March 17 2001 This story is for entertainment only and its purpose is not to infringe on any rights to Starsky and Hutch (God knows, I wish I had the rights to them!)
Comments on this story (good or bad) can be sent to Anne at Lrs4147@AOL.com
THE GREATEST CHALLENGE PART II
by
Anne S.
"
Wake up, slacker!" Hutch came barging into Starsky's room, enthusiastic, to say the least, about what today was. His partner, on the other hand, not as willing to start his day this early, squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his teeth in order to keep from biting someone's head off."
Starsk, come on," Hutch insisted, "Dobey wants us in his office at nine o'clock. Let's get going!"Starsky wondered for about the 300th time that month just who died and made his partner boss, but shrugged the covers off and started swinging his legs over the side of the bed, wincing at a sudden spasm of pain in his shoulder where he'd slept on it wrong. I'm too young to feel this damn old, he thought, and that made him smile, 'cause it sounded like good lyrics for a hillbilly song.
He got up on his feet and noticed that Hutch had laid his clothes out for him, just as he had every morning of the year they'd been living here together. It's about time he stopped that crap, Starsky thought darkly. He's still treating me like a little kid.
Their arrangement had gone along pretty well until the last couple months, but things were starting to go downhill fast at the old Starsky/Hutchinson pad, or that should be the Hutchinson/Starsky pad, for all he had to say about it. Things were about to get exciting, something there hadn't been much of in the last year. The clash of wills had already begun, but only in Starsky's mind so far. The detective had worked hard to get where he was now, once he got the message that Hutch wasn't going to let up on him. He only had a slight limp when he really got tired to remind anyone of his ordeal. He was still toiling at it and felt he was in pretty good shape for the shape he was in. Another good song title, he thought to himself. Maybe he ought to skip this undercover thing and just start writing hillbilly songs. He laughed to himself. Everybody knew country music just wasn't his thing, although he did enjoy it when he heard Hutch sing something along those lines.
He did still have some problems with his left hand. His fingers didn't always close when they got the message from his brain and he'd spent a lot of time cleaning up after his dropped messes. That had worried him to the extent that he'd spent countless hours learning to use his right hand as much as possible and had gotten good with it. He felt he was now able to handle his gun as efficiently with his right hand as with his left.
Hutch was making a lot of noise in the kitchen, so he figured he'd better get on with things before he got lectured. In some respects, they'd slipped into the relationship of an old married couple, Hutch taking care of him, doing everything he could to make his partner happy and successful in his rehabilitation. Starsky was more grateful than he could say, but Hutch didn't seem to want to change any part of that and now that they were going to be back on the streets, it had to change. He can't be stopping in the middle of a big bust to wipe my nose, he thought. That's going to get one of us killed. Things had to be different.
"C'mon Starsk," Hutch poked his head in the bathroom, where his partner was just finishing up shaving. "I've got breakfast on the table. Let's go!"
"Yes, mother," Starsky sniped sarcastically. " Want to make sure my ears are clean and everything?"
Hutch ignored him, used to his partner's moods. He'd seen them all in the last year. It sure hadn't been easy. It's a good thing he loved the big lug or he would have killed him long ago. That thought made him shudder. He almost had, inadvertently. He had to work twice as hard to make sure that didn't happen again. Sometimes he felt really bad that he'd just taken over Starsky's life the way he had, without giving him a choice, but when he studied his friend, he could see that he looked better than he had in the last couple years. He decided it was well worth it. He had a feeling that Starsky was beginning to champ at the bit a little, but he didn't want things to change. He was enjoying the new and improved Starsky too much. Granted, he didn't smile and joke as much as he used to, but that would come back in time, he was sure. Right now it was enough to have him alive and well and Hutch was going to make sure he stayed that way, even if he had to wrap him in cotton to keep him safe.
Hutch looked at his partner. The old scars on his chest had paled and thinned out and the massive damage done to his partner's head when he shot himself was covered again with the thick dark curls, the only noticeable reminder being a fine scar that ran from his hairline to his cheekbone. Women seemed to be fascinated with this scar and were constantly finding occasions to stroke his cheek. Some guys had it all and some didn't, Starsky was quick to say about this revolting development.
"You gonna stand there drooling over me, or are you gonna let me get dressed?" Starsky broke into his reverie.
"If I'm going to do any drooling, I'll find someone with a little less hair on their chest." Hutch retreated, blushing.
He was relieved to see his friend finally exit the bedroom and make his way over to where Hutch had laid his breakfast out. "Now that life is gettin' back to normal, can't I just have coffee and doughnuts like I used to?" Starsky whined.
"Why change what's been working for us, Starsk?" Hutch replied. "Breakfast is good for you. It's the most important meal of the day, you know."
As if he hadn't heard that every morning of the past year. Starsky rolled his eyes. Hutch had lost his spontaneity, his ability to adapt well. He was becoming a real creature of habit. Starsky had to wonder if this new wrinkle was going to work out in undercover work, where you needed to be able to hang loose, but time would tell.
"I'm really not hungry anyway, Hutch. I'm a little nervous with this whole thing. I'm not sure I'm ready. It's been a long time," Starsky said a little shakily.
"For me, too, you know, Starsk," Hutch responded.
Actually, they'd both had their hand in police work pretty much the whole time, Hutch more actively, of course, but Starsky had graduated from a desk job to riding in a black-and-white with Hutch, providing backup to the guys who were out there doing what they used to do. It was hard for them not to be critical of the way the others worked. It just wasn't the way they operated, but they kept their opinions to themselves, Starsky sometimes with a warning look and a "chill-out" gesture from his partner.
When it was time to leave, it was a very subdued Starsky who followed Hutch out to the car, the Torino, because Hutch's car was once again being worked on. Some things just never change, thought Starsky with a sigh, as he settled himself into the passenger seat. Over the last year, Hutch had been doing pretty much all the driving and Starsky, feeling he owed Hutch so much, had resigned himself to letting his friend take the lead. This, too, was, in Starsky's mind, subject to change and it couldn't be soon enough. Hutch had been good to him when he least deserved it and he did his best to respond by not rocking the boat. He sometimes felt like he was going to explode soon, though, and wondered if his partner had any idea how he felt.
Hutch was riding high and not at all intent on Starsky's feelings. It had been a good thing to sit back and do something else for awhile and get his objectivity back. But he'd discovered he missed undercover work more than he thought he would and was "gung ho" to throw himself headfirst back into it, even if that meant sending his friend hurtling toward the same objective.
When they got to the squad room, Dobey was anxious to get his best team back out on the streets and they were running late already on their first day!
Hutch barreled into Dobey's office, stopped short when he saw the big man's face. "Sorry we're a little late, Cap'n, I had to shove Starsky all the way! We're rarin' to go, though!" Dobey looked from one man to the other and had no problem seeing that the feeling was a little one-sided.
"How are you dealing with this, Starsky?" Dobey asked softly. "Do you think you're ready for it?"
"Everybody tells me I am, Cap'n. The doctors gave me a clean bill of health, just got butterflies in my stomach, that's all." He answered with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Well, if you two are going to be working for me again, there's some things we gotta get straight, okay?" Dobey went on in his usual louder-than-necessary tone. "Get here on time, go by the book, and for everybody's sake, act like adults here at work. I don't care what you two do on your off hours, but you'd better be professional on your job! And considering who I'm talking to, one thing hasn't changed, no private parties, you got a problem, come to me with it."
The guys looked at one another and grinned. It was almost the same speech he'd given them when they'd first been assigned to him, how long ago?
Dobey finished up with, "It's great to have you back! Now maybe we'll get some of the bad guys locked up for a change."
Amused and flattered, they were ready to leave the office when Dobey got a call. He held up one finger, indicating they should wait a minute.
"Well, guys, it's your first case already. A body's been found down by the docks. How about you two run along and see about it," Dobey requested.
"We're on it, Cap'n," Hutch called back over his shoulder on the way out the door. Starsky followed at a little slower pace and without the usual wisecracks. "See ya later, Cap'n," he said companionably.
The docks were a beehive of activity this time of the morning with not only all the squad cars and crime scene people, but lots of "lookers" which always made life miserable for those who were trying to do their job, and the press, of course, who made life miserable for everyone. They'd already done some publicity about the "dynamic duo" coming back to work, which was real helpful, considering that their type of work required anonymity for the most part.
The medical examiner was on the scene already. He was not anyone that Starsky was familiar with and he was definitely taking his time. The detective took in the man's appearance; dark, husky, muscular-looking, walked with a bit of a limp, but hey, he couldn't hold that against him. He looked very familiar and gave Starsky the creeps, especially when he glanced up and their eyes met. The man looked like he didn't welcome the intrusion by the detective and he would just as soon see him in hell at that particular moment. Starsky shuddered, thinking he was getting a little, no, a lot paranoid, and maybe he wasn't ready for being back to this kind of fun job yet.
"What do you have for us, Doc?" Starsky pushed him a little because he didn't like the man's look.
"Not a whole lot yet," the older man said distantly. He spoke with an accent Starsky couldn't place. "I'd say the killing took place between two and four A.M., cause of death, a bullet placed at close range between the second and third cervical vertebrae."
Starsky stepped over to glance at the body before they put it on a gurney in order to load it into the coroner's wagon. His eyes widened in shock when he looked down and saw the face that was about to be zipped up into a body bag. He ran over behind some boxes and vomited what little Hutch had gotten him to eat for breakfast, then stayed on his knees for awhile, praying that it had all been a mistake. He knew he was acting like a rookie cop, but this was really too much! If somebody up there, he looked skyward, was trying to see how much he could take before he found himself in a rubber room, they were doing a good job. Killing off everybody he cared about seemed to be a way of life for him, but he'd lulled himself back into a sense of false security this last year. Nothing really bad had happened. A few tears rolled down his cheeks, but he looked over and saw one of the press watching him and knew he had to pull it together before they started taking pictures and plastering them all over the front page.
Hutch, who had been questioning the homeless man who'd found the body, noticed what was going on and came running over to him.
"Starsk, what's wrong, are you hurt? Are you having chest pains? What's wrong?"
He was panicking. When the Gunther shooting had gone down and Starsky had suffered so much damage, the doctors had shared with Hutch that it could someday affect his heart. Every little gas pain Starsky had signaled a heart attack in Hutch's mind and he'd worked himself into a nice little neurosis about it that drove his partner nuts.
"No, I'm not having a heart attack," Starsky said, gritting his teeth . "I just got a look at who that was on the gurney over there and I'm not a bit happy about it and neither will you be, so don't make an issue of it. I already made a fool out of myself here, let's pull it together!"
"Who is it, Starsk?" Hutch had seen his partner's reaction and knew it had to be someone close, but was totally unprepared for the answer.
Starsky stammered, "Hutch, it's Alex, Alex Chandler."
Hutch felt a knife pierce his heart briefly. Alex Chandler had been the doctor who had saved Starsky's life a year ago. Both detectives had appreciated the care and skill of the other man, and since he was close to their own age, they'd gotten to know him better, even dragging him to Huggy's a few times to socialize. He'd been kind of shy, laid back and quiet, but really seemed to enjoy the interaction between the two partners and several nights had dissolved in laughter over their antics to the point where they thought they were going to have to carry him out. He was a heck of a pool player, too, the only one who could really hold his own with Starsky and manage to beat him pretty devastatingly a few times. Hutch couldn't imagine anyone less likely to be lying dead here in the bowels of the worst area of the city, and after Starsky told him it looked like almost an execution, gangland-style, he was even more confused. Alex was from a good, upper middle-class family and had no drug connections that they knew of. Had it just been a random thing, and, if so, what was he doing down there at two in the morning? He looked at Starsky and saw the same pain and puzzlement mirrored in his eyes and knew he was thinking he wasn't ready for this yet. Hutch wondered if he was, either.
They wrapped things up as quickly as possible and climbed back into the car where they could be alone for a minute. Both of them had lost whatever enthusiasm for their job they'd had initially and were plunged into a depression that threatened to swallow them up. They went back to Metro to report to Dobey, who'd also gotten to know the young doctor while Starsky was in the hospital and was properly shocked over the whole thing, too. They worked on their reports the rest of the afternoon and left for home just as it was starting to get dark. They hadn't said more than a few words all day, each one of them lost in his own thoughts and emotions.
"What do you want for dinner, Starsk?" Hutch asked when they had gotten inside and shed their coats, guns and shoes.
"Let's just order a pizza, okay, partner? I'm not up for cooking anything and neither are you. This really took the wind out of my sails," Starsky muttered morosely.
"Pizza, it is, pal," Hutch said, none too brightly himself, and reached for the phone.
Both opted for an early bedtime and both tossed and turned a long time before they were able to fall asleep.
Something woke Hutch in the night and he rolled over to look at his clock, seeing it was about one o'clock. Thinking Starsky was up polishing off the last slices of pizza, instead of saving them for his "all American breakfast" which included root beer, he got up to see how he was doing. There had been so many times in the past year he'd done this. He guessed he always would. The way Starsky had flipped out and put a gun to his head had left Hutch with the justifiable fear that it could happen again. He'd arrived at the conclusion that he couldn't hold his partner's hand 24 hours a day, but he slept very lightly now, and with the depressing day his friend had put in, Hutch was more than a little worried about his mental state.
He was headed for the kitchen when he realized the noises were coming from his partner's bedroom. When they'd moved in together, they'd decided to respect each other's privacy as much as possible, so they avoided invading that last bastion of each other's "space," but Hutch pushed on the door without knocking. He just "felt" that something was not right and it required not startling his friend. His instinct had been right. Starsky was crouched in the far corner of the room, in his shorts, his legs bent under him in an awkward, uncomfortable way and he was rocking back and forth, singing to himself, singing Christmas songs, of all things.
Something told Hutch this was not just a new way of handling grief, so he quietly let himself into the room and approached his friend. "Hey, buddy, what is it? What's wrong?" He got no answer, just the tuneless crooning and he could see his partner was somewhere else. He reached out to touch him on the shoulder and was knocked back with a vicious left jab to his jaw. He looked up to see another one coming and ducked this time. That threw Starsky face down on the floor and Hutch pinned his arms behind him quickly and sat on him. He knew this wasn't personal and was prepared to do whatever was needed to protect himself up to a point. He couldn't really hurt his partner, knew he'd probably let his friend kill him before he'd shoot at him or anything like that. He really had no idea what to do now, but saw Starsky's handcuffs in his pants pockets hanging on the back of the chair and grabbed them, putting them gently on the still struggling man beneath him. Then he rolled off him and tried to help him over onto his back. Starsky immediately curled up in a fetal position and closed his eyes. After trying again to get some response out of him, Hutch tucked a blanket around him and went to put some ice on his jaw, which was beginning to throb. He hated to leave the handcuffs on his friend, but was afraid to take them off until he could get some kind of coherent response from him, so settled for getting a pillow and blanket off the bed and lying down on the floor close enough to him where he could be of help if needed, but not close enough to be a target. He hadn't intended to fall off to sleep, but finally the events of the day got to him and his eyes closed.
He was awakened sometime later by Starsky screaming at him, alternately cursing and pleading with him to wake up and explain what was going on. Seeing that his partner was back, he quickly took the handcuffs off and helped him into a sitting position, trying to rub the feeling back into his arms. He could see Starsky didn't remember anything that had happened in the night and that he was furious, especially waking up in such a compromising position. Hutch wondered how he was going to explain this one to him.
"Hutchinson, is there something I should know? What am I doing half-naked, with my hands cuffed behind my back, sleeping next to you on the floor?" he barked. "You didn't, we didn't, nothing weird happened here, right?"
"No, I didn't and we wouldn't, you know that, and it depends on how you define weird!" Hutch growled back, but knew if the situations were reversed, that's what he would be wondering.
"Then, what is going on?" his partner asked tiredly. "What's going wrong now around here? I know it must be something bad. It always is! I'm getting sick of running, always trying to look back to see when the next lightning bolt's gonna hit. Just let me have it straight, okay?"
Hutch hated to tell him because he wasn't sure how much more he could take. His partner was already almost over the edge and it wouldn't take much more to turn him back into the wild man he'd been last night.
"I got up, Starsky, because I heard some noise coming from your room and looked in and you were all crunched up in the corner over there, with barely a stitch on and singing Christmas carols to yourself under your breath. I tried to bring you around, but you didn't even seem to realize I was here, then I touched you and you decked me, knocked me right into next week. You weren't going to stop at one, and I wasn't in the mood to be a punching bag, but I didn't want to hurt you or let you hurt yourself, so I put your cuffs on you. Sorry, I couldn't think of what else to do," Hutch explained.
"'S okay, Hutch, I would have done the same thing. I'm sorry I hurt you. It must've been a heck of a nightmare! I mean, I've had them for a long time, but not like this. Do you think I'm going crazy, Hutch? I'm really scared of the things that're happening." Starsky sounded like a little boy and Hutch couldn't help but put his arm around him and hold him tight.
"No, man, I don't think you're going nuts or anything like that, but if you're worried about it, why don't you get some counseling or something. You've been through hell and back and things are starting to get kind of heavy again. Maybe we could use a little help with it." Hutch wasn't so sure his partner wasn't headed for some kind of a breakdown, but wasn't about to tell him that. If anybody had a right, it was Starsky. He seemed to have the worst breaks.
"We," Starsky questioned. "I seem to be the one with the problem."
"Your problems are mine, too. Me and thee, you know. That's never subject to change." Hutch helped his friend up and threw him his pajama bottoms. "Let's go see if that pizza tastes any good cold, okay?"
The next morning, Starsky was up and dressed when Hutch came out of his room, he suspected because he'd been afraid to go back to sleep. He seemed okay, just a little shaken by the night's experience. He was quiet and reflective as they headed for the hospital, having decided to start with Alex's co-workers, to see what they could learn about the man that they didn't already know.
One of the first people they encountered was Cheryl, who'd been in ICU and had done a major share of Starsky's care when he'd been there a year ago. She was a petite blonde, really beautiful, with big green eyes and a sense of humor that exactly matched his partner's. She'd also had a major "thing" for Starsky and Hutch knew that he liked her, too. He'd wondered why his friend had never seen her after he got out of the hospital, but had figured that he wanted to put that whole experience behind him or that he felt self conscious about what he called his disability.
Starsky crept up behind her and put his arm around her waist. She spun around and the smile on her face when she saw his partner left no doubt in Hutch's mind that the "thing" was still alive and well.
"Hey, pretty lady," Starsky said, flashing that killer smile at her. She threw her arms around him like she never intended to let him get away again.
He doesn't even have to work at it, Hutch thought, bemused at his friend's way with women. He thought he had a pretty good track record, although he did seem to always be picking the wrong women, but they just seemed to be drawn to his partner like he was some kind of magnet.
"Dave!" she gave him a big kiss on the cheek, then stood back, "let me look at you, gorgeous as ever and just as dangerous, I bet."
"Even more," he quipped, "cause I got two good hands now. Hey, you going with anyone, or, you didn't get married on me, did you?" he asked hopefully.
She flashed a smile and wiggled her fingers in front of his face, no rings.
"Just been hanging around waiting for you to come back and get me! What took you so long?"
"Starsk? Starsk?" Hutch tried to get a word in edgewise. "We've got work to do here, you know."
Cheryl finally noticed him then, which was demoralizing and gave him a kiss on the cheek, too. "How are you doing, Ken? Has he been giving you much trouble?"
"Always, Cheryl, always," he said with an exhausted, hang-dog expression on his face.
"Maybe I can take him off your hands some evening," she said with a sidelong look at Starsky.
"Hey, I don't need a babysitter. You two make me feel like you should be putting diapers on me or something." Starsky said with a pout.
"Been there, done that," Cheryl came back with a grin, and Starsky went beet-red at the thought of her taking care of him when he'd been in the coma. Hutch cracked up at the look on his face.
She grabbed a slip of paper, wrote her phone number on it and slipped it into his partner's pocket. "Call me this time, Dave, a woman can only take just so much rejection. Ken, remind him to call me."
"Call her, Starsk," Hutch said, smiling.
"I will, I promise," Starsky said, giving her the Boy Scout salute.
Okay, time to get serious, thought Hutch. "Cheryl, you got a minute? We're on a case and need to ask some questions."
"Sure, Ken, I'm on my break. What's it all about?"
"I'm sure you've heard about Alex Chandler. We've been assigned to investigate his murder," Hutch said softly.
"Ah, Alex, what a tragedy," she said sadly. "None of us got to know him real well. He was kind of quiet and kept to himself. I don't think he even dated any of the nurses and that's really unusual for the doctors around here." She smiled at Starsky for effect. "Oh, but I don't date doctors, of course."
"Yeah, right, you just sit around and watch T.V. every Saturday night, I suppose." Starsky challenged.
"I told you I'd just been saving myself up for you, Dave. Bank's open whenever you want to make a withdrawal."
"May I say it's getting pretty deep in here," Hutch interrupted. "Why don't you two get a room, so I can go on with my job?"
"Sorry, Hutch," his partner said contritely. "Cheryl, can you think of any enemies Alex might have made here in the hospital?"
"None that I can think of at the moment. Oh wait, there was one nasty incident about seven months ago. Alex caught one of the orderlies stealing drugs from the supply room and turned him in. He got fired, of course, but I never heard if he went to jail."
"Good girl, Cheryl," Starsky praised, planting a big kiss on her lips. "I don't suppose you remember the guy's name."
She beamed. "For another one of those, I'll remember anything you want me to. He was oriental, his name was Kimoto, Ronald, I think."
Starsky dutifully kissed her again, but he wasn't acting like it was a real hardship. When the two came up for air, Cheryl stroked his partner's cheek, the one with the scar. "Call me!"
Grabbing Starsky by the arm and yanking him away forcibly, Hutch called back over his shoulder. "Thanks a lot, Cheryl, we'll see you later!"
"Hey," Starsky objected. "I was just getting started."
"That's what I was afraid of and there's children present, too." Hutch grinned. "Anyway, do it on your own time, buddy, we're supposed to be working, remember?"
"I guess I did get a little carried away, huh, but...."
"I know, what a way to go. I just don't understand about your love life. It makes mine look like the Sahara Desert. What do you have that I don't?" he asked, leaving himself wide open for a good comeback.
"Just a personality," Starsky quipped, then seeing his friend's face, muttered, "just kidding. You're not aggressive enough. The ladies love that."
"That just isn't me, Starsk. It wouldn't work out for me the way it does for you. I guess the Sahara isn't so bad, if the oases are terrific enough."
Starsky grinned. "Hey, ya got me, don't ya? Who else do you need, buddy?"
Hutch rolled his eyes, but appreciated the truth of what his partner had said. Together they had it all, each other's souls.
After talking to the other hospital employees who'd worked closest with Alex, they came up with nothing more substantial. One of the x-ray techs made reference to seeing Alex go into a martial arts center in her neighborhood a few times.
"Did you ever hear Alex talk about taking lessons or anything, Hutch?" Starsky asked. "Seems like he would've talked about that, but I guess we never asked him what his interests were and he wasn't one to bring them up himself. He seemed to really get off on the things we were doing, though. Still, I wish I would've asked more about him."
"Me, too, buddy, anyway, this gives us another group of people to question if nothing else," Hutch reflected. "He did get into a fracas at Huggy's that one night and handled himself pretty well for a doctor, I remember thinking."
"Let's find something to eat," Starsky griped. "I'm starving to death."
"What else is new?" Hutch asked sarcastically. "I know of a place over by the martial arts center. Let's eat and then we can stop by for a minute."
The place Hutch suggested was, of course, stocked with healthy fare, with very little on the menu for Starsky to, literally, sink his teeth into, so he grumbled all through lunch about sea weed salad and pumpkin soup, finding only the "dreaded" tuna burger that he would condescend to eat.
"Well, that was really lovely," he carped, when they came out. "Remind me to cross that one off my list of places to dine."
"Starsky, cool it! Next time you pick, okay, and we'll order some gastronomical nightmare that'll keep us up all night and have us puking our guts out, then you'll be happy, all right?" Hutch was getting a little irritated by his partner's constant complaining.
They found themselves within walking distance of the center, so they decided to have a look around. It was late afternoon by this time and the traffic was getting terrible. Just crossing the street was challenging, especially since Starsky barreled ahead of him, practically bouncing off one car, almost causing an accident and drawing a lot of curses and horns. Hutch followed at a safer pace, alternately cringing and muttering about fools rushing in where even angels had more sense than to tread.
Thought I was going to have to find you a Boy Scout to get you across, Grandma," his friend teased. "What took you so long?"
Hutch snapped at him. "I like to arrive alive, meathead. I wish you would use a little restraint and a lot more sense, or I'm going to be scraping you up off the pavement one of these days!"
Hutch had noticed that Starsky was acting a lot more like his old self, which he both welcomed and feared. The Starsky who had just gone running across a busy street was the same one who kept getting himself in trouble and Hutch needed to keep him safe. He couldn't stand to take a chance on losing him again.
The martial arts center was a large one, with several classes going on at the same time. They found an office and an instructor available to help them. After showing their badges, they asked what the man knew about Alex Chandler. Was he a regular, was he taking lessons?
"I read about it in the papers. Alex was a heck of a nice guy. No, he didn't take lessons, he was one of our instructors. He worked with the underprivileged kids. He was a black belt, got his training with the special forces in Viet Nam. He's going to be hard to replace, especially since he was doing the classes gratis." The instructor seemed genuinely grieved to have lost a friend.
Starsky wandered away to a window overlooking one of the classrooms and was startled to see a familiar figure cross his line of sight. The medical examiner from the other night, what was his name, Manfried, was walking back to one of the rooms beneath the balcony where the detective stood. Starsky was puzzled. The man involved in martial arts? He seemed fit enough, but had a limp you'd think would make it difficult to learn the moves. Maybe he was arranging lessons for his son or maybe he did this for physical therapy. All of a sudden, Starsky had the overwhelming urge to get out of there. Something about this man set his teeth on edge. He didn't want to confront him, so he turned to Hutch and told him he was going outside for some air and got himself out of there before he could be seen.
Hutch arranged for a time when they could come in and interview some of the other instructors and headed out to the car to see if Starsky was okay.
He took note that his partner was in the driver's seat, threw him the keys and didn't comment on it. "You all right, Starsk? We've put in a long day, maybe I should get you home. You look really tired."
"Nothing wrong with me. I just got that tuna burger sitting like a big lump in my stomach and I need some 'real' food to start my digestive system working again," he teased.
Hutch shot him a warning look, a dangerous glint in his eye. "So help me, Starsk, if you don't get off this kick, I'm going to bust you in the chops!"
Starsky snorted. "You think you're man enough, come on ahead."
"I owe you one, anyway, from last night. You almost broke my jaw. You better watch out, when you least expect it, expect it," Hutch warned.
They headed back to Metro to do some paperwork and stopped to see Minnie. "Hi, gorgeous," Starsky teased her. "Did you run those R & I's for me?"
"I'd do anything for you, honey, you know that," Minnie purred. She was a little older than they were, but had a more than maternal interest in her favorite dark-haired detective. Hutch rolled his eyes. His partner was such a flirt. How did he get away with it?
Minnie picked up a manila folder from the corner on her desk and handed it to Starsky. "Just for you, sweetie," she said, running her hand across the scar on his cheek.
"Thanks, Minnie, have a good weekend!" he called back over his shoulder. "Let's grab something to eat and take this home with us. We can go over these while we're eating." Starsky suggested. "I'm starving..."
Hutch interrupted, "I know, to death. Hey, Starsk, why do you string Minnie along like that? What if she's serious and thinks she has a chance with you? You could hurt her feelings."
"We're just friends, Hutch, we understand each other, she knows that. I'd never hurt her, she's a special lady," his partner said soberly. "But I'll tone it down if you think I should."
"Okay, let's eat, and it's your turn to pick, but please, I'm begging you, find a place where they have something I can actually digest," Hutch pleaded.
"Oh no, buddy boy, you didn't give me that option at lunch, now, did you? Tunaburgers, remember?" His friend was enjoying having the upper hand now. "Ernie's Place, home of the enchilada magnifico, it is!"
Hutch groaned. He would never understand why this man felt the need to destroy his own digestive system, bit by bit, but had to admit he seemed to stay fit on his junk food diet and never gained an ounce on all that crap he ate.
At home, they started on the small file Minnie had compiled for them on Ronald Kimoto and Alex Chandler.
Ronald Kimoto had a sad history, the product of a broken home, a Vietnamese father, who ran out on his wife and son when the boy was twelve and an American mother who drank more than mothers were supposed to and earned a living in a manner that would not have endeared her to the PTA. Ronald had run away when he was fourteen and lived on the streets, picked up several times on drug-related charges, holding early on and pushing by the time he was sixteen. He'd done time, more than once before he was eighteen, then gone to rehab. When he got out, a probation officer had gotten him the job at the hospital, where he seemed to do well for awhile, then reverted back to his old habit. He'd been sentenced to do his first hard time on the hospital drug charge and had gotten killed in a fight in the prison yard.
"I was hoping that was going to go somewhere," Hutch said disappointed. "Takes us back to square one, doesn't it? Who would have wanted to kill Alex?"
"There's a possible Vietnam connection," Starsky mentioned. "It looks like Alex served in Special Forces, was highly decorated, came back, went to medical school and became a doctor. This boy's father was Vietnamese. Do you think there could be anything there?"
"It's pretty weak, but who knows? You never met him over there, did you?" Hutch asked.
"No." Starsky shook his head. "Looks like he was there around the same time I was, but he was Special Forces, they didn't mingle much, kept to themselves. Anyway, I was out of the action for quite awhile."
"Were you injured, Starsk?" Hutch asked quietly. "You'll never tell me anything about what went on. Was it a nightmare?"
Still is, buddy, that's why I don't talk about it. I've forgotten a lot more than I remember, too. I guess a shrink would probably say I've 'stuffed it down' whatever that means." Starsky shook his head sadly. "Why would anybody want to remember? Anyway, I'm going to bed. It's been a really long day!"
"I think I'll sit up and go over these one more time, see if I can make any sense out of all this stuff." Hutch indicated the small tower of papers they'd already compiled.
He read it all through again, but didn't see anymore in it than he did the first time, so he piled it up again and was ready to go to bed when he heard Starsky talking in his sleep. He was concerned, because, though his partner was prone to nightmares, he rarely spoke and never as loudly as he was now. After last night, Hutch was hesitant to go in and disturb whatever was going on in there, but also wanted to comfort his friend if he could. He pushed the door open and looked in. Starsky was twitching back and forth in the bed like somebody was buffeting him from side to side. Every couple of minutes, he would yell, gasping for breath, "David Michael Starsky, Sgt. 1st class," and then a string of numbers that must have been his army serial number.
Hutch couldn't let him go on like that, crept into the room and started talking quietly to his friend, which seemed to settle him down. When he'd calmed down and was still, Hutch lay down beside him and put his arm around his partner. Although still deep in sleep, Starsky started to sob quietly. After awhile he began breathing normally and then snoring softly. Hutch pulled up a chair and sat next to the bed, watching his friend sleep for the rest of the night. As the morning light started to filter through the curtains, he got up and went back to his own room.
"What happened to you over there, buddy? What did they do to you and why's it all coming out now? If you won't tell me, I'm going to have to find out for myself," he mumbled.
Starsky jumped up when his partner called him in the morning, evidently rested and completely unaware of any problems during the night. Hutch, on the other hand, felt like there was no way he could make it through the day. He briefly considered telling Cap'n Dobey he was sick, but knew Starsky would find some way to stay by his side and mother him to death. He knew he had to talk to someone about his friend and obviously, not with that friend around, so he pleaded a forgotten dentist appointment and sent his partner out to make the rounds of all their snitches to see if there was anything out there that they should know.
His first call was to Starsky's mother, who told him that her son had never talked about his experiences during the war, and she'd never pressed him, not really wanting to hear. She'd just been grateful that he'd come home safely. She said she did know of a friend of his who'd been there with him and that he was now living in LA. She gave Hutch the number of the friend's mother and she was happy to give Hutch her son's address.
The neighborhood was a little run-down, the houses were small and there was little or no landscaping. When he pulled up to the house he was looking for, he could see a man sitting in a wheelchair in the yard with his head back like he was really enjoying the sun on his face. Hutch hated to disturb him, but there were things he needed to know if he was going to help his friend. He called out, "Bill Wentworth?" as he walked up the front walk. The other man roused and answered in the affirmative. Hutch held out his hand and Bill shook it sincerely, if a little weakly. Hutch was shocked to see that both of his legs were gone from the knee down. The detective introduced himself and when he mentioned that they had a mutual friend, Dave Starsky, the other man smiled warmly.
"Dave? Really? How is he? What's he doing now? I'll never forget that guy as long as I live!" he said enthusiastically. "I'd sure love to see him again."
Hutch tried to answer all his questions. "Well, he's fine, he's a cop with BCPD and he's my partner. He doesn't know you live here, as far as I know, or he'd probably have come to see you himself." Or would he? thought Hutch. "He won't talk with anyone about his experiences in Viet Nam and he's starting to have some problems I think might be related, so I thought maybe you could tell me what you guys went through. Of course, if you don't want to dredge all that up again, I certainly wouldn't hold it against you."
"Were you there? In 'Nam?" Bill asked him.
"No," Hutch said with the pang of guilt that always accompanied that thought. "I was in college at the time."
Bill seemed to know what Hutch was feeling. "It was a bad scene, man, a living hell. Don't beat yourself up because you weren't there, just the luck of the draw, that's all."
"Tell me what happened to you over there. It's the only way I can help him," Hutch pleaded.
"If I can help Dave Starsky, I'll do it with pleasure. He's the one that got me out of there, you know." But first, Bill asked if Hutch could get them a beer from a cooler that sat nearby.
Hutch did as he was asked, then sat down to hear the story he knew he wasn't going to enjoy hearing. It turned out to be much worse than he ever could have imagined.
"There were six of us that got captured together. Sgt. Starsky tried to get us out of the area after some of the other troops pulled out and just left us there, but the Cong hunted us down like dogs and dragged us back to this small POW camp. Sarge fought like a tiger trying to protect us. We were all young guys, and he killed more than one of those goons trying to buy us a chance to get away, but finally they hit him over the head so hard, I thought it would have cracked his skull, then they just hit him and kicked him until he went limp. The rest of us were too chicken to fight much. We were new over there, except for Troy, and he got shot in the stomach when they took us, so he didn't know much of what was happening.
"When we got back to the camp, they put us in a kind of shack, but they took the Sarge with them. They wanted to question him. We could hear him cursing them and yelling all night. I don't know how he took it like he did, but he never cracked, never pleaded or asked them to stop, just kept saying his name, rank and serial number over and over and over until his voice gave out. When they saw that he couldn't talk anymore, they stripped him and threw him in the 'pit,' a hole just big enough for a man to crouch in. You couldn't sit or stand or lay down, just crouch there until your legs cramped up so bad you wished you could die. Me and the other guys had our turns, but he spent most of the time in there when they weren't working him over. Troy died after the second day. We kinda thought he was the lucky one. They knew we had no information for them, so they didn't push us as hard as they did the Sargeant. He was always kicking, biting, scratching, anything he could do to hurt one of them."
Bill stopped and smiled. "He had a mouth on him, and he just never stopped using it, that wasn't his nature."
Hutch smiled slightly. He knew the truth of that.
"I think he was trying to keep them off us, but he would taunt and laugh and curse at them, especially this one big guy who spoke English. I guess he was a mercenary who they hired to translate and do a lot of their dirty work, and he hated the Sarge from the 'get-go.' He seemed to really delight in tormenting him, forever thinking up new ways to make him suffer. He always gave him the worst food. If there weren't enough maggots in the rice, he'd go find more, live ones, this time, before he gave it to him. Sarge would eat it, too, like it was some kind of feast, maggots and all. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of picking them out like the rest of us did."
Hutch thought, That would make a man really enjoy a great big, greasy hamburger, wouldn't it? ashamed of all the time he'd spent grousing at Starsky about his eating habits. He was in shock at what he was hearing. He'd had no idea this was part of what made his partner the way he was.
Bill went on. "I remember one night in particular, he'd been in that pit for days and it had been raining hard for a long time. When it rained, all the snakes and crawlies came out and sometimes they'd get down in the pit with you, the thing would fill up with water, and you had to put your face up close to the grate to be able to breathe. I was beginning to wonder if he was still alive in there, he was so quiet. All of a sudden, he started to sing, can you believe that? And you'll never guess what he was singing...."
"Christmas songs," Hutch said sadly. "He was singing Christmas songs."
"Yep, that's what he started with, then when he ran out of those, he started singing the 'Star-Spangled Banner,' 'America the Beautiful,' even 'Glory, Glory, Halleluiah.' Then he started on some songs in a different language, kind of mournful-sounding, most of them."
Hutch mumbled, "He was singing in Yiddish."
"That's one of the reasons that big guy hated him so much, I guess, used to call him Jew-boy and kike whenever he was beating on him."
"How did you manage to get out of there?" Hutch asked, thinking he'd heard all the details he could handle.
"Sarge was smart. He got to know their habits and knew when they would be going out to hunt, for game or more men to torment, I don't know. We thought they were getting to him, breaking him down. He acted real weak, limp, sickly, like they'd broken his spirit for a couple weeks before he thought they would be going. He made a move on the two guys who were putting him in the pit and took them both, got their guns. Then he got us out of the shack and held them off with the guns while we were getting away. Bobby got killed and I got my legs shot up pretty bad. The other two were luckier, they got away clean. We ran out of ammo, but the only guy still on his feet was the big guy. He came after us and the Sarge put a bayonet through his thigh. He went down and Sarge was all over him, beating the heck out of him. He was like a wild man. I thought he was going to kill the guy and that was fine with me, but all of a sudden he got this stricken look on his face and stopped. The man was nothing but pulp, but he left him alive. He took off both our shirts and made tourniquets for my legs, then he carried me all the way out of there and got me to a medevac unit. I never saw Dave Starsky again. They told me he went right back into the front after he dropped me off and I did hear that he got some kind of a medal. I'll bet he's a good cop, isn't he?"
"The best there is," Hutch assured him.
"Tell him I said hi and thanks again, man, it's good to hear how he's doing. If he can, I'd like to see him. I get kind of lonely at times. My wife left me when I came back like this. Tell him thanks, too, from all of us," Bill said as Hutch left.
"I'll tell him," Hutch said softly.
He got as far as the car before the tears started and they didn't let up for a long, long time. This explained so much about his friend: the claustrophobia, his love for Christmas, his need to prove himself over and over, the way he never stopped fighting, even his aversion to snakes and creepy things. I didn't know my partner was a hero to so many people, he thought. He's always been one in my eyes!
Starsky was still at Metro when Hutch got back. "Thought I'd lost you, pal, how's your tooth?"
Hutch wasn't ready to talk to him about what he'd done. He felt ashamed for going behind his partner's back like that. He didn't want to jolt Starsky's memory too fast and have him flip out. He hated to lie to him, but he was in too deep, so he just mumbled that his tooth was okay and reminded himself to eat like it hurt for the rest of the day.
"Can I get you some aspirin? Does it hurt?" Starsky fussed around him, twisting the knife, big-time.
"No, I'm fine," Hutch reassured him. "Come up with anything new?"
"Just one interesting sidelight, seems Ronald Kimoto's father was in 'Nam at the same time as Alex, only on the other team, of course."
They were due back at the martial arts center to talk to the other instructors at two. Starsky was nervous about going back there, but he couldn't have said why. On the way over, he asked Hutch if he'd had a chance to talk to the new medical examiner. His partner admitted to working with him on a couple occasions when Starsky had been on desk duty.
"What do you think of him?" Starsky asked.
"He seems very efficient, a man of few words, a little strange, maybe, but that includes half the city. Kind of a loner, I would say. Why do you ask?" Hutch questioned.
"Something about the man leaves a bad taste in my mouth. He disturbs me. What kind of accent is that, anyway?" he asked curiously.
"That one has me stumped, Starsk, and I'm usually pretty good at figuring that out. It's like a lot of accents rolled up into one, like he's traveled a lot or something. You want to run him through R & I?" Hutch asked. He knew his friend's instinct about that sort of thing was "right on" and if he had a bad feeling about the man, what could it hurt?
"Yeah, let's do that. Minnie'll do it on the QT just for me, of course," he said, leering.
"Your head gets any bigger, Starsk, we're going to have to be driving around in a bus. What's that going to do for our image?"
"Aw, you're just jealous," his partner came back.
The questioning of the instructors proved fruitless. Starsky took one of them to the side and asked about Manfried and was told he just liked to hang around and watch the classes.
After they got home that night and had something to eat, Hutch grabbed his partner firmly by the arm. "C'mon, buddy, we got some talking to do," he said quietly.
Starsky groaned, "Now what did I do?" like a kid who's always in trouble.
Hutch sat him down on the couch and took a seat on the coffee table facing him. "Nothing you did, just something that's going down that we gotta work on," he replied gently.
"What now?" asked his friend.
Hutch took a deep breath and tackled what was on his mind. "I went to see an old friend of yours today," he told his partner.
"What old friend, old friend?" Starsky quipped.
"His name's Bill Wentworth. Do you remember him?" asked Hutch.
He wasn't quite prepared for the flash of blue fire in his partner's eyes. Starsky jumped up with his fists clenched, ready for a fight. "What gave you the right to open up that can of worms? That's something I don't ever want to talk about, think about, or even hear about! Don't start with me about that!" he said angrily.
"I think it was you who said, 'loving gives you rights,' Starsk," Hutch answered. And it's because you won't talk about, think about, or hear about it, that you're well on your way to having a breakdown about it. Do you think I enjoyed listening to you hollering out your name, rank and serial number all last night? After I got you quieted down, I sat by your bedside until morning wondering just what happened to you, what they did to you to cause such anguish this many years later. Now I know and I understand a lot more about who David Starsky is and what drives him. You need to face this, babe, so you can get this monkey off your back. You were right with me every step of the way, even jeopardizing your career to force me to fight my drug addiction, even though I made it pretty miserable for you, Starsk. I'll do the same for you, babe."
"I can't, Hutch. I don't want to go back there. I've pushed a lot of it down and I deal with the rest. I can handle the nightmares." He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
"Why don't you just go talk with Bill Wentworth for openers; it just might do you a lot of good," Hutch suggested. "He doesn't live far from here and he said how really lonely he was. His wife left him when he came back with his legs shot up."
"Aw, you know that's not playing fair, Hutch. How can I say no after that?"
"That's the spirit. Let's go now." Hutch was already to the door. "We'll take my car."
On the way, he asked Starsky, "Why couldn't you tell anyone about what happened, partner? It would have helped so much to share it. And you know you can tell me anything. We're brothers, aren't we?"
"I didn't want to lay that trip on you, Hutch, or anyone else for that matter. And I felt like I was responsible for those guys, you know, they were green as grass and I led them right into a trap," Starsky said, his head in his hands.
"How could you know? Your unit had pulled out, you had no way of knowing where you were. It was a jungle, not exactly equipped with street signs and friendly folks you could ask directions from. Don't you beat yourself up anymore over that. You've paid for years for something that wasn't even your fault, Starsk. Bill Wentworth sure doesn't seem to blame you. He has nothing but good things to say about you. And if you did anything wrong, how come you got a medal for it, you big dummy?" he asked, messing up his friend's hair.
Starsky ducked. "It was just so God-awful, Hutch. I can't even explain. You're just out there and you don't know who the good guys are or who the bad guys are and even your own guys are shooting at you. You see friends blown away every day or just blown apart, arms and legs flying. And it was all so unbearably green, full of snakes and creepy things. Sometimes your greenhouse even gets to me, Hutch, and I expect a snake to fall on my head when I'm out there. And the worst part of all is, when you come back, everybody seems to blame you for the whole shooting match, like you're personally responsible just because you were there."
Hutch just couldn't imagine, there was no comparison in his life for this devastation his friend had been through. This man is a hero, he thought, my best friend, a real hero.
The rest of the trip was made in silence, each man lost in his own reverie.
The first thing Hutch noticed when they got there was that Bill wasn't out front when they pulled up. He kind of expected that was an everyday thing for him sitting in the sun with his beer. Maybe he'd gone inside for something to eat. They knocked, but no answer. Hutch pushed on the door and it opened. They both had good instincts and they both felt something was wrong. They were right. They found Bill in the kitchen, his head slumped on the table. Hutch didn't need any medical examiner to tell him the cause of death, a bullet placed at close range between the 2nd and 3rd vertebrae.
Starsky looked at him, absolutely stricken. "It's happening again, Hutch, somebody's killing people because of me."
"We don't know that yet, Starsky," he started to say.
"I don't need anyone to hit me over the head with a two by four to know it. I just keep on getting people killed! Why does this keep happening, Hutch? And how long before they get to you?" Starsky started to cry, shaking his head back and forth, his mind trying to grasp what was happening here.
"Hold it together, buddy, it's going to be all right. I'm right here with you." Hutch could see he was slipping away. He grabbed him and held him in a death grip, but there was no answering hug from his partner.
"It can't ever be right again, Hutch. I'm getting everybody I care about killed!" He sat down on the floor, exhausted, lost in his own private hell. He didn't even protest when Hutch slipped his partner's gun out of his holster and stuck it in his own belt.
He called 911 and got the ball rolling on the investigation, sharing what he knew with the officers who arrived on the crime scene. This was out of their jurisdiction, though, so Hutch could only watch and ask questions.
When they were told they could go, he went over to Starsky and knelt down next to him. "Ready to go home, buddy? It's been a rough day!" No response. He looked closer, something about Starsky's eyes bothered him. There seemed to be no life in the dark blue eyes that stared straight ahead. Hutch checked his partner's pulse. It was strong and steady. Starsky had simply gone away for awhile.
Hutch called 911 again and requested another ambulance, this time to take his friend back to Memorial to be checked out.
Geez, what a mess, he thought. What do I do now?
His answer was to call Dobey and tell him about what had happened. Dobey said he would meet him at Memorial. He called Huggy and asked him to meet there, too. He wanted both of them to get the whole story about what was driving their friend. He would need their help, too.
When they all got together, Hutch went into some detail about what he'd learned of Starsky's Viet Nam experiences, leaving nothing out. By the time, he was through, all three men had tears in their eyes and were seeing their friend in a new light.
Just as Hutch finished, the doctor came out and motioned for him.
"How is he?" Hutch asked impatiently.
"Your friend doesn't seem to be comatose or catatonic. I believe he's just in deep shock. From what you told me, he's been facing some pretty terrible things he's repressed for a lot of years. Given what he's been through, and all the things that have suddenly come back to him, plus the guilt he's feeling over the way his friends are dying, his mind is just shutting down because he can't process it all. We'll have to keep him here until we can get some kind of response from him. If you'd like to talk to him, it'd be the best thing you could do. The more reassurance he has that there's somebody with him and things are going to be okay, the better, at this point. I don't expect this condition to last long, he's strong and resilient. His mind just needs time to rest and adjust."
"Thanks, Doc," Hutch whispered gratefully, thinking how many times the three of them, just like now, had been right here, waiting for news about his partner. The frightening thing was, how many more times could there be?
They arranged for one of them to be with him around the clock, including Cheryl, who came running as soon as she heard that he was there. There were appreciative looks from Huggy and even Dobey at the sight of the beautiful girl, who grabbed their friend's hand as soon as she hit the room and sat there whispering into his ear, oblivious to anything that was going on around her, until she had to go back to work.
"M'man may not be blessed with luck in a lot of ways, but he's sure hard to kill and he de-fin-ite-ly has a way with the ladies," Huggy observed.
"Well, Cap'n, I guess I'll get out there and run down those other two soldiers from Starsky's unit. I'll be back to sit with him in awhile." Hutch got up to go.
"Hutchinson, as his friend, you're a walking target; so is Huggy, Cheryl, maybe even me, too. You're not going out there by yourself. I'm putting Jenkins with you to watch your back, so you're just going to have to wait until he gets here, you hear me?" Dobey bellowed.
Once Hutch got back to Metro, an unwilling Jenkins tagging along, he went to see Minnie. She was able to access military files and came up with the two soldiers, Michael Hanson and Tony Pirelli. Checking other records, she found their addresses in Biloxi, Miss. and Buffalo, New York, respectively. A call to each location confirmed that each was dead, killed in the last couple months from a bullet placed at close range between the 2nd and 3rd cervical vertebrae.
He and Jenkins headed back to the hospital to relieve Dobey and let him know what they'd found out. They had to settle for a parking place way out on the fringes of the lot. They parked beside a black van and got out, Hutch immediately heard the door of the van open and a gunshot, but by the time he got his gun out, he was looking at a weapon held in a big, beefy hand. He looked up to see the medical examiner, Jonas Manfried, smiling evilly at him.
"Drop it, Hutchinson," the big man said gruffly.
Hutch dropped it. Jenkins was on the ground on the other side of the car from him, felled by the gunshot, he assumed.
"Will you at least let me see if he's dead?" he asked the man.
"He's dead. I'm the medical examiner, remember?" he snickered. "Now get in the van!"
Hutch turned around to do as he was told, when he felt a sharp pain in his head and darkness welcomed him home.
Dobey was really starting to get worried when Hutch failed to get back when he said he would. He was startled when a uniformed officer rushed through the door of the room.
"What's going on, Whitcomb?" he barked.
"Sir, we just found Fred Jenkins out in the parking lot. He's been killed!" the officer answered excitedly.
"And Hutch?" Dobey asked.
"Well, sir, his car's there, but he's gone."
Dobey held his head, there was clearly no end to this soap opera these two laughingly called their lives.
"Put out an APB on Hutchinson immediately!" he growled. "And I want guards on Starsky round the clock!"
Huggy happened to come in and heard the whole exchange.
"Can you stay with him so I can see what's going on, Huggy?" He agreed and Dobey took off, making the other man wonder how someone so big could move that fast. Huggy moved over close to Starsky's ear.
"Ya hear that, m'man? Your partner's in big trouble. Ya got to get it together, cause he needs you to get him out of this." Huggy continued softly. "Ya can't just sit this one out, man, although, God knows, ya gotta want to. Come on, wake up, Starsky, ya know he would if it was you "
All at once, the dark blue eyes were open, as if something miraculous had happened. The plea for his partner had reached deep into Starsky's subconscious mind and he'd struggled to get back to reality because Hutch needed him.
"What's happening, Huggy?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"You kinda shut down, man, everybody's been real worried about you. Hutch found out those other two soldiers in your old unit were killed in the same way as Chandler and this Wentworth, so Dobey assigned him another cop to watch his back. Now the cop is dead out there in the parking lot and there's no sign of Hutch except for his car."
Somewhere in the middle of the narrative, Starsky leaped off the bed and was almost dressed by the time Huggy was finished.
"Where's Dobey?" the detective asked.
"Probably out in the lot where the cop was found," Huggy answered.
"Get outta here, Hug! Find somewhere to hide for awhile. It looks like hunting season again for anybody I care about!"
"Hey, watch your back, man, this dude's not just playing games," Huggy called as his friend was running out of the room.
Hutch woke up with a killer headache and his eyes weren't focusing too well. He tried to move, but found that he was chained to a bed with his hands cuffed behind him. The bed and a chair were the only things in the room and Hutch noticed with growing apprehension that both of them were fastened to the floor. The room looked like a prison cell, cement blocks, with old paint peeling off them and a cement floor was all there was. He wondered what happened next.
Starsky found Dobey in the hospital parking lot and shocked him by coming up behind him and grabbing him by the arm. "Starsky," he hollered. "Don't be giving me a heart attack here. Things are bad enough. I'm glad to see you among us again. Nice little nap you had while we were busting our humps. What brought you back from the other side?"
"Somebody telling me my partner needed me, Cap!" Starsky answered.
Just then the radio in the black-and -white came alive. "Patch through to Captain Dobey," the dispatcher relayed.
"Captain Dobey, here," he yelled into the mic.
"Captain," asked the dispatcher, "is Detective Starsky there, sir?"
Starsky grabbed the mic from his Captain. "I'm here, what's going on?"
"Some guy wants to talk to you, but not over the radio. He says to go to the phone booth there in the parking lot and he'll tell you where to find your partner."
Starsky got to the phone just as it began to ring.
"So talk," he answered it.
"Why, Sgt. Starsky, so good to be talking to you again," the voice said, dripping with venom, despite the courteous words.
Starsky recognized the accent and now he knew who this man was. It explained a lot, his unreasonable dislike of a man he didn't think he knew. There were still questions, though. But Jonas Manfried had been the thug in 'Nam, the mercenary who had so enjoyed torturing him.
"What do you want with my partner, Manfried, or should I just call you Gorilla, since that's the only name I ever heard you called in "Nam? Why don't you just let Hutch go and you can have me to do what you want with."
"I have big plans for both of you, Sgt. I'm going to give you an address and you're going to get over here within fifteen minutes or your friend here is dead," the angry voice said.
"I need to talk to him, make sure he's alive, Manfried," Starsky pushed.
"He's alive and that's all you gotta know. Take a chance and don't come and he won't be for long. And none of your cop friends, understand. This is between me and you, creep!"
"Give me the address, I'll be there, no cops," Starsky promised. "Just don't hurt my partner."
Dobey was all over him when he got back, but the detective would only say, "Gotta do this alone, Cap," and jumped in Hutch's car, taking off before anyone could stop him.
The address was down by the docks, an old abandoned warehouse, about as deserted an area as you could get. When he got there, the man was waiting and lost no time checking him for weapons, then shoved him into a room with a bed and a chair, both of them bolted to the floor. Starsky saw that Hutch was chained to the bed and was relieved to see that he seemed unhurt. They made eye contact, and, as Hutch was gagged, their eyes had to say it all.
"You okay, buddy?" Starsky asked. There was a nod of the head, which relieved him immensely, then he was pushed down in the chair and Manfried started tying his arms and legs very securely.
This really doesn't look well for the home team, Starsky was thinking, both the dynamic duo trussed up, ready for God-knows-what, but he kept his mouth shut, waiting to see what the man would do next. He didn't have to wait long. As soon as he was tied in tightly enough to satisfy Manfried, he proceeded to deliver a series of jabs and punches to Starsky's face and body, making him pant for breath.
"Just like old times, huh, Sgt.? I've dreamed for years of having you here like this, a reunion of sorts, only your old pals couldn't make it. They're all dead! But I was good to them, Sgt., they never knew what hit them. I'm going to have all kinds of fun with you, and then when I'm done playing with you, you're going to watch 'pretty boy' here die and then it'll be your turn."
"Why are you singling me out, Manfried?" Starsky asked through swollen lips. "I wasn't the only prisoner of war there."
"No, but you never broke, you were the only one I couldn't beat, and I want another chance. When you escaped, you nearly killed me, you broke my eardrums, most of the bones in my face, both of my arms, then I got gangrene in my leg and they held me down and sawed it off. Those goons blamed me for you getting away and they made me take your place after I was able to get around a little. I spent months in the pit and years being tortured by them. Finally, after all those years, the military found the place and got me out, along with a few Americans they were still holding. I spent a long time in hospitals and rehab facilities and when I got out I wanted nothing more than to make you pay. But you were already suffering, what with Prudholm and Gunther, so I went on to school and became a medical examiner. I enjoyed watching you struggle, especially last year when you shot yourself. I don't know how you made it out of that one, but you've had it easy for too long. Now comes payday." He let loose another barrage of punches and kicks that Starsky thought would never come to an end. When it did, the first thing he did was look over at Hutch.
Initially, when the man started hitting his partner, Hutch went wild, trying to catapult himself off the bed, straining at the chain and handcuffs, but seeing he could do nothing, he'd just shut his eyes and was rocking his head back and forth, hoping to shut out some of the sounds. Starsky tried to reassure him that he was okay, that this Gorilla, as he called him, hadn't been able to break him before and there was no way he was going to do it now. What came out of his mouth was barely understandable, but Hutch recognized what he was trying to do. This infuriated Manfried and he started in on Starsky again. Finally he leaned back against the wall and lit a cigarette.
Starsky couldn't resist taunting him. "What's the matter, Manfried, getting tired? I can take this longer than you can dish it out, you know." The man was on him in a second, pressing the cigarette repeatedly against his arm, until Hutch could smell his flesh burning. He was screaming inside, yelling at Starsky to please just shut up, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. "You never were worth anything, you know, man, even those Viet Cong were smarter than you. What are you, anyway, a product of inbreeding, did your mom..." A vicious blow stopped him, his head recoiling until it came to rest on his chest.
Evidently Starsky's plan was working, the man was tiring and undecided how to proceed next. He must have thought he needed a drink or something to eat, because he suddenly left the room.
Hutch looked over and saw Starsky trying to get his head down by one of his hands that was tied to the arm of the chair. He was trying to pull something out of his hair. He seemed to be fighting a losing battle until finally he gave it a big yank and it came out with a huge hank of his hair attached. He quickly started working on the ropes with it and Hutch could see that it was a razor blade. His partner got himself loose and was unsteadily making his way toward Hutch when they heard Manfried coming back. Starsky stood behind the door and as the man entered the room, he jumped on his back and started hitting him in the head. The beatings had weakened him, though, and he didn't have much of a punch, but he kept working Manfried closer and closer to the bed. When he was in place, Hutch launched out with his legs, kicking the man in the stomach and groin and he went down like a rock. Hutch kicked him again and again until finally he was still. Starsky had keeled over on the floor and was crawling toward Manfried to find the keys to the handcuffs. Once he had those off Hutch, he just collapsed. Hutch put the cuffs on Manfried and then got some of the ropes and made sure he was immobilized. Then he went over to his friend. Starsky's eyes were swollen shut, his nose was broken and his face and neck were a mass of dark bruises. Hutch checked his pulse and it seemed pretty strong, but very fast.
He rolled up his coat and put it under his partner's head, then went in search of a phone. There was none in the building, so he had to drive a little ways. He called for backup and two ambulances, then he got back to his partner as soon as he could. Starsky's condition seemed to have deteriorated and Hutch suspected a rib had pierced his lung or internal bleeding or both. It seemed like forever before he heard the sirens and went out and directed them in. He was surprised to see Cap'n Dobey, who'd been out of his mind with worry and had been sitting on the radio waiting for something to happen. They both hovered over Starsky, once getting reprimanded for keeping the paramedics from doing their job.
Hutch rode in the ambulance with his partner, and, of course, thought again, how many more times? Then they got to the hospital and the waiting began again.
Dobey himself took Hutch's statement. Someone who didn't know these two would have doubted their story. Sometimes Dobey wasn't sure if this was the real dynamic duo, the way they got out of impossible predicaments.
"It wasn't me, Cap, it was all Starsky. That guy just kept beating the heck out of him, yet he got himself out of it and saved my life, too. How'd he even wake up, Cap'n? The last I saw of him he was down for the count. I wasn't sure he'd ever come back again. I'm not so sure I would have." Hutch knew he was babbling, but he'd been pushed beyond endurance, watching his partner getting crap beat out of him and not being able to do anything.
"All it took," Cap'n Dobey answered "was for him to hear that his partner was in trouble, then we couldn't hold him back."
They both looked up as the doctor came to the door. They walked over to him, and he told them that, once again, their friend would be all right. He had several broken ribs, one of which had punctured a lung, a broken collarbone, severely bruised kidneys and his stomach and intestines were so traumatized, he wouldn't be eating anything solid for a long time.
Dobey and Hutch looked at each other and smiled. That would probably hurt Starsky more than all the other things put together.
"What about his burns, Doc?" Hutch asked.
"They'll be painful and will require some scraping, but in the long run, it could have been a lot worse." He smiled reassuringly.
When Hutch walked into his friend's hospital room, he cringed. He wouldn't have recognized this man as his partner in a million years. Starsky's face was so swollen and bruised, he didn't even look human.
"Starsk?" he said softly. He had no way of knowing if his friend was awake or not because he couldn't open his eyes.
"Yeah," was all Starsky could manage without a lot of pain.
"How ya doing?"
Starsky just shook his head.
Hutch touched his friend's hair exploring the bald spot where his partner had hidden the razor blade. "How'd you get that razor to stay in there while he was smacking you around like that?"
"Super-Glue, your glove compartment," he mumbled. "Only thing I could think of."
"Geez, Starsk, you Super-Glued that thing in your hair! I've got to admit it worked, but what kind of mind would think of doing something like that?"
"One with some hair over it, not like yours." Starsky started to grin, then thought better of it.
Just then Cheryl came bursting in. When she saw Starsky, she started crying. "Dave, what can I do to help you?"
"You can go 'way, just get outta here!" he snapped.
"Starsk!" Hutch started to reprimand him, but Starsky cut him short.
"You get out, too Hutch! And don't come back!"
"What the heck's wrong with you, Starsky? Are you losing your mind?"
The detective shook his head. "No, just my friends, and 'less I can keep 'em in an armored car alla time, I can't afford to have any."
"Starsky, it's all over!"
"Till next time."
Cheryl took over. "David Starsky, that's just not your decision. I happen to think it's well worth the risk to care about you and you're not going to stop me. Don't you dare tell us not to care, because it just won't do any good!"
Tears started sliding out from under Starsky's lids. Cheryl took one of his hands and Hutch the other.
He said gently, "I love ya, Starsk. You're my best friend, my partner, my brother. And you're a lot of peoples' hero Those people weren't killed because they knew you. They were killed because of a slime ball who saw something shining in you that he didn't have and never could. You know what? He was jealous of that. He wanted it and he wanted to punish you because he couldn't get it. That creep tried to break you twice, babe. Don't let him win now, when it's all over."
Starsky just squeezed both their hands. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I'll work on it, 'kay?"
Cheryl had to go back to work, so she planted a kiss gently on his lips. "I'll be back as soon as I can, sweetie. Hang in there, okay?"
"'Kay."
When she was gone, Hutch decided to say something he'd been holding in for awhile. "Starsk?"
"Hmmm."
"There's something I'm not too proud of and I don't think you will be either. I just hope you can forgive me."
"What?" Starsky asked.
"While I was in college, there were these peace rallies, protests against us being in Viet Nam. I didn't know, Starsk, I didn't know anybody there, I had no idea what was really happening. God help me, I joined in on some of those protests, just mostly going along with the crowd. I'm so sorry, buddy, when I saw that guy working you over, when I heard what you went through over there, it shamed me so badly, I don't know if I can ever forgive myself."
"S'okay, Hutch, you didn't know. I forgive ya, that's what friends are for, forgiving."
"Thanks, partner, how'd you get to be so wise, anyway?" Hutch asked.
"Just paying' attention to you, Blondie." Starsky slurred groggily.
Just as he was drifting off to sleep, he thought he heard his partner mumble, "No, Starsk, not true. I'm just beginning to realize who the Batman is in our particular dynamic duo! I'd be honored just to be your boy wonder."
The End