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
Part 6
6.1
Time: 1449
Lance Parson allowed his Ford sedan to rear-end
the sheriff's vehicle because his attention was on the fireball in the
distance. "Holy crap!" he exclaimed as the sedan abruptly stopped.
Parson and Bennett were out of the car and into
the rain in seconds. Parson reached the sheriff as he was leaving his vehicle.
"Sheriff Palmer, I'm Detective Lance Parson, BCPD. Sorry about the
accident."
"We'll talk later, boy. My dep'ty is calling
in the fire department and an ambulance or two." By this time, Bennett had
joined the two men. "You must be Bennett. Well, fellas, your captain told
me we might be getting into some danger here. I think it'd be a good idea to
approach the house on foot from here. I'd say it's about 300 yards."
"But we need to go see if anyone's alive and
needs help!" Parson was becoming agitated.
"Don't get all riled up, boy. If anybody was
in that house, he's not needin' any help. It's best if we move with caution. If
you got rifles, get 'em."
"I will retrieve our rifles, Lancelot. You
and the sheriff decide our approach, would you?"
Parson, admitting to himself that he was
out-voted, nodded his head. He looked at the helicopter flying near the burning
mansion. "Looks like we got company," he said softly to no one in
particular.
Time: 1450
"I say we get the hell out of here,
Mitch," said Frankie as he watched the helicopter circling the mansion
slowly. He shifted uneasily in the passenger seat of the panel truck that was
parked on the side of the carriage house nearest the estate. "I think it's
a TV chopper."
The warm rain, the humidity, and the chopper's
noise pushed Mitchell farther away from reality. He was not merely chief
executioner and tormentor; he was now performing those duties in Vietnam.
"We have our orders, Sergeant. We have to make sure the enemy is
sanctioned properly." The crazed, far-away look in his eyes unnerved the
already edgy Henderson.
"They didn't get out, man! Didn't you hear
those screams? Wow, that was awesome! No way they got out. We did it!"
Mitchell's hand shot out to grab Henderson by his
throat. "We check the grounds. We make sure they did not escape." He
let go, and Henderson coughed briefly. Hand gingerly at his own throat, Frankie
said, "Got it. Recon. Let's do it, and get the hell out of here."
The two men emerged from the truck and began a
brisk walk to the mansion. Mitchell stopped once to wave away the chopper, but
to no avail.
The heat from the fire seemed to make the rain
feel even warmer. They slogged through the overgrown grass without speaking to
each other. Mitchell watched for activity to their right, Henderson to their
left. They halted just shy of thirty yards from the mansion - close enough to
feel the fire's rage but far enough away to avoid its touch.
Mitchell signaled for Frankie to go left; he
turned to the right. They began their methodical search of the grounds.
Time: 1454
"Hey, what's that on the ground?" asked
the pilot over the clatter of the chopper's blades. "Near the house?"
He swung the helicopter around so his passengers could look. "Check it out
at your three o'clock."
Susanna Beck squinted, trying to improve her
vision through the rain and the distance. All she saw was debris, no different
from any other part of the lawn. "You see anything, Rick?"
The cameraman focussed his lens at the area in
question. After some adjustments, he zoomed in. "Think I got something,
Susanna. Looks like a blond head of hair."
"Can you get in closer, Archie?" Susanna
asked the pilot.
"Too dangerous, what with the fire and the
rain. This is as close as I dare."
"Rick, whatever you do, keep filmin',
honey." She had a feeling this story might lead the news at five.
Time: 1455
David Starsky's return to consciousness came as a
result of the pain that screamed from every ounce of his being and of the
familiar racket of a helicopter. He discovered he was sprawled out on a wet
carpet of thick, tall grass. He moaned, remembering the jump through the
stained glass window with his partner.
Worriedly, he groped the area with his arms. His
partner was not within reach. "Hutch! Where d'ja go?" He rolled to
his right to begin a wider search for his partner but the movement brought with
it a wave of nausea followed quickly by retching. He flopped back onto the
grass. For a moment, the rain pounded him into submission and the fire seemed
to grow tentacles, reaching for him, intent on consuming his flesh.
He took a few deep breaths and rubbed his wet
curls and wounded face tentatively. Catch me if you can, he thought to
the flames, but I ain't dyin' again today. Now very much aware of his
left cheek, he used that pain as a focal point to help him stand upright.
He wobbled on his bare feet. His head swam and
vision blurred, but both cleared quickly. He spotted Hutch three feet away. He
wasn't sure he could see the big blond's chest move. He swallowed and wrinkled
his forehead. In two tortured steps, he was at his partner's side. He knelt,
reaching for Hutch's arms but withdrawing his hands quickly without quite
touching his friend. He did this several times as he watched for a breath.
Suddenly, Hutch took in a deep, jagged breath and
he began to move his head back and forth. Starsky, startled by the sigh, fell
back on his rump. He struggled to kneel again. "Hutch! Wake up, buddy, you
okay? Anything new broken?" This time, he did touch his partner's
shoulders and shake gently.
Hutch moaned and opened his eyes. He squinted
against the rain to see his partner's worried countenance inches from his own.
"Starsk, we're still alive!" he exclaimed with amazement. Talking
prompted him to cough furiously.
"Yeah, we are. It's gonna be okay, you're
gonna be fine." Starsky spoke soothingly and loudly enough to be heard
over the chopper noise. He stroked the dirty and drenched blond hair, then his
upper left arm.
Turning his head away from his partner so he could
direct the cough away from Starsky's face, Hutch saw a male figure running
toward them. The man halted before he was close enough to be recognized, but
Hutch did see an all-too-familiar movement - hands and weapon being raised to
firing position.
****
"Rick, that guy's got a gun and he's gonna
fire the dang thing! Are you getting this?" Susanna bubbled with
excitement.
"Don't worry about it. I'm the best lens man
KZAM has."
Archie desperately wanted to buzz the gunman, but
it would bring the helicopter and its occupants far too close to the fire and
the unpredictable air currents it generated. He hovered in safety, feeling
guilty and impotent.
****
Still coughing too vigorously to warn his friend,
who had his back to the man, Hutch knew he had to gather the miniscule bits of
his remaining energy to physically remove Starsky from danger. He felt the fire
nearby and mentally inhaled it, to draw on its power to replenish his. The fire
surged in him, and with his right arm, he knocked Starsky to the ground.
The violet-blue eyes widened in surprise at the
shove from his friend. A millisecond later, he understood why Hutch had done
that. A bullet, which would have caught Starsky square in the back, thudded
into the ground some yards past them.
"Hutch, stay down!" Starsky rolled into
the prone position and lifted his head just enough to peek in the direction of
the bullet's origin. He recognized Henderson running toward them. He felt his
anger vault to its boiling point in an instant. Then, as if released from a
cramped iron cage, he rose from the wet ground, ran several steps toward the
assassin before taking a flying leap, arms outstretched and ready to lock
around the enemy.
Henderson, upon seeing Starsky stand, skidded to a
stop and drew a bead on his bare and scarred chest. "Come and get it, you
lunatic," he whispered out loud. As his finger tightened on the trigger,
he sneered like a deranged ogre.
****
"Yee-ha, look at that nekkid guy go!" In
her excitement, Susanna let her Texas speech run unchecked. "Rick, honey,
tell me you're still shootin'!"
Time: 1458
Mitchell rounded the corner of the estate just in
time to see Starsky catapult himself at Frankie. Dammit! The enemy has
penetrated the perimeter! He watched, enraged, as the enemy codenamed Big
Swede get to his knees and move toward Henderson and the other infiltrator.
Mitchell cursed and spat. He jogged toward the three men.
The sight of a man wearing nothing but dripping
curls and an intense, purposeful, wild-eyed snarl set off with puffed out
cheeks completely stunned Frankie. Without realizing it, he eased off the
trigger and dropped his arms to his sides. He stared unbelieving and
astonished.
Starsky's tackle connected at Henderson's midriff.
The assassin, breath knocked out of him, fell backward, dropping his gun in the
process. Starsky had rolled a few feet to one side, but he scrambled back to
Henderson. The detective straddled him and began pounding him with his fists.
****
The four law enforcement officers reached the
front of the burning mansion. Parson, curious about the carriage house, started
to walk toward it, but the sheriff's words stopped him.
"That 'copter keeps on hangin' out at the
back of the house. I expect that'll be where we'll find what we're lookin'
for." Sheriff Palmer wiped the rain from his eyelashes. "Marsh, you
come with me. You two boys head around tha other way. Careful you don't shoot
us, now." Palmer and his deputy almost strolled off to the left.
Bennett and Parson watched the two for a few
seconds. Parson took a deep breath and said, "I got a bad feeling about
this, Clive."
"I do as well, Lancelot. Might I suggest we
not dally any longer? The time for caution, I fear, has past."
****
Hutchinson made it to Henderson's weapon. When he
first touched it, the gun tried to slip away from him, but he fell over it,
capturing it with his torso. He worked his right hand under him, finding the
barrel. He turned on his left side. Carefully, he grasped the gun's slippery
butt. He looked at his partner and Henderson, just in time to see the latter
raise his leg, smashing it into Starsky's back.
Starsky cried shrilly in pain and toppled off the
hitman, landing between him and Hutch. Winded from the blow, the spurt of
activity, and not-fully-recovered respiratory function, he struggled mightily
to breathe.
Henderson rocked from side to side a few times to
recover from Starsky's blows to his face. Fuck it, I think he broke my jaw
again! And my nose! His anger skyrocketed, giving him the energy to return
to his feet. He positioned himself so he could kick Starsky's head. "I'm
gonna kick those curls right off your head, you hear me?!" he shouted with
great, slurred savagery.
Hutch, sensing that Starsky was not yet able to
respond to protect himself, tried to aim the gun at Henderson but he wasn't
fast enough to stop him from launching the promised blow.
So intent was Henderson in dealing a ferocious
kick, he lost his balance, missing his target and falling backwards. He
slithered several feet away from the partners.
Hutch caught movement in the corner of his eye. He
turned to catch it head-on. Shit! Mitchell! he thought as he instantly
recognized the insane assassin.
Mitchell halted his jog roughly ten yards from the
three men. He stole a glance at the chopper and determined it was not a threat.
He focussed his attention back on the enemy. Then, as if he had all the time in
the world, he began to raise his weapon.
Hutchinson saw that Mitchell would take aim at
Starsky first. He quickly brushed a wet lock of blond hair out of his eyes. Another
mistake, asshole. You're supposed to go for the one with the gun first! Not
knowing how, Hutch found himself on his feet and in the line of fire. His
weapon, held firmly and unswerving, now pointed at Mitchell. "Don't even
think it, Mitchell."
The assassin had finally raised his gun to firing
position. He had Hutchinson now, dead to rights, but he hesitated. He felt
compelled to kill Wild Thing first, but that was only part of his hesitation.
It was the sight of Hutchinson, the fire and determination and anger shooting
out of his eyes, the feel of his hot breath that traveled across the space
between them, the ring of triumph and loathing in his words. He shuddered when
for a brief moment it appeared that the house fire was feeding the detective.
Parson and Bennett reached the back corner of the
burning estate. They stopped, nodded at each other, and rounded the corner with
rifles ready, Bennett going high, Parson going low.
They rapidly took in the scene before them. The
tall, blond man - Hutchinson! they both thought - in sodden underwear
and with something wrapped around his left leg had his back to them. He was
slowly but confidently limping toward another man.. They recognized Starsky on
the ground, obviously working hard to breathe. The fourth man, who Bennett
realized was Henderson, was getting to his feet. Parson and Bennett, spurred
back into action by what was a likely threat to their helpless fellow officer,
raced toward them.
When he was three feet away from Mitchell,
Hutchinson heard the wail of numerous sirens in the distance. He refused to let
them divert his attention from his prey. He had his claws in him now. His eyes
held Mitchell's, leaving the hitman powerless to focus on anything else.
Mitchell held his breath.
Hutchinson walked directly into Mitchell's gun
barrel. The cold steel on the wet skin of his chest was oddly reassuring and
stimulating. His own weapon stabbed Mitchell in the neck. "Drop it,"
he commanded as quietly as a scorpion skittering across sun-baked rocks.
Mitchell leaned back ever so slightly in an effort
to free himself from the detective's invisible hold on him, and from the
tremendous heat that poured out of him. Even the gun seemed to singe his neck.
He moved his finger off the trigger and released the gun entirely. He sank to
his knees and began breathing again.
Hutchinson moved to Mitchell's side, shifting the
gun from neck to temple. He didn't even try to remove the assassin's gun from
his reach; he knew he had complete control of the man. He looked back to check
on his partner. He saw Bennett and Parson, slipping and sliding as they ran
toward Starsky and Henderson. He saw Henderson back on his feet and approaching
his partner who still writhed on the ground.
"Leave them alone!" Hutch shouted his
order at the top of his inflamed lungs so the detectives could hear him over the
noise of the rain and the helicopter.
Parson and Bennett lurched to a slippery stop at
Hutch's demand. Something in his voice and the way he held his body told them
he meant business and he wouldn't tolerate anything but complete obedience. They
obeyed.
Hutchinson turned his attention back to his
partner. Good idea, partner. Carry this off, and you win, even if you die.
But you die a cop, you die without giving up, you don't go down easy.
Henderson, maniacally transfixed on the cop he was
determined to eliminate, wiped the blood flowing from his broken nose. He took
the few steps over to the twisting, wounded, hurting man. He lifted a booted
foot and aimed for the middle of Starsky's face.
Before the foot could make its way to its
destination, Starsky whipped his right leg out and swept away Henderson's only
support. The bloodied hitman fell again.
Hutchinson, senses working at maximum capacity,
heard a couple of people moving rapidly toward his position from the direction
that Mitchell had come. Reassured by the hats worn by county sheriffs and
deputies, he yelled, "Watch him, but DO NOT cuff him! You got that?"
The sheriff shot him a questioning look, but
decided to play along. He aimed his rifle at the man with slumped head and
shoulders kneeling on the ground. The man didn't budge when he felt the gun
leave his temple. His only movement was short, cowering breaths.
Hutchinson limped toward his partner as fast as
his throbbing leg would allow. The sirens were getting loud now. He hoped no
one would interfere. He and his partner weren't quite ready for them yet.
Starsky was on the sadistic Frankie in a blur of
flailing limbs. Such a fury-filled attack from a man who appeared to be in the
throes of defeated agony took Henderson totally by surprise. He tried to fight
back, but he was no match for the resolute wild man.
The dark-haired detective had Henderson's arms
pinned under his knees in seconds. Starsky's hands seemed to grow a will of
their own and headed directly for the hitman's throat. Starsky stared at his
hands, not recognizing them. He couldn't feel what they felt. He heard himself
talking out loud in a voice that frightened him. "What the hell did I ever
do to you? You raped that girl and got better than you deserved!"
Saliva fell from his mouth. He watched through a tunnel as the still-swollen
but less purple thumbs crushed the larynx of the sputtering and struggling man
beneath him. "Why did you have to hurt so many people just to get to me?
To my partner? Was it worth it, huh? I gotcha, sucker! You tried to kill
everybody, but you still lost. And I won!"
He saw the non-descript, terrified face beneath
his turn red, then blue. Then he heard himself say in a voice that no longer
alarmed him, a voice steeped in peace and victory and rebirth, "I
won."
The hands quickly came under his conscious control
again, and he released his grip on Henderson's throat. Frankie immediately
inhaled as much air as his swollen airway would allow. He wheezed and coughed
as his color sluggishly returned to ruby red.
Starsky felt a soft, protective, and proud squeeze
on his right shoulder from a familiar hand. He looked up through the now-light
rain to gaze in his best friend's warm, sky-blue eyes. The clattering
helicopter and the sirens drowned out the words that came from the mustachioed
mouth: "The fat lady's singing, buddy."
6.2
Time: 1503
Captain Dobey, on seeing the hovering chopper,
deduced that the action was happening at the rear of the mansion. He was just
ahead of two fire trucks and two ambulances. He steered his car off the
driveway and drove it across the overgrown lawn to the back of the house. A
fire truck and an ambulance followed. The wet grass was like ice, offering
little traction for tires. All three vehicles had to slow down considerably.
****
"Archie, can you land this overpriced
egg-beater somewhere? Time to interview the natives."
The pilot shook his head. Susanna, you're
hopeless. He landed the helicopter about 200 yards from the house.
****
Dobey jerked his car into park and rolled out of
it into the drizzle. He took in the scene before him. The sheriff and his
deputy had rifles trained on one man, hunched over and kneeling. Bennett and
Parson were casually strolling over to Starsky and Hutchinson who was helping
the former stand. What he saw next made his eyes want to pop out of his head.
Starsky's naked as a jaybird! He began walking briskly to join his four detectives. And
Hutch might as well be! Where the hell is his cast? And the damn press is here.
Dammit, I bet they have it all on film. I'm too old for this…
****
On his feet again, with Henderson stopped and
Mitchell literally brought to his knees, Starsky found his adrenalin supply
depleted, his reserve tank empty. His own knees became mush, and he didn't fall
only because Hutch still had a grip on him.
"It's over, buddy," Hutch said. He
hadn't felt this good in weeks.
Starsky smiled weakly and pulled away. He bent
over to rest his hands on unsteady legs and drew several deep breaths. It
wasn't over yet. "You wouldn't happen to be hidin' any cuffs in your
shorts, wouldja?"
Hutch grinned. "Sorry, Starsk, I seem to have
misplaced 'em."
Bennett caught on quickly. As he closed the
distance between him and Starsky, he reached under his soaked Hawaiian shirt
and unhooked his handcuffs. He dangled them in front of Starsky.
"Detective Starsky, I would consider it an honor if you used mine."
Starsky's lips turned up at the corners. He took
the handcuffs offered to him. He straightened up, head whirling just a little.
By this time, Parson had snatched the front of Frankie's shirt and none too
gently "assisted" him to his feet. Parson then twirled the hitman
around so his back would be to Starsky. The former Louisianan looked at the
battered, bleeding, dark detective with respect, awe, and blatant admiration as
he smartly snapped the metal rings around Henderson's wrists and said,
"Franklin Delano Henderson, you are under arrest. You have the right to an
attorney…"
****
The three people from the KZAM helicopter converged
on the drama unfolding ahead of them. "Rick, you getting' any of
this?"
"Keep your panties on, Susanna. Once you see
what I got, you'll be asking the boss man for a raise for me."
****
Dobey waved over the ambulance when he saw the
bleeding wounds on his two best detectives. "Will somebody get these men
some clothes?" he roared. He arrived at the small group in time to hear
Starsky say, "Do you understand these rights?"
Henderson did not reply. He continued to wheeze
but was breathing easier. He was in shock that Wild Thing had spared his life.
He didn't understand that; he would have killed without hesitation had the
situation been reversed. Well, maybe with some hesitation, but it would only be
to gloat and make his victim suffer. Why hadn't Wild Thing finished him off?
Parson, still holding Frankie by his shirt, grew
frustrated with the unresponsive man. He smacked his head with the flat of his
hand. "Hey, answer the man! Do you fuckin' understand your rights,
asshole?"
Bennett raised his eyebrows at his partner's
unexpected and uncharacteristic behavior. He had never seen Parson act like
that. But then again, he had to admit, they had never been in a situation quite
like this one.
Frankie careened out of his shock and nodded his
head.
Starsky stood perfectly still for a few moments.
He felt empty, numb, unreal, distant, displaced. He whispered,
"Hutch?!" just before his legs crumpled under him.
Hutch reached for him but was surprised to find he
had help as he and his captain gently lowered Starsky to the ground. He sat
upright with stooped shoulders and splayed legs. Bennett squatted then sat
beside the barely conscious, swaying detective. He put his arm around his
flaccid shoulders. Starsky did not resist the physical touch, the effort at
camaraderie and support; he even leaned into the Englishman's body.
****
"Ricky, stop filmin', you hear me? Stop
now."
"What are you talking about? This is pure
gold!"
"Do like I say, camera bug, or I'll
have your job before the day is over."
Archie gazed at Susanna with newfound respect. Well,
Ms. Beck, there is hope for you.
****
Hutch wanted desperately to join his friend. But
there was unfinished business, and neither would be safe until he finished it,
terminated it - and without the extreme prejudice he so much wanted to use. If
Starsk had the strength to conquer that urge, then so do I. He lightly
touched the flattened dark brown curls. "Starsk, do you mind…?" He
didn't finish his question; he knew his partner knew what he was asking.
Starsky gave a wobbly wave of his hand and
slurred, "Go for it." He needs to do it as much as I do - did.
Parson had the insight this time. He held out his
handcuffs to the bruised blond detective. "Ditto for me, dude."
Hutchinson quietly smiled his thanks and accepted
the steel gift. To Starsky, he said, "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right
back." His smile turned affectionate when he heard his friend murmur,
"Ain' goin' nowheres." Then he turned to face Mitchell, the smile
morphing to a mask of a Volsung.
The psychotic Mitchell, earlier so full of hatred,
delusions, and paranoia, now looked like a whitewall tire bled of its air. He
hadn't moved since Hutchinson left his side. His face was a ghastly, ghostly
ivory.
Hutch limped stoically and purposefully through
the mist to the hired killer, unaware that Dobey was right behind him. Sheriff
Palmer grabbed the back of Mitchell's shirt collar and dragged him to a
standing position by the time Hutch arrived. Palmer knew a fair amount of the
story leading to this incident. And he was a cop himself.
"Your collar, son. I'm mighty proud of you,
of both of you boys."
Hutchinson, intent on maintaining control over
both Mitchell and himself, didn't acknowledge the sheriff but immediately went
about cuffing the killer. Dobey gave Palmer a quick nod, and helped the
exhausted, one-handed detective fasten the cuffs on Mitchell.
"Horace Harvey Mitchell, you are under
arrest. You have the…" Hutch stopped abruptly, fighting the unbidden tears
that forced themselves into his tired eyes. He was relieved to hear Dobey
finish reading the perpetrator his constitutional rights, because if he hadn't,
he wouldn't have had the energy to shout to his partner, "Starsk! We're
safe! You're safe! We got the sons of bitches, partner!" I protected
you! Dobey hugged the big blond around his waist before he could fall.
Starsky heard the tears, relief, fatigue, and even
rage in his partner's words. He buried his face deeper into Bennett's shoulder,
smearing blood from his cheek on the loud shirt. His Adam's apple bobbed
furiously and his shoulders shook as he laughed hysterically.
Bennett looked up at his partner and silently
pleaded for advice on what to do. Parson, profoundly affected by what he had
witnessed over the last five or so minutes, shrugged and half-laughed and
half-cried. He hesitatingly put his hand on Bennett's unoccupied shoulder but
avoided eye contact. Holy crap! First time for this! We ought to take
lessons from these two.
Bennett found himself at an unusual loss for words
and actions. He did, however, draw something undefinable but positive from the
first touch of this type from his partner.
6.3
Time: 1530
Starsky and Hutchinson, miraculously not marred by
more injuries in their jump, huddled under blankets provided by the paramedics.
As they sat in the back of the ambulance, they traded swigs of green Gatorade,
compliments of Juan, one of the paramedics. Both men had refused the IVs they
needed to correct their volume depletion, so Juan had volunteered his personal
cache of the sport drink. But in return, the savvy healthcare professional made
them promise to have their wounds tended once they dried off and finished the
first bottle of fluid.
They sat in silence, punctuated at times by Dobey
and Palmer shouting directions and orders. They heard the piercing shrillness
of the second ambulance's siren as it departed with its passenger, handcuffed
and wheezing. They heard a wing of the estate collapse, and firefighters
constantly communicating their actions and locations. The fire, the detectives
knew, had turned into a practice fire. They wished, however, that their
firefighting brethren would allow the incineration of that little piece of
hell-on-earth. They felt the return of the brutal pain, now that they were down
from their prolonged adrenalin high.
Hutchinson watched his partner take a long gulp
from the bottle. He knew Starsky was worn out, as was he, but there was
something else. He seemed distant and subdued, despite the arrests of Gunther's
henchmen that signaled the end of the savage ordeal they had endured for
months. Clearing his throat, the blond man broke the silence. "Are you
thinking what I'm thinking, partner?"
Starsky finished swallowing his gulp with phony
relish. "Yep, I am. So what're we gonna do about it?"
Is it the letdown from the adrenalin, this
whole shitty day ending, Starsk? What is it? Talk to me. "Well, I was thinking we…"
Dobey energetically threw open the back doors of
the ambulance and peered in. "What the hell is going on in here? Why
aren't you two lyin' down? Why aren't you gettin' bandaged up? Just what kind
of shenanigans are you up to now?"
"Cap, if you'd just calm down and let me get
a word in…"
The captain continued yelling fast and furious.
"Calm down? Who are you tellin' to calm down, Hutchinson? I'll calm
down when I'm damn good and ready. I'll be calm once you two are outta here and
in the hospital where you belong! You got that?!" Dobey pulled out his
handkerchief and wiped his sweaty face. He looked expectantly at his
detectives. Palmer sauntered over to see what all the hubbub was about.
"Cap, will you just listen to what we
have to say?" Starsky put on his best innocent and be-reasonable face.
Dobey was leery when either one of them said
anything like that. It always meant he would end of agreeing with whatever
harebrained scheme they had cooked up or hunch to pursue, or that he'd have to
say he didn't want to know about it. But he had no choice but to listen; they
had been right too many times. "Go ahead, but I'm warnin' you - this
better be good to justify why you won't let these paramedics do their
job."
"Captain," Hutch began, "there were
a limited number of people who knew where Starsky and I were going to be until Henderson
and Mitchell were apprehended, right?"
Dobey nodded. "The only people who knew who
those on a need-to-know basis. I haven't had a chance to get back to Finley to
find out who knew at the Bureau, but only the officers assigned to guard you
two and the desk sergeants knew. No one else."
"And?" asked Starsky.
"And what, Starsky? Have I questioned
everybody who knew? No, dammit. I've had my hands full, coordinating the search
for you two!" He paused and cleared his throat when he realized he was
yelling at Starsky. "I hand-picked your guards. All of 'em potential
detective material."
"So that leaves the desk sergeants."
Hutch ran his hand over his mouth and chin several times. "I don't even
want to think about one of them…" He paused just enough for Starsky
to finish: "…being on Gunther's or his goons' payroll." Hutch shot a
surprised look at Starsky. He hadn't failed to notice that for the first time
Starsky spoke without stuttering or hesitation when he invoked Gunther's name.
"I know those men, Starsky, Hutchinson, as
well as I know you, and I know they wouldn't betray their fellow officers, not
for anything."
"Captain," said Hutch philosophically,
"how well can any of us know another, when we so often don't know
ourselves very well?"
Dobey pondered in agitated silence for a few
heartbeats. "You're right, they have to be suspects, too."
Starsky leaned forward. The heightened pain that
movement caused was all too apparent in his grunt. "Cap…Cap'n, that's not
enough. If it was one of them or one of the uniforms, he or she could be
headin' outta town, especially once they hear about this."
"Well, what exactly do you suggest, Starsky?
That I arrest every one of them on suspicion of conspiracy to commit
murder?"
"No, just keep the news about Mitchell and
Henderson quiet. Let us get back to headquarters and ferret the sonuvabitch
out."
"What do you mean, 'us'? You two are
headed for the hospital!" The blood vessel in Dobey's forehead stood out
like a snake on pavement.
"We gotta do this, Cap. We've come this far,
we want to finish it. The fat lady's only warming up."
Dobey could hear the earnestness in Hutch's voice
and see the unresolved gaze on Starsky's face. He debated with himself, coming
up with all kinds of reasons to deny them this move, but only one to grant them
their wish.
Sheriff Palmer cleared his throat and stuck his
hands in the back pockets of his pants. "Seems to me, Harold, that your
boys here would have the element of surprise. The traitor certainly wouldn't be
expectin' to see them. And he's gonna act more than just surprised. Besides, I
heard that Mitchell fella mumblin' somethin' about how could these two escape
those booby traps he rigged up. Seems to me they can handle a bit more activity
before they go to the hospital."
Dobey studied the two detectives. They were
obviously in pain. The dark circles around their eyes made them look like
raccoons, especially against their pale skin. Starsky's facial laceration
appeared to be infected already. Hutchinson had a frequent, wet cough, which he
tried to hide unsuccessfully. Starsky was naked under his blanket, and Hutch
wasn't faring much better in the clothes department. But this whole Gunther
mess had broken the rules, more so than any other case. He made his decision.
"Okay, I'll agree to this little plan of
yours" - he watched as they broke into sly smirks - "but only under
some conditions" - he grinned to himself as they deflated a bit. "You
let these paramedics here patch you up. You take whatever they give you for
pain. And you get some clothes on, dammit!"
#####
Juan splinted Hutch's left arm expertly. In fact,
the detective found it more comfortable than the cast. After cleansing them,
the paramedic applied silver sulfadiazine cream and gauze bandages to three old
burns on Hutch's back. He examined the bullet wound and reassured his patient
that the projectile had entered at a shallow angle and was just underneath the
skin. The wound caused by the punji stick was about an inch wide and relatively
superficial. With deft, quick hands, Juan removed several splinters. He wrapped
the leg wounds in gauze as well, after cleansing and applying antibiotic
ointment. "Detective, if I was you, I'd get to the hospital as soon as
possible. You need surgery and antibiotics, and you better get that cough
looked at." Juan handed Hutch three tablets of acetaminophen to take.
"Thanks, Juan, I will. And you're a talented
medic." Hutch washed the tabs down with the last of the Gatorade.
Because the ambulance became cramped with four
people, Enrico, Juan's partner, tended to his patient outside. The rain had
stopped, and the sun was beginning to shine through thinning clouds. Starsky
wore the blanket low on his hips so Enrico could work on the arrow wounds.
Starsky held his tongue in quiet agony as his paramedic cleaned and dressed the
wounds in his side. The flesh wound on his arm and the gash on his cheek were
no different, despite Enrico's gentleness. His chest and abdomen ached and
throbbed and pulled and pushed with a vengeance and he feared he would go over
the edge if his pain increased just one iota. But he couldn't, wouldn't, let
that happen. Not until this was over. He dutifully and gratefully dry-swallowed
the pain pills Enrico gave him.
"Uh, Detective Dave" - Enrico didn't
feel comfortable calling his patient by his first name despite the man's
insistence - "I keep a spare uniform you can have. We're about the same
size."
"Thanks, Rico. That's mighty nice of you. It
might be a few days before I can get it back to ya, though."
Marsh arrived with a white shirt and a pair of
slacks. "Sorry, fellas, just had this in the truck. I can only dress one
of you."
"Those are for him." With a jerk of his
head, Starsky indicated Hutch. "I'm going to the party as a
paramedic." He gave the deputy a tired, lopsided grin. He accepted the
second bottle of Gatorade from Juan and eagerly swallowed a mouthful of the
chilly liquid.
As their paramedics helped them put on their
borrowed clothes, the detectives watched Dobey talking to a woman who looked
familiar. "Hey, Hutch, ain't we seen her before?"
"Yeah, Starsk, just can't place her."
Enrico chuckled as he helped Starsky with the
difficult and painful task of slipping into the pullover shirt. "That's
Susanna Beck, from KZAM," he said as if it should have been obvious to
everyone.
The four watched as Dobey shook her hand and raced
his bulk back to the ambulance. He treated himself to several deep breaths
before speaking. "Okay, you two, here's the deal. I'm taking Mitchell back
to Metro with Marsh riding shotgun. Sheriff Palmer will follow, even though we
don't expect any trouble. Bennett and Parson have already left, escorting
Henderson. They'll all be back in Bay City if the doc in Currier approves the
man for transfer." He halted briefly to give Starsky a look both scolding
and understanding. Starsky returned it with his own without-regrets expression.
"Miss Beck has agreed to take you two back with her. The pilot will get
approval to land near the station."
"Cap, I'm not goin' up in that!"
Hutch began to laugh at Starsky's protest. He knew Starsky wasn't a
white-knuckler when it came to flying, but he came awfully close.
"Come on now, Starsk, we won't be up very
high," Hutch teased.
"It don't matter how high. It's just too damn
easy to fall outta one of them things!"
"Then don't fall out!" Dobey and
Hutchinson chimed in together.
Dobey's expression changed to one of irritation.
Starsky swallowed his next objection and returned to the known security of his
pain. At least I know I'll still be hurtin' in five minutes, and not
splattered in a thousand pieces all over somebody's cows.
"You're flyin' in, and that's final. This is
the fastest way I know how to get this over with and you two into the
hospital." Dobey smiled a little devilish smile. "And one more thing.
You owe Miss Beck an interview." He saw the beginnings of protests from
both of them, but he turned on his heel and strode to his car, chortling the
entire way.
6.4
Time: 1635
Ken Hutchinson took the left side of the bench seat.
Starsky took the right, but not before buckling in his partner. Rick had to
wedge himself between the two detectives. That was uncomfortable enough, but
his discomfort rose when Curly put his left arm around him so he could lay his
hand on the blond man's shoulder. Then he felt more than saw Blondie touch that
hand with his own. Freaks, thought Rick derisively.
Both detectives withdrew into their inner worlds
for the flight to Metro. Starsky, eyes closed, sighed a few times. Damn, one
of our own betrayed us! Why? Who? And thanks to that fuckin' Judas, I got more
injuries. This just gives the department even more ammunition to dump me from
the force. When I get my hands on him…Hell, I don't ask for much - I just wanna
be a cop. A cop with the best partner in the whole world. Hutch, you saved my
life today. Not just my body. My…whatever. He stifled a whimper when the
overtaxed muscles in his chest unexpectedly spasmed. He clamped down on his
partner's shoulder.
Hutch watched the world outside the helicopter fly
by him. He had a faint trace of a smile on his lips and in his eyes. Finally.
It's almost over. I did what I was supposed to do today. I got him back. Damn,
I can be really selfish, but I got him back for me. I got him out of that
house. I watched my partner's back. I was ready to take a bullet for him. Maybe
I'm not a coward after all. I know one thing - Gunther didn't change Starsky's
and my ability to work together. Yes, he did change it - he made it better. He
made us better. He felt the pain from Starsky's spasm radiate to
him. He gently patted the tightening fingers on his shoulder.
Time: 1645
Scuttlebutt floating around Metro Division about
Starsky and Hutchinson finally reached Simonetti and Dryden. They were just
returning from a long evidentiary hearing that involved an officer with a
gambling problem who allegedly had taken to selling cocaine to pay his debts.
Dryden stopped Minnie Kaplan near the elevator.
"Minnie, what's all the excitement about?"
The short, black-haired woman peered at the
much-taller man through her Buddy Holly glasses. "Well, we're not
positive, mind you, but we think Hutchinson and Starsky have been found.
Somewhere out in the county. Dobey left here like a bat out of hell."
Dryden's mouth abruptly suffered from an acute
attack of drought. He felt his heart palpitate, and beads of perspiration pop
out on his upper lip. "When did the big guy leave?" he asked, hoping
he was nonchalant enough about it.
"About 2:30. Hey, I gotta get back to work.
Learning this new computer system is burying me." Minnie pressed the down
button.
Dryden took the stairs to his office. Simonetti
was already there, typing up his notes from the day's work. "Uh, Si,"
Dryden said, sounding casual, "I'm going to knock off a few minutes early.
Got to get to the bank before it closes."
"Yeah, yeah, Dryden. I'll cover for
you."
Time: 1646
The flight had been uneventful, even though the
helicopter, meant to ferry a maximum of four passengers, labored slightly on
takeoff, turns, and landing, all of which Archie accomplished expertly with
ease on the Metro garage roof.
Rick quickly de-wedged himself and scrambled out
of the chopper. Moving stiffly and slowly, Starsky unbuckled himself.
"Smooth ride, Archie, thanks. Medevac pilot in 'Nam, right?"
Archie smiled widely in amazement. "Yeah,
Detective, how'd you know?"
"Everybody knows medevac pilots always gave
the best rides in-country. Thanks, man." Starsky helped his partner, who
was able to unbuckle his belt without assistance, stand and exit the chopper.
They ducked beneath the still rotating blades and headed for the stairs.
"Archie, I'm taking Rick inside with me. You
can come if you like."
"No, that's okay. I'll stay here, just in
case I have to move the chopper." He shut down the machine and watched
Susanna and Rick catch up with the detectives.
Time: 1649
The stairs proved daunting for both detectives,
but they were driven to root out the traitor and descended more quickly than
anticipated. The stairs emptied just a few feet from the back door of the Metro
building. Hutch watched Starsky's face as they walked to the door, with
Starsky's arm around his waist. A minute after the last time he touched this
door, he was dying.
Starsky's expression, unreadable even to Hutch,
didn't change as he grunted when he opened the door. He inhaled deeply,
breathing in the scents so familiar and cherished. Breathing in the air of the
stationhouse was energizing to the long-absent detective. But he could smell
something amiss, a tiny malodor of odious pollution that corrupted his
impromptu homecoming. He's here, right now.
Sergeant Alan Spitz, the second shift desk
sergeant, saw them first. "Hutch, Starsky you bad boy, you're back! You're
okay! Hey, everybody, Starsky and Hutch're here!" He sloshed his coffee on
the floor as he fisted Starsky on his right arm. The latter flinched and moaned
just on the edge of perceptibility. "Good God, man, it's great to see you!
We've been worried sick about you two! This is great!"
Starsky and Hutch telegraphed each other the same
message: He's not the one.
"Al, we really appreciate your enthusiastic
greeting, but we're here for a reason, not a visit. Al, have you told anybody
about the safe house?" Hutch queried.
"Hell, no, Hutch! I haven't even told Sandy,
even though she can keep a secret. I wouldn't want to risk a problem with Dobey
- I'm not fearless like you two. Besides, I didn't want to be the source should
the wrong person ever find out about where you guys were. Which I guessed
happened, huh?" Spitz's brown eyes filled with concern.
They believed him. Starsky gave him a grin and
patted him lightly on his cheek. "Thanks, Al. We need to talk to all the
other desk sergeants, too. Any others here?"
"Since you were snatched this morning" -
This morning? Seems like weeks, thought Starsky - "the division has
been really busy. Perk hasn't left yet. He's got a ton of paperwork."
"Go get him, would you, Al? Starsky and I
want to keep a low profile."
"Sure. You look beat. Nobody's in the tank
right now. I'll send him there."
Time: 1651
Dryden wondered about the helicopter he had heard
a few minutes earlier. It had sounded so close. But he had no time to satisfy
his curiosity. Simonetti had stepped out of the office for a few minutes, so he
had little time to find and pocket a few personal things he didn't want to
leave behind. Damn those jerk-offs to hell. Why couldn't they just have
wasted those two? Crazy motherfuckers. He snickered, pleased that Sergeant
Perkins would suffer the consequences alone.
Time: 1652
Sergeant Perkins arrived at the holding tank
before Starsky and Hutchinson could sit on one of the benches. "Oh my God,
I didn't believe it when Al told me." Perkins' surprise and joy were
unmistakable. "Starsky, would it hurt too much if I hugged ya, son?"
Perkins, one of the department's best desk sergeants, played no favorites,
except when it came to Hutchinson and Starsky. And Perkins had just confirmed
in their minds that he was not a suspect.
Starsky placed his back tiredly against a dingy
wall. Hutch, right arm outstretched and touching the same wall, leaned into it.
"Yeah, Perk, it would, but I appreciate the gesture. Hey, listen, did you
happen to let it slip to anybody about the safe house where me and Hutch were
stayin'?"
"Let me think, son." They watched
Perkins' face closely as he furrowed his brow and bit the nail on his left
index finger. "Don't re- oh, hell, I told that jerk Dryden in IA. He told
me he had papers for you to sign, Starsky." The sergeant's face sagged,
followed by his body. "Oh my God, it can't be him. I'll never forgive
myself…"
As soon as Perkins said Dryden's name, two
stomachs turned inside out. A fast look at the other established they were
thinking the same thing - that Dryden was the traitor. Starsky slumped forward,
hands on thighs.
Hutch straightened up and grasped Perkins by his
left arm. His blue eyes sought out the older man's hazel ones. "Perk, you
gotta help us. Find out if he's in the building. If he's here, get him to the
desk. We'll take it from there. Okay?"
The distressed man nodded. He hurried to the
nearest phone to call the IA office.
"Hutch," whispered Starsky.
"Yeah, buddy, what is it?"
"Guns. We need guns."
"Yeah, right. Perk'll get us a couple. You
okay, buddy?" Hutch placed a light hand on Starsky's back. He felt it sink
a little. He's running out of juice. This has been one long, fucking
miserable day. He started to feel a surge of adrenalin.
Hutch began to pace as much as his leg would
allow. He noticed for the first time Susanna Beck, furiously writing in a small
notebook, and her tagalong cameraman clinging to the shadows. He snorted and
shook his head disdainfully, and tried to figure out how he could extract some
measure of revenge on Dobey for committing them to an interview. Just as he was
deciding to leave that to Starsky, who was definitely more twisted than he,
Perkins was back.
"Hutch, Starsk, Simonetti says we just missed
him. Figures he only left a minute or two ago."
"Perk, your gun!" The desk sergeant
hesitated. "NOW, dammit!" He unsnapped his holster and thrust the revolver,
butt first, to Hutch's waiting hand. Hutch thumbed the safety off, and said to
his partner, "Stay here."
"Fuck no, I'm comin'! He betrayed me,
too."
Starsky's bullheaded determination deep-sixed
Hutch's resolve to keep his worn-out partner out of this action. "Okay,
but only I don't have time to argue. At least stay behind me, okay?"
"Let's go get 'im." Starsky walked out
of the holding tank with a limping Hutchinson right on his heels.
Susanna whispered to Rick, "Get ready to
roll, cowboy. I think we're headed to the OK Corral for an old-fashioned
showdown."
Time: 1657
Starsky went through the back door of the station
first but waited until Hutch was beside him. "You know what kinda car that
turkey drives?"
Hutchinson laughed cynically. "No, but I suspect
it's yellow, to match the streak down his back."
The sun was bright in the cloudless sky. The rain
had washed the haze away, and everything looked distinct and clear. Hutch
spotted the tall, lanky IA officer first, unlocking the door of his car.
"Dryden!" he yelled, "hold up! We
want to a word with you!"
Dryden looked over his shoulder. He cursed when he
saw the last two people on earth he wanted to see. He swore again when they
began walking over to him. He faced forward again, and began mapping out
possible options. He had only seconds at best, so he made a choice. He pulled
his snub-nose 38-caliber pistol from its holster at his waist, turned, and
chose his first target.
Hutchinson anticipated Dryden's response.
"STARSKY, GET DOWN!" In his peripheral vision, he observed the curly
head drop several feet. He squeezed the trigger of the borrowed weapon.
It was the only shot fired. Dryden squealed and
cursed, clutching his right forearm, his gun useless at his feet.
Starsky jumped up and took off, running as fast as
he could to Dryden, bare feet slapping the concrete, arms pumping, nostrils
flaring, temper quickening, leaving his partner and the KZAM team in his wake.
Hutch kept his gun trained on Dryden.
Practically flying into Dryden, Starsky crashed the
traitor into his car, hard enough to splinter the window. The detective twisted
him so they could be face-to-face. He seized the lapels of Dryden's suit coat
and pulled himself up to get closer to the shocked, pained face.
"Why, Dryden, why'd you sell me and Hutch
out? Huh? ANSWER ME, DAMN YOU!"
"You humiliated me, you goddamned cocksucker!
You cuffed me to Hutch's table and left me there, like…" - he groped for
the words - "…some sort of criminal. I wasn't the enemy, Starsky! I was
just doing my job!" He tried fruitlessly to shake the tiger off him.
Starsky pulled Dryden several inches away from the
car, then slammed him into it again. "Doin' your job doesn't mean you
railroad a fellow cop! Just what kinda cop are you? How can you betray
your fellow cops?"
"You and Hutchinson aren't cops,
you're vigilantes with badges! You're not in the same league with me! Go
fuck yourself! If Gunther had hired me, both you assholes'd be
dead!" Dryden sucked back the spittle that escaped his mouth.
Starsky squeezed his eyes shut and loosed a deep,
rolling, guttural sound as he repeatedly pounded Dryden against his car.
Finally he stopped, held his breath, and opened his eyes to stare at the face
of the enemy. He could see defiance, still, but he also saw fear and pain and
uncertainty. For an instant, Starsky felt he was looking in a mirror. With a
cathartic flourish, he released his hold on Dryden's jacket and walked away.
Hutchinson, flanked by Susanna and Rick, backed up
by five patrol officers and Perkins, bored his contempt and disgust into
Dryden's tiny soul. After several moments, Hutch said in a stage whisper,
"You just peed yourself." He followed his partner. Perkins stepped up
to take the traitor into custody.
Rick couldn't stop the tittering laugh as he
filmed the dark, wet stain on the crotch of Dryden's trousers.
****
Starsky was standing still in the middle of
parking lot when Hutch caught up with him. The blond man gently put his
functioning hand on his partner's back just above his waist. This time, there was
no give, no sinking.
"You okay, buddy?"
Starsky snorted and said, unconvincingly,
"Yeah."
"I'm proud of you, Starsk."
"Yeah?" he asked, truly surprised that
Hutch could possibly be proud of his partner who had almost killed with his
bare hands two defenseless men in the last two hours. "What for?"
He let the corners of his mouth climb upwards.
"You actually did what I told you to do. You got down without questioning
or arguing with me, or jumping in harm's way, or pushing me down first."
He now showed his teeth. "Thanks, partner." Hutch felt something
within himself slip majestically into hibernation.
Starsky considered this for a moment. "Yeah,
I did, didn't I?" he asked with childlike pride. "So, you're
welcome." He swayed and reached out for Hutch for support. "Gotta
sit. I think I'm gonna be sick." His eyes crossed, his legs buckled, and
he dragged Hutch down with him.
****
"If you're shootin' this, Rick, so help me
God I'll kill ya."
****
Hutch squatted next to the cross-legged Starsky
and waved off two officers headed their way. He rubbed his friend's back and
soothingly directed him to take deep breaths. Starsky finally released the
death grip he had on Hutch's shirt. The nausea passed, and the adrenalin
receded rapidly. He surveyed the parking lot where they sat. He noticed
something odd about it. "Hutch, why is the lot two diff'rent colors? See,
it's darker here but over there and there it's lighter."
Hutch averted his gaze. Do I tell him now? Is
he ready? He sat and stretched out his left leg, relieving some of the pain
his squatting had caused. Don't underestimate him. "Well, Starsk
old buddy, this darker area we're on? This stain is your…" - he paused to
lick his lips and gather his courage - "…your blood. They haven't been
able to get it out."
Indigo eyes scrutinized the somber face so close
to his own. "For real?"
The blond head nodded soberly.
"Oh." He closed his eyes and the spotty
memories came flooding back. It seemed so unreal, but he had the scars and the
persistent pain to verify it had truly happened. Fumbling with the keys to the
Torino, Hutch's urgent and anxious command to get down, the hands on the
steering wheel of the patrol car, the deafening staccato of the gun, the blood
pouring out of his car, Dobey singing out orders in a warbly falsetto…Hutch
looking lost and devastated and guilt-ridden and so far away. He inhaled in
short, crescendo breaths. "You okay, babe?" His voice quaked with
concern.
Hutch laughed softly. There you go again,
Starsky, putting me first. "Getting there, buddy, getting there real
fast."
Starsky's face lit up with a dazzling grin that
didn't stop until it included his eyes. "That's good, Hutch. Now, I better
get to a hospital." He looked casually down at his right hand that had
been holding his left side. Hutch followed his gaze. The hand was covered with
fresh blood.
"Oh God, Starsk!" Hutch whispered. Much
louder, he called out, "We need to get this man to a hospital!"
Starsky screwed up his face. "Not so loud,
Hutch, you sound like Dobey," he reprimanded. His eyes rolled up and his
head fell on his friend's chest.
Archie, who had left the helicopter when he heard
the shot, was the first to get to the partners. Perkins was right behind him.
"I'll take him in the chopper." Archie asked the desk sergeant,
"Can you help me carry him up top, Sarge?"
"What are we waiting for?! Let's go!"
Perkins straightened Starsky's legs, then stepped between them, turning his
back. He grasped the unconscious detective's legs behind the knees. Archie slid
his arms under Starsky's and crossed them over the scarred chest of his fellow
veteran. They were off in a flash. Hutchinson stared for a moment at the small
puddle of new blood over the dried lake of old. Full circle, he thought.
Then he hobbled along behind them, following the trail his partner made.
6.5
Sergeant Perkins had called ahead to Memorial
Hospital, so a team of ER doctors, nurses, and orderlies were waiting for their
two new patients in the parking lot. There was scant room for the helicopter,
but Archie's skill and experience had found them a landing pad.
Hutch refused the gurney meant for him. He skipped
alongside the one Starsky was on. When they rolled him to a stop in one of the
trauma rooms, he woke briefly. As a nurse put nasal prongs for supplemental
oxygen on him, Starsky tugged weakly at Hutch's sleeve. "Where are
we?"
"In the hospital, dummy, where do you think?"
The curly-haired man scratched his nose with his
bloody hand. "Which one?"
"'Which one'? Why does that matter,
Starsk?" Hutch's patience was wearing thin; worry about his partner, pain,
fatigue, and serious adrenalin deficit did that to him. Another nurse pushed
him away so she could put a blood pressure cuff on Starsky's arm. The other arm
was getting stuck with a needle for an IV.
"Yeah, which one? 'S important, 'kay?"
"Memorial. Now, you happy?" Hutch glared
at his partner as the latter burst out in hiccupy laughter. "If I'd've
known it would make you this happy…"
"Not Memorial. Hotel California." Starsky
had to shout over doctors barking orders and nurses relaying vital signs.
"What the hell do you mean, Starsk?"
Hutch was beginning to worry about his partner's hold on reality. Maybe he
wasn't ready…His guilt quotient began to rise.
"I mean, Memorial oughta be called Hotel
California. You know, 'you can check out any time you want, but you can never
leave'?" he sang off-key. He merrily guffawed.
The entire room dropped into silence except for
the sounds of the cardiac monitor and the patient's ceaseless laughter. Hutch
smiled apologetically. "Just wait till you see how he acts when he gets
pain medication."
"Okay, people, let's get back to work,"
said the lead physician. "We all recognize Detective Starsky, or at least
know his history. Amy, what's his current BP?"
Hutch felt a soft but firm hand touch his
shoulder. "Detective," asked a petite nurse, "don't you think
you should be looked at as well?" She drew his attention to the floor.
He was standing in a small sanguineous puddle of
his own. The pain jolted its way back into his awareness, and so did a craving
for narcotic mellowness. "I'm all yours." As she led him out of the
trauma room, Starsky called after them, "Hey, nothin' but Tylenol for
pain, 'kay? You don't need nothin' else, long as you got me, buddy!"
Hutchinson was amazed yet again how Starsky always
seemed to know what he was thinking, what he needed. He wondered if Starsky was
amazed, too. Nope, he just accepts it. Suddenly his craving vanished.
#####
The detectives' attending emergency physicians and
the on-call trauma surgeon had decided it was best that the deep cleaning,
exploration, and repair of their new wounds should be done under general
anesthesia. Starsky had gone first, while Hutchinson's cough was worked up. It
was determined that he had aspiration pneumonia in its early stages, from
inhaling some of his vomitus. The diagnosis added a number of days to his
anticipated length of stay. Fortunately, he suffered no further ill
consequences from the anesthesia. The bullet was easily removed. The punji
stick injury yielded several more splinters, and was not seriously infected.
All of Starsky's new injuries were infected. Final
closure of the facial laceration by a plastic surgeon would have to wait. The
arrow wounds were particularly nasty and would require special dressing
changes. The bullet wound wasn't especially worrisome, except its location
elicited pain whenever he moved the involved arm. A thick dressing decreased
that problem. His thumbs had almost returned to normal. The cut Mitchell had
given him during the third attempt had healed enough that most of the stitches
could be and were removed.
The next morning found them in adjoining private
rooms that shared a bathroom. They insisted that the doors be kept open,
"so I can hear him breathe." They both slept for the next two days,
only to awaken to eat, take pain killers, use the bathroom, or check on each
other.
6.6
On the morning of the third full day, Jackson
Walters walked into his "father's" room. "Starsky?" he
asked timidly. "You awake?"
Starsky, dozing, woke with a start.
"Junior!" He beamed. The young man was standing tall, and looked
strong. "How ya doin'? You look terrific! Sorry I ain't been by to see
ya."
"I understand. I missed you, though. I'm
going home today. Gran'ma wants me to ask you somethin'. She doesn't think you
should go back to your place once the doctors let you go. She wants you and
Hutch to come stay with us until you don't need help any more." Junior
cast his eyes downward and shuffled his feet self-consciously. "Sammi says
she'll take some time off to help y'all out."
Starsky choked and hurriedly swallowed the lump
that had popped into his throat out of nowhere. He could see that staying with
him and his grandmother would mean a lot to the boy. It'd mean a lot to me,
too. "Well, I can't speak for Hutch, but you can count on me. Who
could turn down your gramma's cookin'?"
Jackson grinned from ear to ear.
#####
That afternoon, Hutchinson was forced to watch a
seedy soap opera because he didn't have any reading material. The rhythmic
knocks on his door sounded like a beautiful four-part harmony since anyone
would be a welcome distraction. "Come in, please!"
Hutch was genuinely surprised to see Lance Parson
push open the door. "Hi, Lance. This is an unexpected pleasure. Have a
seat. Where's Bennett?"
"Uh, thanks, Hutchinson." Parson peered
through the bathroom into Starsky's room. "He in?"
"Nope. He's in physical therapy getting
re-evaluated. So, where's Clive, or did you come alone?"
Parson, thumbs hooked in his pants pockets and
fingers playing the minute waltz, trudged to the chair close to Hutch's bed. He
plopped down and crossed his ankles. "I came alone, dude. Wanna talk to
you alone. I got some questions."
Hutch nodded encouragingly. "Is it about the case?"
he asked, trying to break the iceberg that floated between the two.
"Yeah, in a way." Parson paused, staring
off to the right. Then he let Hutch's eyes capture his. "It's about
Starsky, Hutch." No, it's about me. And you. "He came so close
to killing Henderson. But you didn't try to stop him, even though it could've
ended his career. Put him in prison. Don't know about Clive, but I wanted that
mutha dead, man. I didn't want Starsky to stop." He looked away,
hoping to hide his shame. He drummed his fingers on the armrests of his chair.
"Why didn't you try to stop him? He's your partner."
Hutchinson examined his fingernails. He had never
been challenged to put into words his reasons for letting Starsky do certain
things that might jeopardize himself in some way. Now it was crystal clear. He
found his words and Parson's tormented face.. "I knew Starsk wouldn't kill
him. I didn't need to stop him. But he needed to know it, too. If I had stopped
him before he knew…well, he might be never be sure that he would have done the
right thing."
Parson contemplated Hutch's words for a several
minutes. He stood and offered his hand to Hutch. "Thanks, dude." You
gave me a lot to think about.
Hutch took Parson's hand and gave it a warm shake.
"No problem. Hey, thanks for coming by."
"Yeah, sure. Don't let Clive or Starsky know
about this, okay?"
"Your secret is safe with me, Lance."
#####
Just before dinner, Maxine shook Starsky awake.
"Davey, sweetie, wake up. I'm on a break and don't have much time."
Starsky forced his drugged eyelids open and smiled
when he saw his own personal angel. "Okay, schweetheart, but don't expect
my best," he whispered lewdly. "I like to take my time pleasuring my
lady."
Maxine's laughter tickled Starsky to his toenails.
"Okay, sometime when we have several days. I have a surprise for you. Get
up. Let's go into Hutch's room."
Moments later, Starsky sat on the bed next to his
drowsy partner. Maxine dialed the telephone. She waited for several rings, then
said into the receiver, "Here they are, like I promised." She kissed
them on their foreheads before giving them the phone. "Love you," she
whispered as she whisked out of the room.
Starsky held the receiver between them, but Hutch
spoke. "Hello?" he asked warily.
"Hutch! My man! How goes it? Starsky with
you?"
Together, the partners exclaimed, "It's
Huggy!"
"Well, who did you think it was, Punxsutawney
Pete? Anyway, I moved out of the ICU early this afternoon."
"When I called the ICU this morning to check
on you, the nurse never mentioned you were being transferred," said Hutch.
"Yeah, I know. I asked her not to tell.
Wanted to surprise my worn-out warriors. Heard you gave the camera quite a
show, being naked and all. I'm hoping to charm the beautiful and vivacious Ms.
Beck out of a copy. Would make great future blackmail material, ya dig?"
Starsky was frantic. "Hug, you wouldn't
dare!"
"Well, I did get shot because of you
two. So I figure you owe me, Starsky. Gotta wear this stupid bag on my belly
for months. Just think - Mr. America and King Kong captured on celluloid in all
their glory." He sniggled wickedly. "When can I catch it on the boob
tube?"
"Sorry, pal, but Dobey was able to convince
KZAM not to show any footage," reported Hutch. "I think he used the
line about if they showed it, it'd make it impossible for Mitchell and
Henderson to get fair trials."
"Fair trials?!" Huggy burst out in
anger. "After what those two…reprobates did, especially to you, Starsky,
the only thing they deserve is a cigarette and a blindfold."
Hutch felt Starsky sag and withdraw. He stole a
glance at the bandaged face. It, too, was withdrawn and distant. "Hey,
Hug, great to hear your voice, man, but Starsky and I are tuckered out. We'll
talk more later, okay?"
"I hear ya, my brother. I could use a nap
myself. Stay cool."
Starsky slid off the bed and hung up the phone. He
walked over to the window and focussed on something far beyond the realm of the
hospital. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood with his feet slightly
apart. Hutch could feel the darkness descend on his partner.
"Something bothering you, buddy?"
Starsky was still and silent for a long moment.
"Yeah, I guess."
"Well?"
The dark man exhaled noisily and heavily through
his nose. When he spoke, it was with the stillness of the deepest part of the
ocean. "Hutch, I almost killed two men with my bare hands a few days ago.
I wanted them dead for what they did to us. And to Huggy, to Junior, to Angela,
and Nick and Malcolm. Those people in your apartment building. I wanted them dead,
and I wanted me to do it. What kinda cop, what kinda human being am I,
anyway?" Several tears crept under the gauze on his cheek and stung him
lightly.
Hutch worked his way out of bed and hobbled over
to stand behind and to the left of his partner. Placing his hand on Starsky's
right shoulder, he, too, stared out the window. "David Starsky, you are
one of the finest human beings and the best cop I've ever known. And the
operative word in what you said is 'almost.' You didn't kill Henderson
and Dryden. Very few people would have faulted you if you had. But you
didn't." He perceived the relief spreading throughout Starsky's body and
the darkness slinking away.
"Hutch?"
"Yeah, Starsk?"
"Thanks for saving my life back there."
"If I recall correctly, I should be thanking you
for all the times you saved mine the other day."
"I mean, you know, for savin' my life back in
that…closet." He blushed, feeling the heat in his ears.
"You're most welcome. And the pleasure was all
mine."
They stood at the window in their own private,
shared world. Several minutes later, Starsky sighed. "I'm hungry. You got
a candy bar in here? When are they goin' to serve dinner?"
#####
Hutch slapped Starsky's hand. "This is my
mystery meat. Keep your paws off."
"But Hutch," Starsky mumbled through his
half-filled mouth, "yours looks better'n mine. Can't I have a taste?"
"No! Eat your own food. If you're still
hungry" - Hutch rolled his eyes, since he knew Starsky would definitely
still be ravenous - "we'll head for the cafeteria. Okay?"
"Aw, Hutch…"
Starsky's plea was interrupted by a knock on the
open door. He stared at the visitor, instantly identifying him as FBI, but not
knowing him otherwise.
"Ah, Special Agent Finley," Hutch said
with mock courtesy. "What brings you here on this formerly fine
day?"
Finley stood in the threshold. "Had to come
in for a check-up. Thought I'd drop by and see how you two were getting
along."
"Just great, thanks. What's with the,
uh…" Hutch tapped his nose several times.
Finley self-consciously touched the tape and
plaster across the bridge of his nose. His expression turned acrimonious.
"Why don't you ask your Captain Dobey about it!" He stormed away.
Hutch and Starsky gaped into each other's widened
eyes. "Dobey?" Starsky asked with wonder.
Seconds later, they ruptured into cackles of
laughter, imagining the by-the-book Dobey duking it out with Finley. As they
continued to laugh, Starsky snaked his fork over to Hutch's tray. His hand was
promptly smacked away.
#####
It was late evening. Hutchinson dozed in his bed,
Starsky doing the same, but spread-eagle in the chair next to him, as
intravenous antibiotics dripped into their intermittent IV devices. Hutch
stirred awake when he sensed someone enter the room. His face lit up.
"M-" he started.
Joan Meredith shushed him quiet. She tiptoed to
Hutch, and planted a kiss on his cheek. He stroked hers and grinned.
Meredith twirled her slender fingers in the dark
curls of her lover's hair. He swatted at the disturbance, just missing her
hand. She suppressed a giggle, and continued the fond teasing.
Starsky swatted at the imaginary flies again.
"What the…" He opened his eyes to the lovely, light brown face.
"Meredith!" He jumped up, almost disconnecting his antibiotic. He
wrapped her in a bear hug and buried his face in her scent. Finally, he
released her, but continued to hold her by her upper arms. "You weren't
supposed to be here until tomorra!" he exclaimed joyfully.
"Yes, I know. When we talked last night, I
thought so, too. But one of the defendants took a plea bargain early this
morning, and Mac put me on a direct flight from Dulles to Bay City. I wanted to
surprise you." She matched Starsky's thousand-candle smile.
Totally without inhibitions or a sense of
propriety, the former partners began kissing each other with abandon, holding
the other's face with tender hands.
Hutch smiled affably. Starsk, if you don't
marry this woman, I'll never speak to you again. "Hey, you two. Get a
room, willya?"
Epilogue
One week later…
Merle the Earl watched the cream-colored Cadillac
pull onto his property. He whistled appreciatively at the glorious machine.
Wiping his self-proclaimed artistic hands on the ever-present cloth, he
recognized one of his best and favorite customers in the passenger seat.
"Starsky!" he shouted. "Long time
no see, my white brother! Your chariot awaits, Ben-Hur." He wolf-whistled
when he saw Joan Meredith climb out of the huge car. "My, my, Starsky, seems
like you're movin' on up in the world. Cruisin' in a caddy with a gorgeous
sistah."
"Merle, I'd like you to meet Joan Meredith.
Hands off, she's my lady."
"Gimme a break, Starsky. A lady with
class like this won't be yours for long. My dear, my name is Merle the Earl,
and I am pleased to meet such a pearl." He took her hand and kissed it.
"Pleased to meet you, Mr., uh, Earl.
Starsky's told me a lot about you."
Merle tossed a disdainful look at Starsky.
"Don't believe everything you hear. He's been known to fib, dear."
"All right, already. Where's my baby,
Merle?" Starsky danced in place and rubbed his hands briskly.
"Right here!" Merle strutted proudly to
the nearest building and pulled the tarp off the Gran Torino.
Starsky's heart stuck in his throat. It was
beautiful. Best of all, it wasn't bleeding like he had remembered. Oh man,
that was me! He saw that Merle had upgraded the tires to
top-of-the-line whitewalls. "Merle…"
Merle interrupted. "I know, I know. I wasn't
authorized to put those on, but…the devil made me do it. No charge." He
snickered. "Take a look at the rest of her, then take a listen to her
purr. Key is in the ignition." The mechanic/artiste proudly puffed out his
chest.
Starsky started the examination of his beloved
car. The work was top-notch. There was absolutely no evidence that the car had
been a "victim" of a shootout. He opened the door and sat behind the
wheel. He adjusted the seat. He stopped when he reached for the ignition.
Hanging on the key ring was a spent bullet. He peered sideways at Merle.
"Souvenir?"
Merle became defensive. "Well, yeah, Starsky.
Thought you wouldn't mind. After all, people do save their gallstones.
Thought your baby oughta save that."
Starsky grinned widely. "Thanks, Merle."
He turned the ignition and the engine started instantly. Merle was right - the
baby did purr. He revved the engine several times, savoring the rumble he heard
and felt. "Hey, Meredith, park your car somewheres and I'll take you for a
spin in this one!"
One week later…
The postponed hearing had been rescheduled. It
happened to have coincided with Hutchinson's first full day out of the
hospital. He, Captain Dobey, and Starsky walked through the throng of reporters
shoving cameras and microphones in their faces. All they got was "No comment,"
repeated over and over.
Hutchinson had worried about his partner all
morning. Starsky had been very quiet. The blond also had cause for alarm, since
Starsky was dressed in his most tattered jeans, a worn safari jacket, a plaid
shirt with the top two buttons unbuttoned, and an old pair of cowboy boots.
"Not exactly what I'd wear to court, buddy," Hutch had remarked.
Starsky's response was a mind-your-own-business scowl.
In the courtroom, the three police officers saw
that James Marshall Gunther was already at the defendant's table with his
lawyer. He didn't even turn to see the men come in.
Hutch watched Starsky carefully. He saw his
partner set his jaw and glue his eyes to Gunther. Once through the short,
swinging gate, Starsky veered off to Gunther's table. Hutch reached for him,
wanting to stop him, but ended up holding himself back.. He had already
confronted Gunther. This was Starsky's turn. I think, no, I know you're
ready, partner.
Starsky slowly and deliberately made his way to
stand in front of Gunther, the only sound being the thump of his boots on the
wood floor. He seized the old man's eyes with his own and made him shrivel and
recoil from his corrosive, confident, defiant, and victorious stare. When he
was satisfied, he drummed his left fingers a few times on the polished wooden
table before slowly and deliberately making his way to his seat at the State's
table. Hutch surreptitiously gave a swift squeeze to Starsky's forearm.
Two weeks later…
The room that the Commissioner of Police planned
to use for the press conference was definitely not large enough. In addition to
print and TV reporters, the room overflowed with police officers.
Up front, closest to the podium, were District
Attorney Marc Clements and Captain Harold Dobey. Clements, after getting the
story on how Detective David Starsky was able to function quite effectively
under incredible stress without complete rehabilitation, eagerly took the
detective's case to the Commissioner, to challenge the policy of automatic
discharge. Captain Dobey was with him every step of the way, helping him to
manipulate the unknown politics and personalities of the upper echelon of the
Bay City Police Department.
To their right sat Detectives Starsky, Hutchinson,
Meredith, Bennett, and Parson. Behind them were Huggy Bear (decked out in a red
leisure suit and a multi-colored shirt reminiscent of a Jackson Pollack
painting), Babcock, Simmons, Kaplan, and Sergeant Perkins. Unbeknownst to the
contingent from Metro Division, Simonetti stood unobtrusively in the back.
Starsky was nervous, and kept fidgeting with the
sleeves of his navy blue pinstripe suit coat. Hutchinson glared at him
threateningly numerous times. Starsky glared right back at him with a
what's-your-problem look. Meredith strove hard to keep from laughing out loud
at the two friends.
The Commissioner strode in. He placed one piece of
paper on the podium. Grasping the podium sides with his gnarled hands, he said,
"Thank you all for coming. I have a short statement to make.
"As many of you know, the Bay City Police
Department has a policy that calls for the automatic discharge from service
should an officer suffer grievous, critical injury. This policy was established
to protect that officer and the people of this fair city. However, this policy
has been contested as of late. At the urging of District Attorney Marc Clements
and Captain Harold Dobey of the Metropolitan Division, the assistant
commissioners and I reviewed this policy."
He paused, cleared his throat, and favored Starsky
with a glance. Hutch nudged him in the side.
"Considering the needs of all our
citizens and the arguments of DA Clements and Captain Dobey, the automatic
discharge policy will now be a guideline" - Starsky held his breath -
"and the injured officer's return to duty will be based on his or her
ability to meet all the qualifications necessary for functioning in a
particular assignment."
Starsky exhaled audibly but it wasn't heard above
the cheers and clapping from his fellow officers surrounding him and elsewhere
in the packed room. Hutch hugged his partner around the shoulders. Dobey gave
them a sly grin and a thumbs up.
Hutch had his partner back, because he had not
doubt that Starsky would meet the qualifications in time. And now, he had
himself back, too.
#####
The Friday before Thanksgiving, David Starsky,
substitute second-shift desk sergeant, found out he had been approved for
detective/street duty in the zebra unit, effective the following Monday.
Physically and mentally, the experts deemed him ready and able to return to his
old job.
He hardly slept all weekend. What made things even
worse, Hutch and Meredith left him alone Sunday evening. Something about their
last meal together as partners.
As usual, Starsky was running late when he picked
up Hutch. "Hiya, partner!" Starsky was as wired as a PCP freak.
"Let's get some donuts for breakfast, okay?"
"NO, Starsk. We're late enough as it is.
We'll get something to eat in the cafeteria."
"Aw, Hutch, that food sucks!"
"It's your own fault, Starsk. Now let's go.
Wouldn't do for you to be late your first day back on detective duty."
"Hutch, you know sumpin'?"
"What?"
"You sure can be a killjoy sometimes, you
know that?"
Hutch rolled his eyes. "You'd be a killjoy
too, if you were me having to ride around in this circus wagon reject."
****
Hutch had to drag Starsky to the cafeteria. And
when Starsky's mouth dropped on seeing all the cheering people, and
decorations, and food, and the banner with "Welcome Back, Detective
Starsky!" on it, Hutch clapped him on the back, and said, "Surprise,
buddy!"
"Is this what you and…?"
"Yep."
****
Fifteen minutes into their patrol, they had a
call.
"Zebra 3, Zebra 3, there is a two-eleven in
progress at 4th and Charter. Please respond."
Hutch cocked an eyebrow and gestured for Starsky
to answer the call. The dark-haired man smirked, lifted the mike from its
holder, and said, "This is Zebra 3. We are responding." Replacing the
mike, he grinned widely at his partner who was busy with the mars light.
"Go get 'em, Starsky!" piped in the dispatcher.
The partners laughed and hoped she wouldn't get in
too much trouble. Starsky sped through traffic, maneuvering expertly. Hutch
hung on, offering unsolicited advice on what route to take and urging his
partner to slow down.
After one particularly harrowing turn, Hutch
screamed, "Geez, Starsky, I guess nothing's changed!"
Starsky grinned to himself. Finally, I hear
that fat lady singin'. "Maybe, maybe not, partner."
The End
© 2000
The phoenix is a legendary bird that consumed itself by
fire but rose again from its own ashes. It is the symbol of rebirth, virtue and
grace, full of movement, pride, and nobility.
The dragon is unending vigilance and safeguard. It is the
symbol of power and nobility.
The phoenix and the dragon coexist in complement but not without
conflict.
The Volsungs were a race of Danish heroes descended from the gods.
Their heritage consisted of glory and treachery, early death and endless
sorrow. They slew dragons and bathed in their blood to make their own flesh invulnerable.
One well-known Volsung is Sigurd/Siegfried, immortalized in Wagner's Ring of
the Nibelungs. Return to story.
Many thanks to the readers of this story who wrote to me about
this story. Special thanks to those who encouraged me: Emily, Tammy, Lori,
Lisa, Linda C, Jill, and MaryBeth.
Comments?
I'd like to hear from you. Please email me at mhepriest@yahoo.com.
Part 6
completed 21 December 2000