Disclaimer: This story is written for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made from it. No infringement on anyone’s copyright is intended.
Comments about this story can be sent to cruellaboris@yahoo.com

This story is part four in a series and is the sequel to Research.

Sue David and Valerie Wells
© 3/2002

   Hutch studied the effect of his tie in the mirror. It was the third or fourth one he’d tried with this shirt and it looked as bad as all the others had. Impatiently, he yanked it off and threw it on the bed, turning to his closet to choose a different one – again.

   "Ain’t you ready yet, Blintz?" Starsky’s voice asked dryly from the door, startling him. "We’re not going to a wedding, for cryin’ out loud."

   "I know," Hutch said, yanking the last tie he owned off the rack and sliding it under his shirt collar. "But you know the courthouse will be crawling with reporters and I want to look professional." He glanced into the mirror at Starsky, who for once was wearing dress pants, leather shoes, and a decent jacket – and a tie – instead of his usual courtroom attire of jeans and Adidas with a sports coat. "You dressed up."

   Starsky gave an embarrassed shrug. "Like you said," he answered, wandering over to the bed and casting a critical eye over the untidy heap of ties there, "the place’ll be lousy with reporters. This is gonna be all over the papers, TV, even national TV, Dobey says."

   "National?" Hutch glared at the effect in the mirror and reached up to yank off this tie, too, but Starsky put a hand on his arm to stop him.

   "It looks fine," he said reassuringly, patting his arm. "Yeah, national. As in network. Somebody from ABC or maybe it was NBC – Cronkite’s office, anyway – called the public relations officer yesterday about covering the verdict."

   "That’s CBS, moron," Hutch said as he finished tying his tie. Starsky was right, it looked fine. He smoothed his hair one last time with his open hand and turned away from the mirror. "I’m ready."

   "About time." Starsky led the way down the stairs to the finally repaired Torino.

   Hutch still shuddered inside every time he saw that car, but he tried to understand why it had been important to Starsky to get it fixed and now, to drive it. Especially today. So he tried to keep his face impassive as he waited for Starsky to unlock the doors and let him in.

   Starsky glanced at him sidelong every few minutes as they drove downtown, but he didn’t say anything. At least, not until they’d parked and were headed up the courthouse steps, with members of the media shouting questions at them.

   "Vultures," Hutch muttered under his breath.

   "You’ll get a statement afterward," Starsky shouted back at the reporters. "Be patient." Once they were safely inside, Starsky nudged Hutch gently. "I had to bring the Torino today," he said quietly.

   "I know," Hutch said.

   The courtroom was packed, but Dobey had saved them seats near the front and was keeping an eye out for them. No cameras were allowed in the courtroom itself, but there was a whole crowd of reporters clutching notebooks and craning their necks to get a good look at Starsky, who held his head high and kept his eyes straight ahead.

   "Good boy," Hutch whispered.

   Starsky gave him a jaunty wink, but the expression in his eyes didn’t match the gesture. He sat down next to their captain, and Hutch sat on his other side. It was only a few moments before the judge came out and they had to stand again.

   "Mr. Foreman, has the jury reached a verdict?" the judge asked.

   "We have, Your Honor."

   "What say you?"

   The foreman, with a nervous glance at the crowd, the reporters, and the defendant – sitting stony-faced with his lawyers – cleared his throat. "In the matter of the State of California versus James Marshall Gunther, on all four counts of conspiracy to commit murder, we find the defendant ... guilty."

   There was muttering and reaction from the spectators and the judge banged his gavel.

   Starsky’s hands were tightly clenched in his lap and Hutch bumped his partner’s leg gently with his own to make him relax. Gunther had already been found guilty of racketeering, interstate drug trafficking, and mob action in earlier trials. No matter what happened now, he was going away for a nice long trip.

   The foreman glanced at Starsky. "On both counts of attempted murder of a peace officer, we find the defendant ... guilty."

   A collective murmur started among the spectators, then subdued as the foreman paused before reading the final verdict. "On the count of murder in the first degree against Anthony Caldwell Bates, we find the defendant... guilty."

   The gallery erupted in reaction and Starsky relaxed, giving Hutch a glance. There was no way, now, that James Marshall Gunther would ever see the light of day as a free man again. For Bates’ murder, he would probably get the death penalty.

   "Thank you, Mr. Foreman. The jury’s service is concluded, with the court’s thanks," the judge said. He glanced down at the top of his desk and made a notation. "The sentencing hearing is set for March 1 at 9 a.m. Court is adjourned."

   Two guards were waiting to take Gunther back to the secure lockup where he’d spent the last several months, but as they each took him by an arm, he shot a look at Starsky that made Hutch’s blood run cold. Starsky didn’t see that look, thank God. He was listening to something Dobey was saying. Hutch fought the urge to tear Gunther’s head off right there in the courtroom and save the State of California the trouble of feeding and housing him for the rest of his miserable life.

   "Hutch?" Starsky touched his arm. "What’s wrong?"

   "Huh? Nothing," Hutch said, forcing a smile. "You ready to face the horde?" He nodded in the direction of the eager reporters to distract his partner.

   Starsky rolled his eyes. "No. But I got no choice."

   With Dobey on one side, Hutch on the other, and the prosecuting attorney leading the way, Starsky headed into the hallway.

   "Detective Starsky! Detective Starsky!" Voices came at them from all directions and they were nearly blinded by the lights of the TV cameras trained on them. Starsky straightened his back and his jacket in one movement and took a deep breath.

   "Gentlemen," the prosecutor said, adding hastily, "and ladies. Detective Starsky and I will each make a prepared statement, then we will take a few questions. Only a few."

   The reporters quieted down, pads and pens, microphones and tape recorders at the ready.

   "James Marshall Gunther has been found guilty on all counts," the prosecutor said, "and sentencing is set for March 1. Based on California State sentencing guidelines, I think it’s safe to say Mr. Gunther will spend the rest of his life in prison for his crimes. He may receive the death penalty for one of his crimes. We are satisfied that justice has been served."

   He glanced at Starsky.

   "Thanks to my partner, Kenneth Hutchinson," Starsky said, startling Hutch, who hadn’t known what he was going to say today, "Gunther will be punished for his crimes, including his attempt on my own life. But no amount of prison time will pay for what this man has done. If Gunther could live long enough to spend hundreds of years in prison, it wouldn’t pay for what he’s done. He’s either directly or indirectly responsible for the deaths of several people. He cheated honest, hardworking Americans out of their homes. He sold death in the form of drugs to kids on the streets. As a police officer, I am gratified that the system worked. I only wish the punishment could more nearly fit the crime."

   "Detective! Detective!" Reporters were jostling each other and waving their arms over their heads. The prosecuting attorney, as they had agreed, let Starsky choose the reporters whose questions he would answer. He studied their faces for a moment and pointed to one.

   "Is it true that two of Gunther’s victims were your partner’s ex-wife and her sister?"

   Only someone who knew Starsky as well as Hutch did would have seen the visible reaction to that question. To strangers, his face did not change. He simply nodded. "Yes, that is true." He pointed to another one.

   "Would you say you took this case personally, Detective?"

   Starsky gazed at the reporter as if the man had lost his mind. "I nearly died, thanks to Gunther," he said bluntly. "It don’t get much more personal than that." He gave Hutch a sidelong look of disgust and pointed to another reporter.

   "Will you stay on the force?"

   He nodded, then realized he had to give a more quotable answer than that. "Yes. No doubt in my mind. In fact," he paused and gave Hutch another sidelong look, "I go back on active duty as of Monday."

   Hutch was stunned, too stunned to keep it from showing. Starsky grinned at him.

   "That’s enough questions," Dobey hissed at the attorney.

   "I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen," the attorney said. "That’s all the time we have. We will have printed press releases for all of you within the hour." He and Hutch started working through the crowd, making a path for Starsky and Dobey, who could pretty much make a path all by himself.

   Once they were in the witness room, Starsky sank down on a chair, pale and as exhausted as if he’d just gotten over a long illness.

   "You okay, buddy?" Hutch asked, putting a hand on his shoulder.

   "Yeah, sure," Starsky said. "I’m glad it’s all over, but...."

   "But what?" Dobey asked.

   Starsky exchanged a glance with Hutch before he transferred his look to his captain. "I guess I won’t feel completely safe until Gunther is in San Quentin," Starsky said.

   "And what’s this crap about him going back on active duty Monday?" Hutch demanded. "He’s not ready for that!"

   "Yes, I am," Starsky said. "I’m sick of being a desk jockey and I’m sick of everyone treating me like a piece of spun glass. I’ve been cleared and I’m comin’ back and that’s the end of it."

   Hutch opened his mouth to continue protesting, but something in Starsky’s face made him close it again. He lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender and sank down on the edge of the conference table.

   "Gunther will be kept under 24 hour guard," the attorney told Starsky. "You’re safe from him, don’t worry."

   "I’ll feel better if I keep worryin’," Starsky said.

********

   "Sir, we plan to appeal, no matter what the sentence is," Thomas Potter said to Gunther when they met alone after the verdict, keeping his voice low. He knew they were under visual surveillance, though recording a client/attorney meeting wouldn’t be allowed.

   "Don’t bother," Gunther hissed back at him. "We can worry about that later. What I am concerned about right now, Mr. Potter, is destroying those two officers."

   Potter glanced at the two-way mirror on the wall. "Mr. Gunther –"

   "I know they’re watching us," Gunther said. "They can’t hear us. I know I’m going to get the gas chamber and there’s nothing more the legal system can do to me. But I will not rest, Mr. Potter, until I have exacted my vengeance on those two men, do you understand?"

   Potter swallowed nervously and wet his lips. Inside or out, Gunther was still a powerful man, and he didn’t want to be one of the loose ends Gunther decided to snip off. After a moment of mental wrestling with himself, he finally nodded.

   "Good. I don’t care what it costs or what it takes, this time, they must be eliminated, do we understand each other, Mr. Potter? Both of them. Eliminated."

********

   Dobey had given them the rest of the day off, so they went to Starsky’s apartment when they were done at the courthouse. Hutch was worried about how tired his partner looked, but Starsky insisted he was fine and he was driving. When he pulled the keys out of the ignition in his parking space, he leaned his head back on the headrest, closed his eyes, and let out a deep sigh.

   "Starsk?" Hutch asked.

   "I just want it to be over. I want him in prison. I want to stop feeling like he’s got a stranglehold on our lives."

   Hutch patted him on the arm and said, "We’ve won, buddy. The sentencing is the last step, but after that, he’s out of our lives forever. He’s probably going to get the death penalty."

   Starsky opened his eyes and asked, "You really think so?"

   "Hey," Hutch said softly, "don’t let him get to you."

   "Yeah," Starsky replied. He opened his door and climbed out of the Torino. He loosened his tie as he walked up the steps in front of Hutch. His shoulders were slumped with weariness. Hutch shook his head as he thought about how hard Starsky had worked to get this far and how much Gunther had almost cost him. He didn’t like that look Gunther had given his partner back in the courtroom. Hutch cast his eyes around the area as he followed Starsky. If his partner was really going back on the streets, Hutch was worried that Gunther would find a way to get to him. He knew how much the man hated loose ends.

   "I want to know how those reporters knew about Vanessa and Cass," Hutch said thoughtfully.

   "Wouldn’t take a rocket scientist," Starsky said. "Court records are public, y’know, and they mentioned the connection Vanessa had to the organization during the trial."

   "I know, but –"

   Starsky decided it was time to get Hutch’s attention off Vanessa and her sleazy sister. He pulled at the knot on his tie. "Grab us both a beer while I change, huh, Blondie?"

   "Sure," Hutch replied as he went into the kitchen to get the beers.

   When Starsky returned, he looked more like his old self. Although his clothes still hung a little too loosely, Hutch was pleased with how well he looked. Starsky had regained most of the weight he’d lost during his long convalescence, and the doctors had reassured Hutch that it was just a matter of time and continued physical therapy before his stamina and muscle strength were completely back to normal.

   Starsky took a sip from his beer and said, "You don’t want me back on the streets, do you?"

   Hutch sighed. This was going to be one of those long discussions. He needed to reassure Starsky, but he didn’t want to lie to him. "Of course I do, buddy. I just don’t want you to push yourself before you’re ready."

   "The doc cleared me. I’m really okay." Starsky looked at Hutch with sincerity and hope in his eyes. Hutch knew Starsky only wanted him to believe he was ready. He needed that.

   "I know he did. Do you remember everything he said? He told you to take it easy. No double shifts, no long stakeouts, plenty of rest, regular meals...."

   "Yeah, yeah, yeah. I heard all of that. Hutch, I tested with the precinct. My marksmanship is there, not as good as it was, but almost. I passed the physical, what more do you want?" His voice didn’t sound bitter or angry. He sounded disappointed... and worried that Hutch wasn’t ready to back him on his return to active duty.

   Hutch hoped he could explain how he felt. "I’m behind you, Starsk. I swear I am. Just try to remember those instructions, huh? You know I’m gonna remember them, even if you don’t."

   Starsky smiled at him. "You wouldn’t...."

   "I would. Believe it. I just don’t want to see you go too fast. Active duty is one thing. Pushing it is another. No pushing it."

   Smiling again, Starsky said, "Your idea of pushing it, or mine?"

   "Definitely mine. No arguments." Hutch put his lecture finger up in the air and wagged it at Starsky, but he smiled at him at the same time.

   "Okay," Starsky replied. Seeing Hutch’s satisfied nod, he quickly added, "For now."

   Before the other man had a chance to protest, the phone rang. "Ah!" Starsky warned as he moved toward the phone. Saved by the bell.

   "Hello," he answered cheerily.

   "Dave? This is Matt Dixon."

   Starsky smiled and said, "Matt! How are you doing?"

   Hutch looked up, interested in the conversation. Matt Dixon was a graduate student who had given them a key piece of evidence in the Gunter investigation. He had inadvertently stumbled onto something that would result in additional charges being made against the old man in a few other states. He and his wife were placed in protective custody, but now that Gunther was convicted, Dobey probably believed they were no longer in danger. Even if Matt were to have to testify in future trials, James Marshall Gunther could only face life imprisonment or the death penalty one time. Harming the Dixons no longer seemed probable.

   "Great, man. Saw you guys on the news. He’s done, huh?"

   "Yeah, his goose, as they say, is cooked," Starsky replied.

   Matt laughed at him. "Lame, Detective. Look, speaking of cooked... you and Ken have plans tonight?"

   "We were just going to hang out, maybe run out to get something to eat. Nothing special, why?"

   "Good, come over for dinner."

   Starsky hesitated. "Dinner at your place? I thought you and Debbie were under wraps."

   "We were, but they let us come home today when the verdict came in and we wanted to celebrate. Debbie’s making up a batch of her famous hot wings and I’m going to grill some steaks. Can you make it?"

   Starsky shot a questioning look at his partner. Hutch gave him his answer with a glance and a smile.

   "What time? We’ll bring some brews. What’s the address again?"

********

   A black sedan with darkened windows was parked around the corner, but within sight of the Dixons’ apartment complex. Two men sat in the car, waiting and watching both the street and the couple’s corner unit. They lived in a small complex of ten individual, Mediterranean-style bungalow apartments facing a center courtyard. The complex was quaint – surrounded by palm trees, Bird of Paradise, and other well-kept plants. The units were elevated a little from the street, along a nicely cut, terraced lawn. Both the exterior of the buildings and the three-foot high cinder block retaining wall along the sidewalk level were covered with bright pink bougainvillea. A short set of steps led up to them.

   Hutch pulled his car up to the curb and parked. He and Starsky got out of the latest in a long line of beat-up, nondescript Fords. They started to walk toward the apartment.

   "Hey, Starsk, don’t overdo it on the hot wings, okay?"

   "Yes, Mom," Starsky quipped. Then he noticed Hutch wasn’t carrying the beer.

   "You forgot the beer."

   Snapping his fingers, Hutch turned to retrieve them from the trunk. "Go ahead," he said, "I’m right behind you."

   Despite the fact that they were off duty, and Starsky hadn’t officially returned to the streets yet, Hutch wanted Starsky out of the open as soon as possible. He reached into the trunk with a weary sigh, offering a silent prayer that he’d be able to protect his partner. He still believed he’d failed to do that with Gunther. I hope we can keep each other safe.

   Starsky was walking up the steps as Hutch moved toward him on the sidewalk. Inexplicably, Hutch felt the tingling sense of danger and all of his protective instincts engaged. He quickly looked for signs of a sniper or some other trouble. The street looked quiet, but he still didn’t like it. He was glad he had his Magnum as he set the beer on the retaining wall and reached for his gun. Hutch was opening his mouth to call Starsky’s name when it happened.

   The Dixons’ unit exploded and burst into flame. In what seemed like a split second, the roof blew off and pieces of it began raining down on the neatly manicured lawn. All of the windows blew out, glass flying in every direction. Flames leaped into the air, singeing the palm trees and wilting the other plants. The front door flew across the yard in pieces, accompanied by bits of stucco, wood, plaster, and the sharp-thorned bougainvillea.

   The explosion forced Hutch to take cover, hovering as close to the retaining wall as he could and protecting his head with his arms. He never saw the dark sedan pull away from the curb around the corner. Within a few seconds, the ringing in his ears began to be replaced by the sound of screams and calls for someone to get help.

   Hutch staggered to his feet and yelled, "Starsky!" Frantically searching where he’d last seen his partner, he couldn’t spot him in the early evening darkness – despite the light coming from the flames.

   "Starsky!" he called again. He saw some of the Dixons’ neighbors evacuating the closest bungalow and the other neighbors were streaming out into the courtyard.

   Some of them had turned on hoses and had fire extinguishers, trying to put out the flames that were eating up the side of the apartment closest to the blast. He barked orders to the closest person, grabbing him by the arm and spinning him around from his view of the quickly burning bungalow. "Call the fire department, the police, and an ambulance!" The man nodded and moved away from him, back into the apartment across from the conflagration. He could tell by the looks of things, no one would be going into that apartment to make a rescue, and no one who was inside it would be coming out alive.

   Someone else must have called the fire department. Hutch could already hear the wailing of fire truck sirens, accompanied by their throaty horn blasts. The fire station was close. He remembered passing it on the way into the neighborhood.

   He turned around and around, taking in the sight of burning debris everywhere. His car even had a large, smoldering piece of wood on its roof. No time to worry about that.

   Passing through the rubble, Hutch finally spotted a blue sneaker sticking out from underneath a tangled mess of bougainvillea and half a door. Calling his partner’s name, he started pulling the debris off of Starsky, ignoring both the heat and the thorns from the plants.

   Starsky was lying on his side, breathing heavily. He’d probably turned away from the blast instinctively and he had put his arm up over his face. His left arm had bits of thorns, glass, and wood clinging to the sleeve surrounded by small trickles of blood and his eyes were closed, but he was starting to moan and move. Hutch heard a fire truck come to a stop nearby. The activity around him seemed like background noise as he tried to assess Starsky’s condition.

   "Hey, you okay? Talk to me," he called softly, shaking Starsky’s shoulder as he gently turned him onto his back to lie in the grass. The blast had thrown him far enough away from the fire to prevent a need to move him immediately.

   Starsky opened his eyes and blinked hard. Then, he sat up suddenly, nearly knocking over his partner. "Hutch! Are you okay?" His heart was racing.

   "I just asked you that."

   Starsky noticed the flames and activity and he tried to get to his feet. "Matt!" he exclaimed as Hutch pulled him back down to sit.

   "I’m sorry, buddy. There’s nothing we can do. Let the firemen get it."

   Both men watched in stunned silence as the firemen worked ineffectually to fight the blaze. They were able to save the apartment next door from being a complete loss and to put out the fires in the trees before they spread.

   The paramedics tended both men’s cuts and abrasions, but neither of them required a visit to the hospital. Starsky swore he hadn’t lost consciousness; he’d just had the wind knocked out of him and was stunned for a minute or two. Hutch sat on the bumper of the paramedic unit as his hand was bandaged. He was watching his partner, who was sitting dejectedly in the open door of the back of a black-and-white, his head in his hands. The street was covered with emergency vehicles, and crawling with the media. The story was going to make the eleven o’clock news. Hutch looked around to be sure no cameras had caught them. He didn’t want Starsky subjected to that. He already knew his best friend was severely upset by what had just happened.

   The arson team was just getting to work and the firemen had found two bodies inside the apartment. As they were bringing them out to put in the coroner’s wagon, Hutch’s paramedic indicated he was finished. He quickly stood and strode over to his partner, putting himself between Starsky and the sight of their friends being taken away in body bags.

   When he finally got Starsky to look up at him, Hutch’s heart nearly broke with the pain he saw in his friend’s eyes. He wasn’t crying. Not yet, but his eyes were bright with anger, unshed tears, and sadness. He dropped his hands into his lap.

   "Starsk, come on, buddy. We’re going home."

   Starsky had seen the arson unit arrive. He looked at Hutch to see if he had any answers. He didn’t, but Hutch knew what his partner was thinking without asking.

   "This could just be some kind of horrible, freak accident, Starsky. A gas leak, set off when Matt lit the grill."

   "You believe that?" Starsky asked, the anger creeping into his voice.

   Hutch sighed and shook his head. "No."

   Starsky closed his eyes and brought trembling hands back up to cover his face. "Oh, my God," he said.

   "Starsky...." Hutch was upset, too, but he could see that he needed to hold it together for both of them until he could get Starsky someplace quiet where he could rest and they could talk.

   "Oh, my God. Oh, my God," Starsky repeated.

   "Let’s go home, Gordo. We’ll get some rest and maybe they’ll have some answers for us in the morning." Starsky just shook his head "no" in response.

   Hutch heard a car door shut and footsteps approaching. He looked away from his friend and saw their captain approaching. "Hutch, Starsky, are you two all right?" he asked.

   "Yes, Cap," Hutch said for Starsky’s benefit, but he shook his head and sent a clear message to Dobey that Starsky was anything but all right. Physically, his injuries were minor, but emotionally, Hutch was worried.

   Starsky pulled his shaking hands away from his face again and his troubled eyes met Dobey’s concerned ones. "Cap," he said in quiet anguish, "it’s my fault. They’re dead and it’s because of me."

   "Now, Starsky, that’s just stupid!" Dobey said gruffly. "You didn’t have anything to do with this!"

   "No?" Starsky rose and glared at his captain, almost nose-to-nose with him. "What the hell do you call it then, Captain? Gunther wants me dead. He’s tried to kill me over and over again. He killed Allison’s dad and he killed Lionel and now he’s killed Matt and Debbie –"

   "You don’t know that for sure, Starsk," Hutch interjected, but Starsky made an impatient gesture and kept his eyes on Dobey.

   "You think this wasn’t a direct warning to me? Maybe he even thought we’d be in there when it blew and he’d get us all at once!"

   "Then, if it’s anybody fault, it’s mine!" Dobey said. "I’m the one who told the Dixons it would be safe to come home. I made the decision."

   "He’d have got ‘em anyway," Starsky said, his anger dropping away to reveal the pain underneath. He stepped away from Dobey and turned to go back to the car, head down. Dobey took a step after him, but Hutch put a hand on his arm and shook his head. He would do it.

   Dobey nodded and glanced toward Starsky. "He’s had to take too much lately," he said quietly.

   "Yeah," Hutch said.

   Starsky was already seated in the car, hands folded over the steering wheel and his forehead resting on them. When Hutch climbed in, Starsky started the car without a word and drove away. He did often drive Hutch’s car, but Hutch guessed that’s what he needed to do right then.

   "Starsk," Hutch began, but Starsky put a hand up and shook his head.

   "Not now. Please."

   Hutch subsided, keeping a close eye on Starsky as they drove. But Starsky drove carefully, even conservatively, until he pulled up in front of Venice Place. They had driven over to Hutch’s place to pick up the beer for the dinner party and left the Torino there. Hutch wasn’t ready for Starsky to go home. "Come up," Hutch said. It wasn’t a request.

   Starsky shook his head. "No, I –"

   "I said you’re coming up with me," Hutch said firmly but kindly. "I’m your partner and what’s more, I’m your best friend. I’m not letting you out of my sight and that’s all there is to it. Please."

   Starsky glanced over at him and met his eyes. After a moment, he nodded. "Okay."

   Hutch got him a beer without waiting to ask if he wanted one. He sat down across from Starsky after he handed him the bottle, and waited. Starsky took a long, thoughtful sip, then turned the bottle in his hands, eyes on the amber liquid as if he would find the answers there. Finally, very softly, he said, "I can’t take much more, buddy."

   "I know," Hutch said. "None of this is your fault, but you’re the one suffering for it. What do you want to do?"

   Starsky sighed. "I don’t know."

   Hutch studied him for a few moments, while Starsky continued to stare down at his beer. "I have an idea," he ventured at last.

   "Yeah? What?" Starsky looked up.

   "Let’s get out of here till after the sentencing," Hutch said. "Go somewhere safe, where Gunther’ll never think to look for us, and wait till the son-of-a-bitch is safely put away."

   "Where can we go?" Starsky asked. "And besides, we oughta be here for the sentencing."

   "That’s not necessary. You were there during the trial, and the jury had to look at you, knowing what that slime did. It helped them vote guilty, partner. Now it’s up to the judge, and he’s not going to cut Gunther any slack."

   "But where?"

   "Home," Hutch said. "Duluth. My folks’ll put us up and we can relax for a change. You can play with my niece and nephew and I can go fishing. I think it would do us both good."

   Starsky nodded slowly. "Yeah. But what’ll Dobey say?"

   "Let me handle Dobey."

   Dobey astonished them both by not only agreeing, but encouraging them to leave as soon as possible.

   "I was thinking the same thing," he said. "I want you two out of town and out of harm’s way. The D.A.’s already spoken to the judge, and Gunther’s calls and visits will be monitored in prison. Once he’s in San Quentin, he won’t be able to give any more orders without somebody knowing about it. And the second he does, he’s going to be charged with something else, the worst thing we can think of."

   Starsky’s eyes were wide with amazement, and Hutch was equally stunned.

   "Sentencing’s in a few weeks," Dobey went on, ignoring the looks on their faces. "Leave today. I’ve got the number and I’ll call when it’s safe for you to come back. Can you get a flight today?" He directed this to Hutch.

   "Uh," Hutch stammered.

   "Let’s drive," Starsky said. "Lotta pretty country between here and there. He won’t expect us to drive."

   "Not the Torino," Dobey said. "Too distinctive."

   "We can take mine," Hutch said. "Okay, partner?"

   Starsky winced elaborately. "If I got no other choice."

   Hutch called his parents to warn them they were coming and his mother was delighted, he reported to Starsky after he hung up. "She said they’ve just redone the upstairs – again – and she can’t wait to have someone to show it off to," Hutch said, shaking his head with a smile. "We’re having fried chicken for supper the day we get there. You know how much you love Mom’s fried chicken."

   The first day was uneventful until they stopped at a roadside diner outside Phoenix, Arizona. Starsky got out – it had been his turn to drive – and stretched with a grimace. "How you drive that piece of crap is beyond me," he complained.

   "It gets me there and gets me home," Hutch said. "What more could you want from a car?"

   "A little bit of style," Starsky retorted. "This thing is Early Disaster Movie."

   "That’s a style," Hutch insisted, laughing.

   Starsky gave him a playful whack on the back as they went into the diner. They had sat down and were studying the menu – Hutch complaining about the "greasy spoon specials" – when three men came in. Two sat in the booth behind Hutch and the other sat behind Starsky.

   The waitress came for their order.

   "I’ll have a double bacon cheeseburger with onion rings and a chocolate malt," Starsky told her.

   Hutch raised his eyebrows. "Good God, partner."

   Starsky made a face at him.

   "I’ll have a tuna melt," Hutch said. "And cottage cheese. And coffee."

   She wrote it all down and went back to the kitchen.

   "You wanna push on a little further or find a place to stay here tonight?" Starsky asked, leaning back against the wall and propping his legs up on the seat.

   "Let’s stay here," Hutch said, punctuating the comment with a yawn. "We can make up some time tomorrow if we get an early start."

   "Okay."

   The waitress returned with their drinks, putting the coffee in front of Starsky and the malt in front of Hutch. The men exchanged an amused glance as they traded.

   When Hutch leaned forward to reach for the cup, the men behind him went into action. Both produced guns and one laid the barrel of his against Hutch’s temple. "Move," the man said with a wide, false smile, "and both of ya die."

   Hutch’s eyes went wide with alarm, and widened even more when the man behind Starsky also produced a gun and poked Starsky in the back of the head with it. "Now, gentlemen," he said, "we are going to get up and go outside. You are not going to make any noise or any trouble unless you want us to kill you right here." The look quickly exchanged between the two detectives wasn’t lost on the ringleader. "And don’t even think about trying anything. You may not care if you die here, but I’m sure you wouldn’t want us to blow away that pretty waitress and everyone else within earshot."

   The man who had the gun on Hutch reached inside Hutch’s jacket and took his gun, handing it to his companion. The one who had the gun on Starsky took his gun and stuck it into the waistband of his own pants. The diner was nearly empty and no one was paying any attention to them. Starsky looked at Hutch helplessly. Outnumbered and without their guns, there wasn’t going to be much they could do.

   The men surrounded them and hustled them out of the diner into the parking lot. The sun was going down and it was almost dark outside, but not quite dark enough for the parking lot lights to have come on yet. The three men escorted them toward a panel truck parked on the far side of the lot.

   "Who are you and what do you want?" Hutch demanded hoarsely.

   "Uh-uh, no questions," said the one who had the gun on him.

   "And if you don’t already know, you’re dumber than you look," added the second man. Two of them pushed Starsky and Hutch into the back of the panel truck while the third climbed into the driver’s seat. He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, driving conservatively but not enough to draw attention.

   But they hadn’t been driving long when red lights flashed into the back windows. The driver swore vehemently. "What do I do, Buck?" he called back.

   "Stop, stupid," Buck answered. "We can’t outrun the heat in this heap. Just try to keep him from looking in the back or we’re screwed."

   The driver signaled and pulled off the highway. In a moment, the state trooper shined his flashlight in on him. "I’ll need your license and registration, please, sir."

   "What’s the problem, Officer?" the driver asked, producing the paperwork and handing it through the window.

   "We had a call from Kenny and Kim’s that three men took two other men out of there at gunpoint," the trooper said, as they heard other prowl cars pull up alongside and other flashlight beams danced through the van. "You’re surrounded, Mr. Bradley. Don’t try anything."

   Another officer opened the back door of the van, and several officers were standing there with guns drawn. "Everybody out," the nearest one said. "Drop the guns and keep your hands where we can see ‘em."

   The troopers lined all five men up alongside the van and started patting them down.

   "Hutch and I are cops from Bay City," Starsky said to the trooper patting him down. "My ID’s in my right hip pocket."

   The troopers stopped the pat down while the officer with Starsky pulled out the ID and peered at it in the light from his flashlight. "What’s the story, Sergeant?"

   "It’s a long story," Starsky said. "Bottom line is, my partner and I were abducted by these guys outta that diner. We think maybe they work for a guy who’s tried to kill me and is awaiting sentencing in Bay City right now."

   The trooper shined his light on Starsky’s face for a moment. Starsky met his eyes unblinkingly. The trooper whistled. "Okay, Sarge, which one’s Hutch?"

   "I am," Hutch answered. "My ID’s in my shirt pocket."

   The same trooper retrieved Hutch’s badge and glanced at it. "Okay, you guys step over there by the car while we deal with these turkeys. We’ll be right with you."

   Starsky and Hutch leaned against the nearest car and watched while the troopers patted down and disarmed all three men and cuffed them. A paddy wagon showed up to take them away and all the officers except two drove off. The last two, including the one who had examined their badges, came back to them.

   "Long story, huh?" one of the said to Starsky. "Want to come down to the station and tell us? We need something to charge these guys with."

   "Sure," Hutch answered for both of them. "But we need to retrieve our car later."

   "We’ll give you a ride back to Kenny and Kim’s," the trooper said.

   "What I want to know," Starsky said as they climbed into the trooper’s car with him, "is how you guys found us."

   "Maddie," he answered. "The waitress at Kenny and Kim’s who waited on you. She saw the guys pull guns on you and called us. Gave us a good description of their van and told us which way they headed. She didn’t let on she was watching them take you out for fear they’d hurt you."

   "I think we owe her a steak dinner, partner," Hutch said to Starsky.

   "At the very least," Starsky replied. He was feeling a little winded for some reason. Starsky took a deep breath as he turned to walk toward the nearest cruiser. That deep breath ended in a cough.

********

   Once the three would-be assassins were locked up, Hutch called Captain Dobey to let him know what happened to them.

   "I guess the cat’s outta the bag, Cap. Word sure traveled fast."

   "Hmph," Dobey huffed into the phone. "Gunther has had some visitors. Mostly lawyers, but his son did get in this morning. I’ll have him put in isolation. I can’t keep his attorneys from seeing him, though."

   Hutch looked up and noticed Starsky getting a cup of water from the cooler in the corner. He was coughing again, with a hand absent-mindedly placed on his chest. Uh-oh.

   Returning his attention to the captain, Hutch said, "I know. Go ahead, but it’s possible he gave the orders before the verdict. One of his attorneys may even be responsible."

   "True enough. I’ll do what I can. What are you going to do next?"

   "Maybe we’d better not get too specific on the phone," Hutch replied. He was still watching Starsky, who was plopping into a chair and leaning his head back on the wall. Starsky looked over at him, sensing that his partner was watching him. Knowing Hutch was worried about the coughing, Starsky smiled and rolled his eyes. He mouthed the words, "Stop it," to Hutch.

   "The phone’s all right, Hutch. The lines in the house and the office are being monitored twenty-four/seven. No bugs."

   Hutch frowned at Starsky and continued his conversation. "I think we should ditch my car. I’ll pick up a rental and I’ll let you know when we get to Albuquerque."

   "Wait," Starsky interrupted.

   Starsky had a better idea about their transportation. They would pick up an unmarked car from the local police department and drive that to Albuquerque. From there, they would switch cars again for another unmarked police vehicle. Dobey agreed to make some arrangements. He liked the idea of his men changing vehicles, but still having access to a police band radio. He wanted them to stay overnight in Phoenix, but Starsky and Hutch thought they needed to put some distance between them and any additional attacks as soon as possible.

   After a visit to the diner to express their gratitude to the staff there, Hutch traded keys with the officer who brought them a late-model, gray sedan from the local police motor pool.

   "This your undercover car?" the young uniformed officer asked Hutch. Starsky laughed.

   Hutch glared at Starsky as he informed the younger man, who couldn’t have been older than twenty-three, that the non-descript car was the perfect cover. He looked at his battered Ford with a mixture of affection and remorse at leaving it in Phoenix. "Take good care of her for me, will you?"

   "Yes, sir."

   The men transferred the bags and supplies from Hutch’s car. Starsky slammed the trunk closed and reached to pull the keys out of the lock. Hutch shook his head, deftly taking the keys from his partner. "Nope. You rest, I’ll drive."

   "Why?" Starsky asked, followed by a cough.

   "You really want me to answer that?"

   "I’m fine. Aren’t you tired?"

   "I’m too wired, buddy. Let’s hit it." Hutch walked around and got into the driver’s seat without further protest from Starsky. He did push Hutch’s hand away when he tried to determine if Starsky had a fever.

   "You feel a little warm, Starsk."

   "I told you, I’m fine. ‘S just a cold," Starsky assured him. "Just drive."

   Hutch made good time. Starsky slept, allowing Hutch the luxury of frequent, undetected checks on his condition. He didn’t want to overreact to what probably was just a cold. However, despite Starsky’s miraculous recovery, any sign of illness was cause for concern. One of his lungs was compromised by the shooting and his doctors had warned both men that he should be careful about catching colds for a long time to come. Hutch was worried about being on the road in unfamiliar territory, far from medical professionals familiar with his partner’s circumstances. He hoped Starsky would improve with some sleep, and he had lots of time to think about things like the potential for snow and colder weather as they headed north. When Starsky shivered in his sleep, Hutch turned on the car’s heater and made a mental note to stop somewhere and buy them both warmer coats, in case the winter weather turned ugly.

   Hutch drove straight through to Albuquerque. When he wasn’t checking Starsky, he was looking in his mirrors and scanning around them. He never detected any signs that they were being followed. Starsky napped the entire way, only waking up when Hutch turned off the car at the E-Z Rest Motel.

   "Where are we?" Starsky asked, rubbing his eyes.

   "Albuquerque. I’m gonna go get us a room so we can crash for a while."

   "I’ve been asleep for that long? Why didn’t you wake me up to take a turn driving?"

   "I told you I was too wired to rest. You looked like you could use it. I’ll be right back."

   Hutch returned a few minutes later and pulled the car around the back of the hotel, out of view from the road. He followed Starsky’s weary progress up the stairs, hoping the additional rest would do him some good. They would sleep for several hours, and then call the District Attorney to set up their meeting and arrange to collect their next vehicle.

   District Attorney Jason Lands was delighted to meet the two officers who were responsible for Gunther Industries’ collapse. A local mortgage loan officer was on Starsky and Hutch’s list of probably simultaneous victims from the day Starsky was shot. Rudy Parker worked for Capricorn Mortgage, one of the Gunther subsidiaries. Prior to hearing from the Bay City detectives, they had no leads and no motive for why the man would have been shot in the head while sitting in his own driveway.

   "Around noon, his wife heard him pull into the carport, but he never came inside. She says she was distracted by the telephone, but realized when she hung up that ten minutes had elapsed since her husband’s car engine was shut off and he still hadn’t come into the house."

   Hutch filled in the next part. "Let me guess. She went out to check on him and found him dead. Didn’t hear a thing."

   "That’s right. The initial investigation didn’t turn anything. Then, you called in September. Our PD followed up on the leads you two gave us. At first, we didn’t know what to think about what you told us, but we had nothing else to go on."

   "What did you find out?" Starsky asked. He put a cough drop into his mouth. Hutch had insisted they stop at a local drug store to get some things to treat Starsky’s cold.

   "A lot. First, we went back and re-interviewed the Parkers’ neighbors. One of them remembered seeing a dark van with California plates on it parked across from the house for a couple of hours that day. The neighbor ran out of the house when he heard Lavinia Parker screaming. The car was gone."

   "A panel van?" Hutch asked.

   "Yeah, how’d you know?" Lands replied. "Dark brown and kind of beat up looking."

   Hutch answered, "Could be the one the guys who came after us last night were driving." That was a stretch, since the other shooting had happened several months earlier, but Hutch thought it was possible that the perps had stolen the van months ago in California and kept it under wraps.

   "Whoa. Well, we never found any trace of it here. Mrs. Parker provided us with some invaluable information when we pressed her. She said that Parker was being blackmailed by some hot shot in California. Seems Rudy, Jr. goes to college out in Bay City. Parker told his wife that some goons threatened that their only child would have an unfortunate accident if he didn’t ensure some loans were funded. Between her information and yours, we had a pretty solid trail back to your case against the judge. Now, tell me what you know about him, and the other players."

   Starsky and Hutch had no proof, but testimony from the trial, Matt’s research, and other evidence led them to believe that Rudy Parker was on a list of men fingered for death, presented to the late Mr. Bates by James Marshall Gunther a short time before Starsky was shot. This list of names may have included six men in different cities across the country... and two Bay City police detectives. Courtroom testimony revealed that Mr. Bates gave Gunther and his top officers a report on the status of their organization’s standing after Starsky and Hutch effectively shut down most of the west coast operation. That operation reached across the country. Mr. Bates' report revealed that Phoenix was one city where they were still active. So was Albuquerque. Regardless, Rudy Parker was on Gunther’s hit list. He wanted to make an example of the man, to keep the doors to the city open to them, and to ensure that the rest of his minions were cooperative. The blackmailed man was an integral part of the destroyed parts of Gunther’s empire and that meant he was a loose end.

   The two detectives carefully went over all they knew. They gave depositions and agreed to return to testify if it came to a trial. With Gunther likely to get the death penalty in California for the first-degree murder of his assistant, the other states might be in less of a hurry to incur the cost of trying him. The D.A. was willing to wait and see what happened with the sentencing before deciding on his final course of action.

   Captain Dobey had made the arrangements for their next car exchange ahead of their arrival. The Albuquerque police department would hold onto the car from Arizona until Starsky and Hutch returned on their way back across the country.

   As they headed for the highway that would take them into Texas, Starsky settled down behind the wheel. He argued that even though he was catching a cold, he might feel worse later. He would take the first shift driving and Hutch could take over in six or seven hours. They would be in Dallas by morning. Once again, they decided to keep moving over staying the night.

********

   Thomas Potter squirmed visibly under Gunther’s icy glare. He’d had to report the capture of their operatives in Arizona. He couldn’t understand why the old man was so intent on killing the two cops. The concept of revenge, no matter how sweet, was foreign to him. When Gunther didn’t make any comment, Potter continued his recitation.

   "We aren’t sure where they are going next. Our wire specialists have been unable to tap into their communications successfully."

   "Mr. Potter, I am not at all interested in your excuses, or in your methods. I told you what I wanted. They may have destroyed my organization, but I have enough money to buy them into hell many times over. I won’t miss the money where I’m going."

   Potter adjusted his tie and said, "Yes, sir. I’ve got my feelers out. They’ll turn up soon. When they do, I have other mechanics waiting to carry out your orders."

   "See that you do."

********

   Hutch was pulling into Dallas as Starsky was stirring restlessly in his sleep. He was uncomfortable and a fever had begun to creep up on him. Hutch made up his mind to find a doctor to take him to as soon as they’d rested and spoken with the Dallas D.A.    

   Giving in to his need to touch Starsky and see how feverish he was, Hutch reached a hand out and touched Starsky’s arm.

   Starsky woke to that touch and sat up with a chest-rattling cough. "We there yet, Dad?" he asked, blinking hard.

   "Yeah. You’ve been sounding pretty raspy, buddy."

   "I’m all right, Blondie."

   The two men argued about when, and if, Starsky was going to a doctor. In the end, Starsky won the argument, agreeing to see Hutch’s family physician in Duluth when they arrived in a couple of days if he wasn’t any better.

   Sitting in a run-down coffee shop off of highway 35, Starsky choked down some more aspirin and cough medicine. The two men ignored the sideways glance the waitress gave them when they both sat in the same side of the booth. Starsky chose a booth in the back of the restaurant. They both sat with their backs to the wall and a full view of both the parking lot through the windows and the rest of the diner. They were waiting for the next attack, knowing Gunther wouldn’t give up so easily. Hutch had scoped out every exit in the place, both to watch for activity, and to retreat through if necessary.

   "Duluth is still two more days, Starsk.... " Hutch started after a particularly bad bout of Starsky’s coughing.

   "No. We already discussed this. I know a cold when I see one. I’ll be fine ‘til then."

   The waitress interrupted Hutch’s next words. She set down their breakfasts and watched as the two men traded their plates. Hutch wanted oatmeal with his eggs, but they didn’t have any that morning, so the waitress brought him grits instead.

   "What’s up with this?" Hutch asked.

   "Grits," she answered, setting down a side of butter next to the semi-liquid white hominy. "What? You never seen grits before, Blondie?"

   Hutch glared at her. Forward waitresses were not his favorite type. "Yes, I’ve seen grits, but I ordered oatmeal," he answered in a steady voice.

   She poured both of them more coffee, sloshing a little onto Hutch’s hand and said, "Out of oatmeal. Give it a try, honey. I won’t charge you for ‘em if you don’t like ‘em." She pulled a bottle of Tabasco out of her apron pocket and set it on the table in front of Starsky.

   "How do you know I want this?" he asked her with a gleam in his eye. "Could be my buddy here wants it."

   That earned him a warm, friendly laugh from the bleached blonde who looked like she had an entire can of Aqua Net sprayed onto her over-teased hair. "Oh, baby, I figured you for the sizzle. ‘Sides, guys who order their butter on the side usually don’t want their sizzle on the top." She swatted Starsky playfully on the arm and then turned away from them.

   Starsky nearly choked to death laughing at the red that crept onto Hutch’s face all the way to his ears. They watched with amused admiration as the shapely woman walked toward the kitchen.

   "That’s some swing in her backyard," Starsky mumbled.

   Their waitress was the most interesting and eventful part of their meal. No one suspicious cruised the lot. All of the other patrons seemed absorbed in their own activities. Though they couldn’t afford to let their guard down for even an instant, they were relieved.

   The rest of their time in Dallas was equally uneventful. After another break for sleep and speaking with the District Attorney, they checked in with the captain.

   "No, we’ve been on the lookout. Hutch thought he saw a suspicious car outside of Abilene, but it turned out to be nothing."

   "Don’t let your guard down," the captain instructed unnecessarily.

   "We’re not. No way he’s giving up, Cap. He wants me dead."

   Hutch blanched at that remark, however true he believed it to be.

   "He wants you both, Starsky. He’s limited to just his attorneys for visitors, like I promised. Maybe it’ll be okay. When will you be in Duluth?"

   "Day after tomorrow."

   "I’ll call and let Mr. Hutchinson know," Dobey said.

   "Better not, Cap. What if they’re bugging his phone?"

   "Don’t worry, Starsky, I’ve got it covered." Captain Dobey was a good friend. Starsky was glad to have the quick-thinking, thorough man on their side whenever they were in trouble.

   At their captain’s suggestion, Hutch planted the idea that they were going to Detroit after Chicago. Since they were going to Hutch’s parents’ home, giving out information leading them in another direction seemed like a good idea. They traded cars again and headed north for Oklahoma, eager to make it to Chicago as quickly as possible. Neither of them knew that their good luck since Albuquerque had just changed. Gunther had a mole in the Dallas D.A.’s office.

********

   Bill Trask called Gunther’s attorney to report what he knew. "Yes, I’m sure it was them, Mr. Potter. They’re going to Chicago next."

   "Where after that?"

   "I think I heard the blond one say they were headed to Detroit from there."

   Potter took some notes in his small book. "Good. What are they driving?"

   "Right now, they’re in a white 1975 LTD. They’re switching cars everywhere. They drove into town in one that’s from New Mexico."

   "Clever. No matter. I have someone in the Chicago office, too. Thank you, Trask. You’ll be sufficiently rewarded." Thomas Potter hung up the phone, satisfied that he finally had some good news for James Gunther. He would need a little while to arrange for a new hit squad. He’d plan to have them follow the detectives out of the Chicago to a more remote area.

********

   Chicago proved as unremarkable as Dallas had – interviews, a stop for some sleep, more diner food. The Chicago D.A. was less than optimistic about making charges stick to Gunther on their case. Bates was the only murder they’d been able to pin on Gunther in California. He was sure to put enough distance between himself and all of the other killings.

   They left the city late. Hutch was starting to feel like a rat on a wheel and Starsky was looking sicker and sounding worse. Hutch was glad they were on their way to Duluth. For the first time in years, he was looking forward to seeing his parents. When Starsky was shot, Richard Hutchinson took it hard. So hard, he surprised his son. Everyone was so busy and frightened when it happened. Since Starsky was the one who was hit, no one thought to call Hutch’s parents. Captain Dobey had to return a frantic phone call from Mr. Hutchinson hours after the shooting. Hutch’s parents learned about it on the national news.

   Richard had never approved of Hutch’s career choice. He wanted his son to be an attorney and was angry when Hutch decided to be a cop. Richard allowed his anger to cloud his judgment and interfere with his relationship with his son. When a teenager shot Hutch about six months before Gunther, Richard Hutchinson began to see the error in his ways. He was planning to visit Bay City for Memorial Day weekend; a chance to mend some fences, but Starsky’s shooting interfered with those plans.

   When Starsky was nearly killed, Richard and his wife rallied behind both men. They provided comfort and a steady presence that Hutch needed badly in the darkest time of his life. The Hutchinsons were amazed by Starsky’s courage and resilience, and by their son’s loyalty and devotion to his best friend. Finally, things were looking up for the Hutchinson men to repair their relationship.

   Starsky was sleeping not long after they left Chicago. The weather was cold and snow was expected. Hutch wanted to make as much time on their drive to Duluth as he could before the snow started. Driving in the dark made it harder for him to spot the black Charger that started tailing them shortly after they left Chicago.

   "I thought you said they were going to Detroit," the Charger’s driver said to his companion.

   "That’s what Potter said."

   "Maybe they changed their minds. Whatever, just keep back far enough that they won’t spot us until we are out far enough to take care of business." This time, Potter was sure to order his hit squad to go in a car with enough muscle to run with if they needed it.

   Hutch started to worry more when they had been in Wisconsin long enough to be in a remote area. He wasn’t positive, but he thought the car behind them had followed them from Illinois. Just as those thoughts started him thinking about a potential course of action, he saw the car behind them begin a rapid approach. He looked ahead for a place to spin around, but the road he was on was only one lane in each direction and there were deep ditches on either side. He floored it, but the car behind was coming too fast. Hutch tried to get into the center of the road since there were no cars coming from the other direction, but the Charger was quick. The sudden change of speed woke Starsky as Hutch was pushing him down toward the floorboard. Before he had a chance to react, he heard the sound of gunfire and glass breaking. His heart lurched at the horrible sense of déjà vu, but he didn’t have time to think much about it. The car swerved suddenly and he felt it leave the roadway. A few seconds later, the car slammed back down at an angle, rolled once, rolled again onto its side, and came to a shuddering stop.

   Starsky was stunned for a few moments. He knew he needed to get himself free, but something heavy was pressed against him. As his head cleared a bit, he realized it was Hutch.

   Shaking Hutch’s shoulder, Starsky called his name. He got no response. Frantically checking his partner, he found that he was breathing and he had a pulse. Starsky couldn’t see where it was coming from, but he felt warm, wetness seeping into his clothes. He knew all too well what it felt like to be shot, and he was sure he wasn’t hit, but Hutch must have been. He also knew that the shooters would most likely be coming along to make sure they were dead. Putting a hand up to his throbbing head, he felt a gash that was bleeding. Good, that will help. He pulled his gun and waited.

   The two men in the Charger pulled to the side and walked back to inspect their handiwork. The driver wanted to move on, but the shooter was determined to make sure they’d succeeded in killing the two detectives.

   They approached the car cautiously and saw no movement inside. Neither of them could see Starsky well enough to know they were being watched.

   A glance through the starred windshield was almost good enough to assure them their quarry were dead. Neither man was moving and the there was enough blood to believe the wounds were fatal. Still, the shooter said they couldn’t be too careful. The view through the cracked glass wasn’t good enough.

   When the shooter leaned into the driver’s window, he couldn’t quite reach Hutch. He ordered his companion to help him rock the car back down onto four wheels. Starsky continued to play dead, but he was relieved to feel Hutch’s weight slide off of him.

   One of the men pulled open the door and reached for Hutch to drag him out of the car. As soon as he was close enough, Starsky raised his gun and fired, hitting the man squarely in the forehead. His companion wasn’t expecting that. Both men thought Starsky was dead. The man aimed at Starsky and fired, but his shot went wide. Before he could get off another, Starsky swung his gun toward him and fired again, spinning the man onto the ground a few feet from his partner – dead. A light dusting of snow was beginning to fall.

   Starsky needed to be sure the other man was dead. He eased Hutch down onto the seat. Then, he found he had to slam his body against the passenger door several times to get it to pop open for him. He was stiff and hurting. The coughing was worse and he felt terrible, but he knew he had to keep moving.

   His check of the two hit men confirmed that they were both dead. He dashed back to the car and found the radio was broken. Naturally. Then, the thought occurred to him that he had no way of knowing how the hit men found them. Someone in law enforcement might have fingered them. Hutch was hurt badly and Starsky was afraid to take him to a local hospital, if he even knew where to find one. He did his best to slow the bleeding. A bullet had grazed Hutch across the back of his head. If Starsky had been sitting up instead of lying down on the seat, the bullet would probably have gone past, hit him in the head, and killed him. Hutch had saved his life... again. A bullet had also entered Hutch’s chest and exited through his shoulder in the back. Starsky felt a lump on Hutch’s head that meant he’d probably hit it on something in the car while they rolled. Terrific. What a mess.

   Starsky was amazed, but somehow grateful, that no other cars had happened along during this incident. He looked up the road and saw the Charger sitting there. Immediately, he knew what he needed to do.

   He didn’t bother to look for car keys. The Charger was undoubtedly stolen. He noticed it had Michigan plates on it as he approached. The ignition was torn apart inside and he had to hot-wire it, just like the gunmen had. When he got it started, he backed it up as close to their car as he could. He was going to get Hutch into it and take off for Duluth. They had already discussed the route and he wasn’t thinking clearly. To his muddled, feverish, frightened mind, that seemed the best choice.

   Starsky rushed back to the car and tried to rouse Hutch again. He was still not getting anywhere and it was starting to scare him. The bleeding had slowed, but not stopped. He grabbed the flashlight dropped on the ground by the hit men and checked Hutch’s eyes. At least his pupils were reacting to the light and they were the same size.

   Realizing he had no choice, Starsky hauled the heavier man out of the car and picked him up in a fireman’s carry. His recently healed muscles groaned in protest and his lungs felt like they were about to spontaneously combust, but he made it.

   When Starsky picked Hutch up, he felt more blood on his thigh. His initial inspection in the dark had missed another bullet wound. The bullet must have gone through the door and it was still lodged in Hutch’s leg. The gunman had done a lot of damage by firing as the Charger pulled past them. He quickly wrapped a shirt from his duffle bag around the thigh as a makeshift bandage. Knowing he was about to take off in a stolen car, leaving a shot up police vehicle and two dead bodies in his wake, held no sway over Starsky’s rising panic. All he cared about was protecting Hutch, and that meant getting him to safety. He was grateful for the powerful Charger engine as he peeled away from the wreck site.

   He couldn’t afford to relax until there were many miles between them and the would-be assassins. He drove as fast as he dared in the snow without actually breaking the speed limit. All he needed right now was for a gung-ho county cop to pull them over and realize they were in a stolen car and that Hutch had been shot. The resulting explanations and difficulties would delay them for hours, and Starsky didn’t know whom he could trust anymore – that is, except for the man beside him.

   He risked a glance at his partner. Hutch had not actually moved, but his eyes fluttered and he was mumbling something indistinguishable. Suddenly, Starsky had a terrifying thought. What if Hutch had a head injury from the crash, or damage to his spine? Starsky had made no effort to be careful with his neck when he pulled him from the wreckage and hauled him to the Charger.

   Several miles had passed before Hutch roused. He groaned as he struggled into a more upright position and passed his hand over his eyes. "Starsk? What happened?" He looked around and frowned. "How’d we get in this car?"

   "What’s the last thing you remember?" Starsky asked instead of answering.

   Hutch frowned and rubbed his forehead. "I thought we were being tailed."

   "We were," Starsky said. "They shot you and we rolled."

   Hutch stared at him. "This is their car?"

   Starsky nodded and glanced toward him. "They’re both dead. How ya feel?"

   "Shit," Hutch said, resting his head against the window on his side.

   Starsky didn’t know whether that was an answer to his question or a reaction to their situation, but Hutch seemed alert enough, so he let it go. "I saw a sign back there a ways that said we just passed a place called Wisconsin Dells," he said. "Ring any bells for you?"

   Hutch rubbed his forehead yet again, and that worried Starsky. Finally, Hutch said, "If we keep bearing north, we should be getting to New Lisbon before long. From there, we can get on the interstate. I think we’d be better off on it."

   "In a stolen car, buddy?" Starsky asked skeptically. "Don’t you think we’d better stick to back roads?"

   Hutch sighed. "Shit. I forgot about the car. You’re right. But it’s going to take one hell of a lot longer doing it this way." His hand went to his forehead again.

   "How bad you hurtin’, partner?" Starsky demanded. "The truth."

   "Pretty bad," Hutch admitted reluctantly. "You?"

   "I’m fine," Starsky said, but he ruined it with a spasm of coughing so violent it brought tears to his eyes and left him breathless.

   "Let me drive," Hutch said.

   "You kiddin’? You ain’t in no shape –"

   "Neither are you," Hutch said.

   In the distance, Starsky could see the lights of a town and it looked like it might be of a decent size, not much like the wide-open places in the road they’d passed in the last few hours. "Look, let’s find a motel and stop for the night, huh? We’ll regroup and come up with a plan."

   "That must be New Lisbon," Hutch said, trying to focus his weary eyes. "Okay, let’s stop."

   New Lisbon was big enough to have several motels to choose from. Starsky pulled off at a motel and went in to arrange for the room. He didn’t think it was a good idea to let strangers see Hutch in his condition. Even so, the desk clerk looked at him oddly, and once he had gotten the room unlocked and helped Hutch to one of the beds, he glanced in the mirror over the dresser and understood why. He had an ugly, bruising gash on his forehead and a rapidly darkening black eye. The pallor of his face, thanks to his cold, made both look much worse than they really were.

   "Ain’t we a pair?" he remarked to Hutch, turning to grin at him. But when he turned and got a good look at Hutch in the light, he was seriously alarmed. The spot of blood on Hutch’s thigh was fist-sized and the leg was swelling. Both of Hutch’s eyes were black, and his blond hair was matted with blood. He was holding one arm against his body and the dried bloodstain on his shirt where the bullet had gone through was far too large for comfort. "Holy shit, Hutch," Starsky said, not realizing he’d said it aloud.

   "I’ll be okay," Hutch said unconvincingly, his voice now so weak and soft that Starsky could hardly understand him. "Just help me get these damn clothes off and into bed."

   "You’re not trying to tell me a good night’s sleep is all you need," Starsky said flatly.

   Hutch gave a faint grin, but his face was so pale and his eyes so hollow that it was a caricature of his usual expression. "No, I won’t try to tell you that, but it would certainly help. Got a better idea?"

   Starsky shook his head. "No."

   He helped Hutch undress to his underwear and got him under the covers, then he went to the bathroom and got a washcloth and soaked it in warm water. He brought it back and very gently bathed Hutch’s wounds. The shoulder wound oozed a little more blood, but only a little. The head wound was more of an abrasion, though Starsky could see by Hutch’s eyes that it had given him one hell of a headache. It was the thigh that really worried Starsky. The leg was swollen and had turned several angry shades of purple and blue, and there was no exit wound.

   "We’ll be in Duluth tomorrow," Hutch said wearily when he saw what Starsky was looking at. "I can go to my old family doctor then."

   Starsky opened his mouth, but the look of suffering on Hutch’s face made him shut it again – and a sudden spasm of coughing that made his lungs actually hurt precluded any remark anyway.

   "Starsky?"

   Starsky shook his head and tried to calm his breathing. It took a few moments. "I’m all right," he said at last. "Go to sleep, huh, buddy? I’m beat and you are, too."

   Hutch nodded, though his brow creased in a worried frown, and he finally drifted off. Starsky couldn’t sleep just yet. He was too wound up from the events of the last several days, and when he tried to lie down, the congestion in his chest made breathing difficult. He didn’t want to keep Hutch awake all night with his coughing, so he sneaked down the hall to the vending machines and got himself a Pepsi and a candy bar. He sat there and watched Hutch sleep, and grew steadily more and more concerned. Finally, he sat down on the other bed and lifted the receiver.

   It took several rings, but finally a sleepy voice answered at the other end.

   "Richard? It’s David."

   "What’s wrong?" Richard Hutchinson asked immediately, concern apparent in his voice.

   "We ran into a couple of snags," Starsky said, trying to keep his voice soft and calm at the same time. It wasn’t easy and he knew that if the lateness of the hour weren’t enough to scare Hutch’s dad, the worry in his own voice would do that job.

   "What do you mean, David?" Richard demanded, now wide awake. "Don’t soften it, son. Give it to me straight."

   "There’s a worm in our apple someplace," Starsky said. "A coupla guys caught up with us about a hundred miles south of here and ran us off the road and –"

   "And what?"

   "Hutch is hurt," Starsky said. "I don’t dare take him to a hospital. I don’t know how those guys knew where to find us and I don’t know who to trust. I’m ... I’m scared."

   "How badly is he hurt? The truth, David."

   "He’s shot through the shoulder and in the thigh. The bullet’s still in his leg but the one in his shoulder went through. Banged up, nothing too serious."

   "Dear God," Richard said, his voice shaking. "Where are you?"

   Starsky hesitated, then decided there was no way Gunther’s goons could have known they’d choose this motel and be assigned to this room. But what if the Hutchinsons’ phone was bugged? Dobey said it wasn’t, but Starsky was still worried.

   "David?"

   "I’m afraid of a bug on your phone," Starsky said at last.

   "Your captain had the local police make sure it was clean," Richard said. "Where ARE you?"

   "In the Stay-a-While Motel in New Lisbon," Starsky said. "Right off the highway as you come into town from the south. Room 114."

   "I’ll be there as quickly as possible, not more than a few hours," Richard said. "I’ll take the company plane as soon as I can get a pilot. Sit tight, and don’t go out. Understand, David? Let me handle this."

   "Okay," Starsky said, rubbing his eyes. He was beginning to have chills and his vision was getting blurry.

   After he hung up, he called Dobey at home. It was about midnight in Bay City, but Dobey answered on the first ring.

   "You musta been sitting on the phone," Starsky said, striving for a light note.

   "Cut the crap, Starsky," Dobey growled. "Where the hell are you?"

   Starsky told him, and explained what had happened and that he’d called Richard.

   "Do as he says," Dobey ordered as soon as he’d finished. "I’ll get in touch with the Wisconsin State Patrol and explain about the car you’re in. What’s the number there? I’ll call you back and tell you what to do after I’ve talked to them."

   Starsky’s mind was getting fuzzy and he didn’t answer.

   "Starsky? Starsky!"

   "Yeah, yeah, Cap, I’m here. Sorry. I’m not feelin’ too hot myself," Starsky said, though hot was exactly what he was feeling. He’d have a spell of feeling too hot and then he’d have a chill violent enough to make him shake.

   "Are you injured?"

   "No, just a bug," Starsky said. "I’m okay."

   "Stay by the phone," Dobey said. "I’ll call back as soon as I can."

   Starsky lay down but he was so cold he had to get under the covers, fully clothed. His teeth were chattering and even when he rolled up in the blankets, he couldn’t get warm. He looked over longingly at Hutch. Any other time, he’d wake him up and Hutch would know what to do. Hutch always knew what to do. But the sight of Hutch’s bruised face and the lines of pain around his eyes and in his forehead wouldn’t let him. So he lay there, shivering and feeling steadily worse, until he finally drifted off.

   Some time later, the phone rang. Starsky woke up with a start, heart pounding with fear, not recognizing where he was for a moment. Then the phone rang again and he snatched it off the cradle, afraid it would wake Hutch. He needn’t have worried; Hutch never even stirred.

   It was Dobey. "I talked to a commander at the nearest state police district headquarters to you," he said. "That’s in Tomah, about 20 miles northwest of you. His name’s Joe Ryan. He said to bring the stolen car there and report in to him and give him a statement before you leave the state. I told him about Hutch and he said they could wait for his statement, but they want yours tomorrow. Can you do that?"

   "Yeah," Starsky said, trying to force his mind to clear.

   "Are you sure you’re all right, Starsky?"

   "I’m fine," he repeated patiently. "Really, Cap’n."

   "All right," Dobey said, but he didn’t sound happy. "Call me when you’ve finished with Ryan tomorrow."

   "I will."

   Starsky spent a miserable, restless night, alternately freezing and smothering. It seemed like as soon as he started to get warm, he’d be too warm and have to kick off all the covers. As soon as he did THAT, he’d start having chills and have to bundle up all over again. Through it all, Hutch slept so soundly that if Starsky had not been so sick himself, he would have realized something was very wrong. As it was, he was only grateful that his continual tossing and turning didn’t disturb his partner.

   Richard arrived just before ten the next morning, his thinning blond hair mussed, and looking as if he hadn’t slept all night. When he knocked on the door, Starsky scrambled to get his gun before he cautiously asked who was there.

   When he opened the door, Richard took one look at him and said, "David, you look awful." Then his eyes traveled past him to Hutch, still sleeping, and he paled. "Kenny? Dear God...." He hurried over to the bed and felt Hutch’s forehead and patted his cheeks. "Kenny? Ken, wake up, son, it’s Dad." Hutch moaned and thrashed a little, but didn’t open his eyes. "How long has he been like this?" Richard demanded.

   "He went to sleep about one in the morning," Starsky said, trying to stand upright but swaying in spite of himself. "I didn’t wanna disturb him ‘cause I thought he needed the rest ...."

   Richard didn’t reply; he hurried to the door and called to someone named "Andrew" to come and help him. Another man joined him in a few seconds, and between the two of them, they quickly dressed Hutch, got a blanket wrapped around him and carried him out to a waiting station wagon.

   "Get your things together and hurry!" Richard ordered Starsky as they were readying Hutch.

   "I have to report in to the state police and drop off that car," Starsky said, waving vaguely in the direction of the Charger, parked outside their room. But he handed over Hutch’s clothes and bag to Richard after they’d loaded Hutch into the car, and Richard took them.

   "Then follow us as soon as you can," Richard said. "There’s a small private airport in Tomah, just up the highway from here. That’s where we left the plane. We’ll wait for you there."

   After Richard left, Starsky gathered his own bag and loaded it into the Charger. He was moving very slowly, feeling much worse than he had the day before, and only the memory of Hutch’s pale, still face and Richard’s fear for his son’s safety kept him moving at all. He finally managed to get the bill paid, get into the car, and start up the road to Tomah.

   His vision was blurring, and no amount of rubbing his eyes helped. His head ached, too, and the chills were, if anything, worse. He tried turning on the heater in the car, but it didn’t help much. Without meaning to, he had sped up past the speed limit and was looming up behind a semi, less than a car length from plowing into the back of it, before he realized what was happening.

   He gave the steering wheel a violent wrench and slammed on the brakes, losing control and veering off the highway toward a guardrail.

PART TWO