Opening the Doors
 

by MysticWhim and Hutchlover

The scene was a mess. That's the only way Starsky could describe it as he looked around the dingy, cramped basement of this rundown row house.

Blood was everywhere, splattered on makeshift furniture, walls and ceiling, less on the floor. One of the grimy basement windows was broken, and by the pattern of glass outside, it appeared something had recently been thrown through it from the inside, possibly during a fight.

Plastic crates—obviously used in place of tables—were overturned; the mattress on the floor had several perpendicular tears. Drug paraphernalia was scattered everywhere; bags of marijuana and pills spilled across the floor.

Sighing at the influence of drugs, Starsky turned away from the team gathering evidence and turned his attention back to the coroner's assistant and the three bodies strewn around the flat.

Two of the bodies were so unrecognizable as to only determine sex, with slash and hack marks to the face and chest. The third had a knife wound across half the throat, the carotid artery sliced right through.

One of the bodies still lay on its back in the rough bed, legs dangling over the side. The other two were on the floor, one on top the other; the body on top the one with the neck wound.

"So, what've we got here?" Hutch walked down the steps after checking the upstairs rooms.

Turning at the sound of his partner's voice, Starsky swung around and addressed the coroner's team. "Ginny? What can you tell us so far?"

"Well, death for all three appears to be due to excessive blood loss from multiple stab wounds. Of course, an autopsy will make it official, but I can almost guarantee with 99% certainty that's what Bob's going to say. Body number one, here on the bed," she pointed with her pen, "is slightly cooler than the other two, so I'm going to make a venture that his time of death is about half an hour to an hour earlier than the other two. Based on rigor mortis, I'd say that time of death for the other two was between 8-10 hours ago or anywhere from 6:00 to 11:00 last night."

"Any IDs?"

"That one was Jake Bonner, probable perp and suicide victim," Starsky said, pointing to the victim with the throat wound.

"The other two have IDs, but we'll have to get fingerprints to confirm since their faces are too destroyed to make a visual ID," added Ginny.

The paramedics began loading the bodies onto gurneys for transport to County's pathology lab for the autopsies.

"Make sure blood and tissue samples are taken right away for the tox. We don't want the bodies to decay any more," Ginny shouted after the men.

Turning back to the scene, Hutch waved his hand around. "Bag all this crap." He told the uniforms, indicating the miscellaneous overturned beer and coffee mugs, an overflowing basket of waste paper, and even bags of pork rinds, Fritos, marshmallows and other food stuffs.

"That's an awful lot of crap, Sarge," one uniform whined back.

"I don't care. Anything and everything might play an important part of what happened here. Don't they teach you anything in the Academy anymore?"

"I think it's pretty obvious how these jokers died and what happened here," muttered the same cop under his breath.

But not enough so that Hutch didn't hear it. The taller blond man turned halfway and glared at the younger man. "Are you questioning a superior?"

Starsky placed his hand on Hutch's upper arm, gentling him. "Hey, Hutch, calm down. He's not the bad guy."

"Yeah, I know, Starsky." He rubbed his head in much the same way Dobey did when frustrated. "It's just...You know how this kind of scene gets to me."

Pulling his partner to a corner to be discreet, Starsky reassured Hutch. "Hutch, this does not symbolize you. You never got this bad. I never would've let you get to this level."

"But if I'd been given some bad horse, Starsk, it could've been me."

Rubbing the broad back and not worrying about how it looked to the others in the room, Starsky continued to pacify Hutch's worry and guilt with both words of assurance and his presence. Then he turned his partner's focus back onto the crime scene at hand. "We got lots to do here, buddy, so let's start by running down info on one Jake Bonner."

*           *           *

Rather than stopping in to update Dobey, the two detectives decided to first gather as much background information as possible on Jake Bonner, while they had Minnie run down any past priors. Checking out the address listed on a bill in the dead man's wallet, Starsky and Hutch found a small one-room in a by-the-week rental. According to the sullen desk clerk, Jake had lived there for several months and he apparently lived alone, with few visitors. Or at least none that the clerk was willing to talk about.

There was little to go on inside the small room where Jake Bonner made his address. No sign of drugs or paraphernalia in the tiny, plain, single room, which told the detectives that he did his shooting up elsewhere. Hopefully some of his acquaintances could give them further information. Starsky found a tattered address book on top of the scratched and worn dresser, and tucked it into his back pocket for later perusal.

After taking a short study of Jake's living habits, the two men headed back downstairs and dropped a card off to the gum-chomping, bored clerk, in the event anyone showed up looking for the dead man.

"Where to now, Hutch?"

"How 'bout some lunch and then we head back to give Dobey an update and catch up on anything else? Maybe Minnie will have something for us on Bonner."

Just as her name left Hutch's mouth, the radio came to life with a patch from the lady. "Hey, boys. Got a present for you."

"Please tell me it's a video showing the actual murders."

Minnie chuckled ruefully. "You've got to promise me something you can't, if you want that information Starsky, honey."

"You're incorrigible."

"So are you, sweetie, but I suspect you already know that. Anyway, I've got a profile for you on Jake Bonner. A nice list of misdemeanors and petty trouble since his teens. Mostly drug related, with a few assaults thrown in, but nothing heavy."

"Addresses?"

"Got those, too. Come back to Minnie, darlin', and I'll give you whatever I've got," she insinuated, tongue in cheek.

"Minnie, you are bad! Now, love, keep your hands to yourself. I got a 6'2 blond bodyguard who'll protect this luscious body of mine."

The sound of a heavy, exaggerated sigh filtered through the radio. "Don't I know it, sweetie."

"We'll be back at the station in a bit and pick it up from you then." Hutch finally broke in to end the conversation. Starsky and Minnie could flirt with each other for hours on end if he didn't nip it in the bud from time to time.

"I'll be waiting with bells on, Blondie."

*           *           *

Since they hadn't been at their desks all morning, the first thing Starsky and Hutch did was to grab some coffee and check for any messages, before stopping down at Research for the file on Jake Bonner. However, their captain waylaid them before they could even take their outer jackets off and hang them over their chairs.

"What can you tell me so far about the triple homicide you got called in on this morning?"

"Well, first we don't think it's a triple homicide, but rather a double and a suicide."

"On what are you basing your assumptions, Starsky? From the information I was given, all three men had fatal stabs wounds."

"That may be true, but we think Jake Bonner murdered his two companions, then offed himself."

Dobey flipped through some papers on his desk. "Jake Bonner, which one was he?"

"The one with the sliced neck. The only one we could identify at the scene."

"Okay, you tell me: How can a man commit to slicing his neck half open?" Dobey asked dubiously.

"If he's under the pull of some serious drugs, it's possible." Hutch shrugged. "That's the coroner's opinion unofficially. But we can't officially state that's what happened until we get her report, the tox and forensics."

"What about the other two victims?"

"Nothing yet. Their faces were too mutilated, so we're hoping for a print match."

"Bonner's background? Next of kin?" Dobey was going through the motions, he knew these two would cover all the necessary steps, but he also needed to be kept informed.

"Minnie's got a rundown on all of that for us."

"In fact that's where we were headed when you stopped us," Starsky added, picking at the rubber on the sole of his shoes.

"Well, then, this isn't leisure time! I suggest you get down there and quit wasting your time here with me."

"But you're the one who..." sputtered Starsky, waving his arm.

Hutch was on the way out the door and grabbed his partner's arm, dragging him out the hallway door and downstairs to Minnie's desk.

*           *           *

"Well, Hutch, what now?" Starsky asked, flipping over the last page of the file that Minnie had prepared for them on Jake Bonner.

The file listed several past addresses, misdemeanors, incarcerations and associates of Jake Bonner, but no next of kin, no job, nothing to show this man had a life outside of causing trouble and getting high.

Hutch shrugged his shoulders. "I guess we start with the addresses and see if anyone in any of those areas remembers Bonner. After that, we start with his friends."

*                      *           *

After a long 12-hour day, the two cops had exhausted all their leads connected to Jake Bonner, and all they'd come up with was the image of a solitary, wasted man who'd frittered his life away on petty theft and using drugs. None of his few friends were able—or willing—to divulge from whom he obtained his drugs.

Calling it a night, they hoped that Ginny or Forensics had more for them tomorrow on the other two victims that would lead them to determine what happened in the tiny basement abode on Fulton.

*           *           *

Since Starsky had an appointment to get his hair cut after work, they drove in separately the next morning. The haircut would be much to their captain's pleasure. Starsky's hair was getting a little long even for Hutch, who loved to twist his fingers around the deep ebony curls and splay his hands into its thickness when his lover was pleasuring him. After one too many 'Dobey's Angel' quips, Starsky was finally giving into the pressure of getting the mane trimmed.

Shaking said mane into some semblance of style as he placed his leather coat over the back of his chair, Starsky addressed his already working partner. "Morning, Hutch. I see you're already diving into the dirge of paper. You want me to call Ginny, see if she's got anything for us on those other two bodies?"

"Nice try, partner. Dobey's saved the best for you, since it's not my fault you take so long in the shower, having to wash that mop of yours." Hutch grinned broadly at the sight of dark blue eyes rolling upward at him from across the desk. "I've been hard at work for 20 minutes already, and Ginny said the reports will be up in the first mail run this morning."

"Where is Dobey?" Starsky looked back and forth, knowing that he was already slightly late and hoping to avoid any confrontation—either about his hair or his perpetual tardiness.

Before Hutch could answer, the man himself walked through the double doors to the squad room, coffee in one hand and a bagel smothered in cream cheese and grape jelly in the other.

"You're late," Dobey grumbled. "Your partner's already been working on his reports on the Bonner investigation, what've you done? And I thought you were getting your hair cut?!" Not waiting for an answer, Dobey walked into his office, leaving the door open so he could enjoy his breakfast in relative peace, yet still be able to keep an eye on his detectives.

Mouth dropped open and unable to get a word out in response to Dobey's questions, Starsky finally turned slitted eyes to his partner. "Gee, thanks for the warning, Hutch."

Looking over his shoulder, Hutch sought to distract his partner. "Oh, look, here comes Annette with the mail run." He hurriedly got up to waylay her, and in his haste stumbled over his chair leg.

Walking back to his desk while opening a tan interoffice envelope, he bumped into the same chair while pulling out the contents.

"Well, are you gonna share?"

"Huh?" Hutch looked up from the file he was perusing. "Oh, sorry."

"What's the word on the two other guys in that apartment?"

Papers flipped through large fingers. "Yeah. The guy who was on the bed was Rocky Jameson, age 24. Death due to excessive loss of blood, like we thought. Parents live in Westlake. The other guy is identified as George 'Effy' Foster, age 45. Divorced, one sister in Washington. More defensive wounds on Foster and Bonner, than on Jameson. Effy...Effy Foster. Why does that name sound familiar?" Hutch shook his head to clear it as he read more of the report and flipped briefly to another page and sat up sharply.

"Starsk, get this... The tox screen shows evidence of marijuana, LSD and Primicarb in all three victims system. Less of a dose in Jameson."

"Permacarb? Isn't that some sort of, uh, weed killer or something?"

"Primicarb. P-R-I-M-I. And not exactly. It's a pesticide. The government put a severe restriction on it in 1979. It can only be used on certain Southern-growing fruits."

"So how'd it get in their system? Somehow these guys don't strike me as healthy eaters."

"Good question, partner. Maybe the pot?"

"If that primercarb is a pesticide, where'd it come from? Is it mixed in the LSD? Who's harvesting it? And where? Here or Mexico? Or somewhere else and it's being transported in?"

Hutch didn't bother correcting Starsky this time on the pronunciation, lost in the onslaught of his questions. Then his phone rang, and he picked up the receiver slowly, still mulling over how much bigger their case had gotten by just reading a tox report. "Hutchinson." His salutation was mumbled as he scribbled some notes on a pad in front of him, but what the caller said drew his attention to the phone.

"Here? Right now?" His sharp tone of voice caught Starsky's attention and he held up his pen to hold off any questions his partner wanted to ask. "Okay, put him in a conference room and we'll be right down."

"What's up? Who was that?"

"You're not going to believe this. That was Clemmons at the front desk. Gino's downstairs. Wants to see us."

"Gino's here?" Starsky squeaked out as he lifted his leg around his chair to get up.

Chuckling at the stunned look on his lover's beautiful face, Hutch stood up at the same time to go find out what Gino wanted. "Yeah, must be real important if he wants to meet us here, rather than contacting us at home."

Watching them leave their desks from inside his office, Dobey stood up and called after them. "Hey! Where do you think you're going?! You've got paperwork to finish!"

Exchanging glances, Hutch answered for both. "Sorry, Cap. We just got a call on a possible lead in the Bonner case." Then he followed after Starsky, who was holding the door open for his partner.

"What'd you tell him that for, Hutch? You wanna get Gino in trouble?"

"He'll never know and we can always tell him our lead didn't pan out."

Bounding down to the first floor, they found that Officer Clemmons had put Gino in Conference Room B. Not wanting to startle their friend, they knocked first before opening the door.

The icon to '60s hipness was reclined in one of the hard wooden chairs, his fingers rapping on the table.

"Hey, Gino. Everything okay?"

"Yeah, we figured you'd never set one foot inside a police station—at least not voluntarily," Starsky added, attempting some humor at the grim look on his friend's face.

Gino jumped to his feet. "Man, you guys know I wouldn't come down here if it wasn't important."

"Are you in trouble?"

He looked at Hutch, affronted. "Hell, no, man!" Placing his hand in the center of his chest, Gino exclaimed, "I'm an upstanding citizen, you know that." He cast a wink at Hutch as he sat back down in his seat, while Starsky and Hutch sat across from him. "Nah, it's just that I'm freaked about something that's going down."

"Like what?"

Flower Pot's eyes darted back and forth around the room. "Not here, man. The walls have ears, dig?"

"Gino, if all you wanted was to set up a meet, why not just call us?"

"Because I wanted to make sure I got your attention. This is really important, man."

"Can you tell us anything? Give us a head's up?" Hutch asked.

Gino looked at Starsky, then Hutch, and addressed the latter. "Yeah, okay. You remember my friend George Foster from college, Hutch? You met him once, same day we met, I think."

All of a sudden the name on the autopsy report they got this morning rang a bell. "Effy!"

"Yeah, man that was his street name. Well, his ol' lady got word last night that he bought the farm. And I think it's related to some other heavy shit that's going down."

Exchanging meaningful glances with his partner, Starsky asked, "What other stuff?"

Again, Gino looked around the room. "I don't wanna say. I trust you two, and maybe the man upstairs," he said in reference to Dobey, "but I'd rather continue our little discussion someplace else. But not my pad, either."

"Where do you suggest then, Gino?"

"Tonight. Huggy's, 7:00. We can use one of his rooms in back. I don't want Grace knowing about this."

The two detectives escorted their friend out the back door of the precinct, so his departure would go unobserved.

After escorting Gino out quietly, the first thing they did was run down the list of known associates that RandI had compiled on Effy Foster. Luckily, nowhere did Gino's or Grace's names appear on the report.

The rest of the day was spent running down information on Rocky Jameson and Effy Foster. Jameson still lived with his older parents and held down a job. None of his family or co-workers were even aware of any problems Rocky may have had with drugs.

Eventually the leads they ran down led them to the probability that Bonner was a small time dealer, Foster one of his long-time clients, and they hooked up with Jameson through the local bar scene.

Since Flower Pot was a friend of Foster's, and possibly knew Bonner, hopefully he could confirm this connection when they met with him later. This could be a good lead for our case, so technically we didn't lie to Dobey, reasoned Hutch.

While Starsky went to appease his partner and boss by getting his hair cut, Hutch went back to the precinct to write their reports to mollify their Captain, before they met at Huggy's for dinner and dialogue.

*           *           *

Huggy's bar wasn't at capacity, being a work night, but was still busy enough that the detectives didn't stand out when they veered immediately to the back room where Flower Pot said he'd meet them.

The man in question had not arrived yet, but Huggy noticed everything that went on in his bar and brought the two men back a much needed beer, and took their dinner orders. He knew beforehand who his two cop friends were meeting and why.

"It ain't for me to question the man himself why he's here, but from what I've been hearin' on the street, y'all oughta listen to Flower Pot."

Hutch reached over and snagged the lime green satin shirt sleeve gracing the arm of their friend. "Huggy, are you withholding information that could help us?"

The slim, dark head nodded in the direction of the long-haired man entering the room. "Listen to what Flower Pot has to say first. Then come to ol' Huggy Bear and he'll fill in some blanks." Turning around, he greeted Gino with a high five and went to place Starsky and Hutch's dinner orders with the kitchen.

"So what's the important information you've got for us, Flower Pot?" Hutch addressed their friend.

"Yeah, it isn't like you to snitch on anyone for us." As confused as Starsky was that he would come to them, Flower Pot could be a font of valuable information with his connections. However, the two cops would never damage their friendship by pushing the man to give up anyone unless that person had committed a major felony.

Thinking along the same lines, Gino told them that he hated using their friendship when trouble arose, "But something's happenin' out there, man, and I'm not sure it's all well and good."

"What do you mean? On the streets?"

"You know my buddy Tweek, right? The one who gets me some primo weed? Like the stuff I got you when you were sick, Hutch?"

Still slightly embarrassed that he had resorted to using an illegal substance to help him during his chemo, even though it was the only thing that had aided his side effects, Hutch acknowledged Flower Pot's statement with a nod. A slight smile came to his face as he recalled the few good days with his friend during a rough time in his life.

"Well, Tweek's not only my supplier—so to speak—he's also a good friend and a great guy. But he's missing, man. He's dropped out, gone underground, for like, two weeks. That's not like Tweek, not even when the heat's on."

"What do you think happened, then?" Starsky asked.

"About a week ago, I got a phone call from this guy who identifies himself as 'Tweek's new partner'. Now I've never heard of this guy before, and I know most of the up and up dealers in the area." He leaned forward. "Anyway, he tells me that I should come to him now when I need something and that Tweek was too busy 'branching out' to be bothered with petty delivery stuff."

He paused and looked both men in the eye directly, one at a time. "Now I know Tweek real well, and he'd never ask me to get him clients, but this Digger guy wants me to double my client base. Since me and Tweek are good friends, one, he would've come right out and told me what's going down, rather than going through some dude I don't know from Adam; and two, he knows I don't deal out of my house. Then this guy suggests I start selling hard drugs, man. Pushing coke, heroin, speed, all kinds of shit. That's not my bag, man."

"Anything else?"

"Yeah, this dude mentioned a new product on the streets 'they' were pushing, which was part of the reason Tweek's supposedly been so busy, and that he'd drop over one night to introduce it and himself. Said he knew my address, man, and the fact that Grace tokes now and then, and he obviously had my phone number. I put him off by telling him that I don't do business in the house, that I'd meet him somewhere else. Told him if a bust went down there, I could lose my pad."

"You didn't mention Garrett, did you?"

"Hell, no, I'm not stupid, man. Don't want to put my kid in danger if this guy's not legit. And I've got a bad feeling he's not. If he was close to Tweek, he would've known I don't allow drugs in my house." Flower Pot shook his head. "There was something about the way he said Grace's name, man, that just made my skin crawl. Like knowing her name gave him some power trip, some threat, over me."

Starsky brought up the next obvious subject. "So what does this have to do with Foster?"

"Foster only bought from Tweek or me. Bonner, I didn't know well, but I know he used Tweek, too."

"So you're thinking that this guy, what's his name?"

"Digger, he calls himself."

Hutch continued, "So you think Digger is bringing in some new pot and trying to take over Tweek's base?"

"Hutch, I don't mind telling you. I'm scared to death here," Flower Pot confessed. "People are dying, man! I don't know what to do about it. I knew Foster! He would buy from me sometimes and we toked together. He wasn't violent! That dude didn't have a mean bone in his body. I can't believe he'd freak out like that."

"What do you think happened, Gino?" Starsky asked.

Flower Pot shook his head. "I think there's something else in that pot. Sounds like maybe PCP," he ventured. "Maybe Digger laces his pot...." He shook his head. "My best guess is that it's PCP and something else. Something I've never dealt with before. This is a bum trip, man. Freaky."

The two detectives glanced at each other. They had a good idea what might be laced in the pot.

"Why lace pot?" Starsky inquired. "What's the benefit?"

"Good question." Gino sat back. It's not unheard of to lace joints with PCP. They call it killer weed. It's not real common, though. That shit's really potent. They use it as an animal tranquilizer, like for horses and elephants. A little bit goes a long way toward getting you high. But, it's usually snorted, like blow...uh...cocaine. You don't smoke it." He chuffed at the thought. "Why put PCP in a joint? It's a waste, man. That's like putting coke in your weed." He shrugged. "I guess it could be used in some crappy weed, just to make it more potent. I could see this Digger doing that. Buying inferior pot and lacing it, then selling it for some heavy bread."

"But would PCP cause all the reactions we're talking about?" Hutch wondered. "Going crazy, the violence, death?"

"Freaking out, sure," Flower Pot nodded. "You can hallucinate on that shit. You can see angels or demons, you float out of your body, see all kinds of scary crap. Sometimes it's heaven, sometimes it's hell. Yeah, man, a guy could freak out on that shit, easy. It could make you act violently, I guess, especially if you're scared outta your mind. I don't know about it making you kill, though. Never heard of that, but I suppose it's possible. Like I said, though, laced pot isn't that common. You hear about pot being laced with tobacco, but that's mostly in Europe. Not here."

Starsky sat back into the couch.  "Have you ever heard of pot being laced with anything else?"

"LSD," Flower Pot replied thoughtfully. "Meth. Even embalming fluid. I don't know about any of that. I don't know anybody that's done it, personally."

Starsky got a strange, disgusted look on his face. "Embalming fluid?!"

Flower Pot smiled and shrugged. "Not me, man. Never touched the stuff."

The primicarb. Both detectives thought the same thing and knowing eyes met across the table.

"This still doesn't answer the question of why." Hutch shook his head. "Why lace the marijuana? Say it's laced with PCP. That could be to mask the inferior product he's selling. But what is it that's making these smokers freak out to this extent? And why put it in the pot? It doesn't seem to be targeting anyone in particular, like a hit, or revenge. Not that we know of, anyway."

Snapping his fingers, Starsky jumped to the edge of his seat. "To hook 'em?" he asked excitedly. "Flower Pot, could this stuff be addictive?"

Understanding dawned on Flower Pot's face. "Hell, yeah, man! It could be! That would explain a lot. Especially if all your victims were heavy pot smokers. I know Foster was. Digger could be lacing the pot with something that gets 'em hooked, keeps 'em coming back for more, and puts it on this cheap weed that he gets for next to nothing. It probably wouldn't have too much in it, so the casual users wouldn't have that big of a problem with it. But give it to someone who smokes a lot, and they could be ODing on the shit. Man, that's cold. Damn!" he suddenly exclaimed, smacking his hand down on his leg. "The black hash!"

Starsky's head popped up. "Black hash?"

"Yeah, Digger's been pushing me to sell his black hash, too. I've been reluctant to get into selling it, though, to be honest, I was interested in smoking it. I've had it before, and it's primo stuff, man. It's also called border hash. Tribesmen make it on the Pakistan/Afghani border. The cannabis is pounded, using a huge stone suspended from a see-saw-like doo-hickey. The stone smashes the THC from the plant into a big bowl, shaped like a wok. Put a fire under it and it heats up the mix, turning it black. The quality is excellent. Problem is, you have to be careful where you get this black hash. It's supposed to be black from the heating, but sometimes it's black because it contains opium. I avoid that opium shit, man. I don't get into addictive crap."

"You think Digger is trying to push opium-laced hashish?" Hutch asked incredulously.

"Possibly. You could have a hell of a lot of unsuspecting pot smokers suddenly addicted to opium. And Digger will be making a hell of a lot of bread off of it."

"If there's a lot of cash on the line," Hutch mused, "Digger might be a very dangerous man to deal with. He stands to lose a lot if anyone stands in his way."

Flower Pot exhaled a long breath. "You believe Tweek's dead, don't you?"

Unable to meet Flower Pot's sad eyes, Hutch looked away. Forcing himself to look back at his friend, he nodded. "I'm afraid that might be the case, Gino. I'm sorry."

He sighed. "Okay, man. Tell me what we gotta do to catch this asshole." He clapped his hands together once, forcing an enthusiasm he didn't really feel.

"How about taking on a coupla partners, Flower Pot?" Starsky suggested, looking at Hutch. "We could be old friends of yours that just returned to town, and you decide to go ahead and sell the harder stuff, but want to bring in two partners - us."

"You two?" he asked, astounded. "I can't pass the two of you off as my business partners!" He shook his head. "No way, man. My customers – and friends - would never buy me working with you two." He laughed to himself. He looked Hutch up and down, then repeated the scrutiny with Starsky. He laughed harder. "No way!"

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other, confused. "Why not?" Starsky asked.

"Look at you, man!" Flower Pot laughed again. He gestured at Starsky's clothing. "Look at how you're dressed, for one thing! And that hair, Starsky." He shook his head in amusement.

Starsky's mouth dropped open. "How I'm dressed?! What's wrong with how I'm dressed?" He took a mental inventory; jeans, t-shirt, sneakers, jacket...

"Starsky, many of my customers are friends. I've known a lot of these people for years. Some I knew back when I was a kid. They're like me. They're older, honest and reliable—laid back. Most of 'em were activists in the '70s. Peace loving, pot smoking, war protesting, aging hippies. Some of 'em were there, back at BCU, when the cops beat the shit outta us for the sit in at the Union. Now, can you see me bringing you over, with your mirrored aviator sunglasses and your flak jacket? Shit! And I haven't seen your hair look that short since the academy, man. You look like a cop, Starsky! Or a Marine! You look like you represent everything they protested against! Some of these people were conscientious objectors. Some had to work in the Peace Corps when they refused to be drafted. They're not gonna warm up to some guy who looks like a vet. All of 'em burned their draft cards. Some went to jail, peace­ably protesting the Viet Nam war.

Hutch was chuckling as Starsky fumed. "I do not look like a Marine," he complained through gritted teeth.

"Don't compare him to a Marine," Hutch warned in a hushed voice. "Starsky was Army."

"Yeah, man, he looks it," Flower Pot insisted as Hutch laughed harder. "And, honestly, Starsky, you just reek of cop to me. Those glasses don't help any...."

"Bullshit," Starsky complained, pulling the glasses that hung from his shirt pocket by one earpiece and tossing them aside. "So I didn't dress for the occasion today. I'll dress the part when we're under."

"Won't work," Flower Pot said again. "These people come to me because they relate to me. You won't fit in, Starsky. They get high. They've gotten high for years. You just don't act like a stonie. These people are Mellow, with a capitol M! Laid back. They're flower children, for crying out loud. A half dozen of 'em lived in the commune with me. You'll drive them crazy with your energy. You can't sit still for ten minutes. Nobody who's smoked pot for twenty years would be as wound up as you. They wouldn't buy it. You'd either make 'em nervous, or suspicious."

Starsky dropped his face into his hands. "Have a little faith in me, Flower Pot. This is my job. I know what I'm doing!"

Flower Pot stood up. "And this is my job, my livelihood. Trust me here. I might be able to pass off Hutch, but I can't pass you off as a business partner of mine. I'm sorry, man."

"Hutch?!" Starsky shouted, completely flabbergasted.

Hutch was just as surprised as Starsky. "Me?"

"Yeah, you I think I can pass off," Flower Pot reasoned. "You've got the long hair, you get into organic foods and yoga, play the guitar, into poetry, art... You've got potential. You need to lose the preppy clothes, but I could see you blending into my crowd."

Hutch subconsciously reached up and touched his long hair. During his fight with cancer, and his hellacious battle with chemo, he had lost all of his hair. When it had finally started to grow back, he had refused to cut it, or to shave. It wasn't until it was past his shoulders, with his facial hair blending in, and Starsky was constantly harping at him, that he finally consented to a shave and a minimal trim. The texture of the strands had changed somewhat, growing back a bit thicker than before, and it was now liberally streaked with snow white hairs, especially at the temples. The white highlights gave him an even sexier look, and an aura of mystery. Starsky was completely enamored with his new look, and playfully teased him about truly becoming a "white knight".

"Now, wait a goddamn minute!" Starsky argued. "You think Hutch will fit in with your aging hippies better than I would? I can't believe this! I've worked undercover before, ya know. I'm sure I can handle a simple assignment."

"What if we just have me go under?" Hutch suggested.

"No!" Adamant, Starsky refused to consider Hutch going solo on this. "It's too danger­ous. Gino needs us both. And I'm not letting you go in without me at your back." He was also uncomfortable with the idea of Hutch being surrounded by the drugs without his support, though he never would have admitted it to his partner. Hutch's forced heroin addiction had been left behind many years ago, kicked cold turkey, and he had never shown a weakness for it since. But he was not about to let Hutch wander into the lions' den, or in this case the opium den, without his support and his protection. It was far too risky.

Ignoring Starsky's argument, Flower Pot turned to face Hutch directly. "Hutch, I'm having a few of my best customers over tomorrow night. You should stop by. If you can pass yourself off with this group, you should be able to pass yourself off to Digger and the rest of my customers. These guys I've known for a long time, and they're good friends. They're also real intelligent and shrewd. If you can get them to believe your cover story, I'll take you on as a partner." Hutch nodded in agreement. Flower Pot looked to Starsky. "I'm sorry, Starsky. I gotta stick to my guns here. You'd never fool this crowd, and I'd lose my customers and my friends if they even suspected I'd bring a cop around."

Completely insulted by their lack of faith in him, Starsky stormed off toward the door. "This isn't over!" he declared as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Hutch winced at the loud slam. "We insulted him," he said ruefully.

"I feel bad for him, man, really I do. But I know these people, and I know they're not gonna fall for Starsky being an old party buddy of mine. If he gets pegged as a cop, it's all over. Even if we don't get killed, even if it never gets back to Digger, I'll still lose my livelihood. I bring a cop into the mix, and no one will have anything to do with me again."

"I know, Flower Pot. Give him time. He'll calm down. I'll talk to him." Hutch looked at the closed door and sighed. He knew it wouldn't be that easy; Starsky was really pissed.

Flower Pot sat beside Hutch. "We're gonna need a street name for you, you know. A nickname. Nobody goes by their real name; it's safer that way. What do you say we resurrect 'Jazz'?"

"Jazz!" Hutch exclaimed with a happy smile. "I haven't heard that for years. Yeah, I guess that will do." Then Hutch stopped suddenly. "No, wait. I think I'd rather keep that name and that memory between us and our friends. Let's go with something original for this job."

Studying Hutch for a moment, Flower Pot cocked his head to the side. "How about 'Moonbeam'? It would suit you."

Hutch got a faraway look. "Lapis," he announced. "Let's go with 'Lapis'."

"The blue stone?" Flower Pot mused. "Yeah, man, it works, especially with those eyes. Lapis it is." Then he stood up and clapped Hutch on the shoulder. "Now let's get to work on these threads, Lapis. You need a major overhaul here."

*           *           *

"What do you mean, you plan on going undercover alone, Hutchinson?!" sputtered Dobey. "What have I told you two about private parties?" Without waiting for an answer from the blond detective standing in front of his desk, the larger man continued. "And that entails you and partner together alone, or only one of you alone—without backup."

Starsky stood back by the door and smirked at Dobey's rant, still offended that Gino didn't think he had it in him to fill the shoes of a hippie or a conscientious objector. He watched as his partner debated his way through Dobey's objections. Dobey isn't a dummy. He's not gonna fall for your innocent big blue eyes look, babe.

"Captain, our source gave us enough information to believe that the deaths of Bonner and his companions are related to some bad weed being pushed on the streets. We take this guy down and we can close up our case and prevent more deaths from occurring."

"Care to explain?"

"Because there's no way a person not under the influence of some serious drugs would be able to cut his throat the way Bonner did. And the tox screen on all three men showed signs of LSD and an illegal pesticide. Our informant told us that lacing marijuana with other drugs is a common enough practice, though probably not in this quantity. And that proof backs up other information given to us about a new pusher with a new stock of drugs."

Continuing, Hutch explained what they'd learned about the pesticide. "We consulted with Germaine in toxicology. Primicarb has a high instance of neurological brain wave interference. It also depresses the respiratory system and long-term effects can cause lung cancer, and reproductory damage; just being subjected to breathing it releases high levels of endorphins into the blood system. A combined effect with the preparation required to turn infected marijuana leaves to tobacco form, would give the user an adrenaline rush and short-term uncontrolled strength. Add in the hallucinations from the LSD...."

"Okay, I see the need to get this stuff off the streets and find the supplier, but who's this informant? I'm assuming it's not Huggy Bear or you would've said so."

For the first time since coming to Dobey, Hutch's eyes dropped and he wouldn't look at his captain. He was well aware of Dobey's feelings regarding Gino and his displeasure at Hutch using marijuana when he was fighting Hodgkin's. "At this point we can't say."

"Shades of Lionel," Dobey mumbled. "Can you trust him?"

"Absolutely," injected Starsky.

Looking over at the unusually quiet detective, Dobey asked Starsky, "What about you? Why aren't you standing next to your partner, pushing for this?"

Rolling his head to the side, Hutch knew what Starsky would say before his partner even opened his mouth. "Because I'm not for it. At least not for Hutch going under alone."

Rarely had the two partners disagreed before about how to handle a case. In this situation, Dobey was inclined to agree with Starsky, but he wanted to be fair. "So what's your plan?" he asked Hutch.

Face alight with eagerness, Hutch ignored his partner's grimace. But his smile faded at Dobey's warning when he held up his hand. "Hold on, I'm not saying I agree to this yet. I want to hear both sides."

"My..." The blond looked over at his darkening partner and coughed lightly. "I mean, our idea was that I go under as a potential buyer with our informant in order to get a line on where this guy lives, does business, and gets his supply. I buy a small supply, bring it back to the lab for testing, and if the lead pans out, we buy bigger until we convince him to lead us to his supplier."

"Sound plan. But why alone? Why not Starsky with you as your partner? You've worked under before as buyers."

Looking at his partner, who seemed to have shrunk into the corner of the doorway, Hutch tried to suppress a large grin, but failed miserably. Holding a fist up to his mouth, he covered his chuckle with a fake cough. "Well, uh, you see, Cap'n, our informant doesn't think Starsky looks the part."

Wide brown eyes swung from the figure in the rear of the room, to the one in front of him. "Doesn't look the part of what? A suit? Or a swimsuit model?" he joked.

"Well, actually, those, either. But what he means is..."

"Can it, Hutch. I can handle this." Looking at Dobey, Starsky explained what Gino told them. "Our informant doesn't think I have the right 'look' to fit in with his crowd. That I look too military." The scowl that accompanied the recently shorn detective, along with his leather jacket and jeans, more than proved Gino's point.

"Well, if the shoe fits." Dobey joined in the chuckling.

The idea of being laughed over, even in fun, made Starsky angry. He pulled himself away from the wall and ripped open the door to the squad room. "Just you wait!" He imitated Hutch's forefinger point, with little effect. "You're gonna eat your words." With a telltale slam of the door, he walked out, leaving the two men behind, still smiling broadly.

"Okay, Hutch, that's enough. I still don't like the idea of you going in alone. How about we fit you for a wire and have backup nearby at all times? Also, if you're gonna pull this off, you're gonna have to take up residence elsewhere."

"How about a deal? My informant has a little party set up to introduce me tonight. Digger's not going to be there. It'll be a test. If I pass, I'll go along with your wire."

"Done. Get set up with whatever you need to cover yourself. By the way, what undercover name are you planning on using?"

"These guys all have nicknames or street names, so I'm going to use Lapis."

Dobey pondered that. "Lapis. Blue. Hmm, I guess that fits you. Good luck and keep me informed through Huggy Bear or your partner."

"Thanks for the vote, Captain. I'll get this guy, don't worry."

After Hutch left, Dobey commented to himself. "Worry's about all I ever do when it comes to you guys."

*           *           *

Gino opened the door to find Starsky on his doorstep, casually leaning against his porch stair rail. Surprised to see Starsky, yet he couldn't very well turn his friend away. "Hey, man! Good to see you. I didn't expect you here." Closely eyeing Starsky from head to toe, he noticed differences in his dress and his stance. "Come on in!"

Starsky moved slower, but more gracefully. A five o'clock shadow made his facial features appear sharper, and his mood appeared veiled. His shirt looked as though it was from Mexico, and had been hand embroidered with Native American designs, giving a spiritual look to his attire. Looking to his feet, Gino saw a pair of apache boots had replaced his blue tennis shoes, and a well-worn fringed suede jacket had replaced the ridiculed flak jacket. The most notable change was the round amber sunglasses perched on Starsky's nose. Smiling to himself, Gino realized he had a pair just like them.

"You're lookin' good, man," Gino nodded, with a subtle wink. He escorted Starsky into the living room to introduce him to the rest of the group. "Phoenix," Flower Pot squeezed Starsky's arm, "you know Lapis, of course..." He casually waved a hand in Hutch's direction, then pointed in turn at the others present. "That's Claudia, Diego and Fang."

Hutch was already seated in a chair off to the side. He was dressed all in white, with a silky shirt unbuttoned halfway down. In his lap sat Kahlua, Grace's brown and black Maine Coon cat, happily purring as Hutch stroked his long soft fur. Starsky watched the cat with amused jealousy for just a moment before surveying the other guests in the room.

To Hutch's left was Claudia, seated on the sofa. Claudia had long, wild, curly hair, and a mischievous grin. She was wearing a gauze navy shirt that only barely concealed the fact that she wore nothing beneath it. On a chain around her neck, a slender pinkish crystal wrapped in thin silver wire glowed against her skin. Sitting cross-legged and barefoot, she was natural, sexy and pretty, and younger than the friends around her. Her keen eyes locked on Starsky, and she watched him with great interest.

Beside Claudia was Diego, a dark and handsome man with salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a ponytail. His eyes were nearly black, and would have been sinister looking, had he not possessed a good-natured smile and manner. He was engaged in a friendly debate with another man, apparently trying to convince him to register to vote.

The man Diego was engrossed in conversation with was intimidating. Known as Fang, he looked like a Hell's Angel, with thinning scraggly hair and a very long mustache, both of which appeared to have once been a shade of red, before the gray overran it. His skin was covered with tattoos, all faded from time and age. The artwork on his arms spoke of violence and threat, and at first glance Starsky wanted very much to take their warning and steer clear. However, when Fang made eye contact with Starsky, he felt his trepidation flee. Something in those eyes spoke of a gentle nature, a kind heart.

Starsky took a seat on the floor, cross-legged, close to Hutch's chair. Fang passed a joint to him, and he casually took a toke and passed it to Hutch, who did the same. Flower Pot put on some music and eventually plopped down on the floor beside Starsky, and proceeded to roll his thick marijuana cigarettes that more closely resembled cigars rather than cigarettes. He quietly kept the joints circulating in the group and munchies on the table as they chatted.

Starsky turned to hear the discussion between Fang and Diego.

"My vote wouldn't make or break an election, Diego. I don't see the point." Fang shook his head sadly. "An independent is never going to get enough votes to make it to office. I'm not voting Democrat or Republican—I'd shoot myself first. Hell, whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it's time to pause and reflect."

"Mark Twain," Diego nodded with approval. "But you assume that you can't make a difference. Every vote counts."

"Yeah, Fang," Claudia jumped in, "it's your civic responsibility to vote. As Abe Lincoln said, 'This country, with its institutions, belongs to the people who inhabit it. Whenever they shall grow weary of the existing government, they can exercise their constitutional right of amending it, or their revolutionary right to dismember or overthrow it.'"

"Come on, Claudia," Fang shook his head. "I'm too old for this shit, and our time has come and gone. We tried to make a difference. We failed."

"Failed?" Diego's head popped up in surprise. "I disagree! As Leary noted, hippies started the ecology movement. We combated racism. We liberated sexual stereotypes, encouraged change, individual pride and self-confidence. We questioned robot materialism. In four years, we managed to stop the Vietnam War. We got marijuana decriminalized in fourteen states during the Carter administration. You think we failed in our attempts to change the world? You're wrong, my friend! We did change the world!"

Fang smiled at Diego with eyes that showed sadness and a long history with the activism Diego spoke of.

"What hasn't changed," Diego continued, "is the political structure that caters to the rich, the greedy and the powerful.  The government, industry, international trade, laws and political system are all catering toward and relying on those with money and power. Money buys power and influence. If you haven't got it, you're at a great disadvantage, so nothing has changed there. Without money, the only power you've got is your voice, your vote. With a vote, you can effect the government."

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has," Hutch quoted, casting a smile at Fang.

"Who said that?" Fang asked.

"Margaret Mead," he replied.

"Who is Margaret Mead?" Claudia asked.

"She was an anthropologist," Hutch explained. She died in '78. As an anthropologist, she had been trained to think in terms of the interconnection of all aspects of human life. The production of food can't be separated from ritual and belief, and politics can't be separated from childrearing or art. She insisted that human diversity is a resource, not a handicap, and that all human beings have the ability to learn from and teach each other."

"Human diversity is a resource..." Claudia repeated. "I never thought of it that way before. Not only is diversity reflected in our arts, but in our government, where each individual gets a say. Even our Bill of Rights protects our individual diversity, as well as guarantees our freedom."

"The freedoms guaranteed in the Bill of Rights are a responsibility," Diego reminded. "They did not come without a price, and they demand action."

Hutch responded quietly, "Freud said that most people don't really want freedom, because freedom involves responsibility, and most people are frightened of responsibility."

"The most important kind of freedom is to be what you really are," Starsky said, almost to himself. "You trade in your reality for a role. You give up your ability to feel, and in exchange, put on a mask."

"I've heard that before," Diego exclaimed. "Dylan?"

"Jim Morrison," Starsky replied. "He also said there can't be any large-scale revolution until there's a personal revolution, on an individual level. It's got to happen inside first."

"Ah, yes," Diego grinned. "And to experiment with drugs was one way to begin that personal revolution. Turn on, tune in, and drop out, as Leary would say. And according to Aldous Huxley, 'There are things known, and there are things unknown, and in between is the doors.' The theory being drugs would open those doors."

"Jim Morrison," Starsky interrupted. "That quote's from Jim Morrison, too."

"No, I'm sure it was Huxley," Diego countered. "Morrison took the name of the band from that quote. I'm sure that is what you are thinking of."

"Phoenix is right," Fang spoke up. "Huxley's book opens with a quote from William Blake..."

"When the doors of perception are cleansed, things will appear to man as they truly are...infinite," Starsky supplied the quote.

Fang smiled broadly. "Yeah, you've got it. The two quotes are often mixed up, and credit is always given to Blake, but Phoenix is right, the first quote's from Morrison."

"I stand corrected," Diego answered apologetically, nodding to Starsky. "I should have known that." Then he added with a smile as he waved the joint, "Must've been too many drugs on my part." The group laughed.

"Rumor has it, Diego was one of the Merry Pranksters," Fang laughed conspiratorially to Starsky.

"Oh, not that again!" Diego chuckled. "You are either on the bus or off the bus, and I was definitely off the bus."

Claudia looked puzzled. "Off the bus?"

Starsky looked up at her, still smiling. "Ken Kesey's day-glo bus. He thought psyche­delic drugs were the way to experience the world, so he took his friends, nicknamed the Merry Pranksters, on a wild bus trip across the country. Kesey was known for his Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, where he'd spike the punch at parties with LSD. His bus ride was the inspiration for the Beatles Magical Mystery Tour."

"Ken Kesey, Jim Morrison, Timothy Leary, John Lennon, George Harrison, all were shamans of their time," Hutch added. "Psychedelic shamans, you could say. In society, it seems human beings need someone who voyages beyond the everyday physical realm into the mystical plain on a journey of discovery and understanding. We've had numerous instances of shamanism throughout history, and in every culture around the globe. They often find the basic, primitive truths that are veiled behind the illusion we understand and accept as our reality. The awareness they bring back illuminates our narrow-minded, humble perceptions and puts man's hopes and shortcomings into perspective."

"So these shamans were the ones to experiment with LSD, mushrooms and other drugs, and step forward to enlighten us," Claudia mused. "It makes their partying sound like a spiritual quest."

"Well, every spiritual quest requires fortification," Gino announced as he placed a tray of cocktail hot dogs wrapped in bacon on the coffee table before the group. Beside it he placed a tray of green olives, also wrapped in bacon.

"These are good, Flower Pot, but I still miss Grace's vegetarian pizza," Fang sighed. "Where is she, anyway?"

"Grace and Garrett are visiting relatives," Flower Pot replied, casting a sad glance at Starsky and Hutch. "She'll be gone a coupla weeks."

"Gosh, Flower Pot! What will you tell Garrett when he's old enough to ask you about whether or not you did drugs at his age?" Claudia asked.

Flower Pot blinked. "What'll I tell him?"

"Yeah, man," Fang piped up. "You aren't gonna tell him about the old commune, are you? The smoke-ins? The love-ins? The bust at Davis Park?"

Flower Pot shook his head. "I'm not gonna lie to him, man. That's my history. Why would I lie?"

Claudia's eyes opened wide in surprise. "Don't you think you'd be setting a bad example? Aren't you worried that he'd follow in your footsteps?"

Flower Pot chuckled. "I'm not ashamed of my life, man. That's all a part of me. Don't you think he'd see through it if I lied to him?" He looked at Claudia, Diego, Fang. "Don't you remember what it was like to be really free? No mortgage, no credit cards, no rules? It was beautiful, man! You think you'll ever be like that again? Free? I tried to make the world a better place. I was at Woodstock. I was at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago...."

"Yeah, and you called me to haul your scared ass outta there!" laughed Fang.

"Yeah, I did," Flower Pot laughed. "Never saw so damn many cops in my whole life. And you'd just gotten out of jail for that Pigasus the Pig incident with the Yippies." He shook his head at the memory. "Garret will hear the truth, when he asks," he said finally. "I know he won't have the kind of life I did. We didn't have to worry about the same stuff today's kids worry about. Kids today would die, livin' like we did. We didn't have to deal with AIDS and shit. But he can hear what it was like. I gotta be honest with him. I'll tell him about my life, my experi­ences, my lost ideals...the beautiful dreams I had for him and the world. Man, if I lied to him, I'd be no better than my parents were!"

Diego and Fang nodded, thinking of their own parents.

"Do you still believe the world can be changed, Flower Pot?" Fang asked quietly.

"Absolutely, man. Like Diego said, we did make a difference. We still can."

"How about you, Phoenix?" Claudia asked. "Do you think the world can be changed?"

"Oh, yeah," Starsky nodded, "definitely. I have to believe that. I wouldn't be able to get up in the morning if I didn't believe I could make a difference. In my line of work, I see too much. I'd go over the edge if I didn't think the world could change."

"What do you do?" she asked. Hutch's eyes glittered in alarm.

Without missing a beat, Starsky answered her question. "I work for the Department of Children and Family Services. I'm a social worker."

Hutch smiled inwardly. He could easily see Starsky in that line of work.

"How about you, Lapis? Do you think the world can be changed?"

"Definitely. But to evoke change, you must act. Voting is one way. Gandhi once said 'you must be the change you wish to see in the world.' I think everyone in this room does that to a degree. We treat others as we wish to be treated. That's a step. Flower Pot is an honest man, who will teach that honesty to his son. He'll also pass on his ideals and his dreams. Even if Garrett doesn't share those dreams, they will be a part of him and his history. Diego has continued in activism since his youth. He's trying to evoke change in the political system. Fang's a free thinker. He's not swayed by the status quo. He speaks out, and is in turn heard by others; and he's not afraid to suffer the consequences of his actions. This affects change. I'm a teacher. My life's work is to shape young minds. Maybe the changes seem small and insignificant, but we all make our own little impact on society as a whole."

"What about you, Claudia?" Starsky inquired.

"I'm an artist," Claudia smiled. "A musician. I know music can change the world. I don't know that I've changed the world myself, but I have seen my music affect an audience."

"What instrument do you play?" Hutch asked with interest.

"I play the guitar and I sing," she replied proudly. "Solo, I play mostly folk, but I sing in a jazz band as well."

"I play guitar, too," Hutch told her. "And piano. Maybe we could play together some­time."

"I'd like that!" she exclaimed.

*           *           *

Starsky was in the kitchen with Flower Pot, supposedly helping him wrap the olives and miniature hot dogs with bacon and securing them with toothpicks. In truth, he was stealing more olives than he was wrapping, so Flower Pot gave up on the help and continued to cover them himself. Claudia wandered in and automatically began assisting Flower Pot with the work.

"Phoenix, you must find your work very fulfilling," she observed.

Starsky smiled. "Yeah, I do. I like being able to make a difference."

She watched him for a moment, and then cocked her head as she stated, "Having an effect on the world, on society, is important to you."

"Sure." He absently popped another cocktail wiener into his mouth. "When I do my job right, the world is a better place. I like that."

"Do you have that hope that the world can be changed or improved, because you also hope that someday the fact that you're gay will be accepted?"

Flower Pot laughed out loud, then cleared his throat. Without looking at Starsky, he took the tray of hors d'oeuvres and quickly slipped away from the counter to pop the snacks into the broiler. Once done, he quietly escaped the kitchen, leaving the suddenly defensive Starsky alone with Claudia.

"Did I say something wrong?" She looked up at Starsky with confusion. "You are gay, aren't you?"

Starsky met her eyes. "I wasn't aware that I had my sexual preference tattooed on my forehead," he said in a tight voice.

"You don't," she answered quickly. "It's just that, well, a woman notices certain things..." Realizing Starsky's unease with her observations, she added, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"My sex life is a private matter. I'm not comfortable with people being so interested in who I sleep with." He closed his eyes briefly, forcibly relaxing his shoulders. "I'm sorry, Claudia," he said, his voice softening. "I try to keep my love life private because there's an awful lot of hate in the world, and a lot of people who wouldn't take kindly to me and who I love. It can be dangerous. I have to be careful."

"I can understand that," Claudia nodded in empathy. "I wasn't judging you, Phoenix."

Starsky reached out and squeezed her arm. "I know you weren't. Sorry for snapping at you. I didn't expect..." His voice trailed off as he looked up questioningly. "How did you know?"

"I studied mythology," Claudia confessed. "I'm aware of the connection between the phoenix and lapis exile. It's an obscure reference, and I didn't think of it at first, but I saw the two of you looking at each other, and I saw something...I don't know...silent...pass between you two, and I started to wonder. Later I remembered the story of the phoenix, and it dawned on me." She reached out for his right hand and turned it over to examine the gold band there. "Plus the fact that I noticed Lapis is wearing a ring just like this," she added. "It just added up."

Starsky was confused, but intrigued. He had no idea what connection she was speaking of between lapis exile and the phoenix, but he hid his puzzlement and made a mental note to question "Lapis" on his name choice at first chance. He smiled. "Hm, nothing gets by you, does it?"

"Damn." Claudia shook her head sadly. "Two great looking guys and they're both gay. Why am I always attracted to guys that are gay or married?" She gestured toward his right hand. "Or both?"

Patting her shoulder, Starsky suggested, "Maybe deep down you value your freedom, and this is your way of protecting it."

Claudia laughed, her eyes twinkling. "Maybe you're right!"

"Is the party moving in here?" Hutch asked as he walked up to the pair at the kitchen counter. When he was close enough, Starsky popped an olive into his mouth.

"We were helping Flower Pot with the snacks," Starsky explained.

"Helping him make them? Or helping yourself to them?" Hutch asked, chewing around the salty hor d'oeurve.

"Both," Starsky answered as he put his arm around Hutch and pulled him in for a quick kiss. "But I'd rather help myself to you." Smacking his lips, Starsky muttered, "Mm, salty."

Surprised by the sudden show of affection, Hutch studied Starsky's eyes. "I sense a change is in the air," he remarked.

"Claudia asked if I was gay," he explained. "Then she assumed I was with you."

Hutch's eyebrows raised. "I didn't know we were that obvious."

"It seems she's a study of mythology," Starsky said with mischievous amusement.

"Is that so!" he exclaimed with delight. He pulled Starsky in close for an embrace, burying his nose in Starsky's curls to nuzzle him behind his ear. "Good. I've been dying to do this all night," he sighed as he placed a kiss on his neck. Turning to Claudia, he admitted, "It's rare when we don't have to hide our affection."

She frowned. "That's a shame. I hope you know now that you don't have anything to fear from this bunch. We're all a pretty open and accepting group. Hey, you're surrounded by pacifists," she chuckled. "How much safer could you get?"

Flower Pot returned and armed both hands with oven mitts. "All right man, who's ready for more food?" He pulled the tray from the oven, bacon sizzling and popping invitingly.

"I'll take some of those," Starsky declared.

"Phoenix, you really need to exercise some control over your appetite," Hutch chastised. "One of these days it'll catch up to you."

Starsky turned around, brandishing a bacon-wrapped cocktail weenie on a toothpick in front of his lover's face. "You've never complained about my appetites before," he murmured suggestively. He closed his mouth over the treat and slowly slid it off the toothpick with his teeth.

Hutch raised Starsky's amber sunglasses and set them atop his head. For a moment he simply gazed into his eyes, relishing the freedom to do so. "I miss those eyes," he said quietly.

"Hey, if you two are finished getting all lovey dovey, gimme a hand carrying these into the other room, will ya?" Flower Pot beseeched them cheerfully. Claudia, Starsky and Hutch each grabbed a plate of munchies, and joined the guests in the other room.

This time, when Starsky sat on the floor, he scooted over between Hutch's legs and draped an arm over one leg, leaning on him for support, his amber sunglasses dropped back into place. Hutch laid a hand on his shoulder, amused at the daring his partner displayed, and the comfort he felt in this group of strangers.

*           *                      *

The group partied until late in the evening. One by one, the guests eventually departed, finally leaving Starsky and Hutch alone with Flower Pot.

"Man, I feel good!" Starsky declared, stretching out on Flower Pot's couch.

"Starsky, you surprised me, man!" Flower Pot announced wide-eyed. "If I didn't know you better, I woulda bought that little act of yours!"

Starsky grinned. "I tried to tell you I could pull this off."

"Since when do you know so much about the hippie counter culture?" Hutch asked.

"The counter what?"

"Ken Kesey and all that stuff about Jim Morrison! How could you rattle off all those quotes?" Hutch demanded. "You couldn't have prepared for that."

Starsky laughed. "I had a buddy in the Army who was a huge Doors fan. I learned more about Jim Morrison than I ever wanted to know. Geez! Do ya think I was born a cop? I have had a life outside the BCPD, ya know." He glanced around the room. "Flower Pot, ya got any of those little hot dog thingies left?"

"Kitchen counter," Flower Pot replied absently. Starsky leapt to his feet.

"So am I in?" Starsky asked the two men with confidence as he chomped on his snack. Hutch deferred to Flower Pot.

Flower Pot smiled. "Yeah, Starsky. You're in."

With a smirk, Starsky replied, "Groovy," pushing his amber glasses up his nose. He then turned on his partner and demanded, "And ya think ya could'a filled me in on the connection between lapis exile and the phoenix?"

Hutch laughed. "Hey, there was no time!" he defended. "You didn't tell us you were going to show up tonight."

"But you had no trouble coming up with a nickname for me," Starsky declared suspiciously.

"I didn't give you that nickname," Hutch reminded. "Flower Pot did."

Flower Pot grinned. "Yeah, it stuck in my mind after talking about the legend of the phoenix with Hutch last night. I thought the idea of a bird rising from the dead seemed appropriate for Starsky."

"More than you realize," Hutch chuckled. He turned to his partner to explain the legend further, taking his hand as he spoke. "The legend of the phoenix exists in many cultures. It's a mythical bird, thought to be a servant of the sun god. It's usually described as being similar in size to an eagle, with fiery red wings. It lived close to a cool well, and would bathe in the water of the well and sing such a beautiful song that the sun god would stop his chariot to listen. Only one phoenix exists at a time. When the bird would feel its death approaching, which was every 500 years or more, it would build a nest and set it on fire, and it was consumed by flames. When it was burned, a new phoenix would spring from the pyre, brighter and more beautiful than before."

"Like you, Starsky," Gino toasted him, "it rose from the dead." He took a drink of his beer, then added, "The phoenix is a symbol of immortality, man. Resurrection and life after death."

"In Chinese mythology, the phoenix is represented by a bird that symbolizes the union of yin and yang," Hutch continued. "It's also a bridal symbol for inseparable friendship."

Starsky's mouth dropped open. "Wow." He digested their information for a moment before he realized that the question had not been fully answered. "What about the lapis? Where does that come in?"

"Lapis Exile, or Lapis Exilii, meaning Stone of Exile," Hutch replied. "It's supposed to be sacred, with catalytic power to illumine the human being. Supposedly it dropped from Heaven to Earth to remind fallen angels of their source and their inner essence. Some believe the Holy Grail was made of it. Legend has it that the phoenix is brought back to life by this stone."

Starsky's face alit with a brilliant smile. "So, you give me life, eh, Lapis?" He pulled Hutch close and kissed him deeply. "I could use some of that catalytic power right now," he whispered into Hutch's hungry breath. "Ya wanna illuminate me?"

"Okay, you two," Flower Pot sprang to his feet, chuckling. "I think this'd be a good time to show you the guest room."

Giggling, Starsky reluctantly pulled away from the heated kisses. "I think we're being exiled, my dear stone," he said dramatically to his partner.

Smiling fondly at his amorous companion, Hutch asked, "Starsk, do you always get this horny when you're stoned?"

"Horny! I'm not horny. I'm..." he snaked his arms around Hutch's waist with an impudent grin, "...affectionate."

Gino directed them into a cozy room with a queen-size bed inside. As soon as the door was closed, Starsky dove right into the center of the bed, pillows flying in his wake. He flipped onto his back, and gestured a crooked finger at Hutch to follow. "Come 'ere, Lapis," he beckoned. "Let's see just how hard that sacred stone can get!"

Hutch laughed at his wickedly delightful lover and crawled onto the inviting bed to join him. He kissed Starsky passionately, then stopped to strip away the clothing from the man he coveted, claiming his right to see and touch and own what lay before him. Starsky did the same for Hutch, until they were both on their knees naked; hands exploring and lips crushed in a heated kiss.

"Tell me again about the lapis and the phoenix," Starsky breathed into Hutch's kiss, his grin lighting the darkness.

Hutch caressed Starsky's erection and smiled. "Little Phoenix has risen from the dead, I see," he mused.

"Nothing little about it," gloated Starsky. "Is this what they mean by 'a bird in the hand?'"

Ignoring the pun, Hutch began the requested mythology lesson.

"There can only be one phoenix," Hutch murmured. "You are one of a kind." Kissing down Starsky's neck, he then cupped his partner's face in his hands. "You're so beautiful," he whispered lovingly as his thumb caressed Starsky's cheek. "You must be a servant of the sun. You are radiant."

Starsky embraced Hutch tightly, kissing him with a demanding hunger. "You're my sacred stone." He wrapped his hand around Hutch's hard shaft. "My Lapis. You give me life, make me want to live." Gliding his hands to cup Hutch's ass, he pulled him tight against himself. "I want to build that nest with you."

Hutch moaned as their erections collided, sending sparks of pleasure tingling to his bones. "I want to make you sing," he declared to Starsky as he wrapped his large hand around both of their shafts. "Your song would stop the sun god in his tracks."

"I can't sing," Starsky protested. "You're the singer."

"Ah, but I can make you sing..." Hutch's hands caressed seductively to prove his point, and Starsky could feel the excitement singing in his veins.

"You're setting me on fire," Starsky murmured into his lover's lips. "Can't you feel it? I'm burning up."

"I know how to put out those flames," Hutch said roughly, pushing Starsky down on the bed. He took Starsky's erection in hand, and ran his tongue around the head. Taking him deeper into his mouth, he hummed at the pleasure he tasted.

Starsky thrust higher.  "You're so hot..." he gasped. "So damned hot."

Hutch slid the phallus from his mouth and grinned. "I can cool you off," he claimed, blowing across the wet skin.

Hissing at the cool blast, Starsky smiled down at his lover, caressing his hair. "Illuminate me, you cold stone."

A devilish gleam lit Hutch's eyes. "Will you let me taste your inner essence?" He stroked his hand along the shaft before him.

"If you don't taste it soon, you're gonna be wearing it," Starsky chuckled.

"My fallen angel," Hutch smirked, "my dark, fallen angel." He took Starsky in his mouth again, his skilled tongue teasing at the ridge. Sucking him further into his mouth, Hutch ran his tongue down the steely shaft until his mouth could hold no more. Pulling in a deep breath, he swallowed, taking him right down his throat.

"Yesssssss," Starsky cried, burying his fingers in the soft strands of Hutch's long hair.

Hutch playfully brushed his nose against the soft curls on Starsky's belly, the movement drawing an untamed yelp of pleasure from his trembling captive. His hand fondled Starsky's balls, feeling them tighten in readiness, and his shaft grow larger in his mouth. Slipping his hands beneath Starsky's ass, he squeezed the lush flesh, moaning at the lovely feel of it in his hands.

Giving a final thrust upward, Starsky tensed, the cascading sensations flooding through his body. Hutch drank his pleasure, then curled up on his lover's belly, sheltering him with his body.

"Wow," Starsky panted, gently playing with Hutch's hair. "Talk about feeling reborn!"

Hutch chuckled. "That's my Phoenix. Does this mean you're good for another 500 years?"

Starsky sat up, pushing Hutch aside, onto his back. He leered at the surprised man, declaring, "They say you can't get blood from a stone. Let's see what I can get!"

*           *           *

Starsky awoke, freezing cold. Reluctant to surrender to the morning's call, he shivered and tucked his body tight against Hutch. The body heat from his partner helped, but was not sufficient to keep the non-adjacent portions of his body warm enough. He lifted his sleepy head to see what was making him so damned cold.

As his eyes cleared and took in the room around him, he realized what the problem was. Their amorous activities the night before had pulled the top sheet out of place, and Hutch had cocooned the sheet around himself, leaving Starsky's naked body exposed to the well air-conditioned room. There was a vent blowing ice cold air on the wall just under their headboard, and the air blew up an over the mattress, right on Starsky's side of the bed.

Noticing the blanket had fallen over the footboard, he dragged that back up and over them both. Hutch made a pleased, purring sound in his sleep and burrowed deeper into the cozy fabric, with an insistent arm dragging Starsky close again. 

Suddenly, Hutch's arm reached up and grabbed Starsky's arm tightly, as he jumped up in alarm. "Starsk! You're freezing!" he blurted out. "What's wrong?" He tried rubbing some warmth into the chilled extremity.

Blinking up at him innocently, Starsky replied, "Sorry, babe. We knocked the blanket off the bed last night. The vent for the air is on my side, and it's blowing right on me."

"You're like ice!" Hutch declared, relaxing somewhat now that he knew his lover wasn't sick. He carefully tucked the blanket more tightly around Starsky.

Loving the pampering, Starsky grinned and snuggled into his arms. "Mmm, much better."

"We should get up," Hutch murmured against his hair. "We need to get together with Gino and devise a game plan here."

"Nchymph," came the blanketed muttering from Starsky.

Hutch smiled. "Darlin', I can't understand you when you talk into the blankets."

There was a quiet rustle of fabric. "Not yet."

"I think I hear Gino in the kitchen."

"Mm-nhm."

An enticing aroma wafted into the small room. "Coffee!" Hutch declared. "I smell coffee!"

"Mrrrr."

Hutch tucked the blankets down from Starsky's face. "What's it gonna take, Starsk? Do I need to bring you coffee in bed to get you up?"

A rascally smile turned up the corners of Starsky's mouth. "Wanna play Lapis and the Phoenix again?" he suggested.

Hutch laughed and playfully swatted at him with a pillow. "No, ya don't, buddy. Come on and get your butt up. Our host is waiting for us. We're on the clock here, too," he reminded.

Sighing, Starsky reluctantly dragged himself from the blanket cocoon. He watched as Hutch threw on some clothes and left the bedroom. "Heart of stone!" he complained to the departing back. Hutch just laughed. Starsky pulled on his own clothes, grumbling, then trotted out of the bedroom, grumbled complaints already forgotten.

"'Mornin'!" he cheerfully called to Flower Pot and Hutch as he snatched the coffee cup from Hutch's hand and slid himself into a kitchen chair. "Got any donuts, Flower Pot?"

Gino slipped a half empty box of Hostess donuts in front of his friend. "Might be a little stale, man. Best I can do."

"Thanks!" Starsky cried happily. "Oooo, cinnamon!"

Hutch rolled his eyes, but still stole an affectionate glance at his partner. "Gino, what's on the agenda for today?"

Flower Pot sat down across from Starsky, slowly savoring his coffee. "We got a gathering over at Diego's tonight. Everyone from last night will be there, plus Digger and a few other people. Since you know a group of them already, you'll blend in and it won't seem a shock if I start introducing you around as my partners. Hey, if Digger wants me to draw a bigger customer base, then he won't be surprised if I need a few more hands to do it, huh?"

"What's your story?" Starsky asked Hutch.

"I've been a perpetual student," Hutch grinned. "Tucked a few degrees under my belt, liberal arts, music, history... Then I took off to hitchhike across Europe. I came back penniless at the beginning of the school year to take up teaching at Bay City High."

"Yeah, I can just see Digger drooling over your access to all those kids, man. He'll have a new customer base and dollar signs dancing in his head." Flower Pot shook his head. "Sell­ing to kids. The man is a snake."

"What about Starsky, Flower Pot?" Hutch asked. "What's had him away for all these years?"

"Canada," Flower Pot suggested. "Couldn't keep your grades up, your number came up at 41 in the draft, so you booked for the Great White North."

"Seventeen," Starsky replied.

"What's 17?" Flower Pot asked.

"My actual number in the draft. It was 17."

"Seventeen, then," Flower Pot nodded. "You lived in Canada until Carter's pardon, came home to Bay City, got your degree at the urging of the irresistible Lapis here, and made a new life as Social Worker for the DCFS. You and me, we'd see each other from time to time, but you were too busy with your studies to party much."

"What did I do in Canada?"

Flower Pot shrugged. "Something manual, maybe...."

"How about cab driver? I did that for a while."

"Good idea. You drove a cab, maybe tended bar, too."

Hutch looked up. "How do I urge him to go back to school if I've been in Europe?"

"You come home to visit family every year at Christmas," Starsky supplied. "And we've kept in touch, writing and phone calls and stuff. Let's say we got together as a couple after a Christmas party at your dad's house in '82. You finally came home, your trust fund wasted. You were unable to stay away from me any longer." Starsky batted his eyes at his partner. "When your dad found out about us, he cut the purse strings and you had to find a job."

"Disinherited," Hutch mused.

"And all these years, you've sent me postcards from wherever you were, every month," Flower Pot grinned. "Phone calls, visits. You always stayed in touch."

"He's a hell of a guy, ain't he?" Starsky asked with an impudent smile.

"So now we're all three in the same town again," Hutch finished. "With Tweek missing, and now that Digger's moved in, you need to expand your operations, so you call in your old buddies. Good."

"What do you want me to do?" Flower Pot inquired.

Hutch sat thoughtful for a moment. "Nothing. Nothing different at all, Gino; just be yourself. Digger's probably going to start by outlining his basic plans for you. You're just going to gather information. If something sounds strange, and you'd normally question it, go ahead, but don't push for things you normally wouldn't. Play it like you would if we hadn't joined you."

Starsky pushed aside his half-eaten donut and faced Gino seriously. "If anything seems off, come get us. We're pulling you out of this if there's even a hint of trouble. We don't want you to go missing like Tweek."

Gino nodded.

"From this point on," Hutch insisted, "there's no more Starsky and Hutch. We're Lapis and Phoenix. We live with you here while we're house-hunting together. And we do not have any business transacted at this house. Nobody mentions Garrett, or Grace, if possible."

"Are you sure you don't want Grace and Garrett in a safe house?" Starsky asked, concerned etching his expression. "Can you be sure they're safe where she's at?"

"They're safe," Gino replied decisively. "You two are the only ones who know they're staying at her sister's in Slo-Town, besides me."

"We'll move them, if need be," Hutch stated. "Any suspicious questions, we'll relocate her, and her family."

The three men nodded simultaneously, lost in silent thought.

*           *           *

Diego greeted them warmly. "Phoenix! Lapis! Glad you could come! Come on in!"

They stepped over the threshold, as Diego pulled first one, then the other into a friendly embrace. He immediately introduced them to a few friends that had been standing close by, urging one to get them each a bottle of beer. Claudia immediately appeared and also gave them hugs. The affectionate nature of Flower Pot's customers and friends gave the impression to those present that they were all old friends, giving unsolicited support to the cover story they had set up.

Flower Pot arrived shortly after Starsky and Hutch, followed soon after by Fang. Finally Digger made his appearance. He was short and slender with sandy brown hair. His hazel eyes were sharp and watchful, his manner snide and cynical. When he spoke, the tone of his voice made his words sound sarcastic or disdainful. Even his smile looked more like a sneer than an expression of pleasure. This was a man of cunning; streetwise. He would not be easily conned.

It wasn't long before Digger had singled out Flower Pot, and was discussing business with him in a discreet corner of the room. Starsky was not pleased, seeing no way to get close to the pair without drawing suspicion. On a positive note, Flower Pot looked very much at ease, comfortably conversing with their suspect as if they were well acquainted.

*           *           *

"You'll see, Flower Pot," Digger spoke confidently. "I've got your best interests at heart. You and your pals'll be pulling in some decent bread. Tweek didn't see the full potential of this town. He was small potatoes, but I can see the big picture. I'll make sure we all come out happy in this arrangement. We just gotta remember that this is a business. We have to treat it as a business."

It did not escape Flower Pot's notice that he spoke of Tweek in the past tense, but he swallowed his inclination to jump to the least favorable conclusion, and tried to remain optimistic that his friend was still among the living. "Tweek's a good guy," he defended. "He isn't in this to get rich. These are his friends. It's just as much a social thing for him as it is a way to bring in some cash."

"But don't you want more than that?" Digger chuffed. "I mean, you could be raking in some real dough. Not this nickel and dime bullshit. There's a market out there, and it's just waiting for the right supplier to come along. That's gonna be us."

"Sounds good," Flower Pot nodded. "I don't have anything against making more money. I got bills just like the next guy, and I'd like to put something away for a rainy day."

Digger smiled. Greed glittered in his eyes. "I like to hear that kind of talk. You and me will do fine. And just wait 'til you see the product I'm lining up! This stuff is gold, my friend. I brought some for you to sample." He pulled a packet out of his coat pocket and placed the small brick in Flower Pot's hands. "This is the best Paki black hash you've ever laid eyes on," he gloated. "And I've got some excellent temple balls coming in from Nepal, great Thai sticks, and some good old Acapulco Gold that'll sell so fast your head will spin. And this is just for starters. You know anyone looking for orange sunshine? I gotcha covered. Smack, blow... Hell, I'm even getting STP that'll give you twelve hours of psychedelic pleasure. Uppers, downers, ludes, tell me what you need. I've got the keys to the candy store, my friend, and I'm gonna make us all a little richer."

Flower Pot smiled at the rectangular pack in his hand. "Black hash, huh? Have you had it tested?"

"Tested?" Digger scoffed. "What tested? It's fine grade border hash! Trust me, Flower Pot, this stuff will blow you away."

"I've had some damn good Paki hash," Flower Pot said in a reminiscent tone. "Sweetest smoke I ever had. But this shit is risky, man. You don't mind if I have a friend of mine run a quick test on it, do you? This guy's a chem professor and he's got a state of the art lab. He runs checks for me all the time on the sly. Then we'll be sure of what the hell we're selling. And smoking," he added with a grin.

"You're not gonna try this?" Digger was incredulous. "I offer you a sample of prime Paki hash, and you want to have it tested first?! What the hell's the matter with you?"

"Paki hash?" Diego joined the two men with a huge smile on his face. "Aw, man, I haven't had that in ages." He took the rectangular pack and looked at it with great interest. "Get your pipe, Flower Pot. Let's crack this baby!"

Flower Pot gently removed the brick from his hands. "We will, Diego. Just as soon as I get Petrie to declare it safe." He smiled at his friend.

Diego clapped him on the shoulder. "You do that, buddy. And you call me as soon as you hear. That comes back clean, and you've got yourself a buyer." He happily left the two men.

Digger glared as Flower Pot looked up at him earnestly. "I can't sell product if I'm not sure it's safe. Nobody's gonna mind waiting for it to be checked out. You know as well as I do, man, that black hash can be laced with opium. Nobody wants to take any chances. I sure as hell don't. Better safe than sorry." He wandered away from Digger, the questionable brick in hand.

A taller man stepped up to replace Flower Pot beside Digger. "Problem, Digger?"

"Could be," Digger muttered, rubbing his chin. "Could be."

"Somethin' ya want me to handle?"

Digger stared after Flower Pot, watching him pass the hash brick over to Hutch, who tucked it into his jacket pocket. "You got any of that bad weed on you, Johnny?"

"Uh-uh," Johnny shook his head. "But I got some in the glove compartment of the car. Ya want me to get it?"

"Go roll me a joint of that shit," Digger ordered quietly. "A nice thick one."

Johnny was aghast. "You're not gonna smoke it!"

"Not me, peckerhead. Our little friend Flower Pot is going to take a bad trip. If he ends up in the hospital, it'll give me some time to see if these partners of his are gonna be better pusher material.   Maybe we'll just squeeze him right out of the picture."

Lowering his voice, Johnny asked, "Digger, what if it kills 'im? You know what happened last time..."

Digger shot him a glare that shut him up instantly. "Roll the joint," Digger ground out between clenched teeth. "If the guy ends up on a slab, then that's one less problem to deal with. I can't believe he wants to have the hash tested. If he would've just smoked it, then we all would've been happy."

"I'll get it." Johnny scurried off to do his boss's bidding.

*           *           *

Starsky and Hutch were seated together on a love seat with Diego beside them in a chair and Fang and Flower Pot standing across from them. They were all lost in conversation when Johnny joined the group.

"I've got some refreshments for you all, compliments of Digger," he announced, passing joints to each of them, starting with Flower Pot. Flower Pot accepted his with a smile and tucked it into his shirt pocket, as the rest of the joints were distributed.

"I like a man who knows how to roll a good thick joint," Fang declared with appreciation, waving the treat under his nose. "Is this the Acapulco Gold we've been hearing about?"

"Sure is!" Johnny replied. Then he turned to Flower Pot and asked, "Aren't you going to smoke yours?"

Flower Pot clapped his hands to his jean pockets in a lost gesture. "I will, man, but I lost my lighter."

With a condescending grin, Johnny pulled a lighter from his own pocket. "I'll spot ya a light."

Flower Pot pulled the joint from his pocket and accepted the offer of a light. "Thanks, man." He drew a deep toke on the joint. "Here, let me." He held up the lit lighter for Johnny to light his.

Johnny inhaled deeply, a self satisfied look on his face. "Thanks," he mumbled, and quickly departed the group.

After Johnny had left, Hutch looked to Flower Pot with alarm. "Gino?!"

Flower Pot smiled broadly at his worried friend. "Relax, Lapis. This is clean. Safe as mother's milk. I pulled a switch on him when he was giving me a light."

Starsky and Hutch sagged in relief. Starsky asked, "Do you think this stuff's okay?"  Referring to the joint in his hand.

"He had Flower Pot's joint in his hand when he walked up," Hutch informed him. "The rest he pulled from his pocket, and he took his own from that pocket too. I think it's safe to assume the only tainted joint is the one he handed to Flower Pot."

"Looks like I'm disposable," Flower Pot mused, shaking his head.

"What's going on?" Fang inquired.

"I don't want any of you doing any dope that doesn't come straight from me," Flower Pot instructed. "And don't take anyone's word that I said it was okay. Trust only me, man."

"Absolutely, Flower Pot," Diego replied seriously. Fang nodded his head.

Flower Pot started to walk from the group when Hutch stopped him with a hand to his arm. "I want to keep an eye on Johnny," Flower Pot confessed. "If he starts tripping heavy, he's gonna need help. I'll set up the den as a kind of trip tent, a refuge for anyone who gets whacked out." Hutch nodded and let him go.

Claudia pranced up to them, dancing and singing the final verse to Cyndi Lauper's "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun" as it played on the stereo. She had a peaceful smile on her face, happily stoned. "You guys look so serious!" she chided. "This is a party, remember? Who wants to dance with me? Come on, Fang! You'll dance with me, won't you?"

Embarrassed, Fang declined. "You know I can't dance, Claudia." He quickly excused himself to get another drink.

"I'll dance with you," Starsky cheerfully volunteered, just as Don Henley's "All She Wants to Do is Dance" started to play.

"Outta sight, Phoenix! Let's see what you can do!" She grabbed him by the hand and took him to an area that had become a makeshift dance floor for several couples.

Hutch watched them with an appreciative smile. It was a pleasure to see them enjoying the music with such uninhibited relish. The fact that he had an unobstructed view of Starsky's rear end as he moved to the rhythm of the music, didn't escape his notice, either. He was completely lost in the sight until a low groan, almost a growl, drew his attention back to his companion. Diego was beside him, watching the pair, but his expression was not nearly as pleased as Hutch's. "Did you say something, Diego?"

Diego laughed at himself, not letting the dancing couple out of his sight. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he chuckled. "I have no right to feel jealous."

Hutch grinned. Diego always seemed so disciplined. It was a little out of his character to wear his private emotions on his sleeve, yet he was clearly stirred by jealously. "Are you two...?" he asked.

"No," Diego answered firmly. "She has no idea how I feel." Suddenly, it was as if a curtain fell into place, and his feelings that were so apparent on his face a moment before were now hidden by a mask of control. "There's no point. I'm a little old for her, don't you think?" He cast a curious glance at Hutch, wondering if he would reinforce or contradict his concerns.

"I think that would be a question only the lady could answer," Hutch replied encourag­ingly.

Diego shook his head slightly, dismissing Hutch's comment. Then he gave another little chuckle. "I think if it weren't for the fact that he's gay, that would really bother me."

Hutch couldn't resist. "Oh, Phoenix isn't gay," he said seriously. "He's bi." He hoped a little healthy jealousy might push Diego to act on his feelings for Claudia.

Diego's head whipped back to watch the couple again. "Bi?" Starsky was behind Claudia, his hands on her hips, and she was leaning back into his arms as they continued to move to the music. Then, as if it were taunting the poor man, Robert Palmer's song "Addicted to Love" began to play, with the object of his affection dancing provocatively in front of him with another man.

"You know, I think I do feel like dancing, after all," Diego said thoughtfully, then looked a little guiltily at Hutch before he gathered himself up and boldly approached the couple, asking if he could cut in. Starsky took advantage of the interruption to get a much needed drink, then found his way back to Hutch.

Hutch was leaning against the wall, taking a long draw on his joint. Starsky slipped his hand behind Hutch, subtly tucking it into the back pocket of his partner's jeans. "You know, I think they'd make a nice couple," Starsky observed, tipping his head in Diego and Claudia's direction. Hutch just grinned.

A loud crash and shouting in the hallway caused them both to jump. In an instant they rushed to the source of the commotion, adrenaline thrumming through their veins. Coming to a halt in the hallway, they found Johnny looking frantic, a group of people backing away from him as if he were dangerous.

"Get it off of me!" he screamed, slapping at imaginary creatures on his arms and body. As he fought his demons, he was sliding along the wall, knocking numerous framed photo­graphs crashing to the floor. "Help me, goddamn it! Get it the hell offa me!"

Flower Pot appeared out of nowhere, speaking calmly and soothingly. He settled the frantic man down enough to steer him toward the den. "It's okay, Johnny. You're tripping, man. I can help you get through this. We'll get you some vitamin B, man. That'll help you. You'll be fine, Johnny. That's right, come with me...."

Johnny quieted, following Flower Pot's lead, desperate for help. But he was still panting heavily, his head darting around as if he expected an attack to pounce on him at any moment.

"Here's some vitamin B, man," Flower Pot continued, holding out a small bottle. "It's good for you. It'll help you...."

Johnny watched as Flower Pot carefully extended his hand with the bottle, and freaked out. In his drug-stained mind, the bottle had just turned into a weird little monster that crawled up Flower Pot's arm. He screamed and backed up into the kitchen, scared out of his wits.

Flower Pot pocketed the offending bottle and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "It's okay, man. No bottle. I got rid of it, okay? Just take it easy. We'll go into the den and you can sit down. It'll be okay...."

But Johnny was far from okay. In his mind, Flower Pot's arms were growing longer and longer, reaching out for him, sprouting more arms. "Keep away from me!" he screeched. He finally backed up against the kitchen counter, and froze, absolutely terrified. He was trapped, with Flower Pot in front of him, slowly transforming into a monster. Looking around quickly for an escape, he spotted the knife block on the kitchen counter and lunged at it, turning on Flower Pot armed with a butcher knife.

Completely unruffled by the bizarre behavior, Flower Pot continued to talk soothingly to the man, still moving carefully and slowly toward him. Just when everyone thought he was about to talk the knife out of Johnny's hands, the man shot out with the blade, catching Flower Pot's arm, slicing him badly. A line of blood streamed down his arm, and dripped to the floor.

Starsky jumped forward to Flower Pot's aid.

"Stay back!" Flower Pot shouted at him firmly, then lowered his voice. "I'm okay. It's just a cut."  

Starsky froze, seeing Johnny's crazed eyes locked on his own, proving the upset man was quite capable of attacking him with the same force he used on Gino. Starsky raised his hands and reluctantly stepped back, not willing to leave the room.

"I got this, Phoenix," Flower Pot insisted as he turned back to Johnny calmly. "It's okay, Johnny. Put down the knife. Nobody is here to hurt you. I'm gonna get you through this...."

Johnny stared at Flower Pot's injured arm, his mouth dropping open. In his distorted eyes, he saw blood spurting from the wound, spraying the floor, the walls, painting the ceiling. It all swirled into a morbid and extreme exaggeration of the truth, but served to elevate the man's panic even further. Unable to fathom how Flower Pot could be spraying blood all over the room and still be moving and talking, Johnny sprung at him, stabbing the knife wildly at his only helper.

Flower Pot leapt back, just missing the knife blade as it stabbed and swiped at him. Suddenly Hutch leapt from the side, tackling Johnny, sending the knife skittering across the floor away from any people. Fang was right behind him, and the two wrestled with the wild man, trying to subdue him as Starsky grabbed a dish towel, picked up the knife and got it safely out of harms way. Hutch was flung aside like a rag doll, slamming backwards into the refrigerator hard enough to send him sliding to the floor. Starsky rushed to his aid, but was knocked aside as Johnny sent Fang flying across the room.

Fang was a big man, and to see the wiry Johnny cast him off like a lightweight shocked everyone present. Johnny then attacked Flower Pot with a crazed intensity, beating on the smaller man with a strength and violence that could only be born of insanity. It took all three men, Fang, Starsky and Hutch, to pull Johnny off his prey. Flower Pot was left crumpled on the kitchen floor, bloody and unconscious.

Hutch knelt to check Flower Pot's vitals as Fang and Starsky secured Johnny.

"How is he?" Starsky shouted.

"He's alive," Hutch assured him, applying pressure to the bleeding arm. "Someone call 911!"

*           *           *

Hutch laid a hand on Flower Pot's shoulder as he tried to open his eyes and get his bearings. "Hi, Gino," he said softly. "You're in the hospital. You've been beat up pretty bad, but you're going to be okay."

"Hutch?" Flower Pot tried to reach for him, but his arm was in a sling. "What happened, man?" But before Hutch could answer, memories of their run-in with Johnny came flooding back to him. "Oh, yeah. Johnny took a bum trip on Digger's bad weed. I remember. Is Johnny okay?"

"Johnny's fine," Hutch assured him. "He's a hell of a lot better off than you are. You have a concussion and a broken rib.  You also took 57 stitches in your arm. The doctors say you'll be fine, but you're going to be hurting for a while."

"I'm not hurting now," Flower Pot murmured with a grin.

Smiling, Hutch nodded. "Yeah, they gave you something for the pain. You're gonna be in here for a few days. They want to keep an eye on that concussion, and they're going to bring in a specialist to check over your arm, make sure they got everything back together all right," he kidded. "You were beat up pretty bad, and there's a lot of swelling."

Moving his jaw back and forth, Gino could feel that his face was indeed swollen. "Bet I don't look so hot, huh?"

"I've seen you look better, my friend." Hutch looked at Flower Pot with sympathy. His friend's face was battered and swollen, both eyes blackened. The doctors had been both amazed and pleased that his jaw was not actually broken. There was further deep bruising on his torso, and his legs. His chest was wrapped tightly with bandages, to support his broken rib.

"Don't let Grace or Garrett see me like this," Gino pleaded.

"We haven't told them what happened yet," Hutch assured him. "I wanted to be sure you were okay, then I'm going up to San Luis Obispo myself to tell Grace in person. I didn't want her to hear it over the phone."

Flower Pot gave him an appreciative look. "Thanks, man. Make sure she stays there. I don't want her to come here. It's not safe with Digger." Then he added, "You know, that joint was meant for me."

"What did you do, Gino?" Hutch asked. "You said you pulled some kind of switch...?"

"Yeah. I saw Johnny walk up with the one joint in his hand, and he made sure he handed it to me first. Then he pulled several other joints out of his pocket for the rest of you. I figured there was something funny with mine. I slipped it in my pocket. When Johnny pushed me to light it, I pulled one of my own joints out of my other pocket and lit that instead. Then I swapped the one Johnny gave me for one that was in his pocket when he was distracted with the lighter. There was only one joint left in his pocket, the one that was meant for me, and Johnny lit it himself just before he walked away from us."

"That was good thinking," Hutch smiled, relieved his friend had not been poisoned with the tainted joint.

"Not such a good idea," Flower Pot shook his head. "I shoulda kept the bad joint, given it to you guys for evidence. I shouldn't have given it back to Johnny. Now look at what's happened."

"Better Johnny than you," Hutch pointed out. "Besides, now Digger will think that Johnny just screwed up and gave you the wrong joint. And the joint wouldn't have been much help in court, anyway. We still wouldn't have much of a case against Digger."

"You and Starsky, be careful," Flower Pot ordered. He was starting to look very tired. "Digger's a bad dude."

"We'll do that. You just get well, okay, Gino? Don't worry about anything." Hutch patted his friend on the shoulder again, then left his bedside so the injured man could rest.

*           *           *

Hutch walked slowly down the hall, still sore from his struggles with Johnny. As he stepped into the waiting area around the corner, Diego leapt to his feet and greeted him anxiously.

"How's Flower Pot?" he asked.

"He's good," Hutch assured him. "He woke up for a while, and we talked."

"Was he lucid? Is he in pain?"

"Yes, he's lucid, just very tired. He's been well sedated, so he isn't in much pain at the moment, but talking for just a few minutes seemed to wear him out. I think he's asleep already." Hutch looked around the waiting room. "Where's Phoenix?"

"He went to call work. It's almost morning, so I imagine he's calling in sick or asking for time off."

"Yeah, I should call into work too; take the day off," Hutch sighed. "I told Flower Pot that I'd go to see Grace and tell her what happened. I didn't want her to hear about this over the phone."

"I need to call Fang and Claudia, and the rest of the group. They're all worried about him."

"Tell them Flower Pot will be just fine. He'll probably be in here a few days. They're watching for any internal bleeding. I don't think they'll be certain that everything is all right until most of the swelling has gone down. But right now, he's doing real well."

Diego turned to leave, then turned back to Hutch. "Thank you, Lapis. You know, I heard what you did, and I'm grateful."

Puzzled, Hutch looked up. "What I did?"

"You and Phoenix and Fang. I heard the three of you took on Johnny, and pulled him off of Flower Pot. You probably saved his life."

"Flower Pot is a close friend of ours. We were just trying to help."

Diego smiled. "I'm glad you were there." He left the room just as Starsky walked back in.

"How's Gino?"

Hutch pulled Starsky into his arms, resting his head on his partner's shoulder. "He's good. I was able to talk to him for a few minutes."

"I talked to Dobey," Starsky said. "Told him we'll be dropping off the brick for testing. He said he'll push for the department to take care of Gino's hospital bills since he's been helpful in tracking down a major supplier, and was injured while working as an informant. Starsky knew Gino didn't fit the requirements to be considered an informant, and thus be eligible for coverage, but Dobey had looked beyond that, as well as to the fact that Flower Pot had helped Hutch during his fight with Hodgkin's, however illegally, and so had signed off on the paperwork that Gino was a recognized informant to pay his medical bills.

"That's nice. This way he can concentrate on getting better rather than worrying about any bills." Hutch murmured. He pulled away and sank down on one of the couches, burying his face in his hands. Starsky sat beside him, rubbing his back comfortingly. "I failed him, Starsky. He was helping us to nail Digger, and he wound up in the hospital for his efforts."

"That's not your fault," Starsky shook his head. "That's Digger's doing. Flower Pot didn't end up here because of you."

Hutch stood up. "I'm going to San Luis Obispo. I'm going to talk to Grace, tell her personally what happened. I owe them that."

"I figured you'd say that. I already told Dobey we were going. He had Frankie bring over a car for us to use and leave the keys at the nurses' station. If Digger is following us, he'll be watching for Gino's car. We can slip out of here right under his nose."

"How're we gonna get Dobey the brick?"

"Huggy. We drop it off on our way there. Huggy'll see that Dobey gets it."

"Good. Let's go grab a change of clothes and a shower, and hit the road."

*           *           *

Hutch pulled up in front of a lovely Spanish ranch. "Do me a favor, love, will you? Take Garrett out of the room so he doesn't hear that his dad is hurt, okay?"

"I'll distract Garrett," Starsky promised. He squeezed Hutch's hand. "Let's get this over with, 'kay?"

They both climbed out of the car and walked up to the front door. Grace's sister Hope answered their knock, invited them inside, and offered to get Grace after they introduced themselves. She was younger than Grace, and much thinner, but she had Grace's sweet temperament and joyous nature.

Starsky stopped Hope and spoke quietly to her. He requested that she take Garrett and keep him occupied in another room. Hope nodded, obvious concern etched in her facial features.

"Come this way," she directed. "Grace and Garrett are in the family room." She led them through the kitchen, into the family room at the back of the house. Grace had her back to them, concentrating on building a house of cards with Garrett.

"Hey, Garrett!" Hope called excitedly. "Want to help me make a batch of chocolate chip cookies?"

Garrett leapt to his feet and scampered after her. "Sure, Aunt Hope!" He didn't need a second invitation.

Grace stood and turned, questioning her sister. "Hope! Chocolate chip? Since when do you let him eat anything but your healthy..." Her voice trailed off as she saw Starsky and Hutch carefully approaching her.

"Hi, Grace," Starsky began, but his words cut off as he saw her hands fly to her mouth with a muffled cry, and her hands begin to tremble badly. Seeing Starsky and Hutch standing before her without Flower Pot terrified her.

Hutch moved quickly, instantly at her side. He reached out and grabbed her just before her knees buckled and she started to sink to the ground, tears streaming down her face. Pulling her into his arms, he spoke in a soothing voice. "Easy, Grace. It's okay. Gino is okay."

She looked deeply into his eyes, searching for answers, then looked to Starsky in the same manner. "What's happened? Where's Gino? Why isn't he here with you?"

"Gino's been hurt, but he's going to be fine," Hutch explained quickly. "He's in the hospital, but his injuries are minor."

Grace pulled herself together, wiped her eyes and stepped back from Hutch's arms. "Tell me what happened," she quietly requested.

Hutch explained what had happened at Diego's, downplaying the severity of the beating Gino took. He then described Gino's injuries and overall health, with constant reassurances that he would come through this as good as new.

When he was finished, Grace took his hand and said calmly, "Take me to him."

"Grace, I promised Gino I wouldn't do that. He's worried about you and Garrett, and frankly, so am I. It isn't safe for you. We don't know all that Digger's capable of."

"Yeah, Grace," Starsky cut in, "if you show up in Bay City, Gino's gonna be worried sick about you. You'll help him more by staying here."

Grace once again looked at Hutch with determination. "Take me to him," she repeated firmly. When she saw Hutch's reluctant expression, she declared, "He needs me, Hutch. I can't leave him there in some hospital bed alone."

"No, Grace." Hutch shook his head. "You're safer here. We can't guarantee that you won't be the next one targeted by Digger."

"Hutch is right," Starsky agreed. "Right now Gino needs you here with Garrett. He's being taken care of. There's nothing more you can do for him, except to keep you and your son safe, and away from Digger."

Grace gave Starsky a small smile. She took his hand in both of her own. "David, when Ken was sick and in the hospital, would anything have kept you from his bedside?"

Starsky stared at Grace and closed his mouth. He knew he couldn't honestly dispute her.

Hutch stepped up to Grace and looked at her with soulful eyes. "Grace, I couldn't keep Gino from getting hurt. I wouldn't be able to bear it if anything happened to you."

She lifted her chin, struggling to keep those sad eyes from melting her resolve. "You'll just have to keep me safe, then. I'm going. Accept it." She defiantly walked from the room, calling for her sister.

Hutch looked helplessly to Starsky. Starsky shrugged. "I don't think we have much choice here, buddy."

*           *           *

After escorting Grace to a safe house for the night, once she visited with her husband, Hutch went to Gino's to change his own clothes and grab a set for Starsky, who stayed with Gino at the hospital. Tomorrow, either he or Starsky would take her back to her sister's.

Needing to take a breather from the torrent of emotions inside him, Hutch stopped at the park to wander around for a bit and calm his psyche down. He still needed to stop at Huggy's to call Captain Dobey for an update.

Checking the alleyway area unobtrusively, Hutch used their pre-determined code knock and slipped in the backdoor quietly. Assuring Huggy that Gino would be fine with some rest, he went to the phone to place a call to Captain Dobey.

"Hutchinson, glad you called. How's Gino?" When he'd been told about Gino's involve­ment at the time of his admittance to the Emergency Room, Dobey hadn't been pleased since he regarded the aging hippie as the reason Hutch had resorted to using marijuana when he was sick, but Dobey had quickly realized that Gino was probably their best connection for removing Digger and his operation off the streets

"Starsky's with him still. He woke up briefly, but not enough to get an official statement; he's still heavily sedated. So far, the only thing we know is that Johnny's blood screen showed similar levels of PCP and primicarb. But where he got it from is still a mystery until he comes down completely."

"Even then, whatever he tells you probably wouldn't hold up in court."

"But it could confirm Digger as our dealer."

"True. Anyway, I got some results on that brick you dropped off to Huggy yesterday."

           "Yeah? What'd the tox screen say?"

"You were right. It's loaded with opium. Cooked opium has much the same effect as straight heroin."

Hutch shuddered at the implications. "So most likely Digger was trying to hook in some new buyers at the party." Thank God Flower Pot insisted we get it tested before anyone tried it. "What about the roach we passed on?"

Clearing his throat, Dobey didn't question how they obtained the tiny joint remnant, or who had smoked it. "I'm assuming you got it from the same party?" Not waiting for a confirmation, he continued, "Nothing. Straight marijuana."

"Good. Everyone else's safe. We found it on, uh Gino, before the paramedics arrived at the scene. Just wanted to make sure there was nothing to indicate he might've been under the influence also."

"You honestly expect me to respond to that, Hutchinson? I know we have different views on the usage of marijuana, but to claim the man wasn't under the influence of an illegal substance is stretching it a bit."

"Point taken, Captain. I've got to get back to Starsky now. We're hopeful that Digger will contact us soon, since Gino's out of the picture for a while."

"Keep me informed and let me know when this is going down, so I can provide the wire, funds and backup."

"Will do."

"Take care, Hutch."

*           *           *

 "'M glad Gino's gonna be okay." The two tired detectives trudged up the small walkway to Gino and Grace's bungalow.

Hutch's jaw tightened briefly. "Yeah. Grace'd kill us and probably go after Digger herself if we let anything happen to Gino."

Listening to the edge in his partner's voice, Starsky said, "That's not quite what I meant, but you're right about Grace, too." He reached up and put a comforting hand on Hutch's shoulder to calm and soothe the taller man. Tilting his head toward the doorway while Hutch fumbled with the keys, Starsky softened his voice. "Inside, Blondie, let me take care of you."

Once the door closed behind them, Starsky put his arms around his partner from behind and gave him a light hug and a gentle kiss on the back of his long neck. "We're getting closer, babe. We're gonna get Digger and find out what happened to Tweek, and make sure no one else gets hurt like Gino."

The softly spoken voice blew whisper kisses along Hutch's neck, and shivers of desire began to travel down his spine.

"You know what, babe?"

"Mmm?" Hutch was enjoying the closeness too much to pay attention to what Starsky was saying.

"We're alone here. For the first time in days, we're all alone with nothing to do."

Hutch turned in Starsky's arms and gathered his partner closer. Their lips met between them and they stood basking in the silence of the house, the only sound their increased breathing patterns.

Hutch's large hands reached down and grabbed a handful of lush rear as he deepened their kisses, his tongue reaching for the depths of Starsky's mouth. His slightly shorter partner grunted as Hutch pulled Starsky up and into himself so their groins were pressed tightly together beneath their jeans and Starsky was standing on the balls of his feet.

Breaking away to breathe, Starsky suggested they grab a shower, and savor their time alone.

But it was not to be.

Just as Starsky grabbed Hutch's hand and pulled him toward the hallway that led to the bathroom, there was a knock on the front door.

"Dammit," Starsk grumbled. "Maybe if we keep still, they'll give up and go 'way."

"Hey, dudes! Open up! I know you're home." The sound of Digger's voice on the other side of the door startled them.

"We gotta, Starsk. This might be our connect."

"Just t'rrific." Starsky didn't have to worry about his tightly-encased erection providing a show for Digger, as just the sound of the dealer's voice cooled his ardor significantly.

Striding to the door, Hutch went into undercover mode and opened it to reveal their prey. "Hey, Digger. What's up, man?"

"Just thought I'd pop by to check out how Flower Pot's doing."

Still standing with the door open, Hutch answered him through the screen door, "He'll be fine. Lots of stitches, hell of a headache, too. Probably get released tomorrow."

Nodding, Digger looked satisfied. "Cool. Johnny's good, too." He laughed, but it was chilled. "Well, as good as a guy looking at assault charges can be." He shook his head. "Man, I don't know what got into him. He must've been on one hell of a trip."

"You mean assault, possession, under the influence, disorderly conduct. I heard the pigs in the ER," Starsky ground out.

Waving his hand nonchalantly, Digger dismissed him. "Man, those are nothing. A little slap on the wrist." He peered inside. "You gonna let me in?"

"Why?" Hutch asked bluntly.

Eyes shifting back and forth, Digger leaned toward Hutch conspiratorially. "I wanna talk to you guys about something. Is Flower Pot's 'ol lady here?"

Blue eyes met each other briefly as Hutch looked back at his partner. "She's out of town on a trip with some friends. Don't know when she's comin' back."

Digger seemed to file that knowledge away. "Cool. Can't have the chicks interfering with business, ya know." He elbowed Hutch, who had to use all his self-control to not shudder or step backwards.

"I guess you might as well come in. Don't want the neighbors getting too nosy." Hutch stepped aside, but left the main door open.

Starsky sat down on the comfortable couch draped in handmade crocheted covers. "So, what's up, Digger?"

"I thought maybe we could discuss some business."

A golden eyebrow lifted. "Business? Flower Pot doesn't allow any outside transactions taking place in his home."

"But he ain't here, is he? You see, me and Flower Pot were makin' some plans, and he talked about including you two. We discussed it a bit at the party before Johnny went nutso. So I don't see no reason why we couldn't work out an arrangement ahead of time, let Flower Pot get better while we take care of the business aspects. I heard through the grapevine that you were a teacher, right?" Digger asked Hutch.

"Yeah, high school. Finally decided to settle down and get me a real job."

"Excellent. Did Flower Pot talk to you guys about going into business to reach a fresh, new crowd, or anything?" he asked, as he dropped into an armchair.

"We've talked briefly about it, and he mentioned a new connection, that's about it."

"Well, since he's laid up a while and you guys are his partners, I think we can work out an understanding between us." Digger bent forward, leaning on his elbows. "Here's the deal. I got some primo shit coming in. Something the streets have never seen before. I need some new markets and since you guys —and Flower Pot—know the score around here," he looked meaningfully at Hutch, "and have some fresh meat available...well, we could rake us in some serious dough."

The corner of Hutch's mouth lifted in a hard grin at the reference to the kids he was supposedly teaching, but the blue in his eyes glittered hard like steel.

Starsky quickly broke in before Hutch could say anything. "If it's anything like that shit we had at the party the other night, that was some kickass weed."

Digger rubbed his hands, sensing a deal was close. "Nah, the stuff I got in mind is even better. Hooks 'em quick and it's cheap for the kiddies."

"So how are we supposed to rake in the dough if it's so cheap?"

"It's a special blend from Guatemala. But soon that high isn't enough, so they come to you for the harder—and more expensive—stuff." Digger's eyes glittered with greed.

Hutch nodded, his eyes still dark. "Sounds like a smart plan. But we gotta set it up careful. I don't want to lose my job."

"Gotcha. So, we got a deal?"

Communicating mentally, the two undercover cops knew they couldn't seem too eager.

"We'll call you for a meet tomorrow if we're interested," Hutch answered.

"Don't wait too long thinking about it. I can always find other pushers. Oh, and don't tell Flower Pot. Not yet."

"Why not?" Starsky sounded affronted. "He's our partner. We trust him implicitly."

Hurriedly reassuring them, Digger waved his hand. "He's gotta worry about getting better first." His gray-green eyes oozed with false sympathy as he got up and shook their hands. "Here's where you can reach me." He wrote a number on the back of an envelope lying on the side table. "I'll let myself out."

Waiting several minutes after Digger's car left their line of sight, the two dropped their shoulders and closed the main door.

"Well, we got him, Hutch. He's falling hook, line and sinker." His partner was still tense, Starsky could tell. Walking behind him to rub his back and shoulders, he tried to ease the tension from Hutch's long body. "Come on, babe. Let's finish what we started."

"Not now, Starsky." Hutch punched a fist into his palm. "I can't believe him. Talking about kids and teens as 'meat'."

"Let it go. It's not gonna happen. We'll make sure of it. You got all this pent up energy, Hutch, and you need to release it. And I know just the way to help - a nice shower will do the job just fine." Stepping around and taking his hand, Starsky led him down the hall to the bathroom.

*           *           *

The next morning, Starsky and Hutch set up a meet with Digger for 2:00 that afternoon in the parking lot of a diner outside their district.

Checking around carefully as they got out of Gino's 1978 F-150, they quietly slipped into the silver Olds 98 where Digger sat alone.

"So, we got a deal, then?" the pusher asked, as Hutch settled into the back, while Starsky sat down in the passenger's seat.

Hutch looked at Starsky in front of him and nodded.

"Yeah," Starsky answered. "Let's start with a kilo of that Guatemalan shit you've been bragging about and we'll go from there."

Grinning wolfishly, Digger assured them again that they'd be pleased.

"How much?" Hutch interjected. "And we've been around the block, so no trying to pull a fast one."

"Two hundred bucks a kilo.

"Why so cheap?"

"I told ya, man; this is some prime mixture from Guatemala. They load it with other stuff to thin it out. And it hooks 'em big."

Smoothly, Hutch asked what the weed was laced with.

"Oh no, you don't. I don't know you enough to trust you with that info." Seeing Starsky about to ask another question, Digger continued, "And don't ask me who my supplier is, either. Gotta protect my interests, you dig?"

The other men both nodded once.

"All right. When and where?" Hutch asked.

"How about tonight, say 10:00, at the old Roxy on Vincent and 9th?"

"Done."

Digger held out his hand and Starsky reached over and slapped it; Hutch more reluctantly.

They got out and slipped back into Gino's truck, pulling out toward Huggy's to fill Dobey in and to get the money and everything else set up.

"Notice he didn't even ask about Flower Pot, Hutch?"

"He only cares about the score, Starsk. Since Digger thinks he's got us on line to push, why play up the false sympathy?"

"What a snake."

*           *           *

Meanwhile, Digger had gotten out of his car and gone into the diner for some refreshment. Waiting for his sandwich, Digger slurped on his coffee, dreaming of the green he was about to be engulfed in.  Therefore, he was startled when a dark figure appeared before him.

He blinked in surprise. "Connie?"

Hands slapped together across the table as the large black man sat down. "How's it hanging, my beige brother?"

"What're you doing here? Last I saw of you was in Reno."

"BC's my home base. After I got out of the joint, I headed to Reno to lay low. Thought it was time to come back and check out my homies."

"You interested in continuing our little partnership, perhaps?"

"I'm doing okay. Got me some new girls. Hot models right off the line. Almost brand new. But I might have some time for a little leisure activity." Connie chuckled.

"Excellent. My right-hand man up and got busted for hitting down on someone, so I could use a good man like you."

Connie leaned forward, his five-year out-of-date sequined shirt falling open. "Listen, man. You were cool with me back in Reno. Got me some green so I could get set up good when I got out. So now it's time for me to return the boon. Those two dudes you were with before?"

"Where, outside? Phoenix and Lapis?"

"I only knows 'em as Rafferty and O'Brien, but that ain't their handle. Don't remember their real names, but I ain't likely to forget them. 'Specially Blondie."

"They do you wrong in the past, Connie? Because I got a deal going down with them tonight."

"No, man, they're the reason I got sent up in the first place. They're the heat, man—cops!"

"Cops?! Son of a...." Digger clenched a paper napkin in his fist. "Just wait 'til I get my hands on Flower Pot. No, better yet, his fat-assed bitch. That'll teach the motherfucker not to screw with Digger."

"Flower Pot?"

"The guy who set me up with them."

Swiping his hand in front of Digger once, Connie dismissed the unknown connection. "First you gotta deal with the heat." He looked thoughtful. "You say you got a meet tonight?"

"We did. However—"

"Keep it. We'll take 'em out and then go deal with your fink's skag."

"We?"

"Yeah. I want a piece of those pigs. They cost me seven years in the joint and 15 big ones."

"We'll need more help."

"I got some guns at my disposal. But I want those two to know who took 'em down."

Digger grinned evilly. "Connie, you and me are gonna make some sweet noise here."

*           *                      *

There was no moon to speak of when Starsky and Hutch pulled up to the curb next to the old Roxy Theatre Club later that evening. The small one-storey building stood in the shadow of several larger, worn down office buildings on the outskirts of downtown. The grimy white building was barely noticeable amid its taller cousins.

Vincent was a short, dead-end street with little artificial lighting. The gray, dark sky did nothing to enhance Starsky's foreboding and discomfort over this meeting. He was glad Dobey had pushed for bullet-proof vests along with the wires they were wearing. He was tired of taking chances, not knowing when their luck would run out.

"I don't see anyone else," Hutch commented next to him.

Pressing the tiny button on the side of his watch so that the face illuminated green, Starsky noted the time was 9:50. "Still got ten minutes. Don't worry, he'll show."

Grimacing slightly, Hutch agreed. "Yeah, he doesn't want to lose out on all that 'fresh meat' he's dying to hook onto his shit." Sighing, he leaned his head back. "This thing is heavy and the wires pinch," he grumbled.

Patting the broad leg next to him, Starsky tried to focus his partner. "We're gonna get him, Hutch. And then his supplier, too."

Picking up the mike, Hutch confirmed the location of their backup. Two units were in the alley behind the old Roxy, Dobey was downstreet several blocks on 9th, in front of a restaurant, and another unit was in an unmarked car on 9th in front of the office building that abutted the Roxy.

Digger didn't keep them waiting long. Pulling up next to them, effectively blocking the small street, keeping the headlights out on his car, he let the engine die down quietly before getting out and stepping to the front. He wanted to make sure that Connie and his cronies had a good line of sight in the darkness.

Slowly Starsky and Hutch also got out of their vehicle, stepping around the truck carefully as they kept a lookout through the sides of their eyes for both trouble and backup. A heavy jacket on Starsky and a cloth poncho on Hutch covered the wires and bullet proof vests that Dobey had made them wear.

"You got the money?"

Starsky pulled an envelope from one of his outer pockets. "Yep. Two hundred smack­eroos."

Two white envelopes exchanged hands. One letter-sized one with the cash to Digger, one legal-sized with a plastic bag of pot inside to Hutch.

"Wanna test it out?" Digger asked as he counted the money.

"We don't have time. Got a hot date."

The brown head of the dealer drew up slowly with a snarled grin on its face. "Not tonight you don't—pigs!" He raised his arm up once and shouted, "Connie!" The signal for the pimp and his cohorts to start shooting.

Like a cowardly bug, Digger dropped to the ground immediately and crawled on the dirty, broken asphalt to protection beneath the front end of his car.

Hurriedly, Hutch dove into the truckbed, while Starsky ducked down beside the driver's side of the truck; both had their guns pulled and aimed for the flashes of gunfire in the darkness.

"Captain! We need backup now! We've been made. It's an ambush!" Hutch screamed loudly so the wire would pick up his voice over the noise of the attack.

But Dobey had already heard the gunfire and ordered the backup units to move in.

Within minutes, most of the gang that Connie had brought with him had either been wounded or had surrendered. Seeing no way out, Connie crept toward the bed of the truck, where Hutch lay half-hidden. Angered, he made no pretense of stealth, and shot wildly into the side of the truck; most of the bullets being eaten by the heavy steel.

Counting six gunshots, Hutch took a breath and raised himself out of the bed, turning toward the passenger side where the shots had come and was surprised at the sight of the big man up close and reaching inside his coat, as if to grab another weapon. Overcoming his surprise, Hutch held onto his big Magnum and shot once at Connie's left arm, hitting low in the shoulder.

Growling in pain, Connie threw the weapon in his hand at Hutch and leapt forward with the intent to crawl over the side of the truck bed. Hutch jumped forward and slammed his fist into Connie's face, smashing the delicate cartilage of his nose, all but wiping away the hostile look on the black man's face. Hutch hurriedly got up and crawled out to make sure the big man was incapacitated.

"Goddamn, motherf'ckin' pig! I n't go'n down. You're gonna pay. You owe mmme!" Connie slurred with vengeance and spat blood onto Hutch's shoes and lower legs. His long legs shot out and he tangled Hutch's within his feet and yanked the blond cop down. Hutch's right elbow hit the asphalt hard and loosened his gun from his grip. In pain, Hutch reached for his Magnum with his left hand and hit Connie on the upside of his head, knocking the black pimp out.

On the other side of the truck, Starsky was holding down several unseen assailants. Shooting directly forward into the dark, a yelp told him that one of his bullets made contact with flesh. One down; pure luck. Where the hell are they? Can't see a damn thing. Hearing a scuffle somewhere to his left, he pivoted and looked out toward 9th Street, gun at the ready.

Taking a few steps forward, Starsky was able to make out the figures behind the sound: a uniformed officer, struggling with a gunman. Springing into action, Starsky helped the uniform finish cuffing his quarry.

Just as he shoved the suspect toward the officer for transport and booking, a sharp burning sensation sliced across his backside. He hissed and arched his back, as he saw the officer he'd just helped aim and fire his weapon somewhere behind Starsky. Turning 180 degrees, Starsky saw a body fall several yards in front of him with a short-snubbed gun in his right hand.

"Thanks, Peters. Didn't even see that one. He almost got me."

"Uh, Sarge?" Peters' voice was hesitant.

"Yeah?" Starsky turned back toward him.

"Um, do you have a spare pair of pants with you, by any chance?"

"No, why?" All of a sudden his backside felt chilly. Starsky reached back to where he had felt the burning sensation. His fingers touched upon a long jagged edge of denim, abraded skin, and stickiness.

*           *           *

The area around the Roxy was now filled with several flashing police cars and two ambulances. Dobey walked around the two parked vehicles, looking for his undercover detectives. Starsky was leaning against the truck with his left hand behind his back, and Hutch was on the sitting on the ground several feet away, next to an unconscious, familiar dark figure.

"You two okay?"

"Uh, sure, Cap'n," called Starsky over his shoulder.

"Hutchinson?" Dobey looked down at the seated man at his feet.

Grunting, Hutch pulled himself up sloppily, his left hand holding his right elbow. "Yeah, fine," he said shortly.

Starsky heard the sliver of pain beneath Hutch's breathy statement. "Hutch? You, okay?"

"Fine, Starsk. Just got banged up a bit."

Pointing to the nearby ambulances, Dobey ordered him, "Go get that checked out."

While Hutch ambled away, Dobey went to talk to his other detective, who surprisingly didn't move toward his partner to assure himself that Hutch was okay, as he normally would've done.

"Good job, Starsky. Now, why don't you tell me what's wrong with you? You can't fool me."

"Nothing, Cap'n. Just a little crease."

Looking up and down, Dobey didn't see anything, but then again, it was dark and Starsky sounded find, though subdued. "I'll let it pass for now." He looked around briefly. Where's Digger?"

"Shit! I forgot about him. He took a dive under his car when the shooting began."

Dobey walked over to the big Olds and leaned down as far as his stomach would let him. In the dim gray of night, he could see a still figure lying with its head angled toward the driver's door and feet presumably between the back wheels.

"Starsky, he's under here. Get over here and check his status."

Momentarily forgetting his 'wound,' Starsky followed orders and stooped down to get a good look at Digger.

"Ah-hah!" Dobey grinned. "Forget Digger and get your butt—literally—over to your partner and have an attendant check out your, uh...posterior."

Stumbling backward as he rose, Starsky bumped his head into the sideview mirror on the driver's side. He rubbed his head with his right hand and placed his left arm on the torn patch of jeans—drawing further attention to the slice of bared skin glowing in the police lights—as he hustled over to one of the waiting ambulances.

While his two detectives were being treated, Dobey called another paramedic over to pull out the still immobile Digger. The moment his dirty brown head appeared, the paramedics realized that any attempt to help would be useless. A thick clump of still-seeping blood and brain fluid leaked from a hole at the top of his head.

Looking around the scene, trying to figure out the pathway of the bullet that struck while Digger was effectively shielded under the car, Dobey noticed a hole in the driver's door. Open­ing the door, he followed the path made by the bullet through the inside of the door and down into the floorboard. Following the pathway back up to find the trajectory, Dobey realized the shot probably came from the vicinity of the truck bed. Most likely, Hutch's gun as few weapons were powerful enough to plow through several layers of steel. But a ballistics test would have to be run to confirm the bullet's weight and markings.

He left the remaining cops to finish cleaning up and tagging the scene, and walked over to his waiting detectives. "Everything fine here?"

Hutch was sitting on the steps to the ambulance, his elbow wrapped in an Ace bandage, while Starsky was standing next to him, his jacket now wrapped around his middle—effectively hiding his torn jeans.

"Hutch needs to get his elbow x-rayed."

"And what about you, Starsky? Did you get your rear end checked out?"

Starsky's eyes twinkled. "Are you asking to check my ass out, Cap'n?"

Despite his pain and worry over his partner's condition, Hutch couldn't help chuckling.

Grumbling in embarrassment, Captain Dobey stomped back to check on the status of the crime team, muttering to Starsky that he better see an Emergency Room report on his desk in the morning for both of them.

Finally letting a laugh burst out as their captain left, Hutch leaned back into Starsky and whispered, "No, that's my job. And, trust me, your ass is more than fine."

*           *           *

Epilogue

Dobey stepped from behind his desk and sat on the corner of it, facing the three men in his office. Starsky, Hutch and Gino all sat intently listening to the Captain's words as he reviewed their case from beginning to end. "So, with Digger in the morgue and Connie behind bars, you not only wrapped up the case, but you effectively shut down what could have become one of the worst drug pipelines into Bay City. The mayor is already talking commendations for you two. And..." he smiled proudly as he continued, "I'm writing up the recommendations for you each to be meritoriously promoted to Lieutenant. With your test scores and your records, you would have been approved eventually, but with this case drawing such positive attention, it's bound to be pushed through very quickly now."

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other in surprise, their faces lighting up with smiles. "Thanks, Cap'n!" Starsky beamed.

"Thank you," Hutch repeated.

"Far out!" Flower Pot grinned. "Congratulations, guys!"

Dobey's attention returned to the civilian beside his detectives. "Gino, I wanted to thank you personally for volunteering to assist in this investigation. From what Starsky and Hutch have told me, none of this would have been possible without your help."

"Glad I could help, man."

"I know we haven't seen eye to eye in the past," Dobey admitted, "but I hope we can put that behind us. I can respect the fact that, as a friend, you were only trying to help Hutch, though I still don't condone the use of marijuana in any way. And as an officer of the law, I certainly cannot tolerate it. However, from one friend to another, and off the record, I want to thank you for giving unconventional assistance to a friend of mine who desperately needed it at the time."

"Anytime," Gino nodded, also respectful of Dobey's stance.

Dobey stood and shook his hand before returning to his seat behind his desk. "Now, you three get out of here so I can finish this paperwork for your promotion recommendations."

"When do you think we'll hear on that?" Starsky inquired.

"You'll be up for first available opening, Starsky," Dobey replied to the surprised man. "I know for a fact there'll be one next month, with Schoonover's retirement. You'll have first dibs on that or any other openings. Not only did you have the highest score of all the candidates, but you have the most seniority as well. Hutch, you have the second seat. Dugan will have the next opening after you."

Hutch patted his partner on the back with a proud smile. "Congratulations, sir," he said to Starsky with affection as they left their superior's office.

"Not yet," Starsky said with some embarrassment. "I'm not gonna believe it until I see that shield in my hand."

"Why don't we all go out and celebrate?" Hutch suggested.

"Count me out, man," Flower Pot declined. "I'm not quite up to a night on the town with you two party animals."

"You still in a lot of pain, Flower Pot?" Starsky asked.

Flower Pot shook his head. "Nah, I'm okay. But Digger did a real number on my life, you know? Grace and Garrett are finally home, and I'm feeling better, but I've still got to line up a new supplier..."

"We never did find out what happened to Tweek," Hutch said sadly. "I'm sorry, Gino. I know he was a friend of yours."

"I like to think he just left town," Flower Pot sighed. "I don't want to believe he's dead.  Now that Digger's gone, maybe he'll come out of hiding. Who knows? I don't want to think that he's pushing up daisies, or he's alone and injured somewhere, or he's trapped. Tweek's a good guy. Always had a smile to give for everyone. I'd rather believe he's just doing that somewhere else, man, making people happy ."

Hutch patted Flower Pot on the back comfortingly, before throwing his arm around his shoulder. With Starsky on the other side, they all walked out of the BCPD together.

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