FAST MOVES

By Lin P. and Linda H.

Many Thanks to Paula Wilshe our *beta reader*

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Starsky and Hutch were sitting on the floor in Starsky's living room. Legs outstretched and leaning against the couch, a Monopoly board was on the carpet between them. Hutch had dropped by after work to check up on his partner who'd been down with a bad flu for the last three days.

Earlier in the day Starsky had complained to him on the phone how bored he was, and Hutch was glad to say he'd drop by. He was surprised at how much he was missing his partner's company and a quiet evening over a few games was probably just what the two of them needed.

"Want a beer?" Starsky asked.

"Nah. One of the things my father taught me was not to drink alone."

"You're not alone. What am I? Chopped liver?"

"You know what I mean. 'Course you do kind of look like chopped liver tonight." Hutch smiled sympathetically at his pale friend.

"Ughh, let's not talk about food......Hey, don't worry about me. Have a beer if you want."

"I told you, Starsk, I don't want one. Come on, shake."

"I should have one," Starsky grumbled as he picked up the dice and rolled them in his hand, "...try somethin' .... what doesn't kill me might cure me."

He threw the dice and they clattered onto the board. A five and a three.

"What time is it?" Starsky asked quickly.

"Uhhh....seven twenty-five." Hutch looked back at the board and watched Starsky walking his piece to land one square away from his Boardwalk Hotel.

"One more, buddy boy."

"What're you talkin' about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. You had an eight."

"Yeah? So?"

"So...eight moves puts you on my Boardwalk."

"Does not. I was sittin' right here." Starsky put a decisive finger on a square.

"You know, Starsk," Hutch said in a grim voice, "seeing as you're sick and all, I've been putting up with your little tricks. But you're starting to insult my intelligence."

Starsky looked offended. "I don't hafta play tricks to win."

"You were seven squares back, not eight."

"I was here." He tapped the board to make his point.

"You were not! Get onto my Boardwalk and cough it up, pal."

"I can't help it if you're not payin' attention, Hutch. If you'd pay better attention you'd know I was seven back."

Starsky's determined expression only served to heighten Hutch's frustration.

Hutch raised a warning finger and was about to say something when a resounding crash almost made them leap off the floor.

A tall man stood in the doorway aiming a rifle at them. The door hung at a slightly odd angle on its broken hinge beside him.

Starsky and Hutch were getting off the floor but froze when he screamed at them. "Stay put! Sit down and stay still or I'll blow your heads off!"

Without taking their eyes off him, they both lowered themselves slowly onto the couch.

About forty years of age, the intruder was a large man with broad shoulders. He had short, dark hair and his face was unshaven, his appearance unkempt. His eyes were small and mean as he glared at them. Kicking the door shut he took quick, long strides across the living room, his rifle still aimed at them, and glanced quickly down the hallway and into the kitchen. "Anyone else here?"

"No." Starsky replied as he and Hutch exchanged looks.

He came to the back of the couch and stood directly behind them.

"Where's your guns?"

"Uhhh...at work." Starsky said hesitantly.

He was rewarded with a sudden blow to the back of his head. As he grunted and fell forward, Hutch rose in anger. The barrel of the rifle was pushed roughly against his cheek. "Don't do it, smartass," the man growled, and Hutch sat back slowly. Starsky was hunched over, head dropped low in his hands.

"Now... I'll ask again. Where's your guns?"

Hutch swallowed back his rage and motioned towards his jacket hanging on a coatrack. "By the door."

The man went to the jackets and, keeping his eyes and rifle on them, pawed through the jackets hanging there and found both holsters.

Starsky's head came up and eased himself slowly back again. If his face had been pale before it was gray now. He opened and closed his eyes a few times, trying to get his blurry vision back. Hutch saw the blood soaking into the back of his shirt-collar. He glared up at the stranger.

"Take what you have to and get out of here."

"Oh, I've got what I want, cop."

"How...how'd you know we're cops?"

"You *look* like pigs." The man sneered as he rounded the couch to stand behind them again.

Hutch looked from him to his partner. "Starsk, you okay?"

The room was spinning before Starsky's eyes, and as much as he willed it to stop, it wouldn't. The speed of the revolutions picked up til he felt himself tilt. An arm grabbed him.

"Starsky."

"Ohhh, Hutch...." He felt himself being righted again. After a deep breath he dared opening his eyes. The room was still fuzzy but wasn't turning half as fast anymore. His head felt as if someone was trying to hammer their way out the back of his skull.

"Just hold tight, buddy." Hutch whispered then cast an angry look up over his shoulder. "What do you want?"

A hand grabbed his hair and jerked his head painfully back til he was staring closely into the menacing face. "I want you and your partner here."

"You got us." Hutch was wincing. "What do you want us for?"

"For a trade." The foul breath was in his face. "You two for my brother. We're going to negotiate...or you are."

At the confused look on Hutch's face his captor continued. "You don't recognize me, do you? My brother just went down for ten years in the Pen, thanks to you two. Am I familiar now?...Yeah, that's right. You testified against him last week, you both told lie after lie. But he ain't going nowhere...cause with you two sittin' in my pocket they're going to turn him loose. Or else." Hutch's hair was let go with a hard push.

Hutch's eyes darted to Starsky. He remembered this man now and knew Starsky did too. They had spent half of Monday in court testifying against a Robert Puller for armed robbery. This man, Puller's brother, had also been in the courtroom, but they hadn't paid too much attention to his silent stares as they answered the Attornies' questions on the stand.

Hutch's mind was racing, thinking of possible ways to get out of this dire situation. As Starsky looked back at him with bleary eyes, his own thoughts were fast and desperate.

"Alright." The voice behind them snarled, "Here's what we're gonna do..."

Suddenly Starsky pushed himself off the couch. As he stood his head pounded even more with the effort and he swayed a little.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" The enraged man yelled.

"I'm sick." Was all Starsky said and started to plod towards the hall.

Taking a few steps back from the couch, the intruder raised his rifle and aimed it at Starsky's back.

"Stop!" yelled Hutch in a panic. "He *is* sick, you moron.....look at him!"

He watched in horror as Starsky didn't stop, only turning his head around to mumble, "I'm gonna throw up," and continued towards the bathroom.

The rifle was quickly turned on Hutch. "Move off that couch and it'll be the last thing you do."

Hutch was tempted to make a move, as the tall man followed Starsky to the washroom doorway and looked in after him. Satisfied there was no exit he said, "Don't close the door, cop, and come right back out!"

Marching back into the living room he turned his venomous eyes on Hutch. "You...pig, you're gonna make some phone calls when he's back."

In the washroom and out of sight, Starsky almost fell against the sink. He leaned heavily on it and peered closely into the mirror. "Shit," he muttered to himself. He looked as bad as he felt. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then crouched down to the cabinet doors under the sink. He reached over and flushed the toilet. Then, looking towards the hallway, he opened one cabinet door and carefully, quietly, stretched an arm in. His hands tapped on the towels, pushed them aside til he felt what he was looking for buried beneath them. His father's old service revolver.

Hutch remained seated on the sofa. Glancing nervously towards the bathroom door, he hoped that Starsky was okay. Sensing that the intruder was losing patience with his partner's sudden need for the john, Hutch decided to distract him.

"Why not let me phone my Captain? Get everything moving along." Hutch offered as he stared earnestly toward the man. Just then Starsky reemerged from the bathroom and shuffled his way back over to the sofa.

Sighing as he sat down, he leaned against Hutch for support.

Hutch turned around to face his friend.

"M'okay Hutch. Got sick. Feel sick still." He mumbled.

Hutch could feel the heat radiating off of the brunet. Leaning over, he parted Starskys hair and found a gash which was still oozing blood.

Despite himself, Hutch's temper flared.

"You stupid idiot! I don't give a damn what you want tonight! My partner was sick before you got here, and that smack to the head only made matters worse. Now spill it!" he spat out. "What do you want me to do...who do you want me to call?"

Starsky leaned back as far as he could against the sofa, trying his best to hide the weapon that he placed underneath the band of his jeans. He was glad he had worn his red flannel shirt tonight as it also provided concealment for the large revolver.

Pain ricocheted throughout his skull and his stomach continued to churn ominously. He swallowed down the bitter bile that was forcing its way up histhroat. No, there was no time to feel sick... to be sick. Starsky pleaded with his body to cooperate.

The man stood on the other side of the coffee table looking down at Hutch. "Pick that phone up," he motioned with his gun to the telephone sitting on the sidetable, "and call your boss."

Hutch picked up the phone and started dialing.

"Tell him there's gonna be two job openings in his department if my brother isn't let go. Tonight."

Hutch shot a nasty look up at him as he listened to the phone ring at the other end. "Police officers aren't considered hostages. Ever think of that? They won't do a thing to help you."

"Just tell him you're in a whole lot of trouble," he snarled back, "and there's only one way out."

"Captain?" Hutch stared at the man as he spoke. "Yeah, it's me, Hutch....yeah....listen," His voice became grave. "..you've got to listen to me.......I'm at Starsky's. We've got an uninvited guest here. Robert Puller's brother. He, uh...he wants his brother out of jail."

"Tell him I'll trade. Two pigs for my brother."

Hutch hesitated, then, "He said he wants his brother in exchange for us. I told him he can't use police officers for negotiations."

"Cut the crap!" The man waved his gun excitedly as he yelled. "Tell him if they don't spring my brother...tonight!..you're both gonna be dead men!"

Starsky hugged his hands to his stomach as he sagged over to the open side of the couch. Hutch's expression was hard when he spoke again. "That's right, Captain. You heard him. And I say it's a no deal..."

"Son of a bitch!" Both hands on his rifle, the man lunged forward to smash Hutch with it at the same time Starsky fell sideways on the couch. As the rifle was swung viciously down towards Hutch a gunblast tore through the air. The rifle dropped onto Hutch's legs then, with a surprised look on his face the man crashed onto the coffee table and rolled onto the floor.

In the ensuing silence Hutch watched the bloodstain spreading over the beige carpet then turned toward Starsky. His partner was still flopped over sideways on the cushions, panting and gazing back, the revolver in his hand. Hutch began to smile at him when the small sounds from the phone receiver caught his attention. He lifted it back to his ear.

"Yeah, Captain. We're all right....we're fine, Captain. But send an ambulance for this creep. He's not doing so good."

"Starsk, you okay?" Hutch asked as he hung up.

"Sure. Go on, Hutch, cuff him." Replied Starsky quietly and Hutch slid off the couch to the moaning form on the floor.

Fine tremors started to rack Starskys body and his mouth was as dry as sand.

Slowly standing back up, he went to the kitchen to get a cold drink of water.

Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, his body protested every movement, threatening to collapse. Finally it did... right into the waiting outstretched arms of his blond friend.

"Oh, Starsk." muttered Hutch as he slowly eased his burden to the ground. Suddenly exhausted himself, Hutch pulled him against his chest, content to remain in that position until Captain Dobey and the calvary arrived.

"You'll need stitches." He murmured.

"..'an a new door...'an carpet...." Starsky mumbled against Hutch's shirt.

"You alright, buddy?"

"..no...think I'll be takin' t'morrow off too."

A tired grin appeared on Hutch's face. "Me too."

"...stay on the couch...."

"....watch the tube...." Hutch offered.

"..play some Monop'ly."

Hutch stirred and looked down at the dark head. "I'm not playing with you again unless there's surveillance cameras."

"..huh?"

"You were seven squares back, Starsky."

"Eight."

"Seven."

The End

Back to Lin P.'s and Linda H.'s Page

Home