Long Fic: Expendable
TITLE: Expendable
FOR: magic_moni (SH911 Secret Santa 2012)
GEN/SLASH: Gen
LENGTH: ~ 4,000
WARNINGS: A damn, a hell, maybe a fuck or two.
AUTHOR/ARTIST NOTES: Set in the first couple of weeks of December 1976. Events and characters relate to episodes The Pariah, The Committee, and Starsky & Hutch Are Guilty. Moni's excellent prompt was: "A Pariah-like Starsk intense story."
Unbeta-ed: All mistakes are mine, mine, mine.
Hutch rounded the abandoned building, slowing at the sight of his partner. “There’s nothing here, Starsk.”
“Fifth bum call in two days. Okay, back to the paperwork,” he sighed. They turned toward the car; Starsky had driven, his beloved Torino gleaming in the early winter sun, after a two hour wash and shine the night before. He rolled his aching shoulders at the memory. Sitting hunched over a typewriter for the rest of the afternoon was going to be a drag.
As if reading his mind, Hutch quipped, “Ah yes, real police business. C’mon, I’ll buy you lunch on the way.”
“Something with meat,” Starsky muttered, opening the car door. “Hey! Hey! Someone scratched my paintwork!”
“Oh, for… Where?” Hutch stood behind Starsky, following the hand which lovingly traced a line the length of the vehicle. He whistled. “They sure did.”
Starsky looked at his car, the building they’d investigated, Hutch and back to the damage. “Hutch…”
“They could still be here.”
Drawing their firearms, Starsky ran left and Hutch right, as they rounded the building again, also checking their surrounds.
A gunshot sounded while Starsky was about halfway through checking his side; his heart raced. No return fire. Moving stealthily through the center of the empty structure he searched for his partner.
Behind a large gas bullet he saw them; brown corduroys and green t-shirt, prone on the ground.
“Hutch?” he whispered.
“Yeah, I’m fine. You?”
“Yeah. Where is he?”
“Didn’t see. Just hit the dirt. He hit something, though.”
Starsky scooted over to Hutch’s position, half rolling on him in the process. “Where’d the shot come from?”
“Sounded like it was out there,” Hutch pointed to the side entrance, “but there’s a lot of echo, I can’t be sure. Whatever he hit, it went in with a thud. I really thought he had you, buddy.”
Starsky squeezed his shoulder. “Right here.”
“We can’t wait forever. What do you say?” Hutch asked. Starsky blinked in agreement. “Hey, you!” Hutch called out. “Show yourself!”
Silence.
“Y’know, I think they’ve gone, or they would have shot at me when I moved over here.”
At a nod, they both ran, backs to each other, enabling a full view in all directions. They reached the Torino, diving for the cover of her front chassis.
“Uh, Starsk, I guess that’s the thud I heard.” Hutch pointed to the front wheel. “You’ve got a flat.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“Starsky, Hutchinson! I’ll see you two in my office. An hour ago, as arranged!” Dobey half-grinned, half-frowned, as if enjoying getting one over on his top team.
“Yes, sir. Can I just…?”
“No, Starsky, you cannot ‘just’. I said ‘now’!”
“Well, technically, Cap, you didn’t say, ‘now’, you said,” Starsky began to argue.
“Starsky! Shut up!”
“Of course, sir.” Starsky sat in one of the large chairs opposite Captain Dobey, Hutch in the other. Starsky crossed one leg over the other, tap, tap, tapping his foot restlessly. He grabbed a pencil from the desk, toying with it between his fingers in tricks his father had taught him. If the others would just pay attention, they’d notice the pencil seemed to be bending.
Dobey stared a moment, drew in a large breath, then looked over at Hutch. Hutch was uncomfortable in his own chair, and repositioned himself.
“What the hell is going on with him?” Dobey asked Hutch quietly.
“He’s distracting himself, sir. You have children.” Hutch cocked his head to one side.
“Oh.” Dobey seemed to understand at last. “Five minutes, Starsky. Five minutes. Got it?”
By the time Starsky returned from his bathroom break, Hutch had filled Dobey in on their morning call-out, shooting attack and damage to the Torino. Dobey requested a ballistics report on the bullet in the tire.
“Seems like a lot of false calls in a few days, then this, Captain. We don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
“You know how I feel about coincidences.”
“Exactly.” Starsky weighed in from his position on the arm of Hutch’s chair. “That call was premeditated to get us there, pin us down, and render us unable to respond. But to keep us from what?”
“Or maybe it was to cost you a lot of money and inconvenience.”
“What are you saying? They weren’t serious about the attempted shooting?”
“Think about it, Starsk: The only shot was to the tire. The whole time we were checking through the building and grounds, someone was damaging your car. We were never in any real danger.”
“The boy who cried wolf. We’ve been set up.”
“One of you two want to let me in on this conversation?” Dobey interrupted.
“Cap, I don’t know what’s going on yet, except that we’ve had… what? Four bogus calls in two days, and this looked like another. We let our guard down.” Starsky admitted.
“I suggest you keep your guards up, get back out there and do your job. And keep your eyes open.” Dobey swung his chair around to the window, signaling dismissal to his men.
“Cap, there is one other little matter.” Starsky broached it carefully.
“Yes?” Dobey didn’t move, preferring to peer through the venetian blinds.
“The damage to my car? The scratch runs from…”
“I don’t wanna know. You get paid a vehicle allowance. Dismissed.”
Starsky stood a moment, disbelieving that anyone could be so callous about this heinous act on his precious wheels.
He turned to Hutch, stood at the door waiting, for support. None there. “Right, sir. Got it.” As he closed the door behind them both, he muttered, “I’ll be sure and spend my $7.50 a week wisely, sir.”
A chuckle from Hutch broke the mood, as they settled in to their report-writing.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Starsky passed a brown paper bag across the desk to his partner. “Here. Got you a cream cheese bagel while I was out. ‘Course, it’s cold by now. Bought it for breakfast.” He shrugged.
“Where did you get to?” Hutch asked, annoyed.
“Got a hot tip. Didn’t you see my note?”
“What note?”
“I left it…” Starsky patted around on Hutch’s desk, looked under files; no note.
“Doesn’t matter. Buddy, you should hear what Dobey is going to do to your…” A quick glance downward.
“Really?” Starsky squeaked, subconsciously tucking himself up. “That’s not very Christian of him.”
“Oh, his description was very Biblical; very Old Testament,” Hutch teased, enunciating every word. “Anyway, what happened with your ‘hot tip’?”
“Knight and Williams beat me to it; the guy was dead when they got there. Oh,” Starsky snapped his fingers, “it was Hot Rod Rocco.”
“The guy who films porno movies in classic cars?”
“Filmed. And yeah. Damn shame,” Starsky sighed.
“Going to his funeral?” Hutch joked.
“Droll, Hutch, very droll. Hey, can we take your car for a few days? I wanna drop mine in to Merle and get that scratch fixed up.”
“Sure. Wonder what he wanted. Rocco, I mean.”
“Dunno. He just said to meet him, it was big--real big--and to get there quick. We’ll never know now. But hey, the real good news is, I got to bust a college kid for indecent exposure on the way back. Eric Ronstan Junior. Doesn’t that just make your day?” he asked sardonically.
“Starsk, why don’t I take two days leave, while you complete your paperwork from today, and I’ll see you on Thursday?” Hutch patted his partner across the shoulders.
“Yeah. Better still, why don’t we go to Merle’s now, grab a bite to eat, then settle in for an exciting afternoon of putting pen and typewriter ink to paper?”
“Just so long as you don’t run over any little old ladies on the way there, okay?”
“Deal.”
They turned for the door, passing by the cabinets, and a uniformed officer. Starsky greeted him, “hey, Taft, they got you on desks?”
“Yeah, close to full duty, Starsky. You know how it goes with Psych. They never quite believe you’re up for it.”
“Sorry to hear that, man. If you see Cherie Tinker, give her my best.”
“Sure, sure. Bye, guys. Have a nice day,” Officer Taft half-waved them from his position at the filing cabinet as they left the Squad Room.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“You look like hell, Starsk. Anyone I know?”
“Some dame phoned me three times last night, and I don’t mean for a secret rendezvous.”
“What did she want?”
“First up, she knew my name and that I’m a cop. When I turned the light on, she knew I’d done that, so I hit the floor! I think she just wanted me to know she was watching.”
“You said she phoned three times.”
“Yeah, the other two times, I didn’t turn the light on, and she complained I wasn’t playing the game. Moved around as much as the telephone cord would go, looked out the window, but couldn’t see anyone.”
“What did she say, other than the basics? Anything that ties in to what’s been going on? Or is this some random flake?”
“Ahh, she said something like, ‘I’m watching your every move. The watcher watching the watched.’ Then she laughed. She asked ‘How many, you ask? How many? More than enough, then only one more.’”
“Well that’s not your standard fruit loop fare. Almost sounds scripted.”
“Yeah, actually, I thought that when she said it, that she’d said the same things a couple of times, as if she was reading from a list. A script. Damn. I finally get a heavy breather, and she’s an actress?”
“Not funny, Starsk. Someone’s targeting you; we’ll have to be extra careful.”
“How many what? That’s what I’d like to know.” Starsky said.
“Excuse me, guys?” a uniformed officer approached from the other end of the Squad Room. “Can I have a private word?”
“Sure, Nelson. Here, or interrogation room, kind of private?” Hutch asked.
“Let’s go down the hall,” Nelson suggested.
Starsky and Hutch exchanged puzzled glances, and the three went in search of a free room. They found one without a two-way mirror, and entered.
Hutch leaned down so his hands were on the back of a chair, Starsky paced, and Nelson stood with his arms folded, in the center of the bare room.
“Okay, we’re listening. What’s up?” Hutch asked.
“I couldn’t help but overhear you’re having some… how can I put this… bad luck at the moment.” When Starsky stopped wearing a track in the lino and glared at him, he hurriedly added, “Hey, it’s all over the Department--you know how these things get around.”
“Go on.” Hutch encouraged.
“Yesterday, and I don’t know if he was supposed to be doing this, but Frank Taft was rifling through your desk, Hutch, and took something from it.”
“The note.” Starsky surmised.
“The note.” Hutch agreed.
Starsky asked, “Was it about yay big, yellow…”
“With illegible scrawl?” Hutch threw in. Starsky glared at him.
“I only caught a glimpse, but could have been. Then when you guys left and seemed all chummy with him, asking him to say ‘hello’ to Dan Tinker’s widow…”
“Cherie.”
“Yes, Cherie… behind your back, he said something like, ‘why don’t you go see her yourself, you smug bastard?’ Actually, I think he called you ‘sanctimonious’.”
“Is there anything else that you’ve noticed, Nelson? Particularly in relation to Officer Taft’s behavior, who he associates with, him or anyone else hanging around our desks?” Starsky asked.
“I don’t know. Like most of us, I’m busy with my own work, and in an out of the Squad Room all the time. I do know Taft lunches with John Lee whenever their shifts allow, see each other on their off time and the like. John sees Ellen Forrest and the kids a bit, too. Not to say there’s anything in it, just keeping an eye on them, making sure they’re doing okay. He and Jack Forrest were close, y’know?”
“Yeah, we know.” Hutch replied. Starsky had taken a seat by this time, trying to absorb all of the station gossip which seemed so relevant to the events of the last few days.
“Ah, Nelson, thank you for coming forward. This could be very helpful.” Starsky stood and patted the other officer on his shoulder, shaking his hand, and leading him to the door. “Thank you.” He looked him in the eyes, ensuring Nelson knew he was sincere.
Leaning against the closed door, he looked heavenward, then at Hutch. “This is all about Jack Forrest and Dan Tinker? For fuck’s sake, Hutch, is Prudholm going to follow me to my grave?”
Hutch crossed to his partner and placed his right hand on his shoulder. “We don’t know for sure, Starsky. It could be a coincidence.”
“Coincidence? Tell that to Dobey. I say we write it all down, all these cases, and see if we can link them.” Starsky moved his left hand up to hold onto Hutch’s forearm. Solidarity: Always each other’s strength.
“Sounds like a plan. But not here. Let’s clear it with Dobey, go back to my place to work, you stay over--your place is obviously not safe--and see if we can join the dots.” He shook the shoulder under his hand for emphasis of their bond.
It’s all about us, buddy. Your problem is our problem.
Starsky acquiesced, let out a long breath and nodded. “Let’s get all our case notes, files, and some blank witness statements, and blow this popsicle stand.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Hutch was drawing it out on a piece of butchers’ paper, laid over the coffee table. “If we have John Lee and Frank Taft near the top here--both their partners killed by Prudholm…”
“Both blaming me.”
“Both their partners killed by Prudholm. Is Prudholm behind this?”
“Nah. He’d have killed more of our brothers, or targeted you, or my family, not me. This is too soft for Prudholm.”
“Agreed. He’d make your life hell, but knows attacking you directly isn’t the way to go about it. So if Lee and Taft are heading this up, and we know others are involved, what about the widows? Have they been twisted around by Lee and/ or Taft into blaming you?”
“I hope not. That’s a lot of hate to carry around on top of the grief, and trying to raise children.”
Hutch shook his head. “You’re a good man, Starsky, you know that?”
“Don’t go all sentimental on me, Hutch, or we’ll never get this done. The women: Several of the phony calls, plus my heavy breather. Actresses?”
“We’ll never find them, if they were. What about Hot Rod Rocco? Could his death be tied in? If Taft took the note from my desk…”
“Taft killed Rocco? We need to check if he was in the station between when I left and Rocco was killed. Put him down as a possible.”
“Come to think of it, who’s handling Rocco’s murder?” Hutch asked.
“Good question. I knew it wasn’t us, and with all we’re working on, didn’t ask. Added to the list of questions for Captain Do-bey!” Starsky emphasized his completion of the question with a period strong enough to break the point of his pencil. “I’m beginning to think we’re jinxed.”
“Here.” Hutch threw him a sharpener from his pencil case.
“On the interview list for tomorrow: Cherie Tinker, Ellen Forrest, John Lee, find out Taft’s movements the morning Rocco was killed; oh, what about my college flasher? What was his name? Ronstan.”
“I can’t see how he fits, but I’ll put him over to the side here, just in case,” Hutch offered.
“I’d believe just about anything, at this point. Move over, would ya. I’m tired.” Starsky stretched so his head was on the arm of the couch, his legs bent, and Hutch had only the barest corner at the other end.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Starsky woke to the smell of scrambled eggs, sausage and tomato, and a cup of coffee at the kitchen table. After a quick trip to the bathroom, he joined Hutch for breakfast, and a review of the previous night’s plans.
While Hutch showered, Starsky started with phone calls. “Thanks, Cap. No, that rules him out of killing Rocco, but not of alerting someone else, although what connection there is, we don’t know. Thanks for those addresses; we’ll be around there in the next couple of hours. Yeah, yep, we will. No radio contact, we got it. Over and out, Captain.” Starsky mock-saluted Dobey, even though his superior wouldn’t see it.
He moved to the coffee table, and wrote on the butchers’ paper, on the tentative line between Taft and Rocco, “third party?”
The next call was undercover: Selling bed linen. Starsky put on his slickest salesman’s voice, chewing gum and all. A woman answered, as expected. “Good morning, ma’am, is Mr John Lee home, please? No, no, I really must speak with the man of the house. I have a super special deal for him, darlin’, that I know he can’t resist. It’s for today only. No, being as there’s a financial component, I really must speak with the man of the house, so if you wouldn’t mind… Oh, you did? I’m mighty sorry to hear that, honey. I don’t suppose…” click
“Doesn’t sound like that went well. What was Mrs Lee’s story?” Hutch asked from the bathroom door, towel wrapped around his waist.
“She has filed for divorce from John Lee and he no longer lives at that address, which Dobey did suspect was the case. Now we know.”
“Worth knowing. Bathroom’s all yours.” Hutch moved to his bedroom alcove to dress.
As Starsky started to close the bathroom door, he called out the results of his call to Dobey, and suggested they go talk to the two widows first up.
They hit the bonanza with Jack Forrest’s widow, Ellen. Left with three children when Jack was killed, and one on the way, Ellen was struggling to cope emotionally and financially. Her sister Alice helped as much as she could--taking the older children to and from school, cooking--so she could work to support the family, but it was a hard road. Still, Ellen had married a cop, and was philosophical rather than bitter that Jack had been killed in the line of duty. He had answered a call about a baby in a restroom, just the sort of crisis about which Jack would care deeply.
Ellen sat opposite Starsky and took his hands. “David; can I call you David? Or would you prefer Sergeant Starsky?”
“David’s fine, Mrs Forrest.”
“And you must call me Ellen. David, I know what happened that week. Time has passed, and I need you to know that I don’t blame you for my husband’s death. He died doing what he loved, and at that moment, with the protection of a child on his mind. I can’t think of anything more fitting for a man who loved children so much as Jack did.”
“Thank you, Ellen, that means a lot to me.”
“Now, I have a dilemma. A friend of mine does not feel the same, and it pains me to see him hurting so. However, I feel that if I don’t say something, someone will be killed. His troubles are too big for me to cope with.” Tears filled her eyes and rolled down her left cheek.
Starsky gently massaged her hands. “Who?”
“John Lee. Officer John Lee. He and Jack went through the Academy together.”
“We know him.” Starsky responded gently.
“He is very bitter toward you, David, blaming you for Jack’s and Dan Tinker’s deaths. He speaks of giving you a taste of the hell you created, even though I ask him to look for the good in the world. I can’t seem to help him.”
“We’ll be able to get assistance for him, Ellen. You’ve done the right thing.” Starsky assured her.
Mrs Forrest sobbed in earnest. “I feel as if I’ve betrayed him.” A baby cried in another room. “I must attend the baby, excuse me.”
“May we? See the baby?” Hutch asked.
“Of course. She may have a wet diaper,” Ellen laughed through her tears.
They all went to the nursery, where a one-year old baby lay in her crib, screaming for attention. Ellen lay out her supplies on the change table, while Starsky placed his hand across the baby’s chest and rocked her soothingly. Hutch stroked her hair, commenting it was so much like her father’s.
“Although not quite as grey!” Ellen joked.
“What’s her name?” Hutch asked.
“Jacqueline. Or Jackie if she prefers, when she gets to school.”
“That’s perfect. She’s lovely.” Hutch responded.
Both men stood aside as Ellen picked Jacqueline up from the crib, placed her on the change table and switched her wet diaper for a dry one.
Ellen and baby Jacqueline showed the men out to the door, but they had one last topic to discuss.
Hutch broached the subject delicately. “I don’t know if you went last year--we didn’t, as Starsky was convalescing--but we were wondering if you’re coming to the Christmas Picnic this year. It’s the second Saturday before Christmas.”
“It’s a great time for the kids, with Santa, presents, games…” Starsky enthused.
“Little kids and big kids,” Hutch stage-whispered to Ellen, who laughed.
“You know, we used to always go, when Jack was alive, but didn’t last year. Everything was too… raw, I guess. But I think it’s time for a new beginning. Thank you for suggesting it; I’d forgotten about the Picnic.” She kissed each of them on the cheek. “Thank you for coming. Please, don’t be strangers.”
“Hope to see you there,” said Starsky, as he ran the backs of his fingers down little Jacqueline’s face. “She’s beautiful.”
As they closed the doors of Hutch’s car, they agreed, she was not a suspect; however, Officer John Lee was at the top of their list.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Officer Lee was arrested while on duty at Bay City Police Station, Precinct 9. In his statement, he implicated Officer Frank Taft.
Both were charged with, and confessed to, the four false call-outs, and the attack at the abandoned building where Starsky & Hutch were shot at and the Torino damaged. Nothing more.
They claimed to be working alone.
Dobey, Starsky and Hutch knew they weren’t. But no definitive connection could be made between the other incidents and people on the chart.
One other incident did occur…
Starsky moved back home, and, “Hutch! You haven’t seen my spare shoes, have you?”
“No. Are they under your bed?” Hutch replied with disinterest.
“I looked there.” A frazzled Starsky appeared at his bedroom door. “I think I’m also missing some underwear. My other pair of Adidas--they were in the closet. My underwear drawer seems lower than usual, too.” He shuddered. “This is creepy. Let’s go to the picnic.”
“Got everything you need?” Hutch asked.
“Yep. One green elf suit, complete with jingle bells, right here.” He shook the box for effect.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Chief Ryan stood on the podium, in full dress uniform. “As you all know, the Christmas Picnic benefits the widows and children of our brothers and sisters lost in the line of duty. Officers, please stand at ease as we observe a minute’s silence in honor of those who fell this past year. Thank you. Today we welcome Ellen Forrest, Cherie Tinker, and their children. Children, I think Santa has something special for you right over there.”
The group dispersed, Mmes Forrest and Tinker took their children to the head of Santa’s line, where Starsky and Hutch were acting as his Helpers.
Somewhere far away, Jack Forrest and Dan Tinker watched over their children and widows, enjoying their first Christmas in over a year, with thanks to two special police detectives they barely even knew during their time on Earth.
THE END