“Oliver”
(By Kreek©december04)
Prologue
The white-haired woman
kicked the side of the object in front of her. The heap that lay in a puddle of
its own blood had once been a man.
“You’re improving. The
first ones didn’t last for more than two hours. How long did it take this
time?” he asked.
She looked up at the
man hidden in the shadow behind the corpse.
“Four and a half hours,
Jake… that’s long enough. I think we’re ready.”
“Are you sure, we could
practice some more?”
“I’ve practiced
enough… it takes ‘em over four hours now to bleed to death.”
Jake nodded, and she continued.
“With any luck the detective will last five.”
Pure love and affection were reflected in his big
brown eyes. Eyes she had come to know so well. She crouched down in front of
him and whispered, her words touching his essence. “Will you please help them?”
The brown eyes looked deep into her soul,
demanding to know more.
“My old friend,” she talked softly to him. “I
have never asked you for anything, in all the long years we have known each
other… but… this… I need you to do.”
His eyes radiated comfort, then
they almost seemed to laugh with joy as he agreed to her plea. She smiled and
kissed him on the nose, and then he was gone.
Chapter 1
Starsky’s mood had
dropped ten degrees below zero. He had taken the long weekend off to visit his
mom in
He could still hear
Dobey’s voice echo inside his head from last Thursday afternoon. “I don’t care
what you do with your time off Starsky, but you better be back in on Tuesday for
the Open House or don’t come back at all, you hear me!”
Starsky thought the
whole idea of having Open House at Metro was ludicrous, but one did not cross a
determined captain Dobey. So he had dragged himself out of bed, feeling utterly
spent and managed to get himself in a traffic jam.
Thoroughly pissed off,
he arrived at Hutch’s thirty minutes late. Since he could not muster the energy
to go up and get his partner and perhaps some breakfast, he just honked the
horn twice. Then he sat back and closed his eyes, waiting for Hutch, and
drifted into sleep.
Hutch opened the
passenger door of the
He stared at his
partner for two long seconds. The man looked worn out. He gently touched his
arm, fingertips closing around the dark blue shirt his partner was wearing.
“Starsk.” Then he more or less commanded, “STARSK!”
Starsky jolted awake
and sat bolt upright. “Wha… eh… Hutch?”
Hutch grinned. “Hey
buddy, guess you didn’t get much sleep, right?”
Starsky relaxed a bit.
“I hope I never see the inside of an airport again... d’you have you any idea
what kind of night I had?”
“By the look of things
I’d say a sleepless one.”
“Yeah, well, you heard
Dobey; callin’ in sick is not an option today.”
“On the other hand,”
Hutch said, still smiling. “He probably won’t mind you falling
asleep behind your desk, as long as you’re physically inside the precinct today.”
“Hmmpf,” Starsky
muttered and started the engine. “He’ll probably make me part of the tour that
people can take around the precinct: Look people, here’s an officer after a
long twelve- hour day on the street, this man dutifully tried to do some
paperwork but fell asleep…” He looked into his side view mirror. “Close the
door, will ya’, Hutch?”
“Eh, Starsky wait a
sec…”
“What? Close the door,
come on, I’m getting cold here…”
“Uhm… I want you to
meet my new partner.”
“What?”
Hutch couldn’t help
but chuckle to himself at the totally dumbfounded look his partner gave him.
“Your
new..,” he stuttered. “But… Hutch?” He turned off the engine and looked up, his eyes
large with disbelief, unable to utter a coherent sentence. Finally he managed a
plea. “But… I’ve only been away for the
weekend?”
Hutch, as much as he was
enjoying himself, couldn’t stand the hurt in Starsky’s eyes any longer and halted
Starsky’s rant with a loud whistle.
“Aw, Hutch, don’t do
that…aw, my head.” Before Starsky could say anything more he was run over by an
overly enthusiastic large chocolate brown Labrador retriever with a white star
mark between the eyes. It licked him thoroughly on every piece of exposed skin
the dog could find.
“Meet Oliver,” Hutch said
and closed the passenger door.
Starsky was out his door
within a second. “Uh, yuck, God Hutch, what is that?”
Standing outside he
franticly wiped his face with his sleeves trying to get rid of the dog drool
and foul breath.
“It’s a dog, Starsky.”
“I know it’s a dog,
but what’s it doin’ in my car?”
“I thought you liked
dogs?”
“I do, but not in my car… look at it, paw prints, hair everywhere… Hutch!” The fatigue and frustration of the last twelve hours
had made that last word sound a bit more short tempered than he intended to.
Hutch knew that and he let his friend calm down for a minute, turning his
attention to the dog.
“Oliver, get in the
back seat. Will you get in here Starsk, we’re late
enough as it is!”
The dog complied
without hesitation. Starsky, however,
did not.
“Not until you explain
what’s going on buddy!”
Hutch sighed and leaned
in over the driver seat so he could look his partner in the eyes through the
open door of the
Starsky didn’t move an
inch.
“All
right. All right, the dog
slept out in my hallway every night so I took him in. I already found him a new
home but they can’t have him until Friday. It’s only for a short week, Starsk.”
“One week, huh…”
“Starsk, will you get
in here?” Hutch was getting impatient. “I’ll vacuum the
Starsky, still
muttering, finally got in and slammed the door shut. “All right Blintz, but you
better make sure paw prints and hair are all that dog
is going to lose when he’s in here.” He started the car and sped away.
“Then I suggest,” Hutch
said very seriously, “that you watch your driving
style if you don’t want him to get sick.” Starsky immediately slowed down, it
was one of the calmest drives Hutch had ever been on with his partner behind
the wheel.
“Good!” Dobey spoke
out loud when they exited the elevator on the homicide floor. “You’re here.”
Starsky and Hutch both
had to laugh at the scenery they walked into. Dobey stood amidst a crowd of
people, most of whom were children, who were screaming and running around in
excitement.
“Starsky, I want you
to take the children out to look at one of the surveillance cars. Hutch, I want
you at a desk in the office to answer any questions these folks might have.”
“Sure
thing, Cap.” Starsky
saluted. “Follow me kids, into the elevator.”
Hutch quickly walked
past the scene. Dobey suddenly noticed the
“Police
dog, Cap.” Hutch answered
just a little too fast and meant to walk straight on. He nearly made it to the
office door.
“
“Just
looking after this poor dog Cap’n. I found him on the streets. Look at him. D’you want
me to throw him out again?” At that people started mumbling worried thoughts, a
few oohs and aws, and even
a couple of angry words that were directed at Dobey.
The captain gave Hutch
a deep, dark look and then nodded to take the dog inside. “We’ll talk about
this later,” he threatened in a voice too low for anybody else to hear.
“To protect and serve Cap.”
Hutch said and went inside, still smiling. He heard Dobey yelling at the crowd.
“What are you all standing around for? Follow me!” And the group followed behind
him in submissive silence.
Chapter 2
The open house only
lasted until
He walked into the squad
room, but Hutch was not there. He peaked around the door into Dobey’s office.
Dobey spotted him from
behind his desk, looking quite spent himself. “If I have to answer one more
question about exactly how we spend their tax dollars I swear I’m going to
strangle someone.” He sighed.
“I know what you mean Cap.
One lady kept insisting we should use bikes. Can you imagine that? She said
cars were far too expensive to maintain.” Dobey shook his head in disbelief, and
Starsky continued, “Have you seen Hutch, Cap?”
Dobey looked irritated
when he locked eyes with Starsky. “Last time I saw him, he and that dog of his
were heading down to the armoury with an elderly couple.”
“I thought the armoury
was off limits.”
“Yeah, well the couple
insisted. He had fought in World War II or something.”
“Thank you, Cap.”
Starsky went down to the armoury and questioned the officer on duty. Hutch had
been there, but after fifteen minutes or so, the couple had seen enough and
wanted to go home. Hutch had gone with them to show them the exit.
Starsky searched the
entire precinct, his eyes looking out for the familiar black and white flannel shirt
that Hutch had been wearing, but his partner remained elusive.
“Probably took that
dog out for a walk” he thought, feeling quite irritated. Knowing his partner
he’d taken the opportunity to go for a run. “He’s probably already at home.”
After a much needed
stop at the cafeteria, Starsky headed for
The place was empty.
Images resurfaced of
the silence he had met a year back, while searching Hutch’s apartment. Eventually
he had found his friend… in an alley, drugged, spaced out. He kept reminding
himself that this was not the same situation. Hutch had been gone for a few days
back then.
“No, he just took that
dog out for a long walk is all…”
He picked up the phone
and dialled Dobey’s number. “Starsky here, Hutch show
up yet?” He listened to the negative answer.
The feeling that told
him something was wrong just would not subside. Dread began to creep its way up
with a vengeance.
Dobey said a few words
more to which Starsky replied with a slight anger in his voice. “Captain I’m
telling you, I’m not overreacting!” He took a deep breath and forced himself to
calm down, letting the detective inside him take over. “The elderly couple, what
did they look like?”
He listened as Dobey
described the perfectly normal couple, who looked like all elderly couples did:
old, wise, content and friendly.
“Yeah well, looks can
be deceiving,” he stated from personal experience. “When he does show up, tell him to meet me at
his place will ya Cap?” Then he hung up.
He stood there for a
while trying to push the dread aside and let his common sense take over. With a
heavy heart he decided to wait out the evening. Right now he was very tired and
perhaps that made him more jumpy than usual. If Hutch did show up they were
going to have more than a few words about all this. With that in mind he curled
up on the couch and fell asleep.
He woke up with a jolt,
the feeling of dread soaring inside him now. It was night and something was
wrong. The dark around him showed him nothing but emptiness. The reality of the
situation sunk in and woke him up. The room was stuffy, no noise, not a sound. Hutch
wasn’t there.
Wearily he reached out
for the phone and heard himself speak the words he had vowed he would never
hear himself speak again. “Yeah, Mildred, Starsky here… put out an APB on Hutch.”
“What do you want me to do with this?”
“Throw it overboard
for all I care,” she answered Jake with dispassion.
“Too bad, it’s nice.”
“We don’t need it
Jake, you know that!”
Jake looked at her and
sighed. “Whatever you wish, my lady.”
With a dull splash
Hutch’s Magnum disappeared in the water.
“C’mon lets go. We’ll
return in the morning when he’s conscious.”
Neither one of them
noticed the shadow that slipped in behind them when they checked up on their
captive for one last time. Without a sound it disappeared behind the crates.
Chapter 3
The welcoming cool
night air did nothing to dampen his nerves as Starsky quickly took the stairs
down and exited
Inwardly he kept cursing
at Hutch’s absence. God knows they had made so many enemies. It came with the territory.
But every time something like this happened, Starsky’s fear went into overdrive
and told him that losing his partner was a price he was not willing to pay.
He opened the door of
the
He signalled and
turned the corner, determined to check every street in the city for the entire
night if he had to, in order to find the blond.
Two hours later the
He sat back, one finger over his mouth, thinking. Then, with a sigh he
threw his head back against the headrest. A lone car approached the
intersection from his right and went past him to disappear into the quiet
night.
Three beeps made his head snap up and reach out for the radio.
“Zebra Three, come in please.”
“Yeah, Starsky here.”
“Starsky, see the man named Huggy at Rosie’s Bar.”
“10-4. Zebra Three out.”
A moment later, the only sign the Torino had ever been on the
intersection was the dirty smoke the tires had created when Starsky had floored
the
The wooden floor was
cold. Cold and hard. The smell of
fish a familiar odor that his consciousness no longer registered.
Hutch had figured out
he was on a boat somewhere, but he did not have a clue as to where. Rain was
pouring and making a hell of a noise on the deck. Apart from a small window,
from which Oliver had escaped earlier, there was no visible link to the outside
world.
He was lying on the
floor, wearing only his jeans. He had no idea what had happened to his Tee
shirt, boots and shoulder holster, or his gun for that matter. The cabin he was
in didn’t have much furniture, just a couple of closed, old crates and a stack
of fishing nets. He would have made himself a bit more comfortable on the nets,
if his hands weren’t cuffed and chained to a heavy brass ring that was bolted
to the floor near the back wall.
He thought about
Oliver for a moment. Last night, when he had regained consciousness, the dog had
appeared from behind a stack of crates, whining somewhat. Hutch was surprised
to see him. Oliver was not chained or anything, the dog almost looked as if he had
managed to elude Hutch’s captors. He had tightened his flannel shirt, which he
had found discarded near the brass ring, securely around the dog’s neck and
then tried to get the
The door opened and
light flooded in. Two shadows stepped inside: the elderly couple that had so
graciously managed to knock him out at metro’s exit. The
smaller one stepped forward, obviously the lady.
Hutch squinted,
protecting his eyes from the sudden grey daylight. Rain came pouring into the
door. He sat up, putting his legs beneath him. Overnight the cold blackness of
the water that surrounded the boat had found its way into his body, and he
shivered.
She stepped in closer
until she stood in front of him, blocking the light. The man stayed behind
keeping watch at the door. Since he was chained to the floor he could only look
up in defiance. They looked different somehow and after a moment he figured out
what it was. They had gotten rid of their disguises.
His heart did a double
take when she moved and the light suddenly revealed her features. Gone was the
nice elderly lady, and he could not help but stare at her.
“Do you know what you have
cost me detective?” Her raw voice croaked through the wet air.
She glared down at the
man in front of her. On his knees, but not nearly as beaten as she would have
liked. His face was alive with unsuppressed fearlessness and anger. The blue
eyes sizing her up like a caged animal. She tried to ignore it, but the
intelligence behind those eyes made her shiver.
Too much alive…, she thought,
far too much alive…
“Let me guess,” he
answered bitterly.
The voice, she had
forgotten his voice, so smooth, so damn warm. That voice, those eyes, his face…
had cost her everything.
“Grossman tricks… and
puzzles,” he stated dry.
With a loud bang Jake
shut the door behind her and she began walking around her captive. “You cost me my business, my money and my
son.” Though he did not turn his head, she knew the detective followed her
every move.
“Al’s having trouble
adjusting to prison life …Mrs. Grossman?”
She stopped, his
mocking tone of voice making her hate flare. Al was dying in that hellhole. Her
son was no match for the psychos that ran loose in there. Every time she
managed to contact him he looked a bit more drained. Last time he had told her
he wanted to end it.
“He’s dying…” She
walked in front of him and knelt down. She confronted the pools of blue that
were the subject of her hate ever since the detective managed to put her son in
prison. “…And you’re not going to get away with it.”
Much to her horror the
chained detective managed to grab her hands and held them in a dead lock. She
tried to back away, but he held her there, speaking in an ice cold voice, “He
killed Gillian…, if you think I’m gonna shed one tear over him, think again.”
Jake was on him in
seconds, knocking the detective to the ground with both hands, then pinning him
to the floor as Hutch was far from unconscious. He was lying on his left side,
Jake pinning down his right shoulder, his knees crushing the detective’s legs
in order to keep him from moving. He glared up at her, no sign of defeat, no sign of fear. Nothing, only anger.
She jerked her hands
free, but did not stand up. Red markings appeared, showing where he had grabbed
her. She rubbed them as rage found its way to the surface.
Alive… he’s far too much alive, she thought. She wanted those blue eyes closed, she wanted the breathing
stopped, she wanted his energy levels depleted, but she wanted to do it slowly.
“My Al…,” she
whispered sadly, then leaned in closer, “I’m gonna give you a choice Detective
Hutchinson.” She waited a bit to let her words sink in. Then she took the pill
that Jake handed her and put it on the floor between her and Hutch. She took a
deep breath and leaned back. No one would ever accuse her of not being a lady.
“You either die a very slow and painful death, or you take this cyanide capsule
right now.”
She saw his muscles
straining against Jake’s grip, trying to pull free, but he was roughly held to
the floor again. She stared at him and read the decision in his eyes. She had
not expected anything else.
“Stuff it,” he
declared in a hate filled voice, and inwardly she began to smile.
Hutch found he could
not move a muscle. The man holding him was surprisingly strong and even moving
one inch proved to be painful.
The sight of Olga Grossmann
caused buried, painful memories to surface, but he suppressed them.
She leaned in, “First choice
it is then,” she whispered and pulled out a knife from her jacket. She let it
rest on his bare skin. He tried to pull away as she pressed the tip of the
blade against his throat.
“What’re you gonna do,
you’re going to kill me?” He was still angry; he couldn’t help it.
The tip of the blade
began tracing his skin down to his shoulder. Hutch eyed her. The knife left a
small bloody trail in its wake. He flinched against the sting and even though
he was cold to the bone he began to sweat. Fear began to set in. She did not
look at the knife. She just looked into his eyes.
“Don’t worry…” she
whispered. Her voice sounded motherly warm, but the cold grey eyes removed
every comfort that came with it. “… I know what I’m doing.”
The look in her eyes
told him she was not joking. Whatever she was planning, she was going to do it
now. She would not just tease him and walk away. She did not want to bargain
with him, he was not being held for ransom. She only wanted revenge, and he
knew that no amount of talking would give him the bit of time he so desperately
needed. No time for him to escape, no time for Starsky to find him.
His heart sank as he
began to understand that he was not going to get out of this one. Realization
settled in his eyes and she smiled softly at that. Her eyes were still locked
on his. He closed them and spoke in a low voice. “He’s going to kill you.”
The knife stopped.
“Who?”
He looked up, his
answer firm and steady, “Starsky.”
She stared at him for
what seemed like a long time.
Hutch knew she had never
understood how he had managed to bring the Grossmans
down. After Gillian had died he should have been too grief stricken to see the
trap they had laid out for him. He should have walked straight into their hands
only thinking of revenge. But it did not happen that way.
She had never figured
out that it was Starsky who had found Gillian’s body first. Not Hutch. Found
her because his love for Hutch had led him to investigate Gillian’s
relationship with Grossman. Starsky had been there to channel Hutch’s grief and
anger into something more manageable. In the end, that had been the Grossmans’ downfall.
But she never understood it then, and she did not understand it now.
She smiled a smile
that did not reach her eyes. “You made your choice… detective.”
Hutch tried to read
the cold grey stones but all he saw was a sick mind hiding behind a wrong sense
of motherly concern.
“Hold him, Jake,” she
said and then, to his horror, she stretched her legs and closely went to lie
beside him.
He realized she was
sick. On the one hand she acted as a caring mother and on the other as a cold
blooded killer, who’d waited a long time to give him her payback. His fear rose.
His eyes never leaving hers as she again started to trail his skin with the
blade. He tried to pull away from the frail body now cuddling close to him, but
Jake only tightened his grip.
“You better be good
with that,” he said, still fighting.
Her right hand held a steady
grip on the blade and it stopped, touching the soft flesh of his belly. He
could feel the tip piercing his skin a bit. She reached out with her left hand
to carefully place it on his temple, stroking him softly as if consoling a
small child. Hutch shied away and shivered.
“Shhhhh,
don’t worry,” she breathed, her face now inches away from his. “I practiced.”
At that moment the
cold eyes turned to stone, and Hutch braced himself.
“Shhhhh…,”
she said and slowly pushed the knife until it broke the skin.
Hutch gasped, his eyes
widened in surprise.
She leaned in closer
and whispered softly. “Nothing to worry about, just
let it happen.” She stopped stroking and gently rested her warm hand on his
temple, pushing his head down slightly. “Shhhhh… It’s
alright,” she said softly and slowly, one inch at the time thrusting the blade
in deeper.
He jerked back in pain,
staring at her in shock. He could only sob as he felt the cold steel ruthlessly
find its way inside him. He looked at her, with tears of pain that he could not
prevent from welling up.
“Shhhhh….”she
said stroking him and steadied the soothing hand on his temple again. “It’s gonna be all right Ken, trust me… It’s gonna be all right.”
And carefully she pushed the knife all the way up to the hilt and held it
there.
Hutch was not prepared
for the excruciating pain, and all he could let out were helpless sobs that
caught in his throat. He felt the life draining from him, spilling all over the
hilt and over her hand. It soaked his jeans, soaked the wooden floor. And it
soaked her. He realized he was going to die and realized he did not want to. His
body began to shake, but she kept the hilt in place.
He uttered an
incoherent moan.
“That’s a good little
boy. Now, let me just…” She began to twist the knife around, turning the knife
with such skill and expertise that it kept him from passing out.
Hutch jerked his head
back in agony. His eyes closed, he could not even cry out, the pain only
allowed him to gasp as she continued her handy work.
Then she pulled the
knife out, but Hutch barely felt the difference. His body twisted as shock set
in. Jake let him go. His head fell back to the floor and he opened his pain
filled eyes.
She carefully sat up
and leaned over him to whisper in his ear: “I did not touch your vital organs. You
got five hours, five hours before you bleed to death, Detective.”
Hutch tried to focus
but found he couldn’t. Energy levels long since depleted, the room started
spinning. His eyes glazed over, but he still held her gaze. He bit down and
managed to conjure up enough air to breathe one whisper.
“He will kill you… Mrs.
Grossman.”
Then he moaned low and
deep and closed his eyes.
“That’s a good boy,”
her voice betraying the joy she actually felt at seeing him defeated.
Hutch knew he was dying,
he could not hold onto the life which slowly seeped away from him. In his agony
and pain he desperately tried one more thing. He centered on the pain, on the
part of him that did not want to die, the part that was connected to another
soul and his mind cried out in despair…
One
name.
“Starsky…”
Then he gave in and
surrendered to the black tentacles of oblivion.
Chapter 4
“Huggy!”
Huggy looked up to
find Starsky yelling over the loud noise of music and customers, trying to get
his attention. Seated at a back table Huggy had just engaged in a deep
conversation with two beauties.
Under normal
circumstances Starsky would have checked the ladies out from top to bottom. But
this time Huggy found his eyes fixed only on him as the detective made his way
toward him through the bar’s clientele.
“Hey,
my man.” He peered behind
Starsky, “Where’s blondie?”
The man just looked at
him and then walked past the table to disappear behind a heavy burgundy
curtain.
Huggy uttered a
flamboyant excuse to the ladies and followed the detective into the small
hallway behind the drape. Starsky turned toward him.
The coldness in his
voice surprised the dark man. “What d’ya got Hug?”
He swallowed when he
realized Starsky had not answered his question. Dark calculating eyes looked at
him intently when he spoke. “I just heard from one of life’s finer beauties out
there…,” he nodded in the direction of the muffled noise coming from the bar. “That
a bad cat is in town.”
“Who?”
Starsky’s voice was
calm, far too calm. The cold in it almost sucked the next words out of him,
“Olga Grossman.”
The color left Starsky’s face almost at once, replaced by
shock. A deep caring concern filled his eyes. He was silent for a while. “You
sure?” he said softly.
Huggy nodded and
reached out to grab the detective by his arm, fearing the worst.
Olga
Grossman and her son, Al.
They had been responsible for effectively ruining Hutch’s life when they killed
his girlfriend Gillian. Huggy had not seen first hand what had happened, but he
had seen the aftermath.
It had taken a while
before the man had smiled again. And Starsky was not much better. He had become
absurdly enthusiastic about everything when Hutch was with him, just to make
him smile, just to see that spark return to his eyes again. But when Hutch was
not around, Starsky’s brooding mood had made everyone walk on tiptoes around
him. Including Huggy.
“Starsky, where’s
Hutch?”
They had captured Al,
and he was sentenced for murder one. But they were never able to get their
hands on Olga. By the time they got back to Grossman’s office, she was gone.
Starsky’s voice almost
sounded like that of a lost child when he answered. “I don’t know. He
disappeared on me at Metro, yesterday…”
Huggy let go of the
man’s arm and stared at him, biting his lips.
“I figured he must’ve
taken the dog out for a walk, but he never showed up.”
“Dog?” Huggy’s eyes flew to the ceiling.
The detective took a
deep breath as he apparently realized that standing around here was not going
to bring his partner back. “Never mind, look, have you got any idea where she
might be hiding out?”
“Not a clue, bro.”
Realizing that this was not what Starsky wanted to hear right now he quickly
added. “But I’ll do some checking.”
“Great.” Starsky
slapped him on the shoulder and started to leave.
“Hey,
Starsky!”
“Yeah.” The detective glanced back, one hand on the
curtain, blue eyes on brown.
“You find him, you
hear?”
Starsky just nodded,
closed his eyes for a second and then walked out.
Starsky was surprised
to see the watery sunshine through light clouds when he exited the bar. The
streets were wet and the smell of rain lingered in the air.
God, it’s morning
already… where did the time go?
He was tired, but
sleeping was out of the question. He squinted against the light, wearily
entered the
He reached out for the
glove compartment and put on his shades before slowly letting the
The thought of Olga
Grossman made his skin crawl. She was a frail old woman, but as tough as any
old leather bag. She was ruthless and capable of as much violence to get her
way as any drug lord. From the moment he had laid eyes on her, she had scared
him. Starsky’s vision of nice old ladies was one of motherly goodness, wise
words and Christmas presents. He found the thought of an old lady being a cold
calculated killer unsettling to say the least.
Nice old lady… Oh God! The old couple at the
station!
The revelation hit him
hard. Bile rose up in his throat as he realized what must have happened. Controlling
the emotions racing around in his stomach he reached for the radio.
“This is Zebra Three, patch me through to Captain Dobey!”
“Roger Zebra Three.”
After a few seconds
Dobey’s voice filled the
Despite the situation
Starsky could not help but smile at his Captain’s early presence at the
station. He’s probably as worried as I
am, he thought grimly. “Cap’n let the patrols look out for Olga Grossman!”
“Grossman… Starsky are
you sure?”
“Cap, if I’m right
this nice old lady has my partner!”
The radio fell silent
for a while, then the stern but caring voice came back.
“Right, I’ll patch it through, anything else?”
“Nothin’ Cap, I’ll let
you know, Zebra Three out.”
He sped through the
increased early morning traffic, praying that by some miracle he would step
inside Hutch’s apartment to find him sitting on the couch, smiling at him with
a drink in hand and telling him what a great night he had with some girl.
If that’s the case I’m gonna kill him, he thought letting the bitterness slip through
his tight control.
All of a sudden a
tremendous wave of despair came rushing up, paralyzing him, gripping
his heart in an all consuming fear.
Starsky hit the brakes
in mid traffic, causing the
Angry shouts and
honking horns passed him, but Starsky did not hear any of it. He gripped the
wheel with sweat filled hands. Instincts and experience told him to get out of
the car in which he was a far too easy target. He took off the shades and
looked around for the danger that his mind told him he was in and found only
the steady on going traffic, the pavement and some pedestrians.
There was no danger,
nothing.
He swallowed and
closed his eyes as nausea welled up. For a moment he thought he was coming down
with the flu or something.
But then the fear
turned into a warmth… a love… and a goodbye.
His eyes shot open,
tears sprung into them.
“Oh God…,” he thought,
“Oh God…!”
He closed them, shook
his head, opened them again holding on to that feeling. Realizing in an instant
that what he felt was not his… what he felt was Hutch’s.
He pursed his lips in
bitter desperation and with tear filled eyes and wet cheeks turned the keys in
the ignition and recklessly drove off, traffic honking again. Starsky could
only think of that fleeting sensation that had touched him for a mere moment.
“…Starsky.”
“No goodbyes, Hutch… not now… not ever!” he answered out loud. He put the mars light on top and,
as if drawn to it, raced back towards
He took the stairs two
at the time only to stop dead in his tracks when he came to the top. There in
the corner between Hutch’s front door and the wall, lay Oliver, curled up in a
ball of warmth.
“Hey.”
The dog must have been
exhausted to not have heard him, but he did now. He jumped up and wagged his
tail so hard against the wooden door that the thudding noise ran through the
entire building.
For a fleeting second
Starsky let himself hope that this meant that the
apartment’s owner had returned.
But the moment he
stepped inside he knew the place was empty. He sighed and felt temporarily
drained. Oliver followed him as he made his way towards the refrigerator. It
contained a beer and one of Hutch’s concoctions. He took out the last one
knowing that Hutch would never let him hear the end of it if he found out. But
he needed his strength.
“Hey Oliver…” he spoke
softly and knelt in front of the dog. He stroked its ears and to his horror
found the fur hard and sticky.
“What happened, huh?”
The dog whined and
looked confused.
“If only you could tell me, brown eyes,” he said tiredly looking into the
big round eyes.
He gave him some water
and food, then leaned against the kitchen sink and took a sip of the concoction.
He stared at the dog, at the chocolate head with his remarkable white star. His
mind willing it to speak up, to tell him what had happened.
“Where’s my partner,
Oliver?” The dog looked up. Starsky stared at him and sighed. “Where is he, huh?”
He closed his eyes as the feeling of love mingled with despair returned and he cursed
into thin air. “Dammit Hutch… hang on buddy, just hang on.”
Oliver looked up. Although
the man stood quietly in the kitchen, he could tell he was upset. This was a nice man. He smelled of food and
radiated feelings of a good soul. Empathic as any dog he found those
feelings very appealing and somehow they seemed familiar.
This man belonged to
the same pack as the other one. The other man was kind and had a soft but stern
voice that he just had to obey. He had accepted the other man’s friendship and leadership
with pure joy in his heart.
He wagged his tail
hoping to cheer the food man up a bit.
It was a bit
confusing.
The voice man had told
him, firmly, to get back home. However his warning instincts had told him not
to leave his friend there. The room had smelled of death and decay and an aura
of wrongness had lingered about the place. He had tried to get the man to come
with him.
“No Oliver… go… home…”
This time he had
sensed the importance to obey and did what was told, jumping into the water.
Home was where the rest of the pack was, he knew that. And even though it was
night he found his way back.
The food was good, the
water was good, but his friend the food man was upset. Upset that the other one
was gone. He lay down on the floor and gave the man a sad look.
He could not contemplate
on future or passed events, but just picked up on the loss that his friend
felt. The man closed his eyes and the softly spoken words burned the dog with
despair.
“Dammit Hutch…“
A silent and empty world…
He looked up with big
brown eyes when blues opened again and suddenly a small voice, no more than a
fluttering of words came from deep inside the dog. A tangible
whisper that spoke and kissed him on the nose.
“But…this…I need you to do...”
Chapter 5
Hutch was crying.
He did not want to die. Desperately he clung to
that sentence trying to hang on, moaning in his struggle to live. He wasn’t
going to die.
Slowly the realization
set in… he was dying and he knew it.
Tears ran down his
cheeks. Pain induced watery drops that fell on the wood and mingled with the
blood. His breathing became increasingly difficult, short, forced, gasping
breaths that halted in his throat. Sometimes he would open his mouth and no air
went in at all.
“Aw, the little boy is
crying…”
He could hear Olga
talking, but he couldn’t see her as his eyesight was gone. He picked up pieces
of conversation, confused moments of reality and surrealism.
“Look at his ashen
face Olga, it won’t be long now…”
Hutch slightly moved
his head in an attempt to shake off death, to hang on to his ragged breathing
that became more and more shallow.
“Start up The Grace,
Jake… we’ll wrap him in the net and dump him in the ocean.”
His eyes fell dry; the
pain drained everything, even the pain itself. He moaned and thought of Starsky.
“I just can’t buddy… I just… can’t.”
His breaths became
shorter and faster, his temperature rose to a high fever, and he passed out.
The moment Starsky
opened the front door to resume his desperate search Oliver sped down the
stairs like a tornado. Once outside, the dog raced around the nearest corner
and disappeared from view.
Starsky panted heavily
when he reached the corner and saw the
“What d’ya got there, huh?”
Starsky went to his
knees, reached underneath and took out what looked like an old cloth. He stood
up and shook off the dirt. With a gasp he recognized Hutch’s flannel black and
white shirt. He quickly looked it over but found nothing that could lead him to
his partner.
He smelled it. It
smelled like fish.
Starsky looked up,
thinking out loud, “The docks, is that where you left him?”
Oliver wagged his tail
and barked. Sensing that the dog was about to take off again, Starsky grabbed him
by the collar. “Not this time buddy, we’re takin’ the
car. Anyone ever tell ya you run like an Olympic athlete?”
He dragged the dog all
the way back to the waiting
Starsky closed the
door, ran to the driver’s side and got in. It took him half an hour to reach
the docks.
The docklands were large.
Way too large. Starsky didn’t have a clue where to start looking. He was just
about to let Oliver out of the
“Zebra Three, patch
through from a man named Huggy.”
Starsky stopped the car
next to a gigantic tanker and grabbed the radio. “Yeah Hug
what is it?”
“Starsky, the word has
it that Olga Grossman just purchased a small fishing boat.”
Relieved that he finally
found himself on the right trail he answered: “That’s where they got Hutch. Hug, any idea where I can find it?”
“Nope, but the boat’s
called The Grace and has blue markings on the side!”
“That may just be
enough to find it. Thanks pal.” He tossed the radio away, leaned in and opened
the passenger’s door. “Go,” he commanded the
The dog didn’t need to
be told twice. He scrambled out of the car in seconds and sped off down the pier.
Starsky closed the door and hit the gas. The dog was fast, but now that he was
in the car Starsky could easily keep up with him.
Oliver seemed to know
exactly where he was going.
Starsky drove past endless
piers. Heavy commercial tankers and cargo freighters were on his right side,
large buildings and warehouses to his left. The crafts got lighter as he
reached the part where pleasure boats and marinas were moored for the
off-season, their gear hidden beneath sturdy layers of tarpaulin. Rough men,
whose lives had been hardened by years of poor wages and tough work, eyed him
as he passed them in his bright red car. It contaminated the air with a sense
suspicion, intensifying the harsh reality Starsky found himself in.
He was dammed if was
going to let Hutch die here.
Every time he thought
he lost the brown blur he saw him standing at some corner, waiting for him. His
white star was standing out from the harsh grey buildings that now surrounded
the
Fifteen minutes later the
dog disappeared inside a narrow alleyway between two buildings. Starsky hit the
brakes, got out and ran after him. The alleyway opened upon a small area crowded
with fishing boats. He stood still for a while trying to get his bearings.
Small wooden ramps anchoring
waiting fishing boats led to the water. Then he spotted it. A small blue yacht had
just turned and slowly navigated away from the shore. It carried the name The Grace.
It was clearly heading off for the open sea. At the end of a small wooden ramp
Oliver skidded to a halt and started barking like a madman at the disappearing
vessel.
Running at top speed, Starsky
reached the end of the ramp, and realized he could never be fast enough. The
boat was out of reach and was already beginning to pick up its speed. Franticly
he looked around. It took him a moment to find what he was looking for. He
raced back down the ramp and headed for a small sturdy iron boat that was
anchored not too far off. Oliver followed him.
Starsky landed on deck
and was followed by four paws that abruptly bumped into him.
Startled, the slightly
limping captain of the vessel, who looked as sturdy as the boat he was on,
walked up to him with an obvious threat on his face. Starsky didn’t have time
to explain the situation so he quickly reached inside his back pocket to grab
his shield. “Police!”
“Settle down mister,
name’s Hollister.”
With a grunt Starsky
grabbed the large bald man by his heavy dark blue sweater: “Look, I don’t have
time for chit chat, I want you to catch up with that blue vessel over there!”
“Okay, okay, plenty of
time to do that mister, plenty of time.” Hollister answered, clearly getting
the message. Starsky let him go and followed him inside the cabin.
“You got a radio on
board?”
Hollister started up
the engines with one hand and threw him the receiver with the other.
“Thanks.”
Starsky turned the
radio frequencies so he could get the police radio on line. Out of the corner
of his eyes he could see Hollister’s face. The features on it slowly hardened
as the rough sea man listened in while he explained the entire situation to
Dobey and then called in the coast guard. When he had finished, the large man
had his eyes fixed on the smaller ship in the distance.
“Partner, huh?” A quick
flash of compassion appeared between the sturdy lines of his face. “Don’t worry, we’ll get them, Detective. We’ll get them.”
Starsky just nodded. Not so cold and hard after all, he
thought.
The Gabriel, small and
not very seaworthy looking was used mainly for cleaning up the canal that ran
through
“C’mon Hollister move
this tub a little faster,” he muttered, keeping his anxiety under tight
control. The Grace was navigating around the coast a few hundred yards in front
of him. His eyes never left the blue dot.
Starsky knew that if The
Grace made it out of the harbor and reached open sea, they would never be able
to catch up with her again. He would never see Hutch again. It was a feeling that
was so much present inside of him that it was almost tangible. It was the
connection between them that spoke, almost screamed, that urged him to hurry or
it would be too late.
Starsky looked down at
Oliver, who was barking frantically beside him. Hollister might think he was
overreacting, that there was plenty of time to catch up, but Starsky knew the
dog felt it too; the warning that was quickly drowning out all rational
thoughts. To hurry.
Slowly The Gabriel
crept closer.
Starsky concentrated, cleared
his head of all worried thoughts and his heart of all desperate feelings. He
pinpointed one point in space and aimed. The shot echoed over the water,
drowning out the engine noise of The Gabriel and killing, in an instant, the
forward movement of The Grace. He had hit the fuel line.
The Gabriel navigated
along side The Grace.
Just a fraction sooner
than Oliver, Starsky, with his Beretta still in hand, jumped over to the blue
ship the moment the gap was small enough.
He didn’t have to
shout or search for his partner because Oliver sped off around the cabin
knowing exactly where to go. Starsky raced after him, his mind marvelling at
the dog’s nose which didn’t even have to touch the deck to pick up Hutch’s
smell.
He went round the corner
to find a heap of netting with Oliver now on top, barking madly at the two
people who tried to roll the thing overboard. Starsky’s anger flared when he
realized what they were trying to do. “Hutch!”
The man and Olga
Grossman looked up startled. The man lifted his old rifle and began to take aim.
Starsky let his instincts and training take over, made a dive roll and shot the
man straight through the heart. There was no mercy in his eyes, not when it
came to Hutch, not when a fraction of doubt could end Hutch’s life, end their
partnership forever.
Olga screamed and tried
to reach the man but was stopped by Oliver. Showing his teeth with every bark, Oliver’s
whole body contained a death threat if she dared to move.
“Freeze!” Starsky yelled. She froze, staring at Starsky then
back at the dog.
“Hutch!” Starsky yelled again. “You
in there?”
The old woman’s eyes
shot in his direction when apparently she picked up the concern in his voice.
Starsky never took his eyes off her. He knew she was waiting for him to make a
mistake, to let his concern for his partner get the best of him. But he was far
too good a police officer to let that happen.
The wind had picked up
and water splashed over the netting, and a soft moan could be heard in between Oliver’s
barks. Starsky’s eyes darted over toward the net as he tried to keep his
footing on the rolling boat and slippery deck.
“Turn around…,” he
ordered her in a steady voice. “Slowly.”
As much as he wanted
to get his partner out of there he had to secure her first.
He reached in his back
pocket for his cuffs when a sharp pain shot through his right leg. It worked
its way up in an instant. He screamed. He couldn’t help himself; his leg lost
all strength and buckled beneath him. He fell, his gun slipped from his
fingers. It took only seconds but in that time Starsky realized he had made a terrible
mistake.
He had failed to take
a third person into account. The Grace’s captain. Pain wrecked his senses. His
hand twitched to the origin of it and found a knife sticking through his leg,
coming out the other side. When it was pulled out he screamed again, red spots
overwhelmed his vision.
Breathing heavily he
lay on the wet deck, he couldn’t move. His gun had slid away, he couldn’t reach
it. He saw the captain coming up out of a hatch behind him, the bloodied knife
still in his hand. He had a screwed grin beneath his unwashed beard. The man
loomed over him.
Over the roaring sound
of dizziness he suddenly picked up Oliver’s barking. He looked up between the
boots of the captain and forgot the shock he was in. Olga carefully picked up
one side of the net, staring down at Oliver. Oliver was not a police dog and
not a killer and was therefore unable to stop her.
“No, Hutch…” But he
couldn’t reach him, he couldn’t stand, he couldn’t move.
I can’t get to you… dammit I can’t get to you…
God...no!
From far away he heard
the captain’s laugh and it made him mad. He reached out, closed his eyes and tigered
forward using his left leg. He gritted his teeth to keep himself from screaming
when pain lashed through him again, his heart giving him the strength he needed
to curl his fingers around his Beretta and aim at her.
The captain walked
over to the net, picked up the rifle and aimed it at Oliver, blocking his view
from Olga.
Starsky fired…five
shots.
There was a silence as
the man fell forward and Oliver… jumped out of the way.
And Olga Grossmann saw
her chance.
Starsky lowered his
gun in horror, his eyes wide when he saw her push the net overboard.
He yelled as a splash
crashed his world to pieces.
He shot her, but
already a pain far deeper than the one in his leg cut through to his very soul.
A fear so intense made him try to stand up, get to the water, but he was held
down by strong hands.
“You’ll drown! You
can’t go in!” Hollister’s voice shouted in his ears.
“Then I’ll drown with him! Get off me!! Get off!!!”
Starsky was hysterical,
panic had set in as the seconds that Hutch was in the water ticked away. Forcefully
he wrenched himself free of the hands that were holding him down. Fuelled by his fears for Hutch, Starsky
generated a strength that made Hollister lose his grip. He managed to get up,
only to collide hard with the deck again when determined hands got hold of his
jacket.
“You can’t go in!”
Hollister said, holding him down.
Starsky was ready to
use his gun if he had to, his blue eyes seeing nothing but deep inner turmoil.
“Don’t make me use this,” he said through clenched teeth and he aimed his Beretta
at Hollister’s chest.
Hollister froze and
Starsky slowly sat up. However, the Captain did not move out of his way.
Instead, a look of recognition shot across his face, almost as if he’d once
lived through this himself, but Starsky couldn’t care
less. “Move!”
“You’ll drown the
moment you hit the water. Listen to me! I know. I tried it once, it cost me my
leg!”
Starsky stared at him,
only now noticing the wooden leg which was probably the reason why Hollister
hadn’t jumped in after Hutch himself.
“You’ll have to shoot
me,” Hollister’s cold voice stated.
His aim never wavering,
Starsky removed the safety.
Inside however he was
torn apart by the heart wrenching urge to get to Hutch and his own pledge to
protect the innocent, a battle that racked his soul to the core.
He closed his eyes
shut, tears appearing in helpless anger.
Hollister was not a
cold calculating criminal that he could shoot without mercy. He could not shoot
him… he couldn’t… not even for Hutch. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself, and
Hutch would never forgive him.
He looked away from
Hollister in submission. He looked back at him again, shaking his head, closing
his eyes as he realized what he was about to do. Slowly he raised his gun, away
from Hollister and away from the only chance to save the other half of his
soul.
Fatigue finally caught
up with him, frantic feelings of grief and despair took hold. He had found Hutch
but was unable to reach out, to lift him out of the water and to save him. The voice that had called out to him an hour ago. He still
heard it. The voice that had been Hutch.
“… Starsky.”
He looked away and shouted;
a grieving sound that shattered the cold wet air around him.
The wind howled, almost
as if it grieved with him.
Sirens reached his
ears as the coastguard closed in. But Starsky knew it was too late.
He looked up. His tear-filled
eyes stared at the deck when suddenly the lack of Oliver’s presence reached his
consciousness.
Except for the two
dead bodies, the deck was empty
Chapter 6
Oliver struggled to
keep the heavy net on the surface, but it dragged him down. He didn’t know
where he got the strength or where he found the courage to do what he did. He
didn’t think about that. All he knew he had to save this man. The compelling voice asking him, telling him, begging him to help
this man. The voice that was part of him.
“Please help them…”
He whimpered, paws
beating the cold unforgiving water. The tough rope of the net cut into his
mouth, but his strong teeth would not let go. They’d fastened around it in a
deadlock while breathing hard through his fangs and nose. He held on, keeping
the man’s head above water as the net got heavier and heavier. It slipped a
bit, and he tasted blood. His paws got tired and as heavy as the net.
He should let go.
The dog held tight,
not only with his mouth, but with his heart and soul. And when he found he
could do no more, an unseen force gave him strength. It reached out through him,
and Oliver held on. Hands appeared and took the burden from him. His heart
filled with incredible joy and love, the unseen force enveloped him in immense
gratitude… as his lungs filled with water.
His job was done.
Starsky had no idea
how he had gotten over to the red and yellow boat of the coastguard but he had.
His hands groped for the grey slippery net with its thick heavy rope as it was
hauled out of the water and onto the deck.
Franticly he tried to
pull the net away but it wouldn’t budge, not without moving Hutch around. Knowing
that Hutch had been injured, but not to what extent, his thoughts screamed at
him not to move him. But he’s already
been in the water…we moved him then… how much can he take… Hutch… how much…
“Get this stuff off of
him!” he yelled while flashing his badge with one hand. Time was running
against them, and Starsky knew it. Two
hours since I heard you calling out, pal…, two hours. If you’re seriously
injured…, two hours…It’s too long…
The rescuers listened
without a word. Heavy equipment cut the ropes in half. Fortunately The Grace
was a small fishing boat and this net was one of the lighter nets it had
carried. With determined efficiency they lifted the last of the strands away.
Hutch lay motionless
on the cold wet deck. His upper body blue from the cold, his
blond locks stiff against his head. Red ugly rims around his wrists
where he’d fought against the chains.
But it was the
deceptively small wound in his belly that betrayed the entire story… that threw
the curly headed detective back to that moment in time when his friend had
called out to him.
“Oh God…”
Starsky’s heart lunged
in his throat upon watching the grey face and cold pale lips that once held the
warm and comforting voice that was his partner. His innards constricted at the
sight, his fears made his hands hover above Hutch’s still form. Not sure where
to touch him, but knowing he had to, wanted to, needed to.
His eyes fell onto a
trickle of blood that had been stilled by the cold water, but now started oozing
again from the belly wound. It took him a while to register what he saw. The blood
still flowed…
“He’s alive!”
Warm shaking hands now
touched his partner’s face, and Hutch reacted with force. Within seconds he
started to shiver.
Somehow they had
reached the shore where a helicopter waited to pick up the blond man, now
carefully wrapped up in warm blankets. Hutch had been stabilized, but with an
acute belly wound like that every second counted. So Starsky let them whisk his
partner away, knowing his leg wound would only slow them down.
Starsky just sat there
on the rocking boat. The sound of the helicopter’s rotor blades dissipated as
the distance between him and the helicopter, between him and Hutch grew.
He turned around to
look out at the distant horizon. The sun started to set and threw the most
beautiful colors in his face. For a moment he thought
he could hear a dog wagging his tale on solid wood but it faded in the sound of
the rolling waves. In the distance the Mars lights of Dobey’s cavalry were
quickly coming into view.
With sadness Starsky
recalled the conversation he had started with Brandon, the coast guard,
earlier.
“Where’s the dog?”
He’d seen Oliver struggle in the water, but pretty soon his thoughts had been
too occupied to see what had happened to the white starred
The medium build
sturdy black man had looked at him in surprise. “What dog?”
Starsky’s hold had
tightened around the arm; his eyes had spit cold blue fire. “The dog that was in the water, the dog that
saved my partner’s life!”
Starsky still couldn’t
believe what the dog had done. If it hadn’t been for Oliver…
His mind pulled back to the present as he thought of Hutch. With a grunt he
stood up, his determination making him move towards the approaching ambulance
that would take him to the hospital and to his partner.
He could almost swear
he heard the bouncing tail on wood again.
Chapter
7
Once again he could do
nothing but sit there. Once again with a hand in his.
A hand that felt lifeless as Hutch didn’t seem to feel his touch. He looked so
small and insignificant between the white bare walls. Like a little boy asleep.
Involuntarily
Starsky’s thoughts raced back to a couple of months ago. When he had been
sitting at Terry’s bedside. Terry, his girlfriend. George
Pruldholm had put a bullet in her just to get to him and he had sat with her until
the end.
He looked at Hutch and
then lowered his eyes. How long before being a cop started to wear both of them
down. He recalled Terry’s promise to be there when he needed her. “I can’t lose
him Terry,” he whispered softly into the air.
He sighed. More then
anything he wished she could be with him right now. But at the same time he realized
he would give up his wish in an instant… if only Hutch would open his eyes. A
tear sneaked down his face. He felt scared and had to fight the urge to run out
of this cold barren room.
The warmth of a hand
nestled against his cheeks and made him look up in surprise. Hutch looked at
him. His eyes conveyed the words he could not yet speak, telling him it was
alright.
Nothing to be scared about Starsk.
Starsky felt a smile
tugging at his lips, touched by the unexpected moment of connection with his
partner. He’s comforting me, while I
should be comforting him! “Hey.”
A soft raw voice
whispered back. “Starsk?”
“Yeah, take it easy.”
Starsky grabbed
Hutch’s hand, which still nestled against his face and gently lowered it on the
sheets. “I’m all right. It’s okay. Shhhhh…”
The words caused a look
of pure panic to shoot across his partner’s eyes. It happened in the space of a
few seconds, before Hutch fell asleep again.
Starsky frowned. What the hell was
that all about partner? No time for self pity Starsk, you better be there for
him when he wakes up again.
His partner woke up
now and again, getting more coherent with every waking moment.
When Hutch woke up completely
Starsky had just moved himself over to the window and was staring into the
still darkness of the night. Small insignificant headlights were dancing across
the window and the black sky was alight with the glare of the bright city
lights. The room was warm and he had taken off his jacket and rolled up the
sleeves of his dark blue shirt. It didn’t help much. He still felt warm and the
room started to close in on him.
A quiet sob spun him
around as if hit by lightning. His eyes fell on his partner. The lost look in his
eyes almost broke Starsky’s heart. Quietly he walked over. “Hey, buddy.” Hutch
looked at him and Starsky could see him choking back sobs.
“Aw
Hutch.” He could tell how
weak his partner felt right now, as if it were his own feelings. The surprise
and relief of still being alive coupled with what he had been through; it all
came rushing to the surface. And then there was the pain.
He sat down and reached
out to touch Hutch’s hand. But his partner pulled away, flinching again. A
fleeting moment of despair shot across light blue eyes. Inwardly Starsky
cursed.
Exactly what the hell has happened to you…?
With grim
determination Starsky refrained from reaching out and steadied his hand upon
the white sheets. He recalled a time when he had but to extend his hand and
Hutch would grab it. Somehow that trust had been lost. As if it had drowned in
the chilling waters of the harbor.
“Hutch.” he stated,
not at all a question and he let a little of his own hurt and anger slip
through. “Hutch!”
He caught the fleeting
eyes and held them locked onto his.
“Starsk?”
Starsky nodded as ever
so slowly Hutch reached out and touched his hand. “Yeah?”
“Starsk, you’re here.
I’m still alive?”
“Of course you are, you dummy.”
Hutch took in a deep
breath, pulled back his hand and started to stare at the ceiling.
For a while Starsky
did not say anything and just proceeded to carefully give his friend some
water.
“Thanks.” His partner
said and then fell silent again, resting his eyes on a far-off point.
As much as Starsky
hated it, he knew the best way to help Hutch deal with things was to draw him
out right away. He waited until his partner had relaxed a bit, making sure that
Hutch was awake enough not to fall asleep on him any time soon.
Purposefully he asked
the hard question. “What happened out there, huh?” He put his fingers on his
mouth and waited.
Hutch’s eyes turned on
Starsky’s for a mere second, but didn’t stay there.
“I… she…” He closed
his eyes and opened them again. Instead of answering, Hutch asked a question of
his own into the still air that surrounded them. “Where’s Oliver?”
Starsky stared at him
and spoke softly. “He saved your life.”
A meaningful silence followed,
which immediately made a worried Hutch turn his head towards him. Starsky just
shook his head, knowing his partner would understand. Hutch blinked a view
times and lay back on the pillow. “And Olga?”
First name basis, partner? “Dead,” he shrugged, “I shot her.”
A little smile tugged
at Hutch’s lips upon hearing those words, but it quickly disappeared behind a
wave of emotion and he closed his eyes again.
“What happened,
Hutch?”
“Starsky, I can’t…”
The moment Starsky
reached for his arm the blond pulled back again. Although he knew Hutch’s
consciousness probably did not even register what he was doing, his rejection
still stung Starsky like hell. To see the trust and generosity in Hutch’s eyes
more or less destroyed was heart wrenching and it made him bitter.
“Hutch, you know you
can talk to me.”
There was no response.
“You can ignore me all
you want… but I’m gonna sit here until I find out.”
His partner squeezed
his eyes shut even more and shook his head in despair.
Starsky had to refrain
from leaning in, forcing himself to sit still.
“Hutch… Trust me a
little bit will ya, huh?”
A sob escaped his
partner’s throat again.
“Come on…let it out.”
The dam inside his
exhausted partner finally broke. Hutch opened his eyes, a tear running down his
cheek as he began to tell the story. Hearing his partners horrifying ordeal, coming
in half finished sentences, halting sobs and unspoken words, Starsky succeeded with
a heavy heart to pull the entire story out of him. He was glad Olga was already
dead or he would have gone after her. No matter what the consequences entailed.
“I remember… calling out… for you.” Hutch
finished in a whisper and looked deep into Starsky’s eyes. Starsky felt him
touching his soul and deep within those baby blues that were covered with a film
of hurt and despair, he saw the Hutch that he knew.
And finally Hutch
reached out and grabbed his hand.
Carefully Starsky
closed his fingers around the fingers of his partner, who didn’t pull back this
time. Starsky put his other hand against the blond’s cheek, gently wiping away
some of the tears and smiled a heart warming smile. “And I heard ya, pal… I
heard ya.”
Hutch smiled back at
him and began to cry again.
With a sigh Starsky pulled him into an embrace. Safe in his arms he
allowed his exhausted partner to break down completely and cry himself out.
Hutch had gradually
recovered enough to be released from the hospital within a week.
“Starsk?” he asked sitting
on the hospital bed. His partner’s stare started to unnerve him somewhat. His
face showed a mixture of compassion riddled with a seething anger, which Hutch
did not understand.
“So…”
Hutch recognized the
tone of voice. A dangerous tone Starsky usually reserved for the interrogation
room. Either not noticing Hutch’s unease or choosing to ignore it, Starsky
continued.
“You’re telling me
that you are completely recovered? That what happened to you out there hasn’t
affected you at all?”
“I’m not saying that,
I’m just saying that I won’t let it take hold of my life.”
To Hutch’s startled
surprise, Starsky grabbed his arm in a tight lock and raised his voice. “That’s
bull shit man, you’re ignoring it. I’ve seen the way you handle the nurses.”
Hutch had to work hard
to fight the urge to wrench his arm free. He knew Starsky was right. This thing
had hit him far more deeply than he was willing to admit.
“What’s that supposed
to mean?” He stated it in a cold voice, but he could not help from sounding
insecure.
Starsky let him go and
stood up. Then he pointed a finger at him. Hutch froze a bit at that. “You avoid
them buddy boy, especially the older women. Hutch, for God’s sake, you flinch
every time one of them comes near you!”
Hutch opened his mouth
to say something, but the words would not come. Starsky’s anger hit him like a
rock. “I’m … not…”
“You’re not, huh? Okay.
Okay.” His curly haired partner who had walked over to the door turned around.
There was no sign of anger in his eyes. Just hurt and a slight look of regret,
probably over what he was about to do next.
“Starsk, what are you
doing?” he croaked anxiously as Starsky marched up to him.
“How about this then,
partner?” Starsky gently grabbed his arm again, but this time also reached for
his face to touch his cheek.
Hutch shied away. An
instinctive reaction, feeling guilty the moment he realized what he had done.
Starsky immediately froze, not pushing any further, never wanting to hurt him.
Their eyes met and Starsky nodded a ‘see what I mean’. He let go of Hutch’s arm
and resolutely walked out the door.
“Starsky!”
Hutch put his head
back against the wall and cursed when his partner didn’t return. He shook his
head in confusion. The fact that his behavior had hurt his partner slowly began
to sink in. He cursed again and drew up the strength to get out of bed.
Gingerly he put his
feet on the floor. Feeling quite unsteady and swaying a little he walked over
to the door and peered out into the hallway. His partner wasn’t in sight, but
Hutch knew exactly where he could find him. Taking-pain filled steps he walked
all the way around the corner to the nearest candy machine.
Starsky had just taken
out a candy bar and was putting it in the pocket of his worn leather jacket. Somehow
he sensed Hutch’s approach and looked up. “What the hell are you doing out of
bed!”
Hutch froze again. He
seemed to be doing that a lot lately. He shook himself out of it and walked
carefully up to his partner. “Look, Starsk…”
“You should be in bed
pal.” Starsky started to grasp his shirt to drag him back to the room, but then
lowered his arm. Uncertainty shone in his eyes whether or not it was all right
to touch him.
Hutch cringed under
the hurt he saw in them. “Starsky…”
His partner didn’t
answer.
Hutch looked down and
took a deep breath. “You’re right, Starsk…I know you are right.” He hesitated.
“It’s just so hard to…” Fear began to settle in, and he began to feel lost
again.
“Hey.” Starsky’s soft
spoken voice was accompanied by the feeling of a firm grip on both his
shoulders. “Hey!”
Hutch looked up.
“What she did was wrong… it wasn’t normal you hear… she was insane. All she cared about was
destroying you.”
Hutch stood, looking
into his partner’s eyes. “She didn’t…”
“No, I know she didn’t,
‘cause deep down you still wanna reach out, you still
care, she didn’t touch that.” Hutch didn’t answer and Starsky squeezed his
shoulders a bit harder. “Hutch, you woke up from your coma to comfort me
remember, huh?”
He remembered. It was
vague, but he remembered. It was hard to conjure up those feelings of trust now
however. When Starsky had touched him back in the room he’d been truly
frightened for a second. “I know I hurt you, Starsk.”
“Forget it.” Starsky
let go of his shoulders. “Come on; let’s get you back into bed, hm?”
Feeling kind of light
headed already, Hutch gave in to his partner’s worried look. However, tired as
he was, he felt angry and frustrated at his own behavior. He hated it, every
fiber in his body was protesting against the hurt he had seen in Starsky’s
eyes.
Preoccupied with his
own thoughts, he failed to notice the head nurse coming from around the corner
and they both walked straight into her. With an incredibly loud noise the
elderly lady dropped the tray of pills she was carrying. Before Starsky could
react, Hutch had grabbed her arm in reflex in order to stop her from falling
over.
“Oh, dear,” she
exclaimed and stood straight again. “Are you all right?” She touched his cheek
and then frowned. “You’re not supposed to be out of bed, Mr. Hutchinson.”
Starsky had picked up
the tray and handed them over to her. He smiled. “Don’t worry; I was just about
to take blondie back.”
She muttered something
that sounded like ‘Cops’ and went on her way.
A silence descended
that was broken by his partner’s voice. “Did ya see what you just did? Hutch… you didn’t even flinch, not one
muscle…!”
“So
what?” Hutch snapped back,
glaring at his partner’s smiling face. Angry he paced away, then stopped and
turned around.
“I’ll tell ya this,
Starsk, I’ll be damned if I let people like Olga Grossman keep me from the
streets! From the people I care about…, from you!” He pointed at him.
“All
right.” Starsky stated.
Hutch’s anger seemed
to dissipate as quickly as it had come up as he broke the eye contact. “All right.” He said firmly, and without any help marched
over to his room.
“Starsk, get me another beer, will ya?”
Starsky rummaged through the fridge until he found what he was looking
for. Two beers and some leftover Christmas pudding he had received from his
mother yesterday.
Hutch looked at it in disgust as Starsky, who was wearing a
multicoloured sweater his mother had knitted for him, dumped the whole lot on
the table in front of the couch. “Haven’t you eaten enough? We just had
Christmas dinner for God’s sake!”
“I’m telling ya, I could never have enough of mom’s pudding. Here try
some!”
“Starsk!” Hutch forcefully pushed the spoon his partner so graciously offered out
of the way. The movement nearly caused the pudding on the spoon to drop all
over the front of Hutch’s black turtle neck but Starsky managed to avoid losing
even the smallest bits of his precious pudding.
“Suit yourself, but you don’t know what you’re missing, man.” He sat down
next to Hutch and vehemently began stuffing himself with the pudding.
Hutch looked at him and shook his head in silence.
It had been two months since his ordeal on The Grace. He still wasn’t
fully recovered and Dobey had him on desk duty until he was. He was grateful to
just sit here.
When Starsky had invited him to spend Christmas dinner, just the two of
them, he had gladly accepted. As much as he disliked the emotional sentimentalism
of the season, he really needed to revel in it this year.
Somehow he still found it hard to deal with what had happened on The
Grace. It had brought back memories of Gillian and of the pain when he’d seen
her murdered. It had also brought back the anxiety and images of endless worry
for his partner’s safety and his own. And although Starsky had helped him overcome
his ordeal with Olga, for some reason he still couldn’t forget her face when she
soothed him into death.
And then there was Oliver, he couldn’t forget him. It seemed nothing short of miraculous for
Oliver to show up when they needed him. Without him, Hutch would be dead.
The close call still frightened his partner to death. Though Starsky
refused to show it, Hutch wasn’t fooled for a second. His partner was as shaken
up by last year’s events as he was and the boat thing had been the last straw. Hutch
could tell Starsky needed to be as close to him as much as Hutch needed to be
close to him this Christmas. He sighed.
It certainly doesn’t keep him
from devouring that pudding like a starving man.
“Hey Hutch, hold this a minute for me, will ya?” Starsky dropped the now
empty bowl in Hutch’s lap and stood up, leaving a sour looking partner behind
to put the bowl on the table.
“What’s that?” he asked when his partner returned with a large envelope
in his hands.
Starsky sat down on the table and didn’t speak for a while. “It’s from Terry…”
Hutch looked from the envelope to his partner. Whatever Hutch had felt
for Gillian he knew it wasn’t nearly the same as what his partner still felt
for Terry. When she had died a part of Starsky had died with her. It scared him
to realize how much both of them had lost, it made him even more grateful to
sit here, but Hutch wisely kept silent.
“It came in the mail yesterday, her mother called me last week to ask me
if I would be interested in some of Terry’s old pictures…”
“You haven’t opened it yet?”
Starsky looked up with a slight smile. “Nah… wanted to wait till
tonight.”
They exchanged a quick glance until Starsky looked away. Hutch sat back
on the couch and waited patiently.
His partner took a deep breath. “Guess now’s a good a time as any. So…, here goes.”
He ripped the yellow envelope open and took out three square photographs.
The black and white pictures had yellowed with age and Starsky handled them
with care.
He stared at the top one, a sad look spread across his face and stayed
there. His eyes didn’t seem to want to let go of the image that was displayed
on the piece of paper he now held in his hand.
Hutch gently took the remaining two pictures from underneath the top one
and from between his partner’s fingers. They felt brittle between his
fingertips.
“She looks so cute, Starsk.” He said softly, checking out the top one. A
child smiled back at him from between two chains of a swing. “She must have
been no more than eight years old in this one.”
“Yeah.” Starsky managed to say, but was obviously deep in thought.
Hutch carefully put the second photograph on top and froze.
The image seemed to slowly register in his brain. A smiling eight year
old girl sitting on the grass, her hands wrapped around a large dog. A
Starsky’s hands closed around his, taking away the picture with gentle
care. Hutch looked up.
“Starsk… It can’t be…” A tear ran down his cheek.
His partner stared in wonder at the picture. At Terry’s girly smiling
face, at the dog which long since must have died… He looked up, then down again
to turn the picture around. He swallowed and softly began reading the words out
loud.
“Oliver… He was my chocolate
He loved me and I loved him. He
always made me smile, comforted me when I was sad and had the ability to spread
happiness with his entire body.
I love him… and I miss him…
My Ollie.
Terry.”
Hutch felt the tears run freely down his face. He looked his partner in
the eyes as the dark haired man looked up and didn’t even try to keep his own
tears in check. A release of an entire year’s worth of tension flooded through
both pairs of blue eyes.
Somehow he knew it freed them. The words freed them for a moment of all
their fears, of every horror they had been through these past twelve months.
Fears for each other when one of them had vanished, images of twisted cult
members and vengeful hired killers. They all vanished. It was replaced by love
and by the realization that someone had helped them.
Starsky shook his head, clearly overtaken with emotion. And as the wonder
deepened in tear filled eyes beneath brown curls he opened his mouth to speak
in a whisper. “Do you believe in miracles, Hutch?”
Hutch put his hand on his partner’s and kept looking into his eyes as
both now had bright smiles on their faces. He softly answered, “Merry Christmas,
buddy.”
The
End