Sincere thanks to Suzan.
Ken Hutchinson was pacing the apartment, unmistakably in one of his bordering-on-sullen moods. “I don’t want to go to Duluth, Starsk. It’ll be all phony Christmas shit, like when I was a kid.” He almost pouted. “Why can’t we go to Tahoe?”
“Oh, yeah, right.” Dave Starsky didn’t even try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “No phony Christmas shit in Tahoe, no siree, Bob!”
“At least, up there, they know it’s glitzy crap and commercialism.”
Starsky turned serious. “Listen to me for a minute, Hutch.” He caught his partner’s hand and pulled him down to sit next to him on the sofa. “I just have this feeling…”
