Out of the Mists
Chapter Sixteen
Hutch fired even as the schooner pulled out of range. Out the corner of his eye he could see the Coast Guard vessel steaming ahead in pursuit as the smaller boat turned northwest out of the channel. Hutch quickly ran to the spot he had last seen Starsky and, after dropping his gun onto the pier, began tearing off his boots.
“Starsky?” Hutch called out, preparing to dive in.
“What?” The voice was not a happy one, but mercifully the one Hutch wanted to hear.
Hutch exhaled heavily, then bent at the waist with his hands on his thighs, exhausted. “I thought you’d been hit!”
“Is that what you were hollering about?” the disembodied voice groused from below. The sound of treading water reached Hutch’s ears. “I thought you were warning me that I was about to be hit.”
“Whatever. You were. It worked—you’re safe.”
“Yeah, and I’m also wet. And freezing.”
Hutch leaned over the edge of the dock and peered down at his partner. “You pick the most idiotic things to complain about. You’re also alive.”
“Are you going to stand there philosophizing at me, or you gonna get me out of here so we can finish catching the bad guys?”
Hutch walked back to where the dock met the pier. “Here—here’s a ladder.”
Splashing followed as Starsky swam to the spot then began his ascent. “Yuck! What is this crap?”
Hutch tried to see what his partner was talking about. “What?”
“This green slimy crap on the ladder.”
“That’s algae. Hurry it up, Starsk.”
“You mean that crap you put in your glop?” Starsky’s voice sounded louder as he drew closer.
“My what? Oh, for crying out loud! If you mean my breakfast shakes, then yes. It’s something like that. Come on!”
“Oh.” Starsky took his partner’s extended hand as he came up over the top wrung. His free hand deposited a large handful of dripping algae in Hutch’s shirt pocket, then patted it. “Just in case you get hungry later.”
˜ ™
Hutch radioed back to Dobey as the Torino sped away from the pier.
“Captain, we are in pursuit of the Port Authority boat heading north. They’ve left the East Basin where it narrows into the Domineguez Channel. Two Coast Guard units are also in pursuit, but they’re too big. I’m not sure how much farther they’re going to be able to follow.”
“Hutch, where are you?”
He looked over at his partner. “Northbound Channelview Drive and...”
“Thirty-eighth,” Starsky responded.
“Thirty-eighth, Cap’n. We still have a visual on the boat.”
“And tell him that the Department’s gonna pay to have my upholstery cleaned and reconditioned,” Starsky grumped.
The radio crackled again. “What’s the plan, Hutch?”
Starsky was undaunted. “And somebody’s starting to smell like rotten algae.”
Hutch ignored the whining. “When the channel narrows and they lose the Coast Guard¾”
“This is gonna ruin the leather!” Starsky continued.
Hutch took his finger off the mic. “Shut up, Starsk.” He then continued into the radio. “They’re going to be free and clear. They could dock at any of the marinas and bail out, so we’d better get some units in place.”
“What are you and Starsky going to do?”
The partners looked at each other for a heartbeat before Hutch finally answered. “Head ’em off at the pass.”
˜ ™
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Starsky gripped the handrail he sat on tighter, and adjusted his weight so he wasn’t leaning so far forward over the water below him.
“You got any better ideas?” Hutch stepped down off the center rail so his feet were planted on the edge of the bridge, his hands outstretched on either side to hold himself firmly against the scaffolding.
“Plenty, and none of them include me jumping off a bridge onto a boat and getting shot up into little pieces by a machine gun. Maybe we should wait for the Coast Guard.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Two steps behind my sense of survival. Now, I think¾”
“Get ready, here they come!”
They watched in silence as the Port Authority boat slipped through the channel, its lights off to mask its flight.
Hutch’s voice was hushed. “You ready?”
“What do you think?” Starsky hissed back through clenched teeth.
“Good. On three...”
“What if I miss the boat?”
“You’re already wet, what’s the difference? One...”
“Yeah, but I’m wet and alive.”
“If you miss, you won’t have to worry about being wet. Two...”
Starsky cursed under his breath and scrambled down onto the lip of the bridge. Both men drew their guns, watching below their feet as the vessel’s deck slid into view. Their eyes met briefly.
“Three!” Hutch released his hold on the rail and stepped away, Starsky a heartbeat behind him. The two fell the fifteen feet from the bridge to the deck and rolled on impact.
They continued the rolling motion into a crouch and quickly found their targets through the window of the cabin. As soon as Hutch saw the machine gun raised in his direction, he dove and rolled again, the bullets marking where he had been a second before. At the first sight of the gun’s tracers, Starsky sighted and shot, catching their assailant high in the shoulder. Wong dropped the gun and fell away, grasping his bleeding wound. Chen, who’d been piloting the boat, lifted his hands in fear and began rapidly speaking in Mandarin, surrendering.
The detectives scrambled to their feet and charged the cabin. Hutch grabbed Chen by the wrist and thrust him into a prone position against the control panel, while Starsky snatched up the machine gun and checked Wong for additional weapons.
Hutch retrieved a handgun from his captive, then took a handful of shirt to lead Chen out onto the deck where he handcuffed the two together, the cuff’s chain wrapped around the boat rail.
Hutch looked at the two captives. “Well, I know you’re not going to understand a word of this, but here goes. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right¾”
A flood of light accompanied the whirling of helicopter blades overhead, drowning out Hutch’s voice and blinding the group on the boat. The forced wind tore at their clothes as a booming voice resounded from a bullhorn. “This is the police! Throw down your weapons, you are under arrest!”
They shielded their eyes as they stared up into the light. Starsky finally shouted in disgust. “They couldn’t have shown up before you made me jump off the bridge?”
˜ ™
Hutch sat in a chair in front of Dobey’s desk and thought about his last statement. “Yeah, Cap’n,” he said after a long silence. “I think that about wraps it up.”
“Good.” Dobey looked at the court stenographer seated to his right. “Did you get all that?”
She nodded.
“Do you think you can keep going for a while?”
Another nod.
“What about you, Hutchinson? I’d like to start on your statement about what McMillian and Endicott did to you after the kidnapping. I think we have everything we need on the Monte case, so it’s up to you whether you want to do this today or wait until tomorrow.”
Hutch looked over at his partner. Starsky was in his customary place at Hutch’s left, silently supporting his partner. It was his opinion that Hutch wasn’t ready for any of this, but since Monte’s trial was due to begin in a matter of just a few weeks, there was really no other choice. And, with Hutch’s statement duly typed, signed, and notarized, he hoped it would take some of the heat off the still healing detective.
Starsky shrugged his shoulders in answer to Hutch’s unspoken question. “It’s your call.”
“Let’s just do it then. The more we get done today, the less we’ll have to do tomorrow. Then, just maybe, I can get out of this crummy building and back on the streets.” Hutch glanced at his partner again. “Where should I start?”
Dobey leaned back in his chair and steeled himself for the grim details of what the Feds had done to Hutch. “Just start at the beginning, son, and try to remember as much as you can.”
In a faltering voice, Hutch started talking. He spoke of how the agents had come to his apartment, about the fight and being overpowered by the two men who had come to “protect” him. As he spoke, he became more and more aggravated—fidgeting in his chair, fingers plucking at a loose thread on his shirt, and even getting up from his seat to pace the floor from time to time, only to throw himself back down into the chair.
Starsky watched his partner closely, a worried frown accentuating the exhaustion in his face and the dark circles under his eyes. He knew this was hard on Hutch; after all, there were large patches of time that Hutch couldn’t even remember. And, to Starsky’s growing consternation, the more Hutch talked, the more agitated he became.
“I really don’t remember anything more until McMillian and Endicott came to see me one afternoon,” Hutch continued, his jaw muscles tense as he stared sightlessly ahead of him. “They told me about the funeral. Guess they thought I’d cooperate more if I knew that everyone had already written me off as dead. So, they sat there in their self-righteous three-piece suits and told me in vivid detail everything that happened on the day you buried me.”
Starsky looked up in alarm as Hutch exploded out of his seat and began pacing the room like a caged tiger. Dobey was about to put a stop to the session for the day when Hutch cut him off. “They told me everything, everything. From who said what, to the way my mother broke down¾” Hutch stopped speaking abruptly, rage boiling right below his carefully constructed veneer of calm. Before anyone could stop him, he flung open the door and charged out of the office.
Starsky was the first to react. With a hasty, “Stay put. I’ll find him,” to Captain Dobey, he followed his fleeing partner down the crowded hallway.
The pursuit ended in a small rarely used interrogation room. Years ago, when the station was first built, that same room had boasted a very high success rate when it came to questioning criminals. Its small size and single naked light bulb suspended from the ceiling made most people want to spend as little time there as possible. But progress had demoted it to little more than a glorified closet, although it was still used from time to time to question material witnesses and debrief undercover officers. Its lack of a two-way mirror made it the perfect place to have a private conversation.
Starsky took a deep steadying breath and entered the small room, shutting the door firmly behind him. He sat down in a nearby chair, worried eyes trained on Hutch who was leaning against the far wall for support.
“Not now, Starsk,” Hutch said tightly, his voice betraying his overwhelmed emotions. “I want to be alone.”
“Good,” Starsky replied, making no move to leave the room. “You be alone over there, and I’ll stay over here and stand guard. Make sure no one interrupts you being alone.”
After a sour look from Hutch, a heavy silence filled the room as he attempted to rein in his raging anger. He stood staring at the wall in front of him, his hands balled into tight fists and his eyes screwed shut. For an instant, he was the perfect picture of self-control until his body betrayed him, its need for an outlet overriding his mind’s determination. Without a word, he turned on his heel and, with an icy detachment, picked up the nearest chair and savagely broke it over the small table sitting in the middle of the room. Unsatisfied, he picked up another chair and threw it against the wall, only to pick it up again and throw it when it didn’t splinter the first time.
Starsky sat quietly, watching his partner, yet careful not to interfere. After the second chair broke, he stood and picked up the chair he had been occupying, silently offering it to his partner as well. Hutch stopped and stared at Starsky, chest heaving and sweat glistening on his brow. Finally, his energy spent, he leaned against the far wall and slid to the floor, hugging his knees tightly to his chest.
“You finished?” Starsky asked without incrimination.
At Hutch’s slight nod, Starsky continued. “You wanna talk about it?”
Hutch shook his head furiously, burying his face in his crossed arms.
His own jaw muscles tight with tension and fatigue, Starsky crossed over to his partner. He slid to the floor beside Hutch, his arms resting casually on his bent knees as he rested his head against the wall behind him.
“Talk to me, Hutch,” he began, turning his head slightly to look at him. “I know this is eating you up, and I know there’s a whole lotta stuff you need to deal with right now, but you don’t have to do it alone. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere, so let me help, huh? Maybe between the two of us we can work through this.”
Hutch raised his head, careful not to look into the probing compassionate eyes. “I don’t know how I feel, Starsk. Sometimes I’m just plain mad. If McMillian were here right now, I’d wrap my hands around his scrawny little neck and choke the life out of him. The FBI is supposed to serve and protect, just like us, Starsky. Protect. Not screw you over and put your family and friends through hell. When I think about what they did and what it did to you¾” He stopped abruptly and jumped back to his feet, pacing the small room in an effort to burn off the anger that again threatened to overwhelm him.
Starsky rose as well, allowing his partner maximum room to pace, and continued to watch him carefully.
“They took part of my life away. And...and there’s no way I can get those days back. They hurt me and everybody I care about, and I can’t undo that either.” Hutch faced the opposite wall and braced himself against it with an unsteady hand. “They’re untouchable, Starsk, and the more I think about it, the madder I get.”
“It ain’t right, Hutch. What they did was criminal and we’ll file charges. We’re gonna do whatever’s humanly possible to make them pay for what they did.”
Hutch smiled briefly, although it had nothing to do with amusement. “Yeah, you and me against the world, huh, Starsk?”
“And Dobey, and the entire precinct, and anyone else we can recruit to help us out.”
“C’mon, Starsk. You and I both know that it’s next to impossible to pin anything on the Feds. We’re not that naïve.” Hutch turned away from the wall and finally looked at his partner.
“Hey.” Starsky moved to stand in front of him. He grabbed Hutch by the arms and met his stare, hoping he could somehow ease the pain he saw in the depths of his partner’s eyes. “It may be tough, but we’ll give it our best shot. And if we can’t get satisfaction from the Bureau, we’ll do something else.”
“That’s just it, Starsk. There is nothing else. And, in the meantime, here we are. Used, then just cast aside and left to deal with whatever they choose to throw at us.” Hutch looked up at the ceiling and took a deep steadying breath before returning his attention to Starsky. “I’ve never felt so helpless. And tired...God, I’m tired. And there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.”
There was a long silence while Hutch searched his partner’s face, shaking his head in resignation. When he finally spoke again, his voice was whisper soft. “So, how do we fix that, partner?”
Starsky pulled Hutch in close, willing his voice not to betray him. “I don’t know that right now, Hutch, but we’ll find a way.” It finally broke as he hugged Hutch even more tightly. “I promise you, though—we will find a way.”
˜ ™
By the time the partners left interrogation and made their way back up to the squadroom, the day shift had left, leaving the hallways unnaturally still. They stopped briefly in the squadroom to retrieve their jackets. As Starsky was slipping his on, he looked out the now-repaired plate glass window at the woman standing frozen in the hallway, slack-jawed.
As they left, Starsky paused long enough to whisper to the astonished departmental psychologist, Dr. O’Shea, who stood staring at his very much alive partner. “My gut was right after all.”
˜ ™
The meeting had been called for 3:00 p.m. Captain Dobey had hand delivered Hutch’s full statement and allegations at noon, giving the FBI time to review the document prior to their appointment.
At exactly 3:00, Starsky, Hutch, Dobey, and Police Commissioner Wilson were ushered into a large dark conference room adjacent to the Bureau Director’s private office. The space was imposing, with a highly polished walnut conference table that ran the length of the room, easily seating thirty people. The Bureau Director, Frank Dennison, entered immediately afterward, accompanied by a second man. Dennison took his seat at the head of the table, a six-foot diameter FBI icon looming behind him.
Dennison took off his glasses and placed them in his breast pocket, then folded his hands in front of him. As he looked over the four men seated midway at the table, his no-nonsense expression remained unreadable.
“Gentlemen, I’d like to thank you for coming.” He nodded to the man on his right. “This is Captain Fitzwallace, head of the California Bureau, and, as you’ve surmised, I am Lieutenant Dennison, Bureau Director from Washington. Gentlemen, I’ll be direct and brief. Captain Dobey, Commissioner Wilson, what has transpired over the past months regarding the investigation of Vic Monte has been unfortunate. The Bureau ‘unofficially’ regrets the events described in your submitted statement, especially those involving you, Detective Hutchinson.”
“Unofficially?” Hutch’s voice was tense.
Dennison nodded, but remained expressionless. “Officially, we’d like to commend you, Detective Starsky and Captain Dobey, for your work and the work of your department. Because of your investigation, not only was Vic Monte arrested and his multiple operations effectively put out of commission, but in the process, you also cracked open a major drug trafficking cartel out of Asia. The Bureau and the people of California thank you.”
Dennison and Fitzwallace stood as the Bureau Director continued. “In two weeks, Detectives Hutchinson and Starsky will submit their testimonies in court to support the prosecution in the trial of The People versus Victor L. Monte, and those also so charged. Any criminal indictments against Mr. Wong and Mr. Chen will be handled by the home office of the Bureau, as they are classified as international incidents. Again, gentlemen, thank you for your work in these matters and for your time.”
The two Bureau agents had almost made it to the door before Starsky broke the stunned silence, surging out of his chair, toppling it over onto its back.
“What the¾? Wait just one bleeding minute! That’s it? ‘Good job. Don’t let the door hit you in the can on your way out?’ What is this garbage?” Dobey and the commissioner were also on their feet in outrage by the time Starsky finished. Oddly, Hutch remained seated, his hands gripping the arms of his chair as he stared at the agents in cold fury.
Captain Dobey slammed his open hand on the table. “Did you even read Hutchinson’s statement? What about what your men did to him? What about McMillian, Endicott, and Emery? Are you telling us that you’re letting them go scott-free in all of this?”
There was a subtle change in Dennison’s expression as he glanced over at Captain Fitzwallace. “Gentlemen, the statement by Detective Hutchinson is now deemed classified information and property of the Bureau. I can assure you it has been duly noted and reviewed by the necessary Bureau personnel.”
Starsky thrust his finger at Dennison, his rage boiling over. “That’s a load of crap, and you know it! What about the agents that did this to Hutch? McMillian and Endicott—what’s going to happen to them?”
Dennison’s face hardened almost imperceptibly. “Gentlemen, the Bureau has no record of any agents operating out of this or any FBI agencies by the names of McMillian or Endicott. Agent Emery, a one-time stellar field agent, has sought an early retirement and has relocated out of the country.”
“Wait a minute,” the police commissioner interjected. “You’re saying that Agents McMillian and Endicott don’t exist?”
“Or no longer exist,” Dobey added.
“I’m saying that the Bureau has no record of their existence. Good day, gentlemen.” Dennison’s face was stony as he and Fitzwallace swept from the room, leaving the others behind in stunned silence.
˜ ™
“I didn’t think this could get any weirder.” Starsky sighed, slouching farther in his chair and propping his feet on Dobey’s desk. For once, his superior didn’t reprimand him or simply shove his detective’s feet off.
Hutch scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Any more twists and turns and you can lock me up at Cabrillo. I already feel like I’ve lost my mind.”
Starsky instinctively flopped his right hand over onto Hutch’s, which was resting on the arm of his own chair. Dobey folded his hands and looked across the desk at the exhausted men before him. He had never seen the two detectives look more world-weary than they did at that moment. Both had lost weight, their faces drawn and haggard. Starsky had still been recovering from being shot when the whole episode started, then suffered the apparent loss of his partner and the taxing investigation that followed. Hutch’s undercover work and eventual abduction and drugging had taken a significant toll on him as well, coupled with the pair’s determination to finish what they had started. Underneath his own sorrow and rage over the chaotic events, Dobey felt the familiar stirring of pride for his boys.
He pushed himself back in his chair, then withdrew two sets of papers out of his center desk drawer.
“Here.” He extended one of the sheaves to each detective.
“What’s this?” Starsky sat up in his chair.
“Vouchers. I want you two out of here until the Monte trial. Take some time off, rest up.”
Hutch withdrew his hand as if he’d been offered a snake. “Oh, come on! Is that some sort of payoff from the Feds?”
“No!” Dobey growled. “As if I would have accepted that for you! No, I requisitioned these and the commissioner agreed.” His voice thickened. “Look, Hutch. I thought I’d lost you once. I wasn’t so sure that your partner wasn’t too far behind.”
Hutch looked over at his partner, even though Starsky wouldn’t lift his eyes from staring at his hands.
Dobey continued, his voice deepening further. “I just want you two to go away for a while—relax, get some sleep. The Department has all the information it needs from the two of you until you testify at the trial.” He cleared his throat. “Starsky’s always grousing about wanting to go to Mexico.”
The detective in question brightened. “Baja? Tijuana? We can go anywhere we want?”
Hutch’s face relaxed marginally, warming up to the idea. “How about the mountains? Spend a few days camping?”
“Actually, you two might think about going to Minnesota,” Dobey interjected as he stood and crossed to the front of his desk. “And take the long way back through New York.”
Hutch smiled as he stood. “Captain, that’s a great idea.”
“Yeah,” Starsky added. “Even if the temperature in Duluth’s thirty below this time of year.”
“Forty,” Hutch corrected. He met his captain’s eyes again, his respect and affection for the man closing off his throat as he extended his hand. “Thank you, Captain.”
Dobey took the offered hand, but then pulled the detective into a hug, thumping him on the back. When Dobey released him, Starsky, taken up in the moment, opened his arms, expecting an embrace.
Dobey scowled severely as he waved him away. “What do you think you’re doing? You didn’t die. Go on, get moving. Go make your reservations, then get home and pack. Edith’s expecting you two for dinner at seven, so get a move on.”
Starsky looked indignant as he straightened his jacket, then turned on his heel. “Fine, we will.”
Hutch merely rolled his eyes as he exited through the door Starsky held open for him. As Starsky followed his partner out into the squadroom, he paused and leaned back into the office. “Thanks, Cap’n.”
Dobey managed a smile, his voice low. “You take care of him, son, and yourself.”
“Yes, sir.” Starsky smiled as he saluted with the voucher, then shut the door. Hutch was already seated at his desk, the phone book opened to the travel agents’ listings. Starsky poured a cup of coffee, grinning slightly at the new glass pot.
“Hey, Starsk?”
Starsky raised his eyebrows as he took a sip, then passed Hutch the mug. “Yeah?”
Hutch set the mug down and ran his finger down the telephone listings. “If you really want to go to Mexico, you can, you know. There’s no reason I can’t go to Minnesota on my own.”
Starsky sat down on the edge of his partner’s desk and took back the mug. “After everything we’ve been through? I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Hutch looked up, his eyes locking with his partner’s. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
˜ ™