More Than A Little Strange

Missing scene from The Trap. Hutch’s POV.

Well there it was; my partner not only has crummy taste in clothes, and cars and eats like a dog that loves garbage can fare but now to top it all off he was deaf. “What the hell’s going on?” He asks.

“You’ve got ears?” I said to him. And I wasn’t trying to be funny. The cannons they were bombarding us with nearly took one of my toes off. A pedicure was the last thing I needed. Now a little trim I could use. My hair had grown exceptionally long. Just have not taken time to get it cut. The ladies seemed to like it maybe I’ll just let it be. Hutchinson, get with it you’re being shot at and you’re worried about your hair.

Here we were, shagged all over town only to wind up pinned down in this old antique barn of yesteryear, by a borderline psychotic from my past. Who wasn’t about to let us out and who wore the three P’s on his chest, proud as a sailor with his first tattoo. Pushing, pimping and porno–a real Boy Scout. And Starsk decided to play stand-by-your-partner. He was being more loyal than one of the Queen’s guards. Wouldn’t think of leaving me. I felt a twinge of warmth that he wanted to die along side me but it wasn’t just me I was thinking of. The teenage tomboy, who stowed away in the back of the tomato, complicated things even more. Her teenage hormones had run amuck when she got a whiff of my partner’s devilish charms. She wanted to play royal loyal too. Sorry kid 29’s not your lucky number. Were they nuts? This place was drier than the Sahara desert. If Bagley was planning what I figured, this place would be on fire and burnt to the ground quicker than Starsky could slug down a burrito. I didn’t want the responsibility of either one of them getting scorched to a crisp because of me.

Funny, the things you think about when your life was on the line, and you’re choking on hay dust lying under an old tractor. My little conference in point didn’t get us anywhere. From the sound of the artillery out there, we were out gunned. It was when my partner began talking about the police manual I really knew we were in trouble. Didn’t think he’d ever read the thing. Sitting tight and waiting for reinforcements was our only course of action at this point. Then Starsk did something else I couldn’t believe. My partner pegged me to the barn door. “I think you’re secretly rich and they’ve kidnapped you.” He had joked.

He had the secret part right and the rich. Kidnapped, now that would be too easy. No, my secret was safe from everyone including Bagley. He just wanted me dead. His demented mind blaming me for the death of his kid brother Ernie. One of these days I needed to level with my partner about my undisclosed finances. Maybe he already knows. No time for that now. Starsk was right. This is one fine mess you’ve gotten us into Hutchinson. The bad guys weren’t running from the good guys and I had two hours to get us the hell out of this mess.

Gotta get that kid out of here. At the moment that’s as far as I got to a plan of action. While my ‘only a little strange’ partner crouched down to talk to the lighter-lifting thief about the facts of life that were going to go down in this barn in less then an hour; I, the weirdo sexist, was trying to find away to get her out of here. Starsky was old enough to make his own decisions on how his life would go down. The kid was not. I found a loose ply board and pulled it back enough to see out. A gully, and then beyond that, some woods. If we put on a little show she probably could make it out. It was risky but better than letting her play out the game in here. Like I said before, she wanted to play loyal too. I convinced her to go for reinforcements and she agreed to that. I didn’t think she could get to them on time but you never know.

Starsk and I stood readying our weapons. “Ready Champ?” I asked him, trying to be brave. I knew damn well we were going out like Butch and Sundance. We looked at each other as if it were the last time on this earth we would have that chance. The best offense is a good defense; let’s hope that’s true. We no sooner had burst out the door than bullets pelted past us. We hit the dirt behind a flimsy water trough. Pinned down like a couple a rabbits with a fox at either end of the hole. I couldn’t see if Joey made it to the woods. God I hoped so. I couldn’t live with myself if my plan got the kid hurt or worse. My heart felt like it wanted to fly out of my chest it beat so hard. Starsk confirmed in a quick puff of breath that she was in the woods.

What now? Good question. I sure as hell didn’t want to go back into that tinderbox. “The woods.” I told my trusting partner. It was our only option. I would cover him first. Up on one knee I let my gun buck wildly in my hands as I squeezed off one round after the other. If I could just get him out the same way we might have a chance.

A yelp from Starsk turned my head quick. I didn’t need to see or be told I knew he was hit. I watched his body cartwheel to the dusty ground. Plan A stopped dead in its tracks. I ran over to him still firing to keep cover. He fired too but aimlessly as he tried to lean on me and hobble back to the inferno-in-waiting. We both stopped, dropped and rolled through the door onto the hay-covered floor. Bullets from the bad guys flew over our heads as we tried to keep low. Crawling on our bellies like a couple a snakes, we sat up against the large tire of the old tractor. Both of us trying to reload and regain composure. I kept peering over at my wounded partner. His breathing was coming in quick short breaths and I knew he was in pain but still he held up his end of the partnership. He reloaded his gun readying for the next plan of attack without complaint.

I asked him if it hurt much. I knew it had too. Streaks of perspiration slid down his temple and he clutched at the tractor with a death grip. Starsky is always trying to hide his feelings, not wanting his macho image to be tarnished. But I know my partner. When he said it was numb I knew he was lying through his clenched teeth. He didn’t want me to worry or be distracted. I let him know he wasn’t fooling me any. “It’s also bleeding.” I said, truth be told. It was bleeding and heavily at that. “Be glad it’s not serious,” he says. A hole in any part of the human anatomy where holes were not meant to be was serious in my book.

I lay my gun down a moment. The cannons had stopped. Filtering through the barn I found an old broom and broke a piece of the handle off. Some old rags would have to do. I cringed at the thought of infection. There was nothing to clean the wound. I shook the dust from the old rags that the farmer probably used to check his oil with. It was all I could do. Lifting his leg as slowly as I could, I felt my heart reel at the sound he made. I’d just caused him a significant amount of pain. I worked quickly but gently as I began to twist the crude tourniquet I had made using my belt. He sucked in more air biting down hard on his tongue. Trying to spare me his agony. “Is the pain bad ?”I asked. Hutchinson, you have no bedside manner do you? I kicked my self. Of course it hurts. He’s got a bullet lodged in his leg and it’s bleeding like there’s no tomorrow.

I searched for his pocketknife, which I knew was there somewhere. Think his dad gave it to him. He never goes anywhere without it. Starsk’s a real trooper. He would never let me down. He knew I was having a hard time so he gave me that lopsided smile of his. Told me it only hurt when he wiggled his toes. Don’t wiggle your toes Buddy I thought. Seeing him in pain caused my heart to plunge to my feet. It was like going over Niagara Falls in a barrel.

I slit his jeans to get a better look. All the while he kept talking. Think he was trying to keep from crying. The bullet put a nice size hole in his leg and the skin around it was singed along the edges from the gunpowder. Those elephant guns they were firing had almost blown my friend’s leg off. Least the kid made it. “No way partner, don’t start that kind of talk. I’m not going for it. Going to get you out of here too Partner.” I said with my most self assured voice.

I kept working to stop the bleeding; the tourniquet didn’t quite do the trick. My friend got up on his soapbox. I listened but was more intent on the wounded leg than on answering him. “Sure, lots of guys get out of worse messes than this,” he says. The Alamo? Custer’s Last Stand? Either my partner was being sarcastic or he flunked History 101.

All battles that were lost, not won by the good guys, according to my history teacher, Mrs. Johnson. I wanted to hear something positive. “Tell me a story where the good guys win.” I begged. I put more pressure on his leg. I could feel him flinch but he didn’t utter a sound of pain. My fingers turned crimson as I kept my hand in place staring at the wound. Trying to assess the damage done. Probably broke a bone. Torn muscle and ligaments. The bleeding had me concerned. Infection could set in easy in these conditions. He kept talking I kept listening. I was more interested in his leg than in his off beat history lesson. The Battle of the Bulge? Yeah. I thought back to my history books. Uncle Myron, oh Starsk please don’t tell me. Ah! Too late he did. Uncle Myron died in the Battle of the Bulge. My partner, the glass is half empty today.

I’ve got to get him to a doctor. The bleeding slowed so I went to take a look through the cracks of the barn. Couldn’t see a damn thing. I rolled over onto my back. Straw stuck to my black coat and pants. I searched the ceiling for an answer. No Gordo. I’m not napping. I heard him but ignored my wise-cracking partner. Can’t get to the car. Not much ammo left. Partner with a bullet in his leg. I lay there as if some magical genie would appear before me and grant me three wishes. Right now wishing our way out of this fine mess is the only–wait a minute. What the hell? I am lying under a tractor. A tractor with wheels. I jumped to my feet and hopped into the driver’s seat. Keys–terrific. I set my gun on top of the tractor. I turned the key–nothing. Not giving up my stubborn partner over there taught me that one. I lifted the hood over the engine and pulled up the scatter shields. Good god, this thing hasn’t been touched since the fall of Rome. I found a wire bristled brush and polished at the rust and corrosion. Starsk was hurting but I worked trying to focus on the task at hand. It kept me from stepping on my heart, which still lay at my feet.

He was talking about something. My head was whirling. There had to be a way to start this hunk of junk. I had to find a way. Starsky said something about doing his Cagney impression. Wha’s that? Nope sorry pal I really wasn’t listening.

“What are you doing?” He asked. “Just cleaning up the man’s tractor.” I told him. Tried the keys again. It wanted to turn over but didn’t have the juice. Battery must be dead. “Did ya try the crank? The crank,” he says, “all tractors have a crank.” My city boy partner knocked me for a loop. Why didn’t I think of that? I headed to the front of the machine. Don’t forget the ignition. “Hey, you’re pretty smart for a city boy.” I smirk at him.

Uncle Alfonze? I didn’t want to hear about another relative that was killed in some battle. I kept my mouth shut; turning the rusted crank was no easy task. I put all my weight into it. Starsk continued to tell me his family history. Is he making this up as he goes along? Oh brother Starsk, killed by getting hit in the head with a crank when his Model-T backfired. No, Buddy. You’re not going to get run over by a tractor. Death by burrito is more like it. I went to try starting it again. Out of fuel–damn.

I looked around the old barn. Had to be something here somewhere. I spotted the old lantern hanging on the wall. Kerosene! I ran to it and shook the hell out of the good for nothing-empty piece of shi… What? My partner, god love him. Bleeding and in pain and still backing me up. Still right at my side not missing a beat. Behind him on the wall–bingo–yes this time it was full.

I opened the cap and poured the fuel without spilling a drop. He asks me with hope in his voice, “Will this work?” “Man,” I said, “three two beer would work if you primed the engine right.” I think?

A plan, yeah Buddy. You think I’ve been playing mechanic for the last twenty minutes for nothing. “Sure as hell not carrying you out on my back” I told him. He hauled himself up with a grunt of pain. I was too preoccupied to stop and help him. We didn’t have much time. This is the best plan I ever had I gloated.

Starsk must have really been in pain and out of his Gordo brain. Started rambling about, ‘he might not make it’. “Course you will.” I said, still putting plan B into effect. I saw out of the corner of my eye he had his watch in his hot little hand. Kept nudging me to take the damn thing. Oh Starsk, come on now, you’re going to make it partner. I kept rigging the steering wheel with the wire I got off a bail of hay. He persisted–stubborn as a mule partner. I took the watch even though I told him I didn’t know how to operate it. “You’re getting it back, Buddy, when we get out of here.” My voice held the promise of all promises.

A burst of hot air blew past my face and ignited into flames of rage. Damn! I ran to the crank once more. “Get in the wagon.” I told my unsteady friend. He stalled. Telling me how hot it was in here; no kidding. “Get in the wagon!” Again I yelled rotating the crank for all I was worth. Yes Starsk, I’m trying to get the thing started. Now get in the wagon. Damn him. He was afraid to get in the wagon; he wouldn’t leave my side till he was sure I was right with him. Loyal old man. Blessed the day I got a partner with a heart ten sizes too big.

Plan B worked. Out of the flaming barn as the tractor slammed through the double doors of the tinderbox. I helped Starsk out the wagon and headed into the house. Leaving him to watch our backs from outside. I closed the door and found myself by the john. I hid there waiting like a spider for the fly. Didn’t wait long. Curly haired, skinny guy got one slice across his face. Surprised myself when it only took one hit to knock the guy into next year.

I heard Bagley yell. He was planning on taking me out with him. Sorry, it’s not going down that way. I moved to the kitchen with the elephant gun slung over my shoulder. Taking note of the high-powered scope it had attached to it. No wonder Starsk’s leg looks like chopped liver.

Okay, so I lied. I know how to work the damn watch okay. I set the timer for one minute. Placing the thing on the counter. Quickly I decided it needed a disguise. I grabbed an old pot and laid it inside. I moved into position. The alarm went off distracting the bad guy. Didn’t have to kill Bagley, although I wanted to. Hit him over the head with the handle of my gun. Just then the door flew open. I raised my gun in its direction ready to squeeze the trigger on bad guy #3. Starsk! We stood staring at one another’s guns pointed toward each other’s hearts frozen. I let my finger slip off the trigger and lowered the gun.

I watched him lean against the counter panting his pain. He had bad guy #3 cuffed outside. Your plan? Hey partner, it was my play. I called the shots. Okay here’s your watch back in all its complicated glory. I handed him the shot up alarm clock. I excused myself. I had business in the john. When I returned from tying up Mr. Toilet-man and finding our radio to make a call for help; Starsk was still at the counter. But had turned to face it with his head down on his folded arms. “Hey Buddy.” I placed my hand on his back and felt his trembling. His legs wobbled like jell-o and he leaned back against me. His face was white with pain.

I helped lower him to the tile floor. “Sit down, Starsk, before you fall down.” I told him, with heart-felt sympathy. He let me maneuver him down. I leaned him up against the counter and his head wobbled to my shoulder when I sat next to him. I lay my hand on his hand where it clutched at his leg. Pain had seized my partner’s awareness and his eyes glazed in a distant stare. We sat quite waiting for help to arrive. I felt him shiver and moved my hand from his to place it around his shoulder and hold him close to warm him.

“Almost, Buddy.” I said, “Almost over. Hold out just a little more.” His breath was wispy and he looked like a newborn kitten sitting there pale and shivering with shock. “Breathe easy, partner, breathe easy.” I chanted to him. I needed to lighten my heart. I leaned in to whisper in his ear letting my head rest upon his dampening curls. “I have a confession to make, Starsk.” His eyes slid to the far left corners of his sockets peering at me trying to keep alert. “I am secretly rich.” He chuffed, not believing me. “Seriously Starsk. Look when you’re on your feet again we’ll go pick out a new watch. My treat, okay Buddy?”

“You got it. Weirdo sexist.” He laughed weakly, mocking the teenage stowaway. My head rocked back and forth against his in amazement. “Starsk, you’re more than a little strange, Buddy, but I love you just the same.”