When Irish Eyes Are Smiling

By:

Brigantine

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 “Hutchinson for Murder One”, and is somewhat divergent from the rest of the series. My own little spin on the break between the third and fourth seasons, if you will.

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 Bay City’s Metro Division. So many, that after five years as a detective, she worked alone - and her captain breathed easier. If it hadn’t been for her exemplary arrest record, and that good female detectives were nearly impossible to find, he wouldn’t have had second thoughts about sending her to another precinct.

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 Ireland. Her father, who held with the family tradition of being a police officer, moved his family to America when he retired and she was barely twenty. He hoped she would find a different challenge in their new home. His daughter’s hopes were to follow his example. An’ they told us in the academy that this was goin’ ta be the most rewarding career of our lives, she groused silently. Some reward. It’ll be just me luck ta work with a couple o’tired old men in bad suits.

“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 he and Hutch shared behind her back made Starsky grin inside. The chewing out she had coming made it worth the little white lie. “Guess our deductive powers are pretty good - didn’t take much looking.” When Hutch didn’t add to the conversation, Starsky knew he was playing along for all it was worth. You might be makin’ nice, Hutch, but you’re not fooling me for a second. Wait until she finds out how sneaky we both are.

When they arrived back at the station, Captain Dobey was waiting in the doorway to his office. Starsky sauntered over to his desk, anticipating with a kind of vengeful glee what was coming next.

“FALLON!” Dobey shouted, “Get in here, now!” He stomped back into his office. Samantha looked helplessly at Hutch as she stepped around the open door. Hutch gave her a small smile of encouragement and a thumbs-up while Starsky barely held a chuckle in check. “FALLON!” Dobey’s voice thundered again. Samantha straightened her jacket and her spine, and carried on into his office. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, not knowing whether to sit or bolt back outside to safety.

“Sit!” He ordered brusquely. Samantha took a seat in the left hand chair, dreading the next few minutes. “Mind explaining to me what that performance was about!?”

Samantha lifted her eyes to the commanding officer. The no-nonsense look on his face meant business. Rubbing a finger down the length of her nose, Samantha said quietly, “Capt’n, everything was fine until we came back here ta go over me files. We ran inta Simonetti and Dryden on the way in. I bid them good day, and then the whole world turned upside down. Starsky and Hutch came at me like they were about t'storm Normandy. Y’know those two can be fearsome when they’re riled?”

“Go on,” Dobey said tersely. He knew his men all too well.

“Me captain will tell you, if he hasn’t already, I have a horrible temper. They pushed the right buttons, and I blew up. You saw the rest. It’s me own fault for lettin’ it go so far.”

The large man got up from behind his desk to sit on the corner closest to Samantha and shook a finger at her. “I’m only going to say this one time, Fallon, so you better pay attention! You’re here to work with Starsky and Hutch, not against them! If I didn’t think you were worth the trouble, you’d be out of this division so fast it would make your head spin! I want it cleaned up, right now, or you’re finished! This investigation isn’t going to wait while you hash out your differences – do I make myself perfectly clear?!”

Samantha drew a shaky breath as the Captain’s anger washed over her. “Aye, sir, you do. I heard what happened ta Hutch just a few minutes ago. There’ll be no more troubles – you have me word.”

“Fallon, let me explain a few things just between you and me. They can try the patience of a saint, but they’re the best of the best. I have a feeling you’re in the same league.” Dobey’s face relaxed into a small smile. “I admire your spirit – that’s the first time in a long time I’ve ever seen anyone who could shut Starsky up.” Returning to his usual gruffness, he moved back behind his desk. “You’re dismissed.”

Samantha got up from the chair, grateful for Dobey's wisdom. “Me thanks, Capt’n. I won’t let you down.” Samantha turned to leave when Dobey spoke a final time.

“Fallon, this is between us. Donovan hasn’t heard a thing. Keep it that way.”

With a relieved look, Samantha said, “Thank you, sir.” He nodded and waved her out of the room. She opened the door and stepped out, shutting it quietly behind her. Leaning against it, she swiped a shaky hand across her forehead.

“Scary when he gets mad, isn’t he?” Hutch asked, amused. The voice from the burning bush on Mount Sinai had nothing on their captain when he was on a rampage.

“He’s certainly not for the faint of heart, me friend. Is he always like that, or was it just me?” Samantha asked. Starsky chuckled as Hutch grinned, and she gave his curly head a light-hearted tap. “Thanks a lot, boyo. Y’set me up for that one, you did. Y’could’ve warned me he was going to erupt like Mount Vesuvius.”

“And spoil the fun? I wanted to see if you were going to walk out of there with your head on your shoulders or under your arm,” Starsky teased.

Hutch pulled a chair out from the desk beside him and she sat down. “Cute, Starsky,” Samantha said, a telltale glint in her eyes. “I’ll be rememberin’ that.” Starsky and Hutch put their heads down to continue reading the files each had open. Taking a breath, Samantha picked up the receiver of the phone in front of her and dialed upstairs to Vice. In a few minutes, a clerk brought a large stack of files. She pulled her jacket off, hung it on the back of the chair and rolled up her sleeves.

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly under the burgeoning research, Starsky and Hutch both asking questions as they worked through the stack. Hutch took pertinent notes to use as reference. Starsky contented himself with simply reading through the reams of paperwork. They settled between them midway through that the next day would see them on the streets to pick their way through the maze of the inner city and its inhabitants.

By the time they finished their research the sun was setting. Samantha rose first, declaring herself finished for the day. “’Tis been a long one, gentlemen, and we’ve an early start tomorrow, so it’s good night I’ll be sayin’ ta you. See you first thing in the mornin’.” Starsky and Hutch waved goodbye as she picked up her jacket and left the squad room.

*~*~*~*

Samantha arrived in Homicide the next day a full half-hour before Starsky and Hutch. Dressed in what was for her, customary black jeans and leather jacket, today she exchanged the white shirt for one of deep burgundy. She gathered her hair in a Celtic-designed barrette at the nape of her neck instead of the braid, leaving the shining mass to fall between her shoulder blades. Pouring herself a coffee, she deliberately sat down on Starsky’s side of the desk to wait. Captain Dobey came in soon after and greeted the young woman. “Morning, Fallon. Waiting on those two already?”

“Oh no, Capt’n, gettin’ an early start ‘tis an old habit. Not ta worry, they’ll be along directly.” He grunted his approval and proceeded into his office, closing the door behind him. She wasn’t about to give the captain another reason to chew his men out over her, but Starsky’s reaction to her choice of seats was going to be fun to watch. Samantha decided if the game between she and Starsky were going to continue, she was going get the first salvo in.

She flipped open their file on Kelly Taylor. Intent on her reading, she didn’t notice Starsky and Hutch’s arrival. Starsky latched onto his partner’s arm, halting their progress just inside the doors. He raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in Samantha’s direction with a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Look where she’s sittin’, Hutch. Watch this,” he whispered in Hutch’s ear. He stealthily eased down the aisle until he was directly behind her. “Boo!” Starsky yelled.

Almost faster than the eye could follow, Samantha threw down the file, stood up, kicked the chair away and spun to her left. Without hesitating, she grabbed Starsky’s left arm and hand in her own and half-spun, half-shoved him face first into the wall beside the coffee pot. Samantha pinned him with her right hand flat against his shoulder, while prying his arm farther up his back in a classic arrest posture.

“Shit! Fallon, let go!” Starsky wailed, momentarily stunned in place.

She held on, leaning close to coo in his ear, “Sure, if you say pretty please with sugar on it, Starsky darlin’.” Hutch collapsed into his chair howling with laughter, the sight of his friend held immobile at Samantha’s hands too much for him.

Starsky growled at his captor, “Please, goddamnit! Now turn loose’a my arm!”

She released the hold and backed away. Starsky turned to face them, bringing his arm around and rubbing it to ease some of the pain. Starsky glared in annoyance; very perturbed she outmaneuvered him so quickly. He walked over to the chair and set it upright with another glare in Samantha’s direction. All right, sister, you want to play – I’m in. I just hope you know what you’re letting yourself in for.

As if seeing them for the first time, Samantha gave both men the once over and noted the casual wear somewhat similar to her own. Hutch in a black leather jacket with a gray turtleneck and dark blue jeans; Starsky in his battered leather jacket, a royal blue t-shirt and another pair of very snug jeans made quite the combination. “An’ here I thought I was the only one who thought when they said uniform they meant jeans. You look less like cops than meself. We could start our own little club.” Getting a matched set of strange looks, she sighed. “All right then, you don’t like me jokes. I’ve been coolin’ me heels long enough. Aren’t we supposed ta be out on the streets instead o’wrestlin’ like wee children?”

Hutch wasn’t about to let this die a quick death. “Yeah, we are. By the way, Starsky, did you want me to drive this morning? With an injury like that, you might have some trouble handling that big powerful machine of yours. Hate to see you sacrificing yourself.” Starsky rolled his eyes, thoroughly disgusted. “Guess not,” Hutch quipped, an easy grin sliding over his face. They left the squad room with the ringing sounds of laughter following them out.

No sooner were they on their way in the Torino than the police radio beeped and came to life with the sound of Control’s voice. “All units, all units, reported 10-57 at Kitchencraft Appliances, 802 Harbor, possible 211 in progress. All units in the vicinity please respond.” A 10-57 meant someone reported shots being fired, as well the likelihood of a robbery.

“That’s not far from here, Hutch. We can be there in no time,” Starsky said.

Hutch grabbed the mike. “Control, this is Zebra Three. Log us in, we’re in the area and responding.”

“10-4, Zebra Three, you’re logged in at 08:00 hours. Backup is enroute. Good luck.”

Starsky dropped the gearshift and hammered the accelerator as Hutch replaced the mike. “Hang on,” Starsky ground out, “the zoo is starting early this morning.” He lifted his shoulders apologetically. “Sorry, Fallon – looks like we’re going to be delayed some.” Samantha put her hands up in a ‘what can you do’ gesture as they hurtled down the street.

“Who the hell would wanna steal a fridge?” Starsky quipped a little further down the street. Hutch and Samantha shrugged as Starsky expertly steered the massive Ford through the busy morning streets, impressing Samantha with his skill and the latent power of the car. Don’t know as I’d want ta be havin’ him chasin’ me down in this glorified jet on wheels, she thought.

They arrived in front of the warehouse with a screech of tires as Starsky lay on the brakes. The two men leapt from the car drawing their weapons before it even stopped moving. Two black and whites were present, the uniformed cops behind them down low with guns drawn. Hutch ran to the first black and white to check on the situation. Samantha followed Starsky to the side of the front door. Starsky peered into a corner of a window beside the doorway. Dimly lit inside with a few banks of fluorescent lights to create pools of lighted areas, it wasn’t enough to provide a clear picture. He hunched his shoulders as Hutch ran over to meet them.

“Ramirez says the neighbor across the way heard a couple of shots and called it in. There hasn’t been a peep since they got here,” Hutch said.

How d’you want to play this? Starsky’s eyes asked in response.

“If we go charging through the front door, we don’t know who or what’s on the other side,” Hutch said, throwing Samantha off. What did I just miss? She wondered.

Starsky nodded. “You take the back way. I’ll try and find a side door. Fallon can wait here with the units in case we flush ‘em out this way.”

Okay, Hutch returned, back to the silent communication that was as much a part of them as their weapons. Confused at their verbal shorthand, Samantha got a little huffy at not being part of the decision-making process. “Do I not get a say here? I can hold me own. Supposin’ there’s more ta this than you two can handle, hmm? It’s silly I’m goin’ ta look standin’ out here if you get in a jam.”

“Look, Fallon, you want to be a hero, that’s up to you. But you’ll do it on your own time, not ours.” Starsky wasn’t teasing any more; he was issuing orders he expected to be obeyed. “The longer we stand out here debating the issue, silly ain’t even gonna cover what Dobey’ll do to our asses. Let’s move, Hutch!” As far as he was concerned, the discussion was over. He was off and running to the side of the building, Hutch following behind.

The lanky blond passed him and slowed up for a second. “Starsk, be careful.”

“You too, pal. I'll see ya inside.” Hutch nodded and headed for the back of the building.

Back at the front of the warehouse, Samantha didn’t know whether to be angry as hell with Starsky or grateful that he’d taken control. Hot dog, she groused to herself, you better be right, or when this is over, it won’t be Dobey you’ll be havin’ to worry about.

Hutch found the back door slightly ajar when he arrived. He cautiously nudged it open with the barrel of the Magnum and peered inside. He couldn’t see anything but dimly lit stacks of boxes and crates and a few kitchen appliances scattered here and there. He slipped through the doorway around a stack of crates, panning his gun from left to right. As he slid around the stack, he heard angry voices off to his left. Stopping, he searched the other way and spotted Starsky sneaking along at the same pace beside another row of stacked boxes. The connection between them reestablished, Hutch hooked a thumb in the direction of the voices. Starsky gave him the okay sign and continued to move.

Directly in line with Starsky’s path was a small office. From his vantage point, he could see two men in ski masks holding pistols. They were arguing with one another, and as Starsky got closer, their agitated conversation floated back to him. “Goddamnit, didja have to shoot him? We were just gonna take what was in the safe. Nobody’s supposed to get hurt. We’re in deep shit now – you heard the sirens. How the hell are we gonna get out of here?”

The larger of the two men walked around the desk and bent over to check something that Starsky couldn’t see. He straightened and picked up a heavy kit bag off the desk. “I don’t give a damn about this piece of dogmeat. Idiot shoulda been smarter than to try runnin’.” He waved a Saturday-night Special in the air. “We’ll get outta here the same way we came in, stupid, out the back door. Cops ain’t been here long enough to know where we’re at. Get goin'!”

The two robbers, so absorbed in their flight to the back door, never heard Starsky following until it was too late. He pulled away from the safety of the boxes, gun held high, and yelled, “Freeze, POLICE!” The big man dove for the safety of a stack of crates, snapping a shot off in Starsky’s general direction on the way down. The second man ran in a panic towards Hutch. Starsky threw himself to the floor as the bullet whizzed harmlessly overhead. He returned fire from his prone position, the Beretta bucking in his hand. His intended target moved rapidly out of the line of fire, unscathed, and ran down another aisle of large boxes. Starsky got up on his knees and searched around between the stacks of crates. He heard the boom of Hutch’s Magnum and an animal-like grunt, and then all was still.

“Hutch?” There was no answer. “HUTCH?” he called again, louder.

“Yeah, Starsky, I hear you,” Hutch answered, sounding a little out of breath. “Did you get the other one?”

“Nah, he’s still in here somewhere. Stay put, I’ll make my way over.” Starsky inched his way carefully to where Hutch had the second man cuffed and on his stomach. There was a spreading bloodstain on the man’s left shoulder, indicating Hutch had tagged him with his usual accuracy. Hutch stood against a stack of crates with the Magnum held over his shoulder in both hands. Starsky slid across from him against another stack of crates, looking left and right for the gunman.

“He gonna make it?” Starsky asked quietly.

“Yeah, just nicked him. Man says his partner-in-crime’s name is Hendricks, and according to this turkey, he’s crazy. Says he’ll do anything to avoid getting caught. Let’s be extra careful about this one, huh?”

“You got it, buddy. What to do?” Starsky glanced around a second time when two shots rang out above their heads. Starsky rolled right as Hutch rolled left, both coming to rest in a crouch and breathing heavily.

“See him?” Hutch asked. He didn’t like this at all.

Starsky replied, “Nope, you?”

Hutch shook his head. He peeked around one of the crates, and another shot took a chunk of wood out of the corner above his head. He pulled back to safety, spotting the flash of Hendrick’s muzzle milliseconds before the bullet struck. “Starsk, he’s about eight feet up above us on one of those stacks. Near as I can tell, that’s about fifty feet ahead of where we are. We’re pinned down like ducks in a shooting gallery. Got any bright ideas?”

“One,” Starsky said. “I’ll move back along this row until I get to the other end. When I get to the other side, I’ll try and draw his fire. That oughta give you a chance to take him out.”

“I don’t like it, but what the hell other choice do we have?” Hutch was worried. “Go ahead, I got you covered. Take it easy.” Starsky winked and started his retreat. He reached the end and hesitated, giving Hutch time to get ready. Easing out into the next aisle with his legs bent and spread, he yelled to get the robber’s attention with his gun aimed to return fire.

BLAM, BLAM, BLAM!

Starsky ducked as a bullet slammed solidly into a wooden crate beside him. The other two shots found Hendricks as their target. That wasn’t Hutch’s gun, Starsky thought, who the hell else is in here? He peered around the row just as the man fell off the top of the crates and landed face first into a large pile of flattened boxes below. He ran to the end of the aisle just in time to see Samantha doing the same thing in his direction, gun pointed at him in her left hand. He whispered harshly, “Fallon, what the hell are you doing in here?! You’re supposed to be out front!”

“Never mind that now,” she replied shortly, “are there more lurkin’ about?” She and Starsky didn’t notice Hutch calmly holstering the Magnum as he approached them.

“That’s all of them. You can relax now,” Hutch said. He bent over Hendricks and checked for a pulse. Finding one beating strongly, he turned to Starsky. “Cuffs?” Starsky dug into his back pocket and tossed them over. Hutch snapped the handcuffs on the hood’s wrists and left him face down. He searched Starsky up and down with a concerned look.

“I’m okay, Hutch. He missed me by a country mile,” Starsky said, answering the unspoken question. “Let’s go have a look see in that office.”

They walked inside and Starsky searched around the corner of the desk. He found the body of a clerk slumped chin down against an open safe with a large bloodstain across his chest. Kneeling beside the man’s body, he knew there was no sign of life even as he checked for a pulse. He turned and addressed the others, bringing them around the desk to meet him as he got up. “Looks like in addition to robbery, attempted murder of two police officers, and fleeing the scene of a crime, better add murder to the list of beefs those two got coming. Time to get the crime lab boys and the coroner in here.” He waved an approaching uniformed officer over and gave him the instructions. When he was finished, Starsky, Hutch and Samantha walked out of the office.

Starsky was still annoyed with Samantha at having disobeyed orders and Hutch knew it. Levelly, he asked Samantha what Starsky wanted to know. “What made you come in, Fallon? Starsky was pretty sure you understood we wanted you to stay out front.” The adrenaline rush from the short gunfight had Samantha’s blood singing and it was a couple of minutes before she could calmly answer. She gathered her wits by holstering the semi-automatic, sensing another confrontation was about to unfold if she didn’t choose her words judiciously.

“Well, I couldn’t very well let y’two get yourselves shot on our second day together. Besides, it looked ta me he had you pinned down tighter than me mother’s corset. Thought you prob’ly needed a surprise visitor,” she replied tersely.

When the shots started, she reacted instinctively. Samantha stepped inside the front door of the warehouse just in time to see the flash of Hutch’s blond hair retreat from the last shot. Racing towards them amongst the safety of the stacked appliances, she pegged the gunman without notice. It seemed like a perfect idea at the time. The afterglow of the gunfight still upon her, Samantha abruptly changed tracks; she would play rather than argue. Starsky’s narrowed eyes and clenched jaw were speaking volumes. She addressed her curly-haired nemesis in a low, seductive voice with a dangerous smile. “An’ seeing as how you like ta work on the merit system, Starsky, I’m thinkin’ that you’ll be owin’ me one.” Her smile became positively bewitching as points of gold gleamed in her eyes.

How come I’ve never noticed her eyes before? Maybe it’s just the lighting in here, Starsky reckoned, and I’m imagining things. He pretended to examine the tops of his shoes rather than meet that penetrating gaze. Samantha was standing directly in front of him when he lifted his eyes again. Starsky involuntarily stepped back, startled at her sudden proximity. Damn woman, how the hell does she do that? One minute she’s halfway ‘cross the room, the next, she’s right on your nose.

Starsky’s sudden attentiveness to his shoes prompted Samantha to deliberately focus more attention on him, testing his mettle to see where the chink in the street-wise persona was. I see far more than you think I do, Starsky darlin’. An’ here I thought gettin’ inside that fortress was goin’ t’be tough.

The paramedics loaded the two criminals on stretchers and hauled them out to the ambulance parked out back as Starsky, Hutch and Samantha stood talking. Hutch cleared his throat. “Hey, we’ve all had a very full morning. Why don’t we find a nice, quiet place to grab a bite to eat before we go talk to those turkeys at the hospital and do the paperwork? You know Dobey will have a field day if we don’t get on it.”

Starsky rapidly agreed. “I’m with you, pal. All that chasing around gave me an appetite.”

Samantha added her assent. “Aye, that makes three of us. Lead on.” They left the warehouse out the front door, the Torino in place with the Mars light flashing and the engine idling. It was two seconds effort for the three to hop in and end the morning’s events with a roar of the Ford’s full-bodied engine and a peeling of rubber as they left the building in their wake.

The tiny hamburger stand on Figueroa Hutch picked was quiet with a few mid-morning patrons scattered about at various picnic tables. They walked up and placed their orders. It didn’t take long for the cook to hand out a tray laden with food and three coffees to Starsky while Hutch paid.

They walked over to an empty table and sat down. Samantha sat in the middle of one bench facing the street, the two men sitting on either side of her. I’m forever ‘tween these two. Like Dobermans at the gate. The mental imagery brought a smile to her face. Hutch saw the smile and asked, “What’s so funny?” He peered at himself self-consciously and then over at his partner.

Samantha laughed; the sound full and throaty. “There’s nothin’ on you or Starsky. I was just thinkin’ you’re like havin’ a matched set of guard dogs, if you’ll be pardoning the expression. I really can take care of meself, y’know.”

Starsky huffed in annoyance and cut right to the chase. “Yeah, well, we saw today how you can take care of yourself. You don’t follow orders worth a damn.”

She laughed some more. Putting her hand on his forearm, she detected the smallest twitch in the muscles beneath the leather. “Down, Starsky, down. Y’can think of it this way - I saved that foine tush of yours – what more do y’want?” Starsky looked startled as Samantha took her hand away. Hutch felt an undercurrent of something different going on between his partner and Samantha. It was apparent the hunted had just changed into the hunter. Hope you like being the pouncee, Starsk, he thought humorously, ‘cause I think the cat just started sharpening her claws.

Out of the blue, Starsky asked, “You ever drink anything else but Irish whiskey or black coffee, Fallon?” He desperately tried switching subjects to deflect her sudden attention and failed miserably. Her emerald gaze assessed him boldly from head to toe.

“What is it you’d be trying to find out, Detective? Or was that an invitation to try something else?” she brazenly asked. Starsky squirmed inside. The game was getting a little personal. He casually took a bite of his breakfast burrito and a swallow of his coffee. What the hell? She’s playing me like a fish. Time for you put the brakes on. Hutch is gonna work this to death when today’s over, I know it. He set the burrito down and propped his head against his hand.

“Nah, just curious, that’s all. Whiskey isn’t exactly a lady’s drink, far as I can tell, and you seem to like coffee strong enough to stand a spoon in. Most of the women Hutch and I know drink tamer stuff, like tea or those fruity drinks with the umbrellas.”

He was quick, she had to give him that, but she knew she had gotten underneath that smart-alecky exterior. So there, Mister Smooth. I’ve got you on the run now, she gloated silently. Changing tactics to further confuse him, she dropped the come on routine. “A long time ago, before me family left Ireland, t’was custom in our home ta serve guests a bit o’the Irish after dinner. Helps the digestion, they say. True or not, I don’t know, but it surely loosens tongues. We Irish can tell stories the whole night long with a good bottle of whiskey in front of us.” She smiled. “The black coffee...who knows? I stopped putting a bit o’sweet in when I was in university. The stronger t’was, the longer I studied. Who could sleep with that much caffeine runnin’ around your bloodstream?”

At Samantha’s mention of higher learning, Hutch’s interest perked up. “University? A woman cop with a degree? In what, may I ask? No offense meant.”

“None taken. ’Tis a funny thing - I started out takin’ anthropology and history at the University of Dublin, y’see. Thought I might like diggin’ around after dinosaurs or mummies. But there’s always been a Fallon with a badge as far back as me family can remember, and when we moved here after Da retired, I switched me major to criminology. When I left with me degree, I applied at the academy the next day.” Hutch wore a surprised look when Samantha finished. She couldn’t resist getting in a little dig. “What? Don’t be tellin’ me that lasses aren’t supposed ta be educated.”

Caught, Hutch coughed to cover his embarrassment. Any of the women he knew were only interested in getting married and having kids, not getting a degree and then choosing a profession where the value of your life could be pretty cheap.

Starsky was vastly amused. “Aw, Fallon, ‘s not that. Hutch here is a progressive man. He went to college back in Minnesota. He just slips occasionally and lets that farm-boy mentality show. Thinks all girls oughta be barefoot and pregnant.”

“Starsky!” Hutch exclaimed, ”Samantha’s going to think I’m some kind of Neanderthal!” He turned to Samantha and said, “Don’t pay any attention to him, okay? He’ll think he’s funny.” Samantha and Starsky laughed, although Samantha hadn’t missed Hutch’s use of her first name. It was a sign things between them were relaxing. She took the opportunity to offer an olive branch of peace by raising her mug midway off the table in a salute.

“Gentlemen, let me be the first ta propose a toast. May the Lord get us ta heaven a half-hour before the Divil knows we’re dead, and here’s ta findin’ the bastards who prey on the less fortunate.”

They touched their mugs together. “Amen,” Starsky and Hutch said in unison.

????????

The afternoon sun was casting its first shadows and Flamingo, waiting in his black Cadillac, knew that his girls would be out soon to get in on the early trade. A large, heavily muscled black man with pecan-colored skin, close-cropped black hair and dark brown eyes, he was dressed in a dark gray silk suit with a matching shirt and tie in rose pink. Never seen without something in a shade of pink or rose, it gave credence to his nickname.

Someone not knowing him might have easily mistaken him for a successful executive until they saw the knife scar that ran the length of the right side of his handsome face from his jaw line to the edge of his eye. It had been a ‘gift’ from a fight with an older pimp over ten years ago. From that fight, which he had won with the other’s man death, it became well known that he was no one to mess with. On his own since he was twelve, he came up the hard way through the gangs, the shootings, the drugs and the prostitutes. Flamingo kept a fine stable of girls. He would put up with their bad habits as long as it never interfered with his money. His methods of dealing with girls who caused an interruption of his cash flow were viciously swift and sometimes deadly.

With bigger fish to fry these days and enough money coming from it so that he could finally walk away from this business with a clear conscience, Flamingo would take his cut, start afresh in a new city, and never look back. He was due to meet with his business partners in half an hour, and he was looking for one girl in particular to take with him to the meeting. She would be a very important bargaining tool in tonight’s negotiations.

On the other side of town, two European men, one blond and one auburn haired, sat in a posh restaurant awaiting Flamingo and his escort with great anticipation. Overly handsome, both were dressed in linen suits and dress shirts and looked to all the world like traveling businessmen with a great deal of money to spend. The reality was that Johann and Duncan were the representatives of a very powerful cartel whose only interest in America was their women. The younger and more beautiful, the better; an effort to find an innocent in this country to transport across the world wasn’t even a consideration. They thought it an impossible task and turned to those who worked the streets instead. The pickings were considerably easier, and in most cases, much younger.

Their conversation, conducted in lowered voices, detracted anyone from overhearing something they shouldn’t. They were very successful in other cities, and it looked as if this trip was going to prove to be the most lucrative yet. They literally had hundreds of young nubile women to choose from, and carefully selected more than twenty in the last three months.

Three days ago, there was a rather serious kink to the smooth process. The tiny redhead that was to be part of their next shipment hadn’t reacted well to the drug they’d injected her with upon yanking her bodily into their customized Chevy van. She fought it tenaciously, prompting the decision that another shot wouldn’t harm her. Her eyes began to glaze over even as her body went into convulsions, and the two kidnappers panicked. They drove away from the street where they grabbed her and dumped her still-convulsing body in the alleyway off Union, leaving her to the streets to die. They patiently waited three days and were now eager to finish their business here and leave before their efforts were noticed. Disappearing hookers who nobody really cared about was one issue, but a murdered one brought more attention than they were willing to risk.

Flamingo and a skimpily dressed leggy blonde walked into the restaurant where Johann and Duncan were waiting. Strolling over their table, he pulled a chair out for his escort. Settling down in an adjacent chair, he waited until the waitress took their drink order and left before speaking.

“Evenin’, gentlemen.” He directed a look in the direction of the scantily clad girl. “My friend Stella.” She said nothing, just pasted a silly smile on her face. She'd been well trained to keep her mouth shut.

Johann spoke first without acknowledging her presence. “Let’s get straight to the point, shall we? This will be our last business transaction. We can’t afford to have any more mistakes, you understand?”

The black man leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. He replied with a growl, “That ‘mistake’, as you call it, wasn’t my fault. You two made it, and now you expect what? That I’m gonna pay? We’re still short of my cut outta this, and I’m not pullin’ the plug 'til I get what I was promised.”

He leaned back against the chair, and said as an aside to Stella, “Whyn’t you go powder your nose, baby? These gentlemen will have you all to themselves later.” She took the hint from the latent threat in those midnight-brown eyes that it would be wise to do as he asked. She silkily rose from the table and sashayed her way to the ladies’ room. The two Europeans watched her with interest.

“Would she be part of the ‘arrangement’? She’s a lovely thing,” Duncan said appreciatively.

“She could be, for the right price. And the right price is a continuation of our business,” Flamingo replied, an avaricious gleam in his eyes.

“The risk is too high, and you’re being greedy,” Johann reproached the pimp, “I shouldn’t like to have to report that back to my people. It could have, shall we say, serious ramifications to our partnership. I repeat, we cannot afford to have the police finding out what really happened to the girl, and if we risk taking more than tonight’s five or six, we could jeopardize all of our positions. Am I making myself clear?”

Flamingo’s eyes narrowed to slits and he clenched his hands tightly on the table in front of him. “You’re hardly in a position to make threats, Jo baby. A phone call could make things very warm for you here, if you get where I’m comin’ from. So what’s it gonna be? Do we start killin’ one another or do we work this out?”

Resignedly, Johann said, “I see we are at a…stalemate, as you would say in your language. All right, you may have it your way, for now. But if there are any more problems, it will be your responsibility. You will find my partner and I can be very elusive, if we so choose. We have done this many times, in many countries, and it bears consideration. Make no mistake about this, my friend, we do not take this lightly.” Duncan sat back, obviously used to letting Johann take the lead. He said nothing, simply nodding his head in agreement with his partner's statement. There would be time to deal with Flamingo later, that he would make certain of, as he and Johann had decided before the pimp’s arrival.

Flamingo slouched in the chair, relaxing his fists and laying his hands flat on the edge of the table. Chuckling evilly, he responded, “I guess we understand one another then. There won’t be any more slip-ups as long as I’m controllin’ the action. This one tonight will be a piece of cake, and I think one more after that should bring the books dead even so’s we can all walk away happy. Agreed?”

The three men shook hands just as Stella returned to the table. As she reseated herself, Flamingo rose from the table and turned to leave. Speaking in a parting gesture to all three people at the table, he said lightly, “I’m gone – I hope ya’ll enjoy yourselves tonight. Stella – you look after these gentlemen right – they’re very important friends of mine. Got it, honey?”

The blonde did not speak but simply bobbed her head in affirmation. She slid her chair closer to Duncan and stroked his arm with a pleasing look in her eyes. Taking that as his cue to leave, the pimp stalked out of the restaurant.

*~*~*~*

Interrogating the two robbers at the hospital and the resulting paperwork from the morning’s events used up the rest of the morning. The three detectives went down to the cafeteria and grabbed something quick to bring back to their desk for lunch. They spent the next several hours searching through more of Samantha’s case files gathering names and information, as well as catching up on the reams of paperwork Dobey was continually after them about. Starsky glanced across the desk at his partner and Samantha sitting side by side, their shoulders nearly touching. He felt a brief stab of jealousy and wondered why. He and the Irish cop were getting along, but he really knew nothing about her other than the brief glimpse into her past she had shared at the burger stand, and her sitting next to Hutch shouldn’t have bothered him one bit.

It was her manner at the warehouse that still disturbed him. They had all been on an adrenaline high, but he knew it was more than that. What brought that whole scene on confused him. Is this some new kind of game? If it is, I’d sure like to know the rules. If it’s not a game, what the hell is she up to?

Samantha signed her name to one last file and stretched to ease the muscles in her back. A stealthy glance across the desk caught Starsky openly appraising her. Moving closer to Hutch, she brushed her arm against his in a feigned reach for a paperclip. From beneath lowered lashes, she watched Starsky’s eyes narrow and smiled inside.

Hutch was inwardly disconcerted at the brief contact, and then his intuition took over. She was deliberately playing Starsky, using him as the bait. He wasn’t sure he liked the way she was going about it, but he kept his peace. Samantha slid her chair back and excused herself to go to the ladies’ room. Once she left, Starsky took the opportunity to perch on the corner of his partner’s side of the desk.

Lowering his voice, Starsky asked, “Hutch, what’s she up to? She’s using you to get to me. I ain’t a teenager...I can tell when I’m getting signals from a lady, and she’s broadcasting in letters two feet high.”

Hutch sighed. “Maybe you were right - she’s not immune anymore. How the hell should I know?”

“Well, what do you think I oughta do about it?” He was genuinely puzzled.

“Starsky, if you’re asking my advice, I’d say go for it. What can you lose? Only thing she can say is no.”

“Yeah, but what if she gets all hostile? Do you really want to see two people pissed off over stupid shit again?”

Hutch was amused. He also wasn’t one to kick opportunity in the teeth, either. “Starsk, you’re never that pissed off for very long at a good-looking lady. When she comes back, ask her out. You’ll never know if you don’t.” He affectionately patted Starsky’s knee. “Come on, Romeo, take a chance.”

Tapping Hutch’s hand, Starsky hustled back to his chair before Samantha returned as if nothing had been said. He flashed his partner a lightning grin, lowering his head to finish off a report. Samantha returned, reached for her cup of coffee and took a sip. With her free hand, she gathered up the stack of notes she compiled and slid them into a manila folder.

“Another day done, gentlemen? Tomorra we really need to talk to some of me people,” she said earnestly.

“That’s true, this case isn’t going to solve itself,” Starsky replied. He made up his mind and plunged ahead. “Listen, Fallon - you doing anything for dinner tonight? Hutch has other plans, and I hate eating by myself.”

Gotcha! Samantha was positive the ‘plans’ Hutch had were a smoke screen and they hatched this idea in her absence. Might as well jump in with both feet, she mused. “I’ve nothing doin', Starsky. Surely you’ve a lady friend you’d rather be out with?” She was being coy.

Starsky wasn’t fooled for a minute and called her bluff. “Not this week,” he smirked. “So we’re on?” Samantha nodded. He finished typing the last few lines, pulled the sheet of paper from the typewriter, signed it, and tossed it in his ‘out’ basket.

“Okay, we’re all set.” He pushed his chair back and swung to his feet. “Catch you later, partner. Pick you up in the morning?”

“Yeah, sure, Starsky. Enjoy, you two. See you tomorrow.” Hutch looked forward to a relaxing evening at home and a good night’s sleep. He waved to them as they left. The two versions of how this evening could turn out would prove to be interesting, Hutch mused. Very interesting indeed.

The early evening was warm as Starsky and Samantha walked out to the parking lot. Samantha removed her leather jacket in the squad room earlier, and now she slung it over her right arm as they were leaving, exposing her shoulder holster and the 9mm hanging from her right side. Starsky found that interesting. In little revealing measures, she was proving to be entirely different from what he was used to in the form of a policewoman.

“You drive here?” Starsky asked, opening the driver’s door of the Torino. She pointed to her Olds parked neatly beside it.

“Aye, that’s me car there. I’m thinkin’ I should stop at home and get out of this rig. Change inta something presentable, if we’re steppin’ out for supper.”

Starsky whistled tunelessly as he examined the 442, every inch of the car gleaming and polished. “Nice wheels. Not exactly a ladies’ car, is it?”

Samantha’s pride shone on her face. “Thank you kindly, sir, yours tisn’t so bad either. I s’pose you’ll be discoverin’ a lot o’things about me aren’t ‘exactly’ as time goes on. Are we takin’ yours, mine, or meetin’ in the middle?”

Starsky paused in his assessment of Samantha’s car to reply. “I’ll follow you to your place. Gentleman always drives on the first date.”

“First date, indeed.” Samantha barked out a laugh. “Who gave you leave ta be thinkin’ that, now? Starsky, you’re incorrigible.” He shrugged, grinning, and without another word, jumped in the Torino. Samantha hurried around her car and did the same. She backed out and headed for home with Starsky tailing her. She lived in a condominium complex with a courtyard across from the beach in Santa Monica. Pulling in her slot in the attached open parkade, Starsky parked out front. She locked her car and walked over to lean in the passenger-side window of the Torino with the keys dangling from her left hand and her jacket slung over her right arm.

“It’ll take me a few minutes ta get ready. Rather come up than sit here an’ wait? There’s sure ta be something cold in the fridge,” she asked lightly.

Starsky shut the car off and asked, grinning, “Is there something you’re trying to find out, Detective, or is that an invitation?” He got out and jogged around the back of the car as she headed for the entrance.

“Well now and aren’t you the comedian? Did you ever think of changin’ your line o’work, Starsky darlin'? Your talents are surely wasted bein’ a cop.” The subtle humor made Starsky chuckle as he kept pace with her under the archway of the open courtyard. They walked up the outside stairs side-by-side to the third floor. A third of the way down Samantha stopped to open her door. She flipped on a light switch as they entered, illuminating the living room in soft lampglow. Starsky followed her in and closed the door behind him.

“Welcome ta me humble little home. Sit wherever you’d like and I’ll get us something ta drink.” Samantha hung her jacket on a nearby coat rack and proceeded into the kitchen still wearing her gun. She lobbed her keys into a bowl perched on a small stool beside the coat rack on her way.

Starsky glanced around, liking what he saw. The walls were neatly decorated with ancient Celtic artifacts that included arm torques and brooches, but he got a shock when he discovered a large ring-pommeled sword hung above the ancient jewellery. Swathed in dark green and black colored tartan, it was well over three feet long. Other walls held framed prints of Celtic warriors, long hair and swords gleaming. Paying homage to the Ireland of old, it left no doubt as to her heritage or love of antiquity. The rest of the room contained a large comfortable sofa draped in Irish shawls in soft grays and deep greens. To one side stood an ancient oaken rocking chair with another shawl lovingly placed along its back. In front of the sofa there was a small oval coffee table with intricate designs inlaid on the surface and two matching end tables that held the lamps.

Samantha walked through a doorway to the right when she left the room. He could hear her opening and closing the refrigerator door, and the sound of glasses being set down on a countertop. Curious, he followed her, and discovered her opening a bottle of white wine. As he watched, she expertly pulled the cork and poured two glasses full, handing one to Starsky. She drank a small amount and canted her head to one side politely.

“This is a really nice place, but I want to know one thing – is that giant pig-sticker out there real?” He was astonished to find such a thing in a woman’s home, but perhaps it wasn’t so unusual for her. There was a lot more going on behind those extraordinary eyes than their color. He took a sip of the wine and found it to his liking, the taste fruity and light.

She smiled and answered simply, “Oh, ‘tis real enough, all right – sharp, too. ‘Tis been in me family since the 15th Century. I was told once by me great-grandfather, God rest his soul, that ‘pig-sticker’ was the cause of a great many English widows. Or so the story goes.”

Starsky couldn’t help asking, “Do you know how to use it? Wait a minute…maybe that wasn’t such a smart question. We could get into an argument again and you might be tempted to try it out on me.” The wide smile came easily, lighting his face and eyes.

She was mesmerized while her thoughts ran rampant. Those eyes...t’wouldn’t take much ta get lost there. Right then, and now what d’you say? ‘Tis been way too long since you’ve thought about getting this close ta a man, or even had one worth considering. Breaking out of her reverie, she hurriedly changed subjects. “Shall we take our wine inta the living room? I’d best be gettin’ ready in a few minutes, or we won’t be eatin’ out a’tall this night.” Starsky nodded and they returned to the living room. Samantha slid into the big rocking chair like greeting an old friend. Starsky noticed a stack of books, both hardcover and paperback, piled beside the rocker. He took a seat on the sofa and pointing to the books, asked, “Looks like you spend some time reading. Anything I'd know?”

Sipping her wine, she plucked a hardcover volume off the top of the stack. “You might. I was reading some of Joyce’s poetry late last night. Couldn’t sleep. I confess ‘tis happens often...this case has me runnin’ around in circles, and most times ‘tis easier ta read than toss ‘n turn all night. I suppose you’d be knowin’ how that works.” She put the book back.

“Oh yeah,” Starsky said, “there’s been lots of nights like that.”

“’Tis a bad habit sometimes, I’m thinkin’. I find meself caught up in a piece, and it’s holy hell I’m payin’ the next day for not gettin’ me proper rest.” She finished the wine and got up from the rocker. “Give me a minute? I’ll just change me things and be out quick as a wink.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Starsky said.

She walked into her bedroom and snapped on the overhead light. She opened the door to her walk-in closet and flipped on another light. Scanning her wardrobe, she picked out a clingy hunter green dress with a full skirt that fell just below her knees. At the bottom of the closet, she found a pair of black high-heel pumps and a clutch purse just large enough to hold her badge, wallet and gun.

Carrying them over to the bed, she reached into a large dresser drawer and pulled out a pair of tan nylons. Changing quickly, she stood in front of the dresser mirror to rearrange her hair. She plucked out the barrette and shook it loose. Hurriedly pulling a brush through it, Samantha left it to fall naturally. She thought how foreign the look was to her as she slid on the pumps. ‘Tis been far too long when you don’t even recognize yourself in the mirror.

She walked across the bedroom to an inner door that connected to the bathroom, turned the light on and checked her makeup. Finding it faded, she reapplied her eye shadow, mascara, blush, and clear lip-gloss. With a critical eye, she silently pronounced herself ready and stopped at the bed. Switching the tools of her trade to the purse, she lifted it and turned the lights off as she left to rejoin her guest.

“I’m ready to go, Starsky,” Samantha said.

He rose from the sofa, setting down his empty wine glass, and turned to look at her. His eyes widened in amazement as he looked her over from head to toe. “If I hadn’t walked in here with you a few minutes ago, I’d have never recognized you. Would it be considered rude if I said you look beautiful?” The charm was back again in full force.

“Hardly, and thank you. ‘Tis a rare treat you’re gettin’ - tisn’t often I dress up. Not very practical at work.”

“Yeah, I see your point. And one hell of a distraction, too.” Starsky said, tongue-in-cheek. He lifted a hand to take her arm as she moved towards him. “Shall we go, fair maiden?”

Playing along with his faux gallantry, Samantha said with a winsome smile, “As ye wish, sir knight.” She plucked her keys from the bowl and a soft green and gray tartan shawl off the coat rack on their way out. They left the condo and got into the Torino, Starsky pulling away from the curb with his usual squawk of tires. Samantha giggled, shaking her head.

“I know, I know. Hutch gives me grief all the time ‘bout the way I drive. What can I say except guilty as charged?”

“Your driving is fine, Starsky. ‘Tis the takeoffs and landings I find funny. They’re, how should I be sayin’ this…sudden?” They both laughed. “So where are we goin’? You didn’t say.”

“You’re right, I didn’t. Let’s call it a surprise.” He flipped the signal light arm and made a right turn on to the expressway, taking them back across town.

They chatted as Starsky drove about the next day’s plan of attack. Samantha related bits and pieces of the leads which consumed a good chunk of her working hours. Starsky was impressed. Three months worth of details was more than he was prepared to recall at a moment’s notice, being more the type to hit the highlights. It appeared she had the entire history of her case memorized.

“Guess you’re about fed up,” Starsky stated flatly.

“Oh, ‘tis not that I’m fed up, really. It’d be more like frustratin’ the livin’ hell of out of me, if you really want t’know. Every time I thought I had a handle on somethin’ the leads would slip right through me fingers like sand. Killin’ this little one was a mistake that’ll bring ‘em down.” Her jaw flexed in irritation.

They continued to hash around ideas and theories until Starsky pulled up in front of a small Mexican restaurant. He shut the car off, got out, and jogged around to open the door for Samantha. He put out a hand to help her, and as she got out to stand beside the car, she couldn’t resist poking a little fun. “An' here I was thinkin' I was no damsel in distress.” He had the good grace to look abashed for a moment until his gaze caught the familiar gleam in Samantha’s eyes and he realized she was putting him on.

“You’re good, Fallon, I’ll give you that,” Starsky said with a tinge of admiration.

She shrugged innocently. ”Well, ‘tis a foine time to admit it, don’t you think? You’ve had two days already.”

“Yeah, right. Come on,” he said. She couldn’t keep the ruse up for long and laughed as they went inside.

They were seated in a secluded corner of the restaurant, the lights low over the table with a flickering candle serving as a centrepiece. Since this was Starsky’s choice, she let him order their meals and a bottle of good wine. Samantha was bemused by the Old World romanticism of their surroundings. There was more to Starsky than the man she had been around for the last couple of days.

“’Tis lovely, Starsky. No offense meant – ‘tis not what I expected.” she said appreciatively.

“I like Mexican food, and somehow I didn’t think you’d be too thrilled with eating at a taco stand in that getup,” he said, teasing her.

“Getup, you say. ‘Tis your idea of impressin’ your dates, pickin’ on them first? I can see that’d make you particularly popular with the womenfolk in this city.” Samantha retorted. He laughed and picked up his wine glass in salute.

“Touché, Fallon. Not much gets past you, does it?” He was fascinated by her cleverness. Not to mention the fact she was damned attractive. The flickering candlelight picked up the prominent gold flecks in her eyes.

“Y’know, me friends call me Samantha or Sam, not Fallon. Hutch had no troubles usin’ me first name today, now how about you?” Samantha challenged, her eyes meeting his boldly.

“Are we friends, Samantha?” Starsky asked in return.

She arched an eyebrow, and Starsky watched a little of the gold in her eyes fade. “If we’re not friends, tisn’t it high time that changed?” The flecks returned when she said, “Besides, you’re still owin’ me one for this mornin’.”

“Not going to let that go, huh?”

“An’ why should I? You’ll make good a’fore too long, I’m thinkin’.” The return of that low, sexy voice set Starsky’s libido on full alert. He smiled gently, wondering again what changed her mind. Needing time to think, he moved the subject back to the murder investigation. Samantha’s face changed immediately at the mention of Kelly Taylor. Her eyes narrowed as the traces of gold sharpened into an icy glitter and her jaw took on a stubborn cast. “I don’t understand yet, but I’ll be gettin’ ta the bottom soon enough. Meanin’ no disrespect ta you or your partner’s abilities, these girls are in trouble enough without some murderin’ slimeball makin’ it even harder. Someone has ta be knowin’ the who and why, and it’s tired I am of chasin’ after damned ghosts.” Samantha’s voice was bitter.

“Yeah, well, we’ll get cracking first thing tomorrow. Anyone in particular you got in mind?”

“Other than the girls themselves, there’d be a couple of fast-living gentlemen not far from the stroll who owe me some favors.” She leaned back in her chair. “One of ‘em calls himself Bobby Flash, and the other’d be Walter Flanagan. Tries ta play himself bein’ from the auld sod, if you can believe it. He’s about as Irish as me car.”

"So what do you think they're going to know that they didn't before?"

"Starsky, Bobby an’ Walter have their ears in more nooks n'crannies than me sainted grandmother.   If Kelly Taylor died within twenty miles of them, they’ll be knowin’ about it."

“They’re not likely to be scared off by whoever these goons are?”

“Maybe, but I’m doubtin’ it. I get the feelin’ they’re more afraid of what I’m capable of doin’ than what the streets might hold. I saved Bobby’s life awhile back from a deal gone bad, and they’ve not forgotten it. An’ if they do happen ta forget, I’m always good at remindin’ them.” She ended the statement with the same predatory look Starsky got a glimpse of earlier in the day and it made him reconsider her again. This is no little girl playing at being a cop to prove a point. She’s serious as a heart attack. Better go easy, boy.

Starsky chose to take a bite of his enchilada while Samantha alternated the spicy food with small sips of wine. She relaxed in her seat, letting her thoughts drift through a mixture of the case, the good food, and the enigmatic man across the table. Before they knew it, the meal was over. Starsky noted the time, casually telling her they should call it a night. He called the waiter over and paid for the meal. Drinking the last bit of wine from his glass, Starsky backed away from the table and got up to pull Samantha’s chair out. He took her hand to help her up, and Samantha noticed, not for the first time, how warm and sure his grip was. They moved through the restaurant to the door with Starsky’s hand solicitously low on her back.

The ride back to Samantha’s was accomplished in record time, Starsky showing off just a little. Although not all of the showing off was about the car. This woman managed to captivate him in a few short hours. Dinner with her revealed she was a fighter; battling the streets for the young girls she was trying so hard to save. Starsky, amused by the comparison, saw in her very similar traits to one Ken Hutchinson. Nowhere near being close in either personality or experience, they certainly shared the dedication to saving society’s helpless and downtrodden.

One moment they were on their way back to her place, laughing and teasing one another, the next, they were upstairs sharing yet another glass of sweet white wine sitting on the sofa together. Along the way, something changed. The game was no longer a game. There was a new intensity about the directness of Starsky’s gaze that made Samantha shiver briefly as a host of emotions played behind Starsky’s sapphire eyes. With sudden clarity, she knew it was time to take a chance. He was waging a mini battle of wills with himself, and she decided it was high time to declare a cease-fire and release the hostages. An’ ‘tis a sure thing I’ve no patience, not now. She leaned forward, setting her wine glass down, and turned to the handsome man beside her.

“Starsky…no, wait, that’s impertinent. You have a first name too, and after the lovely evenin’ we’re havin’ ‘tis rude not ta be usin’ it. Is it Dave or David?” she asked softly, her eyes glowing.

“I haven’t been called David since I was a boy, or unless somebody is really, really mad at me. Dave will do just fine.”

“Dave it is, then.” There was a lengthy pause while she gauged her next words. “I need ta tell you somethin’ and then I’ll let it be. I don’t want this ta be the end of the evenin’, truly I don’t, but I understand if you’d be wanting ta leave. No offense taken. I had a wonderful time tonight.”

The struggle to remain stationary was hopelessly lost the second he looked into her warm eyes and saw the promise of something more. He reached out with a forefinger and gently stroked a path along her jaw. She nestled her face into his hand and then pulled herself up proudly. ’Tis been a long time; maybe too long. I’m a wee bit out of practice,” she said softly. Starsky leaned closer, brushed a feather-light kiss close to her ear and felt her tremble.

He pulled away only a fraction and answered silkily, “It isn't a test, Sam. It's just us.” The easily shortened name made her draw a shaky breath at the sexy timbre in which he said it. Starsky slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her. Samantha arched against him, running her hands along the column of his neck and up into the thick curls. The combined warmth of their bodies served to raise the temperature in the room several degrees by the time the kiss ended, leaving the two of them breathless.

“’Tis no time for it, I’m sure, but I have ta know...what changed your mind?” Samantha asked.

“Y’know, I was about to ask you the same thing. I thought you were just teasing, getting back at me for the hard time I’ve been giving you. When you reached across Hutch today, we both thought you were playing me like a fish.”

“T’was sure enough me plan earlier, I’ll admit,” she said, chagrined and feeling a little foolish. “Will you be forgivin’ me?” Starsky’s reply came in the form of another shattering kiss that left Samantha vibrating with need. “I guess that’d be me answer. Has anyone ever told you you’ve a way with words?”

“Yeah...Hutch. But I don’t make a habit of kissing him.” Samantha giggled at the mental image. He stroked her back with long, slow caresses while she nestled her head in the hollow of his shoulder, planting light kisses along his throat and his collarbone where his shirt was open, the I-Ching coins on the leather thong around his neck grazing her cheek.

Starsky broke off the loving caresses. If he was going to make a move, it had to be now, with no playing around; she deserved everything he could give her. He stood up, took her left hand in his own and tugged Samantha to her feet. Suddenly nervous, she stood before him, not quite sure what to expect. Without another word, he leaned down, hooked an arm beneath her knees and swung her into his arms. Carrying Samantha into her bedroom, he set her lightly down on the bed. He sat down and reached to turn on a small bedside lamp when her voice stopped him.

“Wait, love.” He felt her weight shift, heard a drawer open and close, and then the striking of a match. In moments, the room was bathed in the soft glow of a large candle. “Tisn’t that better?” With a nod, Starsky stretched out alongside Samantha. Drawing her near, he gently rolled her onto her back and rested his torso delicately across hers. Starsky bent and kissed her so slowly she thought her heart was going to pound out of her chest. A long sigh escaped her lips as the kiss ended.

“Too fast, Sam?” Starsky asked in a whisper that melted Samantha’s heart.

“Oh, me love, tisn’t nearly fast enough," she replied, her lilting accent heavy with passion. It was increasingly difficult to concentrate as she locked her gaze with the deep blue eyes above her. “Davey,” she whispered throatily, receiving a loving smile at the girlish romanticizing of his given name, “don’t wait any more.” That was all the invitation he needed to hear as he planted another prolonged kiss upon her soft lips.

They explored exposed skin with a caress or a kiss as they mutually shed clothing, Starsky inexplicably drawn to her warm silk softness. His touch was electric, charging Samantha's body every time he moved to a new place. She smoothed her hands through the mat of curling dark hair on his chest to the back of his shoulders. From there, she caressed his back down to his waistline where her hands grazed the waistband of his snug jeans. Somewhat dismayed at finding him still half-dressed, she slid her hands around to the front and popped the button open in a hurry to have all of him free to her. Starsky chuckled against the collarbone he was kissing as she desperately tried to unzip them and groaned when she failed.

“Need some help?” Starsky asked with a lewd chuckle. She poked him in the ribs and grinned. He rolled away briefly to peel the jeans off. Her breath caught in her throat when he returned to her side. David Starsky was as sleek as a cat, muscles rippling beneath the smooth, dark skin. His eyes were deep violet as their gazes met, the need in him making them dark in the candlelight. Samantha reversed their positions so that she could see and touch him as he had her, pushing him gently on his back. She caressed him lovingly as a low growl rumbled the muscular chest beneath her questing hands.

“Sam…” he begged in an aroused voice. She stretched along his length, her hands never ceasing their movement. Starsky pulled her closer and threaded a hand through her hair to cup her head as he kissed her again. She carded her hands into his thick curls, deepening the kiss. Their tongues dueled for a long time before Starsky finally pulled away, his breath coming in short pants. Maintaining the rhythm of his caressing fingers on her body until Samantha was quietly moaning his name and clutching at his shoulders, he hesitated a moment before pressing her flat onto the mattress.

He hesitated needlessly. Samantha arched her back in invitation and desire. Starsky moved over her, completing them both in one swift motion. Her eyes closed and she threw her head back against the pillows. Taking his time, Starsky slowed his loving to a near halt until she softly whimpered beneath him. Clutching at his biceps, she urged him on with a tiny mew of frustration. His pace quickened and slowed for a time, wanting to make the loving good for both of them. When Samantha rubbed soft fingers over his chest, pausing to tweak the hard nubs she found there, Starsky gasped. She repeated the gesture and he sucked in another ragged breath.

The rush to finish became a whirlwind that drew Starsky into its vortex with a speed that nearly took his breath away. Samantha breathed his name in a rhythm-like mantra as the explosion of their release followed one another's. “Samantha!” His face was intensely powerful as it rushed through him.

When Samantha’s turn came, her eyes widened and then slid shut with the force. “Ooohhhh, mhuirnín!”

Every muscle quivering, Starsky eased himself down to rest upon Samantha's sated body. She wrapped herself around him as she planted moist kisses up one side of his face and across his sweating brow. He lifted his head to find her regarding him closely, loving emotions coloring her eyes a sparkling emerald green. It had been too long since a woman looked at him like that. If he were to have any regrets about making love to her, they vanished with the soft kiss she placed on his lips, drawing his tongue out to intermingle with hers. When they broke apart, he shifted to move to her side, but she held him fast. "Stay, Davey. I want ta feel you like this for a wee bit yet. 'Tis not uncomfortable, love."

He smiled and said, "You got me, honey. For as long as you want." Her answering smile was laced with sweetness. He rained kisses over her face, down the tip of her nose, across her brows, and finally back to her pliant lips. When he thought he was getting too heavy for her to support any longer, he slid to one side, pulling her with him. She moved naturally into his embrace as they let their bodies cool. “Baby, what was that word you used a minute ago?”

Still basking in the glow of their lovemaking, the question threw her for a second. “Word? What word?”

“You said it when you…uh…you know…” He colored slightly. Samantha giggled as she caught onto what he was fishing around for.

“Oh. You mean mhuirnín?”

“That’s it. Say it slowly.”

“Woor-neen. ‘Tis the Irish for sweetheart or darlin’, but spelled differently than it sounds.” She spelled it out for him in Gaelic. Starsky tried to wrap his tongue around the soft word, but he didn’t have quite the lilt that Samantha’s voice carried. His face showed a tiny bit of disappointment.

“’Tis good enough, sweet. Let me handle the Irish and you can handle all the rest, gladly.” Starsky lazily stroked a finger along her collarbone, enjoying the feel of her in his arms. He brushed a kiss against her forehead and a tiny sigh escaped her lips. Starsky moved so he could see her face clearly.

"Something wrong?"

"No," Samantha assured him, "I was just thinkin' how special this is."

"Special?"

"I can't ever remember bein' loved like that is all."

"Oh. I'd say 'me too', but you'd think I was lying." They shared a chuckle as Starsky hugged her close.

"Dave?" There was note of something in her voice he couldn’t quite figure out.

"Hmm?"

She shifted to get comfortable, offering another soft smile to his gaze. "’Tis nothin', love. Forget it."

"It was something. Com'on, out with it. No secrets here."

Her brow furrowed. "It just occurred ta me – what do we do about tellin' Hutch? He's not a stupid man. He'll figure this out as soon as he sees you, bein' as close as you are."

"You let me worry about Hutch." Starsky slid a finger down one side of her jaw. "What we do out there, and what you and I do in here are separate. It won't change a thing."

"I don’t want ta cause a problem." Samantha was clearly worried about the ramifications of her and Starsky moving past a professional relationship into this intensely personal one.

"There’s no problem. Hutch was the one that told me to ask you out." He kissed her cheek reassuringly.

With a sigh, she snuggled against his warmth, but not before asking, "Will you be tellin' him, or will he just know?"

"Women.” He rolled his eyes in mute exasperation. “Stop worrying, okay? Hutch’ll be fine, you'll see."

"All right. Do y'suppose we ought ta get some sleep?"

"Good idea. Why didn't I think of that?" Starsky pulled the blankets and sheets from underneath their bodies to cover them.

"Distracted, maybe?" They shared a lewd snicker as they settled into the warmth of the blankets. Starsky hugged Samantha close and kissed her deeply. They broke the kiss and she nestled her head on his shoulder with a longing sigh.

"Enough of that now, handsome. At this rate we'll never get any rest."

"Party pooper."

She tweaked his nose playfully. "Ta sleep with you. G'night, love."

"'Night, darlin’." She closed her eyes and in minutes they were fast asleep, wrapped in each other's arms.

*~*~*~*

Light was just beginning to trickle through the curtains when Samantha awoke.  Blinking a few times to get her bearings, she remembered she wasn’t alone.  Sometime during the night, they shifted around in their sleep and she found herself cuddled from behind in Starsky’s heated embrace. ‘Tis nice.  So nice a body could get used ta havin' it all the time.  The thought disturbed her a little.  Oh no, lass. How can y’feel like this with somebody you hardly know? Starsky shifted his arms around her waist, giving her a start.  Samantha thought he was awake until she heard his deep rhythmic breathing start again and went back to her thoughts. He's such a package o’contradictions.  One minute he's snarlin' in some crook's face, and the next he's pokin’ Hutch in the ribs joshin' him.  The vivid memory of last night’s loving came back to her.  Good thing not everyone sees that tender heart, or what he’s capable of doin’ with it.  He's an incredible lover…aye, all that and more. A warm pair of lips brushed against her shoulder. She turned in Starsky’s embrace to find him smiling affectionately at her.

“Hi,” he said quietly. Her heart gave a lurch at the tenderness in his eyes; her earlier thoughts rushing back to her. Aye, incredible.

“Mornin’, love.”

“What time is it?” Starsky asked.

She turned her head to look at the bedside clock. “’Tis just a quarter of six. Why?”

“We don’t have to pick Hutch up for more than an hour yet. Gives us plenty of time.”

She turned back to him, raising an eyebrow. “Plenty of time for what, supposin’?” He kissed her deeply. When he lifted his head, Samantha said, “So that’s what you have up your sleeve, is it? We’re goin’ ta be late, then, considerin’ we still have ta shower and get ready.”

“So who says we have to stay in bed?” Starsky hinted.

“Dave Starsky, you’re too much for a girl ta take this early,” she giggled. “G’wan with you.”

“Was that a no?” He asked saucily as he brushed another kiss across her smiling mouth.

She poked his chest with a slim finger. “You…I said ‘tis been a long time. Are you tryin’ to make up for it all at once?”

Starsky snickered, “Maybe.” He stroked a path down her throat and between her breasts. Samantha quivered under his touch, her body telling him what her words did not.

“Mhuirnín…” she breathed in anticipation.

“There’s that word again. A man sure could get used to hearing it.”

If Samantha stayed where she was, she knew what was next. Rolling away from him and out of bed, she said playfully, “Let’s go have that shower.” He followed her to the bathroom. She leaned in to turn the shower on and found herself wrapped from behind in Starsky’s arms again. Samantha turned around and smiled.

“Will you be givin’ me enough time to get the water warm at least?” She dropped a light kiss on the tip of his nose before dissolving into giggles.

“You’re making it awfully tough to get romantic. Makes a man think you’re laughing at him,” Starsky said with a lecherous smile.

Samantha straightened her face into a mask. Only the corner of her mouth twitched with suppressed humor. “This better?”

“You crazy woman. Get in the shower before I drown you,” Starsky said, laughing.

Doing as she was told, Starsky followed and slid the shower doors shut behind them. The water cascaded over their bodies as they ducked under the spray. Samantha reached for the washcloth and soap, clearly intending to scrub Starsky down first. Her intentions were doomed the minute she looked into the lust-filled blue eyes inches from her own, and then it didn’t matter any more.

*~*~*~*

Starsky knocked on Hutch’s door with Samantha beside him. He twisted the doorknob and peeked his head inside. “Hutch? You decent?” he asked. There was a rustling of hastily thrown on clothing, as Hutch appeared from the bathroom in his well-worn orange robe toweling his hair dry.

“I am now. Come in.” Starsky sauntered into Hutch’s place much as he always did, heading straight for the refrigerator. Samantha hung back in the living room and bid a good morning to the slightly damp blond standing next to her.

“Morning, you two. This is a first, Starsky showing up here this early. What did you do, stake out his apartment all night?”

Samantha colored and said, “No, there wasn’t a need ta be doin’ that.”

Hutch raised an amused eyebrow. “Really? You must know some trick I don’t. Starsky’s not exactly a morning person.” Samantha turned away to hide the creeping blush from Hutch’s notice and shrugged. She glanced into the kitchen to find Starsky grinning at her discomfiture, holding a glass of milk he snagged from Hutch’s fridge. She mutely begged him to save her. Starsky winked at her and she rolled her eyes. ‘Tis a bold one you are! I’ll get you for this, that I promise.

Hutch put two and two together after he noticed Starsky wore the same clothes from yesterday. Ah ha…guess you didn’t get torpedoed after all, partner. He innocently asked Samantha, “You two have a nice dinner?”

Recovering swiftly, Samantha said just as innocently, “Oh yes, ‘twas a lovely little Mexican restaurant with wonderful food.”

“Hmm,” Hutch said, “sounds nice.” He walked into the kitchen, brushing by Starsky to reach for a cup of coffee. Sniffing loudly, he said, “Change your aftershave or something, Starsk? You smell a little flowery today.” The question made Samantha nearly choke behind Hutch’s back. She turned away, attempting to look interested in the books on Hutch’s shelves.

With a wicked grin, Starsky gently elbowed Hutch in the ribs. Quit it, will ya? Hutch smirked, his eyes dancing merrily. “So, Samantha, you and Starsky talk about the case over dinner, or you find something more interesting to chat about?” The casual interrogation tactic wasn’t working on Samantha. Hutch would pick at this forever. She threw up her hands in mock defeat.

“I’m goin’ ta the car. You comedians can talk about whatever it is you talk about at this time o’the mornin’. You’re a shameless man, Hutch, purely shameless,” Samantha said, walking to the front door and letting herself out.

Hutch laughed. “Starsk, what did you do to that woman? First time since we started this I’ve seen her at a loss for words.”

Starsky smirked and shook his head. “She’s right – you are shameless. What do you think?”

“Bet it wasn’t just holding her hand,” he leered.

“Will you go get dressed?” Starsky mock-ordered. “Like I need to explain what a man does with a girl who looks like that? Spare me.” Hutch swallowed the last of his coffee and headed for the sleeping alcove laughing. Starsky shook his head and finished off his milk while he considered how many ways his partner would work this to his advantage.

*~*~*~*

They checked into Homicide and Samantha made some phone calls. She confirmed a few details with another Vice detective, after which they made their way out to Starsky’s car. Cruising around with Starsky and Hutch was getting to be a comfortable routine. She once thought she wouldn’t miss working with a partner when Captain Donovan had singled her out, but the past few days with the Homicide team reminded her of the benefits of working in tandem. Maybe when this is done, I’ll talk to Donovan, she mused.

They stopped on a side street close to Union Avenue, near the stroll and where Starsky and Hutch found Kelly Taylor. Walking up to a rundown hotel, Samantha pointed to a second-story window above them. This would be the first stop in many.

“That’ll be it, gentlemen. One of Kelly’s friends lives there. She should be ‘round about now.”

“This friend have a name?” Starsky asked.

“She calls herself Jewel, and I don’t push it. Look now, she’ll be skittish as a mouse, so will you let me do all the talkin’?” Starsky and Hutch nodded together, content to let Samantha take the lead. They would learn more by hanging in the background than intruding into Samantha’s already staked-out territory.

When they walked into the building, Hutch asked, “Think she’ll have a customer?”

Samantha snorted and replied, “At this time o’the day? These girls work all night and sleep during the day, if they aren’t shootin’ up or gettin’ polluted with drink, that is. That’s the way these pimps work ‘em, the bastards.” Her eyes took on a hostile look for a moment.

“Figure she’s one of Flamingo’s stable?” Starsky asked as they headed up the stairs.

“Aye, and I’ve been tryin’ for the better part of three months ta get her ta tell me that. The money is too good, y’see, and a man like that keeps these girls hooked with the threat of a beatin’ if they don’t produce. He’s not the first one o’that kinda trash I’ve run inta, but someday I hope he’ll be the bleedin’ last.”

They arrived on the second floor and Samantha led them down to the end of the hallway. She knocked on a battered wooden door. “Jewel? Are you there? ‘Tis Sam.” There were muffled sounds of squeaking bedsprings and a shadow passed across the light at the bottom of the door before it was tentatively opened to reveal a petite young girl’s face. The door had a flimsy chain thrown across it. The teenager cautiously peeked between the frame and the door, her brown eyes worried and nervous.

“Sam?”

“Yes, darlin’. I have a coupla friends with me, but they’ll be doing you no harm – they’re safe as church mice. Open up?”

The door closed and the chain slid back. Jewel opened the door and backed away as they walked inside. Hutch, last in, closed the door behind him. The young girl hastily threw the bedcovers over the worn out bed and sat down, pulling the threadbare dressing gown she wore around her thin body. Samantha sat beside her as Starsky leaned against a dresser and Hutch pulled up a rickety wooden chair to sit on.

“How’re you gettin’ on, girl? Things any better?” Samantha asked in a comforting voice.

“M’okay, honest. Been stayin’ pretty clean, well…you know,” Jewel answered. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen or sixteen at most. Her straggly brunette hair was shoulder length and hadn’t yet seen a brush. The caked and smudged makeup on her face revealed a long night spent on the streets.

Samantha patted her knee and then ran her hand over the girl’s head. “I know, sweet. You’re doin’ better than the last time we talked. Been goin’ ta the clinic?”

“I try to.” Jewel dropped her eyes to her lap. “Much as I can.”

She hugged the girl close to her side. She knew, all right, what ‘much’ meant. “That’s grand, Jewel. Whatever you do is good enough.”

“All right,” Jewel said with a small smile.

“Listen, little one, there’s a reason for us comin’ ta see you today. You’ve heard ‘bout Kelly?”

The young girl’s face sank in misery. “Everybody knows. She was my friend, Sam.” Tears swam in her eyes and she sniffed. “Who’d wanna kill Kelly? She never hurt nobody.”

Samantha kept Jewel close. “That’s what we’d like to know.”

“Are they cops, too?” Jewel snuck a furtive look at Hutch who smiled gently her way.

“Aye, sweetheart, they are. That handsome blond you’re peerin’ at is Hutch,” Samantha grinned and pointed at Starsky, “and this foine figure of a man is his partner, Starsky. We’re tryin’ ta find out who’s causin’ all the troubles but we need your help for a minute.” To Starsky’s credit, his easy smile seemed to relax the young hooker, and she nodded.

“Don’t know what I can do,” Jewel said softly.

“Darlin’, I’ll just ask some questions, and that’ll be all you have ta worry about, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Did you see Kelly t’other night?”

“Yeah. We were on our street, y’know, just cruising. It wasn’t really busy. We were talking about some of the girls who aren’t around any more. Kelly said she was kinda scared and wanted to leave.”

“Scared o’what, Jewel?”

“It isn’t good around here. It’s getting scary.” Jewel trembled with a new nervousness and hugged her arms tightly around her too-thin body.

“Did she say where or when she was goin’?”

The young girl shook her head. “No, she didn’t. None of us can ever leave, you know that. If we go, we gotta run and keep runnin’.”

“Oh, honey, a’course you can leave. ‘Tis a free country; you’re no prisoner here. If you want ta leave, tell me. We’ll help you pack and get out of here right now, no questions asked.”

Jewel shook her head sadly. “I can’t. He wouldn’t like it if I just left. He’d come lookin’ for me.”

Samantha pushed a little. “Who, Jewel? Who wouldn’t like it?”

“I can’t tell you...I promised. You’re a cop.”

“Sweetheart, we both know what I am, but I’m also your friend. I’d never lie ta you.” Samantha met her eyes with confidence. “He’ll never know, I give you me solemn word. Your friends are bein’ stolen right off the street, love, and now Kelly’s been killed. Don’t you want ta help them – an’ yourself?”

Jewel’s eyes squeezed shut as she weighed Samantha’s words silently, bowing her head. The decision was a difficult one to make. She sat with her head down for some time. Samantha waited patiently, trading glances with Starsky and Hutch and praying the girl would finally give up the name of her pimp.

“You promise he won’t know it was me?” Jewel asked in a small voice.

“I do, wee one,” Samantha reassured her. “No one will breathe a word about this little talk we’re havin’. Let’s make it simpler for you. Is it Flamingo that’s keeping you and the others?” When the young girl’s eyes grew fearful, Samantha knew she’d hit on the truth. Jewel nodded, too afraid to speak.

“All of the young ones down here, Jewel?” The girl nodded again.

“Was he around t’other night when Kelly was killed?” Jewel nodded for the third time as a tear slipped out of one eye. She hastily wiped it away. Samantha patted her knee kindly and held her close. “There, there now, you’ve been a big help and ‘tis all over. Can we make a little pact?”

“What’s a pact?”

“Just a tiny deal twixt the two of us, me little friend. I want you t’look out for yourself and the others, and we’re going ta make this a safe place again, just as fast as we can. Deal?” Samantha held out her hand. Jewel slipped her smallish one within it and they shook on the bargain. Samantha got off the bed, turning to rest her hand on the teenager’s shoulder.

“Be careful, Jewel. Only go with the regulars if you can.” Samantha squeezed her shoulder briefly. “One last thing and we’ll leave you ta your rest. If you see anythin’ strange, will you call and let me know?”

“I’ll try. And I’ll watch out for the others like you asked.”

“That’s me girl. Thanks for being such a dearie. Remember, if you ever really want out o’here, all you have ta do is call and I’ll come ta get you, quick as that.” She snapped her fingers.

“Thanks, Sam.” A tenuous smile lit up the girl’s face.

“There’s a good girl. I’ll be seein’ you.” They walked to the door. Samantha gave the young girl a little wave and followed Starsky and Hutch out, closing the door as she left.

By the time they were outside Samantha was coldly furious. She knew all too well why Jewel wouldn’t leave the confines of the pimp’s clutches. She stopped on the street in front of the ramshackle building. Hutch took careful note of the blazing green eyes and the granite set of her jaw. “Samantha, we’ll find this creep.”

“Hutch, ‘tis not that simple! We can’t be chasin’ him down ‘til we know for sure ‘tis him. Me instincts are screamin’ he’s the answer, but ‘tis the girls words against his. An’ you know what kinda weight their words have in court, don’t you?!”

“There’s nothing saying we can’t haul him in for questioning and see if he cracks.”

Samantha shook her head. “Not just yet. If he’s part and parcel o’this, the minute we snap him up and his lawyer springs him loose he’s sure ta be leggin’ it out of here like a blue-arsed fly.”

Starsky and Hutch couldn’t resist grinning at her colorful speech. Samantha blew out an airy sigh and rolled her eyes. “Well then, that’s just bleedin’ deadly. You two stand here an’ laugh yourselves silly and I’ll be goin’ on me way.” She headed for the Torino with long strides. Starsky and Hutch hustled to catch up.

“Bleedin’ deadly?” Starsky asked Samantha quizzically. He was going to have to learn a whole new language around her.

“Y’know, fine an’ dandy.” Calming down, Samantha quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, bother…look, never mind – let’s just get on with it.”

They visited several young prostitutes. Each time Samantha took the initiative in speaking to them. Their ages spanned from barely fourteen to just eighteen. Samantha repeated her promise to rid them of this newest danger to their already risky lives. Less than half would tell her why they were afraid, and fewer still would admit to being part of Flamingo’s stable. By the time they saw almost all of the girls, they were convinced that the pimp had cornered the teenage prostitution market in this particular district. Most of them were living on a double-edged sword; their fears sharply divided between the disappearances and Flamingo’s legendary wrath.

Samantha’s attitude worsened as the day wore on into the afternoon. She was tired, frustrated and sickened by the conditions the girls lived with every day. All three detectives noticed the rampant drug use, the empty alcohol bottles, the whatever-it-took to get through their meager existences. Samantha was positively fuming by the time they decided to take a break and grab some fast food at a nearby burger stand.

Starsky and Hutch ate while Samantha sipped on another strong black coffee. Her appetite disappeared hours ago. The sting of the hot coffee against her lips only served to darken her already black mood. Starsky contemplated Samantha’s angry face and empathized with her. “It doesn’t get any easier, Sam,” he said gently. Hutch picked up on the shortened name and smiled to himself. Starsky had gotten inside the rose’s thorns.

Her head came around at the soft words. “What doesn’t?”

“This. What we do. Sometimes it’s harder, but it’s never easy.”

Her eyes flickered in challenge. “So what keeps you here, then?”

Starsky put his burger down. “We’ve asked each other that question a hundred times. Still don’t have an answer that makes sense, but we’re here. What about you?”

She rolled a finger and thumb over the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “There wasn’t any other choice for me, like I was tellin’ you before. I love this job. Every now an’ then I win. The wins make it worth the losses, most o’the time. But this case…”

“Don’t you see you just answered your own question?” Starsky warmed to the subject. “You said you love the job. I’m telling you that what you do makes a difference. Maybe not an earth-shattering one, but every day you’re out here, you keep chippin’ away at the bad shit, and that counts.” He picked up his burger and went back to eating.

Hutch chimed in, “Samantha, what Starsky’s saying is the truth. I know this case has you going around the bend, but you can’t let it twist your insides to the point where you stop seeing anything but the frustration.”

“Do ye think I’m blind?!” she snapped. “I’ve been swimmin’ in an’ amongst their lives for three months! I’ve had ta stand there, helpless, while they take abuse no human should ever haveta take! Stand there with me hands tied after seein’ the effects of the drugs they pump inta their wee bodies ta get through it a’tall!” As her impatience grew, her voice rose. “I’ve been there after the beatings, the bad johns, and the stealin’ of their very lives! Surely you can’t be tellin’ me you think I shouldn’t let it get ta me!” Her eyes glittered dangerously.

“I’m not saying that,” he soothed. “All I’m saying is you can’t let it eat you up. Use it positively; use it to make the difference between just going through the motions and being damned good at what you do. We get steamed too, believe me, but you can’t let that define how your cases are solved.”

“I thank you, truly I do, and any other time, you’d be right.” She clenched her hands together. “But this time, this case, ‘tis the only way I know, I’m sorry. I have ta feel my way through – ‘tis what keeps me sharp. If it means I lose me temper more often than not, well, that’s part of what I am. I’d never put it on someone who wasn’t deservin’ ta get what’s comin’.” She smiled thinly, but the smile wasn’t one of pleasure. It spoke a great deal of the battle that raged inside her.

Hutch laid his hand over her clenched ones. He had to diffuse the ticking time bomb in front of him fast. “Hey, just give us fair warning when the explosion is gonna come, huh?” He understood her violent reaction well; how many times had he been here himself? The only thing that kept him from taking half the town apart when he felt like that sat on the other side of Samantha. Starsky kept him sane when insanity ruled the day. They couldn’t help but do any less for the young policewoman between them, but it wasn’t going to be easy.

Starsky patted her shoulder, keeping his tone light but his eyes warm with tenderness. “Really. Like a coupla hours so we can get out of town?”

Samantha glanced from one to the other. She understood two things immediately. Experience was talking, and she was too close to the edge. Time ta pull in your horns, y’daft bird. They’re tryin’ ta help and you’re rantin’ like a banshee. She puffed out her cheeks and released a small breath. This time when she smiled at Starsky and Hutch, it was with a lighter heart.

“You’re bein’ awfully kind,” she said genuinely, “but ‘tis okay ta wrap up the pep talk now. Thanks for bringin’ me back ta earth.”

“Only until the next explosion,” Starsky teased.

“Y’know, darlin’, ‘tis a smart mouth you have. Someone oughta do something about that one o’these days.” The semi-implied threat was accompanied by a wolfish grin.

Starsky laughed. The game was on again. “Was that supposed to be a threat, Detective Fallon?”

“No threat, Detective Starsky,” she jibed, “that’d be a plain simple fact.” Her eyes sparkled.

He returned the challenge, leering at her. “Any time. I’ll be here. I figure I’ve got your moves pretty much down by now.” The double meaning to his words brought an immediate blush to Samantha’s fair skin. Hutch laughed as she colored, and she lightly batted both men’s shoulders with the back of her hands.

“G’wan now. You’ll be the bleedin’ death o’me yet, I swear.”

Hutch said, “Not any time soon, I hope.”

“I’ll be the first ta let you know, I promise,” Samantha smiled.

Starsky asked, “So where do we head for now?”

She glanced at her watch. “We’re well inta the afternoon. I’d say ‘tis high time we look up me friends Bobby and Walter and make that our last stop o’the day.”

Hutch was puzzled. “Bobby and Walter?” Samantha explained for Hutch’s benefit the same tale she related to Starsky the night before. “Okay. Let’s find these friends of yours.” Hutch said. They threw their refuse in a nearby bin and headed for the car.

*~*~*~*

The Delmar Arms on Crenshaw had seen far better days. The whole neighborhood had seen better days, in fact. This was not a place to be casually strolling through, even in broad daylight. Litter suffused the sidewalks, and where somewhat clean spots on the concrete existed, those who had nowhere else to go took up the space.

“Samantha, you sure find the not-so-nicest places to visit,” Starsky said in disgust. “I thought me and Hutch had been in some dumps, but this is one of the worst.”

Shrugging, Samantha said, “Isn’t this part of making a difference, Dave? If I want the answers, sometimes I have ta climb in a skunk hole ta get them. I suppose you’re thinkin’ because I’m a lass that I shouldn’t be doin’ this, is that it?”

“Let’s not go there again,” Starsky replied. “I just don’t see how you can take this all in stride without being at least a little jumpy. These dives give me the creeps, and yet you walk in and out like they’re the Ritz or something.”

“Who says I’m not jumpy? I don’t like it any better than you do.” Samantha laid a hand on Starsky’s arm. “The difference is that I don’t dare let them see it. I’ll concede you this – a man lookin’ jumpy most don’t notice; a woman, now, she just looks scared ta death and vulnerable. How many of these skiveens do y’think would talk ta me if I let them see that, do you suppose?”

She made her point. Starsky nodded at her wisdom and let it drop. “All right. Let’s get this over with fast, ‘kay?”

“Done,” she said.

They walked up a short stairway into the front lobby. Hutch took careful note of the various people hanging around inside. Most of them were little more than beggars with too many years spent inside a bottle to worry about, but it was worth paying attention just in case. Samantha led the way down a garbage-filled hallway to the last door on their right. Battered and barely hanging on its hinges, Samantha rapped her knuckles against the peeling paint. The shuffling noise of approaching footsteps preceded the door creaking partially open. The emaciated, alcohol-ravaged face of a white man in his middle fifties peered out. “Yeah, whaddya want?”

“Walter, open up. Y’know who I am,” Samantha demanded brusquely.

The man’s face lit up in a parody of a smile. “Well an’ to be sure if it isn’t me favorite copper, Detective Fallon.”

“Walter, enough of that phony Irish accent. You’ve got no audience here. Com’on, open it up.”

His face filled with suspicion and the fake accent dropped from his voice. “Who’s those two behind ya? Ya know we don’ like surprise guests.”

Samantha slapped her hand against the door, pushing it against the man with some force. “Walter, if you don’t stop this palaverin’, I’m going ta kick your tail up ‘tween your ears. Now let us in!” She glared the man down until he gave in and backed away from the door. Samantha pushed it wide open and the three detectives entered the apartment. Walter closed the door behind them, a sheepish look on his face.

“Christ, Fallon, you don’t haveta get so testy. I woulda let ya in, in a minute.”

“Is that so? Then just who were you showin’ off for?!” Samantha berated him, hooking a thumb in Starsky and Hutch’s general direction. “If you’re tryin’ to act tough for me friends here, you did it all arseways.” Walter cowered beneath her baleful glare and found a beat up chair in the corner of the room to sit down on.

Starsky and Hutch stood on either side of the room, content to let Samantha run the show. She was just getting a good head of steam up when an older, slightly built black man came out of the bathroom. He smiled and shook his head.

“Fallon.” He walked painfully across the room, nodding politely at Starsky and Hutch on his way, to a dilapidated recliner in the corner. He sat down with some difficulty. “What brings you ‘round here?”

Samantha’s face softened. “Bobby, how’s that back of yours? Feelin’ poorly again?”

“It comes n’ goes. Y’know how it is.”

“Aye, I do,” she sympathized. When she saved Bobby from getting killed, it came with a price. He took a bullet in the back that was impossible to remove, and now he was reduced to a kind of shuffling walk. However, he was alive, and that was more important than moving fast these days.

“Mind if I sit a wee minute?” Samantha asked genially.

He waved an expansive hand at the decrepit sofa beside him. “Sit. This must be somethin’ heavy if you brought those two with you.”

Hutch hitched an eyebrow and asked, “You know who we are?” He cautiously glanced at Starsky, who shrugged his shoulders. They had never been here before – how did he know?

“Oh, I used to get around a little. Seen that flashy red mo-chine Starsky drives around a time or two. You guys busted summa my friends back in the day.”

“I suppose,” Hutch conceded. He settled back against a wall and nodded at Samantha. “The lady wants to chat.”

Bobby looked at Samantha expectantly. “So what’s up, Fallon? This ain’t a social call.”

“’Tis right you are, ‘tis no social call. What would you be hearin’ about that wee girl found off of Union t’other evenin’?”

“’S what I like about you, you cuts right to the chase.” He smiled easily. “Some things never change.”

“You were expectin’ differently?” she asked, returning the smile.

“Nope. You were askin’ about that little girlie playin’ around wit bein’ a woman. Word is some dudes picked her up offa the stroll ‘tween midnight and mebbe one in the morning, and the next thing anybody knew, she got herself dumped in that alley.”

“What dudes, Bobby?”

“Way I hears it, they were drivin’ some kinda customized van and picked her outta the flock of gals hanging on the stroll. Somebody told me it was two white dudes. Big men.”

“I’m supposin’ this somebody happened to catch a license plate or what these ‘big men’ looked like?”

“Nope, can’t say they did.” He smirked at her. “You gotta do a little work for this one, girl. Ain’t that what they pays ya for?”

Samantha wiggled a finger at Bobby. “You’ve still got a crackerjack sense o’humor, I see. What else?”

“That’s about it. Don’t know much more you probably ain’t figured out for yourself.”

Samantha pondered this information for a minute. She stuck an elbow on her knee, leaning forward to rest her head in the palm of her hand. It was time to get down to the heart of her visit. “Bobby, what about Flamingo?” she asked carefully. “I hear he’s been snappin’ up all the trade around here like an underfed shark.”

The man shuddered in his chair. “Jesus, Fallon, you don’t wanna mess wit him. He’s nothin’ but pure meanness. A body could get killed steppin’ in his action.”

“Bobby, me friend,” she pleaded gently, “I have ta step in his action. There’s somethin’ stinkin’ ta high heaven ‘round here. Like where he’s gettin’ the capital for all o’those young girls. You an’ I both know that takes buckets of money.”

Walter came off his perch in the corner of the room. “Bobby, don’ say another word! She’s gonna get us killed for sure if that sonuvabitch hears about you spoutin’ off his business to a cop.”

Bobby grimaced, and said, “Walter, set your ass down. What’s he gonna do to a beat-up old crock like me? ‘Sides, I owe Fallon – we both do, case you forgot.”

Walter tried one more time to plead with his friend. “But…he don’t care none about whether we’re old or not. He’ll make it ugly and messy just to teach ever’body else a lesson.”

“But, nothin’. Let him come if he’s got a mind to. I’m about done with this shitty life anyway. I ain’t a’scared of dyin’, leastways not from scum like him. Set yourself down and let me finish so these peoples can get on with their business.” Defeated, Walter sighed and went back to his chair. They’d been friends for more than twenty years, and when Bobby made up his mind about something, nothing Walter could do or say would change it. What the hell, he thought irritably, I’m sick an’ tired of this too. Damn neighborhood’s gone to shit anyways. Can’t even make a decent livin’ hustlin’ people for spare change any more.

Samantha watched the exchange between them with sharp eyes. Walter was shook up for a very good reason or he would never challenge his friend like that in front of her. “Bobby, if this is too close ta home, we’ll let it be. I’ve told you before I’d not put you at risk.”

“Nah, Fallon, it ain’t nothing like that. Walter jus’ gets a case of the jumps whenever that man’s name comes up.” He reached for a cigarette out of a beat up package and lit it. With a phlegm-filled cough, he continued. “You heard right – Flamingo is tryin’ to bag up every loose piece of skirt between here and the docks, and he don’t seem too particular about who, neither, jus’ as long as they’s young an’ pretty.”

“Why?” Samantha asked.

“Nobody seems t’know for sure, but I been hearing things – things what could be mighty dangerous for the wrong ears.”

“What kinds of things, Bobby?”

“Been passed around some, y’understand. It could jus’ be somebody spoutin’ off, ‘cause I never heard this stuff till a few days ago.”

“Anything you’ve heard at this point I’m more than willin’ ta chase down. You’ve not steered me wrong before,” Samantha said earnestly.

Bobby took a long drag off his cigarette, and said quietly, “Like I was sayin’, he’s tryin’ to buy up alla the action, mostly the new ones. When their pimps won’t sell, or the independents won’t go willin’-like, the talk says he’s stealin’ ‘em right offa the street and then sellin’ ‘em to the black market like slaves.”

Starsky, Hutch and Samantha’s eyes widened in shock. They exchanged startled looks before Samantha, unnerved, asked, “Are you sure?”

“S’what I heard, Fallon, don’ know if’n it’s true or not. What I do know is that there’s a lotta grumblin’ goin’ on about girls here one minute an’ gone the next.”

Samantha slumped in her seat trying to assimilate this bombshell. The pieces she thought she’d already put together were just blown out of the water with Bobby’s revelation. Black market slavery? Here? The thought of it revolted her. She pulled herself upright, suddenly needing to discuss this with Starsky and Hutch privately. Digging into a jacket pocket, she extricated a fifty-dollar bill from a small fold of bills. Folding it in half, she slid it under the ashtray resting on the arm of Bobby’s chair.

“Hey, Fallon, me an’ you don’t deal thisaway.”

“This time, Bobby, consider it a gift. Take it and treat yourselves ta a nice meal or somethin’.”

He slid the bill out from under the ashtray and stuck it in his shirt pocket. “All right, mebbe I will. Lord knows Walter ‘n me could stand a good dinner, mebbe even a coupla cold beers to go with it.”

Samantha got up from the sofa and squatted in front of Bobby. She took one of his gnarled hands in hers and held it briefly. “We’re even now, me friend, debt cancelled. I’ll not come back this way unless you call me.”

The man’s eyes were fond as he clasped her hand. “Fallon, if this was fifteen years ago, I mighta run off Walter an’ your two friends here an’ had some fun.”

“If this were fifteen years ago, Bobby, I might’ve let you,” Samantha smiled gently, playing along. “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself now?”

He chuckled, and said, “Baby, you say mighty sweet things to an old man. Don’t you worry none – I’ll be around for awhile yet.” Samantha squeezed his hand, released it and straightened. She headed for the doorway, trailing behind Starsky and Hutch who went to the door when they could see the conversation was tailing off. She stopped and turned back.

“If there’s any troubles, Bobby, call me – day or night – I’ll come. And I’ll be bringin’ me friends. You have me word.” Bobby nodded, taking another long pull from his cigarette. He turned to look out the grimy window beside him.

“Best you go, Fallon, a’fore somebody gets too snoopy.”

They left the apartment building in a hurry and got into the Torino, the information burning through all of their minds. Starsky started the car, gunned the engine and they took off.

Slipping her sunglasses on, Samantha leaned back against the car seat with clenched fists on her lap. Both men noticed the by-now familiar signs of tension. Starsky shot a glance Hutch’s way before softly asking, “First you heard of this, isn’t it?”

Her head swiveled in his direction. “You catch on quick, David.” It was a testament to how she felt, formalizing his first name in a deadly quiet voice. “No bleedin’ wonder those girls are terrified outta their wits! Don’t you see this changes everything?! They know ‘tis happenin’, but they don’t dare tell any one!” Samantha’s breaking point had finally been reached. She was containing it only by the merest thread. Hutch thought she had been working up to this point all day, and he worried about how little it was going to take to send her over the edge.

“From where I sit, first thing we ought to do is find out if those white guys Bobby told us about and Flamingo are hooked together,” Hutch said, trying to buy some time. “Makes sense they’d be working as a team.”

Starsky offered a further theory. “Could be Flamingo does the scouting and these other two do the grabbing.”

Smacking a fist into her knee, Samantha swore, ignoring them. “I’ve been going around in circles for three bleedin’ months figurin’ I had some twisted Lone Ranger on me hands! Now I find out we’ve gotten crossways of a goddamned black market slavery ring?! Jaysus, Mary and Joseph!” The more she connected the files of the missing girls with this information, the angrier she became. By the time they parked in front of Metro, Samantha was literally shaking with furious determination.

Samantha bolted up the stairs and into the building while Starsky and Hutch followed at a slower pace. They stopped in the hallway close to the duty officer’s desk before they went into Homicide’s squad room.

“She’s about ready to explode, Starsk. I’m a little worried,” Hutch said.

“No kidding.” Starsky agreed, frowning.

“I think we should take the whole thing into Dobey before she goes off the deep end. There’s no telling where she’s going to run with this. If what Bobby said was true, it isn’t small potatoes any more.”

“Then let’s go. That temper of hers...” Starsky said. They quickly walked down the hallway and into the squad room. Samantha stood with one foot planted on Starsky’s chair, barking out orders on his phone. Too late, Starsky thought, the volcano’s already started.

“I don’t give a billy-be-damned how long it takes! Get those bleedin’ files down here!” She paused, listening, and then her face contorted angrily. “Massey, if I have ta come up there, you’re goin’ ta be very sorry! Now move yer bleedin’ arse!” She banged the phone down into the cradle. Snatching up a pen and pulling a notebook out of her pocket, she flipped through pages of notes looking for something. When Starsky and Hutch approached their desk, she stopped what she was doing.

“What?!” she snarled, her eyes snapping with rage. She yanked her leg down from Starsky’s chair, her boot heel striking the floor with a hollow thud. Starsky, palms held out in a peaceful gesture, got between her and the chair.

“Hey, com’on, ease up a little.”

“For what?! I shouldn’t act like me whole case hasn’t just blown up in me face?!”

Starsky took hold of one tense arm and pointed to Dobey’s office with the other hand. “No, but we should take it where it’ll do the most good.” Their eyes met and he saw the terrible anger inside her as well as an equal measure of pain. Involved right to her core, she cared too much, and that was a lethal combination to carry around day in and day out.

“Sam, please,” he pled with her, “step back for a minute. Let’s look at the facts, add them to what we know, and do it right. If you go on this way, you’re gonna miss something. And if you go into Dobey’s office like this, he’ll toss your ass right back to Vice, or worse.”

His words hit home. Her face lost the hard, tense look, and the wild rage in her eyes died away. She sighed heavily and put her head down. “Bloody hell,” she said softly. When she lifted her head again, a glimmer of a smile touched the corners of her mouth. “You missed your callin’, y’know. You should’ve been a shrink.”

“Last night you said I should’ve been a comedian. Make up my mind, huh?” Starsky grinned, successfully breaking the tension. Samantha rolled her eyes and smiled with a grimace.

“’Tis what happens when you’re dealin’ with a woman. We never stay with the same idea two days in a row – ‘tis what keeps men from figurin’ us out,” she said.

“Really?” he mocked.

She shrugged. “Well, don’t be sayin’ I never told you.”

“Consider me forewarned. Have a seat for a second and cool off.” He stepped away and sat down at his desk. Hutch joined them on the opposite side, pulling a chair around for Samantha. She sat and laid her notebook on the desk.

Hutch asked, “What was all the commotion with Massey and the files about?”

“I’m supposin’ you heard,” Samantha looked away uncomfortably.

“Pretty hard to miss – your voice carries some.”

“Holy Mother…listen, I needed the old workups I know we’ve got upstairs on Flamingo, and Massey was bein’…well, as useful as a lighthouse on a bog, if you get me meanin’. ‘Course, I suppose bein’ in a high temper prob’ly didn’t help matters much.”

“No,” Hutch said evenly, “probably not. He is going to bring them down, right?”

“After that tongue lashin’? He’s a little thick some days, but he’s not that thick.” Samantha shrugged a shoulder and leaned back in her chair. “Guess I need ta work on me interoffice skills a wee bit more, hmm?”

Starsky and Hutch chuckled. “I’d agree with you, Samantha, but I’m afraid I’d get creamed if I do,” Hutch said. He no sooner finished than the squad doors opened to admit a uniformed cop with a handful of files and a peeved expression. He marched over to the three detectives and practically shoved the files under Samantha’s nose.

“Here are the files you wanted, Fallon. Next time try asking nicely. I don’t spend my time waiting for you to need something and then get chewed out ‘cause you’re having a bad day.”

Samantha took the files from his outstretched hand and laid them down beside her notebook. “Massey, it’s sorry I am for barkin’ at you. There was no need – t’was me bein’ owlish and takin’ it out on the wrong person. Won’t happen again,” she said sincerely.

Massey blinked. The last thing he expected was an apology. Fallon always was a little rough around the edges, he knew that from long experience, but she took him completely by surprise. She had never apologized before, not in all the time he worked around her. He took her proffered expression of regret and said distractedly, “It’s okay, Fallon. Thanks.” He stood there for another second and then, still confused, turned to leave. They watched as he left the squad room shaking his head.

Hutch, his eyes dancing, looked at Samantha. “I’ll lay odds he’ll be talking about that for the rest of the day. I get the distinct impression there’s more twists and turns to your devious mind than I probably want to know about.”

“Devious? Me?” Samantha tried for the innocent look. “Now where would you be gettin’ that idea, d’you suppose?” Starsky snorted in amused disbelief.

“Nice try, Samantha,” Hutch said, “it’s not working.” She lifted a shoulder innocently while the sly look on her face was anything but innocent.

“Ah well…can’t have it all in one day.”

The door to Dobey’s office swung open and the captain stood there with a scowl on his face. “If you three are done having a good time at the taxpayer’s expense, would you mind coming in here and filling me in? I haven’t heard a peep in two days, and I’m still captain of this division, in case you’d forgotten.”

Three sheepish faces turned to look at him in unison. Coughing to cover up his embarrassment, Hutch got up and the other two followed suit. Starsky took the lead and followed Captain Dobey into his office while they fell in behind. Samantha pulled the door shut behind her and walked over to lean against the far wall as Starsky and Hutch sat in their usual positions in the overstuffed chairs.

“Well, don’t sit there looking cute, what’ve you got so far?” Dobey challenged them.

Starsky and Hutch looked at one another, and then they both looked at Samantha. Clearly, they were going to let her take the ball first. She pulled away from the wall and began to explain. When she was finished, Captain Dobey looked from her tense face to the narrowed visages of his men. “So now what? You’ve got a lot of circumstantial hearsay, no concrete proof, and you aren’t any closer to nailing who killed Kelly Taylor or who’s kidnapping these girls. To top it all off, you may have stumbled onto a black market slavery ring. If that’s provable, this comes out of our hands and immediately sits in the Fed’s laps.”

Starsky spoke up first. “Cap, we’re still trying to put these two goons and Flamingo together. If we can link them up, find out where they’re hanging out, maybe we can surprise ‘em when they least expect it before we have to get the Federal boys involved.”

“Would you mind explaining just how do you plan on doing that? They’re not going to be so easy to flush out into the open, Starsky.”

Samantha’s mind was working overtime while Dobey and Starsky talked. A glimmer of an idea popped into her head as her eyes settled on the large city map hung on the wall opposite her. “Capt’n,” she interrupted, “why not set up a sting? We do it in Vice all the time. If it works, we’ll get them in one crack.”

Starsky, Hutch and Dobey all looked at her curiously. Dobey leaned back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach. “Okay, Fallon, spell it out.” Samantha walked behind Starsky and Hutch to the far side of his office, snapping her fingers as the idea coalesced.

“Look, all the girls were taken off their regular stroll…” she pointed out a particular section on the map, “here, between Union and Ninth. What I’m sayin’ is we give ‘em somethin’ they can’t resist – bait, sure as the noses on their rotten faces. When they grab the bait, we grab them.”

Hutch asked, “What are you suggesting we use as bait?”

Samantha turned and looked at Starsky and Hutch, eyes bright with anticipation. “Not what, Hutch - who. And the who is me.”

Starsky shot out of his seat towards her. “No way,” he exclaimed, “that’s crazy!”

“Starsky…” she said softly. “Dave…who else is goin’ ta pull it off? You’re handsome divils, ta be sure, but you don’t exactly fit the bill.”

“Sam, no! We can’t afford to put your neck on the line. There’s gotta be another way!” Starsky implored her.

“How else are we going ta flush them out? Look now, I’ve done this a time or two in the past; I’m no green girl. I can wear a wire, you an’ Hutch can be right there listenin’, we’ll have plenty of backups right on the doorstep, and the minute they make a move, we’ve got ‘em. Simple as that,” Samantha explained patiently.

“What happens if it’s not as ‘simple as that’, Samantha?” Hutch asked. “What if something goes wrong and they get to you?”

“How? I don’t plan on goin’ with every two-bit john who tosses an eye me way. I’ll find a way ta stay out there until I spot Flamingo. ‘Tis certain sure his runnin’ mates won’t be far behind.”

Starsky interrupted them. “Sam, we don’t even know what those other two guys look like! They could be anyone, in any kind of vehicle. You just can’t go out there and hope for the best! These bananas are playin’ for keeps!” His face was intense with the need to make her understand the risk she was proposing with her plan.

“You said yourself t’was possible that Flamingo was doin’ the scouting and these other two buckos are backin’ him up. I’m not goin’ anywhere without seein’ him first. If they appear before Flamingo does, I’ll call in the troops. I don’t see another way.” Starsky fell silent. He didn’t have an idea that sounded more plausible than hers, but he had a bad feeling. He morosely plunked himself in the chair with worry etching his face.

Hutch watched Starsky for a moment. Something’s up. Starsky isn’t this adamant for no reason. He thinks this is going to go down wrong – I’d bet my last dollar on it. He continued to watch Starsky until the deep blue eyes of his partner turned to meet his. Starsky shook his head almost imperceptibly and Hutch knew he was right.

It’ll be okay, Hutch’s eyes said.

It’s not okay, Hutch. It’s wrong. Concern stained Starsky’s eyes.

Hutch lifted an eyebrow. We’ll handle it, buddy.

We’re gonna have to – she can’t do this alone. Starsky slumped further in his seat and returned his gaze to Captain Dobey, an unspoken question on his face. Dobey watched the interplay between the two men and let it go. He had a fair idea what they were thinking. Dobey considered the plan for another minute, standing up from his desk to face Samantha. “Fallon, there’s a lot of risk involved here. Starsky’s not out of line, but then again, neither are you. Exactly how confident are you this will work?”

“Confident enough to stake me badge on it, Capt’n.” She pointed in Starsky and Hutch’s direction. “I’ve got the best backin’ me up – I know what I’m doin’.”

“How long is it going to take to get everything in place?” Dobey asked.

“It’ll take the rest of today ta round up the backups we’re needin’, go over files, set a time with Harry in Surveillance for the wire, and then discuss how the three of us are goin’ ta work this. I’d like ta have it ready ta roll out for tomorra night. We’ve no time ta lose.”

Dobey made up his mind. “Okay, Fallon, I’m giving you a green light, but I’m letting Donovan in on the plans. If I’m going to be responsible, your captain should be apprised of what you’ve got cooking.”

Samantha’s smile was wide. “Thank you, sir.”

“Well, get moving!” Dobey commanded. They left his office as he picked up the phone to call Vice.

Two hours later, with all three making phone calls and taking notes, they had most of the details nailed down. Keyed up, Samantha poured over the files on Flamingo, memorizing his face from various mug shots. She wrote down a few pages of notes detailing addresses he’d been picked up from, vehicles he registered and the like before she passed them over to Starsky and Hutch. At the same time, she knew both men weren’t thrilled. She plunged ahead with the idea in front of their captain, banking on the fact that Dobey would see it her way. Feeling a little guilty about stealing the show out from under them, Samantha noted the concerned glances Starsky would throw her way every once in a while. Hutch was no better at disguising the worry he felt as well. She put her pen down, sighed, and leaned back in her chair.

“All right, you two, out with it now. You’ve been givin’ me the look o’doom ever since we left Dobey’s office. Let’s hear it.”

Hutch spoke first. “This is a nasty piece of work and if it backfires you could go down hard.”

Starsky added, “Exactly. In theory, it looks airtight, but nothing is ever airtight out on the streets. It only takes one thing to go haywire and the rest will come tumbling down like an avalanche. I don’t want to see you get buried, Sam.”

Samantha turned in her chair to face them. “Earlier t’day you told me not to let anger get in the way of me judgment. Well, I think you’re lettin’ worry get in the way of yours. I’m concerned, too, but you’re makin’ a foine pet of it ‘twixt the two of you.” Hutch looked at Starsky dejectedly. She pinned them with their own advice so well they didn’t even see it coming.

She got us, Starsky’s look conveyed across the table.

No kidding, partner. Next? Hutch’s look said back. Starsky shrugged.

“Will you quit with the ESP already?” Samantha nagged. “I’ve troubles enough keepin’ up without tryin’ ta read your minds, too.” They looked at her and smirked.

Starsky said, “Yeah, well, Dobey’s complained about that for years, and it hasn’t slowed us down yet. You’ll just have to live with it, baby.”

She put her hands up in surrender. “You win. Can we finish and get out of here? I’ve about had it.”

Hutch nodded, and said, “Yeah, us too. Let’s wrap this up.” They went back to the final preparations for the next day and were finished in a few minutes. Samantha got up and slung her jacket over her shoulder.

“Gentlemen, I’ll be takin’ me leave. I just want ta go home and rest me weary bones tonight with a stiff drink an’ a good book. I’ll see you here tomorra after lunch.”

Starsky and Hutch stood up. “Why don’t we walk you out to your car?” Hutch suggested.

“That’d be grand, Hutch,” Samantha replied. “We should take a breather for one night at least.”

“True. Tomorrow’s going to be busy.”

“Then let’s be about it,” she said. They left the squad room and made their way out to the street. With a lift of her hand, she waved goodbye and walked around the corner to her Oldsmobile.

*~*~*~*

Starsky had just settled down on the sofa with a beer to watch a little television before turning in for the night when the phone rang. He picked it up on the first ring.

“H’lo?”

“It’s me,” Hutch said.

“I kind of figured you’d call.” Starsky smiled. Hutch in worry mode was just about a given. He wasn’t surprised this natural tendency of his partner’s had transferred to Samantha.

“Starsky, how are we gonna handle tomorrow night’s action?”

“Handle it? I haven’t the foggiest. Sam thinks she’s got this thing sewed up tight.”

“Starsk, you and I both know how tricky these setups are. She seems to be…well…almost overeager. I thought she was gonna hug Dobey when he gave her the go ahead,” Hutch said.

“Yeah, I know. That’s what has me worried. It’s as if she can’t wait to get out there.” Starsky cradled the phone in the crook of his shoulder while he shifted around on the sofa, the soft blue robe he put on after his shower twisting underneath him. He pulled the edges around his bare legs as he stretched out.

“I guess we better be extra careful then. I’d hate like hell to have us proven right,” Hutch said uneasily.

“Got it in one, Hutch. I just don’t think she’s seeing the whole picture,” Starsky said.

“For instance?” Hutch asked.

“She’s been sniffing around Flamingo’s trail for three months without really knowing it was him. Now we find out not only does it involve him, but also it’s bigger than the Hoover Dam. If this ‘sting’ is the easiest way to take him down, my gut’s telling me she’ll do whatever it takes and maybe a little more. That combined with the mad-on she’s carrying around in her gut bothers the hell out of me.” He paused and took a sip of beer. “The other point is she stuck her foot in a lot of people’s doors today. Somebody’s bound to start talking. The word’s gonna get out fast.”

“And you put it together the same way I did – he’ll be wary of anything new or strange. Damn.” Over at Venice Place, Hutch rubbed a hand over tired eyes.

“My sentiments exactly,” Starsky said.

“So we try and talk her into holding off for a bit?”

“S’what I planned on doing the minute we get in tomorrow afternoon. We have to make her see that until we know for sure who those other two whippos are. Let everything cool off for a coupla days and go from there.”

“Starsk, listen, you know I’m not one to poke my nose in where it isn’t wanted, but is that the only reason you’re rattled?” Hutch asked, not unkindly.

Starsky knew where the question was coming from and smiled. You know me better some days than I know myself, Hutch. “Can’t slip anything past you. Hutch, I like her. I mean I really like her. And it would drive me nuts if she got hurt, or worse. She’s really something.”

“I pretty much figured that out. Especially after all the ‘Dave’s’ and ‘Sam’s’ I heard today. She got to you, huh?”

Starsky grinned. “You could say that.” He brought the conversation back to the subject at hand. “Hutch, it’s not just about what I think of her. I got a gut feeling this is bad news.”

“Hey, I’m with you and your gut. I hope we can talk her out of it before Dobey steps in. The thing is, she’s got a good idea and Dobey knows it. He’ll be getting pressure from upstairs to slam the lid shut,” Hutch said, partially rallying to Samantha’s defense.

“Well, all we can do is try. If it doesn’t work, then we’ll have to be extra-sharp and ten times as careful. What else is there to do? She’s stubborn as hell.”

Hutch chuckled. “Tell me about it. We’ll play it your way first thing tomorrow. If we get torpedoed, well, we’ll just make damn sure we get to them first.”

“What I figured. I’ll swing by about noon, ‘kay?”

“All right. G’night, Starsk.”

“’Night, Hutch.” Starsky hung up the phone, thinking of Samantha and the day they’d just had. Just how the hell are you gonna talk her out of this, bright boy? She’s bound and determined to see this out to the bitter end. In a way, I can’t say I blame her. If Hutch ‘n me were going around in circles like she has, we’d be just as eager to find a way to break it loose.

He took a long pull from his beer when there was a knock at the front door. Who the hell would be here this time of night? He set the bottle down and got up to answer the door. When he opened it, he was greeted by a smiling Samantha dressed in a creamy peasant blouse, a loose fitting dark colored skirt, flat sandals, and the same soft tartan shawl thrown over her shoulder.

“Evenin’,” she said casually.

“Hi.” Starsky stood there for a moment, not knowing what else to say. Her hair shone darkly around her shoulders in the light of the street lamps and her face was devoid of anything but the simplest of makeup. She looked absolutely irresistible.

“Goin’ ta ask me in, or am I ta stand here lookin’ silly?” she asked brightly.

“Oh…uh…yeah, come on in.” He backed away to allow her access. She moved past him to stand in front of his papa-san chair, waiting for him to join her.

“How’d you find my place?” Starsky asked, closing the door and sliding the deadbolt into place.

Her eyes took on a mischievous glint. “Oh, I have me ways. I am a cop, y’know.”

“Very funny. Who’d you have to pay?”

“Pay? Dave, I’ve never paid in me life, and I don’t intend ta start now. Call it collectin’ on a favor owed,” Samantha said with a smug smile.

“You’re not gonna tell me, are you?” he grinned.

“Not in this lifetime, boyo.” Samantha looked around the apartment appreciatively. “’Tis a grand place you have. Warm, homey – like you.”

“Thanks. Can I get you something to drink?” Starsky asked politely.

Samantha spied the beer bottle on the coffee table, condensation pearling around the neck. Nodding, she pointed at it. “I’ll take one of those if you’ve another.”

Starsky headed for the kitchen, opened the fridge door, plucked a cold brew off the shelf, and closed the door. “A woman after my own heart. She drinks beer. Want a glass?”

“Aye, please,” she replied, settling herself on the sofa. She pulled the shawl from her shoulder and draped it over the arm. Starsky padded on bare feet to sit beside her, handing her the glass full of beer and setting the bottle down.

“Thank you.” She took a healthy swallow and sighed. “Ah, now that’s more like it.”

“I never would’ve taken you for a beer drinker, Sam. Thought it was only coffee, whiskey or sweet white wine.”

“I’ve been known ta down a pint or two here and there,” she admitted. “Tonight seemed as good a night as any, and I was a little on the warm side.”

Starsky chose to let the suggestiveness pass for a moment. “So what do I owe the pleasure of this visit to?” he asked mildly, certain he knew what the answer would be.

“The truth? I haven’t come ta talk about tomorrow, for one thing. Actually,” she reached out to pluck at the blue terrycloth near his chest, “it wasn’t talkin’ I had in mind a’tall.” She looked at him with an evocative expression. Taking the glass from her hand, he slid closer to her and pulled her onto his lap. Starsky kissed her deeply, running his hands through the softness of her hair. When he released her, her smile was tender. “I couldn’t stop meself – I had ta see you.”

“I’m glad you did. I probably would’ve been on the phone in another minute myself inviting myself over.” He planted another soft kiss on her smiling lips.

“Love me, mhuirnín.” Without answering, he slid her back onto the sofa, took her hand and lifted her to her feet as he stood up. He led her into his bedroom, the beer and television forgotten.

*~*~*~*

Starsky was stunned late the next afternoon when Samantha entered the Homicide squad room. The sight of her in what she called "hooker gear" was an enormous shock. The shiny red spandex dress molded itself to her curves like a second skin, pushing her full breasts up and together in such a way it made Starsky’s mouth fall open. Every line of hip and thigh and startlingly round derrière was advertised. Matching red stiletto pumps gave her normal stride a curvaceous swing. She added a small gold chain to her right ankle that glittered as she sashayed her way across the room.

Hutch was no less affected than his gaping partner. Dressed this way, Samantha had a body any man would kill for. It was a lethal combination destined to manufacture all kinds of impure thoughts, and he brought himself up short when he realized where his mind was going. He snuck a sideways glance at Starsky, finding an identical expression of lust and admiration in the depths of his partner's eyes. Samantha looked like something too dangerous to touch and hopelessly desirable all at the same time.

“S-Sam, uh…that's some outfit.” Starsky cleared his throat loudly, the unusual stutter telling her that she made the transformation from cop to streetwalker successfully. “You sure you still want to do this?”

A wicked smile slid over Samantha's face. “Aye, I do. If those slimy bastards bite as hard as you an’ Hutch just did, it’ll be more than worth it.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Starsky replied, concern and something else lighting his eyes.

“That makes two of us, Samantha,” Hutch cut in, “the way you look right now…”

She dismissed their fears with a wave of a perfectly manicured hand, the long red fingernails painted to match her lipstick. “Now, now, you’ve got little ta be worryin’ about. You’ll be able ta hear every word, and if I get inta trouble, you'll be right there. There's no doubt in me mind ‘tis the night. I’ll be just fine.”

“But...” Starsky wasn’t convinced.

“Musha, musha, Davey. We all agreed to this, remember?”

Earlier, Starsky and Hutch made the effort to talk her out of the assignment, and just as Hutch had foretold, Dobey stepped in and took the decision out of their hands. Hutch must be psychic, Starsky thought, or Dobey is tapping our phones. Dobey had indeed gotten pressure from above. It forced his hand, and he in turn forced Starsky and Hutch’s. Samantha came up with a winner as far as the brass was concerned, and they were going ahead with the detail, like it or not.

Samantha closed the gap between her and the two men as they leaned against the file cabinets. She reached for their hands to give them both a warm squeeze. “This is our best chance, an’ you know it. If we don’t do this tonight, they’ll be gone like smoke. We’ll be left with thirteen missing girls, a murder, an’ not much else.” This didn’t make it any easier to swallow. Deep down Starsky was afraid it was too easy. Using Samantha as bait bothered the hell out of him for more reasons than he wanted to admit to himself. The sight of her lovely figure reminded him of how they’d spent the last two nights and mornings together, putting a nasty edge to his mood.

They stood in the squad room for a few more minutes as Samantha put the finishing touches to her hair and makeup. Starsky couldn't help but admire her courage. He always knew being a cop took something extraordinary to put yourself willingly in harm's way. Guess she isn't all that different from Hutch ‘n me after all. I just wish there was another way, Starsky told himself.

With a smoothing of her dress and a toss of her head, Samantha said, "That'll do. Ready as I'll ever be." She extended a hand to Starsky who wrapped it around his arm protectively. The three of them walked out of the precinct and into the night.

??????????

Although the hidden microphone was the tiniest thing she had ever seen, Samantha felt its comforting presence as though Starsky and Hutch were standing next to her rather than listening at the other end half a block away. She strolled up and down the street as if she was born to it. She left her hair down so it swung across her back as she walked. The makeup she applied was ten times more than she normally wore, but she needed to disguise her looks as much as she could from the girls, some of which might have identified her otherwise.

Glued to the loudspeaker on the receiver between them, Starsky listened intently as Hutch watched Samantha through a set of binoculars. She hadn't had any problems so far in the first hour. Hutch relaxed a little but rarely moved his gaze from the eyepieces.

"Hutch?" Starsky asked quietly.

It took the strain in Starsky’s voice in the quiet of the car to make Hutch pull the binoculars away to look across the car. "What's up?"

"Nothing." Starsky shook his head, his eyes dark with concern.

Hutch squeezed Starsky's arm, knowing what was going through his mind. "Nothing's going to happen, babe. Even if it does, we'll be on top of whoever it is so fast they won't have time to blink fast."

"I know, but…goddamnit, I hate this!"

"Starsk, we're doing everything by the book. She's safe and she can take care of herself. It'll be fine." Starsky sighed heavily and resumed listening. Hutch patted his arm a final time before putting the binoculars back up to his eyes. A car pulled up in front of Samantha and stopped. Hutch watched as she leaned into the open window on the passenger side to speak to the driver. The speaker hummed and then cleared as her voice came back to them.

"Evenin', sugah. Lookin' for a friend?" Samantha put on a very convincing Southern accent that made Starsky and Hutch chuckle.

The voice of a man came across loud and clear. "Maybe. You a friend?"

Samantha gave the man a low, sexy laugh, and said, "A'course, honey. Can I be yore friend tonight?"

"How much is it gonna cost me?"

Starsky shook his head. This wasn't their quarry, just a john out looking.

"Well now, sugah, that all depends, don't it? Y'wanna be mah friend for a few minutes, or all night?"

"I got ten bucks. How much of a friend is that worth?"

Samantha straightened up from the car window in a huff. "Honey, that's worth ‘bout two seconds," she snapped, keeping in character. "Take a hike. I don't do cheap, ya'll hear me?"

Hips swinging, she strutted away from the car to return to the middle of the sidewalk. She turned and defiantly glared at the man inside the car. "Git lost, hear? This ain't no movie the-ayter."

Hutch watched the flash of taillights as the car screeched away from the curb and grinned. "Looks like she's got it down to a science. Wonder where she picked up that accent?"

"I don't know, but it's good. Never know she was as Irish as the day is long.” Starsky’s smile was just this side of raunchy. “Damn, that woman can move. I saw that wiggle all the way down here."

Hutch laughed and said, "I'll just bet you did. Starsky, you're incredible." They resumed watching and listening as Samantha retraced her walk along the stree