By Sue David and Valerie Wells
© 3/2002
Hutch studied the effect of his
tie in the mirror. It was the third or fourth one he’d tried with this shirt
and it looked as bad as all the others had. Impatiently, he yanked it off and
threw it on the bed, turning to his closet to choose a different one – again.
“Ain’t you ready yet, Blintz?”
Starsky’s voice asked dryly from the door, startling him. “We’re not going to a
wedding, for cryin’ out loud.”
“I know,” Hutch said, yanking the
last tie he owned off the rack and sliding it under his shirt collar. “But you
know the courthouse will be crawling with reporters and I want to look
professional.” He glanced into the mirror at Starsky, who for once was wearing
dress pants, leather shoes, and a decent jacket – and a tie – instead of his
usual courtroom attire of jeans and Adidas with a sports coat. “You dressed
up.”
Starsky gave an embarrassed shrug.
“Like you said,” he answered, wandering over to the bed and casting a critical
eye over the untidy heap of ties there, “the place’ll be lousy with reporters.
This is gonna be all over the papers, TV, even national TV, Dobey says.”
“National?” Hutch glared at the
effect in the mirror and reached up to yank off this tie, too, but Starsky put
a hand on his arm to stop him.
“It looks fine,” he said
reassuringly, patting his arm. “Yeah, national. As in network. Somebody from
ABC or maybe it was NBC – Cronkite’s office, anyway – called the public
relations officer yesterday about covering the verdict.”
“That’s CBS, moron,” Hutch said as
he finished tying his tie. Starsky was right, it looked fine. He smoothed his
hair one last time with his open hand and turned away from the mirror. “I’m
ready.”
“About time.” Starsky led the way
down the stairs to the finally repaired Torino.
Hutch still shuddered inside every
time he saw that car, but he tried to understand why it had been important to
Starsky to get it fixed and now, to drive it. Especially today. So he tried to
keep his face impassive as he waited for Starsky to unlock the doors and let
him in.
Starsky glanced at him sidelong
every few minutes as they drove downtown, but he didn’t say anything. At least,
not until they’d parked and were headed up the courthouse steps, with members
of the media shouting questions at them.
“Vultures,” Hutch muttered under
his breath.
“You’ll get a statement
afterward,” Starsky shouted back at the reporters. “Be patient.” Once they were
safely inside, Starsky nudged Hutch gently. “I had to bring the Torino today,”
he said quietly.
“I know,” Hutch said.
The courtroom was packed, but
Dobey had saved them seats near the front and was keeping an eye out for them.
No cameras were allowed in the courtroom itself, but there was a whole crowd of
reporters clutching notebooks and craning their necks to get a good look at
Starsky, who held his head high and kept his eyes straight ahead.
“Good boy,” Hutch whispered.
Starsky gave him a jaunty wink,
but the expression in his eyes didn’t match the gesture. He sat down next to
their captain, and Hutch sat on his other side. It was only a few moments
before the judge came out and they had to stand again.
“Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached
a verdict?” the judge asked.
“We have, Your Honor.”
“What say you?”
The foreman, with a nervous glance
at the crowd, the reporters, and the defendant – sitting stony-faced with his
lawyers – cleared his throat. “In the matter of the State of California versus
James Marshall Gunther, on all four counts of conspiracy to commit murder, we
find the defendant ... guilty.”
There was muttering and reaction
from the spectators and the judge banged his gavel.
Starsky’s hands were tightly
clenched in his lap and Hutch bumped his partner’s leg gently with his own to
make him relax. Gunther had already been found guilty of racketeering,
interstate drug trafficking, and mob action in earlier trials. No matter what
happened now, he was going away for a nice long trip.
The foreman glanced at Starsky.
“On both counts of attempted murder of a peace officer, we find the defendant
... guilty.”
A collective murmur started
among the spectators, then subdued as the foreman paused before reading the
final verdict. “On the count of murder
in the first degree against Anthony Caldwell Bates, we find the defendant...
guilty.”
The gallery erupted in reaction
and Starsky relaxed, giving Hutch a glance. There was no way, now, that James
Marshall Gunther would ever see the light of day as a free man again. For Bates’ murder, he would probably get the
death penalty.
“Thank you, Mr. Foreman. The
jury’s service is concluded, with the court’s thanks,” the judge said. He
glanced down at the top of his desk and made a notation. “The sentencing
hearing is set for March 1 at 9 a.m. Court is adjourned.”
Two guards were waiting to take
Gunther back to the secure lockup where he’d spent the last several months, but
as they each took him by an arm, he shot a look at Starsky that made Hutch’s
blood run cold. Starsky didn’t see that look, thank God. He was listening to
something Dobey was saying. Hutch fought the urge to tear Gunther’s head off
right there in the courtroom and save the State of California the trouble of
feeding and housing him for the rest of his miserable life.
“Hutch?” Starsky touched his arm.
“What’s wrong?”
“Huh? Nothing,” Hutch said,
forcing a smile. “You ready to face the horde?” He nodded in the direction of
the eager reporters to distract his partner.
Starsky rolled his eyes. “No. But
I got no choice.”
With Dobey on one side, Hutch on
the other, and the prosecuting attorney leading the way, Starsky headed into
the hallway.
“Detective Starsky! Detective
Starsky!” Voices came at them from all directions and they were nearly blinded
by the lights of the TV cameras trained on them. Starsky straightened his back
and his jacket in one movement and took a deep breath.
“Gentlemen,” the prosecutor said,
adding hastily, “and ladies. Detective Starsky and I will each make a prepared
statement, then we will take a few questions. Only a few.”
The reporters quieted down, pads
and pens, microphones and tape recorders at the ready.
“James Marshall Gunther has been
found guilty on all counts,” the prosecutor said, “and sentencing is set for
March 1. Based on California State sentencing guidelines, I think it’s safe to
say Mr. Gunther will spend the rest of his life in prison for his crimes. He
may receive the death penalty for one of his crimes. We are satisfied that justice has been served.”
He glanced at Starsky.
“Thanks to my partner, Kenneth
Hutchinson,” Starsky said, startling Hutch, who hadn’t known what he was going
to say today, “Gunther will be punished for his crimes, including his attempt
on my own life. But no amount of prison time will pay for what this man has
done. If Gunther could live long enough to spend hundreds of years in prison,
it wouldn’t pay for what he’s done. He’s either directly or indirectly
responsible for the deaths of several people. He cheated honest, hardworking
Americans out of their homes. He sold death in the form of drugs to kids on the
streets. As a police officer, I am gratified that the system worked. I only
wish the punishment could more nearly fit the crime.”
“Detective! Detective!” Reporters
were jostling each other and waving their arms over their heads. The
prosecuting attorney, as they had agreed, let Starsky choose the reporters
whose questions he would answer. He studied their faces for a moment and
pointed to one.
“Is it true that two of Gunther’s
victims were your partner’s ex-wife and her sister?”
Only someone who knew Starsky as
well as Hutch did would have seen the visible reaction to that question. To
strangers, his face did not change. He simply nodded. “Yes, that is true.” He
pointed to another one.
“Would you say you took this case
personally, Detective?”
Starsky gazed at the reporter as
if the man had lost his mind. “I nearly died, thanks to Gunther,” he said
bluntly. “It don’t get much more personal than that.” He gave Hutch a sidelong
look of disgust and pointed to another reporter.
“Will you stay on the force?”
He nodded, then realized he had to
give a more quotable answer than that. “Yes. No doubt in my mind. In fact,” he
paused and gave Hutch another sidelong look, “I go back on active duty as of
Monday.”
Hutch was stunned, too stunned to
keep it from showing. Starsky grinned at him.
“That’s enough questions,” Dobey
hissed at the attorney.
“I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen,”
the attorney said. “That’s all the time we have. We will have printed press
releases for all of you within the hour.” He and Hutch started working through
the crowd, making a path for Starsky and Dobey, who could pretty much make a
path all by himself.
Once they were in the witness
room, Starsky sank down on a chair, pale and as exhausted as if he’d just
gotten over a long illness.
“You okay, buddy?” Hutch asked,
putting a hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah, sure,” Starsky said. “I’m
glad it’s all over, but....”
“But what?” Dobey asked.
Starsky exchanged a glance with
Hutch before he transferred his look to his captain. “I guess I won’t feel
completely safe until Gunther is in San Quentin,” Starsky said.
“And what’s this crap about him
going back on active duty Monday?” Hutch demanded. “He’s not ready for that!”
“Yes, I am,” Starsky said. “I’m sick
of being a desk jockey and I’m sick of everyone treating me like a piece of
spun glass. I’ve been cleared and I’m comin’ back and that’s the end of it.”
Hutch opened his mouth to continue
protesting, but something in Starsky’s face made him close it again. He lifted
his hands in a gesture of surrender and sank down on the edge of the conference
table.
“Gunther will be kept under 24
hour guard,” the attorney told Starsky. “You’re safe from him, don’t worry.”
“I’ll feel better if I keep
worryin’,” Starsky said.
~*~*~*~
“Sir, we plan to appeal, no matter
what the sentence is,” Thomas Potter said to Gunther when they met alone after
the verdict, keeping his voice low. He knew they were under visual
surveillance, though recording a client/attorney meeting wouldn’t be allowed.
“Don’t bother,” Gunther hissed
back at him. “We can worry about that later. What I am concerned about right
now, Mr. Potter, is destroying those two officers.”
Potter glanced at the two-way
mirror on the wall. “Mr. Gunther –”
“I know they’re watching us,”
Gunther said. “They can’t hear us. I know I’m going to get the gas chamber and
there’s nothing more the legal system can do to me. But I will not rest, Mr.
Potter, until I have exacted my vengeance on those two men, do you understand?”
Potter swallowed nervously and wet
his lips. Inside or out, Gunther was still a powerful man, and he didn’t want
to be one of the loose ends Gunther decided to snip off. After a moment of
mental wrestling with himself, he finally nodded.
“Good. I don’t care what it costs
or what it takes, this time, they must be eliminated, do we understand each
other, Mr. Potter? Both of them. Eliminated.”
~*~*~*~
Dobey had given them the rest of the day off, so they went
to Starsky’s apartment when they were done at the courthouse. Hutch was worried
about how tired his partner looked, but Starsky insisted he was fine and he was
driving. When he pulled the keys out of the ignition in his parking space, he
leaned his head back on the headrest, closed his eyes, and let out a deep sigh.
“Starsk?” Hutch asked.
“I just want it to be over. I want
him in prison. I want to stop feeling like he’s got a stranglehold on our
lives.”
Hutch patted him on the arm and said,
“We’ve won, buddy. The sentencing is the last step, but after that, he’s out of
our lives forever. He’s probably going to get the death penalty.”
Starsky opened his eyes and asked,
“You really think so?”
“Hey,” Hutch said softly, “don’t
let him get to you.”
“Yeah,” Starsky replied. He opened
his door and climbed out of the Torino. He loosened his tie as he walked up the
steps in front of Hutch. His shoulders
were slumped with weariness. Hutch shook his head as he thought about how hard
Starsky had worked to get this far and how much Gunther had almost cost him. He
didn’t like that look Gunther had given his partner back in the courtroom.
Hutch cast his eyes around the area as he followed Starsky. If his partner was
really going back on the streets, Hutch was worried that Gunther would find a
way to get to him. He knew how much the man hated loose ends.
“I want to know how those
reporters knew about Vanessa and Cass,” Hutch said thoughtfully.
“Wouldn’t take a rocket
scientist,” Starsky said. “Court records are public, y’know, and they mentioned
the connection Vanessa had to the organization during the trial.”
“I know, but –”
Starsky decided it was time to get
Hutch’s attention off Vanessa and her sleazy sister. He pulled at the knot on
his tie. “Grab us both a beer while I change, huh, Blondie?”
“Sure,” Hutch replied as he went
into the kitchen to get the beers.
When Starsky returned, he looked
more like his old self. Although his clothes still hung a little too loosely,
Hutch was pleased with how well he looked. Starsky had regained most of the
weight he’d lost during his long convalescence, and the doctors had reassured
Hutch that it was just a matter of time and continued physical therapy before
his stamina and muscle strength were completely back to normal.
Starsky took a sip from his beer
and said, “You don’t want me back on the streets, do you?”
Hutch sighed. This was going to be
one of those long discussions. He needed to reassure Starsky, but he didn’t
want to lie to him. “Of course I do, buddy. I just don’t want you to push
yourself before you’re ready.”
“The doc cleared me. I’m really
okay.” Starsky looked at Hutch with sincerity and hope in his eyes. Hutch knew
Starsky only wanted him to believe he was ready. He needed that.
“I know he did. Do you remember
everything he said? He told you to take it easy. No double shifts, no long
stakeouts, plenty of rest, regular meals....”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I heard all of
that. Hutch, I tested with the precinct. My marksmanship is there, not as good
as it was, but almost. I passed the physical, what more do you want?” His voice
didn’t sound bitter or angry. He sounded disappointed... and worried that Hutch
wasn’t ready to back him on his return to active duty.
Hutch hoped he could explain how
he felt. “I’m behind you, Starsk. I swear I am. Just try to remember those
instructions, huh? You know I’m gonna remember them, even if you don’t.”
Starsky smiled at him. “You
wouldn’t....”
“I would. Believe it. I just don’t
want to see you go too fast. Active duty is one thing. Pushing it is another.
No pushing it.”
Smiling again, Starsky said, “Your
idea of pushing it, or mine?”
“Definitely mine. No arguments.”
Hutch put his lecture finger up in the air and wagged it at Starsky, but he
smiled at him at the same time.
“Okay,” Starsky replied. Seeing
Hutch’s satisfied nod, he quickly added, “For now.”
Before the other man had a chance
to protest, the phone rang. “Ah!” Starsky warned as he moved toward the phone. Saved
by the bell.
“Hello,” he answered cheerily.
“Dave? This is Matt Dixon.”
Starsky smiled and said, “Matt!
How are you doing?”
Hutch looked up, interested in the
conversation. Matt Dixon was a graduate student who had given them a key piece
of evidence in the Gunter investigation. He had inadvertently stumbled onto
something that would result in additional charges being made against the old
man in a few other states. He and his wife were placed in protective custody,
but now that Gunther was convicted, Dobey probably believed they were no longer
in danger. Even if Matt were to have to testify in future trials, James
Marshall Gunther could only face life imprisonment or the death penalty one
time. Harming the Dixons no longer seemed probable.
“Great, man. Saw you guys on the
news. He’s done, huh?”
“Yeah, his goose, as they say, is
cooked,” Starsky replied.
Matt laughed at him. “Lame,
Detective. Look, speaking of cooked... you and Ken have plans tonight?”
“We were just going to hang out, maybe
run out to get something to eat. Nothing special, why?”
“Good, come over for dinner.”
Starsky hesitated. “Dinner at your
place? I thought you and Debbie were under wraps.”
“We were, but they let us come
home today when the verdict came in and we wanted to celebrate. Debbie’s making
up a batch of her famous hot wings and I’m going to grill some steaks. Can you
make it?”
Starsky shot a questioning look at
his partner. Hutch gave him his answer with a glance and a smile.
“What time? We’ll bring some
brews. What’s the address again?”
~*~*~*~
A black sedan with darkened
windows was parked around the corner, but within sight of the Dixons’ apartment
complex. Two men sat in the car, waiting and watching both the street and the
couple’s corner unit. They lived in a small complex of ten individual,
Mediterranean-style bungalow apartments facing a center courtyard. The complex
was quaint – surrounded by palm trees, Bird of Paradise, and other well-kept
plants. The units were elevated a little from the street, along a nicely cut,
terraced lawn. Both the exterior of the buildings and the three-foot high
cinder block retaining wall along the sidewalk level were covered with bright
pink bougainvillea. A short set of steps led up to them.
Hutch pulled his car up to the
curb and parked. He and Starsky got out of the latest in a long line of
beat-up, nondescript Fords. They started to walk toward the apartment.
“Hey, Starsk, don’t overdo it on
the hot wings, okay?”
“Yes, Mom,” Starsky quipped. Then
he noticed Hutch wasn’t carrying the beer.
“You forgot the beer.”
Snapping his fingers, Hutch turned
to retrieve them from the trunk. “Go ahead,” he said, “I’m right behind you.”
Despite the fact that they were off
duty, and Starsky hadn’t officially returned to the streets yet, Hutch wanted
Starsky out of the open as soon as possible. He reached into the trunk with a
weary sigh, offering a silent prayer that he’d be able to protect his partner.
He still believed he’d failed to do that with Gunther. I hope we can keep
each other safe.
Starsky was walking up the steps
as Hutch moved toward him on the sidewalk. Inexplicably, Hutch felt the
tingling sense of danger and all of his protective instincts engaged. He quickly
looked for signs of a sniper or some other trouble. The street looked quiet,
but he still didn’t like it. He was glad he had his Magnum as he set the beer
on the retaining wall and reached for his gun. Hutch was opening his mouth to
call Starsky’s name when it happened.
The Dixons’ unit exploded and
burst into flame. In what seemed like a split second, the roof blew off and
pieces of it began raining down on the neatly manicured lawn. All of the
windows blew out, glass flying in every direction. Flames leaped into the air,
singeing the palm trees and wilting the other plants. The front door flew
across the yard in pieces, accompanied by bits of stucco, wood, plaster, and
the sharp-thorned bougainvillea.
The explosion forced Hutch to take
cover, hovering as close to the retaining wall as he could and protecting his
head with his arms. He never saw the dark sedan pull away from the curb around
the corner. Within a few seconds, the ringing in his ears began to be replaced
by the sound of screams and calls for someone to get help.
Hutch staggered to his feet and
yelled, “Starsky!” Frantically searching where he’d last seen his partner, he
couldn’t spot him in the early evening darkness – despite the light coming from
the flames.
“Starsky!” he called again. He saw
some of the Dixons’ neighbors evacuating the closest bungalow and the other
neighbors were streaming out into the courtyard.
Some of them had turned on hoses
and had fire extinguishers, trying to put out the flames that were eating up
the side of the apartment closest to the blast. He barked orders to the closest
person, grabbing him by the arm and spinning him around from his view of the
quickly burning bungalow. “Call the fire department, the police, and an
ambulance!” The man nodded and moved away from him, back into the apartment
across from the conflagration. He could tell by the looks of things, no one
would be going into that apartment to make a rescue, and no one who was inside
it would be coming out alive.
Someone else must have called the
fire department. Hutch could already hear the wailing of fire truck sirens,
accompanied by their throaty horn blasts. The fire station was close. He
remembered passing it on the way into the neighborhood.
He turned around and around,
taking in the sight of burning debris everywhere. His car even had a large,
smoldering piece of wood on its roof. No time to worry about that.
Passing through the rubble, Hutch
finally spotted a blue sneaker sticking out from underneath a tangled mess of
bougainvillea and half a door. Calling his partner’s name, he started pulling
the debris off of Starsky, ignoring both the heat and the thorns from the
plants.
Starsky was lying on his side,
breathing heavily. He’d probably turned away from the blast instinctively and he
had put his arm up over his face. His left arm had bits of thorns, glass, and
wood clinging to the sleeve surrounded by small trickles of blood and his eyes
were closed, but he was starting to moan and move. Hutch heard a fire truck
come to a stop nearby. The activity around him seemed like background noise as
he tried to assess Starsky’s condition.
“Hey, you okay? Talk to me,” he
called softly, shaking Starsky’s shoulder as he gently turned him onto his back
to lie in the grass. The blast had thrown him far enough away from the fire to
prevent a need to move him immediately.
Starsky opened his eyes and
blinked hard. Then, he sat up suddenly, nearly knocking over his partner.
“Hutch! Are you okay?” His heart was racing.
“I just asked you that.”
Starsky noticed the flames and
activity and he tried to get to his feet. “Matt!” he exclaimed as Hutch pulled
him back down to sit.
“I’m sorry, buddy. There’s nothing
we can do. Let the firemen get it.”
Both men watched in stunned
silence as the firemen worked ineffectually to fight the blaze. They were able
to save the apartment next door from being a complete loss and to put out the
fires in the trees before they spread.
The paramedics tended both men’s
cuts and abrasions, but neither of them required a visit to the hospital.
Starsky swore he hadn’t lost consciousness; he’d just had the wind knocked out
of him and was stunned for a minute or two. Hutch sat on the bumper of the
paramedic unit as his hand was bandaged. He was watching his partner, who was
sitting dejectedly in the open door of the back of a black-and-white, his head
in his hands. The street was covered with emergency vehicles, and crawling with
the media. The story was going to make the eleven o’clock news. Hutch looked
around to be sure no cameras had caught them. He didn’t want Starsky subjected
to that. He already knew his best friend was severely upset by what had just
happened.
The arson team was just getting to
work and the firemen had found two bodies inside the apartment. As they were
bringing them out to put in the coroner’s wagon, Hutch’s paramedic indicated he
was finished. He quickly stood and strode over to his partner, putting himself
between Starsky and the sight of their friends being taken away in body bags.
When he finally got Starsky to
look up at him, Hutch’s heart nearly broke with the pain he saw in his friend’s
eyes. He wasn’t crying. Not yet, but his eyes were bright with anger, unshed
tears, and sadness. He dropped his hands into his lap.
“Starsk, come on, buddy. We’re
going home.”
Starsky had seen the arson unit
arrive. He looked at Hutch to see if he had any answers. He didn’t, but Hutch
knew what his partner was thinking without asking.
“This could just be some kind of
horrible, freak accident, Starsky. A gas leak, set off when Matt lit the
grill.”
“You believe that?” Starsky asked,
the anger creeping into his voice.
Hutch sighed and shook his head.
“No.”
Starsky closed his eyes and
brought trembling hands back up to cover his face. “Oh, my God,” he said.
“Starsky....” Hutch was upset,
too, but he could see that he needed to hold it together for both of them until
he could get Starsky someplace quiet where he could rest and they could talk.
“Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” Starsky
repeated.
“Let’s go home, Gordo. We’ll get
some rest and maybe they’ll have some answers for us in the morning.” Starsky
just shook his head “no” in response.
Hutch heard a car door shut and
footsteps approaching. He looked away from his friend and saw their captain
approaching. “Hutch, Starsky, are you two all right?” he asked.
“Yes, Cap,” Hutch said for
Starsky’s benefit, but he shook his head and sent a clear message to Dobey that
Starsky was anything but all right. Physically, his injuries were minor, but
emotionally, Hutch was worried.
Starsky pulled his shaking hands
away from his face again and his troubled eyes met Dobey’s concerned ones.
“Cap,” he said in quiet anguish, “it’s my fault. They’re dead and it’s because
of me.”
“Now, Starsky, that’s just stupid!”
Dobey said gruffly. “You didn’t have anything to do with this!”
“No?” Starsky rose and glared at
his captain, almost nose-to-nose with him. “What the hell do you call it then,
Captain? Gunther wants me dead. He’s tried to kill me over and over again. He
killed Allison’s dad and he killed Lionel and now he’s killed Matt and Debbie
–”
“You don’t know that for sure,
Starsk,” Hutch interjected, but Starsky made an impatient gesture and kept his
eyes on Dobey.
“You think this wasn’t a direct
warning to me? Maybe he even thought we’d be in there when it blew and he’d get
us all at once!”
“Then, if it’s anybody fault, it’s
mine!” Dobey said. “I’m the one who told the Dixons it would be safe to come
home. I made the decision.”
“He’d have got ‘em anyway,” Starsky
said, his anger dropping away to reveal the pain underneath. He stepped away
from Dobey and turned to go back to the car, head down. Dobey took a step after
him, but Hutch put a hand on his arm and shook his head. He would do it.
Dobey nodded and glanced toward
Starsky. “He’s had to take too much lately,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” Hutch said.
Starsky was already seated in the
car, hands folded over the steering wheel and his forehead resting on them.
When Hutch climbed in, Starsky started the car without a word and drove away.
He did often drive Hutch’s car, but Hutch guessed that’s what he needed to do
right then.
“Starsk,” Hutch began, but Starsky
put a hand up and shook his head.
“Not now. Please.”
Hutch subsided, keeping a close eye
on Starsky as they drove. But Starsky drove carefully, even conservatively,
until he pulled up in front of Venice Place. They had driven over to Hutch’s
place to pick up the beer for the dinner party and left the Torino there. Hutch wasn’t ready for Starsky to go
home. “Come up,” Hutch said. It wasn’t
a request.
Starsky shook his head. “No, I –”
“I said you’re coming up with me,”
Hutch said firmly but kindly. “I’m your partner and what’s more, I’m your best
friend. I’m not letting you out of my sight and that’s all there is to it.
Please.”
Starsky glanced over at him and
met his eyes. After a moment, he nodded. “Okay.”
Hutch got him a beer without
waiting to ask if he wanted one. He sat down across from Starsky after he
handed him the bottle, and waited. Starsky took a long, thoughtful sip, then
turned the bottle in his hands, eyes on the amber liquid as if he would find
the answers there. Finally, very softly, he said, “I can’t take much more,
buddy.”
“I know,” Hutch said. “None of
this is your fault, but you’re the one suffering for it. What do you want to
do?”
Starsky sighed. “I don’t know.”
Hutch studied him for a few
moments, while Starsky continued to stare down at his beer. “I have an idea,”
he ventured at last.
“Yeah? What?” Starsky looked up.
“Let’s get out of here till after
the sentencing,” Hutch said. “Go somewhere safe, where Gunther’ll never think
to look for us, and wait till the son-of-a-bitch is safely put away.”
“Where can we go?” Starsky asked.
“And besides, we oughta be here for the sentencing.”
“That’s not necessary. You were
there during the trial, and the jury had to look at you, knowing what that
slime did. It helped them vote guilty, partner. Now it’s up to the judge, and
he’s not going to cut Gunther any slack.”
“But where?”
“Home,” Hutch said. “Duluth. My
folks’ll put us up and we can relax for a change. You can play with my niece
and nephew and I can go fishing. I think it would do us both good.”
Starsky nodded slowly. “Yeah. But
what’ll Dobey say?”
“Let me handle Dobey.”
Dobey astonished them both by not
only agreeing, but encouraging them to leave as soon as possible.
“I was thinking the same thing,”
he said. “I want you two out of town and out of harm’s way. The D.A.’s already
spoken to the judge, and Gunther’s calls and visits will be monitored in
prison. Once he’s in San Quentin, he won’t be able to give any more orders
without somebody knowing about it. And the second he does, he’s going to be
charged with something else, the worst thing we can think of.”
Starsky’s eyes were wide with
amazement, and Hutch was equally stunned.
“Sentencing’s in a few weeks,”
Dobey went on, ignoring the looks on their faces. “Leave today. I’ve got the
number and I’ll call when it’s safe for you to come back. Can you get a flight
today?” He directed this to Hutch.
“Uh,” Hutch stammered.
“Let’s drive,” Starsky said.
“Lotta pretty country between here and there. He won’t expect us to drive.”
“Not the Torino,” Dobey said. “Too
distinctive.”
“We can take mine,” Hutch said.
“Okay, partner?”
Starsky winced elaborately. “If I
got no other choice.”
Hutch called his parents to warn
them they were coming and his mother was delighted, he reported to Starsky
after he hung up. “She said they’ve just redone the upstairs – again – and she
can’t wait to have someone to show it off to,” Hutch said, shaking his head
with a smile. “We’re having fried chicken for supper the day we get there. You
know how much you love Mom’s fried chicken.”
The first day was uneventful until
they stopped at a roadside diner outside Phoenix, Arizona. Starsky got out – it
had been his turn to drive – and stretched with a grimace. “How you drive that
piece of crap is beyond me,” he complained.
“It gets me there and gets me
home,” Hutch said. “What more could you want from a car?”
“A little bit of style,” Starsky
retorted. “This thing is Early Disaster Movie.”
“That’s a style,” Hutch insisted,
laughing.
Starsky gave him a playful whack on
the back as they went into the diner. They had sat down and were studying the
menu – Hutch complaining about the “greasy spoon specials” – when three men
came in. Two sat in the booth behind Hutch and the other sat behind Starsky.
The waitress came for their order.
“I’ll have a double bacon
cheeseburger with onion rings and a chocolate malt,” Starsky told her.
Hutch raised his eyebrows. “Good
God, partner.”
Starsky made a face at him.
“I’ll have a tuna melt,” Hutch
said. “And cottage cheese. And coffee.”
She wrote it all down and went
back to the kitchen.
“You wanna push on a little
further or find a place to stay here tonight?” Starsky asked, leaning back
against the wall and propping his legs up on the seat.
“Let’s stay here,” Hutch said,
punctuating the comment with a yawn. “We can make up some time tomorrow if we
get an early start.”
“Okay.”
The waitress returned with their
drinks, putting the coffee in front of Starsky and the malt in front of Hutch.
The men exchanged an amused glance as they traded.
When Hutch leaned forward to reach
for the cup, the men behind him went into action. Both produced guns and one
laid the barrel of his against Hutch’s temple. “Move,” the man said with a
wide, false smile, “and both of ya die.”
Hutch’s eyes went wide with alarm,
and widened even more when the man behind Starsky also produced a gun and poked
Starsky in the back of the head with it. “Now, gentlemen,” he said, “we are
going to get up and go outside. You are not going to make any noise or any trouble
unless you want us to kill you right here.”
The look quickly exchanged between the two detectives wasn’t lost on the
ringleader. “And don’t even think about
trying anything. You may not care if
you die here, but I’m sure you wouldn’t want us to blow away that pretty
waitress and everyone else within earshot.”
The man who had the gun on Hutch
reached inside Hutch’s jacket and took his gun, handing it to his companion.
The one who had the gun on Starsky took his gun and stuck it into the waistband
of his own pants. The diner was nearly empty and no one was paying any
attention to them. Starsky looked at Hutch helplessly. Outnumbered and without
their guns, there wasn’t going to be much they could do.
The men surrounded them and
hustled them out of the diner into the parking lot. The sun was going down and
it was almost dark outside, but not quite dark enough for the parking lot
lights to have come on yet. The three men escorted them toward a panel truck
parked on the far side of the lot.
“Who are you and what do you want?” Hutch demanded hoarsely.
“Uh-uh, no questions,” said the
one who had the gun on him.
“And if you don’t already know,
you’re dumber than you look,” added the second man. Two of them pushed Starsky
and Hutch into the back of the panel truck while the third climbed into the
driver’s seat. He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, driving
conservatively but not enough to draw attention.
But they hadn’t been driving long
when red lights flashed into the back windows. The driver swore vehemently.
“What do I do, Buck?” he called back.
“Stop, stupid,” Buck answered. “We
can’t outrun the heat in this heap. Just try to keep him from looking in the
back or we’re screwed.”
The driver signaled and pulled off
the highway. In a moment, the state trooper shined his flashlight in on him.
“I’ll need your license and registration, please, sir.”
“What’s the problem, Officer?” the
driver asked, producing the paperwork and handing it through the window.
“We had a call from Kenny and
Kim’s that three men took two other men out of there at gunpoint,” the trooper
said, as they heard other prowl cars pull up alongside and other flashlight
beams danced through the van. “You’re surrounded, Mr. Bradley. Don’t try
anything.”
Another officer opened the back
door of the van, and several officers were standing there with guns drawn.
“Everybody out,” the nearest one said. “Drop the guns and keep your hands where
we can see ‘em.”
The troopers lined all five men up
alongside the van and started patting them down.
“Hutch and I are cops from Bay
City,” Starsky said to the trooper patting him down. “My ID’s in my right hip
pocket.”
The troopers stopped the pat down
while the officer with Starsky pulled out the ID and peered at it in the light
from his flashlight. “What’s the story, Sergeant?”
“It’s a long story,” Starsky said.
“Bottom line is, my partner and I were abducted by these guys outta that diner.
We think maybe they work for a guy who’s tried to kill me and is awaiting sentencing
in Bay City right now.”
The trooper shined his light on
Starsky’s face for a moment. Starsky met his eyes unblinkingly. The trooper
whistled. “Okay, Sarge, which one’s Hutch?”
“I am,” Hutch answered. “My ID’s
in my shirt pocket.”
The same trooper retrieved Hutch’s
badge and glanced at it. “Okay, you guys step over there by the car while we
deal with these turkeys. We’ll be right with you.”
Starsky and Hutch leaned against
the nearest car and watched while the troopers patted down and disarmed all
three men and cuffed them. A paddy wagon showed up to take them away and all
the officers except two drove off. The last two, including the one who had
examined their badges, came back to them.
“Long story, huh?” one of the said
to Starsky. “Want to come down to the station and tell us? We need something to
charge these guys with.”
“Sure,” Hutch answered for both of
them. “But we need to retrieve our car later.”
“We’ll give you a ride back to
Kenny and Kim’s,” the trooper said.
“What I want to know,” Starsky
said as they climbed into the trooper’s car with him, “is how you guys found
us.”
“Maddie,” he answered. “The
waitress at Kenny and Kim’s who waited on you. She saw the guys pull guns on
you and called us. Gave us a good description of their van and told us which
way they headed. She didn’t let on she was watching them take you out for fear
they’d hurt you.”
“I think we owe her a steak
dinner, partner,” Hutch said to Starsky.
“At the very least,” Starsky
replied. He was feeling a little winded
for some reason. Starsky took a deep breath as he turned to walk toward the
nearest cruiser. That deep breath ended in a cough.
~*~*~*~
Once the three would-be assassins
were locked up, Hutch called Captain Dobey to let him know what happened to
them.
“I guess the cat’s outta the bag,
Cap. Word sure traveled fast.”
“Hmph,” Dobey huffed into the
phone. “Gunther has had some visitors. Mostly lawyers, but his son did get in
this morning. I’ll have him put in isolation. I can’t keep his attorneys from
seeing him, though.”
Hutch looked up and noticed
Starsky getting a cup of water from the cooler in the corner. He was coughing
again, with a hand absent-mindedly placed on his chest. Uh-oh.
Returning his attention to the
captain, Hutch said, “I know. Go ahead, but it’s possible he gave the orders
before the verdict. One of his attorneys may even be responsible.”
“True enough. I’ll do what I can.
What are you going to do next?”
“Maybe we’d better not get too
specific on the phone,” Hutch replied. He was still watching Starsky, who was
plopping into a chair and leaning his head back on the wall. Starsky looked
over at him, sensing that his partner was watching him. Knowing Hutch was worried
about the coughing, Starsky smiled and rolled his eyes. He mouthed the words,
“Stop it,” to Hutch.
“The phone’s all right, Hutch. The
lines in the house and the office are being monitored twenty-four/seven. No
bugs.”
Hutch frowned at Starsky and continued
his conversation. “I think we should ditch my car. I’ll pick up a rental and
I’ll let you know when we get to Albuquerque.”
“Wait,” Starsky interrupted.
Starsky had a better idea about
their transportation. They would pick up an unmarked car from the local police
department and drive that to Albuquerque. From there, they would switch cars
again for another unmarked police vehicle. Dobey agreed to make some
arrangements. He liked the idea of his men changing vehicles, but still having
access to a police band radio. He wanted them to stay overnight in Phoenix, but
Starsky and Hutch thought they needed to put some distance between them and any
additional attacks as soon as possible.
After a visit to the diner to
express their gratitude to the staff there, Hutch traded keys with the officer
who brought them a late-model, gray sedan from the local police motor pool.
“This your undercover car?” the
young uniformed officer asked Hutch. Starsky laughed.
Hutch glared at Starsky as he
informed the younger man, who couldn’t have been older than twenty-three, that
the non-descript car was the perfect cover. He looked at his battered Ford with
a mixture of affection and remorse at leaving it in Phoenix. “Take good care of
her for me, will you?”
“Yes, sir.”
The men transferred the bags and
supplies from Hutch’s car. Starsky slammed the trunk closed and reached to pull
the keys out of the lock. Hutch shook his head, deftly taking the keys from his
partner. “Nope. You rest, I’ll drive.”
“Why?” Starsky asked, followed by
a cough.
“You really want me to answer
that?”
“I’m fine. Aren’t you tired?”
“I’m too wired, buddy. Let’s hit
it.” Hutch walked around and got into the driver’s seat without further protest
from Starsky. He did push Hutch’s hand away when he tried to determine if
Starsky had a fever.
“You feel a little warm, Starsk.”
“I told you, I’m fine. ‘S just a
cold,” Starsky assured him. “Just drive.”
Hutch made good time. Starsky
slept, allowing Hutch the luxury of frequent, undetected checks on his
condition. He didn’t want to overreact to what probably was just a cold.
However, despite Starsky’s miraculous recovery, any sign of illness was cause
for concern. One of his lungs was compromised by the shooting and his doctors
had warned both men that he should be careful about catching colds for a long
time to come. Hutch was worried about
being on the road in unfamiliar territory, far from medical
professionals familiar with his partner’s circumstances. He hoped Starsky would
improve with some sleep, and he had lots of time to think about things like the
potential for snow and colder weather as they headed north. When Starsky
shivered in his sleep, Hutch turned on the car’s heater and made a mental note
to stop somewhere and buy them both warmer coats, in case the winter weather
turned ugly.
Hutch drove straight through to
Albuquerque. When he wasn’t checking Starsky, he was looking in his mirrors and
scanning around them. He never detected any signs that they were being
followed. Starsky napped the entire way, only waking up when Hutch turned off
the car at the E-Z Rest Motel.
“Where are we?” Starsky asked,
rubbing his eyes.
“Albuquerque. I’m gonna go get us
a room so we can crash for a while.”
“I’ve been asleep for that long?
Why didn’t you wake me up to take a turn driving?”
“I told you I was too wired to
rest. You looked like you could use it. I’ll be right back.”
Hutch returned a few minutes later
and pulled the car around the back of the hotel, out of view from the road. He
followed Starsky’s weary progress up the stairs, hoping the additional rest
would do him some good. They would sleep for several hours, and then call the
District Attorney to set up their meeting and arrange to collect their next
vehicle.
District Attorney Jason Lands was
delighted to meet the two officers who were responsible for Gunther Industries’
collapse. A local mortgage loan officer was on Starsky and Hutch’s list of
probably simultaneous victims from the day Starsky was shot. Rudy Parker worked
for Capricorn Mortgage, one of the Gunther subsidiaries. Prior to hearing from
the Bay City detectives, they had no leads and no motive for why the man would
have been shot in the head while sitting in his own driveway.
“Around noon, his wife heard him
pull into the carport, but he never came inside. She says she was distracted by
the telephone, but realized when she hung up that ten minutes had elapsed since
her husband’s car engine was shut off and he still hadn’t come into the house.”
Hutch filled in the next part.
“Let me guess. She went out to check on him and found him dead. Didn’t hear a
thing.”
“That’s right. The initial
investigation didn’t turn anything. Then, you called in September. Our PD
followed up on the leads you two gave us. At first, we didn’t know what to
think about what you told us, but we had nothing else to go on.”
“What did you find out?” Starsky
asked. He put a cough drop into his mouth. Hutch had insisted they stop at a
local drug store to get some things to treat Starsky’s cold.
“A lot. First, we went back and
re-interviewed the Parkers’ neighbors. One of them remembered seeing a dark van
with California plates on it parked across from the house for a couple of hours
that day. The neighbor ran out of the house when he heard Lavinia Parker
screaming. The car was gone.”
“A panel van?” Hutch asked.
“Yeah, how’d you know?” Lands
replied. “Dark brown and kind of beat up looking.”
Hutch answered, “Could be the one
the guys who came after us last night were driving.” That was a stretch, since
the other shooting had happened several months earlier, but Hutch thought it
was possible that the perps had stolen the van months ago in California and
kept it under wraps.
“Whoa. Well, we never found any trace
of it here. Mrs. Parker provided us with some invaluable information when we
pressed her. She said that Parker was being blackmailed by some hot shot in
California. Seems Rudy, Jr. goes to college out in Bay City. Parker told his
wife that some goons threatened that their only child would have an unfortunate
accident if he didn’t ensure some loans were funded. Between her information
and yours, we had a pretty solid trail back to your case against the judge.
Now, tell me what you know about him, and the other players.”
Starsky and Hutch had no proof,
but testimony from the trial, Matt’s research, and other evidence led them to
believe that Rudy Parker was on a list of men fingered for death, presented to
the late Mr. Bates by James Marshall Gunther a short time before Starsky was
shot. This list of names may have included six men in different cities across
the country... and two Bay City police detectives. Courtroom testimony revealed
that Mr. Bates gave Gunther and his top officers a report on the status of
their organization’s standing after Starsky and Hutch effectively shut down
most of the west coast operation. That operation reached across the country.
Mr. Bates' report revealed that Phoenix was one city where they were still
active. So was Albuquerque. Regardless,
Rudy Parker was on Gunther’s hit list. He wanted to make an example of the man,
to keep the doors to the city open to them, and to ensure that the rest of his
minions were cooperative. The blackmailed man was an integral part of the destroyed
parts of Gunther’s empire and that meant he was a loose end.
The two detectives carefully went
over all they knew. They gave depositions and agreed to return to testify if it
came to a trial. With Gunther likely to get the death penalty in California for
the first-degree murder of his assistant, the other states might be in less of
a hurry to incur the cost of trying him. The D.A. was willing to wait and see
what happened with the sentencing before deciding on his final course of
action.
Captain Dobey had made the
arrangements for their next car exchange ahead of their arrival. The
Albuquerque police department would hold onto the car from Arizona until
Starsky and Hutch returned on their way back across the country.
As they headed for the highway that
would take them into Texas, Starsky settled down behind the wheel. He argued
that even though he was catching a cold, he might feel worse later. He would
take the first shift driving and Hutch could take over in six or seven hours.
They would be in Dallas by morning. Once again, they decided to keep moving
over staying the night.
~*~*~*~
Thomas Potter squirmed visibly
under Gunther’s icy glare. He’d had to report the capture of their operatives
in Arizona. He couldn’t understand why the old man was so intent on killing the
two cops. The concept of revenge, no matter how sweet, was foreign to him. When
Gunther didn’t make any comment, Potter continued his recitation.
“We aren’t sure where they are going
next. Our wire specialists have been unable to tap into their communications
successfully.”
“Mr. Potter, I am not at all
interested in your excuses, or in your methods. I told you what I wanted. They
may have destroyed my organization, but I have enough money to buy them into
hell many times over. I won’t miss the money where I’m going.”
Potter adjusted his tie and said,
“Yes, sir. I’ve got my feelers out. They’ll turn up soon. When they do, I have
other mechanics waiting to carry out your orders.”
“See that you do.”
~*~*~*~
Hutch was pulling into Dallas as
Starsky was stirring restlessly in his sleep. He was uncomfortable and a fever
had begun to creep up on him. Hutch made up his mind to find a doctor to take
him to as soon as they’d rested and spoken with the Dallas D.A.
Giving in to his need to touch
Starsky and see how feverish he was, Hutch reached a hand out and touched
Starsky’s arm.
Starsky woke to that touch and sat
up with a chest-rattling cough. “We there yet, Dad?” he asked, blinking hard.
“Yeah. You’ve been sounding pretty
raspy, buddy.”
“I’m all right, Blondie.”
The two men argued about when, and
if, Starsky was going to a doctor. In the end, Starsky won the argument,
agreeing to see Hutch’s family physician in Duluth when they arrived in a
couple of days if he wasn’t any better.
Sitting in a run-down coffee shop
off of highway 35, Starsky choked down some more aspirin and cough medicine.
The two men ignored the sideways glance the waitress gave them when they both
sat in the same side of the booth. Starsky chose a booth in the back of the
restaurant. They both sat with their backs to the wall and a full view of both
the parking lot through the windows and the rest of the diner. They were
waiting for the next attack, knowing Gunther wouldn’t give up so easily. Hutch
had scoped out every exit in the place, both to watch for activity, and to
retreat through if necessary.
“Duluth is still two more days,
Starsk.... ” Hutch started after a particularly bad bout of Starsky’s coughing.
“No. We already discussed this. I
know a cold when I see one. I’ll be fine ‘til then.”
The waitress interrupted Hutch’s
next words. She set down their breakfasts and watched as the two men traded
their plates. Hutch wanted oatmeal with his eggs, but they didn’t have any that
morning, so the waitress brought him grits instead.
“What’s up with this?” Hutch
asked.
“Grits,” she answered, setting
down a side of butter next to the semi-liquid white hominy. “What? You never
seen grits before, Blondie?”
Hutch glared at her. Forward
waitresses were not his favorite type. “Yes, I’ve seen grits, but I ordered
oatmeal,” he answered in a steady voice.
She poured both of them more
coffee, sloshing a little onto Hutch’s hand and said, “Out of oatmeal. Give it
a try, honey. I won’t charge you for ‘em if you don’t like ‘em.” She pulled a
bottle of Tabasco out of her apron pocket and set it on the table in front of
Starsky.
“How do you know I want this?” he
asked her with a gleam in his eye. “Could be my buddy here wants it.”
That earned him a warm, friendly
laugh from the bleached blonde who looked like she had an entire can of Aqua
Net sprayed onto her over-teased hair. “Oh, baby, I figured you for the sizzle.
‘Sides, guys who order their butter on the side usually don’t want their sizzle
on the top.” She swatted Starsky playfully on the arm and then turned away from
them.
Starsky nearly choked to death
laughing at the red that crept onto Hutch’s face all the way to his ears. They
watched with amused admiration as the shapely woman walked toward the kitchen.
“That’s some swing in her
backyard,” Starsky mumbled.
Their waitress was the most
interesting and eventful part of their meal. No one suspicious cruised the lot.
All of the other patrons seemed absorbed in their own activities. Though they
couldn’t afford to let their guard down for even an instant, they were
relieved.
The rest of their time in Dallas
was equally uneventful. After another break for sleep and speaking with the
District Attorney, they checked in with the captain.
“No, we’ve been on the lookout.
Hutch thought he saw a suspicious car outside of Abilene, but it turned out to
be nothing.”
“Don’t let your guard down,” the
captain instructed unnecessarily.
“We’re not. No way he’s giving up,
Cap. He wants me dead.”
Hutch blanched at that remark,
however true he believed it to be.
“He wants you both, Starsky. He’s
limited to just his attorneys for visitors, like I promised. Maybe it’ll be okay.
When will you be in Duluth?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“I’ll call and let Mr. Hutchinson
know,” Dobey said.
“Better not, Cap. What if they’re
bugging his phone?”
“Don’t worry, Starsky, I’ve got it
covered.” Captain Dobey was a good friend. Starsky was glad to have the
quick-thinking, thorough man on their side whenever they were in trouble.
At their captain’s suggestion,
Hutch planted the idea that they were going to Detroit after Chicago. Since
they were going to Hutch’s parents’ home, giving out information leading them
in another direction seemed like a good idea. They traded cars again and headed
north for Oklahoma, eager to make it to Chicago as quickly as possible. Neither
of them knew that their good luck since Albuquerque had just changed. Gunther
had a mole in the Dallas D.A.’s office.
~*~*~*~
Bill Trask called Gunther’s
attorney to report what he knew. “Yes, I’m sure it was them, Mr. Potter.
They’re going to Chicago next.”
“Where after that?”
“I think I heard the blond one say
they were headed to Detroit from there.”
Potter took some notes in his
small book. “Good. What are they driving?”
“Right now, they’re in a white
1975 LTD. They’re switching cars everywhere. They drove into town in one that’s
from New Mexico.”
“Clever. No matter. I have someone
in the Chicago office, too. Thank you, Trask. You’ll be sufficiently rewarded.”
Thomas Potter hung up the phone, satisfied that he finally had some good news
for James Gunther. He would need a little while to arrange for a new hit squad.
He’d plan to have them follow the detectives out of the Chicago to a more
remote area.
~*~*~*~
Chicago proved as unremarkable as
Dallas had – interviews, a stop for some sleep, more diner food. The Chicago
D.A. was less than optimistic about making charges stick to Gunther on their
case. Bates was the only murder they’d been able to pin on Gunther in
California. He was sure to put enough distance between himself and all of the
other killings.
They left the city late. Hutch was
starting to feel like a rat on a wheel and Starsky was looking sicker and
sounding worse. Hutch was glad they were on their way to Duluth. For the first
time in years, he was looking forward to seeing his parents. When Starsky was
shot, Richard Hutchinson took it hard. So hard, he surprised his son. Everyone
was so busy and frightened when it happened. Since Starsky was the one who was
hit, no one thought to call Hutch’s parents. Captain Dobey had to return a
frantic phone call from Mr. Hutchinson hours after the shooting. Hutch’s
parents learned about it on the national news.
Richard had never approved of
Hutch’s career choice. He wanted his son to be an attorney and was angry when
Hutch decided to be a cop. Richard allowed his anger to cloud his judgment and
interfere with his relationship with his son. When a teenager shot Hutch about
six months before Gunther, Richard Hutchinson began to see the error in his
ways. He was planning to visit Bay City for Memorial Day weekend; a chance to mend some fences, but Starsky’s
shooting interfered with those plans.
When Starsky was nearly killed,
Richard and his wife rallied behind both men. They provided comfort and a
steady presence that Hutch needed badly in the darkest time of his life. The Hutchinsons
were amazed by Starsky’s courage and resilience, and by their son’s loyalty and
devotion to his best friend. Finally, things were looking up for the Hutchinson
men to repair their relationship.
Starsky was sleeping not long
after they left Chicago. The weather was cold and snow was expected. Hutch
wanted to make as much time on their drive to Duluth as he could before the
snow started. Driving in the dark made it harder for him to spot the black
Charger that started tailing them shortly after they left Chicago.
“I thought you said they were
going to Detroit,” the Charger’s driver said to his companion.
“That’s what Potter said.”
“Maybe they changed their minds.
Whatever, just keep back far enough that they won’t spot us until we are out
far enough to take care of business.” This time, Potter was sure to order his
hit squad to go in a car with enough muscle to run with if they needed it.
Hutch started to worry more when
they had been in Wisconsin long enough to be in a remote area. He wasn’t positive,
but he thought the car behind them had followed them from Illinois. Just as
those thoughts started him thinking about a potential course of action, he saw
the car behind them begin a rapid approach. He looked ahead for a place to spin
around, but the road he was on was only one lane in each direction and there
were deep ditches on either side. He floored it, but the car behind was coming
too fast. Hutch tried to get into the center of the road since there were no
cars coming from the other direction, but the Charger was quick. The sudden
change of speed woke Starsky as Hutch was pushing him down toward the
floorboard. Before he had a chance to react, he heard the sound of gunfire and
glass breaking. His heart lurched at the horrible sense of déjà vu, but he
didn’t have time to think much about it. The car swerved suddenly and he felt
it leave the roadway. A few seconds later, the car slammed back down at an
angle, rolled once, rolled again onto its side, and came to a shuddering stop.
Starsky was stunned for a few
moments. He knew he needed to get himself free, but something heavy was pressed
against him. As his head cleared a bit, he realized it was Hutch.
Shaking Hutch’s shoulder, Starsky
called his name. He got no response. Frantically checking his partner, he found
that he was breathing and he had a pulse. Starsky couldn’t see where it was
coming from, but he felt warm, wetness seeping into his clothes. He knew all
too well what it felt like to be shot, and he was sure he wasn’t hit, but Hutch
must have been. He also knew that the shooters would most likely be coming
along to make sure they were dead. Putting a hand up to his throbbing head, he
felt a gash that was bleeding. Good, that will help. He pulled his gun
and waited.
The two men in the Charger pulled
to the side and walked back to inspect their handiwork. The driver wanted to
move on, but the shooter was determined to make sure they’d succeeded in
killing the two detectives.
They approached the car cautiously
and saw no movement inside. Neither of them could see Starsky well enough to
know they were being watched.
A glance through the starred
windshield was almost good enough to assure them their quarry were dead.
Neither man was moving and the there was enough blood to believe the wounds
were fatal. Still, the shooter said they couldn’t be too careful. The view
through the cracked glass wasn’t good enough.
When the shooter leaned into the
driver’s window, he couldn’t quite reach Hutch. He ordered his companion to
help him rock the car back down onto four wheels. Starsky continued to play
dead, but he was relieved to feel Hutch’s weight slide off of him.
One of the men pulled open the
door and reached for Hutch to drag him out of the car. As soon as he was close
enough, Starsky raised his gun and fired, hitting the man squarely in the
forehead. His companion wasn’t expecting that. Both men thought Starsky was
dead. The man aimed at Starsky and fired, but his shot went wide. Before he
could get off another, Starsky swung his gun toward him and fired again,
spinning the man onto the ground a few feet from his partner – dead. A light
dusting of snow was beginning to fall.
Starsky needed to be sure the
other man was dead. He eased Hutch down onto the seat. Then, he found he had to
slam his body against the passenger door several times to get it to pop open
for him. He was stiff and hurting. The coughing was worse and he felt terrible,
but he knew he had to keep moving.
His check of the two hit men
confirmed that they were both dead. He dashed back to the car and found the
radio was broken. Naturally. Then, the thought occurred to him that he
had no way of knowing how the hit men found them. Someone in law enforcement
might have fingered them. Hutch was hurt badly and Starsky was afraid to take
him to a local hospital, if he even knew where to find one. He did his best to
slow the bleeding. A bullet had grazed Hutch across the back of his head. If
Starsky had been sitting up instead of lying down on the seat, the bullet would
probably have gone past, hit him in the head, and killed him. Hutch had saved
his life... again. A bullet had also entered Hutch’s chest and exited through
his shoulder in the back. Starsky felt a lump on Hutch’s head that meant he’d
probably hit it on something in the car while they rolled. Terrific. What a
mess.
Starsky was amazed, but somehow
grateful, that no other cars had happened along during this incident. He looked
up the road and saw the Charger sitting there. Immediately, he knew what he
needed to do.
He didn’t bother to look for car
keys. The Charger was undoubtedly stolen. He noticed it had Michigan plates on
it as he approached. The ignition was torn apart inside and he had to hot-wire
it, just like the gunmen had. When he got it started, he backed it up as close
to their car as he could. He was going to get Hutch into it and take off for
Duluth. They had already discussed the route and he wasn’t thinking clearly. To
his muddled, feverish, frightened mind, that seemed the best choice.
Starsky rushed back to the car and
tried to rouse Hutch again. He was still not getting anywhere and it was
starting to scare him. The bleeding had slowed, but not stopped. He grabbed the
flashlight dropped on the ground by the hit men and checked Hutch’s eyes. At
least his pupils were reacting to the light and they were the same size.
Realizing he had no choice,
Starsky hauled the heavier man out of the car and picked him up in a fireman’s
carry. His recently healed muscles groaned in protest and his lungs felt like
they were about to spontaneously combust, but he made it.
When Starsky picked Hutch up, he felt more blood on his thigh. His initial inspection in the dark had missed another bullet wound. The bullet must have gone through the door and it was still lodged in Hutch’s leg. The gunman had done a lot of