher that every girl had a crush on in high school. Come out with a book and a ruler. Naughty, naughty." Dark eyebrows waggled at his partner.

"I don't know Starsk."

"Hey Hutch, we're stuck doing this, we might as well have some fun with it, right?"

"Starsky, we're supposed to try to solve the case."

"I know. I just don't see why we can't give the ladies what they're asking for. They might return the favor, if you know what I mean."

"You were the one so dead set against it in the first place, what made you change your mind?"

Starsky stuck the rubber of the pencil in his mouth while he thought. "I don't know. I like to dance; I like women. Seein' all those undressed men have to make 'em horny."

"Nothing would make them horny enough to go out with you." Hutch bit back with a smirk, taking a gulp of his beer. "Hey I better get going. We need to talk to Dobey about getting a female officer in the audience, and then you can show me some steps."

"An woman from our precinct?" Starsky squeaked out, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"Yeah. We need someone on the other side to watch the women and their reactions."

"But, Hutch that would mean..."

"That one of our co-workers know what's under those jeans?"

Starsky blushed ruddy red and gave a slight nod.

"Hey, it's not like they can't already tell, seeing how tight they are." With a laugh and a dodge from the oncoming hand, Hutch left Starsky alone.

Oh God. I can't do this. Hutch thought to himself staring at the throng of screaming women through a slit in the dark blue curtains behind the stage. "Starsky, I can't do this." He turned to his partner, standing next to him also trying to get a glimpse at the first dancer and how he worked the crowd. Starsky could tell how nervous his partner was just by his ghostly appearance, wide glazed eyes, and dry lips. He himself, wasn't as sure it would be as fun as he thought the previous night.

Hutch was scheduled to go out third out of eight dancers, and Starsky the sixth.

The first dancer soon left the stage and the next took his place. Far too soon for the blonde's comfort, the second dancer ended his strut and the DJ waited a few moments before announcing Hutch.

"Ladies, remember the high-school teacher you secretly had a crush on? Well, make your welcome for 'The Professor'!"

"Go get 'em Blintz." Starsky elbowed his best friend toward the stage side exit.

Stepping out onto the stage and over to the center circle, carrying a briefcase and wearing a traditional suit & tie, Hutch was relieved to see that the bright lights prevented him from seeing out into the audience. That helped Hutch to relax as the beginning sounds of "The Wall Part II" began to thrum over the speakers.

He set the briefcase he was wearing down when he arrived at the front of the stage and loosened the tie around his neck. As he did so he closed his eyes and began swaying slowly to the beat; then removing his jacket and laying it over the briefcase.

From the audience he heard a voice yell, "Get it off!" Smirking Hutch brought the ruler out from his pocket and began smacking it against his palm and then his thigh. The audience started yelping, and Hutch began to get more into the dance as the tempo changed to Alice Cooper's 'School's Out'.

Without consciously realizing it, Hutch slowly removed his dress shirt, leaving the tie on, and whipped off the velcro dress pants.

Turning around several times to give the women a glimpse of his backside, Hutch smacked the ruler against his buttocks, and the screams became deafening. Grinning, but with embarrassment, he turned back around and shook his blonde mane to give it that rustled look that women seemed to like. He picked up the briefcase and whirled it over his head, then passed it between his legs before setting it down again.

Once the set was over Hutch ducked back inside the dark blue curtains, jockey straps holding several bills. He didn't trust the rowdy women enough to get too close, so he didn't collect many tips, but he had to give them a little taste if he didn't want to blow his cover.

He was met with a pat on the back as soon as he entered the staging area. "Hey Blintz, not bad. Ya did pretty good out there. Swirling that briefcase, smacking that ruler. What a naughty boy you are." Starsky leered and threw a robe at him. "Here cover up before you burn yourself from all that blushing."

"Hmmpfh. Well let's see how you react after your turn. Those women are crazy!"

The two went back to the dressing room so Hutch could put his 'uniform' back on for the finale. By the time he was done with his grooming, it was almost Starsky's turn.

"And now ladies, it's time to be entertained by the ultimate Latin Lover... Ramon!"

With that announcement Starsky shimmied onto the stage, dressed in a white shirt, loose black polyester pants, bright red scarf with blue & green patterns, and shiny black-patented leather shoes. Between his teeth he held a bright red rose bud.

Strutting and swirling to a calabash mix, Starsky played to the crowd, even though he couldn't see them well. Whipping the scarf off from his neck and letting it trail down his arm before hanging it back around his neck to drape down his chest, he began to slowly unbutton his silk white shirt. What the hell am I doing?! For a few seconds the jitters hit him and his fingers shook. Get with it David Starsky -- if the Blintz can do it, so can you. Gathering himself together, Starsky began to do his number.

His pants too were lined with velcro for quick removal.

He made his way closer to the edge of the stage than Hutch; and Starsky also gave the ladies several twitches of his luscious ass. The fanatical patrons were lined up five deep in order to try to get a touch of those firm melons. His bright red jockey shorts stood out against his olive toned skin and gave it a golden tint under the lighting.

Strutting back and forth around the stage to make sure everyone got enough of a show, Starsky kept his eyes closed for the most part and pretended his was giving dance lessons again at Ginger's studio. Every once in awhile he would jolt his head down and toward the audience, giving them a pseudo kiss and a wink, which would throw them into a frenzy. The scarf, now draped over his nude shoulders he removed with a wisp and dragged it along the edge of the stage, just touching the fingers of the fanatical women. For a finishing touch he threw the rose out into the crowd, unable to see where it went due to the glare of the lights.

As he did for his partner, so Hutch was waiting for Starsky when his number was over.

Hoping for some action to put this case to bed, Starsky & Hutch hung around back making sure the rest of the men were safe as they left. Unfortunately for them, their perp didn't show that night, so they would have to continue their operation until she showed herself, or until Dobey pulled them.

McLellan told them the next appearance was at 'The Mining Company' in a recently renovated warehouse district down by the Bay, two nights hence. Sighing, realizing they would have to reveal themselves again, the two left for the night to get some rest before popping over at Metro to give Dobey an update and let their other partner in the case, Linda from Vice who they'd worked with before, the location of the dancers next appearance.

No dancer was approached or attacked at The Mining Club either, leaving both detectives frustrated. The next night, Thursday, the dancers were due to perform for "ladies night" at 'Shooters', a new large club on the docks that included an outdoor bar for those in water vehicles. By their third appearance, the two detectives felt more comfortable in their assignment, but most especially Starsky. Being a little less inhibited and always unable to see the audience, his dancing loosened up. While Hutch continued to stay back from the edge of the stage or dance floor, Starsky got bolder and bolder. Sometimes almost tripping when hands wouldn't let go of his legs. Sure hope Linda's watchin' these chicks, 'cause I can't see a damn thing.

Shooters consisted of a large open-air bar and dance floor, two private party rooms, and an entertainment room, called the Sand Room that catered to comics, local bands, and strippers. Tonight, only women were allowed entry into the Sand Room.

The two detectives had re-read the initial assault and medical reports, and re-interviewed any potential witnesses hoping to find something missing or overlooked. Unfortunately the victims couldn't tell them anything more, and the reports though very thorough, yielded nothing out of the ordinary.

The first victim was an average guy, working as a dancer/stripper in the hopes of being 'discovered' for show business. After the second attack, most of the other performers took precautions, with the exception of the last two, who felt they were macho enough to handle any such attack.

Three of the victims did not return to dancing after their attacks. Starsky and Hutch took the place of two, while another man, Greg Gangiones took the place of the man who performed as "The Cowboy". Greg was 28, with dusty blonde hair, and somewhat naive.

Since the other five men continued to take such precautions as before, and Greg, though warned, behaved as though he lived in a bubble, both the detectives felt that Greg would be the next targeted victim. Keeping their guard out for him, when they should've been keeping it out for themselves...

It was just past 12:20 a.m. when the three men left the bar via one of the entrances that opened to the docks. Normally the dancers would've gotten lost in the crowds of people that hovered around the deck and the entryways, but by this time on a weeknight, most partygoers had finished their evening. Linda was waiting outside across the street in her cramped Pinto, watching the dancers leaving and paying particular attention to a young woman leaning against the corner of the building next door -- The Italian Eatery -- while she was also watching people enter and exit Shooters.

The woman had longish brown hair, sweet simple features, and appeared to be slight; not how they pictured their suspect, but as Linda herself knew, the slight figure could contain muscular strength. You don't fool me honey, you got the look of anticipation, but for who or what? Linda asked herself, deciding that she would concentrate on watching the suspicious female, than watching for Dave, Ken, and Greg.

Just as they exited the large doorway, Greg realized he forgot his favorite necklace and turned back to get it. Starsky refused to let him go alone, so he turned around to follow the tall dishwater blonde.

At that point several things happened: The woman leaning against the next building straightened tightly in eagerness, Linda tensed and got out of her car, and the heavy service door to Shooters that led to the alley latched shut. The petite brunette leaning against the eatery heard the door latch and ran back that way to investigate, Linda leaping across the street to follow her. Hutch saw Linda's abrupt movements and turned back inside the club to back-up his partner, knowing Linda could handle anything that came her way.

Just to be safe, Starsky went into the dressing room in front of Greg to make sure no one was hiding out there. Seeing it was clear, he left Greg to look for his favored necklace and went to guard the door. As he stepped out into the hallway, he felt a searing pain when a handful of his curly hair was gripped and yanked backward as a foot connected with the dressing room door, slamming it shut.

In less than 20 seconds, Starsky's attacker, a muscular woman in her mid-30s with curly dull auburn tinted hair, had smashed a wooden board into his head then propped the board beneath the dressing room doorknob, locking Greg inside. Kicking the prone detective in the back, the larger woman walked around him; she knelt down with a small metal nail file gripped between her fingers, intent to do harm written on her face. Just as she began ripping into Starsky's white shirt, leaving scratches from the file on his back, sounds of heavy thumping caused the woman to hesitate, realizing that someone was running her way.

In frustration, the attacker kicked hard with the heel of her stiletto boots into the fallen man's buttocks, before swiveling on her other foot and running down the corridor to go back out the way she initially came through.

The heavy steel door leading to the alley swung open inward, hitting Starsky's assailant on the face and breaking her nose on contact. Stunned, she stumbled backward falling on her haunches, nail file still tightly held in her grip. The slight brunette who had been watching the Shooter's entrance stepped through and almost tripped over the fallen legs of the assailant; who pushed aside the petite brunette and brought the fist with the nail file downward toward her adversary's arm. At that point Hutch appeared at the end of the hallway nearest the bar, while Linda came through the steel side door, startling the assailant, who had forgotten about the footsteps that made her run.

Seeing Linda barreling through the door, Hutch immediately went to Starsky's aide; kneeling down and setting his gun at his side in the event he needed it.

Without thinking, the brunette woman that Linda had been tailing swung her left arm toward her attacker's face, connecting with the right cheek and nose. The larger woman dropped back down holding the side of her face at the surge of more pain. Linda pulled the auburn female to the wall and pulled her weapon, holding the muscular woman back against the wall with it. "Hold it right there," she barked as the brunette -- the woman she'd been trailing -- tried to break away toward the two men on the floor.

"No, I'm a nurse. That man needs help!" The woman pointed to Starsky and dared Linda with her eyes to stop her, while she bounded over to the injured detective. Linda pulled her cuffs out and slapped them on the auburn, who obviously had attacked Detective Starsky; pressing the pulse point in her wrist to make the assailant drop the nail file.

Hutch had pulled Starsky up on his thighs, running his hands over the back of the curly head, looking for an injury. "Who are you?" He asked the young woman who dropped beside him.

"Pam... Pam McMillan. I'm a nurse." She pushed Hutch's hands out of the way, and lifted Starsky's head, tilting his body to lay on his side. "Fold your coat and lay it under his head."

As she looked, she noted a large lump forming on the rear of his skull, but it wasn't bleeding, and the nail file only made surface scratches on his back. Seeing her gentle hands and matter-of-fact inspection of Starsky, Hutch told Linda to watch her and left to call for an ambulance and a black & white.

The first thing Starsky felt when he gained consciousness, was a coolness on his chest, his hand and wrist being held, and his hair smoothed back. Looking sideways, he saw a figure in blue leaning over his form holding a stethoscope to his opened shirt, and holding his wrist with the other hand. That's where the coolness comes from... Tilting his face upwards, he saw an unfamiliar woman with long brown hair that draped over down the sides of her face, tips brushing against his temples. Okay she's got the soothing touch... where's Hutch?

The injured detective began squirming, looking for his partner. When a spasm of pain shot through his head, he grimaced and tightened his eyes shut. That only made him more concerned for the partner he could not see. He tried to verbalize this concern; but moving around only caused more pain and dizziness.

"Hu...Hutch..."

"Shh..." came the soft voice over him.

"Where's... Hutch?"

A large form loomed over and took the hand that was just released by the paramedic. "Right here buddy. You're gonna be okay."

Even though he couldn't see his partner, the lights from above blocking the face, the deep tenor voice made him feel secure and he relaxed, hearing no infirmity in his partner's voice. Much to his dismay, the paramedics strapped Starsky on a gurney for the journey to the hospital, to verify his head injury wasn't serious.

"Linda, I'm going with him. Take these two to the precinct. I'll be in to do my report as soon as I make sure Starsky's okay."

"Don't you wanna cuff that one?" She pointed to Pam, still sitting on the floor, coming down from the adrenaline rush.

"She's a witness, not a suspect. And don't forget the board," he pointed to the doorknob where it was propped then turned to follow the ambulance to Metro to make sure his partner was okay.

Linda decided to drop it for now. She figured the nurse wasn't going anywhere but down to the station and they could figure out her role in all this then. Pulling her prisoner up on her feet none too gently and shoving her toward the uniformed officers who responded to Hutch's call, the brash female detective yelled to the nurse sitting in the center of the hallway, "Come on sister, you're comin' in with me. And don't try to bullshit me, I know you were watchin' that doorway for Starsky and Hutch."

After the hallway was emptied, the stillness was interrupted by a slight knocking on wood and a soft voice. "Guys? Hey, anyone?" Greg tried the door again, and realized not only was it unlocked, but that everyone was gone...

Linda took her detainees into two separate interrogation rooms, making sure a guard stood by the room that held Pam, while she went to interrogate the woman who had attacked both Starsky and Pam.

Hutch ran into her as she was leaving the room, a guard dragging the suspect with him to booking. "Get anything out of her?"

"Nada. She either don't wanna tell or don't care." Linda further explained that the woman said nothing, "just kept scratching her nails on the table and humming some Christian song." She opened the file. "Name's Margaret Pimmel, age 38. No previous arrests, but she's spent time at San Leone's during the early 70s." Linda was tapping the edge of the folder against her hand impatiently, while talking to Hutch. "Nuts if you ask me. The woman's gonna get off 'cause she's nuts; even with the bite evidence and prints on the file and board." She shook her head while looking down at the file, "Assault against a police officer, multiple assault and battery, b and e... she's gotta be crazy." She looked up at the tall blonde detective in front of her, "how's burrito boy?"

"Oh you know Starsk. Head of cement. Couple of superficial scratches and a minor concussion. I took him home before coming back here. Where'd you put McMillan?"

"Down the hall in Room 7. Ya wanna play naughty or nice?"

"I think you'd make a better bad guy -- er, gal in this situation. Besides, she already see's you that way."

The two walked into Interrogation room 7 in different manners. Hutch went first, opening the door quietly; Linda sauntered in chomping gum, eyes narrowed at the young woman sitting at the bent at the table.

"How long do I have to be here?" Pam whined, bored during the two hours she sat staring at the walls with no one to talk to and nothing to do but twine her hair in her fingers and worry about her situation.

Hutch sat on the corner of the table and patted her arm. "We just have a few questions. You are a potential witness of an assault on a police officer."

Meanwhile, Linda paced around the back of her chair. "I dunno Hutch. The way she was lying in wait, I think she was in on it."

"Then why'd she help Starsky?"

Linda ignored Hutch and addressed Pam. "You knew you were caught, right? Tryin' to make good for us, weren't you?" The female detective pointed her finger at Pam as spoke to Hutch, "She was watchin' for ya. I saw her start to follow you guys when you come out the door."

Pam's head snapped up, when she realized she was being considered a suspect -- by the female cop at least. "Of course, I was watching for you." She sighed, realizing she would have to give up her pride. "I wanted to meet your friend, okay?! I figured eventually you'd have to come out, so if I hung around long enough, I'd run into you."

Hutch blushed furiously at her statement, but Linda relaxed her shoulders at the nurse's statement: that sentiment she could understand. "Honey, if you'd wanted to meet Starsky, I could'a helped you there."

"How did I know that? Besides, the advertisements specifically state no approaching the dancers." She looked down at her hands. "So I figured to bend the rules a little bit and try to meet them outside of the club."

"Shit girl! You should'a told me that on the way in or at the scene."

"How was I to know you were scamming the place, looking for someone? Obviously it wasn't on the flyers that a potential attacker was lying in wait for any of the dancers. Bad for business, you know." Pam's voice was scathing when she considered how she was being viewed. "By the way, how's the curly guy?" She tilted her head up, trying not to sound too worried.

"His name's Starsky, Detective Sergeant Dave Starsky."

"Okay. Detective Starsky, then. How is he?"

"He's fine. He's at home with a slight concussion. Can we count on you to testify against the woman who attacked him?" Hutch asked.

"Why'd that woman do that? And then attack me?"

"We don't know -- yet." Linda emphasized the last word.

"Well... can you introduce me to Dave?"

Hutch sighed and rolled his eyes, mumbling something about "his partner and his antics."

Linda barked out a laugh. "Woman after my own heart -- get right to the deal. We pat your back, you pat ours, right?" She sat down next to Pam, and leaned in closer. "Tell you what, why don't you come in to make a statement in say, two days. Starsky should be back then, and I can make sure you happen to 'run into him'."

"Linda..." Hutch warned.

She waved her arm at the other detective, "hush, Golden Boy, how else is a woman supposed to meet a nice guy?"

"Can you tell me a little about him -- what he's really like? He seems like he'd be a lot of fun and he's a heck of a dancer."

Linda squealed. She loved talking to other women about the guys she worked with. Hutch was not as happy to be discussing his partner, especially while he was in the same room. "Now how do you think they did? I mean was it obvious that they weren't pros?"

"Well Detective Hutchinson was a little stiff..." Pam blushed, while Linda cackled "oops, sorry."

"I'll bet he was, weren't you Hutchie." She leaned over and pinched his butt cheek. "Tell you the truth I always wanted to see him a little stiff myself."

Pam cleared her throat, both her's and Hutch's faces burning. "I mean, you could tell he was a little uncomfortable. But Detective Starsky, wow -- can he dance! And he's just so adorable..."

There was no way Hutch was going to be able to stay in the room while the women talked about his partner so blatantly. "I'll... I'll, uh, just leave you two alone for now. Pam, we can expect you back in a few days?"

"Huh? Oh sure. Two days. I'll call first so you know when I'm coming down."

Hutch mumbled as he walked out the door. "More likely you want to make sure Starsky's around."

As he walked into the hallway, Pam called over her shoulder, "Detective Hutchinson?" Hutch turned back with his arm holding the door wide open. "You really know how to use a ruler!"

If Hutch had been out in Death Valley for two days, he couldn't've turned any redder; that is until he stumbled out into the hallway and saw Simmons and Babcock bent over in tears and laughter.

For the next week Hutch received all sorts of lovely 'presents' on his desk while he was off duty or on the streets. Rulers, ties, a couple of bikini shorts in vibrant colors with dollar bills stapled to them. Starsky wasn't left out either, getting a few roses and the same bikini shorts only in tiger stripes and leopard prints. However, he took it all in stride and wasn't as fun to tease as the blonde detective was.

Starsky was completely healed in a week and a half after his run in with a board at Shooters. At the end of their shift, telling Hutch he had an errand to run, he left his partner to finish writing their report on the robbery suspect they had apprehended earlier that morning. 45 minutes later the dark-haired detective was back to pick up his partner and dressed to the nines. Dark blue Oleg Cassini suit with black dress shoes, a grey-blue satin tie, and a dove grey silk shirt. Every mouth in the squad room dropped open as he danced around with an imaginary woman in his arms.

"Starsky? What the...?"

"Gotta dance!" The subject in question twirled around, showing off his new persona.

"Is there a funeral I don't know about? Are you going under as some gangster?" Hutch was worried that his friend had gone off the deep end.

"Nope." Starsky grabbed Hutch by the hands and pulled him into his arms, twirling the worried, stumbling blonde. "Ramon's gonna do a little performance tonight." He wiggled his eyebrows. "Gotta keep the image up, ya know?"

"WHAT! You're... you're not going back and... and... you know."

"What? Do a little strip dance?" He leered at his partner and everyone else, who were also thinking along the same lines as Hutchinson -- that his partner had finally lost it.

Picking up another rose left as a joke on his desk, he waved it at his partner, "Let's go Hutch -- duty calls!" He put the rose between his teeth and shuffled out the squad room, leaving a stunned best friend behind.

Wonder if I should fill him in that it's a private dance for Pam? Starsky chuckled to himself as he pictured his partner's face as he walked out. Nah... I'll just let him stew awhile.

The End

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Last modified: 07/15/07