The Phoenix and
the Dragon
by M. H. E. Priest
Please note: This story was written
purely for entertainment and is not meant to infringe in any way on the holders
of the rights to Starsky and Hutch. This story takes place during and
after the episode "Sweet Revenge."
Need to read part one? Just click
the link here: Part 1
Part 2
2.1
No one could believe the progress David Michael
Starsky had made in the last few weeks, just as no one could believe he had
even survived the massive trauma from multiple gunshots. Since the arrest of
James Gunther and the return of Joan Meredith into his life, the death-defying
detective's recovery proceeded at a phenomenal rate. He started with
psychological counseling the day after Gunther's arraignment. Physical therapy
began in earnest the day after that.
However, there were two trouble spots in Starsky's
recovery that weren't in any plan of care, but he kept his own counsel. He
feared the answers he would get if he broached the subjects with anyone, even
Hutch. And because no one else brought up the subjects, his fears increased. He
figured they didn't want him to have the bad news.
Physical therapy proved to be the hardest thing
the detective could remember doing in years. But he pushed himself more than
anyone dreamed he would or could. It only took three days before he could
tolerate standing. It was only one more before he started walking, albeit with
the assistance of parallel bars and two husky aides. The big treatment room,
filled with other therapists and patients, as well as a few select visitors,
thundered with their applause at his achievement.
Also watching the recovering detective take those
first steps was a new orderly, who was getting a full tour of the hospital as
part of his new employee orientation. No one noticed that he didn't clap. In
fact, he was hardly noticed at all.
2.2
On the day Starsky took his first steps, Captain
Dobey called Hutchinson and Meredith into his hospital office.
"Okay, you two, here's the deal," Dobey
began in his best dare-to-challenge-me voice. "Starsky is gettin' better,
and he doesn't need you here constantly. You can take some time off when he
goes home. But right now, I need me two detectives - there are still bad guys
out there. And this Gunther business is far from over. So, I'm makin' you two
partners for now." Hutch and Meredith looked at each other and smiled in
agreement. "You two will take some calls and pick up some new cases, but
you will be primarily working on the Gunther case. Clements is on my back to
make sure we have every t crossed and every i dotted. I expect
you won't disappoint him or me."
Dobey stood and walked around his desk to stand in
front of the new partners. "Find the damned shooters. I know the trail is
pretty cold, but neither you" - he pointed his pencil at Hutch - "nor
Starsky is safe until we have them in custody. I have a funny feeling about
those guys. My guess is that they won't give up, even with Gunther behind bars.
They're too professional, even though they made a mistake. Now, get out there
and find those turkeys!" He walked back to his chair. The detectives
hadn't budged.
"Well, what is it now?"
"About Jackson, Captain?"
"Yeah, well, the Walters boy will be
transferred to work on the floor where Starsky'll be moved tomorrow. They're
giving him a private room because he has too many people hangin' around him all
the time! And by the way, also startin' tomorrow, I'll be back at Metro."
He paused, waiting for some kind of response from the two. When none came, he
yelled, "Well, get outta my office!"
"Yes, sir!" Hutch and Meredith said
together. Hutch gave Dobey a sloppy salute with his left hand. Meredith barely
maintained her composure.
Dobey half-rose out of this chair, "Meredith,
get him outta my sight if you know what's good for your partner. And I hope you
do a better job at taming Blondie here than you did with Curly!"
Meredith grabbed the sleeve of Hutch's jacket and
pulled him out of the office. Somehow he managed to keep from stumbling too
much. Once safely in the hallway, they both began laughing uncontrollably. They
were already giddy from watching the child-like delight on Starsky's sweaty,
pained visage as he took his first steps in weeks. The meeting with the
chronically irritable captain of detectives was just enough to send the new
partners over the edge into peals of laughter. Slowly they recovered.
"Come on, partner, let's go get a cup of
coffee in the cafeteria. I'll fill you in on what little we have on the
shooters." Hutch offered Meredith his arm.
The policewoman wrapped her arm around the policeman's
and replied, "Good idea, detective. Then we'll tell Starsky."
They walked in companionable silence to the
hospital cafeteria. As they got to the cashier to pay, he refused. "No
charge, officers. We heard Starsky walked today. Consider it something to toast
with."
They thanked him and went in search of a quiet
table for the business at hand. As they slid into the booth, Hutch said,
"I'll start at the beginning of this sordid little tale. Maybe you'll pick
up on something everyone else has overlooked. It all began with Lionel Rigger,
a small-time dope dealer…"
Meredith was spellbound by the convoluted tale of
how the now-deceased dealer helped to bring about the fall of the most powerful
man in the United States. Hutch's telling was thorough; she rarely had to
interrupt him with questions when she needed something fleshed out a bit more.
She thought it most interesting that Starsky and Hutch's investigation pretty
much stopped with the arrest of Deputy DA Clayburn. "Why didn't you pursue
this further with Clayburn?" she asked.
"Well, hindsight says we should have. But
Starsk and I weren't officially back on the force when we got Clayburn. We
didn't have access to any files, and Dobey took us off the case because there
were other, more pressing matters. After all, he had been down two detectives
in a very busy division."
"You know I have to ask this, Hutch. But do
you think Dobey…"
The blond man wouldn't let her finish.
"Unequivocally, absolutely not. Dobey has gone out on too many limbs for us
over the years, and especially while we investigated this little matter as
private citizens. I'd trust Dobey with my life, and so would Starsky. If he had
had a clue that this mess didn't stop with McClellan and Clayburn, he would
have put us on it."
Hutch's certainty shredded any doubts she had
about the captain. "From what I know of Dobey, I'd have to agree. Go
on."
The pain showed all too well in his light blue
eyes as he focussed on the booth behind Meredith. He told the story of the
shooting and everything else that followed in minute detail. At times, he
closed his eyes. She guessed it was an effort to block some of the more
agonizing memories. She began to understand this big, blond blintz whom Starsky
loved so much. Along with that handsome Scandinavian face, he also had a keen
mind, a heart that had much love, a thoughtful, reserved attitude, and a
purpose in life that he believed in passionately. She didn't interrupt him
until he stopped of his own accord and took a huge gulp of his cold coffee. Then,
with defeat in his eyes, he stared at her.
Don't give up, Hutch. Starsky needs you. I need
you. "Close your eyes, Hutch. Go back
to the shooting." He hesitated. Silently she pleaded, Work with me!
He closed his eyes.
"Okay. You hear the car grind against
another. Now, pretend this is the start of a silent movie. You can't hear
anything else any longer. Go through that movie frame by frame and tell me what
you see."
"There's light - maybe the sun? - reflecting
off the car windshield. Can't see in. It comes around. I see a gun barrel come
out the passenger window."
"Do you look beyond that? Try to
remember."
"Maybe. It's a man, I'm pretty sure, white,
average. Mostly, the shooter is a blur." His eyes popped open and he
stared at her again. "But I can't remember anything else!"
Meredith sensed that his frustration level was
beginning to skyrocket, so she decided to back off, but not all the way. She
agreed with Dobey; Starsky and Hutchinson were still far from safe. "What
about the guys who attacked you here. Yes, no, maybe?"
"Definitely no. Not unless one of them could
grow a full and genuine mustache in less than 48 hours." Hutch's face lit
up. "Mustache. Neither shooter in the car had a mustache!"
"Now we're getting somewhere! Maybe you saw
more than you realize." She sipped her own cold coffee while she thought.
"Hutch, would you consider hypnosis? I think you could remember more with
help."
He waited a few moments before answering,
"Let me think about it, okay? I'm not sure I like the idea of someone…of
me…you know."
"I understand. It will only work if the
person is willing."
Hutch was starting to feel very good about this
partnership and about the investigation. He decided to change the subject.
"Awfully nice of that guy to give us free coffee. Isn't it amazing the
impact Starsky has on people he hasn't even met?"
"People have a tendency to rally around
someone they consider a hero. He's a hero for just surviving." She watched
as Hutch sadly nodded. "He's their 'miracle man,' Hutch. And I hope you
realize you're a hero, too."
"What? I'm no hero. I let my partner
down. He almost died because I chose to duck rather than fire on those…jackals.
He tried to return fire, to protect me. I had the cover of the
car and I still hit the deck. I shoulda…" He hesitated. Meredith
could see the fire and self-loathing in his eyes flare up. "I shoulda
crouched and fired. I let him down in the worst way. I am no hero."
"Hutch, from what I know about the shooting,
you saw the danger and warned him. But it happened too fast. I suspect that
even if he had ducked, he still would have gotten shot. He had nowhere to go.
You didn't get wounded because they made a mistake."
"But he chose to fight 'em!" Hutch
choked back his tears on his unspoken thought: I waited until it was safe and
too damned late.
That's it! That's the crux of his problem - he
considers himself a coward! "Perhaps,
but that was Starsky being Starsky. He barges in where angels and devils
fear to tread. And he puts you ahead of himself, Hutch. He puts just about everyone
ahead of himself, but you most of all." She paused and wondered to
herself, Should I just come out and say it? Oh hell, why not. I've come this
far. "You are no coward, Hutch. You tried to save Starsky the best
way, probably the only way under the circumstances, you knew how. It's not your
fault he chose not to act as you told him. And it's not his fault he chose to
be himself. His wounds were Gunther's fault."
Hutch stared into his nearly empty Styrofoam cup
for several long minutes. Maybe she's right, he finally conceded to
himself. He reached over and covered her small hands with one of his.
"Starsky is a very lucky man, Meredith. No wonder he loves you so much.
And I'm lucky to call you 'partner'."
Her skin was light enough for him to detect a faint
blush. "Go ahead, ask me," he said teasingly.
"Ask you what, Detective Hutchinson?"
"Ask me how I know Starsky is in love with
you."
Her heart decided to go dancing in her chest.
"Okay, I'll bite. How?"
"It's in his eyes, the way he looks at you.
He's never told me he's in love with you, but I can tell. He's loved you since
that case you worked on together. And you love him, or you wouldn't be here.
Besides, you look at Starsk differently than you look at everyone else."
"Now I know how you made Detective so quickly
out of the academy."
"Let's go see the man, partner. It's feeding
time, and you know how he hates to eat his mystery meat without someone around
for him to grouse about it."
2.3
David Starsky groaned when he saw the lumps of various
colors - brown, green, yellow - that further diminished his already sagging
appetite. "Hey," he rasped at the rapidly departing dietician's aide,
"I can't eat this stuff. It looks like…like hazardous waste from Love
Canal."
The aide grinned back at him over her shoulder as
she opened the door to leave. "Doctor's orders, sir!" She promptly
collided with a tall, slender, black man with dark almond-shaped eyes.
"Oops! Sorry, sir."
"The pleasure is all mine," Huggy Bear
said in a stage whisper as he watched the shapely backside of the girl move
down the hall.
"Huggy! Good to see ya. Come on in."
Starsky's mood improved on seeing one of his best friends, but his appetite
didn't.
"Greetings and salutations, my man. Just came
by for my daily visit to this den of suffering." Huggy gazed down at
Starsky's tray and screwed up his face in disgust. "And I see they are
makin' you suffer greatly."
"Well, the least they could do is give me
some tortillas so I wouldn't hafta look at this…stuff," he whined.
Food, and all the sensuous pleasures that go along with it, was something
Starsky really missed. "You don't happen to be carryin' any real
food on ya, wouldja, Hug?"
Huggy spread his arms out and said, "Do you
see any place where I could have hidden anything?" His brown-and-blue
paisley shirt and tan pants were skin tight.
"You're wearin' bellbottoms. You could have
sumpin' in your socks."
Huggy laughed through his nose. "What kind of
medication they got you on? But seriously, Starsky, why the pureed
delight?"
"Coupla reasons. Throat, gut, whatever. Said
they have to advance me slowly. If they take too much longer, I'll have wasted
away."
"I hear you, my man. Tell me, if you could
have anything in the world to eat, what would it be? Uh,uh, no pizza,
spaghetti, or root beer. No burritos, tacos, nachos, neither. Comprendez?"
Starsky sat back against his pillows to consider
how to answer Huggy's query. He automatically tried to raise his arms so he
could put his hands behind his head, but his body revolted. He screamed in
agony.
"Starsky, what is it? Did somethin' come
loose inside? Where's your nurse? I thought you were supposed to have one at
all times."
The detective saw the fear in his friend's eyes.
"No, no, I'm okay," he answered between the panting breaths he was taking.
"Keep forgettin' I can't do that. Hell, can't even brush my own teeth
yet." Damn, will I ever be a cop again, out on the streets with Hutch?
I can't even brush my own teeth! "And Doc said today I didn't need my
own nurse since I'm ready for a regular room."
"The pearly-white care will come, m'man. I
know it will. You will make it happen."
Starsky gave Huggy a grin. "I appreciate your
vote of confidence."
"So, what's the menu?"
This time, Starsky took just a few deep breaths to
help control the pain caused by moving his arms. "Veal. I don't care how
it's fixed. Veal. And a big, ol' antipasta from that little Italian
restaurant."
"Starsky, which of the hundred and fifty
little Italian restaurants in the metropolitan area do you mean? You've eaten
in every single one," chided Huggy.
"Oh, you know the one. On Broad, near Felton.
Hutch and I took you there for your birthday las' year, remember?"
"Yeah, I remember. Starsky, what is it
with you and Italian restaurants? If it was me, I wouldn't step foot in one of
them again if I had gotten shot in one. Bad memories are powerful appetite
suppressants, ya dig?"
Before Starsky could respond, there was a quick
knock at the door. Hutch and Meredith walked in together. Starsky's mood took a
giant leap upwards, and the pain seemed to slack off slightly.
Huggy darted over to Meredith. He took her hand,
and bowed to kiss it. "As always, I am thrilled to gaze upon the beautiful
countenance of my future wife."
Meredith, laughing, withdrew her hand and followed
Hutch to the bedside. "Hiya, partner." She leaned over and kissed the
curly-haired man gently on the cheek. "Missed you."
"Yeah, that was a long three hours."
They only had eyes for each other. Huggy caught Hutch's attention and gave him
a questioning look. Hutch nodded once and shrugged his shoulders.
"Hey, you two," Huggy directed to
Starsky and Meredith, "get a room, would ya? Just remember, that this
little tryst is only temporary. I will claim my bride when she comes to her
senses and realizes chocolate is much tastier than matza balls." The three
detectives burst into laughter.
Huggy gestured with his hands to signal for them
to calm down. "Well, good people, I'm outta here. My dip 'n' sip won't run
itself. Is the slumber party still on for tomorrow night?"
"Absolutely," said Hutch.
"See ya, Hug." Starsky paused as they
watched the tall man saunter confidently out of the room. "So what's up
with you two? Where ya been?"
"Uh, well, you see, Starsk," Hutch began
after venturing a quick glance at Meredith, "Dobey is putting me back to
work. Says I can't hang out with you as much. Plus the DA is on our backs about
Gunther."
"But I need you with me, Hutch."
"Aw, buddy, and I need to be with you. But if
Gunther gets off and we don't find the shooters, I'll never forgive myself. But
I'll be here at night."
Starsky pouted, but he knew Hutch and the captain
were right. Gunther couldn't be allowed to walk. "Yeah, I guess that'll be
okay."
"Uh, got some other news, too. Dobey assigned
me a new partner." Starsky's midnight eyes opened widely, the panic and
shock in them all too apparent to Hutch. "It's, uh, Meredith."
Starsky turned his eyes to the beautiful woman
standing so close to him. "That's terrific. You two will make a great
team." He tried to sound enthusiastic, but his heart fell into the pit of
his stomach. He felt he was being consumed, burned up, turning to ashes on the
inside. His first unspoken fear had materialized. They've already decided I
can't come back. Injuries less serious than what I got are an automatic out, I
know that! Who am I kiddin'? Why am I even bothering?
Hutch was dismayed; he knew exactly was his
partner was thinking. "Starsk, buddy, you realize this is only temporary,
don't you?" Dear God, this sounds so trite and empty. "The bad
guys don't stop. And this keeps Meredith in this division."
"Yeah, sure, babe." Starsky thought he
did a good job pretending to be understanding and reassuring. "Now don't
go gettin' any ideas about my lady here," he continued in an effort to
lighten the mood.
Meredith, who had been watching the interaction
between the two men closely, piped in. "Don't you worry, Starsky. No one
can replace you." She didn't add, "in my heart," because that
didn't cover enough. I hope he believes that just half as much as I do.
A tense but still friendly silence hung in the air
for a few seconds. Hutch broke the quiet. "Buddy, eat while I tell you
about what might be a break in id'ing the shooters." His heart almost
shattered when he saw Starsky strain mightily to make his left arm function
just enough to feed himself.
Starsky sighed in anger. "Dammit!" he
screamed as best he could. "Will I ever…" He bit off the last of the
question. His vision blurred from pain, frustration, and tears. He turned his
head away from the new partners.
Meredith responded first. "That…food is cold,
anyway. I'll run to the cafeteria and get you a milkshake. What flavor?"
Hutch spoke for him. "Strawberry, please,
Meredith. And thanks."
Once she was gone, Hutch stroked the side of his
partner's head. That's weird. I can see a bald streak where Joey Martin's
bullet grazed him…Damn! That was yet another time I let him down. "Yes
you will, buddy, yes you will. But you can't expect to be back to normal
overnight. Hell, it's barely been a week since you came out of a coma."
Hutch sat on the side of the bed and gently laid his hand on Starsky's knee.
A few minutes later, Starsky stirred. "Hutch,
I'm sorry. It's just that…it hurts so much alla time. And PT is hell! I didn't
hurt this bad when I woke up! Ain't I supposed to be gettin' better?"
"Oh, buddy, you are. And physical therapy is
going to hurt. We'll work something out with the docs and nurses. You will get
better. You already are."
Starsky finally faced his partner again. It was
comforting to see those sky blue eyes so filled with hope. "Thanks, babe.
You're the greatest."
Hutch clapped his friend on the knee a couple of
times and smiled. "You might change your mind when I tell you this.
Starsk, I, uh, got a few personal matters to tend to." My new partner
sure gave me a lot to think about. "Would you mind too terribly if
just Meredith stayed with you tonight?" He saw the anxiety rise in
Starsky's expression. "But I swear I'll be here by 6 a.m." He crossed
his heart and gave the Boy Scout salute.
"But Hutch…" He stopped. Hutch had
barely left his side, and when he had it had been on police business. Don't
be selfish, you little brat. Ma would never forgive you. "Sure.
Meredith and I will be fine. But I still need you, and I'll miss ya,
Blintz." There is an up side to this. I get to sleep with Meredith -
alone!
For a brief moment, Hutch's feelings were hurt
since Starsky had agreed so readily with a minimum of whining. Then it dawned
on him. Sometimes I'm real slow. "Thanks, buddy, for knowing what I
need, always looking after me."
Meredith re-entered the room without knocking. She
thrust the large milkshake at the patient and ordered, "Drink! Or I will
arrest you for resisting, mister."
The dark-haired man smiled widely. "Oh,
Officer, I could never resist you." With her help, he devoured the treat
while she and her new partner filled him in on most of what they had discussed
earlier.
2.4
Even in its heyday, the St. Francis Hotel would
never have made it on any list of recommended accommodations. Now, it was just
another flophouse, renting rooms by the hour, day, week, or month.
Surprisingly, serious trouble rarely occurred there, the last time being the
murder of a closeted gay cop who had witnessed another cop dealing drugs.
Two nondescript men had checked in the previous
week, requesting adjoining rooms. The clerk only cared that they had paid for a
month's rent in real twenty-dollar bills. They were quiet and didn't hog the
communal shower.
Just as Detective Sergeant Starsky was enjoying
his strawberry milkshake in his room at Memorial Hospital, these two men were
discussing him in their hotel room a few miles away.
"I saw him today, Frankie. I was getting the
grand tour. He was in physical therapy, walking for the first time. His partner
was there, along with a black woman. If she's a cop, she's not based out of
Metro. Seeing that determination in his eyes and knowing how the blond one made
Gunther, I wish they were on our team. They would be superior hitters."
Frankie laughed cynically. "Yeah, like they
would do something like that, Mitch. You read their profiles, just like I did.
Weird coincidence that Starsky and I were in 'Nam at the same time." He
shook his head. "Did you convince your new boss to let you float?"
The man named Mitch nodded and smirked. "No problem.
They need help so bad, I think they would let me operate. Reconnaissance
shouldn't take long since I can rightfully be anywhere in that hospital. Do you
have the cars ready?"
"Almost," replied Frankie. "Two
more ought to do it. And I have the streets and alleys memorized. I'll be ready
to start the tail on Big Swede tomorrow afternoon."
Mitch nodded his head, pleased that they were on
the road to finishing the job and saving their reputations. "We still need
a code name for our patient. Any ideas yet?"
"Both these guys are loose cannons, but
Starsky takes the cake. And that hair. Uh, how about 'Wild Thing'?"
Mitch considered it briefly. "Let's go with
that. From now on, we no longer speak our targets' real names." As he
approached the door to his room, he said over his shoulder, "After I
shower, let's get dinner. Chinese."
"Sure." Frankie slumped down in his
chair. Mitch will finish what I started, Starsky, and I'll do your partner.
Nobody makes us look bad.
2.5
About midnight, a loud, coarse scream jolted Joan
Meredith awake. She reached for her weapon strapped to her ankle and jumped out
of the lounge chair she was sleeping in. Checking Starsky first, she saw he was
alone and in the throes of a bad nightmare. She quickly scanned the rest of the
room and found nothing out of the ordinary in the dim light. She put the gun in
the waistband of her trousers at the small of her back before she approached
him.
"David," she said loudly before she
touched him, "it's me, Meredith." She trapped his upper arms against
the bed. She heard the door open and knew it would be Angela, his night nurse.
His hands were clenching the sheets, but he released them when he felt her
touch. The next instant he was awake and staring at Meredith's worried eyes.
"It's just a bad dream, David." The terror on his face made her want
to sob.
He exhaled heavily. "Yeah, yeah, I'm
okay." He spoke in soft, short, raspy breaths. He was drenched in sweat.
Angela was at his side now, too. "David, you're hyperventilating.
Concentrate on breathing deep and slow, like we've taught you."
Meredith had released his arms. He was clutching
his chest and grimacing while he worked to slow his breathing.
"David," Angela continued in her soothing, alto voice, "are you
hurting, or scared?"
"Yeah, both counts," he whispered.
"Tell you what. I'll go get you some pain
meds, and some linen. You're soaked! Maybe you'd like to tell Joan about the
dream while I'm gone?" Angela rested her hand on his shoulder for a few
moments and left the room.
Meredith stroked his arm. "Want to tell me
about, Starsky?"
"Uh, no." His voice, more hoarse since
the scream, was also shaky. "Can't remember now, anyways." He started
hiccuping. This intensified his pain so much that he cried out after each
hiccup. He soon became nauseated as well. He curled up and jerked spasmodically
as a prelude to vomiting. Oh God, I just wanna die.
Meredith felt lost and helpless. All she could do
was rub his lower back. The partially open back of the hospital gown allowed
her to have first look at the exit wounds. Red, puckered, jagged scars. One
looked like it had been infected. Another was so close to an older scar from an
earlier bullet. Just seeing them made her hurt. "Come on, Angela, where
are you? He needs his pills." She was nervous and angry, and hoped that
Starsky hadn't heard her.
Five seconds later, Angela reappeared with an
orderly in tow. "Dave, sorry it took so long. Had to hunt down the
narcotics keys. Danny's here to help." Danny, a tall, lanky farm boy from
Iowa hoping to break into the movies, began filling a basin with water.
"Meredith, could you help hold his hip still?
It'll be easier if I don't have to hit a moving target. Dave, I thought you'd
be nauseated, so here's a shot for that." She had it injected before she
finished talking. "Now take a deep breath and hold as long as you
can."
Starsky almost cursed her because such an action
seemed useless. But he did anyway. When he exhaled, the hiccups had ceased.
Angela then gave him his pain medication in liquid form.
"Next, we gotta get you cleaned up and out of
this wet shirt and change your linen. If you want to stay, Officer, it's
okay."
"NO!" Starsky was emphatic.
"No problem, Starsky. I need to step out for
a few minutes." He's not ready for me to see him. Meredith made her
way to the public bathroom where she doused her face repeatedly with cool
water. Will he ever let me see? Why must I love him so? she asked her
image in the mirror.
By the time she made it back to his room, Danny
was leaving with an armload of linen. She watched silently as Angela finished
straightening up the room. "I'll check on you in half an hour," the
nurse whispered.
Starsky felt less tense, and he was no longer
trying to retch. The pain medication had not yet kicked in, so he held a pillow
tightly to his chest. "Thanks," he mouthed.
Angela gave the black detective a quiet smile as
she left the room. Meredith stood a few feet away from Starsky's bed, her hands
clasped behind her back.
"Meredith, I gotta be honest with you,"
he said, sounding like a little boy confessing to stealing a nickel from his
mother's purse. "I really wish Hutch was here. I feel…safe with him, I
trust him and love him like no other person on earth."
The woman's eyes began to feel with tears. She
hoped and prayed this wouldn't be the kiss-off she'd been dreading in the back
of her mind since she came back.
Starsky, despite his pain and fear, could read her
body language so easily. Oh, man, I'm gonna mess this up! he raged at
himself. "I need him more'n anybody. But that don't mean I don't need you,
too. I jus' don't want you to think that I…that I…don't love you. Don't let me
push you away, no matter how hard I try." He looked at her hard, seeing
deep into her heart, searching for her answer.
A few heartbeats went by. Before she knew it, she
was inches from Starsky's face. "Don't worry. You're not getting rid of
me."
His heart felt tons lighter. His Adam's apple
began to bob as he choked back his own tears. "Meredith, I'm in love with
you." His indigo eyes told her how much.
She took his face in her hands and smothered him
with kisses. "Oh, Starsky, I love you, too. Ever since that day in the
park."
He grinned from ear to ear. He gave her a long,
deep kiss before whispering in her ear, "Sleep with me?" He slowly
scooted over to give her room.
She crawled under the sheets with him. She
couldn't stop smiling. "Where can I put my head?"
They both rocked with laughter at the sexual
connotations of that question. "Well, there's no place on my chest that
don't hurt. So's how about you put your head next to mine?"
Meredith did as he requested. She ran her fingers
along his thigh for a few seconds before placing her hand there to rest. She
sent silent thanks to Hutch for giving them this time.
He turned his head so he could see and smell her.
The soft fragrances of her shampoo and soap were long gone, and the only smell
now was her own. He found her scent erotic and intoxicating. He wanted her
badly, remembering how it was before.
Suddenly, he realized in horror that he didn't
have an erection. His second unspoken fear had materialized. He turned his head
away from her and stared hopelessly at the wall.
Goddamn you, Gunther! You didn't kill me, you
sonuvabitch, but you fuckin' won anyway! My life is worse than death, so you
won! Goddamn you, Gunther, and goddamn me…
At just that moment, on the second floor of Venice
Place, as he played his guitar, Hutch felt his heart skip a beat.
2.6
Hutch and Meredith helped Starsky get settled in
his new room. Both were well aware that he seemed unusually subdued this
morning. They attributed it to the move - yet another milestone in his
recovery. Starsky was silently weighing his options.
An orderly pushing an empty wheelchair showed up
at the door. "I'm here to take Mr. Starsky to PT."
"Right here," Starsky answered without
much enthusiasm. It had been about 45 minutes since he had taken his pain
pills, but he still hurt considerably. His work-out would make it much worse.
And now, he wasn't sure he wanted to exert the effort.
The man, wearing a badge that indicated his name
was Ernie Michaelson, parked the wheelchair next to the bed. Hutch jumped
forward and said, "Here, let me give you a hand transferring him."
The two men easily lifted Starsky into the chair.
Starsky watched as the orderly flipped the
footrests into place and release the breaks. There's somethin' familiar
about his hands! And the way he holds his head. "Hey, what's
your name?"
"Ernie, sir."
"You look familiar, but I can't place ya. You
new here, or what?" Hutch, feeling something was up, began paying close
attention to the conversation. Starsky's well-hidden suspicion of this fellow
was transparent to him. He felt the fire in his belly grow hotter.
"I'm new here, Mr. Starsky. Started
yesterday. I just moved to California from North Carolina. Couldn't take the
army any more."
"I hear ya. But I still feel like I seen ya
before."
"Well, sir, I was in PT yesterday when you
walked. They tell me it was your first steps in a long time."
"Yeah, it was. Well, let's get goin', Ernie
from North Carolina. We can't keep Barbara and her goons waitin' for me. And
call me Dave or Starsky, but not 'Mister,' okay?"
"Okay, Dave." Before Ernie started
pushing the wheelchair, Hutch lightly squeezed Starksky's left shoulder, which
made the injured man wince. "Take care, buddy. See you at lunch. Gotta be
a cop this morning."
"'Kay."
As he watched Starsky and Ernie make their way to
PT, Hutch began feeling uneasy. It was almost a sense of impending doom.
"Let's get to work, Meredith. What do you say to rounding up some
information on assassin pairs?"
"Let's do it, Detective."
Starsky was feeling unsettled. It wasn't anything
he could put his finger on. Ernie seemed nice enough. There was nothing special
or unusual or outstanding about him. He was just an ordinary guy. But this
feeling he got in the orderly's presence was one he hadn't had in a while. As
he rolled to PT, he tried to recall the last time he felt this way.
2.7
Starsky put himself on autopilot during therapy.
He worked hard, harder than Barbara, his primary therapist, expected or wanted.
It seemed some other part of him insisted on beginning weight training. A part
of him was aware of the excruciating pain he had with the range of motion
exercises for his arms and with holding himself erect to walk. But to most of
him, all that seemed distant and surreal.
"Great work-out, Dave! You are amazing!"
Barbara's enthusiastic comments brought the entire detective back to reality.
He reeled from pain and fatigue. His hospital gown and scrub pants were soaking
wet from his sweat. He glared at Barbara as if she were totally insane.
"We have a treat for you this morning,"
Barbara continued. "We got permission for you to shower! Your doc said it
was okay. We have a shower chair for you to sit in, and Evan and Mick'll help
you. I'll see you this afternoon."
"Terrific," he heard someone say who
sounded just like him.
Evan lumbered over to Starsky. This guy puts
the Omaha Tiger to shame, Starsky thought as the huge man picked him up
with tender ease. He felt dwarfed and insignificant in this aide's arms.
Starsky had nicknamed him "Evan the Terrible" because he was
gargantuan and looked menacing. The detective had also learned to associate him
with the agony of physical therapy, though the big man never inflicted any on him.
Once in the shower room right off the main PT
room, Mick worked Starsky's pants off while he was still in Evan's arms.
Starsky started to blush. Ordinarily, he was very unself-conscious about his
body among fellow cops around the gym, close friends like Huggy, Hutch, and a
few selected lady friends. But this was a different story. Cool it, man.
These guys are professionals. They don't care if you're a man - I hope. He
pushed his concerns away, because they might spoil what he was suddenly looking
forward to.
Evan delicately placed Starsky in the shower
chair. In no time, the very damp hospital gown was off. Mick, who had been
standing a couple of feet in front of Starsky, moved to turn the shower on.
"How ya like your water, Dave?" he asked as he let the warm fluid run
over his hand. When there was no response for a few long seconds, he turned to
see Starsky staring at the mirror that he, Mick, had been blocking.
What he had avoided so ardently finally happened.
The dark-haired man stared at the image staring back at him. Thirty pounds
lighter, pale, hooded, tired eyes. And scars - lots of scars. A sick, twisted,
complicated maze of scars. He went numb and retreated to where reality was
distant, before he got completely lost in that horror that looked back. He
found a cave to crawl into, where he could be safe, and he had no intentions of
ever coming out.
It was apparent to both aides what had happened.
Evan laid a beefy hand cautiously and tenderly on Starsky's right shoulder.
Mick, in great distress, said, "Aw, man, I didn't know you hadn't
seen…" He gulped. "I'm sorry, man, so sorry." Mick signaled to
Evan that they should start his shower. Once they had him in the shower arena,
Starsky closed his eyes.
There she was, without warning. Terry! He
dared not open his eyes, afraid she'd be gone. Am I…am I dyin'?
Yes, best friend, you are, just like everyone
is dying. I was lucky to be alive my
last few days. And you made them very special. You gave me everything you had,
without reservation or expectation of anything in return. Now I want you to
give me something else.
Anything, sweetheart, anything! Name it, it's
yours!
She smiled laughingly. You know what I want.
Then she was gone as quickly as she had come. His heart ached for her, but
somehow he didn't feel empty.
By the time Mick finished rinsing the shampoo and
soap off Starsky, the detective opened one eye tentatively. Terry was still
gone, and he was back in the shower room, the cave only a few steps behind him.
He allowed himself to enjoy his freshly cleaned body. As Mick and Evan
diligently dried him off - Evan, you give a great scalp massage - he
caught a movement in his peripheral vision. Ernie? he wondered, but he
couldn't be sure. He shuddered. Did somebody just walk over my grave?
2.8
Hutchinson ran his hands through his longish blond
locks, then finger-groomed his mustache. He had come back to the hospital early
for lunch and waited in the solarium for his partner to return from physical
therapy. Meredith was at Metro, attending to some important matters related to
her undercover assignment in D.C. He stood and started to pace, unsure what was
making him so apprehensive. Have I missed something? Is Starsk in danger?
What is it?
With his Starsky radar on full alert, Hutch
stopped and looked down the hall, focussing on the nurses' station. Ernie was
just stopping at the desk with Starsky in tow. He started to walk briskly
toward the two men, then broke into a jog. He saw the medication nurse, who was
still behind the desk, hand Ernie a small cup. The orderly then proceeded to
place the cup to Starsky's lips.
"Uh, stop, Ernie," Hutch said loudly as
he skidded to a halt in front of the wheelchaired Starsky. "He's my
partner. Let me give him his pills, okay?"
"Sure, no problem, Detective
Hutchinson." Ernie held the cup out for Hutch to take. Hutch gazed
intently at Ernie, memorizing him. Ernie gazed back, smiling and unblinking.
"Hey, you two, down here, I'm down here. Will
one-a ya give me my pills? I'm hurtin, already."
"Oh, sure, buddy. Sorry about that."
Hutch dumped the pills in Starsky's open mouth.
"Dhwink," Starsky uttered, the pills
stuck to his tongue.
"'Dhwink'? What…oh yeah, drink."
Starsky rolled his eyes and looked perturbed with his partner. The nurse had
been holding out a container of thick, beige-colored fluid for him to take. Must
be that every-possible-nutrient-available drink, he thought as he took it
from her and sniffed it with disgust. He poured some in Starsky's waiting
mouth.
The curly-haired man finally gulped the pills and
beverage down. "It's about damn time, Blintz," he snapped."
Don't give up your day job."
Hutch's heart leapt for joy. Starsky, who had been
so quiet and whiny, who had smiled so little and joked even less, was getting
his quick temper back. Another sign of life! "Starsky, I liked you
better when you weren't so irascible."
"Irascible? Who you callin' 'irascible'? How
dare you call an injured man such a thing. Ernie, to my room, and don't spare
the ponies. I wanna take a nap before lunch."
After Ernie left, Hutch fussed with Starsky's
covers as he asked, "What happened? This morning, you hardly said three
words. Now…well, I don't know. Wanna talk about it?"
Starsky sighed heavily as he snuggled his clean
head into the fresh pillow on his bed. "Maybe later. Right now, I'm tired
and I hurt and I want to sleep before lunch." In the few seconds before he
fell asleep, he thought, Is this what you want, Terry? Me not just living
but alive? He barely heard her say, Thank you.
2.9
There was hell to pay the next morning. The second
official slumber party was wild and raucous, with Starsky starring as the
ringleader. Neither he nor any of his visitors slept much. In fact, virtually
no patient in the vicinity of that room had much sleep. The night nurses had
decided to indulge the tight-knit group and tried desperately to make it up to
the other patients, offering them earplugs, extra backrubs, visits to the
nursery. Once the patients understood the circumstances, they were much more
tolerant of the ruckus. One man who suffered multiple trauma in a car accident
even asked if he could join them.
But the doctors and the hospital administrator and
the patients' families would have no more of it. Everyone, no exception, was banned
from spending the night with Detective Sergeant Starsky. He was a grown man,
recovering nicely, and security measures remained at a higher-than-usual level.
The nursing supervisor chastised the night nurses, but with an approving gleam
in her eyes.
Starsky, Hutchinson, and Meredith all griped
loudly about the ruling and promised it wouldn't happen again. But nothing
could change the administrator's mind.
The Starsky contingent, as the healing detective
and his comrades were called, settled into a new routine quickly. Starsky would
go to PT in the morning and nap until lunch. Right after lunch, he would speak
with a psychologist who specialized in helping survivors of significant trauma.
This was followed by another session in PT. Hutch and Meredith would meet their
partner for breakfast and dinner. Hutch was also there for lunch. Meredith
frequently would miss that meal with them because of her work with MacQueen in
D.C. Huggy Bear would show up just after Starsky's afternoon physical therapy
session. Huggy would regale him with his usual colorful speech and wild stories
of countless relatives; it seemed to take his mind off the pain, which seemed
to be at its worst at that time of day. Then he would leave shortly after Hutch
and Meredith arrived for dinner. They would stay, talking, reading, watching TV
and Starsky sleep, until the evening supervisor kicked them out. Captain Dobey
came whenever
Starsky continued to astonish virtually everyone
in the hospital with the pace of his recovery. When he wasn't sleeping, he was
eating or drinking. Hutch started to call him "The Amazing Human Garbage
Disposal" and insisted he was afraid to put his hand near Starsky's mouth.
He had good range of motion with his right arm and hand. He still had some difficulty
with his left, but there were improvements every day. One week after the second
sleep-over, he was walking with two canes. A week after that, his doctors told
him he could go home in another week.
Huggy called Starsky's room after dinner the day
he got the news about his impending discharge. Hutch answered. "Ah, Mr.
America, just who I wanted to parlez-vous with."
"Yeah, Hug, what is it?"
"How about tonight? Say, midnight? I'll call
the good captain. He always enjoys hearing from me."
"You got it. I'll tell Starsk. Perfect
timing. He got shit-on-a-shingle again."
"Oh, man, hadn't the dude suffered
enough?" Huggy hung up and dialed Dobey at division.
Hutch looked at his partner, who was playing
kiss-chess with Meredith. "Ha! I got your queen's knight. You owe me, uh,
six kisses." Meredith happily obliged as he triumphantly waved the
captured piece just over the board. "Hutch, you wanna play me next? What'd
Huggy want?"
Hutch smiled happily and indulgently at his
partner behind his back. "I'll play with her, but no way will I play
kiss-chess with you. Whoever heard of such a thing? Starsky, you can pervert
anything."
Starsky winked at Meredith and said teasingly,
"Hey, who's callin' who a pervert? You may enjoy this new and improved
version of chess. Don't know unless you try it."
#####
Frankie and Mitch huddled in a back booth of
Shirley's Good Eats, a greasy spoon a few blocks from the St. Francis. They
felt safe talking here. The food was barely edible (both had had much worse)
and the diner was never full.
Mitch shook his head in disbelief. "I saw
Wild Thing in PT again today. I still can't believe, after seeing the
damage you did, that he even survived. He is doing very well, almost ready to move
to one cane. I have to take him out very soon or he will put up too much of a
fight. He's also turning out to be a night owl. I may need closer by than
anticipated. How're your preparations going for Big Swede's demise?"
Frankie smirked. "The last of the materiel I
get today. I'll work on it tonight and it should be operational by morning.
He's been an easy tail. Routine has seldom varied. He and that black woman cop
have only taken a few simple calls. I'm positive I haven't been spotted. The
different cars and hats have worked great."
Mitch nodded his approval. "Tomorrow night,
then. I'll switch my day shift with Harry's night."
They lifted their coffee mugs and saluted each
other with them. "May Big Swede and Wild Thing enjoy their last night
alive."
"Here, here. And may our asking price
increase two-fold." This time Mitch smirked, and the pair left.
Neither assassin noticed the small man in a dirty
brown overcoat huddled behind their booth, trying to sleep one off in peace. On
hearing the last few words, he sank deeper into the shadows. Won'er who they
talkin' about?
2.10
The next day, news of the feeding frenzy and
fiasco in Starsky's room during the night shift was all over the hospital. Most
people thought it was pretty cool, but the administrator had had enough. It
took Dobey an hour to convince him not to bar him, Huggy, and Hutch completely
from the hospital. What finally sold the man was Dobey's promise that Hutch
would sing for the kids in the cancer ward.
Detective Hutchinson went home earlier than usual.
He was exhausted by the previous night's antics and desperately needed sleep.
Luck was with him and he parked in front of the building behind a tan VW
Beetle. Just as he was getting out of his car, he saw a man wearing a cowboy
hat get in the Beetle. He looks so familiar. When he couldn't place him
right away, he shook his head and climbed the stairs to his apartment.
There's that feeling again, like I missed
something, that something's not quite right,
he thought as he unlocked the door. He stripped off his black leather jacket,
holster, and Magnum. He carefully sat down on the sofa so not to aggravate his
back (he had hurt it again trying to climb out of Starsky's bed when the water
got to be too much). He felt himself drifting off to sleep rapidly. Hell,
I'm not sleeping in my clothes again. With great effort, he stripped to his
shorts and socks. Settling back on the sofa again, the big blond man was asleep
immediately.
Meredith, on the other hand, stayed with Starsky
until the nursing supervisor kicked her out. He had been in a wonderful mood
for the last couple of weeks. The psychologist had warned them all that this
might be short-lived, something like a honeymoon. Once out of the hospital, the
reality of a long and painful convalescence would kick in and everyone's mood
might suffer. She didn't care. She was happy to have him any way she could. And
she was relieved he had not pushed her away.
Jackson Walters came into the room as Meredith was
trying to give Starsky his good-night kiss (it was never long enough to suit
him, and he insisted each night that they practice until they got it right).
Jackson's entry finally made the curly-haired detective cease.
"Hey, Jackson," he said, waving the
young man into the room. "You're in early tonight. What's up?" His
voice was more hoarse than it had been for days. Last night had taken its toll
again.
"We're supposed to watch that Bogart movie,
remember?" Jackson was patient with Starsky's short-term memory problems.
It hadn't taken him long to learn what pain and its treatment can do to
person's mind.
"Oh yeah, yeah, I remember now."
"Goodnight, boys. See you in the
morning." Meredith blew kisses to them both. Starsky returned the air kiss.
Jackson, still shy around such a beautiful, confident woman, gave her a small
wave.
"Aw, Jackson, you better get used to her. I
have the feeling she's gonna be around a lot in my life, which means
she's gonna be around in yours." He slapped the mattress a few
times. "Come on over here. Movie's gonna start soon."
Jackson joined Starsky on the bed. The older man
tried to put his left arm around his shoulder, but he couldn't quite make it.
He inhaled sharply through his teeth. The pain was abruptly tortuous, almost
bringing tears to his eyes. "Jackson, do me a favor," Starsky said
through clenched teeth, "and ask the nurse for some pain pills,
wouldja?" The detective had a feeling this would be a rough night.
#####
Starsky was having a rough night. He was restless,
unable to find a comfortable position. The few times he did manage to fall
asleep, he dreamed about fire and steel. Both his nurse and Jackson tried
backrubs, singing, jokes, and even card tricks, but nothing worked. On the
approval of the physician on-call, he got an extra dose of pain medication and
a light sedative about 3 a.m.
#####
Hutchinson woke up in a sweat. His
back ached and he felt like kicking himself when he realized he was still on
the couch. He took great care in rising. Placing his hands on his back at the
waist, he moved around the apartment in the dark. The dogs of his new backyard
neighbor sounded as if they were auditioning for a heavy metal band. He glanced
at his kitchen clock and moaned when he saw it was almost 4 a.m. "Damn
dogs, I'll never get back to sleep with this racket," he complained aloud
to no one. He pulled on the black jeans he had worn earlier and headed for the
door.
Moments later, Venice Place exploded.
#####
At that moment, Starsky woke up in a sweat and saw
a hand hurtling toward his face. Before he could scream or even move, the hand
clamped down tightly over his nose and mouth then pushed his head down into the
pillow. Peripherally to his right, Starsky caught sight of an operating room
gown, but nothing else. His right arm was pinned down by what he thought was a
knee. He tried to use his left arm to fight back but the pain and the sedation
hampered him.
Next he was aware of something cold and sharp
pressing against his neck an inch or so to the left of his Adam's apple. Oh
God, he's gonna cut my throat! In his right ear, he heard a deep voice
growl, "You are finally going to die, you stupid-fuck cop."
"STARSKY!" The helpless detective
recognized Jackson's voice. It startled his attacker, who, in turning to look,
let up pressure on Starsky's arm and the knife left his throat.
Unconsciously summoning all the strength he
possessed, Starsky rolled his body to the left. As he moved, the knife sliced
into him from the inner right collarbone to his upper deltoid muscle.
Jackson charged the intruder without hesitation.
He got to the man a second after Starsky's cut. He tried to fight like the
detective had taught him, but his anger and frustration got in the way. The
assassin sliced Jackson across the chest, then stabbed him in the abdomen. The
young man slowly fell to the floor beside the bed.
The hitman jumped over Jackson and sped out of the
room without looking back at Starsky. He bowled over a nurse who had just
arrived outside the room. He was so furious about the hit going sour that he
bent over and stabbed her as well. He was in the stairwell before the other
night nurses made it to that end of the hall.
Starsky called out for Jackson. He didn't answer.
With another great effort, he lunged out of bed, narrowly missing the boy's
head. Their blood began to mix on the floor. Starsky knelt by his young friend
and pressed on his abdomen with both hands to try to stem the bleeding.
"Come on, Jackson, stay with me, ya hear? I need you, son. I love you.
It's gonna be okay…" He faded, his last thought of Jackson, Sr. in the
alley, not being able to help him either, just as he felt several hands touch
his shoulders.
End of Part 2
© 2000
Comments?
I'd like to hear from you. Please email me at mhepriest@yahoo.com.
Part 2
completed 11 November 2000