Hutch didn’t stay at Huggy’s long, but long enough to unload on his friend about the mess he had created between Starsky and himself. Looking back over the past few weeks, he realized he should have seen how deeply his partner was getting involved with Kira.
Starsky had been an emotional wreck after losing Terry and desperately needed someone in his life to love. Hutch had been as good a friend as he knew how—grieving with Starsky, sitting up with him during prolonged bouts of insomnia, letting him talk about Terry when the need came on him. So how had he managed to be so blind about this one area?
Huggy listened as Hutch spilled his guts and offered no words of repudiation. He knew how much these two guys cared about one another, so he was a little surprised things had gotten so bad, so fast. Once he was fairly certain Hutch had had his say, Huggy asked only one question, “Is she worth it, man? I mean, is she worth this pain? She is definitely one foxy chick,” he chuckled, “but I’ve seen you with better.”
“That’s just it, Hug, that’s what I was trying to tell Starsky. She isn’t worth it, not to me, and I don’t think to him either. The thing that keeps us alive on the streets, that keeps our sanity intact—the thing that makes us damn good cops is our friendship. ‘Me and Thee’—that’s always been our creed. Now he’s shut me out and won’t even listen.”
“He’ll come around, my brother. I just hope one of you doesn’t get himself killed in the meantime.”
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After leaving The Pits, Hutch decided to go back to the Sunset Hotel and see if Puchelli had made another appearance. Of course, the possibility of him being there was remote, but what better option did Hutch have? The APBs hadn’t turned up anything. Time was of the essence.
Hutch parked his bomb a block away. Although he was off duty, Hutch decided that without Starsky’s back up, it would only be sensible to call in and let the dispatcher know his location. He wasn’t crazy about going into a flophouse to look for the homicidal rapist on his own, but someone had to do something.
The stealthy detective made a quiet entrance, not bothering to wake the sleeping desk clerk to ask him if Puchelli was around. He would probably just tip off the slime-ball that Hutch was looking for him anyway.
As he approached the apartment door, Hutch heard noises coming from within. There really wasn’t time to call for backup. This was the closest they had come to getting this guy, and Hutch wasn’t about to blow it.
“Police, open up!” he shouted, simultaneously rapping the door with the barrel of the Magnum. The response from within was immediate. A shot rang out, as a slug blasted through the door, barely missing Hutch, who had had the good sense to step to the side before calling out to Puchelli. With that, Hutch kicked the door open just in time to see the murderer flee through the open window and climb the fire escape toward the roof of the building. Without giving a thought for his own safety, Hutch followed in hot pursuit.
š ›
Starsky had just left “Leila’s Exotic Massage Salon” where he had been questioning a girl who called the police earlier in the day to say that she thought she could I.D. Puchelli’s latest victim. He’d gotten her name when he checked in with Captain Dobey earlier in the evening. Although, like Hutch, his shift had ended a couple of hours ago, he was anxious to find out anything that may help solve this case.
As he cranked the engine of the Striped Tomato, Starsky heard Hutch’s voice over the radio to the station dispatcher. He had missed most of the message, but was sure he heard Hutch say he was returning to the Sunset Hotel. Why hadn’t he asked for back up?
“Dispatch, this is Zebra Three. Connie, did Detective Hutchinson ask for backup just now?”
“Negative, Zebra Three. Aren’t you with him, Starsky?” the dispatcher asked.
“Not yet, but I will be in about five minutes.” Starsky did a one-eight turn around in the middle of the street, slapped the red light on the roof and made tracks to the hotel.
Damn it, Hutch. Why do you
wanna do somethin’ like this without back up?
But I guess you wouldn’t, if I hadn’t acted like such an ass back there.
The Torino just wasn’t going fast enough to suit its driver. Hang in there buddy, don’t try to be a hero. Just minutes before the car squealed around the last block before the hotel, the much dreaded words crackled through the dispatch radio.
“Zebra Three, Zebra Three, shots fired at 4480 Madison Street, possible officer in trouble. Starsky, did you hear me?” Connie added after the official statement.
“Ten-four, dispatch. I’m on it.” The Torino skidded to an abrupt halt on the sidewalk in front of the grungy hotel. Starsky didn’t even take time to close the car door as he vaulted into the lobby and took the stairs two at a time to the fourth floor. As he sprinted toward the apartment with gun in hand, Starsky heard two more shots ring out.
“Oh, God, please, please let him be okay!” was the prayer which kept replaying in Starsky’s head. As he reached the apartment, it became obvious that the shooting match was not there, but most likely taking place on the roof.
Starsky ran to the window and followed the same path the criminal and Hutch had taken. Peeking over the edge of the roof, he could see Hutch crouched behind a large ventilator fan which was running full blast, creating a good deal of noise. He was trying to coax Puchelli out of hiding, offering to take him in without any further gunplay—assuring him of a fair trial.
Starsky didn’t see Puchelli anywhere and decided to make a run for it to Hutch’s hiding place. Once Hutch knew he was there, they would work in tandem to rein in the bastard. As was common with the two detectives, there would be little need for verbal communication between them.
Maintaining a low profile, Starsky crouched down and started toward his partner. He was diagonal from Hutch and hoped his partner didn’t turn and shoot him by mistake. He tried to call out softly to get Hutch’s attention without alerting Puchelli that it was now two against one. But the fan was just too noisy, so Starsky knew he’d just have to take his chances.
Starsky was less than five feet from his goal when he tripped over a pipe protruding from the roof. Trying to keep from falling, he stumbled forward, dropping his gun. To his horror, it skidded out of reach. At precisely that same minute, he saw Puchelli rise from behind another vent and take aim at Hutch’s back.
There was no time for Starsky to retrieve his gun. There was only time to react. “H U U U UUUTCH!” he shouted as loud as he could, running toward Hutch in hopes of tackling him to the graveled roof top.
Hutch turned just in time to see Starsky’s body take the full impact of the bullet meant for him. His friend was vaulted forward into his arms from the force of the blow.
hear the wail of the fast approaching ambulance. He only hoped they weren’t too late.