Soon after leaving Albuquerque with a suspect wanted in Bay City, Starsky and Hutch are ambushed by the suspect’s sister and they are taken prisoner. They manage to escape into the desert but face survival under harsh circumstances and a mystery involving gold.
First published Dark Fantasies 4. This story is not part of tasha’s AU universe, but is an independent story.
Special thanks to M H E Priest for help with transferring stories to this archive.
Prologue
An inky black vulture circled over and over above the dry wash that wound through the rugged terrain. A small twister of dust swirled across the bottom of the arroyo dissipating as it foundered on the hood of the once gleaming red car. Tumbleweeds were dislodged from the windshield as the dregs of the mini-twister stirred them from their precarious perch. The vulture swooped down and found nothing of interest to him, but his presence had attracted the attention of the thin, young girl walking slowly behind her herd of straggly sheep and goats.
Leaving the animals to scrounge a few mouthfuls of the dry grass, she trotted across the nearly barren landscape to see what had interested the bird on her family’s meager pasture land. Stopping and putting her hand over her mouth, she was startled to see nearly buried in the sand and almost covered in tumbleweeds a bright red and white car. She slipped and slid down the wall of the small canyon and came closer to the silent unnatural edifice in the desert. The car wasn’t wrecked or damaged that she could see as she walked around it. There were no tracks showing how it had gotten to where it was. There was a fine layer of dust all over it, showing that it had been there for some time. Perhaps long enough for the wind to have covered the tracks, but she thought not. Marks made on this desert land lasted for days, weeks, and sometimes months.
Cautiously moving closer, she gingerly brushed the dust from a window of the car. Cupping her hands to the glass, she looked inside. There were no inhabitants or much of anything else. She saw a discarded Pepsi can lying on the back seat and some other harder to identify papers on the front seat. She tried the door latch and found it locked, but she could see the keys still dangling from the ignition. It was a small mystery that she would report to her grandfather after she had watered the sheep and penned them for the night. She left the silent abandoned car and went back to her charges still contently munching the scanty foliage.
~~~
A white Ford Bronco emblazoned with the emblem of the Navajo Police slowly stopped in front of the hogan with its east-facing door covered by a tattered, hand-woven blanket. The residence was protected from the elements by a low bluff. Ben Yazzie waited patiently to be invited to the premises. Shortly a young girl with tangled black hair came running out to say that her grandfather was busy with the sheep out in the pasture.
It wasn’t the grandfather that Ben had come to see; it was the young girl. The girl who had reported a car abandoned in a dry wash on her family’s sheep range.
Ben studied the girl. She was about ten and almost painfully thin. She looked like a waif shown in the advertising for United Nations Save the Children. Immediately he was suspicious that she had the scourge of the reservation: tuberculosis. He wondered if she was getting proper treatment in this remote section of the reservation.
After greeting the child, he asked her about the car she had found in Crazy Woman Wash. The girl explained about her habit of taking the sheep to the spring that was farther up the gully each day the sheep were pastured in the area. She then told of finding the car nearly buried in the sand.
After thanking the child carefully and inquiring about the health of her family, Ben returned to his Bronco. Bitterly he thought of the girl and knew he would have to contact someone at the Tribal Council to make sure she got the white man’s treatment for TB. Her grandfather and grandmother might not approve of his interference, but he felt he had to do it for Rose’s sake.
Ben hadn’t been raised on the reservation. Oh, he had been born here, but his family had moved where El Paso Gas Company had sent them. His mother had been determined that he wouldn’t be stuck with the old ways; so consequently, he was ignorant of clans and much of his people’s traditions. When his mother died, he had returned to find his heritage on the reservation. Therefore, he couldn’t cite clan and lineage of people he met, and it was taking him years to relearn his own tongue. During his first years on the reservation, his fellow officers hadn’t been very tolerant of his unfamiliarity with basic courtesies but he had learned quickly. However, in the case of medical care for a child, he was still an Anglo.
Once on the highway, he turned west and drove toward the best place to begin a cross country trek to Crazy Woman Wash. Like the child, he wondered how the car had gotten to such a remote spot and why it was there. Obviously someone didn’t want it to be found very soon. But the girl said it couldn’t have been there very long as she made the trip up the wash often to water the sheep. The girl mentioned that she rotated her sheep pastures regularly, and it hadn’t been there during the previous use of that particular pasture. Ben remembered how proud she had been that she actually owned fifteen head of sheep. She was on her way to being a wealthy woman of the tribe, if she lived that long.
Turning his mind back to the problem of the abandoned automobile, Ben was reasonably sure it had to be an Anglo that left the car there, not knowing about the spring and the sheep pastured there. The Whitehorse family had used that water hole for many years and everyone on the Res knew it.
However, now the question was, where exactly were the occupants of the car? He would probably have to notify the FBI shortly, but right now he just wanted to establish that there had been some sort of foul play–not just some tourist that had wandered off the main road and was lost on the Reservation. Ben’s instincts told him that something other than that had happened, but he wasn’t sure what.
Ben turned off the highway and began to guide the four-wheel-drive truck through the brush and cactus of the desert. He traveled for about two miles before turning into Crazy Woman Wash. He followed the dried tracks of the previous rain; rain that had fallen nearly a month ago. There hadn’t been any rain for weeks, so he was surprised when Rose had told him she couldn’t find any trace of the car being driven into the wash. Wheeling the truck around a curve in the gully, he came upon the car exactly where the girl had told him it would be. He stopped the Bronco and looked at the area around the car. Yes, possibly it could have been driven down the gentle slope of the gully at this point, but there was no overt evidence of it. He reached for a cigarette in his shirt pocket and lit it with the truck’s lighter. Smoking, he put his elbow out of the window of the cab and stared at the car as if hoping it would tell him something.
The car didn’t tell him much as he looked out of the dusty windshield of the Bronco, but the surrounding landscape did. The child would need more lessons from her grandfather to know that the car had indeed been driven to this spot. Probably someone who had watched too many cowboy movies had tried to cover their tracks by dragging brush over the ground as they left. It wasn’t obvious, but the grooves cut into the soil were noticeable. Then if one looked carefully, it could be seen that the branches of one of the sage bushes were unnaturally broken.
Also there was evidence that the sand around the car had been shoveled up there as though someone was trying to make it seem it had been there long enough for the wind to have drifted it, but the piles of sand were on the wrong side of the car from the prevailing winds. The tumbleweeds seemed to be artistically placed, not all looking to have been blown in. Yes, Ben said to himself, there was something wrong with the whole picture. The girl didn’t have that wrong.
Crushing his cigarette in the ashtray, he stepped out of the Bronco and slowly walked toward the listing red car with a distinctive white stripe. Walking around the car, he immediately noticed that it had been recently waxed. The paint was, also, a fairly recent job. He rubbed a finger over the surface. Under the grit of the fresh coating of dust, the body had the feel of rich velvet. This kind of finish was only gotten by innumerable coats of lacquer with hand rubbing in-between. No, the owner hadn’t deliberately abandoned the car here. He was the kind that thought more of his car than of his firstborn son, if he had one. And Ben was reasonably sure it was a man’s car. His experience in the Anglo world told him that women usually didn’t spend the money on a paint job for a car that had been spent on this one. And it wasn’t a woman’s car. It was showy power–the kind of power a young man would buy.
Pulling back on the Interstate, Ben Yazzie continued to tinker with the truck’s two-way radio. The heavy thunder heads were causing a great deal of static. Back at Crazy Woman Wash, the threatening clouds and clatter of thunder had made him leave the car and start to back to headquarters. He would send Jim Benally out there later with his tow truck to bring the vehicle in.
After walking around the abandoned Ford and trying both doors, he had finally used his “slim jim” to fiddle the lock on the driver’s door. It had been a futile exercise since there was no registration to be found inside the car. Then he began searching for the license plates. Both plates had been stripped from the car. He wandered up and down the wash for over an hour, searching for any evidence that the plates had been buried or thrown into the brush. He found nothing like that. Eventually, he had opened the hood of the Torino mainly out of curiosity. Inside, it was much as he had thought it would be; the motor compartment was sparkling clean only lately layered with dust which, along with the after-market candy-apple paint job, bespoke the owner’s pride in the vehicle. The car had chrome valve covers and a huge gleaming chrome air cleaner. The V-8 motor took up all of the available space which made him think that possibly there had been an engine change. Having no registration or license plates, he went looking for the VIN number which he finally found on the door frame. Starting to leave, he noticed a small plate on the front fender just behind the wheel and in front of the door. It was a 429 logo from the factory. He smiled as he learned even more about the owner of the car. The car wasn’t all show; now he knew it could go. Most Torinos came stock with a 309 or 351 cubic inch engine, but there were a few that came from factory with the massive 429 V-8, called a Police Interceptor. He was going to like the guy that owned this car. He just hoped he’d have the opportunity to meet him.
Once down the road a few more miles, he was able to get the dispatcher in Window Rock on the radio. He reported what he had found and told them to make the call to the FBI. He wanted to meet with the agent as soon as possible. This whole thing smelled worse and worse as time went on. He wanted that car gone over by the FBI crime lab. Possibly there were fingerprints, fiber evidence, or something else to help identify the occupants. The Navajo Police Department just didn’t have the facilities or trained personnel for such procedures.
He hadn’t been able to determine just how long the car had been there. It had been put there since the last rain, but it had been weeks since any rain in that area. It could have only been there a few days or a couple of weeks. It hadn’t been there any longer than that, he thought, remembering the Whitehorse child and her sheep.
~~~
“Hey, Hutch, look at this.”
Hutch turned to see his partner decked out in a serape and huge sombrero. He smiled as Starsky pirouetted before him for his approval. Hutch raised his hands and clapped while Starsky stamped his feet in a mock flamenco. He stumbled as his tennis shoes caught in the dangling ends of the woven garment. Staggering, he caught himself as Hutch burst into laughter.
“Do you think Huggy would like one of these?”
“Probably, considering his taste in clothes,” Hutch answered as he turned back to the other items displayed on the back of the pick-up truck which had been parked at the side of the road.
Grimacing in the heat, Starsky took off the heavy woolen blanket and the over-sized hat. He replaced them on the table that was set up under a tarp strung between two stunted pinon pines. He watched the blond hair of his partner glisten as though still damp from his morning shower while the tall slender man fingered the sandcast belt buckle attached to a wide, carved-leather belt. Smiling to himself, Starsky knew that Hutch was interested in the fine workmanship of an unknown silversmith. Eventually shaking his head at the price tag, Hutch returned the belt to the small wizened man seated in the shade of his rusted truck.
“We’d better get back to Albuquerque and see if Captain Dobey has called,” Hutch said, glancing at his wrist watch. “Tell you what, I’ll buy you dinner at La Cocina in Old Town tonight.” He started walking back to the Torino parked on the shoulder of the off ramp. They had been returning from Santa Fe when Starsky had spotted the Indian man and his truck parked at an interchange and wanted to see what he was offering for sale. They had ended up spending an hour or more in the man’s company and looking over his wares.
“Deal,” Starsky answered, not voicing his usual gripe that their vacation had been interrupted by business yet again. Giving the serape and sombrero one last glance, he strolled back to his shimmering red Ford. Stopping as he went around the nose of the car, he delicately brushed a small fleck of dirt from the hood. He smirked at his own reflection slightly distorted in the shiny paint.
Hutch waited somewhat impatiently while Starsky performed the ritual then unlocked the doors of the car. He opened the door on the passenger side and waited a few moments for the blistering hot air to disperse. The July day was nearly a hundred degrees and the humidity was nonexistent.
“Whew,” Starsky muttered as he sat lightly as possible on the overheated front seat. Hutch did the same. “How long do you think it’s going to take to get those extradition papers signed?”
“A few more days. Not any longer, I’d say,” Hutch answered, quickly rolling down the car window.
“Do you suppose we might have time to go up to Taos?”
“We shopped the square three times when we were there a couple of days ago,” Hutch answered. “There wasn’t one shop that you missed or one cheap souvenir or fake piece of Indian Jewelry in the whole town you missed.”
“But we never got to see Kit Carson’s house,” Starsky said.
“Well, it probably isn’t open yet, anyhow.” The small museum a few blocks off the main square in Taos had been closed for repairs, Hutch remembered. It had disappointed Starsky a great deal.
“We could call from the motel in Albuquerque and see if they are open tomorrow–if the extradition papers haven’t been signed by the judge,” Hutch conceded.
“Great,” Starsky turned the key in the ignition and started the Torino. Deftly turning the machine around, he went through the underpass and up onto the concrete four lane highway that would have been torn up in California a long time ago. The tires of the Torino gave a shudder whenever they came to a break in the cement. The highway was rough and outmoded, but the traffic was fairly heavy. Interstate 25 ended in Albuquerque and picked up again on the other side of Santa Fe. Hutch understood that the city fathers of Santa Fe didn’t want to miss any tourist dollars by having the interstate by-pass their city. Consequently, this aging highway was heavily trafficked between the two cities, and it went directly into the old section of Santa Fe.
Unnoticed by either cop, a battered orange van followed sedately behind the Torino. When Starsky skillfully maneuvered around a laboring cattle truck, the orange van paced the flashy Ford. It had more under the hood than appearances would have led anyone to believe.
Idly watching the landscape whiz by, Hutch sighed as he thought of their tour of the southwestern United States. They had traveled to Phoenix and then on to Tucson. Eventually from El Paso they had traveled up to Albuquerque via White Sands and Carlsbad. They had planned on going on to Colorado by way of the Four Corners when Captain Dobey had caught up with them. It seemed that Eric Slade had been taken into custody in Albuquerque, New Mexico in a stolen car. After further checking by the local police, it had been discovered that he was wanted in Los Angeles for a convenience store robbery and murder. It was a petty crime that had turned vicious when an off duty police officer walked into the store and subsequently had been killed.
Officer James Carter had just been promoted to the Homicide Division a few weeks previous to the robbery. He had been assigned to learn the system from Starsky and Hutch. They had also answered the call, “Officer Down,” that ill-fated night. Starsky had held the young man while he died from his wounds before the ambulance could arrive. He had been conscious and had managed to identify his assailant as one Eric Slade. Slade had been a small time drug pusher who had been on the streets for a couple of years. He had never been known to carry any hardware, but Starsky had decided there was a first time for everything. Slade had then disappeared for months only to reappear in New Mexico.
Dobey had looked for and found them at the Winrock Hotel in Albuquerque. It was saving a hassle for the short-handed LAPD, and in this case neither really cared if they had to cut their long-awaited vacation a few days short. They were only going to miss Mesa Verde and the Four Corners monument anyway. Those were the last two stops on their trip before heading back home. Both of them might gripe, but it had been a leisurely trip. They were rested and ready to get back in harness if the truth be told. The loss of a few days would be worth it to be the ones to bring James’ murderer back for trial. Of course, there was the occasional bitch for form’s sake, but nothing serious from either man.
Passing the turn off to a pueblo advertising a dance that night, Starsky sighed. He would have loved to wander down the dirt road to the ill-kept pueblo that clung to life dependent on tourist dollars.
Scattered businesses heralded the upcoming city so Starsky slowed and began looking for the sign that designated Interstate 40. He exited the ramp and followed it around, missing the crowded downtown of the burgeoning city of Albuquerque. I-40 traced a vaguely eastern route, passing under various streets that had both Anglo-American names and Spanish names, illustrating the dual heritage of the rapidly expanding city. Eventually Starsky directed the Torino up the off-ramp at Louisiana and crossed over to the cluttered parking lot beside the Winrock Hotel and Winrock Shopping Center.
Entering the lobby of the hotel, Hutch stopped at the desk to see if there were any messages. Yes, there had been a call from the local police and from Captain Dobey He sighed again as he turned away from the desk. Catching Starsky’s eye as the dark head lifted from the travel brochures scattered on an end table by a gold couch, he nodded an affirmative. Starsky followed his companion back up to their room. Once in the air-conditioned luxury of the room, Hutch switched on the lamps then sat on the bed while he dialed the familiar number the clerk had given him. First calling Dobey, he was put through to the Captain’s desk immediately.
“Captain,” he said over the miles to the snarled, “Dobey, here.”
“Hutch,” Dobey’s deep voice carried away from the phone to Starsky sitting at the table next to a wide heavily draped window. “You can pick up your man at the Albuquerque Police Headquarters tomorrow afternoon. The extradition papers are on their way from Santa Fe as we speak. Good luck and don’t lose this bastard.”
“Never, Cap. Anything else?”
“No,” the captain’s voice paused then continued. “How long will it take you to get back here?”
“Couple of days, unless we drive straight through.”
“Probably had better do that. This squirrel seems to work alone, but you never know.”
“Right. Should be about eighteen hours from here.”
“Anything you need, you buy. But you’d better save your receipts.”
“Yes, Captain. We’ll see you in a couple of days.”
“Bye. And you be careful.”
Putting the receiver back on the hook, Hutch turned to his companion. “You heard?”
“Yeah, and I’m not thrilled with driving straight through no matter what the Captain says.”
“Well, that sounded like an order so we’d better get some rest.”
“You promised dinner at La Cocina, ya know. Gotta eat somewhere anyhow.”
“I know. What time is it anyway?”
“About five thirty….”
“A little early, but we might as well clean up and head out.”
“Okay, I get the shower first.”
“Okay, think I’ll walk down to the lobby and get a paper or something to read.”
“Right,” Starsky answered as he headed for the bathroom, shedding his clothes as he went. There was a trail of abandoned material from the table by the window to the bathroom door. Hutch smiled affectionately as he gathered up the neglected clothing, folded it, and stowed it in the open suitcase on the luggage rack.
After tidying up after his careless partner, Hutch made a call to the local police station. The sergeant on the desk reaffirmed Dobey’s information that the perp would be turned over to their custody at that station the next afternoon. Hutch hoped all the red tape was straight since he didn’t relish sitting around a strange police station waiting for papers to be signed.
Looking at his watch again, he dismissed the idea of anything to read and walked silently on the thick pile of the carpet to the bathroom. Discarding his shoes, he pushed open the door and steam wafted out into the bedroom. Ignoring the vapor, he shrugged out of his shirt then his slacks. Finally he threw his socks and underwear in heap on the floor. Starsky was humming an off key version of a Beatles rock tune and didn’t seem to notice the invasion of his privacy. Hutch eased forward and shifted the shower curtain. Stepping over the side of the tub, he embraced Starsky who wasn’t startled but turned in his arms to give him a warm, wet hug. Then their mouths met in a brief fierce battle. Hutch acquiesced and let Starsky thrust his tongue in the taller man’s mouth. Running his hands up and down the silky back, Hutch pushed his lower body forward until it made contact with Starsky’s. Their hips met and began an age-old rhythm.
After basking in the gentle friction for long moments, he pulled away from the suction of Starsky’s mouth then reached for the soap and proceeded to lather-up his body while the other watched fascinated. In the crowded motel shower, he banged his elbows, but the expression on Starsky’s face was worth it when he soaped his genitals then provocatively stroked himself. Slowly and sensuously, he leaned into the spray to rinse the soap away. Starsky was already scuttling out of the shower and grabbing for towels, his cock bobbing up without any further stimulation. Stepping out on the bath mat, Hutch allowed himself to be swallowed in the huge, fluffy hotel towels.
Then Starsky shoved him out of the bathroom and over to the bed. Hutch dropped limply to the bed and fondled himself again. He pulled and rubbed his penis then lifted his legs slightly to rub the space between his balls and the entrance to his body. Then he pulled on his balls and moved back up to the weeping cock.
“Stop that!” Starsky hoarsely muttered as he turned away from the sight and went to the bags side-by-side on the luggage racks. He fumbled around in his shaving kit until he found the familiar blue and white tube. Hutch smiled at how charmingly enthusiastic his lover could be in these situations even after a couple of years. He watched the limp curls which dripped water down the beloved face. Starsky took a couple of swipes at the rivulets then with a small apologetic smile almost ran to the bathroom and to vigorously scrub at his hair with the discarded towel.
Returning from the bathroom, he was sporting an imposing hard-on which he took no pains to hide. Hutch grinned at the slim proud figure. He admired the tight ass which he had all the access to he ever needed. But tonight, he craved the domination of Starsky. He wanted to feel the power and masculinity in that compact body. Admiring the peacock-like strut, his smile widened as the other man approached the bed. Before Starsky could slide in beside him, he quit rubbing himself and leaned forward to kiss the hard manhood presented to him.
“Aaah, Hutch, don’t do too much of that or it’ll be all over too soon.” Starsky took a moment to set the KY lotion on the bedside stand under the lamp which he switched off.
Removing his mouth from Starsky’s member, he licked it quickly and said, “Never want to do that, Starsk.” Hutch possessively pulled Starsky down to the bed and both fell back into the smooth bedding.
Stroking still damp strands with one hand, he took his other hand and pulled Starsky down on top of him. Then he ran both hands up and down the rib cage before finally exploring along the spine to the clinched nether cheeks.
In the meantime, Starsky had reached between them to do kneading of his own. He was giving his attention to the neat small nipples which he alternately rubbed then pinched. Hutch groaned when Starsky finally turned his concentration to something larger and lower. Starsky squeezed and pulled until Hutch began to squirm and buck under the pressure.
“Turn over, love,” a hoarse whisper infiltrated Hutch’s consciousness. Feeling somewhat bereft as the weight lifted from his torso, Hutch immediately complied and raised himself to his knees then buried his head in the bulky pillows. He felt Starsky give loving attention to his thighs then move higher.
Starsky was kneeling behind him and leaning forward to lick and nibble at strategic spots on his legs then his buttocks. Next a well lubricated finger finally pierced his body. He clenched his hands deeply into the blanket as another finger followed the first. He allowed his body to relax and accept the intrusion. He tensed slightly when a third finger entered the tight opening. Starsky had felt the muscle spasm and waited quietly until it ceased. Then he slid his free hand around under Hutch and found the penis that wasn’t as hard as it had been. Using this hand, he massaged the organ back to its full stature.
Hutch found himself moving in rhythm with the stroking on his cock and the pumping of the hand in his ass. Noticing this, Starsky began to slowly remove his hand and reached for his own neglected cock which he had lubricated when he had his fingers. It felt somewhat dry so he reached for another large glob from the tube. He didn’t want Hutch to feel anything but pleasure in this coupling.
After smoothing the gel onto himself, Starsky rested from the inadvertent stimulation and stroked Hutch’s back. Then he carefully positioned himself, momentarily ignoring Hutch’s rampant manhood. Bracing himself against the bed, he lingeringly entered the relaxed, open ass. It took long moments before he was completely against the thin buttocks. There was a quick flash of a pain-induced spasm then Hutch was entirely open to him and ready.
Starsky began plundering the willing body. He thrust in and out in nearly punishing blows, finally remembering to reach around the slender hips and grasp the overlooked, weeping penis of the man beneath him. Feeling himself slipping to the edge of oblivion, he stopped and panted for a few minutes as Hutch shuddered then quieted his own reactions. Wanting to prolong this experience, he removed his hand from Hutch’s member and rested it soothingly on Hutch’s back. Then he leaned forward and kissed the damp neck.
“Okay, babe,” he whispered in Hutch’s ear.
“Oh, yeah…oh yes! Finish it, I’m dying, man!”
“Your wish is my command,” Starsky said as he began pumping into Hutch’s body. His hand snaked around to squeeze and torment Hutch’s cock. With completion in mind, it didn’t take long for Hutch to contract in orgasm, followed rapidly by Starsky.
As his body relaxed from the exhilaration of the previous moments, Starsky slid down to sprawl limply on Hutch’s back while Hutch slowly collapsed down onto the bed. Lethargically Starsky removed himself from Hutch’s body and slid over to one side of the bed. Neither had the energy to move for a long time. Then Hutch rose and made his way into the bathroom where he ran the water long enough to warm it and dampened a washcloth which he brought back to the bed.
Gently he cleaned the other man’s flaccid organ and tenderly dried it with a face towel. Then he absentmindedly scrubbed the emission from his hips and thighs while he admired the body spread before him. Starsky’s eyes were closed, and he was softly snoring. Hutch returned to the bathroom and ran more water over the washcloth. Returning to the bed, he stood over it for a few minutes waiting for Starsky to stir. When he didn’t, Hutch dropped the cold, wet cloth in a strategic spot. There was a mutter and mumble as Starsky jerked upright on the bed.
“Thought I was buying dinner tonight in Old Town,” Hutch said angelically.
“That was pretty crude way of waking a guy up,” Starsky whined with a twinkle in his eye. “And you are going to regret it tonight when I eat the place out of business and you get the bill.”
Hutch smiled and walked back to the bathroom where he began gathering up his own underwear which he put in the dirty clothes bag before grabbing fresh out of his suitcase. Eventually Starsky got up from the bed and rummaged in his stuff to find soft, worn jeans and a garishly-printed cotton shirt.
Ignoring his partner, Hutch, took out his own blue slacks and a much quieter shirt. He made no comment about the costume his mate was putting on. He knew that Starsky was trying to get a reaction out of him. Slipping his own feet into loafers, he watched Starsky work the knots out his laces on the tennis shoes he always wore. Obviously he had heeled them off before going in for his shower and was paying for it now. Still not saying anything, Hutch went to the night stand and retrieved his watch, change, and billfold which he stored away in his pockets. As he started for the door, he was ambushed by his partner and grabbed into a large, gentle bear hug.
“Wonderful loving tonight, Blondie,” was spoken with quiet sincerity in his ear.
Returning the embrace as enthusiastically, he answered, “Great for me, too. Now let’s go eat. I have worked up quite an appetite.”
“Me, too!” Starsky answered in a more normal tone of voice. Together they exited the hotel and made their way down the stairs and out into the now dusky twilight. They were no longer early for dinner. The heat from the New Mexico day was dissipating in ruddy twilight with a blazing crimson disk settling over the desert horizon.
~~~
The two men slept late the next morning then made a leisurely breakfast and checked out of the hotel at nearly noon. They had enjoyed their stay at the hotel attached to the large shopping mall. Diamond Jim’s Restaurant and Bar had allowed them a place to unwind in quiet luxury the night before after the spicy Mexican food. The Gay Nineties décor had amused them both.
It was a quiet drive down Central that morning. Hutch sprawled loosely on the passenger side of the car, looking at the buildings that passed for skyscrapers in the desert. Nothing as impressive as the Sandia Peaks glowering down on the city. These rocky and nearly barren mountains towered over the city to the northeast. The growing city was starting to lap at their feet.
Starsky watched him covertly and gnawed on thoughts of what could be wrong with his partner. Had there been a problem last night? They’d been lovers too long for him to be exactly worried that he had been too rough or too gentle. But was Hutch tiring of the relationship? The thought suddenly really worried Starsky. He knew that occasionally his partner was a moody bastard, and this morning was one of them. He had had very little to say over brunch at the restaurant, and even less as they packed the car. He would have to have a long heart-to-heart with Hutch when they got back to Los Angeles.
Giving up on deciphering Hutch’s mood, Starsky concentrated on the mission at hand. It would require that they alternate the driving and probably the most direct route would have to be down Interstate 40. There wasn’t much in the way of civilization until Flagstaff, he thought.
All the red tape and paper work took nearly two hours so it was mid-afternoon when Starsky and Hutch finally left the police headquarters with their charge and began driving west out of the city. Slade had said nothing until they were leaving the city limits.
“You guys don’t understand. I didn’t kill that cop.”
“Shut up,” Hutch said in an uncharacteristically harsh voice. His mood hadn’t been improved by the run-around in Albuquerque Police Headquarters.
“But….”
“The man said to be quiet,” Starsky said as he wheeled the Torino out and around an orange van that seemed to labor climbing out of the river valley.
Slade leaned back and got as comfortable in his leg irons and handcuffs as possible. Starsky glanced again at Hutch who was leaning his head against the window frame. The air-conditioning in the Torino was straining in the afternoon heat. It wasn’t making much of dent in the atmosphere for the two passengers in the front seat facing the sun.
Grants and Gallop were finally behind them before the sun became bearable. And it was as if the last vestiges of civilization stopped when the sun began to dip low on the horizon.
“Man, I need to piss,” were the first words that they had heard out of their prisoner the entire afternoon. “When are ya gonna make a pit stop?” Starsky glanced at the gas gauge and saw that it was down to a quarter of a tank.
“We’ll stop at the next place we find,” he said and shifted in his seat. He had to admit that he was damned tired of driving and damned tired of the silence. He began to roll his shoulders up and down then around on the plastic seats. The seats were sticking to his damp shirt and causing him to itch even with the air-conditioning going full blast.
Hutch watched him through slitted lids then finally spoke, “Why don’t we stop and all take a break? I’ll drive and you can get some rest.”
Starsky nodded, glad that Hutch was coming out of his silent, bleak mood. He began looking for a likely spot to pull over. Likely spots were few and far between, he decided, when after two or three miles he came upon a lonely exit with a weathered sign that said a place called Chinle was miles away to the north. He signaled and pulled the car to the right and swept down the exit ramp. Pulling a few feet past the stop sign and up the barely improved dirt road, he stopped the Torino and turned the key. The silence of the car was deafening without the motor and the roar of the air conditioning fan. Starsky shifted and opened his door into the still stifling heat. Even though the sun was making its way down, the blazing orb reddened the western sky and the pavement gave off wave after wave of baking temperatures.
As he got out of the car, he said, “I’ll see if I can find a bush for our friend here.”
Hutch nodded and began doing some stretching exercises. Starsky turned to slide his seat forward and leaned in to help the prisoner out through the cramped space between the door jam and the forward leaning seat.
“Thanks, man. I’m about to burst.”
“Okay, okay. Let’s just get going.”
“Yeah, man. Yeah, man, I understand,” Slade said as Starsky checked his handcuffs.
“Shut up.”
Hutch walked around the car, “I’ll take him and you can do a little stretching. Makes you feel a hundred percent better.”
“Naw, I said I’d take him and I will.”
“Okay, I’ll walk up the road a bit and see what I can see then.”
“Yeah, you do that.”
Starsky started walking his prisoner toward the small gully that ran under the highway fifty yards or so back down the highway. He could see some lacy pinkish bushes that would serve for privacy. When they reached the wash, Starsky watched dispassionately as Slade opened his trousers and a long yellow stream ran quickly out of sight in the sand. Then Starsky took the opportunity to relieve himself, keeping a careful eye on his prisoner.
Slogging back up the incline, Starsky had to stop and occasionally help his prisoner who was off balance climbing with his hands cuffed together and the chains of his leg irons would often catch in the underbrush. Starsky was very careful to keep his gun out of reach of Slade. Finally the two of them topped the rise and began the much easier trek back to the car. Both doors of the Torino were still open; Starsky assumed that Hutch had left them open to keep it from becoming overheated inside. He glanced around. Hutch wasn’t anywhere in sight. That made him distinctly uneasy. He started to reach for his gun when he saw Hutch being shoved out from under the bridge. There was an arm around his throat and a revolver to his head.
“Don’t do that, Detective. However much I would enjoy shooting Blondie’s brains out, I just came for Eric.”
At that moment the pair came out of the lengthening shadows of the highway and Starsky saw his opponent. He looked back at Slade in wonder. It was his twin holding Hutch hostage yet it wasn’t quite right.
“Yes, I came for my brother.” The voice spoke again and Starsky knew–Slade had a twin sister. She was almost as tall as her brother with her hair cut the same way. She had the same lean, angular build with her head nearly even with Hutch’s.
“Erica, it worked like a charm,” Slade said as he sidled away from Starsky and toward the two still slowly moving farther out of the shade of the underpass.
“Get his handcuff keys and gun.”
“Yeah, we’ll need them,” Slade said as he turned back to Starsky standing with his hands well away from his body. Slade slid his hands into the tight jeans and found the key, then ran his hands over Starsky’s butt. Starsky flinched in spite of himself. “Cop’s got a nice tight ass, Erica.”
“Not now. We’ve got to cover our tracks.”
Slade began unlocking his cuffs and leg irons. Then he rubbed his wrists as he stood up. Suddenly he looked taller and less gaunt.
“Let’s go, pig,” he said, grabbing Starsky’s gun from the shoulder holster and shoving the detective to hurry his slow movement. Watching Hutch’s sweating face, Starsky didn’t struggle as his hands were yanked behind him; he felt a measure of fear as he heard the cuffs click around his wrists. Taking up his leg irons, Slade walked back toward his sister and Hutch.
“No need for those right now,” she said as she backed away from Hutch and slammed him with the barrel of her revolver. Starsky yelped and started to rush to Hutch as his partner slumped to the gravel covered tarmac. She turned her gun on him and stepped forward.
“Stop right there, pig.”
“You bitch,” Starsky said as he stumbled to a stop studying his partner crumpled on the ground. Hutch’s eyes fluttered then he rolled on his back and seemed to pass out completely. Slade walked over and casually kicked him in the side.
“Pretty boy doesn’t seem so tough now. Can I keep him for a while? You know how I like blonds.”
“Only if I get to keep curly here,” Erica answered with a laugh. “Yeah, we’ll have a bit of fun then get on to Denver.” Starsky was a bit chilled by her maniacal laughter. Slade seemed fairly normal, but Erica looked anything but normal and sounded really weird.
“Get the van, Eric. It’s down that road a little way.” She gestured with her chin toward the dirt track disappearing into the desert.
Starsky watched as Slade trotted under the highway and disappeared. He edged closer to Hutch, trying to see if he was conscious and faking it. Erica watched him then went over and nudged Hutch with her booted foot. He moaned and rolled away. He wasn’t completely unconscious, but neither was he in any fit state to help if Starsky could make a move on the woman. As if reading his mind, she turned her gun on him and backed a short distance toward the Torino.
“On your face, pig,” she said, gesturing with the gun. As he hesitated she turned the revolver toward Hutch. “I could put a bullet in him now and save us a lot of trouble–or we could wait a while and see what happens.” She looked back at Starsky who was still on his feet, “I said on your face, pig. I mean it. You have ten seconds or I start putting bullets in your pretty partner here.”
In resignation Starsky dropped slowly to his knees and started to fall onto the pavement. He felt the gravel biting into his legs almost immediately then began to sink slowly toward the ground.
“That’s far enough. I think I like you on your knees,” Erica said, smiling as she sauntered forward. She ran her gun through his hair then down the line of his strong jaw. “Yes, I think you’d make somebody a lovely play toy. What do you think, pig?” Starsky didn’t answer through his clenched jaw; probably Erica didn’t expect an answer, either.
Pebbles were continuing to cut into his knees through the heavy denim, but Starsky didn’t move or say anything, not wanting to give Erica the satisfaction of his discomfort. It wasn’t long before the orange van came roaring through the underpass, barely skirting Hutch’s still form. Starsky took a deep breath and started to shift then, but the gun barrel at the back of his neck short-circuited any movement.
Slade jumped out of the van and opened the rear doors. He then began dragging Hutch toward the cargo area. He was stronger than he looked as he lifted the limp form onto the floor of the van and slammed the doors closed.
“You follow in the van. Curly and I will go in that lovely Torino. We need to dump it as soon as possible. I think I found a spot not far from here.” Prodding Starsky in the back of the neck, she said, “On your feet, pig. Walk quietly and carefully over to your car. Make any funny moves and I’ll put you to sleep like your partner.” Starsky stiffly and awkwardly struggled to his feet, off balance from having his hands cuffed behind him. He gingerly walked toward his car.
“Now, crawl in on the floor under the dash.”
“I don’t think I’ll fit, ma’am,” Starsky said with slight sarcasm, walking around to the passenger side. At the moment it was all the defense he had.
“You’d better fit or I’ll shoot something vital off to make you fit,” Erica said, pushing him to his knees beside the car. “Get in there.”
Clumsily, he tried to lift his knees into the space under the dash. Erica reached down and grabbed him by the belt and lifted him up. It was a struggle, but he ended up with his legs under the dash and his head and shoulders on the front seat. Then she walked around the car to the driver’s side and got in. His legs began immediately cramping, but he ignored it as he was completely entranced by Erica. Uneasily he watched her remove her narrow leather belt and then lean toward him. He was completely unnerved when she looped it over his neck then tightened it firmly against his Adam’s apple.
“Now, pig,” she said as she slid under the steering wheel and grabbing the end of the belt. “One wrong move while I’m driving and you strangle.” She yanked on the belt to make sure it was firmly seated. It was more than firmly seated; it was cutting into Starsky’s supply of air. He gasped which drew a smile from her then she reached out and patted him on the head. “Yeah, we’re going to get along fine. You’ll make a lovely pet for a while, sweetie.”
Holding lightly to the belt, she turned the key in the ignition and threw the car into gear. Spinning its tires on the gravel, the Torino lunged and stalled. Cursing, Erica restarted the motor a little more sedately. Once the Torino was moving, she made a U-turn out through the gravel shoulder and went back through the underpass, down a faint dirt road, steadily picking up speed. Starsky assumed that the van was behind them, but he was mainly concentrating on getting enough air into his lungs so he wouldn’t pass out. Every time the car hit a patch of washboard the belt drew a little tighter. Occasionally Erica would look over at him and smile. Once she slowed and reached for the tight band around his throat to loosen it ever so slightly. For even that small respite, Starsky was grateful and slumped down on the seat, trying not to be any kind of menace to the woman driving his car.
Then the road became nonexistent and even rougher. Erica had her hands full keeping the Torino moving through the brush and shifting ground under the car. Eventually she had to drop the belt as the road turned into a rough, dirt track; Starsky was too cramped and short of breath to take any advantage of it. Finally the abused Torino ground to a halt, and Erica got out of the car. Starsky heard the van pulling up and coming to halt somewhere out of his sight.
Erica opened the door on his side and gestured for him to get out. She tugged on his leash. He struggled trying to cooperate, not wanting the belt pulled any tighter. She saw his futile efforts and tugged a bit more on the belt just for the fun of it. He was breathing harshly by the time Slade walked over.
“Help me get this pig out of the car,” she said, yanking the belt once more for good measure. Slade grabbed Starsky and pulled him out by his upper arms then dropped him face down on the desert floor, his tingling feet and legs still in the car. Taking hold of Starsky’s belt and shirt collar, Slade set him on his feet. Starsky swayed precariously then staggered to catch his balance on nearly numb feet. Slade deliberately tripped him, causing him to fall heavily to his face, nearly hitting a prickly pear. Rolling on his side, he spit bits of sand from his lips.
“Quit messing around. Get him in the van. Then help me with this damned car.”
Slade again seized Starsky’s belt and Erica’s belt collar to pull him to his feet. Then with one hand on the leash and the other in the middle of Starsky’s back he roughly guided the detective to the back doors of the van. Holding onto the make-shift leash, Slade opened the double doors. Hutch was bound with heavy ropes to the left side of the van. Unceremoniously Slade thrust Starsky in beside his still unconscious partner. Slade crouched down as he stepped into the van and made Starsky fast to one of the support struts on the side of the truck. Taking a bit of pity on the prisoner, Slade loosened the belt on Starsky’s neck slightly. The interior of the van was darkening quickly as the sun set. Starsky tried to get somewhat closer to Hutch, but his hands were tightly fastened to the steel slats that supported the outer skin of the van. He could listen to the even and regular breathing of Hutch and that reassured him a little. He was concerned because the man had been out for such a long time. But perhaps it had only seemed a long time to him. He hoped that was the case.
He heard the Torino fire up and then the tires spin in the gravel. He grieved slightly for the mistreatment of his car, but his main concern was still Hutch. There was a loud engine whine and then a rush of tires through the sand. The sound became more distant then finally ceased. He assumed that they hadn’t driven the Ford that far away, but only shut down the motor. He lay for what seemed like hours with his wrists getting steadily more paralyzed while the van became darker and darker as the sun finally disappeared from the sky.
Crunching of gravel under booted feet alerted him that his captors had returned. Then he heard the doors at the front of the van open. A dim interior light showed Slade sliding into the driver’s seat with Erica getting in the passenger door. Holding the door open, she pulled her seat forward and came into the cargo area. She checked Starsky’s bonds and nodded, then she slipped her belt off over his head and tossed it over the front seat. She prodded Hutch, only to receive a moan.
“I think he’s hurt bad. Could you drop him off somewhere where he’ll be found? I won’t give you any trouble, please.” Starsky hated pleading with the woman, but couldn’t help himself where Hutch was concerned.
“He’s okay. Only gave him a little tap on the head. He’ll be fine. Eric wants his company and what Eric wants, Eric gets. Remember that, pig.” She began backing out of the rear of the van and then stepped into the front seat.
“Let’s get out of here,” she said to Slade who started the motor and put the heavy truck transmission in gear with a slight grinding since he didn’t bother to depress the clutch far enough.
“Careful with this thing. I paid a lot money to get it modified so it could keep up with that damned Torino.”
“Okay, sis. I thought this thing was hotter than it should be.”
The van lurched forward and began rolling over the uneven ground. Starsky found the motion excruciating as occasionally he inadvertently tugged on his now swollen wrists. However, it was unavoidable since he had absolutely nothing to get a purchase on. The floor of the van was slick, unforgiving metal. His jeans slid easily on the surface. He tried bracing his shoulders on the wall, but the spars that made up the unfinished wall only poked him unmercifully. He made the best of it, having no other choice until the van was on the relatively smooth highway a long time later. He had long since lost his sense of direction even if he could have seen outside and tried to get his bearings. He just knew that they were no longer roaming the desert but headed somewhere on a highway. Then he remembered something about these two going to Denver. So probably they were driving back toward Albuquerque.
Surprising himself, Starsky fell asleep during the drive. Occasional jostles woke him as Slade slowed, made turns, then finally stopped. The vehicle wasn’t still long. Only long enough for the two to change drivers before resuming their trip with their unwilling passengers.
During one of the stops, Slade came back and freed Starsky from the side of the van, saying, “Since you stopped once to let me piss, I’m going to return the favor.” And Starsky was grateful for the slight kindness. It was humiliating for Starsky to have Slade open his jeans, take him out, and point. Then Slade tucked him away with a light pat that was almost a promise which Starsky didn’t want to speculate on. Another positive to the pit stop was that this time Slade spared himself crawling up inside the van and only fastened one of Starsky’s ankles to the side of the van and didn’t bother tying his hands to the support bar. It gave Starsky a little leeway to scoot nearer Hutch and more ways to brace himself against the swaying and jouncing of the truck.
Just as the interior of the van was getting lighter, Hutch moaned and struggled against his bonds. His eyes opened blearily and blankly surveyed his surroundings.
“Easy, Hutch,” Starsky whispered. “We’re in the back of the Slades’ van. Prisoners.”
“Slades?”
“You remember the prisoner we picked up in Albuquerque? Remember his sister ambushing us at the Chinle interchange?”
“Oh yeah, I had hoped the last part was some kind of a bad dream.” Hutch slumped back against the opposite wall the best he could.
“Sleeping beauty is awake,” Erica called, leaning over the back of her seat. She was once more riding as Slade drove. “Hang in there, sweetie. We’ll get you out of there in a little while.”
“How d’ya feel, buddy?” Starsky questioned.
“I got a terrible headache, but nothing seems broken,” Hutch answered, rolling his head and neck around in as near a circle as he could.
Starsky could see a thick swelling along the hairline on Hutch’s temple. He was maddened again at the risk Erica took hitting Hutch there. That was the thinnest place on the skull, he thought. Hutch’s cheek-bone was purplish and swelling so it had probably inadvertently taken the brunt of the blow. Thank God for thick cheek bones, Starsky thought.
“I’m hungry, Erica.”
“Yeah, we should be coming to a town shortly. We’ll stop at a diner if there’s one open this early.”
“We missed supper and those sandwiches we had in that gully ran out hours ago.”
“Quit complaining. I’m doing the best I can. We’ll get supplies in the next town where something is open. You know how these hick places are,” Erica’s voice was harsh.
“Okay, okay.”
The van’s tires whispered against the roadway for a long interval before a few lights flashed through the cargo compartment housing the prisoners. There was a sharp turn which threw Starsky against the cuffs holding him. He nearly groaned as the truck lurched to a stop under a flickering neon sign.
“There’s a place with an open sign,” Erica said and leaned forward to point off to the right.
“Yeah, Mom’s Home Cookin’. Sounds good to me.”
“Mom was an awful cook if you remember,” Erica mentioned as the van swung into a well-lit parking lot. Starsky could see a few pick-ups in the lot when Eric opened his door, but it didn’t look especially busy as it shouldn’t be at this time of day.
Leaning over her seat, Erica looked at the rumpled prisoners on the floor. She opened her door and slid out. Pulling the seat forward, she was then able to get into the back compartment. She fiddled with a metal box on the floor behind the driver’s seat then took out a heavy roll of white bandage tape. Taking out some gauze, she began to wad it up into two nice white balls. Moving to Starsky first, she clutched his lower jaw and forced his mouth open. He gurgled a bit as she shoved the gauze in. Then she sealed his lips with the wide tape. Before the gag, his mouth had felt stuffed with cotton. Now it literally was, and it was worse than he had imagined. There was so little saliva that he could hardly manage the gauze without choking. Not caring about his distress, she moved over and began the same operation on Hutch.
Rocking back on her heels, she observed her handiwork. “Still got those leg irons, Eric?”
“Yeah, they’re under one of the seats.”
She reached around and finally pulled out the chains and locks. Taking the handcuff key from her pocket, she opened the locks, making sure everything worked. Then she scooted down the length of the van and attached the chains to each Starsky’s legs then shortened the chains to their shortest length. When that was done to her satisfaction, she fastened the waistband to the steel struts in the walls of the van. Sliding up once more to Starsky’s head, she took more of the tape and affixed Starsky’s hands to the wall of the van so that he was tied firmly with little latitude.
Then she settled back against the driver’s seat and took her gun from her pocket. “You go get us something to eat, Eric. I’ll babysit. If our babies are especially nice, I might let them have something to drink. They don’t eat just yet. They have to earn the privilege. But get about five gallons of water; we’re going to need it when it gets light where we’re going. There’s skins to put the water in under the driver’s seat.” Eric felt around under his seat and found two large wineskin-like containers. They were shaped like the Middle Eastern goat skins used for carrying wine, but were designed for hikers who need to carry water. There was a cord for carrying and a plastic cork to seal the neck of each one.
“Okay.”
“You fixed all right for money?”
“Yeah, I’ve got Detective Hutchinson’s wallet and all his cash.”
“Good, don’t flash that shield around, though. Someone may have already missed them. We don’t want any nosy local cop figuring out you ain’t a Los Angeles cop.”
“I’m not that dumb, Erica.”
“I know you’re not, sweetie. I just wanted to remind you. Sometimes you’re a bit careless, though.”
“Okay, okay. Shit, even my own sister doesn’t trust me.”
“I trust you, baby. Just go get us something to eat.”
“Right.”
The van shifted as Eric left and slammed his door causing a reverberation in Starsky’s aching skull. He was getting a splitting headache from bouncing around in the cargo hold and probably from dehydration as well. He hadn’t had anything since a Pepsi sometime yesterday afternoon. Hutch was probably in worse shape. His complexion was splotchy and he hadn’t said anything for a long time. Starsky was getting worried about concussions and dehydration. He had no idea what the combination would do to Hutch. He was looking forward to a drink.
He jerked when he felt a hand on his head which slipped down his neck to his chest. Erica had put away her gun and slid down next to him. It was an indication of his misery that he hadn’t noticed. She was unbuttoning his shirt, baring his chest. He hadn’t put on an undershirt yesterday morning, thinking of the upcoming warm day. Now he wished fervently that he had. She was pulling his chest hair then rubbing a nipple. He shivered and flinched, but he had very little play in his bindings. She opened his shirt all the way to his waist and stroked his abdomen. He sucked in his breath, abdominal muscles rippling. Then taking both hands, she began to work on his belt and the snap of his jeans. He tried to pull away from the invasion of his person, but again his bonds kept him from avoiding it.
“Nice chest, Curly,” commented Erica. “Let’s see what else you have hidden. Eric got a look yesterday, but I didn’t.”
She lowered his zipper and slipped her hand into his shorts. His genitals would have shrunk back into his body cavity if that had been possible. One hand went back to his chest while the other pulled his cock out of his jeans. She squeezed it while her other hand pinched his nipple. He was groaning beneath the gag.
Then taking both hands free, she stood up on her knees, grabbed the loosened slacks, and yanked them down to his thighs, exposing him to her avid gaze. He would have given most anything at that moment for her to go away. But she didn’t. She bent her head down and nuzzled his pubic hair while reaching with one hand to his chest. Then she took his manhood into her mouth and began sucking. He had no reaction–he simply wasn’t capable at the moment. In his dehydrated and exhausted condition, he probably couldn’t have got it up for Marilyn Monroe, let alone this bitch who had kidnapped him.
She pulled back and grinned at him. “You’ll learn one of these days, Curly. I have a lot of lessons to teach you.” Then she patted his exposed body and unexpectedly viciously squeezed his balls. He stifled a whimper behind the gag. “I’ll want to hear all the sounds you make, but I can’t until we get where we’re going. You’ll love it.”
The door of the van opened and Eric looked into the back. “Aah, sis, I thought you’d wait for me.” He settled a large bag over the seat near Starsky’s head.
“Oh, I’m waiting for you, dear. I just wanted a little bitty preview,” she commented, turning her head back to her victim. “He’s luscious, just luscious. I’m going to enjoy him a lot.”
“Yeah, maybe I deserve a little peek at Blondie.”
“Yeah, I suppose you do, but wait until we’ve eaten and gotten on the road. You can water them while I drive, too. I don’t want to lose them too soon, you understand.”
Taking a sandwich from Eric, she munched contentedly and scrutinized Starsky spread on the floor before her. Once in a while she would stroke his face, chest or genitals. She drank her coffee while she carded her fingers through his pubic bush. Then she dribbled a little of the cooling coffee on his belly and licked it off. Starsky had long since shut his eyes and tried to turn off his nerve endings–he wasn’t having much luck.
He looked over her head to see the horrified stare of his partner. Hutch caught his eye and nodded encouragement then winked. It was all he could do for Starsky, but it was enough. Starsky grimaced and nearly wept, knowing that Hutch was watching his humiliation. He turned his head away and squeezed his eyes shut.
Eric started up the van and guided it out of the parking lot. It was long moments before Erica stopped her ministrations to Starsky. She leaned back against the seat and continued to look at him rather hungrily, Starsky thought.
~~~
The van lurched off the highway and came to a stop. Eric killed the engine and popped open his door, slid out, and stretched.
“My turn, Sis.”
“Yeah, I’ll drive for a while.” She pushed the seat out of her way and reached for the door handle on her side. After the door came open, she walked out in a crouch and made way for Eric to get into her spot. Starsky could hear her walking around to the open driver’s door. She got in and slammed it, jarring his head again.
“Take out their gags and give them a drink. Then you can play till we get to a town with something open. We need more stuff. I got the cabin partially stocked, but the extradition came down sooner than I had planned. And of course, I had to waste time keeping track of our would-be guests.”
She started the motor while Eric leaned over and ripped the tape off Starsky’s mouth. He winced as some beard and skin went with it. His tongue worked furiously to spit out the damp gauze.
Eric fiddled in the sack above his head then brought a mug up to his lips. He drank thirstily as long as Eric would allow it. It was ambrosia of the Gods–actually only water.
Then the man did the same with Hutch. Hutch brightened up with the drink. The color in his face evened out slightly and he no longer looked so dazed. He shifted the little that he could then sighed and leaned back against the rough side of the truck. Looking over at Starsky, he winked and shut his eyes. He was feeling better and so was Starsky now.
Eric watched him then began rummaging through the metal box where the gauze and tape came from.
“Oh good, Sis. You brought the toy box!”
“You know I wouldn’t leave home without our toy box. But you can’t use any of the toys until we get to the cabin.”
“Aaw, Sis. Just a few please.”
“No, love. I know how you are. We need someplace private and I have found that.”
“Okay, okay,” Eric conceded to his sister.
Reluctantly Eric closed the box and turned his attention to Hutch. He shuffled toward the bound man. Then he leaned closer and kissed Hutch on the lips. Hutch’s head tried to turn away, but Eric held his face firmly in his hands. Hutch clamped his mouth shut, but that didn’t deter Eric. Eric’s one hand held the blond stubbled jaw while his other hand dipped downward. He reached into the wrinkled shirt. Without the delicacy of his sister, he simply ripped the buttons off and fondled the bare skin he found. Raising his head up, Eric slapped Hutch on the cheek.
“Open your mouth,” he snarled. Hutch simply stared at him, not giving him the satisfaction of a reaction. Eric smiled briefly and said, “If that’s how you want to be, fine.”
He scooted down the lank frame and undid Hutch’s belt then the button and zipper of the once neatly pressed trousers.
“I wouldn’t get too rough down there, you might get something you don’t want all over you.”
“What?”
“As you so elegantly put it yesterday, I need to piss.”
“Oh yeah,” Eric moved back to the front of the truck. He reached under one of the seats and brought out an empty beer bottle. Clutching various parts of the van, he walked back to Hutch in a crouch, carrying the bottle.
“All right. You can piss in this.”
Kneeling, he finished undoing the closures of the Hutch’s pants. He reached in and took out Hutch’s limp penis. Starsky watched his partner shut his eyes and grimace. He knew exactly how he felt.
Eric held Hutch’s penis to the neck of the bottle. “All right, copper. Fire away.”
It took long moments for Hutch to relieve himself, but Starsky could see that even the indignity of pissing in a beer bottle had been worth it. Hutch almost smiled when Eric turned back to the front of the van. He handed the bottle over the seat to Erica who simply tossed it out on the pavement. Starsky thought momentarily of a cop car pulling them over for littering. It was a lovely thought, but unrealistic in this sparsely inhabited area.
Eric came back to Hutch and finished pulling his trousers down. Starsky wasn’t surprised when Eric pinched, pulled and tugged on various portions of his lover’s anatomy. Hutch seemed resigned to the insults to his person. He closed his eyes and didn’t react even when Eric squeezed his balls tightly. Eventually Eric tired of his play with the unresponsive blond. He leaned against the front seats and glared at Hutch, his expression promising revenge.
“Gag them again,” Erica said over her shoulder. “There’s a town coming up in three miles. It should be late enough now that we can get the rest of what we need for the cabin.”
“With pleasure, Sis.”
Eric went through all the motions that his sister had earlier in the day. He checked their bindings and then lithely crawled over the top of the seats into the cab.
“Did you bring all of the equipment? I think it may take a while with Blondie.”
“Yes, dear. All of Mommy’s stuff and what I’ve added to it. Those were the first things I packed when I learned you’d been picked up. I could only hope that these two would be the ones to come for you. And we got lucky. Yeah, brother, we got real lucky.”
The small town was open and busy when the van wandered down the main street. There were many pick-ups and larger trucks lining the street plus automobiles in various states of disrepair. Finally Erica pulled over under an aging elm tree.
“I saw a hardware store back there. They should have the sleeping bags and other stuff. You baby-sit this time and I’ll not be gone long. Don’t let them make any sound. Curly is very cooperative if you squeeze his balls a few times,” she laughed as she exited the vehicle.
Eric slid over the top of the seat and perched between the two captives. He leaned forward and grabbed the genitals of both cops. “Now, you heard Erica. Not one sound. You even twitch and I may tear off your nuts for the fun of it. What we want from you two doesn’t require balls.” He paused and looked at Starsky, “You may think that Erica wants that from you–she doesn’t.”
Starsky was puzzled by Eric’s comments, but couldn’t say anything. His mouth was dry again and not at all helped by the gag. He started to shift slightly because a bolt was digging into his bare backside, but a warning tweak by Eric stilled his movement.
It was a long hour and by the time Erica came back Eric had started to get cute. He tugged on the vulnerable appendages and squeezed for no reason except his own pleasure at seeing one or the other of them wince. Finally he reached into the mysterious metal box and began removing some things that Starsky didn’t recognize at the moment. At the bottom of the box, he came up triumphantly with a small harness. He carried it to Hutch and fitted it to his balls and cock. It stretched his balls painfully and separated them. Then Eric fitted a simple clothes pin to the end of Hutch’s penis. He smiled at his handiwork.
Now he turned his attention to Starsky. With apprehension Starsky watched Eric fit some clothes pins to various portions of his anatomy. It wasn’t too bad. Yeah, they pinched, but quickly the area went numb. So he endured. He was startled when Eric fitted two more to his chest, but managed not to flinch. Again, the area went numb in a hurry. So he waited and wondered about the grinning face of Eric.
The driver’s door opened and a large sack came over the top of the seat then another and another. Eric took them as they came then shunted them off to the back of the cargo compartment.
Erica looked back at the Eric and his charges then grinned. “I knew you couldn’t resist something like that.”
Eric smiled and said, “Not much, yet. Haven’t tried much but it was boring sitting here holding their dicks in my hand so I thought I’d make it more interesting for all concerned.”
“Okay, leave them as they are. We need a snack. I saw a MacDonald’s at the end of the street. You go in and I’ll babysit.” Her smile this time gave Starsky a chill. Hutch was wiggling a bit trying to get comfortable. The small tight harness around his privates was giving him some grief Starsky could tell. Of course, Hutch would never complain. He would stoically endure, not trying to prove anything, but proving his strength all the same.
The wait for Eric to return with sandwiches was mercifully short and Erica did nothing but watch her charges, occasionally smiling. As Eric entered the truck, Erica reached for her sandwich and ate it with dispatch. Eric slurped loudly on his coke, making Starsky crave anything wet. But the gag was still in place and Erica didn’t seem in a rush to remove it. What she did start removing were the nearly forgotten clothes pins. It was a revelation to Starsky just how much a simple thing like a clothes pin could hurt. Then she rubbed the affected areas setting them on fire anew. She grinned.
She did the same to Hutch in turn. Hutch couldn’t help flinching when she removed the ball stretcher and tight cock ring. She got finally to the clothes pin about the time the van swayed onto the highway again. Starsky banged his head painfully on a metal bar and missed Hutch’s reaction to the clothes pin being taken off. But he didn’t have to see it, he knew from his own experiences that it must have been excruciating.
Leaving the gags in place this time, she deftly crawled over the seats and settled down with Eric. The day continued to grow hotter and the van had no air conditioning. The metal sides heated up and became painful to the bared torsos. Eventually despite his discomfort Starsky drifted into a haze of near sleep. He never quite lost awareness of the moving van, but dozed here and there.
~~~
Hutch woke from an uncomfortable sleep with a throbbing headache, cottony mouth and a smarting cheek. His whole face ached more than he thought possible. All of it was a legacy of the gun barrel slammed across his face by Erica. His hands and feet were past aching. It didn’t feel as if he had any hands and his feet were simply stubs at the end of his legs. Opening his eyes slowly, he registered his dozing partner with his jeans still around his knees. He realized that the cottony feeling in his mouth was from the gag that hadn’t been removed for hours. The pain in his face came from both the blow and the distortion caused by the gauze wadded up in his mouth.
The next thing he noticed was the sizzling heat on his own bare skin from the metal plates of the van’s floor. He tried to shift but the ropes that bound him allowed little freedom of movement. The truck was making a loud noise as its tires spun in loose gravel. Obviously the change in its rhythm had been what had woke him. He had been aware for quite a while that the vehicle was no longer on the highway, but on a dirt road with occasional washboards.
The van rocked forward and backward with the engine roaring. Erica, who was driving now, dropped the clutch over and over again while the motor labored.
“Sis, I thought you’d just been up here?” Eric questioned.
“I was up here four weeks ago getting our cabin ready. Then someone had the stupidity to get themselves arrested again.” She popped the clutch once more. The van rocked again and seemed to sink lower. “Get out, you idiot, and push!”
Without replying, Eric hurriedly complied with his sister’s orders. He left the door hanging open as he jumped to the ground and ran behind the van. Hutch could see scrub oak and pinon pines through the door. The van was sitting in a depression between a couple of low hills, Hutch thought. If he strained, he could see through the windshield and see mountains in the distance. He wasn’t sure if they were in New Mexico or Arizona or where. They had been driving long enough to be well out of the state. There was a time when he came to consciousness long enough to note that they were on a twisting, climbing highway. He thought they had probably crossed a mountain pass as his ears had told him that the air pressure had changed, thus the altitude had changed. He couldn’t be positive, though. The glimpse of the glittering blue sky that he had caught earlier convinced him that they were still somewhere in the region of New Mexico. He quit guessing as he heard Starsky shift. The oppressive heat was abating as the afternoon waned.
He looked over at the other man, as the van continued to rock back and forth as Erica shifted from reverse to first. He saw a question in the bruised blue eyes. He nodded, trying to confirm he was okay. Starsky seemed to relax somewhat.
Hutch regretted his mood from the previous day… Had it just been one day? Yes, he thought so. What he had been preoccupied with would be a moot point if they didn’t get out of this situation. Somehow, he would like to reassure Starsky, but wasn’t real sure how at the moment. Remembering the puzzled and nearly hurt looks from yesterday, he regretted his foul temper.
There was a screaming, grinding clank and other metallic noises from the motor then Erica cut the ignition, swearing under her breath.
“Shit, guess we walk from here,” she muttered.
“Jesus Christ, Sis, I think you blew a rod or something,” Eric said as he walked around the truck to her door.
“Well, I suppose you could have done better.”
“Maybe. I sure as shit wouldn’t have broke the motor. Now we’re stuck out here in the middle of nowhere.”
“Well, you can hike back to that little town we passed a little while ago and get something else.”
“I can walk back to town–who the hell caused the engine to blow up? Sure as shit wasn’t me.”
“I’m telling you–you’re walking back to that fucking town. I’ll take the pretty boys up to the cabin.” She started getting out of the truck, using the opening door to shove Eric out of her way. She turned and pushed the driver’s seat forward. “Help me get this stuff out of here. Our guests can play packhorse for me.”
Eric turned away and then Hutch heard him opening the double rear doors of the van. Eric reached in and began throwing out the bedrolls and other packages that he had stored there earlier.
Erica came into view with her gun in one hand while reaching into her jeans pocket with the other. She came up with the handcuff key which she tossed to Eric. “Get ’em outta there.”
Eric crawled into the van and leaned over Starsky first, uncuffing his hands. It might have been a moment to make a move, but Hutch was sure Starsky’s hands were as numb as his own. So he watched patiently as Eric freed Starsky’s feet then came toward him. He was freed by virtue of simply cutting his ropes. Eric backed out of the van and moved carefully out of the line of fire from his sister’s gun.
Starsky rubbed his wrists and did nothing else for long moments. Hutch’s own manipulations of his wrists was causing a throbbing then burning sensation as nerves began to come alive. He watched as Starsky yanked the tape off his mouth then rubbed his ankles before pulling up his pants and settling his clothes. Hutch stiffly mirrored his actions–gag then pants. Every bone in his body had its own ache. It was more of an effort than he wanted to admit. There was a red haze around the fringes of his vision.
“Quit messing around and get your butts out here,” Erica commanded, standing well back from the bumper.
Obediently, Starsky began scooting down toward the door. He staggered momentarily while finding his balance. Putting a hand out as he turned, he reached for Hutch who was painfully trying to stand.
Grabbing Starsky’s hand, Hutch squeezed it in quick reassurance. Starsky nodded and put his shoulder under Hutch’s to steady him. Holding each other was a heavenly moment in a nightmarish situation.
Erica had handed the gun over to her brother and was hurriedly loading two backpacks. Without caring about repercussions, Starsky staggered to the water bottles setting next to the nearly buried rear tire. He opened the cap and took a long swallow. Then he carried it back to Hutch. Hutch drank long and gratefully. Eric merely watched as the two men passed the water back and forth between them.
Erica raised her head, “That’s enough, you two. I don’t want you getting sick and puking all the way up to the cabin.”
Starsky nodded his understanding and recapped the pseudo wineskin. Hutch knew he felt a hundred percent better and thought his partner looked at least that much better.
Holding up a backpack, Erica walked toward Starsky, “Turn around.” Eric gestured with the gun and Starsky acquiesced. Both siblings were too alert for the moment. Starsky turned and held his arms back for the loops of the backpack. Erica let him settle it then gestured for him to tighten the straps himself which he did. She added the water bottle to his load then had Hutch put on the other backpack.
Once both were loaded she went into the back of the van and pulled out the handcuffs and leg irons. She put the cuffs on Starsky but with his hands in front of him this time. Then she fashioned handcuffs for Hutch out of the leg irons by putting the longer chain around his waist. Stepping back she admired her own handiwork for a few moments.
“All right,” she said, turning to her brother. “You’d better get started back to town and get whatever kind of transportation that you can beg, borrow, or steal. Then follow this track about two miles. There’ll be a big stump with a small sign on it, saying ‘For Sale.’ Turn left and follow the track a couple of miles. You should be able to see the cabin by then.”
Grumbling under his breath, Eric wheeled around and began walking back along the tracks the van made. He made a passing kick at a stone as he left.
“Pick something with more ground clearance than this van had,” Erica called out to his retreating figure. “There’s a lot of rough ground between here and the cabin.”
Stopping and looking rebelliously back at his sister, “Yeah, sure–work miracles, Eric.” Then he kicked another rock in her direction before he started his hike once more.
She grinned at his attempt of rebelliousness then turned her attention back to the two prisoners. “Let’s get started, guys.”
“How about something to eat?” Starsky said. “We haven’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours.”
“Nothing to eat until we get to the cabin. I said you’d have to earn your supper–hadn’t planned on it being this way.” She smiled coldly then raised the revolver. “Move, now.”
Shrugging, Starsky turned and began walking up the trail. Hutch moved along beside him. Hutch noticed that Starsky had his fists clenched in frustration, but admired his restraint. He was usually notably lacking in it. He and Hutch walked together amicably followed by Erica. Hutch would have preferred to slip his hands under the shoulder straps of the backpack, but the way his hands were bound to his waist, it wasn’t possible. He thought that Starsky was having the same difficulty.
When the terrain started to roughen, it became harder to keep his equilibrium without being able to balance with his hands. Starsky started walking closer to him. The road was still wide enough for them to walk together. When Hutch stumbled again, Starsky leaned into him, helping him regain his feet. As he was steadying him, he whispered, “Next time fall and twist your ankle–be ready.” Hutch nodded, wondering what Starsky had in mind. Anything would be better than getting to the cabin and being confined again. He would choose his spot carefully. He had thought Starsky must have something up his sleeve when he was so agreeable to the backpack and no food. His partner not fighting for something to eat was not normal.
They both walked on with Hutch taking care not to stumble again too soon. He wanted to lull Erica into complacency. The ground was rugged with many large rocks and boulders barring their way. He was careful to step around them.
As the daylight started to fade, he found the spot. It was a steep incline, lined with rocks and a lot of the scrub oaks and pinon pines. He merely glanced at his partner, confident that Starsky would get his message. Looking for just the right stone, he stumbled and fell with an uncharacteristic curse. Starsky started toward him with concern in his eyes. He nearly winked then it dawned on him it was part of the plan.
Erica shoved past Starsky and said, “Get up, you bastard.”
Hutch moaned, “I think I’ve broken my ankle. I felt something snap.” He started writhing on the ground. It was all the distraction that Starsky needed. The dark-haired cop swung both his cuffed hands at her head. She heard or felt the motion and started to turn toward him. She received the brunt of his blow on her cheek and nose. Blood spurted from her broken nose as she yelped and fell back on Hutch. He grunted with the impact of her solid frame on his legs. In the moments while she was lying on the ground, whimpering and dazed, Starsky freed his hands, dropped backpack then was grappling with her for the gun. She wasn’t completely unconscious, but stunned enough for him to knock the gun from her grasp. He stood back and used his foot to push her off his partner’s body. She groaned and reached for her face. Starsky kicked the fallen gun off into the sage bushes beside the rutted road, while he recovered the dropped handcuff key. He still had a use for that.
Then Starsky leaned down, picked up the handcuffs, and grabbed her hands. He slid the cuff over her right wrist then roughly dragged her to her feet and shoved her toward a scrub oak. He efficiently cuffed her to a high branch without any consideration. He wasn’t concerned about her comfort; she had had precious little for theirs all this time. Then he rushed back to Hutch who was still bent nearly double and clutching his ankle.
“I hope you’re still faking it.”
“Not entirely. Too much method acting, I guess. I seem to have twisted it a little.” Hutch paused, sweat breaking out on his forehead. “All this excitement has made me light-headed, I think.”
Starsky went back to his abandoned backpack. He grabbed the water bottle and hurried over to his partner who was paler than normal. He held the water to Hutch’s lips while the other man drank thirstily. When Hutch had finished, Starsky took long gulps to partially quell his own thirst. Setting the bottle down carefully, he reached into his jeans and produced a handcuff key which he put to use opening the leg irons confining Hutch’s hands. He smiled at his partner and ruffled the sweat-dampened blond hair. Then he wasted a few minutes simply sitting beside Hutch and holding him in a frantic embrace, covering his face with soft kisses.
“Where’d you get the key?” Hutch questioned while he allowed himself a moment to relax in Starsky’s arms.
“Remember the hideout key I used to carry. Decided that traveling with a killer, it was a good idea to start it again. Hid it in my sock. Couldn’t get to it until we were released in the van.”
Hutch remembered Starsky’s clenched fists… fists, he thought were clenched in frustration, one of which had in actuality held the handcuff key. Shifting in the welcome caress, he began to get up.
“Help me. I need to try my ankle out. I imagine it’s a long way to civilization.”
“Yeah, it’s been hours. And I wonder where Eric is. He might have found transportation by now.”
Slipping out of his shoulder straps, Hutch seized Starsky’s outstretched hand. He pulled himself up, noticing another red haze in his vision. He stepped gingerly on his foot and found it painful, but not excruciating. He could walk. He wasn’t sure how far. Dizziness hit him as he took another step, then staggered, reaching for Starsky almost groping blindly. Starsky led Hutch to a large boulder between two pinon pines.
“Put your head down between your knees,” he said to the blond. Knowing Starsky was right, Hutch nodded and dropped his head. Starsky stood beside him and rubbed his shoulders and neck while he worried about what to do next. “We’ll rest a bit before we try to find our way out of this place.” Starsky glanced back at Erica. She was slumped in the branches of the scrub tree. It didn’t look exactly comfortable, but he had little sympathy.
After retrieving the gun he had kicked away, he looked at it in disgust. It was a snub-nosed .38 special revolver–a lady’s purse gun or an officer’s hideaway gun. Checking the cylinder, he found it only contained four shells. He would never have thought of Erica of being the safety conscious-type, but obviously she was. Double action revolvers didn’t usually go off if dropped or banged when the hammer rested on a live cartridge so the safety precaution wasn’t really necessary. He tucked the small gun in his holster which nearly swallowed it. He walked back to the tree and looked at the woman dispassionately. Making a decision, he resolutely turned away.
Hutch was on his feet when Starsky came back, carrying both backpacks and the water bottles. He grimaced at the level of the water then set the packs down on the hard roadway. He began sorting through the assembled goods. There were down sleeping bags which he put to one side. Then he found some dried rations, some cellophane wrapped jerky, and cooking utensils. He made two piles. He kept the one rather dull pocket knife, the dried food, the jerky, and a sleeping bag. These he put on one backpack along with all the water. The rest of the supplies he decided they wouldn’t need. He looked for another weapon amongst all the stuff, but didn’t find any. He thought that Eric had his police special. He hadn’t seen Hutch’s gun since the kidnapping. There was a chance there might be more weapons in the van even though he hadn’t noticed any. He hadn’t been in a position to give the van much of a search even with his eyes.
He looked over at Erica. He walked back to her and began searching her person. He didn’t find any more weapons or even any ammunition for the .38. So he concluded, Eric definitely had the other hand gun.
When he walked back to the boulder, Hutch was trying to put on the backpack. “Forget that, Hutch. I’m wearing it first. You can relieve me later.” He handed over the gun for Hutch to hold while he struggled into the metal frame of the backpack. Then taking the gun from his partner, he tried putting in his own shoulder holster and found it wasn’t practical and the straps interfered with each other. Not liking it but not seeing any way around it, he shoved the gun under his belt where he could reach it easily with his left hand. The gun was unfamiliar and he wished for his own familiar weapon. It was better than nothing, however.
Damn, he was uncomfortable having only a toy gun for protection with Eric still on the loose. He’d had thoughts of ambushing Eric when he came back–probably not a good idea now, he thought, scrutinizing Hutch and considering his fire power, or lack thereof. Best to get the fuck out of here and worry about catching the bad guys when Hutch was safe. If there were other guns and ammo in the van, he’d rethink the ambush thing. Besides, the more he watched Hutch, the more he thought it would be best to get him to a hospital as quickly as possible.
“Whaddya think? Follow the road back or cut across country?” Starsky asked, having already made up his mind.
“Better stick with the road. It must go somewhere. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t the faintest idea where we are or how to get someplace.” Hutch began limping down the road between the ruts then stopped and looked at Erica. “Should we just leave her there?” Starsky followed, scanning the horizon with trepidation.
“Yeah. I don’t want to try and watch her and watch out for her brother. She should be all right.” Starsky shifted the pack to a more comfortable position and started to follow his partner. “Actually I don’t really care.”
Gazing at the lowering sun, Hutch nodded and said, “Eric might be on his way back any time.”
“We’ll just have to keep a sharp eye out–and speaking of a sharp eye,” Starsky pointed to a column of dust coming up the trail toward them. It was barely visible in the lengthening shadows of twilight.
“Damn, looks like we’d better cut across country,” Hutch said, starting to duck between the thick, stunted trees. Starsky followed suit.
“It could be someone else,” he said, following the limping blond.
“Do you really think so?”
“Naw, keep going. Let’s put as much distance between him and us as possible.” So much for checking out the van. Eric was between them and the van.
“We could ambush him?” Hutch countered. “He wouldn’t be expecting it.”
“Possibly, but you’re not going to be much good in a fire-fight. I don’t think you could lick a sick kitten. And I don’t have enough ammunition for this gun to feel comfortable doing it alone. Let’s simply get the hell out of here for now.” He was futilely wishing for a handful of speed loaders.
“Right. We’ll find a place to rest up and then send for the 7th cavalry.” Hutch knew he wasn’t going to last long. His head was killing him and the dizziness was back. He wanted to get as much space between them and the Slades as possible before he passed out.
The thick cover of the pinon pines and scrub oak would hide them for quite a while. He didn’t know if the two Slades would follow them or not. Both men were puffing as dusk began to fade into night with twinkling stars appearing in the crystal clear atmosphere. Hutch was never sure how far he had gone when a large wall of darkness overtook him. He remembered vaguely hearing his name as he slid into the wall.
~~~
The blue pick-up roared up to the abandoned backpack and slid to a stop. Eric looked around worriedly then spotted his sister virtually hanging from the stunted tree. Jerking open the door of the truck, he raced to her side. She was semi-conscious with blood still sluggishly dripping from her swollen nose. Eric began searching her for the handcuff key. He went through all her pockets. He couldn’t find the key. He tugged and pulled on the tree branch. It was green and flexible and he didn’t have much of chance of breaking it off. So he reached for his gun. He held Erica’s arm out of the way and began firing at the chain and cuff attached to the tree. The gun bucked in his hand three times before Erica started to struggle in his arms.
“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” she snarled as she shook off his arm that was holding her upright.
“I was trying to shoot off your handcuff,” Eric answered woundedly. “It always works in the movies.”
“Yeah, you and your movies! Shit, now my arm really aches,” she muttered, reaching with her free hand to massage the abused wrist. “Look around and see if there’s something in that truck you brought. Maybe there’s a saw or something.” She sagged against the tree to the distress of her brother. He reached toward her. “Get something to get me out of this, you idiot!”
Eric walked back to the blue truck. He began rummaging around behind the seat then he looked in the bed. Eventually he found a crow bar and some large pliers. There wasn’t much else. He came back to the tree to find Erica worrying the tree branch. The bullets hadn’t dented the hardened steel of the cuffs, but it had splintered portions of the bark. He handed the crow bar to her and took the pliers himself. Between the crow bar and pliers, they managed to split one of the weakened links on the chain. Erica sat down gratefully in the dirt beside the tree trunk. She leaned back and closed her eyes wearily.
“I suppose that the two handcuffed cops got the drop on you,” Eric commented sarcastically.
“Shut up, Eric,” she said, rubbing her head and gingerly touching her face. “They haven’t been gone long. I heard your truck only a few minutes after they left. They can’t have gone far. And Blondie is hurt. He has a concussion and a sprained ankle, I think.”
“Shit, they’ll follow the road back to town. It didn’t take me as long as I thought it would. Stole a truck from some dumb farmer working on his fence. He even left the key in it for me. I’ll bet he was puzzled when he came back and no truck.”
“You hadn’t sprained your ankle or been without food for 24 hours. I don’t think they even took the road. They saw the dust of your truck and took off into the trees. We’ll track them–no fun and games this time. We put a bullet in them this time, understand, little brother?” She pointed to the cluster of scrub oak into which Starsky and Hutch had disappeared earlier.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“I might make sure the bullet I put in Curly is in the belly. I want him to take a long time dying for this,” she said, gesturing to her bruised and bloodied face. “Get me a drink of water.”
Eric looked around then said, “I think they took both water bottles.”
“Shit! I’ve got to do something about my nose.” She held her nose gingerly between two fingers. “I don’t think it’s broken, but I can’t do much about finding them. I’ll go on up to the cabin in the pickup and bring back some water. We only have the one gun now so I’ll grab the hunting rifle and more ammunition. You look around and see if you can find them. They can’t have gone far. Not far at all. Remember Blondie has a concussion and looked like he’d fall on his face any minute. I don’t think that partner of his will walk off and leave him.”
“Why didn’t you bring more guns and stuff.”
“Didn’t think we’d need them. I’ve got an arsenal at the cabin.” She began slowly walking toward the truck.
Eric helped his sister to the rusty blue pickup. She got in rather stiffly, favoring her right wrist. The remaining handcuff clinked against the shift knob as she started the vehicle and left Eric standing in the middle of the dirt path. He eyed the craggy hillside distastefully. He was a city boy and all this outdoors stuff that turned his sister on didn’t do a thing for him. Taking a deep breath, he walked toward the cluster of trees. He never noticed the magnificent view back down into the valley. Due to an unusually wet spring, the wide valley was still a faint green. The darker spots of cholla and pines gave the landscape enough variety to make it interesting. The river on which the small town clung wasn’t noticeable from this perspective. Eric wasn’t interested in a muddy trickle of water that served as a river in this arid region.
Dragging his feet literally, Eric wandered around the trees and shrubs that were in the general direction his sister had indicated. He wasn’t finding anything that he could discern which were tracks of the fugitives. The marks were there for him to read, but he didn’t have the skills.
Starsky was trudging up the incline, watching where he was putting his feet on the uneven ground. He was clutching the straps of the backpack as if they could hold him on firmer footing. So it was that he heard rather than saw Hutch collapse in front of him.
“Oh God, Hutch!” Starsky nearly screamed the name of his partner as he saw the unconscious figure in front of him. Shrugging out of the harness, he carelessly dropped the pack on the ground. He never noticed that the plastic cork popped out on one of the water bottles as it hit the ground. It probably would have made no difference to him in his worried state of mind.
Turning the blond over on his back, Starsky knelt beside him and sitting down on the ground he held him. “Hutch, Hutch, Hutch.” He kept repeating his partner’s name as if it were a litany. Hutch finally responded with a moan and a twitch of his hand. He pushed Hutch off his lap at that response and crawled over to his fallen pack. He muttered a few esoteric oaths that Hutch would have been interested to hear out of his partner. He wouldn’t have thought that Starsky was that well versed in French, Spanish, and Yiddish.
Starsky now had a partner unconscious on the ground and two half-bottles of water. The percentages for their survival weren’t exactly in his favor, he decided. If he were placing any bets, it wouldn’t be on them being alive next week or even tomorrow. However, his natural optimism pushed him to carry one water bottle to his buddy and dampen the tail of his shirt to wash the pale face. After washing off the sticky sweat from Hutch’s face, he wet the shirttail again and put it in Hutch’s mouth.
As he was starting to wet the shirt again, he heard shots. He jerked the cloth away from the bottle and looked back behind him down the faint trail they had been climbing. Then it dawned on him the shots were distant but coming from the direction of the road. He had to find out what was going on, but he didn’t feel easy just leaving Hutch unconscious and unprotected. He looked around–there was small group of shrubs and what looked like small cedars about fifty yards away.
Grimacing, he lifted Hutch by the shoulders and carefully dragged him to the meager shelter provided by the close-growing vegetation. He left his partner as comfortable as possible for the moment. Returning to the fallen pack, he took out the down sleeping bag. This plus the water bottles he took back to Hutch. He spread the sleeping bag on the ground and rolled Hutch onto it. He didn’t cover him since he fully expected to be back before the desert night chill set in. He carefully positioned the water bottles close to Hutch’s hand. He went back to the pack and carried it up to the unconscious man then put it so he would be protected from sight. Using a broken branch from one of the trees, he placed it so it hid as much of Hutch from sight as possible. Breaking another branch, he tried to wipe out the obvious signs of his dragging the man up the hill. It didn’t work quite as well as the movies would have you believe. Starsky gave up on it, noting that their tracks were very visible to begin with in the night. And by the time it was light, he hoped they were far from the area.
Checking his gun as he descended the hill, Starsky tried to memorize the apparent landmarks. He decided that most of the country around here looked very much alike. He was going to have to be very careful not to get lost. Walking cautiously through the clumps of trees and underbrush, he hurried as much as possible. He didn’t want to leave Hutch unattended for long.
Eventually Starsky began to see the road that they had left behind in their rush to get away from the Slades. He warily made his way up on a slight ridge above the road and followed it toward where he thought he’d left Erica. Shortly he saw Eric wandering around through the bushes and kicking at various rocks. Of the vehicle he had been driving, there was no sign. Starsky assumed that Erica had taken it on to the cabin, leaving Eric to find them. He didn’t know what the shots were all about, but Eric had his gun out and was looking at the ground. Probably he was trying to find their tracks. It would have been easy to have taken out the hood at that moment, and Starsky was very tempted. However, he just wasn’t the kind of person who could shoot someone in cold blood.
Having a hunch he might regret it later, he slipped back down the ridge to his own trail. He thought briefly of trying the movie trick, but was too worried about Hutch. He decided to make the best time he could up the faint trail. Any hint of light on the horizon was quickly disappearing, and he was worried he might miss Hutch’s hiding place in the dark. There was no moon which was to their advantage in the long run, but to his disadvantage at the moment. He found himself jogging and then running faster up the slope.
For long, scary moments, he thought he had taken a wrong turn. Then he saw the muffled form through the sagging tree branch. Puffing with his effort, he slowed down and walked up to Hutch and began stripping the camouflage away. He was worried that Hutch might have gotten worse after he left. However, he was snoring slightly and turned on his side. The water bottles were moved and one was lower than it had been. Starsky took a moment to relax and take some deep breaths.
Sitting down on the hard ground by Hutch, he took one of the water bottles and drank it dry. Looking at the other bottle, he was starting to be concerned about the water supply. But he was just too tired to think about it now. He scooted over on the sleeping bag and held Hutch in his arms. Sleep struck the exhausted man quickly.
~~~
Starsky would never know what woke him in the dim predawn. After he was awake, however, he could hear the growl of an internal combustion engine toiling not too far away. He froze and listened harder. Hutch was awake also–Starsky could feel him stiffen beside him on the sleeping bag.
Reaching for his gun, Starsky slid out from under the drooping tree branch. Luckily the cedar tree was a form of a conifer and the broken branch still held its color thus it didn’t draw attention to its dying condition that a deciduous tree would. Noticing the pack lying in plain sight, Starsky shoved it back to his partner under the tree. He gestured for Hutch to stay where he was then he began slipping down the slope, trying not to disturb more gravel than was absolutely necessary. He slowly began emerging from the copse, crouching over to make his movement less noticeable. He slipped clear to the ground and slid on his belly to the crest of the slight rise in front of him.
Cautiously he raised his head over the very low ridge. He could see in the shallow valley below, the blue pickup climbing the rise across from him. At least it was going in the wrong direction for the moment. He crawled on his stomach back to where he left Hutch. It was an unpleasant, scratchy trip over small stickers and through prickly sage brush.
“Hutch, I think we’d better get out of here. They’re across the valley from us. And it’s not much of a valley.”
“Yeah,” Hutch answered as he began rolling up the sleeping bag before coming out from under the shelter of the cedar tree.
Starsky leaned into the sparse shelter and fumbled around for the dried food package. He unwrapped some dried fruit, some jerky, and pulled out a cellophane packet of trail mix. He handed these to Hutch, saying, “I think you’d better eat this as we travel. I don’t want you passing out on me again.”
“Uh… yeah…,” Hutch answered taking the small packets from him. “What about you?”
“I ate something before you woke up,” Starsky lied, thinking of the very small supply of dried foods. He would wait until he just had to eat. Hutch needed it worse than he did with his head injury and twisted ankle. He needed to keep up his strength. There was little else that Starsky could do for him, so he would do this much. It was a measure of just how sick Hutch was that he didn’t notice the blatant lie. He should have noticed that Starsky wasn’t awake before he was and that he hadn’t been up and couldn’t have eaten anything. This worried Starsky more than he would admit even to himself.
Hutch nodded. It was a measure of his preoccupation with his throbbing head and ankle that he didn’t hear the lie in Starsky’s voice.
Tying down the sleeping bag, Starsky shouldered the pack, careful to leave his pistol in his belt instead of the shoulder holster. He still wasn’t pleased to stick a loaded pistol in his belt, but he didn’t see any other way to have his hands free for climbing and balance yet have the weapon convenient. He tried one more time to arrange the straps of the holster and the rack of the backpack. It just didn’t work.
Hutch looked at Starsky with dilated pupils. His blue eyes were nearly black. “Are we ready?”
“Yeah,” Starsky said, leading the way up the hill weaving his way between the trees. He was trying to keep the trees between them and the far rise.
“Any idea of where you’re going?” Hutch’s voice was raspy and unnatural. Starsky didn’t want to think about Hutch’s injury right now. He couldn’t afford to.
“No. Right now, all I want to do is get away from the Slades. I don’t think you’re ready for a confrontation right now. And we don’t have much in the way of ammunition. This thing,” and he gestured to the gun in his belt, “has only four shells in the cylinder, and I couldn’t find any speed loaders or spare ammunition on Erica.”
“You’re right. I’m not fit to wrestle with that kitten yet; it’d win paws down.” Hutch was aware enough to try and lighten the mood with some levity. Hutch was pale and wan, the bruises on his face were a sharp contrast to the rest of his complexion. His cheek and temple were mottled with violet and blue splotches.
“I just want to put distance between them and us,” Starsky said as he slipped out from the trees and began studying the ridge across the valley where he thought the Slades must be by now. He could see the blue pickup sitting on top of the rise, but couldn’t make out where its passengers were. Wishing for even a cheap set of binoculars, he squinted into the slowly rising sun.
Leading the way, he continued up the gentle slope, trying to keep the cover of the trees and shrubs between them and the ridge across the narrow valley. The ground was rocky interspersed with the occasional cactus or tuft of hardy buffalo grass. Hutch slipped and slid on the shale and rocky outcroppings; even unburdened, this trek was difficult for him. Starsky was concerned, but knew that it was a death sentence to even hesitate. He stopped and lent an arm when the slope gradually became steeper. Finally they stumbled to the top of the hill. Starsky looked back and could see the sun still glinting off the windows of the pickup. At least there was more distance between the truck and them. There was some satisfaction in that.
Hoping not to silhouette himself and his partner on the crest of the hill, he led the way through some small cedars then started down the other side. Walking became easier as the topography of the area leveled out. Now there was only short stubble of grass and ground hugging prickly pear cactus to trip them up.
They walked and stumbled for hours as the sun rose higher in the sky, resting only when they could walk no longer. The sun was a molten globe that tormented them and beat down on their faces without mercy.
Starsky couldn’t find any sign of pursuit, but the itching on the back of his neck told him that the Slades hadn’t given up. With any luck, the Slades had wasted time going in the wrong direction. If that were the case it would be the first bit of good luck they’d had since leaving Albuquerque.
Just as Starsky was about to collapse for another uneasy rest period in an especially heavy thicket, he was startled to come out of it to find himself teetering on the edge of a steep ravine. It had seemed to have appeared from nowhere. Looking around there was no hint that anything this deep would be in this stretch of ground. Perhaps this could work to their advantage. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about them being outlined against the skyline. And it was deep enough that there was some shade along the rocky walls. The only problem was getting down into the thing.
Turning back to Hutch, he watched as the other man shambled toward him. From the glazed, fixed eyes, Starsky knew he was going to have to find a place for Hutch to rest. He reached a hand out and stopped him before he could walk off the edge of the cliff.
“Uh…,” Hutch muttered then seemed to see the deep gully before him. Shaking his head, he slowly sank down against a boulder rising out of the rim of the cut in the landscape. “I don’t think I can go much farther.”
“Yeah, buddy, I know.” Starsky sank to the soft sandy soil beside Hutch. “We need to get down into this thing.” He looked at the pale complexion of his companion. “Think you can do it. Then we’ll find someplace you can rest and maybe there’s some water down there someplace.”
“Got to, don’t I?” Hutch’s voice grated. “Just let me rest a minute, then I can go on.”
Knowing that the other man was nearly at the end of his tether, Starsky patted him gently on the shoulder. “Yeah, we can rest a while. In fact, I’ll scout around and see if I can see any signs of civilization while you rest. Maybe I can see a ranch house or something. Why don’t you have a drink and see if you can eat some of the rations while I’m gone.”
Hutch nodded and relaxed into the unyielding rock. The rock was almost comfortable and provided some shade.
Rising, Starsky shrugged out the backpack and noted that the other water bottle was nearly empty. He put it close to Hutch’s hand.
“Don’t think that’s a very good idea. I don’t think I can keep much down.”
“Drink something so you don’t dehydrate.”
“Okay,” Hutch said, reaching for the half empty water bottle.
Starsky turned away trying to quell his own thirst. He was saving all the water that was left for Hutch but it was pure torture. Walking out of the trees, he looked back the way they had come, but couldn’t see any sign of pursuit. Then he glanced around at the land spread before him. To the west, the Rocky Mountains loomed menacingly. Back toward the east, he could see only unending plains. He scanned the horizons for telephone poles or any indication of man’s hand on the land. It was as if he were one of the pioneers exploring the country with Pike or Kit Carson. Eventually as his perceptions adjusted to the huge expanse, he could discern a fence staggering down a far hillside. But that was the only indication that he hadn’t stepped back two hundred years.
The sky was glaring cobalt blue with an occasional hawk riding the thermals. He couldn’t see any sign of lake or stream, which is what he hoped for more than finding a road. It was either turn back to where they had come from or drop into the ravine and hope they could get up the other side. And he had thoughts that there might be shelter and water in the ravine. Somehow, it seemed right to enter the canyon. In his mind, it beckoned as a savior. Making a decision–a decision that could kill them or save them, Starsky turned and walked back to his companion.
Hutch heard him coming and began struggling to his feet. He swayed momentarily until he found his precarious balance. He reached for the backpack but Starsky was there before him.
“I’ll get it. Save your strength.”
“Right.” Hutch didn’t say anymore. He was concentrating on staying on his feet. Starsky watched him with concern, but couldn’t help what had to be done. It was either keep going or wait for the Slades to catch up and kill them. He slid the backpack on his shoulders and shrugged it into place.
It was nearly an hour of slow hiking before they found a place on rim of the ravine that looked negotiable. Starsky left the backpack beside a boulder and helped Hutch down the steep track. He tried to make jokes about mountain goats, but Hutch wasn’t laughing–and neither was he if the truth be told. He left Hutch in the shadow of the canyon wall and scrambled up the crumbling shale wall to get the backpack with the small amount of precious water.
Once back on the ridge, he looked around suspiciously for their enemies. He couldn’t see the truck, but that might only mean that the Slades were on foot and following them. Grabbing up the backpack, he slipped and slid back down the side of the small gorge. He looked back at their tracks and was pleased that, to his unpracticed eye the shale didn’t look that badly disturbed.
Hutch was starting to get up as he came back to his partner’s meager shelter. Putting the backpack over his shoulders, he checked his gun to see it hadn’t been dislodged in the scrambles up and down the wall. It seemed satisfactorily jammed between himself and his belt. He shifted the weapon to a marginally more comfortable spot on his waist. All the movies with guys going around with guns jammed in their belts didn’t take into account the rough edges of the sight and trigger guard, plus the weight of the thing. Real guns were heavy plus the metal sight was gouging holes in his skin.
Starting up the canyon, Hutch took hold of the backpack Starsky was wearing to steady himself as they walked the uneven trail the last rainstorm had left in the bottom of the ravine. Starsky constantly scanned the top of the canyon, turning his head and craning it over his shoulder. Walking the floor of the gully had advantages and disadvantages. From a distance it would be hard for the Slades to spot them, but if the enemy saw them from above, the enemy had the advantage of the high ground.
Shortly after the sun had slipped out of the ravine, leaving a chill in the air, Starsky thought he might have found a way up the other side. Hutch was leaning heavier and heavier on the backpack and Starsky was about mad with thirst. After studying the boulder-strewn bluff, he rejected it. There were no handholds, and he didn’t think he could get both of them up the incline. He was just too tired and worn out. He hated to admit it, but he didn’t know how much farther he could go. His tennis shoes were full of sand and his feet were burning from contact with the earth. How Hutch was managing, he didn’t want to think about. He had had to stop a time or two for him to simply collapse in the dust, be sick to his stomach, and once to catch his balance as the dizziness caught up with him.
Just when he wanted to grab the last of the water which he had been rationing out to Hutch all day, they came around a curve in the ravine. About fifty yards ahead, Starsky saw the end of the road. Discouragement nearly overwhelmed him at that moment. The deep gully closed up and ended–ended in a box canyon. His eyes swam for long moments as he contemplated trudging back down the way they had come–Hutch wouldn’t make it, he was sure. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could. It probably was their only way out–back the way they had come. It was so depressing to have walked all this way and not have made any progress. There were probably places to climb out of the canyon, but he had been too exhausted to notice them. Somehow, he had been sure that walking in the ravine would solve his problems. It had been stupid, but he knew now. However at the time, it had seemed so logical; they could travel and not be easily seen from a distance by the Slades.
Just as he was about to turn around, Hutch slid to the ground with a moan. He had made no complaint all day. He had only drunk water when Starsky had forced it on him. He had gotten whiter as the day went on. He wouldn’t speak of the pain it must be causing him to continue the journey. He knew, as well as Starsky, he had no choice. But it was breaking Starsky’s heart to watch it.
Slipping out the pack and letting it fall on the ground unheeded, Starsky reached for his partner. This time Hutch was dead weight. He was completely unconscious. That settled it–they could go no farther this day. He didn’t even consider leaving Hutch and searching for help–in fact, it never crossed his mind.
Taking what was left of the water, Starsky generously poured it out on the tail of his shirt which he ripped off then wiped Hutch’s forehead. Not wanting to waste a drop of the precious stuff he slid the still damp cotton into Hutch’s mouth. Hutch was semi-conscious and sucked greedily on the cloth. Pillowing Hutch’s head on the pack, he decided that he should look for some cover for them before he collapsed himself. He was of the opinion that it was only a matter of time before the Slades found them or the sun and thirst did their work for them.
Leaving Hutch, he staggered farther up the canyon. He was reasonably sure he hadn’t missed any likely spots to climb out of the trap that the ravine had become. He kept walking just to make sure that this was a box canyon–that the back wall was indeed solid. He wondered if the canyon merely took a hard turn and only looked like the back wall was blocked. But as he got closer to this one, he could see that a box canyon was aptly named. This one had walls that went up steeply on three sides about fifty feet high, making back the way they had come the only exit as he had expected. He started to turn around when his feet sank into the grass beneath them. He frantically pulled his feet up, wondering what kind of trap nature had set for him. His feet squelched–he studied the ground and was fascinated to watch water fill in his tracks. He looked closer and his eye followed the water back to a dark overhang under the cliff.
Suppressing a yodel of delight, he leaped toward the dark spot under a heavy overhanging rock. It was water–a spring–he flung himself into the wonderful wetness. Diving down head-first into the muddy bank, he flopped on his belly and drank an enormous amount of water without taking a breath. Then he ducked his head into the water finally coming up to shake like a spaniel. Suddenly he remembered Hutch only a few yards back, but not sharing in this miracle. Taking a few more quick slurps, he rose and never noticed as he raced back down the ravine that his sneakers were half off his feet.
“Hutch, Hutch, you’ll never guess what I found!” Starsky nearly shouted as he shook himself like a big puppy all over his prone companion. Hutch had rolled over on to his stomach to be sick once more.
“It’s raining,” Hutch muttered as he pushed himself back up against the pack. The few minutes rest in the cool of the evening had refreshed him even with the bout of nausea he had experienced. However, he was still somewhat incoherent.
“I found a spring–do you hear that, a spring!” Starsky was nearly dancing as he scrambled around to help Hutch to his feet and grab the pack in his other hand. He felt like Hercules. He could conquer the world now that he had had a drink. He couldn’t have imagined how wonderful a drink of water could be even a few days ago. With Hutch leaning on him but not as heavily, they staggered drunkenly up the ravine to the damp area and then finally to the spring. Hutch did as Starsky did by dipping his upper body into the shallow bowl that held the water briefly in check before it disappeared into the sand farther down the canyon only to disappear into the thirsty ground once more.
Looking around, Starsky could see the difference in vegetation in the area. Now he could see the heavier grass, larger bushes, and in general a greener aspect. He had been too far gone to notice that sort of thing. Now he began looking with a keener eye at the canyon. Far up toward the top of the cliff, he could see something. It looked like it had been painted on the rock. He edged closer and then saw the stylized figures of an ancient Indian rock drawing. He forgot what the guide at one of the many National Parks they had stopped at had called them–petro-something. The colors had probably faded, but they had been somewhat sheltered in the overhang so the blues and yellows were easily discernible. His eye followed the paintings inward and saw that there was an opening in the cliff face. It was a small cave.
He glanced over at Hutch filling the water bottles. His face was starkly white against the bruising. He needed rest and needed it now. There was no way he could continue back down the way they had come. Starsky had made a drastic mistake that might cost them their lives by entering a ravine that ended in a box canyon–yet it was that same box canyon that might save their life. However, it still could cost Hutch’s life even if the Slades didn’t find them. Hutch needed a place out of the heat of the day and the chill of the night. Perhaps a night of rest and he’d feel up to starting back down the canyon and looking much harder for a way out on the rim opposite of the one they had come down.
He wondered if it were possible or was he seeing things. He walked to the base of the cliff and stared upward. Yes, it was hard to spot, and he’d have never seen it if the fading sunlight hadn’t been just right to catch the color of the ancient paintings. He began scrambling up the shale and clay wall. With some effort, he made the fifty or so yards only being slightly out of breath. He leaned over the edge of the entrance to the cave. There didn’t seem to be any angry inhabitants that were going to be viciously upset at his invasion. He slid farther in and saw that the cave went farther back than the fading sunlight would let him see. But what he saw was encouraging. He found the floor sandy and relatively smooth. It wasn’t damp, and he still didn’t see any sign of any animals currently residing in the cave.
He backed out and unceremoniously slid down to the bottom of the ravine. Hutch was sitting against a rocky outcropping and looking worse than before. His hair was still damp from the drenching in the spring. He was breathing shallowly and had his eyes closed. He didn’t notice that Starsky had returned and didn’t seem to have much interest in what Starsky had been doing.
Putting his hand on Hutch’s shoulder, Starsky gently said, “Hutch, get up. We’ve got to get up in the cave I’ve found.”
Mumbling almost incoherently, Hutch said, “No, you go on without me. I can’t walk any more. I just can’t. I’ve tried not to hold you up… but leave me and get help….”
“I’m not going to leave you and now I don’t have to,” Starsky said slipping his hand under Hutch’s arm and bodily lifting him up. “I have found a place to hide–for now anyway.” He hustled Hutch to the base of the cliff. Then from beside him at first then behind him, he nearly carried Hutch up to the cave by force of will alone. He crawled into the cave first then pulled Hutch up beside him.
“See home sweet cave–just for the two of us,” He nearly sang the words out to his partner who was completely unappreciative of his efforts.
Hutch looked around his surroundings numbly. He settled back against the wall and shut his eyes. His eyelids were blue with exhaustion and illness. Starsky wasted no time in climbing back down the slope and gathering up all signs that they were in the area. He tried to mash out the tracks around the spring, but didn’t think it would matter much. The signs of their passage were visible, but only up close. He still tried to cover up what he could with a stiff tree branch, but didn’t have much hope of doing any good. He just hoped that the Slades would miss the ravine all together or would think they had gotten out of it at some point. If they stayed up on the rim, the tracks wouldn’t be blatantly conspicuous or so he hoped.
Once back in the cave, he broke out the sleeping bag first. He unrolled it then helped Hutch to wrap up in the soft warm down. Hutch was shivering and probably developing a fever or something. He rummaged around and found the dried rations. Now the dried rations began to look wonderful. He drank deeply and without inhibition from one of the water bottles. Then he munched on some dried apricots, a strip of jerky, and a handful of nuts. It may not have been gourmet cooking, but nothing in the world tasted better than the plain water with dried food and nuts. He scooted over next to Hutch and tried to get him to eat something. He shook his head then tried a bit of apricot. Starsky felt like a mother bird feeding her one chick. But Hutch did manage a little more to drink and to eat some of the fruit. He refused the nuts and jerky entirely.
The day-long hike without much to eat and drink began to hit Starsky. Removing the gun from his belt, but remaining fully dressed, he slipped into the sleeping bag with Hutch and pulled him close. He lay long moments savoring the closeness then slid into sleep without noticing when it came to him.
~~~
The next morning Starsky was startled into full wakefulness by the crack of gun shots. Gun shots that weren’t very far away. Hutch was slower to wake up, but he looked blearily at the dimly lit opening in the cave.
“Stay here while I take a look,” Starsky whispered as he groped in the darkness for the gun which he had carelessly left somewhere beside the sleeping bag. Cursing his own stupidity, Starsky hurriedly scrambled out of the warm comfort of the sleeping bag and searched in earnest for the gun. Eventually he found it under the folds of the bag. He checked its load as he slipped toward the cave entrance.
As he neared the aperture, he could dimly hear a frightened voice. Before doing anything, he grinned back at his partner and gestured toward the outside. Hutch nodded his understanding that Starsky was going to reconnoiter the area and investigate the screams.
Being careful not to disturb any shale or sand, he tried to peer down into the floor of the canyon. Leaning on his elbows with the gun clutched tightly in his left fist, he listened for the voices to erupt again. There were no more shots to be heard. But the voice or voices, he couldn’t tell which, were suddenly strident. Then he recognized the shrill tones of Erica, but couldn’t understand any of the words.
Then he heard a loud piercing scream followed by, “Eric! God damn! Son of a bitch!” There was silence for long moments, then the voice erupted again, “Eric, help me!”
Cautiously Starsky slid down the incline on his belly, looking for any sign of movement. Slowly he rose to a crouch and tiptoed down the ravine. Slinking behind a large sage, he listened for any sounds. The silence was mind numbing–all the small creatures that rustled in the brush or dirt had been frightened into stillness. His senses were attuned to any noise as he shifted out of his hiding place. High above him in the gleaming cobalt sky a hawk keened its loneliness or hunger, but nothing else broke unnatural hush. Still moving with discretion, he glided down the miniature gorge, moving under the overhang when he could.
Another piercing scream shattered the unnatural tranquility of the atmosphere. Starsky froze as the sound ricocheted off the clay walls around him. More screams resounded against his ears then became a whimper.
“Erickkk,” echoed eerily with almost a pleading quality, then gun shots again rang into the morning.
Starsky looked up the sides of the canyon and spotted a place he thought he might climb. It was unnerving to feel so vulnerable from above. With less caution than he had used previously, he scrambled up the crumbling cliff face. Panting as he surfaced, he noted that there was a large cactus near him. Sliding on his stomach, he pulled himself into the protection of the prickly bush.
Moaning came from directly to the west from him, as well as the peculiar heavy breathing. Raising himself to his hands and knees, he still couldn’t see anything. Finally he stood, feeling distinctly exposed beside the meager shelter the cactus had provided.
Listening acutely for any other sounds but the already identified gasping breaths, he moved between the cactus and sage, hunting for the source of the noise. It was farther than he had expected from the sounds he had heard. Going down into a small depression in the landscape, he came upon the source of the shooting and screaming. Erica lay on her back, staring at his figure bearing down upon her.
Covering the woman with his gun, he looked around the area for her brother. He wasn’t immediately apparent, but what was apparent was the cause of her shooting and screaming. Twitching and quivering only a few feet from her body was a large diamondback rattlesnake, or so he assumed. She had obviously shot it innumerable times, but still it spasmed with a seeming life. Occasionally there was a movement of its tail which gave off the distinctive buzz of its species.
“Eric,” the woman muttered and thrashed in the sand. “Oh where are you, you bastard?” Starsky then noted that she had ripped open her slacks and there was a large swelling just above the ankle. Like himself, she was only shod in sneakers which he now saw might not be adequate footwear for traipsing around this area. The woman was sweating and seemed to be in shock which he could understand. Looking around the surrounding landscape, he couldn’t see the blue pickup anywhere, but he assumed that Eric wasn’t far away. Erica seemed to think he was nearby from her shooting and shouting. As he started to step closer, she raised her weapon and in a perfectly lucid voice said, “Get away from me, cop.”
Backing away carefully, he never lowered his gun but decided against making any threatening moves. There was a clatter in the short sage bush beside him, then he heard the sharp report of a gun. He dropped to the ground and looked around. On the rise to the south was Eric with a rifle. Eric was a good quarter of a mile away and behind him was the blue pickup. Starsky scrambled backwards as quickly as his prone position would allow. There were more cracks from the rifle, but none of the bullets seemed to do more than kick up an occasional dust cloud in front of him. Luckily Eric did not seem to have a scope on the rifle or he was a terrible shot, Starsky thought, as he slid behind a large sage bush. There was silence from the rifle for a long time then he could hear the truck motor revving in the distance.
Taking a that as a cue, he rose to his feet and began running up the hill back toward the safety of the ravine. He crouched behind the large cactus on the lip of the gully and watched the truck make slow, rough progress across the deceptively rugged countryside. At a glance the vista seemed to be smooth and featureless, but on closer inspection the area was a mass of small ditches and sturdy hummocks of hardy vegetation.
Hiding behind the cactus, he saw that the truck wasn’t going to be able to make it the entire way to Erica, but close enough to make the neighborhood distinctly uncomfortable for him. He started to slide down the steep slope but stopped in mid-slide. There in the distance was a wandering line of telephone poles. Somehow in the confused exhaustion of the previous afternoon he had never noticed them. The quelling of the truck’s engine reminded him of his unprotected position squatting on the edge of the gorge. He continued his slide and scrambled to his feet, panting from the combination of exertion and nerves. But there was also hope in his mind. They weren’t completely isolated from civilization. Where there were telephone poles, he told himself, there were telephones, and where there were telephones there were people.
Trotting almost happily back up the canyon, he was startled when Hutch stepped out from behind the large sage that Starsky had used for cover on his outward trek.
“Damn, Hutch, you scared me out of ten year’s growth,” Starsky squeaked.
“Here I was worried sick when I heard more shots, and you come back nearly singing,” Hutch said disgustedly.
“I think our friend, Erica, was bitten by a rattlesnake. And that’ll keep them both so busy, I think they’ll forget all about us,” Starsky paused for breath but didn’t pause in his strides back up the ravine toward the shelter of their friendly cave. “I saw a row of telephone poles!” He nearly danced around his partner in his excitement.
“So you saw some telephone poles?” Hutch answered, hard pressed to keep up with his partner.
“Don’t you understand–telephone poles! Where there’s telephone poles, there’s telephones and where there’s telephones, there’s people,” Starsky voiced his earlier thoughts. “And where there’s people, there’s gotta be civilization.”
“You thought civilization had disappeared?”
“Well, I hadn’t seen any for so long–I wondered.”
Hutch shook his head and followed along behind Starsky, who went a few more steps then stopped and turned to look at Hutch searchingly.
“How are you feeling?”
“The head seems to be a lot better, and I managed this walk on my ankle with no problem,” Hutch answered quietly.
Starsky came back to Hutch and clutched him in his arms. “God, Hutch, I was so worried about you for a while.”
Hutch hugged back then said, “We’d better get under cover in case Erica’s snakebite isn’t really a snakebite, and they come hunting us again.”
“I think she was hurt real bad,” Starsky responded, slightly chastened, turning to walk back up the canyon more circumspectly. Hutch followed, hoping Starsky was correct. He’d had enough of being chased through the wilderness. Once more at the boxed end of the gulch, both men took a few moments to scrub at their bearded faces and drink long gulps of water. The heat was once more making itself known as the sun reached toward its apex.
With their make-shift baths completed, they climbed into the small cave to get out of sight and out of the oncoming heat. Hutch was flushed with exertion by the time he reached the cave and collapsed onto the sleeping bag.
Fondly Starsky watched Hutch as he snuffled into the down then his muscles relaxed. He certainly wasn’t ready for another race across the prairie. Starsky decided to let him rest while he kept watch on the entrance to the cave. Ducking his head under an overhang, he went back to the opening. His vision was limited to the spring, the top of the opposing wall and a short distance down to the next bend in the gully. He slid down to a prone position and watched the unmoving landscape. It was deadly boring, but long hours on stake-outs had partially prepared him for the tedious exercise. Eventually the heat and the boredom took its toll on him. The physical and mental exertion of the past few days manifested itself in him dropping off to a light doze.
The sun was glaring in his eyes when he next woke. Feeling the need to answer the call of Mother Nature, he surveyed the region around the cave opening and scoured the opposite rim with his eyes. There didn’t seem to be anything but a few birds to disturb the silence of the canyon. He turned back to watch his sleeping companion for a few minutes. Hutch seemed to be resting comfortably so he discarded the idea of disturbing him. He wouldn’t be gone long.
Slithering down the slope he cautiously walked down the gully examining the rim of the canyon over his head in both directions as he moved. There didn’t seem to be anything or anybody in the area. He stopped and relieved himself beside a large cactus. Then he continued on down the dry wash until he found where he had crawled out earlier in the day. Struggling up the shifting incline, he gripped tough roots and dry, crackling branches of desert plants before he once more topped the edge of the wash. Slowly and cautiously he gained his feet as he looked at the surrounding countryside. The setting sun cast a red glow in the western horizon, turning the purple mountains that loomed in the west an almost friendly pink streaked with darker red and orange.
Looking around constantly, he walked back to the site of the early morning’s confrontation with the Slades. His now well-battered tennis shoes made soft crunching sounds on the earth as he followed his trail from yesterday. He looked down the gentle slope and saw the ground was disturbed with indistinct tracks leading away from the scene. Off to one side he saw the twisted sinuous body of the snake. Going closer, he bent over and studied the scaly creature. He couldn’t identify various varieties of rattlesnakes, but this was a monster of the species, he decided. It was nearly four feet long and at the narrowing end of its length there were a half a dozen buttons. He remembered hearing that rattlesnake meat was delicious and tasted something like chicken. He was a bit tired of dried hiking rations, but not desperate enough to try this.
Straightening up, Starsky glanced around the area again. He could see for miles in all directions. Once more he located the line of telephone poles marching across the landscape. Making up his mind, he turned back the way he had come with a much lighter heart. The Slades seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth and good riddance to them.
It was easier to slide down the slope into the gully than climbing out. He trotted back to the spring. Stopping briefly, he knelt and drank the crystal clear water. Then he splashed his face. Taking the tail of his shirt, he soaked it in the water and made an attempt to clean his teeth of the furry feeling engendered by not having access to a toothbrush for days. Then he used the other tail of his shirt to wipe his hands and face. Feeling much better, he turned his attention to the cave that had been their refuge in a dark time. The paintings in overhang seemed to be of a brighter color this evening although the overhang was now in shadow.
Climbing back up the loose, shifting shale, he gasped as he observed the empty cave. The backpack still leaned against one rocky wall and the single sleeping bag was rumpled, but empty. Of Hutch, there was no sign. He couldn’t have missed him in the narrow gulch, could he?
“Hutch,” he croaked, feeling the fear well up in his throat like bile from a bad taco. Clearing his throat, he tried again, “Hutch, where the hell are you, buddy?”
“Back here, Starsk,” came a faint, hollow-sounding voice.
Looking around the cave, Starsky couldn’t see where “back here” was. Then he saw something flickering on the rear wall of the cave. Quickly rising to his feet, he hurried toward the light. When he reached the wall, he saw a narrow passage going off to the left. Entering it, he turned sideways since he didn’t think he’d fit otherwise. He didn’t take any precautions, but rushed through the opening as fast as possible. His chest scraped on the jagged walls in a couple places. He wouldn’t notice the shallow scratches until later. He would wonder about them briefly then dismiss them as trivial.
Gradually the shimmering light got brighter as the passage widened. Then he rounded a corner into a much larger room. Sitting on the floor holding a crude torch was Hutch, and he was staring down at a musty pile of some strange debris.
Hutch turned his head and looked up at his partner as Starsky’s tennis shoes made a scraping sound over a nearly buried rock. Then he went back to studying the lumps in front of him. Starsky glanced around the dimly lit cavern. He took a step back and tripped on the same rock, when he saw the skeletons leaning against the walls. He sat down hard on the floor, suppressing a scream, but not a grunt of pain and surprise. He couldn’t take his eyes off the one skeleton that was closest to Hutch. It had on a breast plate and lying beside it was a bell-shaped tube of some sort. His intellect was identifying the breast plate as distinctly Spanish Conquistador equipage and the tube as a musket–so rusted as to be nearly unrecognizable.
Clearing his throat, he was once more unsure of his voice for an entirely different reason. Scrambling to his feet, he noticed amused blue eyes watching his movement.
“Bit startling, isn’t it?” Hutch said as Starsky gained his balance. “This is even more so.” Hutch gestured with his hands to the bags in front of him. The lumps were now bags, Starsky could see as his eyes adjusted to the wavering make-shift torch. He wondered what could be more startling than the grinning skeletons lining the cavern walls.
He crept forward and glanced down at what his partner was pointing to–there in the fluctuating torchlight were bright yellow glints. He leaned down and saw that the bags were cracked and deteriorating leather around gleaming golden uneven disks. With a shaking hand, he reached for one of the top coins for that was what they were–gold coins. Not like modern coins punched out in machines, all identical. Each one of these had a personality and shape of its own.
He didn’t pick up the coin, but only brushed it with his twitching finger. Then he looked up at Hutch who was grinning widely at him. Behind Hutch, nearly hidden in the shadows was another skeleton and beside it was a long staff topped by a cross. The shadow of the cross occasionally was limned by the torch. It seemed to hover over the bags of gold.
Finally squatting down beside Hutch, he said, “What the hell is all this? And how did you find it?”
“I had to take a leak and didn’t want to slide down that hill again. So I thought I’d go to the back of the cave. When I got there I saw the passage,” Hutch said as he looked up at the ceiling. “You didn’t come back for a while so I made a torch out of some of the plants outside the cave and came exploring. Speaking of that, I think this one has about had it.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Starsky affirmed. “This place is spooky.” It was more than spooky, Starsky wasn’t sure the fellow holding the cross approved of him.
Hutch nodded and started to get to his feet. Starsky rose easily from his crouch and helped Hutch to his feet. Clinically Starsky noted that Hutch’s color was much better and he didn’t seem dizzy. He momentarily forgot the gold in his concern for Hutch’s welfare.
Glancing behind him occasionally, Hutch led Starsky back down the narrow passage into the front room of the cave. Starsky turned back to the skeletons–it almost felt as though their eyes were watching and evaluating him. Starsky didn’t like it; he didn’t like it one bit. Hearing Hutch sliding through the narrow passage, Starsky gave a slight bow to the figures that were fading into the darkness and hurried to catch up with Hutch.
Once back in the front cavern, they searched through the supplies and made themselves a light meal.
“How do you think that gold got hidden back there?” Starsky said, gesturing to the rear of the cave as they sat down and began to nibble on their meager rations and sip some tepid water.
“I think I know. Before we made this trip I did some research and got interested in the legends of the southwest. You know, things like the Flying Dutchmen Mine and stuff like that. I was reading about legends of the Conquistadors and came across one about a lost shipment of gold for the paymaster in Santa Fe. The gold was shipped from Spain to New Orleans and was supposed to be brought across country accompanied by two priests and a detachment of cavalry. Eventually one priest managed to get to Taos and told a story about being attacked by hostile Indians then being chased for days until their horses gave out. He mentioned something about leaving the other priest and some of the wounded soldiers in a cave,” Hutch paused. “In a box canyon. Strangely the priest could never lead a rescue party back to the cave. There was speculation at the time that it had been a conspiracy to rob the paymaster. It was never proven, however.”
Starsky gave an inarticulate gasp.
“You mean, you think we’ve found this lost payroll gold?”
“I do. It’s even more conclusive–the priest said the cave had Indian painting over the door.”
Starsky nodded, “Yeah and how much gold did this priest say was lost?”
“About three hundred pounds,” Hutch said casually with a sparkle in his eye.
“We’re rich! My God, we’re rich,” Starsky nearly shouted to the ceiling of the cave. Then quieted as he remembered the disapproving stares of the inmates of the rear cavern.
“Of course, we’re going to owe Uncle Sam a nice chunk of it, I think.” Hutch speculated as he bit into another piece of dried fruit.
“But it’s lost Spanish Gold–Uncle Sam didn’t even exist when it was lost,” Starsky countered.
“We’ll have to check this out before we even touch one coin,” Hutch said. “Anyhow, it seems like we’ve had some sort of guardian angel since we found this cave–water and Erica getting bitten by a snake. Somehow, I hate to disturb those folks back there. And besides, we can’t carry it out with us now.”
“Ah, Hutch, usually I’m the superstitious one!” Starsky quipped, then stopped as he noticed Hutch’s solemn mien. “Do you really think there’s something around here protecting us?”
“You weren’t back there when I found them. It was weird–I dunno–almost like I was expected.”
“That’s the concussion talking,” Starsky said, shaking his head and leaning toward Hutch to grasp him on the shoulder. “Let me look at your head.” He wouldn’t admit to anyone how he felt those last few moments in the room with the gold and the skeletons.
“There’s nothing wrong with my head where this is concerned. I just know what I felt and how I felt while I was sitting there,” Hutch was emphatic in his reluctance to let Starsky look at his wound.
But Starsky was insistent. He crouched and examined the side of Hutch’s face in the dimming twilight. Yes, there was a lot of bruising which wouldn’t completely go away for a couple of weeks, but the swelling of the cheekbone and brow was reduced considerably. In Starsky’s opinion the rest had done Hutch a world of good. However, they hadn’t gotten that much rest, he thought. Perhaps there was something to what Hutch was saying–naw.
“Think you can try to walk out of here tomorrow?” Starsky said, trying to put his uneasy thoughts out of his mind.
“I think so.”
“Good, I don’t think I want to spend too many more nights in this cave no matter how benevolent you think our resident spirits are.”
“I agree. I don’t want to push our luck.”
“I’ve an idea,” Starsky said, pushing to his feet. “There’s still some daylight left. Let’s go down to the spring and have a good wash before we try to get some more rest.”
“Yeah, I could go for some sort of a wash. Too bad there isn’t any shaving gear.”
“And I suppose you’d like a beer, too.”
“Now that you mention it….” Hutch was rising to his feet and once more Starsky was struck with how much better Hutch looked as opposed to the previous day. God, had it only been a day since they had stumbled upon this cave and the spring? It seemed like an eternity ago.
Later sitting on a rocky section of the pool’s edge watching the lengthening shadows, Starsky watched Hutch finish up his skimpy bath and then shiver. Thinking to himself he’d better get Hutch back up to the down sleeping bag, Starsky reached for his own filthy socks and sneakers. Grimacing, he pulled them on after shaking out the residue of sand and dust. It would be wonderful to be back in the hotel in Albuquerque, he thought. The room hadn’t been luxurious by any stretch of the imagination, but now it seemed a palace. Maybe he’d just settle for a change of underwear and socks, he thought as he stood up.
Hutch shivered again as he slid his tattered shirt over his head, so Starsky said, “Let’s get back to our penthouse, partner.” He gathered up the remains of his shirt. There wasn’t much left, but he’d need something to protect him from the sun tomorrow.
“Good idea. It is getting a bit chilly. Amazing how much it cools off when the sun goes down.”
“Yeah.”
Climbing back up the slope to the cave, Hutch managed on his own. Starsky followed and was thrilled that Hutch was no longer experiencing the weakness, nausea, or dizziness. He couldn’t quite explain the change, but he didn’t care. It meant they could start out for civilization the next day.
Once back in the cave, they did some basic housekeeping chores. The newly-filled water bottles were stored toward the back of the cave where it was cool so the water would taste fresher in the morning. They snacked on the rapidly diminishing supply of dried trail mix, fruit, jerky, and nuts. It may have been nourishing, but it was quickly growing dull. Starsky found himself dreaming of tacos and hamburgers. Even week-old, stale pizza would be ambrosia right now.
The cave was quite dark by the time they had eaten their light meal, so there was little to do but spread the sleeping bag for the night. Kicking off his shoes, Starsky slid in beside Hutch who was already tucked up on his side. Pulling as much of the top cover over himself, Starsky took the lean form into his arms. Facing each other and holding tightly, they allowed themselves a lingering kiss. Starsky ran his hands over the bony back of his beloved friend and partner. He lightly clinched the firm ass. Hutch was reciprocating. Neither had the energy nor the will for more than simple foreplay. Hutch might have been feeling a lot better than the previous days, but he wasn’t up to anything more than comforting his companion. Literally, Starsky thought, smiling at his own inadvertent pun. For that matter, neither was he.
Without much further thought, he dropped into the dark abyss of sleep. Hutch followed in short order. Neither stirred from their cocoon through the night. The tension of the preceding days and nights led to an exhausted slumber. It was the early morning sun peeking through the entrance to the cave that woke them the next morning. Hutch, facing the opening, groaned and shifted his weight which woke his bed mate up.
Wiping the sleep from his eyes, Starsky licked his lips and wished for a simple cup of coffee. He could do with a caffeine jolt this morning. Hutch was sitting up and staring out at the reddening sky. Then he turned to Starsky and gave him a light kiss on the lips which Starsky tried to deepen.
“We’d better get an early start before the day gets too hot,” Hutch said, pulling away and slowly getting to his feet then stretching his long lean body. Starsky could almost feel the kinks as Hutch completed his mild exercise then rotated his shoulders. Not wanting to feel the discomfort for a few more minutes Starsky turned and buried his head in the soft down. Besides, he was sure the birds weren’t up yet.
He must have dropped off into a light doze because the sun filtering through the open cave entrance was brighter as he groggily opened his eyes for the second time that morning. Glancing around the small chamber, he noticed that everything but the sleeping bag was packed and neatly stacked by the door. It wasn’t much, but without even those slim supplies, he doubted that they would have survived in the wilderness.
He sat up then lifted his arms over his head and felt the muscles and joints pop and groan at their misuse of the past few days. Sluggishly rising from the rumpled sleeping bag, he noticed that Hutch was nowhere to be seen. After working a few knots from his protesting body, he leaned down to straighten and then roll the bedding. He assumed that Hutch was down washing in the spring. Wishing again for a razor, he rubbed his itching face, then picked up the sleeping bag and took it over to the metal rack of the backpack. He attached the bag to the harness provided then stooped to look out of the cave entrance. He couldn’t see Hutch anywhere within sight.
There was some scrabbling behind him as he pulled back from the entrance. He saw Hutch coming from the rear of the cave and the door to the back cavern. Hutch smiled and held up something that glinted in the dim light.
“Thought our guardian angels might not mind if we took a couple of souvenirs of our stay,” Hutch said as he tossed a misshapen gold coin through the air. Instinctively, Starsky grabbed it out of the air.
“I hope not. I wouldn’t want those folks to think we were stealing from them.” With some difficulty due to the tight fit, Starsky put the coin away in his jeans pocket. He shoved it clear to the bottom and felt a sense peace having it there. Suddenly he was sure everything was going to turn out all right. He just knew; he wasn’t sure how. Weird.
“I don’t think so.”
“Neither do I, come to think of it,” he said, touching the slight lump in the front of his jeans with gentle fingers. Hutch nodded and stowed away his coin.
Padding back to where he had left his shoes and gun the night before, Starsky began pulling them on and fastening the laces as Hutch watched.
“Have a good nap, did you?”
“Yeah, a few extra minutes are always nice,” Starsky replied as he finished his laces and stuck the gun in his belt. “Anything to eat?”
“A little,” Hutch said as he walked over to the small packs by the door. Starsky watched as Hutch opened a plastic bag and took out the remaining dried food. In silence, Starsky watched as Hutch carefully divided the few nuts and strips of jerky then put the fruit away for later. It wasn’t much of a breakfast, his rumbling stomach told him. But he supposed it was better than nothing.
Gathering the few nuts in his hand, he popped them into his mouth. Then he took up one of the water bottles and drank from it. It was still cool from the night, but somewhat stale. He drank only enough to wash down the dry nuts. Unwrapping one of the jerky strips, he stuck it in his mouth and sucked on the spicy meat as he reached for the backpack.
“Shall we?” he clowned an elaborate bow and sweep of his hand toward the entrance.
“Certainly, m’ lord,” Hutch answered as he picked up the remaining supplies and led the way through the entrance. His dignity was somewhat compromised as he had to stoop nearly in half to get his lanky frame through the opening. Then he had to sit on his bottom to slide down the hill. Starsky followed in the same manner.
They both set down their burdens and wandered off to different bushes to answer the call of nature. Starsky pulled the small knife from the pack and began trying to hack through a tough, stringy yucca leaf.
“What are you doing?” Hutch questioned as he came up behind Starsky.
“Gonna try an experiment,” Starsky grunted as the small blade was having difficulty with the desert plant, and he had inadvertently poked himself in the thumb with the needle-sharp point of the yucca leaf. Eventually, after more work than it was probably worth, he stood up holding a raggedly cut slender piece of the plant. Then humming to himself as he chewed on the leaf, he walked back to the pool. He squatted on the edge and then dipped the unevenly cut end into the water which he then proceeded to use to scrub his teeth. It wasn’t entirely satisfactory, but better than using the tail of his filthy shirt and rubbing with his finger.
“Ah, that’s better,” Starsky commented as he stood up then rubbed his tongue over the somewhat cleaner teeth. “Want to try it?” he asked, holding out a limp, soggy yucca leaf.
“That’s disgusting, Starsky,” Hutch commented. “I’ll cut my own, thank you.”
Starsky shrugged and took another slice of jerky from his pants. He unwrapped it then stuck it in his mouth while watching Hutch struggle with the dull knife and resistant plant. Finally Hutch was successful and tried out the make-shift tooth brush.
“All things considered, it wasn’t such a bad idea,” Hutch said as he unwrapped a jerky strip.
Refilling the water bottles, they both turned back to take one last look at the cave above the spring. The Indian drawing looked faded in the bright sunlight, and the entrance to the cave seemed to have retreated farther back under the rocky overhang. Looking at each other and saying nothing, they both turned away and began walking down the gully. Climbing out of the ravine with the pack was harder than getting down it a couple of days previously. Starsky had lost track of how many days it had been since they had begun the trip from Albuquerque. He didn’t worry about it. He was simply glad not to have to worry about the Slades. Once on top, he looked around to orient himself to the mountains and find the wandering telephone poles.
He pointed out the small, dark posts marching over the horizon to Hutch. Hutch shrugged and led the way down the slope in the general direction of what they hoped was civilization. They walked for hours before the poles began to grow larger. Once they stopped to share the last of the dried fruit and drink sparingly from the water bottles. The cedar and pinon pines became sparser and finally disappeared, but the telephone poles were becoming larger and more defined.
A few times they came across other signs of civilization. Twice they had to climb through barbed wire fences and saw some cows grazing in the distance. A few jack rabbits leaped out of the sage brush occasionally and in any other situation, Starsky would have been fascinated with their quick disappearance.
Once they reached the line of poles, they found a dusty road. The heat that had been so prevalent the days before seemed to have broken. The mountains behind them sported gathering thunder heads. The clouds and storm never quite made it to the plains they were traversing, but they provided respite from the glaring afternoon sun. In general Starsky thought it was at least fifteen degrees cooler than a few days ago. Something else the superstitious might attribute to the denizens of the cave.
Following the dirt road, they found the walking easier and made better time. It was late afternoon when they spotted a blue pick-up truck abandoned nose down in an arroyo. Starsky was almost sure this was the same Ford truck that had been stolen by Eric. On closer inspection, he was positive. It was puzzling as to how the truck came to be so far off the road, but the skid marks seemed to account for the accident. Obviously Eric in his haste to find help for Erica had hit the corner too fast and slid into the gully.
Starsky reached for his gun as they approached the vehicle. Motioning Hutch to take the other side, he walked carefully up to the driver’s side, having removed safety from the gun and pointing it at the listing vehicle. There was no sound or movement from inside the truck so he cautiously went close enough to look through the dust covered windshield. There was no one behind the wheel, but a figure was slumped against the dash on the passenger side. By this time Hutch was quietly walking up to the passenger window. Starsky went to the driver’s window, holding his gun in both hands with the barrel pointed at the sky. Hutch had to lean down to get a good look inside the cab.
“I don’t think there’s going to be a problem,” Hutch said as he tugged on the door handle. Momentarily it seemed jammed then gave with a jerk. Hutch leaned into the hot compartment and was repulsed by the odor. He pulled away from the truck cab and went to lean on the fender, taking gulps of fresh air.
Starsky opened the door on his side shortly after covering Hutch opening the other one. He drew back as a cloud of flies hummed their annoyance at the disturbance. He saw what Hutch had seen and smelled what had caused him to pull back. It must have happened early yesterday. The body had had all day to sit in the scorching sun. Holding his breath, he took a closer look at the tableau on the front seat. Erica had fallen against the dash and was staring sightlessly at him. Now he noticed the spider web of cracks in the windshield centered in front of her head. Obviously when the truck hit the arroyo at high speed, she had been thrown into the windshield. There were a few shards of glass on the dash and on the floorboards. Of Eric, there was no sign.
Finally, Starsky pulled gratefully from the overheated interior of the truck and looked around expecting that possibly Eric had seen them coming and was hidden behind a bush or something. But there weren’t any bushes to big enough to successfully hide a fully grown man. The sage in this area was hardly large enough to give cover to the rabbits and snakes.
“Couldn’t have happened to a nicer person,” Starsky commented as he shoved his gun back into his belt then shifted the backpack from the grooves it was making in his shoulders.
“Somehow I agree,” Hutch answered. He walked back to the door and looked into the cab, searching for anything that might be useful to them. There wasn’t anything he could spot. He wasn’t going to shift Erica to be sure. He noticed that she had a blackened and swollen leg. So she had been snake bit, he noted.
Meantime, Starsky was sifting through the junk in the back of the truck. There was nothing of use there either. There was a tire iron, spare tire, jack, and a roll of barbed wire plus other items completely unidentifiable. The rancher this truck had been stolen from had probably been on his way to fix fence. It was encouraging that there had been someone around doing mundane tasks. Starsky hoped the man was okay and hadn’t been hurt by the psycho, Eric, or his equally deadly sister.
“Guess we’d better get going,” Starsky commented quietly as Hutch slammed the door of the truck and walked around the truck to stand beside him.
“Yeah, there isn’t much we can do here. Wonder what happened to Eric?”
“Don’t know and at this moment, I don’t really care. I’m hungry and I’m tired. All I want to do is find someplace with people.”
“I agree,” Hutch answered and began to walk down the road that snaked among the cactus and sage bushes. Starsky followed and took a few sips from the water bottle he was carrying, noticing that Hutch was doing the same as he led the way.
The road or more accurately the set of tire tracks continued on beside the telephone poles for another mile or so Starsky estimated. Eventually they came upon a cattle guard and fence. The road continued on north–the direction they had been traveling all afternoon while the telephone poles meandered off to the east.
“What do you think?” Hutch asked him as he stopped beside the cattle guard. “Should we follow the telephone line or the road?”
“I’m not sure. This road has to go someplace.”
“It could go to some pasture.”
“Thanks a lot for your encouragement,” Starsky commented. “Let’s chance the road. If it runs out or ends in some pasture, we can come back and follow the telephone line.”
“Okay,” Hutch agreed and began gingerly walking the pipes that made up the cattle guard.
Starsky watched his progress then followed. They both crossed the cattle guard without incident and began to walk side-by-side down the dusty track. The sun continued its dip toward the mountains in the west until eventually they turned a brilliant pink and orange as it fell behind them. In the lengthening twilight, the two men began to think about finding a place to spend the night. Unnoticed by them, the road became more of a road and less of track. There was gravel that was crunching under their feet, and a shallow drainage ditch began to run beside the road.
As the evening turned slowly into night, Starsky began to think his feet would never be the same again. His feet were hot and tired but Hutch was still slogging along with a determined look on his face. He was watching where he was stepping in a dogged fashion. Starsky looked up at the slowly appearing stars. Then a glow on the horizon caught his eye.
“Look, Hutch,” he exclaimed and pointed. Tiredly Hutch raised his head from staring at the passing earth.
In the distance, there were winking lights to be seen. Starsky wasn’t sure if it was coming from a town or a ranch and at this moment, he didn’t care. The artificial lights simply seemed to be a gift from the gods. Both men looked at each other and smiles broke out on their faces.
“Let’s rest a few minutes, Hutch,” Starsky suggested. He couldn’t see Hutch clearly in the dim starlight. But if Hutch was only half as tired as he was, he was exhausted. Starsky remembered the head injury that had seemed to have nearly healed during the time spent in the cave. He remembered noticing that the swelling was now completely gone while the bruising discoloring the side of Hutch’s face that morning seemed somewhat faded.
“Yeah, I could use a drink,” Hutch answered, reaching for the water bottle attached to his belt. Both men took long swallows while walking to the somewhat softer shoulder of the road. They sank down and let their feet dangle into the ditch.
Starsky sat until the sharp pebbles and other irregularities of the ground began to make it uncomfortable to stay in one place. Groaning, he stood up and held down a hand to help Hutch to his feet.
“Shall we, m’ lord?” he quipped, paraphrasing Hutch’s words from the morning. His irrepressible sense of humor so long stifled by their circumstances reasserted itself.
Hutch smiled at the slight return to normalcy and made a shallow bow after he got to his feet. The brief rest had revitalized their energies enough for occasional conversation and speculation regarding the lights they were approaching.
It was with delight and some dismay to discover as they topped the final rise that the lights were coming from an interchange on an interstate highway. Below them, the traffic whizzed by unconcernedly as the two bedraggled men watched. The road on which they had been walking made a winding path up to the interchange and over the top of the highway. Most of the afternoon they must have been walking parallel to the highway and hadn’t known it. Starsky gave a short giggle in numb relief and acknowledgment of their predicament.
With a hoarse war whoop, he began sliding down the hill toward the highway. Hutch followed more sedately with a greater respect for his body. Starsky was standing and panting beside the four-strand barbed wire fence which barricaded the right-of-way for as far as you could see when Hutch walked up beside him. With a wide grin, he put a foot on the next to bottom wire and spread the first and second wires up with his hands. It was a fairly practiced routine from their trek across the pastures that had few gates. Hutch smiled in return and crawled through the fence, only catching his shirt and jeans a few places that were easy to pull free from.
Hutch then returned the favor, noting that the barbed wire put up by the state was stretched tighter and was shinier than the rancher’s barbed wire. Then Starsky was through the fence and they both turned toward the highway then walked down the barrow pit toward the interchange.
Unlike many California interstates, there wasn’t a soul visible from the interchange if one didn’t count the passengers of the cars zooming along on the concrete and asphalt ribbons. Starsky wondered why the interchange existed. Someone must live fairly near. He looked at the name of the interchange and received absolutely no information as it was numbered rather than named.
They walked along the shoulder and tried their luck at thumbing a ride. There was no one with enough nerve to stop for the scruffy pair. Starsky could understand why, but he was beginning to get desperate since Hutch was fading fast. His complexion had gone to ivory behind his tan with spots of red on his cheeks. Starsky told Hutch to sit down on a concrete retaining wall, and let him continue to try and flag down a car. He received no argument. Yeah, Hutch wasn’t feeling very well. It was understandable. He’d done very well, hiking as far as he had through the empty ranch land.
He was getting tempted to jump out in front of a car when a white car with the distinctive globes of a police car pulled off to the shoulder with the red and white lights flashing. Holding his hands up palm out, he walked toward the obviously suspicious police officer.
~~~
It was hours later in a small, dying Colorado town that Starsky and Hutch finally got a bed, bath, and some food, not necessarily in that order. Since the Torino had finally been identified the previous day, there had been a bulletin about the missing detectives and their prisoner; hence convincing the Colorado State Patrol of their identity was much easier than they had expected. Phone calls to a frantic Captain Dobey had easily established their credentials with the Colorado State Patrol. Captain Paul Schoenberger, the commanding officer of the modest patrol office, had made them coffee. Then he’d found a few stale donuts in the lounge which he had shared with them while the calls were being put through. Hutch wolfed down the coffee and donuts with Starsky and made no comments about junk food. Dobey would be wiring them money in the morning so they could rent a car to get to Window Rock, New Mexico where the Torino now resided in the Navajo Police impound lot.
Starsky had been startled to discover that they were indeed in Colorado. He remembered they had been in Arizona when the whole nightmare had started. Thus far, Eric Slade had not been found, but a rancher who had been checking his cattle had found Erica’s body late that afternoon. Obviously they had just missed being rescued hours earlier.
Both men were taken to a small hospital to be checked out in a very quiet emergency room. Outside of being very hungry and somewhat dehydrated, both were fit. Hutch’s head was pronounced as nearly healed and only told to take it easy. He didn’t remember to mention the ankle.
The State Patrol then took them to a rather run-down hotel after a meal at a local all-night diner. Starsky was beginning to note that the whole town looked a little run-down. The hotel had a red brick facade like most of the buildings in the downtown area. However, the town reeked of poverty–abandoned businesses with windows haphazardly boarded-up, unpainted homes with unkempt yards, and dull-eyed men staring at the intruders.
However, the hotel had clean beds and running water. Both were luxuries that the detectives had gone too long without. Neither of the big city detectives were ready to pass judgement on the life style of their hosts. They would always remember the dingy little dot on the map with fondness. It was paradise to the two men coming out of the wilderness.
Captain Schoenberger followed them up the creaking wooden stairs to their rooms. They had the whole second floor of the hotel to themselves, the night manager had told them, after the Captain had gotten him out of bed. They had two rooms with a connecting door.
Flicking on the lights, Schoenberger commented, “I imagine that this isn’t exactly what you’re used to in LA, but it’s the best that Walsenburg can do.”
“Captain, it looks like the Ritz to a couple of guys who have been spending the last few nights in a cave.”
“Where exactly did you say you found this cave?” Schoenberger questioned. “I’ve been here quite a few years and none of the local ranchers have mentioned a cave on their land.”
“Don’t know if we could find it again, Cap. And it’s so small that no one probably thought it was important enough to mention. It was important to us, though.” Starsky evaded. He didn’t want their Spanish friends bothered.
“It was pretty isolated, we think. I’d bet some of the kids around here have found it and never mentioned it to their folks,” Hutch contributed as he flopped on the bed. The springs groaned with his weight, but held. “Of course, we don’t exactly know the area.” He was sure that no one had found it in four hundred years, but he didn’t want to tell the patrolman that. They had mentioned the spring, but left out the fact that the cave was at the end of a box canyon. Perhaps that would be enough to protect it from the curious. They both hoped so.
Starsky wandered over to the connecting door to the other room and made as if he was going to go through. He stretched and yawned, making it obvious what he wanted to do.
“Guess I’ll be leaving you for now. Someone will pick you up in the morning about ten and take you down to Western Union to get your money. Don’t know if you can rent a car around here, but I’ll check it out in the morning,” Schoenberger said, taking the hint and turning with a nod of his head as he started to leave the room.
“Thanks again, Captain,” Hutch said, smiling his most charming as the tall man turned and left them alone for the first time in hours. It seemed as if the good Captain was suspicious that they had left something out of their story. And they had–a couple of somethings only one of which was the gold. The other was the sexual abuse by Eric and Erica. That was something they just didn’t want to talk about just yet even with each other.
Hutch rose from the bed and met his partner in the middle of the room. They kissed each other thoroughly then broke apart. “I don’t know about you, but the first thing I want to do is try out that shower,” Hutch said, nodding in the direction of the bathroom.
“Yeah, shall we try it out together?” Starsky said, leering at Hutch.
“No funny ideas about tonight. I don’t think I could get it up for a million bucks.”
“Neither do I, but it’s a nice thought–showering with you and just looking at that gorgeous bod.”
Hutch laughed and began stripping off his grimy clothes. Starsky did the same and at the same time had the same thought. Once they were clean, they didn’t want to put on these clothes ever again–burning might be too good for them.
“We’ll figure something out in the morning,” Starsky said, “even if I have to drape a sheet around me to walk down to the nearest store.”
“Hopefully you won’t have to do that.” Hutch took his turn leering at his partner.
The shower was long and messy. There were towels strewn around on the floor and hanging from the curtain. For an aging and decrepit hotel, strangely there was a lot of hot water and neither man complained.
They chose one bed to sleep in each other’s arms after carefully messing up the other. Starsky stared at the ceiling for a few minutes and watched the flickering neon hotel sign make orange and red patterns on the wall. It had been another near thing for them. Perhaps they were in the wrong business. When they got back to LA, he was going to have a long talk with his partner about their future. He was certain that he couldn’t survive the loss of that man and that was a chance they took every time they walked the mean streets.
“Go to sleep, Starsk,” Hutch muttered and turned over to face away from the offending window.
“Yeah, it’s just…,” Starsky let his voice trail off into nothingness as the tug of exhaustion grabbed him while a final thought came to him. They were simply lucky to have a future to think about and plan for.
~~~
The next morning a smartly uniformed young patrolman came for them. He had discreetly knocked before entering, but they had been up for a while and had asked about getting coffee and breakfast through room service. However, the hotel didn’t have anything resembling room service, but the manager had sent some coffee up from his own pot in his office. The two Los Angeles police detectives were the subject of all the morning gossip at the local diner. In typical small town fashion, there had been a lot of speculation on the kidnapping and subsequent death of one of the kidnappers. Not many people died from rattlesnake bites, but it was said that the one that had bitten the woman was a whopper. Others wondered what had happened to the brother and how he had gotten away without being found.
Holding two bundles in his arms, Officer Benton entered the room, “Cap thought you might want something else to wear. He had some clothes left from his son who was killed in Vietnam.”
“Tell the Captain, thanks–many thanks,” Hutch said, rising from the table, wearing only a sheet wrapped toga fashion. “We certainly didn’t want to put our clothes back on,” he said, gesturing at the offending pile of clothes sitting on the overstuffed chair by the window.
“I’ll be downstairs when you get dressed. No rush,” Officer Benton said pushing his coarse, dark hair from his eyes as he studied the two men. He had heard the story as soon as he had reported in this morning. He noted that they didn’t look as bad as had been described to him, but then they had had a meal, a bath, and some sleep. He nodded and turned back through the door into the hall.
Starsky made a dive for the packages. “This is great. That Captain Schoenberger is a great guy, isn’t he?”
Hutch nodded and began helping Starsky sort out underwear, socks, t-shirts and jeans. There were no shoes, but that could be easily solved after they got some money and a car.
The clothes were either too short or too long for the two detectives, but they didn’t care. They were clean and carried no memories for them. Their tennis shoes would have to hold together until new ones could be bought, but that was all they recovered from the stinking pile on the chair.
Benton took them to the diner again for a hearty breakfast of steak and eggs. Again Hutch didn’t protest the unhealthy food. Like Starsky, he simply ate everything that was put in front of him and asked for seconds. After breakfast, Benton took them to Western Union where Dobey was as good as his word. There was cash waiting for them as he had promised. Starsky was sure it would come out of their pay or expenses somehow, but at this point he didn’t care.
Once at the small Highway Patrol office, they discovered that they would have to go to the neighboring city of Pueblo to find a rental car. It was only about fifty miles away so it wasn’t much of a hardship to ride that distance with Benton in his white Patrol car. It was late in the day before they got started north. They had to sign reports then shop for clothes that fit so they could return the ones loaned to them by the Captain. After trying to reimburse the Captain for the hotel room and meals, they were told it was simple professional courtesy and that the hotel manager had said, “It was on the house.” It left a nice feeling on two bruised human beings. It helped restore their faith in humanity. They had found kindness and courtesy in a small, dilapidated Colorado town, and they left Walsenburg feeling rested both mentally and physically.
In Pueblo, they found it easy to rent a car, but decided it was so late that they would stay there for the night. The larger city had a number of modern motels so they chose one at random. It was a Best Western with a pleasant if not memorable restaurant and bar. After a predictably dull, but decent meal, they adjourned to their room.
Starsky turned on the television to find with disgust there was only four channels available and one of them was public television. Flipping the switch to the TV, he noticed Hutch was smiling at him indulgently.
“I think I can get it up tonight if you’re interested,” Hutch said, walking across the room to study his partner’s face backlit by the light from the bathroom.
“Me, too,” Starsky answered, and began to tug on the new shirt Hutch was wearing. They tumbled to the king-sized bed and began fondling each other. Running his hands under Hutch’s shirt, Starsky didn’t like the feel of so many ribs but it didn’t stop him from loving the feel of the velvet skin or stroking it gently.
Hutch was laving Starsky’s neck with kisses and then small bites. It was a long time before either of them surfaced long enough to remove their clothes. Starsky ran soft fingers over an erection that threatened the seams of Hutch’s jeans. Hutch was returning the favor and Starsky writhed with passion.
The lack of television wasn’t thought about the rest of the night as each one became reacquainted with the other’s body. To Starsky, it seemed to have been an eternity since that evening in a hotel in Albuquerque.
Hutch finally managed to shed all of his clothes and Starsky’s jeans were around his knees as Hutch sucked and licked Starsky’s manhood. Turning on the huge bed, Starsky was able to return the favor. Neither lasted long the first time nor did they want to draw it out. This was for a reaffirmation of life which they had come close to losing.
As they began shifting in the bed in preparation to actually sleep between the sheets, Starsky pulled away and looked at his partner. “There’s something I want to know, and I want to know the truth.”
“What is it, buddy?” Hutch looked at his partner with a puzzled look. He was unable to figure out what might be bothering Starsky now. The lovemaking had been wonderful and he was relaxed enough to sleep for a week.
“You know, back in Albuquerque–uhhh…,” Starsky hesitated and looked through his long lashes at Hutch. Hutch still had a puzzled look on his face.
“Albuquerque? I don’t understand…,” Hutch said, shaking his head. “It’s late, Starsky, and I want to get an early start tomorrow. According to the map, we can make Window Rock without having to stop over if we leave early enough.”
“Yeah, I know–but this is important. Or at least it was important a few days ago. Whatever was wrong with you was important enough that you brooded all across half of New Mexico and into Arizona.”
Hutch still looked puzzled, and he wasn’t faking it. “Brooding… I was brooding….”
“You wouldn’t speak except in monosyllables. You were nicer to Slade than to me–what exactly was bugging you? I really want to know.”
There was dawning comprehension on Hutch’s face. He looked around the room, anywhere but at Starsky.
“Now, you remember. Tell me–what was it? What did I do?”
“Starsk, you didn’t do anything. It was me. You know how I get. Sometimes I think too much.” Hutch paused and continued to let his eyes wander around the room.
“So what was it?”
“I…I don’t think it’s all that important now,” Hutch stammered.
“If it was important enough to make us careless with Slade, then I’d better know,” Starsky stated firmly. “It could be worse the next time you decide to pout or whatever you were doing.”
“I wasn’t pouting–was I?”
“Sure seemed like it to me,” Starsky said, studying Hutch’s face. There was no deceit to be found, only uneasiness.
“Okay,” Hutch murmured, “but I don’t know how to tell you this. It seems so stupid now after all that has happened to us.”
“Tell me,” Starsky said quietly. “You know there’s nothing you can’t tell me. If you can’t tell me, who can you tell?”
“No one. Only you. But…” Hutch sighed then stood up and began pacing the room. Starsky waited and watched patiently. There was nothing Hutch could tell him that would upset him except maybe that he wanted out of their relationship… Shit, was that it? It couldn’t be, could it? His mind was frantically searching for clues that he had missed that Hutch was bored or uneasy with their relationship. He couldn’t remember any, but that didn’t mean anything after the trauma they had been through. He might have forgotten his own name if Hutch hadn’t continued to use it.
Hutch turned to face his lover and best friend. He saw the panic and fear written there as though in letters ten feet tall.
“Hutch, you–”
“Starsk–” They both started speaking at the same time. Hutch went to sit on the bed beside Starsky. He wrapped his arms around the figure that suddenly seemed to huddle and draw into itself.
“Starsk, it’s just a bit embarrassing that’s all.”
Starsky looked up at the concerned blue eyes and frowning face of Hutch.
“So tell me…tell me what was so embarrassing that you couldn’t tell me in Albuquerque.”
“All right,” Hutch smiled and then continued. “It’s embarrassing and a little uncomfortable, considering the past week.” He stopped again only to be nudged in the ribs by Starsky as he shifted on the bed to get a better view of Hutch.
“Well?”
“I wanted to ask you if I could tie you up or handcuff you or something… sometime.” Hutch ducked his head. “I sort of lost my taste for it in that van, and it slipped my mind until just a few minutes ago.” Hutch was afraid of the reaction from Starsky. He felt the bed shift, but he couldn’t look up and see the horrified reaction of his partner. Then he heard a giggle.
“Oh god, I thought you wanted out of our relationship or something drastic,” Starsky hiccupped and giggled again. “That’s what I thought then and what was bothering me tonight–that you were bored with me and wanted out. Or that you’d found the right woman–or something really important.”
“Damn it, Starsky! I didn’t want to tell you in case you were going to be upset at something kinky like that.”
“Where did you get the idea?” Starsky studied the bowed head. He reached out to stroke the fine strands of blond hair that curled on Hutch’s neck.
“From one of those magazines that you brought home from the gay bookstore a couple of weeks ago.” Hutch raised his head and looked into the deep blue eyes. Eyes that were sparkling with mirth not horror.
“You know, I had some idea of asking you the same thing and couldn’t bring it up. But why did you act so funny in Albuquerque?”
“I nearly asked you that night–then I lost my nerve. Now after the Slades, I don’t think it’s such a sexy idea, do you?”
“Not at the moment. But you might ask me in a few weeks or months,” Starsky said, taking Hutch by the shoulders and turning him so he could see his face. “I love you and anything you want to try is okay by me–as long as you want to try it with me. Don’t let your Midwestern, Puritan ethics get between us again, okay?” Taking Hutch into his arms, he buried his face in Hutch’s neck.
Hutch took Starsky’s face in his hands, turned it toward him, and kissed Starsky lightly on the lips. “Is it okay now?”
“Yeah, only next time you think up something kinky, let me in on the fantasy.” Starsky snuggled a little closer to Hutch, feeling wonderfully comforted and loved.
“Right.” Hutch pushed Starsky down on the bed and kissed him thoroughly and deeply. “Let’s get some rest now so we can make Window Rock tomorrow and pick up a certain Red Tomato that I know has been pining away for you.”
Starsky smiled and shifted so they both could get under the covers.
Epilogue
Two Months later:
Walking into the squad room, Starsky saw Hutch reading a sheaf of papers and the door to Dobey’s office closed. He was more than a little late for work and expected Dobey to be waiting for him with fire in his eyes. Hutch glanced up and nodded to him then handed the papers to him as he rose from his chair.
“Slade was picked up in Denver yesterday,” Hutch said as Starsky scanned the paper.
“Will wonders never cease,” Starsky commented, putting the papers down on the desk in front of him. “How’d he get to Denver?”
“He was picked up on the Interstate and some nice accommodating motorist took him all the way to Denver.”
“Great! I remember trying and trying to get anybody to stop for us.”
“You gotta admit that we didn’t exactly look like a good risk,” Hutch said. “Read the rest of it.” Hutch shoved the papers back across the desk then sank back into his seat. He watched Starsky’s face as he read the report of the arrest. His face went from neutral to incredulous as his eyes moved down the paper.
“This is nothing if not spooky,” he commented and fingered the coin on a leather thong around his neck. “It says here that he was forced off the road where Erica was killed by a priest in a long black robe, and the priest was carrying this long pole with a cross on top of it.”
“Keep reading.”
Starsky’s eyes moved on down the page then he exclaimed, “Shit, it says he has been haunted by this priest all this time.” He looked up at his partner, “What do you think of all this?”
“Starsky, I don’t know what to think. I know we saw the skeletons and the gold. That’s the proof of it,” he pointed at the gold coin dangling from Starsky’s neck. “I can’t account for how fast I healed. I still think that the rest and rehydrating had a lot to do with most, if not all, of it. This is probably a figment of Slade’s imagination. He probably was driving too fast and killed his sister. Mentally he just couldn’t take it and had to blame it on some outside force.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Starsky said, still fingering the gold coin. “He also says that Erica did the killing, and he was accused because of their resemblance.”
“Now I might believe that. She seemed the deadlier of the two. He seemed like a clown some of the time–not all of it, you understand.” Hutch was thinking about the few hours he had been at the mercy of Eric and his assault. Certainly it had never developed into anything particularly unbearable, but occasionally it still bothered Hutch as he knew Erica’s invasion of Starsky’s person bothered him in the forms of nightmares.
The door to Dobey’s office swung open, “Starsky, nice to see you finally decided to grace us with your presence.” The Captain paused, “Don’t suppose you two would like an all-expense, paid trip to Denver?”
Hutch looked at Starsky who rolled his eyes, began gathering up files, and headed for his typewriter.
“Cap, we have so many open files and reports–it just doesn’t seem right to deprive some other officers that have their case load more caught up than we do of a trip to Denver.”
Dobey grinned, “Thought you might say that. I’ve assigned Jackson and Billings to make the trip.” The grin fled his face. “Get started on that report on the Davison homicide–I want it on my desk before you leave today.”
“Yes, Captain,” both men chorused, turning to their desks and sliding forms into the typewriters.
the end
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