What might have happened if in Sweet Revenge, Hutch had been shot, instead of Starsky.
Author’s Note: I always thought that Sweet Revenge was one of the most powerful Starsky and Hutch episodes ever filmed. (In spite of the fact that as an RN, the code scene made me nuts.) I often wondered what that episode might have been like if the positions of our heroes had been reversed, with the only difference being that it had been Hutch who was shot and so seriously injured This story is my take on just that scenario.
Originally published in the zine Dance With the Devil in 2003 by Lucy and Elaine. Art by Ruth Kurz and Patt.
The boardroom was cool, slightly dim and quiet. The group of six men and one woman sat clustered expectantly around the highly polished conference table that sat in the center of an opulently appointed mahogany paneled room. The sterling silver coffee service with the china cups sat waiting on the long table by the door. All heads were turned to look at the projection screen at the end of the room; various graphs and charts flickered calmly. A well-dressed man in his thirties shuffled a file folder closed and reached for the next one under it. Clearing his throat, Bates began speaking.
“Mr. Schneider?”
At the sound of his name, the older man turned to look first at Mr. Bates, then briefly at the gray-haired man seated quietly at the head of the table, his hand idly fingering a heavy gold chain. “Yes, Mr. Bates?” Schneider said.
“We’ll hear your summary of our activities in Johannesburg.”
“Thank you,” Schneider answered, turning his attention from Bates to consult the pages in front of him. With a slight incline of his body toward the head of the table, Schneider began.
“The outlook couldn’t be better, Mr. Gunther. Import totals exceed fiscal ’77, and with minimal cooperation from Wall Street, our stockholders should receive an unprecedented dividend. We’re continuing to lead the industry in net revenue, and overall, I’m delighted with the progress we’re making.” Schneider hesitated, looking at the head of the table, then back to his page when no acknowledgement from that quarter was forthcoming.
“As we all are, Mr. Schneider. Thank you,” Bates answered. “Mr. Lancaster?”
Mr. Lancaster, a distinguished looking man in his 60’s, slowly rose. A new slide flickered on the projection screen.
“Thank you, Mr. Bates. I’m able to report, with pleasure, that the upsurge in steel production has increased profits by seventeen percent, and combined with the anticipated government support, London should surpass Tokyo within sixteen months. As you know, I’ll be leaving on Saturday for Teheran, where I’ll be meeting with Lord Jensen. If all goes as planned, our acquisition of Bergman and Sons will effectively double our shipping capacity by June.”
“I’m sure you’ll relay to Lord Jensen Mr. Gunther’s appreciation for his assistance.”
“Of course,” Lancaster replied.
“And inform him that Mr. Gunther’s yacht will be available for his use throughout the term of the festival,” Bates continued smoothly.
“Yes, thank you,” Lancaster nodded with a smile as he returned to his seat.
“Thank you,” Bates intoned as he consulted his papers in front of him before turning to another man. “Mr. Judson, we’ll hear your report on United Charities.”
Judson, in his mid-forties and dressed like he could step off the cover of GQ, slowly started to his feet, but before he could stand and begin speaking, the man at the head of the table leaned slightly forward.
“I’d prefer to move on to your report, Mr. Bates,” the soft voice of James Gunther surfaced from the shadows.
Judson looked awkwardly from the head of the table to Mr. Bates and back again before he slowly retook his chair with a forced smile.
“Of course, sir,” Bates answered without hesitation. He shuffled a few of the file folders out of the way before he opened the one he was looking for. With a square of his shoulders, his voice rang out clearly but in somber tones. “Reports from Los Angeles indicate that our operation there has been completely terminated, at least for the next two fiscal years. San Diego and Newport have ceased all activities. The doors to Phoenix remain open, as do Reno’s, but we have lost the LA/Atlanta axis, and consequently the southwestern profit picture is going to indicate an eighty percent loss.”
Bates pause, painfully aware that the cool silence of previous minutes was now a cold, tense, and oppressive one. He shifted another page and took a calming breath. “Admittedly, it isn’t a very pretty picture, but I’m confident that we still have sufficient strength to regroup and in…”
The shadow at the head of the table pushed back the large leather chair and stood. The motion brought the room to total silence. The hand that had been fingering the gold chain now dropped it to the tabletop, the sound abnormally loud in the silent room.
“I appreciate all this optimism about the future… regardless of how distant it might be. But the next report I expect to hear… the only report that I’m at all concerned with… is that we have eliminated, now and forever, the two individuals who are almost single-handedly responsible for the massive damage that has been inflicted on our organization.” Gunther paused, then stepped away from his position at the head of the table, taking a few slow steps toward the end of the room and the projection screen hanging there.
All eyes followed the silver haired dark suited figure. As Gunther passed by Bates, he reached out a well-manicured hand to take the small black control to the projector away from the younger man. The screen flickered with graphs and charts until it settled and solidified on one new slide. Without a word, Gunther handed back the control box and continued walking.
The screen now showed a photograph of two men, one light blond with straight hair shining brilliantly in the sunlight of the photo, the other almost as tall, but with a mop of dark and curly hair. Both men were dressed in suits; their ties pulled slightly loose and down from the usual place just under the collar. They were apparently unaware of their picture being taken. Gunther stopped to stare for a brief moment at the figures on the screen, then stepped forward again, the light of the projector catching his face in the projection of the image, distorting both the slide and the older man’s features.
“Now and forever, gentlemen. Now and forever, gone.” His voice had risen only slightly, but the menacing color of the words was clear.
* * * *
David Starsky stood in a wide stance balancing his weight evenly on the balls of his feet keeping his eye on the ping pong ball as Hutch returned the volley. The squadroom was draped with drop cloths, and ladders blocked the spaces between desks. The entire room reeked with the pungent odor of fresh paint. It was lunchtime and the painters were taking a break. He and Hutch had been in a playful mood all morning. Currently, in addition to the ping-pong game they played, they were heavily engaged in a trivia contest consisting of every stupid oxymoronic phrase they could think of. They’d spent the last hour in this double game and had laughed more together than they had in the past several months. And it felt good…. damned good.
Starsky looked at his partner, feeling the love swell in his chest.
Partner in every sense of the word, as a cop and now, since leaving Huggy’s bar after the debacle with Kira, his lover.
“How ’bout, the beer that made Milwaukee famous made a fool out of me?” Hutch offered with a backhanded return of the little white ball.
“What’s that from?” Starsky asked as he returned the serve.
“I don’t know but it was…. Monstrous,” Hutch answered, before frowning and shooting back a verbal volley as he returned the ball. “Quit spitting on your paddle.” Hutch returned the ball once more but it landed wide and bounced back in his direction. He bent over to grab it up and tossed it over the net.
“Right here, Charlie,” Starsky said, calling for the ball.
Hutch snorted and repeated himself. “Quit spitting on your paddle.”
“How about… if I had to do it all over again, I’d do it over you?”
“Oh yeah. Don’t cry down my back, baby, you might rust my spurs.”
Hutch said putting a spin on the ball as he returned it.
Starsky easily shot it back adding, “If the phone don’t ring, darlin’, you’ll know it’s me.”
Hutch popped the ball back. The hollow sound of the game ball’s bouncing was almost hypnotic. “I’d rather have a bottle in front of me, than a frontal lobotomy.”
Starsky returned the ball with a slight snicker, as Hutch’s return fell short. “Ah ha! Okay, If I don’t beat you with trivia, I’ll get you with talent. That makes the score 20-19 my favor. Match point, set point. And in case you’ve forgotten our bet, we’re one point away from a three-course dinner at a restaurant of my choice.”
“Yeah, yeah. I remember. Shut up and serve the ball,” Hutch grumbled.
“In fact, I was just reading about this new place in Elmwood that’s so expensive they demand a credit reference when you make the reservation,” Starsky teased as he served.
Dobey entered the main squadroom from his office and moved to the centerline of the table to watch the game. His head was following the ball back and forth, and out of the comer of his eye Starsky smiled, thinking his boss looked like one of those bobbing heads people set on their dashboard.
“Starsky, Hutchinson, I want to speak with you both a minute.”
“One sec, Captain,” Starsky answered.
“I know things have been a little slow around here, with the painting and all. You’re probably going to say it’s none of my business, but I was wondering….” Dobey’s voice trailed off, fading in the rhythmic motion of his head shifting back and forth as his eyes tracked the small white ball. The big man shook his head slightly to focus. “Where was I?”
“You were just wondering, Captain,” Hutch answered.
“Oh yeah, I was wondering what the hell’s going on?”
Starsky fired a sharp shot back, which caught Hutch just a tad late and his return volley caught in the net instead of clearing it. “I don’t know, Captain,” Starsky answered gleefully. “But I’m sure as hell going to find out!” Starsky slapped his paddle against Dobey’s girth and headed for the exit door.
“What?” Hutch asked looking stunned.
“What?” Dobey echoed, looking from the fast moving Starsky to Hutch, as he stood dumbfounded.
“I don’t know, Captain, but I’m sure as hell going to find out.” Hutch slapped his paddle into Dobey’s chest next to where Starsky’s was still being held by a large black hand, before he followed Starsky out the door doing a little jog to catch up. Starsky chuckled as he heard the exchange waiting for Hutch to fall in step with him as they exited the building.
Starsky blinked at the bright sunlight coming from the interior of the building and out of the comer of his eye saw Hutch do the same. Starsky lengthened his stride and walked slightly ahead feeling very pleased with himself for winning the game, and was already looking forward to a nice quiet romantic dinner with his love. “You owe me dinner, buddy-boy.”
Hutch’s voice was soft coming a few feet behind him, and Starsky had to smile believing Hutch hadn’t caught all the way up yet because he was enjoying the view. Starsky wiggled just a bit, then laughed out loud as he heard Hutch gulp and clear his throat.
“Well, a bet’s a bet.”
“All right, that’s the spirit.” Starsky paused and let Hutch catch up, flashing him a knowing smile and enjoying the blush on Hutch’s face that followed.
“But as long as I’m footing the bill, is it okay if I pick the date?”
“Sure…”
“How’s tomorrow sound?” Hutch asked, peeling a little away from Starsky to walk to the passenger side of the Torino.
“Tomorrow? Sounds great!” Starsky stood at his door, fumbling the keys out of his tight jeans.
“How ’bout five in the morning?” Hutch asked, his face carefully schooled innocence.
“Are you kidding? There’s nothing open then but all-night burger joints and truck stops.”
“You catch on quick.”
Starsky unlocked his door, “Forget it! You owe me a three-course meal.”
“So order a burger, fries and a chocolate shake,” Hutch offered as he held his hand on the doorknob waiting for Starsky to unlock his side.
“No way. I’m talking a broiled lobster, or maybe a New York steak…”
“Come on, open up,” Hutch said, giving his door a shake.
Starsky looked over at Hutch and saw an odd expression on his partner’s face. “Don’t look like that. It isn’t everyday you get to buy your best buddy an expensive meal… ” Starsky watched as Hutch’s eyes narrowed and he saw his partner reach for his weapon. Starsky turned to follow the direction of Hutch’s intense look and saw the black and white moving toward them as it moved erratically and scraped against the car it was parked next to.
“Starsky! Get down!” Hutch shouted and immediately Starsky dropped and rolled as automatic gunfire echoed through the police garage. He rose up on one knee to return fire, batting away the flying glass shards raining down from his shattered back window. He heard other officers in the garage shout and fire also. But the sound that was conspicuously missing, the one he had not heard at all… was the roar of Hutch’s cannon.
“Hutch?! Hutch?” Starsky called, still firing at the patrol car speeding away on the main street. The silence fell over him like a thick blanket and his mind played back the sounds of the previous seconds. He recognized that no… not once did he hear that .357. Starsky ran around to the passenger side of the car and saw clearly why.
Hutch was lying on the pavement, unmoving. His gun still holstered. Starsky felt all the air. eave his vicinity and his chest clamped down like it was being held in a vice. He couldn’t utter a sound or draw in a breath. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there frozen, it felt like hours. But when he did move, his body shot forward and he crashed down on his knees sliding next to Hutch’s body.
“Hutch… Oh God… Somebody call an ambulance!” Starsky screamed as he hesitantly reached to touch his lover. His fingers went to Hutch’s neck and felt the pulse there, beating rapidly but strong. Out of the comer of his eye somebody shoved a towel at him and he took it gratefully, using it to push against the steady flow of blood coming from the front of Hutch’s chest. “Hang on, buddy. Help is coming. You’re gonna be okay. I got ya’. Not gonna let you go.”
Starsky used one arm to lever Hutch’s upper body up slightly to rest against his bent legs. Hutch’s breathing seemed to be getting faster and noisier. He prayed that if he could get Hutch’s head raised a little it would help. As he moved, his knee slipped and he jarred Hutch’s body sharply against him. “Sorry, buddy… sorry. I’ve got you now. Need to get your head up a little. Is that better?” Starsky glanced down quickly, believing he’d laid his knee down in a blotch of oil on the garage floor that had caused the slip, but was terrified to see that was not the case. There was very little blood coming out of Hutch’s chest, just barely soaking through the towel in small spots, but the floor of the garage where Starsky was kneeling was flooded with it. Starsky’s pant legs were covered in it, the denim leaching it up off the cement.
“Oh God….” Starsky stared unbelievingly at the blood on the floor, confused as to where it was coming from. He looked at his hand tightly holding the towel against Hutch’s chest and shook his head. Then a shudder shook him as he raised up enough to see over Hutch’s shoulder to get a look at his back. There was his answer. Three large exit wounds stood out in stark relief against the beige of Hutch’s jacket. The pool of blood under his body was huge and growing at an alarming rate. The blood literally dripped off the edges of the tom fabric. Dripping Hutch’s life away.
Starsky ripped off his leather jacket and balled it up behind Hutch, looking frantically around for another pair of hands to help him. He glanced up to the fast approaching face of his Captain.
“Oh, sweet Jesus!” Dobey breathed as he bent down to hold the jacket against Hutch’s back. “Starsky, are you all right?”
Starsky heard the question, but for the life of him couldn’t make his mouth provide an answer. He stared down at the pale, lax face of his partner and thought grimly, I’ll only be all right if he is.
The EMT’s arrived and Starsky was brushed aside while the ambulance attendants swarmed around Hutch, largely blocking the view.
“Let’s get him loaded,” one of the EMT’s said as he helped lift Hutch onto the gurney and move rapidly toward the back of the open ambulance. “I’ll start an IV enroute if I can find a vein. He needs more help than anything we can do for him here.” The doors closed with a hollow sounding slam and the siren’s wail filled the garage as the vehicle sped away. Starsky stood there watching, feeling an impossible combination of numbness and the worst pain his body had ever known. He glanced down at the cement floor where Hutch had lain, the jacket a crumpled lump amidst a sea of red. He left it there.
“Come on, son,” Dobey’s voice registered as did a hand on his arm urging him toward a car. “We’ll be right behind them. Get in.”
Starsky obeyed, sitting down in the front seat, his hands clasped tightly together between his knees to still their shaking. He rocked silently back and forth as the car chased after the ambulance.
* * * *
The next hours passed in a blur. He remembered vaguely answering the questions they asked and signing the papers required for Hutch’s admission and treatment. He sat in the hard-backed plastic chair his hands playing with a plastic bag which contained Hutch’s belongings. Dobey sat next to him but neither man had spoken in what seemed like hours. Starsky could smell the copper tang of the blood on the clothing inside the bag and felt like he’d smelled it for so long it had become like a taste on his tongue. Bitter and choking him. He glanced up at the sound of footsteps and recognized Huggy approaching.
“Starsky … if you’re here, then…” The thin black man faltered, his eyes looking around the room as if expecting to find Hutch somewhere near. “I got the word, you know, that a hit went down, they just didn’t say who it was. How you doin’, man?”
Starsky looked up into the face of his old friend and opened his mouth, only to lower his head and close it again. There were no words for what he was feeling.
Huggy turned to Dobey. “What happened? At the police garage… how.?”
“Couple of guys in a squad car dressed as cops. They used automatic weapons. Hutchinson is in surgery,” Dobey supplied quietly.
“Starsky, you’re a mess, bro’. Give me the keys to your place, and I’ll go get you some clean clothes. You can’t sit here like that.” Huggy held out a thin hand. When Starsky didn’t move he reached for Starsky’s forearm and pulled him to his feet, digging in his pockets for the required keys. “I’ll be back in a flash.”
Starsky nodded and sank back into the chair without comment. He saw Huggy’s legs still standing in front of him, unmoving and guessed he and Dobey were having some kind of exchange, but he tuned it out, only catching the odd word and fragmented phrases. Something about the seriousness of Hutch’s condition and Starsky’s near catatonic state. Dobey thanked Huggy for making the trip for clean clothes, stating they’d be here when he returned.
A glass of orange juice was pressed into his hands as the plastic bag was removed and Starsky looked up into Dobey’s concerned gaze.
“Drink this,” Dobey ordered gently, and Starsky mindlessly complied.
It seemed like only a few moments later and suddenly Huggy was back. Starsky glanced up at the clock on the wall and felt shocked at the passage of time. Six hours. He’s been in surgery for six hours.
“Come on, my man. Let’s go get you cleaned up a little. Those pants can’t be comfortable stiff like they are from the knees down.” Huggy pulled firmly on Starsky’s arms getting him to his feet, then steering him into the men’s room just down the hall.
Before Starsky followed his friend the short distance, he turned to Dobey. “If…if they call or anything…”
“I’ll come get you. I promise,” Dobey said.
Starsky nodded and walked the short distance down the hall, passing in front of Huggy as his friend held open the door. He moved sluggishly into one of the stalls with the bag Huggy pressed at him. Methodically, he removed his shoes and socks, then his pants, grimacing at the sticky stiffness. He dragged on the clean jeans and socks, pulling his belt free of the dirty pants and sliding it in place. He stepped back into his shoes, refusing to think about the blood splatters there as well. Shoving the ruined jeans back the empty bag, he debated a second before stepping out of the stall and angrily shoving the bag into the trashcan. Huggy nudged him to the sink and he leaned heavily on his elbows, just watching the water run.
Behind him he could hear Huggy retrieving the bag and rustling with it, then letting it fall back in. Huggy rested one hand on his shoulder while the other held out his wallet, badge case, and a handkerchief.
“Thanks, sorry…” Starsky muttered, then straightened up and washed his hands, watching as the water turned a rusty brown. He felt the growing ball of pain rise from his stomach. Felt it batter at the back of his throat. He fought it down, but couldn’t contain it. He heard a high-pitched keening sound and wondered who had come in and what shape they were in to make a sound like that. A glance at his tear-streaked face in the mirror and the realization struck home that the mournful sound was coming from him, and he couldn’t seem to make it stop. The wail morphed into a sob and Huggy was there, turning him, wrapping his thin arms around Starsky’s body with a fierce strength that was surprising. Starsky grasped at Huggy’s waist with his wet hands and hung on, letting the sobs come, unable to hold them back any longer.
He felt drained, the pain in his heart lessened slightly, but the bitter taste of fear remained. He pulled away from his friend and stepped back to the sink and splashed water in his face, then savagely ripping paper towels out of the receptacle on the wall he dried his face, rubbing harshly at the water and the last lingering tears. With a shuddered deep breath he forced his feet to carry him back out into the hallway. Back out to that damned plastic chair. Back out to wait.
Dobey was standing in the hall when Starsky came out of the bathroom. Dobey looked in his direction and Starsky felt his stomach tighten.
“Anything?” Starsky asked as he picked up his pace toward his Captain.
“He’s out of surgery and in the recovery room. They said we could wait here or outside of ICU. That’s where he’ll go in a hour or so they said.”
“How’s he doing?” Starsky asked, hating the way his voice quivered.
“Starsky …” Dobey glanced away, his own voice breaking. “The doctor said he was surprised Hutch made it off the table.” Dobey, sniffed and fumbled with the handkerchief he held gripped in his fist. Blowing his nose loudly and wiping over his face, he looked Starsky solidly in the eye. “He’s still alive, that’s all I know. Let’s go wait upstairs.” Dobey turned toward the elevator and Starsky slowly followed.
Huggy walked that far with them before hanging back. “I’ve got to go open up and give the crew some direction for the night. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Right, yeah, go ahead. We’ll be upstairs… ICU’s on the third floor,” Starsky reminded.
“Yeah, I know. Later,” Huggy said and the doors to the elevators swallowed Dobey and Starsky out of his sight.
* * * *
They sat in more uncomfortable plastic chairs in a corridor outside of ICU #1. The room was full of ominous looking equipment with a big gaping hole in the center of the room where the bed would go when Hutch came from the recovery area. Starsky jumped up, unable to sit still any longer. His fear was morphing into frustration that was dangerously close to anger.
“They aren’t going to get away with this,” Starsky muttered as he paced in front of the large viewing window. “I swear to God, I will hunt them down to the last man.”
He was still pacing when the double doors at the end of the hall opened and a bed began moving slowly down the hall. There was a flurry of activity around the bed, so many people that Hutch’s body was almost completely obscured. They angled carefully through the doors and began attaching the machines that had stood sentry, waiting. Waiting like Starsky had been waiting. As the crowd cleared slightly Starsky got his first glimpse of his lover. Deathly still and pale on the bed. The stillness a stark contrast to the activity all around him. It reminded Starsky of ants on a sugar cube. If one peeled away there was another to take their place. Poking and prodding, checking equipment and making modifications. It seemed to go on forever.
Starsky pulled one of the damnable plastic chairs up and turned it backward, sitting down with his face pressed up against the window. Waiting until it was his tum and he could go in.
“Anything new?” Huggy’s voice registered behind him, and Starsky was shocked to realize he hadn’t even been aware that Huggy had returned.
“They found the car. The lab’s going over it for prints, but it will take a while to shift through them all,” Dobey answered. Then, stepping closer to the ICU window to stare inside, he whispered. “It’s a miracle he’s still alive.”
“Is he going to be okay?” Huggy asked, his voice a whisper also.
“He’s gotta be,” Starsky answered.
“He suffered massive damage the surgeon said…the body can only withstand so much.” Dobey’s voice was thick with emotion as he shared what the doctor had told him while Starsky was changing clothes earlier.
“What else did they say that you didn’t tell me?” Starsky asked, his hands where they rested on the back of the chair going white.
“There’s always a chance…right?” Huggy prompted.
“Yes, of course,” Dobey countered, though his voice didn’t sound convincing. “There’s always a chance.”
The last few hospital personnel stepped back and finally left Hutch’s room, leaving only the nurse entrusted with his care at the bedside. The doctor approached the small group waiting outside the window.
“Detective Starsky?” the doctor extended his hand to where Starsky sat straddling the chair and Starsky shook it. “You can go in now, for just a few minutes. He’s in a coma.”
Starsky stood and walked slowly inside, swallowing hard against the roaring in his ears and the threatened rebellion of the coffee and orange juice churning in his stomach. Behind him he heard Dobey’s voice.
“How much… how long?”
Starsky held his breath to hear the answer.
“He might live a few hours, maybe as long as a day. There’s no way of knowing.”
Starsky tightened both hands into fists and at that moment never hated anything on the planet as much as he hated Dobey for asking that question… unless it was the doctor for having truthfully answered it.
Starsky approached the bed holding his lover and the nurse respectfully stepped away. He glanced at the machines and the monitor, then sank slowing into the chair by the bedside. He reached out to touch Hutch’s hand; it was cold and limp as he raised it to cradle it gently between both of his own. Willing it to warm, he lowered his mouth to kiss the frigid fingers.
He looked at Hutch’s face, then down the long body as if memorizing every inch of skin. So frail looking now, so pale and still. Such a contrast to the strong and powerful passion-filled body that had loved him only the night before.
Starsky gently laid Hutch’s hand back on the bed and rose to lean over him, placing his mouth close to Hutch’s ear to whisper, barely audible. “Hutch? Can you hear me? Hutch… I’m here. We’re all here… Dobey, Huggy. They’re right outside.” He paused to take a breath and steady himself. “You gotta fool ’em. You gotta make it, Babe. You know why? ‘Cause without you, Hutch, there is no me.”
Starsky let his lips rest lightly against Hutch’s forehead, feeling the hot track of tears on his own cheeks. “I love you…I gotta believe you can hear me. I need to know that you know… I love you.” Starsky straightened up and ran a trembling hand over his face, then turned and slowly left the room.
Starsky walked over to where Dobey sat and joined him. He sank into the chair with a bone deep fatigue.
“There’s nothing I can do at headquarters that I can’t do here. I think I’m gonna stay,” his Captain said, then fell silent for a few seconds. “You should, too. When he…if we lose him, I think one of us ought to be here.”
Starsky turned to stare at Dobey, then back to Hutch’s room feeling his pain bubble up in anger once more. “I feel so helpless… so useless.”
“You’re needed here. Hutch needs you and… so do I” Dobey said softly. “How is he doing?”
Starsky shrugged.
“How about you?”
Starsky made no reply, verbal or otherwise.
“Why don’t you go get something to eat. Catch up to Huggy, he went for some coffee a minute ago. I’ll stay right here.”
Starsky nodded in agreement more from not having any energy to fight the suggestion than the desire to get anything to eat or drink. He did feel the need to go to the bathroom though, so he stood and looked around trying to remember where the nearest one was on this floor. Stopping a passing nurse he asked, “Excuse me, where’s the men’s room?” He followed her pointing finger a few steps before turning back to his Captain.
“Do you want me to bring you anything?” Starsky asked.
“No… no, thanks,” Dobey replied, resting his face in his hand and trying to settle his elbow comfortably on the narrow chair arm.
Starsky walked into the bathroom and bumped into a man hurrying out. The man wore a short lab coat and brushed by Starsky without any acknowledgement of Starsky’s mumbled apology.
Once in the bathroom, Starsky stepped up to the urinal and relieved himself, then stood at the sink just staring as if it was a monumental effort for his brain to remember what to do next. He finally reached for the faucet and turned on the water and washed his hands. Don’t go… Hutch, please don’t go. Now that we’ve finally fixed all the shit between us. Please don’t go, Starsky thought desperately to the face in the mirror. Leaning over slightly he splashed his face with the cold water in hopes of feeling more alert. Resting on his elbows to let the drips fall he glanced into the mirror again.
For a second all he saw was his own image. His face, drawn, his bloodshot eyes shadowed by dark circles, then his vision shifted and he saw legs. Legs clad in white pants, wearing white shoes and sticking out under the door of one of the bathroom stalls. He turned and quickly jerked open the door to find a young man slumped unconscious and wedged between the toilet and the wall.
Starsky burst out of the men’s room and looked frantically in both directions. He saw the man he’d bumped into holding a chart just outside Hutch’s door, his arm raised as if preparing to push his way inside. Starsky pulled his weapon with a shout of “Police, freeze!” The imposter dropped the chart and reached inside his jacket to pull a gun. Starsky fired before the gun cleared the man’s white lapel. Dobey was up out of his chair with his own weapon drawn and pointed at the man in tandem. With a grunt, Dobey stretched out his hand to feel for a pulse at the fallen man’s neck. He straightened slowly, turning toward Starsky as he slowly approached.
“He’s dead.”
Doctors and nurses flocked into the corridor, and Starsky vaguely heard the overhead page requesting security to come to ICU stat. All the while Starsky just stood and stared at the dead man, feeling himself beginning to shake in his rage. “No… not again. You won’t get another chance at him, you motherfucker!”
Dobey lowered Starsky’s left hand, which was still holding his weapon. “Put it away, son. You got him. He can’t hurt Hutch.”
He secured his gun in his shoulder holster without taking his eyes off the hitman’s body. “Hutch may die, and I can’t stop it, but nobody’s going to take him one second early. Nobody!”
With a jerk away from Dobey’s restraining hand, Starsky walked to the ICU window. He raised a trembling hand to hesitantly touch the cool glass. He closed his eyes and splayed his fingers slowly apart, remembering that exact same gesture from the night before when it was Hutch’s smooth chest he had been touching, not cold and lifeless glass. He tried to recapture that memory, tried to remember the feel of the warmth of the skin under his hand, hot, sweaty and alive. He could almost…almost do it…but not quite.
He let his head fall to rest on the glass near his fingers. When he opened his eyes, he could see the fog his breath had created on the window and for a second he felt drawn to place a kiss on the fogged glass for Hutch to see if he woke up. A tender message like the letters he had scrawled across the isolation window in Dr. Kaufman’s lipstick years ago.
The frantic activity of the shooting died down once the body was removed, leaving Huggy seated in a chair in the comer, quiet and withdrawn. Dobey was busy directing the officers that were bringing in a desk and a police band radio and extra phone lines. Starsky had been in to see Hutch again, touching him, whispering phrases of love and encouragement, but Hutch had not responded. It’s like you’re gone, already, Starsky’s brain supplied, but his heart cut off the thought with a vengeance. I’ve got to do something or I’m gonna go nuts!
“I’ve got to get out of here,” Starsky voiced his frustration loudly, startled that the sound of his voice drew the ambient noise around him to a halt.
“You don’t need to go anywhere,” Dobey ordered.
“We’re not even safe in the hospital! A doctor’s knocked out and Hutch is practically finished off right under our noses.”
“It won’t happen again. I can guarantee…” Dobey began.
“You can’t guarantee shit! The hit went down at our own station, for God’s sake!” Starsky cut in. “I’m telling you it will happen again. These guys are pros, Captain. They’re gonna hit again and they’re not gonna stop until they finish the job.”
“If they do come back, we’ll be waiting for ’em,” Dobey said stepping closer to where Starsky stood.
“But this isn’t the time for waiting. Don’t you understand, we’ve got to take the offensive.”
“How?”
“We go out looking for them!” Starsky punctuated his statement with a vicious slam of an open desk drawer.
“Look at you, slamming things around like some half-cocked, revenge-crazed civilian. You go out of here like that, you’ll get yourself burned, just like your partner. It’d be like shooting a duck in a barrel.” Dobey stepped closer to invade Starsky’s personal space, but Starsky didn’t step back an inch.
“Be calm,” Dobey continued, his tone a little softer. “Calm down… wait ’til I can find you a new partner…”
Starsky felt the wave of an icy rage and he directed it without thought of consequence at his Captain. “I already got a partner. I don’t need another one.”
Dobey raised his finger to point into Starsky’s face. “Then you’ll stay here because it’s proper procedure. You’ll stay because it’s a damn direct order!”
“Captain, if it wasn’t for proper procedure, Hutch and I would’ve been on to these guys long ago. And as far as orders go…I’m not taking ’em this time!”
Starsky turned on his heel and headed for the elevator, ignoring the bellow behind him.
“Starsky!”
Starsky leaned on his outstretched arm and waited impatiently for the elevator door to open. When it did, he entered without a backward glance, his heart twisted at hearing Dobey’s instructions to Huggy.
“Chances are we’re gonna lose his partner tonight… I don’t want him to be out on the streets when it happens.”
“He’s got to be,” Huggy answered, already rising from his chair to join Starsky at the elevator.
“Damn,” Dobey’s sorrowful curse was the last thing Starsky heard as the elevator door slid shut behind the thin black man who slipped quickly inside.
“I don’t need a keeper,” Starsky said after a few seconds of awkward silence. “With the target I might as well have painted on my back, you’d be better off staying as far away as possible.”
“I’ve got car keys. Can’t drive a car without keys.” Huggy dangled a set between his thin fingers before dropping them into Starsky’s outstretched hand.
Starsky gripped the keys and leaned back heavily to rest his body against the back wall of the elevator. He drew in a shuddered breath and felt old…old and tired… and alone.
“The doctors say Hutch is going to die, Hug, and there’s nothing they can do about it. And when it happens, life will go on, as if Hutch being dead doesn’t matter.” Starsky closed his eyes against the sting of tears. “But it matters to me… and as long as I’m still breathing, I’m going to do something about it.”
“Just remember one thing… Hutch’s our brother, too. Dobey’s hurting, I’m hurting. You’re not the only one he means a lot to, dig?”
Starsky looked away. You’ve got no idea, Hug. You got no clue what Hutch and I mean to each other, now.
“Somebody wants me and Hutch dead, and they’re not going to stop until they do it. If I’m an easy target, they’re going to try to hit me, and maybe… just maybe… ” Starsky turned to look fully at his friend as the elevator doors pinged open. “I’m not going to let Hutch die for nothing. They’re gonna pay, Hug. If I have to get them by being a target myself, that’s what I’ll do.” Cause if Hutch ain’t there to come back to, I don’t give a damn, anyway, he finished silently to himself.
Starsky took a step free of the elevator, then turned back to his friend. “You and Dobey stay with him. I can’t. I’ve got to do what I’ve got to do. Understand?” Starsky watched as the elevator doors closed with Huggy inside.
Starsky walked toward Huggy’s car, spotting it easily in spite of the dim light in the dusty garage. His footsteps echoed hollowly in the large structure. Ahead of him at a car parked next to Huggy’s, stood an orderly trying to maneuver a patient in a wheelchair on the passenger side of a car.
“Excuse me… you’re blocking my car. Do you need a hand?”
The orderly looked up and smiled brightly. “Hey man, thanks. I’d appreciate it. His wife went to get change to get out of the lot. His medication hit him all of a sudden. If you could just grab under his arms, I’ll lift his legs. They’ve got a long drive. He’ll wake up by the time she gets him home. Let me just tum the chair around a little.”
As the orderly turned the chair around, the man slumped slightly forward in it sprang to life. The lap blanket was thrown back and the seated invalid made a lunge at Starsky with a long and deadly looking knife.
Starsky jumped back, sucking in his stomach and throwing his right arm out to block the thrust. With a fierce grab at his attacker’s shirtfront, Starsky pulled the attacker to his feet. Starsky gave a swift kick at the obstructing wheelchair to send it skittering out of the way. The orderly fumbled over the wheelchair, barely keeping his feet. His gun was drawn and wavered slightly as the man attempted to aim. Starsky’s fist connected solidly with his attackers jaw, sending him flying backward against the orderly. The gun discharged and the fake patient crumbled to the floor of the garage between Starsky and the orderly’s feet before the echo of the shot died away. By the time the orderly had disengaged himself from the force of the dying body, he stood staring at the black eye of Starsky’s weapon, pointing squarely at the orderly’ s chest.
“Talk to me… tell me something I don’t know. You better let me hear it…now!” Starsky screamed in his fury.
The orderly stood, paralyzed in fear. His gun was still pointed at Starsky but the hand holding it trembled wildly.
“Drop the gun, let it fall. I can shoot you between the eyes before you get the damn thing steady enough to pull the trigger. Drop it!”
The orderly obeyed and Starsky kicked the gun under a parked car.
The orderly’s eyes followed the path and he made a slight motion in the parked car’s direction.
“Give me even a little reason and I’ll kill you, sucker,” Starsky hissed, getting the man’s full attention easily. “Talk to me!”
“It was a paid hit! I don’t know who wanted it done… I swear.”
“Who paid. Give me a name, damn it!”
“A girl.”
“What girl?”
“Brown.”
“Who?”
“Jenny Brown.”
“Where is she?”
“I don’t know.”
Starsky fired his weapon; the sound echoed in the concrete space like a cannon. The orderly flinched and began to shake all over. Starsky continued to watch the man, his stare cold and unblinking.
“Where?”
“Park Towers. 307.”
Starsky reached in his back pocket and pulled out his handcuffs. With a motion of his gun hand he secured the orderly’s outstretched hands around one of the upright cement supports. As he worked he suddenly realized that the knife had injured him after all. His right hand was leaving bloody fingerprints and smears over everything Starsky touched.
Stepping away from the man once satisfied he was secure, Starsky jerked up his sleeve to find a long cut on the outside of his forearm where he’d blocked the blow. Seeing something sticking out of the orderly’s jacket pocket, Starsky reached in and pulled free a clean white handkerchief and wrapped it tightly around his wound. “Thanks,” he answered sarcastically and he gave his handcuffs a none too gentle tug before walking to the wall by the elevator and picking up the house phone.
“I need to speak to Captain Harold Dobey with Bay City PD. He’s in the waiting room 9utside of ICU. This is Detective David Starsky,” he said when the hospital operator answered on the third ring.
“Starsky, where are you and what’s gong on?”
“I need you to send a patrol car and a coroner’s wagon to the third level of the County Hospital’s parking garage.”
“That’s right here,” Dobey shouted.
“No, shit!”
“What’s going… ” Dobey’s voice changed as if he were suddenly speaking to someone else close by. “Yes, I heard you. Someone reported shots fired in the parking garage. I’m getting information on that right now. Get someone to level three.” Dobey returned his attention to Starsky. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. Jenny Brown…I need you to feed her name into the computer and let me know everything you can find out about her.”
“Starsky, this is Huggy. Did you say Jenny Brown?”
“Yeah, so what?” Starsky answered, in irritated at the interruption.
“So, I know who she is.”
“Who?” Dobey’s voice echoed Starsky’s in the background.
“Jenny Brown happens to be the Muhammad Ali of the modeling world. She’s been on the cover of Cosmo, Vogue…you name it. She was…is and will forever be, the black beauty of her generation.”
“I don’t care who she is, she’d better have some answers.” Starsky slammed down the house phone not wanting or waiting to hear any more orders from his boss and jogged to the car. Pulling sharply out of the parking spot he took perverse comfort in the wide-eyed look of fear still on the orderly’s face as he left him there. By the time Starsky was turning the corner out of the parking structure he caught the sight of unifo1med officers pouring out of the elevator.
* * * *
Starsky stood for a second at the large and impressively adorned apartment door. Behind it was the woman who paid for the hit on him and his partner. The knowledge welled up inside him as if it were a living thing. He knocked loudly several times with his fist, each strike of the door harder than the last until his rage over-flowed and he kicked the heavy door open.
Inside the dark apartment he caught sight of a thin black woman moving quickly toward the phone on her desk. Starsky held his badge out in one hand and his gun in the other. He walked steadily toward the woman who stared at him like a frightened animal caught in on-coming headlights.
“Don’t move,” Starsky ordered. He looked quickly around the room.
“Is anyone else here?” he asked tightly.
The frightened woman shook her head no, still staring, frozen.
Starsky walked closer, invading her personal space intentionally. He imagined she could even feel the heat of his breath when he asked, “Who gave you the money to pay for the hit?”
“I really haven’t any idea what you’re talking about,” Jenny answered, leaning slightly away.
“Lady, my partner is dying, and you paid the talent that shot him. Now I’m going to read you your rights and then I’m going to arrest you. I’m going to take you downtown and book you. They’re going to take your picture, but it won’t be one of your better looks. When all that is over and done, Miss Brown, you’re going to be allowed a phone call. And what I suggest you say to your caller is, that you’ve been arrested as an accomplice in the attempted murders of two police officers… and your boss…the man who left you holding the bag… is the one I’m coming after next. You got that?”
* * * *
Out of the comer of his eye Starsky caught the dark figure of the security guard from down in the lobby. Flashing his badge again, Starsky shoved past the man without a word, pushing the black woman in front of him.
Arriving quickly at the station, Starsky handed his prisoner over to one of the female officers in the receiving area and walked quickly to his own office upstairs. He grabbed his spare pair of handcuffs out of his drawer and another ammunition clip for his weapon. His eyes fell on the ping-pong paddles and ball resting on Hutch’s chair. In his mind’s ear he could hear the sound of the ball hitting the table as they played. He felt his chest tighten and his eyes sting as he blinked back the tears. He sank heavily into the chair, holding the paddles and the ball in trembling hands. He suddenly felt extremely uneasy, and without further hesitation to question why, he reached for the phone and dialed the hospital number, requesting a connection to the ICU waiting room. After a few rings he heard his Captain answer, “Dobey.”
“How’s he doing, Captain?” Starsky asked, as he let his hand roll the ping pong ball between his fingers. Starsky felt his heart pound painfully against his chest at the silence that stretched between them, his question going unanswered.
Finally, “You’d better get down here, Starsky.” Dobey’s voice eventually sounded. If there were any other words, Starsky didn’t hear them. He was already leaving the office at a run, the hollow bouncing of the ping-pong ball where it dropped to the floor went unnoticed.
He drove like a man possessed to the hospital, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his wrists ached by the time he threw Huggy’ s caddie into park. He entered the main lobby and headed for the stairs, unable to stand and wait for the arrival of an elevator. Slamming through the doors on the third floor, Starsky skidded into the waiting room area. Dobey, Huggy, and a couple of patrol officers Starsky vaguely recognized, all stood staring grimly into the observation window of Hutch’s room. Huggy turned and Starsky clearly saw the tracks of tears running down the thin man’s cheeks.
All the feeling left Starsky’s body as he stepped up to the window between Dobey and Huggy. To Starsky it seemed Hutch looked dead, but there were several doctors and nurses working on him.
Nooooo, his heart screamed and he questioned whether his legs would continue to hold him as he sagged against the wall. The doctor he had seen earlier came slowly out of Hutch’s room shaking his head in wonder. “He’s alive, and he’s not out of the woods yet. I’ll be damned if I understand it, but he’s still alive.” The doctor looked a little confused as Starsky met his gaze, breathing hard and still using the wall for support.
“Can I see him?” Starsky gasped, barely able to talk.
“Sure, but listen to me. Because we got him back this time, I don’t want to give you any false hope. It could happen again. My professional opinion hasn’t changed. I don’t believe your partner is going to make it, but I hope he proves me wrong,” the doctor answered with a small smile as he shook his head once more and slowly walked to the nurse’s station.
Starsky closed his eyes a second before he walked slowly toward the door. I hope so, too. He stepped into the room taking in the trash littering the floor and the hospital staff person cleaning up. He took in the machinery that was slowly being cleaned up and moved out of the way. Then he looked closely at Hutch, his face as deathly pale as it had been. The only change at present seemed to be in the disarray of the previously neat dressing that had swathed Hutch’s chest. That and the discoloration in the center of his chest over his breastbone, and several rings of red at the top right side of Hutch’s chest above his nipple and another to match it lower on his left side. The meaning of all the things he was seeing slowly registered. Feeling confused and frightened, Starsky reached out a shaky hand to the nurse moving out of his way to allow him to step closer to the bed.
“Excuse me, all this stuff… what… what happened?” Starsky asked, his mouth feeling as dry as Palm Springs in July.
“Your friend arrested,” the nurse answered simply. She looked at Starsky for a few long seconds before obviously recognizing his need for further explanation. “He coded. His heart stopped beating. We did CPR and shocked him several times to get it started again.”
“He died?” Starsky’ s voice was barely above a choked whisper.
“Yes. He died.” The nurse lowered her voice and moved closer as if she thought he might collapse. “It was caught right away. He was resuscitated immediately. We’re watching him closely. Right now, that’s all we can do.”
Starsky turned away from the sympathy he saw in her eyes, the need for it to be there and be directed at him, he found terrifying.
“Hutch…” Starsky whispered to the still figure. “You scared the hell outta me. Don’t do that again. You hear me? Don’t do that again.” The room fell nearly silent. The only sounds the hiss and click of the ventilator as Hutch breathed in and out, the soft beeping of his heart as it beat in spite of the odds against it continuing to do so, and every few seconds, the flat plopping sound of tears that dripped off Starsky’s jaw and fell to moisten the starched hospital sheet under Hutch’s hand.
* * * *
The panoramic view of the city filled the expanse of the floor to ceiling windows in the library. James Gunther sat quietly behind his desk watching the younger man fussing over papers strewn about him on the loveseat and coffee table in front of it.
The valet, Thomas, quietly served coffee and cognac from an elegant serving cart.
“Along with last year’s analysis from Bradford and Sons, sir, you’ll find the merger proposal for IT and A… ”
The ringing of the phone interrupted Bates, as it sounded almost too shrill for the quiet library. Gunther looked at the phone as it rang a second time before he stretched out his arm to answer it.
“Yes, put him through.” Gunther was as still as stone sitting at his desk, his eyes never leaving Bates. They pinned him like a captured butterfly, trapped and unmoving on the loveseat. “Speaking…” Gunther’s face tightened. “Thank you,” Gunther hung up the phone, still staring inhumanly at Bates. “That will be all for now, Thomas.”
Thomas nodded and left quickly, closing the door silently behind him. Gunther continued to stare, his features cold as stone until Bates was visibly squirming in his seat and could remain silent no longer.
“What? What is it, sir?”
“He’s still alive,” Gunther replied as if the weight of the words explained everything.
* * * *
Huggy’s form was almost obscured as he struggled off the elevator with a large picnic basket of food. His path crossed Starsky’s as he slowly walked out of Hutch’s room to take his place sitting with Dobey. Huggy began busily unloading choice items from the basket and passed them under Dobey’s nose. To each offering Dobey shook his head, uninterested. Starsky watched, feeling his face break into a small smile. If it weren’t for the reason they were all there, the sight of Dobey not eating would be comical.
“How is he?” Dobey’s voice brought reality home with a slam.
“Holding his own, I guess.” Starsky answered, feeling more unease with Hutch’s continued coma than he was willing to admit.
“That’s more than I can say from the looks of you. You should go home, clean up and get some sleep. Eat something, rest a little.”
The phone near Dobey’s elbow sounded and he reached tiredly to answer it. “Captain Dobey,” he said, then waited.
Huggy turned the contents of his basket toward Starsky with a self-conscious grin. “I thought maybe a snack… want something?” Huggy offered.
“Yeah, an end to this nightmare,: Starsky answered under his breath, not sure and not caring if Huggy had heard him or not.
“I can dig it,” Huggy answered soberly.
Dobey’s voice sounded irritated as he ended the conversation and hung the receiver up with considerable force. “Okay…thanks… shit!”
Starsky stared and waited. He could easily tell that what was coming wasn’t going to be good news, but he was so completely exhausted he felt numb all over. “What?”
“That mechanic who tried to waste you last night in the parking garage downstairs?”
“The one who lived through it?” Huggy clarified.
Dobey glared at Huggy before turning back to hold Starsky’s gaze. “He’s dead. Somebody got to him in his cell at county. Knifed him.”
Starsky stared blankly back at his boss, his mind moving, but slowly, like he was thinking through soup. With a galvanized shock it all hit home and Starsky jumped for the phone. “Fuck!” He hastily dialed and drummed his fingers nervously as he waited for an answer on the other end of the line.
“Riley? This is Starsky.”
“Starsky, m’boy…good to hear you. How’s that partner of yours? I’m praying he’s going to pull through.”
“Thanks, Riley. If he’s only half as tough as you, he’s home free.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Riley agreed warmly.
“A woman was booked last night, well this morning actually. Around three, I think. Name is Brown, Jenny Brown. I want you to see that she gets transferred to maximum security as soon as possible.”
“Okay, let’s see… Jennifer Brown… ” Riley was shuffling paper so loudly, Starsky could hear the rustle over the phone. Come on, come on, come on, Starsky thought in unreasonable frustration brought on by fatigue.
“Okay, I see her…”
“Set it up for me, will ya?” Starsky interrupted.
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, son. But I’m afraid the young lady in question checked out of this hotel about two hours ago.”
“What?”
“Sorry to be the one to tell you. Bail was set this morning and she left without so much as a goodbye.”
“Who? Who made her bail, Riley? I need a name and an address.”
“You got it. Hang on, I’ll be right back for ya’.”
Starsky cradled the phone against his shoulder scrambling for a piece of paper and a pen from the cluttered desk and hurriedly jotted down the information. “Thanks, Riley. Keep praying, you hear?”
“You don’t have to ask,” Riley answered gently as the line went dead.
“What are you up to?” Dobey asked.
“To talk to the mouthpiece that sprung Jenny Brown.”
“You’re dead on your feet. Go home and sleep a few hours. He’ll still be in his office after lunch.”
“While his client disappears? Hell, no. Get an all points out on her; hit the airports, especially any private chartered flights. Stop her!” Starsky fired back.
Dobey nodded curtly and grabbed the phone, barking orders as Starsky found the strength from somewhere to pull himself to his feet and move down the hall.
He rested his head against the back wall of the elevator, vaguely drawing comfort from the coolness leaching into his aching head. The ping as the car reached the lower level parking garage roused him out of the doze he wasn’t aware he had dropped into. Wake up, boy. Hold it together. You can sleep later, when Hutch is okay, when all of this is over. With his left hand inching closer to his weapon Starsky walked out of the garage and looked around before crossing the short distance to Huggy’s car. The garage was deserted and he drove out into the morning sunshine.
Starsky found the law offices he sought and with a flash of his badge left his car to the valet to park it. Ignoring the odd looks he received walking into the prestigious building dressed in jeans, Starsky went directly to the top floor and the office suites that occupied all of it. He pressed the express button once in the elevator to avoid stopping at any other floor and again rested his tired body against the elevator’s back wall. He closed his eyes and in his mind’s ear he could hear the bouncing of the ping-pong ball, its rhythm seeming to match to the rise and fall of his chest. He heard Hutch’s singsong voice as he quoted one trivial statement, and Starsky answered in kind.
Why did we come in to work that day at all? Starsky asked himself. “We should have stayed home…in bed… maybe there still would have been a hit on us, but at least there we’d have gone together.” Not now… not now, Hutch, now that we’re finally where we needed to be all along. You can’t leave me now.
The elevator opened silently and he stepped out into a huge expanse of plush carpet and floor to ceiling glass. A perfectly manicured secretary, matching the opulent surroundings down to her nail polish, looked up with a frown as he strode purposefully toward her boss’s inner office door.
“Excuse me, do you have an appointment?” she asked, standing as if to block his path.
He shoved his badge in her face and stepped around her to throw open the door. “I do now!”
Starsky shut the door behind him in the secretary’s face with a satisfying resounding slam.
“Mr. Welles… I’m Detective David Starsky.”
“Good morning. How can I help you, detective?” Welles asked barely looking up from his big desk. His voice and manner were as smooth as the silk suit he wore like a model.
“Jenny Brown,” Starsky spat the name out, not caring that his disgust showed.
Welles did glance up then, his expression registering the knowledge of the name, but before he could say anything the intercom on his desk buzzed. “Excuse me,” he offered as he turned his attention to the phone. “Yes? No…no…tell her I’ll have to call back. Yes, that will be fine. Thank you.”
The lawyer looked up at Starsky as if there had been no interruption at all and smiled blandly as he continued, ”Now then…”
“Jenny Brown,” Starsky said the name more forcefully.
“She is a client of mine.”
“Your firm bailed her out of jail this morning.”
“Yes.”
“Who retained you to represent her” Starsky asked, sitting on the edge of the large leather chair opposite Welles’s even larger one behind the desk.
The buzzer sounded again and Welles smiled again as if in apology as he answered it. “Excuse me. Yes? Of course…No, for lunch. Yes, three of us. Fine. Thank you.” He lowered the phone slowly as if he had all the time in the world and Starsky fought down an irrational urge to strangle the man just to see a different expression on his face.
“Who posted bail for Jenny Brown?” Starsky asked tightly.
“Detective Starsky, is it? As officers of the court I’m sure you must be aware that we cannot…” The buzzer of the intercom sounded again and Starsky’s hand snaked out to reach the receiver before Welles did.
“Either you tell her to hold your calls or I’ll put a round in your switchboard, so help me,” Starsky hissed and was rewarded with a slight crack in the polished veneer of professional expression before him. Well, what do you know? Even a reptile can sweat, he thought with great satisfaction as he noticed the sudden appearance of a sheen on the high forehead and upper lip.
Welles slowly took the receiver out of Starsky’s outstretched hand.
“Yes? No…not right now. And…Helen, please hold my calls…for a few minutes. Thank you.”
Welles lowered the phone again and looked solidly at Starsky. “As I was saying, Detective. I’m sure you are well aware of the legalities…”
“I’m aware of one thing, Mr. Welles. The lady you personally escorted from the county jail this morning…Miss Jenny Brown…handled an exchange of money between two killers, and a certain unknown individual who wants me and my partner dead. That hit, that she paid for, on behalf of this unknown individual, went down in the police garage, in broad daylight. They were dressed as cops with automatic weapons and my partner was damned near cut in half. That much I do know, Mr. Welles.” Starsky’s voice gradually rose in volume as he leaned forward in the chair.
“I’m afraid this is really leading us nowhere, Detective. Discussing my client with you, as you well know, is against every professional code of ethics…”
Starsky stood to lean far forward, resting the palms of his hands on the polished desktop and cutting him off “How does murder fit into your code of ethics, Mr. Welles?”
Welles slowly stood also. “I don’t believe we have anything further to discuss.”
“No, I guess, we don’t,” Starsky answered as he straightened to his full height. “But thanks for making one thing so clear.”
“What’s that?” Welles asked, looking genuinely confused.
“My confusion about prostitutes. Now I know the really high priced ones can wear three piece suits.”
Welles had the grace to look insulted, but didn’t offer a response. Starsky leaned forward again, his finger pointing at Welles face. “You won’t stop me. I’ll find out who and I’ll be back, or somebody like me. You’re going to see a different side of the law, Mr. Welles…count on it!”
Starsky turned and left through the same door he had entered. The secretary wasn’t at her desk, and Starsky caught a glimpse of her as she moved around in the coffee lounge at the end of the hall. He was taken completely by surprise when Huggy’s thin frame materialized from behind a tall bushy tree in the comer of the office next to the fountain.
“What are you doing here?” Starsky whispered, looking quickly to check that the secretary was still down the hall.
“Catching up to you, and you’re in luck, my man. I’m about to make a very personal delivery.”
Starsky roughly turned Huggy toward the elevator and pushed the button, anxious to get out of there. His attention was diverted from the slow progress of the elevator to the sheet of paper Huggy was attempting to press into his hand.
“What’s this?”
“The receptionist call sheet from the past three days. A list of all incoming and outgoing calls made by the not so honorable Jonathan T. Welles.”
“No shit?” The elevator door opened and Starsky all but bolted into the small space, dragging Huggy with him. He punched the button for the ground floor and hit the express button that would take him there non-stop while he studied the sheet in front of him.
As they walked out of the building, Starsky stopped and started reading the numbers on the page. In less than a minute Huggy’s car was brought to the curb by the valet. Starsky opened the passenger door for his friend, ignoring Huggy’ s open-mouthed stare, and as he took the keys from the valet, he replied, “Mr. Welles said he’d take care of it, be sure to catch him before he goes to lunch.”
Starsky got behind the wheel giving the young man a big smile as he palmed the wheel and pulled out into the traffic on Wilshire.
“Damn, both shooters are dead, and your big-time model is probably out of the country by now. Every time I get a door open, it gets slammed in my face. I’ll tell you something, Hug… whatever’ s going on here is a hell of a lot bigger than any of us thought. Somebody’s got the power; somebody has the control for what’s happening. And whoever that guy is, he’s up there laughing his head off at one puny little cop trying to chip away at a fuckin’ mountain.”
“Maybe so, but I think we’ve got to keep trying, keep chipping away and hope he makes a mistake,” Huggy offered sagely.
“Or I can push him into making one.” Starsky pulled over into a grocery store parking lot. “Give me those pages.” Starsky searched the numbers, his lips moving quietly as he read them off. “Bates… who’s this Bates? Six, seven… eight calls. San Francisco area code. Who the hell is Bates?”
Huggy motioned to the left with his chin. “There’s a telephone.”
Starsky took the pages with him and walked the short distance to the payphone. Huggy followed right behind him.
Struggling to keep the pages flat in the slight wind, Starsky fumbled, patting his pockets. “Give me some coins, will ya’? I’m out of change.”
Huggy passed over a handful of quarters as Starsky dialed and fed the machine the required amount.
Starsky listened to the voice that answered on the other end of the line and felt confusion give way to shock. His knees began to tremble as he hastily hung up the phone as if it had suddenly become a deadly serpent in his hand. Above the thunderous pounding of his heartbeat in his ears he could hear Huggy calling.
“What? Who answered?”
Starsky shook his head and took a step back from the phone, his mouth as dry as the pavement he stood on.
“Come on, man. Who’s Bates?”
“I… I don’t know. But I do know whose number it is.”
“Whose?”
“When you bought gas for your car the last time, you probably bought it at one of his stations. He owns the newspaper you read this morning and the television station you watched last night.” Starsky tore his gaze away from the telephone he had been staring at to search Huggy’s face. “They say he turned down the presidential nomination because it would have been a step down in power.”
Huggy returned his stare, open-mouthed.
“That number is to Gunther Industries, Hug. That’s the private line to James Gunther.” Starsky watched as his words registered in the dark eyes that stared back at him. “Oh, God. What have we stumbled on to?”
Huggy took the keys from Starsky’s shaking fmgers and drove the car back to the hospital. Lunch traffic was heavy and Starsky let the stop and go of the vehicle lull him to sleep on the way.
He woke with a start as Huggy shook him. The short nap had been too deep and he felt thick and sluggish. Worse than if he’d had no sleep at all. Coffee, black and strong, he promised himself as he clumsily followed his friend into the building.
Starsky went directly to the coffeepot when he stepped off the elevator on the third floor. Taking the cup with him he tossed the pages from Welles’ office in front of Dobey. “See if you can get a warrant for his law office so we can subpoena their phone records. When you get them, put these with it. Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t steal them.” Dobey’s glare left him and settled on Huggy.
The slim man dodged the look like a pro, picking up an entire blueberry cheesecake from the basket to run it under Dobey’s nose. “Doesn’t this smell good, Captain? When’s the last time you had anything to eat?”
Dobey pushed the offering aside. “I don’t know. I’ve just been drinking a lot of coffee.”
“I can see that. But all coffee and no solid food makes Captain Dobey a very shaky boy. How about a cheeseburger?” Huggy’s face fell as Dobey turned down that offering as well.
Starsky left Huggy to continue working on Dobey and went to refill his coffee cup, snagging a doughnut as he passed. He finished it in two bites, washing it down with the strong coffee. Crushing the cup and throwing it in the trashcan he walked in Hutch’s room.
Hutch’s condition had been upgraded from critical to serious so the nurse wasn’t required to be directly at the bedside every minute. Starsky smiled his gratitude as she left the room with a comforting squeeze of his arm and a promise to be just outside if he needed her.
Starsky sank heavily into the chair and scooted it closer to Hutch’s bed. He locked his elbows on his knees and let his head fall wearily into his hands. He stared without really seeing at the chest tube bottles sitting on the floor at the end of the bed, taking note of their rhythmic bubbling synchronized with each of Hutch’s respirations. He let his eyes follow the thick tubes to where it disappeared under the sheets, knowing as Hutch’s doctor had explained it to him, the other end was somewhere in Hutch’s chest, placed there in surgery to rest and re-inflate his injured lung. Stable, Starsky thought the word with disgust.
“A stable is a place for horses. What’s that got to do with you, babe, huh?” Starsky asked aloud. “It doesn’t tell me anything about why you won’t wake up.”
“I feel like I’m going up against something way over my head. Like… like Moses trying to talk to Pharoah, but I don’t have any tricks up my sleeve to make anybody listen. And I sure don’t hold out any hope of parting the Pacific at the Newport Marina. I don’t know how to do this alone, babe.” Starsky looked up from the floor to study his lover’s face. “I don’t even want to try.”
Starsky took Hutch’s limp hand and held it gently between his own, bringing it tenderly up to touch his own lips as he whispered, “What I want to do is crawl in there and just hold you… and if you die. I will, too.” Starsky let his head fall to rest on his hands as he lowered Hutch’s to the bed. “I’m tired, Hutch. I’m so fuckin’ tired.” He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened and let the sounds of the room sooth him. Hutch’s breathing… Hutch’s heartbeat…
When next he opened his eyes he wasn’t sure what was different until it registered that Hutch’s hand was no longer sandwiched between his own and that someone was moving their fingers in his hair. A feather light, tentative touch… just like Hutch’s. Starsky’s head shot up, dislodging the touch and he looked at his partner’s face. His lover’s eyes were open, blinking deliberately as if to clear his vision, but most definitely open and aware.
“Hutch?” Starsky’s voice was the barest of whispers, as if he spoke too loudly it would wake him from this dream and he desperately didn’t want to waken. This was a good dream, so much better than any of the others that had haunted the few isolated snatches of sleep he’d gotten in the past three days. Those dreams were of echoing gunfire and rivers of blood… always ending the same. Hutch was dead and Starsky was alone.
Hutch’s eyes blinked again and he tried to move his mouth around the tube down his throat that connected him to the ventilator. The movement brought a small cough to the surface and Hutch’s face contorted in pain. Those beautiful blue eyes closed again.
“No, don’t go… ” Starsky pleaded as he jumped to his feet. “Hutch, stay here, Oh God, please… please stay. Open your eyes,” Starsky begged.
And he did, those beloved eyes did open, blinking again, tears sliding out now to run into the soft blond hair at Hutch’s temple. “Oh God, Hutch…you’re awake. You’re awake. I love you, can you hear me?” Starsky felt his own eyes fill as he leaned over Hutch’s body, overjoyed when Hutch nodded his head slightly. Starsky knew he was grinning like a loon and couldn’t have cared less. He turned suddenly to bang on the observation room glass, startling those sitting outside. “He’s awake!” Starsky screamed his joy to those outside. “He’s awake!” Dobey jumped up to rush to the window with Huggy close behind. The nurse rushed in heading straight for Hutch’s bed.
Starsky watched, holding his breath as the nurse checked his partner. “He’s awake,” Starsky repeated again. “He’s gonna be okay, right?” Starsky asked, his voice trembling.
“Well, things are certainly looking up,” the nurse answered with a smile. “Let me give the doctor a call. I’ll need to get an order for sedation so he won’t fight the vent.”
“Wait a minute…” Starsky called out to her as she made to leave. “He just woke up, and you’re going to give him medication to put him back to sleep?” Starsky felt he certainly must have misunderstood.
“Not the same thing, I promise. He’ll be in pain now that he’s awake. It’s hard for him to relax and let a machine breath for him without something to help. Don’t worry. This is a good thing.”
Starsky turned back to Hutch, seeing the frown line between his eyes and realizing what she said was true. Hutch was in pain and Starsky hated seeing it.
Starsky rushed back to the bed, taking Hutch’s hands in his own once more. “It’s okay, babe. You’re going to be fine. I swear. Just try to relax. It’s gonna be okay, now. It’s gonna be okay.”
Around the tube, Hutch mouthed…”What happened?”
“There was a hit on us, Hutch. Right there in the police garage, if you can believe it,” Starsky informed him, feeling the fear rise up inside him at the telling.
“Are you okay?” Hutch mouthed again, his face trying to take in as much of Starsky’s body as he could without moving.
“Am I okay?” Starsky verified that he had read his lover’s lips correctly. “Yeah, I’m okay. You yelled for me to get down and I did. You need to be better at following your own advice, babe,” Starsky teased. “You saved my life. I’m fine,” Starsky said fighting to keep his lower lips from quivering as he spoke.
Hutch closed his eyes and his face relaxed a little. Starsky sat as close as he could get, rubbing soothing circles over Hutch’s arm with one hand; while the other clutched tightly to the fingers Hutch had curled around Starsky’s. Hutch opened his eyes once more. The frown was back and he mouthed, “Hurts…” The fingers Starsky held tightened slightly.
“I know, babe. I know it does. They’re going to bring you something to help. It’s gonna get better, I promise.”
Starsky was gently moved aside as the doctor entered to examine Hutch. He went, albeit reluctantly, out of the room and into the arms of his friends on the other side of the door who were as relieved and happy as he.
* * * *
The room was utterly silent the way that only a room appointed by wealth can be. Any foot falls would have been immediately swallowed up in the plush carpet. Any sound wouldn’t have dared to echo back against the aged and polished wood on the walls. Bates sat in a chair next to a side table by the window and waited. He’d been waiting for some time now and as the wait lengthened, he became more and more uneasy. Finally, the wait ended as the door to the study opened and James Gunther walked in.
“Good morning, Bates,” Gunther called, his voice sounding almost cheerful, but the pleasant sound did not warm the old man’s ice cold eyes.
“Good morning, sir.”
Gunther crossed to the silver coffee service and picked up a cup, placing it on a saucer.
“It never ceases to amaze me,” the older man started, then paused.
“What’s that, sir?” Bates prompted.
“How we struggle so to order the world around us. We try to eliminate change, risk… determine cause and effect…”
“I don’t follow, sir.”
“No, you wouldn’t. I have been able to construct one of the largest corporate empires in the world, and yet I’ve been burdened by the pitiful incompetence of men like you.”
“Excuse me?”
“I assign you the menial task of eliminating a pair of flatfooted civil servants, and you bungle it. I invest a small fortune in the career of Jenny Brown and now instead of being able to profit from it, I must have her spirited away to some beach in Rio where she can’t ever show her beautiful face to anybody ever again without drawing attention to it and therefore to me.”
“I hired two of our best men to handle that assignment,” Bates played his own defense.
“Best according to whom, Bates?” Gunther asked, his voice ringing sharply. “There’s a fly in our ointment.”
“I’m sorry…”
“So am I,” Gunther said as he gazed out the window. With a slight tum of his head, he continued. “We should have seen this coming sooner. What are we going to do?”
Before Bates could extrapolate an answer, there was a soft knock on the door and Thomas entered with a fresh pot of coffee.
“Coffee, sir?” Thomas inquired.
“Ah, yes. Providence, once again,” Gunther replied, looking as if he had just answered his own question.
“I don’t know what else there is to be discussed. I gave you my opinion in light of the recent complications. I believe we should leave until things quiet down.”
“Hide our heads beneath the covers?” Gunther asked quietly.
“Shall I serve, sir?” Thomas asked.
“Allow me,” Gunther answered, dismissing him.
“I don’t see that there is any alternative, sir,” Bates returned to the question at hand.
“Did it ever occur to you, Bates, that eventually life doesn’t provide an alternative?” Gunther asked as he poured the coffee.
“There are always alternatives. We can always make a choice,” Bates replied, feeling uncomfortable as if there were more than one conversation going on here and he was generally ill-informed.
“And yours is to run.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I just don’t see that in this instance there is any…”
“Choice?” Gunther interrupted.
Bates laughed, but it sounded forced even to his own ears. “Well… I guess there is …”
“There isn’t, Bates,” Gunther stopped him with a look, then leaned forward to hand Bates his cup. “…Your coffee.”
There was another knock and Thomas entered. “I have brunch prepared, sir. Will you be taking it in here?”
“Yes, thank you, Thomas,” Gunther replied.
Thomas stepped out of the room to return immediately with a lavishly laid sterling silver serving cart.
“Shall I stay to serve, sir?”
“No. Mr. Bates is a Harvard graduate, I’m sure he can handle it.”
“Sir, I work for the Gunther Corporation in an administrative capacity, not as some waiter,” Bates said with as much indignation as he dared.
“You’re not really going to risk $50,000 dollars worth of stock options for a silly and rather unconvincing stab at dignity at this late date, are you, Howard?” Gunther asked, his voice mockingly gentle.
The two men’s gazes locked for several long seconds before Bates crumbled and slowly began to serve.
* * * *
Starsky felt good—not great, but good. Six hours of solid and blessedly dreamless sleep in his own bed, a shower, clean clothes and a jumbo breakfast burrito supreme from Don Jose’s hadn’t hurt. But the thing that helped the most was contained in the multitudinous pages of computer printouts he’d gotten at the station before heading to the hospital.
When he’d called to check on Hutch as soon as his eyes had opened that morning, he’d been told Hutch was improving and the plan was to wean him off the ventilator and see if he could breathe on his own.
Starsky had felt greatly encouraged and was looking forward to a visit today that allowed for a two-way conversation rather than the cumbersome lip-reading that they had used previously.
He walked jauntily out of the elevator giving Dobey a sharp salute as he entered Hutch’s room.
‘”Morning, babe. How you feeling?” Starsky asked.
“Like I’ve been hit by a truck…twice! “Hutch answered, his voice still raspy from the endotracheal tube and disuse.
“This should make you feel better,” Starsky offered, as he dragged a chair up next to the bed. “We got ’em, partner!” He spread out the computer pages across the bed. “It seemed like every time I gained an inch, I’d lose a foot. But it’s just like dominoes, buddy. Ya’ just have to hang in there long enough for the last one to fall.”
“So what’d you find out?” Hutch fumbled with the control on his bed rail to raise his head and Starsky reached it for him to complete the movement.
“It’s taken two days of phone calls and leg work and pumping computers, but we finally got the goods on ’em. Names… dates… payoffs…” Starsky looked into his partner’s face, his heart soaring at the small smile he saw there. “You hear me, Hutch? We got enough on those bastards to nail their asses.”
“Who was behind it?” Hutch asked, his expression one of determined intensity.
“The head honcho… the man behind the scenes…Mr. Money calling all the shots…” Starsky paused letting out a small chuckle as Hutch rolled his eyes over Starsky’s grandstanding. “James Gunther.” As he said the words his smile faded and the seriousness of the people they were up against sobered him.
“James Gunther…?” Hutch said, his eyes widening.
“I’ve followed every lead we had to the end of the line, and they all come back to Gunther. You remember Jenny Brown?”
Hutch frowned in his attempt to concentrate. “Ah…the name’s familiar…”
“That’s okay. You were halfway to limbo then. Anyway, she lives in a condo owned by Gunther Properties and was bailed out of jail before the ink on her fingerprint page was dry by Welles, Calley, and Hodgson. They’re the legal council on no less than thirteen Gunther subsidiaries.”
Starsky lifted out the appropriate section of the computer page and pointed. “See? It’s right there in black and white.”
Hutch raised his head slightly and struggled to focus.
“And you’re gonna love this about McClellan…”
“McClellan?” Hutch echoed.
“Federal Judge McClellan. They guy who was burned in that protected witness scam?”
Hutch nodded his understanding and licked at his dry lips. Starsky reached for his water glass and directed the straw to his partner’s lips without missing a beat of his conversation.
“It seems the good ol’ judge served on the board of directors of a grand total of three, count ’em three, Gunther-owned companies. And that’s just for starters. Wait’ll you hear the dirt I got on Deputy District Attorney Clayburn. Gunther had more stings on him than a puppet.”
Hutch moved slightly with a wince as he looked to be searching for a position of comfort. As soon as Starsky caught the gesture he stopped his pacing.
“Are you okay? Need me to lower the bed back down?” Starsky asked with concern.
“Nah… wouldn’t help. I’m just at that shitty starting to heal stage. The tape on the dressing itches.” Hutch lifted the covers to look under briefly. “I want the catheter and chest tube gone; every time I move they pull.” Hutch dropped the sheet and let his head fall back against the pillow. “I’m sore…everything hurts.”
Starsky approached the bed and pushed the computer paper aside to have room to sit. “I know, babe. But you’re doing great! You may not feel like it… but Hutch, the doctors didn’t expect you to live!” Starsky rested his long-fingered hands on either side of Hutch’s face. “I’ll never forget what that felt like when they told me.” Starsky’s voice grew husky with the remembered emotion. “It’s one thing to know there is always that chance that one of us will buy the farm out on the streets. But it’s a whole different story to sit and watch it happen slowly to someone you love and not be able to do a damn thing to stop it.”
Hutch reached for Starsky’s shoulders and drew him into a careful embrace. “I know… I felt a little of that with Bellamy. I can only imagine how much worse it’s been for you since we’ve become… ”
“Lovers?” Starsky breathed the word softly before turning his face to give Hutch a gentle kiss on his full lips. Starsky pulled back and ran his fingers through Hutch’s hair, untangling a few of the stands.
Hutch drew in a deep breath as Starsky moved away, frowning as his chest protested. .
“Want me to call the nurse to bring you something so you’re more comfortable?” Starsky asked.
“No…” Hutch’s reply was too quick and sharp.
“Hutch… you’re not trying to get through this without anything for pain are you?” Starsky zeroed in on his own suspicion. Hutch’s silence gave him his answer loud and clear.
“Listen to me, Blondie. Remember when you were in here to get your leg fixed after your car got run off the road into that ravine? The doctor explained it to you then when you were stubborn and refused pain medication. If you need it, take it. It isn’t smack, and it isn’t the same psychological circumstances either.” Starsky turned Hutch’s face to make their eyes meet. “You’re healing from being hurt real bad… hell, you died there for a little while. Don’t do this. You need to rest and you can’t do that if you’re in pain.”
Starsky held his lover’s eyes. “Promise me?” Starsky demanded. He tightened his fingers ever so slightly on Hutch’s jaw when his partner didn’t answer. “Promise?” Starsky said again.
Hutch turned his face pushing Starsky’s fingers away. “I’ll do the best I can,” Hutch answered ambiguously.
“That’s all I’ll ever ask,” Starsky answered softly, the answer from Hutch not the one he wanted. “I’ve got to go and meet with the Attorney General, then I’m flying to San Francisco with a warrant.”
Hutch’s head snapped back. “You’re going alone?”
“Flying up there, yeah. But there will be a cast of thousands to meet me when I land. I won’t be going to Gunther’s to make the arrest alone. But I don’t care who goes with me, I’ll be the one to snap the cuffs on that sonofabitch, if I have to hold my gun on every officer that goes with me.”
“Be careful,” Hutch said, his worry clearly visible on his pale face.
“I will be. Listen, do me a favor, so I don’t have to be distracted worrying about you, okay?” Starsky pushed his advantage.
“What?”
“Let me call the nurse to bring you something for pain. At least let me know that you’re resting and doing okay while I’m gone. Will you do that for me?”
Hutch’s eyes hardened to chips of ice. “That’s not fair.”
“Are you in pain?” Starsky asked bluntly.
Hutch stared in stony silence.
“I asked you a question.”
“I can take it.”
“That wasn’t what I asked you. You were awake when I got here. How much did you sleep last night?”
“Off and on,” Hutch hedged.
“Let me call her… please…” Starsky begged.
Hutch took in a deep breath to continue his argument and the action caught him off guard with a cough. He grabbed at his chest as the movement obviously caused him considerable pain. Starsky reached out his hands to cover as much of Hutch’s chest and abdomen as he could to hold pressure on the muscles like the nurse had shown him. Hutch was finally able to get up some of the phlegm to clear his lungs, but the effort left him shaking, his agony obvious.
Starsky reached for the call light hanging from Hutch’s side rail. “Mr. Hutchinson needs something for pain, please,” Starsky said, ignoring the glare from his partner.
“I’ll send his nurse right in,” came the reply from the wall speaker.
“Thank you,” Starsky answered, then turned back to Hutch. “Please… take it for me. I need to know you’re okay while I’m gone.” Starsky played the guilt-card without an iota’s worth of remorse.
Hutch closed his eyes and gave a short affirmative nod. His brow was furrowed and his mouth was set in a thin line. The expression never changed until the nurse entered carrying a syringe. Hutch glanced at her only briefly before he closed his eyes tightly, both fists white-knuckled as they clutched the sheets.
Starsky stepped to the opposite side of the bed and reached out to stroke one tightly clenched fist. The nurse injected the medication slowly into the central line in Hutch’s neck and with a glance at the monitors gave a nod and left. “Call me if you need anything, Mr. Hutchinson,” she said as she quietly closed the door.
Starsky watched his partner’s face carefully. He was concerned by the pained expression on his lover’s face that he suspected had little to do with the considerable physical pain Hutch was in.
“Relax buddy, let it help you. You don’t need to fight it.”
Hutch kept his face averted and the stiff posture was breaking Starsky’s heart. He released Hutch’s hand and went to the other side of the bed and gathered his lover into his arms. Hutch clung to him like he was drowning.
“It’s okay, I’ve got ya’, boy. It can’t hurt you this time. It’ll only help. You believe me, right? I’d never lie to you, not about that. Hang on to me. It’s gonna be okay,” Starsky crooned.
“They pumped that stuff in me for how many days before I even knew what they were doing? I’m scared, Starsk,” Hutch’s muffled voice came from against his chest.
“I know. But it’s okay. Trust me. It’ll be okay.” Starsky held Hutch, gently but firmly, trying to pour all his love into the embrace. He slowly stroked Hutch’s shoulder and down his sides, anyplace he could reach where Hutch wasn’t injured, until he felt Hutch gradually relax. He listened to the slow and quiet respirations for several long minutes before he gently laid his sleeping partner against the pillows and covered him with the sheets. Starsky stood looking down at Hutch a moment, then pushed a few sweat-dampened-strands of pale hair off his forehead before placing a kiss there.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can, babe. Take it easy and get better for me. I’ll take care of the rest. I love you.”
Starsky looked up as the door opened. Dobey stood there, Starsky’s plane ticket to San Francisco in his hand. “You about ready?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Starsky let his fingers run the length of Hutch’s arm, then turned to follow Dobey out of the room. “Watch out for him while I’m gone. If Gunther gets wind of what’s happening, they might try something again.”
Dobey stood in front of the elevator, his expression serious. “I’ve already thought of that. I’ll keep him safe. You just stay alert and watch your own ass up there, hear?”
“I hear ya’. I’ll get back just as quick as I can. Fill him in on what’s going down when he wakes up. He’ll do better if he knows, than if he lays there worrying about stuff.”
“Play by the rules up there. Don’t let me hear you went in like the lone ranger,” Dobey cautioned, as the elevator doors opened and Starsky stepped in.
“Who me?” Starsky’s innocent face was the last thing Dobey could see as the doors whooshed closed.
* * * *
James Gunther stood alone looking out at the impressive view from the large windows. A side table with a chessboard set up was against the wall under the windows. A Machiavellian classical piece could be heard coming from speakers in the walls and ceiling. The moment of silent isolation was disturbed by a short knock before the door opened and Bates stepped inside the room in an obvious state of agitation. With barely a glance in his direction Gunther asked, “What is it now, Bates?”
“I just received a call from the southern sector… our man at the State Department.” Bates stood partially in the doorway as if uncertain of his welcome inside.
“Are you going to stand there like an overwrought bellhop or are you going to tell me what he had to say?”
Bates quickly moved to within a few feet of Gunther’s position by the windows. “That other detective… Starsky. He had a meeting with the Attorney General this afternoon. He’s exposed our entire operation.”
“Don’t be absurd. What could he have told them?” Gunther queried.
“Enough to warrant a federal investigation, apparently. He’s uncovered our relationship with McClellan and Clayborn and has documented evidence of payoffs to both.”
“Is that all?” Gunther asked, still staring out the window.
“Hardly. He’s established the connection between our southern sector banks and Pioneer Mortgage, as well as Jenny Brown, Thomas May and…”
Gunther turned sharply, cutting off Bates in mid-sentence. “You can stop talking now, Bates.”
“He’s on his way,” Bates ventured hesitantly.
“What?”
“He boarded a flight two hours ago.”
Gunther turned back to his previous vantage point gazing out of the windows. His gaze eventually dropped down to the chess board. With one finger he reached out and tipped over the Queen. He slowly turned a stone cold gaze to the younger man. “Beautiful work, Bates. Just beautiful.”
Gunther turned back to the window for a few seconds of silence, then turned back to Bates and gestured to the coffee service against the far wall. “Set the board up. We’ll have a little game, Bates. Just you and I.”
Gunther walked with slow deliberation over to the coffee side cart.
“But Sir! Didn’t you hear me? He’s coming up here. We’ve got to get out.”
“Look at you, Bates. You’re shaking like an old woman,” Gunther paused at the coffee service, then turned back to Bates gesturing for Bates to go to the chess board before continuing to speak. “You know there’s really no great mystery to gaining power in this world. All you need is a basic understanding of human frailty. Address yourself to the common man and he’ll make you a fortune, whether it’s in mouthwash or munitions.”
“I don’t think this is the time for the corporate Sermon on the Mount,” Bates answered sharply from his position by the chess board, his hand hovering over the pieces, untouched.
“And you, Bates… You are a prime example of what I’m talking about. Your petty insecurities alone are enough to occupy an entire industry.” Gunther turned briefly with a sharkish smile before turning back to pouring the coffee. “It’s been interesting, playing them these past years…like a chess player using a pawn.”
“You’re sick, you know that?” Bates ventured, anger replacing his earlier fear.
Gunther walked slowly to the windows, his hand extending Bates his coffee in a china cup. “Isn’t everyone, Bates…more or less?”
Gunther raised his own cup to drink. “Go ahead. It’s from Nicaragua, it’s really quite good.”
* * * *
Starsky followed after the officer who had met him at the airport as they walked down the corridor of the Federal building. Only a few of the office area lights were still on due to the lateness of the hour. I guess the big boys stop at five o’clock no matter what’s going down, he thought with a private smile. The trip ended in front of a large comer office whose door stood slightly ajar. With a preliminary knock the officer pushed the door open and motioned for Starsky to precede him into the room.
Starsky entered and evaluated the group of men waiting. Introductions provided names and titles he paid little attention to until the last man stepped forward and introduced himself as the lead officer representing the San Francisco Police Department.
“Inspector Callahan,” the older man introduced himself, hand extended.
Starsky did a double take as he took the extended hand.
“Thomas Callahan. It’s just a coincidence, believe me,” the Inspector answered with an embarrassed looking grin, dropping Starsky’s hand from his firm handshake and extending his other for the warrant Starsky held from the Attorney General’s office.
Callahan glanced at the papers briefly and gave a soft whistle before passing it to the gray haired man standing behind the large desk.
“It looks to be in order. We have our copies, too. When do you want to serve them, Detective?” Callahan asked, lowering himself into his desk chair.
“Now!” Starsky answered firmly.
The gray haired man who had introduced himself as the FBI contact assigned to this case, glanced from Starsky to Callahan with a raised eyebrow.
“I agree,” Callahan answered. “Why give his money the chance to buy him a way to Aruba or somewhere we can’t touch him?”
“I want to be the one to take James Gunther,” Starsky stated. “You San Francisco guys and whatever Feds who want to come along… can do everything else…sweep the house and the grounds. But I want to be the one who puts the cuffs on him. After what he did…I’ve got that right” Starsky met the gazes of every man in the room with steely determination. The returned looks said every one of them had understood.
“Let’s do it!” Callahan said with a pat to Starsky’s back as he led the way out of the room.
* * * *
Starsky was impressed with the quiet and efficient dispatch of Gunther’s guards stationed at the gatehouse of his property’s entrance. They were arrested and removed without any apparent alarm being sent up to the house. The cars followed the winding driveway to the Gunther mansion. The three cars behind the one carrying Starsky, Callahan and one other officer named Toole, spread out as ordered, leaving them alone to climb the steps to the front entrance.
Callahan stood sentry beside the large door and with a smile and a wave of his hand motioned for Starsky to knock on it. When the old black man opened the door in response to the firm knocking, he looked slightly surprised, but stepped aside to let them in willingly after the identification and badges had been shown.
“If you gentlemen will wait right here, I’ll inform Mr. Gunther that you are here and wish to speak with him,” Thomas said and walked slowly down the marbled hallway to disappear behind a large mahogany door.
“Mr. Gunther, there is a Detective…”
“Yes, Thomas. We’ve been expecting him. Show him in, please. Then…then that will be all, Thomas. Thank you.”
“Yes, sir,” Thomas answered and backed out of the door and into the hallway where the three men waited.
“Mr. Gunther is expecting you. This way, please,” Thomas said with a slight bow as he opened the heavy door once more to allow Starsky to enter.
Starsky moved forward, fixing the other men with a hard stare. “I want to go in alone.”
Callahan hesitated, then nodded his understanding. “I’ll be right here. Leave the door open a crack so we can hear and collaborate anything said in there… and be back up if you need it.”
Toole looked from Callahan to Starsky and back, his mouth opening as if to speak, then at the hard stare Callahan gave him he took a step back and remained quiet.
As Starsky took a step closer to the open door, he heard Callahan whisper, “Don’t make me regret this.” Starsky passed into the study leaving the door ajar as requested.
“Come in, Detective Starsky,” Gunther said with a smile as if he were greeting an expected business associate.
“James Gunther,” Starsky said the name feeling a wave of hatred flood him.
“Yes, I’m James Gunther. You met my butler Thomas, and this is my occasionally ill-mannered assistant, Mr. Bates. He so looked forward to meeting you.”
Starsky looked to the chair by the windows, seeing a man seated but leaning unnaturally to the side of the wingback chair. Starsky took a step closer noticing the bluish color to the man’s lips and the cracked coffee cup sitting askew on the saucer in his lap. A small amount of blood from a cut on his hand, no doubt as the cup broke, swirled in the small amount of spilled liquid in the saucer.
“Welcome to San Francisco. What can I do for you?” Gunther asked, slowly rising from his seat behind the desk.
“Roll over and die,” Starsky answered sincerely.
“What did you say?” Gunther asked.
Starsky turned away from the obviously dead man to stride toward the large desk that Gunther stood behind. Reaching slowly into his jacket pocket he pulled out the warrant and tossed it on the expensive desk.
“Oh yes… the warrant,” Gunther stated calmly.
Starsky stared at the old man standing in front of him. He recognized him of course, his pictures were in the newspapers and magazines on a regular basis, but he didn’t seem so imposing now. There was still the aura of power the man possessed, but Starsky reveled in knowing the power in the room at present rested with him.
Gunther looked down at his desk and reached out to the stack of folders there. “Do you know what these represent?” He lifted several, not waiting for an answer. “Sixty-four million dollars in off shore oil…” The file slipped to the floor from the old man’s fingers. “The second largest import export business in Hong Kong…” another folder fell. “Fourteen million in Venezuela… ” another folder fell to the floor, soundlessly hitting the plush carpet.
And my father repaired sewing machines. Easy as alphabet soup, he used to say. Anything can be fixed… just put your mind to it.” Gunther’s voice trailed off with a soft laugh as if he were talking to someone in a different time and place.
“You’ve come to arrest me, haven’t you, Detective Starsky?” Gunther sat down heavily in his leather chair, his hand inching over to the open desk drawer to his right.
Starsky let his own hand inch toward his weapon as he waited.
Gunther raised a small caliber handgun and pointed it at Starsky.
“You going to kill me?” Starsky asked. “Try it!” he spat in the old man’s face. “Give me a reason to blow your head off. You have no idea how much pleasure I’d get out of seeing you take your last breath and knowing I was the cause of it.” Starsky felt the hate thrumming in his blood.
Gunther raised his gun a little higher. Starsky stood his ground. “You tried to kill my partner how many times? You kill me and he’ll come after you, or somebody else will. There will always be somebody else.” Starsky grabbed for the gun and wrenched it out of Gunther’s hand. Disgustedly he tossed it across the room. “It’s too bad you didn’t learn the most important lesson from your father.”
“What would that be?”
“Sooner or later, even the law catches up… and nobody’s above it forever. Not even you… James Marshall Gunther.” Starsky reached to his back pocket and pulled out his handcuffs. “Stand up!” Gunther stared at him frozen. “I said stand up!” Starsky screamed in the old man’s face, reaching across the desk to pull him upright by his shirtfront. He let him go and walked around behind the desk, pushing Gunther face first down on the desk, grabbing his hands to hold them behind his back as he put on the cuffs.
“You have the right to remain silent,”” Starsky began, each word clipped crisp and clean, yet dripping venom. “If you give up that right, anything you say can and most assuredly will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney and have that attorney present during questioning. If you so desire and cannot afford one, an attorney will be appointed to you without charge before questioning. Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them to you, Mr. Gunther?”
Starsky pulled Gunther upright and dragged him around in front of the desk, giving him a shove toward the door where Callahan and Toole waited.
“Oh my God,” Gunther whispered as reality registered.
“I didn’t think men in your position had one,” Starsky answered, giving Gunther a nudge toward the waiting younger officer.
Toole took Gunther’s arm and led him toward the front door as Callahan turned to look at Starsky. I wasn’t sure you were going to pull it off,” he said. “I’m glad you did. You may not think so now, but you will be later, too.”
Starsky’s jaws hurt from gritting his teeth and he could feel himself begin to shake. There had never been a time in his life that he had looked upon another human with so much hatred, not even the men who had killed his father.
“Let’s get back to the station so I can do the paperwork on this and get the hell home,” Starsky said as he forced trembling legs to move him toward the waiting car.
* * * *
Starsky finished signing the last of the forms as the day shift filtered into the squadroom. Starsky accepted a fresh cup of coffee and a doughnut from the cart as the secretary passed by as Callahan entered with a yawn. Standing to stretch, he took the envelope holding his return ticket from Callahan’s extended hand.
“Sure you don’t want to stay a day or two? It’s a damned pretty city…” Callahan offered.
“No, thanks…I need to get back to my partner.” Starsky stood and shook the older man’s hand.
“Don’t you guys from LA ever sleep?” Callahan teased.
“Yeah, on the plane,” Starsky answered. “If you ever have a reason to get down to my neck of the woods, let me know. I’ll buy you a beer.”
“You got it…Starsky… good job. I hope everything works out for you at home… with your partner, that he…gets back a hundred percent.”
“He will, he’s a hell of a fighter!”
“And a good partner’s hard to come by…I know… ” Callahan’s smile was sad for a second before he slapped Starsky on the back once more. “There’s a car waiting to get you to the airport. I didn’t think I could get you to stay over, but it was worth a shot.”
* * * *
Starsky stood with his head close to the wall at the airport payphone and his finger stuffed in his open ear trying to hear the conversation on the other end over the din of airport noise. “I said, this is Detective Starsky and I’m calling to check on the condition of Kenneth Hutchinson. Is Captain Dobey still in the ICU waiting room? Yes, Captain Dobey. May I speak with him please? Thank you.”
Starsky changed ears with a wince as he waited. “Captain, it’s Starsky. Yeah, it’s done. Went smooth as silk, no problems. How’s Hutch?” Starsky asked, straining to hear the answer.
“They were going to move him to a regular room? Did they or didn’t they?” Starsky pressed the phone tighter against his ear. “Why…what happened? Fever…how high? Do they know why? Yes… yes, I realize infection is always possible. It just seems odd to start now, he didn’t seem to be running a fever yesterday…nobody said anything about infection then, so why…” Starsky fought to hear over the loudspeaker calling for his flight to board. “My flight’s boarding now, I’ll be there as soon as I land. Tell him…let him know I’m coming. Bye, Captain.”
“Don’t you do it, Hutch! Don’t you let that sonofabitch win,” Starsky muttered to himself as he strode through the gate to board his plane.
* * * *
Starsky tiredly stretched the tension out of his shoulders and neck as he grabbed his carry on bag and walked off the plane. His eyes scanned the crowd at the gate and he felt his stomach do a flip when he recognized his ride to the hospital was an equally tired-looking Captain.
“Any change?” Starsky asked as he fell into step with the big man.
“None for the better,” Dobey grumbled. “Dammit, it’s not fair… He makes it through the surgery, the hit at the hospital, and even a full arrest, for God’s sake. Now something we can’t even see is going to kill him?”
“No,” Starsky turned to shout at his Captain. “No… don’t you say that! He’s going to make it.” Starsky felt his fear close off his throat and he swallowed hard to be able to draw in a breath. “Just get me there…run the lights if you have to,” Starsky said emphatically as he began walking faster from the airport, causing Dobey to huff in his effort to keep up.
Starsky stopped at the nurse’s station when he reached the hospital, asking to speak to Hutch’s nurse.
“How’s Hutch?” Starsky asked, relieved to see it was one the regular nurses that Hutch knew.
“He started spiking a temp yesterday after you left. He had a really rough night. The chest tube wasn’t draining very much so it and the foley were pulled. We’re running cultures on them now to see if they might be the source of infection. It’ll take twenty-four hours to get even the preliminary results on that back. In the meantime, we’re throwing the big-gun antibiotics at him, but that’s all we can do.”
Starsky sighed and nodded as he pushed his way away from the nurse’s station’s counter. The nurse put out her hand to stop him. “See if you can…” She hesitated and looked uncomfortable.
“See if I can what?” Starsky pushed her to continue.
“Get him to accept some narcotics. He never asks for anything, even though I know he’s hurting because his heart rate is up and so is his blood pressure. He hasn’t let us medicate him since before you left yesterday. He isn’t sleeping at all. If he doesn’t get any rest… he won’t have any energy to fight this infection. I’ve tried everything I know to convince him, and I haven’t gotten anywhere.”
Starsky nodded, feeling his face flush with anger. “I’ll take care of it. Go get his shot ready and I’ll call you,” Starsky said as he set off to do battle with his partner.
Starsky entered Hutch’s room and the moment he saw Hutch his anger melted and his heart ached. Hutch lay in bed, his hair sweaty and plastered to his face and neck. He had a death grip on the side rail and as Starsky stood and watched for a few seconds he saw that the man was never still.
Hutch tossed his head and moved his legs, while his breaths came more as pained grunts than normal respirations. He had his eyes closed tightly and held his bottom lip between his teeth as if trying to stifle the moans caused by his pain.
“Hutch… ” Starsky called softly, moving closer to the bed.
Hutch turned slightly and opened his eyes. “You’re back… good. I was w… w… worried. You were gone a long time.”
“I went to San Francisco, remember me telling you that?”
“No…yes, I think so… Oh God, Starsk…it’s hot in here,” Hutch complained, pushing the covers down his body.
Starsky took the washcloth hanging on the bedside table’s towel rack and poured a small amount of cold water from Hutch’s pitcher on it. He lowered the side rail and sat gingerly on the side of the bed and began to wipe Hutch’s face and neck. “You’ re not feeling too great, are ya’, buddy? Listen, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t I call and have the nurse bring you something to help you rest and I’ll sit here with you and wipe you off with the cool rag. I bet you’ll start to feel better in no time. What d’ya say?”
“No drugs!” Hutch replied stubbornly.
“Hutch, we talked about this before I left for San Francisco. Why are you doing this? You need to take something… not forever, just right now. You can’t fight the infection or heal if you’re using all your energy just to deal with the pain,” Starsky leaned even closer. “Hutch, you’re killing yourself and that’ll kill me. Please, babe. Don’t try to handle the pain without any help.”
“No drugs!” Hutch said again. “I can’t do that again… don’t you understand?” Hutch reached out to grab a handful of Starsky’s shirt. “I don’t have another cold turkey in me. I can’t…”
“That’s not going to happen. I told you that, the doctor has told you…”
“No, I’m not going to take the chance. As bad as this is…and believe me it’s bad… that was worse. I… I won’t do that again …I c…can’t.”
“Hutch, please…”
“No, I said no! When they give me the stuff for pain, they main line it. It hits with a rush… just like it did then. It hits and Is …s… see Monk standing there…I hear him I… I… laughing at me,” Hutch confessed.
“Hutch, please. Please, you need it. Take it so you can rest and get better. Do it for me, please….” Starsky begged. “I’m going to call her now and let her bring you something…”
Hutch let go of Starsky’s shirt front and grabbed Starsky’s wrist to block him from pushing the call button. “No, I can take it. I’ll rest, I swear. I’ll lie still…I can do it. Please don’t m… m… make me.”
“Hutch, I’ll be right here. Monk is dead babe, you know that. Nobody’s laughing at you… you need some help, that’s all I’m doing, buddy. I’m just getting you some help.” Starsky eased his hand out of Hutch’s grip to push the call light.
“Mr. Hutchinson will take something for pain now, please.” Starsky said, praying he was doing the right thing.
Hutch was silent as they waited. When the nurse entered she prepared the IV port to administer the medication and Hutch watched her with wide and frightened eyes as if she had entered with a cobra. Starsky took Hutch’s hands in his own and began talking to him.
“Look at me, partner. I’m right here. There’s nothing to be afraid of…” Starsky kept up the litany of comforting words while the nurse pushed the drug and, with a smile at Starsky, she left.
Starsky rubbed Hutch’s arm, watching his face closely. As he watched, he felt a chill wash over him. Hutch closed his eyes, tears squeezing out from under pale lashes. Hutch’s eyes opened wide and he looked terrified. Starsky knew at that moment exactly how Hutch had reacted those days Forrest and his men had held him captive. Hutch took a deep steady breath, the panting shallow breaths the pain had caused giving way to deeper and slower respirations. His body gradually relaxed, the frown fading. Hutch let out a soft moan, “Oh, God…noooo,” and he closed his eyes.
* * * *
The next two weeks were a blur with Starsky spending as much time as he could at the hospital with Hutch and generally trying to dodge the newspaper and television reporters all scrambling after an exclusive with the cop who toppled an empire. Hutch began to improve, once more gaining the strength to throw off the infection. But he was still a long way from Starsky’s old Hutch… physically or mentally. Hutch endured his physical therapy with half-hearted effort and spent the rest of the time in his room with the shades drawn. He showed no interest in anything inside or outside of the hospital. Starsky found conversation to be a huge chore so after a few obligatory attempts at each visit, he’d give up and just sit there. He dozed in the chair as Hutch napped or watched TV while Hutch stared blankly at the wall.
“The doctor said you could go home tomorrow afternoon if all the lab work they drew today stays as good as it has been,” Starsky stated as he took a bite of the dinner he’d grabbed on the way from the station. Hutch was silent, pushing his food around with his fork more than eating any of it. “Have you given any thought to that?”
“Thought about what?” Hutch replied.
“Where you want to go when you get discharged. Want to come to my place? Or if you want to go home, I’ll bunk over there with you until you’re better.”
“I don’t need a keeper,” Hutch answered sullenly.
“I… I wasn’t implying you did. I just thought you could use a hand for a while until you can get around a little better. It doesn’t matter to me if I’m with you at my place or at yours. Where do you want to be?”
“I don’t care. Make it easy on yourself,” Hutch said, pushing his mostly untouched tray away.
“You aren’t going to get your strength back if you don’t eat more than that. Want me to go make a run for something else?” Starsky offered.
“No… ” Hutch sighed, then turned to look at Starsky. “I’m not very hungry. The antibiotics make my mouth taste funny. It’s like feeling a little nauseous all the time. I’ll eat better once I’m done with them. Thanks for the offer, buddy. I’m kinda tired. Why don’t you head out? Get to bed early yourself for a change. I’m okay.”
“You sure?” Starsky asked, feeling hesitant to leave but not understanding why.
“Yeah. I’m going to take a shower and go to sleep myself What do you need to sit here and watch me do that for? Go on, I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll call when I know what time I’ll be discharged.”
“Okay. I’ll call you when I wake up in the morning anyway… you know…to see how your night was.” Starsky stood and walked close to the bed. Leaning over he placed a quick kiss on Hutch’s cheek, the aim for his lips deflected as Hutch turned his face away. Hiding his hurt, Starsky gave Hutch’s arm a squeeze. “Call me if you need anything, or if you can’t sleep after all. I’ll be up for a while.”
Hutch nodded without answering or looking up and Starsky plodded out of the door. His heart heavy, as it had been for weeks, now at Hutch’s distant attitude. He’s been like this since I came back from San Francisco. I don’t get it. What the hell did I do wrong?
Starsky walked past the nurse’s station and Hutch’s nurse, Sandy, gave him a nod. “Leaving early, huh?” she said cheerfully.
“Yeah, I’m beat and so is he. Big day tomorrow if he gets to come home,” Starsky answered.
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Take care of yourself. I’ll go get his medication for bed.”
“What?” Starsky stopped and turned to her.
“He calls for something for pain as soon as you leave. I think he doesn’t do it in front of you because he doesn’t want you to worry. He’s mentioned to me a couple of times not to tell you about it. But you’re going to need to know if you’re the one taking care of him when he’s discharged. You are, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. He’s coming home with me…or I’ll go to his place, we haven’t decided yet. Ah…Sandy…can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How does Hutch seem to you? Is he doing okay?”
“Do you mean do I think he’s ready to go home?” Sandy clarified. Starsky nodded.
“Yeah, I do. But… there’s something else going on… I’m not sure what’s bothering him, but something is. Maybe it’s just the after affects of having been hurt so badly. You know him better than I do. Is this how he reacts to stress?”
“He’s never been like this before after he’s been hurt or sick. Usually he starts to feel even a little better and he’s the happiest guy in the world. Know what I mean? It’s like he’s so appreciative of a new lease on life; it’s like he’s high on it. That isn’t the way it’s been this time at all.”
“Maybe you should encourage him to talk to someone…a psychologist or something. Maybe it’s the post arrest thing that’s got him spooked this time. He did die, technically, for a while. Maybe he needs to talk about how he feels regarding that. If not a psychologist, maybe a pastor… or relative?” She looked at the blank stare Starsky gave her. “Think he’d talk to you about it?”
“Under any other circumstances I’d say yeah, but right now I don’t know. I’m having a hell of a time dragging two words out of him,” Starsky grudgingly admitted.
“I don’t know what else to tell you. I know I’m not the only one who’s noticed it. Dr. Wallace has noticed too. I really would hate to see him put on antidepressants or something along with all the stuff he’s taking now. He’d really be a zombie.”
“All the stuff?” Starsky asked, dreading the answer. “What stuff?”
“The pain meds.” Sandy gave a short laugh. “He was so reluctant to take them at first; he got over that quick enough once you talked to him. He takes them round the clock now. But I know he’s hurting. The bullet tracks through his back muscles alone have to make any movement painful,” she amended. “He’ll get better and not need it so much. You’ll see.”
Starsky nodded and mumbled his goodbye, all but running away from the nurse’s station. I did this to you… it’s my fault. I made you take it and now it’s got a hold of you again. Just like you were afraid it would… it happened. Oh God, babe. I’m so sorry.
Starsky pulled up to the curb in front of Venice Place; not fully aware of that even being the direction he had taken driving away from the hospital.
He felt sick inside as let himself into Hutch’s apartment, stopping to get the mail on the way up. Dropping the envelopes atop the growing pile on the sink counter he began opening windows to let in the cool night air.
“Hutch has been hurt before,” Starsky reasoned aloud as he pulled the sheets off Hutch’s bed to replace with clean ones. “When he was trapped under his car, it took surgery to fix his leg and put the plate in it to heal the broken bone. He took the shots in the hospital and the pills when I brought him home. He got through it okay,” Starsky told himself as he shoved the dirty sheets into the hamper in the bathroom.
His eyes fell on the medicine cabinet as he straightened and he hesitated a second before opening it. He glanced around until he caught sight of a prescription bottle at the back behind a dented metal box of Band-Aids and a bottle of mouthwash. He pulled it out and glanced at the date. Yeah, this is it… three years ago… Empirin #3 with codeine. One or two every four hours as needed for pain. “Let’s see, I know I gave him a couple the first few days he was home. The bottle had thirty in it and there’s…” Starsky shifted the pills in his hand as he counted. “There’s twenty-four left, and a few of them are broken in half. Okay, buddy it wasn’t a problem then.” Starsky carefully put the bottle back where it had been and shut the door.
Addressing his reflection in the mirror he asked, “What makes it so different now?”
He walked out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, pulling the trash can out from under the sink and dragging it next to the refrigerator door. “Better dump anything that’s turned into a lab experiment in here.” When he opened the door he wrinkled his nose as the smell of some of the experiments hit him. “Should have done this a while ago, I guess. Whew!” He dumped the offending food as quickly as possible and closed up the plastic bag, taking it out to the trash cans downstairs to get it out of the way.
His mind continued racing over all the possibilities. He began to analyze Hutch’s actions since that terrible day in the police garage with the mind of a detective rather than a lover. By the time he was climbing back upstairs he had calculated all the differences in every injury and illness Hutch had suffered since Forrest had held him. The only thing he could come up with was recovery time and severity of wounds.
Hutch had never been injured as badly as he was this time. But somehow Starsky felt that he had hit on it with the time element. Hutch’s hospital stay with his leg had only been for three days; with his bullet wound to his shoulder, only overnight. The Plague, once they realized Hutch was infected, had hit him like a freight train bringing his condition to the critical state in slightly over twenty-four hours. Thankfully that had turned around quickly, too. He’d been discharged the same day Starsky had volunteered to give Dr. Kaufmann a ride to the airport for her flight back to Atlanta. That hospital stay had been four days. But this time, he’d been in the hospital much longer. In ICU for over a week, then on the surgical floor for another eleven days. Forrest had him for six days. Six days and nights of pumping him full of heroine.
“Probably a pretty good grade, too, not the stuff cut down to almost nothing like on the streets,” Starsky reasoned.
They pumped me full of that stuff for how many days before I even knew what they were doing… ? Hutch’s words slammed into Starsky’s memory. “That’s it! He thinks because his first memory is of being in pain and having them give him something for it without him asking, that all that time he was in a coma he was on it, too. He doesn’t know they didn’t start to medicate him until he woke up a little.” Starsky wiped the dishcloth across the kitchen counter. “Now how do I let him know without making things worse?” That was still the burning question an hour later as Starsky put away the vacuum and gave the apartment a last look, satisfied it was clean enough for it’s owners return. Stifling a yawn he locked the door and made his way home.
* * * *
As he reached to turn off the alarm at 7:00 the next morning, his hand automatically picked up the phone to dial the hospital. A slightly sleepy sounding voice answered and Starsky could picture the fuzzy-eyed expression and remember the feel of sleep-warmed skin first thing in the morning. “Hi, beautiful,” he answered, running a hand down his furred chest and stomach to the morning erection that was becoming more and more turgid.
A soft chuckle answered him before the voice spoke. “You must have slept well,” Hutch offered.
“Yeah, I did, for a change. Must be knowing you get sprung today. I’ve missed sleeping with you.”
“Yeah, but I’m afraid I won’t be good for much else for a little while,” Hutch informed, his voice beginning to sound more awake.
“I know. That’s okay, but you’ll be next to me so I can touch you. That’s all I care about, blondie,” Starsky said, feeling the love swell in his chest as he spoke, and knowing in his heart now was the time to let Hutch know, and this was the way to do it.
“That’s easy to say right now, but how much longer before you’re gonna get tired of your left hand?” Hutch asked solemnly.
“I’ve got all the time in the world… and you’re worth waiting for. When you’re ready we’ll make each other feel really good. But until then, just having you with me… alive… that feels better than any sex I’ve ever had, you gotta know that. When they first got you to the hospital… Hutch, you were unconscious… right from the time you were hit. When I got to you on the floor of the garage… hell, I thought you were already dead. You didn’t make a sound, never opened your eyes.
“For days it was like that. You just lay there in that bed, the machines breathing for you and monitoring everything. The lights were on, but nobody was home. When you finally did wake up, I hated to see you hurting, but it was so good to see you respond to something again. Even pain…it let me know you were alive. I freaked out when, as soon as you woke up, the nurse went to get you pain medicine. I said, ‘he just woke up and you’re going to put him back to sleep?’ Hell, I’d have done anything to keep those baby blues of yours open and looking at me.”
Starsky stopped for a second to get his voice steady again. “I’ve never been so scared, Hutch. Everyone was so sure you weren’t going to make it. It wasn’t a maybe, it was a when, minutes…hours… but it was the only outcome anyone could see. I’m sorry, but I think on some level even I believed it. How could anybody survive what happened to you? I know I saw guys get hit in ‘Nam by automatic weapons…none of them ever made it getting spraying like you did.”
“Starsk… ” Hutch’s voice broke in as if to stop him.
“No, I need to say this. I got to tell you, I wasn’t giving up on you. It wasn’t that I didn’t think you were strong enough to hang on. You’re the toughest, strongest sonofabitch I know. It was that I was afraid to hope. Can you understand that? If I hoped you’d somehow, by some miracle I didn’t deserve, live after all…” Starsky swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Then if it didn’t happen and what the doctors all were telling me… happened instead… I’d have walked out of the hospital, done just what I did to get James Gunther, and once he was in custody, I’d have eaten my gun.” Starsky’s voice cracked as he spoke. He felt his tears fall down his cheeks to cool in the hair on his chest. He knew Hutch could hear the emotion in his voice, but didn’t care.
“Babe…” Hutch said, his own voice sounding choked as well.
“I gotta tell you. I love you that much. Living doesn’t mean shit to me, if I gotta live without you. I need you to know that…and to say I’m sorry I didn’t have the guts to hope. All those days…when you just lay there. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I understand. I don’t know how I would have handled it any better. I love you that much, too.” Hutch cleared his throat and Starsky could hear the cheerful greeting of someone bringing in his breakfast tray. “Well, sounds like you’ve got something to do. I’ll jump in the shower and get to work. Call me when you know what time I should come get you. I’ll tie up anything waiting at work and be ready to come.”
“I’ll be ready to go…” Hutch hesitated, then continued. “It’ll be good to get home. I’ve missed you, too.”
“I love you, Blintz,” Starsky said softly, feeling his eyes fill once
“Right back at ya’,” Hutch answered, Starsky able to still hear the sounds of someone else in the background noise of Hutch’s room, before the line went dead.
Please think about what I said, babe. Let it sink in, Starsky thought prayerfully. More than ever, he felt the key to Hutch’s depression and unnatural use of the pain medication, was Hutch’s mistaken belief that he’d been on narcotics much longer than he really had.
* * * *
The ride home from the hospital was a little tense. Hutch was in obvious pain from all the movement required to get dressed and discharged and out of the hospital to the car, and now as Starsky pulled up in front of Venice Place the steep flight of stairs seemed insurmountable. They stopped to let Hutch rest a moment half way up, but even so by the time Starsky opened the front door he could feel the dampness of Hutch’s sweat leeching through his shirt where Starsky’s arm rested around his waist, helping to support him.
“Couch or bed?” Starsky asked once inside the door.
“Bed,” Hutch said, his face sweaty and pale.
Starsky steered him into the sleeping alcove and eased Hutch to sit on the bed, dropping to his knees to slip off his partner’s shoes and socks.
“If I’d known they added a couple of flights of stairs to my place while I was gone, I’d have suggested we crash at your place,” Hutch panted, as he let Starsky pull him up to stand and get rid of his sweat pants and shirt. Hutch sank back down onto the bed and let Starsky help him raise his legs onto the bed. Resting back against the pillows with a groan, he closed his eyes and sighed. “My own bed, God how I missed this.”
Starsky ran a hand over Hutch’s forehead, brushing the hair back. “Need anything?” he asked, wishing the trip home hadn’t so completely taken all the color from his lover’s face. “Water, juice?” Starsky hesitated slightly and hated himself for it. “Need something for pain?” he asked quietly, trying to keep his voice neutral.
“Nah, I took something before I left; that’ll tide me over. Once I’m still for a little while, it won’t be so bad.”
Starsky stood frozen and stunned. “Did they give you a prescription for something? All they gave me in your discharge instructions was the antibiotic to take for another two days.”
“Yeah, that’s all there is. I told them I had some pain pills at home. I’d take those. If I needed anymore, I’d call for a refill… but I won’t need to.” Hutch opened his eyes and wiped a hand over his face to dry it. “I’ll be okay.”
Starsky looked into the clear light blue eyes of the person who meant more than anything else to him and saw the truth shining there. “Yeah, babe… I know you will,” And so will I.
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