Common Ground

Chapter Four

 

 

Hutch sniffed several times, the knot in his stomach tightening.  Now certain that someone had intentionally left Starsky inside and set the building on fire, Hutch threw caution aside, rushing up the remaining stairs and entering the hallway.  It was growing smokier the higher he went.

 

Intensifying his search, Hutch continued to frantically call out, “Starsky!” but to no avail.  He pulled his collar up around his face and, grabbing a small remnant of material from one of the many stacks lying around, pressed it to his mouth.  Straining to see through the haze, he blinked back the tears beginning to form from the smoke.  Brushing away the tears with his sleeve, he opened the doorway to the fourth floor.  Smoke filled the landing, and Hutch pushed the door shut, pausing to draw in a quick breath before attempting to proceed farther.  Starsky was there somewhere, and he had to find him before it was too late.

 

Opening the door to the top floor, he flung himself into a wall of smoke.  The flashlight beam was practically useless.  Enveloped in darkness, he tried to guide himself using the wall, despite the heat coming from the other side.  The sound of crackling dry timber ahead filled the air.  Embers flew at him, and he held up his hand to protect his face.  Wrapping the material around his hand, he opened the first door and immediately pulled it shut.  The interior of the room was ablaze.  

 

Staying low to the ground, Hutch moved across the hallway.  Finding the next door, he twisted the knob and flung it open.  Shining the flashlight across the room, Hutch, lightheaded and dizzy, sank to the ground, finding it increasingly difficult to breath. 

 

Hutch stiffened.  What was that sound?  Reaching for the flashlight, he pointed it toward the corner of the room.  At first he saw nothing but fallen beams, but then he locked on what looked like the sole of a shoe.  Crawling forward, he could feel his heart pounding faster—a blue Adidas.  “Starsky?”  Scrambling to his partner’s side, Hutch bent down in disbelief.  “Starsk?  Can you hear me?”  His words were barely audible to himself, his throat dry and raspy.  He was finding it increasing difficult to swallow.  

 

Hutch immediately untied the ropes binding Starsky’s arms, and carefully rolled him onto his back.  Leaning in close, he made sure his friend was still breathing and, after a silent prayer of thanks, pulled Starsky into a fireman’s carry. 

 

Hutch staggered under Starsky’s weight as he attempted to rise.  Together, they headed toward the stairwell.

 

˜  ™

 

Hutch, using one hand to guide himself down the steps, gripped Starsky with the other.  Touch was the only sense he had left to rely on to guide him down the stairs.  Smoke surged around them, filling the stairway with utter darkness.  We’re living one hell of a nightmare, buddy, thought Hutch.  He shifted Starsky across his shoulder.  He could hear the floors above collapsing, while far off in the distance, the sound of sirens filled the night.  There isn’t enough time....

 

There was a sudden explosion above, and Hutch instinctively turned aside, using his body to shield his partner from the flying debris and embers.  He gripped Starsky tighter, and cautiously, but as swiftly as possible, continued down the stairwell.  Exhaustion was overwhelming him, causing every muscle in his body to ache.  We’re almost there, Starsk, almost there.  Fighting his greatest fear of passing out and dropping Starsky, pushed Hutch to his limits.

 

Too late, Hutch realized he’d missed a step and his knees began to buckle.  Frantic, he grabbed for the wall, adjusting their combined weight.  Concentrating on overcoming the force of gravity, Hutch threw himself backwards rather than pitching headlong down the remaining steps.  Pain shot through his back as his body, along with Starsky’s weight, hit the steps.  He lay there, biting his lip and fighting the pain, sweat pouring down his face.  Overwhelmed by uncontrollable coughing, his arms shuddered.  He focused on staying conscious.  Reaching out a hand, he shakily ran his thumb along Starsky’s smoke-smudged cheek.  Sorry, buddy.  I didn’t want it to end this way.

 

Hutch closed his eyes, trying to gather his last reserve of strength.

 

As if in a dream, he felt his body being moved, his head lifted, and something slipped over his face.  He felt Starsky’s body being lifted and frantically fought to pull him back, to keep Starsky near.  But the pressure of the weight disappeared.  Suddenly it became easier to breathe, and Hutch fought his way back through the shadows, his eyes fluttering open.  He tried to focus on a shadowy figure leaning over Starsky, placing an oxygen mask over his face.  Hutch reached out and touched the fireman’s arm—was he real?  The fireman nodded.  Unexpectedly, he felt himself being lifted and thrown over someone’s shoulder.  As they turned and headed toward the building’s exit, Hutch succumbed to his exhaustion.

 

˜  ™

 

Hutch pulled at the oxygen mask covering his face and tried to sit up.

 

“Leave it on and lie down, Hutch.  And that’s an order.”  Captain Dobey placed a hand on Hutch’s shoulder, keeping him on the gurney with gentle pressure.

 

“Starsk—?”  The single word spoken in a whisper.

 

“The medics are loading him into the ambulance.  A second one is en route and will be here momentarily to take you to the hospital.”

 

“How...”  Beginning to cough, Hutch waited for it to subside before continuing, “...is he?”

 

“Unconscious at the moment.  After a quick examination, the paramedics said he’s probably suffering from a concussion and smoke inhalation.  He has a nasty gash on the back of his head that will undoubtedly need some stitches, and there are lacerations on his wrists where he apparently was tied up.  There are a few burns on his face, but the paramedics said they were nothing serious, probably only first or second degree.”  Hutch nodded.  So far, nothing more than he’d initially determined on finding Starsky.  “But the good thing is, he’s alive and stable.  Thanks to you.  You did a good job, son.”

 

Hutch relaxed back against the gurney, reveling in the oxygen and feeling entirely spent.  The siren of the departing ambulance pierced the air.  To Hutch, it was music to his ears.

 

˜  ™

 

Hutch settled uncomfortably in the chair next to the bed, his back complaining about the upright position.  His promise to Starsky—that he would be there when he woke up—was coming at a cost, but be there he would, despite the fact that the doctors said he belonged home in bed.  His back was killing him and every bone in his body ached.  Rubbing a hand across tired eyes, Hutch carefully leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.  A sudden spasm in his back caused him to straighten up and reminded him it was time to take his medication.

 

The doctors had released him from the hospital that morning, after keeping him forty-eight hours for observation.  When the smoke he’d inhaled was cleared up and he showed no signs of pneumonia or any other lung-related complications, they’d discharged him with a supply of pain pills and muscle relaxants for his pulled back muscles.  He was supposed to go home and rest, but he didn’t want to leave until after he’d seen Starsky and knew he was okay.

 

Hutch looked over as Starsky’s leg shifted on the bed.  He started to get up, but his partner was quiet again, apparently still sleeping soundly.  Sighing, Hutch sat back down, content to watch Starsky sleep.  It was too close this time.  I really didn’t think we were going to make it.  

 

When he’d been wheeled into the hospital, his first words were “Where’s Starsky?  Is he okay?”  But it was hours before anyone would give him a reply.  He found out later that when Starsky had arrived at the hospital, the staff had immediately done an arterial blood gas, and, finding his oxygen levels low and carbon dioxide high, they’d rushed him into a decompression chamber for several hours.  After further treatment, Starsky had been placed in the bed next to his partner, at Captain Dobey’s insistence, but it was several hours later before he had finally regained consciousness. 

 

They’d removed the oxygen and IV from Starsky that morning, and everything indicated his making a full recovery.  He was sleeping now and would remain in the hospital a few more days, just to be sure there were no complications, but even that couldn’t make Hutch remove the grin plastered on his face whenever he thought about it.  It had been close—too close—but they’d made it through.

 

Knowing he couldn’t put off taking his pills any longer, Hutch went into the bathroom, filled a glass with water, and popped a capsule into his mouth.  He was leaning against the sink, when a voice, still dry and raspy, startled him.  “Hu-sh?”

 

“Yeah, I’m here.”  Hutch exited the bathroom, any thought of fatigue disappearing.  “’Bout time you woke up.  How are you feeling?”

 

Starsky thought a moment before answering.  “Got a headache, and...”  He winced as he shifted on the bed.  “...my body aches all over.”  Starsky scrutinized Hutch through half-closed eyes.  “You get run over by a truck?”

 

“That’s how I feel.”

 

“It’s how ya look.”

 

“Guess you haven’t looked in a mirror lately.”  Hutch moved next to the bed.

 

“You goin’ home to bed?

 

“Later.  First, I’m headed over to arrest Marty, and then I’m going to interrogate him.”

 

Starsky reached out and touched Hutch’s arm.  “Go home, first, Hutch.  You look like something the cat dragged in.  It can wait another day.”

 

“No, it can’t.”  Hutch’s voice turned frosty.  “Marty’s going to give me the name or names of whoever’s behind this.  And they’ll live to regret it.” 

 

“Hutch, be...careful.”  Starsky stopped to take a deeper breath.  “’Member, I...I can’t cover your back.”

 

“Don’t worry about me.  I’ll be fine.  You take care of yourself and listen to the doctors and nurses.”  Hutch laid his hand over Starsky’s, careful of the bandages encircling his wrist.  “Besides, I know how much you hate being in the hospital, buddy, so I wanna get your sorry ass out of here as soon as possible.”

 

˜  ™

 

Hutch pulled into the parking lot of Henderson High School, a black-and-white following him.  He marched into the main office and flashed his badge.  “Mary, I want to know which classroom I’ll find Marty Rodriguez in.”

 

Confused, Mary rose from her chair.  “I’ll go to the counselors’ office, Mr., I mean, Detective Hutchinson.  They have a copy of every student’s schedule.”

 

Mary returned a few moments later.  “He’s in Mr. Bishop’s Biology class.  Do you know—?”

 

Hutch turned on his heel and motioned for the two officers to follow.  At the door of Room 110, Hutch saw Mr. Bishop lecturing his class.  He knocked on the door, and Mr. Bishop glanced over surprised.  He opened the door, observing the two policemen standing behind Hutch.  “Mr. Hutchinson, can I help you?  I don’t need you to sub this afternoon.”

 

“No, I need to see one of your students¾Marty.  Marty Rodriguez.”

 

“Sure.”  Mr. Bishop turned back to his students.  “Mr. Rodriguez, Mr. Hutchinson would like to see you in the hallway.”

 

Marty, unsure who Mr. Hutchinson was, rose from his chair and stepped into the hallway.

 

“Yeah?  Whaddya want?”

 

Hutch, wishing he could whack the insolence off Marty’s face, instead grabbed hold of his shirt and threw him against the nearest locker.

 

“Wait a minute!” Marty shouted.  “What’s this about?”  He uneasily eyed the two uniformed officers.

 

“You’re under arrest.”  Hutch turned him around and handcuffed him.

 

“For what?  I didn’t do anything!”

 

“For messing with my partner!”  Hutch shoved Marty at one of the officers. “Read him his rights, Collins, and take him to the station.  Book him on the attempted murder of a police officer.  I’ll be there shortly.  I have something to do first.”

 

˜  ™

 

Hutch observed Marty in the interrogation room through the one-way mirror.  Marty was drumming his fingers on the table and glancing around, trying to look casual and tough, but the façade was beginning to break.  He’d been sitting there for thirty minutes, and Hutch had been watching and waiting.

 

Captain Dobey walked in.  “Well, have you talked to him yet?”

 

“Not yet, just letting him squirm a little.  You find out more about him?”

 

“He moved here from San Francisco not long ago.  He’s been clean here, but the juvenile authorities from the bay area tell us he’d been arrested in a sting operation about a year ago.  He was on the premises, but the police didn’t find any drugs on him.  Since the prosecutor had bigger fish to fry—a certain Carl Wexford—” Hutch nodded in recognition as Dobey continued, “—and this was a first offense, it was dropped.  His father was killed in a traffic accident about six months ago, and his mother moved to this area to be with family and for employment.”

 

“Okay...”  Hutch headed to the door.  “...time to get some answers.”

 

“Hutch, you’re tired and angry, and you have every reason to be, but remember he’s a minor.”

 

Hutch let the opening door slam into the wall behind him, locking eyes with Dobey.  “He’s also involved with trying to kill Starsky.”

 

Hutch entered the room and threw the file folder in his hand on the small table.  “How ya doing, Marty?  I’m Detective Hutchinson.”

 

“What am I doing here?  Nobody’s told me nothin’.”  Marty leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms.  “You got nothin’ on me and I wanna go home.”

 

“You’ll go home, if and when I let you.”  Hutch leaned on the table.  “First, I want some answers.”

 

“What if I don’t have—?”

 

Marty never finished the question, as Hutch seized his shirt and pulled him up and out of the chair.  “Don’t think you can mess with me, Marty.  I’m tired, hurting, and short on patience.”  Hutch tossed him back into the chair and leaned in closer.  “I want to know the name of the person or persons you told about Detective Starsky, and I want it now!”

 

Marty sank back into the chair and swallowed hard.  The ice blue eyes staring at him didn’t blink.  “Detective Starsky?”

 

“You know exactly who and what I’m talking about.  Don’t play innocent.  Who did you tell Starsky was a cop?”  Receiving no response, Hutch carefully straightened.

 

Changing tactics, he pulled a chair next to Marty and changed his tone to a more casual one.  “Sorry, Marty, I don’t mean to be so hard on you.  I’m just a little tired and my back’s killing me.  If you tell me what you know, I’ll personally speak to the judge on your behalf, letting him know how cooperative you’ve been.  He’ll go easier on you.  You’re a minor and you helped us out.  It’ll give him something to consider when he sentences you for the attempted murder of a police officer.”

 

Paling, Marty slumped.  “Murder?  I didn’t do anything!”

 

“Maybe not directly, but you made it possible for someone else to, and that makes you an accessory.”  Hutch, pointing his index finger at Marty, continued, “Look around you.  You’re in a police station, and we don’t take the attempted murder of a police officer lightly.  Least of all me—especially when it’s my partner.”

 

Hutch stood and started for the door.  “Knock on the door when you’re ready to talk and the officer outside will come get me.”

 

Hutch reached for the knob.

 

“Wait, Detective Hutchinson—”

 

˜  ™

 

“Hutch!  Wait!  That’s an order!”  Captain Dobey’s voice carried down the corridor as he barreled down the hallway.  Every person, except the blond, stepped out of the way.  “Hutchinson!”

 

Hutch stopped and turned on his heel.  Dobey approached him, puffing at the exertion.  His voice softened, “Where are you going?”

 

“To get Canfield.”

 

“No, you’re not.  You’re going home, or you can go visit your partner in the hospital.  I’m going for Canfield.”

 

“He’s mine, Cap’n.”

 

“Not in the mood you’re in.  I want to have a case to try and I need a live body to prosecute.”

 

Hutch turned away in frustration.  “But, Cap—”

 

“Look, I know how you feel.  But Starsky needs you more.”  Dobey’s voice softened.  He spotted Garcia coming down the hall.  “Garcia, find your partner; we have an arrest to carry out.”  Turning back to Hutch, he added, “Home or the hospital, which is it?”

 

Hutch unclenched his fists.  “The hospital.”

 

“Okay, I’ll be by to check on both of you after Canfield is picked up and behind bars.  Understood?”

 

“Understood.”  Hutch pushed the doors open and disappeared through the exit.

 

Captain Dobey turned.  “Garcia!  Thompson!  Where are you?  We don’t have all day!”

 

˜  ™

 

“C’mon, Paulie, hit it to me!”  Starsky took his stance and punched the pocket of his baseball mitt several times.  “I’m ready.”  He bounced sideways, anticipating the hit.  At the sound of the bat connecting with the ball, Starsky threw off his baseball cap and ran backwards, dropping and rolling as his foot found a hole in the grass and threw him off balance.  The ball soared over his head.  He stood up and wiped off the dirt.  After locating the ball in the grass field, he ran toward home plate, yelling out, “Good one!  An in-the-park home run!  You’ll be playing in the majors before you know it!”

 

Starsky enthusiastically patted Paulie on the back, and then looked up to see his partner approaching them.  He swung an imaginary bat.  “You should’ve seen it, Hutch.  Paulie’s a great ball player.  I’ll bet ya he’ll be in the majors someday.”

 

Hutch couldn’t help smile at Starsky’s exuberance.  “I saw it.  Now he just has to teach you how to catch.”

 

Paulie frowned.  “Oh, I don’t think I’ve learned enough to do that.”

 

Hutch laughed at the boy’s concerned look.  “No one has.”  Seeing Starsky’s furrowed brow, he slapped him on the back and added, “Don’t worry, Starsk, you’re too old and decrepit to play ball anyway.”  Hutch turned to the boy standing on his left.  “I want to introduce you to someone, Paulie.  He’s a friend of mine and likes to play ball, too.  This is Kiko.  I’m his Big Brother.”

 

Kiko reached out a hand.  “Hey there, Paulie.  Good to meet you.”

 

Paulie extended his hand.  “Hi.  What position do you like to play?”

 

“I like pitching.”

 

“Cool, you wanna pitch me a few?”

 

“Sure.”  Kiko turned to Hutch.  “That okay?”

 

“Of course.  Starsky and I’ll go sit on the bench and watch.  I think it’s time for him to rest.”  Hutch slung his arm across Starsky’s shoulders.  “C’mon, partner, time for the old folks to sit it out.”

 

Starsky tossed the ball to Kiko and joined his partner walking to the bench.

 

“Did you talk to Paulie about going back to school yet?” Hutch asked

 

“Yeah, and he agreed.  I didn’t even have to beat him up like I did Nicky.”

 

Hutch laughed.  “That’s good.”

 

“I convinced him that if he went back to school, he might be able to win a baseball scholarship.  I already talked to Principal Richardson, and he’s going to look into it.  The kid’s good, Hutch, really good.”

 

Hutch watched Paulie hit a few balls into center field.  “You’re right; he is good.  And he’s lucky.”

 

“Lucky?”

 

“Yeah, lucky that you cared, buddy.  Lucky that you dragged that bottle out of the water.”   

 

“Do you know what happened to Sterling yet?”

 

“Well, from what we could get out of Marty, Neal played on one of the teams at the Boys Club, and Sterling was angry that Neal had started shooting up.  He’d taken Neal under his wing and thought he had a lot of potential.  Took it personally when Neal died, I guess.  He’d tried to provide a safe place for the boys, but found out it was impossible.  So he started asking questions, and eventually found out that Juan was Neal’s supplier.  He planned to confront him, but then Juan turned up dead as well.  Sterling continued investigating, but none too quietly, and Canfield had him killed.”

 

Starsky watched the ball sailing out into center field.  “Why didn’t he just contact the police?”

 

“Who knows.”  It was a statement not a question.  Noticing Starsky’s sudden quietness, he asked, “What are you thinking?”

 

“I think we should stay out of high schools.”

 

“I agree.  You almost didn’t make it this time.”

 

“Not just me.”  Starsky shifted to look at Hutch.  “I never really said thanks.  You should’ve gotten outta that building and saved yourself.  You could’ve died in there—”

 

“And left you?  No way!”  Hutch reached over and patted Starsky’s knee.  “Besides, you’d have done the same if it had been me in there.” 

 

Starsky knew it was impossible to argue with his partner on that fact.  That was how they operated—always covering each other’s backs, regardless of the cost.  “I guess it turned out okay.”

 

“Speaking of okay.  How are you?”

 

“Fine.  I got the all-clear from the doctor.  Dobey’ll be happy to hear I’m cleared for duty again.”

 

“Well, that’s good news, but it’s not what I meant.”

 

Silent for a moment, Starsky finally returned Hutch’s gaze.  He knew what his friend was referring to.  “We’ve got Canfield behind bars, and maybe, just maybe we can keep drugs out of the high school a little longer.  It’s too bad Sterling wanted to play amateur detective instead of coming to the police and telling us what he knew.  We might’ve been able to save Neal—and save his family and Paulie all the grief and anger.”

 

“What about Prudholm?”

 

Starsky hesitated before continuing.  He’d just as soon drop the subject, but Hutch wouldn’t, at least not until he answered what his partner thought was the bigger question.  “The two cases turned out entirely different.  I guess I’ve finally accepted the fact that there wasn’t anything I could have done about Gary Prudholm.  We were young and inexperienced at the time, but I don’t think I would have done anything differently.  I was trying to save Gary by busting him and giving him a chance to straighten out.  I’m not responsible for what happened to him in jail.”

 

Hutch smiled.  He’d been waiting for Starsky to finally recognize the truth.  “And his father?”

 

“He’s...he’s just sick, and behind bars where he belongs.  And we never have to hear from him again.”  Starsky stood, cheering, as Paulie smacked the ball toward right field, and Kiko raced off the mound to snag it.  “Think they’ll get along?  They don’t have much in common.”

 

Hutch watched the growing smiles on the faces of the two boys.  Their enthusiasm was contagious.  Rising to stand next to his partner, Hutch slung his arm across Starsky’s shoulders.  “Neither did we, buddy, neither did we.”