Chapter Two
“So what do you think?”
“I’m not sure we can save her.”
“There’s so much damage – she might not be salvageable.”
“Don’t say that, man – there’s always hope!”
Hutch watched as Merle, his nephew Anthony, and Merle’s mechanics examined the Torino. They reminded him of a team of doctors going over a trauma patient.
“The back panels are rusted – floorboards too – “
“Gonna have to rip out the electrical system.”
“This is abuse of the worst kind!” Merle shook his head. “Damn shame is what it is!”
“Merle, can you restore the car or not?” Hutch interrupted.
“I don’t know, Starskinson.” Merle reached down into the engine and pulled out a dried up bird’s nest. “That boy shoulda never let this car go.”
“I know.” Leaning on a tool rack, Hutch sighed. “You know he didn’t want to – it was a money thing.”
“He shoulda come to me! We’d have figured something out.”
“Pride, Merle.”
After Starsky had been forced onto disability – medical retirement, the BCPD liked to call it – his income had dropped to around half of what it had been. He wasn’t able to hold down a job for any length of time, and his weakened system was vulnerable to any virus that he came into contact with.
Hutch remembered rushing Starsky to the hospital more than once with a high fever. Pneumonia had put him into the hospital twice in the first year after he’d been shot. And without Workman’s Comp, the co-pays and deductibles fell into their laps.
His own stupid move of quitting the force hadn’t helped the situation. Minimum wage jobs barely paid his own bills, let alone Starsky’s. Even when they’d moved into a small two bedroom apartment to pool their money – the bills had continued to pile up. And more and more the Torino had become a liability they couldn’t afford.
A few months before the shooting, Starsky had taken out a loan on the car to put a new engine in it after the other one had been stolen. The insurance company hadn’t been willing to pay the cost for anything beyond the cost of the standard engine that was supposed to be in a 1976 Torino.
The insurance company had also refused to take Starsky off of high rate coverage, despite his no longer being a cop, and barely driving. Both the loan payments and the insurance were more than their budget could take. After a year and a half, things were coming to a dangerously low point.
Hutch had come in from work one night – he couldn’t even remember which crappy job he’d had at the time – to find the Torino gone. Starsky wouldn’t tell him who he’d sold it to or where it was. They’d argued over it and Hutch had even gotten back into his car to cruise the local car lots looking for it. But the Torino had been nowhere to be found.
The real irony was that two weeks later, Starsky had dropped by Ginger Evan’s dance studio for a visit and ended up with a job. His salary plus the generous tips from his – or rather Ramon’s – students had more than made up the gap in their finances. Starsky had gone back to the car lot he’d sold the car to, but the Torino was gone, and they’d never seen it again.
“We can fix her.” Merle interrupted his musings. “It’s gonna cost a bit – I’m gonna cut you as much slack as I can, Starskinson – I know how much this car meant to Starsky.”
“I do, too.” Hutch smiled. “I wouldn’t have let him get rid of it.”
“This car was a fine piece of machinery. Not my best work – “ Merle patted a rusted fender. “But very fine.”
“All my cars were just cars. I must have had two or three LTD’s.”
“Crap brown and shit gold, as I recall.”
“True.” Laughing, Hutch walked over to where the Torino rested on blocks. “They were sturdy – and they made Starsky gripe.”
“Half the fun?” The older man laughed.
“Yeah. Then I had Belle.” The little Nash Rambler had been an impulse buy, and he’d quickly tired of her. “She wasn’t cut out for police work.”
“Starsky told me she ran off with a Maserati.”
“That was his joke.”
Merle chuckled. “That’s what happens with exotic women.”
“Any idea what this is going to cost?” Hutch had already earmarked a portion of the money he’d set aside from his occasional photography sales; he just hoped it was enough.
“Well, I can give you a ballpark figure.” The mechanic started listing the costs.
The figure made Hutch’s jaw drop. “That’s not a ballpark – that’s the whole damn league!”
“Hey, there’s a lot of work here. The body – the wiring – “ The other man pointed to the mess under the hood. “Engine – transmission – “
“Okay, I get it! I get it!” He held his hands up in defeat. “I’ve got maybe half of that. Let’s get started and I’ll get the rest.” Somehow. “And, Merle, this is our secret – don’t tell Starsky.”
Merle looked at him for a long moment, until Hutch began to feel uncomfortable. Then the older man held out his hand. “You’re a good friend, Starskinson.”
Shaking Merle's hand, Hutch blinked several times. “Thank you.”
“Go on, now, I got work to do.” Turning to his crew, Merle began shouting orders. “Get that piece of crap motor outta there! See what we can save – probably nothin’. And Lonnie, rip them seats out. They aren’t fit for trash!”
Hutch watched for a moment before walking out of the garage. He didn’t know how he’d get the money, but he’d get it.
“Hey, I’ve been telling you that you can make a bundle taking pictures. I know people – “
“Huggy, the last ‘people’ you set me up with wanted pictures – “ Hutch leaned back in the booth. “They wanted pictures I’m not willing to take.”
“That was a misunderstanding.” Huggy smiled and shrugged. “The man said tasteful art photos – how was I to know?”
“With a name like Long Larry?”
“Hey, I made a mistake. But this – “ He tapped the business card he’d laid on the table. “Strictly on the up and up.”
“Karen’s Modeling Agency.” Hutch studied the card. “You’re sure she’s not fronting for a massage parlor or escort service?”
“Perish the thought. My cousin, Tatiana, is one of her models.” Pulling out his wallet, Huggy showed Hutch a picture. “She needs a portfolio and asked me if I knew a photographer who was affordable. Naturally, I thought of you.”
“She’s a pretty girl.” The girl in the snapshot was tall and slender, with creamy chocolate skin. “She could be a model.”
“All the girls need portfolios.” A twinkle of mischief lit the dark brown eyes. “And a photographer who won’t ask them to take their clothes off.”
“I wouldn’t – “ He laughed as he realized the trap he’d walked into. “I guess photographers don’t have spotless reputations either.”
“There’s art and then… there’s art.”
“You know… Starsky needed pictures when he was working for Ginger.” Hutch rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip thoughtfully. “Ginger likes her instructors to have eight by ten glossies to give away.”
“I got one of those myself.” Turning, Huggy pointed at a picture on the wall behind the bar. “Maybe I can blackmail him one of these days – threaten him with that cheesy mustache he was wearing.”
“At least it was real this time.” How anybody was fooled by that pasted on scrap of hair when they were undercover – that was a bigger mystery than the one they’d solved. “I don’t think you can blackmail him with it, Hug, he was pretty proud of it.”
“I gotta admit, he looked good. All that dancin’ got him back into shape.”
“Tell you a secret – “ He leaned across the table and motioned Huggy closer. “Starsky still goes down there and gives lessons once a week.”
“No kiddin’?”
“No kiddin’. He practices at her studio three times a week, too.” Hutch grinned. “I’d go – but he won’t let me lead.”
Huggy sat back. “You’re puttin’ me on.”
Laughing, Hutch sat back and took a drink of his beer.
“Oh, it’s so good to see you, Kenneth!”
“You too, Miss Ginger.” Hutch grunted as she hugged him.
“You simply must come to see me more often!” Ginger stepped back and tapped his cheek with a fingertip. “Saturday we’re having a ballroom dancing contest – Ramon is going to be there, you know.”
“He told me.”
Ginger had always called Starsky Ramon. She said Ramon was much more romantic than David. The movie star held a special spot in their hearts, and neither of them would break hers by not going along with her.
“I keep telling him when he gets tired of selling those cars – “ She swept over to the small table at one side of her apartment and sat down. “He can come back to work for me. Ramon will always be a sexy man.”
“Ah…” Not sure how to answer that, Hutch carefully sat down on the other spindly chair.
Starsky had stumbled into car business when he went to buy a car to replace the Torino. He’d ended up helping a young couple pick out a good car and the manager had hired him on the spot. Miss Ginger had been more than a little upset to lose Ramon. His regular students even more so.
“Some men lose it with age.” She winked. “But he just keeps getting sexier.”
“Ginger – Miss Evans – I wanted to ask you about the pictures your instructors have taken.”
“None as good as the ones you’ve done of Ramon.” Ginger held a hand to her chest. “And those beautiful shots you did of me for my fan club.”
“You liked those?” Good. That might make this easier.
“Liked them? Liked them? Oh, darling!” She grabbed his hand. “I loved them! Simply loved them!”
“Well, I was wondering – you see I’m thinking about becoming a professional – “ Hutch felt his face getting hot, and the old childhood stammer was trying to trip him up. “A professional photographer, and – “
“Oh, you must work for me!” Squeezing his hand, Ginger smiled at him. “All my instructors’ photos, my publicity stills – you must do them all!”
“I’d be happy to.” He winced. She was squeezing his hand hard enough to pulp flesh. “Ah… how much do you – normally pay?”
“Oh, my darling Kenneth.” Her sweet face turned predatory in a second. “You need an agent.”
“So we’re going with the 400?”
“No – weren’t you listening, Starskinson?” Merle shouted. “Too small – we need some get up and go!”
“Uh… the 427?” Hutch backed up a few feet and focused on the Torino’s newly primered body. The car lacked bumpers, door handles, mirrors and glass, and seats. But the body was now in one piece, all ready to be painted.
He snapped a shot of the front end. Merle had scrounged up four old tires and wheels from somewhere so that the car now sat firmly on the ground instead of up on blocks. “Wasn’t that – “
“427? 427?”
“Not a 427?” Hutch turned to look at Merle. The mechanic looked ready to spit nails. “437? 447?”
“A 427 is a Chevy – you can’t put it in a Ford!” He flung an arm out and pointed at his youngest nephew. “That was thickheaded Joel’s idea – the boy just ain’t right!”
“Ah… right… can’t do that.” Hutch set what he hoped was a serious look on his face. “You can’t put a Chevy motor in a Ford.”
“Exactly!” The other man said. “It’s just wrong!”
“It is. It’s wrong.” He agreed. “So we’re going with…”
“You don’t know anything about cars, do you, Starskinson?” Merle shook his head. “Just take some pictures and get out of my garage.”
“I don’t need to know anything about cars, Merle.” Angling around to get a shot of the Torino’s driver side, Hutch grinned. “I’ve got you – you know everything.”
“Damn straight.” Merle rested his hand on the primered fender and smiled as Hutch snapped a picture. “I saw those pictures you took of Tatiana.”
“Huggy’s cousin?”
“That’s her. Pretty little thing.”
“Do you think we can get her done by Christmas?” He leaned over the trunk and took a shot of the empty interior.
“I don’t think we can.” Merle walked over to the calendar hanging on the wall and flipped through the pages. “The engine’s gonna take some time… and the tranny…”
“Not enough time?” It was almost Halloween now.
“Don’t think so…” He turned another page. “By mid January maybe…”
Hutch looked over Merle's shoulder. He frowned at the pictures on the pages. Half naked women spread over car hoods and bent over fenders.
“Trashy, ain’t they?” The old man shook his head. “That’s all they know these days.”
One page had a girl standing with her legs spread and bending over the back of a car. With only a thong on – there was very little left to the imagination.
“That’s a bit much for my taste.” Hutch admitted. Even Starsky had been unhappy with the last few calendars he’d gotten from Merle. He couldn’t hang one in the den and risk his mother seeing it. “It’s supposed to be about the cars, Starsky says.”
“Exactly! And this thing – “ Merle jabbed a finger at the car. “Does that look like one of my cars?”
The car was a dark blue Chevy, chopped and lowered. It looked like any one of a thousand cars he might see cruising through Bay City. “Actually, no.”
“I told the guy I had cars all picked out – and he said he had cars already.”
“Maybe that’s why he has the Penthouse Pets?” Hutch chuckled. “To hide the fact that the cars aren’t anything special?”
“Boy, you said it.” He turned to look at Hutch. “You know, Starskinson… those pictures you took of Tatiana were real nice.”
“Ah – thanks.” The sudden shift in the conversation caught
him off guard. “She’s a pretty girl.”
“You know…” The other man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I got the cars – and you got the girls – why don’t you make me next year’s calendars?”
“I don’t have any girls. I – “ Then again, he did know a lot of young models who would love to have a paying job. “That’s an idea, Merle.”
“It’s a deal?” Merle stuck his hand out.
“Wait, wait – “ Hutch held his hands up. “I need to see if I can get a calendar printed – the pictures I can do – I’m not sure about the calendar.”
“You work it out.” He nodded. “Get back to me.”
“If – if – I can do this – “ If Ginger lets me. “Do you have eleven cars?”
“Eleven? Eleven? Where’d you go to school, boy? We need twelve!”
“Oh, I think we have our Miss March.” Hutch turned to look at the primered Torino.
The motor was eased through the opening and settled gently on the motor mounts. Hutch moved around Merle and the other mechanics, staying carefully out of their way as he snapped pictures.
It reminded him of a heart transplant somehow. Without an engine, the Torino was just a piece of metal. Soon, she’d have a rumble and growl to make other cars envy her. Hutch grinned at his thoughts. “Just a car, Hutchinson.”
He stepped back out of the way as the pulley and chains were swung back. “Can you start it?”
Merle turned and stared at him. “Not without divine intervention. There’s the wiring – hookin’ up the transmission – “
“That’s right.” He moved around Merle to take a shot down into the engine. “I got a little excited.”
“I’ll say.”
“When are you going to paint her?” The Torino was still an ugly primer gray. Merle wasn’t risking chipping the paint as they were putting the engine and transmission in.
“Les’see…” Merle rubbed his chin. “We’re gonna put in the rear end and run the wiring. Then over to the glass man – next week maybe.”
“I need to get the pictures to the printers by the twentieth. Miss March here is the only one who hasn’t had her picture taken.”
Hutch had taken shots of a bogus Miss March – both to slip into Starsky’s copy and just in case – but he’d much rather use the Torino.
“Excuse me.”
Hutch turned to see a woman walking toward him. She was mid to late thirties, tall, and attractive. He gave her his best smile. “Can I help you?”
“Well, I don’t know.” She smiled back at him. “I’ve seen you in here taking pictures of your car, and I wondered if you’d take some of mine.”
“It’s not my car. It’s my friend’s car.” She wants pictures of her car? Like a woman’s going to hit on me at a garage? His smile faltered a little. “Did you say you wanted me to take pictures of your car?”
“I’m restoring my old Camaro.” She turned and pointed at the car sitting two bays down from the Torino. “It was stolen and when I got it back it was completely stripped. It’d been left out in the weather, too. The interior was totally ruined.”
“What kind of pictures are you wanting? Before and after?”
“It depends, I guess.” She turned back to him, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “I’d like some taken of the whole process.”
“Let me get your number and – “ Over her shoulder, he saw Starsky walk into the garage. “Oh, no…”
“What?” She turned to look. “Do you know him?”
“Yes.” Hutch turned and waved frantically at Merle and then pointed at Starsky.
“Okay… just what kind of place is this?” She backed away from him. “If you guys are doing illegal stuff – I don’t want to know.”
“No, no, nothing like that.” He took her arm and led her back to her car. “We’re restoring Starsky’s old car – we don’t want him to find out.”
“That’s so sweet!” She smiled up at him.
“I’m going to get some shots of your car, okay?” He smiled back. “Cover for me?”
“Sure.” She smiled again.
“Hutch, hey, what are you doing here?”
Snapping a picture of the Camaro, Hutch turned and acted as if he were surprised to see Starsky. “I’m taking pictures. What are you doing here?”
“My brakes started grinding.” Starsky looked the woman over and smiled. “You’re taking pictures for…”
“He’s going to document the whole process.” She said helpfully.
“This your car?” He frowned. “Just a body?”
“They took everything else.” She ran a hand over the fender.
“Well, that’s just terrible. My name’s Dave, and you are?”
“Marie.”
“Well, Marie – “ Putting his arm around her shoulders, Starsky pulled her close. “I once had the engine stolen out of my car – sitting right on the city street, no less.”
“That’s awful!” Marie patted his shoulder. “Why don’t you come look at the parts book I bought? Maybe you can help me figure out how to fix him?”
“Be happy to, sweetheart.” He winked at Hutch as he walked away with her.
“Yeah, go on.” He gave Starsky a dirty look. “Here I am doing something for you, and you steal my girl.”
Merle edged up to him. “We got her covered up. Guess I’m gonna have to post a lookout.”
“Cheese it, the cops?” When Merle gave him a blank look, Hutch shook his head. “Never mind.”
“He might not recognize her without the paint – but if he looks at the VIN – “
“You think he’s going to remember the VIN number?” He stopped. This was Starsky they were talking about. “He’s probably got it tattooed over his heart.”
“Better than your ex-wife’s name.” Merle rubbed his chest.
“I wish we could have everything done by Christmas.” Hutch looked from Starsky to the camouflaged Torino.
“Can’t rush the job, Starskinson.” The older man slapped him on the back. “You want it done right, don’t you?”
Lifting the camera, he took a shot of the Torino covered with old drop cloths. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, Merle.”
“What are you doing?”
“I always sign my work, Starskinson.”
Hutch lowered the camera and walked over to where Merle was painting his name on the bottom edge of the primered hood with a small paint sprayer. “You paint your name on the cars?”
“Sure, why not?” Finishing with a flourish, Merle stood back to admire his work. “There’s gonna be three – maybe four coats of paint over it. Plus clear coat. Nobody but me knows it’s there.”
He snapped a picture of Merle's signature. “I guess an artist should sign his work.”
“You wanna sign?”
“Me?”
“Sure.” The other man handed him the sprayer. “Wasn’t for you – we wouldn’t be fixing her up.”
“I don’t know how to use this.” Hutch carefully took the sprayer.
“Nothing to it. Come here.” Merle led Hutch over to the wall. “It’s the one we use for pinstripes – fine line. Just pull the trigger and go.”
The wall was already covered in streaks of paint. Figuring he couldn’t do any real damage, Hutch pointed the spray gun at the wall and pulled the trigger. After a stuttering start, he was soon making sweeps and curls, eventually managing to write his name legibly.
“There you go – see how easy it is?”
“Yeah.”
“Well?” Merle put his hands on his hips. “Go on.”
Walking to the Torino, Hutch pondered the long gray hood for several moments. The words finally came to him, and he began to spray them onto the hood.
When he was done, Merle nodded and slapped him on the back. “Lights on, boys!”
“Wait a sec.” Hutch lifted the camera from where it dangled around his neck and focused carefully before snapping a picture.
“Turn the lights on!” Merle blinked as the powerful lights came on. “Come on, Starskinson, let her dry. Then we’ll hit her with her first coat.”
Shielding his eyes, Hutch patted the Torino’s fender before he followed Merle out of the paint room.
“Black? You painted it black?”
Hutch walked around the Torino. It was black from front to back and side to side. A shiny black – but still – “It’s supposed to be red!”
“First she has to be black.” Merle explained. “There’s a black edge to the stripe, remember?”
“No – yes – I don’t know!”
“There’s a black edge around the stripe – to help it stand out.”
“It needed help to stand out?” The damn thing could be spotted a mile away. How had they ever tailed anybody in it? “You had to paint the whole car?”
“Starskinson, you can’t just paint part of the car. It has to go on in layers – so it’s smooth.” Merle rubbed his hands over the fender. “If you don’t – then it ain’t smooth.”
“And people can tell?” Hutch glared at the car, but it was still black.
“Maybe you can’t tell. But I can tell. And Starsky?” He laughed. “He’d sure be able to tell.”
“I don’t doubt it.” Lifting the camera, Hutch began taking pictures of the not red Torino. “I’m sure he’ll be able to tell how many coats of paint are there when he sees it.”
“Yep.”
A thought struck him. “You’re not going to paint it all white now, are you?”
“Of course not!” Merle smiled and posed by the driver’s door. “Why the hell would I paint it white?”
“The stripe is white – “
“And only the stripe.” He shook his head. “We tape off and paint it white – nothing goes on top of it but more white and then the clear coat. Paint it all white and we lose the black edges.”
“That makes sense.” It didn’t, but the theory was giving him a headache. “It’ll end up red and white, right?”
“Get out of my garage!” Merle threw a shop towel at him.