Act I

Captain Dobey was worried as hell.  Neither Starsky nor Hutch had shown up for work and he couldn’t reach them by telephone.  They should have still been at Hutch’s place at this hour of the morning.

"Henderson!"  He yelled out to one of the detectives in the squad room.  "Get in here!"

A plainclothes detective stepped into his office.  "Yes, sir?"

"Get some black and whites out to meet me at Hutchinson’s apartment right away!  I have a terrible feeling something’s wrong!"

They arrived at Venice Place in record time.  Four uniformed officers jumped out of their cars and raced into the building.  The captain stopped just in time to avoid hitting the back of a black and white in front of him.  He hurried out of his car and up to the apartment.  By the time Dobey got up to the top of the stairwell, he was sweating.  Taking his handkerchief out of his pocket, he mopped his brow furiously.  The five men stood silently for a moment, listening.

"Hutch!"  Dobey yelled outside the door, pounding on it, "Come on, open up!"  No sound came from the inside of the apartment.  Dobey nodded to the officer to his left to kick the door in.

The door crashed open with a boom.  Captain Dobey and the officers stared at the horrendous sight in front of them.  On the floor lay his two best detectives, unconscious.  Starsky’s bloodied face was swollen.  Hutch lay on top of him with a grip in the chestnut curls that told the story to the large black man.  There was little doubt in his mind, having witnessed hundreds of crime scenes in his long experience, that something unnatural had driven Hutch to savagely attack the man he called best friend.

"Oh, no!" Dobey exclaimed as he rushed to Starsky and Hutch. "Lawford, call an ambulance!"  Hutch came around with a muffled groan, reacting to the sound of the loud voice at his side.

"Hutch," Dobey asked, "can you get up?"

"Wha'?"  Hutch tried to rearrange himself into a seated position, clearly confused.  He seemed not to comprehend why he and Starsky were on the floor, or why he was lying on his partner.

"C-Cap’n?  What happened?  Uh…I…oh!"  Hutch put his hands up to cradle his head.  "Oh, God, I feel sick!"

"Hutch, you and Starsky are hurt.  An ambulance is on its way."

"A.-A-Ambul…Starsky!  No!"  Hutch got his first look at his partner.  Starsky remained unconscious, barely breathing.

"Where's that damned ambulance?!"  Dobey yelled.

Lawford answered the captain’s strident question. "It’ll be here any second, Captain."

Hutch stared down in horror at Starsky’s face.  He collapsed back on the floor with his hands over his eyes as his memory came flooding back.  "I did this," he groaned, "Starsk..."

Two paramedics appeared at the doorway, stretcher in tow.

"Hutch, try to relax, son.  The paramedics are here now.  They’ll take care of Starsky.  Take it easy.  We’ll sort this out later," Dobey said.

The paramedics ran in to treat Starsky first.  They put an oxygen mask over his mouth, checked his vital signs and started an IV.  One of the paramedics looked over at Captain Dobey.  "He’s in bad shape, Captain.  We can’t bring him around and his pulse is thready.  What happened here?"

Hutch’s voice overrode the captain’s attempt to reply.  "I did this!  I did this!"

"Hutch!  Be calm!"  Dobey grabbed at the distraught detective before turning to the paramedics.  "Let’s get them the hell out of here!"

"No worries - we’ll be there in record time," the paramedic said sympathetically.  Two uniformed officers brought up a second stretcher while the paramedics worked on Starsky.  Helping Hutch onto it, they tried to take vital signs.  He resisted their ministrations, struggling to get up. 

"No!  I don’t need to be on this thing!  Just look after my partner!"

Dobey laid a supportive hand on Hutch’s arm.  "It’s okay.  They’ll take good care of Starsky and you, too.  Let them work."   Hutch relented by lying still.

The paramedics finished their examination and with the help of the two uniforms, transported Starsky and Hutch down to the ambulance.  When Dobey could hear it pulling away with the siren blaring, he glared at his remaining men and barked an order.  "Get a crime lab up here, now!  I want this apartment gone over with a fine-tooth comb!  You find anything, I’ll be at Memorial."  That said, he rumbled down the stairs to his car.

Act II

Dobey burst through the emergency room doors minutes later and strode up to the nurses’ station.  "I’m Captain Dobey.  Two of my detectives were just brought in.  Where do I find them?" he asked a nurse at the counter while trying to catch his breath.

"Names, sir?"

"Starsky and Hutchinson," Dobey replied.

She lifted a clipboard and scanned down a sheet of paper.  "They’re still being examined, Captain.  Please have a seat and I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.  He’ll be out to talk to you as soon as he’s through."

Time slowed to a crawl before Dobey noticed the same doctor who treated Starsky two days before approaching him.  He’s young enough to be my son, Dobey thought.

"Captain Dobey?"

"Yes.  You're the doctor from the other day that looked after my detective – Blake, isn't it?"

"That's right.  Sorry to meet again under these conditions."  After they shook hands, Dr. Blake continued.  "Detective Hutchinson is going to be okay in a few hours.  He ingested some kind of mind-altering hallucinogen.  Based on what he told me about what happened, it created a hellish unreality and in this case, forced a violent reaction.  He’ll be somewhat unsteady on his feet until tomorrow, but he doesn’t seem to have suffered any other ill effects."

Dobey nodded.  "What about my other detective, Doctor?  Starsky?"

"He’s still unconscious.  Looks like one heck of a beating.  His partner says he's responsible for it.  I tried to explain that the drug he was given is responsible, not him, but he wasn't listening much, I'm afraid."

Dobey’s eyes took on a cold glitter.  The doctor shuddered at the thought of that look being turned on whoever had put these two under his care.  He finished his diagnosis. "Detective Starsky has a concussion, but we’re not sure how serious it is at this point.  I’m hoping he’ll come around soon.  He also has a couple of broken ribs, and numerous contusions and cuts to his face that we’re treating as we speak.  That’s about all I can tell you for right now, but I think he’ll come through."

"Can I see my men?"  Dobey asked, his voice taut with anger.

"You can see Detective Hutchinson right now.  After we’re finished with Detective Starsky, you can have a few minutes.  We’ll be keeping a close eye on him in case something else shows up."

"Thanks, Doc."  Dobey let some of the anger go.  In the back of his mind, he knew this wasn’t over.  Whoever had given Hutch the drug was responsible for Starsky’s condition.  He didn’t like this one bit.  He only waited a few minutes after the doctor left when a nurse approached to lead him to where Hutch was treated and found him sitting up with a haunted look in his eyes.

"How do you feel?"  Dobey asked gently, his hand on Hutch’s shoulder.

Hutch looked up, trying to focus on the older man.  "It doesn’t matter how I feel.  Starsky’s hurt because of me!"

"It matters.  Starsky will heal, but it's going to take time.  Right now, we need to concentrate on what happened.  Did you hear or see anything strange last night?"

"A woman’s voice on the phone in the middle of the night.  She said I would remember her, and then she hung up."  Hutch sighed heavily.  "We looked around my place, didn’t find a thing, and figured we’d pick this up again in the morning.  The nightmare started after we both crashed for the night.  It had to be the shooter, Captain.  What other explanation is there?"

"The doc says you were given some kind of mind-altering drug.  Strong enough to change your thinking processes to the point where you’d have a violent reaction to it."  He lifted a finger in Hutch’s direction. "What I want to know is how.  It can’t very well be done over the phone!"  Dobey exclaimed.

"She must have gotten into the apartment while I was in the shower.  Starsky was fast asleep – he wouldn’t have heard a thing.  She must have used a pick or my key to get in."  Hutch looked embarrassed.

"Don’t tell me you’re still leaving your key above the door?  Haven’t you learned by now?"  Dobey couldn’t believe Hutch had gone back to this old habit.  "What did you eat or drink last night?"

"Uh…a beer and some scrambled eggs.  Had to be the beer.  Starsky nearly drank it, but I took it away from him and downed it.  Guess it didn’t make much difference, huh?"  His tortured eyes lost some of their unfocused look.  "Captain, when I can see Starsky?  I want to know how he is for myself.  We’ve been here too many times."

"We’ll go and see him in a few minutes, as soon as they’re finished working on him.  The doctor said he’s still unconscious."  Guilt reappeared on Hutch’s face.  "Hutch, enough!    You were both lucky this time."

Dr. Blake walked into the examination room, interrupting the conversation.  "Detective, the drug has pretty much worked its way out of your system as far as we can tell, but I would suggest that you get plenty of rest in the next couple of days."  The doctor paused, holding out a clipboard and pen.  "If you’ll just sign this release form, you’re free to go.  I’m sure you’d like to see your partner, right?"

"Right, Doc.  I’d like to stay with him, okay?"  Hutch asked hopefully.

"I don’t see any problem with that as long as you let the nurses do their jobs.  I’ll let the duty nurse know."

"I will, and thanks."  Hutch got off the examination table slowly.  He followed the doctor and Captain Dobey to Starsky's room.  Hutch walked inside with heavy steps, his heart sinking.  Starsky was hooked up to an IV again as well as a heart monitor.  Hutch tried not to focus on the bandages that covered his partner’s head and chest as he sank into the chair beside him.  His words to Captain Dobey came back to haunt him.  They had been here far too many times to count.  He wondered for the hundredth time since almost losing Starsky to Gunther’s attack how much abuse one man’s body could take.  Me and thee, partner.  It seems you won’t go ‘til I do.  God willing, that’s a long ways down the road.

His voice breaking, he leaned over to murmur in Starsky’s ear, "Hey, partner.  I’m…I’m here, buddy."  There was no sign Starsky heard him, but he felt better saying it.

Dobey looked sympathetically at the blond detective.  "Hutch, you okay here for a while?"

Hutch nodded, his gaze never wavering from Starsky.  He slid his hand over the bed to lay it gently on Starsky’s forearm.

Captain Dobey went out to the hallway with Dr. Blake before asking, "How long do you think it will be before he wakes up?"

"He was beaten pretty badly, but the injuries aren’t life threatening.  He’s an amazing man, Captain.  After reading through his medical history, what’s just happened is relatively minor, if you get my meaning.  I can’t envision anything other than a full recovery, as I said earlier."

"Thanks," Dobey said, and Dr. Blake walked away to stand at the nurses’ station.

Dobey stayed outside the room, watching as Hutch sat there, seemingly in his own world.

"You’ll be hearing from me and you’ll be sorry!" Hutch was sorry he had ever laid eyes on Diana.  He made a silent pact that whoever used him to put Starsky here was going to pay.  Dearly.  Watching the machines beep and whir around his friend, his blue eyes glittered with renewed anger.

********

The next morning found Hutch slouched in a chair against Starsky’s bed with a hand clasped around his partner’s, a scene eerily reminiscent of two days before.

Consciousness returned to Starsky slowly through layers of foggy pain.  Blinking his eyes, he turned his head to see his partner dozing at his side.  A glimmer of a smile escaped as he wiggled his fingers beneath Hutch’s grip.

With a twitch of an eyebrow, Hutch cracked an eye open.  Finding those indigo eyes regarding him warmly, he sat up with a groan.

"Hey," Starsky said, his voice hoarse.

"Hey yourself.  Nice to have you back, buddy."  Hutch replied, a warm smile crossing his face, the soreness from the night spent in the chair forgotten for the moment.  He reached for a Styrofoam cup full of ice and plucked out a small piece to pop in Starsky’s mouth.

"Thanks."  Starsky voice lost some of its hoarseness.  "You look like hell.  What happened?"

Hutch’s face fell.  "Starsk, someone let themselves in after you fell asleep.  I went to have a shower before bed.  Without either one of us hearing, that beer I took away from you was spiked with some kind of drug.  It never hit me until after I laid down.  I thought you were Diana.  Forgive me?"

"Only if I get to hit you first next time.  You pack a hell of wallop."  Starsky saw the pain he inadvertently elicited with that crack, and changed his tone.  "C'mon, Blintz, I forgive you.  I was only kidding."  He squeezed Hutch’s hand.

Hutch squeezed back and said, "You got a weird sense of humor, Starsk."  Ruffling a hand through his hair, he breathed a sigh of relief.  "Dobey’s probably got my place all checked out by now.  Better call him."  He hoisted himself from the chair, his back protesting.  Ignoring the flash of pain, he reached for the bedside phone and dialed Dobey’s number.

"Captain?  Hutch.  Yeah, he’s awake.  Yeah, he’s gonna be okay.  What did you get from my place?"

In his office, Dobey shuffled through a file.  Pulling a single piece of paper from it, he said, "Hutch, we’ve identified the person who broke into your place.  A woman named Della Oliver.  She got in using your house key.  We lifted a print from it that wasn’t yours.  She’s got one prior for mischief and no felony arrests.  We got an address in a skid row apartment off Holland."

On the other end of the phone, Hutch listened intently.  "So what would make her come after us?  Her name doesn’t ring any bells connected to Diana."

"Hutch, listen carefully.  That gut feeling you had?  If this is the same woman - she’s Diana Harmon’s older sister."

Eyes widening, Hutch exclaimed, "Sister? How the hell?"  Starsky’s eyebrows shot up at Hutch’s question.  Hutch put it together and said to both men, "Cap’n, if it is her, she had to have visited Diana.  That’s the only way she could know about us and how to get into my place.  Can you check?"

"Already done, Hutch.  She’s been up to visit Diana every day for the past month.  I spoke to the resident psychologist there this morning.  He says she visits for a couple of hours and leaves.  He tells me they spend that time talking quietly or walking outside on the grounds, and Diana has been nothing but a model patient.  Figure they been plotting this little game?"

Hutch answered, anger narrowing his eyes.  "Yeah, Captain, I do.  I think I need to go visit Diana and find out what’s going on."

Dobey bellowed into the phone, "Absolutely not!  Not without backup!  You're not risking your neck out there with a psycho on the loose!"

Hutch pulled the phone away from his ear just in time to listen to Starsky snickering.  Glaring at his partner, Hutch put the phone back to his ear.  "What risk?  There are more guards at Cabrillo than you can shake a stick at.  I’m driving straight there and back to Memorial, no side trips.  We have to find out what those two talked about and where this Della might be holed up.  I’m almost positive now that the woman we saw on the roof and this sister are one and the same.  The coincidences are too blatant to ignore."

Dobey sighed, knowing there was little he could do to dissuade Hutch when he made up his mind.  "On one condition.  You check in every fifteen minutes until you get to Cabrillo, and the same thing when you’re on your way back to Memorial.  I’ll meet you in Starsky’s room."

Having won this little concession, Hutch agreed and hung up.  He glanced in Starsky’s direction and was treated to the sight of his partner’s trademark grin.  Hutch pushed the hated chair out of the way and sat on the edge of Starsky’s bed.

"Hutch, you sure know how to push Dobey’s buttons.  What was all that about a sister?  What did Dobey say about going to Cabrillo?  It was kinda hard to understand with all that yelling going on," Starsky quipped.

"You noticed."  Hutch smiled.  "One question at a time.  They got prints from my house key – she's none other than Diana’s older sister.  Dobey says she’s been visiting Cabrillo every day for the last month.  Now what do you suppose they’ve been talking about, huh?"

"Terrific.  It was bad enough when you had Diana on your tail, now we’ve got the sister willing to take us out?"  Starsky paused, considering the facts.  "You gonna go to Cabrillo and face the wicked witch of the west down?  That what Dobey was yelling about?"

"Yeah.  Starsk, I have to find out what she told Della.  That’s the sister’s name – Della Oliver.  Dobey says she’s living in some flophouse on Holland.  All that yelling was to tell me to check in every fifteen minutes in transit between here and Cabrillo.  Speaking of which, I'd better get a move on.  I still have to get to my place and pick up my car."  He looked down at himself.  "And a change of clothes.  I think the hospital gown and pajama bottoms are a little much."

Starsky reached over and clasped Hutch’s arm.  "Be careful, Hutch.  She might still be hanging around your place.  Why don’t you call in for a black and white, just to be on the safe side?"  A lopsided grin formed on his face.  "Doesn't look like I’m gonna be in any condition to be backin’ you up on this one. I’d hate to have to break in a new partner if something happened."

Hutch laughed and said sarcastically, "Your concern is touching."  Sobering, he continued.  "I’ll call for a black and white, just to make you feel better.  I’ll be there and back before you know it."

"'Kay.  And you’re welcome.  Take it easy, huh?"

Smiling sweetly, Hutch said, "Don’t I always?"  He patted Starsky’s stomach and rose from the bed.  "Get some rest."  He walked to the door and opened it to leave.

"Hutch?"

"Yeah?"

"See ya."

Hutch leveled a brilliant smile at Starsky, winked, and said, "See ya."  Stepping out into the hallway, he walked over to the nurse’s station.  Asking for a telephone, he quickly called Dispatch to send a black and white to pick him up.

Hutch made it to his apartment, changed clothes, strapped on the Python and got into his car without incident.  He sent the uniforms in the black and white on their way and drove off to Cabrillo State Hospital.  He checked in with Dobey like clockwork every fifteen minutes until he arrived at the front gate of the mental institution, radioing in one last time as the guard waved him through.

"Captain, I’m here.  I’ll be out as soon as I can."

Captain Dobey acknowledged him as he parked the LTD in a slot in front of the main doors.  Hutch got out and walked into the building, stopping in front of the reception desk.  Pulling his badge from his pocket, he said, "Detective Ken Hutchinson, Metro Division.  I’m here to see Diana Harmon."

The receptionist peered at his identification and searched down a clipboard.  "Yes, Detective, the doctor has you signed in.  Please take the elevator to the second floor and he’ll meet you there."  Hutch nodded and walked over to a bank of elevators.  A momentary memory of Starsky lying on the floor in his apartment wafted through his mind as he waited.  Fresh anger shot through him as he thought about the twisted mind of a woman he once thought attractive.  Way to go, Hutchinson.  You certainly know how to pick 'em.

The elevator whisked him to the second floor.  The doors opened and a pleasant-looking, middle-aged man in a lab coat stood waiting to greet him.

"Detective Hutchinson?  I’m Dr. Kenner, the head psychologist here.  I’ll take you to Diana."  Hutch and the doctor shook hands, the doctor leading the way down the sparsely decorated hallway.

"Dr. Kenner, what can you tell me about Diana and her sister Della before we go in?  Captain Dobey filled me in on some of the highlights, but I’d like to hear it again from you, if you don’t mind," Hutch said as they walked.

I reread Diana’s file just before you came here, and I don’t know that I can add much more than what I’ve already told your captain.  As I explained to him, Diana has been with us for a little more than four years, practically since the night she attacked you.  She’s been a model patient ever since.  Her sister started visiting about four weeks ago, just quietly talking to Diana, or taking her outside for brief walks on the grounds and then leaving.  That’s about it.  Not much of anything, I’m afraid."

Hutch laid a hand on the doctor’s arm, halting their progress for a minute.  "Dr. Kenner, you haven’t noticed anything different about Diana since those visits started?  Nothing unusual?"

"Well, I don’t know if this is unusual or not, Detective, but she seems to be happier than before her sister came around.  Could be just a natural reaction to seeing someone familiar, like family."

Hutch frowned, and said, "And it could be the two of them have been plotting to get my partner and me.  That’s what I want to find out.  I’m positive my partner’s lying in a hospital bed courtesy of Della Oliver, and I plan on getting to the bottom of this before she gets another crack at the game."

Dr. Kenner nodded and opened a door beside him.  "Diana is in here, Detective.  This is one of our visitor’s rooms.  Should you need assistance, an orderly is in attendance."

Hutch shook his hand and said, "Thanks, Doctor.  I won’t be here long."

Act III

Four years hadn’t changed Diana Harmon much.  The trim figure was as lovely as the day Hutch had walked into the hospital to have his hand stitched from the nail gouge.  She wore her hair in the same pulled-back chignon.  Only her eyes had changed from the last time he had seen her.  There was a look of calmness about them.  Hutch expected to see some sort of feeling – anger, fear, loathing – something.  There was nothing to indicate any kind of heightened emotion at the sight of him.

A beefy attendant stood nonchalantly against a wall, acknowledging Hutch’s presence with a nod.  Hutch walked across to the wooden table where Diana sat waiting and pulled out the chair across from her.  He sat down, interlacing his fingers and resting his forearms on the tabletop.

"Diana, how are you?" he asked casually.

"Fine," she replied in a monotone voice.

He decided in the hallway to cut right to the chase.  There was little time to lose.  "You know why I’m here, don’t you?  Where’s Della?"

Her brown eyes lost some of their placidity, a small light of smug satisfaction upturning the corners.  "Wouldn’t you like to know?"

Hutch pulled his hands apart, laying them flat on the tabletop.  "Diana, this is no time for games.  It’s over.  This isn’t just about Della.  This will come down on you, too."

Some of the smugness left her eyes at Hutch’s statement.  She recovered swiftly, and said, "I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective.  I have no idea where my sister is right now."

Hutch applied more pressure, his voice hardening.  "Is that really how you want to play this?  When and if we catch Della, and trust me, we’ll get her, and she tells us you put her up to this, you’re on your way to jail.  No more easy hospital time – it’ll be hard time."

He let her digest that for a moment, easing back in the wooden chair.  A dozen memories flashed through his mind of Diana, both in her saner and not-so-sane moments, and he wondered anew at his lack of foresight.

Her eyes flashed dangerously as the implications of what Hutch said hit home.  "You can’t threaten me, lover boy.  I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing, and even if I did, you would be the last person I would ever tell.  After the way you treated me?"  Her voice rose in a parody of the screeching performance from that night in the precinct hallway.

Hutch sighed heavily.  This was going nowhere, and all it would serve was to possibly provoke another attack he wanted no part of.  The ‘lover boy’ epithet had given him all the proof he needed.  Now he knew for certain she sicced her sister after him and Starsky.  He wasn’t going to get anything from Diana.  Rising to leave, Hutch couldn’t resist a parting shot.

"Diana, you better hope we don’t find her.  I’d hate to think what will happen to you after they close the door to your cell – your jail cell, that is."

He stalked out of the room just as she screamed, "Hutch, you bastard!  You can’t walk out on me!  I loved you!"

Hutch double-timed it down the hallway to the elevator doors and savagely punched the down button with a long finger.  As the elevator arrived and the doors opened, his thoughts were grim.  He had to get back to Starsky.  When he got to the car, he’d ask Dobey to put a full-time guard on his room until they both arrived.

Arriving at the main floor, as he stepping out of the elevator, Hutch was greeted by Dr. Keller.  "Well?" he asked, "Did you find out what you wanted to know, Detective?"

Hutch’s jaw tightened.  "I didn’t find out a damned thing other than what I already suspected.  I’m right back where I started from."

The doctor’s face fell at the news, and he laid a hand on Hutch’s shoulder.  "I’m sorry we couldn’t be of more help.  If I can find out anything new in the next little while, I’ll contact you immediately."

Hutch shook the man’s hand, and giving him a sad smile, said, "I'd appreciate it.  I just hope I find Della before she gets another chance."

The doctor nodded and Hutch left the building.  Climbing into the LTD, he started the car and backed out to head back to the hospital.  Driving through the front gate, he pulled out onto the highway while focusing on the possibilities of where Della Oliver might appear next.

He radioed in as he left the facility and was connected instantly to Captain Dobey.

"Well, what happened?"

A grim smile crossed his features.  "Nothing happened.  Diana didn’t tell me a damned thing we didn’t already know, except for one thing.  She called me ‘lover boy’, and Della used that same nickname last night on the phone.  Fairly obvious connection, wouldn’t you say?"

"That’s not enough, Hutch, but it’s something.  We have to find her," Captain Dobey said.

"I’m on my way back to Memorial now.  I’ll meet you in Starsky’s room.  Oh yeah, while I think of it, can we put a guard on his room?  Better to be safe than sorry."

"I’ll get someone up there right now.  He’s been moved out down to the third floor.  The doc says he’s well on the mend.  Stick to the plan, Hutch.  I want to hear your voice every fifteen minutes until you walk in the door, got that?"

"Yeah, Captain, I got it.  Zebra Three out."  He hung up the mike.

The trip back to the city seemed to take forever.  Anxious to get to his partner’s side, he stepped a little firmer on the gas pedal.  The car slid smoothly up in speed until he was doing nearly seventy by the time he reached the city limits.  He maintained radio contact with Dobey as planned.  He smiled to himself.  I’m not the only one with mother hen instincts.

Hutch pulled into the hospital parking lot, radioed in a last time and Dispatch informed him that Dobey was waiting in Starsky’s room.  He reached to shut the car off when the cold steel of a gun muzzle suddenly rested under his right earlobe from behind.

"Don’t shut it off, pig, or it will be the last thing you do in this world," a woman’s voice laced with hate hissed.

"Della," Hutch said resignedly, "I should have known.  Listen, why don’t we talk this over for a minute?"

"We got nothing to talk about, except you doing exactly what I say when I say it."  The muzzle of the gun stayed tight against his skin.  She must’ve been waiting at Cabrillo, knowing I would show up after last night, Hutch mused.  Instead of paying attention, I was too busy wondering where she was.  You really messed up this time, Hutch old boy.

Hutch agreed lightly.  "Okay.  What now?"

"Back this heap up and get out of here.  Don’t be in a hurry.  We don’t want to attract any attention.  Head to the old amusement park.  While you’re at it, give me that cannon of yours, just in case you get any funny ideas."

Reaching inside his jacket, he pulled the Python free and handed it backwards over his shoulder.  A leather-gloved hand took the weapon from his grasp, maintaining the pressure of the pistol against his neck.  Hutch backed the car away from the building.

Hutch drove to the amusement park as casually as he could.  He looked for an opportunity to make a defensive move, but the persistent threat of the gun never wavered, discouraging any ideas in that direction.

He pulled through the front gate and slowed down.  The gun left his neck as Della rose from the back seat, Hutch’s Python clenched in both hands at the back of his head.  "Drive to the back of the old funhouse and stop, lover boy.  Don’t be cute about it.  I'll shoot to kill; you have my word on that."

In a final effort to distract her from her purpose before they got out of the car, Hutch said softly, "Why would you want to kill me, Della?  This isn’t your hand to play."

Her eyes narrowed to slits in the rearview mirror.  "You stole my sister’s life from her.  You used Diana, tossed her aside, and now she’s locked up in that…that place forever, just because she loved you.  I, on the other hand, don’t, but I do love my sister very much, and I’m going to finish what she didn’t get a chance to do."

Hutch pulled to a stop in the back of the funhouse without commenting further.  Della quickly got out of the car without losing her deadly aim.  She flicked the huge gun barrel sharply to her left, ordering him from the LTD and into the building.  He sighed heavily and got out, wishing a silent goodbye to his partner.  Starsk, I’m deep in it this time.  I don’t think I’m gonna make it out of this one alive.  I just hope you get her before she gets to you, too, old buddy.

Della prodded Hutch into the building, jamming the barrel of the Python into the small of his back to move him along.  They walked down a short, semi-lit hallway until she barked at him to stop in front of an open doorway.

Pointing to her left, she snarled, "In here, Detective.  Don’t get brave, just move!"  He mutely stepped into the room and stopped.  Della flicked a switch, the room dimly lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling.  Hutch glanced around the room to get his bearings.  There was very little furniture in the room other than a couple of beat up chairs, a ratty cot with a badly worn blanket, and a low table with an ornate box on top.  Suspended over a support beam that ran the width of the room, a heavy chain was hooked by a steel cable to a manual winch.  A set of thick cuffs were welded to the free ends of the chain.  A larger set of leg irons laid on the floor close by.

Della pushed the barrel of Hutch’s gun into his side.  "Those are for you.  Walk over there. The leg irons go on first.  I’m not taking any chances with you, hot shot."

He walked over to the hanging chains tentatively.  There was no way out, and no escaping the reach of the big Colt.  He sighed softly for the second time, thinking about what his partner would do when he found Hutch dead.  Della Oliver’s life wouldn’t be worth spit.

"Quit stalling, pig.  Don’t make me come over there and start my lessons early.  Get those cuffs on."

Hutch bent over to slip the self-locking leg irons around his ankles.

Della waited patiently as he completed the same action around each wrist.  With his gun held on his midriff, she threaded a padlock through a metal loop on each cuff with one hand, barely taking her eyes off Hutch to snap them closed.  Ah yes, that's much better.  My little sister said to have fun – wait until she finds out I made mincemeat out of this bastard.  Just like the other one...all in good time, sis, all in good time.   Satisfied he was securely bound, she released a tension-filled breath.  Backing away, she set the gun down on the table next to the ornate box.  She walked over to one side of the room and cranked the winch handle to draw the chains towards the ceiling, dragging Hutch’s bound arms with them until they were high over his head, his feet barely touching the ground.

Hutch was finished being nice.  "Now what?  You’re gonna hang me here like a side of beef and walk away?" he growled, blue eyes blazing.

Her voice was silky-smooth as she returned to stand in front of him.  "Hardly, Hutch.  You don’t mind if I call you Hutch, do you?  That’s such a cute name for a bastard like you."  She leered at him.  "You know, I’m really going to enjoy this."  He bucked and twisted in a futile flash of anger, making the woman before him laugh.

Returning to the table, she reached inside the box and pulled out a wicked-looking knife.  She turned it in her hand, the light catching the shiny surface of the blade.  An evil smile flashed across her features as she turned back toward the bound man in front of her.

"Della, think about this.  Killing a cop will put you behind bars for the rest of your life."  Hutch tried once again to appeal to whatever logic her twisted mind had left.  "You’ll go down  and so will Diana.  What good does all this do then?"

"Really?" she asked sarcastically.  "Do you honestly think I care?  By the time anybody finds your sorry carcass, it'll be too late.  Besides, your partner is out of commission, thanks to you.  I can wait until later to finish him off.  What’s one more lousy cop?  If he’s as stupid as you, it’ll be easy to put him down -- permanently."

"What about Diana?  She’ll go down as an accessory to murder, and no more nice, clean hospital.  Her next stop will be a jail cell," Hutch said evenly.

Della swiped a gloved hand along Hutch’s jaw and grabbed his chin in a crushing grip.  "She’s isn’t going to be in that hospital for long.  Think I would leave her there?  Don’t you worry your little head about it, lover.  When I’m finished with you, I’m going to get my sister out of that hellhole you dropped her into.  I cut the fence where it won’t be noticed, and since Diana and I take little walks outside sometimes when I visit, it’ll be a snap.  We’ll be scot-free, and you’ll be dead."

She released his chin, smoothing a hand down the front of his chest and raising the knife with the other hand.  Hutch closed his eyes, dreading the first cut of the sharp blade.

Act IV

Dobey paced relentlessly across Starsky’s room with a scowl darkening his features.

"What the hell is taking him so long?  He should’ve been up here by now!"

Grinning, Starsky said, "Aw, Cap, come on.  You know Hutch; he probably stopped to chat with a pretty nurse on his way up."  He was propped up in bed with a number of pillows behind him.  He barely contained a chuckle.  Dobey’s impatience with the two men was legendary.

"Starsky, he better be in here in the next five seconds!  I've got enough on my plate without one of you two goofing off with some nurse!"  He ran his hand over his afro and continued to pace.  Giving up after a few more passes, he yanked the door open and walked out, over to the duty nurse’s desk, glancing down the hallways as he did for some sign of Hutch.  There was no one resembling the lanky blond in sight.  He caught the attention of one of the nurses and describing Hutch, asked if she had seen him pass by.

"No, Captain, I haven’t.  You’re the only one I’ve seen in a while, other than the uniformed policeman at the door."

"Could you have him paged, Nurse?"  Dobey asked.

She nodded and picked up the phone, her voice ringing through the hallways.  Dobey waited for a couple of minutes and then strode back to Starsky’s door, hands on hips.  He was getting a bad feeling.  This wasn’t like Hutch at all.  He turned to the seated uniform cop and barked out an order.  "Wallace, get downstairs and see if you can find out where Hutchinson is!"  The cop rose from his seat and hustled down the hallway.  Dobey pushed the door open to Starsky’s room, shaking his head as he entered.

"Find him?"  Starsky asked.

"No, dammit.  And nobody’s seen him up here, either."  He plucked a handkerchief out of his pocket to mop his brow.  "I sent Wallace downstairs to look."

A frown creased Starsky’s forehead as he mulled over the captain’s statement.  "Cap, do you think something happened to Hutch?" he asked, worry darkening his eyes.

Dobey stared at Starsky for a moment before replying.  "I sure as hell hope not.  I hope he’s just stopped somewhere, like you said."  A heavy sigh escaped his throat, the feeling there was something wrong increasing with every tick of the clock.

Wallace burst through the door, breathing hard.  "Sir, there’s no sign of Hutch anywhere.  One of the hospital guards remembers seeing his car pull up a few minutes ago, but says he didn’t get out.  The guard wasn’t close enough to see if he was in trouble or not.  The guard said Hutch backed out again and left, and no one’s seen him since."

Starsky sat upright in bed, the sudden movement causing enough pain for him to suck in his breath.  Dobey immediately rushed to his bedside, pushing him back against the pillows.

"Starsky, stay still.  You’re not going to do anybody any good like this."  Dobey ordered. 

"Cap, she’s got Hutch!  I know it’s her!  I gotta go find him!"  Starsky cried.  Dobey left his hand against the brunet’s shoulder, keeping him from getting up a second time. 

"Hold still, I said!  Let me handle this!  You’re not going anywhere."

Starsky sank dejectedly into the pillows, his eyes dark with fear.  Dobey reached for the bedside phone and dialed a number.  "Dobey here.  Put out an APB on Detective Kenneth Hutchinson right now!  He was last seen in the parking lot of Memorial Hospital less than ten minutes ago.  Get a description of his vehicle out there as well.  What?  A beat-up tan Ford LTD, license plate 642-LPM.  Got that?  642-Lima Poppa Michael.  Get it on the air now!"  He banged the phone down in its cradle and turned to Wallace who remained in the room.

"Wallace, you stay here with Starsky and don’t let him outta your sight!  I’m hitting the streets!"  He turned back to Starsky, the look on his face brooking no disobedience from the other half of his best team.  His face gentled as he saw the naked pain on the younger man’s face.

"We’ll find him.  He couldn’t have gotten far.  You take it easy, relax, and let us do the legwork this time, okay?"

Starsky’s eyes rose to meet those of his captain’s, and Dobey was taken aback at the anguish he saw in their midnight-blue depths.  He knew better than anyone how close they were, but even now it surprised him how deep their feelings ran for each other.

"Cap…you gotta find Hutch!  That sister of Diana’s is behind this, I just know it!"  Starsky implored.  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he choked the next few words out.  "He’s…my… best…friend, Cap.  The best friend I ever had."

Dobey squeezed Starsky’s shoulder and said, "Will do.  I’ll have him back here before you know it.  You just rest now."  Starsky nodded, the pain of losing Hutch muting his voice.  Letting go of Starsky’s shoulder, he left the room.

Starsky lay there for a long while, memories of Hutch swirling through his mind.  When he could wait no longer, and he was certain Captain Dobey was long gone, he put a hastily hatched plan into action.  There was no way he was going to lie around in the hospital while Hutch’s life was in danger.

Wallace was sitting in one of the hard plastic visitor’s chairs, barely awake.  He had just pulled an all-nighter when Dobey’s order to guard Starsky’s room had come in.  They were short-handed with a couple of men calling in sick, so Wallace took the extra duty.  His relief man was on the way, but that didn’t dispel the sleep threatening to overtake him.

The uniformed cop’s head drooped low on his chest while Starsky silently schemed a way out.  Got to get outta here…Hutch needs me, and I'm not sitting here waiting for the news that Hutch is dead while I can still do something about it.

"Hey, Wallace."

Wallace's head shot up.  "Yeah?  Shit, Starsky, sorry about that – I'm beat – Dobey's got me pullin' a double."

"'S okay.  Listen, lunch was about two hours ago and I'm starving.  The food in here isn't exactly what I'd call the fill-you-up kind.  Think you could go down to the cafeteria and bring me back a sandwich or something?"  Starsky gave the uniformed cop his best pleading look.

"I know what you mean, but Dobey said..."

"Look, I won't tell if you don't.  The cafeteria's down on the main floor – you can grab the elevator, dash in and be back here in a minute.  Nobody'll notice.  Please?"

Wallace felt sorry for the injured detective.  He knew how lousy hospital food was.  "All right – I won't be long."  He hauled himself out of the chair and left the room.

The very second the door closed, Starsky was up and out of bed as quickly as he dared.  Terrific – every damn bone in my body hurts.  This isn't gonna be as easy as I thought.  A flare of pain shot through his shoulder.  Ouch, dammit!

He painfully made his way over to the little locker in the hopes that his clothes were inside.  He flipped the latch to find his clothing balled up in a bag at the bottom.  He reached in the bag and yanked out the wrinkled, bloodstained shirt and jeans.  Thank God.  I'll look like shit, but it's better than nothing.  Slowly, carefully, he eased the jeans on, got them done up, and then struggled with the button-up shirt over his bandaged shoulder.  This isn't going to work.  Goddammit!  He gave up on the shirt and slid back into the hospital gown, doing his best to tuck the long ends into the waistband of his jeans one handed.  There.  That'll have to do for now.

Wallace wouldn't be much longer – he had to think of another diversion fast.  He also had to get his hands on a gun and transportation.  Well, Mr. Brilliant, now what?  He made his way back to the bed and had just slid under the covers when Wallace came back into the room carrying a tray laden with two sandwiches, two cartons of milk, and an apple.

"Best I could do on short notice, Starsky.  This is all they had," he explained.

"No problem.  Hey, thanks for going, huh?  This is great," Starsky said appreciatively.

Wallace set the tray down on the little sliding table, plucked off a sandwich, one of the milk cartons, and said by way of explanation for the handful, "I figured while I was there, I might as well grab me some, too."  He placed his meal on the bedside table and cracked a yawn.

"Rough night, huh?"

"No kidding," Wallace replied, and then, incredibly falling right into Starsky's plans, he reached down to unbuckle the holstered pistol and gear off his waist.  He dropped the holster into the chair he'd been sitting in earlier.  "Be right back.  Gotta take a leak.  'Bout near impossible with all that hardware on."

Starsky chuckled and nodded, his mind racing with the possibility that his two biggest problems had just been solved.  "Go ahead.  I'm gonna dig into this little feast."

As soon as Wallace stepped into the bathroom, Starsky pushed the table away, slid out of bed, and moved the chair underneath the door handle, preventing the uniformed cop from getting out.  As luck would have it, Starsky had been given a room on the end of the hospital wing.  The normal interconnecting bathroom doors didn't exist in this room.  There was only one way in and one way out.  He grabbed the holster off the chair and sure enough, along with the sidearm, a set of keys jangled on a chain on the other side.  He removed the service revolver and the keys, dropping the holster back into the chair.  Sorry 'bout this, buddy, but I gotta move!

Carefully stepping to the door, Starsky cracked it open a couple of inches and peered out to the hallway beyond.  There was no one at the desk, and only a few people wandering around.  Starsky snuck out the door, his slippered feet making no noise, and down the hall to the stairwell.  With one last glance behind him to see if he’d been noticed, he pushed through the door and began his descent.  He got to the main floor breathing heavily from the exertion and paused a moment to catch his breath. When he could manage it, he casually walked out of the entrance to the waiting black and white.

Once into the car and out of the parking lot, Starsky’s head began to throb with a pounding headache as he pushed the squad car to its limits around a corner.  The radio crackled to life as he straightened the steering wheel and proceeded down the street.

"Zebra Three, come in!  Zebra Three, this is Dobey!  If you can hear me, Starsky, pick up that damned mike now!"

Starsky grinned in spite of the situation.  Obviously, Wallace had gotten out of the john.  Rather than risk more of a chewing out than he knew he was already in for, he plucked the mike out of its bracket and responded.  "Zebra Three here, Cap.  Is Wallace okay?"

"Never mind about Wallace, we’ll deal with that later!  What the hell do you think you’re doing out there?"  Dobey screamed.

"Looking for my partner.  Beats sitting in a hospital waiting."

"You’re in no condition to be out of bed, much less out on the street!  Get your sorry tail back to the hospital, now!  Let us find Hutch!"

"Sorry, Cap," Starsky said grimly, "can’t do that.  I’m gonna find Hutch if it’s the last thing I do."

Starsky heard his captain sigh heavily over the airwaves and knew he was staying right where he was.  A small smile of victory lit his face as Captain Dobey radioed back, "All right, Starsky, I’m not gonna argue this with you now.  At least tell me where the hell you are."

"Just heading down Vista onto 9^th.  Got anything yet?"

"Nothing.  Even the snitches haven’t heard a peep.  In the meantime, I’ve put a call in to the psychologist Hutch saw at Cabrillo to see if he can put some pressure on Diana.  She has to know where her sister and Hutch are."

Starsky screeched around another corner before he answered.  Keying the mike, he said earnestly, "Cap, soon as you hear anything, let me know.  I’m gonna keep looking."

"Starsky, be careful and stay in radio contact!  You spot them, you call for backup!  No Lone Ranger antics!"

"Okay, Cap, I hear you.  Zebra Three out."  Starsky hung up the mike and continued his search through the streets and narrow alleys.

Act V

Hutch’s shackled arms were numb from supporting his weight.  He hung there, naked from the waist up.  Della had expertly cut the shirt from his body without putting a scratch on his skin.  She returned to the box and reached inside for another object.  Like Pandora’s box, Hutch thought grimly, but there isn’t any hope inside this one.  He let his head droop for a moment, trying to ease his stiffening shoulder and back muscles.

Della plucked a thin length of braided leather from the contents of the box.  In one move, she whirled on Hutch, the leather cord whipping around her and lashing against his ribs.  Hutch grunted with the first blow, an instant welt appearing on the fair skin.  She laughed, and Hutch thought it the most evil sound he’d ever heard from a woman.  Her brown eyes gleaming in twisted pleasure, the whipping resumed until Hutch’s lower torso was a mass of welts.

Breathing hard, Della stopped to return to the box.  Hutch’s skin felt like it was on fire, and he wondered where it would end.  She reached inside and pulled out a black leather sap filled with lead pellets.  Approaching Hutch to stroke the side of his face, Della said, "Hurt, lover boy?  I’ll bet it does." 

She reached for his jaw and pulled his face to hers, planting a bruising kiss on his lips he tried hard to resist.  "Hmm…no wonder Diana fell in love with you."  She made a tsk-tsk sound low in her throat.  "Such a shame to have to destroy this."  Pushing him away, Della drew the sap back and laid it along Hutch’s ribcage in the same path as the earlier makeshift whip.  He grimaced with pain, this newest onslaught almost more than he could stand.

She pummeled his ribs and chest with the sap, relishing every sound of pain Hutch couldn’t stop from escaping.  Tiring of the game, she walked around to his back and viciously slapped the weapon across his lower back.  By the time she finished, Hutch hung limply from the chains, no longer able to protest the beating with much energy.

"Aw…what’s the matter, Hutch?  Not enjoying this?"  Della asked lightly, as if it were nothing more than a game.  She grabbed a handful of his sweat-laden blond hair and jerked his head up to meet her gaze.  "Uh uh, honey, no passing out on me yet.  We’re just getting started, you and I.  You’re not going to spoil my fun now, are you?"  When Hutch made no sound, she pulled harder, forcing his head back and exposing his throat.  Della moved in close and attached her mouth to it, sucking on the skin hard enough to leave a brilliant red mark.  Feeling quite pleased with herself, she stepped back to admire her handiwork.

Letting his head fall back down to chest-level, Hutch closed his eyes and took the momentary lull to think.  By now Dobey and Starsky have to know there is something wrong, but what good’s it going to do?  Nobody knows where the hell I am.  At the thought of his partner, Hutch was saddened by the knowledge that there would be no Starsky to save the day.  Starsk, this is one time when I sure wish you were Captain Marvel.

Then there was no more time to think.  Della returned with a small spray bottle filled with water.  The first blast hit Hutch’s ribs, and with a scream he realized it wasn’t just water.  It was salt water as the smell of it reached his nostrils.  She sprayed it liberally all over the broken skin of his lower torso and back until he was half-mad from the burning agony.  When he was soaked down enough for her liking, she stepped around him and pulled one of the rickety chairs over to sit down.  Hutch raised his head, and with a last ditch effort of strength, he pleaded weakly, "Della, you’ve had your fun.  If you walk away now, leave me here, it’s over.  You’ve got a chance to get away free and clear."

She tilted her head back in uproarious laughter, as if Hutch had just told her the funniest joke in the world.  Dropping her gaze back to fix on his face, Della said darkly, "And leave you alive?  You’re putting me on.  Do you honestly think I believe for one minute you and that partner of yours aren’t going to hunt me down?  You got nerve, buster, I’ll give you that.  Sorry, no deal.  You die."

There was a rattling noise at the front door of the old building, and Della leapt to her feet, scooping up Hutch’s gun as she ran for the door.  Bracing herself against one wall, she leveled the massive pistol with both hands chest high.  The knob rattled again, and the ancient door swung free, revealing a drunken old man with ratty hair and even worse clothing.  Startled at the sight of a woman standing in front of him with a huge gun, he turned and ran away quickly, his appearance belying his speed.  Della thought about shooting him as he fled, changing her mind when she realized that the booming sound of Hutch’s gun would alert everyone within earshot.  Just a drunk old geezer, she smirked, probably keep on running until he finds another place.  She dismissed the thought, closed the door and walked back to her prisoner.

Setting the gun on the table, she picked up the leather cord again.  Whirling a length of it in front of her, Della started the whipping process again.  Hutch flinched with every blow of the lash, not having the strength left to cry out.  The lethal combination of the various weapons and the salt water was pushing Hutch into unconsciousness.  Noticing that Hutch was fading fast, she grabbed his hair and pulled his head up.  His eyelids were beginning to droop, the bright blue color of his eyes dull and unresponsive.

She slapped his face hard with her free hand.  "Wake up, lover.  I’m not finished with you yet.  I’ve got a couple more surprises left."  Hutch moaned, and she slapped him again.  The fresh pain brought him around, and he mumbled incoherently.  Della released his hair, and his head flopped down weakly on his chest.  This is fun!  I should've thought of this months ago!  I could've had Diana out of that hospital any time.

Dropping the cord on the table, she reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a small caliber semi-automatic pistol.  Reaching into the other pocket, she withdrew a small silencer and screwed it in place.  Backing away from Hutch a good distance, she carefully drew aim on his right thigh.  She squeezed the trigger, and with a whisper of sound, the bullet found its intended target.  Hutch yelped as it hit home, his head whipping back hard enough to make the tendons in his throat stand out.

Laughing, Della sauntered over to the agonized man before her.  "Hurts like hell, doesn’t it, Hutch?  Don’t worry, it'll all be over soon, I promise."  She poked a finger into the fresh wound, and Hutch yelled again, the blinding pain sending him into unconsciousness.

Act VI

The black and white cruiser moved up and down the streets, crisscrossing the territory like graph paper.  No sign of a lanky blond cop anywhere.  Stopping at a red light, Starsky ran a hand through his hair and winced.  The headache that had started out as a dull throbbing was now pounding like a jackhammer inside his skull.  His shoulder felt wet as well.  He knew that the wound had broken open somewhere along the way, but he wasn’t giving up.

"Where are you, Hutch?" he asked aloud.  "Wherever you are, I’ll find you."

The radio came to life as he drove beneath an overpass, heading for the other side of town.

"Zebra Three, come in."  It was Dobey, and Starsky detected a high note in the normally gruff voice that made him instantly respond.

"Zebra Three here, Cap.  Whaddya got?"

"Starsky, we just got a report from one of the black and whites.  They were waved down by an old rummy who claimed he was just scared to death by a woman with a huge gun over at the old amusement park."

"Cap, did he describe her?" Starsky asked, his heart leaping in hope.

"The uniforms had some trouble understanding the old guy, but apparently he told them he thought she was some kind of burglar – she was dressed completely in black."

Starsky processed the information, and it hit him.  "That's her!  She was dressed the same way when Hutch and I saw her last.  Where in the amusement park?"

"He was so frightened he couldn’t tell them.  Listen, before you go charging in there, wait for backup!  Don’t try to be a hero!"  Dobey ordered.

Starsky was already wheeling the cruiser around in a tight circle, tires smoking.  He mashed the accelerator to the floor, racing for the amusement park and Hutch.  Dobey’s voice bellowed through the speaker for Starsky to respond.  Indigo eyes narrowed in concentration, he ignored the repeated commands to pick up the mike.

The speedometer needle was nearing eighty when Starsky came in sight of the amusement park.  Braking sharply in front of the entrance, he sat there for a moment, thinking.  Can’t just go blasting in there.  If she hasn’t killed Hutch already, that would sure do it.  First question is where does she have him?  He backed the cruiser away from the entrance, out of sight, killed the engine and got out.

Drawing the service revolver from its holster at his hip, he sidled through the front gates; sticking close to the remaining buildings.  He crept slowly forward, keeping to the shadows, his shoeless feet curling in pain at every sharp stone he couldn’t miss.

He rounded the corner of an abandoned candy apple stand and practically stumbled over Hutch’s LTD.  Pulling back to the shelter of the stand, he cautiously peeked around the corner.  The LTD was empty, and the back of the old funhouse was windowless.  He backed up to head around the other side of the stand when he heard a muffled scream of pain he instantly recognized.

Starsky cat-footed to the side of building, listening carefully.  He heard Hutch yell again, and the idea of waiting for backup was finished before it started.  Hutch would be dead before they got there.  Glancing back at the Ford, a glimmer of an idea came to him.  He hustled back to the LTD and looked inside.  There, dangling from the ignition, were Hutch’s keys.  Thank God, Starsky thought with relief.

He had to time this perfectly.  Quietly opening the door, he slipped inside.  The car started smoothly, idling at a purr.  Judging from the sound of Hutch’s voice, he was somewhere on the opposite side of the building, well away from the back door.  Starsky put the car into reverse, praying the sound didn’t carry.  Discarding the sling from his left arm, he flexed it a couple of times and figured it would move enough to steer the car while he held the revolver in the other.

Dropping the gearshift into drive, he floored the accelerator.  The car crashed through the decrepit building, tumbling wood and metal everywhere.  Starsky kept his foot on the gas pedal until he thought he was halfway through and stopped.  Throwing the door open, he dove out to the floor.  The whipping sound of the silenced pistol whizzed around him, and he saw bullets impact against the side of the car.  Rolling to his left behind an overturned table and chair, he chanced a look between the two.  Della stood next to Hutch, firing the automatic at Starsky.  With a clicking sound, she realized in horror the gun was empty.  Flinging it at Starsky, she turned to run out the smashed rear of the building, scooping up Hutch’s Python on her way.

Starsky leaped up, and aiming at her retreating figure, he yelled, "Della, stop!  You got no chance!"  She turned and fired with one hand, the huge gun bucking out of her hand at the same instant Starsky returned fire.  The bullet struck dead center, high on her chest, flinging her backwards onto the asphalt.  Starsky ran to her, kicking the gun out of reach.  He held the service revolver on her and checked for a pulse.  She was dead, her sightless eyes staring up at him.  Closing her eyes with his fingers, Starsky rose and hustled back to his partner, his bruised feet entirely forgotten about.

Starsky noticed that the concussion from the crash had loosened the winch cable holding the chain enough to drop Hutch to his knees.  Searching frantically in the smashed room for the keys to the cuffs and the padlocks and finding none, he raced back to the fallen woman and searched through her jacket pockets.  Deep in one pocket, he found what he was looking for.

Hutch was barely conscious.  Starsky’s breath caught in his throat when he took in the damage Della exacted.  Kneeling, he wrapped his good arm around Hutch and said, "Hutch – I’m here.  You’re safe now.  Just hang on and I’ll have you outta these in a jiffy." 

Moaning, Hutch came around slightly.  Cracking one eye open, he asked weakly, "Starsk?"

Starsky laughed, relieved, and said," Yeah, partner, it’s me.  Lean against me a little so I can get these damned things offa you."  He stood up to reach the cuffs as Hutch leaned into his hip and thigh.  Unlocking them and carefully lowering Hutch’s arms to his sides, he knelt down to maneuver Hutch onto his back.  He pulled Hutch’s long legs around to free them from the leg irons, and heard an airy chuckle.  Starsky looked sharply down at his partner.  A small smile was on Hutch’s face.  The irons came free with a clatter.  Starsky flung them viciously to the other side of the smashed room.  He slid down to pick Hutch up and laid his head and shoulders on his lap.

Stroking the fair head, Starsky heard the sounds of sirens closing in from a distance.  "The cavalry’s here, Blondie.  Gonna take good care of you."

Hutch’s voice, faint but steady, came back to him.  "Starsk?  Glad you came.  How’d you get out of the hospital?"

Starsky snickered, and said breezily, "That was a cinch for a good cop. ‘Course, Wallace and Dobey aren’t too happy about it."  Squeezing a hand lightly on Hutch’s shoulder, he finished, "You just rest easy, Hutch, you hear?  I’ll tell you all about it later."  He no sooner finished the sentence than a cavalcade of black and whites and an ambulance pulled up, and a horde of rushing bodies came to join him and his partner.

Tag

"This is the life, huh, Hutch?"

They were in adjoining hospital beds, a pretty nurse with a terrific figure serving them their lunch.  She set the trays down in front of each man and left the room.

"Starsky, you have the weirdest notions.  Sitting in a hospital bed recovering from a beating and a gunshot wound is not my idea of a good time."

"Aw, look at the positive side, Hutch.  We’re off the streets for a little while, we’re together, and we got all this great scenery comin’ in an’ out of our room all day."

"You have a one track mind.  My entire body feels like somebody ran over it with a truck, and you’re commenting on scenery."  Hutch shook his head in exasperation.

"Whaddya mean, a one track mind?  She was really cute.  Maybe when I heal up I’ll drop by for a visit and ask her out."

Hutch sighed and said, "Starsk, I think we’ve had enough of nurses for a while, don’t you?"

The memory of Hutch hanging from those chains and the earlier stabbing incident with Diana Harmon sobered Starsky immediately.  "Right.  No more nurses."

The door to their room swung open and Dobey entered, carrying a basket of fruit in one arm and flowers in the other.  Depositing both on the table between them, he stood back and crossed his arms.

"Cap, you shouldn’t have," Starsky said sweetly.

Scowling Dobey turned and growled, "If it had been up to me, I wouldn’t have.  These are from the squad."  Shaking a blunt finger at Starsky, he continued, "If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll have your can out there directing traffic so fast it’ll make your head spin!"  Starsky managed to look sheepish, and didn’t say another word.

Hutch shifted in bed.  "Captain, what about Diana?"

"I went up there to have a talk with her after the ambulance took you two away and informed her Della was dead.  She burst into tears, ranting and raving about you, Hutch.  She finally calmed down enough to admit that she talked Della into the whole set-up in some twisted notion of revenge.  The authorities there found a cut in the chain link fence, so she’s being booked with two counts of being an accomplice to attempted murder of a police officer, as well as attempted escape.  I don’t think we’re going to have to worry about her ever again."  Starsky and Hutch breathed twin sighs of relief.

"You two are going to be off for a while, I understand.  While you’re taking this little break, Starsky, you might want to call Wallace and apologize.  That’s an order."

"Yes sir, I’ll do that."  Chagrined, Starsky hung his head.  Captain Dobey moved toward the doorway to leave when Hutch’s voice stopped him.

"Cap’n?  What happened to my car?"

Dobey turned, shrugged and pointed at Starsky, "Ask your partner.  He told me it was all taken care of.  You two take it easy, and I’ll see you bright and early in my office in a week or so."  He left the room, and Hutch swiveled his questioning gaze at his suddenly sleepy partner.

"Starsky?  Where’s my car?"  Hutch asked, dreading the answer.

Starsky yawned, and slid down in the bed.  "Geez, Hutch, can’t it wait?  I’m not feeling so great right now.  I think I’ll catch a coupla winks."

"Answer the question, you faker.  Where…is…my…car?"

"Uh, well…you see…uh…it was pretty smashed up, even for that old heap.  I got one of the uniforms to have it towed to Merle’s."  Starsky winced in anticipation of the explosion he knew was coming.

"Merle’s?  You had my car towed to Merle’s?  After the last job he did?  Starsky, how could you?"

"Aw, Hutch, you got nothing to worry about.  I phoned him -- says it would be no trouble to make it look exactly the way it used to.  No extra work at all, he said.  Nothing that a baseball bat couldn’t fix."

"Starsky!"

THE END