It was another hot summer day in Bay City, the smog was thick and there was no air circulation. The heat wave seemed as though it would never end. Nighttime brought little, if any relief, from the sweltering heat. The heat seemed to make people short tempered and crazy. Detective Sergeants Dave Starsky and Ken Hutchinson wove through the morning traffic in Hutchinson's beat-up LTD. Starsky's Torino, though slicker and faster (not to mention prettier), tended to overheat on these sweltering summer days. They'd reached a compromise the previous summer during a similar heat wave that they would take the LTD and avoid the inevitable arguments that occurred when the Torino broke down in the middle of the freeway on the way to work.
Starsky reached into a brown paper bag and pulled out a sticky bun, dripping with caramel. "Want one?" he asked between mouthfuls.
    "Hey, hey.. watch the upholstery, would you?" Hutchinson told him, giving him a look out of the corner of his eye.
    "Not like it matters in this junk heap you call a car."
    "You wanna walk? Because that's what we *would* be doing by now if we'd taken *yours.*"
    Starsky scowled slightly. "Hey last time was just a fluke, Merle's got the Torino running perfectly."
    "Merle couldn't get a sprinter running with a starter's pistol."
    "You're just upset 'cause he reupholstered your car that once."
    Hutchinson gave his partner a sharp look for as long as he could afford not to look at the road. "Yeah, he reupholstered my seats that once. Like the inside of a pimp's shaggin' wagon. After I'd *specifically* told him not to!"
    "Not my fault, partner. I told him not to, too." Starsky said defensively.
    "And I told *you* I didn't want to leave my car with him to start with. Anyway, how did we get talking about this? Just don't drip any of that crap on my seats, okay?"
    "Whatever.” Starsky mumbled, reaching for his coffee.
    Hutchinson pulled up infront of the police station and parked behind a cruiser. They got out of the car and a few minutes later strolled into the Squad Room, making a beeline for the coffee pot.
The phone on their desks rang. Hutchinson picked it up. "Hutchinson." He listened for a moment. "Where?" He listened again. "Okay, we'll be right there." He turned to his
partner. "Starsk, we've got a body. They just pulled it out of the river. They want us to go down there."
     "'Kay." Starsky replied simply.
    About ten minutes later they pulled up at the crime scene. The coroner and the scene of crime team were already there. The two detectives held up their badges as they passed the uniformed officers who had the area cordoned off and were keeping the gawkers and reporters at bay and jogged down the bank to where the coroner was giving the body a once-over before carting it off.
    The coroner looked up as the two detectives approached, he had dealt with them many times. He knew they were good at their job but he didn't really like them. Starsky looked the dead body, it was young girl, with long light brown hair, she looked vaguely familiar but her features had been distorted.
    "We figure she was killed elsewhere and then dumped into the river sometime last night." Frank, the coroner told them.
    Hutchinson nodded. He recognized the face. He turned to his partner and said "It's Lynne Marston." She was a dancer at a local stripclub. They'd spoken with her several times working on a previous case in that part of town and she'd given them some valuable information. It briefly crossed Hutchinson's mind that her murder might be connected with that, but he couldn't see how. The perpetrator she'd helped them find had been killed by a uniformed officer while resisting arrest.
    "Oh, I remember her. She helped with the Jackson case, didn't she?" Starsky said, not saying that she reminded him of someone else. That lately it had been more then just the heat that was keeping him awake.
    "Yep," Hutchinson said distractedly as he started to turn the puzzle over in his mind. "If it wasn't drowning, do you have a cause of death?" he asked the coroner.
     "She was severely beaten. There are marks on her back that look like they were made by a whip. Seems it might have been more then one person since the injures appear to have came from different objects." Frank informed the detectives.
    Hutchinson looked at his partner of 8 years and knew he was thinking the same thing. He could read it on his face. Some disgusting psycho had beaten that girl to death and they would find out who it was. Hutchinson put a gentle hand on Starsky's arm as he said "Come on. Let's go see if anyone at the club can tell us anything."
    At first Starsky seemed startled when Hutch touched his arm, but he instantly relaxed. "Hope so." Starsky said quietly, and headed back towards the LTD, quickly sliding in the passenger side before Hutch could even reach the car.
    Hutch shot a look of concern in his partner's direction, but was not surprised by his sudden quiet tension. His partner tended to react to things more emotionally than he did. They'd both seen a million horrible things in their time in Homocide, but you never got used to them. Starsky tended to take them a little harder, at least outwardly, than Hutch did. Hutch took his seat behind the wheel and started the engine.
     Starsky was silent for a moment, then turned in the seat so he was looking at his partner. "You know who she reminded me of, Hutch? When I first saw her I thought she was ... Gail."
    Hutch didn't quite know what to say. Starsky had told him what had gone on while he'd been a prisoner of Simon Marcus' cult. What Gail had gone through, what she had been convinced she'd had to do and had *not* done despite the fact. The last they'd heard of that poor messed up kid was that she'd been committed and was getting heavy psychological help. Talking about it had clearly been difficult for Starsky - and that was to Hutch. Hutch doubted he'd have been able to tell anybody else about it at all. "She did kind of look like her," Hutch replied, unable to think of something more... comforting or
appropriate.
    Starsky nodded, for a moment his dark blue eyes looked haunted and the colour had left his face. "You know what he said about how the girl died ... was just like..." Starsky swallowed hard, a part of him didn't want to talk about this, but talking with    Hutch always made things seem better and that's what he wanted right now - he wanted Hutch to make things better. "Shhe died the way they were gonna kill me."
    That had been the thought that had crossed Hutch's mind when Starsky had brought up Gail and he hadn't been able to voice it even to himself inside his head. What could he say? It's okay now? Don't worry? Actually, maybe that was helpful information... it would only be 'okay now' when they caught the loony that had killed the girl and may do so again. Hutch looked at his partner. His eyes were sincerely sympathetic. "Maybe there's a connection, huh? I mean, we got all the guys at the, uh... ritual. It was a big cult though. Maybe we should... keep it in mind." It was difficult for him to put it so rationally when what he wanted to do was give his friend a hug and hope the haunted look went away. The only way they could really exorcise it would be to work through it, though, and he knew Starsky knew that as well as he did. They would handle it together like they always did.
    "Could be. Maybe one of 'em is out on parole or something ... or Marcos contacted someone or something." Starsky said, and leaned back against the seat. "Sorry, Hutch, I know you don't really want to be hearing this anymore then I really like talking about it." Starsky leaned his head back against the seat. "Just been thinking about it a lot lately ... probably just 'cause this heat wave. Probably would help to get one good night's sleep ... guess that'll have to wait until after this case." by this point it was hard to tell if Starsky was talking to Hutch or talking to himself.
    At that point they were pulling up infront of the club. "Well, buddy, tell you what. We'll solve it fast and you can get that night's rest, okay?" Hutch said, swatting his partner's leg playfully with the back of his hand before getting out of the car.
    Starsky climbed out of the car, following Hutch into the club. He prayed he was wrong about the feeling that Marcos's cult was somehow involved in all of this. He felt guilty about hoping it was just an ordinary brutal attack and nothing serious, that she was just a stripper who'd made some 'nasty' porno videos. He pushed all these thoughts aside and tried to focus on the case with a clear mind. Though he knew if he started to lose that focus that Hutch would take over the case and solve it - after all     Hutch was the brains of the duo, even though he would never admit that aloud.
    The two detectives entered the dimly lit club. A man looked up from the bar. "Hey, we're not open yet!" he hollered. Hutch pulled out his badge and held it up for him to see. "Oh," he mumbled, and became much more involved in polishing the glass he was holding than he had been a moment earlier.
    "You know a girl by the name of Lynne Marston?" Starsky asked, as he leaned against the bar.
    The barkeeper eyed him dubiously. "Why, what's she done?"
    Hutch leveled his gaze at the man. He *would* have to be the obstinate sort. "She died," he informed the man flatly. He was inwardly pleased at the way the man's eyes
widened in shock at this announcement. He'd almost dropped the glass.
    "What do you want to know about her?" the barkeeper asked.
    "Was she working here last night?" Starsky asked.
    "She works here most every night," he replied non-commitally.
    Hutch looked around casually, letting the moment's silence do it's work on the nervous barkeeper. "Did she leave with anyone after her... shift?" he asked.
    The barkeeper shrugged. "How am I supposed to know? I'm not her father."
    "Yeah though I'm sure you pay real close attention to who all the girls that work here leave with." Starsky replied, confrontationally.
    The barkeeper looked almost offended, Starsky had clearly hit a nerve. "What's *that* supposed to mean, smart-ass?"
Hutchinson glared at him. "Watch your mouth, you're talking to a cop."
The barkeep turned on Hutchinson. "Oh, did I offend your delicate sensibilities? Terribly sorry," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
    Starsky lunged across the bar grabbing the smaller man by the collar of his shirt and hauling him part way across the top of the bar, his blue eyes where blazing with anger. "Who did she leave with?" Starsky asked, his voice was low and he spoke slowly as though speaking to someone of little intelligence.
    Hutchinson didn't move to stop his partner or calm him down. He looked at the barkeeper, whose eyes were on him, appealing for a bit of help, indifferently. "You heard the man," he said evenly. "Answer the question."
    The bartender looked at Starsky, then back at Hutch. "Look," he said, pleading now, "I didn't know the guy. It was just some guy! I'd never seen him before. I asked one of the other girls who's friends with Lynne if she knew who he was. She didn't! Okay?"
    "What's the name on Lynne's friend?" Starsky asked, shaking the bartender with a slightly rough shake. It was a typical ploy to get information good cop/bad cop -- or bad cop/bad cop. Anyway it worked and Starsky usually ended up playing the 'bad cop'.
    "Bubbles!" the bartender said.
Hutch raised his eyebrows and looked at the man in disbelief. "Bubbles?" he asked incredulously.
    "That's her stage name," the bartender explained.
    "What's her real name?" Hutch asked. The bartender looked at him through narrowed eyes. "I'll tell you when your friend *puts me DOWN*."
    Starsky dragged the bartend the rest of the way across the bar, and set his feet down on the floor, put still held the front of the man's shirt in one hand. "Now, tell us her real name and where we can find her."
     "Jane Johnson. See why she uses a stage name?" he said.
    Hutch moved over closer to Starsky and looked the bartender in the face. "And where can we find her?"
    The bartended shrugged again. "I don't know what she does with her off-hours, but she lives upstairs."
    Starsky released his hold on the man's shirt and then proceeded to straighten it. "See there was nothing hard about cooperating with us, now was there?"
    The bartended sneered at him and moved back around the bar... as far out of reach as he could casually stand.
    The detectives went upstairs. There were several apartments along the small, narrow hallway. "Nice of him to mention which one," Hutch mumbled.
     "Never thought about that." Starsky said. "Want me to go back downstairs and ask our good buddy?"
     "Nah. Let's try them all." Hutch grinned. "Maybe we'll meet some interesting new friends."
     "Could never have too many of those." Starsky said, a slight smile curled at the edges of his lips.
    Hutch raised his hand and knocked on the first door they came too. There was no reply. He knocked again - a little harder. Still nothing. "Looks like nobody's home," he said, a little suspiciously.
    "One way to find out." Starsky said reaching for the doorknob. He turned it slightly finding it unlocked.
    They cautiously stepped into the apartment, then relaxed slightly when they saw that the front room, at any rate, was deserted.
    "Hello?" Hutchinson called. "Anybody home?" They heard a scuffling sound coming from behind a closed door, like the sound of an old window being hastily forced open. They drew their guns and threw open the door.
    They moved towards the bedroom, moving to the slightly ajar door in their usual fashion, Hutch going high and Starsky going low. Starsky kicked the door open, just in time to see a figure fleeing out the window. Hutch gestured for Starsky to go around, while he ran for the open window to follow the assailant out onto the fire escape. As he climbed onto the windowsill, a body on the floor next to the bed caught his eye. He'd have to come back and investigate after they ran the suspect down. From the way the woman's body was awkwardly slumped, he would guess she was, if not quite dead, then very close to it. He ducked out the window and saw the suspect fleeing down the stairs hoping to escape on the street. But Hutch knew something the suspect did not - Starsky was going to come sprinting out the front door at any second.
     Starsky burst out through the front door, and quickly noticed what he assumed was their suspect. "FREEZE!" Starsky warned, aiming his gun at the fleeing suspect.
The suspect quickly ducked behind Hutch's car. Hutch trained his gun on the suspect as well, but knew he didn't have a shot with the vehicle between them and the criminal. The suspect reached up over the car roof with his own gun and fired at the two detectives, who promptly hit the dirt. In the short moment that they were on the ground, the suspect slid into Hutch's car and deftly hotwired it. Starsky and Hutch fired on him, but he sped away from them and disappeared behind a corner.
Starsky cursed under his breath as the LTD vanished from sight. He holstered his gun and made his way back inside.
    He slowly entered the room, and grinned at Hutch. "Looks like we'll *have* to use *my* car now." He still didn't know about the dead body on the floor beside the bed.
    “Uh, Starsk... look, I have to call the station. Put an APB out on my car. And I found Bubbles."
    Starsky's smile faded, he knew from Hutch's tone he had found Bubbles dead. He walked slowly over to the far side of the bed, looking at the dead body on the floor. "Do you think it was the same guy?"
     "I, uh... didn't look that closely." They both knew that they couldn't touch the body until the Crime Scene team had been over the place. They also both knew what the coroner would find if it was the same guy. More lacerations, abrasions, contusions... if she was killed by the same man, she was probably beaten to death. Hutch moved just outside the bedroom door and picked up the phone to call the station, keeping one eye on his partner who still stood with his eyes fixed on the dead girl. This case was starting to piss Hutch off more than a little.
    Starsky didn't even notice that Hutch had left the room to call the station. He stood motionlessly staring at the dead body, almost as though he had never seen a dead body before in his life. Even though temperature was in the high nineties and there was no air circulation in the room, Starsky suddenly felt cold, like a cold breeze was billowing through the room. He shivered slightly and briskly rubbed his arms.
     "Yeah, thanks." Hutch hung up the phone. He stepped back into the bedroom. "The scene of crime team and coroner are on their way."
    Starsky's head snapped up, startled when Hutch spoke, he seemed to think about what Hutch was saying for moment. "Can't believe he gotta away so easily. I coulda had him. I shoulda just shot him."
    Hutch was a little startled by that comment. He and Starsky didn't 'just shoot' *anybody*. "C'mon Starsk. You didn't even know there was another body. And even considering that there was, we don't *know* he was the killer. He could have run for any number of reasons. Criminals are stupid like that."
    "And if it was I let him get away ... and if he killed twice ... at least twice - he'll kill again and again ... Marcos had killed nine before he was caught .. if there's a connection, what if this person kills another nine people." Starsky glanced back at the dead body.
     "Then we'll just have to catch him and stop him before he *does*." Hutch said firmly, but not unkindly. He knew that his partner's passion was a good weapon, but it could also work against him. He needed to pull him back to rationality. Even just a little bit.
    Starsky was quiet for a long minute, seeming to be either lost in thought or lost in another time, before he asked Hutch a very morbid question. "Hutch ... what'd you have done if you'd been too late?"
    Hutch sighed inwardly. He'd asked himself that same question a million times as he drove to the zoo that day. And a million more times that night, knowing Starsky was safe, as he tried to fall asleep. "I don't know, Starsk. I really don't. By the time I got there, I was hardly thinking about my actions at all. I just..." his voice trailed off. Just then they heard footsteps coming down the corridor and a moment later the crime team entered the apartment.
    The presence of other people brought an obvious change to Starsky's demeanor. He stood a little straighter, and to someone who didn't really know him he appeared to be virtually uneffected by the grisly find. He moved out of the way, casually stepping closer to Hutch.
    Mike often worked at the scenes of crimes and, by now, knew the division's top detectives well. One thing he remarked about Starsky and Hutch was the comfort they seemed to draw simply from each other's presence. They stood casually to one side of the proceedings, not speaking together or pacing or asking *him* a bunch of questions they knew he didn't have the answers to yet. They simply stood beside each other and waited for someone to have something. The photographer had snapped several pictures of the body from all angles and the coroner had started his rudimentary examination of the body. He turned to Mike, Starsky and Hutch.
     "It appears to be the same MO has the body we pulled from the river earlier."
    Starsky and Hutch looked at each other. They said nothing, but there was clearly a conversation going on between them. Silently they went into the livingroom.
    "That's two for them. Zero for us."
    "Time to even the score. Wanna go see if our good buddy downstairs knows anything about any visitors this young lady might have had by for afternoon tea?"
    "After you, partner." Starsky said, bowing slightly with an arm extended toward the door in a dramatized gesture.
    The men strolled back into the bar nonchalantly. The bartender couldn't have missed the police and coroner's van outside. He looked ill-at-ease when the detectives walked up to him this time.
    "Bubbles have any visitors this afternoon?" Hutchinson asked him casually.
    "How would I know? I'm not her mother."
    Starsky casually walked around the bar, nonchalantly picking up a few different bottles, each time 'almost' dropping it before setting it back down. "Oh, I think you know everyone who comes and goes from each of those apartments, 'buddy'."
    He looked at Starsky nervously, then looked at Hutch. "Look, Bubbles liked to do a little business on the side. A bit of extra spending money, y'know? I didn't like to look to closely at it."
    Hutch exchanged a glance with Starsky. "But you *did* see someone go upstairs this afternoon."
    The bartender shrugged. "I saw a guy. Never seen him before though. He was a little taller than you," he said, gesturing towards Hutch, "and had dark hair. I didn't look too close at him or nothing."
    "Not good with remembering faces are you?" Starsky asked, the question almost rhetorical. Stepping closer to the bartender and leaning casually on his shoulder.
    "Look, he wasn't a customer of mine. I'd never seen him before. I *swear* it. Will you get off my back already?"
    Hutch looked at him a moment, letting him squirm under the scrutiny. "For now," Hutch told him. "But we'll be seeing you again, Chuckles."
    Starsky and Hutch left the bar and stepped out into the bright afternoon sunshine.
    "I think he was telling the truth." Starsky said, though wished the thought differently just to be able to vent some of his tension. He also wished they hadn't been on duty so he could've taken himself a drink.
    "Yeah, me too," Hutch agreed. "But where does that leave us? Unless they find my car *before* he ditches it."
    "Doubtful. Though with the way your car runs it won't be long before it's ditched. For once I'm glad we weren't using my car."
    Hutch gave him a look, but not harshly. He was used to cracks about his car and the haunted look he'd seen in Starsky's eyes back in the dead girl's apartment was still fresh in his mind. "Come on. We can't do much but wait for something. Let's hitch a ride with a black-and-white back to the precinct and grab some lunch."
    "Okay." Starsky said grinning at the thought of food. His earlier fears seeming to have vanished at the mention of eating lunch.
    They sat across from each other at their desks, the wrappers from the burgers and fries they were munching on spread out among the files and reports that littered their workspace. They ate while flipping through papers and discussing possible different angles they might approach the case by, not coming up with much but trying their damnedest. They were peripherally aware of the Squad Room door opening, but didn't look up from their working lunch. Until a flashbulb went off in their direction. Hutch's eyes snapped up to see Peter Brighton, a reporter for the Herald, holding a camera and coming towards them. He had a pad of paper stuffed in his shirt pocket.
    Hutch put down his burger in disgust. "How did you get in here?"
    Starsky didn't remain as passive as his partner, he was to his feet almost the instant the flash went off, and he grabbed the camera and roughly yanked it away from the reporter. He glared at the reporter angrily. "What do you think you're doing in here?" he snarled, almost as though he had never heard Hutch ask the reporter virtually the same question.
    Hutch jumped to his feet as Starsky ripped the camera from the reporter's hands. "Starsk…" The reporter, who'd had a pretty smug look on his face coming in, seemed somewhat taken aback. Hutch barely glanced at him. "Starsk, calm down," he said, worried his partner's temper might get him into trouble.
    "I came to ask you a few questions about this case, that is so similar to the Simon Marcos killings. Since you worked both cases I was wondering if you think they're related."
     "We don't have any reason to think so," Hutch said, jumping in to keep Starsky out of the conversation. He kept one concerned eye on his partner, but not obviously. Concealing his annoyance, he did his best stern detective act for the reporter. "For all we know this could be a copycat killing or even some completely different psychopath with a deceivingly similar M.O."
     "Isn't it true that these victims were murdered in the exact fashion that Marcos's followers attempted to kill Detective Starsky, after kidnapping him?"
    "That's none of your damn business." Starsky growled.
    "Do you think there will be nine victims again and then another attempt on Detective Starsky's life?" The reporter asked, seemingly happy about the obvious emotional effect these questions had on the dark-haired detective.
     "What's the matter, Brighton? Slow news week? You know as well as we do that Sergeant Starsky's abduction had nothing to do with Marcos' other nine victims. If you have to fabricate news, why don't you go somewhere else and waste some other person's time? We're busy." He had come around the desk as he spoke and now, with a hand on Starsky's side, he steered his partner into Captain Dobey's office, shutting the door on Brighton's face and effectively ending the conversation.
     Starsky was mumbling under his breath his head hung down staring absently at the floor as he tried hard to remain calm, not wanting to have a break down in Captain Dobey's presence.
    Dobey was surprised to see them. He hadn't sent for them, and they hadn't knocked.  "What's going on?" he asked, noticing Starsky's agitation and Hutch's annoyance.
    "Peter Brighton's in the Squad Room," Hutch informed him. "Stirring things up."
    "What?" Dobey said. "How'd he get in there?" He picked up the phone and yelled at the first person he got on it. "There's a reporter in the Squad Room. Somebody get him out of there and *keep* him out!"
    Hutch looked at Starsky. He seemed to be recovering himself. Hutch put a reassuring hand on his shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze.
    "How the hell did he get all that information ... I mean they just found the bodies ... hell Bubbles's body was barely even cold and ..." Starsky said his voice started out as a whisper but by the end he was yelling.
    Hutch shook his head. "These scumbags have their sources. You *know* that," he said firmly. "What's important now is putting a lid on this thing before they can get too carried away with it. We have to find the killer and end it."
    "How? We were so close and then ..."Starsky paused. "If she was killed there how come there was no blood?"
    Hutch's eyes widened slightly. "You're right." Inwardly he kicked himself. He should have seen that. Might have if he'd been paying closer attention. But he'd been focused on the fleeing suspect and Starsky. "The bartender said he saw a guy enter. By himself. If that's the case, then it's pretty likely he's not the one we're after. Hell, he might have run because he thought *we* were the killers."
    "She could've been dead longer. Her and the other girl may have been killed at the same time." Starsky said, sounding like a detective who had no emotional involvement in the case (or what the case seemed like). "The killer probably butchered them both at the same place then left their bodies to be found in separate places. Which means there could be more bodies we haven't even found yet." Starsky sounded completely emotionally detached, his voice almost chilling to hear.
    "There could be," Hutch conceded, clearly hoping there weren't. "They weren't found *that* far apart. Bubbles may even have been taken from the room where she was found. Is there anywhere in that area where somebody could... do that," he said with difficulty, unable to put it blunty, "without being noticed?"
    "There's the warehouses. Lotta 'em are empty."
    They were starting to get excited. Not in a giddy, happy kind of way, but in the way that they always got excited when they thought they might break a case. Hutch turned to Dobey. "We need a list of all the warehouses down by the pier that are currently being used... legitimately, I mean. And then we need a whole bunch of black-and-whites to help search the ones that *aren't* on that list."
    Dobey picked up the phone without hesitating, and started barking orders.
    Hutch turned to his partner. "Let's get down there and see if we can't sniff something out ourselves in the meantime."
    "Yeah, let's go partner." Starsky said, hurrying out the door, without even waiting for Hutch.
    He didn't stop until he reached the parking garage then looked around in confusion, not seeing his car nor Hutch's car.
    "Uh, Starsk?" Hutch said, strolling up behind his partner. "My car was stolen and your car's at home, remember?"
    "Stolen?" Starsky thought about it for a minute. "Of course I remember. Why would I forget something like that? Why anyone would want to steal your car is beyond me though."
    Hutch rolled his eyes, but was inwardly glad that Starsky had regained some of his good humour. "Well, maybe if we ask one of the uniforms really nicely, they'll take us to go pick up your car."
    "Yeah." Starsky agreed. "You know if they don't find your car that means you can finally get a new one ... and maybe this time you'll get a good one." he grinned brightly at his partner, going through yet another mood swing.
    "Yeah, and we can get our exercise in today when your car breaks down halfway to the warehouse district and we have to walk."
    "It won't break down." Starsky said, defensively. "If you hate my car so much then don't bother getting in to it in the first place."
    "Starsk, will you calm down? It was *my* idea to take it, wasn't it?" Hutch said a little impatiently. He understood what     Starsky was going through, but he was tired of being the one standing close enough to keep getting his head bit off when he wasn't expecting it. Immediately he feared he'd spoken too harshly, however, and waited for his partner's reaction.
    "*Always* is your idea, ain't it, Hutchinson? No matter what the idea is it's always *your* idea."
    Hutch spun around and grabbed his partner's upper arms and held him hard. "Alright. Enough," he said, locking his eyes on Starsky's. "I know this is hard on you, but you have to get a grip. There's a very good chance we could run into these goons down there, and we need to both be thinking. I need you *thinking*. So take a deep breath, count to ten... whatever it takes to focus long enough for us to do this thing, okay?" It occurred to him that if he'd been in some old movie, he might have slapped Starsky across the face and that would have been enough. Starsky would say 'Thanks, I needed that,' and they'd go beat the bad guys and ride off into the sunset. They remained for a moment, eyes locked and not speaking, and Hutch realized, in his need to protect his partner from doing something rash, in his fear, how tightly he was gripping Starsky's arms. Slowly, he released his grip.
    "Sorry." Starsky muttered quietly. He lowered his eyes to the ground for a moment before looking up to meet Hutch's pale blue eyes. "I didn't really mean that ... well I kinda did just not that way." Starsky paused for a moment. "Just lately. I can't sleep at night and it ain't 'cause the heat neither, it's the dreams." he admitted. He placed a hand on Hutch's shoulder. "You don't have to worry about me zoning out if we run into the bad guys. I would never allow anything to happen to you, Hutch."
    "I know," Hutch said quietly. "Sorry I went off on you. Come on - we should get our sorry asses over there before those bad guys get away."
    "Hey, all's fair in love and war, right?" Starsky asked, and gave a small smile. "I practically bite your head off just for suggestion my car might stop running."
    Hutch smiled. "I guess we'll see, won't we?"
    A half hour later the Torino purred into the middle of a row of warehouses. There were no other vehicles in immediate view. Hutch looked out the window, trying to sight any sign of life.
    "Is it just me or does it seem too quiet?" Starsky asked, glancing over at Hutch for a moment before going back to watching the buildings.
    "Hard to tell on an abandoned slab of concrete. It's not exactly crawling with life on a good day." He looked around, then pointed to an alley that led, presumably, to the next row of warehouses. "Try down there," he suggested.
    Starsky turned the Torino down the narrow alleyway, wishing they'd see anything, even if it was only a cat wandering around outside one of the buildings searching for a mouse. Something anything other than this lifelessness. He hated it as bad as he hated being in the woods - almost.
    Hutch was watching everything around him, almost hyper-aware of his surroundings. Suddenly something caught his eye.     "Starsk, stop the car!"
    Starsky obeyed without question, bringing the car to a quick stop (which wasn't really all that fast considering the slow speed they had been going) and waited for his partner to tell him what he had seen.
    Hutch opened the door and slipped out of the car. The was standing directly infront of the sliding metal door of one of the warehouses and squinted at the small stain that had fleetingly caught his eye. He turned to where Starsky sat patiently behind the wheel. "Blood," he said. There was no need to elaborate. Really, that had been what they were looking for.
    Starsky climbed out of the car and stepped over to the spot Hutch was looking at. "Looks fresh."
    Hutch nodded almost absently. A hundred scenarios were going through his mind. He reached into the car and picked up the CB. "This is Zebra-3. We need backup at Warehouse..." he looked up at the building. The number, in faded green paint, was legible high on the wall. "...37 in the Waterson district. And send an ambulance too." He replaced the CB and drew his gun.
    Starsky followed Hutch's example drawing his own gun. "Think there's a back door?"
    "Why don't we just mosey on around the side of the building and take a look?" Hutch said, peeking cautiously around the corner. Nobody was to be seen.
    Starsky nodded and cautiously stepped around the building, his gun held at ready, knowing Hutch was right behind him without even having to look.
    As they got about half-way down the wall, there was a small wooden door. They moved to either side of it, each instinctively knowing where the other would be. Hutch nodded, and Starsky kicked the door in. Starsky’s chest felt tight as they entered the building, almost fearful of what they would find. It was something he never got used to, seeing the grisly scene of a murder. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, the first thing Hutch noticed was the array of items lying around. Rope. Assorted weapons. Tarpaulin. A couple of robes. But no people. Either they were hiding, or he and Starsky had lucked out and shown up when nobody was home.
    "Looks like this is the place alright," Hutch commented quietly to his partner.
    Starsky nodded in agreement, not trusting his voice at the moment. The first thing he moved towards was the robes, the black robes, that were folded neatly. He picked one up with shaky hands and unfolded it, dropping it the second he saw the red symbol on the fabric.
    Just then a shot rang out from above them, just narrowly missing Hutch's head. He grabbed Starsky and hauled him down beside him, behind a metal table. "Looks like someone's home after all," Hutch said, checking his gun before reaching up and firing blindly in the direction of the shots.
    "Yeah ..." Starsky said, pausing a moment to fire off a couple of his own shots. "Sorry, Hutch."
    Hutch looked at him. "What for?" he asked, genuinely confused. He turned from Starsky a moment to fire again. They were pinned down. Hopefully that backup would arrive soon.
    "'Cause I kinda zoned out on ya again. Didn't bother to take it easy and see if anyone was here before charging over to look at the evidence."
     "Well, in fairness to you, that's where my attention was too. Anyway, it's completely dark up there," Hutch said, squinting hard, trying to get a look at who was up there, or, if nothing else, if there was more than one. "Only way we'd have seen them up there is if we'd gone up there and tripped over them."
    "It is them ... it's Marcos
    Hutch nodded. He knew that symbol well, that upside down cross that was sown on the robes that they'd found on the table. There was a scuffling behind them and Hutch started and spun around. A young woman with long, curly black hair had crept up behind them with a knife. Starsky heard the noise, too, and spun around, his gun aimed at the woman, his hand trembling - not wanting to have to kill her.
    "Hello again, Detective Starsky. Nice of you to bring along a friend this time." A voice called out from the shadows.
    "Listen," Hutch said, loudly so everyone in the warehouse could hear. "Our backup is on its way. Pretty soon this whole place is going to be surrounded. You're *caught*. Don't make this harder on yourselves by trying to kill a couple of cops!"
    "You haven't caught anything Detective. Has he Starsky?"
    Starsky just looked at Hutch and shrugged.
    Hutch looked at Starsky. They wanted him. They couldn't have him. Starsky was keeping his gun trained on the woman.     Hutch turned around and tried to catch a glimpse of what was going on infront of them. "What are you trying to accomplish? Simon Marcos is in prison and he's staying there. There's nothing you can do that will change that. Give yourselves up!" He knew it sounded lame, but he had to stall them. Keep them talking until reinforcements arrived.
    "I thought you were suppose to be the smart one Hutchinson." The cult members began to chant "Simone"
    Starsky's grip on his gun wavered slightly and he came close to dropping it. He closed his eyes tightly for a moment. At first his voice was too mumbled for Hutch to tell he was saying anything, then the words (or rather word) became clear. Starsky's voice was a whisper but still Hutch could hear as Starsky joined in the chanting, his gun moving to a new target - Hutch.
Hutch's eyes widened as it occurred to him what was happening. He kept his gun pointed at the hidden people on the other side of the table, in the darkness. His free hand he held towards Starsky, palm open, pleading. "Starsk" Starsky didn't seem to even recognize him. "Starsk! Snap out of it!"
    Starsky's eyes were glassy, and he didn't even seem to hear Hutch.
    "Simone dreamt of this moment. Dreamt of this revenge," the voice in the shadows informed Hutch.
    Hutch and Starsky were huddled close enough together behind the table that Starsky had barely had to move the gun to point it at Hutch. Hutch reached out and cupped Starsky's chin in his hand, forcing his partner's eyes to his own.
    "Starsky," he said softly. "I know you're in there. Come back to me. Don't let Simon Marcos take you like this."
    "He is one of us." The voice told Hutch. "He has been for a while now he was here for the rituals." It was hard to tell if this was a lie or if it was true. "Now it's your turn. The white knight's turn to die."
    "I don't believe you!" Hutch shouted at the invisible voices that seemed to be lurking just inside the darkness all around them.  "I've seen your brain washing at work, but I *know* him! You couldn't make him take part in this."
    "Stand up." the voice ordered.
    Starsky quickly obeyed, his gun still pointed at Hutch. Hutch stayed crouched on the ground, waiting to see what the next move was in this sick game of theirs. He simply watched and waited. He barely glanced at the gun Starsky was pointing at him. Starsky wouldn't kill him - of that he was certain. He was more concerned about those people in the dark.
    "You were told to stand." Starsky said flatly, reaching down to grab Hutch by the arm and roughly haul him to his feet.
    He didn't resist being pulled to his feet. He stood, looked around him, but still could not see the faces of the real perpetrators.     "Well?" he said impatiently to the faceless forms. "What are you waiting for? Why the games? END IT!" He had been waiting for the other shoe to drop and had decided it needed a nudge. He knew he was being foolish, but that hollow look in Starsky's eyes was beginning to truly frighten him.
    “You'll die the death that was meant for your partner. You stopped his death so now you must take his place." the cold voice informed him.
    The black-haired woman offered Starsky the knife and he took it in his free hand before holstering his gun.
    "Put on the robes. Both of you." the shadowy voice ordered.
    Hutch looked at Starsky, his eyes hard and intense. "Not you," he said to him. "You know how I know? Because I'm the one that saw the look in your eyes in that dead hooker's bedroom. Remember that? *I* was there. Not them. You're not a killer. Let them do their own dirty work," he said. All he wanted was to poke one little hole in the cloak Marcos' people had somehow managed to wrap around his partner's mind. One little hole and Starsky would be able to tear his way out. They may not escape - they were vastly outnumbered - but at least it wouldn't have to be like this.
     "Put it on." Starsky told Hutch, as he moved to put on his own robe, pausing as if to be sure Hutchinson obeyed first. His dark blue eyes didn't seem to be focusing on anything in particular they just kept scanning the room.
His approach clearly wasn't working. He took the robe from Starsky, went to put it on, then suddenly grabbed Starsky by the wrist of his knife-wielding hand, twisting it sharply and forcing him to drop the weapon. He cringed inwardly as he did it, but knew he had no option. If he couldn't talk Starsky out of his trance, he would have to force Marcos' hand. In the same smooth movement with which he'd forced the knife out of his partner's hand, he grabbed Starsky's other shoulder with his free hand and shoved him against the nearby wall, knocking the wind out of him.
    "Maybe the white knight really isn't so pure after all." the voice in the shadows said seemingly happy at the turn of events.
    "Yeah real slick move." Starsky mumbled too quiet for anyone, except someone standing *right* next to him would hear.
    Hutch had to *force* himself not to look at Starsky with an obvious expression of disbelief and enormous relief. Starsky's whispered tone meant he had something in mind and Hutch, without even thinking about it, instinctively ran with it. He looked over his shoulder at where the voice had come from, then, feigning surprise at his own actions, let down his guard over Starsky enough to signal the other detective to make his move.
    "Let's see what you got, blondie. A few bumps or bruises before he ceremony won't make much a difference at all." Starsky said.
    Hutch let go of Starsky's shirt and the two of them squared off. Starsky grabbed Hutch and threw him back a couple feet, moving them slowly in the direction of the door - without being obvious about it. Hutch put his hands up, as if to defend himself, as the two men circled around each other. The robed figures, faceless splotches in the dark, started chanting. When Hutch and Starsky had, for all intents and purposes, traded places, Hutch gave Starsky a rough shove. Once again, in the general direction of the door. One of the hooded figures near the table they had hidden behind kicked the knife towards Starsky. It skidded to a halt when it hit his blue Adidas sneaker. Starsky glanced at the knife for a moment, then back at Hutch. His eyes almost asking Hutch if he trusted him enough for him to pick up the knife. He didn't want to take a chance like that if Hutch wasn't convinced this was just a charade ... a tactic they had often used - fake a fight to escape. Hutch's gaze didn''t waver. He hadn't thought Starsky would kill him even when he thought Marcos had somehow gotten to him, he certainly wasn't afraid of him now. If he didn't pick up the knife, the cult psychos would get suspicious. Hutch was just grateful that they knew each other so well that they didn't need to talk to tell each other what they needed to do. Tacitly, he told him to pick it up with a simple defiant raise of his chin. Starsky bent down and picked up the knife. He slowly circled Hutch, flicking the knife slightly as though threatening to cut Hutch, but never came close. He circled Hutch twice, then swung the knife in "dramatized" arc towards Hutch's middle, knowing that this move would cause Hutch to move back. Hutch jumped backwards on cue, avoiding the blade as it whizzed past his stomach and, with his hands out infront of him, to 'protect' him, he waited for Starsky to swing at him again. Starsky took a couple steps forward, not having to tell Hutch to step backwards in sync with his movements. The show was good, and so realistic that nobody doubted Starsky's attempt to injure his partner - after all it was what Simone had dreamed. Starsky swung the knife again, in a controlled stabbing movement. He was careful to judge the distance between them so he didn't accidentally cut Hutch. Hutch was so involved in the intense, improvised choreography he and Starsky were performing, that it came as somewhat of a surprise when his back slammed into the wall beside the door. He pressed himself against the wall, still playing the fearful victim, and waited for Starsky to give him the signal.
    Starsky raised the knife and lunged at Hutch, he slammed the knife into the wall next to Hutch's head as he leaned in close to his partner. In the same movement he opened the door they stood next to. He grabbed Hutch and shoved him through the open door first. Hutch kept a handful of Starsky's shirtsleeve in his hand and hauled him through the door behind him, just to make sure he made it. As he swung Starsky around him, he grabbed the door a threw it shut.
    Then he noticed the sound - the faint wail of sirens. The backup they'd called for... it seemed like hours ago. An eternity ago. Before they'd entered the warehouse. Hutch realized he was still clutching Starsky's sleeve and slowly let go. Part of him was waiting for hundreds of cult members to come pouring through the door with blunt instruments to quickly mob them to death just before help arrived.
    Starsky dropped the knife and leaned his head against Hutch's shoulder, in a gesture that both drew and gave comfort. "Sorry." he appologized quietly.
    Hutch rested his arm across Starsky's back and laid his hand in Starsky's hair. "I just hope we're out of the woods now. Don't you think they've gone awfully quiet all of a sudden?" he said, glancing over his shoulder at the closed door.
    "Don't care. As long as they stay in there away from us." Starsky said, even though he knew they could've snuck out the other doors and escaped. He raised his head slightly so he could look Hutch in the eyes, but didn't pull away. "I would never have hurt you. I'd die before I'd hurt you." He wasn't normally one for 'soapy scenes' but this was something he felt that needed to be said.
    "I know," Hutch said quietly. "That was the only thing I was sure of in there."
Several black and whites pulled up then, accompanied by a few unmarked cars.
    Dobey himself stepped from one of the unmarked cars. "Where have you two been? We've been trying to get you on the radio!"
    Hutch stepped towards him. "Take it easy Cap'n. We just barely escaped from those lunatics. They were in there," he said, pointing to the warehouse. "What the hell took you so long, anyway?"
    Dobey realized how near the miss must have been this time, for Hutchinson to be in such a surly mood at the crime scene. He figured something must have happened to Starsky. Starsky looked okay though, for the most part. No worse than he'd looked all week. Must have been a close call. "We couldn't *find* the place, Hutchinson," he informed him in his Captainest tone, though his heart wasn't in the scolding. "That's *why* we were trying to raise you on the radio. What were you two thinking, going in there all by yourselves anyway!?"
    "The same thing as always we were thinking about - doing our job." Starsky said defensively. "We called for backup and went in to investigate. Not *our* fault that nobody else knows their way around."
    "Not to mention the fact that at the *time*, we didn't even know if anyone was in there or not!" Hutch added.
    Dobey listened to their arguments as he signaled the uniforms to surround the warehouse and cover the entrances. He pretty much knew that was the sort of thing they would say, but he wouldn't be doing his job, or his duty by them, if he let them think
he actually approved of them taking those kind of risks. He sighed. "Alright, alright. Well, if they're in there, then they're ours now."
    "And if they went out another door?" Starsky asked, the question was asked more to Hutch then it was Dobey. Starsky was still staying close to Hutch, because at the moment he felt Hutch was the only thing between him and a nervous breakdown. It seemed the terror of Marcos' cult was never ending.
    The uniformed policemen had started going in, systematically and carefully. "We'll soon see," Dobey said.
    "Captain..." Hutch started. Dobey looked at him. "It was Simon Marcos' people," he finished simply.
    Dobey nodded, unable to help a glimpse at Starsky. In a couple of minutes, the uniforms started bringing out prisoners. They watched with some relief, but had no way of knowing if any had escaped. They'd had no clue as to how many there were or what any of them looked like - besides the dark-haired woman, of course.
    Starsky watched the people being led out, watching for anyone who looked familiar - he felt he'd know if he saw the man from the shadows but didn't see anyone who looked at all familiar. He vaguely wondered how or if they would tell Dobey how they managed to escape - or the fact that he, even if it was only for a brief moment, had been one of the cult. He still wasn’t sure how that had happened. All he knew was he had been until the shadowy voice had said that Hutch was going to die the death he was meant to.
    Dobey turned to the two run-down looking detectives. "Listen, you two. Looks like we have this in hand. Why don't you call it a night and you can come in and do the paperwork in the morning. You look like you could use some rest."
    "Yeah, I'm exhausted." Starsky said, though he wasn't sure if sleep would come after everything that had happened. "C'mon, Hutch, let's go home."
    They walked over to the Torino, and Hutch understood how thoroughly exhausted his partner was - Starsky said nothing in protest when Hutch got behind the wheel. He shuffled around to the passenger side and flopped into his seat. Hutch started the engine and steered them away from the warehouse district, towards Starsky's apartment.
    "Hope we finally got 'em all." Starsky said, he doubted he could handle going through it a third time. Even though this time had not seemed so bad, he figured that was probably because Hutch had been with him every step of the way. He hadn't gone through the same terrifying ordeal he had been through at the zoo - when by the time morning came he was sure that he was going to die.
    "Maybe we at least got enough of them. Simon's goons don't have the benefit of his 'leadership' anymore. Hopefully now we'll be shut of them."
    "Hope so." Starsky said and yawned widely. He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, suddenly feeling relaxed enough to get some much needed sleep. "Wake me when we get there."

~The End~