Starsky was leaning back in his chair, carefully cutting an article out of the newspaper, when his partner entered the squadroom. "About time you got here," he said, barely looking up.

Hutch shrugged. "Don't you remember me telling you I was going to visit Luke this morning?"

The curly-haired man went back to his task, mumbling, "Didn't think it was gonna take so long."

Hutch grinned with exaggeration. "Miss me?"

Starsky looked up. "No. But Dobey did."

The blond's smile disappeared. "You told him where I was, right?"

Starsky shrugged, still cutting. "I didn't remember, so I said I didn't know."

"Starsky," the other cursed through gritted teeth, "I know you don't have a lot going for you upstairs, but I'd thought you could remember something longer than twelve hours. I swear, I don't know - " Hutch stopped when his partner glanced up with a huge grin.

The taller man sighed heavily.

Starsky chuckled. "Really had you going, didn't I?"

Hutch shook a finger at the man across the table. "One of these days...." He trailed off, brows furrowing. "What are you doing?"

A final snip and the article was free. Starsky held it up. "Did you see this in this morning's paper? Our horse won a $50,000 stakes race yesterday."

Hutch leaned closer until he could make out the words in the article. "Partner for Life?"

Starsky sighed. "Of course, Partner for Life. What other horse is 'our' horse?"

"Well," Hutch pointed out reasonably, "there were two other horses in our trifecta."

"But Partner for Life was the clincher," Starsky said firmly. "He's the one who won against the odds, the one that made it happen."

"Hm," Hutch rubbed at his mustache as he continued to skim the article, "that's pretty amazing, him winning a stakes like that. The race that he won for us was just a claiming race. He's really moved up in class since then."

Starsky nodded firmly, as though it was, of course, all meant to be. "If he keeps winning stakes races, then maybe they'll turn him into a stud horse instead of dog food."

Hutch blinked. "Starsky, he's a gelding. He can't be a stud horse."

Starsky froze for an instant, thinking it through, trying to remember all the things Hutch had taught him that day at Del Mar. Whispering, he said, "You mean... he's... neutered?"

"Yes. Gelded. Castrated."

Starsky cringed at the word. "Geez. Why would they do that to 'im?"

The blond chuckled softly at his partner's reaction. "I think usually it's either because they don't think the horse is going to be any good so there's no reason to keep him 'whole', or sometimes it's because they have a bad disposition and gelding them makes them more docile."

Starsky made a face. "Who would want a race horse to be docile?"

"Well," Hutch shrugged, "if a horse was downright dangerous because of a bad disposition... plus, gelding them sometimes keeps their mind on racing instead of on the girl horses." He paused a moment. "I remember once, when I went to that Canadian track with Jack, his father and the trainer were arguing about gelding a horse. The horse had great bloodlines, but he was downright vicious and the trainer wanted to geld him. But Jack's father was arguing that the horse had a great future at stud. But the trainer was pointing out that the horse's disposition was going to keep him from winning any races, so no one would want to breed their mares to him, anyway."

"What happened?" Starsky prompted when Hutch stopped speaking.

"I never heard the outcome. I just remember that I thought it was an awful lot of fuss over one pair of testicles."

Starsky cringed again, looking about the semi-busy squadroom. "Do you have to say that word out loud?" he hissed.

Hutch looked him right in the eye. "What word? TESTICLES?"

Almost everyone in the squadroom turned their heads. Starsky partially covered his eyes, and Hutch grinned devilishly.

Finally, an older detective said from across the room, "What's the matter, Hutchinson, you got a problem with yours?"

The blond grinned smugly. "Hey, Masterson, maybe I just got an extra pair to go around. What's it to you?"

Dobey came out of his office, and took the situation in with a glance. "Don't any of you have anything to do?" he bellowed, before moving out the door.

The blond's attention turned back to his partner as Starsky folded the clipping to put in his wallet. "You saving that?"

"Yeah," Starsky replied in a small voice, wondering if he was going to get laughed at. "Besides, that horse could maybe end up being famous, winning the Kentucky Derby or somethin'."

Hutch wasn't laughing, but the tone was condescending. "Starsk, he can't win the Derby because he's a five-year-old. Only three-year-olds run in the Derby."

The other sighed heavily. "You're a regular walking encyclopedia, aren't you?"

Hutch shrugged.

Starsky studied his partner, the arrogant tilt of the chin, and his eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. Concerned, he asked, "Where did you get that?"

Hutch rubbed at the corner of his chin, near the exact spot that his partner was studying. "What?"

"That bruise."

The blond seemed genuinely surprised. Softly, he asked, "Is there really a bruise there?"

Starsky stood to get a closer look. "Yeah. What the hell happened?"

Hutch grinned broadly. "Oh, Luke and I were kidding around, and he accidentally cuffed me."

Starsky's eyes widened. "Cuffed you?" Slowly, he sat back down.

Hutch shrugged off-handedly. "Ah, he didn't mean it. You know how we are when we get together."

Starsky nodded. He did indeed know how they were... at least outside of prison walls. "Whatever happened to that glass they always have between prisoners and their visitors?"

The blond looked appalled. "For chrissakes, Starsky, I'm a cop. The guards always let me go in. Luke and I usually visit in one of the questioning rooms." He studied his partner's expression. "Don't condemn him. He felt bad enough about it, as it is. We were just playing around, having a good time."

Starsky sighed, tried to turn his attention back to his work. "You and I have never accidentally hit each other when we're just playin' around."

Hutch's eyes narrowed in disbelief, and Starsky felt a wave of guilt wash through him. The curly-haired man grinned sheepishly. "Sorry." A shrug. "I'm just used to lookin' out for your welfare, that's all. Don't like funny little bruises showin' up with no explanation."

The other's voice hardened slightly. "I just explained it."

"O-kay," Starsky emphasized softly. "Sorry I got carried away." He shuffled some papers. "So, how is Luke?"

The broad grin was back. "Doing real good. He's sure he'll get parole when he has his hearing in two months -- he might be out in time for Christmas."

"That'd be nice."

"Yeah." Hutch glanced about the table. "What are you working on?"

"Another murder in Sandstone Park."

Hutch's eyes narrowed. "Like the last two?"

Starsky opened a file and held it before his partner. "Looks that way. The body was found early this morning and the M.O. is similar."

"Any I.D.?"

"The coroner's putting together a report now. As soon as we get something more definite from downstairs, we can hit the streets."

* * *

As they left the house where they had just interviewed the latest victim's mother, Starsky asked, "So, how do you size it up?"

Hutch sighed. "I think Sandra Livingston could easily have had a lot going on in her life that her mother didn't know about."

"I think so, too," the curly-haired man nodded. "And I think her mother may be now trying to come to terms with how little she knew."

"It's always easy to turn a blind eye," Hutch noted. He reached for the microphone and asked for an address for the latest victim's closest friend, whose name had been provided by the mother. While waiting for a reply, Starsky started the car forward.

"I have a feeling this isn't going to be an easy case." The curly-haired man sighed dramatically. "And that probably means we can't drive up the coast this weekend."

Hutch jerked his head toward his partner. "I didn't know we were going to drive up the coast."

"I know. I hadn't gotten around to telling you yet. But," another sigh, "it looks like our plans for a getaway weekend are going to be put off yet again. Tsk. Tsk." They hadn't gotten away even once since their trip to Del Mar.

The blond asked, "Whatever happened to your intention to 'train' Dobey?"

"The intent was to train him to do without us after we made our getaway. There's nothin' I can do about it when things come up before we even have a chance to pack."

"Yeah, well, sometime over the weekend I'll buy you a beer, and we can reminisce about how nice it would have been to drive up the coast."

"You're on."

* * *

The address that was radioed back to them was in a wealthy area known as Clayton Heights, but the two detectives found no one home. As the Torino wove its way through the wide streets, Hutch said, "Hey, the Huntley's place isn't too far from here. What do you say we drop by and pay Doris a visit? I promised Luke I'd look in on her."

"Okay," Starsky agreed, not looking at his partner. "I'm not sure how to get there, so point the way." He wished Luke would take care of his own, but he knew that wasn't being fair. The man could hardly look after his wife while in prison.

And he wished Doris didn't need so much looking after. They hadn't seen her since that day at the track -- as far as Starsky knew, Hutch hadn't talked to her, either -- and he hoped she'd been able to scrounge up some more money to get herself by. Of course, just "getting by" wasn't going to last forever. And with Luke getting out in a couple of months... he didn't want to think about what kind of rotten Christmas that was going to be.

"Take a left," Hutch pointed. A few blocks later, he said, "Now a right."

Starsky had put on his sunglasses and eyed his partner through the corner. "You talk to Doris lately?"

Hutch shook his head. "Not since that day we ran into her. But every time I talk to Luke, he keeps me updated." He looked at his partner. "She visits him at least once a week, you know."

The curly haired man nodded. "That's nice."

"Here it is, up on the right."

Starsky pulled in front of the house he vaguely remembered, for he'd only visited it once, and that had been the night following the beers at Huggy's, when Luke had beckoned Starsky and Hutch to come home with him. Alone in the Torino, Starsky had followed behind Hutch and Luke in the latter's car. It had been the beginning of the Huntleys' troubles, for Doris had complained of "not feeling well" and Starsky and Hutch left shortly thereafter. They later found that the sudden illness stemmed from stress that Doris owed Reuben another $12,000 for gambling losses, in addition to the $50,000 that was already long gone.

Now, it was the middle of the afternoon, with the sun high and bright. It was a medium-sized house, in a nice area. Starsky stood back while Hutch knocked.

After a few moments, Doris opened the door. She was casually dressed in a jogging outfit, and her face had no make-up. "Oh, Ken!" she greeted, "and... David."

Starsky stepped forward, not surprised she would have trouble remembering his name. They'd only met twice.

"We were in the neighborhood," Hutch said, "and thought we'd stop by."

"Oh, certainly." She stepped back. "Come on in. I can put some coffee on and...."

Hutch waved a hand as they entered. "No, don't trouble yourself. We'll just be a few minutes. I saw Luke this morning and told him I'd see how you were."

"Well, I'm sorry," she patted at her outfit, "that I'm not dressed for company."

"Don't worry about it," Hutch quickly assured. "Besides," he grinned broadly, "you look great. I'm sure it's all the more motivation for Luke to come home soon. He seems real sure that he's going to get paroled by Christmas."

"Yes, isn't that nice?" She addressed both of them with the overblown smile that made Starsky uncomfortable. "I talked to him yesterday afternoon, and things are looking really good for him to come home."

Hutch's tone gentled as he leaned back against the kitchen counter she'd led them to. "Are you getting along all right? Need anything?"

"Oh, I'm fine, Ken. Just fine. It's so nice of you to drop by."

Starsky glanced at the decorations in the kitchen, wondering if he should have stayed in the car. Hutch and Doris might be able to talk more freely if he wasn't around.

"Keeping busy?" Hutch asked, his tone still gentle.

"Oh, yes," Doris waved a hand, "you don't need to worry about me. I've been working in the garden, babysitting my neighbor's kids, and reading a lot. You know."

Starsky stepped near the kitchen table and glanced down at the newspaper. Only it wasn't a normal newspaper. It was the Racing Form. Though he really didn't want to create a tense situation, he couldn't help but blurt out, "I see you've still been visiting the track."

"Oh, I haven't really, not hardly at all. But I was planning on going up to Santa Anita tomorrow. It's such a nice facility."

"Have any better luck than that day at Del Mar?" Hutch asked with a smile.

"Oh, you know, some days are good, some aren't." Quickly, she asked, "What about you two?"

"Uh, we haven't been back," Hutch replied. "No time. Plus," he shrugged, "playing the horses isn't something either of us is really into. It was just something different we wanted to do that particular day."

"Well, you were sure lucky then," she noted, and Starsky couldn't help but detect the envy in her voice. "Did you do anything special with the money?" Then she laughed nervously. "Not that it's any of my business...."

Hutch shrugged. "We just put it away for a rainy day."

"That's the smart way to go," she agreed, nodding firmly.

For a moment, things threatened to get quiet, then Hutch straightened. "Well, we won't keep you." His voice softened. "If you need anything, Doris, be sure and give us a call."

"Sure," she said, following them toward the door. "It's really nice of you both to drop by. Do come again."

"We will."

Starsky led the way back to the Torino, so he had no way of gauging his partner's expression until they were both in the car. When he did look, the smooth countenance didn't give any clues, so as they drove away from the curb, Starsky asked, "Do you think she's okay?"

"As well as can be expected. I think she'll be a lot better when Luke gets out."

Starsky sighed. "I hope she takes it easy on the ponies."

Hutch looked at him. "Hm?"

"The ponies," the other replied with forced patience. "I wonder how often she goes to the track."

The blond's tone held an edge. "What are you getting at?"

This time the sigh was very heavy. "Come on, Hutch, she talked about 'some days are good, some not'. She sounds like she goes all the time."

"So?" Hutch said. "It gives her something to do while Luke's in prison."

Starsky was tired of keeping his thoughts to himself. "Surely someone with her past could find a healthier form of recreation."

"Oh, Starsk," Hutch said with a scolding laugh, "it only costs two bucks a race to bet the horses. Even if you don't cash a ticket, you can go to the track and not lose more than twenty bucks."

Starsky put his sunglasses back on and looked over at his partner. "What makes you think she would only bet two bucks a race? You and I were betting about twenty bucks a race, and we were just fooling around."

Firmly, Hutch said, "She learned her lesson, Starsk. After what she put herself and Luke through, do you think she would be stupid enough to risk that kind of money again?"

Hurriedly, because he knew what he was going to say wasn't going to be well received, Starsky pointed out, "Maybe she can't help herself. I mean, it's always been my understanding that gambling is an illness, just like alcoholism. A person can't just stop because they know better. I mean, supposedly the whole reason Doris gambled in the first place was because she was lonely for company. Do you really think she's any less lonely with Luke in prison?"

"Starsky, that's nuts. Don't you think she loves Luke enough to feel that he's worth waiting for? When he gets out of prison, he'll be retired, more or less, so they'll have plenty of time to spend together."

"Hutch, it's not for me to say how much she loves Luke. I just know that addictions don't just come and go at the drop of a hat."

The blond's voice was suddenly steel. "Don't talk to me about addictions," he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Okay, fine," Starsky shot back. "You know how painful they are to break. So, how come you're so sure that Doris just up and got over hers?" He really didn't want to have this conversation. Didn't want to have it at all. It had brought them to an area that hadn't been touched upon in years. "Look, Hutch, the bottom line is: I don't give a damn about Doris and her gambling. But I give a damn about you, and because you value the Huntleys so much.... I just," his voice collapsed, "find it hard to sit here and not point out what seems to me to be obvious."

Hutch's jaw firmed, and he looked out his side window, not speaking.

"I mean, Hutch," Starsky went on, "it's not like there's anything you can do about it. If Doris has a problem, then it's for her and Luke to deal with. You can't fix other people's problems for them, especially when they don't want to face their problems to begin with."

"Yeah," the other finally sighed, head bowed. He picked at a hangnail. "Maybe you're right, Starsk," he said quietly, then looked up. "But even if she does still have a gambling problem, it's not like she's spending the kind of money she was before. She can't, playing the horses, not in the few months Luke's been in prison."

Starsky sighed, too. "I hope you're right."

Hutch rubbed at his chin. After a moment, he said, "I hope you're wrong, buddy."

The other felt his insides shimmer. "I know."

* * *

They went to the office where the latest victim had worked to question her co-workers, but nothing was of help. They weren't finished until after five o'clock, and since Parker Center was located on the other side of the precinct, they agreed that Starsky would drop Hutch off at Venice Place and then pick him up in the morning.

The blond was silent during the drive, as darkness blanketed the horizon. Starsky glanced over at his partner when they stopped at a traffic light next to a street lamp, and he noticed that the bruise on the pale chin was more prominent. He lifted a hand and almost touched it. "You better put some ice on that. It shows."

Hutch seemed to stir. "What?"

"The bruise. You probably oughta put some ice on it."

Hutch gingerly felt the area. "Yeah."

The light changed and the Torino was off again. After a few more moments, Starsky noted, "You're awfully quiet tonight."

The big feet shifted restlessly against the floorboard as Hutch focused on the side window. "I have a feeling about this case," he said softly. "It's going to be a tough one."

Starsky's eyes narrowed as he concentrated on running the yellow light ahead. Hutch wasn't one who admitted to much in the way of intuition. That was more Starsky's area. And it wasn't that the curly-haired man disagreed with his partner; it just seemed an out-of-character statement for the blond.

Starsky had little time to ponder it, for a moment later he braked in front of the old brown building that was so much a part of both their lives.

"Thanks, partner," Hutch said, getting out.

"See ya," Starsky mumbled. He usually waited for Hutch to go inside, and to see the light shine on the second floor before driving off. Tonight, however, he watched with puzzlement as the tall form turned away from the car, then suddenly turned back and trotted around the front.

Starsky rolled down the window as Hutch leaned toward it.

A large hand reached in to rest on Starsky's shoulder. "Hey," came the gentle voice, "I'm sorry about snapping at you earlier today."

Starsky gazed at the tender expression in those blue eyes, frantically trying to remember what Hutch meant.

The hand squeezed. "When we were talking about addictions." The blond head shook slowly. "I know damn well that you know as much about that subject as I do... if not more." The eyes became both more gentle and more pained. "I know it was no picnic, pal." Hutch's voice softened even more. "I don't want you to ever think I don't appreciate your pulling me through it."

Starsky had to lower his eyes as an emotion-filled grin spread across one side of his face.

The hand squeezed again, then was gone. "See you, buddy."

The smaller man sighed deeply, then settled back against the seat as he watched the lanky form disappear inside the building. He knew then that Hutch hadn't really been thinking about the case when he'd been so quiet tonight.

A light came on inside the apartment window, yet Starsky found himself reluctant to move the Torino forward. Nevertheless, he did so, but stayed settled in the seat, driving with just his arms instead of his whole body, as he tried to maintain the warm aura that surrounded him.

The incident with the heroin had taken place four years ago. They had never talked about it, for it was an old subject the moment it was over. When they'd been in the midst of it, living through the withdrawal had demanded an unnatural intensity from both of them... Hutch suffering intensely, and Starsky soothing and caring on a level with an equal amount of energy. It was something neither of them wanted anything to do with again.

Hutch hadn't needed to apologize tonight. Yet Starsky couldn't deny that being reminded of the appreciation for his efforts filled him with a subdued elation. Certainly, the incident had drawn them closer together. The concept of Me and Thee had been transformed to a new level... one that went beyond saving each other's lives on the job. Their trust had taken on a spiritual quality, never to be relinquished.

It was a well-accepted notion on the force that a partnership was like a marriage. You had to learn to give and take, compromise your needs and desires, accept the other person's weaknesses and limitations. But in a partnership there were no vows spoken. It was a matter of the heart and spirit, purely internal, not consummated by the physical. And so the marriage of partnership was inferior to that between the sexes.

Or so it would seem.

Though he had never been married to a woman, Starsky did not question that the marriage between Hutch and him was superior to that of the basic, vow-spoken, heterosexual kind. Long before Luke Huntley's statement at Huggy's -- in fact, within months after Terry's death -- Starsky had lost the belief that he would one day find a special lady who would give him the spiritual and emotional fulfillment that his relationship with Hutch did. He had wanted to believe it when he met Rosie Malone, but even while that short-term relationship was falling apart around him, he had been reminded of the truth he'd been aware of for some time; and he had pointed it out to the Feds working on the Malone case. When Hutch had attacked one of the agents for a slight against his partner, Starsky had intervened. The agent had protested that "we're all on the same side." Starsky had jerked a thumb back toward Hutch and told the Feds, "He's the good guy."

And so it had always been.

He and Hutch had had their ups and downs, but never any of the awful fights that even good marriages were reputed to have. In the few occasions when they did feel anger toward one another, the anger was expressed honestly and openly, and so it was dealt with quickly, and extinguished just as rapidly. There had never been a time when even simple annoyance lasted from one day into the next.

All that, Starsky knew as he drew to a halt outside his apartment, was something he would never give up for a female form that could satisfy any physical desire he could ever have. He'd had lots of loves in his life -- had had many evenings of fantastic sex with various partners; had enjoyed a very successful career; had known various simple pleasures, such as watching a good horror movie, or watching the Dodgers play. But nothing -- nothing -- could top the satisfaction he received while in Hutch's presence. For being in Hutch's presence meant being the center of the blond's attention; meant being allowed to be ten again and to express whatever frivolous impulses possessed him at any given moment; meant receiving a pat on the knee here, a squeeze on the shoulder there; meant being the reason Hutch might let fly a soft chuckle; meant knowing he would live the longest possible life someone in his profession could, because Hutch was there to protect his life even more fiercely than he did his own; meant being someone special because someone as special as Hutch needed him, because Hutch allowed so few into his inner circle; meant being utterly worshipped by the most loving eyes whenever Hutch simply looked in his direction.

This time Starsky sighed out loud as he hauled himself out of his seat and locked the Torino. He slowly climbed the steps, wishing this case hadn't come up, so he and Hutch could have driven up the coast together over the weekend and he could have had the blond to himself.

But tomorrow was another day, another dollar, another murder to solve. And he wouldn't change his life for anything.

Starsky had taken off his holster and grabbed a soda from the refrigerator when the phone rang. As he reached for the receiver, he hoped it was Hutch, though he couldn't imagine why it would be. "Hello?"

"David?" asked a feminine voice.

"Speaking," he replied.

"This is Kathy Marshall," came the enthusiastic announcement.

He smiled at the stewardess' voice. "Hi, Kathy. How are you?"

"I'll be in L.A. tomorrow evening. Can we get together?"

"Uh, we're working on a pretty difficult case."

"I won't be in until after seven. Think you'll still be tied up then?"

She sounded so hopeful. But Kathy was always reasonable and never pressed when she couldn't get what she wanted. That was part of what made her so enjoyable to be around.

Starsky stretched out an arm and leaned against the kitchen wall. "Uh, I don't think that's going to be possible."

"Other plans, huh?" she asked neutrally.

"Yes." He felt a sense of relief go through him at having gotten through the lie so easily. It was on the tip of his tongue to suggest that she call Hutch, for she never seemed to care which of them she slept with. She liked them both and they both liked her, and there was never any jealousy.

But she spoke before he did. "Guess I struck out with both of you then. At this rate, I'm going to have to start keeping a little black book again. A girl gets lonely flying from city to city."

Starsky smiled. "Yeah. Sorry, kiddo." He wondered if Hutch had lied, too, for some reason, or truly had other plans. He was sure the blond wasn't seeing anyone who mattered.

"Maybe next time, huh?" she relented.

"For sure." Now that a date hadn't been made, Starsky felt more like having conversation and teased, "Hey, how about callin' me first next time?"

"Getting jealous?" she teased back. "I always try to be fair and take turns. So, next time, you're first. The way my schedule is now, it'll probably be in two weeks or so."

"Sounds good. Hopefully all the bad guys in the city will be safely behind bars by then."

"Hey, if you two were that good you'd put yourself right out of a job."

Starsky's grin broadened. "Good point."

"I've got to go, David. Keep the bed warm." She made kissing noises on the other end.

"That's a promise." Starsky kissed the receiver. "Good-bye."

"Bye."

Starsky hung up the phone, wondering if he'd feel more like company tomorrow night and would then be sorry that he hadn't agreed to the date. It was a funny feeling, turning down a potential romp in the hay. The only time he ever did that was when he was seeing someone steady or truly had other plans.

Must be gettin' old, he muttered to himself, plopping down on the couch and pulling off his sneakers. He wondered if that was Hutch's problem, too. It was a strange feeling, being burned out before the age of thirty-five. It seemed, not so long ago, that an evening of fucking topped life's agenda... or at least was close to the top. When had it stopped mattering so godawful much?

He wasn't sure. But what he had learned tonight was that there was a certain freedom in being able to say "No".

* * *

The next afternoon, it filled Starsky with a peculiar pleasure to come up behind Hutch, hold out his hand, and say, "Here."

The blond turned and regarded the ice cream cone doubtfully. "What flavor is it?"

"What difference does it make?" Starsky licked at his own cone. Ice cream wasn't high on Hutch's list of properly nutritious food, but the other could hardly turn it down after Starsky had already bought it for him. "Live on the edge, blondie."

Hutch accepted it with the trace of a smile. "Wrong time of year, isn't it?"

"Hey, what's autumn out here would be the middle of summer for most other parts of the country."

Hutch shrugged and they began walking along the sidewalk that circled Sandstone Park. "Good point."

"Besides," Starsky went on, "it's a beautiful day."

"Can't argue with that." Hutch licked at the cone, paused a moment to savor it. "Strawberry?"

"Close. Raspberry."

Hutch took a bite out of the soft mound, and then his lips curled around his teeth, as though the coldness had hurt.

"Go slow, dummy. You're way out of practice."

They were walking again, and Hutch asked, "What have we got?"

Starsky grinned to himself. Hutch had wanted him to do the summarizing so that he could enjoy his ice cream.

"Well," Starsky licked at his chocolate marble, "we know that the three Sandstone Park murders occurred about two weeks apart. All the victims were in the park early in the morning when they were murdered. As far as we know, none of the victims had anything else in common other than being pretty young girls. All died by having their throats slashed. As best the coroner can tell, it was the same knife used on all three."

"And no one has seen anything," Hutch said, "or knows anyone who would have wanted to harm any of the girls."

Starsky sighed. "I think the killer is just picking his victims at random. It doesn't sound to me like he knows the girls in advance."

"You thinking he picks his victim shortly before he attacks them?"

"Maybe." The shorter man shrugged. "Or it could be he watches them for a few mornings, then kills them."

Hutch paused to bite into his cone. The crumbs settled along his mustache, and he instinctively licked at the hairs there. "Maybe that's what he's doing the two weeks in between the murders?"

"Maybe. But the Department has beefed up patrols around the park since the second victim, and no one has noticed anyone suspicious."

The blond shrugged. "It's a big park. Somebody could have been hiding in the bushes."

"True." Starsky's ice cream was melting, and he said, "Let's sit down a minute." He followed his own advice, resting on a bench at the entrance of the park.

Hutch finished the last of his cone, crunching noisily. After swallowing a final time, he ran his thumb and forefinger along the sides of his mustache.

Starsky took a napkin out of his pocket. "Here."

Hutch accepted it without comment and brushed it along the tiny hairs.

The smaller man smiled to himself as he continued to enjoy his cone. He hadn't liked the mustache at first. It had looked very strange, parked there on his partner's upper lip. But after all these months, he had to admit that it had grown on him, primarily because it added such an interesting dimension to his prim-and-proper partner's mannerisms. He liked the way Hutch ran his fingers along it, liked the way Hutch would scratch at a corner of it, liked the way it never quite looked the same any two weeks in a row. Sometimes Hutch would shave a little area right in the middle of it, sometimes it would rest straight across his lip, other times the sides would start to curl down to the corners of his mouth. And Starsky would be forever curious about one particular aspect....

And so Starsky had asked Kathy, late one night when the afterglow was wearing thin.

Which really hadn't answered the question.

"You seeing Kathy tonight?"

The question startled the smaller detective from his reverie, causing the blond to chuckle softly. "You must be," Hutch stated. "You're already distracted."

Starsky had no desire to correct his partner's mistaken impression, for he didn't feel like explaining himself. Instead, he asked, "You got other plans tonight? She told me she called you first."

"It was 'my turn'," Hutch answered matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, so why didn't you want to see her?"

The blond shrugged. "I don't know. It's getting a little old with her, I guess." He looked at Starsky. "Maybe you ought to keep her for yourself." A quiet sigh. "I just don't know how to tell her that without hurting her feelings. Maybe you can."

The smaller detective made a face as he bit into his cone. A breeze had kicked up, and the ice cream made him even more conscious of its autumn bite. He shivered. "Thanks a lot."

Hutch chuckled.

Starsky chewed more of his cone. Then he prompted, "You seein' someone else?"

"Not at the moment."

Starsky felt relief, and that was followed by a flash of guilt. He was going to have to get over this selfishness, or whatever it was he'd been feeling lately. He tried to think of how Hutch had been with Gillian... how happy. Hutch deserved that kind of happiness. He just wondered if the blond would ever find it again.

"So," Hutch continued a little hesitantly, "are you going to tell her?"

The curly-haired man had his mouth full with the final bite. "Huh?"

"Kathy," Hutch clarified with a hint of impatience. "She's all yours. Maybe you can tell her you don't want her to see me, because you want to see her more, and it's all right with me."

Starsky swallowed with difficulty. "Hey, I ain't gonna do your dirty work."

Hutch shrugged with a "you-can't-blame-me-for-trying" manner.

"You really dislike her that much?"

Again, the hint of impatience. "I don't dislike her. She's a sweet person. Lots of fun. A convenient roll in the sack. But she's more your type."

"Hey, I ain't no charity case," Starsky pointed out, wondering why they were even arguing about it. "I like her fine, too, but it's not like I'm lookin' to get serious. Sayin' she should stop seeing you because I want to see her more would be an outright lie. I can't do that to her. Or to me. I mean, then I'd have to live the lie. I'm not gonna do that."

"Good point," Hutch relented. He reached over and rested a hand on Starsky's shoulder. "Forget I said anything. I'll deal with it the next time she calls."

Starsky wondered if Hutch really would 'deal' with it. It made him shudder, just thinking about Diana Harmon. It wasn't easy for any man to turn down a lady, but Hutch seemed to have more of a problem with it than most.

"You going to sit there all day?"

"Huh?" Starsky looked up, saw that Hutch was standing over him, large hands stuffed in the back pockets of his jeans.

Hutch jerked his head. "Come on."

Starsky grinned. "I'm comin', I'm comin'," he muttered, taking his place at his partner's side.

* * *

Dusk had settled over the city as the two detectives sat in the Torino, waiting to re-question an acquaintance of one of the Sandstone Park victims. The acquaintance still hadn't shown up at his apartment, and Starsky whistled and tapped the steering wheel restlessly, his boredom occasionally broken by Hutch's recitation of a humorous anecdote from Readers' Digest.

Hutch must have resorted to reading a genuine article, Starsky decided, for the anecdotes had come to an end a few moments before, and his partner was silent, his nose buried in the magazine. The curly-haired man detected the aroma of pizza from the Ma and Pa outfit across the street, and he hoped the person they were waiting for would arrive soon.

When his stomach growled, he patted it soothingly.

Suddenly, Hutch tossed the Digest into the back seat and grumbled, "Of all the ridiculous --"

"What?" Starsky asked, grateful to have something to demand his attention.

Hutch turned his lanky frame in the seat, facing his partner. "You know what great statistic I was just reading about?"

Starsky thought hard. "No."

"That fifty percent of all French women have never had an orgasm."

The curly-haired man took a deep breath, wondering how he was expected to respond to this jewel of scientific news. "Hm," he finally replied, "that doesn't say much for the city of love." Then a thought occurred, and before Hutch could respond, he asked in disbelief, "They keep statistics on that kind of thing?"

Briefly, Hutch closed his eyes and seemed to count a moment. Then the blues orbs opened, and the blond went into what Starsky always thought of as "the lecturing tone". Hutch leaned close to his partner, gesturing with an arm for emphasis, his soft voice earnest with passion. "Starsky, you know I'm a big believer in the sexual revolution that's going on right now, and I think it's about time that our society grew up and learned how to talk about sex openly, without being bashful or ashamed."

Starsky knew more had to be coming, and carefully prompted, "Yeah?"

The blond shook his finger. "But the one big tragedy in all this openness is that all the emphasize on sex is on sex."

Starsky's eyes darted back and forth, suspecting that he was badly missing the point. "Yeah?"

Hutch shifted again and began to talk faster. "What about the other stuff? The holding, touching, affection? Making love to someone? I mean, with all this talk about The Orgasm -- capital T, capital O -- it's like society is losing sight of what sex is supposed to be all about. You know, the biggest losers in all this new openness are the young people today. They're reaching puberty in a society where everyone knows they're supposed to ask their partner, 'Did you come?' What about simply holding someone? Being close to them? Before long, people are going to forget how to simply love someone; they're going to be too damn worried about having a simultaneous orgasm or some such nonsense."

"Well," Starsky offered, feeling that whatever he was going to say wasn't going to be enough to soothe his partner, "comin' together is kind of nice, when you can time it just right."

"That's exactly what I mean," Hutch put in, snapping his fingers once. "You're making love to your lady, and you're thinking so much about trying to time it -- in the name of 'coming together' -- that you forget about all the nice things you can be doing to please her, to enhance her experience, and I'm not necessarily even talking about sexual things. I mean, I just don't think Coming -- capital C -- should be the ultimate goal of the sexual experience. I think it should be to please the other person, where the orgasm is a natural result of the loving, not the goal itself."

After Hutch stopped talking, Starsky realized he was expected to say something. Hutch's speeches did seem to come at the strangest times. He finally looked over at the blond, and quietly said, "Hutch, I think you're a bit weird."

The blond muttered something beneath his mustache, and Starsky knew he couldn't just leave it at that. His partner was incredibly passionate about the most bizarre subjects. And this subject may be a bit unusual, but it was certainly something that nearly all human beings had an interest in.

"You know something, Hutch?"

"What?" the other asked restlessly, glancing out the side window.

Starsky didn't reply until the blond turned to look at him. "I think you have a point." Then he grinned. "Ya big softie."

Hutch started to say something, then became all business as he pointed out the windshield. "There's our man."

Both detectives got out of the car.

CHAPTER 3