Starsky and Hutch are kidnapped by a maniac from their past.
Author’s note: I had this big, long speech in my head, about how Dawn was my flag lady. How she patiently waved me in and out through this obstacle course, with all its awkward orange barrels and crazy cones—when all I really wanted to do was race right over them—maybe even crash into a wall. But what I shall say to her from the bottom of my heart instead is this: Thank you—for the kick in the pants! LOL … Love you
Originally published in the SHareCon 2008 zine.
We were stopped at a red light—both Starsky and me dog-tired. It’d been a rough two days. Sixteen-hour days to be exact. The western sky was glowing red, and I watched the sun dip down behind a billboard sign advertisement for Johnson’s Funeral Parlor.
Taking the last bite of my granola bar, I nonchalantly threw the wrapper in the Torino’s backseat. I knew that would get the guy seated next to me to wake up and peel his eyes from the road.
“Hey!” Starsky protested. “Don’t you know what a trashcan is?”
“Never heard of it,” I deadpanned.
My partner glared threateningly at me—I glared back.
We’d been on patrol for hours and except for yes, no, and the occasional maybe, we’d hardly spoken since our last call nearly went sour. I’d let Starsky nurse his anxiety long enough. The silence was getting to be a real drag, and I was sick of listening to the tires rolling on the pavement. Starsky needed to get out of his current funk. Quite some time ago, I had discovered how to grab my partner’s full attention—junk up, step on, or put down his car. It was his weak spot.
Besides, I was nodding off—the coffee I’d been drinking wasn’t helping, it only reminded me I needed to use the plumbing, and I needed something to keep me awake. Messing with Starsky was a good way to achieve the latter goal. I drank down my last swallow and purposely tossed the cup into the back seat with the rest of the trash. Starsky stared at me, wild-eyed and mute.
Baiting him was a daunting scheme not meant for the faint-hearted, and it was something to pass the time on a tedious evening shift. I had to bite my lip to keep from smiling. You’re smooth, Hutchinson.
“What?” I bit my lip harder, feeling the corners of my mouth start to pull upward.
“What do you think, Hutchinson?”
“Starsky.” I turned to face him. “You need to talk to me. You haven’t said two words the last three hours. What happened back there that has you so clammed up? What are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking you’re enjoying junking up my car too much.” Starsky let out a sigh, locking eyes with me.
“Maybe. Just a little,” I admitted clasping his shoulder. “You ready?” I asked, as the longest red light in the history of longest red lights finally turned green.
“Huh?” my partner replied, distracted.
“The light turned green, Starsky. You ready?” I gestured forward with a wave of my hand.
Starsky looked away from me and stepped heavily on the gas. With a tremendous roar, we tore down the road again.
“You did good back there, Starsky. You know that?”
“I don’t like it.”
“What’s not to like, pal? Guy had me in range. Hammer thumbed back, finger on the trigger.”
Starsky sat quiet, gripping tight to the wheel.
“Come on, Starsk.” I nudged him caringly with my elbow. “I’m fine. You saved my life, but did you have to go and shoot the guy in the foot?” I laughed, trying to divert his thoughts.
“You wouldn’t have wanted me to shoot him in the nuts—would you?” Starsky finally smiled, giving in and playing along.
“Ouch—” I cringed and squeezed my eyes shut.
“Bad Idea?”
“Very bad,” I admitted.
“Just a thought, Sweetheart.”
I hate when he plays Bogart.
“Starsky, I’m just glad you’re on my side, buddy.” I laughed.
The radio suddenly squawked to life.
“Zebra Three. Zebra Three.”
No more time for fun, we had a job to do.
“Respond to a 2-11 in progress, Bellamar Market. Near the corner of Windsor and Stockton,” the dispatcher continued. “Zebra Three, enter with extreme caution. You were requested by name, we have backup in route.”
We both knew that place. Knew it well, and there was no way I wanted to take that call.
Starsky lost the smile of a moment ago, and I could see the anguish well up in his eyes.
What was this? Some sort of prank? I reached for the mike, not wanting Starsky to have to deal with this, but he wasn’t about to be censored by me or anyone else. Beating me to the punch, Starsky violently snatched the mike and thumbed the key.
“Zebra Three, we are responding.” His voice was calm and measured as he slammed the mike back in place, purposely not looking my way.
Feeling a bit screwed in the deal, I drew my gun, making sure it was loaded and locked, not saying a word.
My partner did a fast and fancy U-turn, heading us toward the address. Even in the dark, I could see his chest rise and fall, his breathing intensifying the closer we got. It was just over two years since Terry had been shot at that very same market near her home. Starsky looked like a zombie staring straight ahead as he drove, and I could feel a tundra-like chill fill the air.
Placing the mars light on the hood made me shudder as the siren wailed. It felt like a black cloud hovered over my head. It was like I’d been plucked out of a good dream and dropped into a bad one. Starsky couldn’t be faring much better. He looked solid enough behind the wheel of his car, but I wasn’t sure he could hold it together.
Just before Terry died, Starsky had told me that he couldn’t believe that he could love someone so much. ‘Present company excluded,’ he’d said. It hurt to see him in such pain—and it still did. After Terry’s funeral, he had told me what was quite possibly the saddest thing I’d ever heard anyone say:
‘Should have known better than to go chasin’ after rainbows, Hutch. In this business—there are no rainbows.’
Those words still bring a shuddering chill to my bones. It took a lot of beer and a lot of all-nighters to stitch my partner’s heart back together. It’d been a long road, but Starsky had come to grips with what had happened to his lady. Although it had taken over a year, I’d gotten him to admit it wasn’t his fault. But deep down, I knew that ghost still lurked in the shadows of his mind.
This call proved my theory that Terry’s death had come back to haunt him—and me.
“Starsk?” I glanced his way as we flew through a red light. Starsky acted as if he didn’t hear me, but I knew he had. “Buddy.” I wasn’t sure what to say.
“Hutch.” He gave a nod, still not looking my way, and cleared his throat. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t have to—” I started, but Starsky stopped me cold.
“I’d rather not go there, Hutch.” His tone was quiet, yet filled with authority.
Experience told me to keep my mouth shut. I was more than a little on edge, but sat staring straight ahead. We pulled along to the side of the grocery store so that the Torino was not in plain view. We were the first police to arrive. Getting out of the car, I quickly stepped around to block my partner. He looked shaky and pale.
“Starsky. No.” I placed a hand on his shoulder. “Back-up will be here any minute. You wait here. I got this.”
Starsky looked at me and I watched a flash of pain cross his face. “Hutch—” The ache in his eyes intensified. “I can handle it!”
“Partner, you don’t have to prove to me—”
“Hutch!” Starsky yelled, moving back.
The way he said my name was like an upper-cut to my chin. I could feel his pain drive through me, and I flinched.
Starsky lowered his head and gulped as his throat worked overtime. “Hutch.” He took another step back. “I wouldn’t go in if I wasn’t sure,” he said in a low voice and gave me a weak smile. “Okay?”
I could tell he felt sick. The bitterness I felt in my own stomach scraped up my throat, but I held it down.
“Okay. I got the front,” I said in defeat, and drew my gun.
Starsky nodded, heading around back to take up position there. I made my way to the front entrance and threw myself up against the wall next to the door. With my free hand, I pulled my badge and waited thirty seconds while my partner got into place. I took a breath, not sure what I was about to face inside the store.
I held my badge high with my gun pointed outward, about to yell out police but I bit the word back. There were several folks milling around the front counter, babbling excitedly, and no sign of the bad guys. They appeared to have split. Starsky came in through the back of the store, and I gave him the okay nod, letting him know things were secure. Thank God, this time, no one was hurt.
Entering that grocery store was like walking back into a nightmare I never wanted to have again. The place looked exactly the same as it did that day we found Terry with a bullet in her head. I felt like I was knee-deep in her blood. The whole thing stunk. In fact, the whole place stunk like someone had spit-shined the tiled floor with vomit.
“We could have been killed!” A slender woman wearing a short sleeve shirt revealing green, black, and red tattooed swirls running up and down her arms said.
She was talking to an elderly white haired gentleman wearing a gray sweater who was standing next to her.
“I’ve seen a lot in my day—” The man paused, short of breath. He raised his hand to his mouth and took a hit off his inhaler. “I know this isn’t the most cuddly place in town, but—” he inhaled again. “To come in here waving around a shotgun, yelling for someone to call the cops, asking for them by name?” He inhaled deeply. “It’s crazy! What were their names again?”
“Star something and Hutchinson,” the clerk behind the counter reminded.
I stiffened, and glanced at Starsky. What the hell was going on? He looked just as shocked as I did. We simultaneously clicked the safety back on our weapons and holstered them.
“I’m Detective Hutchinson. This is my partner, Detective Starsky.” I stepped up to the counter and came eye to eye with the clerk. He turned as he just took notice of me, scrutinized my badge, then rolled his eyes in disgust.
“Don’t you think it’s a better idea to show up when the crooks are actually here?” the clerk angrily yelled. “Where were you?” the man continued his rant. “I make an honest living here, pay my taxes!”
“So do we,” I grumbled irritably.
The elderly man shoved his inhaler into his shirt pocket. “I need to get home,” he said, moving slowly away.
I quickly placed a hand to his shoulder. “Sir,” I said calmly. “I need to take your statement first.”
“Dadgummit,” he grumbled under his breath.
Guess it was his way of saying he wasn’t happy about having to stay. I couldn’t blame him, redirecting my attention to the clerk. “What exactly happened here?” I asked.
“Two men wearing pantyhose over their faces came in here waving rifles—shot up my meat cooler.” He pointed an angry finger at a metal door shot full of holes. “Sick, twisted bastards! Didn’t even want money. Just wanted me to call the fuzz. Tell them to send a couple cops named—” the man scratched at his head.
“Starsky and Hutchinson,” I said.
“Right. Startchy and Hutchinson. They were desperate, man. But not for the dough.”
I looked over my shoulder at Starsky who stood quietly at my back, letting me do all the talking. I could feel his tension, see the shattered look on his face as he fidgeted from one foot to the other.
Who had a beef with us this time? And why here? This was starting to feel like more than just a prank.
The unspoken thoughts flew between us like wildfire.
“Stay here a minute. I’ll be right back,” I told the group of citizens, needing a private moment with my partner. “Starsk, come here.” I took him by the arm and led him a few steps away to a triangular stack of canned black olives.
Starsky had an uncomfortable lost little boy look, and for a moment I didn’t say anything.
“Maybe you should wait outside, Starsk,” I said softly.
“Huh?”
No one would expect him to come strolling into the place where his girl had been shot and not have some sort of reaction. There was no way either one of us could forget that day. The image of Terry on that stretcher, blood leaking from a hole in the middle of her forehead, was a nightmare frozen in both our minds.
“Buddy, go out front and wait for our backup.”
“We have a job to do.” Starsky shook his head, turning himself from the lost little boy back into a tough street cop. “I’m fine.”
I wasn’t convinced. I wanted to press it further but Starsky was right. We had a job to do, and I knew we were being watched. I spun back around.
“So, you couldn’t make out their faces,” I directed at the store clerk. “What were they wearing? Were they tall, short? Black, white? Did you see what they were driving? Which way they went?”
“Both were white, and wearing blue jeans,” the clerk said.
“The tall muscular one wore a green tee shirt,” the tattooed lady piped up.
“The shorter one seemed older. I don’t remember what color shirt. They took off out the front.” The elderly man pointed a shaky finger.
“What about a car? Did you see a car?” I asked, completely aware of Starsky’s silent tension.
I had to get my distracted buddy out of this place. Wasting no more time, I pulled my pad of paper from my pocket. I’d take each statement and then we had to head back to the station. This wasn’t feeling right at all.
“Starsk, you got a pencil?” Searching for my pencil, and not finding it, I turned back to my partner.
Starsky was staring past me over my shoulder. His expression was exactly like that zombie who’d been behind the wheel of the Torino. Something held him spellbound.
“Starsky, got a pencil?” I repeated in a professional tone. He didn’t respond. “What? What’s wrong?”
“Terry,” Starsky uttered.
“Starsk, what are you doing?” I asked, nervously aware of our audience.
“Terry!” he shouted, this time in complete distress.
Before I could reach out to him or look back over my shoulder to see what had him so spooked, Starsky was already pushing past me and racing from the store at a supercharged speed.
I shoved my pad back into my pocket. “Stay put! All of you!” I yelled at the crowd of civilians, because I had no choice but to run after my buddy. “Fuck,” I swore, racing after him.
What ghostly image was my partner chasing? I knew this would be tough on him. Did he actually think he’d seen his lady? We both knew she was gone. There was plenty of evidence to support that claim. The mental bands of his brain had to really have snapped. Yet I knew my partner had some logical reason to go charging off like that.
Although I could hear loud sirens, I kept going. I stumbled past a couple street corner hustlers and ignored their cocky wisecracks. The sidestep slowed me down, and Starsky had gained a few yards, and rounded a corner. I stepped up my speed. When I turned the corner, I headed straight for the only place I figured Starsky could have gone. Down an alleyway. I followed blindly and entered the mouth of the passageway.
It was like going into the Batcave—only I wasn’t Batman, and there was no butler to keep the place neat and fresh smelling. In fact, I smelled a rat, or something of the fishy nature that I couldn’t chalk up to bad anchovies. The alley was lit by nothing more than pale moonlight filtering down between the two tall buildings. Starsky had a few seconds head start on me, and as hard as I tried to catch up with him—I couldn’t.
“Starsky!” I yelled in protest, watching him make a run toward the very darkest corner. He seemed to vanish, as if he’d fallen into a black hole or had stepped right through a wall.
I skidded to an abrupt stop, listening and straining to see. Sweat dripped down my face and I wiped it away as I took one step forward.
“Starsk, where’d you go?”
I got no response. Everything was quiet. I had a bad feeling there was more than a leaky drainpipe half-hanging off the side of the building, wet cement, stinking garbage, and an emotionally distraught partner down this grimy alley, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.
“Starsky.”
Nothing. All I heard was the constant dripping of water. Each drop sounded like a bomb blast, a metallic melody echoing all around the alley.
I slowly moved my hand up under my jacket, about to draw my gun, when the barely audible noise of footsteps coming from behind reached my ears. I started to turn around when something hit me over the head and I went down hard, scraping my knees on the cement.
I tried to push myself back to my feet but rough hands grabbed my hair, and the last thing I remember was my face brutally being slammed to the ground.
“Starsky,” I called weakly, gulping in a mouthful of the wet, smelly alleyway just before everything turned dark.
****************
I felt a peculiar sensation in the tips of my fingers and toes. It began as a slight prickle, then felt like a thousand tiny ants crawling all over my hands, and bees stinging the bottoms of my feet.
“Wake up!” a voice barked loudly, followed by a slap to my face. “Hutchinson!” I was slapped again and my head jerked back.
My name. That was it. Hutchinson, spoken without sentimentality. The word dripping with hatred.
“Wake up, pig!”
“Ungh.” A punch to my stomach made me groan, and I coughed in pain. I felt the bile rising in my throat, but swallowed it, determined not to vomit. What the hell was going on?
When I first opened my eyes, I knew someone had split my skull. My head felt like it had been dashed against a rocky shore. I’ve had concussions before, and I was certain I had one again. My wrists were tied to the arms of a chair and my feet bound to its legs. I must have been that way for awhile ’cause they felt as cold as ice—little circulation to warm the smallest capillaries. I had no clue how I’d gotten here.
“Open your eyes!” a male voice ground out.
My head hung low. “Who—who are you?” His voice sounded vaguely familiar.
I got another slap across my face for an answer, the force cutting open my lower lip, and I tasted blood. “You’re scum!” I swiped out with my tongue and licked the blood away as I raised my eyes, and struggled to focus. At first there was nothing but gray, and it took a few seconds for my vision to clear.
Looking around, I didn’t see anyone, and only heard one set of footsteps. I tried not to show that I was trembling. My fingers were throbbing and I wiggled them to get the blood flowing better. I struggled to see where my attacker had gone, very uncomfortable with the knowledge that I was being watched.
“Do you like water?” a voice called from a dark corner of the room. “Do you?” Like a rat emerging from his hole, a man lurched from the gloom.
My vision unclouded as I focused on the man’s eyes. It didn’t take long for recognition to sink in.
“Prudholm!”
His crazed smile blazed with pleasure at my shock. I knew him to be reckless and out of control. He was an evil and cunning man, one the world could certainly do without.
“Water? Do you like it?” Prudholm dangled a canteen in front of my face.
“No!” I spat in defiance, now fully aware because of a sudden swell of adrenaline.
“Good,” he said, twisting open the cap and turning the canteen over so that the water pattered to the ground at my feet.
I licked my lips. I really was thirsty, but I had to gather my wits about me. “How’d you get out of the psych ward this time? Another clerical error?” I asked, wishing I could pin Prudholm to the wall.
“Had you figured for smarter than that, Hutchinson.” Prudholm’s face twisted into an angry frown. “Got me a cute little nurse, with short brown hair and a one-hundred-dollar-a-day habit. Told her and her big boyfriend about a nice little stash of green I had put away, that they could help themselves to if we pulled this off. I won’t be needing it anymore after today.” Prudholm’s jaw muscles twitched as he continued, “Told her I had a special friend who’d be very interested in seeing his dead girl friend again.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked in confusion.
“Ghosts, Hutchinson! I’m talking about ghosts.” Prudholm’s words hung in the air for a second. “I knew it would work. That partner of yours has less brains then you!” Prudholm’s voice was harsh. “They got me out of the hospital, got us all here, but then—” Prudholm looked away and sighed. “Well—the girl started losing it. Told her boyfriend it wasn’t worth killing a couple of cops—I couldn’t afford to let them go.” Prudholm looked back at me, and I could sense his frustration.
“What? What did you do?” I asked.
“The risk was too high for them.” Prudholm paced back and forth in agitation.
“Tell me, Prudholm. What’s going on?”
Prudholm stopped pacing, he was sweating, and the way he glared at me made me cringe inwardly. My gut told me this was the messed-up man’s last hoorah.
“What’s going on is—thanks to your partner. My son—” Prudholm took a breath. “We are all dead!” He blinked slowly. “Had you figured for smarter than this, Hutchinson,” he repeated his early words in a trance-like state.
I was getting frustrated with his round about bullshit.
“If this is some sick ploy to trap Starsky—it’ll never work, scumbag.” I wiggled in my chair, testing the ropes. I never took my eyes off the man who should still have been imprisoned in the state institution for the criminally insane.
“I can assure you. That is not the plan.” Something in the mad man’s face sent panic slamming into my gut. Twiddling his fingers, he took a step sideways.
“Starsky will never fall for any—” What I saw a few yards away froze my mouth open like a statue’s. Starsky was trussed up like a large animal waiting to be skinned, then roasted. He dangled helplessly, the tips of his toes just barely touching the floor. His hands were bound over his head, tied by a rope slung around a steel beam.
It was painfully obvious that Prudholm was crazy. He had an ax to grind, and my partner was the sharpening stone.
Prudholm waltzed over to my partner, and picked up some sort of club. “So,” he said. “We have a joining of interests here. Yes, Hutchinson?” He turned from me and savagely swung the club, connecting with Starsky’s rib cage.
I watched in horror, unable to stop him. Starsky, only half aware, arched away. The movement just sent his body swinging side to side, pulling at his wrists, and ripping his breath away. My partner was completely helpless. With his breath knocked out of him, he couldn’t even scream from the pain.
“Starsky!” I lunged forward, straining against my bindings. “You’re sick, Prudholm!” I roared with anger.
Prudholm only laughed, a cold and dark laugh that turned my blood cold. In a triumphant way, he raised his hand again and struck Starsky across the chest. That blow landed harder, and I heard the sickening crack of bone as Starsky cried out and twisted violently in the air.
“Damn you!” I was pushed to my limit.
Using my body weight to overbalance the chair, I hurled myself onto the wooden floorboards with a thud, but the action did me no good. I was still tied up tight. All I could do was lie on my side, staring wide-eyed at the horror show in front of me.
“Prudholm! I swear to you!” I gritted my teeth, looking to my left and right. We were in what appeared to be an old warehouse. I was beginning to sweat, and took a deep breath. Maybe I could reason with Prudholm. I pinned the man with my eyes. “Prudholm, I know that you blame us for the death of your son. But …” I paused to swallow past the tightness in my throat, and breathe slowly. “Don’t you think your son would want to be remembered in love, not hatred?” I feigned sympathy. “A man with your principles would forgive, not go around hurting others in the name of revenge.”
Prudholm kept looking at me with an uncomprehending expression. For a moment Prudholm was quiet. He had a glazed look in his eye.
I tried to inch forward, searching for anything I could use to get this crazed maniac to leave my partner alone.
“I’ll bet you don’t understand why you’re here, Hutchinson,” Prudholm suddenly said, giving Starsky another vicious blow.
I closed my eyes to my partner’s pain, trying to quell my rising anger. I had to keep calm. Riling this guy would only put Starsky in more danger of further abuse. I strained against the rope binding my hands—it was a no go.
“I’ll bet you’re right, Prudholm,” I said, trying to keep my voice smooth. “I don’t understand.” I looked down at my feet, wiggled them to try and loosen the rope. “Why don’t you tell me about it?” I gritted my teeth. I wasn’t getting anywhere.
I raised my eyes to Prudholm. He stood tapping his index finger against that damn club. It was obvious that he was just itching to use it on Starsky again.
“My kid is dead. He’ll never go to college. Share a beer with me. Give me a grandchild.” Prudholm taunted, and nudged Starsky in the ribs with the club.
“Hmmmmm,” Starsky whimpered.
“Do you understand that, Hutchinson?”
“I can.” I nodded. “Look—I know what happened to your son—” I paused, to search my mind for a name. “To Gary. It was—bad stuff. I’m sorry,” I said sincerely.
Prudholm stopped, drumming his fingers on the wall which sounded like miniature conga drums. Some of his anger seemed to have faded.
“Who’s the girl—the nurse?” I had to keep him talking.
“You mean Starsky’s lady?” He laughed effortlessly.
“It wasn’t Terry,” I said firmly. My internal logic told me that one thing, but my partner’s actions had told me another. “Where is the girl? Why’d you do this?”
“Too bad they’ll never get to spend that money.”
“Where is she? Who are they?” I repeated.
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you—” Prudholm laughed with hatred. “I’m going to do that anyway, but I always wanted a reason to have to say that.” He stopped laughing. “You’ll find them, pig, when I want you to. You’ll do everything I want you to—when the time is right,” the sick minded man said seriously. “Do you know what I want right now, Hutchinson? What I really want?”
“Why don’t you tell me,” I drawled out in disgust.
“I want to be with my wife and son. I tried to do it once—overdose. I failed. Kept looking for new ways but—there are so many ways to kill yourself.” Prudholm chuckled scornfully.
I didn’t see what was so funny, but it just proved that the man really was insane.
“I can’t do it myself,” he continued. “I need help, and I need to know your pig partner is dead before I go. My wife died many years ago. My Gary was all I had. I let him down. Wasn’t there for him.” Prudholm spoke in a distant tone. “He’s dead—my Gary. Now, now I’m dead. Only I’m still here on this rotten planet.”
The man didn’t hate Starsky half as much as he hated himself. As Prudholm kept talking in a trance-like state, I scrambled to untie the knots that bound me, but they were just too tight.
“I can’t stop thinking about it. Starsky killed my Gary. I have unfinished business with that hero partner of yours.”
“Starsky didn’t kill Gary!” I dared to defy his twisted logic.
“Oh, yes, he did,” Prudholm said, walking over to me and grinning as if he had just gotten away with murder. A booted foot collided with my chest, and knocked the wind out of me.
“Gary was knifed in jail,” I coughed. “Starsky didn’t kill him.” It bore repeating.
“And I didn’t cop-nap you, tie you to that chair, and beat your partner senseless.” He laughed. “Gary’s dead. Your captain, you, your partner—me—we’re all dead.”
In Prudholm’s sick mind, life was just a game, and he was just another player. He wouldn’t be happy until he won and we were all dead. Himself, especially.
“Killing us won’t bring Gary back!”
“Perhaps not, but it will prove that I love him.”
Starsky groaned again, only semi-awake, and twisted against the ropes. I felt the swell of my own anger, and had to briefly look away to take a breath and drink in more calming patience. I had to get to my partner. The way I was bound and tied, the only way I was going to do that was by talking my way there.
“Starsky’s hurt. He’s no threat to you.” I turned back to Prudholm. “Let him go.”
“I can’t do that,” Prudholm said in a dark quiet voice that sent a shiver through me.
“Okay—then let him down. Put me in his place.”
“That is an option.” Prudholm snapped out of his quiet state, and began to slap the club to his palm in satisfaction.
I sighed as I watched him circle me. At least he had forgotten my partner—for the moment.
Prudholm seized the chair by its back, and using a foot on a rung, he tipped me upright. Then he just stood there. I could see the tension in every one of his muscles. He took a moment to test the ropes to be sure I hadn’t gotten loose.
“I’ll be running things my way,” Prudholm said.
“How long have we been here?” I stalled for time.
Starsky coughed loudly, and I just now noticed the blood that oozed slowly down his arms from his bound wrists.
“No more than three hours, and I’ve been enjoying every second of them. Your partner isn’t so tough.” Prudholm poked me in the chest with the club. “I had to use smelling salts to get him to come around. My friend here—” he tapped the club against his open palm, “kept you under.”
I focused on what that mad man had done to my partner while I was out cold. Starsky’s clothes were dirty and torn, there was a cut above his eyebrow, dried blood streaked his cheeks and his breath was raspy. I could hear it all the way over here, which unnerved me.
The thought that Starsky had been alone with this creep for hours while I was out made me sick. God only knew what Prudholm had done to him prior to stringing him up like a side of beef. I swallowed hard as I shouted myself hoarse on the inside. ‘Goddamn it!’ On the outside—I kept firm control. This guy was a pro at wreaking pain and despair on people’s lives.
I heaved myself up straighter in the chair and said, “Let him go. We don’t have to go at it this way.”
“And what way do you think we would go? Huh, Hutchinson?”
Prudholm wasn’t going to believe me—but I had to try. “I’ll tell the authorities that we found you wandering alone—confused—nothing else. Otherwise, Dobey and the cops will hunt you down. Shoot first, and never ask a question.” Prudholm merely looked at me as if he didn’t care what happened to him. “Not to mention the penalties for kidnapping and assaulting a police officer.” I scowled.
“What’s the matter, Hutchinson?” Prudholm grabbed a handful of my hair and jerked my head backward. I glared at the smirk on his lips. “You don’t like my hospitality, pig?” He raised his club.
“Screw you, Prudholm.” I heard the low whisper, and looked up at Starsky.
He was conscious. His eyes were bloodshot, but open, and he was looking intently at me. He kicked his feet in a frenzied manner.
I swore under my breath. All I could do was watch as Starsky continued to writhe with all of his strength.
“As nice as that sounds, Starsky, I have another plan for you.” Prudholm stalked back to his victim, flicking his tongue over his lips, and raised the length of wood again.
“Starsky!!” I couldn’t look away even though I wanted to. I had to watch another blow catch Starsky across the solar plexus, unable to help in any way.
Still dangling, his body spun about from the force. Starsky gave a wild cry of pain, but hellfire gleamed in his eyes as his left shoe came up to kick Prudholm’s jaw, sending him staggering back. I smiled grimly—there was one for our side.
The blow pissed the old man off. He reached behind him, pulled a gun that he must have had hidden in his waistband, and pointed it at Starsky’s chest.
“I told you I’d be seeing you, hero!” He pulled back on the hammer.
“No—no!” I sat erect, my feet scrambling at the ground in a futile attempt to break free. “Starsky! Stop! Don’t fight him,” I instructed without thinking. “Keep still, buddy.”
Prudholm shoved the gun into his waist band, wrapping his gnarled fists around the stick once more. “No, not that, not yet,” he said more to himself then anyone else.
“You’re the worm at the bottom of the bottle, Prudholm.” I puffed out my cheeks, blowing out a breath of relief. Starsky settled, not because I told him to, but because he had passed out.
“Come on!” I spat, turning my attention toward the sick son of a bitch. “Tell me what you want me to do!” I said sternly.
“I’m going to give the honor of answering that question to your partner.” Prudholm stood in thought for a moment, his face grim. Then he raised the stick again.
“That’s enough!” I yelled, not even trying to conceal my rage. “He’s had enough!”
I steeled myself as if the blow was coming at me. Prudholm cackled, and lowered his weapon. He tossed the stick to the ground and causally strolled away as if he were going out for a cup of coffee without a care in the world.
I wanted to shout after him. Keep the guy talking, find out where we were, ferret out any more information that I could. I also wanted to collect my thoughts, and it was difficult to do that with him staring me down and beating on my buddy. Starsky had valiantly tried to fight back, but right now he looked fragile and pale.
Prudholm said he was going to kill us—whatever else the man wanted—it was going to be something I wished I’d never heard of. I jerked and pulled at my restraints but still couldn’t loosen the ropes.
“Starsk. Starsky. Starsk!” I bellowed. My partner only moaned and fought to catch his breath, and I cursed my helplessness. “Buddy, I need to know if you can hear me?”
“Terry.”
Starsky faded in and out, his body limp with fatigue. His eyes opened and closed. He angled his head backward, and then it flopped weakly to his chest. He wasn’t quite awake, but not totally out either—reflexively jerking against the ropes, and grimacing in pain.
“Starsk.” I took a breath to calm myself. I knew we didn’t have a whole lot of time here. “This is some fix we’ve gotten ourselves into, huh, buddy?”
“You okay?” Starsky whispered, his voice shaky when he finally focused in on me.
“Yeah, buddy.” Our eyes connected. “But you’re a mess.”
“You think, huh?”
“Yeah, I think,” I said, watching him dangling weakly from his arms and trying to keep his eyes open. Even from where I sat, it was obvious that he was in a cloudy daze, fighting not to go under again.
I glanced around. “Starsk, try to stay calm and get your bearings.”
There were no windows in the place, and it was hot, like an incubator. I’d bet my bottom dollar we were in some sort of abandoned warehouse. It was echoey and spacious. I looked up. The roof arched not far above us, a thick jungle of cobwebs tangled around frayed electrical wiring, making me certain we were not at ground level.
“You with me, Starsky?”
A spot in the roof had rotted entirely away and the wind blew in, mid-summer or not, the breeze sent a ghostly chill running through me.
“What?” he asked.
Other than the hole in the roof, the place was built like a fortress. The huge room was full of rusted machinery and other junk. There were broken legged chairs, crates and boxes, tin cans, and empty whiskey bottles. The walls looked sturdy and thick, scratched in colorful graffiti with various names and dates. One mark looked almost like blood. Was this possibly a former hideout for some street gang? The letters PSK were directly across from me. That tag identified the Planter Street Kings, a notorious bunch of hooligans.
The air was stuffy, and smelled like a rotting meat locker combined with dried cowhide and dust. I watched several shadows cruise along one wall, rustling through the debris. It took me a minute to realize it was a hunting party of rats.
Just as one of the rats found something tasty to eat, a black furry shadow pounced upon him. I saw a flash of white fangs and the flick of a long tail, and then the shadow disappeared. This place would make one helluva a movie set.
Weak fluorescent lighting flickered overhead. I’d bet Prudholm was using a generator to keep them on, as the place looked long abandoned.
“Faulty wiring,” I muttered.
“It’s a sauna in here,” Starsky said, sweat dripping off his forehead into his eyes. “Ow, damn.”
The lights flickered again and one of the frayed wires sparked. Instantly I realized the potential threat of a fire, and glanced around. Squinting back up into the rafters again, I envisioned screaming flames, followed by the smell of cooking meat. Not that familiar and wonderful smell of spice and A-one sauce, but the horrible smell of Starsky and me sizzling like a couple of steaks on a grill. The look and feel of the room vaguely reminded me of that old barn where Starsky and I almost went up in smoke in a few years back.
“Is that what the sicko has in mind?” I mumbled.
“Hutch.”
“Huh?”
“How we were so easily ambushed?”
The moon shining through the hole in the ceiling was full adding to the eerie feelings in the pit of my stomach.
“I heard our backup arrive on the scene at the market. They had to have seen the Torino,” I spit the taste of blood to the ground my eyes darting from one corner of the room to the other. “Hopefully someone saw us run down the street—or maybe someone saw what happened in the alley when we were snatched.”
I listened intently to the ambient sound around our prison. There was no sound of traffic, no train whistles, no boats, no planes.
“Hutch.”
“Where is this place? In the middle of the wilderness?”
“You having a nice talk with yourself there, Hutch?”
I swung my gaze around the room again, searching for any opening, door, window, or rat hole we could reach. What the hell was this place? And how the hell were we going to get out of—
“Aw,” Starsky grunted, and his harsh breathing caught my full attention. I could see his chest through a tear in his shirt, and winced at the blue bruising that already was starting to form.
“You-you with me, Hutch?” Starsky asked with great effort. “Gotta tell you—” he moaned, and jerked at the ropes, swinging helplessly about.
“Right here. Easy. Easy, Starsk.” I was scared. He looked bad. Starsky coughed, and spit bloody phlegm to the floor. I cursed under my breath. “Starsk, what happened back at the market? What made you run?”
“Terry.” Starsky coughed again. “Terry.”
“Terry’s gone. You know that, right?” No answer. “Right, partner?” I pressured him to answer.
“Hutch, I know. I was there.” Starsky looked away.
“I know, buddy,” I said sympathetically, and slumped back in the chair. “I know.”
We both had seen her in the coffin, watched them lower it into the grave, watched them shovel dirt on top.
“What happened back there at the market?” No answer, he looked out of it. “Starsk!” I raised an eyebrow in question. “Tell-me-what-happened!” I said slowly, pushing harder. “Could you ID her?”
Starsky’s blue violet gaze pinned me as he seemed to come out of his trance. “I don’t know who the woman was, Hutch.” Starsky glanced down. “She looked like Terry. Had a warm smile.” I opened my mouth to respond, but he beat me to it. “Hutch, I knew it wasn’t her, but the way she looked right at me and mouthed my name—David. It felt like I was seeing a ghost.” Starsky’s voice quivered, but he was trying his best to hide that from me. “I wasn’t thinking when I ran off,” he said, raising his eyes. “I—I just had to follow her.”
I nodded before I continued on with my questioning. ” Did you see anyone else? A face? Hear a voice? A car? Anything?”
“It was like some damn Cinderella story from hell. After I followed her down the alley, she disappeared, and I tripped over something. Was a lady’s red shoe. I bent down to pick it up. I heard footsteps behind me, and just as I swung around, some big guy with a club came at me.” Starsky paused for a breath.
“Bam! Lights out, huh?” I offered to fill in.
“Not before I heard him say that Prudholm didn’t have to pay him and his girl so much for the fun of beating a cop over the head.”
“Hutch, he’s—Prudholm’s trying to—” Starsky made a face, blinking to keep conscious. “Dobey.” He creased his brow. “Dobey. He made me record a message for Dobey. To get him to come here. Guy’s loony, Hutch. Gonna make you shoot Dobey.” Starsky bit his lower lip, closing his eyes tightly as he jerked about on the end of his restraints. “My fault. My fault.” Starsky took in breath after breath.
I waited, listening for the rest of what he had to say—Starsky’s the kind of man who wouldn’t let me down, even if he were facing death in the eyes. He protected his own, and Dobey was part of his extended family.
“Said he has unfinished business. A cop. A cop’s family. An old Granny. Bus load of kids. You, then me. He was going to kill you. I—I—it’s my—I told Dobey to meet you and I—alone.” Starsky winced, it was obviously difficult for him to speak with his hands bound above his head.
“Where, Starsk? Where’d you tell him to meet us?”
“Don’t know. Prudholm said he’d fill in the blanks. Just—I don’t know, I cried out, said our names. I don’t remember. You were out, he had a gun to your head—I don’t remember.”
Starsky looked haggard and worn, but his spirit still remained strong. That’s Starsky for you.
“Hey. Hey. Come on,” I encouraged.
Starsky stopped his struggle to free himself, mumbling something inaudible under his breath The ropes were cutting deeper into his wrists, blood trailing down his arms and dripping onto his shirt. Just trying to breathe with all his weight on his wrists had to be torture.
“Starsky, come on. We’re partners, right? Right? We’ll get out of this. Won’t let anything happen to Dobey or his family.” I watched him take in another half-breath, the simple act of breathing exhausting him. His whole body swung limply, the rope twisting him in a slow arc. He moaned, submitting to the pain.
Starsky’s head bobbled, and I could tell he was too tired to fight anymore. I didn’t want him giving up on me.
“Starsky!” I blurted out, trying to keep his attention. “Give Dobey some credit for recognizing when something’s off, will you? He’s not about to come to anybody’s party gun power-free,” I softened . “He’ll come in with back-up and on the alert, Starsk. You watch.”
“We’re in a—in a—” Starsky shook straining against the rope. “In a tight spot.”
“I’ve gotten us out of tighter.” I stole a smile from somewhere.
“You gonna mathematically calculate us out of here, Hutch?” He stopped shaking his body tired. “How ’bout you sprout wings like a turkey,” Starsky muttered his head slipping forward until his chin touched his chest.
“Hey. Hey,” I called to him and waited for a response. When Starsky didn’t move I assumed he’d passed out. ” Hang in there, Starsk.”
“Wha’ you think—think I’m doing?” Starsky moved in slow jerks lifting his head. “Fly over here and untie me, tu-turkey.”
“How ’bout I use my third arm with magic gun.” I tried to sound confident as I took in more of our surroundings. “Bullet could hit the rope, Starsk. You fall to the ground, untie yourself, than me. Sounds like a plan, huh, partner?” I could bend logic with the best of them.
“Hutch, you couldn’t—” Starsky tensed, trying not to move, only his fingers blinding scrabbling at the rope. “H-hit sand if—if you fell off a camel.” He played along until an invisible hand around his throat seemed to choke him into silence, and all I could hear was my partner’s breathing—slow and harsh.
I pressed my lips together, and licked the corner of my mouth. How were we going to take this guy down?
I studied Starsky. He hung there from the beam, craning his neck up above him, possibly trying to work out how to get himself down. There was a goose egg above his left brow which made me cringe inwardly. Did he have a concussion? Cracked skull? Was he hemorrhaging?
“You okay?” I asked
“No worse off than before,” Starsky bristled.
“Can you hold out?” I cringed, sharing his pain.
“Long as I have to.”
I got a sudden sinking sensation in my gut. The kind of sick feeling you get when you hope something is true, but you’re not really not sure it is.
“Starsk, what time was it when we got the 2-11 call?” I asked wanting to nonchalantly assess his mental acuity, and with my hands tied behind my back I couldn’t exactly ask him how many fingers I was holding up.
“Around eight thirty.”
“Correct. And the street name?”
“Bellamar,” he said taking in a shallow breath.
“Right. What day?”
“Friday,” he mumbled disinterestedly.
“That’s right.” My eyes flashed up through the hole in the roof, and honed in on the full moon high in the sky. “And what time do you think it is right now?”
“Nighttime. Why?”
“By the position of the moon I estimate the time to be around eleven thirty. That’s about three hours since we’ve been trussed up here.”
“So?” Starsky’s arms quivered, causing the rope to twist and twirl him slightly to the left so I couldn’t see his face.
“So,” I calmly said. “My car was parked in a one hour parking spot.” I watched closely trying to nonchalantly judge his reaction. “Probably got a ticket by now.”
“Nice try, Hutch.” Starsky sighed heavily, using his body weight to twist back my way. “You should be proud,” he panted.
“What are you talking about?”
Starsky whispered something under his breath, but I didn’t hear what he said—pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to. “We drove my car —dummy,” he informed speaking clearly. “Your birthday’s—August 28th. You ‘re 6′ 1″ 170 pounds. Your favorite color is green, and—” Starsky gasped. I could tell he was struggling to keep his voice neutral. “—and your eyes are baby blue, e-even though they are full of shit. I’m with you, okay?”
“Fair enough.”
Satisfied, Starsky was at least thinking straight, I rotated my wrist, blood making the ropes slip more easily, and looked around for something to use to get us out of this predicament. There were a few slotted wooden crates stacked in a corner. There was an old work bench with a vice attached to the side. A box of nails spilled were scattered across the floor.
“Starsky.” I jerked my chin into the corner.
“What’s that?” Starsky asked.
In the shadows not far from me was a long wooden box, with an open lid. I tried to lean closer in an attempt to see its contents through the dim, dusty light.
“Jackpot,” I said in a low voice.
“Toolbox?” he questioned.
“You got it. Could be something of use in there.”
“Question is—”Starsky moaned. “How are we going to get it?”
Starsky wrenched his body helplessly, tensing against his tearing muscles as if he somehow was going to wiggle loose of his bindings and get it himself.
“Don’t struggle—I’m on it. Watch the master.” I gave him a thin smile.
I jerked my head back to flick an annoying strand of hair out of my eyes and caused my chair to wobble, almost dumping me to the ground. Bingo! Why didn’t I think of it sooner? I began to rock back and forth, side to side, twisting and moving, the chair forward. With any luck ol’ Prudholm was going deaf with age, and he wouldn’t hear my bid for escape.
“What the hell are you doing?” Starsky grumbled weakly.
“Sprouting wings,” I said, scraping the metal chair along the floor, using my heels and knees to propel me along.
Starsky caught on to what I was doing right away. “Shhh! Not so loud,” he murmured looking all about.
“You could help, Gordo.”
“Can’t you keep it down, Hutch?” he whispered.
“I’m a cop. Not a magician, Starsk.” I kept jingling about, until I had enough momentum, and fell sideways to the floor. “If I could just—”
Still bound by hands and feet, I wiggled and inched my way across the floor, dragging the chair behind me. I couldn’t help but think this was all too easy. That Prudholm planned it this way. Starsky had said that Prudholm intended to force me to shoot Dobey.
“Now what?” Starsky interrupted my thoughts.
“Bear with me, buddy.” I finally got to the toolbox, and positioned myself alongside it. Raising up on my knees, I could just get my fingers inside, but the arm of the chair bumped the box. Finally, I fumbled through the tools.
“Angle your arm to the right more and push the toolbox lid up higher.” Starsky directed anxiously.
“I got something.” I felt triumphant, touching something that felt like possibly a box cutter under a hammer. “Hold on. I’m coming.” My fingers trembled as I got hold of the box cutter and began to slice through the ropes that bound me. It was slow going—one thread at a time. Once I slipped, and the blade cut into my flesh. “Damn it!”
“Fast, but careful, Hutch,” my partner said.
I sawed at strand after strand until I was finally free. “I’m hurrying,” I said, working at untangling my hands and untying my feet.
“Thought—” His voice trailed off into a moan. “Why don’t you use your wings?” He grunted, as humor mixed with pain. “You said you’d sprout—”
I looked at Starsky, only to see a wave of pain scud across his face. His breathing wasn’t steady at all, and he was panting. My gut felt like it was incased in ice. “I’m no angel, buddy.”
“Don’t I know it.” Starsky’s eyes shifted up to his bound hands.
“Relax,” I whispered as I finally stepped out of my bounds. I dashed over to Starsky with extra long strides.
“Wha’ now?” A moan rose from Starsky’s throat, and I could hear the squeak of the rope as he swayed.
“Gotta cut you down from here.”
“Thought—” His voice trailed off into a moan.
I frowned—this wouldn’t feel good. “Ready?”
“As I’ll ever be,” he said, not looking down.
“Brace yourself pal, it’s not going to be like walking and chewing gum.”
“Or falling and chewing gum,” Starsky added.
I had to stretch nearly on tip toe, doing a balancing act. Catching Starsky before he hit the ground wasn’t going to be an option.
“I’m light on my feet.” Starsky gave me an ‘okay’ nod, then looked away. He knew I couldn’t do this staring into his eyes.
I ran a thumb over his brow, then began to cut through the ropes, hoping Prudholm wouldn’t be back just yet. I cringed as the rope began to fray it wouldn’t hold his weight much longer.
“Almost got it, Starsky.”
“Right. Hey, cheer up, Hutch, it could be a lot worse, you—”
Unprotected, Starsky dropped like a stone to the floor. He lay stunned and trembling weakly. I bent over him. “Are you all right?” He didn’t answer, and I could see his face was bleached white. “Starsky?” I moved a hand to his rib cage, probing tenderly.
“Don’t touch anything,” he grunted and flinched away from me with little strength.
“I’m just having a look, Starsk.”
Starsky let me keep searching along his sides until I touched a tender spot that made him gasp.
“Ow,” he uttered beneath his breath. “Please, stop it. Hutch.” Sweat ran down his face and he eased away from me.
“Sorry.” I kneaded the back of my neck, waiting quietly for his breathing to return to normal.
Starsky tried to hold in a groan, he’s good at that, but I could hear his pain. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but whatever I decided—it was going to have to be without Starsky. I couldn’t drag him around this dump with me. It would be dangerous avoiding whatever tripwires Prudholm had set up for us. I needed to get my friend help soon, he could be bleeding internally.
“How bad are you hurt?” Starsky asked as he reached a hand up and threaded it into my hair at the base of my neck where I’d been rubbing.
“Humph.” I flinched. “It’s nothing, just a little bump. Like fallen out of bed, accidentally hitting my head on the nightstand.”
“You got hit harder than you think, Hutch,” Starsky said seriously. He brought his hand down and showed me his blood tipped fingers.
He was right. I was feeling lightheaded and a bit queasy. “Fine couple of bookends we make, huh?” I tried to joke.
“Wh-what do you want to do?”
“I don’t know, Starsk, but you’re in no shape to be moving around.”
“Look.” Starsky sat up with great effort. “‘S okay. Not so bad. Least I’m not shot, stabbed or poisoned—this time.” He raised his brow and looked into my eyes as if he were analyzing me. “You look awful, blondie.”
“We’re not talking about me,” I said dryly. We’re talking about you.”
Starsky was battered and bruised, and who knew what could be broken or bleeding internally. My hand hovered near. I wanted him to rest, but wasn’t comfortable leaving him here alone while I scoped out our prison. “Starsky we—
“We—don’t have a lot of time, Hutch. Gotta get out of here. Warn Dobey.”
We’d been gone approximately 3-4 hours, and I figured probably some distance from Bay City. It’d take Dobey a couple hours to mount a raid.
“One for all and all for one.” Starsky gave me a nod. With no time to argue the decision was made. I eased him to his feet, holding on tightly as he weaved back and forth.
“Hey, partner, you okay?”
He shrugged, and coughed raggedly, hunched over to cradle his chest. His breathing sounded like he’d swallowed down the wrong way. “Starsky?” I grabbed on to his forearms with both hands. “You feeling any better?” Dumb question, he looked like crap.
“Better,” Starsky mumbled. “I can take a fall, Hutch. I’m just good like that.” Starsky straightened up. “What about you?” He reached over, and brushed two fingers across my sore cheek.
“Better.” I pulled back from his touch. “You know, Starsk, it’s not easy being the brains in this outfit.”
“Yeah,” Starsky smirked. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“I’m just good like that,” I said, mocking him.
“Time to get serious.” Starsky drew himself straighter, and grimaced.
“Just take it easy,” I whispered, as I continued to hold him steady. “Don’t move too fast. I think you should stay here while I scout ahead and try to find—”
“Hutch, I’ll make it.” Starsky looked nervously about. “Besides, when I get my hands on Prudholm, I’ll feel one hundred percent better.” He lightly touched my stomach, and I saw his hand tremble.
“I feel so much better now, buddy, thanks.” I didn’t like how unstable Starsky was. “Just hold the fort a minute, okay, pal?” I looked over his shoulder, wondering which way was out when I saw a shadow stir in a far-off corner.
The clicking sound of a gun made me shove my buddy to the floor. “Starsky!” I landed on top of him, feeling the air whoosh out of his lungs and a bubbling cry.
Bullets sheared through the air, bouncing off walls and beams. Lifting up slightly, I looked down into Starsky’s face. His head rolled to one side and I cupped his cheek in my hand. “Starsk. Hey.” I patted his cheek, ducking low as a bullet whizzed by my skull.
“Whatever you’re going to do, Hutch,” he panted. “Do it quick.”
I saw what was possibly a doorway behind us. The rain of gunfire stopped, the sound of a gun being reloaded giving us precious seconds to escape.
“Go on. Run!” Prudholm dared. “One last heroic act. I’m going to take my time and enjoy this. Nobody leaves here alive today. Not you, Hutchinson. Not Starsky. Not Dobey. Not me! It’s my rule book now. Just waiting for the right time and the right place, wise guys.”
The man was a lunatic.
Feeling like a couple cows being herded into a corral, I shoved at my injured partner. “Go! Move! Now!” Starsky gripped my shirt, and in a blur, I bellyrolled us both toward the opening.
Still gripping him tightly, I pulled Starsky up to his feet, and flung him recklessly through the doorway. The momentum accidentally slammed him up against a wall. Starsky’s breath caught in his throat as he began a slow slide down.
Everything got real quiet, and I was grateful for the moment. Now here we were in another room. Maybe a small corner office. I couldn’t be sure. My head hurt, the bullets too loud, everything too dark, too-much-confusion-dizzy-everything-going on-too-fast-all-around-me. Don’t throw up. Keep it together.
I briefly hung my head and rubbed the back of my neck. No. No. Don’t lose it now, Hutchison. I shook my head, my pounding heart calming, realizing Prudholm was gone, probably on to his next plan of attack. Judging from the downward direction the bullets had come from he must have been on an overhead platform. I felt like Starsky and I were a couple of experimental mice being forced to follow the scent of the well placed hunk of cheese. I don’t like playing cat and mouse. Prudholm’s dirty paw tamped down on our tails, then let us go—only to land his mitts back down on us again when he was good and ready.
I dragged myself over to my friend. I crouched next to him and forced myself to think. It was dark and I was disoriented. Starsky seemed as shaky as a newly hatched chick. He needed a minute to catch his breath—so did I, for that matter. Prudholm didn’t seem to be in a hurry to kill us off—he could have done it back there in the alley if that was the case. I think he was too busy enjoying toying with us.
“Hutch, how many girls could look like Terry?”
I sighed. What Starsky was really asking me was, ‘Am I crazy?’
Even under the cover of darkness, I could see my partner’s questioning eyes begging me for answers, filling with guilt over our current situation.
Leaning low I whispered in his ear, “Buddy, listen to me—there are plenty of crazies out there and …and…you…are… not…one of them. Like you used to say, there is a double for everyone. That woman looked like Terry to you. He picked her especially for the role.” I dropped my eyes to the ground.
Starsky’s whole body shook. I shot him a worried look.
“What? What’s wrong? Were you hit, Starsk” The words tumbled out.
Starsky’s eyes darted nervously to his left, he opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came as he stared at a single spot.
What had him so spooked? A shapely shadowy image caught my attention. It was unmoving, flush against a wall, and the smell of death was evident.
“Stay put,” I told Starsky, crawling toward the form.
“I’m going to be sick.” Starsky gripped my arm, stopping me. His hand quivered and I could feel the vibrations down to my bones.
I didn’t move, just watched my partner suffer silently. He kept swallowing down to keep from vomiting.
“It may be nothing. Just stay put. Let me check this out. It’s going to be okay.” I edged away a little. “Trust me?”
“Yes.” Starsky nodded in acknowledgement, his throat moving reflexively, and his grip on my arm eased.
I gave him a wink.
I knew Prudholm must still be in the building, watching us—waiting—baiting our every step. This was some sick game of hide and seek. I made my way over toward the form, knowing what I’d find. Sure enough, bending low enough to see, I found myself looking into the face of a young dead woman with short brown hair, and a bullet hole in her head. My hands were shaking and I wrung them together to get them to stop. It obviously wasn’t Terry. But she must have been the figure Starsky saw in the market. In a distraught frame of mind, she would have looked like a specter raised from the dead, shocking the hell out of him.
“Terry,” Starsky whispered as he leaned in closer to see.
The simple word coming from my friend’s mouth sounded so painful, almost like gurgling blood, as if he were being stabbed in the throat by a sharp blade.
“Starsk?”
He didn’t look at me. Didn’t speak. I could tell that seeing the dead woman had shattered any scrap of emotional stability my partner had left. He had a far-off, abandoned expression, and I remembered when I’d seen that look before. It was the day after Terry’s funeral. Starsky had disappeared for several hours. I finally found him at the beach, squatting near the water’s edge and staring into the distance.
I recalled watching the sea gulls gliding easily on the wind, and hunting for small fish. Shelled crabs raced away from the waves, coming up on the shoreline. It was a quiet, peaceful place, and I could see why he was there.
I almost felt his tension, and had seen that same abandoned, far-off look on his face. I remember pushing the sand along with each step, slowing my pace, inspecting him more closely. He was looking at a big yellow beach ball bouncing on the waves, floating farther and farther out to sea.
I had stopped a few feet away, wanting to say something, to tell him for the thousandth time it wasn’t his fault. How sorry I was. How I wished I could take the agony of his broken heart away, but I couldn’t get the words past my lips. They wouldn’t change a thing. Starsky had to work through this on his own.
He had seemed so lost. Instinctually, I wanted to tug him into my arms, but I didn’t dare approach. I just stood back behind a gently slopping sand dune, watching. I knew he needed his space, but I was worried that he might do something stupid. Although, I knew he’d come to me before he turned his gun on himself.
Starsky had leaned forward suddenly, and I remember thinking he was going to be sick. Instead, he used his index finger to draw something in the sand, then quickly stood and walked away.
I kept my distance and followed far behind him—like any good cop tailing a suspect. He hadn’t even known I was there. Strolling up to where Starsky had been, I stood next to his footprints in the sand, gazing down at what he had scrawled with his finger. The word was already wearing away from the continually beating waves. But I read the message loud and clear. It was probably the most hard-hitting word any of us will ever have to face in this life.
Goodbye.
The vivid memory still could pull a choking sob from me.
“Hutch.”
Starsky’s voice brought me back from my reverie. His cold, flat tone proved that he was still caught in the web of guilt and pain.
I pulled a handkerchief out of my pocket and covered the dead woman’s face.
“It’s the nurse. Prudholm killed her,” I said, crawling away from the body. Kneeling next to Starsky, I ducked my head to look right into his eyes. I could feel Starsky’s guilt bubbling down deep inside all over again. I had to stop it now. Prudholm was lurking around somewhere nearby and we had to get out of here. Old memories would have to wait.
“Prudholm knew if she looked enough like Terry you’d go after her,” I said. “He counted on it. He knew I’d get to that toolbox. This is all one big elaborate plan, buddy. ”
Starsky massaged the pain in his chest, but stopped, his fingers quivering and gave a hiss of pain.
“Try not to touch that, pal you probably have some cracked ribs.”
“She was a nurse?” Starsky grimaced. I’m certain he wasn’t expecting to feel like this. Wasn’t expecting to see another young girl with a bullet in her head. We looked at each other, and for about ten seconds we said nothing.
“Prudholm said she was a nurse from the mental hospital he was in. He probably paid her a hefty amount to play decoy. Then he killed her because she decided the game had gone too far.”
“Prudholm’s sick, Hutch. Really sick. He’s like a cat playing with a ball of string.” Starsky squirmed, and looked down at the floor, as he pressed his lips together. I knew he was trying not to focus on his physical as well as mental grief.
I placed a hand on his shoulder. “How’s the pain?” I asked. We needed to get going, now, but I needed to give him a minute to regain his control.
“Deal with that later, Hutch. Let’s go.”
“Can you walk?”
“Yeah, if you can spare a hand,” Starsky answered.
“Got two.” I raised my hands up, wiggling my fingers. Starsky blinked his eyes as if he was trying to focus his vision and gathered his feet under him.
I reached an arm around him and tried to help. Even in the dim light, I could see that he was hurting.
“Hutch.” He pitched forward, a faint gasp leaving his throat as I hauled him back up to my side, and held on. A flash of agony crossed his face when he caught his breath.
At the same time, I heard rummaging. My eyes roamed the small room. “Starsky,” I eased him against the wall behind us. “Here you go.”
“What you doing?”
“I gotta check something out. Hold tight a second.”
A huge part of my body was tired, my head injury throbbing, but the other part of me—the part that knew we had to be strong and survive, forced myself to crawl over toward the back wall. Pushing aside a metal file cabinet, revealed another doorway that looked like it lead out into a hallway. I paused to listen harder.
“Exit or blocked?”
“Exit,” I said.
“Prudholm?” Starsky questioned.
“It’s a fair bet he’s out there waiting.” I glanced at Starsky, his eyes were squeezed shut. “We gotta go. Partner.” I crawled back over to Starsky and using the wall for support got him up. “Stay on your feet.” I towed Starsky toward the entryway, cautiously peering around the doorjamb.
“Ohhhh,” Starsky’s moan was full of pain. “Hutch.”
“Shhh. Sorry, partner, come on.”
Starsky clutched at my arm. I pulled him through the door as carefully as I could.
We found ourselves in a dark hallway, and I paused so my eyes could adjust to the darkness.
“Which way?” Starsky leaned forward to take a look.
The pain hammering in my head made me feel woozy, but I had to keep strong. Left or right, Hutchinson? One way could lead us out of here. One way could lead to certain death; maybe both ways were dead ends. There was no way of telling.
“You don’t think there is a way out of here, do you?” Starsky’s voice was tight.
“Right.”
“I knew it.”
“We’re going right.” I spared a smile for my partner.
“You sure?”
“Don’t doubt, just trust me, buddy,” I said, as I moved us down the narrow hallway.
I edged my shoulder along the wall for guidance. It was an alien world of dull color and dark corners that almost seemed to reach out and grab a hold of me. It felt like we were walking in a musty burrow.
Where was Prudholm? Lying in wait for us?
Keeping my ears and eyes open wide, I was ever on the alert, certain he hadn’t gone far. He was very good at camouflaging himself in the shadows,
“What’s that?” Starsky stopped short. He was growing weaker, but he would never admit defeat.
I scowled through the darkness. The hallway narrowed further until it ended at a wall. A dead end. I saw a small amount of light flooding in through what looked to be a boarded up window. We ventured forward with caution, sensitive to every creak in the floorboard.
I blinked away the sweat dripping into my eyes, looking at the small opening with caution. The first time we tangled with the man, he’d booby trapped a rifle to try and blow us away. Prudholm was an obsessive and tricky nut job who was damn good at playing head games, and damn good with explosives.
I think my heart stopped beating as I flicked an index finger over the wood and pulled away some of the timber. Fighting my panic and need to get us out of here, I loosened a portion of the board, allowing a few moonbeams to shine in.
“So—”Starsky’s voice jumpstarted my heart just as the piece of board fell to the floor.
“Shit!” I jerked my hand away. “Starsky!”
“How’s it look?” Starsky fixed me with a weak smile.
“Looks like I should give this a go,” I said. I helped Starsky lean against the opposite wall. “Hold it right there for me, buddy.”
I pulled away more wood. The outside moonlight flooded in moving shadows on the wall, making everything around us seem surreal, ghostly, and, unrecognizable. Once again, I shook the haze from my head, and decided my plan was worth a try.
“What are you doing?”
I pried at the opening with my fingers, and a few more pieces of wood broke away.
“What?” I mumbled, peering out of the hole to the ground below. Turning from the view to lean heavily against the wall near Starsky, I sighed. “That about sums it up.”
“What?”
“Big drop.”
“How big?” Starsky asked.
“We’re three stories up. Not getting out this way.”
“What happened to your plan, huh?”
I rolled my eyes. “It backfired.” I began pacing and tripped over something on the floor. Bending down, I felt around.
“What you got?” Starsky breathed out, and I could tell he was near collapse.
“Rope.” I moved toward him hurriedly. “Starsk, I got an idea.”
“You’re reaching,” Starsky said, obviously understanding the plan. “There’s no way that is going to work. First off—the rope doesn’t look long enough, and second off—” he said with a tone so full of courage and loyalty, it touched me, “broken ribs and rope don’t mix well together!”
He was right about that.
“Starsky—”
“Hutch, we’re trapped here.” Starsky fought back a cough. “Together,” he said, in a puff of breath.
I looked at the rope more carefully, unraveling the coil. It was ratty with dry rot. He was right. It wasn’t strong enough or long enough.
What in blue hell was I thinking?
“Ahhh!” Starsky’s sudden gasp brought me from my self loathing.
I turned back just as Starsky began to slide down toward the floor. I dropped the useless rope and placed a hand to each of his shoulders, pinning him against the wall. “Stay with me, pal,” I begged.
“I’m with you.” Starsky gave in, trembling and fighting to keep standing. “Where to now?” he asked, trying to make a comeback.
I looked around for a solution and shrugged noncommittally. “Back the way we came.”
A burst of laughter interrupted us. “You’ll never escape.” The voice echoed all around, and I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
“Prudholm! You won’t get away with this,” I yelled.
“I already have,” came the calm voice that built and faded, bouncing off every wall like we were in a cave. I couldn’t tell which direction Prudholm was in. Heavy steps walking become lighter as the mad man continued his cat and mouse game. Pouncing from the shadows, toying, teasing.
In sheer desperation, I pulled Starsky from the wall close to my side. “Come on! We are both getting out of here!”
Arm in arm, we cautiously advanced down the long hallway. I could feel Starsky’s body shuddering as his breath echoed unnervingly in the semi-darkness. Struggling to keep him moving was difficult at best. The floor beneath our feet was broken and jagged, as if we were walking on glass. It made for rough going, and Starsky nearly fell twice.
“I can’t, Hutch.”
“It’s this way.”
“You can’t know that.” Starsky fought back again. A small half moan left his throat, and he tripped, but I held him up. “Can’t walk anymore,” he uttered with such defeat in his tone, it was really starting to piss me off.
This didn’t sound like my partner. Starsky’s the kind of guy who will kick, crawl, scratch, and dig his way around to the other side when the world is turned upside down.
“You going to give up on me, buddy boy?” I snipped, as we turned a corner appearing to be in another wing and yet another hallway.
“And listen to you bitch about the way I walk for the rest of my life?”
I sighed, knowing Starsky had just had a weak moment. “I like the way you walk, buddy. You should be awarded—”
Something made me stop.
“Hutch? What?”
“Shh.”
For a few moments we stood quietly, side by side. I could feel both our hearts fluttering in time with one another—could count the identical intake of our breathing.
“Shh, buddy.” I focused on the darkness.
I heard something scratching down the corridor where we’d just been trying to escape out that window.
“Hutch!”
“Shhh.”
Starsky’s body began to shake against mine, and he pulled away. “What’s that sound?”
I stared down the hallway, listening intently at squawking sounds. “It’s either a giant rat or—” I startled as a large shadow and the heavy flapping of wings came flying right at me.
“Down!” Starsky grabbed my sleeve, dragging me to the floor. I winced, hearing his pain filled grunt when he landed on his side and rolled a little ways from me.
“Starsk,” I called. “Easy, now. Come here.” I took hold of his arm and drew him back toward me.
His fingers clutched at the fabric of my shirt, and pulled me on top of him. “What the hell was that?”
“Some sort of large bird. Falcon maybe. This place is a hotel for wildlife.”
“Hutch, you know what that means don’t you?”
“What?
“What comes in must go out.”
“Yeah,” I muttered. Rats. Feral cats. Falcons. Place was a regular zoo. “Probably on one of the lower levels. Let’s go find—”
My heart froze, and I looked behind me down the long corridor. Through the darkness, I saw an orange flash, which was probably what sent the large bird fleeing. Ghostly gray smoke was swirling around the hallway, growing blacker and thicker by the second. Prudholm or the faulty wiring? It didn’t matter as the walls quickly caught fire, blasts of flame’s shooting up the walls and eating their way toward us.
Through the haze of smoke, I was pretty sure there was a staircase that led downward, and hopefully out of here.
“Starsk.” I locked eyes with my partner and we shared a look that we’d shared one hundred times before.
Without a word, I scrambled to pull my partner to his feet.
Prudholm was somewhere close by, still armed, and still stalking us. The feeling left me helpless with anger that I couldn’t vent.
“Prudholm has this farewell party planned to the letter, and he knows this place a lot better than we do. Every crack, crevice, doorway, and stairwell,” he gulped like a dying fish trying to fill his lungs. “Probably better—better than he knew his own—his own son.” Starsky staggered, his knees giving way.
“Stay up, buddy.” I held on to him tighter.
“Look,” Starsky whispered, pointing toward the ground. “He’s got this place wired. Has to be how he started the fire, with a remote detonator.” Starsky teeter-tottered between me and the wall. “We might have a better chance if we crawl. Smoke’s getting thick.”
I shuffled my feet until they caught in the tangle of wires. “Come on.” I untangled the wire. “We’re getting out of here. This party stinks.” I started walking more carefully, knowing crawling would slow us down even more. “Try to keep up. We have to keep moving.”
The floorboards near the staircase had become squishy beneath my feet because of the heat from the fire, and I just hoped they would support the weight of both of us long enough to escape. I waited to hear Prudholm’s crazed laughter, but it never came. It didn’t feel right, but for the moment I couldn’t worry about where he might be.
“Stay up? That’s it, right?” Starsky asked, seemingly in a daze.
I didn’t look back, but I could feel the fire growing, burning down the hall in our direction.
“Right now, that’s the plan, Starsk.”
“Some plan,” Starsky coughed, and I could feel his muscles bunching in pain as we came to a spiraling stairwell.
“We gotta find a phone.” The stairs went down into the dark unknown below us—three floors to go before we could escape, which meant ample time for Prudholm to ambush us.
“Here you go, partner. I’ll go first,” I said. He’d have a rough time on the steps.
“Just like you to be selfish.” Starsky choked on the smoke.
Using my shoulder, I braced against him, and picked him up into a fireman’s carry. Starsky folded over my shoulder, sprawled like a wet towel. He moaned his displeasure at being handled.
“It’s okay, buddy. Most people don’t have any resistance to my charms.”
“You’re weird, Hutch.”
“I like you too, pal.” I coughed heavily. “Just keep a lid on that, would you?” I said, testing the first step with my right foot, to make sure it could hold us both.
I largely ignored the stairs beneath my feet; I was busy holding Starsky up and avoiding the rusted points of nails that spiked up on each stair riser. It was a challenge to make my way down. I was breathing heavily, taking in too much smoke.
If the smoke didn’t get us—Prudholm soon would. He was lurking nearby. Waiting. That unnerved me.
I took in a deeper, more satisfying breath. The further we came down the stairs, the less smoke there was. I paused at a landing, shifting Starsky’s body weight. It was slow going, seconds felt like hours. We’d only come down one floor, and still had another to go.
“Hutch.”
“Almost there.” I could barely talk, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other to get down another flight.
“Uhhh,” Starsky groaned as he bounced on my shoulder.
I winced, feeling his pain, but couldn’t stop.
“Easy, buddy.”
I could hear the fire crackling above us, and the heat at my back. We were near the first floor. I’d find the front door, kick it open if I had to, and get us the hell out of this building. I didn’t know where we were, but was fairly certain we were outside of the city.
“Awww.”
Had Dobey gotten the message about the meet yet?
I came to a wide landing. There were only a few more steps, and straight ahead was a door that I hoped would lead us out of here.
“Starsky, we—”
My words were interrupted as a lone form detached itself from the shadows.
“Do you think you can escape me so easily?” Prudholm asked in a low growl. I saw he was holding a grenade.
“I don’t have to be a Vietnam vet to know what this metal sphere is designed for,” Prudholm spat. “Demolition!”
Prudholm had already pulled the pin, but kept a finger on the safety lever. One slip and we’d probably only have four or five seconds to duck before that thing blew.
“Are you crazy? That thing will kill us all,” I blurted out.
“Crazy—no. Insane—perhaps. Put him down,” Prudholm ordered, obviously not caring. He raised his hand high and gestured toward my partner.
“Crazy—insane, what’s the difference?” I felt Starsky shudder.
“I said, put him down!” Prudholm’s voice boomed.
His cold stare was chilling—he’d willingly blow all three of us up just to get revenge. I let Starsky slide from my shoulder, but kept him close. His head rolled back, then forward, his chin dropping to his chest. He nearly flopped to the ground, but I supported him. Starsky’s downcast face was battered, and beneath the dirt on his face, his skin color was gray.
“Don’t you and your partner want to be part of my little pig roast, Hutchinson?” He laughed, hysterically.
I felt my face flush with anger. “Listen up, scum—”
“You suck up all the good air in this city, Prudholm,” Starsky interrupted, slowly straightening.
I pointed a finger at Prudholm. “There’s no place on the streets for you to hide if you waste a couple of cops. The whole force will be hunting you down.”
“Who says I plan on any of us leaving here alive?” Prudholm cocked his head, then reached out with his free hand, pulling Starsky away from me. “My Gary is dead,” he yelled, the anguish ripping from his throat. “We’re all dead.”
My partner collapsed helplessly at the old man’s feet. Grabbing Starsky by the hair, Prudholm jerked his head up and shoved the grenade against his ear.
“Stinking cop killed my son,” Prudholm choked.
“A knife killed your son.” Starsky squeezed his eyes shut and tried to pull away, but he was too weak. Prudholm kicked him with the hard toe of his boot, which caused a tidal wave of rage right through me.
“Back off!” I screamed in fury.
I took one step downward, trying to block out the crackling sound of the fire from above. The place was an inferno. We needed to get out now.
Prudholm’s grip on the hand grenade loosened.
“No, don’t!” Prudholm pulled Starsky back to his feet. I wanted to scream at him, but bit my tongue, taking in a few calming breaths before talking again. The man was on the edge. If he moved his finger, we’d all be blown apart.
“I’m sorry,” I said sincerely. “I’m sorry about Gary.”
Prudholm frowned, not saying anything, and shoved the grenade harder against Starsky’s ear. Starsky winced.
“What about Dobey? I thought you wanted to—”
“Shut up! It’s too late for that now!” Prudholm yelled.
It didn’t matter what I said anymore. Prudholm had lost it. His hatred was soul deep, too ingrained to be swayed by mere words.
“It can’t be easy to lose a child,” I tried a different approach. “I know it’s eating you up inside, but there’s no way—”
“There is always a way!” Prudholm yelled, and I swear I saw his sanity snap. He fumbled with the grenade, but caught it at the last second.
“Man, don’t do this! You don’t want to die, too. We have to get out of here!” I pleaded, casting a quick glance back up the staircase as the fire headed our way.
“Fuck you and your partner, Hutchinson, I don’t care who gets it now!” His words were chilling.
“You never did care!” I spat, looking back at Starsky. His breathing was rapid, but his eyes seemed bright and alert.
‘Take him,‘ Starsky mouthed silently.
I shook my head—I couldn’t. The grenade would go off.
“C’mon, Prudholm.” I tried to reason with him. “Gary wouldn’t want it this way.” The heat of the fire was almost blistering my back as the flames crept closer. “We’re all going to fry if we don’t go now, trust me.” I took another step downward, feeling my legs wobble beneath me.
“I don’t trust anyone!” Prudholm continued to cradle the grenade in his quivering hand.
I was about to plead again when Starsky took over. “Nice reunion you got here for us, Prudholm, too bad Gary can’t join us before—” Starsky paused with a look that said he had lost all sense of caution and was going to do something crazy and stupid.
Perspiration beaded on my forehead, and I mentally prepared for whatever Starsky was about to do.
“Before what?” Prudholm asked in an edgy tone.
“Before I ram that grenade down your pants, where you keep your brains,” Starsky said, somehow managing to jerk his head backward, and ram it against Prudholm’s skull.
Prudholm’s head snapped back. “Sonofabitch!”
His face was fearsome with blood dripping down the side of his neck and his eyes reflected the inferno.
I didn’t waste any time, rushing forward intending to plant a fist in Prudholm’s face, but I was already too late.
Prudholm had regained control of Starsky and the grenade. “Hold it,” he said, jerking the hand that held the grenade. “You want a good time, cops? Let’s blow some teeth out of our heads,” he growled, about to drop the bomb.
“Don’t move!”
As if on cue, I heard the sound of a door crashing open and a dark lumbering figure strode forward. The figure’s face was shadowed, but I knew the voice. It was Dobey. He stood at the bottom of the steps, bristling with anger like a hungry man interrupted from a hearty meal. It raised the hackles on my neck.
“Slowly—back away from him!” Dobey roared in an angry, raw tone. He stepped into the light, totally in command. It was hard not to gawk at him and his six-shooter. “On your knees! You are under arrest!”
Prudholm looked taken back, sweaty and nervous, his eyes darting between Dobey and myself. He was trapped on that stairwell, between us with nowhere to go. I kept my eye on Starsky. He looked like he might throw up, but our captain was calm, cool and collected. Dobey might have been out of practice, but he was still in fighting shape.
“It’s over, Prudholm,” Starsky said, struggling against the tight armhold Prudholm had around his neck.
“Nothing is over!” Prudholm stated with a cold and sober expression on his face. “I have unfinished business, and I intend to see this to the end, one way or the other.” Prudholm’s wild eyes dared any of us to do something about it. He took several steps backward, pulling Starsky with him.
“Do as I say!” Dobey growled, in a rule-the-world voice. “On your knees.”
My hands fisted at my sides, I knew Dobey wouldn’t shoot. Not with Prudholm standing there with a bomb in his hand. And Prudholm wasn’t going to give up without a fight.
It was then I realized he hadn’t gone through all this effort just to blow us up, to end it that easily. If he did—he would have done it by now. He wanted us—Starsky especially, to suffer more.
There was no way Dobey could shoot him. Prudholm had bet his life on that. The man’s last dying wish was to send the metal bomb exploding in all directions, along with all our body parts.
“I’ll do it. I’ll let go.” Prudholm voiced my thoughts.
Things had become critical fast. The building was burning out of control, thick smoke swirled around us, and it was considerably hotter. I was sweating like a Viking thawing out of a block of ice.
I looked at Dobey, and could read his thoughts. Do one thing, and do it well, I saw in his eyes: Get hold of that thing, and toss it as far away from us as you can. It’s our only chance.
“Don’t try it.” Prudholm must have read the look as well. “You think I’m an old man and you can rush me?” Prudholm took a step back, dragging my weakened partner with him.
“Cut the crap, Prudholm, and let Starsky go.” My anger flared again, but I quickly controlled it. “Let him go.”
I met Starsky’s gaze and something arched between us. Starsky’s face was an open book; he wasn’t going for that idea.
I took a deep breath, and braced myself, about to take a step—
“Get back,” Starsky snapped as he glanced to his right.
In a sudden flash of intuition, I knew what my partner was about to do—and I didn’t like it, not one bit. He wasn’t going to chance that thing going off with all of us standing around so close. I was growing tired of dancing this jig with Prudholm, and so was my partner.
“Goddamnit, Starsky!” I yelled, noticing a ray of light filtering in through the half boarded up window to Starsky’s right, and figuring it was the cavalry just outside.
I took a leaping step forward, reaching out to him, but it was too late. In an impulsive burst of energy, Starsky found the strength to whirl around and grab Prudholm. Before I could utter another sound, they both crashed through the boarded window and vanished from sight.
“No,” I cried, waiting to hear an explosion that never came.
I stared at Dobey in shock for a couple of stunned seconds.
“Go!” Dobey tossed his gun to me.
“Right!” My pulse was throbbing as I caught the weapon in midair.
Ten lousy steps separated me from the ground level. At least, Starsky didn’t have a far drop to the ground. I flew out the front door, my mind spinning. Why hadn’t I heard the blast from the hand grenade?
I slowed—then froze, as I took in the scene. Not only had the grenade not detonated, but Dobey had brought three black and whites and an ambulance. Two fire trucks were just pulling up the road, lights and sirens still blaring. Dobey was a true Eagle Scout. He didn’t leave anything to chance.
I quickly found Starsky. He was half-lying on top of Prudholm, looking like a furious dog. Using the rage deep inside him, he held the man up by the shirt collar and shook him like a chew toy. Prudholm strained against his hold, hitting with his fists and feet. It took everything I had in me to stand back and let Starsky handle this.
The blue uniformed cops from the black and whites ran up, their weapons drawn but I gestured at them to hold their fire. Starsky had the situation under control for now. His reserves of strength would soon run out, but I had my partner’s back—as always.
“I want you dead, Starsky! I want your captain dead. That partner of yours—want you to suffer!” He let out a manic cry.
“Prudholm! I’d like nothing more than to see you nailed inside a cheap pine box!” Starsky growled, his voice black with anger and slurred with pain.
Prudholm smiled in anticipation, holding out his arms like a sacrifice. “Do it, cop! I want you to do it!”
Starsky let go of Prudholm’s shirt and wrapped his hand around his neck to haul him up higher. Their eyes met. He scrutinized the man for a long moment. I swore I could see the devil sitting on my partner’s right shoulder and whispering in his ear, telling him to go ahead and strangle the asshole.
Give the sick bastard what he deserves. Squeeze the breath out of him. Squeeze until he is dead.
“Kill me. Just kill me!” Prudholm begged with a choking shudder, his face white. My partner’s hands were tense around the man’s neck. “Gary, just let me die,” Prudholm yelled.
Starsky’s reserves were dangerously low, but his seething anger spurred him on. He throttled Prudholm with a vice grip, causing the old man’s eyes to bulge out. Prudholm began to turn blue and gasp for air.
“Starsky.” I stiffened, feeling as though cold sewage-water rushed through my veins. “Let go,” I whispered, watching Starsky as his fingers tightened. “Buddy, let it go.”
Starsky’s gaze on Prudholm never faltered, I could feel him wanting to twist the old man’s head off. I couldn’t blame him if he wanted to spill the guy’s guts. Prudholm had caused more pain than any one human had a right to cause. But Starsky knew as well as I that it would ruin him. Not just his badge, his career as an officer of the law, but his very soul.
“Hey,” I called softly. “Don’t.” Behind me, Dobey gave a low order to the troops and they closed in around us.
Starsky loosened his grip on Prudholm and glanced at me. I cringed. His eyes fed a current of pure rage through me, and I could feel his anger mix with mine. The combination was volatile, but I would not let anger destroy us all as it had destroyed Prudholm.
“Hutch, I want to fucking kill him.”
“No, no, you won’t, buddy.” My mouth was dry. “Let go,” I said, looking between him and the old man.
Starsky’s features contorted, and I could see hell and damnation flare through his blue eyes. It felt like an eternity before a breathy moan left his lips, and the look on his face went from anger to something I can only explain as the very soul of reason taking over his rage.
“Like I’ve told you before, Prudholm.” Starsky swayed, and his shoulders trembled as he shoved the old man to the ground. “Not now… not anytime! I won’t give you the satisfaction.” Starsky stood shakily, taking a step backward. “I swear on my life.”
He took three steps over to me. “Hutch—need to go home now,” Starsky mumbled as he fell into my arms.
“What are you—out of your mind?” I struggled to hold his full weight. “We have to go to a hospital, Starsky.”
“Cuff that man!” Dobey ordered one of the uniformed officers.
Collins pulled Prudholm roughly away, dragging his hands behind his back, and clasping the cuffs around his wrists. Starsky shivered, coming down from his adrenaline high. He grabbed hold of my jacket to keep his balance. A push of the wind would have knocked him over. How he’d had the endurance to hang onto Prudholm for so long was beyond me. I’d heard about super-human strength during times of extreme circumstances but was never witness to it—until today.
I was shaken to my core. “What did you think you were doing? You scared me half to death. Don’t you ever do that—”
“Hey, I get it,” Starsky said, cutting off my sentence. “Not about to ever do that again, partner.” He smiled weakly.
“See that you don’t,” I sighed, gaining control of myself.
I could see something suddenly shift in Starsky’s eyes, and he turned to putty, sliding to the ground. I followed him down, and cradled him in my arms. He was shaking even harder as he leaned against me, and I couldn’t erase the mental picture of his body blown up by the grenade and scattered in a thousand pieces.
“Starsk,” I said softly, glancing around the grassy knoll. “The grenade? Starsky? It didn’t—how? Why didn’t it—”
“Dud.” The word rushed from Starsky’s mouth.
“Dud?”
“Yeah, Hutch, you know, a real washout.”
Dobey cleared his throat to get our attention. “How is he?” Dobey looked agitated, combing his fingers through his hair.
I looked at my partner critically. His skin was speckled in dirt, sweat, blood, but he had survived. There were bruises, both emotional and physical that would take a long time to heal. Terry’s death had changed his life forever. Prudholm changed his life forever, but Starsky wouldn’t let the pain and anger stop him. He’s the kinda guy who would plow and re-plow the field until it grew.
“He’s a little rough around the edges, but he’ll make it. We’re all going to make it,” I said proudly. “Right, partner?”
“Starsky! That was a bad move.” Dobey sponged the sweat from his face with his handkerchief. “Atta boy.” Dobey shook his head, and I could tell he was as amazed as I was over the whole thing.
Smoke swirled around the cops who bundled Prudholm into a waiting car. All around us, the battalion of fire fighters were stringing out their hoses to douse the flames that had already demolished the house and were threatening nearby trees. Luckily, there weren’t any other buildings close by but the smoke was choking. I coughed, fighting to get a breath and Starsky was having an even rougher time.
“Uhhhh,” Starsky mumbled as his eyes rolled up, and he slumped against me.
“Hey, hey, hey, buddy…” I cupped his chin and lifted his head. “Stick with me a minute,” I said.
A couple paramedics wheeled a gurney out of their rig, the cops leading them through the tangle of parked cars.
“Starsky.” I tapped the side of his cheek. “Starsk,” I said, hearing my own panic.
“Wha’?” He ran his tongue over his bruised lips. “What is it?” He creaked open his eyes, and looked up at me.
“Nothing, partner, just glad you came to your senses,” I said. The medics had just arrived and were opening their box of medical equipment. “Hey buddy, it’s hospital time.” I squeezed his hand.
“But…but…”
“Trust me, Starsk,” I interrupted the argument I knew was coming. “You can’t win on this one.”
“But, Hush…” Starsky’s eyes fluttered and he seemed to drift into a dream-like state.
One last squeeze of his hand, and I moved aside to give the paramedics room to work. They assessed his injuries, and took vital signs. With quiet efficiency, they loaded him onto the gurney and headed toward the waiting ambulance.
Exhausted, and feeling divorced from the realism of the whole event, I watched through the swirling smoke until I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“He’ll be okay, Hutch. Starsky is about as tough as they come.”
I turned to my captain. “You’ve never seen him with a hangover—he’s not so tough then.” I gave a small laugh, glancing behind me at the burning building. The field of tall grass and runaway vines that crept up the outside walls were on fire and flames shot out the windows. “Captain, where are we?”
“The old military warehouse. It’s about twenty miles outside the city limits.”
I’d heard about the abandoned military site but had never been to the place.
“Captain, you’re going to want to get a coroner’s wagon here. There’s a female body in there. I saw her before the place caught on fire. Seems Prudholm hired help. One female and one muscular—”
“Male,” Dobey gruffly said. “We found his dead body in the tall grass over by a shed. Two shots to the head and—”
“Hutch!” an urgent voice called. I turned to see Graham, an older uniformed officer trotting my way. “You’re needed over by the ambulance. Your partner’s giving the medics a hard time.”
“Go, before Starsky succeeds in whatever it is he’s trying to pull,” Dobey said. “I’ll finish up here. You can fill out your report in the morning.”
I rolled my eyes and the action made my head hurt. Heading toward the ambulance, I swallowed down my nausea. Starsky was struggling against the medic who was trying to keep him lying flat on the gurney. I hurried across the grass but by the time I got there, Starsky was sitting on the edge of the gurney, gasping, and had his legs swung over the side of the gurney.
“What’s going on, buddy?”
“He has to stay still,” the medic answered instead. “His ribs are broken.”
“Maybe they ain’t,” Starsky argued, picking at the tape holding the IV in place.” Not in much pain.”
“How much?” I asked Starsky, looking him in the eye.
“Not much.”
“Starsk, you need to see a doctor—you could have internal bleeding and—”
“Hutch.” Starsky stopped me cold. “If I was bleeding internally don’t you think I’d be dead by now,” he gasped and raised an inquisitive brow.
I scratched my head, feeling a little dizzy but ignored it. I drew close to the medic and whispered in his ear, “Is that true?”
The medic stared deeply into my eyes. “No, not necessarily—” he said frowning. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked me.
“I’m fine—” I squinted taking a second to read the paramedics name tag. “Joe. What about my partner?”
“I need him to calm down so I can load him into the ambulance.”
“Let me show you how this is done,” I told the medic. “Starsky.” I patted his arm. “If you can take in two—” I held up two fingers, “deep breaths without an ounce of pain, I’ll let you off the hook.”
Starsky seemed delighted to take the challenge. Without hesitation he drew one deep breath, letting it out slow and long. “See.”
“Again,” I stated firmly.
Without a word, Starsky took in deep breath number two.
“Uhh—humph!” He made a grunting sound, his breathing hard and obviously painful. The smile was gone.
“Easy, okay, pal??” I anchored a hand on his shoulder, “Who you trying to kid, huh, Starsk? You’re in a lot of pain.”
Starsky couldn’t talk, so he just waved me off. I gently caught his wrists and eased him down onto the gurney.
“I’ve seen enough,” I told my stubborn partner. I waited a second for Starsky to protest some more, but he didn’t, so I helped the paramedic lift the stretcher up into the ambulance. “You’re stuck with him. Get him to the hospital,” I told Joe, turning on my heels to walk back toward Dobey.
Joe stopped me with a firm handhold to my forearm, and shined a penlight in my eyes. “Get in,” he ordered, with a no nonsense wave of his hand at the back of the ambulance. “You probably have a concussion. No arguments. Or do you want me to get your captain involved?”
I knew full well police regulations required that I get checked out, too. “I’m fine,” I argued anyway.
“Who you trying to kid, huh, Hutch? You took a few good whacks to the head, too,” Starsky piped up. “You’re in a lot of pain.”
“Let me show you how this works,” Joe said slyly. If I can spin you around three times—” He held up three fingers. “And you don’t lose your balance—or your cookies—I’ll let you off the hook. Okay?”
Without hesitation, he turned me around three times.
“Arghhhg.” Everything spun around me. My legs tangled, my eyes crossed, and it felt like a bucket of sludge was sloshing around in my gut. When things stopped spinning, I nearly fell to the ground.
Joe grabbed hold of me. “Steady.”
“One more time?” I uttered defiantly.
“I’ve seen enough!” Joe mocked me.
“Dirty dog,” I snarled.
“No job is too dirty for me.” Joe gave me an evil smile. “Get in.”
I sighed as Joe gave me a hand, helping me up into the ambulance. I sat down, my vision blurry, and tried to focus on Starsky. Without asking, Joe fitted a plastic nasal cannula under my nose for oxygen. The ambulance started up with a rumble and bumped down the rutted road, which jostled every bruise on my body. Starsky cringed and closed his eyes, giving a sigh of relief when the ambulance drove onto a smoother roadway.
“How’s the pain?” I asked my partner, having oriented myself.
Joe felt around the back of my head until he found the lump and pressed gently.
“Ah,” I yelped and shoved his hand aside.
“Sorry. I have to look at this.” Joe took a moment to look at me before going back to the exam.
“Still hurts.” Starsky laughed and winced. He was very pale, and was holding his left side. “You?”
“Still hurts,” I hissed, when Joe touched another particularly tender area. “We’re some pair.”
“Yeah,” Starsky said, adjusting the nasal cannula he wore. He was breathing as rapidly as if he’d just chased a suspect down a block and there was a raspy, harsh sound that grated on my ears.
“Hey.”
“Wha?” Starsky muttered weakly.
“Take it slow; catch your breath a minute, buddy, before you try any deep breathing exercises. I’m tired just from watching you breathe.” I looked into his eyes. That subtle line of understanding passed between us.
“Can’t keep up with—” Starsky took a wheezy breath, “with this stunning body of mine, huh, partner?” Starsky gave a small smile.
“Don’t be so modest, buddy.” I chuckled lightly, running a hand down the side of his face to wipe away the droplets of sweat. “Just rest now.”
I sat opposite Starsky and watched the clear fluid from the IV bag dripping down the tube into his arm. Joe was preparing another IV set up, holding up a small needle attached to the tubing. I frowned, and shook my head ‘no’ when Joe started to place one in my arm. “Just take care of him,” I said softly.
“Fine,” Joe sighed, replacing the IV needle on his equipment tray. “I can’t force you.”
“Hutch, I—”
“Shh,” Joe interrupted as he placed a stethoscope against Starsky’s chest. “Listen to your partner and rest.”
“How is he?” I stiffened, hearing my own heart pounding in my ears. “Is he—?”
“He’s fine,” Joe briefly looked my way, and removed the stethoscope from his ears. “Heartbeat’s strong. Just stop talking. You two are getting on my nerves.”
We drove in silence down the road, rushing past trees and brush. I had to look away from the window to my feet; I was getting carsick from the sway of the ambulance. I could taste the flavor of vomit in my mouth, and had to fight the urge not to throw up. Starsky didn’t need me losing it now. I didn’t know how much time had passed when I finally was able to look up.
“How much longer?” I asked Joe.
“Hospital’s just ahead. ETA is just about another four minutes.”
I glanced at Starsky. He was holding his side even tighter and had a pained look on his face.
“Hey, buddy, I know what we just have been through was tough. Hell, it cut us both to the bone, being reminded of Terry’s death that way… but you’re tough, buddy and—”
“I’ll show you how tough I am.” Starsky looked up at me; there was a cloudy look in his eyes. “If you can make it—I can make it, Hutch,” he said with a cringe.
“I can make it, pal,” I said with a wink.
I could still see the letter Terry had left. The words were always at the forefront of my mind, loud and clear. Some days, I didn’t know if I had the strength or courage to uphold them.
“Dearest Hutch: To you, I have entrusted Ollie and Dave. Please love them both, and don’t let either one of them change.”
Had she placed too much trust in me, putting Starsky in my care? What would she think if I let him down? Maybe I wasn’t the right person for the job. Could she hear my thoughts?
As if she could, Terry’s voice said loudly in my head, “No, Hutch, you are the only person for the job!”
I gulped down a lung full of air, trying not to be sick. I ached for Starsky, for the pain of losing Terry, but I knew he’d be able to move on because of me. Not because I’m doing my job, keeping my promise. I am—but it is more than that. I’ve come to realize that—our friendship goes deeper than most. Somehow—we are held together as one.
“Hutch, didn’t you hear me?” Starsky brought me from my thoughts.
“Huh? What’s that?”
“We’re here.”
I followed his gaze. The ambulance had just pulled up to the hospital emergency room doors.
“What were you thinking?” he asked as Joe opened the doors.
“Was thinking I need to make you a parachute for the next time you pull a stunt like that.” I let my face break out in a smile and he seemed to buy my bluff.
“And we’ll buy you a helmet,” Starsky added.
“Good idea. Here we go, pal,” I said, one-handedly helping Joe lower the stretcher to the ground.
By now, I was really feeling sick and my head was pounding like a herd of wild mustangs were stamping in my skull. I followed Joe and Starsky through the electronic doors into a bustling ER. All I wanted to do was sit down and ride out my headache in peace.
A nurse came up with a harsh look on her face. She was holding a clipboard in her hand. “What are his injuries?” she asked Joe in a no-nonsense fashion.
“Hey, Dawn, he has head and chest trauma. The patient has shortness of breath and tenderness over his left flanks,” Joe said quickly.
“Hey, ‘the patient’ is right here.” Starsky waved from the gurney, making his IV tubing sway back and forth.
I almost puked right on top of him and swallowed reflexively.
“Vitals?” Dawn demanded, writing as she listened.
“Hutch, I told you, I don’t need to be here,” Starsky whined.
“Heart rate 110, respiration 30, BP 90/65,” Joe rattled off at breakneck speed.
“What does that all mean?” I asked in a rush.
“It means we’ll need to assess him for a concussion and broken ribs. He needs to stay quiet. Let’s get him into trauma room 22,” Dawn ordered. “He’ll need full body X-rays, and by the looks of you, blue eyes, you’ll need a head X-ray, too.”
“Don’t I have something to say about any of this?” Starsky raised his head up.
“No!” I snapped, totally justified when Joe and Dawn echoed the same word.
“Terrific.” Starsky let his head fall back down onto the gurney. He didn’t say another word as he was wheeled into a cubicle and transferred into an exam bed.
Dawn tucked a thermometer into Starsky’s mouth while checking the IV tubing in his arm. She replaced the bag with a fresh one and plucked out the thermometer. Starsky grimaced. “Temp is normal, 98.4, but on one hundred percent O2, your respirations are still too fast and your heart is rapid,” she said, giving him a quite but thorough assessment. “I’ll ask the doctor if you can have some morphine and he’ll be with you shortly.” Dawn hung her clipboard on a hook on the wall.
“Good luck, you two…” Joe snickered eyeing the same thing I was—Nurse Dawn’s shapely nylon covered legs. “…You’re going to need it.”
I glanced up just in time to see Joe waving goodbye, and Nurse Dawn staring me down like I was some sort of sick pervert.
“You need to go into trauma room 3, so you can be examined,” she said.
****************
I sat on the bed next to Starsky, glad to finally be away from Prudholm and that terrible warehouse. My head was spinning and the nausea was worse, but that didn’t compare to all the pain and hurt Prudholm had caused.
“Hutch, you need to be looked at, too,” Starsky said sternly.
“If I could get out of an exam I would, Starsk. Dobey won’t allow it. I’ll join in the fun after I know you’re okay.”
“Lots of fun,” Starsky grumbled.
Starsky got quiet and had slunk down further into the bed with his eyes closed. He was holding his side, still trembling and his harsh breathing was hard to listen to.
“How long you think before we can go home?” Starsky broke the silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught him shiver.
I turned and pulled the curtain back. Seeing the bed in the next exam bay was empty, I stole the blanket, and covered Starsky. “You mean before you get a room, don’t you, buddy?” I kept my voice firm.
“Aw, Hutch,” Starsky groaned but didn’t argue with me.
I paused, thinking how much Starsky hated hospitals, and how I really wanted to just take him home, but I pushed the thought aside. All I could do was reach a hand over, lay it on his shoulder to try and ease my friend’s tension. “Sorry, buddy, but I think we both might be staying overnight.”
“S’ okay, Hutch. I’m getting good at being poked and prodded.”
“Yeah, partner, so talk to me,” I encouraged him.
“About what? I don’t plan on killing Prudholm, if that’s what you’re worried about, Hutch.”
“I know. I mean about Terry.”
Starsky was really quiet; my words must have caught him off guard. I could see he was wrestling with those unseen opponents. Guilt. Rage. Sorrow, and the worst of the bunch—what if?
“Starsk?”
“I miss her and—” he stopped, and I could hear the catch in his voice. “I miss her, Hutch, and sometimes it jabs at my gut so hard I just want to give up the fight. Let some punk like Prudholm just—”Starsky sighed. “Just blow me into a thousand pieces.” Starsky looked at me, waiting to see what my response would be.
“You’re not one to give up a fight,” I said, still soothing his tight muscles under my hand.
Starsky was quiet as he thought about that a moment. “Guess not.”
“You guess not?” I let my hand fall away from his shoulder. “Starsky! Look at the way you plunged straight out that window—grenade and all?”
“What’d you want me to do with it, Hutch? Shove it down my pants?”
I shuddered.
“Bad idea?” Starsky asked with a pleased smile tugging at the nasal cannula.
“Very bad, Gordo,” I said, resisting the urge to bulldog his feelings from him when he was wounded and emotionally spent.
“So—what have we got here?” The doctor walked in, interrupting our banter.
Someday we would talk more about Terry and how much he missed her. How hard it was for me, too. There was a lot we both were still holding back. We needed a night to remember the good and the bad. It wouldn’t come easy, for either of us, and now was not the time to search for answers—if answers came at all.
****************
I walked quietly next to Starsky down the beach. The sand squishing between my toes felt good and the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore always filled me with a sense of peace and renewal.
The carousel ride we’d been on had come to an end. Prudholm was now locked away in a maximum security mental facility in a white jacket, sedated into a mindless oblivion, and under a twenty-four hour guard. The institution for the criminally insane was a whole new world for Prudholm, one that, this time, he would never escape from.
Starsky and I had been swapping fun lighthearted stories about Terry for a half hour now, and although Starsky was healing nicely, I could tell he was tiring. I put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s sit for awhile, huh, buddy?”
Starsky only nodded his agreement and we sat down side-by-side in the cool sand. We quietly watched the setting sun. It was amazing, no shade of blue separated the sea from the sky, as everything seemed to take on the look of a great Picasso painting. For a long time, we just watched the clouds and sun collaborate in swirls of color, constantly changing, always moving, as if an invisible hand was passing a paintbrush over a giant canvas.
I looked over at Starsky. He had something to say. I could see it in his eyes, but he remained quiet.
“Want to tell me about it, partner?” I encouraged.
Starsky stared at me long and hard. I could see the pain in his eyes, knowing a piece of his heart lay in that grave with Terry.
“Starsky, you know I made a promise to Terry. I’m not going to break it.”
“I wouldn’t want you to,” he said. “Sometimes, Hutch, I do want to change it all, be something other than a cop, but—” Starsky gulped and I could tell he’d lost his ability to express his thoughts out loud.
“But you wouldn’t.”
Starsky shook his head no.
“Because doing what we do makes us who we are.”
“Yes,” Starsky barely could whisper.
“Because if you change this part of you—” I lay my hand over his heart. “You’d lose the one thing Terry loved most about you.”
“Never going to change,” he managed to choke out. “I just don’t watch beach balls roll out to sea or write messages in the sand anymore.”
“Why’s that?”
Starsky turned to me and said, “‘Cause I know beach balls end up on some other shore and messages kept in here—” he pointed at his heart, “last longer.”
I felt a tear form in the corner of my eye and quickly whisked it away.
Starsky looked at my suspiciously. “You okay?”
“Saltwater.” I smiled. “Burns my eyes.”
“Kind of like me,” Starsky said, brushing a drop away with the back of his hand.
“Kind of like you.” I clasped his shoulder. We sat in companionable silence and looked out over the wide expanse of the sea.
The tide crept further in, covering our bare feet and dampening our rolled up jeans.
“You know,” Starsky said, being sure not to make eye contact with me. “Terry and I once went skinny dipping here.”
I didn’t like the suddenly gloomy tone. “Yeah,” I fondly said. “You’re a real stud, huh, buddy?” I nudged Starsky with an elbow.
He didn’t take the bait. Usually he’d have some witty comeback, but he just kept staring out on the water with a far off look in his eyes.
The tide was coming high up the beach, bringing with it a crab, and dragging the creature onto its back—beaching it in the sand. One-fingered, I flipped the crab right side up, and watched the claws snip and snap, as the odd creature ran sideways back into the ocean. I glanced over at Starsky, who didn’t acknowledge my heroic rescue. He was so quiet and lost in his thoughts that I didn’t even hear him breathing.
The crab gave me an idea.
I scooped a little water into my hand, and flicked it at Starsky.
Starsky turned toward me and frowned—I flashed him a big smile.
“Don’t get any ideas, buddy boy,” Starsky said, flipping a little seawater back at me, then staring out at the salty waves again.
“‘Hey,” I said, spraying a larger amount of water at him this time, soaking the front of his jeans. “You got a little problem there, pal.” I made sure to keep a smug grin on my face.
Starsky looked down at the wet spot. “That’s terrific, Hutch—” he raised his eyes with a withering stare. “Every time I pee—I’ll think of you,” he drawled unhappily.
I chuckled and splashed him again—egging him on.
“That’s enough, Hutch! You’re getting me all wet!” he barked.
“You know babe, I think that’d be the point,” I chuckled.
“You win, Hutchinson,” he growled.
Gotcha, Starsk. I smiled inwardly as he prepared to stand.
“Starsk.” I jolted to my feet before he could, ready for the playful fight. “Go easy, now. You’re not 100 percent yet.”
“Ahh—forget it.” Starsky changed his mind. He waved me off and plopped back down in the sand.
For some reason, Starsky was refusing to play my game. He sat with his knees up, arms on top of them, gazing back out over the open sea.
“Oh, come on, Starsky.” I encouraged him by doing some fancy footwork, circling slow and fast around him. “Big tough guy like you afraid of a little seawater,” I taunted, as I kicked a little more sand and water his way.
“Hutch! Don’t tempt me. I’m packing heat, and I’m not afraid to use it. Knock it off,” Starsky pouted and swiped at the droplets I’d splashed on his shirt.
“Your heat’s locked in the glove box, Starsky,” I reminded, as I darted and danced around him. “Buddy, don’t you appreciate what I’m trying to do here?” I laughed, and this time instead of doing a circle around him, I attempted to leap over him.
“Appreciate this, Hutchinson!” Starsky snagged my pant leg. I lost my balance and ended up spread eagled, lying in seaweed, sand, and rolling waves.
“Hey!” I sat up. “I’m soaking wet!”
Starsky gave a crooked smile. “That’d be the idea, partner,” he laughed.
“Touché, Starsk.” I scooted next to him and mimicked his posture, knees pulled up, arms on top of them.
We stared for a quiet moment at one another, and listened to the crash of the waves. I gave my buddy the ‘we’re-gonna-be-okay nod’, and we simultaneously turned to look out over the open sea. The sun was gone, and the rising moon gave a soft glow which lit the rolling surf. In the quiet, I swore I could hear a magical voice whispering in the wind.
“You’re a couple of real coconuts on the beach,” she laughed.
The End
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