Fic post
“If Thornton says it wasn’t Gallant,” Hutch called out as he came into Starsky’s room, “it wasn’t Gallant.”
“Yeah, but maybe Gallant hired it done.” Dressed but with his tie hanging loose, Starsky knelt down beside his bed.
Hutch leaned in the doorway to wait. “Hired who? The gardener? One of the waiters?” He observed the smooth fit of Starsky’s tuxedo slacks over his ass - no underwear, eh, partner? - as Starsky reached under the bed and drew out his missing dress shoe, sliding it onto his foot and getting up.
“It’s just too way out that Saronno’s killing had nothing to do with Gallant,” Starsky repeated - as if Hutch were really disagreeing with him rather than pointing out the holes in their case. “They both worked for Beldon. It screams inside job.”
“We still can’t tie in Gabriel, though,” Hutch said as Starsky headed toward the door. “Speaking of which-” He stood straight, blocking Starsky’s exit, and reached up to fix his partner’s skewed tie.
Starsky stood patiently, a faint smile on his face, and when Hutch finished off with a gentle pat to the cheek and turned away, he slapped his partner’s ass.
“Hey!” Hutch jumped, brushing at his rear end as if he’d been injured. “Don’t wrinkle the tux.”
“You pat my cheeks, I pat yours,” Starsky growled.
“Dope,” Hutch said fondly. “Let’s go eat.”
“It just doesn’t make sense,” Starsky said in the elevator. “The m.o.’s the same. You can’t tell me Saronno and Gallant and Fowler all comin’ here is some kind of fluke. It ties in. It must. And that means, somehow, Gabriel ties in.”
“Well, he wouldn’t be the first amateur crook who got killed,” Hutch said. “Just because he doesn’t have a record doesn’t mean he wasn’t maybe taking a walk on the wild side for the first time and got in too deep.”
Starsky squinted up at the floor indicator. “Yeah, but-”
Hutch sighed. “I hate it when you ‘yeah but’ me.”
“Yeah, but,” Starsky said, smiling, “the thing is, if you’re gonna hit two guys, why do it in the same place and the same manner? You’re askin’ to be tied to both crimes. Why not, you know, hit Gabriel here and Saronno in San Francisco, or vice versa?”
Hutch nodded. “I know.” They’d been over it before, but with a case like this, talking it out - coming at it from different angles, playing devil’s advocate for each other - sometimes led them to the truth.
The elevator let them out on the ground floor and they trooped toward the lounge.
“That alone suggests it was a staffer,” Hutch went on. Starsky nodded.
“But if it was a staffer, why? Were they both hired hits and Beldon paid this staffer to do the job for reasons we don’t know?”
Hutch shook his head. “They’ve got to be connected. It’s just too farfetched for them to be two different killings. And if they’re connected, the connection’s got to be Beldon. It’s got to be.”
“And if it’s Beldon,” Starsky said, low, as they rounded the corner to enter the lounge, “It’s possible Fowler was here to ensure hit number one got carried out, and Gallant was the watchdog for hit number two.”
Hutch nodded. “It’s still weird, but it sort of hangs together.”
“That makes our only real connection-” Starsky began, stopping when they entered the lounge. “Gallant,” he concluded in a whisper at the sight of the man himself, across the room, whisky in hand and talking intently at an uncomfortable looking Chris Parker.
“I didn’t know the staffers ever came in here like that,” Hutch said. Chris wore jeans and an athletic jacket - obviously he wasn’t dressed for dinner with the guests. Just as obviously he wasn’t happy to be in the lounge with them, but none of their conversation carried over the soft classical music coming in over the resort’s P.A. system.
He nodded once and Gallant stopped talking. Both men glanced up, around the room - and their eyes fell on the two new arrivals.
“Wonder what that little conversation’s about?” Starsky muttered as Diana and Joy also spotted them and headed over.
“Let’s see if we can find out,” Hutch said, sidling deftly away and leaving his partner to handle the porn queens, as they’d privately labeled the two filmmakers.
Chris started for the door as Hutch headed their way. His attempt to engage the pro in conversation was met with a smile and a wave.
“Hi, Ken. Can’t stop, sorry. See you in the morning.” With that, Chris strolled right past him. Hutch turned to watch him brush by Starsky and the porn queens and disappear out the door. When he turned back, Gallant was close enough to make the hairs on the back of his neck quiver.
“You’re a nosy guy,” Gallant said. “You and your friend are both real nosy.”
Hutch blinked, drawing his head back to look up the few inches necessary to meet the man’s dark, piggy eyes. “I’m sorry - what are you talking about?”
“You’re askin’ questions you shouldn’t be askin’,” Gallant snarled. “You wanna mind your own business if you wanna have a nice peaceful vacation here.”
“We were only asking about the two murders,” Hutch said, keeping his voice cool, unafraid and unaccusing. “Why should that bother you, Mr. Gallant?”
Gallant backed away a few inches, appraising Hutch. “It don’t bother me,” he said. “It’s gonna bother you and your friend if you don’t knock it off.”
“Are you threatening us, Mr. Gallant?” Hutch put a little steel into his tone. Gallant drained his scotch and walked away without answering.
Hutch watched the man leave; Starsky did the same, then excused himself from Diana and Joy to join his partner. Hutch couldn’t help noticing the women’s lingering gazes; he swallowed back a surge of lust and jealousy.
“What?” Starsky asked. Hutch shook his head and guided his partner to the bar, where they ordered two beers.
“So what’s with gorgeous George?” Starsky asked when the bartender moved away to serve the Leahys.
“I think we’re on the right track,” was all Hutch would say.
“Well, if we aren’t, at least we got another offer,” Starsky said. Hutch took his glass and sipped, looking at his partner over the edge, one arched brow asking for elaboration.
“Joy and Diana still wanna film us.” Starsky shrugged. “What can I say? When you got it, you got it. They think we got it.”
“We?” Hutch said - hearing himself squeak. “As in … you know, we? As in, t-together?”
Starsky’s mouth curled into a sneaky half-grin. “Donno. I got a feeling they’re into the kinkier side of things, though.” He took a drink and glanced at his partner. “Good thing we work so well together.”
Hutch blurted, “We’ve never worked together like that.” He took a big gulp of the beer, knowing he was blushing and wanting something to blame for it other than the image of him and Starsky … working together. Like that.
“S’a matter?” Starsky teased in that throaty purr that tickled along Hutch’s skin. “You chicken?”
Hutch choked on his beer - or maybe on all the dangerous responses he was tempted to blurt to that challenge.
“Of filming a porno flick with my police partner for public sale and distribution?” he said, just managing to fake nonchalance. “Nah, why should that worry me?”
Starsky shrugged one shoulder, catching his meaning. “Yeah, that’d mean instant retirement, no benefits.” Then he grinned. “Well, maybe some benefits.”
“Yeah,” Hutch said, glad the topic was back in the realm of joking. “Try payin’ your rent with that.”
Marian swirled into the room, a vision in champagne-colored silk and diamonds.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she announced. “Dinner.”
* * *
Hutch played a tough four-set match against Chris Parker in the morning, then flashed a quick wave in the pro’s direction and plunged into the showers, hoping to avoid any intimate tete a tete with the pro without offending him.
He dragged a towel brusquely across his body and dressed still damp, flinging his old sweaty clothes into his bag and banging out of the showers to meet Starsky for their walk.
“Hey.”
Chris stood lounging in the doorway of the pro shop, wearing shorts and a smile.
“You’re in a big rush. Was it something I said?” He had a towel around his neck and had evidently showered even quicker than Hutch.
Hutch stopped, smiled. “No. I’m just in a hurry, Chris.”
“Listen, do you want to join me for a late lunch?” Chris edged closer, half a step at a time, deliberately casual. “I don’t have any lessons after noon. We could maybe talk, get to know each other better?” His tone was as gentle and unthreatening as his movements; it came as a not entirely unpleasant shock to Hutch to realize the man was only inches away from him.
A trifle taller, Chris looked down into Hutch’s eyes, smiling, warm, incredibly gorgeous. “What do you say?”
And Hutch had nothing to say.
Chris leaned close, eyes lidded, and Hutch found his own eyes closing in response. Warm, soft lips met his, parted a little, and he relaxed into the kiss.
Mmm. It was nice. More than nice. He felt the heat of those lips against his own, felt it melt into him, down his throat and into his body, just like it would - he knew it would - when he and …
Starsky. And just like that, he went cold all over.
Christ. I feel like I’m cheating on him. I am cheating on him. He might never want me, never touch me like this - and I’m still cheating on him. Damn it.
Gently, Hutch laid a hand on Chris’ chest and pushed, making sure he was smiling when the pro drew back to gaze questioningly at him.
“Sorry,” Hutch said. “I have to go.”
“Ah.” Chris smiled. “That partner of yours.”
Hutch honestly said, “It’s not like that,” not adding that he wanted very much for it to be like that. Exactly like that, like that in every luscious, erotic, dangerous detail. “We’re taking a hike.” He gestured vaguely toward the lake.
Chris backed up, shrugged. “Okay.” His hands stroked gently down Hutch’s arms, let go. “To be continued?” He sounded hopeful rather than insistent, and Hutch somehow didn’t have the heart to tell him there was no chance.
“See you later,” he said.
To Part 5