Mexico

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An undercover assignment goes south.

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Captain Harold Dobey ran a beefy hand down the back of his head to his neck and stood quietly kneading the knot of muscles he found there. His temples were throbbing with tension and he had the fleeting impression that his blood pressure had just taken an alarming leap.

“Here are the photos, Captain,” a voice behind him stated.

Turning to face Tom Nash, a young border patrol officer, the captain extended a hand to accept a group of grainy surveillance photographs. Shuffling through them quietly, Dobey shook his head slightly. This is bad. Damn.

“Thank you,” Dobey said. “I’d like to see the car now.”

The two men walked through the building and out to the impound lot. The watch commander had pulled as many strings as he could to get this car towed back across the border. When they reached it, Dobey walked slowly around it, taking in what he had hoped would turn out to be a false lead. Damn.

“The lines were moving at a snail’s pace,” the officer said. “We’re not sure how long they were gone from the car before the Mexican authorities noticed it wasn’t moving.”

“Can you get me all of the surveillance shots taken during the last half hour before the car was found abandoned?”

“Sure. If you want to stay and look over the car, I’ll be right back.”

“Thanks.”

Dobey was careful not to touch anything. He planned to have the battered Ford towed to Bay City for a thorough crime lab investigation. The windows were rolled down and he leaned his face into the driver’s side, noticing with concern the rusty bloodstains spread throughout the front seat. He also noted bloody finger and handprints on the driver’s door, the steering wheel, and the police radio. A glance in the back seat revealed a blood-stiffened denim jacket.

“Oh, boy.”

~*~*~

Hutch’s phone had stubbornly refused to ring for the past two days and time ticked by with excruciating slowness for the worried detective. He and Starsky were working undercover together when they were unavoidably separated, and his partner wasn’t wearing a wire. They hadn’t dared. The two men had arranged a safe place and time to meet, just in case something like this happened, but Starsky failed to show. Fear, anger, and guilt were battling for supremacy in Hutch’s overworked mind. He sat in a back booth at Huggy’s wearily pushing a hamburger around on a plate. Huggy was speaking to him, but he didn’t hear what he said. He was running through what had happened for what must have been the hundredth time.

“The boss needs you outside, Edwards,” a gruff voice called into the back of the warehouse.

Starsky was undercover as Mack Edwards. He was supposed to be a bodyguard, driver, and sometime hit man by reputation. Hutch’s persona, Brad Peterson, was his partner and was being touted as a security and communications expert. They were trying to break open a drug trafficking organization that was suspected of being behind the murders of two minor league drug dealers and a young runner. Infiltrating the organization had taken them more than two months of hard and careful work. Peterson was hired to retrofit all of the operation’s vehicles with the latest security measures, and Edwards was put on the unenviable task of driving the boss’ teenagers to and from school. If that worked out, he would move up in the seemingly endless chain of workers. “That’s the brass ring,” he’d told Hutch after a few days.  “I’m getting close. I’ve got a feeling!”

The detectives were installing security devices on one of the many limousines. Hutch had been systematically planting bugs in the fleet and in the house for over a week. Since he was now the senior communications tech, no one had challenged him. One of the younger underlings tried to do that early on, but he withered under Hutch’s best icy, threatening glare.

Starsky wiped his hands on a shop towel and tossed it to his partner along with this thought. Be careful. Hutch caught it in the air and shot back a look. YOU be careful. Hutch inconspicuously watched him walk out through the bay door toward the dock. He tried to listen for any trouble, and he’d been worried when he saw Starsky driving Mr. Big past the open door. As of that moment, Mr. Big had dropped off the face of the Earth, along with David Starsky.

Trying to pull Hutch back from where he was, Huggy tapped him on the back of the hand and asked, “You going to eat that or make it dizzy?”

Hutch stopped playing with his food and gave the plate an angry push toward Huggy. “Better give it a Dramamine. I’m not hungry.”

Huggy sighed. He knew it was no use, but thought he should try. “Hutch, you’re running on fumes–” The look on Hutch’s face was enough to silence the barkeep. He put his hands up in surrender, causing Hutch to blush and shake off his anger.

“Sorry. I was just going back over the last time I saw him. I’ve run it back and forth a hundred times. There wasn’t any trouble. No one noticed a thing until they were overdue.” The car they’d driven off in wasn’t one Hutch had modified. He had no way to track his partner.

“Maybe they’ll get your brothers in blue involved and–”

Hutch interrupted him again, with words this time. “These people don’t involve the cops, Hug, you know that. They’re speculating Alvarado was kidnapped, but no demands have been made.”

“Who do they think grabbed him?”

“Rival gang?  Not sure. I keep going to work, and the team is listening to all of those bugs I set. Nothing yet.”

One of Huggy’s waitresses walked up and said, “Huggy, you gotta come to the phone this time.” During the past hour, the bar’s telephone had been unusually busy with incoming calls. Huggy had watched Diane shaking her head and hanging up the receiver several times.

“What it is?” Huggy asked.

“Three times now I get an operator asking if Mr. Bear will take a collect call from Mexico. I already said no twice, but they keep calling. The operator won’t say who it is. She’s got a heavy accent and she keeps saying she has to tell Mr. Bear.”

“I don’t take no collect calls from Mexico!” Huggy answered.

Diane shrugged and turned to walk away, but she gave out a small, startled cry when Hutch reached out of the booth and grabbed her by the wrist.

“Wait!”  His eyes were wide and Huggy could see he had a hunch. “Let’s take it together.”

Huggy nodded and the two men went to the phone. Hutch put the receiver between them the same way he would if he and Starsky were listening together.

“This is Mr. Bear,” Huggy said.

The accented female voice said, “Collect call from Mexico. Okay?”

“Who is it?” Huggy asked.

“No se… I don’t know. He won’t say.”

Hutch nodded slightly and Huggy said he’d take the call.

“This is Mr. Bear,” he said. He’d been involved in some of his two friends’ undercover antics in the past, but this made him feel a little silly.  Hutch did not feel silly. He was tense with anticipation, and he couldn’t help but think about how often he’d heard his partner say, I’ve got a feeling.

After the sound of phone lines connecting, the line was uncomfortably silent, except for what sounded like labored breathing. Huggy raised his eyebrows at Hutch, and he was about to ask who would call him collect from a foreign country just to breathe at him, when a quiet voice said one, barely audible word.

“Hug?”

Both men knew it was Starsky immediately, despite the bad connection and the weakness of the voice. Hutch took over the phone.

“Starsk? It’s me.”

“Hutch?”  Starsky paused again. “Need you.”

“Where are you?”  Hutch asked, but there wasn’t an answer forthcoming. He was afraid Starsky would pass out and he called anxiously into the phone. “Starsky!”

“Yeah…” Starsky said. “‘M here.”

“WHERE?” Hutch demanded, then he softened his tone. Whatever’s wrong, he can’t help it. Yelling at him won’t help. “Buddy, I need you to tell me where you are. Are you safe?”

“Not sure where. Not safe. Gotta hide.”

“Is it a pay phone?  Look around you, buddy, where are you?  Come on and help me out here.”

“Yeah. Um… bar.”

“What bar, Starsk?  Where?”

“Um… I can’t tell.”

Hutch was frantic, fearing that Starsky’s difficulty wasn’t because the signs were in Spanish. “Are you hurt bad?”

Starsky didn’t want to worry Hutch more than necessary, but he was injured. Caught in a squeeze play that resulted in his boss being kidnapped, he’d barely escaped alive. A desperate run through unknown streets was all that saved him. He’d been evading whoever was after him ever since and he wasn’t sure how long he could risk staying in plain sight. Hutch’s intuition was good, marginal ability in Spanish wasn’t the problem. Starsky couldn’t focus well enough to read the signs in the dim bar lighting. The one on the telephone was completely out of the question.

“No,” Starsky lied. He knew Hutch wouldn’t believe him. He’d seen a shabby, upstairs hotel across the street on his way into the bar and he was able to read the large sign on that. He’d go there and wait. “Tres Milpas. Hotel,” he said. “Hurry, okay?”

For the first time, Hutch realized he had no idea where in Mexico. He hoped it was the closest border town. “Are you in TJ?”

Starsky knew that much. “Yeah.” He felt sick and he needed to lie down soon. Passing out in this bar, with men still after him was not an option. “Gotta go.”

“I’ll be there in a couple of hours. Sit tight.”

“Thanks.”

The sound of the line disconnecting was one of the most disheartening things Hutch could recall. He handed the phone to Huggy, who was standing with his mouth open, waiting to hear.

“He’s hurt?” Huggy asked.

Hutch nodded. “And he lied to me. I think it’s bad, Hug. I want you to do something for me. Give me a couple of hours’ head start and then call Dobey. Tell him I know where Starsky is and I’ve gone to Mexico to get him.”

“Wait a minute, now,” Huggy said. “You’re not going off like that with no backup.”

“I have to. If I call Dobey, he’ll set the wheels in motion and it’ll take half a day or more to get to Starsky. I have to go without him knowing until it’s too late for him to interfere. If we try to get cross-border cooperation, the thing’ll get so tied up in red tape, Starsky could be–”

“Don’t say it. I hear ya. But you be careful.”

“Yeah. I’ll call you when it’s safe. Thanks, Hug.” Hutch squeezed Huggy’s shoulder and turned to run to his car.

“Wait!” Huggy called after him. He ran to the register and pulled out as much money as he could spare and pushed it into Hutch’s hands. “You might need to grease the skids.” He didn’t even count it. Hutch nodded his thanks and left at a sprint.

~*~*~

Starsky stumbled out of the bar he’d gone into to call Hutch and crossed the street to the hotel. After a brief conversation with a desk clerk in what could best be called Spanglish on both parts, he had paid for a room and was climbing the stairs to find it. The dirty, dark stairwell seemed to increase in length with every step he took. He had to stop a few times to catch his breath. When he found the room, his hands were shaking so badly and his focus was so fuzzy, he had to use both hands to fit the key into the lock. When he finally made it inside, he closed the door behind him and went to the sink hanging on the wall. The dingy mirror above the sink revealed a frightening visage — bruised and swollen. He was too tired to clean up much, but he splashed water onto his face. Grabbing a threadbare, and non-too-clean-looking washcloth, he soaked that and used it as a compress against his black eye. The lid was nearly shut and he was hoping to make it look a little better before Hutch got there.

Starsky had been on the run and hurt for many hours. He was too sick to feel hungry, but he needed water. The few sodas he’d tried to snag when he could that day were long out of his system and he was getting dehydrated. He was aware enough to know he should probably not drink water from the tap, but he also knew he could die without some. If it made him sick, he’d have to deal with that, too. Beats dying of thirst before Hutch gets here. The water tasted terrible. After he drank it, he tried to check the makeshift bandage he’d put on his arm. During the kidnapping, Starsky was shot in the right arm, but the bullet went straight through and it didn’t hit the bone. He was grateful for that, even though the injury bled profusely. To top that off, his right wrist was badly sprained from the accident. A quick glance confirmed his fear. Terrific. Infected. He replaced the bandage and collapsed on the bed with the washcloth over his eye. Hurry, Hutch.

Starsky could not have known that he now had two sets of men looking for him. The first were from the gang of kidnappers. They wanted him dead. He’d seen their faces as they reached into the car to collect Carlos Alvarado. The second was Alvarado’s bunch. They wanted Mack Edwards to lead them to the kidnappers–and if he was involved in the plot, they wanted him dead. While Hutch raced toward the border, Alvardo’s men were closing on his partner.

The mangled limo sat abandoned in a field of crashed cars. The police had gone over it and they were willing to release it to Carlos’ men for a fee. The men looked through the car, noting the blood in the front seat, the broken window, and bullet holes aimed strategically to take out the driver. The driver’s door and front of the limo were crushed in, having been simultaneously hit from the front and the side as part of the attack.  Whoever had Mr. Alvarado, their attack was well planned. They fired several shots at the limo, but it was outfitted with bulletproof glass. As Starsky gunned it through an intersection, he was caught in their Plan B — a squeeze play aimed at taking him out and disabling the limousine. The crash shattered the front windows, sending shards of glass and the rearview mirror into Starsky’s face, followed by a spray of bullets meant to assure his demise. Alvarado’s henchmen surveyed the damage, arranged for the car to be towed back across the border, and set off in the direction they heard Starsky had last been seen.

After a day of searching and doling out payments, the two men were no closer to finding their boss, but they had a location on the driver. A barfly in a smoky place on a street several away from Revolución told them he’d watched a bleeding, half dead looking American stumble across the street and into the Tres Milpas. An hour ahead of Hutch, they were already inside, picking the lock to Starsky’s room. He had checked in as Mack Edwards.

Finding Starsky passed out on the bed, the two men worked quickly. One of them set to work binding Starsky’s wrists and ankles with duct tape while the other yanked a cloth sack over the injured man’s head. They wanted to be sure he was intimidated. After a lot of shaking and rough slaps to his arms and shoulders, Starsky roused.

“Wha?” he slurred.

“Edwards,” a voice he couldn’t quite recognize said.

Starsky was fuzzy, nearing delirium from a high fever. One of his eyes was still swollen shut and he was confused. When he realized he’d been bound and his head was covered, he started to panic.

“Where did they take Alvarado?”

Too ill to maintain his undercover persona with any effectiveness, Starsky tried hard to remember who Alvarado was. “Who?”  He was stalling while he tried to bring his mind into focus.

The man interrogating him hit him across the face, causing sparks to form in front of his eyes and a dull roar to start in his ears. The only thing he could think of was Hutch and safety. How long had he been asleep?  How long before Hutch reached him?  Hurry, Hutch. I don’t have long.

Deciding he’d better answer, he said, “I don’t know. I didn’t see.”

Another blow. “Idiot!  Did you arrange the hit?”

“Hit?”  Starsky scrambled desperately to think of something to pacify the man beating him. “No… no. I don’t know who they were.”

This time, when the man hit him, Starsky slid under and said nothing more. “Edwards!”  He pulled the sack off of Starsky’s face and saw that he was unconscious. He shook him roughly and the other man threw some water in his face, but it didn’t help. “Great. Gimme that tape.”

They tightly taped Starsky’s swollen mouth to prevent him from crying out if he regained consciousness. His breathing was harsh. “If he croaks, we won’t get anything out of him.”

“If he dies, he dies. Piece of shit was supposed to protect Alvarado.” He pulled the sack back over Starsky’s head. “Leave him. If he wakes up like that and gets scared enough, he’ll talk. We can come back later. If he’s dead, it’ll save me a bullet.”

The two men left Starsky like that. Trussed up, and in a stifling room. His ragged breathing grew increasingly shallow. On top of everything else that had happened to him, David Starsky was slowly suffocating.

~*~*~

Huggy winced at the decibel level and held the phone out away from his ear while Captain Dobey ranted. He knew what the man would say, but somehow it went down easier when the bellowing wasn’t directly in his ear.

The captain’s tinny-sounding voice floated toward him, saying, “Huggy!  Are you listening to me?  What do you mean he left two hours ago?”  Dobey paused for an answer that was obviously not forthcoming. “Huggy?” He sighed and lowered his voice. “Are you there?”

The change in sound prompted the bartender to put the phone back to his ear. “I’m here. If you’re done shootin’ the messenger, I’ll tell you what I know.”

“No promises. Spill it.”

“Starsky called a couple of hours ago and Hutch is ridin’ to the rescue. He asked me to call you when he’d been gone long enough to already be across the border –”

“What the hell would he do that for?”

“He said you’d get him all tied up in red tape of the international variety and he had the notion Starsky couldn’t wait that long.”

Dobey’s voice changed from anger to concern. “How bad was he?”

“Bad. Real bad. He told Hutch he wasn’t hurt that bad, but he was lyin’ like a rug. Our blond centurion was scared, Cap’n. He rushed out of here like there was no tomorrow.”

“All right, Huggy. Thank you. Let’s just hope there is a tomorrow. For both of them.”

“Right on. Call me when you know something, okay?”

“I will. You call me back if you hear from either of them. Immediately, no matter what they say.”

“Right.” Huggy hung up the phone and stared at it for several seconds. I hope I did the right thing waiting. Oh, God, I hope I did.

~*~*~

Slipping across the border southbound was no challenge for Hutch, even carrying a concealed weapon. Getting back with an injured man was going to be another matter. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Driving in Mexico was always exhilarating. Adding the special terror of not knowing exactly where he was going or in what condition he would find his partner made weaving through the congested Tijuana streets much more stressful. Hutch got stuck behind a long line of horn-honking cabbies swearing out their windows in both English and Spanish. Finally, he turned onto the side streets and started looking for at least a place to ask for directions. He’d only been searching a few minutes before a preadolescent boy noticed the fair-haired man in a car with California plates. He rushed over to wash Hutch’s windows at a stoplight and was all too happy to accept some American money in return for telling the disturbed looking American where to find the Tres Milpas.

Traffic was still bad and Hutch had to double back a bit to find the street he was seeking. He spotted the sign for the hotel at last, and pulled around the corner to park. He wasn’t sure what he would find and thought he might need to keep a low profile. That was almost funny. He was doing his best to maintain his equilibrium, but he was terrified. Please be all right. Please be all right.

Another payment from the stash he was grateful Huggy had pushed on him gained him a room number. As he loped up the stairs he couldn’t help remembering how Starsky’s mechanic had once quipped that a bug wouldn’t be caught dead in the LTD. If that were true they would be nowhere near this fleabag.  

The air was so close, Hutch was both panting and sweating by the time he reached the door to Starsky’s room. He wiped the sweat from his brow and then pulled his gun after a quick check in all directions for any potential witnesses. Getting busted for carrying a gun in a foreign country was not on his list of things to try. Dobey might just let him rot in jail for a while for that. He stood to the side and used the Magnum’s barrel to knock on the door.

“Starsk?” he called softly, but he received no answer. His heart raced, spurred on by a fresh adrenaline rush. Hutch reached for the doorknob and turned, disconcerted to find it unlocked. He readied himself and then pushed the door open while he somersaulted into the room, coming up with his gun sweeping as protection against anyone who might be there other than his partner. The room was silent apart from the sound of a dripping faucet. He could see there was no one in the tiny bathroom and a quick scan of the area revealed no closet. The building had no fire escapes on this side, he’d already checked that before he entered the hotel. The only thing to draw his focus was the horrifying sight of his partner lying on the bed in same spot Alvarado’s men had left him. “Oh, no,” he said softly. Before allowing himself to get caught up in what he would find, he turned and closed the door behind him, locking it to slow any potential threat long enough for him to get his gun back in his hand. As soon as that was done, he holstered the Magnum and rushed to Starsky’s side.

His partner’s clothing was both sweat and blood soaked. As soon as he touched him he was frightened by how hot his skin was. “Starsk, can you hear me?” he implored while he took the sack off of Starsky’s head. “Oh, God!” he was shocked by Starsky’s ashen color and he gently peeled the duct tape off of his mouth with one hand while he felt the thready pulse with the other. His friend was breathing, but barely. If I’d been any later!

Hutch removed the rest of the tape, freeing Starsky’s wrists and ankles so he could make him more comfortable. He wasn’t sweating anymore. Hutch’s mind raced as he checked and catalogued the injuries he could find. Gunshot wound. Infection. Fever. Dehydration. Unconscious. Broken wrist? Shock?  Blood loss. How much?  Shit. Shit. Think, Hutchinson. Think fast!

“Starsk?  Buddy, open your eyes for me, now. Come on,” he tried, but he got nothing in response. “Can you hear me?” Hutch grabbed Starsky’s hand and ordered, “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me, babe.” Nothing.

Hutch had brought the small first aid kit from his car, but knew there wouldn’t be much in there that would be of use. Have to cool him down, get some air in here. He carefully peeled off the denim jacket Starsky was wearing before he left him for long enough to open the room’s small window. He went to the sink, grabbed a towel he found there and soaked it with lukewarm tap water.  Even after running the water for a while, that was as cool as he was going to get it.

Before he crossed the border, Hutch had stopped for gasoline and to buy some snacks and bottled water. He was grateful he had that to try and revive Starsky. He knew he needed to get some liquid into him and get him out of that room before he succumbed completely to the heat or whoever was after him returned. Taking his partner to a local hospital would be totally out of the question.

After a few minutes with no success, Hutch gave up in and went to the bathroom, filling the tub with the rank smelling water. He stripped off Starsky’s shirt and jeans, carried him into the bathroom, and placed him in the tub. He was encouraged to see Starsky reflexively swallow the water he poured into his mouth past blue-tinged lips.

“Come on, buddy, give me a sign. You’ve got to wake up so I can get you out of here.”

Starsky started to stir. Feeling hands on him before he opened his eyes to see who it was, he tried to fight, but stopped struggling when he realized from the soothing voice it was his partner. The next thing he realized was that he was in water.

“Hutch?” he asked, cracking open the one eyelid that worked. “Wet.”

“I know, buddy, we have to get you cooled off some.” Calm. Gotta be calm so I can keep him calm.

Starsky nodded but started the slide back to darkness. Hutch’s voice called him back before he lost consciousness again. “No, no, don’t do that. I need you to wake up. Gotta get you out of here.”

Even though the water was tepid and Hutch’s fear that the bad guys would come back before they could leave made him too hurried and sloppy, it started to work. Starsky’s skin began to feel cooler even as Hutch sponged him off, and he started to show signs of increasing alertness.

“Come on, buddy,” Hutch encouraged him. “Pull out of it, huh? We have to get out of here.”

“Help me,” Starsky managed, and Hutch got him out of the tub and started drying him off. He still wasn’t happy with his condition, but at least Starsky seemed to know where he was and what was happening. He even helped dress himself again, and Hutch wrapped an arm around him and somehow got him down to the car. Starsky was still too close to fading out, but with him in the LTD, Hutch figured he had a better advantage than being stuck in the hotel.

Watching him worriedly as he drove, Hutch made a beeline for the border. It wasn’t going to be easy to explain a bloodied, half-unconscious man in the passenger seat, but they both had their IDs to prove American citizenship and if all else failed, Hutch could have the guards call Dobey. To hell with their cover.

The line to cross the border was inching along. It was not only a busy day but Hutch could see, when he climbed out of the car for a better look, that the guards were being more than usually thorough today. They were searching every second or third car.

“Shit.” Hutch got back into the car with a sigh. “Hey, you with me?”

Starsky nodded, but his eyes were hazy and he was fading fast. “What’s the … holdup?”

“They’re actually checking cars today,” Hutch said. “The bastards.”

Starsky gave a bleary grin but that was the only answer Hutch got.

“Here, try to drink some more water,” Hutch said, digging out another bottle from the back seat and opening it. He held it for Starsky, who didn’t seem to have the strength even for that, and kept urging him to drink until he’d swallowed about a third of it.

“I’ll have to … piss,” Starsky warned in a croaky voice.

“You always have to piss,” Hutch said. “Your bladder’s the size of a tea bag.”

“Tea cup,” Starsky corrected. He gave another bleary grin and Hutch was encouraged. He was still in bad shape, but he was with it enough to make smartass remarks. That was good.

“Either way,” Hutch said. “You’re just gonna have to hope for the best, partner. We won’t be on the other side for a while at this rate.”

Starsky’s eyes began to droop and Hutch gave him a gentle jab in the arm.

“Huh-uh. Stay awake. It’s going to be hard enough to explain your condition with you conscious. How am I supposed to explain it if you’re out cold?”

Starsky propped his eyes open with an effort, and this time managed to drink out of his water bottle unassisted. “Tell ’em I got drunk in TJ and got in a fight.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Hutch said with a grin, and was rewarded by a feeble laugh from Starsky.

“Nope.”

“But you’ll have to sit up and try to look like you haven’t been shot and God knows what all,” Hutch said, sobering as the realization of how badly hurt Starsky really was returned.

“It’s gonna be okay, Hutch,” Starsky said, struggling to pull himself together both for the sake of the border guards and his partner’s worried face.

I hope you’re right, buddy. I really do.

They inched forward a little further at a time. Half an hour passed and the heat in the car was becoming unbearable. The air conditioner had been broken for weeks and Hutch cursed himself for not having it fixed long ago. The sweat was standing on Starsky’s face and neck and he was clearly in far more discomfort than Hutch was.

“Here, Starsk, let’s get you out of that jacket,” Hutch said.

“Blood’ll … show … more,” Starsky said, his voice barely audible.

“I know, but you’re smothering under there, babe.” Hutch got the jacket off as gently as possible, but still Starsky’s face went several shades paler as he worked him out of it. “Sorry,” Hutch said several times when he knew he’d hurt him.

“‘s okay,” Starsky said, setting his teeth. “Don’t … don’t worry ’bout it.”

But once the jacket was off and Hutch had tossed it into the back seat, Starsky was obviously more comfortable and a little bit of color returned to his cheeks. “Want some more water? It’d do you good.”

“No, not yet,” Starsky said, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. “I’m … not going … to sleep,” he said. “Just restin’ my eyes. Lemme … know when we’re … close.”

Hutch gave him a gentle pat on the arm. “I’m going to get out and see if I can tell what’s going on and how much longer it’ll be. You wait here.”

Starsky gave a weak grin. “Good idea.”

Hutch got out of the car and strolled a few feet toward the guard station. Two of the guards were arguing with someone who was reluctant to let them search the car — tourists, apparently, but Hutch guessed that if they were arguing, they had more than sombreros and serapes in the trunk. He shook his head and turned back. And that’s when he saw the black sedan, several cars back, in the row next to the one he and Starsky were waiting in. The two men in the front seat weren’t looking his way, and he yanked his sunglasses out of his shirt pocket and put them on before hurrying back to his car. He got in in such a hurry that he rocked the car.

“What?” Starsky came to alertness–as much as he could muster–when he felt the movement.

“Bad guys. Next row. About six or eight cars back.”

Starsky struggled to a more upright position and peered into the rearview mirror.

“Recognize ’em?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said, his voice trembling slightly. “That’s the guys who rolled me in TJ.”

“Shit.” Hutch glanced around, looking for an escape route. “We gotta get out of here.”

“How?”

“I don’t know yet. Hang on.” Hutch pawed through the accumulation of debris in the back seat and finally found a ball cap. He didn’t even remember seeing it before, but he was glad to see it now. He pulled it down over his hair. “Put on your sunglasses,” he told Starsky, “and stay down.”

Searching the area desperately, Hutch realized he was going to have to abandon his car. It was completely blocked in by other cars waiting to cross into the United States, and there was no way he could even barge through. The cars were too tightly packed. But coming across from the other side was a half-ton pickup, the back packed with boxes and furniture. The border guards for Mexico were a lot less conscientious than the American guards — Hutch thought wryly that they weren’t worried about people bringing dope or illegal immigrants into Mexico — and had waved the truck through with only a cursory glance into the back. But the traffic was almost as badly backed up on the other side just because of the volume of people trying to get into Tijuana for the weekend.

“Come on,” Hutch said quickly. “Hurry. You’re gonna have to try to walk.”

Starsky nodded and got out of the car, while Hutch glanced at the men in the black sedan. One of them was looking out the window with a bored expression, while the other had slid down in his seat and pulled his hat over his eyes. Hutch met Starsky halfway around the car and slipped an arm around his back, half-dragging, half-carrying him into the opposite lane. They hurried up behind the truck and Hutch boosted Starsky in, scrambling after him, just as traffic cleared and the truck’s motor geared up to drive away. When Hutch glanced back at the sedan, he realized the driver had looked up in time to see them get into the back of the truck. Both men piled out of the car and pulled guns, but the truck’s driver, oblivious and simply in a hurry to get wherever he was going, drove away before they could squeeze through the cars and reach it. Hutch heard one shot before the traffic closed around them.

He sank down next to Starsky with a sigh, partly of relief and partly of regret that he’d had to leave his car behind. Now they had no way to get back into California.

The race to get away had depleted Starsky’s strength. His breath was coming in short gasps, and his color had washed out again.

“Hey, hang in there, huh?” Hutch said, bending over him worriedly.

“‘m okay, really,” Starsky said, though he clearly was not. “Don’t … worry so much.”

Sure. I’ll do that.

The truck drove for almost an hour before it pulled up in a village. The driver got out and went into a little cantina without ever knowing that he’d picked up a couple of hitchhikers. Hutch waited to be sure the man was safely out of sight, then helped Starsky out of the truck. He had no idea where they were.

“Now what?” Starsky asked, leaning heavily against his partner.

“Now we’re fucked,” Hutch said glumly, surprised when that made Starsky give a brief chuckle.

“Well, we are,” he said, a little impatiently. “What do you suggest, genius?”

“You speak Spanish,” Starsky pointed out. “Ask somebody for help.”

Hutch glanced around and the only possible shade was inside the cantina. “I guess you’re right. Can you walk just a little further?”

Starsky nodded, and with Hutch’s help, managed to get inside the cantina, which was cool and dark, though not air-conditioned. The bartender looked only mildly surprised to see a couple of Americans stumble in, dirty and sweaty, with one injured.

“Buenas noches,” Hutch said. “Puede ayudarme?”

“Que?”

Hutch told the man that his friend was sick and their doctor was in San Diego, but their car had broken down and he had no way of getting his friend home to the doctor. He suggested, without actually saying so, that they’d partied a little too heartily in Tijuana and gotten lost.

The bartender grinned. “Si. Es posible. Tiene dinero?”

Hutch’s heart sank. He didn’t have much money left and he doubted Starsky had any. “Un poco.”

“Necesita … cincuenta dolares. Americano.”

“Fifty?” Hutch searched through his pockets and he had it, but barely. “You got any money, Starsk?”

Starsky, leaning wearily against the bar, raised his eyebrows. “Of course they want money. I got about a hundred bucks.”

Hutch glanced at the bartender, who didn’t give a sign whether he understood. So Hutch told him they had enough, and the man nodded. He called toward the back of the bar and a boy of about eight appeared at the curtained door. The bartender spoke rapidly to the child–too rapidly even for Hutch to follow everything he said–and the boy vanished again.

“Un poco tiempo. Una cerveza?”

“Want something to drink, buddy?” Hutch asked.

“Sure,” Starsky said. He slid the rest of the way onto the bar stool and leaned his head against his hand. “Gonna be a while huh?”

Hutch shrugged. “Looks that way.”

But it wasn’t that long. In about ten minutes, Hutch heard the sound of a motorcycle, and another man came into the bar. He and the bartender talked back and forth in low voices for several minutes, and the second man came over to Hutch.

“Fifty dollar,” he said, holding out his hand. “You use my bike. Your friend stay here. You bring doctor back.”

Hutch’s heart sank all the way to his feet. He couldn’t leave Starsky in the care of strangers in his condition for what might be hours, while he found other transportation and got help. He started to shake his head, but Starsky quirked a bushy eyebrow at him.

“It’s the only way, Hutch. Got any better ideas?”

After thinking about it for several moments, Hutch shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

“I’ll be okay,” Starsky said. “I promise,” he added. “Go on.”

Hutch sighed, handed over the money, and followed the second Mexican outside. The man gave him directions back to the border when Hutch explained he didn’t know where he was, and it turned out they were much closer to Tijuana than he’d realized. The driver of the truck they’d hitched on had apparently taken quite a circuitous route to get here.

The bike was hardly more than a dirt bike, though it bore a rusty and expired license plate. Hutch eyed it doubtfully, wondering if it would even run long enough to get him out of sight, never mind all the way to the border. But it was his only choice. He climbed on and kick-started it. It took several tries, and his shirt was soaked with sweat before it turned over and settled into a rumbling rhythm. “Take care of my friend,” he said to the man, repeating the words in Spanish in case the man’s English wasn’t equal to the task.

The man nodded and gave a grin. “Sure. No worry. You take care my bike.”

Hutch nodded and put the bike in gear, praying as hard as he ever had that this wasn’t going to be a disaster for him or for Starsky.

~*~*~

When it became obvious he would get no further in finding his missing men at the border, Captain Dobey drove back to Bay City. He was sitting in his office, going over the photographs he’d received from the border patrol with Sean Cavanaugh and Jack Hill, one of his best detective teams. They had just returned from the garage, where Dobey had ordered them to take a look at Hutch’s car, which had been towed up from the border.

Sean looked at the blurry photo that showed Hutch and Starsky moving away from the LTD. That Starsky was in bad shape was plain, even with the photo’s grainy, unfocused quality. Sean whistled.

“And no one has heard from them?” he asked.

Dobey shook his head. “No.”

Jack asked, “In how long?”

Dobey looked at his watch. “About ten hours, now. I’ve had some of Alvarado’s lieutenants under surveillance since I heard Hutch was on his way to TJ. A few of the inner circle men are out of sight.”

Sean and Jack looked at each other. Sean said, “And you think maybe they went down there, too?”

“Possibly. Best we can figure, Alvarado was kidnapped by a rival gang down in TJ. I have a few calls in to see if anyone knows anything about the limo Starsky was driving. Could be, his goons are down there looking for some sign of their boss. No ransom demands so far.” Dobey paused and took a sip of his coffee. “Or, could be they’re looking for some sign of Starsky. The surveillance team picked up some chatter about wondering if that ‘son of a bitch’ had anything to do with the big boss’ disappearance. We couldn’t tell for sure from the recording, but seemed like they were talking about Starsky.”

Jack said, “Cap, even if Starsky’s cover wasn’t blown, if they think he’s responsible somehow for Alvarado being put on ice–”

“He’s a marked man,” Sean finished. “Hutch, too, if they really did blow Starsky’s cover. Once that happens, the connection’s all too easy.”

Dobey’s phone rang and he scooped it up before the first ring was completed. “Dobey. Yeah… I see, when?  Can you describe it?”  Jack and Sean watched as the captain took down some information, ending with a California license plate number. “Thanks, we’ll take it from here.”

The captain passed the information to Sean. “Get down to the checkpoint, Code three. That was my mole at the border. He said they just passed in a flatbed tow truck with a smashed up limousine on board. Matches the description of the one Starsky was driving. I’ll call ahead and have the officers detain the truck at the scales.”

“What about probable cause?” Jack asked, wondering how they were going to have an excuse to search the limo with no warrant and outside of their jurisdiction.

“Leave that to me. Ask for the senior officer when you get there. And land subtle, huh?  Not like you’re storming the beach on Normandy.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” Sean said with a small salute.

~*~*~

“That’s the way it is, Fernandez,” a surly voice said through the phone. “Your boss is cutting into our turf. He’s cost us half a mil’ already. My boss wants him to back outta his neighborhoods and pay him the money in small, unmarked bills. By tonight, or Alvarado’s dead.”

Fernandez was still steaming from the call he’d received from his henchmen in Mexico. They’d lost Edwards and his partner at the border and they were still looking for them. “What about our driver?  Was he involved in this?”

He slammed the receiver down when the line went dead. The phone wasn’t quite on the desk and the force of the receiver hitting the handset sent it crashing to the floor. The plastic cracked and when he picked up the mess, he discovered one of Hutch’s planted bugs. For a few seconds, he stared at it incredulously. Then, he ripped the small device the rest of the way out of the phone, threw it on the floor and crushed it with his heel.

Marty Fernandez was Alvarado’s second in command. He’d been with his boss for years, since they graduated high school together. In all that time, their cautiousness had prevented them from being successfully trapped by the police.

“Son of a bitch!” Fernandez exclaimed. His shouting called the door guards into the room.

“Something wrong, Marty?” one of them asked, quickly looking around the room for any sign of a threat.

“Anybody seen Peterson today?”

“Not for a while. He left early. Said he wasn’t feeling good.”

“Son of a bitch,” the angry man muttered as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. He motioned for the two men to come closer and look at the broken bug, then he whispered, “I think those two were cops. I want you to get those men in TJ to find them and make sure the only way they come back across the border is zipped up in body bags. You got it?”

“Sure, boss, right away.”

Slightly louder, Fernandez said, “And don’t call from here.”

After the guards left, Fernandez started looking around the room carefully for any other listening devices. He found one. By the time he’d smashed that, too, the surveillance team had already called Dobey to tell him that the bugs had been found and his detectives’ covers were blown.

~*~*~

Hutch had only been gone for an hour when things started to get worse for his partner. In addition to his existing problems, the water he drank in Tijuana was catching up to him. Finally, he passed out in the corner booth after yet another trip to the men’s room. The bar’s proprietors didn’t know what to do, so they carried him into a back room and were in a huddle about it when a teenaged boy ran in to tell them that some scary looking Americans with dark glasses were asking around for a blond man and an injured man with dark, curly hair. The man who’d taken the money from Hutch didn’t like the sounds of that any more than he liked the looks of his unconscious friend. His wife was afraid to get involved. She wanted the ill man out of the cantina, but she felt guilty about the prospect of letting someone just come in and take him. She and her husband quickly formed an idea. Carefully, and under the cover of darkness, two men carried Starsky out the back and through several alleys to the back door of the nearby Our Lady of Guadalupe church. Father Ojeda responded to their frantic knocking.

After hearing the situation, the priest immediately let them in and told them to put Starsky in his bed. The men who brought him there had explained that his friend was coming back with a doctor and they’d tell him where he was. While he waited, the father got to work trying to help. When he tried to get Starsky to drink some juice, he got a response.

“Hutch?” Starsky called as he spluttered and opened eyes that really didn’t comprehend what they were seeing.

“No, shhhh,” the priest answered. “I’m Father Ojeda. You’re safe here.”

Starsky stared at him. He looked around for Hutch. When he didn’t see him, he tried to get up, but wasn’t able to fight the man gently holding him and telling him to be still.

Father Ojeda tried to soothe his patient. “Your friend went for help. Rest.”

“Where?”

“You are safe,” Ojeda answered, knowing too much detail would just be confusing. He put a cold compress on Starsky’s head and managed to get him to take some aspirin after some coaxing. “Your fever is high. Please, señor.”

As he got to work cleaning Starsky’s wound, he tried to get some information.

“What is your name, señor?”

“Hutch?”

“He’s not here, I’m sorry. What is your name?”

“Hutch?”

“Were you shot?”

“Hutch?”

Seeing he would get nowhere, the priest stopped asking questions and continued to try to bring down Starsky’s fever. He would wait for the mystery man’s friend and pray. If he couldn’t get the fever down on his own and the other man didn’t show up within a few hours with a doctor, Ojeda knew he would have to find a doctor or nurse to come to the church.

~*~*~

Afraid to go through the main Tijuana checkpoint, Hutch took the time to ride to another border crossing. He approached cautiously and swore under his breath when he had to take a side street to avoid being seen by the men still looking for them. Now, he was beginning to feel frantic about Starsky and his condition. If he couldn’t safely get him across the border, he’d have to try and treat his injuries himself, take him to a doctor, or take him further into Baja.

His mind was on other things as he pulled a tight turn into an alley and he didn’t notice a piece of concrete sticking out where he had to squeeze between a high curb and a truck stopped in his path. As he passed, his ankle was trapped briefly between the bike and the concrete.  He kept moving, despite the sparks that he saw from the pain.

“Shit,” he mumbled as he pressed on through the streets, wishing he had on boots instead of shoes. He was sure it wasn’t broken, but he was going to have a bad bruise and it wouldn’t help him take care of Starsky.

Knowing he could buy supplies and medication without a prescription, Hutch started looking for a pharmacía. He hobbled into the first one he found and scrounged up enough cash from his pockets to purchase some bandages, aspirin, and an antibiotic he knew his partner had taken in the past with no problems. Thankful that the bike was full of gas so he wouldn’t need to spend any more of the little bit of cash he had, he took off on the return trip to the cantina where he’d left Starsky.

Still wary of calling Dobey, Hutch decided he’d better take the time to call Huggy. He stopped at a phone booth where he could put the bike out of sight and called collect.

“Hutch,” Huggy started immediately, “where are you?”

“Still in Mexico. I don’t have much time. He’s bad, Hug, and we’re in trouble. I tried to go for a doctor, but I can’t even sneak across. I’m starting to wonder if our cover was blown.”

“It was. Dobey called to tell me, in case you called me. How can I help?”

Hutch sighed and ran a weary hand down his face, wiping sweat and road grime away from his eyes. “I don’t think you can help. I’m going to try and find a way to get him back to the states. ”

“Where are you?” Huggy asked again. Hutch had no intention of answering that question.

“Call Dobey and tell him I’m trying to get Starsky in shape to find some way back. He’s going to need a doctor.”

“Could Dobey send someone after you?”

“No. Too risky. We don’t know who knows what and we might never make it. I’ll be in touch.”

“Wait,” Huggy pleaded as Hutch hung up the phone. He hit the hook switch a few times and dialed Dobey.  The big man wasn’t going to like it.

~*~*~

When Hutch limped into the cantina, he was disturbed to see his partner was nowhere in sight. He was halfway to the bathroom to check there when the proprietor stepped out from the back room and spotted him.

“Señor.”

“Dónde está mi amigo?” Hutch asked.

The man looked around nervously. Only one patron was in the establishment and he was paying attention to his drink and reading a newspaper by the dim light.

“Está enfermo… sick. Bad,” the man said in a low voice. “Men came for him.”

“What!”

The man shushed him. “No, no. Men were looking. Bad men. No está aquí. Come. I’ll take you.”

He called for someone from the back to come out and keep an eye on the place, then took Hutch by the arm and led him out the back door.

“Dónde?” Hutch asked again.

“La iglesia.”

At the back of the church, they knocked and were greeted by Father Ojeda. Before he let the priest lead him inside, Hutch thanked the man for the use of his motorcycle and told him where he’d parked it. Worried about being seen, the man nodded and left with a wish for his friend to get better.

Ojeda shook Hutch’s hand and said, “Your friend is in a bad way, señor. I think his fever is better, but he needs a doctor.”

Hutch stepped into Ojeda’s room and his heart sank. Starsky looked terrible. He knew his only choice was going to be to try to get his friend farther away from the border so he could safely get him to a doctor.

As quickly as possible, Hutch performed first aid on Starsky’s wounds with the supplies he had bought. The priest helped him — he seemed to know a lot about first aid, too — and got him some water so Hutch could give Starsky the antibiotic. He examined the gunshot wound more closely and was dismayed to realize it was infected.

“Shit.” He flushed when he realized the priest knew that English word, too. “Sorry, Father.”

The priest gave a brief grin. “Is okay. I understand you are worried.”

“To say the least.” Hutch swabbed the wound the best he could and bandaged it again. He put a makeshift splint on the wrist he had decided was not broken, only badly sprained, and then sat back. “Father, we have a real problem.”

In Spanish, he explained that he needed to get Starsky to a doctor and that he was afraid to try to get across the border until he knew it would be safe. Ojeda listened without comment until he finished, then patted his shoulder.

“Ten miles south,” he said, pointing in the right direction. “The convent, Las Hermanitas de Maria. Mi tia, Sister Maria Rafaela. I make for you a … ” He gestured helplessly, his English inadequate.

“A map?” Hutch supplied.

“Yes, si, a map,” Ojeda said. He patted Hutch’s shoulder again and left the room. He returned several minutes later with a roughly drawn map and gave it to Hutch.

Though it was rough, Hutch felt confident, after looking it over, that he could follow it easily enough. The only problem was transportation. He told the priest that he was supposed to give the motorcycle back to its owner now and had no way to get to the convent.

“No problemo,” Ojeda said. “You ride bike, okay? Take your amigo to mi tia. I talk to Diego for you.”

Father Ojeda disappeared for a while to talk to Diego and retrieve the bike. When he returned, his sense of urgency seemed heightened. Too much activity might draw unwanted attention.

“Go. Hurry,” he said. He made the sign of the cross over Starsky and blessed him, then repeated it over Hutch, afterward helping him get Starsky outside.

How in the hell am I supposed to get this big galoot on the bike and ten miles through rough country in his condition? Hutch asked himself. Starsky was only semi-conscious, in no condition to hang on, especially on a bike that wasn’t really meant to carry two full-grown men.

“Wait,” Ojeda said, turning and disappearing into the church. He returned with a wide sash. Hutch grinned unwillingly, realizing what the priest’s idea was and thinking Starsky would kill them both if he were in a condition to do so. Between them, Hutch and Ojeda got Starsky on the bike’s passenger seat, and Hutch climbed on in front. Ojeda tied the sash around them both snugly, so that Starsky’s chest was pressed firmly against Hutch’s back.

“Vaya con Dios,” Ojeda said.

“Gracias, padre,” Hutch answered, kicking the bike into life and uttering a couple of prayers of his own as he rode away.

Unfortunately, the trip was every bit as rough as he’d feared. He didn’t dare ride very fast, knowing that Starsky wasn’t equal to the jarring and holding on, though as they rode, Starsky came out of it enough to lock his arms around Hutch’s waist and complain about the bumps occasionally. The road was hardly more than a dirt path, and once, they had to ride right through a creek. The little bike sputtered for a while after that, but kept going, for which Hutch was thankful.

Finally, they crested a hill and Hutch could see a low building that had to be the convent. “You still with me, buddy?”

“Yeah,” Starsky said shortly, the pain in his voice making Hutch wince in sympathy.

“Almost there,” Hutch said reassuringly, patting Starsky’s arm before replacing his hand on the throttle and heading for the convent. A tiny sign planted in the grass in front of the door proclaimed it was, indeed, “Las Hermanitas de Maria” — the Little Sisters of Mary. With some difficulty, he untied the sash and got Starsky off the bike. Putting his arm around Starsky’s waist, he helped him to the door and rang the old fashioned bell.

Presently, a nun in full habit opened a sliding panel in the door and peered out.

“Padre Ojeda me dijo su tia, Maria Rafaela, esta’ aqui,” Hutch said.

The sister’s eyebrows drew together in a frown at the sight of two anglos, one injured, at the door, but she nodded and withdrew. It was many minutes before an older woman appeared and opened the whole door. Hutch explained again that Father Ojeda had sent him and told him to ask for his aunt.

“Soy Maria Rafaela,” she said, opening the door wider. She got under Starsky’s other arm and helped Hutch take him into a nearby room with a cot and an open window which let in a cool breeze. By now, Hutch was exhausted with worry and heat and coping with this whole sorry mess. He sank into the chair next to the bed.

“Tienes hambre?” she asked gently.

He nodded. He was hungry. Starsky must be, too. She smiled and went away, returning shortly with a tray containing sandwiches and coffee for both of them.

Starsky was able to sit up and eat, though his forehead was creased with pain and his face was damp with perspiration. Hutch kept looking at him worriedly. Starsky wasn’t complaining much. That was a very, very bad sign.

Sister Maria Rafaela sat with them and waited until they had eaten before she said to Hutch, “My nephew told you I could help you?”

“You speak English!” Hutch said, surprised.

She smiled. “I went to college in the States, senor. Nursing school. Is why Pablo sent you to me, I think. Also, he knows few people outside of the area know about our convent. You will be safe here. Many of the poor come here for help when they can’t get to a town with a doctor. Can you tell me what happened to you and your friend?”

Hutch glanced at Starsky, who shrugged as if he didn’t care how much Hutch told the nun, so Hutch came clean with her. He told her they were cops, they’d been on assignment and it had gone bad, and now they were running for their lives. He even showed her his badge, which she gave only a cursory examination.

“We need to get across the border, but the men who are chasing us are watching every crossing I can get to with him hurt like that,” Hutch said. “I don’t dare contact our captain. His phone might be bugged.”

“‘ya try Huggy?” Starsky said, one hand holding the remains of his sandwich, the other pressed against his side as if to ease the pain.

“I talked to him,” Hutch said. “I didn’t tell him much. Same problem.”

“We have no telephone here,” Sister Maria said. “I am sorry. We so seldom have need of one. But,” and her eyes behind her glasses twinkled with mischief, “we can perhaps get you and your friend across the border.”

Hutch’s eyebrows went up, followed by Starsky’s. “How?”

“Wait,” she said, patting Starsky’s hand and using the movement to feel his pulse at the same time. Then she felt his forehead, stroked his hair in a motherly way, and turned back to Hutch. “First we treat your friend… ” she paused expectantly and suddenly Hutch realized he hadn’t introduced either of them, yet she had accepted them into the convent immediately.

“His name is David,” Hutch said. “I’m Ken.”

She smiled. “David was a king and a great man of God,” she said to Starsky. “A good name. You,” she said to Hutch, that mischief in her eyes even more pronounced, “are named for a doll.”

Hutch laughed aloud and Starsky chuckled, and Hutch realized it had been a long time since he’d laughed.

“I swear I’ve never gone out with Barbie, not even once,” Hutch said, holding up his right hand.

“Sure you have,” Starsky said, the longest remark he’d made in hours. “Remember that cocktail waitress in Burbank? Her name was Barbie.”

Hutch shot him a mock dirty look and was pleased to see Starsky’s eyes twinkling. “Okay, then, I have gone out with Barbie.”

Sister Maria smiled. “First we treat your friend,” she repeated. “When he is better, we see about getting you across the border and home. Yes?”

Hutch nodded and she rose and left the room. He looked back over to Starsky, who had lain back on the pillow and closed his eyes. His face was far too pale. “How bad is it, Starsk? The truth.”

“Bad,” Starsky said shortly.

Shit. Hutch very gently opened Starsky’s shirt and looked at the bandage over the gunshot wound. It was damp with blood and pus. He bit his lip and hoped Starsky didn’t notice, but the blue eyes were open and piercing when he glanced that way again.

“I know I’m in trouble, buddy,” Starsky said. “Don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

Just then, Sister Maria returned, loaded down with medical supplies on a rolling cart and accompanied by another nun she introduced as Sister Maria Javier. “You,” she said to Hutch, “stay out of the way. You,” she said to Starsky, “be a good boy and let us do our work.”

“Are all of you Sister Maria Something?” Starsky asked, forcing a grin.

“Most,” Sister Maria Rafaela answered, patting his cheek. “Callense. We have work to do.”

“It means ‘shut up,'” Hutch supplied when Starsky cast him a questioning glance.

The two nuns worked over Starsky for most of an hour, thoroughly cleaning and disinfecting the gunshot wound and his other injuries, giving him a sponge bath, which Starsky endured with closed eyes and set teeth, and removing his dirty, sweaty shirt to replace it with a soft, white cotton shirt that was loose and provided much easier access than his own had. Then Sister Maria Javier gave him a shot — making him give a soft yelp — and plumped his pillow.

“Now, you sleep,” Sister Maria Rafaela told Starsky. “You come with me,” she said to Hutch. “Sister will stay with David. He’ll be fine. Come.”

Hutch glanced uncertainly at Starsky, who waved him away wearily. His eyes were already growing heavy, Hutch could see. So Hutch followed the nun out of the room and down the hall to an office.

“You are a policeman,” she said when they had gone in and she’d shut the door. “What we are going to do must remain a secret.”

Hutch’s eyebrows went up again. “Why?”

“The way we are going to get you home is the same way we help people get into your country illegally,” she said bluntly. “Sometimes, a family has no other choice. It is starve or cross illegally and try to do better in the States. If even one can get across and earn American money to send home, it can mean the difference between life and death for the family left behind.”

Hutch didn’t hesitate. “I won’t tell.” He put his hand over his heart. “I promise, Sister.”

The sister nodded. She trusted that Hutch would keep his word. Reaching into her desk, she pulled out a few pictures of an old bus and handed them to Hutch. Some of the sisters were standing around it, smiling for the camera. The lettering on the oxidized paint revealed that it belonged to the nuns. This was not just a convent. The sisters ran an orphanage.

“Every month, we take the children across the border to visit our sister school. Sometimes… the bus carries hidden passengers. We can put you and David on the bus in hiding.” She looked critically at Hutch and smiled. “You are a little tall for the compartments, but I think it will work.”

Hutch blushed. “You never get stopped?”

Sister smiled. “Not once. Sister Maria Roberta drives. She is old and has a serious face. We think the border guards are afraid of her.”

They both laughed and she continued. “The children are going tomorrow. I hate to move David so soon, but–”

Hutch shook his head and put a hand up in the air. “Wait a minute, Sister. No disrespect intended, but my partner and I couldn’t put your children in danger.”

“David needs better medical care than we can give him. Our supplies are limited. God will watch over you and the children.”

“No way. I won’t hear of it, and Starsky will agree. We’ll just rest here till tomorrow night and I’ll figure out some other way to get him home.”

She could see that Hutch wasn’t going to budge on this point. He put his hand up and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes momentarily in concentration. What the hell am I going to do?  Think. Think.

“Wait!” the nun exclaimed. “I have another way. Our caretaker has a brother with a fishing boat. We could have him take you to the boat in the truck.”

A boat!  That could work. “I like that a lot better, sister. When can we ask him?”

“He’ll be here later.”

Just as she said he would, hours later the caretaker arrived in a dilapidated stake-side truck that looked like it might fly apart before it stopped. The engine finally sputtered to silence, following a deafening backfire. Hutch was sitting with Starsky when the truck pulled up behind the convent.

“Good thing Maria Rafaela warned us about that backfire,” he quipped to Starsky. “I might have gone for my gun.”

“Really. Let’s go talk to him,” Starsky said.

“You’re not going anywhere, buddy.  Just rest, I’ll handle it.”

“I’m feeling better.”

“Than what?  Take it easy, I’ll be back as soon as I know what’s next.”

By the time Hutch got near the back door the caretaker was already in conversation with Maria Rafaela. She motioned him to join them.

“This is Rogelio Guerro,” Maria Rafaela said.

“Senor,” the man said, extending a hand for Hutch to shake.

“Senor Guerro,” Hutch responded. “Me llamo es Ken.”

“Mucho gusto, Senor. I speak English.”

“Great. I’m hoping you can help me.”

Rogelio nodded. “Si, Sister has explained you have a problem. I think I can help.”

They continued to discuss the situation. Rogelio’s truck had two long, wooden storage boxes in the back where he kept his tools. He would unload the tools to make room for Starsky and Hutch to each lie down inside one. Not the most comfortable solution, but it would serve the purpose of getting them out of the area and down to the docks without being seen. Rogelio would get word to his brother to have the boat ready to leave two hours after sunset. The small fishing boat would give them just the right cover to slip away from the coast and head north for United States waters.

Hutch didn’t like it that they were so far south. He hadn’t realized how far they had traveled. Knowing how long it could take them to get back to friendly territory, Sister Maria Rafaela offered to drive the convent’s station wagon north across the border. Once she was safely in America, she would call Captain Dobey for her new friends.

Starsky was propped up on the pillows, leaning against the headboard when Hutch went back to his room. He looked like he was struggling to stay awake, unwilling to sleep until he knew what was said between the others.

“We’ve got it settled,” Hutch said. Starsky had scooted over enough to leave him a place to sit on the edge of the bed. Hutch sat down and reached up to touch Starsky’s forehead, concerned by a fever that seemed unchanged despite rest and rudimentary medical care.

“What’s next?” Starsky asked, ignoring the obvious.

“I’d rather you were a little better before we move–”

“But we can’t stay here and risk anyone else’s safety, so what to do?”

He knew Starsky wasn’t going to be too keen on some parts of the plan, but thought it would be best to just spill it. “Two hours after sunset, we climb into the tool storage compartments in the caretaker’s truck. He’ll drive us down to the docks and sneak us onto his brother’s fishing boat.”

Starsky interrupted, “Did you say tool compartments?”

“I did. They’re long enough and they aren’t exactly airtight. We’ll be fine, even if we aren’t comfortable.”

Heights weren’t the only thing that bothered Starsky. He wasn’t overly fond of closed in spaces, either. He never would say why, but Hutch thought it had something to do with being stuck in a closet on his eighth birthday.

“How far to the docks?”

“The man said about twenty minutes. Think you can make it?”

“Oh, sure. I’ll be just fine.”

Hutch thought his partner looked anything but fine. “You sure you can make it?”

“Sure, never better.”

They had no other options. Rogelio had confirmed that men were still roaming around the area looking for the two Americans. They’d offered a reward and it was only a matter of time before someone took them up on it.

“I’m sorry it’s not a better plan, Starsk.”

“But it’s the only one we got. I know. Don’t worry.”

“Right. Don’t worry. Check.”

“Smart ass.”

“That’s me. Ken Hutchinson, smart ass.”

Hutch explained about the plan for the sister to drive across the border to call Dobey.  Neither of them wanted her to be involved more than she already was, but they considered the risk to her to be low and they had no other way of safely letting the captain know where they were.

“He can have the paramedics and some backup meet us at the docks.”

Rogelio was ready when the time came. Hutch got an arm under Starsky and helped him out the back door and down the short set of steps. Hutch’s ankle was sore enough to make him limp, and Starsky teased him about it.

“And you asked me if I knew how to ride when we went after the guys who kidnapped that poor kid,” he said.

“Smart ass,” Hutch replied. He let Starsky go and got up into the bed of the truck. Then, he reached out a hand to help his partner make the climb. Sister Maria Rafaela was behind him, and she put a steadying hand on his back when he faltered on his first try to put his foot up on the bumper. Starsky was unsteady on his feet and getting him into the truck wasn’t going to happen without causing him some pain. He took a step back and tried to catch his breath. His head was down and his eyes were closed.

“You okay, Starsk?”

“Yeah, give me a sec.”

They had turned out all the lights in case they were being watched, so Hutch couldn’t see Starsky’s face. He stood looking down at him, barely illuminated by moonlight.

“I’m okay,” Starsky said as he reached up with his good arm. Hutch took it and Rogelio stepped over to help. He put Starsky’s foot on the bumper and helped Hutch ease him up to the truck bed.

Hutch steadied him and let him rest for a few moments, before helping him into one of the toolboxes.

“They aren’t very big, are they?” Starsky asked.

“Big enough to carry you.”

Rogelio had spread out a blanket on the bottom of the box to help make the ride more comfortable.

“Twenty minutes,” Hutch said.

Starsky nodded and Hutch closed the lid. Hutch climbed into the toolbox on the other side of the truck and signaled Rogelio that they were ready. In the pale moonlight, just before he dropped the lid, he saw a spider darting away through a crack in the corner. Hope you were traveling alone.

The ride to the dock took twenty minutes, just as predicted, but Rogelio hadn’t mentioned how rocky and bumpy the road would be. When Hutch realized they’d arrived, he carefully crawled out and went to help Starsky.

Starsky’s smiled at Hutch and said, “The good news is, I don’t have to worry about getting seasick. I already feel like hurling

Hutch couldn’t help but laugh at the situation.

~*~*~

The ride to the border was uneventful for Sister Maria Rafaela. Starsky had cautioned her to keep an eye out for anyone who might be following her, but she hadn’t seen anyone. She crossed into California without incident and headed straight for the church. The senior priest let her into his office to make her phone call. She anxiously waited on hold.

“Dobey, here,” a brusque voice said into the phone.

“Captain Dobey, my name is Sister Maria Rafaela.”

Dobey softened his tone. “Yes, Sister, what can I do for you?”

“This is going to sound a little odd. You can do nothing for me, but I have a message for you from Detective Hutchinson.”

“I see. Is he all right?”

“Yes. He and his friend are on their way home, but they need your help.”

“Go ahead.”

“They will be on a fishing boat called ‘Mariposa’. I wish I could tell you how long it will be, but I can’t.”

“How’s Starsky?”

“Not well. Ken wants you to have an ambulance ready. And he said to tell you to send the cavalry.”

Dobey chuckled at that. “I was planning to do that. How long ago did they leave?”

The sister looked at her watch, even though she knew what time it was. “I’m not sure, but I think about three hours ago.”

Dobey got as much information from her as she could give, including where they were expected to dock, and thanked her for helping his men.

“I can’t thank you enough, Sister. Those two didn’t put you in any danger, did they?”

“No. That’s why they are on the boat. I wanted to get them home another way, but they wouldn’t do it.”

“What other way?”

“I cannot tell you for the safety of other people who sometimes arrive in your country the same way.”

Dobey pursed his lips, but let it go. He was more worried about his men. “All right, Sister. Thank you.”

“De nada,” she said, and hung up.

Dobey replaced the receiver and dropped his forehead into his hands, massaging the ever-present headache there. Why do those two cause me so much trouble?

 ~*~*~

Rogelio introduced the two men to the boat’s owner, giving his name only as “Juan.” Starsky and Hutch exchanged a look. The man was clearly unhappy about helping them, but Rogelio pulled him to one side and spoke rapidly to him in a low voice, too low to carry back to where Starsky and Hutch were waiting, and when the brothers returned, Juan was less surly.

“Juan does not speak English,” Rogelio said to Hutch. “But he knows where you want to go.”

“Gracias,” Hutch said. “I speak Spanish well enough to get by. We’ll be okay.”

Rogelio smiled, flashing white teeth in his dark face, and held out a hand to Starsky, who accepted it. “You will be home soon,” he said to Starsky. “Vaya con Dios, amigos. Mi hermano, he will treat you well. I tell him it is for Sister Maria Rafaela. We do what Sister asks of us, always.”

With a wave, Rogelio went back to his truck. Juan gestured toward the boat, and when he realized Starsky needed help, he put his arm around Starsky’s waist from one side while Hutch got on the other side, and between them they got him onto the boat.

It wasn’t a very big boat, hardly bigger than a pleasure craft, and Hutch had his doubts about its seaworthiness. But it was all they had, and Rogelio had said Juan made his living fishing from it. Starsky didn’t like boats on his best day, and his pinched, pale face blanched a little when he realized this was their way home, but he didn’t say anything.

Juan busied himself with casting off and heading out to sea, and Hutch was comforted by the reassuringly steady roar coming from the Johnson motor that powered the boat. His grandfather always swore by Johnsons. Starsky sank into a seat on the padded bench on one side of the boat and closed his eyes.

When Hutch asked Juan if he could help, the Mexican shook his head and did not answer in words. So Hutch sat down next to Starsky and felt his forehead. “How’re you holding up?”

Starsky opened one eye. “I’ll make it,” he said, but his face was too pale and his voice trembled in spite of his efforts to steady it.

Hutch bit his lower lip, but forced a grin. “Of course you will. Hang on. It won’t be long now.”

“Next time Dobey wants us to go undercover,” Starsky said, the effort it cost him apparent even to Juan, who glanced worriedly his way, “we’re gonna say no, okay? We’ll say it ain’t in our contract.”

Hutch chuckled. “We don’t have a contract.”

“Then the first thing we gotta do when we get home is get a new agent.” Starsky closed his eyes again and rubbed his forehead.

Juan turned his back to them and drove silently, and Hutch watched the shoreline fade from sight. He knew, intellectually, that they couldn’t really be that far out to sea, and Juan seemed to know exactly where he was going, but Hutch didn’t like trusting a stranger with their safety, even one who owed Sister Maria Rafaela his loyalty.

He tried to make conversation with the man by asking him how long he’d known the nun.

“Toda mi vida,” Juan said shortly without turning his head.

Hutch glanced at Starsky, who gave a shrug. “Cuantos horas a Bay City?”

Juan glanced toward the sun, pursed his lips, and said, “Cuatro.”

That was one of the Spanish words Starsky knew and he groaned. “Four HOURS? FOUR hours???”

“Easy, buddy,” Hutch said. “Try to take a nap. It’ll make the time go faster.”

“Four hours,” Starsky muttered, closing his eyes.

“Here, lie down and put your head in my lap,” Hutch said. “You can’t sleep sitting up.”

In spite of himself, events of the last few days caught up with Hutch, too, and the next thing he knew, he was awakened by raindrops. He jerked to alertness and looked up with dismay. The sky had turned black and a steady rain was pouring down.

Juan had donned a yellow slicker and cap and was grimly bent over the boat’s wheel, steering against the wind that was beginning to toss up waves of an alarming size.

“Juan!” Hutch yelled over the increasing noise. “Que pasa?”

Juan glanced at him over his shoulder, but a large wave almost jerked the wheel out of his hands and he turned back to his task.

Starsky was awake now, too, and turning an interesting shade of green.

“Don’t you get seasick on me!” Hutch ordered him. “You gotta keep it together, buddy, this is very, very bad.”

Starsky nodded, swallowed, and pulled himself together. He closed his eyes.

“Don’t shut your eyes!” Hutch yelled. “It’ll make it worse. Keep your eyes on something stable.”

“Like what?”

“Juan. Look at Juan,” Hutch said. “Not at the water, not at the horizon. Look at Juan.”

Starsky fastened his eyes on Juan and swallowed again. Hutch started looking for life jackets but it didn’t take long to realize there weren’t any. And when he asked Juan, the man confirmed it. There were no life jackets.

“Holy shit,” Hutch said, sinking back into his seat.

“We could use the seat cushions,” Starsky said hopefully. “Like they tell you on airplanes.”

“Hey, you’re not as dumb as you look,” Hutch said. “We could. Good thinking, Starsk.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“No es necesario,” Juan said, the first time he’d willingly made any remark. “Bay City es muy cerca de nosotros.”

Hutch stared at him and looked down at his watch. They’d been at sea only a couple of hours. “No es posible,” he said, stunned.

Juan grinned, though he didn’t turn his head. “Si, es verdad.”

Just then, a huge wave washed over the side, drenching all three of them and leaving at least an inch of water in the bottom of the boat. Juan leaned over, felt under the seat, and found some plastic containers which he tossed in Hutch’s direction. He didn’t say “bail,” but Hutch got the message anyway. He went to work.

It was essentially a hopeless task. Waves washed over the small boat over and over, dumping salty water into it faster than Hutch could bail. Juan couldn’t help because he was too busy fighting the wheel, and Starsky, though he tried, was clearly in no condition to help, either. It was up to Hutch.

He bent grimly to the task, working as fast as he could and trying not to notice the water was already up to their ankles. Starsky had turned from green to a pasty shade of white and suddenly he turned his head and started throwing up over the side of the boat.

“Shit,” Hutch said, under his breath. He couldn’t do anything to help his partner. He had to keep bailing. He thought the boat was already sitting lower in the water than it had been.

A crash of lightning overhead made all of them flinch, even Juan, and then the sky really opened up. Rain poured down in sheets so thick that Hutch could barely see Juan, though he was only a couple of feet away, and Starsky, clinging to the side of the boat within arm’s reach, was little more than a dark shape.

“Santa Maria!” Juan called out, letting go of the wheel with one hand to cross himself. “Ayudenos!”

“What’s that mean?” Starsky asked breathlessly, wiping his mouth and setting his teeth against the nausea.

“He’s praying, buddy!” Hutch yelled over the storm.

“Terrific.” Starsky got a better grip of the side of the boat as a wave tossed them into the air and rocked them so hard that Hutch lost his balance and would have hit his head but for Starsky’s quick reflexes. He shot out one hand and caught Hutch just in time. “Maybe we oughta pray, too,” he said.

“Maybe we should,” Hutch said, glancing up at the black clouds. “I’ll bail. You pray.”

“I don’t think bailing’s going to help much.”

“Maybe not,” Hutch said, “but I gotta try. Praying might help, though. Get busy.”

Starsky gave a faint grin and dutifully bowed his head, but only for a second before he had to bend over the side of the boat again.

Hutch prayed, too, while he bailed until his arms and shoulders were aching with the effort. As he worked, he remembered the Bible story of the storm on the Sea of Galilee and Jesus walking on the water toward the disciples, the sight scaring them into thinking he was a ghost.

You stopped that one, he thought, his heart thudding against his ribs. Could you do something about this one? Please?

The storm didn’t stop, but Hutch thought it let up a little. The wind didn’t seem quite as fierce, and the waves, while still high, weren’t washing quite as much water into the boat.

Starsky was all but lying down on the bench, spent with the effort to hold on and be sick at the same time. Juan glanced back at them and said, “Bay City. Veinte minutos.”

“Twenty minutes, buddy,” Hutch translated. “Almost there.”

Starsky nodded.

It was actually closer to an hour, but the storm kept subsiding, and finally Juan turned the boat back toward shore. Hutch could see the outline of a dock — it appeared to be a private dock — through the gathering darkness.

Juan steered the boat closer and told Hutch to get the rope ready to tie up the boat. Hutch did, and in a few minutes, he could make out several figures waiting to meet them. One was Dobey, but he didn’t recognize any of the others.

A muscular young Mexican held out his hand for the rope as they got close enough and Hutch tossed it to him.

“Bienvenido!” the young man said to Juan.

Juan chuckled and shook his head, taking off his slicker and tossing it behind him into the boat. “No fue facil, esta.”

“I’m Javier,” the young man said to Hutch. “Juan is my uncle. The ambulance is waiting for your friend. You’re Hutch, yes?”

“Yes,” Hutch said, shaking Javier’s hand before turning back to help Starsky. Javier reached out to assist, and with Juan’s and Dobey’s added strength, they got Starsky onto the dock. The other two men waiting proved to be the ambulance attendants, and they put him on a stretcher and covered him with a blanket, hurrying to get him as warm as possible.

“Memorial’s closest,” one of them said to Dobey.

“Get moving. We’ll follow,” Dobey said, and the two men disappeared up a slight incline to where the ambulance was. Turning back to Hutch, Dobey added, “You look like hell. You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine,” Hutch said. “Worry about Starsky now, huh? What do we owe you?” he asked Juan, forgetting to speak Spanish.

Javier shook his head. “No pay necessary. Sister Maria Rafaela asked him to do this.”

“We have to pay him,” Hutch said. “He risked his life, and his boat, to help us.”

Dobey reached into his pocket and produced a handful of bills. “Give this to him,” he said to Javier. “Please.”

At first, Juan shook his head, but Javier spoke rapidly to him in Spanish, and finally he took the money and stuffed it into his pocket. “Gracias,” he said to Dobey and Hutch.

“Muchas, muchas gracias,” Hutch said, shaking his hand.

The men smiled and wished him luck before turning their attention to taking care of the boat. Hutch turned back toward Dobey, giving him a chance to take a good long look at him. He put a hand on Hutch’s shoulder to stop him from trying to run after the ambulance.

“Starsky is in good hands, just take a breath.”

The dark circles under Hutch’s eyes and his tight, worried expression were not soothed by the deep breath he took. He reached up to rub his eyes and run his fingers through his hair. Dobey stepped back when he was satisfied that Hutch was ready to go and he motioned him toward his car.

When the captain pulled away in his car, he didn’t hit the lights and siren and Hutch started to protest.

“He didn’t look like he was going to check out on us any time soon, Hutchinson. We’ll get there in short order without pushing the horses.”

That garnered him an exasperated look, followed by a smile. “Okay. He’s a little better than he was yesterday, but it’s not good.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“What happened?”  Hutch laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “Where the hell do I start?”

“The beginning is usually the accepted place. Don’t start in the middle like your partner.”

“He does that sometimes, doesn’t he?”

“Mm-hm. Why don’t you start by telling me what you were doing across the border having an INTERNATIONAL private party?”

Dobey stopped for a light and looked over at Hutch, waiting for the answer he already knew.

“Had to be done, Cap. I’m sorry, but it was better not to get you involved. You’d have felt obligated to go through the proper channels. If we’d done that, Starsky would be dead. He was damn near dead when I got to him.”

Through the rest of the trip and the beginning of their time in Memorial’s emergency room, Hutch told the story, beginning where Starsky pulled away in the limo and ending with their flight from Mexico on Juan’s boat.  He was just wrapping up when a nurse stepped out and called his name.

“I’m Detective Hutchinson,” he answered.

“Your partner is going to x-ray shortly. He’s doing all right.”

Hutch sighed with relief and returned to his seat. “I thought he’d had it when I found him.”

“He’s going to be fine.”

Starsky was going to fully recover. The sisters had done a good job treating his injuries. He still had an infection, which they planned to treat with intravenous antibiotics. He wanted to go home, but the doctors insisted on at least a night in the hospital for observation, and they said he couldn’t go until his fever dropped. They took care of his sprained wrist and he was soon in a room, with his worried partner sitting next to him and his captain ready to catch them up on what was happening in Bay City.

“Here’s what I know. Alvarado was kidnapped by a rival gang. As far as we know, his people refused to meet their demands. His body was found in a car at the Bay City airport. Shot execution style. The M.E. says whoever wasted him did it somewhere else and smuggled him back up here as a message. The two gangs have been at it all up and down the coast for days.”

“Our covers were blown, weren’t they?”

“Yes. Fernandez found the bugs you planted. He’s had his people on both sides of the border looking for the two cops who infiltrated his operation. The best thing we can do right now, is keep you two under wraps until we can round up the rest of the gang.”

“Nothing doing, Cap. I want in on the action.”

“There may not be any action to be in on, Hutchinson. We’ve already rounded up half of them. Jack and Sean are down at the station interrogating Fernandez now.”

“Good, I’m going down there as soon as he’s asleep.”

“HE’s going to be asleep in about three seconds, Blondie. You just be sure you only go down to the station. I don’t want you out there till they cut me loose from here.”

“I’ve got a guard on the door. Go ahead. I’ll stay with him for a while.”

Starsky nodded and shot Hutch a look. Don’t get into anything without me.

“Not a chance, partner. I’ll be back to check on you later.”

As the door softly closed behind Hutch, Dobey shook his head and told Starsky, “You two drive me crazy when you do that.”

~*~*~

“I told you, my client is not answering any more questions without a deal.”

Hutch was disappointed to hear from Jack that Fernandez had already “lawyered up.” The man wanted to make a deal for information on who probably killed his boss. The murder was in their jurisdiction. Hutch watched Sean work from the observation room.

“No chance the D.A. will go for that. You’re going to have to give us something more.”

“Suppose you just take that information to him and we’ll see.”

Sean left them with a guard outside the door and went to speak with Jack, Hutch, and the D.A in the hallway. “You heard it. Ridiculous.”

“Not a prayer,” Assistant D.A. Bill Jacobson said. “I want names on the other three murders.”

Starsky and Hutch wanted to accomplish a couple of things on their undercover assignment. They wanted to know who the real muscle was and they were hoping Alvarado would give Starsky a hit assignment. Once they had that, they would call in the troops and haul the bunch of them down to the station.

Hutch nodded. “I agree.”

Jacobson said, “I’ll offer him conspiracy to commit on the three murders. That’s the best I can do.”

“What about attempted murder?” Hutch asked. “That slime ball is probably responsible for some of what happened to Starsky down in Mexico.”

The D.A. was about to ask Hutch for more details when a uniformed officer bounded around the corner and nearly ran into them.

“Whoa!” Sean said. “Where’s the fire?”

“At Thirteenth and Washington. The squawk just came through. Two gangs having it out with bullets. The watch commander said to come tell you he thinks these may be your guys.”

~*~*~

The guard outside Starsky’s door watched with curiosity as a man dressed like one of the doctors stepped onto the floor from the elevator and looked both ways. The officer thought it seemed odd. The man had on a hospital issued lab coat, but he looked like he didn’t know where he was going. He made a decision and headed for the room the officer was guarding.

“Doctor Reynolds,” he casually told Officer Williams.

Williams put a hand up to stop him from moving closer to the door. He looked at the man’s name badge, noting that it read, “Jack Reynolds, MD.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor Reynolds,” Williams told him, politely. “I’ll have to check you on my list.” He looked down the short list of names he’d been given as “all right to pass.” Jack Reynolds was on it. Still, something felt wrong to Williams.

“Just one minute,” he said.

Williams poked his head in the room. Dobey was still there, but Starsky was sleeping.

“Captain Dobey, I have a Doctor Reynolds out here. He’s on the list, but do you know him?”

“No, but I recognize the name. Starsky was supposed to see him tomorrow. Something wrong?”

Williams couldn’t put his finger on it. He just didn’t like the feeling he was getting from the entire situation. “No, sir. I suppose not.”

Williams turned back to the man in the lab coat and said, “Okay, you can go in.” He stepped aside and watched as the doctor walked past him.

“Doctor,” Captain Dobey greeted him. “I’m afraid he’s asleep.”

“That’s okay.” He wasn’t expecting anyone to be in Starsky’s room. He had a mission and was determined to finish his assignment. Finding Starsky guarded both inside and outside his room was a complication. Nonetheless, the man was more terrified of failing his boss than he was of having to potentially take care of more than one man right under the nose of a police guard.

Dobey continued, “We were expecting to see you tomorrow.”

“I had a break in my schedule.”

The captain felt uneasy about the man, too. He ran his eyes across Reynolds to see if he could detect a weapon, but he couldn’t see one.

“If you’ll excuse us, please, this won’t take long.”

That wasn’t going to happen. Dobey was not going to leave Starsky alone with this man. He looked down at Starsky, who was still sleeping. He was exhausted and still battling a fever.

“If it’s all the same to you, Doc, I think I’ll stay right here.”

Doctor Reynolds shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He turned his back on Dobey and moved closer to Starsky. Within seconds, the captain heard the unmistakable sound of a switchblade opening with a snick. For such a large man, he could move with surprising agility. When Reynolds spun to strike at him, he easily countered the maneuver with one of his own.

“Williams!” he bellowed as he grabbed the man’s arm and twisted it painfully while he drove him toward the floor. The other officer arrived in the room in time to see Dobey leaning his weight against the doctor, whom he had pinned to the floor.

“I wouldn’t even twitch. If you do, I’ll make sure it’s the morgue you need, not the emergency room.”

“Captain?” Williams said.

“Cuff this scum and get him out of here,” Dobey said. When Williams had the prisoner under control, Dobey pointed to the switchblade on the floor. “Run him downtown on attempted murder.”

The noise had wakened Starsky, but he was groggy both from medication and his condition. “What’s happening?” he asked.

“Go back to sleep,” Dobey answered. “Everything is fine.” He didn’t have to tell Starsky twice.

~*~*~

Sean, Jack, and Hutch parked a few blocks from where the shooting was still ringing out through the streets.

“Geez, how many of them are there?” Sean remarked after they heard the heavy gunfire.

“Sounds like fifty,” Jack replied.

Hutch pointed at an alley he knew would take them right into the action with good cover and a good vantage point. He led the way.

Jack whispered to Sean as they followed, “Keep an extra eye out for him.”

Sean nodded. “Stay close to him so I can look out for both of you.”

“If I’m watching him, and you’re watching me, who’ll be watching you?”

Despite their efforts to keep it between themselves, Hutch had heard their exchange. “His guardian angel, laddie. You two just see if you can keep up. If these are our guys, I want ‘em.”

Hutch was right about the alley. They did get right into the action by following his lead. They took up positions in the alley, but Hutch quickly realized the location was best suited for two, not three. He wasn’t used to working with an extra man. Although he and the other detectives knew each other well and often worked together, they didn’t know him well enough to predict his every move like Starsky could. Before they realized what he was up to, he’d fired a couple of shots, called over his shoulder for them to “cover him,” and done a forward roll out of the alley’s mouth to take up a new position beside a mail truck.

“Hutch!” Jack yelled. He rose from his position slightly and laid covering fire to allow Hutch to safely reach his new vantage point.

Sirens were wailing from every direction, echoing off the buildings. Soon after Hutch moved out of the alley, they all heard orders barked over a P.A. system for the criminals to stop firing and put down their weapons. They didn’t listen. A shot hit the ground near Hutch, and Sean spotted the shooter on a low fire escape across the street from them. He fired his gun and brought the man down before he had the chance to make a kill shot.

“Too close,” Sean said to Jack. “Careful, Hutch!  You’re exposed to your right.”

Hutch turned to that side, but all he saw was several uniformed officers moving toward the man Sean shot. He had tumbled off the fire escape to the street. The gunshots were beginning to subside when a SWAT van roared around the corner and onto the street. Once again, a tinny, metallic voice ordered a cease fire. Within moments, the shooting had stopped.

When all the bad guys were rounded up and the dust had settled, they found that they had most of Alvarado’s American gang and a good number of the rival gang, run by a Chicano known as “One Eye” on the street.

“His real name is Federico Martinez de Gutierrez,” Hutch told Starsky in the hospital. “His friends call him Freddie.”

Starsky grinned. “What did you call him?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re better. It wasn’t nice.”

“I’ll bet. Any of the scum left running around loose?”

Hutch shrugged. “A handful. But they’re small-timers and we’re not too worried about them right now. We’ve got Freddie and he’s the money and the brains. Runs a coke cartel out of Chihuahua, supplied by — are you ready for this? — the Colombians. Big stuff, buddy. We just earned a whole bunch of feathers for our caps.”

“Makes sense. A turkey like you ought to have plenty of feathers.”

“Very funny. Don’t you want to know why they call Freddie ‘One Eye’?”

“Sure. Why do they call Freddie ‘One Eye’?”

“Because he has this big ugly scar in the middle of his forehead that’s roughly the shape of a third eye. Guess how he got it.”

Starsky sighed. “You’re dying to tell me, so just do it.”

“He was a bullfighter when he was a teenager and he got gored.”

Starsky snickered. “I always root for the bull, anyway. So why not ‘Three Eyes’ or something?”

“You got me. Now that he’s going to prison, though, his nickname might change to Fredricka when some big ugly sonofabitch decides to ‘marry’ him. He ain’t a real big guy.”

Starsky laughed out loud and then groaned. “Don’t make me laugh. At least not that hard. Good enough for him. I hope the guy’s REAL ugly.”

“Me, too. So, how do you feel? Gonna live?”

Starsky nodded. “Unfortunately for you. I’ll be back out there buggin’ ya in no time. Doc says I can go home after lunch if I’m a good boy and eat all my vegetables. I can probably go back to work in a month or so. I tried to get less, but he wouldn’t haggle.”

“After the last few weeks, buddy, I’d think you’d welcome all that time off.”

“Aw, I hate daytime TV and I’ve read all my books. I can’t even do nothin’ but lay around for a coupla weeks, he says. I’ll go stir crazy, Hutch.”

“I’ll bring you some new books. Shut up and behave or I’ll bring boring ones.”

“So did we get enough to convict these guys or do I have all these new scars for naught?”

Hutch laughed at his choice of words. “No, we have enough. We’ll both have to testify, of course, but the D.A. thinks we’re in pretty good shape. Mexico won’t extradite, but the worst ones were up here looking for us, and we’ve got them rounded up. They’ll have to serve their time here and then get their asses deported back home to face the music down there. By the time they’re done with prison, though, the guys who want to kill them might be dead of old age. But maybe not, too. We can always hope.”

“You’re a cold man, Hutchinson.”

“You have no idea.”