Twenty Minutes

A fraught short length of time for our intrepid pair.

This story was posted to the Starsky&Hutch911 live journal site on 10/9/15, in response to a Twenty Minute Challenge (write for 20 minutes, stop and post; no editing); one of the prompt words was ‘car’ but I can’t remember the other and can’t find the original challenge. It was my very first ’20 minute challenge’ and the time limit itself was my inspiration.

Twenty minutes. I’m late. Shit! Why did I hit the snooze button? I promised Hutch I’d pick him up early so we could get a jump on checking out Jennings’ alibi. But I didn’t get up when the alarm went off and now I’m twenty minutes late!

I toss on yesterday’s clothes, figuring I’ll grab a shower at the precinct, run down the stairs and jump in the Torino. I almost feel like throwing on the mars light and hitting the siren but I resist. I just drive as fast as I can to Hutch’s place.

The LTD is gone! Hutch didn’t wait. We’re both so wired about the case, neither of us has any patience left. Jennings, the sonavabitch, ain’t gonna get away with murdering his wife and daughters, though. Not if we can help it.

But I’m twenty minutes late and my partner left without me.

I burn rubber away from his building, following the route we always take from Venice Place to the precinct.

I see the flashing lights two blocks before I get there. A line of black and whites has the intersection cordoned off.

Please, God, don’t let it be Hutch. Please.

Then I see the LTD. It’s parked at the curb on this side of the line of cop cars. Hutch is standing on the sidewalk talking to a couple of uniforms.

I park behind the brown car and climb out, hoping my shaky legs don’t betray me. I shove my fists in my pockets to keep them from giving me away. The adrenaline is draining and I’m physically weak.

Hutch turns and sees me. His sad smile tells me he knows what I was afraid of and understands. He puts an arm around my shoulders and we sit down on a bus bench.

“I’m so sorry, Hutch. I hit the snooze button. I was twenty minutes late.”

Hutch gestures toward the intersection. “Two pick up trucks ran a red light on First, from opposite directions. The gray car had the green, on Radford. It got hit from both sides at the same time. All three drivers are dead.” He looks at me for what seems like a long time. I’ve finally got my breathing under control.

“Miller, the uniform over there,” Hutch points to the taller of the two cops he was talking to, “told me it happened twenty minutes before I got here.”

Maybe unconsciously, his grip around my shoulders tightens. “If you had picked me up on time, Starsk, that gray car could have been us.”

I stare at the carnage filling the intersection before looking back at my best friend. “Twenty minutes,” I say, wonderingly.

END