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."
Part 4
4.1
It wasn't just the incessant pain from the burns
and arm and chest that kept the blond detective awake. It was learning a
disturbing secret about his closest friend and partner, and it was his own
concealment of a secret he had never told anyone, he was so ashamed of it.
Hutchinson could remember all too clearly that day
he registered for law school at the University of Wisconsin. Law school had
beat out medical school by a toss of a coin. I had to use a dumb fucking
quarter to direct my life. God, was I a loser. While he stood in line, two
men in suits had approached him and offered him lunch for a few minutes of his
time. Intrigued and never one to pass up a free meal, he had accepted.
As the three men ate burgers and drank beer at a
nearby tavern, the "suits" had revealed their agenda. They were FBI
agents, recruiting people to infiltrate and inform on student activist groups
involved in protesting the war and other radical activities. When Hutchinson
asked why he had been chosen, they quickly specified his own protest activity
in undergraduate school, his ability to earn the trust of others, and his
excellent academic record. "After law school, there will be a career for
you in the FBI," he had been assured.
Hutchinson had politely told the two men
"no" and thanked them for the meal, leaving without finishing. Hours
later, he had found himself sitting on a bench in a small park on a lake
bordering the campus, not remembering how he had gotten there. He had wondered
what they had seen in his character. What had they seen to think he would be
willing to rat on the people who believed as strongly as he did about the
unjust war in Vietnam?
He recalled feeling dirty, untrustworthy, and
inadequate, without integrity. He recalled hating and doubting himself that
afternoon. He recalled marching into the registrar's office the next morning
and withdrawing from the university. He laughed when he remembered how he made
the spur-of-the-moment decision to become a policeman, even though it was
something he had considered doing for years. And how he had pulled out a map,
closed his eyes, and picked out Bay City with his index finger. He sighed when
he remembered how right the decision had felt then. Now, the decision didn't
seem right at all.
Hutchinson resolved to convince his nurse to
discontinue his IV and to visit Starsky in his own room before day shift
started. Time to act, not react.
#####
Joan Meredith acknowledged the three officers
protecting Starsky. She tapped on the door lightly, then pushed in open. She
inhaled sharply when she saw Starsky on his bed. He looked so innocent, so old,
so tired, so handsome, so ragged in unguarded sleep. She loved him even more
now, but feared she had lost him.
She tiptoed to his bedside and stroked his curly,
dark hair. Before she was finished with the first stroke, he woke and lashed
out at her. She staggered back from the glancing blow from his left hand. She
stared at him with shock and disbelief. It was a few moments before she
realized his striking out was purely defensive.
"Starsky, I'm sorry, I should've said
something first." She had to wait a few more moments for his apology.
"Sorry, Meredith, guess I'm a little
touchy." Starsky avoided direct eye contact. "Got my gun?"
Hutch arrived outside the room, accompanied by two
of the officers assigned to him. He could hear their voices through the door.
After seeing what had passed between his partners the previous night, he
whispered to all five policemen to back away. He leaned heavily against the
wall and strained to hear the conversation within.
Meredith opened the large straw bag she had slung
over her shoulder. She withdrew the Smith & Wesson, nestled in its
customary holster, an empty waist holster, and several magazines. Gently she
placed them on the overbed table. "As ordered by Captain Dobey. I cleaned
and oiled it last night." Her tone was friendly but cautious.
"Thanks," Starsky said flatly.
Meredith took a deep breath and plunged in,
"Starsky, I'm so sorry about yesterday. I should have been here to see you
and Hutch as soon as I heard, but…"
"But what, Meredith?" Hutch cringed as
he heard the sudden anger in Starsky's raspy voice. "Hutch is your
partner. You shoulda been with him as soon as you found out. That's what
partners do, dammit! You gotta be there for each other! And me? Hell, I
thought you loved me, but maybe it's just fuckin' pity and obligation.
Like you can't dump this…this…worthless cripple yet." He stopped the
tirade abruptly and let several seconds elapse. He swallowed hard, hoping he
could control his rage. But he couldn't control the cold tears that oozed into
his eyes. "Just leave, Meredith. You've done your social work duty."
He turned his back to her.
"David," - his head snapped back to look
at her for an instant; she had never called him by his first name -
"please let me explain."
"Leave, please. There ain't nothin' to
explain."
Meredith was determined not to let Starsky know
she was close to breaking down. She whirled and rapidly walked out of the room.
She ran right into Hutch, almost toppling him. He stared at the glistening dark
brown of her eyes. He saw her plea for forgiveness. Taking her strong chin in
his hand, he held her head steady while he brushed his lips against her cheek.
He smiled his forgiveness. "He'll come around."
She pulled away, tucked her chin to her chest, and
rushed away from the small crowd outside her beloved's room.
Hutch hung his head in morose sadness. So much was
changing and out of control. He feared the changes would be permanent, that
Starsky would be forever moody and angry, that he himself would yield to the strong
pull of the pessimistic, depressive side of his nature without Starsky's
eternal optimism and child-like enthusiasm to help him achieve something close
to a balance. Act, don't react, he reminded himself.
He entered Starsky's room without knocking. Starsky
turned to the shuffling he heard and saw Hutch, stoop-shouldered, still swathed
in white except for loose-fitting green scrub pants and a light blue sling. His
complexion matched his bandages. Starsky said in alarmed concern, "What
the hell are you doin' here? You should be in bed! Sit down!"
Hutch made it to the chair close to Starsky's bed
and very carefully sat down. He grimaced and hissed in pain - sitting was
proving to be difficult at best. "Starsk, we have to talk."
"Later. It's 6 a'clock in the mornin' and I
haven't had breakfast yet." The strong face scowled.
Hutch pointed his finger at him. "Listen to
me, Starsk. We need to get some things straight. If you don't want to talk,
that's fine. But you will listen." The curly-haired detective continued
to sulk, to build an invisible wall between them, but Hutch could tell he was
listening. "Meredith loves you, and if you don't know that, you're a
bigger fool than I am. And she deserves better than what you just gave her.
She's never really had a partner long enough to know what to do. The academy
just can't teach that. Don't you remember that it took us awhile to
become real partners? Starsk, I can't let you blow something this good.
Talk with her. Besides, you can't expect something from her that you haven't
done. Unless you've gone to see Jackson in the middle of the night." He
paused, hoping Starsky would respond in some way.
Dammit, Hutch! Fuck you! I can't see him yet,
don't you know that? He almost died because-a me! I hate it when you're right!
Nothing changed, so Hutch continued. "You
can't blame yourself for what happened to Angela and Jackson. I know you do,
deep down. The bad guys hurt them, but it was because of me, not you. We've
gone over this before. I know it seems that so many of the people you care most
about in life are taken in some way from you too soon. But you didn't cause
them to leave you, or die, or get hurt."
This time the big blond paused for himself, to
silently acknowledge again his own guilt in Angela's death and Jackson's
wounding.
Starsky cleared his throat. He spoke very quietly
but still didn't look at his friend. "Well, then, Hutch, it seems to me
that you can't blame yourself, either. If I can't blame myself for Terry's
death or for Angela's, you can't do it for Angela's. She was in the
wrong place at the wrong time. All the protection in the world wouldn'ta
stopped Ernie from tryin' to complete his mission."
Hutch stared with amazement at his partner. Here
I am, trying to make him feel better, and he's turned the tables on me again!
"You might have me there, partner. Your logic seems inescapable." The
wall was coming down.
"Just one more thing, buddy. Change is
inevitable, but this whole fucking mess has warped that process. We have
to get control of our lives again. We have to get back on the street together
again. If we don't, then we'll always wonder if we could have and it will tear
our guts out. We need to act. We need to go on the offensive and
get Mitchell ourselves. Me and thee, partner."
Starsky finally met those sky-blue eyes he trusted
and loved so much. They almost seemed to burn with a fire borne of victory.
"Hutch, I don't know if…"
The blond detective tsk-tsked his partner. "I
know what you're going to say. Starsk, most of our job is thinking. Didn't you
hear yourself last night? You convinced me and Dobey to let you have a
gun, because you thought the problem through. I didn't. As for the physical
part, I know it will come. You are making it come back." Hutch looked
deeply into Starsky's eyes, blue to blue, the color of cops. He wanted to find
Starsky's self-doubt and purge it, burn it out of existence, because it would
be the self-doubt that ultimately denied him his life as a cop.
The wall was almost down. But Hutch sensed that
his friend's doubt crouched behind the small piece of wall left standing, just
out of his reach.
Starsky looked away from Hutch's bright eyes. He
felt the tears come again, in tandem with frustration and, finally reaching
conscious awareness for the first time, a loss of identity. Hutch, babe,
don't you realize that I'm already off the force? Why do you think Meredith is
your partner? Why'd you so quickly accept her? What am I supposed to do, dammit,
now that I can't be a cop? He chanced a glance at his friend. He caught
Hutch with his own guard down and saw something he had not expected to see. I'll
be damned. Hutch needs to feel right on the street himself. And the only way
that'll happen is if he does it with me. He gulped before saying, "Me
and thee, babe. When do we get to work?"
Hutch grinned widely at his partner's answer. David
Michael Starsky, you're my treasure!
4.2
The injured detectives returned to Hutch's room
after Starsky's morning physical therapy session to find Parson and Bennett
waiting for them. They still wore the same suits they had on the previous
night, and exhaustion was apparent on their haggard faces. Hutch whistled and
said, "Shit, guys, you look worse than Starsky and I do."
"Okay, Hutchinson, keep your compliments to
yourself, mon ami," said Parson tiredly. "We're bustin' our
buns to get these bad guys. Cut us some slack, got it?"
Starsky's temper flared. "Hey, Parson, Hutch
didn't mean nothin'…"
Bennett quickly interrupted Starsky. "Please
excuse Lancelot, gentlemen. He is always rather argumentative when he goes
without sleep for an extended period. I hope you understand."
There were nods from the other three detectives
and any animosity soon passed. Parson, who had been in the reclining chair,
reluctantly rose so Starsky could occupy it. Hutch made straight for the bed.
"All right, Bennett, Parson, what do you have?" asked the blond man
once he was settled.
"I regret to inform you that nothing on Mr.
Mitchell has turned up. However, the Mustang automobile has been found in a
parking lot near Williamson and 17th Streets. It is currently under 24-hour
surveillance. Also, officers are canvassing the neighborhood. Perhaps we have
some encouraging news for you. After examining the information sent to us from
the Agency and checking current whereabouts, we have narrowed down the pool of
suspects for the shooter, and presumably the bomber, to these three. Please
take a moment to scrutinize these files, gentlemen." Bennett handed Hutch
one file and Starsky two.
The room was quiet and filled with anticipation.
Hutchinson and Starsky studied the files closely. Several minutes elapsed
before Hutch closed his file and said, "This one does nothing for me.
Starsk, give me one…" He stopped when he saw the look of angry recognition
in the dark blue eyes. "What is it, buddy?" Hutch asked with caution
and caring. "You got something?"
Starsky slowly closed the file he had been
reading. "Don't know if he's the shooter. I can only remember Ernie's, I
mean Mitchell's hands. But I knew this asshole in 'Nam. I broke his jaw."
"I thought you said you hadn't made any
enemies when you were in-country," Hutch reminded him.
"Well, he never really became my enemy.
Circumstances changed."
"Would you care to elaborate on that, Starsk?
This might be one of the assassins."
Starsky hesitated, then sighed with a shudder
before continuing in a soft and deliberate manner. "My buddy and I were on
a three-day pass in Saigon, when we heard the sound of cryin' and squealin'
comin' from an alley. We run toward the sound and find this…this…animal"
- he angrily thumped the file in his hand - "rapin' a Vietnamese girl.
Wudn't more than 'leven or twelve." Starsky paused once more. Hutch knew
it was to control his anger and hatred and sadness. "If I had had my
knife, I'd'a cut off…Well, I punched him while my buddy saw to the girl. We
took him to the MPs who locked him up." Another pause. No one even
breathed. It was a full minute before Starsky spoke again. "The fucker got
off scott-free. Me and my buddy were back in the bush the next day and he got
killed. The little girl disappeared along with her family into the countryside
somewhere. My word against his." Starsky closed his eyes and withdrew
behind the wall.
The other three detectives were speechless. All were
repulsed and deeply saddened by the story Starsky had just related. To them,
rape was murder of the soul and those guilty of that crime never got what they
deserved for punishment. And Starsky witnessed one of his fellow soldiers
committing this heinous act on a young girl. They were in awe of his
self-control, then and now. They wondered if the rapist knew how lucky he was
to get off with just a broken jaw.
It was nearly five minutes later when Hutch eased
the file folder from Starsky's grip, but not before squeezing his hand. He
opened it slowly: Franklin Delano Henderson; Special Forces, U.S. Army; two
tours in Vietnam; Purple Heart; two Bronze Stars. He looked at the photograph:
bland, non-descript Caucasian, brown hair, brown eyes, average height and
build. Destined to blend in, to not be noticed, just what the CIA likes,
thought Hutch. But there was something oddly familiar about the man.. Just add
ten years to him. Dammit, where have I seen him before?
Then he had it. "Starsk?" He waited for
a response but when there was none, he asked again, this time with command in
his voice. "Starsky. I've seen him. He was getting into the…" Hutch
strained to remember, snapping his fingers several times. "The VW Beetle!
Yeah, he got into a tan Bug in front of my apartment the afternoon before it
blew up. He was there!" Then another memory, very harsh and
very graphic, rushed into his consciousness. "I remember now where I first
saw him," he said with hushed intensity. "I saw him behind the
gun." Hutch stared at the picture, not wanting to relive the hit in the
police garage but reliving it anyway.
Starsky, who had not moved, now opened his eyes,
glistening with excessive moisture. "Hutch," was all he said, voice
cracking.
Bennett and Parson, both astute observers, were
utterly astounded by what they had witnessed just now and last night. The trust
Hutchinson and Starsky shared in each other, the way they complemented each
other, the love and concern they felt toward each other, were all in evidence
to explain such an extraordinary partnership. And this partnership was going to
crack the case wide open.
"Starsky, in your opinion, do you think this
Henderson fellow would hold enough of a grudge against you to seek vengeance of
his own accord?" asked Bennett.
The curly-haired detective blinked hard several
times and cleared his throat. "No way, Bennett. When I heard charges
against him were dropped, I also heard he laughed about me gettin' punished
instead, for hittin' him."
"Starsky's right, Bennett. If the first attack
had been revenge for Henderson, he would've kept trying to kill Starsky
himself. Henderson was CIA, and there is enough to tie him to Gunther."
"Of course, I agree. But we must consider all
angles, mustn't we? Just playing devil's advocate, you know. Well, gentlemen,
where do you suggest we go from here?"
Hutchinson's respect for Clive Bennett jumped
several points as it became obvious he considered them a part of the team, not
just the victims. "The usual. APBs on Henderson and the VW. And we want to
read all the reports. Any other ideas, Starsk?"
The other three detectives looked at the brooding,
dark-haired man expectantly. Finally, he replied, "You been concentratin'
the search for these flakes in places like the Baltimore and St. Francis,
right?"
Parson said, "Yeah, dude, so?"
"So I don't think that's where to look. They
won't be hidin' out in dives or flophouses. They'll act like the VC did in the
villes. They'll be in plain sight."
4.3
Before heading for his daily visit with the
psychologist, Starsky insisted he visit with Jackson Walters. He had felt too
exhausted and too guilty the previous day, and too worried about Hutch. Now,
almost 36 hours after the attack, Starsky finally did feel ready, physically
and emotionally, to see Jackson, to face the blame from the young man and his
grandmother.
Hutch used his right hand and Starsky his left to
guide the wheelchair the latter rode in to ICU; they wouldn't let their police
guards help. Starsky inwardly balked at the need for a wheelchair, but
acquiesced to it. His new injury had set him back, decreasing his stamina
somewhat and making him unsteady enough on his feet that two canes were
necessary. And he couldn't use two canes because his surgeon insisted he use a
sling. But, most importantly, Hutch needed something to lean on.
The ward clerk recognized both of them when they
stopped to ask for Jackson's room. She smiled apologetically when she said,
"First room around the corner." Hutch stiffened, understanding the
meaning of her expression.
Suddenly, they were there, at the window. Starsky
saw Jackson, surrounded by IVs, monitors, tubes, and his grandmother. Hutch at
first saw Starsky in there, but when he blinked, Starsky had become Jackson.
Hutch started sweating and his back began to sting. He was grateful, however,
for what appeared to be no memory of this place for Starsky.
"Uh, Starsk, why don't I wheel you in there
and I'll come back out here, okay?"
Starsky heard the almost-anxious tone in his
partner's voice. "Whattsa matter, babe?"
"Well, just thought you might want to see
Jackson first by yourself. I'll talk with him later."
"Hutch, what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong!" Hutch said a bit too
emphatically.
Starsky's intuition and ability to read his
partner coupled with the expression on the clerk's face gave him the answer. Shit!
This musta been my room! "Okay, that's a good idea. Let's
go."
Mrs. Walters turned to the sound of the opening
door. Her worried brown eyes exuded warmth and welcome when she saw the two
cops she adored and considered family. She released Jackson's hand and quickly
approached the detectives.
"Ken, baby, you okay? I heard about the
explosion. Oh Lord, I'm so glad you're okay. You come live with me and Jackson
and Sammi until you get you another place, you hear?" She kissed his cheek
and patted his left hand gently.
"Thanks, Mrs. Walters. How's Jackson?"
"Doctors say he's doin' fine. They'll be
movin' him out of here tomorra mornin'. But Ken honey, you don't look so
good." The sweat and pallor and body language that screamed anxiety were
hard to miss.
"Just tired. I'll wait for you in the hall,
Starsk." He kissed the large black woman on her cheek. He staggered from
the room and the old images that seemed to hang around in the room like vile,
pathetic ghosts. Finding a chair in the hallway, he collapsed in it, ignoring
the pain from the burns on his backside, and sought refuge in sleep.
Mrs. Walters placed her graceful hands on either
side of Starsky's face. She kissed his hair, then his forehead. "My, my, David,
are you okay? I been worried sick, but I couldn't leave Junior. He's been
askin' after you when he's awake. They're keepin' him pretty doped up."
She studied the knitted brow, the moist, sad eyes, the quivering chin, the
bobbing Adam's apple. "David, you better talk to me."
"Mrs. Walters, I'm so sorry. Jackson's here
because-a me. He saved my life and it almost cost him his own! I don't blame
you for hating me!" Starsky couldn't hold the tears back.
Neither could the older woman. She rubbed the
tears from Starsky's face with her thumbs as her own tears trailed down her
cheeks. "Oh, my baby, there ain't nothin' to blame you for! We don't hate
you, and never could. We love you, more than you know, honey." With
that, she pulled Starsky's head into her abundant bosom.
"Starsky?" The voice from the bed was
hoarse and unsteady, but loud enough to be heard over the crying and the
monitor. "That you?"
"Yeah, it's me, Jackson." Mrs. Walters
pushed the wheelchair to her grandson's bedside. "How're you doin'?"
He sighed and smiled. "Okay, now you're here.
Glad to see he didn't get you, Starsky."
"He didn't get me because-a you."
Starsky saw no reason to let the young man know about the knife wound.
"You saved my life, Jackson." For what it's worth, and right now, that
ain't much. "How can I ever thank you?"
"You call me 'Junior,' okay?"
With those five simple words, Jackson Walters, Jr.
made it clear that he did not fault Starsky and considered the detective more
than a friend.
Starsky covered Junior's hand with his. "It
would be my honor, Junior," he whispered, voice cracking with relief and
gratitude.
#####
The ICU ward clerk shook Hutch's right arm in an
attempt to rouse him. "Detective, hey, Detective. Wake up, you're
dreaming. Hey! HEY!" With one more rough shake, Hutchinson's eyes popped
open. The fear and agony in them caught the clerk by surprise and she backed
away quickly. "Uh, you've been dreaming, sir. Pretty loud at it, too. You
okay?"
It took a few moments for him to orient himself to
his surroundings. Damn fuckin' ICU. His sweat had completely soaked all
his dressings and even his scrub pants. The back of his head throbbed, the
burns stung, and his arm ached relentlessly. "Yeah, thanks. Sorry. Bad
dream." He smiled sheepishly at the clerk and his two guards.
"Yeah, I'd say so." She looked with pity
at him before returning to her desk.
Hutch tried to force himself to forget the dream,
but the more he tried, the more it intruded into his consciousness.
A room,
the room in the ICU, painted in red with a white strip dividing the room in
half. Walking in, he examines a wall from inches away and realizes the red
paint is blood. He looks even closer. It is the name STARSKY written over and
over in his partner's blood, not bull's blood, and in the same penmanship as
was on the bathroom mirror in the courthouse, until the walls and ceiling and
floor are solid red. There is a white rectangular object, about two by four
feet, hovering in the middle of the room. He walks toward it, but it just gets
smaller. When he is almost there, a bodiless hand envelops the object, pulls it
away. He hears a voice, muffled and panicky, calling his name, coming from the
object. He calls out, "NO, leave him alone, NO, leave him here!" He
reaches out and sees his hand, now with elongated, sharp talons, tearing at
empty air. He calls out again and again. His words echo endlessly.
Hutch barely made it to the men's room to vomit
his lunch.
4.4
Joan Meredith stared at her reflection in the
mirror. Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, with dark shadows beneath, her light
brown complexion splotched. She sighed and drenched that worn face with cold
water. She let it drip-dry as she continued to stare.
Once her face was dry, she left the restroom near
Dobey's hospital office to search for her new partner. Hell, I'm running
through partners at Metro as if they were disposable. The man in question,
Babcock, was without his usual partner. Simmons had a family emergency in New
Mexico and would be gone about a week. Captain Dobey did the logical thing and
put Meredith and Babcock together. Bennett and Parson, in a meeting that had
just adjourned, had told all the detectives on the case to focus on searching
for the suspects in places suspects wouldn't ordinarily hide. So the new
partners' first assignment was to canvass the better motels and hotels and some
of the boarding houses within the Metro division.
Meredith found him drinking deeply from the water
fountain. He was about her height, white, balding, with a slight beer belly. He
didn't look particularly bright or intelligent, but she knew looks could be
deceiving. Deception was important for undercover detectives, and Dobey
wouldn't tolerate anyone stupid under his command.
"Babcock, let's hit the streets."
His brown eyes caught hers while he wiped the cool
water from his lips. "You got it. Hey, what do you want me to call
you?"
"'Meredith' will be fine. Do you mind taking
your car? You know the area better than I do."
"No prob. Hey, you like Moroccan food? Maybe
we could stop there for something to eat when we get hungry. Great place."
"As long as they don't serve donuts."
#####
It was almost 6 p.m. when Babcock and Meredith
pulled into the parking lot of their seventh motel of the day. They were tired,
hot, hungry, and dirty. As they got out of Babcock's Camaro, Meredith said,
"After this one, how about a break? He nodded enthusiastically.
They entered the lobby side by side, badges
already out. They had learned by the third motel that a white man and a black woman
entering such an establishment brought snide and racist comments. Badges
plainly in view from the start stopped such juvenile remarks from escaping
clerks' lips, but it still didn't stop sneers.
It was Babcock's turn to flash the pictures of
Henderson and Mitchell and question the clerk. Meredith noticed that he
lingered longer over Henderson's photo before handing the pictures back. So
when he said he had never seen either man, she pressed him. "Look closer
at this one, sir," she said evenly and non-threateningly as she put the
photo of Henderson back in his hand. "And please remember there is a
penalty for lying to the police and for obstructing justice."
He flashed her a peeved look and studied the
picture again. After a minute, he said with some uncertainty, "Well, I
can't be sure, you understand. But I think this guy checked in just
after I came on at 3 today. You know, he don't look like nothin', just your
average Joe, you understand."
Babcock and Meredith felt their hearts race.
"You have a name on him, sir?" Meredith hid the excitement she felt.
Babcock patted her back surreptitiously.
The clerk peered at the register. "Well, if
it is that guy, he signed in as 'David M. Hutchinson.' Home city San
Francisco."
It's got to be him. The cocky bastard! "What room?" Neither she nor Babcock could
suppress their excitement any longer.
The clerk caught their excitement. He looked back
at the rack of cubbyholes behind him before answering Meredith. "203. And
he's not there! Key's in the hole!"
Inwardly, Meredith shrieked for joy. She turned to
talk with Babcock but he was already heading for the entrance. "I'm
calling for back-up. Silent approach. Be right back."
She nodded and turned her attention back to the
clerk. "Sir, please call the room to be sure he's not in."
"What do I say if he answers? I can't
just say 'wrong number,' you understand!" The clerk was becoming agitated
now.
"Uh, say you are checking to see if he really
made a long-distance call to…Morocco."
He looked at her as if she were crazy, but dialed
the number. He let it ring ten times before hanging up. "No answer,
Officer."
Babcock rejoined her. "Back-up on the way.
The black-and-whites will stay a block or two away, but the others will come
right up. Let's check out the room. Can we have the key, Mr…?"
"Salvatore Kelly. Sure. If you need me, I'll
be in the back, hiding..."
"We understand," they interrupted in
unison. They climbed the stairs to the second floor, discussing their tactics
and drawing their weapons. They found Room 203 at the end of the hall, right
next to another set of stairs. Meredith stood to one side, Babcock to the
other. He nodded his readiness. She knocked several times on the door and said
in her best Mexican accent, "Hey, meester, you got enough towels? I got
more, you need them." They waited to the count of ten. She unlocked the
door, pushed it open, and waited.
Nothing. Their adrenalin levels soared even higher
as they charged into the small room, guns following their lines of sight.
Babcock checked the bathroom and found only motel-supplied toiletries and an
Army-issue kit bag. "I'll wait in the hall while you search, okay?"
She nodded. Finding a small suitcase under the
double bed, she pulled it out and opened it.
Henderson had returned to the motel just minutes
after the detectives had left the front desk. He had run up the stairs closest
to his room and had almost turned the corner when he remembered he didn't have
the key. He had taken the first step down when he heard a man's voice very
close by say something about waiting and searching.
Fuck it! They've gotta be the cops! He squatted to reach the small revolver strapped to his
ankle. He cocked it very slowly and silently. He risked a quick glance around
the corner and saw the back of a man who held a service revolver using a
two-handed grip at shoulder height. He took two deep breaths to help him
overcome his anger at being identified and found and to let his Special Forces
and CIA training take over. He swung himself around the corner, adopted a wide
stance, and pulled the trigger.
Babcock, shot in the back, grunted and fell
forward. Meredith inhaled sharply. She readied her weapon and cautiously
started for the hallway. She gasped when a man in dark blue sweatclothes and
aiming a gun at her blocked the door. Then, as if in slow motion, she saw his
finger tighten on the trigger. She willed herself to do the same. The bullet
seemed to amble toward her, plucking at the sleeve of her jacket before hitting
her mid-chest, just to the left of the sternum. I can't breathe! She
never saw the bullet she fired, but she did see the man she knew to be
Henderson grimace and reach for the left side of his head. She flew backward
several feet. Then it went dark as the pain registered in her brain.
Henderson immediately headed for the fire
equipment box a few yards down the hall. He opened the glass door and pulled
out a blond wig and mustache. His head throbbed where Meredith's bullet grazed
him. For some reason, it had bled very little, and his sweatshirt bore only a
few stains that were difficult to see. Donning the wig, sticking the mustache
on, and shoving the hot weapon in the waistband of his pants hurriedly, he
raced down the stairs two at a time.
He arrived in the lobby just in time to see a blue
Ford sedan with a mars light attached to its roof screech to a halt at the
entrance. Two men jumped out and drew their weapons before entering the motel.
One looked like a surfer and the other like a college preppie.
"Oh, my!" Henderson shrieked in an
irritating falsetto. "Oh, I hope you're cops!" He jumped up and down.
"I was out jogging and I heard firecrackers or maybe gunshots! Are you
cops? I'm too scared to go up there!"
"Sir, where did the shots come from? Did you
see anyone leave?" The questions were from the surfer. The preppie was
already heading up the stairs.
"I'm pretty sure they came from here. Oh, my
God, could someone be dead? I never saw a dead body before!" His jumping
became more frantic and he sounded as if he were near a nervous breakdown.
"It's going to be fine, sir. Please wait
outside. There will be uniformed officers here shortly. They will help
you." The surfer rushed to catch up with his partner.
Henderson calmly left the building and walked away
at a leisurely pace. No one stopped him.
4.5
Starsky was exhausted and in barely tolerable pain
from his afternoon physical therapy session. After a dinner of special burgers
from The Pits, he quickly fell asleep in the reclining chair despite the
animated conversation of Huggy Bear.
Fifteen minutes later, Captain Dobey joined the
three in Hutch's room. "Hutch, Huggy. Got some news. What about Sleepin'
Beauty over there?"
"Just fell asleep a little while ago,
Captain. I'll wake him."
Before Hutch could do so, Dobey signaled No.
He began speaking again in hushed tones. "The news is a mixed bag."
Hutch and Huggy stared at him, expressions urging him to continue.
"Babcock and Meredith found Henderson at the Sleepy Inn Motel over on
Main, out in the open, just as Starsky said he would be. He got away. Bennett
is pretty sure he even talked to him."
Hutch seethed. "How the hell did that
happen?" he whispered angrily.
"Henderson shot Meredith in the chest and
Babcock in the back." Dobey paused as Hutch and Huggy deflated. "But
they were smart. They wore vests, like you and your partner ought to. Babcock's
got a broken rib and Meredith has a bruised br…uh, chest, maybe a contused
heart. They're both in the ER here getting checked out."
"Look, Starsky's not to know any of this
yet," Hutch commanded, nostrils flaring, eyes blazing. "Not anything.
Nothing about finding Henderson or the shootings. I don't think he can handle
this yet" - Hell, I'm having a hard time with this news -
"so I'll tell him when the time is right. You got that, Captain?" Understand
that I have to protect him from this for now!
Dobey was taken aback at the intensity his blond
detective exhibited. It's that 'White Knight' in him - no, it's something
else. "Maybe it is best Starsky doesn't know this yet. Okay, I'll
leave that up to you, Hutchinson."
Starsky began to snore, breaking the tension in
the room. "I'm going back to the ER to check on those two. I'll try to
keep this off the TV news, but I can't promise anything." Dobey marched
out of the room.
"Well, time for me to split, too, my blond
Arab. Anita can only work a few hours to cover for me tonight. You want me here
when you tell 'im 'bout Meredith? His transformation from Sleepin' Beauty to
Ragin' Beast should prove to be interesting viewing. You might need some
protection, if you get my drift."
Hutch smiled weakly and shook his head.
"Thanks, Huggy. I can manage."
"Yeah, maybe, but can he?" Huggy
asked as he jerked his head toward the sleeping man. "Later." The
tall, thin man left his two best friends, wondering how much more they could
take.
#####
Shortly after Huggy left, Hutch had fallen asleep
as well. He awoke abruptly when he heard a harsh scream, then
"Huuuutch!" Starsky was thrashing around in the chair, apparently
still asleep and having a nightmare.
"Starsk, Starsk, wake up!" Hutch
shouted. One of the cops guarding them stuck his head into the room. Hutch
waved him off. "Hey, buddy, it's a dream. Now wake up!"
The midnight blue eyes shot open, then sought for
and found sky-blue eyes. Hutch saw the terror and hopelessness in his partner's
eyes change to recognition and…defeat?
"Starsk, buddy, you were just having a
dream." He tried to mask his own feelings of inadequacy by sounding
reassuring and soothing. "See? Everthing's okay. You're here, safe with
me."
Starsky ran his left hand through his damp, dark
brown curls. The movement brought a grimace of pain, so he took a few deep
breaths, which also helped to steady his continued trembling. "God, Hutch,
it was horrible! I…I, shit, I was on fire. I could see my feet, then
legs turning into ashes and smoke. I could see you and called for you but you
were just out of reach." Hutch shivered, recalling the nightmare he had
just hours ago. "Then you looked at me really strange, and you breathed
out fire, right out of your mouth! At me! Then I burned faster and
screamed your name one more time before I was…was…" He stopped, unable to
go on. He stared at Hutch, eyes pleading for some meaning to his dream other
than what seemed to be the obvious one: his death at the hands of Hutch.
The big blond eased his way to sitting on the side
of the bed. He gingerly placed his hand on Starsky's leg. He closed his eyes
momentarily to hide the hurt when he felt his friend shrink away from him.
"Starsk, it's just a dream. It doesn't mean anything. You know
I would never do anything to harm you, don't you?" Starsky said
nothing. "Don't you?" Hutch repeated, this time in a tone that
insisted on a reply. Starsky, don't let some stupid dream ruin what we have!
"Yeah. But it was so real." Hutch felt
the tension in Starsky recede minutely. "What time is it? I gotta call
Meredith." I'm gonna die soon, and I gotta set things right with her.
Starsky caught the fleeting look of guilt cross his partner's pale face. Oh,
God, something's wrong! "Hutch? What are you not tellin' me? Meredith
hurt? Ddddead?" He felt his heart stop.
"No, no, no, she's not dead. She and Babcock
found Henderson earlier this evening. He shot them both, but they had vests on.
She's okay, probably just bruised."
Starsky bolted from his chair, causing the pain in
his chest and abdomen to roar upwards and surprising his friend with the fact
that he could even move like that. "Where is she? Why the hell didn't you
tell me? How can you keep somethin' like this from me after what happened yesterday?
Huh?" He staggered to a wall, leaned heavily against it, and wrestled with
his pain and anger at Hutch. He pounded the wall with his fist several times. Will
this never end?
Hutch made his way over to stand in front of
Starsky. He spoke quietly to the top of the curly head. "After all that's
gone down, I didn't think you could handle it. I wanted to protect you. I think
I made a good decision."
Starsky lifted his head to look Hutch in the face.
"What gives you the right to decide what I can handle? Who the hell made
you my mother, anyway, or my protector?" The contempt and sarcasm
in his voice attacked Hutch's soul.
"You did, when we became partners, my
friend and brother." And you protect me from me.
Starsky's eyes locked on his partner's. Seconds
later, Hutch saw the dark blue eyes start to glaze over. He knew the stress,
pain, and anxiety were winning despite Starsky's will. Then his eyes rolled
back, his mouth dropped open, and he slid down the wall. Hutch did his
one-armed best to ease his way to the floor.
A few minutes later, a nurse came in to take their
vital signs and give them their pain pills. She found them huddled awkwardly
together on the floor, Hutch with both arms wrapped around Starsky whose head
was buried in the blond man's chest. Hutch was gently rocking them and singing
something about black bean soup.
4.6
"Starsky, it's 1 in the morning. You can't go
see Meredith now. She's asleep. Go back to your room. I've got to get some
sleep," he groaned.
"I don't care, Hutch. I gotta talk to her.
Gotta do it now. I'm gonna do it, with or without your help."
"Starsky, I swear, if humans and mules could
mate, you'd be their spawn. At least tell me why you have to do it this
minute."
"Just…just because, okay?" He dared not
tell Hutch the truth: I can't tell him I'm gonna die soon.
Hutch snorted and called out for the police
guards. "What is it, Hutchinson?" asked Officer Murphy, a strawberry
blonde with tons of freckles and a dazzling smile that rivaled Starsky's. Hutch
made a mental note not to forget about her when this ordeal with the assassins
was over.
"My mentally deranged partner is insisting on
visiting Detective Meredith now. Can you help out? We really could use
wheelchairs, and the nursing staff can't really spare anyone during the night
shift."
"Starsky, don't you know it's…"
"One in the mornin', Murphy. I may be
deranged, but I can read a clock. Will you help us?"
"Well, sure. Gives us something to do other
than drink coffee and jump every time someone comes near this room." She
left to find two wheelchairs.
"Starsk, buddy, why do I have to come?
She's your lover." Hutch perceived that Starsky felt physically
stung by that remark. He hurried to cover it up, but wasn't fast enough. What's
he hiding? What hasn't he told me?
"Moral support, partner. Besides, she's your
partner."
"You got me. I surrender."
#####
Ten minutes later, they were in the step-down
unit. Starsky easily sweet-talked Maxine into letting them visit Meredith.
"The only reason I'm letting you do this, Davey, is because I know how you
are. You'd sneak in the minute I had my back turned. Don't stay long."
"Maxie, you're the greatest." He kissed
her hand; she blushed.
The partners abandoned the wheelchairs outside the
room and walked in, Starsky leaning on Hutch for support, more from exhaustion
than actual need. His heart started beating again when he saw that angelic
face. The only thing marring it was the nasal cannula dispensing oxygen into
her nostrils. Terry, you'd like her a lot.
The two men made it to her bedside before Starsky
spoke. "Meredith?" he asked in a whisper.
Her eyelids slowly opened to reveal tired brown
eyes. It took her a moment to recognize the men staring down at her, but when
she did, her face lit up with her own trademark grin. "You came." Her
happiness painted her words with bright pastels.
Hutch jumped in before Starsky could speak.
"Meredith, good to see you, partner. What's the word?"
"All the tests so far are normal, except
x-ray. Cracked rib. Makes it hard to breathe. I'm here just for monitoring.
They'll repeat two tests later. If they're okay, I can go home by
lunchtime." She smiled. "I got him, too."
"I hate to bow out, but I'm wasted. Now, if
you don't mind, I'm going back to bed." Hutch gestured for Meredith to
scoot over in bed, and he sat Starsky down in the just-opened space. When
Starsky tried to protest, he just shook his finger at him. "'Night,
Meredith." He blew her a kiss before he left. To Starsky, he sent his
thoughts: Don't blow this, buddy. You two belong together.
"Meredith, I…I've been such a putz." She
nodded. "I don't know why I came down on you like that. I shoulda let you
explain. But I was hurt, and scared. I thought you didn't really love me."
She sighed. "Starsky, it's because I love you
that it took me so long to come see you. When I saw the yellow tape outside
your room, I thought you were dead, but even when Dolores told me you weren't,
I didn't believe her right away. It wasn't until then that I realized how much
I really do love you, that my feelings weren't an idealization of that
wonderful night together, or the novelty of being with a white man. That, along
with -" She stopped to fight back the tears that were welling up rapidly.
Starsky leaned toward her and stroked her cheek
several times. "You have no idea how happy I am to hear that." He
half-laughed and half-cried. "Forgive me?"
She took his hand and kissed the palm. "What
do you think?"
Through the window, Maxine watched Starsky lay
down alongside Meredith. Her monitor went crazy for a few moments while he
snuggled into her shoulder. The nurse grinned when she saw him throw his leg
over hers. She told the guards that it looked like he was staying the night
here. She left them staring at each other, wordlessly sharing their frustration
with their crazy, unpredictable charge.
4.7
Joan Meredith's blood work and echocardiogram
proved negative for a cardiac contusion. She was discharged after lunch. Dobey
tried to put her on medical leave for a week, but she insisted on working the
Mitchell and Henderson case from a desk (even she admitted she wasn't up to the
streets yet). He relented, griping the entire time about headstrong detectives
and wasn't he the boss. Secretly, he admired her dedication and her tenacity,
two valuable qualities for a detective.
Three days later, Ken Hutchinson was approved for
discharge, even though some of the second-degree burns still required
dressings. Finally, the pain was actually responding to the non-narcotic
analgesics. The nightmare of the bloody room stayed, however. He had asked for
and received a prescription for sleeping pills.
Hutchinson was in Dobey's hospital office to pick
up some reports when he told him the news of his impending discharge later that
afternoon. Along with the reports he picked up his brand new Magnum.
"Sit down, Hutchinson."
The blond man heard the command in that sentence.
He sat in the chair directly across from the captain. "Yeah, Captain, what
is it?"
"Tonight you stay at my house. Edith won't
have it any other way, and neither will I. Rosie and Cal miss their uncle
Hutch. Maybe you can convince her not to run away from home to find Starsky.
She's drivin' us crazy." He cleared his throat and picked up a pencil.
"Then you go into a safe house." He waved the pencil for emphasis.
When he saw Hutch start what he knew would be a protest by the shifting in his
seat and defiant look on his face, Dobey cut him off by slashing the air with
the pencil.. "That's an order. Starsky will join you when he's discharged.
Should be only a couple more days. Barbara tells me he's using the cane now
just for pity." He leaned back in his chair. "You two will stay there
until we have Henderson and Mitchell in custody. Period. End of discussion."
He crossed his arms over his chest. "Tell Starsky when you see him."
"Oh no, Cap'n." Hutch stood quickly,
shaking his hand back and forth. "I won't do your dirty work for you. When
you tell him, I want to be some place safe. He'll explode. He hasn't
been home for almost three months."
"Don't you think I know that, Hutch? He's too
easy a target there. But it's not safe."
"Yeah, well, maybe you're right, Captain.
Certainly it wouldn't be physically safe. But what about mentally?" Hutch
cocked his head to the side, waiting for an answer.
"What good is mentally safe if you're
dead?"
Hutch nodded his agreement reluctantly, slapped
the files against his thigh, and headed for his room.
When he got there, he was surprised to see Starsky
reclining in his bed. "What are you doing here? You're supposed to be with
the psychologist. And get off my bed."
The dark-haired man stuck his tongue out. Hutch
decided not to push the matter - Starsky was in a mood.
"Well?"
"So I fired him. Told him the only way I'd
really get better in the head is when Gunther" - Hutch heard the
hesitation and fear in Starsky's voice when he said that name, but at least he
could say it - "is locked behind so many bars that he'd get lead poisonin'
tryin' to get to the exercise yard. Then I told 'im I'd have to cuff Mitchell
and Henderson myself. He can't help with that." He sighed. "It's the
only way we can get our lives back."
"Starsk, I think it's best if you hear it
from me. Neither one of us'll be on the street. Dobey is putting us in a safe
house for the duration."
"WHAT!?" came the expected explosion.
Starsky was off Hutch's bed in three heartbeats. He began the pacing and arm
waving. "He can't do that to me, to us! They're ours,
Hutch. Ain't nothin' gonna be right till...unless we put 'em in
the slammer ourselves! Nobody'll catch those bastards unless we're out there!
You know that!"
Hutch grabbed his volatile partner by the arm to
stop him and got in his face. "What I know is that Dobey's right. We go
out on the street in this condition, and we're dead. We're not ready to be
bait. We need more time."
"But we don't have time. How long you think
before they come after us again? How many other cops and innocent people gonna
get hurt? How long can we stay in that safe house? You know the only way
we can get those suckers is to be out there."
Hutch shook his head several times rapidly and
clenched his eyes tightly. "So you're right, too, Starsk." He looked
back at Starsky. "But what good is right if you're dead?" Geez, I
sound like Dobey.
"You're takin' Dobey's side to protect me,
aren't you?"
The accusatory tone in Starsky's voice cut Hutch
deeply. He closed his eyes again and turned away.
"Aren't you!?" Starsky demanded.
This time, Hutch exploded. "Yes, I am! So sue
me! Lord knows you've got grounds for it. I've done a piss-poor job of
protecting you for years now. I'm not very good at reeling you in,
Starsky. I know how you are, and I still don't stop you from
jumping into" - he took a deep breath - "into harm's way. I have no
idea how you've survived this long with me as your partner!" He started
trembling with silent sobs.
Starsky took Hutch in his arms, grimacing when the
blond head landed on his right shoulder. "Hutch, babe, don't you know I'm
still here because-a you? I survived this long because you protect me
while still letting me be me. Having you as my partner and friend is the best
thing that's ever happened to me." Hutch's trembling increased. Aw,
shit, gettin' too damned soapy in here for me. "Well, almost. There's
Terry, and Meredith, and Rosie - Malone and Dobey, of course - and Dennis -
he's the first guy I had a fight with and won - my drill sergeant, the lady who
cleans the bathrooms in the stationhouse…"
Starsky stopped as Hutch raised his head to look
at him. He gently cupped the curly-haired man's neck in his hand and smiled
broadly. He bowed his head slightly, blond hair finally out from the gauze
turban. Starsky bowed his until their foreheads touched.
We'll find a way to get those bastards,
Starsky. We'll do it before they touch you again.
#####
Captain Dobey hung up the telephone, and he was
mad. Talking with the FBI always did that. But he now had a safe house for his
men, but he had had to call in a favor. They would use one of the feds' houses,
because it was likely the assassins knew all of the BCPD safe houses. The feds
changed safe houses frequently, due to property forfeitures for federal crimes.
Dobey hoped this would give his men an added measure of protection.
The phone rang. "Dobey here," he
growled.
"Captain Dobey, this is Susanna Beck from
KZAM-TV. Can you confirm that Detective Sergeants Kenneth Hutchinson and David
Starsky will be discharged within the next few days? If so, when? We'd like to
have a crew out there to film. Great human interest story."
Dobey recognized Beck's Texas drawl. She always
did heartwarming stories and worked often and well with the BCPD. "Not
this time, Miss Beck. I won't confirm or deny anything. The last thing they
need right now is a media circus."
"Could you see your way through to an
exclusive interview with them, off-camera?"
"I'll think about. But they'll have to
agree."
"Thanks, Captain Dobey. Call me soon, ya
hear?"
Dobey hung up the phone again. He had several more
calls to make to inform a few people where Starsky and Hutchinson would be
until the hitmen were apprehended. It was a very short list, so short he didn't
have to write it down.
4.8
Hutchinson left the hospital late that afternoon
with Captain Dobey. Hutch was dressed in a uniform, his long blond hair tucked
underneath the uniform hat. The pressure from the hat on his scalp laceration
gave him a headache. He had refused to shave off the mustache, but had agreed
to trim it back and dye it red. He altered his gait and how he held his head.
Disguising the cast and sling was too difficult, so he jogged most of the way
to the car. He was looking forward to shopping with Edith Dobey for the
beginning of a whole new wardrobe.
#####
Dryden waited to approach the desk sergeant until
he was alone and busy preparing for the change of shift report. "Hey,
Sarge, is Starsky out of the hospital yet? I got some papers for him to sign
about that Emily Harrison shooting last year."
Sergeant Perkins didn't look up. "What's the
matter, Dryden? Too busy in IA to keep up?"
"Yeah, guess I let this one slip by. Look, if
Captain Meyers finds out about this, I could be in real trouble. Help me out,
will you?"
"Okay, but you owe me a big one."
Perkins looked at Dryden's desperate face. "Nobody else is to know this,
understand?" The IA officer nodded solemnly. "He's still in the
hospital. He'll be at a safe house way out on Ocean Beach Boulevard when he
gets discharged in a day or two if you miss him at Memorial. Now leave me
alone. I got real police work to do."
#####
Starsky left the hospital two days later. There
was a huge party for him that morning, hosted by the ICU and PT staffs.
Everyone came, even those who didn't know him but knew of him. The entire staff
of Memorial, including the kitchen clean-up crew, considered David Starsky their
miracle man. He wasn't the first patient to capture that designation, and
everyone hoped he wouldn't be the last.
Dressed in a blue scrub suit and sneakers, he
walked out of the hospital, along with a throng of workers getting off day
shift, into a bright, cloudless, smogless day. He walked on his own, albeit
slowly, without cane or someone's arm for aid. Once he spied the yellow Buick
Electra 225, he walked to that. He peered into the car from the passenger side.
"Hiya, Huggy! Like the hat."
The thin man tipped his chauffeur's cap.
"Starsky, my man! I can see glimmers of the 'Strut' returning to your
stride! Get in. Your newly appointed personal driver will take you to your
temporary house of abode. That English dude and the Cajun fellow will be providing
surveillance this beauteous California afternoon. Not to mention several other
teams in unmarked cars. You know, if I didn't know better, I might think you
were important."
Starsky settled comfortably in the plush seat.
"Naw, Huggy, it's embarrassment prevention for the department. They'd look
bad if the guys in the black hats got me first day outta the hospital."
"Starsky, you are strange." Huggy pulled
the huge car expertly into traffic.
#####
The safe house loaned to BCPD was a large,
tastefully appointed four-bedroom affair on the beach. It had all the latest
amenities, such as heated pool and Jacuzzi, and lots of living space. Starsky
inhaled the salt air as deeply as he could. He surveyed the grounds - lush
green lawn, lots of palm trees and flowers, no bushes - and identified the
guards. They were dressed in their civvies, in an effort to divert attention
away from who they really were.
"Come on, Starsky, before you breathe up all
tha air. It's not good for you to hang out front for long."
"Okay, Hug. Let's go see what my new prison
has in store for me."
The two men walked into a foyer filled with
balloons and streamers. Hutch, Meredith, and Dobey bombarded Starsky with
confetti and cries of "Congratulations!" and "Welcome
home!" He squealed with delight, sounding like a six-year-old at his first
real birthday party.
"I don't know what to say!"
"This is a first - Starsky speechless,"
quipped Hutch. "How about 'thanks,' buddy?"
"You're welcome." That remark got
Starsky a faceful of confetti.
Meredith kissed Starsky soundly on the lips, but
not before throwing a no-smart-remarks look to Huggy Bear. "Come on in.
We've got a few surprises for you."
"Yeah, I can smell some of 'em. Burritos from
Paco's?"
"At least we know that beak of yours is good for
something else other than just a place to perch your sunglasses. But that's not
all." Hutch motioned for his partner to follow.
They reached the opulent dining room. The table
was laden with burritos, the ingredients for chili dogs, pizzas, Ma Starsky's
cole slaw made by Meredith, Coke, root beer, and, in the center, a huge
chocolate cake with buttercream icing, decorated with toy cop items and a
"Welcome Back, Starkey." "Ice cream's in the freezer," said
Hutch.
"Whad'ya do, have Wailin' Willie order the
cake?" Starsky asked in mock anger.
"You don't like it? That's okay, I'll take it
right back to the bakery." Hutch reached for the cake, calling his
partner's bluff.
"No, no, it's fine. Really."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Well," boomed Dobey, "let's eat!
This is a party!"
As Starsky began to build a chili dog between
bites of a fully loaded burrito, Dobey clapped the detective on the back.
"Sorry, Starsky, but I couldn't have everyone here who wanted to be here.
Security reasons, you understand. You'll be out of here soon, and we can throw
you a real party." Then he lowered his voice and spoke directly
into Starsky's ear. "I'm really glad you made it, Dave."
Starsky swallowed, but not enough. "Thanks,
Cap," he mumbled through partially chewed burrito.
About an hour later, Starsky pled exhaustion and
begged for a nap. Hutch volunteered to show him his new bedroom. They had to
climb a number of stairs. Fortunately, Starsky only paused momentarily at the
top. His stamina and respiratory function were finally improving noticeably.
"Welcome to the master bedroom,
partner," Hutch said as he opened the door with a flourish.
The room, decorated in earth tones, was huge. The
four-poster king-size bed was covered with a thick dark brown comforter. The
armoire, dressing table, love chest, and night tables were proportionally
massive and in matching mahogany. On the chest, which stood at the foot of the
bed, was a crocheted afghan. When Hutch saw Starsky looking at it, he said,
"Your mother made that for you. She didn't want me to give it to you until
you were out of the hospital."
He rubbed his head with both hands joyfully. He
walked to the chest and picked up the gift. It smelled like his mother's house,
his boyhood home. He lay down diagonally on the bed and covered himself with
his mother's love. In seconds, he was fast asleep.
Hutch walked over and stroked the brown curls
glittering with confetti. "I'll show you the basement den later. You
wouldn't believe all the mail you got. Guess it'll wait until tomorrow."
#####
A well-hidden Mitchell watched as Huggy Bear left
the safe house, his confirmation that he had found the detectives' hideaway an
hour ago. Cops still look like cops, no matter how they're dressed. He
made plans to get Frankie, who was searching another part of Ocean Beach, find
the blueprints for the house, do a night recon of the grounds, and snatch the
two in the morning. Their own private hell was ready and waiting for them.
#####
At 9 that evening, Hutch decided it was time to
check on Starsky and get him to eat something. As he rose from the plush sofa,
Meredith could see his own tiredness and fatigue. "Hutch, I'll check on
him. Some warm pizza and a root beer should wake him up. I'll do it. You go to
bed."
Hutch started to object, but stopped. If these
two are going to get together, I have to give them a chance to be alone.
"Thanks, Meredith. I am tired. My guards and I will pick you up at six so
we can catch your flight to D.C. on time. We'll review Gunther's case before I
have to be in court in the morning."
"That's fine. I'm glad we spent tonight just
getting to know each other better. Good night, Hutch."
"Good night, fair lady." Hutch shuffled
off to his room.
Meredith warmed several slices of pepperoni and
sausage pizza and opened two root beers. Hutch had left the door to Starksy's
room slightly ajar, so all she had to do was push it. She smiled when she saw
him cuddled under the blue and red afghan. Before she got halfway across the
room, he was groggily awake and muttering, "Pizza?"
"Here you go. Root beer, too." He slowly
sat up and crossed his legs. "Com'ere, beautiful lady."
She joined him on the bed. She fed him a slice,
which he devoured quickly and with gusto. "Eat another."
"Yeah, need my strength."
"For what?" she asked part innocently
and part seductively.
He set the plate with the pizza on a nightstand
along with the root beer bottles. He looked into her soul. He caught her in a
tender embrace and began kissing her. She melted immediately and returned his wet
kisses. When she went to remove his scrub top, she sensed hesitation on his
part, and anxiety. She pushed on.
In the dim light supplied by the streetlights, she
saw his array of scars for the first time. She could tell he was watching her
closely, judging her reaction. They saddened her deeply, as she imagined the
indescribable suffering they stood for. But they did not repulse her. "Do
they hurt if you're touched?"
Starsky exhaled heavily, unaware that he had been
holding his breath. His eyes were now filled with relief. He shook his head.
"Not much. Mostly it's certain movements that hurt."
Meredith gently and lustfully ran her hands from
his waist to his armpits. He moaned, but it was not from pain. She giggled deep
in her throat when she saw the growing bulge in his pants. She thought she saw
a tear track from one of his eyes as he pulled her down to him.
4.9
Hutch was pissed. He had called Meredith's place
at 5, and again 15 minutes later. He wanted to be sure she was awake, but now
it appeared she wasn't even there. He stormed to Starsky's room and opened the
door without knocking. He stopped short before speaking and embarrassing
himself when he saw the two entwined, sleeping, naked bodies on the bed. He
turned red and backed out of the room post haste. He knocked on the door.
"Hey, Starsky, you awake? You know where Meredith is? She's not answering
her phone." God, I hope that's enough to cover me!
He laughed himself when he heard the frantic
giggles and hushed words coming from within. "Just a minute, Hutch!"
He laughed again at Starsky's self-conscious tone. "Come on in!"
Hutch opened the door and hoped he looked suitably
surprised at finding Meredith in Starsky's bed, both with covers pulled up to
their chins and grinning like canary-eating cats. "Well, well, what do we
have here." He did his best to come across as a disappointed parent. But
he couldn't deny the return of more life in his partner.
"Hutch, can we talk later? Meredith's got to
shower, and eat, and get to her place to pack. Make us some breakfast,
'kay?" Starsky struggled to sound innocent.
"Ten minutes, or you get nothing."
As he left, he heard the whispers: "That
gives us time for a quickie." "Yeah, only if we shower
together." One of these days, I have to tell Starsky he's a loud whisperer.
#####
Huggy Bear arrived almost three hours after Hutch
and Meredith, in tow with two guards, left for the airport. Hutch had an 11
o'clock court appearance concerning Gunther that Clements insisted he attend.
The DA had also wanted Starsky there, but Dobey said no. So it fell to Huggy
and Starsky's guards to get him to his now once-a-day PT session (the rest of
his therapy being devoted to walking, then jogging, then eventually running).
He nodded greetings to the two officers. Valdez actually said teasingly,
"Hi, Mr. Bear."
The tall, thin man found Starsky in the kitchen
eating cold pizza and drinking a Coke while he leaned against the dishwasher.
He was dressed only in his scrub pants, which hung low on his hips. Huggy saw
his scars for the first time. He was taken aback, not expecting to see this
sight, but pleased that his friend was feeling comfortable enough with his
changed body that he could finally show his friends. "Starsky, why aren't
you dressed? You'll be late for PT, and Barbara is one lady I'd prefer not to
cross. And who was your surgeon, Pablo Picasso? Too bad he didn't sign that
work of art he left on you. You coulda made some dough. But then, I can't
exactly see your ugly mug hangin' in the Museum of Modern Art."
"Okay, Mr. Funny Man. Don't give up your
night job. Hey, can you take me clothes shoppin' after PT? All I got is this
scrub suit, a pair of socks, and my sneaks."
"What? You don't got a pair of shorts!?"
"Nope. Dobey won't let anybody go to my
apartment."
"Well, pull up your pants, my man. I believe
you are one, and you don't hafta show me."
"Uh?" He looked down at his hip-huggers.
"Oh. Be right back. I'll put my shirt on and brush my teeth. Might need
you help with the shoes."
Huggy wandered around the kitchen. He could hear
running water and Starsky singing in spurts. He heard a soft sound behind him
and he turned.
He faced a man with a long-barreled gun. The
weapon spat almost soundlessly at the same time Huggy called out, "Starsk,
get out!" Huggy hunched over and fell to the floor.
"What did you say, Hug?" Starsky waited
a moment and then decided to turn off the water. "Hug, you say
somethin'?" He waited again, but there was no answer. The hairs on the
back of his neck stood at attention. He tried to remember where he had put his
gun. Shit, I can't believe I gave it to Parson yesterday morning and didn't
think to get it back! He looked around the bathroom for a possible weapon,
and chose the gold-plated bar of a towel rack. With it in his left hand, ready
to swing, Starsky left the bathroom.
And was immediately and viciously smashed on his
left cheek with the butt of a rifle. The force was strong enough to spin him
around and slam him into the bathroom doorframe. He was unconscious before he
hit the floor.
End of Part 4
© 2000
To be continued...
This part is dedicated to Josette, in hopes that
this provided her with some entertaining diversion
when she needed it most.
Comments?
I'd like to hear from you. Please email me at mhepriest@yahoo.com.
Part 4
completed 29 November 2000