Deadly Diversion - Part Three
by
Mani
A satisfied smile came over Bartok’s face as he prepared to make the call that would finally eliminate John Carlisle from his hierarchy. Soon, the long and painstaking task of tracking Carlisle’s every move would come to an end. And the FBI’s interference into his business matters would stop. It had been a long, exhausting ordeal, but the outcome would be worth it. There was palpable excitement as he dialed Grimes’s private number at the hotel.
"Crandall, this is Bartok. It’s time. Advise your men to be ready."
On the other side of the receiver, Grimes was beaming.
"Don’t worry, sir."
Bartok hung up the phone. There was no doubt in his mind that his men would be thorough in the implementation of their duties, and would die before admitting failure. He settled back into his easy chair and awaited the news he knew would surely come—-that John Carlisle was dead and would never testify against him in court.
********
Agent Drummond stood over a large plastic replica of the two hotels, including the downtown Bay City courthouse. A roomful of agents, and the two partners, as well as Agent Costagravas and Carlisle stood in rapt attention as he continued with his demonstration. Drummond moved several small plastic men and cars in different spots within the model so that each man could see what was intended to happen the next day. Of particular interest were the dolls that sported small, dark business suits. Drummond pointed to the dark-haired detective.
"Detective Starsky, since you’re posing as Carlisle, you’ll be coming out of the hotel escorted by several agents. They’ll lead you into the parking lot, where you’ll enter this limousine here. This car will make its way to the courthouse using one of several undisclosed routes. Detective Hutchinson, you and Agent Costagravas will escort the real Carlisle in this car here, and go in the opposite direction. Any questions?"
"Yeah." Hutch motioned with his hand, "What’s to stop Bartok’s men from offing Starsky if they think he’s Carlisle?"
Starsky gave the blond a wide-eyed look. He turned to Drummond with a expression that said, ‘yeah, that’s a good question.’
"Ah, but that’s the beauty of the plan, Detective. There’ll be more cars for them to wonder about than just the two," Drummond answered, smiling.
Hutch’s face glowed with awareness. "So Bartok’s men won’t know which car is Carlisle’s or which ones are the decoys."
"Exactly. Rest assured, Detective Hutchinson. We have no intention of losing Carlisle, or your partner either for that matter."
********
Right around the time Drummond was finishing his meeting with the task force, Cleo had finished the rough draft of her story and had returned to the hotel. When she got to Carlisle’s floor, the same two agents she’d seen when she left were there. She stepped up to them and smiled genially.
"See, I told you I’d be back. Did you miss me?"
"Baby, you’ll never know how much. Hey, my name’s James, and this here's my partner, Phil."
"It’s very nice to meet both of you." She stepped forward to enter, but he stopped her with his hand.
"So tell me, what’s a fine sister like yourself doing fraternizing with the man?"
She laughed. "I don’t see him as ‘the man’, brother."
"That’s because he’s leading you around by your nose." He turned to his partner. "No malice intended."
The shorter man nodded. He was used to his partner’s errant lack of decorum.
"I’ll tell you somethin’, sweetie, in my book, love don’t know no color. So do me a favor, and keep your black power speechifying to yourself."
"That’s cool, but I’ll tell you what, when you get tired of vanilla, just remember, chocolate’s waitin’ right outside the door for you."
"I’ll keep that in mind." She motioned for him to open the door.
The agent complied with her request and she disappeared inside. Just as the door closed, his partner felt a gun poking him in his side. He turned to check it out, and the muzzle of a gun was the last thing he saw. His out-spoken partner didn’t see much else.
********
The elevator doors opened and Grimes and his men moved quietly on the hotel floor, their movements were so fluid and stealthy, that it was almost submarine-like. Now, for the first time since Carlisle’s arrival, the hallway outside the penthouse door was unmanned. The tracks from where the two guards had been dragged into the closet were still visible outside the door.
One of the henchmen covered over the tracks with his shoe, then opened the door to the supply room closet and looked in. There were both Federal agents, sitting bound and gagged, their backs braced against each other. Their faces reflected both embarrassment and terror. The shorter one, Phil, had an ugly black eye, and the other one, Jerome, sported a busted nose. The man who opened the door winked at them and then closed it, leaving them again in pitch darkness.
The elevator’s bell alerted Grimes and his men that someone was coming up. He silently and quickly directed two of his men to stand outside Carlisle’s suite, while the other men followed him to a spot where they wouldn’t be seen. The elevator doors opened and let Starsky, Hutch, Agent Costagravas and Carlisle step out. The two new agents let them in using the set of keys they’d removed from the real agents. Bruno stepped inside and checked the room thoroughly before letting Carlisle and the detectives inside. He greeted Cleo, who was sitting on the sofa waiting for them. When they were all safely inside, he closed the door securely and the bogus agents took their places outside the door once more.
Not long after they were settled, there was a knock at the door. Bruno moved towards it, removing his weapon from his shoulder holster and bracing his back against the wall.
"Who is it?" he asked.
"It’s Agent Seymour, I’m told you’re needed downstairs."
Bruno looked at both detectives, and they returned his gaze. "I’m gonna need the code," he demanded.
The men outside the door looked at Grimes and shrugged. Grimes raised his hand and handed one of them a shotgun.
"Use this." He ordered.
The second man took the gun and motioned for his associate to step aside.
Costagravas was still waiting at the door for some direction from the two detectives. Hutch and his partner pulled their guns and held them at the ready. The blond panned the room hoping for something large enough to take shelter behind, his eyes locked on the white divan where Cleo was sitting.
"Cleo, come over here." he whispered.
She hunched down and hustled over to him, her eyes wide.
"I want you to stay out of sight. I don’t know what these guys are going to do and I don’t want you or Carlisle to get hurt."
A chill of fear washed over her. She was afraid, not only for herself but also for him. "What are you and Starsky going to do?"
"We’ll have to wait for them to make the first move. There’s not a whole hell of a lot we can do until that happens."
Starsky was doing some fast figuring in his head himself about what their options might be. The bad guys could break the door down and rush them, or they could try entering from one of other suites and get in through the balcony. Or, he and Hutch could try inviting them in and take their chances. None of their options seemed guaranteed. If they were rushed, there was no telling who might be hit. If they tried to enter from somewhere else besides the door, Bruno, Hutch and he would have a better chance of knocking them off one by one, but the odds that they would try that route were slim to none. The best thing would be for the three of them to put up a united front, and let them in through the front door.
Starsky motioned to Bruno, who was still waiting at the front door. "Okay, big guy, I’m going to count to three. When I get to three, open the door and get out of the way! You got that?"
Bruno looked at him a little scared. "Are you sure about this?"
Starsky nodded and turned to Hutch, he was standing ready with his weapon steadied on the back of the divan, ready and waiting.
"Ya ready?" Starsky asked him.
"No, but go ahead anyway." Hutch answered.
"One—two--three!" Starsky started a slow count in tandem with the shooter. Unbeknownst to the detective, a twelve-gauge shotgun was being aimed on the other side of the door. But this was no ordinary shotgun though, they were using very special ammunition, known in criminal circles as Door Dusters, it’s a very dense, compressed powdered metal that lays waste to any lock or door hinge.
Right at the count of three, the door was rocked off its hinges by the concentrated blast. The impact sent Bruno soaring backwards against the wall across from Starsky. His weapon flew up in the air and landed about two inches away from his feet. The dark-haired detective tried desperately to check the condition of the felled man without exposing himself. From the rise and fall of chest, his breathing appeared regular but shallow.
Hutch ducked behind the divan and dropped to the floor. "Hey, you okay over there?"
"Just peachy." Starsky answered, his voice shaking.
"Is the big guy okay?"
"He’s still breathin’. Looks like he’s just unconscious." He pulled the safety on his gun and braced himself.
Hutch nodded and went quiet. Once the smoke had dissipated and the area was secured, Grimes walked in.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen. I do have a fondness for making a dramatic entrance. Forgive me. I just regret it had to be so loud."
Hutch’s head came up over the couch. "Who are you? He asked calmly, his gun aimed in Grimes’s direction.
"My name is Crandall Grimes I work for Vincent Bartok. You must be Detective Hutchinson. You have a partner somewhere, a Detective Starsky, isn’t that right?"
The blond didn’t let Grimes’s revelation unsettle him. "You seem to know us, but we don’t know anything about you. What do you want?" he demanded.
"I believe you already know why we’re here."
"I’m confused, did you think you could just blow your way in here and we’d let you take him without a fight?"
"No, not at all. I expected you and your people to be valiant until the end."
By now, Grimes’s men had assembled in the foyer and were positioning themselves in the central area near the vestibule. So far Starsky had not been forced to reveal his exact location. All he needed was the right moment to catch them unawares.
"That said, if you were counting on being rescued by the Calvary, please, please put it out of your heads. My men and I have taken every precaution to see that we’re not disturbed during these negotiations." Grimes stated.
Hutch could make out at least five armed men standing in the doorway, there appeared to be more in the hallway. Fortunately, he was still able to make eye contact with Starsky from where he was positioned. He didn’t think he would have any trouble signaling his partner when it was time for them to make their move.
"This can be very difficult, or very easy. It’s up to you. We have all the time in the world, gentlemen."
********
When the explosion happened, Carlisle and Cleo quickly beat a hasty retreat to the safety of Carlisle’s bedroom closet. They were both holding their breath while they waited for the outcome of the gun blast they’d heard. It was pitch dark in there and it seemed an eternity before they heard another sound.
"I don’t hear anything." Carlisle said, sweat beading on his forehead. He looked nervous for the first time since he’d been secreted away. "What do you think is happening?"
"I don’t know…but I’m sure going to find out."
Cleo got to her feet and carefully slid open the closet door, a sliver of sunlight beamed through, partially illuminating Carlisle’s face. He put a cautioning hand on her forearm.
"Where are you going?"
"I’m going to see if they need any help."
"Hey, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. After all, they’re cops, they should know what they’re doing."
She hesitated a moment. "Even cops can use some help," she answered. "Stay there, and don’t move."
Carlisle shut the closet door and Cleo inched quietly toward the open door of the bedroom. She could hear the deep voices of men in the foreground, but she couldn’t tell if they belonged to the two detectives, or to the men who’d come for Carlisle. She rushed over to the wall and pushed her back against it, straining to see if she could hear Hutch’s voice. She tried to calm her breathing and racing heart long enough to make out his composed timbre among the rest. Once she was able to make it out, she could hear a hint of tension in it.
"Give it up, Grimes! There’ll be police backup here in two minutes!" Hutch was bluffing and he knew it. He hoped Grimes wouldn’t notice.
"I’m afraid that’s not going to happen, Officer!"
Starsky piped in from the opposite side of the room, surprising them both. "Whaddya talking about?"
Grimes aimed his gun slowly in Starsky’s direction, he’d known there were two detectives, he just wasn’t sure where the second one was. Now he knew. "My men have the briefing room and its occupants detained. There will be no SWAT team or FBI or police backup to save you. If you want to get out of here with your lives, I strongly suggest that you and your partner cooperate."
Hutch was weighing in his head the likelihood that these guys really had the firepower they claimed, or whether they were just blowing smoke. He caught a glimpse of burly Agent Costagravas lying unconscious on the carpet near his partner. If they could put a big guy like that down, then he and Starsky would be playthings.
"What do you say, gentlemen? Have Carlisle come out and we can end this thing right here and now."
"Nothing doing, chump. You’ll have to get by me and my partner before you even get a chance at Carlisle." Starsky replied.
"All right then. We’ll do it the hard way."
Grimes motioned for his men to advance. One of them took up a position against the wall opposite Starsky, matching his stance down to the positioning of his weapon. Another man aimed at the divan, positioning his weapon to fire on Hutch.
"I’ll ask you again politely. Please lay down your weapons and come out."
The two detectives could not comply with Grime’s request, no matter how politely it was broached. Since his pleas were met with inaction, Grimes silently motioned for the man aiming at the divan to fire his weapon. He obeyed. The bullet pierced the divan’s white cushion, and left a sooty black hole after it. Hutch’s eyes opened wide as the bullet pierced the back of the chair just above his head. Starsky jumped, his only thought the safety and wellbeing of his partner.
"You okay, buddy?" Starsky inquired, his eyes wide with alarm.
"Um…I think so…" Hutch croaked back in response, his forehead beading with sweat and his heart racing.
Cleo stood paralyzed at the bedroom door. The bullet had come flying through a lower panel of the door, tearing right past her legs and lodging in the wall across from her. She took a breath and closed her eyes. She felt the urge to faint, but let it pass over her, pushing it away and opening her eyes again. She peered out through the crack in the door to see if Hutch was still lying on the floor. He was. He had turned over onto his back and had his weapon pointed toward the ceiling.
Grimes laughed. "I can’t believe you two are willing to give up your lives for a man you don’t even know."
"You’d better believe it, buddy. We ain’t budging, my partner and me are ready to go out like Butch and Sundance if necessary!" Starsky called out.
"Very well, then."
Grimes pointed his gun at either side of the divan without firing, prompting two of his men to cover both ends. As they came forward, Hutch could see the man’s head above the divan. He positioned his gun, ready for whatever was about to happen. Starsky was able to get a bead on the goon approaching his partner from the left. No sooner had his weapon cleared the wall, than the gunman stationed on the opposite side of it came forward and brought his fists down hard on Starsky’s gun hand, forcing him to drop his Beretta. The expression on his face was one of total surprise as the gunman twisted his arm behind him and pushed him forward.
The henchman now holding his gun to Hutch’s head stood over him. "Get up!" he ordered.
Hutch obeyed, laying his gun on the carpet and rising to a standing position with his hands above his head. One of the gunmen walked over and pushed him into his partner, almost knocking him over.
"Thanks." Hutch responded.
There were a lot of things a cop could do in the line of duty. One of them was putting their lives on the line to protect an important state’s witness. But Hutch didn’t see the sense in having an innocent bystander buy it as well. Hutch tried reasoning with their leader again.
"What do you hope to accomplish by killing Carlisle?" Hutch questioned. "The FBI’s got plenty to nail you with already!"
"Shut up, cop!" Grimes replied angrily. He walked over to Hutch and stared at him for a moment, reading him. "They don’t have shit, and you know it."
"That’s not what we heard." Starsky insisted.
Grimes was slowly becoming impatient. In his mind, these two cops were mere annoyances on the way to achieving his absolute goal. "You know what would make my day, Detective?"
"I haven’t got a clue. Why don’t you tell me?" Hutch answered.
"I would love to just blow your head off." He aimed the gun in his hand right at Hutch’s forehead. "How would you like that?" Grimes asked, there was a new glint of malice in his eyes.
"I kinda like my face the way it is," Hutch quipped. "It goes with the rest of me so well."
Seeing his partner was in danger, Starsky tried to make a move to get at Grimes, but he was quickly subdued with a blow to his side. He grunted and doubled over on the floor next to Hutch’s feet.
"Hey, that wasn’t necessary!" Hutch yelled, moving to defend his partner.
Grimes lowered the gun. "I hope you’re still cracking wise after we’re done with you."
Hutch shrugged off Grimes’s threat and watched him step away and walk off in the direction of Carlisle’s room. Hutch was now able to kneel down and determine how badly his partner might be hurt.
"You okay down there?"
"Just peachy." Starsky croaked weakly.
Hutch reached over to help him up. "Can you stand?"
Starsky nodded and then reached up to grab hold of his partner’s arm. He used Hutch’s hand as a crutch to gain some leverage, then stood up and adjusted his jacket. He leaned a shaky elbow on Hutch’s shoulder.
"What’re we gonna do now?" he whispered.
"Your guess is as good as mine." Hutch answered.
Hutch sighed as they watched Grimes and two of his men, those who weren’t guarding them--get closer to Carlisle’s room.
Back inside the room, Cleo could see three men coming toward her. What can I do? She thought. I have to distract them, maybe Hutch and Starsky can disarm those men guarding them and Carlisle will be able to make a run for or it.
But how? Then it hit her. The convenience of being able to show a little skin almost always worked to her advantage. She closed the bedroom door carefully and locked it, then raced to the bathroom. She took off everything she was wearing; including the shoes, and then wrapped a hotel bath towel around her. It didn’t cover much, but it was suitable for what she needed to do. She checked herself out in the mirror, and then braced herself for her entrance.
"Here goes nothing," she breathed.
She moved toward the bedroom door and unlocked it, slipped out and stood quietly in the room for a moment. Grimes and his two men were in the foreground, having stopped to check their weapons. Hutch and his partner were facing the front door, with two men guarding them and one other watching over the unconscious Bruno.
She steeled herself and let the words come flowing seductively out of her mouth as if she were in a scene from an acting class. "Ken, could you help me? I couldn’t find the soap."
Starsky looked over first, then Hutch. Before she knew it every man in the room had his eyes on her. Hutch’s face was a mixture of confusion and surprise, but Starsky seemed to realize what she was trying to do even before he did.
"Did you try the medicine cabinet?" he answered.
"Er, right." Hutch was ‘with it’, directing his attention to Cleo. "How about underneath the sink?"
"Oh, no. I didn’t, I’ll go check there."
As she turned to go back into the bedroom, Grimes grabbed her by the arm. "Wait a minute, honey, just who are you?"
"Who am I?" she asked coyly.
He pulled her away from the door. "It’s not polite to answer a question with a question. Come over here."
"You wouldn’t deny a girl a shower, now would you?"
"Under normal circumstances, no. But these aren’t normal circumstances. Which one of these cops do you belong to?" he asked facetiously.
Hutch spoke up. "That’d be me."
At that, Grimes pulled her closer to him, the heat from his breath hitting her directly in the face as he spoke. "Are you in the altogether underneath this towel?" She trembled as his grip on her tightened. "What say we find out?" She tried wrenching her arm free, but it was no use. With Grimes’s free hand he went to reach under the towel. She flinched in expectation, but the hand never came. Somehow Hutch had managed to grab it, twisting it behind his back, thus bringing to a halt the unwanted advance.
"Don’t…touch her!" Hutch ordered.
"What are you going to do, Officer Hutchinson? Arrest me?"
"I can’t do that right now. But I could probably break your arm in a few choice places."
Cleo stood stock-still, breathing hard, watching them and holding the towel against her, not knowing what to do next. Both men’s eyes bore into each other and Hutch would not release his grip. "Let her go. She’s not a part of this."
"Hutch, this is probably not such a hot idea." Starsky warned, still smarting from the blow to his side. Grimes’s men were standing around them like bombs waiting to be detonated.
"Well, if you’ve got any suggestions, partner, I’d sure like to hear ‘em." He wasn’t about to let go of the guy’s arm anytime soon, even with several bad guys aiming guns at him.
"Looks like we have a Mexican standoff here." Grimes announced, chortling. He was enjoying this.
"I’ll make you a deal. I won’t break your arm if you promise to let the lady go."
"You’ve got some big cahones, Hutchinson. I like that. Sure, I’ll let her go, just ease up on my arm."
"In a minute. Cleo, go get dressed, you’re getting out of here."
Cleo hesitated. "But Ken, what about you guys?"
"Don’t worry about us. We’ll be okay." He assured her, still holding Grimes tightly. "Go ahead, get dressed."
She shakily drew herself close to him and kissed him softly on the lips. "No matter what happens. You’d better remember this, I love you."
Hutch seemed surprised, but pleased. "I…I love you, too. Now go on."
He’d heard those words a few times in his life, uttered by different women on several occasions and under some pretty interesting circumstances, but this one took the cake. The words had special meaning given the fact that they were coming out of the seriousness of the situation, and not being blurted out in the throes of passion. People say anything when they’re in bed with each other, particularly if they don’t know each other well. He kept that thought in mind as he watched her shapely form disappear into the bedroom. As soon as she was out of sight, he quickly returned his thoughts to his hostage.
"As soon as she’s out of here, I’ll let you go. Not before then." He tightened his grip. "You got that?"
Carlisle nodded and smiled unevenly.
Once Cleo had closed the door to the bedroom, she got dressed again. When she was done, she knocked softly on the closet door to alert Carlisle.
"Mr. Carlisle, you still in there?"
Carlisle slid the door open. "I’m still here. You were gone for a little while. What’s going on out there?"
"They’ve got Ken and Detective Starsky pinned down. If I don’t find a way to get you out of here, they’ll get you, too."
Carlisle stood up, his legs a little cramped from sitting Indian-style for so long. "What do you suggest I do?" He now noticed what she was wearing. "Why do you have on my clothes?"
"I’ve got another idea, trust me."
"What is it?"
"Since I’m wearing something of yours, I want you to put on something of mine." She picked up a black cape. "This thing is pretty loose and has some flow to it. It’s also got a hood. Maybe if they can’t see your face, they won’t be able to tell the difference."
"You must be joking." he replied. "There’s no way I could pass for a woman."
"But we’ve got to try something. Have you got any ideas?"
"No, but it’s never going to work." He answered. But all the while he was rebuffing the idea, he was rolling up his trouser legs and putting on the cape she was handing him.
"Hurry up, man, they’re expecting me to out there soon."
She never ever let on to Carlisle just how afraid she was that this plan of hers might not work.
********
Starsky had recovered enough to hold his own now, and Hutch was still holding on to the gang leader’s arm, tightening his grip and bringing forth a groan of pain from him whenever he sensed the gunman beside him was getting a little restless. Both detectives were being set a little on edge by the fact that Cleo hadn’t come out when they’d expected her to.
"What is she doin’ in there?" Starsky asked quizzically.
"Hell if I know." Hutch cupped his right hand to his lips. "Cleo, you all right in there?"
"Yes, I’m coming!" She answered back.
Cleo frantically rushed to put the finishing touches on Carlisle’s disguise. When she done, she stepped back and took a look at him. He wasn’t perfect, but he looked about as female as he was going to get, considering he was five feet nine inches tall and built like a defensive back.
"Come on." She urged him, leading him towards the door. "This is your big debut."
"Wish me luck." Carlisle opened the door slowly and Cleo gave him a reassuring nod. He walked out with trepidation, keeping his head covered and bowed.
********
Starsky’s eye was on her oddly cloaked form as soon as she came out of the room. His eyes traveled the distance from head to foot. That’s when he saw it. The shoes. It wasn’t Cleo. It had to be Carlisle. They’d switched places. And Cleo was still in the bedroom. He inched as close to his blond partner as the revolver pointed at his side would allow him and whispered in a cautionary tone, "Whatever you do, partner, don’t let go of him yet."
"What?" Hutch asked, his voice level matching Starsky’s. Starsky motioned slightly with his head in the direction of the retreating form. The blond’s eyes followed his partner’s until he too could see his partner had seen. ‘Cleo’ wasn’t ‘Cleo’ at all, despite the femininity of the attire; the patent leathers were a dead giveaway. Hutch now realized that whatever happened, it was imperative that neither Grimes nor his men get a clear view of just who was headed out that front door. He had to give Carlisle enough time to get out of the hotel and hopefully get to safety.
"I’m curious, Grimes. Where’s your boss? Why isn’t he here to take the heat with you?" Hutch inquired, hoping to keep the man occupied.
Grimes tried to turn and face the detective to answer him, but Hutch jerked his arm behind him a little tighter, keeping him facing away from him.
"That’s none of your business." He grimaced.
Starsky decided to try his hand at it. "What makes you think you’ll be in any better position with your boss after this is all over? Bartok is still going to have to stand trial."
"You’d never understand."
"Try me."
Carlisle was at the front door, ready to leave--his hand was poised over the knob, almost free. That’s when the man guarding Starsky took his eyes off of the detective for a second and became very interested in the figure about to exit. He frowned and cocked his head to the side, the way a dog does when it’s confused. He directed his gaze first at the door, then at the cape, until he slowly made his way down to the shoes. His expression changed abruptly as he soon realized what the curly-haired detective and his fair-haired partner already knew. That was no lady beneath that cloak, it was Carlisle!
"Mr. Grimes?" He muttered, almost too quietly.
No sooner was the name spoken than Carlisle had opened the door and was closing it. Without looking back, surreptitiously stepped outside to his freedom.
"Mr. Grimes, I think you should know something."
"What is it?" Grimes asked angrily.
"I don’t think it was the girl who just went out the door."
"What!?" He shrieked. Then as if he’d acquired some superhuman strength, he wrested his arm out of Hutch’s grasp, whipped around him and ran for the door. He flung it open and raced out to the elevator only to see the doors closing in front of him. He turned back towards the penthouse door, breathing heavily, his face a portrait of uncontrolled rage.
He looked over at his men who were frozen in place. "Don’t just stand there! Go after him!"
The three of his men that did not have to guard the two detectives hesitated a moment longer, then reacted. Two of them raced down the stairwell and the other stood at the elevator impatiently pressing the call button. Now Grime’s wrath could not be contained, he stalked past Starsky and Hutch and headed towards the bedroom.
He turned toward the duo. "If that was Carlisle who escaped, your lives won’t be worth dirt!"
Cleo could hear Grimes’s voice coming closer. She was still dressed in Carlisle’s clothing. The angry man tried the doorknob and found it locked. He knocked furiously, she flattened herself against the door, deathly afraid to move.
"Miss…Cleo is it?" he said soothingly. "Please come out, I know it was Carlisle who got away. I won’t hurt you. I promise."
With nowhere to go, she unlocked the door and slowly walked out. Grimes allowed her to walk over to where the two detectives were without being manhandled. She still had on the white dress shirt and trousers that Carlisle was supposed to wear for the transport operation. As she walked over to him, Hutch marveled that she could make even men’s clothing look sexy. She lowered her gaze as she approached him.
"I’m sorry it didn’t work."
"That’s okay. The important thing is you tried." Hutch answered softly.
"I’ve had about enough of you three," Grimes announced. "Lock them in the bedroom." He ordered. "I’ll figure out what to do with them later."
As the hoods began leading the three of them towards the bedroom, Starsky suddenly got an idea.
"You and Bartok thought you had it made. Didn’t you?"
Grimes motioned for the guards to stop. "What are you talking about?"
Starsky gave Hutch a sly wink and directed his eyes to the spot where Hutch’s weapon was still lying. Hutch nodded knowingly, he knew exactly what his partner had in mind. In tough situations like these, the partners’ ability to communicate to each other without the use of words was a viable asset.
"You were one-upped by a lady. Must make you feel a little inadequate." Starsky continued.
"Shut up! Shut your mouth!"
Hutch joined in. "What’s the matter, Grimes? Not feeling so smug now, are we?"
Grimes growled and rushed forward with all his fury to attack Hutch, who successfully held him off and tossed him aside. Starsky whipped around and forced the gun hand of the man covering him up into the air, holding it there by sheer force of will. With his free hand he retrieved his own gun from the man’s waistband. Hutch tucked and rolled over to his weapon and came up on his knees, quickly covering Grimes and the henchman holding Cleo.
"Let her go!" Hutch ordered. "I have no reservations about using this!"
"Do as he says!" Grimes ordered.
The man let go of Cleo’s arm and she rushed to Hutch’s side. She knelt beside him and they hugged each other tightly, but his eyes and his gun remained fixed on the two men in front of him.
"It’s gonna be okay. Just stay with me." He told her.
Starsky pulled out his cuffs and fastened them onto the man he had subdued. Hutch rose from his stance and pulled Cleo up with him.
"Nice work, Starsk."
"My pleasure." Starsky walked over to Grimes. "Come on, pally, now it’s your turn to see how it feels to be locked up."
Hutch used his gun to point the way to the bedroom. Grimes and his men had no choice but to do as they were told. Starsky had to practically push the offenders to get them to go along.
"C’mon. C’mon! Get over there!"
In their haste to get the prisoners into the bedroom and secured, Starsky and his partner didn’t take into consideration when the three men who’d gone out to recover Carlisle earlier, would return. They were motionless as they stood in the doorway calculating the situation, then they walked in quietly and pulled their guns.
"Hold it, you two!" They commanded in unison.
Starsky turned first, then Hutch. They’d been caught off guard, exactly the distraction Grimes needed to regain control of the situation. Hutch tried to make a move on him.
"Try it and we’ll shoot the girl!" One of them cautioned.
"Drop your weapons!" Another demanded.
Hutch and Starsky reluctantly obeyed, sliding their weapons onto the uncarpeted floor next to the balcony’s sliding glass doors. The two henchmen standing closest to them picked them up and emptied the chambers of both. Cleo held onto Hutch for dear life.
"Good, good. I hope you’ll cooperate now and we can get this over quickly." Grimes took a spare gun from the man who’d been guarding Starsky. "You!" He said motioning to the darker man. "Remove those cuffs."
With a sigh of resignation, Starsky pulled his set of keys out of his jeans pocket. The gunman made no effort at hiding his indignation at being made a fool in front his associates once he was released. He grabbed Starsky roughly by the shoulder and shot him his meanest glare. He could just as well have saved the display. Such shows of hostility and manhandling only served to make the city-born detective more fearless.
"Maybe you oughta get used to seein’ these." Starsky threw the cuffs at Grimes, who caught them and gave them to the man who’d just been uncuffed.
"On the contrary, Detective. It’s you who should get used to wearing them, and that goes for your partner, too. I assume that both of you were assigned a pair, as per regulation."
Without provocation, Hutch reached into his back pocket and pulled out his pair of handcuffs.
"Now you, handcuff your partner." Grimes demanded, pointing his gun at Hutch.
Starsky begrudgingly complied with the order by turning around and offering his wrists to his partner, who placed the cuffs on each of his wrists and locked them firmly. Starsky turned to confront Grimes, his face a mask of concentrated hostility.
"You won’t get away with this! Hutch and I’ll see to that."
"An admirable reproof, my dear Mr. Starsky, but one I’ll fancy is without the necessary substantiation. I’m sure you’ll agree given the circumstances."
"Just wait’ll I get outta these things!" Starsky lunged forward, but was held back both by Hutch and the man who was guarding him.
"Cool it, Starsk." Hutch said in a soothing voice, trying desperately to calm him down. He placed a protective arm around Cleo’s waist. "What are you going to do with us, Grimes? I’m curious, seeing as how Carlisle’s probably safe in Federal custody by now."
"Hmmm. Let me see," He said, pointing the gun at the three of them. First the muzzle rested on Starsky, then on Cleo, then lastly, wavering on Hutch. Grimes inhaled and exhaled, looking as though he was trying to make up his mind which one of them to shoot first. Finally, the muzzle of the gun rested on the blond detective, and it stayed there.
"I don’t know, Hutchinson, I think maybe I’d like to make good on my earlier threat." He said, cocking the gun.
Cleo’s eyes were alive with terror. "What are you going to do? You’re not going to shoot him a…are you?" The words tumbled out of her mouth too freely.
Starsky answered for him. "He’d do it. Sick men have no conscience."
Grime’s mouth curved into an evil sneer as he slowly pulled the trigger. From Hutch’s point of view it all seemed to be occurring in slow motion. Grimes made a last minute change in the gun’s positioning and pulled the trigger, the bullet flew out of the muzzle, heading not at him but straight for Cleo. He moved with lighting speed, launching his entire body out into space to deflect the bullet’s course. At the same time, Starsky lunged at Grimes to knock him off balance, landing on top of him.
The bullet hit Hutch just east of the protective sheathing of his vest, searing through to the warm flesh of his thigh. He fell to the floor hard, the impact knocking him unconscious.
"Hutch! Hutch!?" Cleo screamed, dropping to the floor and cradling his head in her arms.
Although handcuffed, Starsky was able to wrestle the gun away from his accomplice while sitting on his back. Wrists still bound, he pointed the gun at the rest of the gunmen in the room and motioned for them to gather in the corner. They obeyed. "You over there!" He gestured to the man he’d taken the handcuffs off of earlier. "Get these things off me. Now!"
The man jumped forward and did as he was told without delay. He pulled the key out of his jacket pocket and undid the handcuffs on the detective’s wrists, then stepped back. Starsky took them from him and deftly placed them onto Grime’s wrists, getting off him and pulling him up roughly by his sleeve.
"Let’s go, Geronimo, this is your last stand!’ He pointed at the man. "You too, guys, hurry it up! Let’s not waste time."
As each man filed into a makeshift holding area in the corner of the room, Starsky led a defeated Grimes over to stand with them. "Stay right there, don’t move!" Starsky raced over to his partner as Cleo sat crying and caressing his cheek. And like the Calvary, several armed FBI agents appeared at the door, guns drawn.
"Hey, everything okay in here? We heard a shot!" One of them inquired. They filed in.
"What took you guys so long?" Starsky asked, examining his partner’s leg wound. He lifted the bottom of the vest as much as he safely dared. The wound was bleeding a lot, but it wasn’t life threatening. He pushed the sweaty stray locks of blond hair off of Hutch’s forehead, then turned toward the Federal agent.
"Need any help?"
"All we can get. My partner’s been shot. We’re going to need an ambulance!" He pointed to Grimes and his men. "Those guys over there are gonna need a personal escort downtown." Then his eyes strayed to the still unconscious Federal agent lying near the doorway. Lends a whole new meaning to the ‘bigger they are the harder they fall’ theory. "Oh yeah, looks like the big guy over there could use some help, too."
The Federal agents converged on the five men and hauled them out the door. One of them remained behind to make the phone call to the hospital.
Starsky now concerned himself with the well being of Hutch’s lady friend, putting a comforting hand on her heaving shoulder. She looked up at him with tear-streaked cheeks. "Why did he do it? Why?"
"Because he cares about you. When Hutch cares about you, there’s nothin’ he wouldn’t do for ya, and that includes takin’ a bullet."
"But he could have been killed!"
"I guess he felt like you were worth it. Some things…some people, are worth it." His statement floated in the air, thick and heavy, like grey clouds heralding a storm.
When the FBI agent had the paramedics on the phone he directed them to the hotel. He finished with the call and was on his way out of the room when the dark-haired detective grabbed his arm.
"Say, what happened to Carlisle? Did he make it out?"
"Yeah, I don’t know how he did it without being caught, but he was the one who called us and told us what was going on. We hustled on down here and assessed the situation. Turned out Agent Drummond and the rest of them were being held in the conference room just like he said. IT also turns out that Bartok’s men had just about taken over the whole hotel. They jumped two of our guys and almost got our star witness."
"Did you get them all?"
"We got them all. Going to be taking them downtown in a few minutes."
"That’s terrific. What about Bartok?"
"Bartok? We checked with the hotel across the street, but he’d checked out two hours earlier."
Starsky knew by now that Bartok was long gone. He must have been notified that his plan had failed somehow and beat a hasty retreat back to Japan or where ever he’d come from. But that didn’t matter now. The most important thing was to get his partner taken care of.
"What’s the ETA on that ambulance?"
The agent looked at his watch. "About five minutes, is he going to be okay?" He asked, surveying the blond’s condition.
"He’ll make it. It’d take more than a bullet in the leg to stop Hutch."
At that moment Hutch’s eyes opened slowly. "Whoa…what happened?" He asked groggily. Then, apparently oblivious to the fact that he’d been shot, the man bravely tried to stand. A foolish attempt which his partner vehemently discouraged.
"Whoa there, Blondie. Let me help you!" Starsky moved quickly, pulling his partner up on his feet and allowing him to lean most of his weight on his frame as he helped him to a chair. "C’mon, buddy, sit down, you really shouldn’t be standin’ on that leg."
As Starsky was trying to maneuver his partner’s considerable mass on to a chair, Hutch felt his weight getting the better of the shorter man. In an effort to spare his partner a hernia, he let go and dropped down all too quickly on the unpadded seat. The searing pain in his leg hit him all at once.
"Oh man! What the hell…?" He exclaimed, grabbing his leg to stem the throbbing.
Cleo was suddenly kneeling in front of him. "He shot you, Ken! He was going to shoot me! But you…you jumped in front of me and he hit you instead."
He touched her cheek weakly with his other hand and held on to the chair with the other. "I’d do it again, for you."
Starsky took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and wiped the sweat from his partners’ brow. He then twisted the handkerchief lengthwise and carefully slid it under his partner’s thigh, keeping his eyes on his him as he did. Hutch flinched visibly as Starsky tied it as tightly as he could below the wound.
"You look terrible." He blurted out.
"Thanks, partner." Hutch answered.
Cleo couldn’t help softly sobbing at his feet. ‘How can you possibly go through with writing that story now? A voice seemed to answer back. Because you’re a damn good writer and a dedicated journalist." Her mind searched for a counter to that cold reasoning. If we both care for each other like we think we do, it won’t matter. If not, then it wasn’t meant to be. The siren of the ambulance pierced the silence of the room as it pulled up in front of the hotel.
"Sounds like your ride’s here." Starsky announced.
********
Bay City Memorial Hospital was almost like a second home for the two detectives. It seemed as if they spent a good twenty percent of their time recuperating from some ailment or physical attack. Despite the trials and tribulations of surgery and mending, it actually wasn’t all that bad. Some of the nurses were gorgeous and a few of them could even pass for models. How they’d ended up being nurses was a mystery to them both.
Hutch was wearing the prerequisite white hospital gown, lying in bed with his leg elevated and bandaged. And although he should have been very uncomfortable, the look on his face was one of pure contentment. The reason for his good spirits was all too obvious, one of the aforementioned nurses, this time a slim brunette, was tending to the changing of his bed linen. Her obvious charms were not lost on the injured officer. He had his arm draped around her neck and shoulder as she leaned over him to change first one, then the other side of the bed.
"Humm. You’re very good at this." He complimented.
"Comes with years of practice, and it doesn’t hurt to have an outstanding bedside manner."
It’s not your bedside manner that’s so outstanding, he thought. Hutch hadn’t seen or heard from Cleo since the day he’d gone into the hospital for surgery to remove the bullet in his thigh. While he missed her terribly, he couldn’t help indulging himself when the opportunity arose to enjoy a lady’s charms, even if they didn’t always fall for his magnetic charm and male bravado.
The nurse glanced at her watch. "Ooh jeez, I’d better hurry up and get you ready, visiting hours are coming up soon."
"Oh, come on, there’s no hurry. After all, my partner’s seen me in worse positions than this."
Hutch playfully nuzzled her nose, and the winsome nurse was barely able to contain her laughter. With some concerted effort on her part, she managed to finish tucking the sheets under her affectionate patient. She looked at her watch again. "I’ve really got to go," she told him. The big smile disappeared from Hutch’s face and she gently removed his arm from around her neck and helped him lean back against the pillows. "I’ll be back later, I promise." As she headed for the door, she blew him a big kiss. Starsky was just preparing to knock when she opened the door. The comely nurse smiled at him, then brushed past. He stood in the doorway a moment, lecherously admiring her uniform.
"Gotta love those nurses!" He remarked when she was out of earshot.
"Yeah, I know whatcha mean, partner. They’re a sick man’s answer to Florence Nightingale."
Starsky closed the door and made his way over to the laid-up blond. He picked up a chair and moved it over towards the bed. With one intuitive glance, he was able to assess his partner’s overall mood.
"Hey, you don’t look half bad. Maybe I should get myself wounded so I can end up in here."
"Believe me, buddy, that’d be doin’ it the hard way." He stared at his partner. "So, what’s going on with Bartok?"
"Well, they picked him and the rest of his flunkies up in customs just after you got into the hospital. The Feds were able to detain them just on the strength of Carlisle’s information. He’s in lockup until the trial tomorrow. Yours truly will be sittin’ in on the proceedings."
"That’s good. Maybe he’ll get what he deserves this time."
"With Carlisle’s’ testimony, I think we’ve got a pretty solid case."
Hutch tried to adjust his position in bed a little and winced with the effort. There was an awkward silence between them that let Starsky know his partner had yet another niggling question on his mind, just waiting to be posed. To make it easier he raised the question himself.
"Heard from Cleo since you been in here?"
Hutch looked up at him. "I was hoping she‘d come to see me. But no, I haven’t heard from her."
"Don’t worry, buddy." Starsky put a hand on his shoulder. "She’ll be in touch with you. You took a bullet for her, you just don’t pick up and leave after someone does that."
"I guess you’re right."
The darker detective got up from his chair and walked over to the window, leaning his shoulder against the window frame and looking outside. This time the awkward silence was his. He turned to his partner and posed his own question with some hesitation.
"Hutch?"
"Yeah, Starsk?"
"There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. It’s probably gonna sound real dumb. I mean…I think I know the answer, but I just wanted to hear it from you."
"Spill it, Starsk…"
"Mind you, I’m not knocking the free love movement or experimentation or any of that great stuff. I mean, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve got every right to go out with anyone you want."
Hutch was getting a little annoyed. "Starsky!!"
"Okay, okay. Here goes. In all the time I’ve known you, you’ve only dated blue-eyed blondes and willowy brunettes. What’s the story? Why the three sixty with Cleo?"
Hutch considered his partner’s question calmly. There he was, standing clear across the room, looking as if he was about to be struck by a bolt of wayward lightning for his blasphemy. The blond sighed, but instead of getting angry, he threw a pillow in Starsky’s direction instead, which his partner artfully dodged. As the pillow settled at his feet, Starsky looked up at the blond patient.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Lookit, if you don’t wanna answer the question, just say so, huh?"
"It’s not that, Starsk…"
"Then what is it?"
"Starsky, you of all people know the crappy luck I’ve had with women so far. If I had a nickel for all the times I’ve heard, ‘so long, it’s been great, or ‘sorry, it’s been nice knowing you, but I’ve made other plans, and they don’t include you’, I’d be a rich man. I’ve had it up to here with women who are supposed to be ‘my type’." Hutch put his hand up to his chin. "Cleo and I just clicked. When I saw her, I made up my mind then and there that the color of her skin wasn’t going to factor into my decision to get to know her. I think that’s just a lousy way to judge a person."
Starsky folded his arms. "Well, aren’t we just the liberal thinker."
"What’s that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, nothin’."
"Haven’t you ever heard of promoting diversity and love thy neighbor, Starsky?"
"Maybe, but I’da never’ve took you for one of those ‘60’s radical types."
"Look, when it comes right down to it, I’d lay down odds that Cleo and I weren’t gonna end up walking down the aisle, living in a house with a picket fence and having two point three kids, but she sure as hell came close."
Starsky picked up the pillow at his feet and threw it back on the bed. "Maybe I need to expand my horizons, too."
The blond detective leaned forward and picked up the pillow, positioning it behind him again. "Knowing you, you’d probably end up dating the whole United Nations panel before you found the right one."
Starsky laughed, and the laugh was followed by one of those great big smiles that Hutch could always count on to light up the whole room. It got Hutch to smiling, too.
"So when are you gettin’ outta this dump?"
"Doc says I can be out of here as early as tomorrow, if I don’t move around too much and aggravate it."
"Great. I’ll be here around noon tomorrow to pick you up. We can have dinner at your place."
"Sounds great. Lookin’ forward to it, partner."
Starsky strutted over to the door. "I’ll see ya tomorrow then."
Hutch saluted him as he headed out, and Starsky returned the gesture. When the dark-haired detective got the door and opened it, Cleo Garvey was standing there. She looked just as ravishing and radiant as the first day he’d met her.
"Well, Ms. Garvey. As I live and breathe!" Starsky exclaimed.
At the mention of her name, Hutch just about vaulted out of bed. He made a nervous attempt to fix his hair and straighten the hospital gown. Admiring her in a newfound light, Starsky stood blocking her way for the better part of a minute.
"Detective Starsky…do you mind?" She asked playfully.
"Oh no…no…go right ahead," He said with a demonstrative sweep of his hand. "Don’t be too long though, he’s still a very sick boy."
"I’ll be very careful, I promise."
For the moment, Hutch wasn’t even able to see her, just hear her voice. That was all it took to send shivers of anticipation through him.
Cleo swept past Starsky and he closed the door behind him. Like a wish come true, she walked into Hutch’s view and greeted him with a warm smile.
"Hello, Kenny."
He reached his arms out to her, and she walked forward and into them without hesitation, avoiding his injured leg.
"I missed you," he said.
"I missed you, too." She answered back, kissing him softly on the lips.
He shifted over on the bed so that she could find a space to sit beside him. There was an awkward pause as she anticipated the question he was most certainly going to ask her. In an effort to quell her nervousness, she held his hand.
"How’s your leg?" She asked.
"It’ll be fine. The next time our captain’s upset with us, we’ll have no trouble walking a beat."
"I’m glad."
Hutch didn’t wait any longer. "So where’ve you been?"
"Oh, I’ve been around. Mostly I’ve been hanging outside the hospital trying to get up enough nerve to come in."
"Why?" he asked, almost surprised.
"Kenny, I’m the reason you’re in here. Don’t you get that?"
He turned his head and looked into her eyes. "Now you listen to me…you are not the reason I’m in here. If anything, I’m the reason I’m in here. If you want to blame somebody, blame Grimes, blame Vincent Bartok, but don’t blame yourself."
"I’m sorry. You’re right, I know you’re right."
Cleo absentmindedly played with the turquoise and silver ring on the third finger of Hutch’s right hand. She also prayed for a good time to tell him the truth, the whole truth, but it never seemed to come. Considering how he felt about her, did it really make sense for her to tell him what was going on, just so she could feel better about herself? Nothing made sense to her anymore, her reasons for what she was doing seemed out of place, and unimportant in the scheme of things.
"Check out time’s tomorrow. Starsky’s coming by to pick me up and we’re going to my place for dinner. Wanna come?" He squeezed her hand and released it.
"I wouldn’t miss it for the world, what time?"
"Why don’t you meet us here around noon? Then you can follow us to my apartment."
She leaned her head against his and nodded positively. "Okay."
With their hands clasped neatly between them, they slid down on the bed and lay next to each other, happily sharing one pillow. Of course right then came a knock at the door.
"Come in." They answered in unison.
The duty nurse, an older woman wearing a stiffly starched uniform and hair to match, opened the door and poked her head into the room.
"Sorry to interrupt, but visiting hours are over." She consulted her watch for good measure. Your guest will have to leave."
"Oh well, sweetie," Cleo turned to him. "Guess we’ll have to continue this tomorrow."
Hutch released her hand to let her go, but before turning it loose, he kissed it. "I’ll see you then."
"See you."
The duty nurse didn’t leave until she’d seen Cleo out the door. Then she turned to the blond authoritatively.
"You get your rest, young man. You’ve a big day ahead of you tomorrow."
Hutch turned to look at her, did she knew something he didn’t?
"Yes, ma’am." He answered obediently.
The nurse turned off the room light and closed the door when she left. Like a ten year old, Hutch pulled the covers over his head and promptly went to sleep.
********
A preliminary hearing wasn’t a very exciting affair in and of itself. Its main purpose for being was to determine whether or not the suspect in question had actually committed any crime. The judge assigned to the case was one William Houghton, a jovial tugboat of a man who’d had the displeasure of seeing Vincent Bartok in his courtroom once or twice too often. All previous cases against Bartok usually ended up dismissed, either for lack of evidence, lack of witnesses, or sometimes both. Houghton hoped this time that the prosecution had built a case against him that would stick.
There were no field reporters, no members of the general public or victims of the defendant allowed in the courtroom for this hearing. The judge always considered that the din they created getting to and from their seats was distracting and took away from the proceedings. A pretty bailiff opened the door to the courtroom and looked out into the corridor, locating a solemn group of men waiting impatiently in the hallway, she motioned for them to come forward.
"The judge is almost ready. Please come in and take your assigned seats."
Starsky was already inside the courtroom, eyeballing his watch and waiting for Drummond and his men to show up with Carlisle. He watched with focused interest as several men in suits entered the courtroom and made their way to the prosecutor’s desk. The infamous Vincent Bartok was with them, looking disgruntled, but very accustomed to the whole process. The four of them walked past the detective and seated themselves at the defendant’s table, talking animatedly amongst themselves. Starsky strained to see if he could make out what they were saying, but he wasn’t able to.
It wasn’t long before Federal agents were escorting a heavily guarded John Carlisle into the courtroom. Starsky kept his eye on Bartok while the group found spots sitting behind the prosecutor’s desk. Bartok was dressed elegantly in a Nino Cerruti suit, but he was looking nothing like the haughty man who’d arrived in town just a few days ago. He flashed Carlisle a crooked smile. The latter did not make eye contact with the former as he sat down next to counsel. One of Bartok’s attorneys winked at Starsky and he tossed him a condescending smile, then leaned back against the railing.
The pretty bailiff disappeared into the judge’s chambers to check on his readiness. The court reporter, a young woman in her twenties, arranged her workspace, putting in paper, adjusting her chair and so forth. Having been to many of these, the detective was getting ready to prepare himself for a long, boring proceeding until one of the men who’d come in with the agents tapped him on the shoulder.
"You must be Detective Sergeant Starsky. I’m Phil Melton," he said, offering his hand.
Melton was short, balding, and his suit didn’t fit him well. But he was sociable enough. His hair was combed to the side of his head, possibly in an attempt to hide a receding hairline and try to look a bit younger. The suit was an ill-fitting grey number, paired with spit shined patent leather shoes. He stuck his hand out at Starsky so forcefully that he couldn’t help but to shake it.
"Nice to meetcha."
"Same here. So, you here for the hearing, huh?"
He thought that should’ve been obvious. "Sure am."
Melton sat down on the bench beside the detective.
"I’m a research clerk with the law firm handling the case. Those guys up there are the partners. Real pros."
"I’ve never seen ‘em before. Ya mind tellin’ me who’s who?"
"Sure, no problem." Melton pointed out each attorney at the prosecution’s desk. "That silver haired guy there in the pinstripe suit, that’s Graham Withers, he’s got about twenty five years in, he was on the last lawsuit ten years ago when the case was dropped for lack of evidence. Swears he’ll win this one. Next to him, that’s Brent Taylor, his partner, he does a lot of the legal wrangling and research. The other guy on the right, that’s Philip Donner, he’s senior partner, works on a lot of these high profile cases, but only when they’re interesting, if you know what I mean." Melton’s forehead crinkled. "Hmm, there’s somebody missing though, a new associate, her name’s Joyce Carlson. I thought sure she’d be assigned to this one."
"I know the type." Starsky supposed. "Probably started out as a secretary, seen a lot of cases in her day and came up in the ranks, right?"
"I don’t know much about her background. I haven’t really met her yet. I hear her opening statements are legend. It’s said she’s got a great way with words."
Starsky nodded.
Two male bailiffs now stood sentry at the main doors, ready to keep order should any problems occur. They both stepped aside in unison as the doors came open and a woman entered. Joyce Carlson was unbelievably beautiful. She was dressed to impress from the shoes on her feet, down to the lines of her suit. In her hand she carried a thick manila document folder and under one arm, a black leather valise. All activity in the room ceased. Both Melton and Starsky had to turn around to see who could have such a powerful presence as to silence an entire room. She glided in. At first it looked as if she were about to join the gallery, but she continued her strut past the last bench.
When she stopped at the end of the aisle, every eye, including Starsky’s, was on her. By the time she got to the gate, all males within range, including the two male bailiffs who were at the door when she came in, vied for the chance to assist her. Even the defense attorneys got up to offer assistance. But only Starsky was close enough to her to render the service.
He smiled his most disarming smile as he swung the gate open for her. "Do you mind if I stare at you up close, instead of from across the room?"
Despite his corny come on, she had to stop and regard him. There was something about him that intrigued her. Without knowing why, she gave him a gracious smile and continued past the swinging doors, taking a seat next her colleagues. She turned again briefly to study the courteous gentleman standing behind her, still absentmindedly holding one side of the swinging door open. She caught his eye and gave him one those, ‘come hither’ winks, and then turned back around. Mesmerized, Starsky finally let the doors settle back into place and returned to his seat. Melton saw the whole exchange and proceeded to congratulate him on it.
He gave him a wink and a nudge. "You’re a sly devil. Already makin’ a move on her."
"I wasn’t even tryin’."
The detective hadn’t been this taken with someone he’d just met in a long while. He didn’t even know her formally, much less socially. She flashed him another curious glance and offered a second engaging smile a few seconds later. Starsky could only sit there, appreciating her in wonder.
Carlson set her valise down on the table and warmly addressed her associates. "Sorry, men, I’m late, I usually pride myself on getting here well before the gawkers." Her tone was familiar, yet businesslike.
The heavyset man seated next to her turned around and greeted her with a smile. "Nonsense, Carlson, you’re right on time. Exactly what I like to see."
"Glad to hear it, G.W. Makes my morning."
Withers and Taylor slid down some on the bench, while Donner took the manila folder from her and laid it on the table. Still terribly curious about the strange man seated behind her, she looked back once more and checked him out. Yep, he was staring at her. Her eyes lingered on his for a moment. She cocked an eyebrow and then returned her gaze forward.
Melton was beside himself. "Ooh, did you see that? She looked straight at me!"
"Ya think so, huh?" Starsky replied, laughing.
Starsky was well aware that he didn’t have an ice cube’s chance in hell with her, and he was taking all of this in stride. She was no doubt intelligent, brilliant, and obviously classy. She was so totally out of his league that she probably wouldn’t even know how to begin to take him seriously. He watched her stand up to smooth her skirt, donning a pair of bookish-looking eyeglasses before sitting down again. She was definitely very classy.
********
A hearing that had begun at eight that morning stretched to a session that didn’t end until around three that afternoon. Starsky was tired, but he pulled up in front of Memorial at four o’clock, running up the walk and waiting patiently for the elevator. When it arrived, he stepped in and pressed the button for the fifth floor, his hand hovering above the ‘close door’ button for a second.
"Wait, oh, wait a minute! Hold the elevator!" An out of breath female voice pleaded.
He pressed the hold button and waited for who ever it was to enter. He was surprised when he saw just whom it was. None other than Hutch’s lady friend, the mysterious Ms. Garvey! Her face was glistening with perspiration as she charged into the elevator car. She held onto the railing with her left hand, putting the other hand on her chest to try and calm her frantic breathing.
"Detective Starsky…hello."
"Hi. In a hurry?"
"Ah…yeah, well. Ken mentioned you were coming by to pick him up."
"Oh, he did? Did he also tell you we were going to my place for dinner?"
"As a matter of fact," she answered him cockily. "He did."
Starsky finally pressed the button and the elevator doors closed.
They both stepped out of the elevator at the same time, almost like they were in a race to get to Hutch’s room. Starsky got to the door first, knocked and then walked in. Cleo, just this side of exasperated, huffed and walked in after him. When they got in, another nurse, not the pretty one who’d made up his bed earlier, was helping Hutch to get dressed. He was trying to button the front of his shirt, supporting himself on one of a pair of wooden crutches--the other one was leaning uselessly on top of the bed. He turned around when they came in.
"Hey, Starsk. Hey-y-y, Cleo!" he said smiling.
Starsky went over to give his buddy a welcome pat on the back, but Cleo had other ideas. She slyly walked in front of him to be the first in line. In her eagerness to get to him she almost knocked the blond off his crutch. Starsky’s hand was still cast out in space. He drew it back and shrugged.
Hutch laughed and held onto her. "Whoa there, lady! You going to put me back in here if you’re not careful."
"I’m sorry, I’m just so glad to see you up and around."
"I’m glad to see you, too. So, Starsk, what took you so long? I was beginning to think you’re weren’t gonna show up."
"Sorry, pal. Hearing ran longer than I thought."
"No harm done. By the way, what’s on the menu for tonight?"
"Huh? Oh, I ordered Chinese."
"That sounds good. How’d the hearing go by the way?" Hutch inquired, trying to slip on his jacket. Cleo quickly assisted him.
"I’ll brief you on the ride over."
"Sure."
The nurse rolled a wheelchair over and waited for him to sit down. Cleo didn’t miss a beat. She put her hand on the top of the chair. "I’d like to take him down. Is that all right?"
The nurse nodded and stepped away, happy to busy herself with the task of returning the room to its unoccupied state. Cleo dropped into place behind Hutch. Starsky handed him the other crutch.
"Thanks, partner." He turned to Cleo. "You ready?"
"Ready." She answered, giving him a kiss on the back of his neck when he sat down.
"Hey, that tickles."
Starsky made his way toward the door and held it open wide enough for them both of them to get through. When they reached the elevator, Hutch tugged at his shirtsleeve.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you, Starsk. I invited Cleo to have dinner with us. Hope you don’t mind."
"No, no, why should I mind? The more the merrier, I always say. As a matter of fact, I’ve got someone waitin’ in the car that I’d like you to meet."
Hutch let go of his sleeve and the three of them began the trip down in the elevator. He was curious as all get out.
"Anybody I know?"
"No…you’ll find out."
Hutch gave him a look, and settled back in the chair.
When the elevator doors opened, Cleo rolled the chair out of the elevator, through the electric glass doors and down the slight incline that led to Starsky’s car. Starsky ran ahead of them to get to the car first.
Hutch propped the crutches under his arms, preparing to stand. Starsky gestured for him to wait as he opened the passenger side door with a flourish. He wanted his ‘date’ to step out in style. Hutch slowly rose to his feet and leaned his weight on the crutches. Once he was on his feet, an orderly came down and took the wheelchair from Cleo, and wheeled it back into the medical bay.
Starsky offered his right hand to his mystery guest and helped her out of the car. There was a glimpse of a hand as it reached out of the open car door to take his. Then came forth a pair of marvelous legs, followed by a face and figure that a lot of women would give their eyeteeth for. She stood and faced the stunned blond, extending her right hand to him to shake. When she spoke, her voice was sultry and sweet.
"I’m Joyce Carlson. You must be Hutch?"
He didn’t answer her right away.
"Well, I say, old chap, don’t leave me hanging."
"S…Sorry." Hutch looked up at her, then at Starsky. He was amazed, surely his partner hadn’t managed to secure the company of one of the loveliest females this side of paradise. He must have had a sort of an amused, shocked look on his face, because Starsky didn’t appear to appreciate it. Balancing himself expertly on the crutches, he finally took her hand.
"Nice to meet you, Joyce. But my friends call me Ken."
She turned to Starsky and smiled. "You didn’t tell me he was so charming."
"Believe me, there was nothin’ to tell. And he ain’t all that charmin’."
Cleo wasn’t as enthused about meeting Carlson as the guys seemed to be. She’d already made up her mind about Starsky’s ‘date’. She didn’t like anyone who could get Hutch’s attention so easily. When their eyes met, she offered the woman few words and only a perfunctory smile.
"Hello." She said coolly.
"Hello." Joyce answered.
Then Starsky, smiling all the while, folded the front seat forward to let the girls get in. Hutch lowered himself slowly into the car with his partner’s help, then carefully stretched his long limbs out in front of him. Starsky handed him back the crutches and closed the passenger door, then ran over to the driver side, the smile still broad on his face as he slipped the key into the ignition, then pulled off down the street.