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 1
~~ Part 2 ~~ Part 3 ~~ Part 4
Part 5
5.1
Time: 0925
Officer Nick Valdez returned to consciousness
slowly, finding himself prone on the plush grass. His chest hurt tremendously,
and he found it hard to breathe. When he tried to stand, the pain increased and
his head spun in twenty different directions. I've been shot! he slowly
realized. His next thought was for his partner. "Malcolm! You okay? I've
been hit! Malcolm!" he called out weakly.
There was no answer. His head finally stopped
swimming, so he decided to risk looking around. He saw no one, nothing out of
place. Knowing he wouldn't be able to walk, he crawled to the nearest door of
the house.
Ten minutes later, he made it through the
wide-open front door. He spied a princess telephone on a table next to a bench.
Slowly, he crawled to it, noticing for the first time the blood trail he was
making. Pulling on the cord brought the phone to the floor. The effort winded
him even more. He ignored the temptation to wait so he could catch his breath
and deal with the pain. Slowly, he punched in Metro Division's number.
"Bay City Metropolitan Division, how may I
help you?"
"Emergency." Breath. "Dobey."
Ragged breath. "Star safe house." A breath even more ragged. Valdez
passed out.
"Hello, you still there?" Without
hesitation, the operator opened a line to Dobey's office telephone.
"Captain Dobey."
"Cap, I just got a call," said the
operator, trying to keep calm. "I got a weird feeling about it. This guy
was pretty out of breath and only said a few words. 'Emergency,' your name,
and, get this, 'star safe house.' The line is still open but I can't hear
anything."
Dobey's heart sank. "Put me through to
dispatch now, dammit, NOW!" A second later, he was barking at dispatch.
"This is Dobey. I need all available officers at 121366 Ocean Beach
Boulevard, top priority! Send a couple of ambulances, too! DO IT NOW!" He
slammed the receiver down so hard the telephone broke. He grabbed his suit coat
on the way to the detectives' room.
"Bennett! Parson! Let's go NOW!" Without
as much as a glance at the other, the partners leaped from their chairs. Dobey
was almost at the swinging doors when Hutchinson reached them from the other
side.
"Hey, Cap, what's the rush?" the blond
man asked.
"What are you doin' here? Where's
Starsky?" he bellowed.
"Got a hearing today, remember? I came in to
review the files. Starsky's at the safe house." Hutch's stomach tied
itself in a thousand knots. His fire-and-ice-blue eyes widened as he stared at
Dobey. Two seconds ticked by. He turned around and ran down the stairs.
"Where the hell do you think you're
goin'?" Dobey rolled his eyes and gestured for Parson and Bennett to
follow.
By the time the three men arrived in the garage,
they saw Hutchinson driving a commandeered squad car out of the lot, tires and
siren squealing and lights blazing.
Time: 1012
Hutchinson kept his mind empty as he barreled to
the safe house in record time. He had no idea how he had kept control of the
vehicle, weaving it in and out of traffic at speeds approaching 80 miles per
hour and using just one hand.
The area around the safe house was clogged with
squad cars, unmarked cars, and emergency vehicles. He screeched to a halt
behind a squad car almost a block from the site. He was out and running before
the engine shut down completely.
The knots in his stomach shot to his throat when
he saw in the distance paramedics working on someone with dark curly hair just
outside the front door. He conquered the weakness in his knees but couldn't
control the racing of his heart. He finally reached the property line of the
safe house and cut across the lawn to the paramedics. He slid the last few feet
on his knees. He forced himself to look at the face of the man they were
working so furiously on.
He took several stuttering breaths in when he
recognized Nick Valdez. He felt a brief pang of guilt in his relief that it
wasn't Starsky. He stayed only long enough to get back on his feet. He spotted
another team of paramedics working on someone at the edge of the house. Running
toward them, he saw their patient was Malcolm Foley. Another moment of relief
followed by a heartbeat of guilt.
He headed back for the front door. He paused in
the threshold, breathing heavily and shuddering at the immense amount of blood
in the foyer. He flashed back to the garage but shook it away. He saw someone
coming toward him. He gave no sign of recognition of her even after she called
his name.
"Hutch," she said again, "it's
Murphy. Come with me." She took his right hand in hers and walked away.
She had to tug to get him into the house.
The strawberry blonde cop led him to the kitchen.
She watched him carefully, squeezing his hand reassuringly, as he acknowledged
the paramedics caring for…
Huggy! Oh my God! he finally allowed himself to think. This can't keep
happening. They'll kill everyone until they get to us! Then he was aware of
sound for the first time in many minutes.
"Okay, both IVs are going wide open, he's
hypotensive and tachycardic. Let's get him outta here, Chas. He needs surgery,
not us."
"Roger that." The paramedic named Chas
activated his radio. "County General, this is Rescue 12. Our patient
continues to be hypotensive and tachy at 134. Resps are 24, shallow, and
labored. IVs of lactated Ringer's times two are infusing. Permission to
transport immediately."
"Permission granted. An OR team will be
waiting for him. Over and out."
Hutch continued to stare blindly at the drama
unfolding on the kitchen floor. Murphy squeezed his hand tighter and tugged
again to get his attention. He sluggishly turned his stare from them to her.
"He's not here. We can't find him."
"Wha'?" he croaked out.
"Starsky. He's gone."
Hutch's features remained blank. Then, 15 seconds
later, without preamble, he loosed a primal scream filled with agony, sorrow,
and loss. He hit the wall with his left arm with such force that the plaster
cracked like thin sheets of ice under stress. The pain of that, paired with the
disappearance of his partner, made him falter. He had to lean against the wall
to keep from falling. I've failed you again! I wasn't there when you needed
me! And now Huggy is paying the price, too! He slumped forward. He stayed
there for a few minutes, while Murphy held his arm.
As the paramedics rolled their patient past the
big blond man, both avoided looking directly at the person who rattled their
teeth with such a seering howl. As he passed, Chas thought he could feel an
intense heat radiating from the now-quiet man.
Dobey raced into the kitchen after he stood aside
to let Huggy Bear and his caregivers pass. "What was that scream I heard?
Hutch? You all right?" Worry and concern were all over the dark brown
face. His usual gruff voice was softened considerably..
"They've got him, Captain. Henderson and
Mitchell have kidnapped Starsk. And Huggy is…" Hutch drew in a deep
breath, but it didn't stop his voice from cracking when he said, "I
promised they wouldn't touch him again. And I failed him. He's probably dead
already."
"You didn't fail him, son. If you had been
here, they would've gotten you, too. And we don't know if he's dead."
Secretly, Dobey feared and suspected the worst: that Starsky was dead, and they
took the body just to torment them. Then it would be Hutch's turn.
Hutch started to sway, and it took both Dobey and
Murphy to keep him from taking a header. They steered him to the living room
and sat him down in an easy chair. His eyes were empty. His body was listless.
He began to give in to his pessimism.
Bennett joined them in the living room.
"Captain, I'm afraid the wounded officers were in no condition to speak.
They, and Mr. Bear, are now en route to County General. Their chances of
survival…" He paused and shrugged. "The first detective team on
scene, Rogers and Thompson from the 19th precinct, have completed a thorough
search of the premises. They discovered a trail of blood leading to the back
door. It leads down to the beach, but they lost it there." The Englishman
looked at Hutchinson before he proceeded. "The amount of blood does not
appear significant. Parson is making a closer examination with them." He
placed a supportive hand on Hutch's shoulder.
A man in a three-piece pinstripe suit strode into
the room. He reeked of FBI. "Well, Dobey, seems that you called in that
favor for nothing. Your guys still got hit."
Hutchinson lunged out of his chair and pushed the
man to the floor mercilessly. He put a booted foot on the man's neck. "If
I find out you or any of your other Bureau creeps leaked this location,
I'll…" He began to press his foot down harder and harder and the man began
to sputter and cough. Dobey had to forcefully pull Hutch away.
"That's enough, Hutch," Dobey said
evenly as he held the blond man by his shoulders. The light blue eyes, steeped
in frustration and worry, blazed when he looked into Dobey's dark brown orbs.
"I promised him, Cap."
Dobey, already filled with dread, almost broke
down when he heard the earnest tremor in his detective's voice. He cleared his
throat and said, "We'll find him, son." He patted him several times
on both shoulders. "Bennett, why don't you take Detective Hutchinson and
show him the blood trail."
"Yes, sir, certainly. Hutchinson?"
Hutch continued to stare into Dobey's seemingly
placid and hopeful face for a few more seconds. Then he slowly began to nod,
each nod deeper than the previous one. He looked past Dobey to Bennett, who carried
an expression of sympathy on his patrician face. Hutch then nodded once at him.
Dobey released his hold, and Hutch silently followed Bennett.
Dobey looked down at the FBI agent, who still
cowered on the carpeted floor, holding his neck. The captain offered a hand.
The agent accepted it cautiously. Dobey had him standing in no time. "Get
this straight, Finley," Dobey said menacingly through clenched teeth,
"if I find out anyone at the FBI leaked this, Detective Hutchinson
won't have a chance to get to him, 'cause I'll beat him to it. Now get
the hell outta here."
Agent Finley started to respond, but Dobey cut him
off. "This is a police department investigation. I don't want any
of that garbage about this being a federal case now! We'll take care of our
own."
"Seems to me that you haven't been very
successful at that lately," Finley said smugly.
Dobey's fist streaked as fast as lightning to zap
the agent's face. Finley's head snapped to the right and he stumbled, doubling
over. He felt something wet and sticky rushing out of his nose. He backed away
when he saw the large man coming after him, fisted hand cocked and ready to
swing again.
"Captain!" Murphy ran the few steps to
Dobey to stand between him and the agent. She put her small hand on the
well-muscled right arm of the captain. "That's enough, sir. You've made
your point." She hoped she sounded calm.
Eventually, Dobey relaxed, the arm came down, and
the fist became an open hand. He breathed rapidly and deeply, almost
hyperventilating. Murphy squeezed his arm slightly. When she saw the rage begin
to recede, she pivoted to look at Finley. "It's over, Agent Finley. We can
handle it from here." Her left eyebrow raised, adding a touch of defiance
to her otherwise pacific expression.
"I intend on bringing assault charges against
you and that maniac Hutchinson, Dobey!"
"Go ahead, file your complaint!" Dobey
started toward the agent again, and he backed away once more.
"Captain," Murphy said with a warning in
her tone. "I saw nothing out of the ordinary, Agent Finley. I am sure
Detective Bennett will attest to the same. It was a shame, though, that you
tripped and fell against the back of the sofa. May I call a paramedic unit for
you, sir?" Her voice dripped with both challenge and convincing innocence.
Finley pulled out a white handkerchief and
tentatively swiped his nose and upper lip with it. "Fuckin' cops," he
uttered under his breath as he left the safe house.
Dobey harrumphed uncomfortably. He looked at the
blonde policewoman and studied her for a few moments. "Get back to work,
Murphy."
She drew herself to attention and said, "Yes,
sir."
"And, Murphy, one more thing," said
Dobey to her back as she walked away.
"Sir?"
"Good job." He smiled his gratitude. She
gave him a you're-welcome grin.
Dobey stood alone in the luxurious living room.
Less than 24 hours ago, it was part of a celebration of two men overcoming
incredible odds. Now, it was tainted with loss - the loss of one of those young
men he held close to his heart, the loss of control for the other, perhaps the
loss of his own career.
Screw my career, he thought. All I want is to bring those goddamned
bastards to justice, before they waste my boys. He left the room in a rush
to look for Hutchinson and Bennett.
5.2
Time: 1053
"So, Hutch, I think Starsky is still alive.
He's bait to bring you out, dude, since you weren't here." Parson rubbed
his short-cropped black hair for emphasis.
Parson, Hutchinson, Bennett, and Dobey stood in a
circle in the sand at the foot of the stairs that led from the safe house's
deck, where the blood trail vanished.
Bennett said, "I agree, Lancelot. Henderson
and Mitchell want you both, Hutchinson. Your absence this morning was likely
unknown and unexpected to them, no doubt. They believe the only way to get you
is to keep your partner alive - for the time being." Hutch glared at him,
but couldn't fault their reasoning and conclusion.
Hutch sighed and looked out over the ocean.
"Yeah, I keep telling myself he's alive." He sighed and looked at the
Englishman. "But we really don't know, now do we, Clive?" he asked
with bitterness. Without warning, he hit his forehead with the heel of his
right hand. "Shit! I forgot! I'm due in court at 11!"
Dobey checked his wristwatch. "I'll call
Clements. Maybe he can get a continuance." The captain started the climb
up the stairs. He stopped about halfway up when Thompson ran out onto the deck.
"Hutchinson!" the tall, stocky man
yelled. "Got a call for you! Says his name is Mitchell!"
The big, blond former track star showed his
prowess as he took the deck stairs three at a time, pushing by Dobey so hard
that he almost forced the captain over the handrail. Recovering quickly, the
larger man was only a few steps behind his detective.
Hutch yanked the receiver out of Rogers' hand. He
took two breaths to settle his nerves and his stomach. "Mitchell? Where is
he? I want him, now." He spoke with barely controlled rage.
"Ah, Big Swede, so nice to speak with you
again, too. If you want your partner, you have to come get him."
"Prove to me he's alive, and I'll be
there." Hutch ignored the sweat dripping into his eyes and making his new
white shirt cling to his body. Don't antagonize this jerk-off. That could
make things worse, he told himself. In the kitchen, Dobey carefully picked
up the extension, covered the mouthpiece, and put the receiver to his ear.
"Henderson and I thought you'd say something
like that. We have him right here. Just woke him up from a little nap. Looking
a bit peaked, though. He's got a brand new scar to add to his collection."
Hutch's grip tightened tenfold on the receiver. He
squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to control the fire that raged in his gut
and lungs.
"Okay, Starsky," Mitchell continued,
"let your pussy partner know you're alive, if not well."
Silence for a few seconds. Then Hutch and Dobey
heard what sounded like a slap and a punch, followed by a strangled yelp. Hutch
felt the knots in his stomach trying to escape through his mouth. He gulped
hard.
"Come on, Wild Thing, make it easier on
yourself. Talk to your partner." This was from a different voice, a bit
removed from the phone receiver. Henderson, you son of a bitch! Talk,
Starsk, don't let him beat you any more, partner! Please!
Hutch and Dobey waited breathlessly for a few more
seconds. Then they heard Starsky's pained voice: "Hutch, don't come
-" The rest of the words were muffledd. Then two thuds, the second one
heavier than the first.
Hutch began to shake. "Okay, Mitchell, you
proved he's alive. Where?"
There was a pause before Mitchell spoke.
"Come alone, Pier 35. Stop by the crane. Get out and walk toward the end
of the pier. Wear just a t-shirt, pants, and shoes - no jacket. Leave that
bazooka of yours behind. No tricks, or Starsky dies before you do. It's eleven
hundred hours now. Be here by noon, or Starsky dies before you do. You see, we
would prefer to execute you at the same time, so you can watch each other's
head disintegrate." Mitchell broke the connection.
Hutch was repelled and nauseated by the gloating
tone of the assassin as he dictated the terms. He had trouble replacing the
receiver in its cradle, finally fumbling it in place. I'm not sure how much
more of this I can take. He opened his eyes to see five pairs of them
staring at him. He chose Dobey's to concentrate on. With fire and authority, he
said, "Captain, we do as he says. To the letter. As long as we do, there's
a chance I can keep Starsky alive and get us out of this." Starsky, I'm
coming, buddy, stay alive.
Dobey knew it was useless to talk Hutch out of
this. Besides, he was right and they didn't have time to mount an offensive.
"Okay, we do as he says, but we add a few touches of our own."
Time: 1105
Shoppers ignored the dirty VW Bus in the parking
lot strip mall on the outskirts of the city despite its psychedelic paint job.
Those buses were still a common site in California, and they all tended to look
alike.
Inside the Bus, one man watched as another taunted
their prisoner he had blindfolded and bound like a prisoner of the Viet Cong -
arms tied tightly together above the elbows behind the back, a sturdy stick
thrust between the elbows and back, with wrists and ankles bound as well. It
was virtually impossible to attempt an escape, especially when compounded by
jagged, overwhelming pain and despair.
"So, Wild Thing, how does it feel to have
your own jaw broken?"
"Henderson, you're still as stupid now as you
were in 'Nam. My jaw ain't broke." Starsky decided to taunt back. He
braced for a blow and wasn't disappointed when he was struck sharply across the
face again. The bleeding from the laceration on his cheek increased. Damn!
When am I gonna learn to keep my mouth shut? he asked himself as he slumped
as far to the right as the stick would let him. Hutch has always said my
mouth gets me in too much trouble. Oh, Hutch, please don't come after me! Don't
let these goons get both of us! Let me die alone! He began to wish for
unconsciousness and a quick death.
But Henderson wouldn't let him sink away. He
sensed Starsky was fading out, so he opened an ammonia capsule under his nose.
Starsky reared back, hitting his head on something metallic and unforgiving.
Still, he didn't pass out.
"Now, tell me something, Wild Thing. What is
so special about you and your partner that the police department is willing to
have so many sacrificial lambs? Guess what? We took out your two cop guards and
your nigger friend today."
Starsky did the only thing he could do - he spat
in Henderson's face. "You and your partner there are the lamest excuses
for human beings. Why are you doin' this? Gggunther's history. Is this
some kind of sick revenge?"
Henderson laughed with profound malice as he wiped
Starsky's spittle off his face. "Don't think this is about revenge, Wild
Thing. Getting a broken jaw rather than twenty of hard time in Leavenworth was
a bargain. No, this is about making one stubborn son of a bitch die like he
should've done months ago." The assassin wadded up a filthy rag and
crammed it into his prisoner's mouth. "Mitch, where's the cattle
prod?"
Starsky emitted a low and drawn-out moan. With the
news about Huggy Bear, which he had feared all along and was now confirmed, and
knowing Hutch was coming to his own doom, abject despair joined the virtually
constant pain he had experienced for almost three months. Unconsciousness
didn't take him for several very long minutes.
5.3
Time: 1157
Hutchinson's squad car squealed to a stop by the
crane on Pier 35. He began breathing again after a check of the time revealed
he had arrived with three minutes to spare. The ten-minute layover at the 19th precinct
had not eaten up a significant amount of time.
Starsky, I'm almost there. We'll get out of
this mess, he thought as he scanned the
area with an expert eye.
Pier 35 was in a section of the docks that was not
in use at the time. The warehouse associated with it was empty except for
several forklifts and a dozen empty crates. The crane was parked at the head of
the pier. It was a long walk to the end of the pier.
Hutch checked his watch again. 11:58. Two more
minutes, Starsk. Hang in there, buddy. Don't die on me, I need you to go on,
for me to go on. Adrenalin prevented the tears from forming but didn't hide
the shakiness in his voice as he reported in. "I'm here. Everything looks
quiet. Hope I'm coming in loud and clear." He reached down to check one
last time that the small gun wedged in his boot was still in position.
Finally, the appointed time arrived. Hutch slowly
got out of the squad car. He stood there in the hazy midday California sun. The
air was heavy with moisture, and there were storm clouds gathering offshore. He
surveyed the area again. Seeing nothing unusual, he started the walk to the end
of the pier, staying midway between the warehouse and the ocean.
About a mile away, Dobey and Parson sat in the
front seat, with Bennett in the back of the partners' sedan, listening closely
to the transmission from the wire concealed on Hutch's lower abdomen. Even
though gain and volume were at maximum to compensate for the distance, the
reception was spotty at best. Dobey, sweating profusely from the humid air,
tension, and worry, swabbed his face with his ubiquitous handkerchief.
"Okay, he's started walkin'. Parson, check
again that everyone's ready to roll."
Parson keyed the handheld radio. "All units,
check in. It's almost showtime, dudes." Rogers and Thompson and the three
black-and-whites called in ready.
Parson glanced at his watch. 12:03.
12:03.
Hutchinson let his right hand drop to his side after checking his watch again.
He was about a third of the way to pier's end. Nothing moved but him and the
water. There were no sounds but the thud of his boots on wood and the gentle
lapping of waves against pilings.
He stopped, sensing that something had finally
changed, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He slowly made a 360-degree
turn, extending his senses to detect anything out of the ordinary. Once more
facing the end of the pier, he resumed walking.
Two steps later, the pier gave way beneath him and
he plunged into the dirty water.
The three men in the sedan swore at the massive
static that came over the receiver.
Just as Hutchinson's head breached the surface
after his submersion, a club smacked the side of his head. He lost
consciousness and went limp.
One man in scuba gear kept the detective's head
above water, while another applied a nose clip and thrust the mouthpiece to a
small aqualung into his mouth, taping it in place. The two men, supporting
Hutchinson between them, sank beneath the surface.
"Move in, dammit, MOVE IN! Something's
wrong!" bellowed Dobey frantically. Parson immediately keyed in the code.
Almost simultaneously, five cars started their engines. Parson peeled out ahead
of the pack, making it to the pier in less than two minutes.
Dobey had the door open and was stepping out of
the car before it had come to a complete stop. The other cars rolled in. As the
officers departed their vehicles, Dobey directed them to fan out and search the
pier and surrounding area. He took off down the pier with Bennett and Parson on
his tail.
Bennett spotted the neatly cut, gaping hole in the
pier and pulled Dobey back roughly before he fell through. The captain was
about to lay into the Englishman but paused so he could follow the downward
gaze of his detective.
"I think one might surmise what has happened
to our Detective Hutchinson," he said with a mixture of sarcasm and anger.
"Parson," the frustrated captain
snapped, "get on the horn to the Coast Guard. See if they made it to the
area yet. Tell 'em we think our kidnappers got wet feet. MOVE IT!"
As Parson raced back up the pier, Dobey and Bennett
scanned the vicinity. Dobey rubbed the top of his head, hoping it would calm
him. It didn't.
Time: 1237
Jimmy Gilmore had just finished interviewing the
captain of the merchant ship carrying Egyptian artifacts for a traveling museum
show. He stood at the top of the gangplank and looked around one last time
before leaving the ship. Movement two piers over caught his attention.
Squinting to improve his sight, he saw two men in scuba gear lift a third who
appeared to be in streetclothes out of the water.
Great, a rescue! He headed down the gangplank. The increasingly oppressive
humidity slowed him down in the race to his car, but he got to the pier in
question to see a white panel truck leaving. Where're the emergency
vehicles? He looked down the pier and saw nothing. He decided to pursue the
truck. He was about eight carlengths behind it when something flew out the
driver's window. Curious, he stopped where he thought the discarded object
might be. He found it quickly. Looks like a microphone, like the cops or
spies use. He gulped when he realized what this meant. He continued to
follow the truck and would call the police first chance he got. It never
occurred to him that perhaps the device was still working.
5.4
Time: 1405
Hutchinson could see the two faces in the squad
car now, for the first time. They looked like any mother's sons. Until one
stuck the barrel of an automatic gun out the window and fired, leaving behind a
sea of blood. He could see his own gun fire in retaliation, but the bullets
didn't go farther than a few feet before dropping harmlessly to the ground. He
could hear that sea of blood percolating into the concrete. He could feel
Gunther - no, it's Starsky - lying on his right side, curled in a fetal
position, the headwaters for the sea.
What the hell's going on? He began to panic, to shiver, to throb in pain. His eyes
shot open. In a split second, he went from one nightmare to another.
He was in a small, dimly lit, windowless room. He
was on his knees, butt on heels, leaning against a post, wearing nothing but
his shorts. Rope was wrapped around the wrist of the cracked cast and his right
bare wrist. His ankles were tied as well.
There, hanging by his thumbs, feet just inches off
the ground, was his partner, head lolling forward, body twitching. Blood, both
old and fresh, covered the left side of his face and chest. There were rope
burns above his elbows and around his wrists.. He was clad only in droopy,
bloodstained scrub pants.
Hutch squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head
away. He let the vomit come, hoping its release would take with it some of his
guilt, his incompetence with it. Before he was through, someone grabbed him by
the hair and yanked. He couldn't help but breathe in some of the emesis.
Coughing to try to expel the foreign material in his airways, he stared at the
soulless, psychotic eyes of Horace Harvey Mitchell.
"Got you both now, you dumb-fuck cop. You two
are going to die, and I get my life back." Mitchell released his hold on
Hutch's fair hair. "You disobeyed the rules I set down. Your partner will
pay the price." In one incredibly swift motion, Mitchell raised the weapon
they had confiscated from Hutch's boot and fired at Starsky.
"NOOOOO!" cried Hutch and he fell toward
Mitchell, too late to ruin his aim. He heard Starsky cry out feebly. Fuck
me! I come to get you out of this, and now you're hurt worse because of me!
Hutch forced himself to look at his partner.
The bullet had left a deep flesh wound in
Starsky's left triceps muscle. Hutch was relieved when he saw it wasn't
bleeding much. But he knew as soon as his partner's arms came down - if ever -
the bleeding would increase.
"You sick son of a bitch! Why punish him?
Punish me instead. I'm the one who brought in the gun."
"Okay." In an instant, Mitchell fired the
pistol a second time. The bullet lodged itself in the flesh of Hutch's outer
left thigh. He screamed at the initial shock, then his leg went numb.
Mitchell grabbed a thatch of the straw-colored
hair again, and used it to pull Hutch back into his previous position.
"Frankie, bring Wild Thing around so we can tell them about their last
half-hour on this planet."
Henderson, who had been lurking in a shadowed
corner of the room, came forth and stood before the dark-haired detective. He
snapped open an ammonia capsule beneath Starsky's nose. Henderson, in order to
keep Starsky's head still, snatched him by his curls and forced him to breathe
the foul-smelling fumes.
It took the detective several moments to orient
himself. The awareness of pain came rushing back, this time with the addition
of a burning in his left arm. Bile climbed to his throat when he recognized
Henderson. He searched the room with his eyes, which almost immediately latched
onto his partner's.
Hutch watched the expression in his friend's eyes
go from hope to anger to emptiness. He had to look away briefly, because he
couldn't stand to see his partner giving up. Oh God, he's dead already!
Hutch felt profound grief welling in his gut, and the knots twisted themselves
even tighter.
"Hey, Big Swede, you should've been here
earlier." Henderson sneered. "Your boy here went crazy. We left him
in this room while we picked you up. Yeah, he freaked - started
hyperventilating. Seems he's got claustrophobia. Prob'ly because he got buried
alive for a while in 'Nam. Was in one of those VC tunnels, weren't you, Wild
Thing?" He laughed, enjoying the panic he was helping to kindle in
Starsky. "Yep, the day after you catch me with that sweet young thing, you
and your buddy get caught in a tunnel after he trips a booby trap. But he's
dead, and you're by your lonesome, surrounded by dirt and VC and no air. He
ever tell you about that, Swede? Heard he'd only sleep outside for weeks."
He laughed again, this time sounding like a depraved troll. He had gone over
the edge without Mitchell's steadying influence.
That explains a lot, thought Hutch.
"That's enough, Frankie. Let's get on with
the business at hand. David Starsky, Kenneth Hutchinson, you have been
sentenced to death by James Marshall Gunther. We are here to carry out that
sentence." He paused, looking for a reaction. Starsky was too busy trying
to control his compulsion to hyperventilate to listen to Mitchell. Hutchinson
kept his face unchanged, controlling his revulsion to the insanity glowing in
Mitchell's brown eyes.
"But you are to be punished first for not
dying as you should have. Once my partner and I leave, you will have
approximately thirty minutes before this building explodes," he droned.
"You may try to escape, but be warned that that action has its consequences.
If by some chance you do escape, we will be waiting for you, ready to carry out
your executions." He cleared his throat. "Any questions?" He
sounded almost like a game show host explaining the rules to the contestants.
"Why don't you just kill me now, you friggin'
idiot?" Starsky finally spoke, voice hoarse and emotionless. Mitchell
shoved Frankie out of the way so he could crash his fist into the detective's
abdomen.
Starsk, watch your mouth! Hutch tried to communicate to him. But Starsky was
ignoring him. "Starsk, shut up!" He let out a wounded scream when
Henderson kicked him in a kidney.
Continuing to ignore his screaming partner,
Starsky carried on in breathless agony. "Kill me…any way you wanna…for as
long as it takes…just let my partner go. I'll make him promise…not to go after
you…to leave you alone. Don't kill or hurt anybody else. You can go about your
business. How 'bout it?"
"No deals, Wild Thing. It's my way, no
exception. The contract was for both of you. If we don't fulfill its terms,
we'll never get another one. Besides, it's personal now." Mitchell spat in
Starsky's face. He didn't react.
Mitchell nonchalantly checked his watch.
"It's almost fourteen fifteen hours. You'll be dead by fourteen fifty.
Let's go, Frankie." Frankie laughed dementedly when he turned out the weak
light and closed the door behind him.
The partners said nothing in the dark for a few
moments. Starsky spoke first. "Hutch, I told you not to come. Now you're
gonna die, too. It…it shoulda only been me."
The lifelessness in Starsky's voice crushed
Hutch's soul. No fucking wonder. How much more could he possibly take?
He considered that maybe his optimistic, resilient partner had reached his
limit. He fought back against the despondency that thought engendered in him.
"Starsk, don't give up, buddy. You're not dead yet. And that means there's
hope. I need you. I can't get out of here on my own. But you have to make the
decision. Is it really 'me and thee,' or has it been a pathetic joke for all
these years?" That's right, Hutch, make him angry. Maybe that'll start
his engine running again. I know you, Starsk, and you haven't reached that
limit! I won't let you!
Starsky, who thought he was beyond feeling any
longer, was surprised that his best friend's words scorched him. "Too many
hurt by all this. I got nothin' left any more. No life. All I've ever wanted
was to be a cop. With you as my partner, it was perfect. But they're already in
the process of kicking me off the force. You partnered with Meredith - " Saying
her name evoked memories of her - her smell, smile, voice, intelligence,
strength and vulnerability, tenderness and toughness, love and acceptance of
him. He was heartbroken that he had to leave her. He let his defeat overtake
him.
There was Terry, right there with him. She was
difficult to see through the smoke and ashes of his heart, but she was
unmistakable. Don't take back the gift you gave me. And I do like Meredith,
very much.
Hutch now knew that one thing, that one final
spark, missing from his partner. "Starsky, don't let them win, damn you!
Fight back! You'll never be a cop again unless you do!" Hutch shouted
vehemently. "If you're gonna die, let it be as a cop! Where is my friend,
my brother, who won't go down easy, huh?" Hutch's voice started to give out,
but he persisted. "Don't leave this way, Starsky. I'll never forgive you
if you do!" Hutch despised himself for even thinking such a thing, but he
and Starsky had to confront the truth.
Hutch's fiery words sought out and found the lone
ember in his partner's all-but-dead spirit. The ember began to glow brighter,
as Hutch's words stoked it, gave it new life. "What the fuck did you say
to me?" Starsky's question sparkled with quiet anger.
He's hooked! Now to reel him in… "You heard me. If you die like this, those people who
suffered because of these assholes won't get even a hint of justice. And you'll
die without my forgiveness. And I'll regret ever being partners with you. Do
you understand me?" Hutch ached at the harsh words, but he had to protect
his valuables. Maybe this is how I protect him, safeguarding his soul. Hell
of a way to do it…
"Just wait till I get down from here! You got
some explainin' to do, friend, partner." He struggled against the
restraints encircling his thumbs and cried out in anger.
Caught you!
Hutch exclaimed to himself, delighted to hear the fury in his partner's voice.
Time: 1418
Jimmy Gilmore sat in his Ford Maverick and
sweated. A storm was rolling in and the humidity had gone beyond oppressive.
From a distance, he watched the panel truck he had followed for miles, until
they were out of the city. He couldn't decide what to do. He thought the
guy they carried into the huge, abandoned, and dilapidated mansion was
Detective Hutchinson. But he wasn't sure. He didn't want to cause any trouble
for anybody if this was innocent. Besides, he wanted the exclusive.
Jimmy, you
are a fuckin' idiot! No matter who it is, they're up to no good! Call the
cops, for Pete's sake.
He started the engine and began his search for the
nearest public telephone. He would ask for Bennett at Metro. Maybe I'll call
Susanna at KZAM. If I tell her about this one, maybe she could get me a job at
her station when I get fired. Better yet, maybe she'll finally go out with me.
The rain began to fall in slow, large droplets.
5.5
Time: 1420
The curly-haired captive struggled harder against
the ropes. He could hear his partner's small cries. Must be tryin' to get
the ropes off his cast. He better hope he gets free first. I don't have to take
that shit from him. His struggles were finally strong enough to tip over a
bucket full of ice-cold water, drenching Hutch.
The kneeling detective gasped at the sudden
assault of freezing wetness. His cast was quickly disintegrating, and his
shorts, now transparent, clung to his body.
"Hutch, babe, you okay? Talk to me! You
okay?" A frantic Starsky quickly forgot his anger at his partner. But not
knowing what had happened to Hutch brought him back to the reality of the
small, dark, close room. He began to feel the panic, to hyperventilate again.
Hutch was out of his cast, then the rest of his
ropes, in seconds. Those turkeys did this on purpose. They want us to
try escaping, and they knew we would. He could hear Starsky breathing
deeply and rapidly. "I'm okay, Gordo. I'm loose. I'll turn on the
light." He stood, but immediately fell, left leg collapsing. He cursed
angrily.
"Huuutch!" Panic and concern dueled for
dominance in his voice.
Hutch "walked" on his right knee,
dragging his left leg behind him. He found the door quickly. He felt around and
finally touched the bottom of a broken switchplate. He stretched until he found
the switch itself and flipped it upwards.
The dim bulb illuminated the room, revealing a
kicking and manic Starsky. Even in the low light, Hutch could see a small
twinkle in his friend's eyes. "Dammit, Starsk, be still! You're just
making things worse."
"Open the damn door, willya?" he
shouted, exasperated with Hutch. "But be careful! Remember what they said
about consequences!"
Obeying his partner, Hutch turned the knob, pushed
the door open, and hit the floor.
Nothing happened. He pushed himself back to his
right knee and made it over to Starsky. He could figure no other way to stand
than to grab hold of the waist of Starsky's pants and pull himself up.
"Sorry, buddy, but this'll hurt you more than it'll hurt me." As he
pulled his largely uncooperative 180 pounds up, Starsky cried out in maximum
torment. "Fight it, Starsk! Don't pass out! We don't have time,
buddy!"
His partner's touch gave him the strength he
needed to stay conscious and endure. I'll do it, Hutch, I'll do it for you.
But I'm running on empty here!
Hutch was up, holding Starsky just under his
ribcage. He hyperextended his head to determine how the ropes on Starsky's
thumbs were fastened to the pole from which he hung. Hooks. Good. All I have
to do is lift. "Okay, partner, you have to help me here. I have to
lift you, but then you need to bring your arms forward. Think you can manage
that?" He took the feeble grunt as a "yes." "Okay, here
goes nothin'." He took a deep breath, and screamed as he raised the 150
pounds. The pain in his left arm escalated to unimaginable heights and his left
leg chose this time to wake up. But a second later, he was rewarded with
Starsky's arms falling against his shoulders.
They landed on the floor together in a heap. They
panted from the exertion and groaned from the unrelenting pain. They let a
minute pass to recover. "How much time you think we got left?"
Starsky eked out between gulps of air. He grimaced as sensation began to return
to his arms.
"Enough." Hutch held Starsky's eyes for
just a moment, expecting to see defeat or resignation, but instead he saw hope
and fight. He turned his eyes to inspect his partner's thumbs. They were purple
and swollen. Damn, he could lose both of them! "Thumbs hurt
much?"
"Naw, pretty numb. But my arms are startin'
to wake up, and it hurts like a sonuvabitch. Ready to get outta here?"
"Absolutely. Let's go turkey hunting."
Hutch stood slowly, using Starsky's shoulders to help him. Once steady on his
uninjured leg, he helped Starsky stand. They leaned against each other for a
few moments as the activity made them both dizzy.
"Before we head outta here, I think they have
some surprises for us," Starsky warned. "Prob'ly booby traps. Prob'ly
real nasty ones. Those fuckers are sick. We gotta be real careful,
partner."
"Starsk, we don't have much time to be
careful."
"Okay, then, last one out's a rotten
egg."
"Better rotten than fried."
Hutch led the way by half a step, dragging his
left leg behind him. Starsky staggered and stumbled, coming close to but never
quite falling. They entered a large, empty room with a bay window. Looking out
through the filthy panes, they could see the rain and could tell they were most
likely on the third floor. Hutch looked back at the room they had just left and
said, "Walk-in closet."
"It's a walk-out now." Starsky shivered,
recalling the closeness of his recent prison.
They headed for the door. Just as they got to the
threshold, Starsky tripped on his own feet and stumbled into Hutch. The latter
grasped for the doorframe, twisting in such a way that his left leg went out
the door first. It triggered a trapdoor, and his leg went through the opening,
hand sliding down the frame, buttocks closing in on the floor. He felt
something sharp cut him from ankle to knee. He screamed.
Starsky, his back now against the wall just to the
right of the doorway, yelled with alarm, "Hutch, what is it? You
okay?"
Through gritted teeth, the freshly injured man
said, "Something just cut me up my leg. Grab me, Starsk, I'm losing my
grip!"
Hurriedly, Starsky tried to get his arms to work.
They flopped around like landed fish. He put his back against the wall again,
and slid down to the floor. He scooted on his butt until he was in position to
wrap his legs around Hutch's waist.
"Hurry, Starsk!" Hutch was holding on by
two fingers, and they were slipping.
"Gotcha!" Hutch's waist now firmly
between Starsky's legs, the brown-haired man performed a backward somersault. Must
have a reserve tank, thought Starsky. Hutch found himself back in the room,
noting he was going to have a few new bruises thanks to that stunt. He saw
blood coursing from both the bullet and the newest wounds. He turned to
Starsky, who was curled knees to chin, rocking slightly and crying through
tightly closed eyes.
"I think you just qualified for the U.S.
Olympic gymnastic team with that move, slick." Hutch's attempt at
distracting Starsky did not have the desired effect.
Barely audible, Starsky said, "Oh God, Hutch,
I hurt so much, everywhere."
Hutch crawled over to his friend and put his head
on his shoulder. "I know. But we'll be out of this soon, and you can get
some medicine." I could sure use some of that narcotic sweetness
myself… He began to crave it, not only for its relief of his physical pain,
but for its relief of his psychic agony. He stayed for a few seconds longer,
then crawled to the threshold and looked into the pit. His stomach rolled when
he saw numerous wooden stakes, all whittled to long, sharp points.
"Starsk, what did you call sharpened stakes in 'Nam?"
"Wha'?"
"You know, punjab…"
"Punji sticks."
"You just saved me from falling into a pit
full of 'em."
"Any time." Starsky started to jerk and
heave, so Hutch crawled back to him, happy to leave the grisly sight.
"Starsk, I'm bleeding pretty bad. I need your
pants."
"No way. Not for sale."
But, Starsk old pal, my shorts
aren't enough."
"If I'm gonna die" - spasm and heave -
"I'm gonna die with dignity." He jerked again. "Sometimes,
Blintz, you take my dignity too lightly." He went into an unexpectedly
long and severe paroxysm of pain; Hutch draped his good arm over Starsky's
shoulder, comforting him the best he could.
Starsky panted heavily for close to a minute after
the spasm ceased. "Didn't think I could hurt worse. Was wrong." He
winced and breathed through his bared teeth. "Aw, screw it. Take 'em. But
you're gonna hafta get 'em off me."
Hutch was beginning to feel woozy from pain and
blood loss. What I wouldn't give for a taste of horse right now. With
some urgency, he prodded Starsky to unfurl his legs. The latter cried out yet
again, but straightened his legs enough for the pants to come off. Hutch untied
the string. "Starsk, you have to help me pull 'em off."
"Jesus Christ, Hutch, do I gotta do everything?"
Working together, the pants were off in less than a minute.
"Sorry, pal, but you'll have to help me wrap
'em around my leg."
"Guess I got my answer. What would you do
without me, partner?"
Hutch watched as his partner struggled with his
malfunctioning upper extremities to tie the pants above the bullet wound. Again
working together, they fashioned something akin to a pressure
dressing/tourniquet. With what little length was left, they spiraled it down
Hutch's leg.
Time: 1430
"Dispatch, this is Detective Bennett. Patch
me through to Captain Dobey immediately! This is an emergency!" Bennett's
normally calm, proper façade was distinctly animated.
"Dobey," came the loud, gruff rumble
over the radio.
"Captain, Bennett here. I just fielded a call
from that reporter Mr. Gilmore. He seems to have spotted something very
suspicious at the docks just after noon. Two scuba divers helping a third man
in clothes out of the water. He followed the chaps to an abandoned mansion. On
the way there, they seem to have disposed of a body microphone. I think we have
our men!"
"Where, dammit?!" Dobey allowed himself
to feel a small dollop of hope.
"Out State Route 344, past the town of
Currier. It will take Parson and me at least twenty minutes to get there at
best speed."
"It'll take me thirty. Go on, I'll have a
couple of black-and-whites in your area respond as well. I'll meet you
there." Bennett signed off. Dobey chose another line on his telephone.
"Let me speak to Sheriff Palmer now. Captain Dobey, BCPD. It's an emergency."
Time: 1432
"Enough rest, Starsk. We don't have all
day." Hutch was wearying of fighting the pain and the siren song of
narcotics. But his will to survive and his love for his partner pushed him on.
"'Kay. Hutch, we gotta be real careful. They
prob'ly got this place rigged a thousand ways. The punji sticks were prob'ly
just one of a lot of booby traps."
"Now I know why they made it so easy for us
to escape from that closet. They want us to suffer before we die."
Starsky could detect a hint of pessimism in his
partner's voice. "That ain't gonna happen, you hear me?" he demanded.
"Now, we gotta watch for trip wires, look all around, includin' up. We
gotta listen for sounds that don't fit. We're gonna get out of this. Hell,
we've come too damn far." He took a deep breath and coughed harshly.
"First we gotta get outta this room." He looked around the room for
ideas. The door!
The door to the bedroom was half off its hinges.
Starsky willed himself to stand and walk the few steps over to it. The wood of
the doorframe was rotting, so it took little effort to pull the door off its
remaining hinges. He managed to let it fall over the pit despite still
uncooperative hands but improving arms. The activity winded him, but he pressed
on. "Come on, Hutch, all ya gotta do is walk. No broad jumpin'. You can do
it." He went to his partner's side to help him stand. Hutch inhaled
sharply when he put a few pounds of pressure on his left leg.
"I'll go first, make sure it's okay,"
Starsky said. The door barely covered the pit, so he crossed carefully, somehow
keeping his stumbling gait controlled. Across the hallway from the bedroom's
entrance was the landing of a staircase. Starsky checked the area thoroughly,
then knelt down and rested his elbows on the edge of the door. His fresh
gunshot wound had woken up, and was bleeding slowly but steadily. "Hutch,
hurry, wouldja?"
Hutch took a deep breath in, held it, and limped
hurriedly across the door. When he felt the door slip, he increased his speed
and was across.
Unfortunately, Starsky couldn't afford to move,
and Hutch's knee met his forehead. The force knocked him over and he tumbled
down several steps, while Hutch crashed into the landing wall.
"Damn, Starsk, why didn't you get out of the way?
You okay?"
Through gritted teeth came his angry reply.
"If I hadn't'a held that door, you blond buffalo, you'd be shish kabob
right now. Shit it hurts!"
"What?"
"Everyfuckin'thing, whaddya think?"
Starsky barked. He began to put his twisted limbs back in working position when
he saw a paper-thin, almost transparent wire inches from his nose.
"Hutch," he whispered frantically.
"What is it now," Hutch said
testily as he worked on righting himself.
"Uh, trip wire on the step below me."
His breathing became slow and shallow.
Now standing, Hutch's eyes widened in horror and
fear. "What's it lead to? Can you get to it?"
Starsky slowly moved his head to follow the wire
all the way to the right, then to the left. That was when he saw the wire was
attached to the wall but continued downward, doubtless to some sort of
explosive. Goddamn it, I'm back in Indian country, he swore to himself.
"There's somethin' there, but I can't get close enough to see it."
Then, without warning, he slid an inch closer to the wire.
The partners held their breaths for almost a
minute. Hutch broke the silence. "Starsk, can you feel for it?"
"Do you think I'm nuts?! I'm not puttin' my
hand down there! I might set it off!"
"Well, I don't see any other choice. Do
you?" For a short-lived moment, Hutch found looking at Starsky's bare ass
quite amusing. The moment had long passed when Starsky said, "Here goes
nothin'."
The brunet man worked his tingling right hand
under the wire and moved it to the left cautiously until he thought he felt a two-inch-thick
bump on the step. His thumb was still not functioning, but his fingers could do
some large motor movements. With great care, he wedged his ring finger under
the bump, clasped down on it with his index and middle fingers, then flung it
away as hard and as fast as he could.
The small device exploded in a thousand sparkles
as soon as it separated from the wire less than a foot from Starsky'head. He
exhaled in relief. Hutch staggered back a few inches.
"These guys are really beginnin' to piss me off!"
"Starsk, they're just messing with our heads.
This is just their sick humor."
"Yeah, I know. Let's go." Starsky slowly
got to his feet. He wiped his sweaty brow and looked back over his shoulder at
Hutch. He, too, was perspiring heavily, and was alarmingly pale. "Come on
down. I'll walk right in front of you. That way, if you trip, I'll break your
fall - maybe."
Hutch grabbed the deteriorating handrail and
started down the steps, one at a time. "Don't do me any favors."
Starsky grinned up at him. Right hands on the rail, they slowly descended the
steps, both keeping their eyes peeled for anything suspicious..
Time: 1438
"How did you convince the boss man to let you
use the chopper to cover this story?" asked the pilot of his pretty
passenger.
With a sly grin on her painted red lips, Susanna
Beck drawled, "I promised I'd sleep with him."
"WHAT?!"
She laughed a big Texas guffaw. "His
definition of sleep ain't the same as mine, but he doesn't know that!" She
enjoyed the you're-a-smart-one grin from her companion. "Hey, is it safe
to fly in one of these things in rain like this?"
"Not really. Flight time should be pretty
short, and the storm's already passing. We'll be fine." He had flown in
much worse weather as a medevac chopper pilot in Vietnam. "Check your
seatbelt again. We ought to be there in about ten minutes. Rick, check your
belt again, man. I promise I'll fly this bird so you can get great footage from
the safety of your seat."
Time: 1440
The partners were nearing the bottom of the stairs
from the third floor. Neither had identified anything out of the ordinary,
either by sight or sound.
"How much time you think we got,
partner?"
"Probably not much. Wish we had our
watches."
"Ah, watches. I haven't worn one since…the
garage. Hey, where is it, anyway?"
"You and your stupid, elaborate watches.
Don't worry, it's in safekeeping at my place."
"Hutch, you don't have a place any
more!" Starsky's voice easily betrayed his feelings of loss and
disappointment.
"Oh, yeah, right. Well, buddy, I…"
Something tickled his fingers. Instinctively, he jerked his hand away and
almost immediately heard a thong! come from somewhere ahead of him and
Starsky.
The curly-haired man heard the sound as well but
was unable to identify the source before an arrow pierced his left side. He
grunted in surprise, tripped down the last step, and fell onto the filthy,
lumpy rug on the spacious second floor landing, with Hutchinson tumbling on top
of him.
"Hutch, I'm hit! Get off me! Where the hell
did this thing come from?!"
The big blond rolled to the right. He lay on his
back for a few moments before helping Starsky turn on his right side.
"Forgive me, buddy," he pleaded to Starsky's back, "but I think
I tripped a wire! It must've been on the outside of the rail! I'm so
sorry!" He didn't try to stop the tears.
"Izz okay. Don't hurt." Much.
"It's a fuckin' arrow, prob'ly from a crossbow. Just like the VC
used to do in 'Nam." He cursed under his breath, closed his eyes but only
for a short moment as he saw an arrow sticking into the windpipe of one of his
Army buddies. Trembling from the memory, he asked, "Is it all the way
through?"
Hutch wiped the tears from his eyes and inspected
the lightly bleeding wound. "Yeah. I can see an inch, inch and a half of
metal shaft. I'm so…"
"Babe, not your fault," Starsky
interrupted, "just not your fault. I don't blame you, even though you are
a klutz. We got more important things to worry about. 'Kay?"
"Yeah, okay," Hutch said, though not
convincing enough for his partner. "I think we better leave the arrow
where it is."
"Yep. Guess I got my own handle, huh?"
"Personally, I'd rather see you with the love
types many years from now, buddy."
The partners helped each other up, each
functioning for the other when and where he could not. They stood for a moment
to catch their breaths. Hutch coughed harshly, and his airways seemed to burn.
Starsky, worried look on his face, surveyed the view from the landing.
The stairs actually opened into a hallway that had
rooms on either end. On the wall opposite the steps was a large, stained glass
window that ran from floor to ceiling. Next to it was a built-in cherrywood
armoire. That's where they rigged the fuckin' crossbow. Peering around
the edge of the banister, Starsky looked down the hall and saw the base of the
punji sticks. He shuddered at remembering how close his friend had come to
being skewered.
Hutch had his breath back. "I bet the stairs
to the first floor are right under these." He turned to head down the
hallway. With his second step with his right foot, he heard a muffled click.
Starsky heard it, too. "DON"T MOVE!
Don't shift your weight! Don't even BREATHE!" He frantically scanned for
something to use to disarm what was probably some sort of anti-personnel mine. Nothing!
Dammit!
"Starsk, hurry! I can't stay like this. My
leg…" He stopped, cognizant that Starsky knew this already.
The arrow! That oughta work! Starsky snorted when he realized he didn't have the grip
yet to hold something that slender. He slid his feet along the rug to avoid
stepping on a mine himself. In front of his partner, he looked into the
fatigued, pained, pale blue eyes and said, "You gotta pull this out. I
need it. No time to look for anything else."
Hutch's expression plainly said NO! But
Starsky's resolute and forgiving look gave him the courage. "Don't mean
nothin', Hutch."
The blond man grasped the shaft of the arrow,
blinked his eyes several times to clear his vision blurred by salty tears, and
silently and needlessly asked the dark blue eyes opposite him for his
forgiveness. He concentrated on maintaining the same amount of pressure on the
mine, and pulled the arrow out of his partner.
Starsky, ready for the pain, still yelped loudly
and collapsed. He narrowly missed kneeing the mine. Now bleeding from the two
new and just enlarged holes in his body, Starsky worked the rug back over the
mine. Yep, just like a homemade VC mine. Enough to blow off his foot - or
blow out my eyeballs. "Teeth." Hutch put the bloodied arrow
between Starsky's teeth. "Hold it up." Hutch grabbed the rug as he
was told.
Time: 1447
The sweat now poured off both of them. Starsky
could feel his partner trembling and knew he only had seconds before Hutch
collapsed. Holding the arrow between the palms of his hands, he situated it so
the arrowhead and several inches of shaft were exposed out the pinky side. He
bent over and quickly but carefully inserted the arrowhead, flat side parallel
to the mine, under the pressure plate. When he felt what he was probing for, he
gave the arrow a little jerk. "Got it!" I hope!
Hutch collapsed and began to hyperventilate to
compensate for not breathing. Starsky didn't move - he just stared at the
disarmed mine.
A few seconds later, the dark-haired man felt
compelled to stare at the armoire. He had a suspicion that there was something
more to that than just the hiding place of a crossbow. He groaned and moaned as
he struggled to his feet and headed for the armoire. Without checking for booby
traps, he flung its doors open.
Next to the crossbow, he identified an incendiary device
hooked to a timer. The timer's digital display read 00:00:20 in bright
red. A quick check showed the device was bolted in place.
00:00:18.
Starsky shuffled the few steps to where Hutch lay on the floor. "Come on,
Blintz, we gotta get out of this place." Hutch immediately comprehended
the all too evident urgency in Starsky's tone. The latter offered his friend
his arms..
00:00:15.
Hutch grabbed hold of Starsky's arm with his one functioning hand. He pulled
himself up as Starsky raised his arms.
00:00:11.
Neither spoke. Starsky, worn out, had run out of ideas. He looked to Hutch for
one.
00:00:09.
Hutch told Starsky his idea with a quick eye movement that also said, Trust me.
The dark curls bobbed up and down once - message understood, received, and accepted.
Time: 1449
Parson silently swore at the continuing rain as
steered the Ford Sedan into the entrance of the long driveway to the mansion
just a few yards behind the sheriff's four-wheel-drive vehicle. When he finally
heard the sound of a helicopter nearby, Bennett turned to speak with his
partner but never uttered a word. The explosions and the conflagration that
rapidly followed tied his tongue.
End of Part 5
© 2000
Comments?
I'd like to hear from you. Please email me at mhepriest@yahoo.com.
Part 5
completed 10 December 2000