When
Irish Eyes Are Smiling
By:
Disclaimer: The TV series
“Starsky and Hutch”, and the characters from it are
the property of all who hold the copyrights to them. This story is intended as
a work of fiction, written for pleasure only and not for profit. It is not intended to infringe on any
copyrights to either the characters or the series.
Author’s Note: The setting for this story takes place some
time after the canon episode “
Endnote: The lyrics to
When Irish Eyes Are Smiling were written by Chauncey Olcott and George Graff,
Jr. and set to the music of Enerst Ball for Olcott's production of The Isle O'
Dreams. The music was published in 1912.
There were
those who said the woman’s unladylike walk developed as her ambition grew. Along the way, she went through enough male
partners to fill a book, almost to the point of being transferred from
With
mahogany-colored hair falling down between her shoulders in a single braid and
a lush figure, Detective Sergeant 2nd Grade Samantha Fallon was a study in
contrasts. Framed by long black lashes
and thin, curved eyebrows, her gold-flecked green eyes were complimented by
high cheekbones, a finely wrought nose and full lips outlined by a square
jaw. She used the distraction of her
good looks to her advantage in more than one bust. To the sorrow of many who found out too late
there was more to Samantha than just a pretty face.
She strode
down the corridor, her attire as unfeminine as her step. She wore a hip length black leather jacket,
snow-white Levi’s shirt, black jeans, and a pair of her favorite boots. Samantha discovered a skirt and dress shoes
were bad choices in a chase; that is, after many bruised shins, ripped nylons,
and more than a few broken heels. It
also tended to add a little menace when she needed it. Sometimes a little menace is a good thing,
she mused with a chuckle, feeling the familiar weight under her right arm.
Together with the change in working clothes, she swapped her weapon of choice
from the usual snub-nosed .38 Special most women carried to a 9mm
semi-automatic.
On Samantha’s
arrival in the Vice squad room early this morning, Captain Donovan called her
into his office before she even had a chance to sit at her desk. Patrick Donovan was a stereotypical-looking
Irish cop with a ruddy complexion, auburn hair and blue eyes, although he had
never set foot on Irish soil. He unfortunately
had a temper to match, one that wasn’t lost on the woman before him.
“Sit down,
Fallon.” His tone was melodic, and the hair on the nape of Samantha’s neck
curled in warning. There was definitely
something up when her captain was this pleasant first thing.
“Captain Dobey
in Homicide called last night. It
appears one of your girls was murdered late yesterday afternoon. I want you to meet with him and the two
detectives who were on the scene."
Donovan's eyes were piercing as he delivered the rest of his
orders. "Homicide can use your
particular…talents on this so I'm loaning you out temporarily. You'll be under Dobey's command, so make us
look good, hmm? This could be the break
we’ve been looking for, and maybe we can tie up both cases with a big red bow.”
Samantha was
bristling before Captain Donovan finished.
She had a temper her mother said came straight from her father. Her father
maintained, with a smile, that she had inherited it from her Celtic
ancestors. Samantha had been born and
raised in
“Capt’n,
y’know how the boys from Homicide are.
We’ve put in hundreds of hours, all the bleedin’ leg work, and for them
ta be stealin’ this out from under us...” she argued, her lilting accent
pronounced. She stood up, leaning over
his desk to further amplify her point.
“Fallon,
that’s enough!” Donovan
interrupted, “We’re on one team here,
and they’re not ‘stealing’ anything. You have all the information and they have
a fresh case. You’ll work with them, or
not at all. Am I making myself clear?!”
Ignoring her
captain’s displeasure, Samantha said, “Capt’n, ‘tis true we could share
information, but y’know I don’t work and play well with others! All I’d be is some kinda walkin’, talkin’
file cabinet!”
Captain
Donovan’s smile was chilly. “Fallon, the
subject is not up for debate. Get down
there! It’s that or I’m pulling you off
the case - got it?” She nodded sharply
and stomped to the door. Raking it open,
she stepped through and slammed it behind her. Samantha heard Donovan curse and
smiled to herself. Serves you right, it
does. Long-legged strides took her
through the squad room and out the doors.
*~*~*~*
Down in
Homicide, Starsky and Hutch were involved in another round of friendly
bickering to the amusement of the others in the room. A never-ending baiting session, some of their
coworkers were in the habit of placing bets on the winner from time to time
just to quell the boredom of a long day.
“Look, buddy,
just admit it, will ya? That heap should
be at the wrecker’s as a home for the mice, not out on the streets driving
around,” Starsky teased.
“Starsky, my car will be rolling on the
streets long after that souped-up tomato of yours is a little red and white
cube, the way you drive it,” Hutch said defensively.
Starsky arched
his eyebrows and grinned, enjoying the game.
“Sure, Hutch, rolling on the streets all right...as a recycled trash
bin.” Hutch chucked the pencil he was
toying with across the table. Starsky
laughed and moved just in time to see it go sailing past his nose to land with
a clatter on the floor behind him. The
squad room door opened, diverting Starsky’s attention, to admit a visitor.
“Hu-utch...look what just walked in!
I think I’m in lust,” Starsky whispered.
Hutch admired
the woman determinedly making her way to Captain Dobey’s door without
answering. When Starsky practically
leapt out of his chair to intercept her, rattling the desk enough to knock his
coffee over across their desk, Hutch pushed his chair out of the way to avoid
getting it spilled on him. “Hey!” he
exclaimed. Starsky ignored him, intent
on the visitor. Hutch stood back after
cleaning up the coffee, waiting for the inevitable megawatt smile and instant
charm that were his partner’s trademark girl-getting maneuvers.
Barely
stopping in time to keep from running headlong into Starsky, Samantha pulled
herself up short to gaze directly into a pair of brilliant violet-blue eyes
framed by thick, dark lashes and bristling eyebrows. Backing up to get some space, she watched as
a dazzling smile spread itself over Starsky's good looks. Trapped against the file cabinets, Samantha
gave the man standing before her the once over.
A handsome one he is, supposin’, she mused, but definitely one of the
skirt-chasers ‘round here. A riot of
chestnut-colored curly hair framed his chiseled face like a dark halo. A well-worn brown leather jacket, a red
t-shirt, an equally well-worn pair of very snug fitting jeans, and a pair of
blue Adidas sneakers clothed his tautly muscled body.
“Hi. Is there something I can help you with?”
Starsky asked, turning on the charm factory.
She was the most gorgeous creature Starsky thought he had seen in some
time. The butter-soft leather jacket
moved around her upper body like a glove, and the well-fitting black jeans did
nothing to hide her feminine curves. He
wondered for a minute about the western-style riding boots, but chalked it up
to style. He dragged his eyes back to
hers with an effort.
Samantha looked
him up and down a second time, nose wrinkling in distaste, and replied
frostily, “No, unless you’d be here lookin’ for donations for Goodwill. Or in your case, I’m thinkin’, perhaps for
your closet?” The smile on Starsky's
face froze in place as the insult registered, and he got his first inkling this
was not a friendly face. He backed away
to give her some room.
A snort of
laughter came from across the desk, and Samantha turned her head at the
sound. “Don’t mind my partner, Miss . .
.” Hutch said, smiling.
The fine
sun-laden blond hair, crystalline blue eyes and handsome Nordic complexion were
quite a package. This man could be
considered almost angelic-looking compared to the dark countenance of his
partner. Now here’s a smooth one, she
thought appraisingly. No different from
his partner, just better manners about it.
He’d chosen to wear a tan leather jacket with a khaki green turtleneck
sweater underneath, and a light tan pair of corduroys that fit him like a
second skin.
“Detective
Sergeant Fallon,” she said formally, “and who might you be?” The door to her left swung open and she moved
out of the way to avoid it. Before Hutch
had a chance to answer, Captain Dobey came out of his office, and jabbing a
thumb behind him, growled, “Starsky…Hutchinson, in my office!”
He looked
beyond the door at Samantha and his face smoothed perceptibly. “You must be
Fallon – come inside.” He turned and
went back into his office.
Holding the door open, Starsky shot a
cheeky grin at Hutch. With a
melodramatic sweep of his hand, Starsky said to Samantha, “Ladies first.” Samantha brushed past him with her head held
high. Hutch smirked at Starsky’s antics
and followed her from around their desk while his partner fell in behind.
Captain Dobey
rounded his desk and sat down, waiting patiently for the three detectives to
seat themselves. Samantha sat in the
left hand chair while Hutch eased into the other one, and Starsky perched
himself between them on the arm of Hutch’s seat.
“How about one
of you getting our guest a cup of coffee?” Captain Dobey asked. Samantha nodded her acceptance and Starsky
sauntered over to the coffeepot.
“Just black, Detective, thanks,” Samantha
said, noticing he hesitated before pouring.
Handing her the cup, he reseated himself beside Hutch.
The captain
pulled a thick file in front of him and opened it. He looked up and said to Samantha, “Okay,
let’s get to it. If you didn’t get a
chance to introduce yourselves before, these are my men – Dave Starsky and Ken
Hutchinson.” They nodded politely at
Samantha. “Gentlemen, this is Samantha
Fallon from Vice.” She nodded back just as politely.
Dobey
continued, “I’m guessing you already know some of the details from Captain
Donovan. I’ll fill you in on the rest.
He tells me you’re spearheading a missing persons case for Vice involving a
group of hookers.”
“That I am,”
Samantha agreed.
Dobey pointed
at Starsky and Hutch, “Yesterday afternoon they were called out to the scene of
a possible murder. A young prostitute by
the name of Kelly Taylor was found in an alley off of Union and 11th Street. We pulled her sheet and discovered Vice had
an ongoing investigation linked to her name.
Captain Donovan mapped out your case for me in detail, and we think
there's a connection. We’d like you to
help us find it.”
Samantha’s
voice revealed the signs of early rebellion.
“Sure an’ I agree, Capt’n, that might be possible. An' I'm equally sure me captain should have
told you that I’ve been workin’ by meself on this for these past three
months. So far, whoever is responsible
is takin’ the little ones, not killin’ them.
Another girl went missin’ last week, an' I'm no closer ta finding out
who's behind it than when I started.”
She paused, her tone lightly sarcastic.
“What I’ll be bringin’ ta you is nothin' more than information. Pullin’ the files won’t take but a minute but
there’s no need ta be havin’ me here ta help you read them.”
The captain’s
voice hardened. “Fallon, we need more
than your files. We could use you out on
the streets. Talk to some of people
you’ve questioned in the past…find out if this girl’s murder made any
waves. They’re bound to reach out to you
a hell of a lot faster than having Starsky and Hutch start from scratch. Captain Donovan assured me you would be only
too willing to do so. Is there something
else I should know?”
Donovan hemmed
her in very well, that much she figured out.
She couldn’t back out gracefully now without a damned good reason. Squaring her shoulders and sitting ramrod straight
in the chair, Samantha conceded defeat.
“Capt’n Dobey, there’s nothing else.
Whatever reservations I have are me own to deal with. You’ll get nothing less than me best.”
“That’s all I
ask of anyone, Detective. In the
meantime, you can bring Starsky and Hutch up to speed on Vice's case. Now, if there aren’t any questions, I suggest
the three of you get started.”
Samantha,
startled by a feather-light tugging on her braided hair, was instantly reminded
of the boys from her school days. The
culprit here was no different, just older.
“I do have one more question, Capt’n.
Am I really expected ta work with this…this hooligan?” She tilted her
head in Starsky’s direction.
Hutch shot a
‘what did you do?’ look at his partner.
Starsky’s mischievously crooked grin told him everything he needed to
know.
Dobey shook a
thick index finger at Samantha as he got up from his desk. He bellowed, “Starsky and Hutch come as a
package deal! This ‘hooligan’ is
one-half of my best team and if there’s a problem, lay it out on the table
now!” Met with Starsky’s embarrassed
cough and Samantha’s stony silence, he thundered on, “Either you’re working
together, or you’re not! Which one's it
going to be?”
Hutch bailed
them out. “We’ll work it out,
Captain.” He stared at Samantha and
Starsky. “Right?”
Two faces
returned the stare - one smirking, one on the edge of good and mad. “Right,” Starsky and Samantha echoed.
Dobey harrumphed and sat down. “See that you do. If there’s any more problems, I better hear
about it, is that clear?”
Samantha
answered as she got out of the chair, cup in hand. “Aye, Capt’n, crystal.“ Frustrated at being stuck with this
‘assignment’, she turned to leave and found herself neatly trapped by Starsky’s
arm resting on the back of her chair.
The man simply would not give up, even in the face of his captain’s
authority.
“Would you be
excusin’ me, Detective?” she asked, her eyes flashing dangerously. You’ll push
this too far, boyo, you really will. She
glanced at Hutch, who unsuccessfully tried to smother a smile. “Why is it I feel like a mouse with a giant
of a cat ready ta pounce, do you suppose?”
Starsky moved
his arm to let her pass, shrugging his shoulders in a ‘who me?’ gesture as she
strode out of Dobey’s office. He
followed Samantha out with Hutch close on his heels. Hutch turned back, the hidden smile
blossoming. “Cap’n, looks like we have a wild Irish rose on our hands - one
with the thorns intact.”
“Get out of
here, Hutchinson,” Dobey ordered, “and get to work.” He leaned back in his chair when the door
closed and smiled, wondering which one was going to get the thorns first.
Samantha
decided the easiest way to get around Starsky’s persistent flirting was to
simply ignore him. She pulled up a chair
to the end of their shared desk, put her coffee on the edge and sat down. She asked Hutch shortly, “So, where do we
start?” Starsky had her riled, of that
there was little doubt. Hutch opened a
file and handed it over, using his best get-down-to-business attitude in an
effort to diffuse her annoyance.
“That’s what
we have so far on Kelly Taylor,” Hutch explained. “Most of this I suppose you
already know, but if you don’t mind, I’ll run through it again.”
“I can stand
the refresher,” she said tartly. “Go ahead.”
“She had one prior
for prostitution and not much else.
According to R&I, she was born in San Francisco in 1963. She wouldn't have been sixteen for a couple
of months." He shook his head
sadly. "Parents are deceased and she was an only child."
Picking up his
notebook, he leafed through some pages.
"A phone call to SFPD matched up some of her background with what
we got from Vice – I guess from your files.
She’d only been here about eight months, another runaway from a foster
home. According to witnesses we talked
to, she was a good friend with three of the regular girls, and it seems they
all work for a pimp named Flamingo.
Which is why you’re here.” He was
being nice, but it was getting damned hard to do with her glaring both of them
down.
Hutch doggedly
continued to lay out their evidence. “I
spoke to the M.E. just before you arrived.
Kelly might have died accidentally.
He found evidence of a drug in her system he hasn't been able to
identify yet and bruising around her upper arms as if she’d been held
down. He thinks it’s possible she was
OD’d or allergic to whatever she was shot up with, and it killed her. Those two things added together tell me
somebody tried to grab her and messed up.”
Samantha scanned
the girl’s rap sheet and their report.
She laid the file down with a sigh.
She remembered Kelly Taylor. It
struck her all over again, as it had many times before, how tragic this
was. After many long fruitless hours,
the case had now taken a sinister turn she never expected. It was a sobering thought – enough for her to
put away her exasperation. “If she’s
connected ta the others, which I’ve a sneakin’ suspicion she is, I’ve got
thirteen missin’ and now, one dead.” Her
expression was grim. “I’ll get all me
files brought down from Vice straight away, Starsky. ‘Tis surely a lead – not the kind I'd’ve
liked, mind you, but a lead all the same.”
Hutch rolled
his eyes heavenward and pointed at Starsky. “He’s Starsky, I’m Hutch.” If I had a nickel for how many times…Starsky
and I would be rich, Hutch thought.
“Oh,
sorry. Guess we didn’t get a chance ta
sort out who was who,” Samantha said, blushing. “You prefer Hutch to
Hutchinson, I’m supposin’.” Hutch stuck out his hand, and got a warm, firm
handshake back.
“Most around
here call me Hutch, yes.”
Samantha put
her hand out to shake Starsky’s hand as well.
He took it in both of his instead, cavalierly raising it to brush a kiss
on her knuckles. “Pleased to meet you,
darlin’.”
She snapped
her hand back sharply, her setting jaw clearly announcing her renewed
aggravation. “First thing, Detective
Starsky,” she gritted the next few words out, “do…not…call…me…darlin’. If it’s troubles with me name you're havin’,
it’s Fallon – F-a-l-l-o-n. Second, we’ll
not get a bit o’work done if you keep playin’ the knight errant. It’s a long way I am from being a damsel in
distress, so let’s stick t’business and drop the fooling about, shall we?”
Hutch
partially admired the woman’s spirited defense, although he wasn’t convinced
that Fallon wasn’t acting tough solely for their benefit. Then again, this might be a woman who could
give his partner a run for his money. He
played the odds. “Starsk, I think the
lady is trying to tell you something.”
Starsky sat
back in his chair and said unabashedly, “Well, you can’t fault a guy for
trying." He switched perspectives,
speaking to his partner as if Fallon had somehow magically disappeared in the
middle of the conversation. "Hutch,
we should see what Huggy might’ve heard by now.
We can kill two birds with one stone and grab some lunch. I’m starving.
Fallon’s files can wait till later.”
He had his fill of being chastised by a complete stranger. It was pretty clear that working with the
Vice cop wasn't going to be a barrel of laughs as he got up and started for the
door. Not another by-the-book
greenhorn. And a woman to boot. Maybe that high and mighty routine gets her
through, but it doesn’t impress me.
Hutch can do the nice act if he wants, but she isn’t gonna be here
forever.
“Okay, God
knows we can’t let good honest police work get in the way of your stomach.”
Hutch answered his partner’s retreating back as he got to his feet. He turned
back to Samantha who remained seated, her pride stung. Motioning her forward, he said, “That
included you. Coming?” She nodded and
got up, following Hutch out.
Out in the
police garage, Hutch and Samantha stopped on the passenger side of Starsky’s
Torino. Samantha looked the car over
with a raised eyebrow, peevishly delighted at having found an easy source of
instant payback. There was no doubt who
owned it. “Surely you can’t be tellin’
me this is your car?” Samantha asked smoothly.
“Always wondered who drove this Coca-Cola can on wheels. And we’re going to see someone named ‘Huggy?’ I’m wonderin’ if I can take all this
excitement at once.”
Starsky didn’t
dignify the jab with a reply; instead, he gave a chuckling Hutch a dirty look
and opened his door. He slid in under
the steering wheel and started the car, tapping his fingers on the steering
wheel in annoyance. Opening the
passenger door, Hutch waved his hand between them in a mock bow and said to
Samantha sardonically, “Ladies first.”
She slid into the front seat between the two men shaking her head. Starsky gunned the engine once Hutch was in
and pulled away with the tires squawking in protest.
The ride to
The Pits was silent other than Hutch logging them in for the day and explaining
to Samantha that Huggy Bear was a friend and their best source of information
on the streets. They pulled up in front
minutes later. Hutch got out first and
extended a hand to Samantha. Starsky
appeared on the other side with a sarcastic smirk. “Hey, Hutch, she’s no damsel
in distress, remember?” Samantha rolled
her eyes and bit back another retort.
This is goin’ ta be just a wonderful assignment with this hot dog, she
thought bitterly, just bleedin’ wonderful.
Huggy Bear was
wiping down the bar as they entered.
Lean as a whip and the color of burnished copper; he was dressed in a
bright yellow silk shirt, bright yellow neckerchief, dark brown velveteen
pants, and a matching yellow poor-boy hat.
He came around the bar to greet them with a wide smile that upturned his
almond-shaped brown eyes.
“Well, if it
ain’t the Dynamic Duo, or should I say trio? Is this ravishing beauty with you
dudes?” Without waiting for an answer,
he took one of Samantha’s hands with a flourish and kissed the back of it
lightly. “Welcome to The Pits, lovely
lady. Anything you would like is most
surely yours, or my name isn’t Huggy Bear.”
She laughed,
liking this outrageous man immediately.
“Sure an’ you must be the most charmin’ man I’ve met today. Call me Samantha, please. ‘Tis a black coffee I’ll have if you’ve a pot
on.” There was an empty table beside
them. Samantha sat down first, making herself comfortable while Starsky and
Hutch settled themselves on either side of her.
“Hug, we’d
like some lunch if you’re done flirting with Detective Fallon,” Starsky
interrupted, annoyed at the spectacle. “I’ll have a Huggy Special - Hutch will
probably have his usual weird on whole wheat surprise, whatever Fallon is
having, and something cold while we’re waiting, huh?”
Huggy paused,
shrugged and headed for the kitchen, chalking the mood up to an already bad
day. Speaking over his shoulder, he
said, “Okay, okay, I haven’t forgotten
how testy you get when you’re hungry."
It hit him then how Starsky introduced the woman, and he stopped in
mid-stride. "Wait a minute – did
you say Detective?”
Speaking
directly to Samantha, Huggy returned to their table. “I can forgive these two their choice of
professions, honey, but if you ever get tired of hanging ‘round my lighter
brothers, I could be easily convinced to change my choice of ladies from dark
and lovely to light and gorgeous.”
Samantha was
charmed, deciding his flirtatious nature was as much a part of him as his
outrageous wardrobe. She mulled over why
similar teasing from Starsky got her goat.
Huggy, in the meantime, was on a roll. “They change the requirements for
policewomen all of a sudden? Only lady
cops – or Irish ones, for that matter…" he paused thoughtfully, "you
are Irish, right?" Samantha nodded
as Huggy picked up where he left off, "…only ones I ever saw look a lot
like you guys, and definitely not as fine as this foxy lady. No offense meant, a’course, sweetness.”
Huggy's wide smile was infectious. “Tell ya what, honey – today I think you
should have the Huggy Special.”
Starsky had an
answer designed to shut his friend up and give Fallon a little shot as
well. After all, she did make that crack
about my car. “Hug, this is just another
shining example of women’s lib at work.
You heard about the mayor’s new quotas for hiring minorities, especially
women. We got the bases covered here – a
woman and an ethnic minority all in one.”
Huggy snorted
in response, heading to the bar to get their drinks and order lunch. Starsky turned his attention back to the
table, rewarded with a pair of fiery eyes and a clenched jaw as Samantha rose
to the bait. Now she knew why Starsky
riled her. Smart ass – we’ll see how you
like coverin’ this base. “Women’s lib,
indeed,” she hissed at him. “Just what,
supposin’, would y’know about how hard I had t’work ta get here? D’you think I got me shield straight out o’
the Academy because I wear skirts and you don’t?!”
Starsky
straightened in his chair, prepared to give back as good as he was getting when
Hutch admonished them. “Hey, why don’t
we take it easy? Keep this up and
Dobey'll have us on the hot seat again.”
Starsky shrugged his shoulders with the same maddening innocence. He sat back and sipped the lemonade Huggy
just deposited on their table with Samantha's coffee, ignoring her angry glare
until she looked away. She’s sure not
the same inside as out, he mused as his eyes roamed over her. Got a nasty temper for such a good-looking
chick. Samantha lifted the coffee to her
lips and took a small sip; seemingly unaware of the close perusal she was
receiving.
They sat
quietly like that for a few minutes until Huggy reappeared with their lunches.
Setting the plates down, he seated himself in front of them. “So what brings you three in here besides
Starsky’s stomach?”
Hutch took a
swallow of lemonade, wiped his mouth with the back of a hand and said, “Hug,
we’re trying to find out about a teenage hooker murdered off Union yesterday
afternoon. And what she and some of the
other girls might’ve had to do with a pimp named Flamingo.”
Huggy leaned
back, frowning. “I know ‘bout the
girl. Nothin’ on the who or why
yet. Street says this Flamingo’s one
mean and nasty dude, bro’. Way I hear
it, he keeps his girls in line with some very unsavory tactics, if you get my
meanin’. I’ll put the word out and see
what the little birds have to say.”
They started
in on their lunches as the conversation lulled.
A few minutes later, Starsky, finished first, said to Huggy, “Thanks, Hug.
You know where to find us if those little birds start cheeping.” He glanced at Hutch. “I’m done.
We about ready to hit it?” Hutch
nodded and finished his drink.
Samantha took the
broad hint and got up from the table.
Walking behind Hutch to rest her hand on Huggy Bear’s shoulder, she gave
him a glowing smile. “Me thanks ta you,
kind sir. For the information and the
friendly service.”
It was Huggy’s
turn to be charmed. “Anytime, sweet thing.
Huggy’s always here for the askin’.
Especially if the askee is as fine lookin’ as you. Seeing how it’s your first visit to my humble
establishment, lunch is on the house.”
She said to
Hutch, “Shall we go before I’m tempted t’stay and bask in more praise?” Hutch grinned, getting up from the table at
the same time as Starsky. Flicking a
glance at his partner, Hutch noticed Starsky wore a pained expression.
Starsky
coughed loudly, speaking to the group in general. “That’s a helluva lot more
than we get, and we’re supposed to be his friends. Let’s get out of here before I throw up.”
Since Starsky
put off going over Samantha’s files, they returned to the station to do some
research. Walking three abreast down the
hallway, Hutch asked Samantha some general questions about her case. Engrossed in their conversation, neither paid
attention when Starsky stopped in his tracks.
Coming towards them were Simonetti and Dryden, the Internal Affairs
'salt and pepper' partners who were like Hutch’s shadow three months
earlier. Simonetti's average-built
Caucasian frame was dwarfed by Dryden's towering darkness as they moved closer.
A break in the
conversation provided Hutch with an opportunity to determine what his partner
thought when he noticed Starsky was no longer there. Searching behind him instinctively, his
partner’s shuttered face pricked the hair at the nape of Hutch’s neck. Trouble was close by. He turned around to discover the cause and
froze in place. Starsky moved up to
stand beside him, their expressions changing into twin masks of guarded
hostility. Samantha kept walking, coming
alongside the two IA cops before she realized she was alone. She tilted her head at them in friendly
recognition and stopped to talk.
“Dryden...Simonetti - how are you
doin’?”
The two men
paused, the big black man shaking Samantha’s hand with a pleased smile on his
face. “Hey, it’s been awhile. Nice to see you're still around. We're doing fine – you?” Witnessing this exchange, Starsky and Hutch
looked at one another with the dawning realization she was more than passingly
familiar with their one-time adversaries.
“Very well, ta
be sure, but I’m still not sorry ta be back with Vice. Actually, I’ve been lent ta Homicide for a
wee bit ta work with Starsky and Hutch.”
Samantha’s gaze swiveled around to locate the two men. The antagonistic
stares radiating from them confused her.
What's up with those two now?
Simonetti
nudged his partner, accurately reading Starsky and Hutch, and with a nod,
Dryden said to Samantha, “Ah, we’re on the run right now, Sam, but why don’t we
go out for lunch sometime soon? Our
treat.” She agreed and the IA cops
continued on their way on Hutch's side of the hallway without another
word.
She walked
back to Starsky and Hutch and asked in a puzzled voice, “What’s wrong? Y’look
like you just saw Public Enemy Numbers One and Two.”
Starsky
couldn’t get the scene he just witnessed out of his head. “Y’know who those two are? Of course you do, or Laverne and Shirley
wouldn’t have been nearly so friendly, now would they, Sam?” The sarcasm dripped from his voice as he and
Hutch bracketed her against the wall. “Just exactly who the hell are you,
Fallon?!”
Starsky paused
to look at his partner, the mirror of his wrath in Hutch’s icy gaze. Samantha attempted to sidle away from the
impromptu interrogation when Starsky pinned her in place with a stormy look and
snarled, “I’m bettin’ you were IA, weren’t ya?
Damn it, lady, you were so righteous about playing games - you’ve been
suckerin’ me and Hutch all along!”
Astounded and
caught off guard, Samantha hesitated a split second too long without
answering. That was all the time Hutch
needed. He towered over her, his body
bowstring-tight. More than even he
bargained for, the last thing in the world they needed was an IA babysitter, if
that’s what she was.
His jaw
muscles working furiously, Hutch’s voice turned venomous. “Starsky’s got a
point. I’m gonna up his bet - you knew exactly who we were when you walked in
the squad room this morning.” His eyes
turned the frosty blue of a Minnesota winter.
“Lady, you better come up with some answers fast, or my partner and I
are going to show you a whole new world of police work!” He smacked the wall beside her with the flat
of his hand, letting loose some of the frustration he felt. She flinched in response but held her ground.
An audience
grew in the hallway around them and in the squad room behind Starsky and
Hutch. Samantha was horrified at how her
first morning with the detectives was panning out. Damn. ‘Tis
all I’m needin’ now, a circus act with these two. Dobey will be out here any second. She caught uncomfortable glances from some of
the uniformed officers milling around and some outright snickering on the other
side of the glass partition. Finally gathering
her wits to speak, Samantha tried to mollify the irate team. “Would you be tellin’ me what just
happened? What’s all this blather about
games an’ suckerin’ you?” Two sets of outraged blue eyes stared her down. Of its own volition, her temper escalated. She had enough. If being calm wasn’t going to work, then she
would resort to an emotion she knew very well – getting mad. “Not to mention the fact you’re lookin’ at me
like a damned criminal!”
“You’ve got be
kidding!” Hutch exploded, pointing a threatening finger inches away from her
nose. “Do you honestly mean to stand
there and pretend you don’t have a clue?
Fallon, you take the goddamned cake!”
Starsky appeared to ready himself for the next volley, but thought
better of it. Shaking his head, he
pulled Hutch by the coat sleeve down the hallway and into the squad room,
leaving Samantha to stand there sputtering.
Her control,
already tenuous, shattered. An entire
morning of being the target of Starsky’s teasing, and now this fiasco, sent her
tearing off after them through the double doors just as they were going into
Dobey’s office. By the time she reached
his door, it was slammed in her face.
Samantha tore the door open, letting it ricochet against the file
cabinets. On the bounce back, she deftly caught the handle and banged it closed
as she marched inside, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the small office.
“What the hell
is going on?” Captain Dobey yelled, pushing away from his desk to stand up.
Samantha paid
no heed; there wasn’t any point in stopping to explain. The captain would catch on soon enough. Planting herself squarely in front of Starsky
with her back to Dobey, she balled her hands into fists at her sides. “Now, boyo, that’s the last damned time ye’ll
be accusin’ me of some kind of skullduggery and then walk away before I’ve said
me piece!” The brogue of her accent
thickened as her temper rose.
When Hutch
tried to interrupt her, Samantha cut him off with a violent slash of her left
hand. Her eyes snapped green fire while
the veins at her temples pulsed in high relief. “’Tis true I was in Internal
Affairs - about three months ago! But I
was transferred right back ta Vice after one day ta work on these missin’
girls, and it’s shoulder-deep I’ve been ever since. If you’d taken the time ta ask first, ye
silly fool!” Starsky tensed, but
Samantha stood firm. Her irate glare
swiveling between them, she spat, “As ta knowin’ who ye were, let me ask this –
d’ye know every single cop workin’ in this precinct by name an’ sight an’ what
they might be doin’ every day?!”
Hutch opened
his mouth to answer and changed his mind. Her temper was in full sail. Samantha
leaned to within mere inches of Starsky, her pulse racing as she blew wide
open. “An’ just who the hell do y’think
ye are, Detective, standin’ there chewin’ me out like a bleedin’ rookie in
fronta God an’ everyone?!” she snarled. “It’s ashamed of meself I am for not
cloutin’ ye with one o’these!” She
raised a tightly clenched fist to emphasize her point.
Samantha
whirled away in a flurry of leather and braided hair. She took a step towards the side door to
Dobey’s office and stopped. In a
menacingly low voice, she said, “Y’want to start a war, best ye bring a bigger
army.” She reached for the doorknob, half turning around to give them a final
glare. “Oh, an’ one last thing,“ she
hissed directly at Hutch, “threaten me like that again without due cause, an’
we’ll be seein’ who’s goin’ ta show who a ‘whole new world’!”
She threw the
door open and stalked out to the sound of Dobey hollering at her to get back
inside. Slamming the door hard enough to
startle a number of people in the hall, she propelled herself down the hallway
to the stairs at a dead run, her long legs eating up the distance. She sprinted down the stairs two at a time,
blasting out the doors to the police garage where her black Oldsmobile 442 sat
parked. Snatching the door open, she
threw herself behind the wheel and started it.
Dropping it into gear, she jammed the accelerator down for all it was
worth, sending the car fishtailing out of the parking lot into the afternoon
sun.
Samantha drove
without paying much attention to her surroundings. When she regained enough sense to realize
where she was, she found she was speeding down the freeway with frustrated
tears falling down her face. Giving
herself a mental shake, Samantha wiped her tears away with the back of a hand
and slowed the car to a safer speed.
Whole new world of police work, indeed!
Jaysus, Mary an’ Joseph, what the hell was that all about? She shook her
head in wonder. It’s hot water you’d be
in now, Samantha Kathleen. Donovan’s
goin’ ta have a coronary! Her mind
flashed back to the look on the Homicide captain’s face when she stormed into
his office and she shuddered in memory.
Dobey. You’ve put yourself right on the boat outta Metro crossin’ him
and his glory boys. Well then, before they get around ta decidin’ ta hand down
me walkin’ papers, I think I’ll let ‘em cool off a bit. She took an off-ramp and headed back for the
center of town.
*~*~*~*
The interior
of Nellie’s Lounge was bathed in artificial light with the window blinds pulled
to shut out the afternoon sun. Notorious
as a cop hangout, flashing Mars lights were mounted in the corners along with
pictures of officers killed in the line of duty decorating the walls. Taken as a whole, there was little doubt as
to the identities of the majority of the regular patrons on any given day. This was certainly a ‘no-criminal’ zone.
Walking over
to the bar, Samantha pulled up a stool and sat down. The diminutive black woman whose name graced
the establishment had seen the comely detective come in many times on and off
duty. Assuming that Samantha was off
duty, Nellie placed a tumbler of Irish whiskey and soda in front of her without
speaking. By the ferocious look on the
younger woman’s face, Nellie wondered what affected the woman enough to put her
in such a state. Normally, Samantha
would have refused the whiskey at this time of the day, but there was no
refusal uttered as she tossed back more than half the drink. It wasn't a good sign.
Inwardly
seething over the turn of events with Starsky and Hutch, Samantha’s mind was in
turmoil. It still rankled that Starsky
literally pounced on her without warning and Hutch followed suit, the deadly
venom in his voice making her uneasy.
Gone was the gentle peacemaker, and in his place stood an extremely
dangerous man. They were nothing to
trifle with, these two.
She hadn't
paid very close attention; letting herself be distracted by Starsky's
baiting. She simply ignored the most
visible clues and chose to think they were like most partners; close only
during their on-duty hours because they had to be in order to survive. Their unusually symbiotic relationship
presented itself in a startlingly clear manner in the hallway and she got the
message. A perceived threat to one was
to threaten them both. Reflecting on the
newfound experience of Starsky and Hutch in defensive mode, Samantha wondered
for the umpteenth time how she found herself in this mess and the answer was
the same. Her temper got the best of
her.
The
overwhelming desire to hit Starsky while in Dobey’s office was a disturbing
thought. How to salvage something out of
the situation before she was transferred was another matter. Going back to Dobey to sort things out wasn’t
an answer; his loyalty to his men was non-negotiable. She was an outsider on loan. Once Donovan heard, he wouldn’t put up with
this insubordination, especially in front of another commanding officer and two
high-ranking detectives. 'Make us look
good', Donovan said. She certainly
hadn't done that. The price was going to
be high for this latest adventure in disrespect.
Nellie watched
the play of emotions on Samantha’s face. As the unofficial sounding board for
those who stopped by, she was so familiar with their jobs she could have been a
part of the force. Taking a particular
interest in Samantha, she liked what she saw.
Nellie knew about her parents wish that Samantha chose a job with fewer
risks. The subject always ended the
same; she became a cop as her father and his father had before him to help
people, to see that justice was meted out according to the law, and that was
all there was to it.
With no
resolution to her current problem, she gazed at Nellie with a look the older
woman interpreted as needing advice.
Nellie waited for the inevitable question. “Nellie, would you be knowin’ Starsky and
Hutch?”
“Sure, girl, I
know those two.” Nellie’s surprise showed. “They used to come 'round here
regular-like. Nice young fellas. Why d’you ask?”
Samantha’s
shoulders slumped a little. She got
straight to the point. “Yesterday a young hooker was killed off Union. Remember me tellin’ you about the ones goin’
missin’ these past months?" Nellie
nodded. "Donovan sent me down to
Homicide t’day, endin’ up with Starsky, Hutch, an’ meself workin’ together.”
“So what’s the
problem then? Something happen?” Nellie
gently pried.
“Y’could say
that, Nellie, but be damned if I know what.”
Samantha explained what transpired, and when she finished, the
smoldering fire in Samantha’s eyes took Nellie aback. “What‘m I ta do now? I can’t go and ask Dryden – that’d be like cuttin’
me own throat and a vicious circle ta boot!
I’d give me next pay ta find out what’s missin’.”
Nellie knew
the answer she sought. “I can tell you
for free. ‘Long about three or four
months back, Hutch’s ex-wife got herself killed in his apartment with his
gun. IA put Simonetti and Dryden on the
case, sayin’ it was routine. I suppose
it is." Samantha nodded in
confirmation. Any time there was a
mysterious death associated with a police officer’s firearm, Internal Affairs
was called in to investigate.
Nellie went
on, "Story goes that Simonetti found a 70-carat diamond in Hutch’s car,
and with a lot of circumstantial hogwash, IA pinned the murder beef on Hutch,
sayin’ him an’ his ex were partners and fought over the rock. Simonetti and Dryden thought they had him
dead to rights. Making a long story
short, a big-time fence named Wheeler was behind the whole thing, the boys
proved it, and the charge was dropped.
There’s bad blood ‘tween those four.
Could be Starsky figured if you knew the IA boys well enough to stop and
say hello, you might’ve known about Hutch, too.
Just a coincidence.”
“Faith,
Nellie, I'd been transferred back ta Vice – you know the story.” Samantha was stunned at the woman’s
revelation. “No wonder their dander was
up. That fills in the details, surely,
and I thank you for the tellin’. The
damning part is Donovan’ll be hearin’ about this and promptly send me sorry
arse out the door with a transfer in me hand.”
Samantha dropped her head between her hands. There was no way out.
*~*~*~*
Starsky
angrily paced Captain Dobey’s office like a caged tiger. Hutch’s demeanor wasn’t much better, but he
sat down after the Vice cop stormed out.
“Would somebody like to tell me what just went on?!” Dobey stormed at
them. “I thought we settled this!”
Hutch studied
Starsky and took the initiative.
“Captain, we thought Fallon was playing a game. We ran into Simonetti and Dryden just before
coming in here and she greeted them like old pals. We tore into her after they left and we
weren’t very subtle about it,” he said, his eyes coldly furious.
Starsky
stopped pacing and leaned against the wall with a thunderous expression. Dobey barked at him, “Well, Starsky, what’s
your story?! You look like you’re going
to eat somebody!”
Starsky took a
deep breath and pushed away from the wall to stand in front of his superior’s
desk. “Captain, that hothead is too
much!” His throat pulsing with emotion,
he went on. “Even if what she said was
true, it’s gonna be pretty near impossible to work with Fallon now. You heard her - she was ready to slug me!”
“Starsky, sit
down! Sit down, I said!” Dobey hollered when he didn’t instantly obey. Starsky
sat as commanded. “One day in Internal
Affairs wouldn’t have made her privy to every investigation. It’s possible she wouldn’t have heard until
later, if at all. It doesn’t excuse her
behavior, either, but I know how you two operate. You pushed her until she snapped!” He pointed a thick finger at them. “Tell you what – you’re tracking Fallon down
and bringing her in. I’m not putting up
with this investigation being stalled because two of my best detectives can’t
get along with one woman! The three of
you are acting like punk kids in a schoolyard!”
Starsky and
Hutch exchanged a tense look, their shared anger back under control. Uh oh, Starsky winced.
How come we’re
the only ones getting it here? Hutch’s eyes asked.
Dobey, reading
the signs, said harshly, ”Don’t worry, Fallon’s going to be front and center
the minute you walk in the door. Or you
three are going to find your cans out writing parking tickets for good!
Dismissed!” Not wanting to risk further
angering the captain, Starsky and Hutch left his office, closing the door
softly behind them.
Hutch looked
around the squad room and asked, “Anybody see which way Detective Fallon
went?” There was a general shrugging of
shoulders; nobody wanted to get entangled in what was going down in Dobey’s
office. Whatever it was, the best
course of action was to stay quiet and keep working.
The squad room
door opened to admit Miller, one of the uniforms. Starsky described Samantha
and asked if he’d seen her outside. Not
having been around for the earlier confrontation, Miller replied genially, “I
just came from lunch over at Nellie’s, Starsky.
Funny you should ask - someone who looked an awful lot like that was
sitting at the bar.”
Starsky
thanked him and turned to his partner.
Hutch gave him a tight grin, raising an eyebrow. “Shall we go and see if we can slay the
dragon beating in the damsel’s heart?” he said lightheartedly.
Starsky’s eyes
creased at the corners as he smiled, relaxing the taut face. “Hutch, one a’
these days...” They left the squad room and headed for the Torino.
Hutch logged
them into Dispatch for the second time and hung up the mike, settling back into
the seat. “You got any idea what we’re
going to say? We were pretty rough on
her back there.”
Starsky's grip
on the steering wheel tightened. “Hutch,
it looked bad and about to get worse. I
suppose we could’ve given her a chance before jumping down her throat, but when
I saw her talking to Dryden, I lost it.
I don't have to tell you how I feel about the Bobsey Twins.” He contemplated the road for a moment, and
the ghost of a grin began to form. “Ah hell, maybe she won’t be able to resist
my charm after all of this blows over.”
“Starsky,
some days I really wonder about you and your ‘charm’. You didn’t exactly score big points with the
Irish rose today.”
Starsky
snickered. “’Irish rose’, huh? Seems to
me I wasn’t the only one threatening to put her lights out. That was you who had a finger practically
tapping her nose, wasn’t it?” Hutch
didn’t volunteer a reply as Starsky pulled into Nellie’s parking lot.
Entering the
bar, Hutch spotted Samantha with her head in her hands. Nellie saw them first and leaned over to
whisper in Samantha’s ear. Uncoiling
from her seat, Samantha moved towards them rapidly with clenched fists. Starsky hazarded a guess that Samantha
decided the best defense was still an irate offense, and wondered why they even
bothered if the fight was still on.
Until he remembered Dobey’s orders.
He wasn’t about to be bounced into Traffic at the expense of keeping
this going, but Fallon was pushing his common sense aside.
She stopped
just short of Hutch and said in a low, nasty voice, “If you’re here ta give me
another lecture, I’ve about had me fill of tanglin’ with the likes of you two
this day!” Starsky moved in and she
incorrectly perceived it as a threat.
She took a couple of steps in his direction before she snarled at
him, “Come ta finish it up proper, have
you now? We’ll be takin’ it outside if
it’s a scuffle you’re wantin’. Nellie’s
me good friend, and I’d hate to tear apart her little pub tossin’ you
about!” Livid emerald eyes met blazing
sapphire ones, and a physical confrontation seemed inevitable. Samantha spotted the bunching of muscles
across Starsky’s shoulders and got ready to defend herself.
Hutch slid
between them, playing the peacemaker, and settled his hands on Samantha’s
shoulders. Looking into her tumultuous
face, he said quietly, “Look, Fallon, we came to make nice. We jumped without thinking and it got out of hand. We owe you an explanation for why, if you’re
willing to listen. I promise we’ll
behave like gentlemen...right, Starsky?” Starsky's narrowed eyes spoke volumes
as he snapped a curt nod at Hutch with a last angry thought. This ‘rose’ is really gonna get her thorns
plucked when it’s all said and done. It
doesn’t much matter how, either.
One of the
booths emptied of its occupants as they stood there. Hutch pointed in the general direction and
said, “How ‘bout sitting down a minute?”
Samantha and Starsky followed Hutch’s objective. Allowing Hutch to guide her and his touchy
partner, they braced her neatly between them as they seated themselves.
“Look, Fallon,
we screwed up. We had a run-in with
those headhunters recently, and it wasn’t pleasant,” Hutch said mildly.
Samantha held
up her hand to stop him. With the
knowledge of what was on the line, she got control of her temper. “Hutch, I heard. Nellie just finished tellin’ me the whole
sordid tale. We’ve gotten off on the
wrong foot right from this mornin’, and the blame tisn’t one-sided. ‘Tis no secret around Vice that I’m not
exactly known for me winnin’ ways with others.
Can we start over?”
Starsky wasn’t
as willing as his partner to let it go. “Lady, you’re a hothead and I don’t
like it. You were more than ready a
coupla minutes ago to step outside and go toe-to-toe with me, and that’s the
second time. Exactly how do you figure
we're going to work together?”
Samantha tried a different tack. “Starsky, I’ll put away me bad mood if you
do. It’s an apology I’m offerin’, y’see. You’re probably not goin’ ta have ta worry
about it much longer as it is. Most
likely me tail’ll be out the door when I get back ta the station.” The two men looked at each other.
Well? Hutch's
eyes implored. He breathed a tiny
relieved sigh as the battle lights faded from his partner’s eyes.
“’kay, Fallon,
we’ll start over,” Starsky said. “Two wrongs
don’t make a right.” He stole a sideways
glance at Hutch, who gave him a conspiratorial wink. Thanks, Starsk. A thread of a smile only Hutch could
interpret flitted across Starsky’s face.
Samantha’s
mouth tilted up at the corners in a wicked smirk. “I’m glad - I’d’ve hated ta take you
outside.” Starsky tensed until he saw
the smirk become a wide smile.
“And who says
you woulda won?” This was a new
one. Awful damn brave for a woman, he
thought.
“Who’d be
sayin’ I wouldn’t? We Irish are born
fighters. Five hundred years of
troubles, y’know. ‘Tis careful I’d be,
if I were you.”
Hutch had to
laugh. It was rare that someone would
challenge his athletic partner, even in fun, and rarer still to find a woman
testing those waters. Joining in on the
ribbing, he said smoothly, “Starsk, the lady isn’t giving up so easily. Maybe Fallon knows something we don’t. She just might be able to kick your ass.”
“Oh yeah? I wouldn’t bet my last dollar, pal. Never been beat by a woman yet.” Starsky said defensively. Samantha and Hutch laughed together and
Starsky realized they were pulling his leg.
“Okay, okay. One’a these days,
Fallon, we’ll see.”
Hutch composed
and said, “Listen, I hate to break this up, but we should be doing what the
city pays us for and get back to work.”
What was going to happen when they got back to Metro he decided not to
acknowledge. They got up from the booth
for the door.
“What about
Capt’n Dobey?” Samantha asked, concerned about the reception she was going to
receive when they arrived back at the station.
“Don’t worry about him - he sent us looking for you,” Starsky answered smugly without telling the whole truth. A knowing look h