Goliath
by
Suzan Lovett
Part 3.1
It was two weeks later when Linda cornered Starsky in the lobby of the club as he was just coming in. "You're late tonight."
"I was sent out on collection," he grumbled. It was a step up for Caporetto, another tireless chore for Starsky. "Something had better break soon, or I'm going to."
"Let me help," she said, all seductiveness.
Starsky instantly saw behind it. "Got something?" he whispered, looking round, finding little privacy.
"Toy with me," Linda suggested, kiddingly, pulling him next to the wall. He put his elbows on it to lean close to her. "All that strong-arming must've brought out the machismo; you can pretend better than that."
"Sure, and then where do I take it?" He scowled at her chuckle. "Glad you're havin' a ball; I just hope it means you've got something good. Give."
She walked her fingers up his shirt, as someone passed by. "I know who's doing the laundry."
Finally a break? "Who?"
"Luigi."
"How do you know?"
"He was at my station a lot and I noticed he kept payin' with big bills when I'd just given him change. Normally, customers don't like accumulatin' change, especially when they're all dressed up. Gets cumbersome. So I kept track. He does it all over the club." Starsky nodded, accepting the information. "That ain't all. I confirmed it."
"How?"
"I lifted his wallet."
"You did what!?" At his outburst, heads turned around. He pulled closer to her. "Linda," he started, threateningly.
"Don't worry. I made sure it was found and returned. For all he knows, he just dropped it. He carries the marked bills together in a separate compartment. Seems a positive to me."
It seemed so to him as well, but he gave an exasperated growl. "And where the hell did you learn to pick pockets?"
"Hey, you're not the only one with a street education."
"I don't know how to pick pockets," he hissed.
"So I'm more resourceful. The question is, where do we take it from here?"
"You, sweetheart, will take it and your crooked, gorgeous self behind your bar. I take it to my partner."
"What else is new? When do I get a piece of this action?"
"Keep your hands to yourself from now on, and if you're lucky, never." She gave him a dirty look, ducked under his arm and started to walk away. "Hey," Starsky called out. "Good girl."
"You like livin' dangerously, don't you?" she retorted with a toss of her head.
Hutch would be unavailable until closing time, so there was no sense in getting impatient, but he couldn't help it. For a while there, he'd been glad to take it one day at a time and actually hadn't wanted anything heavy coming down while his partner pulled himself together. Luckily, Genovese had started sending him out of the club on jobs and it had been easier to spend some time with Hutch. The blond had needed it. Now he was pretty much himself again, and Starsky couldn't wait to get on with the case. He decided to take time out for dinner, mull it over. Then he'd have to give the day's report to Genovese.
***
"Excuse me," Hutch said, tapping the large man on the shoulder. "Could I see you for a minute?"
Once Luigi glanced over his shoulder and identified the blond man as one of the dealers, he turned with the barstool to face him. "Yes?"
Hutch shrugged. This place would do as well as another. Most patrons were intent on drinks. "Mister...uh, I don't know your last name." Actually, he did, but his undercover persona wasn't supposed to.
"You don't need to."
"Fine. Luigi, if you will meet me somewhere, we have something to discuss."
Thick eyebrows connected. "Like what?"
"Like...." Hutch extended some bills. "Yours, I believe. Interesting number sequence there. Careful, not very clean, I'm afraid."
Luigi wouldn't touch the money. He looked nonchalant, but the small eyes were narrowed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I'd be glad to elaborate, but not here, don't you agree? Of course, if you think I'm mistaken, we can let Mr. Genovese decide."
Luigi plainly didn't believe in wasting time. "Where?"
"Harbor Inn, South Franklin. After closing tonight, say, one-thirty."
There was a brief nod of the massive head before the man turned away.
***
Hutch left the club, crossed the parking lot and entered his car. As he was inserting the key in the ignition, for a second he froze, then completed the action, but didn't turn the car on. "Am I supposed to wait until you go 'boo'?"
"Some cop you are," came Starsky's voice from somewhere close to the floor at the back. "Leavin' your car unlocked. Good radar, though."
"It's your aftershave. Cheap stuff."
"Gotta be. You gave it to me."
"Oh. Well, I must've been striving for synonymity." He expected more than saw the disembodied hand coming and ducked his head, chuckling. "Ooops, didn't think you'd catch that." This time it was either let the hand connect or smash his nose into the steering wheel. "Hope that made you feel better."
"Loads."
"Good. Now, should I drive or is this a shortie?" He checked his watch; he didn't have too much time.
"How're we doin'?"
Hutch surveyed the lot again. "Private enough."
Starsky became visible in the rearview mirror as a low, dark shadow in the back seat. "I found out who's been passin' the dirty money."
They spoke simultaneously. "Luigi." Hutch felt Starsky's glare on the back of his head. Same words left their mouths in tandem once more. "How did you know?"
"You first," Hutch said to break them out of the me-and-my-shadow routine. "How did you find out?"
"Who, me?" Starsky grumbled. "Oh, I'm just the chopped liver, don't mind me. It was Linda."
Hearing Starsky's irritation already, Hutch realized his sin of omission. He'd left Starsky out again. "Well, that's confirmation, anyway," he said uneasily.
"How did you know?"
"From the other end. Leaned a little, somebody bent and gave me the name of his laundromat."
"T'rrific."
"Just found out this morning," Hutch fibbed a little; he'd had hints ore then. "I was going to tell you. Anyway, I was just following your lead."
Starsky seemed to accept both the explanation and the cajoling. "Well, at least something paid off. I wanna stay right on top of this, Hutch. I've had it. I'm gonna have a heart-to-heart with Luigi soon's possible."
And that's why, the blond thought, I've been sneaking around. "Whoa, pull up a bit. We know nothing about the man, nothing."
"Except he's got a lot of information, has to, and he's put his head on the choppin' block. I can't let this one pass. It may never come again."
"Will you wait a minute! We're not going to let it pass, but don't rush into it, okay? Think about it. We'll be asking the man to break the all-important Code of Silence. It's goddamned sacred to them. What if he won't play, at any risk? You talk to him and he balks, and so much for your cover."
"So what're you sayin'?" Starsky asked.
"I should talk to him."
"Your cover under warranty, or what?"
"No, but if mine's blown, we haven't lost three years of Rizzo's work, not to mention ours. Caporetto goes, and both operations are down the tubes." There. Starsky had to accept that argument. It was good. Somehow he didn't think his other one would be acceptable: let me, because I've got a bad feeling about this. There was a point Starsky wouldn't be pushed past. The silence from the back seat was long, stubborn.
"I don't like it," Starsky finally said.
Ready to play his next hand, Hutch turned toward him. "What's the matter? It's your case, is that it? Or...Starsky, come on, are you worried about who does what and who gets the credit at this late date?"
In the dim light, the widening of Starsky's eyes was still visible, and the indignation in them. "'Course not! When was that ever an issue? It's just -- forget it, you're right. It's your show; go to it."
Hutch felt a pang of remorse, especially since his manipulation had worked exactly as he had planned. Sorry, babe. You let me know you too well. Call us even. He faced the front again. His partner didn't budge from the back seat. "Something else?" the blond asked, throwing a glance at his watch again.
"No, just no place to go, nothin' to do. Wanna go for a drive?"
Take your medicine, Hutch told himself, but attempted one more dodge. "I'm kinda tired."
"Let's go to your place. Had a depressing day. I can use a break from this routine."
Maybe some penance would actually make him feel better. "Starsk, uh, I'm meeting someone."
His partner snorted. "Tired, huh? Not enough to disappoint the lady, I hope." He reached for the door handle. "Okay, I'm gone."
Hutch found himself unable to take the easy out. "No. It's Luigi." Here it comes.
Silence. Long and thunderous.
"Starsk?"
"'I was going to tell you,'" Starsky parodied him. "When, Hutch, after you'd wrapped up the whole case? Just what the hell do you call -- " His voice had started to rise, but he cut off, took a deep, audible breath, let it out. "What's the use?" he mumbled to himself, then asked the blond, "When and where?"
Hutch told him, heard him start to leave the car. "Where are you going?" he asked, loath to part like this.
"I'm goin' back to the club," Starsky stated evenly. "You're goin' to meet Luigi. As for the rest, didn't we have that argument recently? You know how I feel; you know I don't like it. Ain't nothing I can do if you don't give a damn about it." He was too much of a cop to slam the door and draw attention, out as softly as the door closed, Hutch heard it slamming.
***
Luigi was prompt. He also had sharp eyesight. In the ramshackle bar, through the haze and the clutter of seafarers' memorabilia, he instantly spotted his objective. He deposited his oversized body into the booth, across from the blond.
"Drink?" Hutch offered, got a grunt for his pains. Amenities dispensed with, he parted his jacket enough for the holster to show.
Luigi noted it with a downward flick of the eyes, then faced the detective squarely. "You're playing a dangerous game, sonny." His large hands were on the table, immobile but menacing.
"So are you," Hutch retorted. "I wonder what Genovese would do if he knew there's a lot of dirty money circulating at his club, and who's channeling it? On second thought, why settle for underlings? Mr. Marruzzi should handle this. After all, the last time somebody screwed around with dirty money, he lost his only son."
"I'm awake." Luigi rumbled. "I can follow the scenario. What's the punch-line?"
"What, you're not enjoying the performance?"
"No, and what I don't enjoy, you'll regret later. Blackmail can be hazardous, Blondie."
"Oh, I nave a lot of scenarios, and you're wrong about this one. There's a plot-twist, you see." Hutch reached into his pocket. "You have the right to remain silent," he continued, flipping open his badge. "If you give up that right -- should I go on?"
Luigi spared a glance at the gold shield, studied the ID card facing it. "What's the deal, Hutchinson?"
"Information. I keep mine, you spill all yours."
Luigi motioned for a drink, and sat still, almost unblinking until it arrived, took only a sip, then disregarded it. "Omerta," he intoned, as if invoking an ancient, wrathful god.
"Ah, yes. Well, Luigi, a corpse tends to stay silent forever. If you want to be loyal to your code to that extent, it's your funeral. I'm a police officer; I have to respect your rights. In fact, I was about to give them to you." Hutch articulated clearly and slowly to give the man time to think. "You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you so desire and cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you at -- stop me anytime, Luigi. Once I pronounce arrest, I can't take it back even if I wanted to."
"Go ahead," the man growled.
"Let me digress a minute. It might tickle you to think you can thumb your nose at the law, and it still has to protect you. We'll assume you're right. I'll take you in, and I have enough to make the charges stick. Let's also assume Marruzzi will think that's enough punishment for you, although that assumption seems shaky to me. I know another code of your kind: any man who lets the police settle his accounts is less than a man. But just to make you feel better, let's say you'll be safe in prison. Let's say Marruzzi will not make an example of you to let others know the dangers of disregarding his orders. Are you with me so far?"
The large man was bland as a boulder, but his color was definitely off. Leisurely, Hutch took a sip of his beer, dried his lips with a cocktail napkin. "Let me tell you something about myself. I've been a cop for a long time, and I'm getting damned sick of creeps who think laws are for anybody else but them, and when the going gets tough, it's a whole different story. I resent that. As far as I'm concerned, you're fair game."
Hutch leaned forward. "You seem to have something working upstairs, so I'll outline another scenario, and you write the ending. You've figured out I've been undercover. Don't take it personally, but I wasn't after you. I want the organization. I think you can give it to me. If not, fine, I'll settle for you. I can arrange for the DA to go easy, find a friendly judge -- you've heard of those, I'm sure. I haven't been twiddling my thumbs all this time. With what I have, I'll move in. If you get off with just a slap on the wrist, and I start applying the heat at the same time -- ready to write that ending?"
Luigi considered, finished his drink in one gulp, put the glass down. "I won't give you Marruzzi," he finally said, "even if I could. I can't, but in any case, I won't."
Honor among thieves? Or fear of heresy? "Okay, but I want all five caporegimes, and enough on their operations."
"Full immunity guarantee, up until this moment. Across the board," Luigi bargained back. "In advance."
"For that I'll have to know all your past, and you can forget about in advance."
"Fine, I'll take the immunity after you're satisfied with the information, but you'll give it blind."
"Maybe. No promises. It's up to the DA."
"Just information and evidence. No testimony," Luigi stressed.
"I can't promise that, either."
"All right, if necessary, only closed-door testimony. And I want protected witness status after that. Until then, I stay where I am. Safest way. You don't give me away, I won't give you away. I'll deal directly with you. The DA is okay, too. Anybody else involved, I have to approve first."
Hutch wondered if the man was extraordinarily sharp, or just experienced. He seemed able to cover all bases quite efficiently. "For a man who doesn't have a leg to stand on, you're getting awfully pushy."
"Take it or leave it," Luigi said with finality.
"The Commissioner and the DA will decide that. Just hope what you've got to sell is worth it."
"It's worth it. Better information you can only get from Marruzzi himself or his consigliere. Try knocking on those doors."
Hutch wondered, again, just exactly who or what Luigi was in the organization. It was risky to deal with unknowns. "All right, Luigi. Don't get lost. Because I won't bother looking for you. I'll just drop the hints and let Marruzzi worry about it. Expect to hear from me. I'll let you know if we have a deal." He had planned on leaving first, but he changed his mind. "You can go now."
He waited until Luigi disappeared, then he carefully wrapped the glass the man had used in paper napkins and took it with him.
***
Hutch was about to close the double doors to the foyer of his cover apartment when they were pushed. Starsky quietly slipped between them to the inside. Hutch glanced up and down the street through the glass. "Where did you come from?"
"I was just ahead o' you." Starsky started up the steps.
The blond man frowned, annoyed that he hadn't spotted his partner, then shrugged and followed him. Fed up or not, you couldn't help covering me, could you? Should've known.
Once the apartment door was closed behind them, Starsky immediately, and peremptorily, requested all the details. Hutch supplied them while he put the glass away carefully, then came back into the single room. "Went fine so far, I think," he concluded.
Starsky opened out the couch.
"What're you doing?" Hutch asked. His partner didn't seem to be in a talkative mood, not that the blond had expected otherwise. "Are you staying?" Starsky nodded. "Why?"
"Why not?"
Hutch conceded the point by spreading his hands. "Okay, but it's not necessary."
Starsky inspected the two pillows, grimaced at the lumpy one and threw it on the chair, appropriating the fluffy one.
"You're worrying needlessly," Hutch pointed out, watching him cast off his shoes and stretch out, clothes and all.
"Wake me up at five. Then you can sleep until seven-thirty. McNeil should be available around eight. Turn the light out, will ya?"
Hutch did as he was asked, shaking his head at Starsky, who might feel like strangling the blond, but would allot each of them the same amount of sleep in his fair fashion. Hutch also had to admit his partner had a point. If Luigi was willing to go to drastic lengths to try and squirm out of the deal, the next hours would be the time to do it, before it was put before the DA. A little precaution wouldn't hurt.
He also shrugged out of his jacket, kept his holster on, sat on the bed to remove his shoes, then shifted to lie down.
"What're you doin'?" Starsky asked.
"I won't go to sleep. I just want to stretch out. In case you haven't noticed, this is the only horizontal surface except the floor." At the moment, he wouldn't put it past Starsky to suggest that he take the floor, but his partner stayed quiet. Hutch picked up one of the seat cushions, put it under his head, discarded it for being too high, and settled for his arms.
"There's another pillow," Starsky's voice came out of the dark.
"Yeah, I saw the elimination process. No, thanks."
A long string of mumble-mumble-grumble issued from his partner, then a put-upon sigh, then, "Oh, hell, here, use half of this." The said half plopped down into his face. He pulled out from under, shifted a little more toward the middle of the bed, placed his head over it.
About ten minutes later, Starsky spoke up again. "At this rate, I'm gonna have to make an honest man outta you one o' these days."
Starsky's ways were unique. A consolation attempt might come out as "Wanna drive my car?" Sympathy might be expressed in a barrage of irrelevant information memorized off baseball cards. This one, Hutch knew, was his way of saying, if not "You're forgiven," then at least "We're still all right."
"I do give a damn," the blond said softly.
A resigned grunt, followed by, "Figured that."
"Explanations," Hutch offered, "or apology?"
"Shut up, I'm tryin' to sleep."
***
This time the DA was thrilled by the information they'd put into his hands. Depending on the integrity of the information Luigi would supply, he granted the detectives their discretion in giving the man immunity. And, apart from looking daggers at Hutch, McNeil seemed to abide by his promise to forget the Bauer fiasco.
Afterwards, Hutch insisted on stopping by Metro briefly. Starsky brought the captain up to date while the blond visited the lab. When he rejoined his partner, Hutch had cornered Minnie.
"I did this favor already," the woman was objecting. "Hire a personal secretary. I have other -- "
"I know, I know," Hutch interrupted, his most ingratiating smile pasted on. "But now we have Luigi's fingerprints, whenever they can get into gear at the lab. And this time you think we might go beyond our own computers? I don't like dealing with a mystery man. Come on, Minnie, who else can do a thorough job? Who else can I depend on?"
"That and a quarter," she grumbled, but now looked interested herself. fingerprints, huh? Last time I couldn't find those, not even in the man's driver's license application. Not to mention the application itself. Oh, dammit, Blondie, go exercise the charm on somebody else. There go my evenings."
Hutch leaned to give her an affectionate peck. Starsky decided to contribute to upholding the good diplomatic relations and claimed the other cheek. "All right, already." She waved them away, but only after both sets of lips had landed. "You won't get off so cheaply."
"Name it, Minnie," Hutch offered, expansively.
Starsky was the one who got the speculative look. Minnie had definite preferences, even in jest. "Feel like paying your partner's bill?"
"Careful, sweetheart," Starsky leered. "Fight about now you're playing with fire."
"Oh, go away, Curly. Check back with me when you don't sound so desperate."
They were in the car again when Starsky asked, "What next?"
"I'll let Luigi know we have a deal and wait for delivery."
"When?"
"Anytime he's ready. I'd push for soon. The sooner the better."
"Take my schedule into account, huh?" Hutch stayed silent but it was one of those loaded silences Starsky was familiar with. He gave the blond a few minutes to break it on his own, then prompted, "Don't choke on it."
"Uh, Starsk, I, uh...."
"All right, I can tell I'm not gonna like it, but delay ain't gonna make it better, so spit it out."
Hutch watched the scenery gliding past. "I think we should keep it the way we started. Let me be the one to deal with Luigi. You stay behind the scenes."
Starsky let some blocks go by before answering. "You've got a lot of nerve, partner. Whaddaya mean we started? I don't remember startin' a damn thing."
"Okay, you're right, but it makes sense, Starsk. Luigi knows me now. If I've got an unidentified partner keeping an eye on things, he's not likely to try any cute tricks. It's safer."
For who, Starsky wondered. "You do realize, don't you, that I'm getting sick of side-lining?"
"I know."
"But you still want me to humor you -- because that's what it'll be, Hutch." He had a hard time hearing his partner's reply.
"Please."
Starsky sighed. "Okay, but this credit line's fast reachin' the limit, so don't charge any more anytime soon." He considered that fair warning.
***
His own suspicions about Hutch's motivations notwithstanding, Starsky knew his partner's choice of operating procedure actually made sense. If it wasn't for one small catch, he suspected as he stood at one corner of the club and watched Luigi brood into his glass, no doubt about the delivery he now knew was expected of him. The large man kept raising his head to glare into the mirror over the bar which had a clear view of Hutch's table. Starsky didn't know what was cooking in the man's head, but didn't care to take any chances with it. The threat of a partner watching over the blond might deter any nasty ideas Luigi might get, but only if the man knew one existed. Whether Hutch had so informed him on his own or not was another thing Starsky didn't care to chance. At least, not lately.
He got one of the portable phones, found a booth hidden behind some potted plants, plugged it in, dialed the number for the bar and asked for Luigi. Through the openings between the wide leaves, he followed the receiver being handed to the man. He whispered into the mouthpiece.
"Peek-a-boo, I-see-you."
"What -- who?"
"You don't know who, but I still see you. I also know you've got an audition coming up. Singing, you know. Now before you get all upset and spill that martini -- your third, right? -- on that expensive beige suit, let me say that I'm on the same side as that blond you keep glarin' at. I happen to like the big hulk, no accountin' for taste. Wouldn't want anything to happen to any part of his packaging, so I'm gonna keep my eye on you. Get my drift?"
"Should've known there'd be two of you," came the grumble.
Starsky realized that, no, Hutch hadn't told the man. "Just play nice with my partner, Luigi, and we'll get along fine."
He hung up. Watching and waiting remained, neither of which he cared a great deal for, at any time. We're gonna have a long talk, Hutch, one o' these days.
***
In a few days, Luigi delivered the goods. Hutch suspected that what had taken time was hesitation on the man's part, and perhaps fear, rather than collecting the information he'd bargained away. The list of events and witnesses, copies of ledgers and correspondence, all the way up to copied video tapes of some important meetings at various levels of the organization couldn't possibly have been compiled in that short a time. Luigi had to have been hedging his bets all along.
Then Dobey called the blond with the results of the latest investigation into their mystery man, and mystery was no more. Hutch arranged to meet his partner at one of Starsky's favorite Mexican restaurants to bring him up to date.
***
By the time the blond walked in, Starsky had already put away a great deal of the food he had been missing lately and was ready for his second demolition run through the buffet.
He got up and picked up the tray as Hutch slipped into the booth. "What do you want? They've got the greatest -- " His partner's look and color suddenly registered, interrupting him. Been to the morgue again? Shaking his head, he swept the greasy plates onto the tray and cleared the table, came back to sit down.
Hutch's words confirmed his suspicions. "Do you know how many Jane Does turn up in this city daily? There's a factory here churning them out and we're all part of it."
Starsky knew it'd be no use telling Hutch to stop torturing himself. He'd go on until he found Consuela's body, or failing that, until he located a stray in need to take care of, and made amends that way. "How does the delivery look? Luigi come through okay?" he asked to change the subject.
After a brief silence, Hutch shook his head as if to clear it, then had to push his hair out of his face. "Yeah, fine. Offhand I'd say McNeil's going to be in heaven. The commissioner, too, I suppose. From a quick look, I think a lot of unsolved case files can be closed for good. Nobody can accuse Luigi of skimping on the deal."
Starsky was not sanguine about criminals bearing gifts. If Luigi had paid off handsomely, his first inclination was to wonder what the man had thought worth buying at such a price. His life, yes, but what else?
"We have to find the time to go through it," Hutch continued. "When can you get away for at least eight to ten hours?"
"Today's no good. I'll try hard and make it tomorrow." He wished his partner would smile, just once. "Hey, Hutch, it's just about over, huh?"
No smile. "It's going to take a while to sift through and organize. Once we move, we'll have to move quickly, before they know what hit them. In the meantime, I can give Luigi his immunity -- again."
"We'll have to coordinate with New -- whaddaya mean again?"
Hutch looked like the jacket was stifling him. He kept fiddling with it but couldn't remove it in public. "Luigi is one hell of an interesting character. You know how we couldn't trace him back further than six years? That's because he didn't exist then. Not as Luigi, anyway."
"What're you talkin' about?"
"Now that we have his fingerprints, it seems the flag went up when Minnie hooked into the FBI computers. It didn't cough up any info, but it coughed up two agents -- directly into Dobey's office. Luigi was born Johnny Delano in Chicago. He was a bouncer, a heavyweight hopeful who didn't make it. He hired out as muscle when some serious intimidation was needed. Seems he couldn't stay away from the horses and high-priced girls. Fell into the middle of a federal investigation. He rolled over then, too, became a protected witness, got relocated in Florida. Then just disappeared. Didn't like the lifestyle, I suppose. Guess he surfaced here, went back to his old business."
It bothered Starsky that the man seemed to have a history of rising to the top like oil. "So he's used to insuring himself this way."
"I did notice that he knew a little too much about how these deals go down. He's done it before. Guess that's why he had a wealth of information. He must keep himself ready. Of course, it was mostly small stuff in Chicago. Marruzzi is a hell of a lot more dangerous."
"Talkin' of which," Starsky said, "wonder if Padrone know his history. It don't follow he'd accept a squealer into the fold. I mean, if omertà is that all-fired important."
"Who knows. Maybe it's all right to squeal on the competition. I tend to suspect Marruzzi knows his past. When he disappeared in Florida, the man had nothing, no resources, hardly any money, and expensive habits. How did he get to where he is without a sponsor? The cover-up job on him is too thorough. It Has Marruzzi written all over it."
Starsky grimaced, absently rubbing the tip of his nose. "So what the hell makes him worth all the trouble? Something's sittin' heavy at the pit of my stomach, Hutch."
"And you don't know what it is?" his partner muttered pointedly.
He ignored the jab. However, it made him aware that Hutch's color hadn't improved. He had never become immune to visiting the morgue, and the smells of the restaurant couldn't be helping any. "Come on, let's get some fresh air," Starsky said. "I can take a quick look at Luigi's goods." He was itching to do more than that, but it had to wait.
***