“Heart Song”

 

Chapter Two

 

 

š ›

 

The sound was familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it at first.  The buzzing in my ears was replaced by a roar, then a squeal, and I found myself face to face with my reflection in a mag rim.

 

Starsky’s blue Adidas came into view next; then I heard the familiar bark of his Baretta.  I know I heard his voice, but I couldn’t tell you what he said.  I felt him pull me upright, and saw the fear on his face, but then the darkness came.

 

š ›

 

I guess I wasn’t out for very long.  I think it was all the swerving Starsky was doing as we tore down the interstate that brought me around.  How he managed to stuff me in the back seat and drive away without getting us both killed is beyond me.   My gun and his Baretta had been tossed onto the seat next to me.  Starsky’s gun had taken a hit, possibly damaging it beyond repair.  Even if Starsky’s hand hadn’t been struck, I’ll bet it hurt like blazes.  I was about to push myself into a less painful position when a bullet shattered the rear window, showering me with glass splinters and fragmenting the windshield just to Starsky’s right. 

 

Starsky darted in and out of the rush hour traffic, scattering the other vehicles off the road.  Not only was he trying to elude whoever was chasing us, he was also trying to protect the other drivers from the gunfire, even if it meant sending them off the highway and into the desert. 

 

“I hope you’re driving like that on purpose.”

 

The look he gave me was anger mixed with relief, until he was forced to duck again when another shot slammed through the car.  “Sight came back just after you left.”

 

I strained my neck a bit to see his left hand.  The first two knuckles were swollen and bruised.  “How’d you get past Minnie?” 

 

He was about to answer when another bullet stuck the windshield, spider-webbing it further.

 

“How many?”

 

Starsky shrugged marginally.  “Three cars, I think.  Couldn’t stay at the diner, those whippos nailed my gun, and I emptied that elephant rifle of yours.  How you holding up?” 

 

We both knew that if he had taken the time back there to go searching my pockets for the Python’s extra rounds, we’d both be dead.  I took a deep breath and the pain in my arm burned across my chest. “I’ll live.  How did you-?”

 

I was interrupted by the radio.  “California Highway Patrol to Bay City Zebra Three.  Backup units en route, ETA six minutes.  State police have dispatched air patrol.  Helicopter ETA in five.  Do you copy?”

 

Starsky retrieved the microphone he had left on the seat by his side.  “This is Zebra Three.  Tell them to shake a leg, it’s getting ugly out here!  And make sure there’s an ambulance-”

 

Before he could finish, another shot flew into the Torino, this time obliterating the rear view mirror.  Starsky cursed and swerved in reflex as it shattered, driving splinters of glass into his face and throat. 

 

“Starsk!  You okay?”

 

He turned only marginally in my direction, but I could see the rivulets of blood beginning to stream down from his forehead and cheek.  “Just quit bleeding all over my leather seats or I’ll make you pay to have Merle clean them.”

 

He turned his focus back to the traffic ahead of him, which was thickening considerably, slowing us down.  We both cursed as bullets continued to slam into the back of the car.

 

“I hate to tell you this, Starsk, but they’re getting closer.”

 

He didn’t reply, but I could feel the tension roll off him.  Starsky quickly looked right then left, and obviously made a decision, because the next thing I knew we were bouncing off the interstate and onto the hard sands of the Mojave. 

 

Starsky grabbed the mic again as he swerved to miss a ravine.  “CHP control, this is Zebra 3.  We have left Interstate 15, just northeast of Barstow and are now heading due north.  We need assistance now!”

 

Starsky drove like a madman, dodging the plants, rocks, and gullies that would surely ground us.  I pushed myself up marginally and peered out the back window.  Two sedans were still hot on our tail.  There was a moment of static before the dispatch operator responded, “Come again, Zebra 3?  Did you say you were-?”

 

“I said we’re crossing the freakin’ desert, Control!  Get somebody out here before…” Starsky was silent for a moment before swearing again.  His voice dropped low so suddenly, I had to strain to hear it.  “Hutch…Hutch, we got a problem.”

 

“Tell me about it.”  I sank back into the seat, cradling my right arm against the bumps that sent my head spinning.   I didn’t know how much longer I could hang on before I passed out again.

 

“Hutch, I can’t-”

 

Starsky hit a good size rock, sending the Torino bucking to the right and nearly bouncing me off the seat onto the floorboards.  Starsky over-steered and almost sent the car into a slide.   

 

“Starsky, what the…” Then it hit me.  “No!”

 

He couldn’t see.

 

Starsky was pale, his sweat mixing with the blood still trailing down his face into his collar.  I leaned forward, intending on taking the wheel somehow, I guess.  A volley of gunfire slammed into the back of the passenger seat, forcing me back down.  Starsky began swerving the Torino to either side to throw off their aim, though we both knew it was simply a matter of time before he hit something that would disable us.  We only had one option really: keep moving until help came.  Stopping was a death sentence. 

 

I drew my legs up under me, preparing to push myself up over the seat to the front.  Starsky must have heard me shifting and felt my good arm pull at his seat.  “Don’t think about coming up here, you idiot!  You’re liable to get your butt shot off!”

 

I glared at the back of his head, then noticed how white his knuckles were, clenching the steering wheel.  “I don’t think we have much of a…”

 

His white knuckles on the steering wheel…

 

“Starsky!  Put your hands at ‘ten’ and ‘two!’”

 

“What?”  He did it anyway, trusting me, though he didn’t understand.

 

I shifted in my seat to see out the cracked windshield better, but kept low.  We hit something else, popping me right out of the seat, and it took me a minute to get the pain under control.  I must have cried out, because Starsky sounded panicked.

 

“Hutch?  Hutch, answer me!  Hutch?” 

 

“I’m still here, just give me a sec.”  The bleeding had started up again in earnest.  Once my vision cleared, I focused on the road ahead.  “Okay, Starsk, I can see your right hand.  Just follow the numbers…”

                                                            

I could make out another outcropping of rocks coming up before us.  “Seven.”

 

He started to turn the wheel to the left.  “Clockwise, Starsk!  Clockwise!” 

 

He compensated by hauling the steering wheel back to the right, stopping his right hand precisely at ‘seven o’clock.’  “Okay, now back to where you were.” 

 

His reactions were automatic and his trust in me unquestioning.  We bounced along like that for miles—and while it was only took minutes, it seemed like years with my hollering out directions as gunfire ripped into the body of the Torino, miraculously missing us.  Starsky’s reactions to my shouted instructions were flawless.  Unfortunately, my guessing how far he should turn the wheel to avoid striking everything from cactus to an abandoned car was less than perfect.  The first few turns I had him make almost spun us around ninety degrees and slowed us down considerably, giving the two sedans behind us a chance to catch up.  But once we hit an even stretch of desert, Starsky made the Torino fly and we put a little distance between them and us. 

 

We were coming up on an outcropping of rocks, and I was just about to tell him to steer to “four,” when Starsky’s head jerked to the side like he’d been stung.  Before I had a chance to ask, he cranked the wheel hard to the right, away from the boulders. 

 

“Sight back?”  I was hopeful.

 

Starsky kept his head tilted to the side, apparently—I guessed—trying to see around the spots again. 

 

“Kinda.”  He nodded curtly and cursed.  While we were both relieved, we knew we couldn’t rely on whatever vision he had.  I strained to look out the cracked windshield and yell out directions as best I could.  My own sight was fading fast in a red haze.  We probably weren’t out in the desert more than ten minutes now, but it seemed like an eternity. Where were the CHP?  I was growing fainter and prayed I wouldn’t black out. 

 

I was almost ready to believe we might actually outrun the bad guys when one of the shooters finally found his mark and blew out the left rear tire of the Torino, sending us careening.  Starsky lost control as we slid into a gully, the front right side of the car dropping into the ravine, stopping us dead in our tracks. 

 

We were targets with nowhere to go.

 

š ›

 

If we had bailed out on the protected side of the car, we would have dropped three feet into the ravine.  It would have made it like shooting fish in a barrel, and Starsky and I were the mackerels.

 

“If you’ve got any brilliant ideas, now’s the time to share them!”  Starsky hollered as DiAngelo and his men slid to a stop nearby.  I could see the dust raised by their cars.  Oddly enough, they didn’t pull their vehicles in too close to us, probably because they didn’t know that one of us was nearly blind, the other ready to pass out at any second, and only one weapon between us. 

 

“I was hoping you would.”

 

The sound was deafening, and the desert sand billowed up from the ground like flames.  Thank God! The highway patrol’s helicopter had found us and was putting itself in-between us and the bad guys.  I watched as the men who had just climbed out of their cars to finish us off got back in and tore away.  The helicopter stopped its descent and pursued them, its thrust pelting sand back at us through the broken windows hard enough to sting.  I wasn’t complaining though—it was a small price to pay for not ending up as some vulture’s dinner.

 

I sighed—or rather, groaned—as I slumped back in the seat.  “That was cl-”

 

More bullets sliced into the Torino.  Apparently, one of the cars had split away from the helicopter’s pursuit and came back for us.  They drove by close enough that I could see their faces clearly before I had to duck to keep from taking a bullet in the face.  It would only be a matter of seconds before they looped back for another strike, and this time they knew that we weren’t shooting back.  I frantically tucked the Python between my knees, grateful that my bullets were in my left pocket, because my right hand was in no shape to cooperate.  I was trembling so hard I kept dropping the bullets and only managed to get three into the chamber.  Starsky growled as he twisted in his seat toward me.  “Shoot the sons of…” He must have realized I was close to passing out.  “Give me your gun!”

 

Even left-handed, I should have been able to do some damage.  But my eyesight was beginning to fade in and out, and knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. 

 

“Here.”  It was all I could do to lift the Python in his direction.  He groped blindly until we connected; though we both knew there was no way he was going to be able to hit a moving target.  The best we could hope for was that he’d keep them at bay until the helicopter returned or the CHP units arrived.  With only three bullets, the odds weren’t good enough to even call it a long shot.

 

Starsky rested the barrel on the doorframe, the angle of the shot instinctively even with where the oncoming car’s body would be in seconds.  I could see him listening intently, sweat running down his face to mix with the dried blood.  I turned to get a better look as the sedan approached, a shotgun drawn up to the passenger’s face to sight us.  They were coming in close for the kill, and this would be our only chance.

 

Closer…closer…

 

“Now!”  Just as the sedan began the turn that placed it parallel to us, Starsky shot.  I don’t think either of us expected him to make a critical hit, but he did—the bullet found its deadly mark on their gas tank. 

 

The heat was incredible and the force from the blow rocked the Torino as the flaming wreckage barreled toward us.  I had a weird sense of déjà vu’ as Starsky scrambled out of the passenger side door, dropping on his face in the ravine.  He recovered quickly and got up to jerk the seat forward to get me out.  Flaming debris rained down on us as the burning sedan nestled up against the back of the Torino.  While we were safe for the moment, there was no telling if Starsky’s car would go at any second. 

 

He didn’t waste any time allowing me to move at my own pace.  Starsky grabbed my extended left arm and hauled me out of the car.  At least he kept me from dropping into the ravine.  I saw him grimace when I cried out in pain, but he kept the momentum going, and pulled me over his shoulder. 

 

I must have blacked out when he began staggering away from the vehicles, so I don’t know how long it took him to carry me out of harm’s way.  The last thing I remembered, I was laying on the ground, Starsky standing above me, his legs straddling my chest.  My Python was again thrust in front of him at an unseen foe with the sound of cars approaching us at a high speed. 

 

š ›

 

I think I groaned.  The pain in my arm and shoulder were gone, replaced by numbness.  I wasn’t sure that was a good sign, unless the loss of feeling was caused by heavy medication, not damage.  I cracked an eye open and looked around the room.

 

Room?

 

It was the unmistakable early American drab that most hospitals decorate in.  Sunlight streamed in from the room’s single window and under it sat my partner, reading a magazine.

 

Reading!

 

“Starsk?”

 

“Hey!”  Starsky’s smile lit up his face, all the way to his eyes.  Did that mean…?  He glanced at his watch.  “It’s about time you woke up.”

 

I tried to sit up and failed miserably.  He was at the foot of my bed instantly, turning the crank to raise me up.  Someday, somebody ought to invent a way to raise a bed without jerking that thing around like they’re trying to start a Model T.

 

The change in position made me a bit dizzy, but I smiled at the hopeful expression on his face anyway.  There were small, healing cuts on his cheek and forehead, and one had to be closed with a few stitches.  He held a magazine in his right hand, since the index finger on his left was obviously broken, evidenced by a splint and tape.  “So, what are you reading?”

 

“National Geographic, 1968.”

 

“Checking out the natives again?  Didn’t that get you kicked out of the fourth grade once?”

 

“Twice.”  Starsky sat on the side of my bed facing me.  “How you doing?”

 

I had no clue.  I felt lousy, but at least I was alive enough to know that I felt lousy.  “Like I got shot in the arm and dragged around the desert.  How long have you been reading?”

 

“Since I was five.” 

 

I wasn’t amused and I’m sure the expression on my face relayed that.  He sighed and shifted to a more comfortable position, which meant I had to move over and make room for his big caboose.

 

“Just after you passed out, the spots went away and everything was cloudy.  At least I could start to make out shapes and light and stuff again.  Lucky thing that Chippie turned on his siren though.”  Starsky chuckled dryly.  “Otherwise, I would have put a few holes in him.”

 

“So what happened after I took my nap?”

 

“The guys that came back to finish us off didn’t have a chance.  The helicopter unit forced the other two cars right into a net of CHP, and they arrested everybody, including DiAngelo.”

 

“Yeah?  That’s great.”  My arm was beginning to throb, and I hugged it a bit closer to me. 

 

“Hurtin’?” 

 

I shrugged my left shoulder. 

 

“The nurse came in just before you woke up and put something in your IV.  She said that it’d kick in after a few minutes.”

 

I nodded, but I guess the little tendril of fear I felt showed.  Starsky gripped my leg. 

 

“She said it wasn’t a narcotic, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

 

It was.  I was also thinking how lucky I was to have Starsky for a partner, looking out for me.  The nurse was right; the throbbing was already starting to fade, making me sleepy.  I stretched my good arm up behind my head and regarded Starsky.  “You never did tell me how you got past Minnie.”

 

His expression was the devious little-boy grin Minnie finds so endearing.  I wouldn’t have trusted him with my spinster Aunt Ethel who swore off men forty years ago. 

 

“Well, my sight came back right after you left my place, so I figured out a way to bail out on Minnie and follow you.  I played it up big and told her that my sight was gone again.”

 

“You didn’t!  Starsk, that was a lousy stunt to pull.” I scolded him, figuring he’d laugh it off, but his eyes turned dark.

 

“I had a gut feeling you were walking into trouble.  I was right, wasn’t I?” 

 

He sighed and his expression lightened.  “Well, I planned on ‘accidentally’ dumping a carton of Moo Goo Gi Pan down the front of her, so she’d have to take a shower, or at least change into a pair of my sweats while we threw her clothes in the wash.”

 

“So, what’d you do?  You know that she would have eventually figured out where you’d gone and called me on the radio.”

 

“Yeah, but by then, it would have been too late to stop me, and you, Roper, and Logan wouldn’t have waited for me or else you’d have missed DiAngelo.”

 

I called him something unpleasant as I yawned.  Whatever it was that the nurse put in my IV was relaxing me nicely.

 

“Well, I was all set to nail Minnie with the Moo Goo when the phone rang.  That new computer in R&I crashed, and she’s the only one who knows how to fix it.  I convinced her that I was really tired, and since I couldn’t see anyway, I was going to take a nap.  That way, she could go to the station and do whatever, then come back later and check on me.  She bought it, and I took off.”

 

“How’d you know where to find me?”

 

He gave me a look.  “That was easy.  You kept repeating the address—out loud, no less—since you didn’t have anything to write it down with.”

 

“Oh.”  Something else he said tickled the back of my brain, which was quickly fogging up.  What did he say…? Oh, man!  “Roper and Logan?”

 

He put up a calming hand.  “Two doors down.  They’re both going to be fine.  I guess it was a little iffy with Logan taking one in the gut, but he was lucky.  The Captain said they’ll be okay—nothing permanent.” 

 

I yawned again.  “That’s great.” 

 

Starsky smiled at me the way he sometimes does when he thinks I don’t notice, kind of fondly, though he’d blow it off if I ever confronted him.  Instead, I just appreciated the warmth behind his eyes. 

 

“The doctor said you’ll be fine, too.  The bullet went clean through, and with some of those exercises, there won’t be any redisual effects.”

 

“Residual.”  Another yawn.  “So what about-” 

 

“Starsky!”  It was whispered, or rather hissed, but enough to cut me off, as Captain Dobey came storming into my room. 

 

“Oh, Hutchinson.  You’re awake.  That’s good.  Doctor says you’re going to be fine.”  His gaze swung over to my partner.  “You, on the other hand-”

 

“Me?”  It’s not often I hear Starsky squeak.  “What did I do?” 

 

“It’s not what you did, well, yes, it is what you did, running off half-cocked like you did while you were still recuperating!  What were you thinking?”

 

“I-”

 

“Never mind.  What you haven’t done is authorize for that striped tomato of yours to be totaled!”  The captain waved a stack of papers in Starsky’s face.  “Have you seen the estimate to fix that thing?  The bodywork alone would wipe out the department’s repair budget for the rest of the year!  And who is this ‘Earl’ person?”

 

“It’s Merle, Captain.  Merle the Earle, the Customizing P-”

 

“I don’t care!  The department is not-”

 

Starsky’s face dropped dramatically—or shall I say over-dramatically—and he quickly bounced off my bed, thrusting his hands in front of him like a bad B-movie actor.  “My eyes!  My eyes!  I can’t see again.  Captain?  Captain, where did you go?  The room’s turned black…”

 

He staggered forward, running into the bed, then right into Dobey.  Starsky’s hands traveled up the Captain’s stomach and chest, then groped around his face as if to identify him by feel.

 

“Starsky, get your hands off my nose!  You’re not going to fake me out by…”

 

I would have loved to have found out how Starsky got out of this one, but sleep was calling and I couldn’t say no.

 

š ›

 

The sunset washed the ocean waves in shades of red, orange and amber—endless fire on an endless sea.  It wasn’t that long ago that I had described the colors to Starsky when he couldn’t see them himself, except from memory. 

 

But now, we both took it all in.  He pointed out every nuance, taking such joy in trying to capture the colors with his words, just as he would with his camera. 

 

After a while, we sat there in silence; content with simply watching the last of the sunset’s colors gently fade away into twilight.  I looked over at the man sitting at my side, thinking about everything we’d been through, and knowing that there was no one else I’d rather have along for the ride.

 

Sometimes, I feel something so strongly that my heart just kind of wells up, and something inside me just has to sing.  Sitting there, in the last of the sunset with my best friend, my heart was full. And though I didn’t sing out loud, I knew he heard the song and sang it back to me.   

 

It had ended like any other day.

 

š ›

 

 

~Brit