Work Text:
Written: 1996
First published in "House Blend 2" (2004)
This was one call Dobey answered in person.
He hadn’t been out on the streets for several years, and it was not his habit to answer calls unless it was to confer with detectives on the scene. But this call had caught his attention and now held it fully captive. The address he hadn’t known even a week ago had become as familiar as his own, and there was no doubt it was the same one. A moment later, he was on the way, barking orders and questions as he went. Except no one could answer the question that kept resounding in his head—what had gone wrong?
He used the siren all the way, and his driving would have made Starsky proud. That thought made him pause, his mouth setting in a grim line. He had to get to the hotel and find out what was happening, but he was also scared of what he’d find. What could have gone wrong? Very few people in the department knew where Starsky and Hutch were, and even fewer knew who they were there with. But apparently someone had found out. The report of a disturbance and shots fired didn’t sound good, and the continued silence from his two men was even more foreboding. Something, somehow, had gone terribly wrong.
Dobey made good time, surprised to find as he pulled up behind the squad car already there, that he was only the second unit on the scene. A small knot of gawkers had already gathered, hungry vultures watching and waiting for any gory glimpse, and the captain had to squelch his desire to yell at them. Instead, he pushed past them and half-ran the rest of the way to the open door.
And stopped dead just within the doorway and stared. This hardly resembled the room he himself had personally settled his two detectives and their ward in just five days before. The few pieces of furniture were broken and overturned, the couch and the mattress disemboweled. One of the patio doors was also smashed, the glass shards shining on the grass and patio outside. But the most commanding sight was the blood, a bright swath of it morbidly accenting the far wall. "Holy..." Dobey whispered to himself.
The rest came into focus then, and he realized the two uniformed policemen were huddled over something by the opposite wall, so intent that they hadn’t even seen him come in. Dobey made his way around the sofa that blocked his view, and saw their focus was a person. With only white-blond hair visible.
“Hutch!” Dobey hurried forward. One of the officers looked up at him and, recognizing him, made room, still keeping pressure on the bleeding he was trying to stop. Dobey awkwardly got down on his knees next to the three of them.
Hutch was lying half in the other officer’s lap, like some twisted version of the Pieta. He was partly conscious, or at least trying to stay conscious, mumbling and restless, and the officer —Berg, Dobey’s mind automatically provided—was trying to keep him still and slightly raised. Trying to keep him from drowning in his own blood, Dobey sickly realized. The first officer, a pale-faced rookie Dobey didn’t know, was trying just as desperately to keep pressure on a chest wound that was nevertheless seeping blood.
Dobey didn’t bother the officers, they needed all their concentration, but he bent over his detective—his friend—to try to hear what he was saying.
“No...no, Starsk...don’t...please..."
Dobey could hardly hear the soft plea, but it was fixedly repeated over and over, a single-minded thought.
“Hutch?” Dobey said softly, capturing one of the restless hands in his own. “Can you hear me? 'Starsky, don’t' what?”
“Starsky...don’t shoot...." Anything else was cut off by a weak cough. Berg shifted his hold, trying to help Hutch breathe.
Dobey sat back on his heels, shaken to the core. Starsky, don’t shoot. He couldn’t believe that was what it sounded like, and yet... Where was Starsky? If he’d been shot, too, he would have been lying there with Hutch, and it didn’t make sense to take him along with the witness. Nothing he came up with made sense.
The ambulance had arrived. Dobey hadn’t even heard it, but he was suddenly conscious of the siren outside and the running footsteps. “Take it easy, son,” he said softly to the agitated figure, then laid the bloody hand gently back on the ground before moving out of the way as quickly as possible for the arriving medics.
The paramedics moved in swiftly and efficiently, taking over Berg and the rookie’s positions. It only took a few minutes to stabilize the detective, or maybe to do all they could out there. Then they loaded him up and whisked him away.
Dobey stared at the empty doorway after them, wondering if he would ever see Hutch again. The very atmosphere in the room seemed choked by hopelessness and gloom, and Dobey had to consciously force the morbid thoughts away. Of course he’d see Hutch again.
But first he had a mystery to solve.
Another squad car and a plainclothes detective team arrived as he stood there, and immediately began to canvass the room. The rookie, already pale, suddenly excused himself to rush to the bathroom, and Dobey turned to Berg, trying to ignore the dark stains on the patrolman’s uniform.
“What happened here, Berg?” His voice was deceptively calm.
“I don’t know, Captain. We only arrived here a few minutes before you did, and we found everything just as you see it here, with Hutch on the floor and no one else in sight. I did take a quick look around, figured Starsky must be somewhere around here, too, but...." The expression on Dobey’s face told him that was not a safe way to go. It was no secret around the station Dobey was fond of his two maverick detectives.
“Did he say anything else to you?” Dobey’s gaze was piercing, and even the seasoned police officer cringed under it.
“Uh, no sir, just kept repeating what you heard, too. Sounded like he was—”
“I know what it sounded like!” Dobey growled, his already tenuous control slipping.
Berg’s eyes were sympathetic, and he looked away as he nodded. In a moment, he excused himself to go see about his partner.
“Captain?”
Another voice startled Dobey out of his dark thoughts, and he turned to face the detective.
“What is it, Harden?” His voice still came out angrier than he meant, but Harden didn’t seem bothered by it.
“We found this under the mattress." The plainclothesman held out an evidence bag, and Dobey stonily reached out to take it. “The rest of the room looks clean, but we won’t know until the crime lab goes over it." Harden glanced at the bag in Dobey’s hands, looking like he wanted to say something, but changed his mind and moved away.
Dobey stared after him for a moment, then glared down at the heavy object in his hand. He breathed in sharply when he saw what the bag contained. A Smith & Wesson automatic.
Just like Starsky’s.
Dobey sat in the chair in the waiting room and waited. All the ghosts of past hospital vigils seemed to be right there with him each time one of his men was down, reminding him, haunting him. Except that usually he had someone to wait with, someone to lean on and worry about and share the load with: a wife, a friend, a partner. No one waited with him now.
The police captain leaned back tiredly. It seemed like he spent more time in hospitals since Starsky and Hutchinson had come into his life. More time worrying, anyway. They were secretly his favorites, but they were his best, too, and that earned them the right. And they were the best because they kept pushing for the truth when others would’ve long given up. That determination had a price tag, though. Like all too many hospital vigils.
Dobey sighed and wondered absently if he should try to reach Huggy again. For once, he’d been unable to track the wiry barkeep down, Huggy having sought out some female companionship and temporarily become unavailable. Dobey actually felt a little relieved; he hadn’t known what he would say to Huggy, how he would explain what he himself didn’t understand. Like why Hutch was lying in the hospital. Or why both Starsky and the witness he’d been guarding had disappeared. Or what Hutch had been pleading with his partner not to do. But most of all, how Hutch could be in danger of his life and Starsky not be there with him. Normally, nothing could separate those two under the best of circumstances, let alone the worst, and Starsky’s absence scared Dobey as much as Hutch’s appearance had. It certainly wouldn’t be by choice....
Dobey watched halfheartedly as a doctor came out and walked past him, ignoring him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the news.
The doctor conferred with the station nurse, who pointed out Dobey. The captain straightened to meet the report.
“Are you waiting for Detective Hutchinson?”
Dobey nodded. “Yes, Doctor, how is he?”
Something in the doctor’s eyes made Dobey relax just a tiny bit. “Well, Ken made it through surgery and he’s in intensive care now. It appears we’ve been able to repair the damage." The doctor’s grave voice contradicted the apparent good report.
What some people won’t do to get on a first name basis, played unbidden through Dobey’s head. “But..." he quietly prompted.
The doctor hesitated, then plunged in. “Ken’s vital signs aren’t doing as well as they should be. The injury was serious and the blood loss severe, but still, the damage shouldn’t be extensive enough to warrant this much of a response from the body. Perhaps the trauma of the shooting....”
Or the trauma of seeing his partner killed, the policeman in Dobey added. He pulled his attention back to the doctor, who was still talking.
“...Just have to wait and see. For now, his condition is guarded. I suggest you go home —there’s nothing more that can be done for him at the present moment."
Yes, there was, but he wasn’t the one who could do it. Dobey thanked the doctor mechanically, and turned to shrug back in his coat. Maybe he couldn’t do anything here, but he wasn’t about to rest until he had some answers. He set off to find his car and return to Parker Center.
The next hour of work was completely useless. Dobey had roared at every poor clerk, dispatcher and officer that was remotely tied to the case, but with no result. When someone knocked on the door, he had to restrain himself from yelling a response. After all, maybe it was some good news for once.
It wasn’t. “Gallagher, what are you doing here?” he asked as patiently as possible.
The IA man looked unperturbed. “Captain. I just came from the lab, thought you might want to see the results from the Hutchinson shooting." He approached Dobey’s desk and sat down, offering the file as he did.
Dobey grabbed the file out of the man’s hand, not the least bit mollified. He knew what Gallagher’s involvement meant, and he didn’t like it. He scanned the initial on-scene report, then skipped to the results.
On top was the report on the on-scene findings. One gun found, serial number and model matching Detective Sergeant David Starsky’s, one shot fired. Blood on the scene belonging to two different people, one matching Detective Sergeant Kenneth Hutchinson’s, the other Detective Starsky’s blood type. And the latest bit of evidence, the bullet taken from Detective Hutchinson matched Starsky’s gun. An accusation and verdict delivered in a few brief sentences. Dobey shut the file slowly, almost gently.
“Has Detective Hutchinson been able to give a statement?”
Dobey looked up at the question, and, for an irrational moment, loathed the man. “No, Detective Hutchinson is in intensive care—they’re waiting for him to stabilize.”
“Well, in that case, I strongly recommend you amend the ‘missing officer’ bulletin to a ‘wanted for questioning’ APB on Detective Starsky .”
Dobey had known it was coming, but it didn’t hurt any less. “Why?” he growled the unnecessary question.
The IA man looked at him with pitying eyes. “Come now, Captain, you know what the evidence points to. A valuable witness missing, one detective assigned to protect him shot with the other’s gun. It seems fairly obvious.”
Dobey could feel his blood pressure rising. “Isn’t it also fairly obvious that Starsky and Hutchinson have been partners for five years? Or that Starsky was also wounded?!”
“Probably in the struggle with his partner. Weren’t Hutchinson’s last words apparently a plea for his partner to stop?”
“That’s enough! There are other explanations, and until Detective Hutchinson wakes up, anything we decide is pure speculation. Now get out of here and back to work." Dobey dismissed him with a wave of the hand before he lost his temper altogether.
Gallagher stood up to leave, paused in the doorway. “Captain, the evidence is plenty for us to bring Detective Starsky in for questioning, and his disappearance together with the witness makes him even more suspect. If you don’t put an APB on him, I will have to take this higher up." He slipped out the door before Dobey could respond.
The captain stared at his pencil in frustration, then bounced it angrily off the top of his desk. What was going on?! And for the thousandth time, where was Starsky? He paused, then reluctantly reached for the phone. It stunk to high heaven, but he had no choice. The best he would be able to do for his friend was not to add “armed and dangerous” to the description.
“I’m tired,” Wimmer moaned piteously for the third time that hour.
Starsky gritted his teeth and growled at him to shut up, silencing the man for a moment. They were near their destination now, where they could both rest and Starsky could try to sort out the events of the day. Not too much thinking, not about his partner who could at that moment be dead and on his way to the morgue, but at least a little short-term planning to figure out his next move.
In the dimming light, the Mardi Gras ballroom came into sight. It had been a long walk on foot, slinking through cluttered alleys and back streets, but the ballroom was long-abandoned and out of the way, worth the trouble of getting to. He and Hutch had once worked it out as a place to meet if they were in trouble and separated. Of course, Hutch wouldn’t be coming to meet him now. This time he was on his own....
Waiting in the hotel room, bored, waiting for Hutch to come back from the store where he went to call in. The screech of the tires outside. Sending Wimmer out the back doors with terse instructions to wait for him behind the manager’s office. The room being overrun, he never had a chance...
Starsky ground the heel of his hand into his eyes to rub out the thought, but was brought up short by the pain in his arm. He glanced disinterestedly at the bullet wound that was bound now by a strip of his own shirt. It had stopped bleeding a while back, didn’t look to be too serious as long as he got to a doctor at some point and got the bullet out of his arm before infection set in. It seemed the least of his concerns now, though. In 48 hours, it would be over, one way or another.
Wimmer was babbling at him again, and Starsky gave him a shove. The jerk hadn’t been quiet for two minutes since Starsky had retrieved him from behind the manager’s office, and it threatened Starsky’s fragile control to listen to all the noise. After all, if it weren’t for that creep, they wouldn’t be here now, he with Wimmer, and Hutch....
Starsky shook his head. The worst thing about it was that those turkeys had known exactly where to find Wimmer and them. And since the whole thing had been very hush-hush, there was a limited amount of possibilities for a leak. All of them wore a badge. He didn’t even dare call Dobey, unable to risk giving away the precious little he had going for him now.
They reached the building, and Starsky forced a window, not looking back to see if Wimmer was behind him. Breaking and entering, he thought with mordant humor. Wonder if someone’ll come out an’ arrest me.
“In here, turkey,” he said tiredly to the man dragging along behind him.
Wimmer glowered at him, but obediently climbed through the window, mercifully silent. Lucky for him; Starsky was sure he would hit the guy if he started complaining again.
Starsky crawled in after him, then sunk down to the floor, exhausted. His arm hurt, but it was nothing compared to the ache inside of him, and the two seemed to use up all his strength. What he wouldn’t give for a nap, maybe stretched out in a chair next to his recovering partner’s hospital bed….
He shook himself and straightened. No time for wishful thinking. He had a job to finish, and some very unfriendly people out there looking for him.
“Uh, Detective, I, uh, I need to go,” Wimmer was looking at him uncomfortably, and for a moment Starsky almost felt sorry for him. Almost.
“Just don’t go too far,” Starsky shrugged, then winced as his arm pulled. He pushed himself up again and crossed to the doors at the other end of the room and opened one, looking out warily. “I’ll be right back,” he called over his shoulder, and went out without waiting for a reply.
The cavernous ballroom emptied into a small hall. Starsky glanced around with little interest, then looked more closely as his eyes caught on a pay phone on the wall. Doubtful, he walked over and picked up the receiver.
There was no reason on earth it should have been hooked up, but there was the dial tone. Music to his ears. Starsky gratefully pulled out a handful of pocket change to look for a dime.
Hey, Hutch, you got a dime for the candy machine?
Starsky winced and put the dime in the machine, then dialed a number.
“Chez Huggy Bear’s."
The familiar cadence restored a little of his sanity and made Starsky smile despite himself. “Hey, Huggy, it’s me.”
The voice became hushed and serious. “Hey, me. There’s been a lotta people askin’ about ya.”
Starsky raised an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah? Like who?”
“Like a certain overweight brother who has a tendency to roar when he can’t find you, ya dig?”
Starsky grinned humorlessly. “Yeah, I dig. Look, there aren’t too many people I can trust right now and I need some help. You think you could meet me?”
“Just tell me where and I’ll be there.”
“Okay, you remember where we did the meet with Vic Rankin?”
“Yeah.”
“Could you meet me there in about an hour? Oh, and bring a first aid kit with ya, huh?”
The voice sharpened with concern. “You seen better days, too?”
Starsky’s heart almost stopped. “What do you mean, ‘too’?”
“I just got back from visiting your better half down at Imperial Hospital. He’s not lookin’ too good, but he’s hangin’ in there."
Somewhere in the back of his head, Starsky reflected how funny it was that all the street jive disappeared when Huggy was being sincere. At the moment, he couldn’t think of anything more beautiful. “Thanks, Hug,” was all he said, but Huggy got the message.
“Hang in there, m’man, I’ll be there soon.”
Starsky hung up the phone, resting his forehead on it for a minute, the unexpected good news taking the starch out of his knees more than the fear had. He felt like laughing, shouting, maybe crying while he was at it, but instead settled for a small grin. There would be time for that later, now that there was a chance for a later. Hutch was doing his part, now it was Starsky’s turn. He hurried back to the room; there was a lot to think about and plan in the next hour.
Exactly fifty-four minutes later, Huggy pulled up two blocks away from the Mardi Gras ballroom and, after carefully glancing around the darkened street, picked up a bag and hurried into the nearby alley. He made his way behind the buildings, always observant, but heard nothing when he reached the ballroom. He pulled at one of the small service doors and crawled in through the small opening.
“Starsky?” he called in a loud stage whisper. Absolute silence. Huggy picked up the bag and moved through the double doors into the ballroom. He stopped inside the doors, waiting.
Starsky materialized a moment later from behind one of the pillars. “Hey, Hug,” he said with a tired smile.
Huggy’s eyes widened at the bedraggled figure. “Well, don’t you look like something the cat dragged in!” His eyes settled on the bloody bandage on Starsky’s arm, and the glint in them changed to concern. “Sit down,” he said flatly, snagging Starsky’s good arm and pulling him over to the nearby podium.
Starsky obediently sat.
Huggy began to rummage through the bag he’d brought. “So, you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on, or do I have to guess?”
Starsky sighed heavily. “It’s a mess, Hug. I really blew it big time." He turned to look earnestly at his friend. “How’s Hutch doin’?”
The anxiety in the tone was hard to miss. Huggy winced a little, unsure of how to answer. “Well, the doc says he made it through surgery okay, but he’s not out of the woods yet. Don’t really know why he’s strugglin’ or how long it’ll take for him to clear the trees." Huggy smiled wanly. “Dobey thinks maybe if you played Prince Charming to Sleepin’ Beauty and came to see him, he’d snap out of it." He deliberately turned his concentration back to the bandages and antiseptic he was unpacking. “Except the IA boys are lookin’ for you, too. The discrete word is they’re gunnin’ for you.”
Starsky deflated, the weight of the world that had temporarily eased with Huggy’s arrival now back squarely on his shoulders. IA. It figured they would get into the act, but he had more important things to worry about just then. “I gotta see him, Hug,” he said softly, seriously. “I gotta see him, but I don’t know who to trust." He barely winced as Huggy undid the makeshift bandage on his arm, his mind preoccupied. “Someone—”
A car screeched to a halt outside. Starsky and Huggy both glanced up, then Starsky was moving, calling out for Wimmer while he went to a window to peek outside.
Starsky grimaced at what he saw. “Huggy, you were followed, and it ain’t IA,” he said dourly, without accusation. “I gotta get outta here. I’ll call you later." He stopped for a second, met eyes with his friend.
Huggy’s mouth had stopped in the middle of opening to protest, and he finally closed it. Then said softly, “Take care of yourself. You know where to find me.”
Starsky nodded once, briefly, then ran for the back. Wimmer appeared at one of the side doors, looking sleepy and confused, and Starsky grabbed his arm without breaking stride, towing him along behind. Wimmer started to protest, and Huggy could only hear the sharpness of the one word Starsky threw back at him. Wimmer shut up.
Huggy shook his head and gathered his supplies as he heard the footsteps approaching. He looked forlornly at the bloodied bandage in his hand. It seemed he’d only hindered Starsky instead of helped. Still shaking his head, he turned to face the arriving men, already working out the smooth story he would ply them with.
No news is not always good news, Dobey thought grimly to himself. Especially when every hour of no news brought that much closer the possibility that Starsky and Wimmer would never be found, buried somewhere or at the bottom of a lake...
Dobey shook his head. When had he become such a pessimist? He rubbed his eyes tiredly. Probably since his body had given up on him ever getting any sleep. He was getting too old to pull all-nighters. But he had hoped, had wanted to stay and wait for any news. There just hadn’t been any news to hear. And now it was a day later and he wasn’t the smallest step closer.
A grin tugged at his mouth. It was ironic that IA had been the source of the most hopeful news; they were convinced Starsky was alive and perfectly well, preparing to trade Wimmer for a sizeable profit. Dobey was at least spared the dilemma of wondering if he preferred Starsky dead or crooked—he didn’t believe the latter for a minute. But IA was breathing down his neck anyway, and sooner or later something would turn up. It just had to.
As if on demand, the phone rang. Dobey turned away from his desk and stared at it in surprise for a moment before lunging for it.
“Dobey!”
“Hel-lo, Captain, this is the Bear." The odd lilt was instantly recognizable.
“Huggy.”
“I just thought I’d let you know, Curly is alive and on the move, lookin’ for some answers, if you get my drift.”
Dobey swallowed and said two or three words of silent thanks before speaking again. “When did you talk to him?”
“Recently,” Huggy said, unusually serious and evasive. “But we had some company and he couldn’t stick around." There was a brief hesitation, then, “I’ve been tryin’ to find out who they were, but the streets are scared of this one. No one’s talkin’.”
That in itself was an answer. At least one piece of the puzzle was beginning to fit. “Does he know about our, uh, other mutual friend? And IA?”
“Yeah, I told ‘im. He didn’t take the news about Blondie too well, but he’s gonna need a doctor himself soon, too."
Dobey’s mind dimly registered the worry in Huggy’s voice even as the light went on. Hutch wasn’t saying ‘Starsky, don’t shoot’, he was saying, ‘don’t shoot Starsky!’ Dobey had to have been blind not to realize it before. He pulled his attention back to Huggy.
“...Looks like they winged him. Ya know, I don’t think he’d like it very much that I’ve told you this much, but...”
Dobey’s voice was sincere. “I appreciate it, Huggy. I didn’t even know if he was alive. I don’t like what he’s doing, but I can’t blame him." He paused, for a moment, considering. “If you talk to him again, tell him I’m doing everything I can at my end, all right?”
He could hear the grin over the line. “He knows that, Cap’n.”
“Oh, and do you know if he still has the package with him?”
“If it’s what I think it is, it looked safe and sound to me.”
Dobey gave a quiet sigh of relief. He paused for another moment to think. “I’m going to ask you for a favor that you’re not going to like, Huggy. If I know Starsky, he’s going to get in over his head with this one. Would you call me if you find out when it’s going down?”
There was a long silence. “I’ll see what I can do,” was all the response he got, finally, and then the connection was broken.
Dobey slowly, thoughtfully put down the phone. It didn’t sound very good, Starsky hurt and on the run, trying to protect the witness and catch the men after him, all by himself. Dobey had no desire to explain to Hutch upon his recovery that his partner had meanwhile gone and gotten himself killed.
The thought of Hutch suddenly snagged in Dobey’s head. Starsky knew about his partner now, knew that Hutch was in the hospital, not doing well. If the captain knew anything about Starsky, it was that he wouldn’t rest until, somehow, he’d seen his friend, checked on him in person. Dobey absently reached for his coat and began to draw it on. And nothing would keep Starsky from seeing his partner, either, not even the guard at the end of the hallway. Somehow he would find a way. And if he was at the hospital....
It was worth a try. Dobey called dispatch, informed them he was going out, then left the office in a hurry. He pointedly avoided telling anyone why he was going. This was a duty to be done as a friend, not as a captain.
Starsky paused inside the door of the storage closet to once more wipe the sweat off his face. He knew he had a fever, and his arm ached with the infection he knew was spreading in it, but that just made what he had to do first all the more urgent.
He’d run with Wimmer from the hotel, using every evasive tactic he knew from his days in Vietnam and as a cop, and they’d made it to safety. Relocated, in fact, Starsky thought with grim irony, to the empty sewer drainage run-off where Huggy had once hidden out from gangsters who were after him. Starsky had temporarily stashed his charge there and would head back soon. But all the way down to the run-off, all that had kept going through his head was Huggy’s solemn news of Hutch. To Starsky, it was very simple. Hutch needed him, needed to know even unconsciously that Starsky was alive, and Starsky needed to tell him a few things, too. Just in case.
Starsky finished tying the surgical gown on, grimacing as he strained his arm to do it. Just give me one more day, he pleaded with—who? Himself? God? I just need one more day.
Starsky opened the supply closet door and looked out carefully. The hall only held two people, a patient on a bed with his eyes closed, and an old man in a wheelchair. Neither looked particularly threatening. Starsky slipped out the door and closed it quietly behind him. He moved to the corner at the end of the hall and peeked around it.
Empty. Maybe someone was finally on his side after all.
Starsky hurried down the hall, then slowed to what he hoped was a confidant pace as he entered the intensive care section, past the security guard. The guard glanced at him disinterestedly, then away again. Starsky felt a surge of anger at his inattentiveness, but squelched it. After all, they were apparently only after Wimmer, not Hutch. He and Starsky had only gotten in the way.
The nurse at the duty station also glanced up at him, giving him an absent smile before returning to her work. Starsky walked past like he belonged there and entered the ICU ward, looking down the row of beds. It wasn’t too hard to spot the blond hair.
It was a good thing Hutch’s bed wasn’t directly in the sight of the nurse’s station, because by the time Starsky reached it, he was tired and a little shaky, both from emotion and illness. He leaned against the bed gratefully, then gave his full attention to the occupant.
Hutch was mercifully free of tubes and equipment, apparently breathing on his own. Starsky gave the IV a long look, followed the tubing down to the needle that disappeared under tape into the too-pale skin. The face was almost as blanched and white as his hair, and Starsky forced himself to believe he would be all right. He’d heard the sirens even as he’d run, knowing someone would have heard the shots and called it in, and they’d gotten to Hutch in time. If only he’d wake up....
“Hey, partner,” Starsky pitched his voice low, not wanting to attract the nurse’s attention. “‘S me. I’m sorry I wasn’t here before, but I had to take care of Wimmer. Figured you’d understand." He curled a hand over one of the still ones lying on the sheet. “Wimmer and I are okay..." Hardly. “...and I think I got a plan to get the guys who did this to us." The next words were hard to get past the lump in his throat. “I...I’m sorry I couldn’t warn you, Hutch. I tried, you know that, but it all happened too fast...."
They had his gun, had him at gunpoint, wanted to know where Wimmer was. Hutch had walked in on them before any of them expected it.
He steadied himself a moment. “I’m tryin’ to do it by the numbers, the way we always work, but it’s not the same without you, partner. I need you watchin’ my back, Hutch."
His voice had subsided until the last word was just a whisper. Starsky’s hand tightened as his throat worked convulsively for a moment. No time for this, he reminded himself angrily. Later, you and Hutch can laugh about it. Later.
Dimly, he was aware that the door down at the end of the corridor was opening, and he looked up instinctively. And froze for a half-second. Captain! His first impulse was to stay, to finally share some of the load with someone he could trust. But he threw the thought out just as quickly. Starsky was a wanted man, and to pull Dobey into the mess would just get the captain into trouble. Assuming he’d even let Starsky stay out in the cold. Not to mention Starsky would be condemning Wimmer to death, and himself to an uncertain fate if Hutch didn’t wake up to clear him.... As if his fate were important in that case. But Wimmer was his responsibility, his and Hutch’s, and to lose the man now was something he’d never be able to live with. No, there was too much at risk.
Starsky squeezed the still hand in parting, and, keeping the feeling and presence with him, let go and ran.
Dobey entered the intensive care wing wearily. He nodded to the guard, who nodded back, then rose to join him. Dobey waved him back down and went through the door of the ward.
The first thing he saw was the dark-haired figure bending over Hutch. At the same moment, the eyes came up and there was an instant of recognition and indecision. Then Starsky turned and fled in the opposite direction.
“Starsky!” Dobey yelled after him, breaking into a run. As he rushed down the length of the ward, he could hear the guard’s footsteps following him. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go down, he grimaced.
Dobey reached the doors at the end of the ward, crashed through them, then drew up short as the corridor split up in three different directions. Straight ahead, the hallway seemed to dead end, and to the left there was another set of doors. He looked to the right and saw the open elevator at the end of that passage. And Starsky inside, looking pale and shaken, leaning against the wall as he stripped off the scrubs. Something made him glance up, and their eyes met over the length of the corridor.
Dobey could hear the guard only a few feet behind him, about to come through the door himself, and the elevator doors wouldn’t close for a few more seconds. Starsky’s gaze held his.
Dobey decided.
The guard crashed through the doors behind him, just as the elevator doors signaled they were about to close. Dobey broke the eye contact and glanced over his shoulder.
“This way!” he called, and set off toward the left. The guard followed him unquestioningly. The elevator doors whispered shut behind them.
After an adequately long wild goose chase, Dobey headed back up to the intensive care ward while the guard called in. The captain wasn’t interested in the man’s report; IA would look at the whole thing as Starsky having come to finish the job, and Dobey didn’t have the strength to argue with them. They could increase the guards in the hospital as much as they wanted—he knew Starsky had accomplished what he wanted. He wouldn’t be back until he had tied things up. At least, not on his feet.
Dobey wondered for a moment whether he’d done the right thing. Starsky hadn’t looked well at all, and for all the captain knew, keeled over the minute he left the hospital. But to bring in Starsky now, after all this, when they both knew the dangers to everyone involved.... Starsky had made a decision, one that put his duty ahead of his own wants and needs, and Dobey had to respect that.
He walked through the intensive care doors again, nodding to the nurse as he went. She nodded back, and Dobey snagged a chair as he went. He put it wearily beside the blond’s bed and sat down, looking at the still figure.
Whose eyes were open.
Dobey stood up again quickly, almost knocking the chair over. He leaned over the bed. “Hutch?”
The blond head rolled toward him a little, clear blue eyes trying to focus on him. “...Starsky?...”
Dobey sighed. Terrific.
Starsky didn’t dare fall asleep, afraid if he did, he wouldn’t wake up again. It had taken him over an hour to make his way back to the sewer after leaving the hospital, having to stop often to rest. His arm hurt sharply now, no longer the dull ache of the day before. Visions of gangrene and infection had fled through his mind, but he’d rejected them as unproductive, but his thoughts were also getting fuzzier and prone to wander. It was taking more and more of an effort to concentrate, and that could also get him killed. But there were no other options, so he somehow forced his uncooperative body to obey. He was close now.
At least he knew Hutch was out there, still alive, waiting for him. He kept repeating that reassurance to himself, and it gave him the energy to keep going. Hutch had been so pale and still, but he was alive, and Starsky knew he’d get better, had felt their connection give them both strength. Something to live for. Not like the last time he’d seen Hutch.
Hutch had surprised everyone at his arrival, including himself. Starsky had been the first to recover, though, and had gone for the hand that was holding his gun and turning toward Hutch…
Starsky checked on Wimmer again, asleep deep in one of the culverts that led off the main drainage area. Scum in the sewer, Starsky grinned. Then made his way to the pay phone he had located nearby,
The phone rang several times before it was picked up.
“Huggy?”
“My man!”
“Hug, it’s gonna have to be soon. Can you be over here at 7 a.m. tomorrow mornin’? And bring your shadows with you.”
The playful jive disappeared again. This was business. “Where?”
“The sewer run-off. The end where we met you that time.”
“All right. Is anyone else invited to this party?”
Starsky debated briefly, but if Dobey showed up with the cavalry, it could just as easily scare off the prey and it would be too late then for a second try. Starsky didn’t think he could keep going beyond that. “Sorry, Hug. Private party.”
The “Okay,” was reluctant, but given.
“Thanks, Hug." Starsky hung up and straightened. Then abruptly slumped again as a wave of dizziness hit him. He rode it out for a long minute. Just a few more hours. That’s all I need, then it won’t matter anymore.
The dizziness finally receded to a manageable level, and Starsky resolutely straightened again. He had work to do.
Huggy stared at the phone for several long minutes after he’d hung up, debating what to do. What would be worse, going back on his word or possibly getting Starsky killed? Well, from that perspective, there wasn’t much of a choice to be made. At least Starsky would be around later to be mad at him. Huggy picked up the phone and dialed the number.
Dobey hung up the phone, his mind racing. This was it, the chance he’d been waiting for. Quarter after seven, Huggy had said, at the sewer run-off. Dobey would be there a few minutes early. IA hadn’t been able to get much out of Hutch, but it was enough for them to back off a little, and now, with this news, Dobey was beginning to let himself hope they would all still make it through this in one piece.
He picked up the phone, then put it down again. Of course, there was still the question of the leak. He thought for a minute, then put in a call to the chief. Perhaps he could get permission to mount an operation without anyone but he knowing their objective. It was the only thing left that Dobey could think to do, and to not act was to leave Starsky vulnerably alone, unarmed and without any backup. Dobey wasn’t willing to do that either to Hutch or to himself. They both needed that curly-haired fool.
Starsky couldn’t control the shakes anymore, and he leaned his head against the wall to try to keep his vision steady. Nothing was willing to work properly, though, and it took him another minute to focus. It was almost seven, he knew it without checking his watch. At least, he thought grimly, if his plan didn’t work, he wouldn’t be around to see it. He’d also given Wimmer very specific instructions about what to do if no one came for him within the hour. There was nothing to do now but wait and hope. And pray.
The gun had turned toward Hutch and that was all Starsky registered. With a yell, he’d thrown himself at the gunman, desperate to stop him. A bullet from one of the others’ guns had stopped Starsky first. The room had pitched violently, and Starsky found himself on the ground, trying to remember to breathe. That was when he’d heard Hutch….
A blur of color entered the run-off. Starsky swiped at his eyes desperately, finally making out Huggy in one of his more vivid clothing combinations. Starsky’s mouth rose in a ghost of a smile. If Huggy’s shadows couldn’t follow someone dressed like that, they couldn’t be trying very hard.
Starsky waited for Huggy to come closer, his hand tightening on the valve that controlled the run-off gate. It had taken some effort to break through the door and locks that protected the controls, but several thousands of gallons of water were now at his disposal, the best weapon he could think of in the situation he was in. Now all it had to do was work.
Huggy was a few hundred feet along when two dark shapes appeared from the direction he’d come and followed him. Starsky frowned, leaned forward tensely. He had to watch carefully now.
Huggy reached where Starsky was, went past him without seeing the detective in the shadows. Starsky held his breath, waiting for Huggy to get out of the way. The men were almost in the right place...
The next moment, all hell broke loose. As Starsky jerked the valve open and the water rushed down and swept the two off their feet, two more men suddenly appeared in front of Huggy, already reaching for the black man, their guns obvious even to Starsky’s shaky vision.
As his mind struggled to process that kink, he heard a step behind him. Surrounded! Starsky whirled around, but even as he stopped, the world around him kept spinning. Sickened, he closed his eyes and swayed, miserably aware that somehow, despite all his efforts, he’d failed. He braced for the attack he knew was to come.
“POLICE, FREEZE!”
Starsky put out his good arm to brace himself against the wall, then carefully opened his eyes to see what was going on. Several feet in front of him, officers were coming up behind the soaked men, one of whom Starsky recognized even with his swimming vision. The man who’d shot Hutch. The officers disarmed them and began to cuff them. In the background, the same thing was happening to the two men who had Huggy. Then all the background noises blended with the roar of the water and he couldn’t make out anything else.
Suddenly, Dobey was there in front of him. Starsky thought he could feel the captain’s hand on his arm, but he wasn’t sure. There was something he had to tell Dobey, something important, and his mind struggled to put the words together. “Cap’n... Wimmer... fifth culvert..."
Then the blackness closed in and Starsky couldn’t fight it anymore. He didn’t even feel Dobey catch him before he hit the ground.
It played out over and over again in his mind. As he went down, he heard the sharp cry Hutch gave, a sound Starsky hoped never to hear again and knew he’d never forget. His partner went crazy, first knocking out the guy who’d shot Starsky, then turning to the one who still had Starsky’s gun. But that was when the gunman finally had a clear shot at Hutch, and he’d taken it. Starsky hadn’t seen Hutch get hit or fall, just his friend’s expression at that moment, a mixture of anger, grief and surprise. That, too, was branded into his memory, along with the numbness that had descended when he realized that Hutch was probably dead. Suddenly, his injury forgotten and unimportant, he’d scrambled up and caught the two remaining men by surprise, overpowering them just long enough to crash out the patio doors and get away with Wimmer. It was all he could think to do, training taking over where emotions feared to tread. And he left Hutch there, bleeding, dying....
“Starsky, I’m all right. I’m not dead."
The voice was tired and not very strong, but Starsky heard it, anyway, and knew who it belonged to. He stirred, trying to see the speaker, to confirm what he hoped.
“Everything’s okay, partner. I’m fine and you’re gonna be fine, too. Just open those eyes for me, huh?”
The voice was running out of strength and Starsky was afraid it would fade away altogether if he didn’t respond. Except his tongue felt like a ball of wool and his eyes weren’t listening to him. He swallowed, tried again. “Hu’sh." Okay, not exactly what he’d been trying for, but it would do.
There was movement next to him, and the pressure on his hand he hadn’t noticed before increased, almost painfully. Starsky didn’t mind a bit. A moment later, the full import hit him. My arm! Still got my arm. And doesn’t hurt so bad.... Yeah, I feel you, too, dummy.
“Starsk? You in there? C’mon, partner, open up.”
For you, anything. He cracked his eyes open and looked into the pair that was anxiously hovering near his. Hutch’s eyes were a little washed-out like they got when he was tired and stressed, and Starsky’s gaze traveled down to take in the hospital gown and wheelchair that Hutch was in. “You...okay?” he dredged up. He only had enough strength for the most important question; he could find out everything else later.
But when did they ever need to ask? Hutch laughed, the sound a little ragged. “I’m fine, and getting better. You’re the one who had us all worried. Took ’em three days to get your fever down and stop the infection." The surface levity disappeared again and the eyes become intense with love and worry. “First, they almost lost you, then you almost lost your arm. What did you think you were doing, Starsk? Don’t you know you’re not Superman?”
Starsky tried to smile, settled for a quirk of the mouth. Hutch would understand. He hadn’t meant to put Hutch through all that. Starsky could vaguely remember the heat and pain, but had thought that was part of the memory he kept reliving. And watching Hutch almost die hadn’t been so different from burning up inside. I’ll make it up to you, partner, promise. All that matters is we’re okay. Everything else is fixable. Just...need a little sleep first.... He briefly squeezed Hutch’s hand, a promise he’d be back. Then he dozed off again, this time to a place blissfully free of pain, of body or spirit.
Dobey had watched the exchange from outside, through the window. Even without hearing the words, he still felt a little like an eavesdropper, like he often did watching those two. Most of their conversation didn’t take place out loud, that part was just the overflow. Of course, it wasn’t like he understood much of the unsaid, anyway; that was on some private frequency only they were privy to.
The captain sighed, then moved to the door. Starsky was asleep again, and it had been Dobey’s assignment to keep an eye on Hutch and get him back to bed before he was up too long and completely wore himself out. Even that much had been frowned upon by the doctors until they realized what Dobey had already known, that Hutch healed better when he had contact with his partner.
Dobey entered the room just as Hutch disentangled himself from the hand he’d been holding—clinging to—and slumped in the wheelchair, exhausted. The captain shook his head, but they both knew chiding was useless. “Come on, Hutch,” he said instead. “Starsky needs to sleep now.”
Hutch looked up at him, and Dobey had to smile at the way his eyes shone, feelings even he could easily read. “He’s gonna be okay, Cap’n." The voice was soft but firm.
“I know. They have to keep him here for a little while longer, but then the doctor promised he could come join you in your room." Dobey took hold of the wheelchair and began to push it out the door.
“He’s gonna be okay,” Hutch repeated, not letting go of the idea.
“Yes, yes,” Dobey agreed patiently, grinning out of Hutch’s sight.
There was a lot to grin about. With the capture of the hitmen, they had succeeded in locating and plugging up the leak in the department. Permanently, Dobey added seriously. He would never have guessed it to be veteran officer Richter, a man Dobey had known and worked with most of his career, but this wasn’t the time to worry about that. When Starsky was better, Dobey would tell him all about it and how Wimmer had, just the day before, gone before the grand jury and given enough testimony to make some very powerful people very upset. Even IA had backed down with a rather satisfying apology.
There would be time for all that later, however, Dobey thought as he helped a worn-out Hutch gingerly ease back into bed. Now was a time for savoring success of a different kind, of the survival of two human spirits who, with each other to give them strength, seemed to be able to face up to every challenge they met.
And, career man though he was, Dobey had to admit that that was the most important success of all.