Story #8: Twice Bitten
It was either the third or the fourth time Starsky had tried to work out how he'd got into the mess he was in and still couldn't come up with a logical answer. Lying in the back seat of his car, blood soaking his jeans from not just one hole in his right thigh, but a second in his left calf. He only had vague memories regarding how they got there He remember two men, some gun shots and something about him not being a threat anymore. If the voice had been referring to him it was very much correct. His legs were a mess and what was worse; there was still a bullet in his thigh. He had applied a tourniquet to his left leg with the use of his belt and used his shirt sleeve as a second.
There wasn't much more he could do for now, not until he'd built up enough strength to reach over to the front seat where the radio was. It was broken, but whoever had done the damage was clearly an amateur. With enough strength he figured he could fix it, but with blood oozing from two wounds it was hard to find the energy.
He waited, it would come. He took his moment of rest to let this earlier thought return to him.
"How did I get into this mess?"
*
Paperwork; the word that had the ability to ruin a perfectly good day. Starsky tried to keep his eyes on the large pile that lay before him, but he couldn't help letting them wander across the desk to his sweaty partner. The fan on their desk had broken the day before and the mid summer heat was giving Hutch's face a watering shine. The last thing on his mind was finishing his paper work, but he knew that the fantasies buzzing around in his head would not have a chance to come true until it was done, so with reluctance he got back down to work.
Two hours and six reports later Starsky stopped typing and ran a hand along his eyes. It was getting late and the paper work was only half done.
"You know," he said, "all this paper work is getting in the way of my plans." He made sure he had Hutch's eye contact before he continued. "I have this date with a tall, really good looking Blonde and with all his paper work I'll never get a chance to prepare things."
The two stared across the table for a moment, Starsky's eyes twinkling with mysterious delight.
Hutch typed a few more words on his report and then threw it on the finished pile.
"Well, Starsky, if you're that desperate to shoot off and make your dinner plans I suppose I could finish up for you...but these better be good plans." Starsky jumped around the table and leaned in to whisper in his partner's ear. A tidal wave of red blushed Hutch's cheeks, but he tried his best to remain collected in front of the three remaining men in the squad room.
"Don't let me keep you."
Starsky barely resisted the urge to lick his lover's earlobe as he pulled away. He was out of the door before Hutch managed to lower his blush and look up.
*
Somewhere, carved in stone there was a rule that said; to make any evening special you needed a small list of things: Wine, steaks, candles, dessert, sex and obviously a partner. Starsky had the steaks and candles at home and a partner on stand by, but no wine. He had considered stopping at the wine rack just round the corner from the station, but decided instead to pick up a bottle from Huggy's. The man was not the most law abiding, but he sure knew a thing about alcohol and he hadn't been in the best of moods over the last few days. The last time Starsky and Hutch had been in the bar Huggy had been a little too jumpy. Looking at the door a little too often to be casual. When Starsky asked what was wrong Huggy had pulled his usual charming smile and assured them that everything was 'cool'.
Starsky figured he could, as the old saying went, kill two birds with one stone. He could get the wine and with any luck get a few truthful words out of the agitated informant.
The sky was beginning to show signs of darkening when Starsky arrived at The Pits and with the sun going down he expected to see Huggy's usual night dwellers swarming into the bar, but to his surprise the joint was closed.
Starsky parked the car in Huggy's alley and decided to enter via the back door. To his advantage the door wasn't locked, but as he twisted the handle, he heard loud voices coming from inside. One was easily recognised as Huggy's, but the other two were unfamiliar. He couldn't make out the words, but judging by the tone, Huggy was not happy and neither were his company.
Using his cop training Starsky thought about which approach would be better. To jump in, gun at the ready and in full cop mode would either result in embarrassment for him, or danger for Huggy. He didn't know what the situation was and the other men in the bar could simply be patrons who were kicking up a fuss about the prices.
Starsky eventually went for a calm, casual approach, but with his jacket open in case his gun was needed. With a little push he opened the door. He couldn't see the men or Huggy, but there voices were coming from near the bar. Starsky walked slowing down the little corridor and stopped at the pinball machine. Huggy and the two men, both dress smartly in suits were stood around a table; they had all gone silent, except Huggy's eyes were say a lot about how angry he was with his companions.
"Hey Huggy." Starsky called naturally. His voice startled one of then men, who jumped around. The next set of motions all happened so fast Starsky could only remember snap shots while he lay behind the pinball with a bullet in his thigh. He'd seen the gun just before it had gone off. He'd not managed to jump out the way fast enough.
"Nice going, idiot." One of the men said followed by the smack of flesh meeting flesh.
"He made me jump." A casual voice responded. Starsky crawled around the pinball machine, but made sure the majority of his body was hidden. The height difference between the two was more noticeable with them both on their feet. The one holding the recently fired gun was nearly a foot smaller, but his hair was twice as long, nearly at his shoulders. He could see Huggy on his feet, his palms pushing against the table so hard the legs were bound to buckle before long.
The taller man approached Starsky's hiding place. He took a gun from his pocket and kneeled next to the fallen detective.
"I must apologies from my associate. He doesn't like being distracted." The man reached towards Starsky's jacket, but he slapped the hand away.
"I only came in for a drink." Starsky said through clenched teeth. The man kicked Starsky's leg, using the pain to distract Starsky long enough so he could search his pockets. He found the gun first and then the badge.
"Oh shit!" He turned to show his friend the badge.
"I shot a cop." The voice was slightly high pitched, but there was an almost apathetic quality to his tone.
"Yeah, Mike, but I think he'll live. We better get out of here."
Mike joined his friend next to Starsky, but keeping one eye trained on Huggy.
"He's seen us, which means he can identify us."
"Well, what do you recon we should do?"
Starsky didn't like the way the conversation was heading, so he bit back the pain the best he could and used what strength he had to sit up against the pinball machine.
"Killing a cop ain't a smart idea," he said, wondering how many times in the past he'd said a similar thing.
Mike pulled a gun from a shoulder holster and bent down next to Starsky.
"We seem to be stuck in quite a predicament then."
"I can tell you one thing," The other man said. "We're not killing him. Being a loan shark is one thing, but being a cop killer just ain't my bag at all."
Mike snorted. "Killing a cop ain't much different to killing anyone else. They're just human beings after all. Their blood is as red as anyone else's."
"You can't just kill my patrons." Huggy finally spoke up.
Mike turned his head and scowled. "And what are you going to do about it." He aimed his gun at Huggy's head for a moment.
"I agree with him" The other man said. "Murder is not an option; we'll need to think of something else."
Mike put the gun to Starsky's head and pulled back the hammer. His hand lingered, but his trigger finger didn't more. "You know what," he said, taking the gun away. "I've got a better idea." He lowered the gun and fired a bullet into Starsky's other leg. The detective had to bit down hard on his lip to stop himself from screaming, but the initial shock forced him to gasp.
"Now, James, go out into the alley and check if he's got a car. If so, break the radio and come back. I know a place we can dump him where no one will find him."
*
Starsky's memories didn't stretch back any further. Mike had hit him with the gun, knocking him out and when he came too he was in the back of his car with two bullet wounds and a broken radio.
When his reminiscing came to an end Starsky found himself in complete darkness. He found it strange since there had been a constant stream of light from somewhere behind him, but now there was nothing. The answer became obvious when he reached up to wave a hand over his face; he had his eyes closed. He opened them to find the light was back and he felt a little more alert. With his newly found energy he decided it was time to tackle the radio.
Moving though from the back seat to the front dash board seemed so easy in theory, but in practice the radio might as well have been in a different car half way down the street. Both his legs were heavy and sensitive to even the slightest movement. He gritted his teeth reached for the passenger and the driver's seats. His plan was the drag himself forwards without intentionally moving his lower half, as if that part was paralysed, which was near enough the truth. He fitted his upper body between the two seats and pushed against them, throwing his body through the gap. His legs were dragged away and his left fell off the back seat, hitting the floor with a painful thud. Starsky gasped, but stifled his screams once again despite no one being around to hear it. He was forced to take a moment to wait for the pain to lessen before he could continue. The wind had also been knocked from him when his chest had collided with the hand break.
The car he loved so much had become a painful, hard to navigate maze, with obstacles in the way.
The pain in both his legs and chest finally eased and he pushed himself up, using the passenger and driver's seats. He heaved his body closer to the radio until his face was almost pressed up against it. He lowered his body down carefully to avoid lying on the hand break. Taking a moment to rest before he got started on the radio, Starsky looked out the window for the first time. He knew that if he managed to get a message out he'd need to inform his rescuers of his position. It was hard to see much through the darkness, but the light out side gave him the idea that he was not in the middle of a field or trapped inside an abandoned warehouse. He could see the source of illumination was indeed a street light, but it flickered every so often presenting the idea that Starsky was not in one of the better parts of the city. That was an advantage in a way since he and Hutch had walked many beats in the rougher areas and they were quite familiar with the terrain. Although that also worked against him; his car stood out like a rose in a bed full of weeds.
Getting back to the task at hand, Starsky began the slow job of putting the radio back together. It was hard work, he had to be sure that he put everything back in the correct place and the pain in his legs weren't helping with his concentration. He was forced to take small breaks every so often to get his strength back, but as he worked the breaks became longer. Sometimes he'd have to close he's eyes and work on getting the pain under control, but that nearly made him drift off.
"Maybe if I talked to myself, I'd keep myself awake," he said out loud. "What do you think, girl. Up to hearing a few ramblings." He kept up his work while he spoke.
"Don't worry; I'll get us both out of this mess. Even if I'm the first one out, I won't let them leave you here alone." Starsky connected a few wires and then stopped to take a short break. "Although I suppose if I died right here, they could use you as a hearse." He laughed weakly at the thought of Hutch driving a red and white striped hearse to the grave yard. When the image of Hutch zoomed in to capture his expression of sadness Starsky forced his eyes open to resume his work. As amusing as the original thought was, the idea of Hutch having to go through such an experience gave Starsky a little extra energy to get his job done faster.
The radio didn't look exactly the way it had when Starsky was finished, but when he turned the dial he heard the familiar static sound. The simple noise was like hearing the trumpets of victory. He twiddled with the dials a bit until he heard what he hoped was the station dispatcher.
"This is Zebra Three to dispatch," Starsky said, "is anyone receiving me?" There was a short pause filled with static before a female voice came through.
"This is dispatch, reading you loud and clear, Zebra Three."
Starsky sighed so deeply, he feared he'd sigh himself to sleep.
"Officer needs assistance. I don't know where I am and I've been hit. I need to speak to Sergeant Hutchinson." There was another pause, but one that lasted half as long.
"Officer Hutchinson has been called, what is you condition, over?"
"Apart from rather uncomfortable, I've been hit twice in the legs."
"Any information regarding you location?" Starsky tried to sit up a little to get a better look through the window, but all he could see were buildings and the lids of dustbins, no street signs.
"Sorry, honey."
"No problem, detective Hutchinson is on his way. Hang tight."
Starsky held the receiver to his chest and relaxed as her last sentence brought a smile to his face. Hutch was on his way, things would start looking up.
*
The last bit of paper landed at the top of the pile, bringing an end to the gruelling job. Hutch leaned back in his hard chair, wishing that fabric would magically line the wood and pull him into its soft mound. Such fantasies were spawned from images of how his night was going to end, lying curled up on the couch with Starsky wrapped up in his arms and the prospect of sex in both their minds.
With the paperwork completed his fantasy had a chance to leap over into reality, but first he had to let his captain know he was leaving.
The thought of getting up had only just squeezed into his thought processors when the squad room door opened and a uniformed officer approached him.
"Sergeant Hutchinson, you're wanted in the dispatch office," he said bluntly. "You're partner is on the radio, he's requesting to speak with you."
Hutch went completely still, while his unfocused eyes looked up at the young officer. Something about the message made him nervous and he couldn't figure out why. The officer's tone didn't hint that Starsky was in danger, but at the same time why would Starsky be calling the dispatcher when he should be at home?
Deciding not to jump to any rash conclusions Hutch got up casually from his chair and dismissed the young man with a nod and small smile.
Arriving at the dispatch office Hutch found Minnie talking into her mic with a look on her face that gave him a sick stomach. She was talking about mundane stuff, but her features didn't give the impression that she was having a casual chat. Hutch left his own casual behaviour behind and practically pounced on Minnie's station.
"I heard you got Starsky on the radio?" He said, taking her mic before she could answer him. "Hey Starsk, I thought you had a date tonight?"
Hutch could hear heavy breathing and it turned his sick stomach to ice.
"I did, ran into a little trouble whilst picking up the wine." "Starsky's voice was strained and there was a short pause before he could speak again. "Went to Huggy's found two guys with guns...jumpy fellas they were. The kind that shoots first and asks questions when you can barely stay conscious." Hutch didn't realise he had stopped breathing until he exhaled and nearly choked.
"Can't go anywhere without someone taking a shot at you," Hutch said, trying to sound light. "Where are you hit?" There was a pause filled with only the sounds of Starsky's breathing and Hutch's pounding heart.
"Took a bullet to both legs. The left went all the way through, the other I'm afraid has taken up residence in my thigh." Hutch wondered why he let out a sigh of relief. Two bullets were nothing to be relieved about, but he knew he was just thankful that neither bullet had hit a kill spot. Although he knew that a thigh shot was not something to dismiss or take lightly.
"Starsk, do you have any idea where you are?"
"'Fraid not. Been trying to work that one out myself." Another pause. "It seems familiar though.
Like we've been here before, but I can't tell you where I am in relation to anywhere else. Sorry pal."
"That's okay for now. I think our immediate concern is getting your legs sorted. Are they both still bleeding?" There was the sound of rustling, which Hutch thought was static at first, but hearing Starsky's grunts he knew his partner was moving about.
"Not as bad as they were. I tied a tourniquet round them both, but I don't like the look of my thigh."
"Could be an infection, we're going need to get that bullet out."
Starsky gave a short chuckle." Don't suppose you've hidden a doctor anywhere in my car?"
Hutch smiled, but his next words were serious. "I'm afraid this is something you might have to do yourself."
"That better not be an attempt at a joke, 'cause it's a very bad one."
"No joke." He glanced at his watch. "I'm going to send some officers round to Huggy's to question him and maybe find out why he hasn't reported what happened to you. In the mean time I'm going to instruct you on how to get that bullet out of your leg."
"Hutch, there is no way I can do that, buddy and I may trust you with my life, but you're not a doctor and neither am I."
Hutch didn't want to argue, the longer they sat around debating, the more blood Starsky lost and the worse the infection got.
"I've taken bullets out before, if you remember. I managed to do it under pressure, now I'm sure I can talk you through this. If it gets too bad or you don't think you can do it, we'll stop, I promise."
Hutch took the long silence as Starsky giving himself a moment to think, because any other reason was not welcome in Hutch's mind.
"All right, just give me a moment to get sorted."
A moment seemed to long for Hutch, but he took the moment and decided it was time he took a seat. He pulled a chair up to the desk and waited for his partner's voice to return.
*
Getting comfortable was hardly an option. He had tried sleeping in his car a number of times, mainly on stakeouts, but he'd never managed to find a spot that offered any comfort. With two bullet wounds it was impossible to get comfortable, but moving into a position where he could reach his wound and still talk on the radio was important.
Dragging his legs through the gap between the seats was a task that sapped the remainder of his depleted strength and to find the energy to reassure Hutch that he was still conscious took an insane amount of time. When he was settled in the driver's seat and looking at his watch he discovered that time had run away from him. Fifteen minutes had vanished without his knowledge and he was surprised that Hutch had not been yelling at him through the radio.
"Okay, Hutch," Starsky said quietly into the mic. "I'm ready, almost willing, but hardly able."
He heard a slight chuckle, covered by static, but it made Starsky smile.
"First you'll need a few things," Hutch said. "Do you have your penknife on you?"
Starsky nodded foolishly and fished the knife out of his jacket pocket. "Yeah, I got it."
"Okay, you'll need the cigarette lighter for this. You need to sterilize the tip of the knife."
It took Starsky a second to remember whether he even had a cigarette lighter in his car; not being a smoker he had little need for it. He found it right next to the glove compartment, but he nearly forgot how to work it. He pressed the lighter and waited, wondering just how long it would take. Getting impatient Starsky pressed the lighter again and took it out. Hoping it was the right temperature he pressed the tip of the knife against the lighter.
"What's next?" Starsky asked once he was done with sterilizing the knife.
"Do you have any blankets, towel or anything like that?"
Starsky looked all around his car even though he knew that there were no blankets or towels. He reached for the glove compartment and was relieved to find a cloth he used to wipe the windows. He placed that on this injured thigh and then carefully and slowly took off his jacket.
"I got a cloth and a jacket. Afraid that's the best I can do."
"That'll have to do then," Hutch sighed. "Now, you'll need to get a better look at the wound. If the bullet is too deep we might have to forget this whole thing."
Starsky started his exploration by cutting away the purple wet patch that surrounded the hole in his jeans. He tried his best not to let the sharp tip touch his skin. With the fabric out of the way Starsky could see the swollen, discoloured and bloody wound more clearly and he didn't like it at all. This was by no means his first gun shot wound, but usually he didn't get the chance to examine them. In the Italian Restaurant the bullet had been in his back and in the barn the bullet had been far enough down his leg for him not to get a good look at it. He was secretly thankful. There was no pattern to how the blood leaked from the wound, it just poured out in all directions, trickling down his knee and thigh.
"I can see the wound, what now?"
Hutch was silent for a second.
"You'll need to see how deep the bullet went. This is going to be painful, but you're going to have to use the knife to help you get a good look inside the wound. If you can't see the bullet, we'll have to leave it where it is. You ready for this?" Hutch's voice carried the level of caring and compassion that Starsky had relied on in all the previous situations where Starsky had taken a bullet or been hurt in general.
Taking a deep breath Starsky leaned over his wound and tried to get a look into the hole. With all the blood in the way it was not easy, but he used to cloth to wipe it away. Holding the knife in one hand and the cloth in the other Starsky started his exploration, placing the tip of the knife on the edge of the wound and pulling back the flesh just a little. The pain was harsh, but for Starsky it was manageable. He gritted his teeth and continued with his exam.
A part of him was relieved to find the bullet was buried just barely an inch under his skin. He had read in a book once that there was a major artery that ran down the thigh and judging by the amount of blood we was confident in thinking that the bullet hadn't even touched it.
"I can see the bullet," he said. "It's not gone in too deep." Starsky could hear the sigh of relief as clearly as if Hutch was sat in the passenger seat.
"Right, here comes the tricky part, you're going to have to dig it out. Use one hand to brace your thigh while you prise it out. Kinda like taking a slug from the wall." The analogy made Starsky cringe. He'd taken bullets out of walls before and they sometimes came out after taking down a fair bit of plaster. "I ain't gonna lie to you, this is going to hurt a lot, but I'm here for ya pal. You can do it."
Starsky giggled as a silly image entered his mind. "Hope you don't mind me picturing you in a cheerleader outfit." He heard Hutch giggle, but things went quiet rather fast. "Hutch?"
There was no response. He moved the mic closer to his face. "Hey, Hutch you still there?" There was still no answer and even though Hutch was in a safer environment then himself, he began to get worried.
"Sorry, Starsk," Hutch said finally. "I've cleared the room, it's just you and me and I'm going to help you through this by using a few visualising techniques."
Starsky snorted. "I ain't got the time to mediate myself into a coma."
"Close your eyes, Starsk." Hutch said, in a lowered voice. "I want you to picture me, every single part of me in detail. Clothes, hair, even my scent. Do that now."
Starsky did as he was told and pictured Hutch the way he had looked the other day while they were on their beat. Sandy blonde hair playing with the wind on top of his head; slender legs fitting comfortably into his brown flared trousers; a loose blue shirt complimenting his brown leather jacket very well. His scent was hard to remember with the present smells of sweat and blood obfuscating the memory. His shampoo had held a slight tang of apple, only noticeable if one was to stick their nose up close and take a whiff, something Starsky had done earlier that morning while nibbling Hutch's earlobe. His aftershave had been something new, but the smell had not been over powering, so it was hard to remember the exact scent. He clung to the image and the apple aroma.
"Okay, I got ya, Blondie."
"Now, I want you to picture me reaching over to your side and taking a gentle hold of your thigh. I'm running my hand over the wound, but it's a feather light touch, no pressure."
Starsky pictured the hand just the way it had looked that morning, lying nuzzled among his chest hair, resting so naturally. He saw and nearly felt the hand run lightly down his thigh, sending specks of pleasure along, barely counteracting the pain.
"I'm running my hand down to your knee and that's where I'm leaving it, just cupped around your shin. I want you to picture my hand right where it is while you work. Can you do that?"
Hutch's voice was a little too soothing and although Starsky managed to visual Hutch's hand on his knee, his mind was wondering to other things that hand could be doing, but those thoughts were dragging him through the doors that led to his unconscious. He couldn't afford to follow that path and he forced his eyes open.
"I think we need to get started or else soon you'll be talking to yourself." The urgency in his tone and the meaning of the words must have got through; Hutch's voice remained quiet, but with added determination.
"All right, whenever you're ready, but take it slowly, if you rush you're likely to make a mistake and as you said earlier, neither of us are doctors."
"I'm going to start, but you better not stop talking."
"Just picture my hand, Starsk," Hutch said softly. "That's all you'll need."
It took a moment for him to remember Hutch's previous instructions regarding how to get the bullet out, but once he remembered he began. Doing as Hutch had said, he took it slowly, sliding the knife carefully down the unnatural hole. His hands were trembling so badly he was afraid he'd cut his thigh to pieces.
As he plunged the knife in he had to force his eyes to stay open, the pain dial was going from manageable to harsh and he knew before long it would hit unbearable. He continued though, remembering to keep the image of his lover's hand on his knee. In his shocky state he swore he could actually make out the ghost outline of a hand. He took his eyes away from the hallucination and began the horribly painful process of prying the bullet out of the wound. The first movement made his head jerk back so sharply he banged it on the head rest. He nearly dropped the knife, but he didn't allow himself to scream. He bit his lip, keeping his profane words locked up so Hutch would not be subjected to them. It was bad enough his partner knew what situation he was in, the last thing he needed was to hear Starsky's painful screams. He dug the knife in again, but this time biting his lip was not an option. The scream tore from his throat and the only thing he could do to silence it was to stop his work. He refused to drop the knife even though it nearly slipped through his fingers; blood covered the blade and the handle
"I'm squeezing your knee, Starsk." Hutch's voice came through, slightly high pitched. "I'm with you, Buddy. It's all right."
Starsky grabbed hold of Hutch's words and repeated them over and over in his mind, forcing the gentle tone to smother over the pain. Hutch repeated a few of his words and together they took away some of the intensity, enough at least for Starsky to catch his breath and relax a little.
"I don't know if I can do that again." Starsky said as he wiped sweat from his forehead. He didn't get why he was sweating so much, his body was so cold he wondered whether the seasons had changed while he'd been out.
"You got to give it another try, but rest for a moment." Starsky shook his head. He couldn't afford to rest, that meant taking the risk that he might pass out. He took a few deep, calming breaths, but they only helped him to focus his mind back on his job, the pain and the trembling in his hands remained relatively severe.
"I think I'm ready again," Starsky said with little confidence.
"All right, just continue to picture my hand, right where it was."
The image was the only thing that kept the pain from completely swamping him in agony. Starsky took a second to recreate the image of Hutch's hand on his thigh, the thumb rubbing little circles into his skin.
His second attempt went slower than the first, partly due to his hands shaking so badly. He had to be extra careful, but when the knife slid into the wound his hand spasmed so badly he nearly widened the hole. The slow approach wasn't working; he needed to imagine he was pulling off a band aid; fast and painful, but over in seconds. He prepared himself for the action, taking deep breaths and picturing Hutch's hand on his knee. Two more deep breaths and he did it.
No power on the planet could have stopped the scream from breaking out of Starsky's mouth. It was short and sharp, exactly like the pain. It had gone from cruel to indescribable within a few seconds.
Starsky's first thought after screaming was asking himself why it had gone dark again?
"You're eyes are closed, dummy." His mind snapped at him. He opened his eyes just enough so he could see out. His thigh was covered in blood, not a pore of skin could be seen and the bullet was précised out just enough for it to be pulled out by hand. Starsky did just that, taking the bullet between his shaky fingers.
"This bullet...ain't got my name on it." His mouth twitched at his own attempt at humour and to his surprise he heard a short chuckle from Hutch.
"I'm glad to hear that, Buddy," Hutch said his tone clearly conveying his smile. "Now, you're going to need to wrap anything you can find around the wound and tie something around it tightly."
As much as Starsky wanted to follow his partner's instructions he had to rest first. The last action had drained him of strength and even though he knew it was imperative he wrap his wound up, he just couldn't stop his eyes from closing.
*
Hutch didn't like how things had gone so slightly. There had always been some sign that Starsky had been awake whether it was grunts of pain or his movements, but everything had gone silent so suddenly that Hutch feared Starsky was unconscious.
"Hey, Starsk," Hutch said as load as he could without yelling. "You still with me." The continued silence twisted Hutch's guts up worse than when he heard Starsky screaming. "It's not nap time yet. There's still work to be done." With the continued absence of any reply Hutch wondered if getting Dobey in to bark commands into the mic would be a good idea, but Hutch remember something from a time long ago.
"Starsky," he barked. "Get your lazy ass back to work." The reply was barely auditable, but it made Hutch sink into his chair and smile.
"Hutch, you ain't Dobey, but you're...impersonation is getting better."
"Don't do that again, or I'll continue to practice." Starsky's response was a short grunt that could have passed for a chuckle. "That thigh better be wrapped up by the time help arrives."
Any reply Starsky might have made was drowned out by the door crashing open and a uniformed officer practically tripped into the room.
"Detective," the officer panted, "We just got a call from your informant. He says he'll only talk to you." Hutch had the phone in his hands before the officer finished,
"What line is he on?"
"Line two." Hutch punched in the number and turned his head briefly back to the mic.
"Got a call from Huggy, sit tight for a moment." He turned back to the phone as soon as he heard the connection made.
"Huggy?"
"Yeah, man, Hutch, I really need to talk to you in person. Like soon." Huggy's voice sounded distressed, but also a little nervous.
"If this is about Starsky, you're very late." Hutch couldn't keep the anger out of his voice and a part of him was glad.
"I know, I was going to come and talk to you sooner, but I couldn't and that's what I need to talk to you about."
"I'll meet you at the bar in ten minutes."
"I ain't there. Meet me at your place; I'm all ready half way. Everything will get cleared up I swear."
Hutch's heart refused to let him move from the chair, he needed to be where he could hear Starsky, but his mind overruled his feelings, hoping that whatever Huggy had to tell him would lead to Starsky being found.
"Okay, I'll meet you there." He hung up the phone without a good bye ad turned back to the mic.
"I don't know if you heard any of that, but I've got to go meet Huggy at my apartment. With any luck, he'll be able to sort all this out." The silence was back and Hutch prayed he hadn't just spoken to himself.
"Don't want to give you a time limit or anything, but you might want to make it fast." Starsky's voice was quieter than it had been before the phone call and it got Hutch to his feet before he realised he'd moved.
"Keep the radio on, I'm going to have Minnie talk to you while I'm gone."
Hutch was at the door the moment the words were out of his mouth, praying quietly that he had not just spoken his last words to his lover.
*
Speed limits had there purpose, but Hutch showed little care for them as he drove with the siren blaring. He was so desperate to meet Huggy that he nearly ran over an old lady crossing the street and for a second nearly forgot where he lived.
Pulling up outside the restaurant, he briefly noticed a yellow car parked outside, which Hutch was sure belonged to Huggy.
Take the steps three at a time; Hutch reached his apartment to find the door slightly ajar. On alert Hutch drew his gun and without taking any time to listen in, kicked the door open and jumped into the room.
Instead of finding his place a mess like other times, he found Huggy standing in the middle of the room with his hands over his head.
"Easy, Hutch," he said, almost hysterically. "It's cool, it's just me." Hutch put his gun away, but did a quick check of the apartment.
"Okay, what's going on and you better talk fast."
"I don't have a lot of time to explain, but you have to trust me..."
"Huggy, right now I'm about ready to throttle your skinny neck. You knew Starsky had been shot and you didn't report it." Hutch's low, harsh tone nearly sent Huggy shrinking into himself.
"It's been a bad night for all of us and I can straighten it all out and help you find Starsky, but you have to hide, now." Hutch didn't move.
"I don't have time to play games, do you know where he is?"
"Man, if I knew that do ya think we'd be standing here right now. The guys that know where he is, are on there way, but you got to give me a second to talk to them first."
Hutch stepped up to Huggy's face, his eyes never blinking.
"My partner is bleeding to death as we speak. If these guys know where he is I'm going to do all the talking."
"Hutch, you do it my way and you can find out where Starsky is and nail them for much more." Hutch had to clench his fist to stop himself from grabbing Huggy's neck. He slowly backed away from the informant and went over to the door. He could hear light footfalls and two very quiet voices.
"Okay Huggy," Hutch said. "I'm going to give you two minutes. If they haven't spilled there guts by them, I'm coming out." He didn't look at Huggy as he made his way into the bathroom and shut the door. He leaned against the wood and waited for voices. There were two of them. One had a deep voice, the other sounded nervous.
"Okay Huggy, what are you doing here?" The deep voice.
"You wanted the rest of the money; well this is where it is."
"Hurry this up, I don't like this whole set up." The nervous voice, Hutch could just make out the cracking of knuckles.
"Alright, I'll just go get it." One set of footfalls could be heard followed being furniture being moved. "By the way, I was curious to know what you did with the cop. The one you shot at my place?"
"That's none of your concern; we just want the money, now hurry up."
Hutch had heard enough, he didn't care what Huggy's plan was, and he wasn't prepared to stand around any longer.
He swung the door open and, like he had at the door, jumped out with his gun drawn.
"Nobody move." Hutch growled. Only one of the guys was in front of him, the other was by his side. Hutch had his gun trained on the one in front, giving the other guy a chance to swing at Hutch knocking the gun out of his hand. Hutch didn't follow the gun, instead he charged at the man, catching him the in stomach and knocking him to the ground. Giving the man no time to recover Hutch jumped down on the man, grabbing him by the shirt and hitting him hard in the face. He couldn't afford to knock the guy out and the rational part of Hutch's mind knew that. Leaving the face alone Hutch sat down on the man's stomach and pressed one arm against his chest and the other underneath his chin.
Hutch didn't see the other guy approaching him, but he heard the breaking of glass and a heavy thud. Assuming the other guy had been taken care of; Hutch gave his captive all his attention.
"You shot a cop right and I want to know where you dumped him." Hutch's voice was dangerous, but it didn't seem to make much of an impression.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Hutch applied a little more pressure.
"You want to go that route, fine, but let me tell you this. Being a cop killer holds a more severe punishment than assaulting one. You don't tell me where he is and I'll make sure you get the worst punishment available." The words didn't seem to have much effect on the man. He's eyes met Hutch's straight on and he didn't blink.
"I still don't know anything."
"Yes we do." The other man added with his voice more high pitched than usual. Hutch took a brief look over his shoulder at the other man, who was sitting on the floor with shards of glass lying around him and Huggy's hand on his shoulder.
"You shut up."
"No, I ain't going down as a cop killer, no way."
"Where is my partner?" Hutch asked sharply.
"We dumped him in an alley outside the old steel works, the one that caused the fire." Hutch remember that place, it had caught fire due to severe negligence on the part of an inexperienced supervisor. The whole area had been abandoned and even though plans had been made to fix the place up, nothing had happened. The buildings were unstable and there were caution signs everywhere.
Hutch took his handcuffs out of his pocket and cuffed the man on the ground.
"Huggy, get on the phone to the police and tell them to pick up these two and then call and ambulance."
Huggy nodded as he tried to reach the phone without letting go of his captive.
Hutch finished handcuffing the man to his radiator and was about to leave when he remember something,
"You owe these guys money?"
Huggy nodded. "Needed a loan badly to fix up the bar."
"Next time try a bank." Not waiting for a reply Hutch left.
*
The radio mic slipped from his wet fingers for the third time and Starsky no longer had the strength to search for it. He could still hear Minnie prattling on about the restaurant she'd been to the night before, but Starsky couldn't keep his attention on her. His mind kept drifting to Hutch and all things that could be happening right now. Was he on his way? Had he encountered the two men and was now in the same predicament?
The darkness was back and he knew why, his eye lids were too heavy to keep open and this time he didn't fight it. He didn't open them when he heard a car pull or when he felt the door open up and his left arm fall to his side. The only thing that got his eyelids moving was a simple, light touch on his cheek. He forced his eyes open with whatever reserve energy he had and found what he prayed was not an hallucination of his daydream.
"I think you broke a record." Starsky breathed out through a barely open mouth. Hutch kneeled beside his partner and took his hand. His eyes flickered between Starsky's face and the crudely bandaged wound.
"Must be getting faster in my old age."
Starsky managed a crooked smile, before he was forced to put the energy into keep his eyes open.
"You get the bad guys?" He asked slowly.
"Not only did I get them, but I bought the Calvary."
A siren blaring and flashing lights followed Hutch's sentence, and Starsky could just make out the white van pulling up behind Hutch's car. With the final reassurance that everything was going to be all right, Starsky let his eyes close and let the darkness finally win.
Epilogue
Lounging around in a big bed, with a servant to do the simplest things such as fetching a glass of water was all right for a day of blessed luxury, but when the reason for the inactivity was linked to two gunshot wounds and the inability to walk it took away a lot of the enjoyment.
Starsky had been released from the hospital two days earlier and even though Hutch had hired a wheelchair he wasn't suppose to leave the bed for at least another day. The doctors had told him he'd been lucky not to have lost a limb, but the infection in his thigh had not been as bad as it could have been, thanks to the bullet being removed. He still had to take the antibiotics, which only annoyed him when they were followed by the pain pills. Lying drugged up in bed with a lover insisting on the use of a urinal put Starsky in such a bad mood he kicked his partner out of the room and forced himself into the wheelchair.
After grudgingly calling his partner back to help him get into bed, Starsky went back to sulking over his bad luck.
Hutch went out for a breather and didn't return when Starsky got hungry. He thought about using the wheelchair again, but making the effort to wheel himself out and make a sandwich in a kitchen that made him feel like dwarf didn't appeal at all. Having Hutch do it for him also didn't appeal.
An hour passed before Starsky made any decision, but his plan was halted when Hutch appeared at the door.
"Hungry?" Hutch asked bluntly. Starsky carefully turned on his side and grunted.
"Maybe."
Hutch disappeared from the doorway and returned a second later holding a big tray with two plates, an unlit candle and two glasses.
"You better be." Hutch replied as he approached the bed. Starsky turned on his back and was hit with speechlessness, which only allowed him to watch as Hutch lowered the tray on his lap, making sure the stands were in place so it wasn't resting on Starsky's thighs. Hutch rounded the bed and lay on top of the covers.
"I heard some where that there are a few things you need to make an evening special. I have the steaks." Hutch waved a hand over the meal. "I got the candle." He took a box of matches from his pocket and lit the green candle.
"I'm afraid the wine will have to wait, but I thought sparkling soda might be a good substitute. The dessert is thawing in the kitchen and I have my partner right at my side."
Starsky found his voice and a crooked grin.
"You missed out the sex," he said a quick raise of his eyebrows.
"Well, I guess we'll see where things lead."
They both leaned in at the same moment and there lips meet half way. The smell of the food tempted Starsky away from his lover's lips, but both were content to break it off. They had the whole evening and even though it had been a long hard trip, Starsky was rewarded with his romantic dinner and he planned to enjoy it.
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