The Professionals Circuit Archive - Crying for the Moon	Crying for
the Moon

 

by Fanny Adams

  
 I knew they were lovers from the moment I saw them. It wasn't that they
were obvious about it--not the types to be pawing each other--but there
was something in the way they acted together that marked them as a couple.
I guess it was the same thing that Starsky and I shared, something people
on the outside called empathy or a perfect partnership or any of a number
of other things that circumvented the truth gracefully. I'd call it a kind
of complete awareness of each other. You don't get that--especially not
the physical part--by being partners only in a working sense. You have to
be bed partners too. And they were that; I was willing to bet on it.

Doyle was the one you noticed first. He was all rumpled curls and slanted
eyes and the life in him was like quicksilver. He glowed with it. He was
the one who was the most immediately attractive. But the other presence
was as strong in its own way. Bodie. The Heathcliff type, I decided on
that first meeting in my office on a greyish October afternoon. Large,
dark and brooding, and curiously handsome in a way that Doyle was not, he
was uncooperative, even sullen, taking exception to everything I said.
Only a look from Doyle seemed to settle him. Like I said, a couple.

I figured they were going to be trouble...oh, not in the sense that they
were going to be obstructive in any way: if I'd thought that I'd have
found some way to get them out of my way double quick, but trouble in an
emotional sense. How to explain? There was something boiling beneath the
surface--a mix of sexual tensions, fatigue, frustration, anger...any
number of disquieting things. And so I was surprised when I heard myself
offering them the use of the guest bedroom (or rooms, rather; I wasn't
about to let on that I'd guessed) for the duration of their stay, which I
and they (judging from Bodie's black mood) hoped would be mercifully
short. I was even more surprised when they accepted. Funny the way the
subconscious works.

I sent them off to collect their bags and called Starsky to tell him to
get the rooms ready. I told him about my feelings and he laughed at me.

"You're a real romantic, Hutchinson," he said. "Should I put the KY in the
nightstand?"

"Oh be discreet by all means. Do you mind having houseguests?"

"Nah. They good looking?"

"That does it. I'm sending them to the Y," I said and he laughed again,
that sound that always sends a pleasant chill up my spine.

"What time will you be home?" he asked. I heard Bear barking in the
background. "I'll run out and get Chinese for dinner. Everybody likes
Chinese, right?"

"We're leaving in a few minutes." Which was time enough for a carry-out
since it's a good hour's drive from Metro to home.

They were waiting in the parking lot. Bodie looking less irritable than he
had in my office, and Doyle a little flushed with a half-smile tugging at
the corners of his full mouth. Kissable that mouth, I decided, and clamped
down on that line of thought very fast. It doesn't do to notice such
things in my position.

It turned out Doyle had been a policeman before joining CI5, and was
interested in American police procedure. "The lads in New York were not
very forthcoming. The ones in Denver were downright rude," he told me. "Of
course we weren't particularly happy about the job they were doing and we
said so," he admitted. I could just hear Bodie telling off some harried
New York cop.

"You'll have to tell us your American adventures over dinner. All I know
is what the file told me."

"Which is?" Bodie asked from the back seat. He looked uncomfortable, which
wasn't surprising since the back seat of my car seems to have been
designed for children under ten.

"Stretch out if you want to, Bodie. It's a long drive." He propped his
feet up and sighed. "I know you work for CI5, but I'm not quite clear as
to what sort of organization that is. I can't get much information on it
out of the computer."

"We're not in the phone directory either," Ray volunteered with a little
laugh. "Very hush-hush."

"James Bond stuff, huh?"

"Something like that."

"So why are you here? I mean, what is so important about Evans? He's a
particularly nasty killer but hardly the stuff that intrigues are made
of." My question, surprisingly, seemed to make them a little uneasy.

"To be quite frank, Lieutenant Hutchinson..."

"Hutch, call me Hutch."

"Evans is the son of a prominent and very powerful man. I think we have to
consider our presence here as in the nature of a personal favor from our
boss to that man."

It was smooth coming from Doyle, and I wasn't quite ready to accept it as
the whole truth. There was a lot more to this case than either of them
were willing to discuss. "Do you mean," I asked, determined to pursue this
thing to whatever limits they decided to set...and beyond perhaps, if I
was feeling perverse... "that your agency is spending all this money to
have you wait here until he's caught, when the outcome is going to be the
same as if you were ordinary cops? I mean, he's going to jail regardless."
They both gnarbled indistinctly and I had the feeling that Bodie's
gnarbling was unrepeatable, but the gist of what I got was, yes, their
agency was etc. I wasn't satisfied.

Neither, apparently, was Bodie who asked if he could read the file while
we traveled. Now as fate would have it, I had a secret or two of my own
that I didn't want revealed too soon, and so I had been very careful to
leave the file at the office, misfiled to prevent anyone but me from
reading it just yet. Only Dobey and I knew where it rested. I told them
that I had to leave it at work for the night people but that they could
look it over the next day. Of course the night people were going to
misplace it. That's the beauty of shifts. You can blame anything on anyone
and it's months before you get found out. They weren't happy but neither
of them were willing to ride the whole way back to headquarters to get a
copy.

Starsky's new car--that damn flashy red number that replaced the flashy
red number that replaced the Torino (where he gets his taste in wheels is
beyond me, but then my opinions on that are well-documented) was hogging
most of the driveway. I considered scraping it as I squeezed in beside it
but I figured it would mean divorce city. I swear he cares more for that
car than for me. "What kind is that?" Ray asked and I grumbled something
about having to ask Starsky, all I knew was that it was red and I hated
it.

The front door opened and Bear flew out, jumped up to lick my face and
knocked me into a flowerbed. He's a big, affectionate black cross-breed,
Labrador and horse, I think, and is hard to resist...in more ways than
one. Recovering your dignity while supine in the petunias is not an easy
thing, and the barely controlled sniggers from Bodie didn't help. Doyle
was a bit nicer about it, he just laughed outright and helped me up and
brushed me off.

"How nice." It was Starsky, lounging in the doorway, watching us with the
expression that meant anything from "I'm horny" to "you're in big
trouble." "Which is which?"

I introduced them both and realized suddenly that Bodie's eyes were the
same color as Starsky's. For some reason that troubled me, though I
couldn't think why. Anyway, Starsky smiled and everything was okay
again...I guessed. He seemed to be trying to put the two Brits at ease,
and he was succeeding with Bodie--which was a surprise--but not quite so
well with Ray.

"Are you two hungry? I've got Chinese for dinner which Hutch should have
told you...did he tell you?" he asked, fixing me with the Starsky
"I'll-bet-you-fucked-up-again" look that he gives me from time to time.
Ray said yes and Bodie said no and nobody seemed very happy, so I decided
that a timely retreat was in order.

"I'm going to have a quick shower, Starsk, why don't you show them the
rooms?" I said and went upstairs, figuring that he could handle them for a
while.

A little later, when I came out of the shower I found Starsky lounging on
the bed reading the paper. "Shouldn't you be doing something to dinner?"

"It's all ready. I'm just keeping it hot." He folded up the paper
carefully and put it on my side of the bed. (He's very particular about
things like how the paper is folded and how many dirty shirts I throw on
the floor of the closet to get them out of the way.) "You were right about
them, you know."

"Why do you say that?" I rummaged through the drawer trying to find a
clean shirt and realized for the thousandth time that there was something
to keeping up with the laundry. "Can I..."

"You wear it you wash it, Hutch."

"I swear I will do the wash for a month when this case is over."

"They told me...Bodie did."

"Bodie! I can't believe it. He's been irascible since the moment we met."
I chose a light blue pullover that always looked better on me than on
Starsk.

"Maybe it's your personality, lover. Anyway, he didn't tell me in so many
words, but he's the one who said that the king size would suit them that
they didn't need the other room."

"It wouldn't hold up in court," I reminded him.

"I thought you were the one who was convinced they were an old married
couple."

"Okay, okay. Do I have any clean socks?" Starsky grinned at me.

"They're a young married couple, I think," he said as he came up behind me
and put his arms around my waist. The feel of him was always so sweet.
"Remember when we were new at this?"

"Honeymooning? How could I forget?"

"Well," he said, releasing me and closing the drawers I'd left open, "the
honeymoon's over for them and they're just starting to realize what
they've gotten themselves into."

I sat down on the bed and put on my socks. "You're feeling analytical
tonight, aren't you?"

"You were the one who started this. You got me interested. It's on your
head. I'm going to put the stuff on the table. Knock on their door on your
way, will you? I think they've forgotten about dinner." He disappeared
down the stairs leaving me to dress and consider what he'd said. I wasn't
one to discount Starsky's perceptions of people, in fact, if anything he
was a better judge of character than I was-- particularly where women were
concerned. Thank God, I thought, that's in the past.

What he saw in them was something different than what I had seen, and that
was part of the reason why we were always such a good team. I saw lovers
and he saw new lovers. A new dimension. That was, perhaps, the tension I
had felt on first meeting them. Maybe that's what was making Bodie
fractious.

I knocked on the door as Starsky had asked and sure enough, from the look
of them they'd forgotten all about dinner. "Shall I tell Starsky to keep
it warm?" I asked Bodie. Ray said no very quickly--too quickly. I made a
note to ask Starsky what Ray's reaction had been when he offered the king
size instead of separate rooms.

Starsk had done the whole exotic route with a seemingly endless assortment
of dim sum. We'd be eating dumplings for months, I thought. Bear would
swell to epic proportions with the scraps. But as it turned out, Bodie was
as bottomless as Starsky and he loved Chinese food. His looks were growing
on me and I found the thought disquieting.

"You were going to tell us your American adventures," I reminded Ray.

"Oh yeh, the search for Evans." He put down his chopsticks and sat back,
cradling a cup of tea between his hands. I wondered if he'd let slip any
information that would help me get through the labyrinth of this case. I
needed ammunition. "Apparently they caught him in New York about a month
ago. We were notified, and Bodie and I were sent out to bring him home.
Unfortunately for all of us, especially those poor girls, he got lost."

"Lost?" Starsky exclaimed. "You're joking."

"Wish I was. No, they lost him somewhere in transit. I still haven't been
able to sort out just how, but that, thank heaven, is not our job. We're
not diplomats."

"I'd noticed," I mumbled without thinking and Starsky gave me a sour look.
"Just kidding."

"We'd finally been recalled after being cooped up in a tatty hotel for a
fortnight, and were about to go home when he, or rather his m.o. turned up
in Denver. So we flew out to Denver, which is much pleasanter than New
York..."

Starsky's face got that frozen look, but he was too polite to say
anything.

"...and hung about there for almost a week while they decided that it
wasn't him, then that it was him, and finally that they weren't sure."

"And all the time he was here, killing hookers. What was the problem?
Copy-cat killing?"

"Must have been. He's a lot of things, is Evans but I haven't heard that
he can be in two places at once...unless you've got a copy-cat and he
really is in Denver."

"Oh, I think we've got the right one," I said.

"You positive?" Bodie asked. "This is the land of fruits and nuts, isn't
it?"

"We have our share. We don't need yours, thank you very much. We have a
couple of positive I.D.'s."

"You know what they say?" Starsky asked as he began to clear the table.
"Once a year they tip the country on its side and everything loose falls
into California. That's how I got here." He smiled at Ray very sweetly.
"I'm originally from New York."

"Oops, sunshine," said Bodie, and he laughed--the first time I'd heard him
laugh. "How's that boot taste?"

Ray covered his eyes with his hand. "Shall I apologize or just pack my
things?" And the tension was broken.

I wanted some time to sort out what I'd heard, and I wanted to compare
notes with Starsk. Even though we don't work together any longer I rely on
his judgement. (Starsky got a place teaching at the Academy after coming
out of the hospital, and I took the Lieutenant's exam. It was better that
way considering our relationship.) He still helps me on all my cases, even
if that just means rubbing my back after a long day. "I suppose it's my
turn to do the dishes?"

"Big deal, loading the dishwasher. I suppose you want out...again."

"No, not at all. Keep me company?"

He looked at me and nodded, having picked up the signal. We're still a
fantastic team. "If Bodie and Ray don't mind, that is."

"Fact is, I've a touch of jet lag," Bodie confessed.

"He just gets sleepy after a big meal," Ray told us, earning a frown from
Bodie. "If you don't need any help, I could use a shower and a good
night's sleep."

"By all means."

Starsky wanted to talk but I made him wait until I was sure they were
upstairs. When the shower began to run I felt safer.

"You're getting paranoid, Hutch." He was scraping the table scraps into
Bear's bowl. "You think they're lurking in the dining room?"

"Starsk, they're not cops like you and me. I don't know what they'd do to
find out what they want to know." He handed me the dishes as he finished
and I rinsed them and put them in the washer. "Besides, I wanted to ask
you what you thought of that little recitation over tea. What did you
hear?"

He thought about the question for a minute while he added a can of dog
food to the mess in the bowl, and put it down on the mat. "I can't figure
out why they're here, Hutch."

"Exactly! They shouldn't really be here. I mean, it's a waste of manpower,
isn't it, to have them mooching around the U.S. in hopes of catching up to
Evans in some city?"

"But Ray said that they were contacted when the N.Y.P.D. picked up Evans."
He leaned against the counter and watched as I finished the plates. "So
what exactly does CI5 do?"

"Well, I can't get a straight answer out of anyone on that, but the
nearest I can figure is that it's something like the CIA or the
FBI--internal not international."

"What kind of authority do they have?"

"Not much...at least I don't think they have much outside their borders,
unless for some reason they have some sort of diplomatic status. I have
the uncomfortable feeling they're going to try to pull that on us when we
get Evans."

"Give him diplomatic status, you mean?"

"And spirit him back to England. That's exactly what I mean, and I don't
know how to deal with that. I don't know what to do to stop it." I closed
and locked the washer and poured myself a glass of milk.

"What if they do?"

"If they're willing to go that far, he's special. He's probably not going
to be charged for the murders he committed over there." I felt very tired
suddenly. "He hasn't been charged yet. That much is in the file."

"What about the ones here?"

"Can't make 'em stick, Starsk. Not one of 'em. Not enough evidence." He'd
gone a little green at that bit of news. "Even if I could, diplomatic
immunity would cover that nicely, wouldn't it?"

"Would it?" he asked. I wasn't sure.

Starsky stayed downstairs and read for a while--he was studying for the
Lieutenant's exam--and I went up to read the paper. I was well into the
financial news when I heard the unmistakable sounds of lovemaking coming
from the guest room. Impossible to concentrate while that was going on so
I sat back and listened, wishing Starsky was with me. Of course, it wasn't
a nice thing to do--my mother would've been shocked--but it was hypnotic.
I found myself imagining them making love, imagining their bodies twining
together. When I opened my eyes Starsky was standing in the doorway, a
little smile on his lips.

"Hard to ignore, huh?" He kicked off his sneakers and climbed onto the
bed. "How about it, fella? You like nice Jewish boy?"

"I can think of one I love," I told him.

If there's one thing we've gotten good at, it's undressing in a horizontal
position without breaking our kiss. Of course our clothes end up on the
floor and Starsky kvetches about having to pick them up afterwards but we
don't lose a moment, no wasted effort.

And we've never grown tired of each other's bodies in the years we've been
together. I worried about that in the beginning when neither of us were
sure that what we felt was love and not some sort of itchy desire for a
new experience. (Perhaps I ought to point out that both of us had been
basically straight before we'd become lovers. Oh, there had been the
occasional experiments on both sides, but nothing like the way we seemed
to need each other.) I guess time proved that what we felt was love better
than analysis could have. Starsky had said "wait and see" and he was
right. We've changed, grown older, and the changes have registered on our
faces and bodies as well as our hearts and minds. Still, when he touches
me I soar. Like a Harlequin romance, nu? I'm sort of romantic and sloppy
about what I feel for him and I make no apologies. I think everyone should
have someone they feel that way about. It's a lovely feeling.

I couldn't help but wonder as we listened to our guests enjoying
themselves, and each other, if the two of them ever got romantic. They
didn't seem the type, quite frankly. As I said to Starsky, they weren't
like us and I thought that held true in the emotional sense as well as the
professional one. There was something hard about them that was unnerving,
as though some of the more human parts had been excised at an early age.
Bodie in particular seemed to have a wall around him. It never really came
down, though occasionally one got little flashes of something through the
chinks.

Starsky and I giggled a little afterwards. "Gosh, that was better than the
adults only cable stations, wasn't it?" he asked, and it was true.
Listening to them had been exciting in a kinky sort of way. "Loud, too."

"So are you when you get going," I reminded him, wondering if I ought to
get up and wash off or just pass out where I lay and hope I wouldn't
regret it in the morning.

"Oh, shit!"

"What?"

"I have to go down and start the dishwasher before I can sleep." He rolled
out of bed and pulled on one of my bathrobes. "I don't know why we can't
train Bear to do it."

"You know him, he'd start demanding six meals a day instead of five.
That's the life, isn't it? Next time around I want to be someone's dog."

"You're my little Chihuahua, Hutchie," he said as he slipped out of the
room. A.K.A., Mexican hairless, emphasis on the latter. I know how
Starsky's mind works. If he came back to bed while I was conscious I'd
bite him, or maybe I'd shed on him.

When the phone rang I woke with a start and grabbed for the receiver.
Starsky had long since come back to bed and snuggled against my side, nose
buried in my left armpit. (He doesn't appear capable of sleeping
untangled--though I'm not complaining.) The call was from Captain Zavalla
who gave me the address of a hotel just off Sunset where another hooker
had just been killed. It was near Chinatown.

I woke Starsky and told him about it and asked if he would be willing to
chauffeur our guests to the scene of the crime if they decided they wanted
to see it. "Why don't you take them?" he asked, grumpy and uncooperative.
He's never quite as sweet after being pulled from a sound sleep.

"I'm in a hurry and I don't want them hanging around there until I've had
a chance to do my stuff, okay?"

"Yeah, sure...of course it's okay." He shook his head and those wonderful
curls of his flopped in his face. I'd noticed them greying recently. He
looked very elegant with a slight dusting of grey. "I'll get 'em going
about..." He peered sleepily at the clock, glowing bright red in the
darkness "...about five-thirty. That gives you almost two hours head
start. Kiss," he demanded, turning his face up to be kissed before he'd
let me go. Whatever did I do before I had him to wake up beside?

It didn't take long to do my stuff. The forensics team was already on the
job when I arrived, so we stumbled over each other for the better part of
an hour, then someone brought me a cup of coffee and I talked to a couple
of locals who both said they'd seen Margaret (that was her name--unlikely
name for a streetwalker, but what the hell?) with a tall...a very tall
blonde guy, in Googie's about two that morning. They couldn't figure it,
they said, she wasn't much of a talker. All business was Margaret. Yeah,
well, I'd seen Evans' photo, and even if it flattered him a little I could
see why Margaret had been willing to sit and talk to the guy. He was
easily the handsomest human being I'd ever seen. Strange eyes. And he was
a positive genius with a knife. The last one...Jesus, he'd cut her heart
out and taken it with him.

Anyway, I flashed the photo of Evans at them and they said, yeah, no doubt
about it, that was the guy. Him, you'd remember.

The street was full of people--more than usual even at this hour. Lot of
hookers, you could tell, all wondering if they'd be next. In the few weeks
he'd been in Los Angeles, Evans had killed five of them. And the pisser
was that I didn't have enough evidence in any of the cases to convict him.
Oh yeah, a lot of circumstantial stuff, but I sure wouldn't want to bring
him to court on that. He'd walk. That was my little secret and I was
damned if I was gonna let Bodie or Doyle know until I had to. I wanted
Evans formally charged in the U.K. They had the evidence they needed to
put him away for six lifetimes.

Starsky showed up a little past five with our two guests. Bodie looked
depressingly wide-awake, but Doyle was dragging a bit. They both needed a
shave. Starsky looked chipper, shaved and combed like a prize show dog. He
gave me a lopsided grin and apologized for not being able to hold them off
any longer. "They started prowling about half an hour after you left;
heard the car and managed to put two and two together. I putzed around in
the shower and shaved and fed the dog and made them eat before we left.
Best I could do, lover."

"S'okay," I assured him. "We wrapped up the messy part pretty fast. I
talked to a couple of people who saw her with a guy they've unofficially
identified as Evans." I shrugged. "Nothing watertight. I'll wait to see
what forensics have to say."

"Hutch, d'you mind if we see the body?" It was Ray at my elbow. He sounded
a lot sharper than he looked. I nodded and took them to the room where the
body lay alone, covered with a sheet, waiting for the coroner to claim it.
The forensics people were outside having coffee and doughnuts and
discussing football.

Ray and Bodie took a look around the room, then at Margaret. What
surprised me was Bodie's response. He went white and turned away. "I don't
like seeing women cut up like that," he confessed. Ray, the ex-cop, seemed
less perturbed.

"Always this many people on the street at this hour of the morning?" Bodie
asked as we left the hotel.

"It's always crowded. This is a twenty-four hour part of town." I was
about to point out that Chinatown began a few streets over when Bodie
froze.

"Bodie?" Ray began. "What's..."

"Evans," Bodie hissed, and he pelted off down the street with Ray at his
heels. I could only presume that Bodie had spotted the man--I surely
hadn't seen him in the crowd. I went after them, swerving past Starsky to
bark "Evans" at him. He followed me, and the four of us, spaced out by a
few hundred yards, dashed down the street like lunatics from the Doo-dah
parade.

Bodie and Doyle were a lot faster than either Starsky or myself and it was
a blessing considering that Evans with his long legs was just as fast as
they were. As I ran, I saw him turn to face Bodie, and it looked as though
they were speaking, then they were grappling. There was the flash of a
knife and Bodie caught the hand that held it. If he could just hold on for
a moment we'd be there; Ray was already nearly on top of them. But Bodie
gave a yell of pain and Evans was up and running again. Too late--Ray
caught him with a spectacular flying kick and they both went down in a
heap. The smaller man was up first and his second kick got Evans in the
face, and was, perhaps, a little gratuitous in its force. But if it had
been my partner bleeding on the sidewalk I'd not have been gentle either.
Starsky joined the fray just as I arrived on the scene, and he and Ray
wrestled Evans to the ground and got him cuffed.

"Well," I said, feeling old and utterly useless in the face of all this
youthful expertise, "I'll just go get myself another cup of coffee."

Ray ran over to where Bodie lay, clutching his thigh. "How about it,
sunshine, you gonna die on me?" he asked, a quaver in his voice betraying
the emotion there.

"Get him?" Bodie asked between clenched teeth. Ray pried his hands free
and examined the wound.

"Yeah, we got him. Cor, that's bad. Let's get you to hospital, Bodie."

"Oh shit!" Then Bodie's eyelids fluttered and he slid out of Ray's grasp.

******

*BODIE:*

The only thing that didn't hurt was my leg.

"I've just been reading your horoscope, Bodie." Ray was perched on the
window ledge holding a newspaper that proclaimed: "Ripper Captured." "It
says you'll have a sex- change operation today."

"Very funny." That, like the wound, was a little close for comfort. Evans
had very nearly made a girl out of me. "What's yours say?"

"That a career change is in the cards."

"Oh, get off..."

"No, honestly, look."

"Don't want to. I hurt."

"I'll just bet you do," he said with a sympathetic little frown. He hopped
down and felt my forehead.

"What's that for?" I demanded. "I don't have a fever."

"Mum always used to. It made me feel better when she did." And come to
that, I did feel better at his touch. He's the only one since my Mum died
that could do that to me. That's why I don't mind being sick around Ray.
He doesn't fuss, he just offers whatever you want of help and sympathy and
otherwise stays out of your way when you feel most miserable.

"He had a second knife, a flick knife, up his sleeve. That's what he cut
me with, not the big Bowie he used on the girls."

"I know. The coppers found it in the street. You're just lucky, old son,
that it wasn't the Bowie."

"I want to go home." I was hurting and unhappy and I didn't give a damn
what happened to Evans now. I was more than willing to settle the matter
unofficially with a bullet in his ear.

"U.K. home or just out of the hospital home?" Ray asked, playing with the
controls on the bed so that I sat up and lay down several times. I got to
laughing over that and so did he. We were both tired and depressed and it
seemed a wonderful joke.

"Both or either. I don't care at the moment."

"They want you to stay overnight."

"Oh, Ray, tell them no. I don't like hospitals."

"Don't I know it? Sorry, Watson, but orders is orders. You'll stay the
night. Look at that--you're hooked up to a bloodmobile, Bodie. They're
keeping you alive by main force."

"Sod you, Doyle," I snapped. "I'm perfectly healthy."

"That's why you're the colour of pasta, is it? Bodie, be a good boy. I
have to talk to Cowley today. I don't need any more headaches."

I was suddenly interested. "Why?"

He took a couple of bites of the lunch they'd brought and made a face.
"Hutch. He says that if Evans isn't charged in the U.K. they'll keep him
here to stand trial."

"Aw, bloody 'ell."

"Right, mate, and you know who'll get the business end of Cowley's
reaction to that?" He tapped his chest. "They trying to kill you with this
food?"

"Why do you think I hate hospitals? What else did Hutchinson say?"

Ray smiled a little. "He's sharp, that one. Doesn't miss a thing. He was
asking all kinds of questions about Evans, even asked did we know him."

"Think he's sussed something?"

"I think he's reaching...but in the right direction. That's another reason
I've got to talk to Cowley today." He gave me a pat on the arm. "You rest
and get better. I'll take you out of here when you stop looking like Count
Dracula."

Trouble--I'd known it from the moment I saw him. At first I thought it was
because of Ray, because he took one look at that gorgeous little golliwog
and started itching for a taste. It's not that Ray and I have an exclusive
relationship, mind, it's just that I hate it when he notices other men.
And he was noticing Hutchinson. And then he was noticing Starsky and I was
feeling a little like a plate of leftovers. It's not that I expect him to
stop noticing men- -or women for that matter--but I'd rather he did it
with a little less enthusiasm is all. It hurt.

Still, our private life, as The Cow loves to point out to us, is the least
of our worries. His view of our affair is tolerant to the point it
interferes with our work and then one or the other comes to an end. That's
how it's been laid out to us and I don't think there's too many options.
The important thing is, I know how Ray would choose. Dumb crud, I am, for
falling in love with him.

Well, Hutchinson seemed to be causing me all kinds of trouble, not all of
it to do with Ray. The truth of it was that I knew Evans--had known him in
the SAS. He went on to MI6 when I went to CI5, and I'd encountered him
occasionally over the years. He was always a strange 'un, and I never
really liked him much, but he was good at his job. Problem was, he was too
good. His breakdown turned a lethal weapon on the world. We were ordered
to bring him back quietly, avoiding all publicity, and he'd be committed
by his family. MI6 was embarrassed, the SAS was embarrassed, the
government was embarrassed, his bloody family was embarrassed and Evans
kept on killing girls and getting away with it.

The funny part, if there was anything funny about this situation, was that
we were supposed to keep Hutchinson from doing just what we both thought
should be done. This assignment didn't sit well with either of us and we'd
told Cowley so in the beginning. And, as usual we were given the standard
lecture about how our personal feelings were unimportant etc. Then he
confessed, off the record of course, that he agreed with us but that at
the moment his hands, and ours therefore, were tied.

Starsky stopped by to see me later that afternoon and brought me some
Mexican food. "Best thing when you've lost blood," he confided with a
wink. Then he described each item to me in loving detail...and helped me
eat it. I'd never had a chimichanga before. It was loaded with sour cream
and I could almost hear the howls of outrage from Ray who would have
lectured me about how my poor, overloaded heart was going to go bang one
day. I told Starsky and he said, "My heart stopped once. It's easy."

"Yeah, that's what Ray said, too."

I told him about it, about the time I almost lost Ray, and he told me
about his own brush with death. It was nice being with him with no case
between us. I liked him a lot. We talked old movies, sports and finally
sex. He was very frank about his relationship with Hutch, and I found
myself talking about Ray more than I was used to doing. He was easy to
talk to.

"It's been seven years we've been lovers," he said, "and I think he's
getting itchy for something new and exciting."

"An affair, you mean?"

"Yeah. You, Ray...he's attracted to both of you, you know." I hadn't known
that and told him so. "Cold comfort." He said, "Anyway, it's not a big
deal or anything. We never made any promises. It's just that, well, we've
had our little flings with women, but never with another man."

The nurse came in and glared at the food wrappings. "Where did this come
from?" she demanded and Starsky and I both shrugged.

"Little guy looking for 'Tia Conception'," he said. "He forgot to take it
with him." Starsky looked seraphic and the nurse crumpled up the papers
with a growl, but said no more. When she finished checking to see if I was
still alive, she left, looking a bit insulted.

"I'm not a very good patient," I admitted.

"Neither is Hutch, and he's very vocal about his feelings for the medical
profession. If he ever gets hurt again we might as well just shoot him and
be done with it. They won't have anything to do with him."

"Tell me, you said never with another man..."

"Yeah, well, we've both done our experimenting, mostly as kids, but we're
both basically straight. What about you?"

"Ray's like that, though he's done more than experiment in his time," I
told him. "Me, I've never cared much one way or the other, though I've had
more girls than anything else."

Starsky produced a chocolate bar from his pocket, broke it in half and
offered a piece to me. "I'm not worried so much as a little apprehensive.
It'd be easy to consider this just another fling and look the other
way...or to do the same. You two are very attractive," he said with a
casual frankness that shocked me slightly. The situation was rapidly
becoming awkward. "Only, well, maybe I am worried that if anything happens
we'll start to feel that infidelity isn't important. That's the death
knell for relationships like ours. I don't even like it when we see women,
but I do it occasionally. Don't know why." He looked very depressed.

"I'd say something helpful, but I'm not sure what would help."

"Are you two exclusive?" I shook my head. "How long have you been
together?"

"Eighteen months give or take. It's just..." I began, and clamped down
hard. I'd been about to say that it was just sex between us, but I
couldn't lie to him. For me, anyway, it was much more than just sex.
"We're new to this. I don't think you can compare."

"You're more like us than you know," he said, but didn't elaborate. "Well,
I've gotta go. Anything you need?"

"I need to get out of here," I grumbled. He grinned at me and I knew why
Hutch loved him. He was bright and beautiful, just like Ray.

"I promise I'll come and get you tomorrow afternoon, okay?"

"Morning."

"If they let me." He bounced out of the room and it seemed suddenly dark
and lonely. There was a bit of chocolate left on the bedside table and I
ate it slowly, thinking a lot about what he'd told me. I'd have liked to
reassure him, but I couldn't. I knew that Ray was interested in both of
them, and I couldn't answer for him. There were days when I couldn't
answer for myself.

After an uninspired supper, I was rotting my brain with American telly,
when Hutch arrived with, bless him, more food.

"I hear you hate hospitals," he said as he made himself comfortable.

"I hear you do."

"I studied medicine in my youth." He flicked off the set and sat back.
"So, how are you feeling?"

"Terrible, starving." I peered at the food he'd brought. "Pasta
Primavera?"

"Umhm. Like it?" He produced a shaker of cheese from his pocket and passed
it to me.

"It's fine, thanks."

"I've had an interesting day," he said, and I had the feeling it had
something to do with CI5. "Your Major Cowley is a difficult man."

"He's in a difficult position," I said, not liking the criticism, implied
or otherwise.

"Oh, yeah, I know that. But so am I and that's what he doesn't seem to
understand." I waited. He waited. There was a long time when there was no
sound but chewing. "I was wondering if you, or Ray, would be willing to
help me out a little."

"We've got an assignment, Hutch."

"I'm not asking you to forget that."

"What are you asking?"

He rubbed his face with both hands. He looked very tired. "I want
information. I want to know what I'm up against."

It was only fair, I thought. "Has Ray told you anything?"

"No more than you have."

"I'll talk to him," I promised. "I can't do more than that right now." He
nodded and closed his eyes. "You don't have to stay, you know."

"Don't you want me to?"

"Sure. It's lonely here, but if hospitals put you off..."

"I'm not that bad. You play cards?"

"Like Happy Families and Snap?"

"No, like Old Maid and Go Fish." He produced a battered deck. "Gin?"

"I won't complain."

While we played, he talked about Starsky and the more I heard, the more
sure I was that nothing could come between them. Even the seven-year itch,
as Starsky had called it, was a minor consideration. They had something
together that I desperately wished for with Ray, but felt was impossible.
It didn't seem likely that we'd discover any dammed-up reservoirs of
emotion after all this time. Funny. I told him I thought he was damned
lucky and he seemed surprised.

"You sound like you envy me."

"I do, quite frankly," I admitted. He was winning every hand. I must have
been dopier than I'd imagined.

"Why?"

"Because you love each other," I said. It seemed like the moment for
truth.

He frowned at me and lay down his hand. "Gin...again." I groaned as he
totalled the points. "You mean that what's between you and Ray has nothing
to do with love?"

"How much do I owe you?" I asked. He took the hint.

When the nurse came in to shoo him out for the night I owed him one
hundred million Swiss francs (it was the only currency we could agree on)
but we cancelled the debt when he confessed he'd been cheating. Just like
Ray.

******

*HUTCH:*

When I got home that night, Starsky and Ray were playing Scrabble in the
dining room. "How is he?" Ray asked.

"Lonely." I hung up my jacket and Starsky looked pleased. "I talked to his
doctor--he can be released tomorrow. What are your plans?" I asked Ray.

"That rather depends on you, doesn't it?" He set out his tiles and Starsky
looked them over carefully, then he looked hard at Ray.

"I'll let it go," he said, "but if I find out you made it up..."

"Would I do that?"

"You bet you would. Have done already."

"Yeah, and you caught them all."

"Hmmm."

Ray looked up at me. "Cowley might be willing to negotiate with you," he
said.

"You let me know what he says. I need a shower."

To tell the truth, I was so sick of the whole situation that I was almost
willing just to let Evans go. Almost, but not quite. My overworked sense
of justice wouldn't quite let me go that far. I'd take responsibility for
the world if anyone was inclined to let me.

What disturbed me most was what I was feeling about, and for, the two
Brits. The attraction was undeniable, but the strangest thing was that it
wasn't Ray that I was most drawn to. I figured that it was his superficial
resemblance to Starsky that had attracted me initially, but he was
Starsky- like only on the outside. He was more me than anything else. It
was Bodie who was most like Starsky in the final analysis. I couldn't
explain why I felt that way, but I knew it was true, it drew me to Bodie
in a way that a physical attraction never could.

And I felt sorry for them because theirs was a rocky relationship in a
rocky phase, and if I had to be honest I'd have said that I wouldn't have
given two cents for their chances together. Still, people had made more
out of less many times over. And of course, I felt guilty for feeling
attracted to them at all; guilty because of my relationship with Starsky
and my love for him, and guilty because it would be so easy to take what I
wanted from Bodie and Ray without a thought to how it might affect their
relationship. Starsky once said that I thrive on guilt the way other
neurotics thrive on stress or anger or big emotional scenes, and I guess
he was right because I found myself enjoying the pangs of conscience. I'm
a self-indulgent bastard when it comes to emotion.

I was towelling off in the bedroom when Starsky came up with a load of
clean clothes--mostly mine--and began to put them away. "Who won?" I asked
and he smiled.

"I was so busy accusing him of cheating that he never imagined I was. Here
you go, clean clothes at last. You're stretching my shirts." He patted my
stomach proprietarily and I caught hold of his wrist.

"Starsk, tell me you love me, will you?" I asked, and he went a funny
reddish color, like a young girl with a crush. "Because I love you very
much."

He put his arms around me and nuzzled against my chest. "Maybe we need a
honeymoon if you have to ask me for that," he admitted. "I love you
Hutchinson, and I ought to tell you so every day--every hour maybe."

"Well, let's not get carried away, huh?"

He began to laugh, and his warm breath on my skin was very arousing. "I
don't ever want to end up like those two poor bastards. They can't tell
each other how they feel, can they?" I was pulling him towards the bed and
he was still chuckling. "I know what you're after."

He let me undress him, savoring the feel of his skin and the smell of
sunshine on it. He's very tan these days. The hair on his chest was
beginning to grey too and my feelings about that were mixed. It was sort
of bittersweet--aging, but aging together like a married couple ought.
Everything about him was sweetly familiar like the road you take going
home, the taste, the smell, the feel of him, all familiar and all special.
We weren't bothering with anything complicated, no acrobatics. We just
held each other close, doing what felt best--a slow friction of body
against body, the feel of his cock against mine, his naked, damp skin
against mine, holding on tight when the moment came, silent and worshipful
for the thing we still shared.

"You'll have to wash again," he said sleepily. "Love you."

"S'all right. Love you too." I was almost asleep in his arms. "Starsk,
where's Ray?" I'd had a sudden vision of him waiting downstairs over the
Scrabble board, planning his first move of the next game.

"He wanted to call Bodie before the switchboard closed."

"I hope he says something special to him. I hope it's not just business."
I felt sorry for them all over again.

"It's not business. I'm pretty sure it's not that."

******

*BODIE:*

In the end, it wasn't necessary to give Hutch the ammunition he'd been
asking for. Cowley'd had enough and I guess he delivered an ultimatum to
the people who'd insisted on secrecy. The upshot of it was that Evans'
extradition papers came through about two days later. He'd been formally
charged with ten counts of murder in U.K.

I never saw him again. Someone else came to take him back to stand trial
since I couldn't walk. We stayed with Starsky and Hutch until the day we
were to leave the States and they were good to us. Neither of them ever
again mentioned the things we'd discussed while I was in hospital for
which I was grateful, and yet, I had the feeling I'd not come to know them
very well. That was sad, really, because I think I would have liked them
quite a lot.

I was glad to go home in the end because watching them together made me
unhappy. What they had together I desperately wanted with Ray, and to see
them so happy made me ache--a dull, constant pain under the breastbone.
Oh, I know it's different situations; that we're different people in
different situations, and what Ray and I have is special- -I believe that
and so does he, I think. I guess it's madness to always want more, to
always be crying for the moon.

But I'm haunted by the thing Starsky said to me that afternoon in
hospital. He said that we, all of us, aren't so very different in the
final analysis. It makes me wonder what the possibilities are. It makes me
wonder if there are any more that I'll never know about.

-- THE END --

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