Out of the Mists

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

 

A quick call to the DA set in motion the plan to question Daniel Lee and extend the offer made to his grandmother.  Just as Hutch hung up the microphone, they were called again with an urgent patch-through from Dobey. 

 

The static that followed signaled Dobey wasn’t in his office.  “This is Hutch, Cap’n, where are you?”

 

“En route to the Port of Los Angeles.  We just got a call from Dickerson at Port Authority.  It turns out one of his clerks found a discrepancy in the shipping manifests regarding the General Tsao.”

 

“What’d they find?”

 

“Somebody changed the date on the ship’s arrival.  A seven was originally typed in, but then somebody did a good job with a pen and changed it to a nine.  No one would have noticed it except the clerk spilled coffee and, while trying to blot it dry, the ink smeared.”

 

Starsky and Hutch looked at each other, the realization dawning.  Hutch depressed the mic.  “So you’re saying--?”

 

“I’m saying that the General Tsao docked yesterday and is being unloaded as we speak!” Dobey barked.  “I’ve got the Feds, the county, the Port Authority, and half the Department en route, and I thought you boys would want to be in on it.”

 

“Yes!”  Starsky slapped the dashboard with his open hand, then tripped the siren.  Hutch shouted over the din as he gathered up the Mars light and placed it on the roof.  “We’re on our way!”

 

The speaker crackled again with Dobey shouting into the microphone.  “I want you two to report in to me when you get there, and we’ll all move in together, understood?  Don’t do anything stupid, you hear me?”

 

“Who, us?  Zebra Three, out.”  Hutch’s grin turned predatory as he replaced the microphone.

 

Starsky whipped the Torino onto a side street, dancing the vehicle through traffic.  “Can’t report in if we get there first!”

 

˜  ™

 

San Pedro’s Port of Los Angeles was a catacomb of channels and basins.  With its twenty-seven cargo terminals, nailing all of the remnants of Monte’s Singapore connection would be next to impossible.  Tonight, they were simply hoping to reel in the big fish and anyone else caught in their nets. 

 

Starsky and Hutch moved through the warehouse like wraiths, their years as partners keeping them in tandem like one another’s shadow.  The dimly lit building consisted of rows of racks, each stacked four-high of skids and crates in the process of being unloaded from the General Tsao.  The materials would soon be redistributed and shipped on semis to their final destinations, including several million dollars’ worth of uncut heroin.

 

As they neared the warehouse dock doors, where a half-dozen forklifts zipped in and out with their burdens, Starsky scurried across an open aisle to his partner.  “I don’t think any of those guys in coveralls are Wong and Chen.” 

 

Hutch snorted.  “Not according to the names on the coveralls.  Probably local hired help, or maybe some of Monte’s men.  Wong and Chen may not even still be here, since the boat docked yesterday.”

 

“Yeah, but five will get you ten they’re not going to trust the locals with a couple mil of heroin.  I’ll bet they’re either outside, making sure nobody runs off with any souvenirs, or else on the ship.”

 

“Speaking of which, did you get a load of the guys with hardware on either side of the dock doors?” 

 

Starsky snorted.  “Must be some pretty fancy textiles if it has to be guarded with submachine guns.”

 

“No kidding.  So how do we get onto the ship without being noticed?”  Hutch did a quick check of the rounds in his gun.  “Wait for an invitation for the dinner cruise?”

 

“Elementary, my dear Watson.  We’ll just drive right in.”     

  

˜  ™

 

 “Hey, Bob!  Can you give me a hand with this?” 

 

Bob Ferguson grunted in response and threw the butt of his cigarette on the floor as he started his forklift back up.  When he turned the corner toward where he had heard his name being called, he came face to face with the business end of a Magnum and a very angry pair of blue eyes. 

 

˜  ™

 

David Ming yawned and scrubbed his face with his free hand, then adjusted his grip on the M-16 lazily resting on his hip.  He looked around at the flurry of activity surrounding him, failing to notice that the men wearing the coveralls marked “Bob” and “Larry” driving out of the warehouse were not the same men who had worn them driving in.

 

˜  ™

 

Several gangplanks ran from the edge of the pier into the side of the General Tsao, with fork trucks running back and forth to withdraw the ship’s cargo.  Once inside the bowels of the ship, Starsky and Hutch abandoned their forklifts and slipped between the crates until they were well hidden.  Hutch produced the crowbar he had retrieved from the fork truck and scanned the crates until he found one whose stenciled identification was upside down, next to the arrow indicating which end was up for the container. 

 

“Good thing Bob was a talker,” Hutch remarked, jamming the crowbar between the crate and its lid.  “Otherwise, we would have been here all night.”

 

“Good thing he had a roll of duct tape with him.  Otherwise, we would’ve had to use our cuffs on him and Larry.”  Starsky grinned.  “And I’m saving mine for Weng and Chon.”

 

“Chen and Wong,” Hutch corrected with a grunt as he pried open the crate.  The two quickly lifted the lid and began digging through tied bundles of fabric.  “Good thing those two didn’t mind being trussed up like chickens and stuffed in a crate.”

 

“As if they had a choice.  Uh...which bay did we leave them in?”

 

“Y-37?”

 

“I thought it was X-73.”  Starsky’s voice was muffled, his torso almost completely disappearing into the piles of fabric deep in the crate.

 

“Bingo.”  Hutch straightened himself, withdrawing a smaller bundle of silk.  He tore off the protective plastic wrap and unfolded the fabric.  A one-pound sealed bag tumbled to the floor. 

 

Starsky whistled under his breath as he retrieved the heroin.  “And to think that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

 

“Yeah, well, we’d better get up to the cabin and finish this before the Titanic here sinks.”

 

˜  ™

 

 “Dobey here.  Go ahead, Baker Twelve.”  After responding into the microphone, he spun the wheel hard, sending his patrol car sliding toward the Consolidated Slip Marinas and the awaiting General Tsao.

 

“Captain, we are approaching Warehouse Eighty-two and caught a glimpse of Detective Starsky’s car.  No sign of him or Detective Hutchinson, though.”

 

“What the hell kind of operation are you running here, Dobey?” McMillian barked into his radio, his sedan right on Dobey’s heels.  “Those two were supposed to wait for our arrival and report to you!  If anything happens to Hutchinson¾” 

 

“You just worry about your own hide, McMillian!  Starsky’ll take care of his partner.”

 

“Well, don’t think that the governor won’t hear about this, Captain!”  When McMillian continued to rant, Dobey almost broke in to tell him what he could do with his threats.  Instead, he rolled his eyes toward Heaven, reminding the Lord that he had never prayed for patience, so couldn’t The Almighty quit sending him things to be patient about?

 

˜  ™

 

Starsky and Hutch had made their way up a darkened stairwell to the ship’s deck.  So far, all of the information gleaned from Bob, the frightened but cooperative longshoreman, had been accurate.  Now, they only had to make their way across the massive deck to the ship’s bridge, where the adjoining captain’s stateroom had housed the illusive drug lords during the voyage from Singapore.  The partners peered out of the door from the stairwell, now level with the deck. 

 

“So how do you want to play this?” Starsky whispered, taking in the sparse deck and calculating the risk of making their way unseen across the expanse.  There were limited pieces of equipment offering shelter, and even in the dark they would be easy targets from the higher elevation of the bridge.  He looked pointedly at Hutch’s gray coveralls.  “The longshoremen go on strike, and the union sends Larry and Bob to negotiate with the bosses, or try and make a run for it and hope they don’t splatter our brains all over the boat?”

 

Hutch gave Starsky a sour look.  “You have such a colorful way with words.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“It wasn’t a compliment.”  Hutch sighed.  “Okay, what if¾?”

 

Hutch’s thought was cut off by the tinny blare of a loudspeaker attached to the top of a squad car.  White spotlights cut through the night from around the warehouse and farther out from the Coast Guard vessels approaching the pier.  “Ahoy, General Tsao!  This is the FBI.  You are completely surrounded.  Surrender and come out with your hands in the air.  I repeat, this is the FBI.  You are under arrest; you must cooperate, or¾”

 

McMillian’s speech was cut off by gunfire from a dozen weapons.  What happened next was chaos, as unsuspecting dock workers fled in terror, and the police officers and government agents returned fire.

 

Starsky met his partner’s glance.  “I guess they didn’t want to cooperate.”

 

Movement across the deck caught Hutch’s eye.  “Look there!”  Scurrying down from the upper level of the bridge were four Asian men, two men with machine guns flanking the others.  The two older men in the middle wore suits, the first loaded down with a duffel bag and pistol, and the second desperately clutching a briefcase to his chest as if his life depended on it. 

 

As the foursome trotted toward a hatch midpoint on the deck, the detectives burst out of the stairwell, running full tilt, their guns thrust before them.

 

“Freeze, Police!” Starsky bellowed as they came along side one of the ship’s ventilation pipes, his two-handed grip training the Beretta on the first bodyguard. 

 

The machine guns were turned on them as anticipated, but they each managed to get off a shot before being forced behind the man-high structures for protection.  The first guard was struck in the shoulder, sending the machine gun spinning out of his hands as he fell to the deck.  Hutch’s shot struck Wong in the bicep, sending the duffel bag to the ground.  Chen instantly dropped his briefcase and threw his arms in the air, surrendering.  They moved in unison, leaning out from the cover of the air vent to take their next shots.  Just as the second bodyguard splayed the air around them with bullets, they could see the injured Wong snatch up Chen’s dropped briefcase and stuff it in the quaking man’s arms, grab the fallen machine gun, then bodily drag his partner down the hatch after him.  The detectives continued to return fire as the heroin dealers scrambled down the stairs, the bodyguard shooting off another round that chipped the metal of the vent at their backs before following them.

 

“Terrific,” Starsky bit off, slapping another clip into his gun.  “Now what?”

 

The sound of gunfire from the pier below rang up to them as they made their way to the injured bodyguard struggling to his feet.  Hutch snapped his handcuffs on the wrist of the man’s uninjured arm, then attached it to the boat rail. 

 

Hutch looked over the side of the ship.  “Well, unless you sprout wings, we’re going to have to take the stairs.”

 

˜  ™

 

The descent after the felons was uneventful and slowed by their need for caution.  As much as Starsky and Hutch wanted to be the ones to make the final arrests that would end the nightmare they’d been living, rushing headlong down the unfamiliar stairs after two men armed with M-16s would have been suicidal.

 

When they reached the bottom of the stairwell, they were on the same level as they had first entered the ship, but in a different storage compartment toward the stern.  When it was determined they were alone in the cavernous room, they trotted between crates and skids to the gangplank.  The pier was empty at that end of the ship, except for a few patrolmen standing ready, their squad cars blocking the docks from escape. 

 

Hutch looked at his partner.  “Well, Bob, I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to have come this far to be blown away by mistake by some overeager rookie.”

 

Starsky looked at Hutch like he’d lost his mind.  “Bob?”  When Hutch rolled his eyes and unzipped his coveralls, Starsky made a face and stripped out of his own.  Hutch whistled to get the patrolmen’s attention as he stepped onto the gangplank, his badge held open before him, Starsky a step behind.

 

One of the uniformed officers raised a hand in acknowledgement after shining his spotlight on the two.  “Some bust, huh?  There was some commotion up there just a minute ago.  Busted up a squad car, but I guess they’ve got it almost wrapped up now.”

 

The younger man looked at the two more closely.  “You two aren’t Hutchinson and Starsky, by any chance?”

 

Starsky nodded as they continued down the ramp.  “That’s us.” 

 

The older officer spoke up.  “Captain Dobey’s looking for you.  Said it’s important.” 

 

When the partners turned and ran toward the center of the chaos, the officer called out,  “Be careful!  They ain’t got everybody yet!”

 

Starsky glanced over at his partner as they ran, guns drawn.  “‘Ain’t got’?  Even I speak more better than that!”

 

Hutch did a double take, unable to see in the darkness if his partner was kidding or not.  As they approached the next unloading bay door, they slowed as Dobey stepped out, the warehouse light casting a silhouette behind him.  He turned toward them with a scowl.  “Where have you two been?”

 

Starsky nodded back toward the General Tsao.  “We went to see if they have a dinner cruise.  What’s going on here?”

 

The captain huffed.  “We got Ferarro and VanMele in custody.  But while you two were playing hide and seek, your friends from Singapore tried to make a break for it in a patrol car just a minute ago.  One of our guys took out the driver.  The two in suits made it into the warehouse, but not before they shot three patrolman and Lieutenant Dickerson from the Port Authority.  McMillian, Endicott, and another agent wanted to make the big play and took after them.”

 

Hutch and Starsky perked up, catching the scent of the hunt.  Dobey almost smiled as he pointed toward the back of the warehouse.  “Back through those doors, there’s a stairwell that leads to the roof.  I was just about to assign some men to head up there from the adjacent building and double back, but if you hurry...”

 

They weren’t even within earshot by the time Dobey trailed off, watching as they pounded out the door toward Warehouse Eighty-three.

 

˜  ™

 

The climb up the four-story fire escape would have been taxing under the best conditions.  Starsky occasionally glanced back at his partner, wishing he could get a better look at his face as they raced through the darkness.  Hutch was keeping up with his partner’s pace, even though Starsky could hear his friend’s labored breathing as they ascended the stairs.  As much as he tried to hide it, Hutch still hadn’t recovered from the ordeal.  “We don’t have to do this, you know.”

 

Hutch looked up at the worried face before him.  “Move your butt before I run you over.”

 

When they finally reached the top of the stairs, Starsky cautiously peered over the warehouse roof, trying to make out the shadows.  Four skylights lay near each corner of the roof, as well as a small structure at the far end that housed the stairwell.  Six large ventilation shafts jutted five feet above the roof’s surface.  Starsky could detect movement by the farthest skylight, the vent shaft next to it, then, closer to him, by another shaft in the middle of the building.  Pulling his head back down, he turned to Hutch with a curse. 

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“It’s so dark, I can’t make out who’s who.  We’re gonna have to get closer, but we won’t know if they’re the bad guys until we’re right on top of them.” 

 

Hutch snorted.  “If it’s McMillian and Endicott, I’m not so sure there are any good guys up there.”

 

“Good point,” Starsky agreed.  “Look, there’re ventilation shafts just a few yards on either side of us.  I’ll pop up, holler, give you some cover.  Get to the shaft, cover me.  Whoever shoots at us—they’re the bad guys.” 

 

“Brilliant deduction, Holmes.  But how come I have to run first?” 

 

Starsky rolled his eyes.  “Fine.  I’ll pop up, and you run instead.”

 

Hutch nodded, satisfied.  “That’s better.”

 

Starsky put his foot on the final rung, ready to make himself a target.  “Ready?  On three.” 

 

Hutch pulled himself up to stand at his partner’s back, ready to propel himself over the top of the roof.  The inconsistency of their conversation finally struck him.  “Wait a minute¾”

 

“Onetwothreego!” Starsky rushed and scrambled onto the roof.  As soon as he saw Hutch clear the ladder and begin running for the safety of the shaft, he bellowed  “Freeze!  Police!”

 

The shadows at the nearest shaft turned, and gunfire swept past Starsky as Wong and Chen scrambled to the other side of the shaft.  He dove and rolled over and over until he crashed into the ventilation unit.  The familiar bark of Hutch’s gun answered, giving him enough time to right himself. 

 

As the partners returned fire, they could make out the shapes of the three agents running in crouches toward the shaft protecting Wong and Chen. 

 

“What are they doing?” Starsky hissed.  “Don’t they know he’s got an M-16?” 

 

McMillian led the pack, his service revolver thrust out in front of him.  “You’re surrounded!  Throw down¾”

 

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, the machine gun was turned on them, striking Endicott in the thigh and the third agent in the chest, knocking them off their feet.  In his effort to twist out of harm’s way, McMillian stumbled and feel backwards, crashing through the skylight.  By reflex, he managed to latch onto the framework and dangle by one hand, fifty feet above the warehouse floor. 

 

Wong stepped out of the protection of the ventilation shaft and opened fire on Starsky and Hutch, keeping them crouched behind their cover.  The shooting continued as Chen made a frantic dash for the fire escape the detectives had used only moments earlier.  Once he was cleared, Wong backed up to it as well then rapidly descended. 

 

As soon as the firing stopped, Starsky leaned around the shaft to cover his partner as Hutch sprinted for the skylight.  He then crossed to the roof’s edge and determined that the drug lords had disappeared into the darkness, the faint clattering of their retreating steps echoing back up to him.  Starsky returned to Endicott and the other agent to check the severity of their wounds.

 

Hutch dropped to his knees at the side of the skylight and peered through the broken glass and framework.  For a split second, his rage and hatred for the man dangling below washed over him, tempting him with the thought of just letting McMillian fend for himself, or even assist him in plunging to certain death.  The fantasy only lasted for a heartbeat before Hutch latched onto McMillian’s wrist.  The agent looked up, the light from the warehouse casting an eerie glow on the exhausted detective above him.  McMillian tried to grab the skylight’s frame with his free hand when the metal structure he was clinging to gave way.  The only thing keeping him from certain death was his former victim’s vice-like grip. 

 

Hutch tried desperately to pull him up, but his strength was quickly failing him and he began to shake.  “Starsky!”

 

The urgency in Hutch’s voice was enough to send Starsky scrambling back to his partner.  He dropped to one knee and leaned over, extending his hand to the agent.  “Come on!” 

 

McMillian swung blindly, missing Starsky’s reach.  The effort was enough to throw Hutch off balance, and his grip slipped marginally.  McMillian cried out in fear as he swung then looked up at Hutch’s strained face.  “What are you trying to do, kill me?”

 

The partners answered in unison.  “Don’t tempt me!”

 

Starsky threw himself flat on the rooftop and leaned over the edge as far as he could without losing his balance. 

 

“Hurry it up, Starsk!” Hutch ground out, sweat running down his cheeks.

 

McMillian swung his arm up as high as he could, this time far enough that Starsky could grasp his wrist. 

 

Starsky managed to draw his knees up under him.  “Okay, Hutch, just roll back with him.  Ready?  Go!” 

 

The partners pushed themselves backwards, hauling McMillian through the wreckage of the skylight and on to the rooftop.  Although not without banging his head against the structure in the process. 

 

Starsky staggered to his feet, panting, then offered his hand to Hutch.  The blond lay on his back for a moment, his sides heaving from the exertion.  When he finally took the proffered hand, Starsky pulled him into a quick embrace, thumping him on the back. 

 

McMillian finally managed to pull himself up into a seated position.  “Well, don’t just stand there—go find them!” 

 

Starsky shook his head, then scooped up his and Hutch’s guns from where they had been dropped in order to rescue McMillian.  Hutch took the Magnum back and followed Starsky over the edge of the roof.  Just before he disappeared down the ladder, Hutch paused and looked back at the agent.  “You’re welcome.”

 

˜  ™

 

Starsky and Hutch pounded back into the warehouse, searching for Dobey.  When their superior saw them, he rushed to them, anger and concern on his face.  “What happened up there?  We heard some shots and glass breaking, and when I sent some uniforms to the next warehouse to investigate, they said they saw you two pull McMillian up out of a skylight.”

 

Starsky nodded, giving Hutch a chance to catch his breath.  “They need an ambulance up there; two of them got shot.”

 

Hutch looked around at the remaining patrolmen interviewing dock workers and escorting the arrests made on the General Tsao to their squad cars.  “What about Chen and Wong?  Did you get them?”

 

Dobey cursed.  “No!  We haven’t seen them since they went up on the roof!”

 

The detectives scrambled outside, running away from the activity in a desperate search for any signs of the two felons.  They reached the end of the pier where the Port Authority boat had been moored earlier, nestled against a wooden dock jutting out into the channel.  The only other signs that anyone had been there that day was a large crate and two oil drums stacked at the end of the pier.  After checking the containers to make sure the felons weren’t hiding by or in them, they stood panting in the darkness, intently listening and watching for any indication that they were on the right track. 

 

Finally, Starsky swung his fist through the air and swore.  “Where the¾?”

 

Just as the words were out of his mouth, the Port Authority boat roared to life, its lights illuminating the surrounding pier.  The partners raced down the dock, but the craft was quickly backing away into open waters.  Both men knew they’d never reach the boat in time, so they ground to a stop and began firing toward the cabin.  They were met again with machine gun fire and instinctively dropped flat on the dock. 

 

“Go!” Starsky hollered, lifting his head to return fire.  Hutch scrambled to his feet and fled.  When he reached the relative safety of the crate, he turned and began shooting at the retreating boat.  When Starsky heard the familiar roar of Hutch’s gun, he pushed himself up and began sprinting back to his partner. 

 

As the schooner was thrown forward full throttle, the machine gun’s bullets kicked up splinters at Starsky’s feet.  Hutch continued to fire as he watched in horror while the tracers ate up the distance to his partner.  A few more inches and they would find their mark. 

 

“Starsky!”  Hutch bellowed an instant before his partner tumbled from the dock and was swallowed by the water’s inky blackness.

 

˜  ™