Dog Tired
By margaretlynn
"Starsk? Starsky, wake up! I think this is her," Hutch hissed urgently, nudging his snoozing partner.
"Huh? 'Her' who?" the dark-haired detective asked groggily, pulling himself upright and stretching as best he could in the confined space of the car.
"Seldon's sister. Come on before we lose her in this fog," Hutch replied as he quietly opened his door and slipped out into the night.
"Fog?" Starsky echoed in a puzzled tone as he exited the car from his side with equal stealth. "Where the heck did that come from?"
"I don't know—it just starting rolling in while you were asleep. Now come on!" Hutch answered impatiently, leading the way into the maze of abandoned warehouses.
Up ahead, Starsky could just make out the figure of a lone woman in the dim light reflecting off the low-hanging clouds. The tiny flashlight she carried seemed to be little help in lighting her way, but was a godsend to the two officers attempting to track her through the darkness and thickening drifts of vapor. Her footsteps sounded unusually loud in the odd acoustics of the narrow passageways between the crumbling buildings, prompting the two men to take extra care to tread softly themselves. She walked quickly, her hunched shoulders and the frequent quick looks she cast from side to side making Starsky think that she wasn't any happier in her current surroundings than he was. In her arms she carried a large grocery bag and a folded blanket.
Deeper and deeper she led them into the heart of the deserted complex until, at last, she paused outside one of the more intact structures and looked around. Starsky and Hutch immediately flattened themselves against the side of the nearest building, even though they were pretty sure that they could not be easily spotted in the gloom. The woman stood completely still for several heartbeats as if listening then, apparently satisfied that she was alone, entered the old warehouse. The two detectives followed as silently as possible.
Once inside the building, trailing their quarry became even trickier than it had been outside. If not for the tiny light the woman carried, they would only have had the sound of her steps to lead them, and the weird echoes inside the huge, mostly empty structure would have made that difficult at best. Even so, the two detectives were forced to move slowly and cautiously in order to avoid colliding with any of the teetering piles of rotting crates scattered throughout the large space or tripping over the loose debris that littered almost every inch of the floor, knowing any noise they made might alert their suspect to their presence.
Their "guide" apparently knew where she was going and seemed to feel safer now that she was indoors, as she moved more confidently than she had before as she made her way towards the back of the building. Here a small area in one corner had been walled off to form a row of offices. Inside one, a single candle burned on top of an overturned crate. Starsky winced at the sight of it, thinking how quickly a fire would spread through all the paper and old, dry wood around them—one careless spark and the whole place could turn into an inferno in seconds.
Seldon's sister, however, seemed unconcerned about the danger. She dropped her load onto another upturned crate with a sigh then turned in a slow circle, her hands braced on her hips. "Jack?" she called out. "Jack, it's Liz! I brought you some food and another blanket like you asked me to… Jack, are you here?"
Both detectives held their breaths as they and the woman all listened for a reply. When several minutes had passed and none came, the woman sighed heavily again. "Okay, little brother," she muttered to herself. "That's it. I've done all I can for you. From now on, you're on your own!" So saying, she turned and left the office again, quickly retracing her path back through the warehouse. The two detectives shrank further into the deep shadows near the wall and crouched down behind a pile of crates as she passed. A short time later, they heard the door they'd all entered by creak open and closed again and then…silence.
"So, what do we do now?" Starsky whispered close to his partner's ear. "Go after her or wait and see if Seldon'll show?"
"I say we wait," Hutch answered him as softly. "He called and arranged for her to bring all that stuff to him. And it's obvious from that candle in there that someone was here not too long ago. My guess is he's hiding somewhere nearby—he probably just didn't want to have to deal with her face to face."
"I can understand that!" Starsky thought to himself, remembering their earlier interview with Liz Barrymore.
"I am a Christian woman, Detectives," Seldon's sister told them with a little lift of her chin. "And, as such, I certainly cannot condone the things Jack has done! However, no matter what else he's become, he's still my youngest brother. Surely you understand that I couldn't just turn him over to you, even if I did know where he was."
"Mrs. Barrymore," Hutch began.
"Ms. Barrymore," she immediately corrected him. "My husband and I have been divorced for more than two years now."
"Ms. Barrymore," Hutch conceded with a small nod. "While I admire your loyalty to your brother, I still feel I must point out that Jack Seldon is a dangerous criminal, wanted for the murders of five people."
"Those charges were never proven!" Seldon's sister declared, crossing her arms defiantly.
"Only because he escaped while waiting for a psychological evaluation to see if he was competent to stand trial," Starsky put in softly. The angry woman whirled to face him, her eyes flashing and, for a moment, Starsky was sure she was going to slap him. But then she took a deep breath and seemed to gain some control over her feelings again.
"Jack has always been…troubled, Detective. Even as a small child. And yet, with all the problems he's had, he's never hurt anyone before!"
"Ma'am, the charges against your brother weren't made lightly," Hutch told her. "Almost a dozen witnesses saw him fleeing the scene around the time that the coroner believes the murders were committed. A knife identical to the one that the autopsies revealed must've been used as the murder weapon was found in your brother's apartment, and several articles of clothing in your brother's size, stained with blood matching the types of three of the victims, were found in a dumpster behind his building."
"I don't care! I still say he couldn't have done it!" Seldon's sister responded vehemently.
Preparing to duck if it became necessary, Starsky spoke up once more. "Ma'am…none of this is either here nor there. Your brother's guilt or innocence is for a jury to decide. Meanwhile, your brother is a fugitive from the law and running only makes him look guiltier than he already does. If you care about him as much as you claim, you'll encourage him to turn himself in—should he contact you, of course."
The odds were very high that he would. Liz Barrymore was probably the only person in the world at the moment who might sympathize with the fugitive enough to help him. All his other relatives lived on the other side of the country and all of them claimed to want nothing to do with the "black sheep" of their family. And, as near as anyone could determine, Jack Seldon didn't have any friends.
Hutch handed her one of their business cards. "My partner's right. Please, Ms. Barrymore, for your sake and your brother's, call us right away if you hear from him," he said.
The woman took the card by one corner as if it were something disgusting and immediately turned and dropped it into a nearby trashcan.
Realizing Liz Barrymore would never willingly help them, the two detectives decided to tail her and see if she would unknowingly lead them to their suspect instead. They and another team of detectives discreetly followed her around the city for over a week as she went about her daily business without results. Then Huggy called to tell them about someone new occupying an old warehouse in a large abandoned complex near the docks. His contact had said this newcomer frightened the other handful of poor souls who normally dwelled there so much that they'd all left to seek shelter elsewhere. The two detectives staked out the location to see if Seldon's sister would show up there. Seldon had been in hiding for almost two weeks and would have to be in need of food and other supplies. They had patiently stared at the rotting buildings for several nights without seeing anything, but now it seemed their persistence was about to be rewarded.
A light touch on his arm drew Starsky out of his reverie. "Look," Hutch whispered.
At first, Starsky couldn't see what it was that had drawn his partner's attention. And then, in the next moment, he saw it, too. Near the opposite wall of the warehouse from them, something was moving, a darker shadow among the others. Starsky found himself holding his breath and somehow sensed that Hutch was doing the same thing. His heart was pounding so loudly that he was afraid the fugitive would be able to hear it. At last, a man stepped into the small circle of light thrown by the candle.
Starsky felt the hair rise on the back of his neck as he caught his first glimpse of their prey. He'd already known from Seldon's mug shot that their suspect was an ugly son-of-a-gun. But the photo in Seldon's file had done little to prepare him for the reality of the man.
The suspected felon was big, 6'4" according to his rap sheet, and weighed over 250 pounds. But that wasn't what sent a cold chill up Starsky's back—the brunet officer had never been afraid to take on someone twice his size in a fight. No, what got to Starsky was the man's eyes. Something about them just looked so…evil was the only word he could come up with to describe them. Crouching in that dark warehouse watching Seldon creep toward the lighted office like a rat emerging from its hole, Starsky could easily believe that here was a person who was capable of just about anything you could imagine—and a few he didn't even want to think about to boot.
Hutch touched his arm again causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. "You scared the hell out of me!" Starsky scolded angrily in his partner's ear, only just remembering at the last second not to shout.
"Sorry," Hutch apologized. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm going to circle around to his other side. Give me a couple of minutes to get into position and then we'll both rush him at once. He doesn't look like he's armed, but even if he is, we'll have the element of surprise on our side."
"I don't know, Hutch," Starsky answered uncertainly. "I've got a bad feeling about this. Look, I don't think he's going anywhere soon—from the looks of that bolthole of his, he's been campin' out here for quite a while. Why don't we just sit tight for a bit and wait for our backup? If he decides to take off before they get here, we can jump him then. Whadd'ya say?"
"I'd say that sounds like a good plan, Starsk," Hutch replied with a sigh. "Only there's one little problem with it."
"What?" Starsky asked, already certain that he didn't want to know the answer.
"There's no backup coming. By the time I spotted Barrymore, there wasn't time to call for any before we would've lost her. I'm sorry, buddy. But it looks like we're it."
"Terrific," Starsky mumbled, liking the situation less and less every moment. "Okay," he finally agreed. "Two minutes and we rush him." Hutch reached out and briefly squeezed Starsky's shoulder, silently telling him to be careful. "Yeah, you too, buddy," Starsky thought as the blond disappeared like a ghost into the gloom.
Seldon had opened the sack his sister'd left and was eagerly unpacking the contents. Starsky nervously glanced down at the glow-in-the-dark hands of his watch—not that the time really mattered. He knew Hutch could not read his own watch in the dark. And yet he also knew that, somehow, he would know when the other was ready to make his move. He drew his Berretta from its holster and, as noiselessly as possible, chambered a round. Just as he was tensing to spring, a loud clatter came from the other side of the warehouse, followed by a hearty curse. Hutch had tripped and fallen on some of the loose trash on the floor in the dark.
"Aw, shit!" Starsky swore as Seldon jumped up and sprinted for the door with far more speed and agility than anyone might expect in a man his size. Starsky took off in pursuit, hoping that his partner would be right behind him. Seldon reached the exit and crashed through with enough force to knock the old door right off its rusty hinges. Starsky, right on his heels, barely avoided being hit by the heavy panel as Seldon tossed it aside. By the time he managed to dance out of the way and regain his balance, Seldon was out of sight, his rapidly receding footsteps all that was left to indicate which direction he'd taken.
Starsky threw a quick look over his shoulder, but there was still no sign of Hutch. He prayed the blond was all right. And yet, as much as he wished he could go back and check on the big klutz, he knew his first duty was to try and catch Seldon. So he took off in pursuit of the suspected felon once more, knowing his partner would understand and would do the same thing himself if their situations were reversed.
While they'd been inside the warehouse, the fog had grown even thicker until now anything more than a few feet away lay hidden behind a swirling wall of white. It made running dangerous, as Starsky soon found out when he narrowly avoided colliding with the corner of a building that seemed to just suddenly appear in his path. Seldon's footsteps had also slowed somewhat, giving Starsky some hope that he might catch up to him. On and on the two of them ran through the maze of passages with Seldon turning left and right and doubling back again until Starsky completely lost track of how he'd come. Once he realized he was lost, he was sorely tempted to stop right then, turn around, and try to find his way back to Hutch. Yet every time he was ready to give up, Seldon's steps would slow again or sound a bit nearer, encouraging him to continue the pursuit.
Starsky's breath burned in his lungs and his legs felt like rubber. Few people could outrun the curly-haired detective in a sprint, but Hutch was definitely the distance runner of the two. Just as he thought he'd be forced to stop from sheer exhaustion, he heard Seldon stumble and fall. Starsky's heart leapt in his chest. "Ha! I've got you now, sucker!" he thought as he skidded to a halt.
He'd re-holstered his gun when he first started the chase. Now he reached beneath his jacket and drew it again, its familiar weight in his hand offering even more comfort than usual under the circumstances, giving his voice an added ring of confidence as he called out to the fugitive. "All right, Seldon. It's over—ya' got nowhere left to run and no one left to help you. So why don't you pick yourself up and come on back here, nice and slow-like, with your hands where I can see 'em." Starsky pressed himself close to the side of the nearest building and waited for a response. Long minutes passed and…nothing. No answer, no footsteps, no sound at all other than a distant foghorn somewhere out in the bay and his own soft panting.
"Seldon?" he called again a bit more softly. Still no response. "Maybe he hit his head and knocked himself out or somethin' when he went down," Starsky thought. Wary of an ambush, he checked to make sure the safety was off on his gun then cautiously began to inch his way forward. He'd only gone a few yards when suddenly he heard footsteps again, this time coming toward him but not slowly as he'd ordered. In fact, it sounded as if Seldon were running flat out. Starsky was frankly amazed and a bit frightened that the man could still summon up that much energy when he himself was barely standing. But desperation could push the human body beyond it normal limits.
An image of the huge suspect plowing into him like an oncoming freight train suddenly flashed across the curly-haired detective's mind. Dropping into a defensive crouch with his gun extended out in front of him, Starsky called out again. "Seldon! Halt or I'll shoot!" Still the rapid footfalls kept coming, if anything seeming to gain speed.
Starsky said a silent prayer and took aim at the spot where he thought Seldon would emerge from the fogbank. An instant more, and Seldon burst from the concealing mist. Starsky's finger tightened on the trigger then froze. The big man wasn't even looking at him but rather back over his shoulder. And when he turned to face Starsky again, there was such a look of abject terror on his face that Starsky felt his own blood chill in response. Seldon actually looked relieved when he finally noticed the armed officer in his path.
"Oh God, help me! Help me! It's right behind me…please, don't let it get me!" he pleaded. As he came nearer, Starsky could see that tears were streaming down the big man's cheeks. The detective was so stunned that he couldn't move, and in that instant Seldon was past him, disappearing once more into the fog. Starsky stared after him in open-mouthed shock. What in the world could possibly put that kind of a scare into a hardened criminal like Seldon?
Starsky was still standing there, trying to make sense of what had happened when an awful new thought occurred to him, temporarily driving the mystery of Seldon's strange behavior completely from his mind. "Hutch!" he gasped out loud. His partner was somewhere back there. Alone and possibly injured, Hutch would be at the big man's mercy if Seldon should happen to run into him. Starsky was just about to rush to his friend's aid when a strange noise behind him made him pause and turn around to look back again in the direction Seldon had come from.
Where he stood, a slight breeze had thinned the mist to mere wisps. But a little more than twenty yards away, the fog still lay in an almost impenetrable wall. From somewhere within the heart of that miasma came a thin, crisp, continuous patter. And now a new sound mingled with it, a deep, low rumble, soft, yet menacing like the sound of distant thunder and coming closer by the second.
Some part of Starsky's mind was screaming at him to run while he still had the chance, but his body didn't seem to want to cooperate. All he could do was stare in horrified fascination as a large, dark outline began to take shape within the fog. As if in slow motion, the form solidified into that of a huge dog, bigger than any dog Starsky had ever seen before in his life.
The thing was massive—Starsky would have sworn it was almost as big as his Torino. It was coal black and sleek and powerful looking. It moved slowly, but with a sense of purpose in its movements, its gigantic head bent down to sniff at the pavement. It advanced several yards, and then stopped and raised its head to look directly at the dark-haired man and let out another low, threatening growl, its ears laid back flat against its huge skull and the hackles rising along the back of its thick neck. Its eyes seemed to glow with some kind of strange inner fire. Sharp, white teeth glinted in its cavernous mouth.
A familiar weight tugged at his left arm and Starsky suddenly remembered that he still held his gun in that hand. Though Starsky never used his gun lightly and hated the idea of shooting a dog, this was a life or death situation—his life or death. He wished there were some other solution, but, right now, he didn't see it. He couldn't risk letting the thing charge him.
Slowly, slowly so as not to provoke the beast, Starsky raised his hand and carefully took aim. He knew he'd have to kill it—wounding it would just make it angrier and more dangerous, if that was possible. The dog crouched a bit lower, preparing to lunge.
Starsky squeezed the trigger just as the dog launched itself in his direction. He emptied the whole clip, sure he'd hit the thing at least once, and yet the impact of the bullets hardly seemed to slow it at all. Knowing it was useless, Starsky did the only thing left to do: turned and ran like hell. He could hear the monster behind him, could feel its hot breath on the back of his neck. Its teeth sank into his left shoulder, clamping down with a vise-like grip and shaking him hard…
"Huuuuuutch!"
Starsky closed his eyes and swung out wildly at the thing attacking him. He heard a muffled grunt as he fist connected with solid flesh—a strangely familiar grunt. The grip on his shoulder let go and Starsky slowly opened his eyes.
Hutch was sitting beside him on his sofa, rubbing at his jaw. "Ohmygod!" Starsky gasped, reaching out and gently cupping his friend's chin to survey the damage. He noticed guiltily that a dark bruise was already forming. "I'm so sorry, I was having a nightmare. Are you all right?"
"I think so," his partner answered hesitantly, experimentally opening and closing his mouth a few times and moving his jaw from side to side. He winced at the resulting pain, but nothing seemed to be broken. "That must've been one hell of a dream!" he declared ruefully when he had finished.
Starsky felt himself blushing. "Yeah. It was," he replied with a small shudder. "Let me get you some ice for that and I'll tell you all about it."
"While you're up, do you think you could get me some more for my ankle, too? And maybe another beer?" Hutch asked. His right leg was propped up on the coffee table on a pile of cushions, an elastic bandage wound around his ankle, which, despite the icing, was still swollen to about twice its normal size. The doctor at the hospital had said it was a really bad sprain rather than a break, but had then added that Hutch might have been better off if he had fractured it, as damaged tendons and ligaments actually took longer to heal than a clean break and were often just as painful. Hutch was warned to stay off it, keep it lightly wrapped with an Ace bandage, and keep it elevated as much as possible for the next week or so, until his next doctor's visit. After that, if all went well, he might be able to return to light duty, though he'd probably still need to use crutches or a cane for a bit longer.
He wouldn't be able to return to full duty until the doctor was satisfied that the strained muscles and tendons had completely healed. Meanwhile, Starsky was staying with him a while to make sure he didn't overdo it. They'd somehow managed to get Hutch up the stairs to his apartment without any mishaps, had ordered a pizza, had a couple of beers and turned on some old Cary Grant movie on the late show. After making sure his partner had taken his pain pill and was settled as comfortably as possible, Starsky must've dozed off.
Returning from the kitchen, Starsky wrapped the larger ice pack in a towel and carefully arranged it to his satisfaction on Hutch's injured ankle then handed his friend the second, smaller pack as he settled beside him on the couch once more. "Hey," Hutch asked. "Where's my beer?" Starsky wordlessly handed him a soda instead. Hutch grimaced but didn't protest as he took the can and popped the top. "Okay, Starsk," Hutch said once he'd taken a long swallow of his drink and the second pack of ice was in place, "tell me about this dream of yours."
"At first, it was just like what went down tonight—we were hunting down an escaped prisoner in an abandoned warehouse, only this guy looked different and his name for some reason was Seldon instead of Jackson and his sister's name was Barrymore. She was still a sanctimonious pain-in-the-butt, though."
"Sanctimonious?" the blond echoed. "Have you been reading Reader's Digest in the john again? I bet that one must've come from 'Toward More Colorful Speech'." Hutch teased.
Starsky rolled his eyes. "Just because I don't show it off all the time like you do doesn't mean I don't have a good grasp of the English language," he protested. "And besides, I'll have you know I got that one from 'Word Power'." Hutch chuckled and Starsky went on with his story. "I even dreamed about you fallin' over those big feet of yours and tipping the guy off that we were there," he grinned. It was Hutch's turn to blush then.
"Yeah…well…it was pretty dark in there," Hutch mumbled.
"That it was," Starsky agreed fairly. "Anyway, just like tonight, I took off chasing the guy by myself. Only, in my dream, it's real foggy out so I can't see him and I end up having to chase him all over the damned complex with only the sound of his footsteps to let me know I ain't lost the turkey completely."
"Fog?" Hutch asked. "That's weird. I wonder where that came from?"
"Beats me," Starsky shrugged. He recounted the rest of the dream chase to Hutch in detail, up to the point where Seldon came running back past him then he stopped, not really wanting to remember the next part. Even though he knew now it had only been a dream, it had seemed real at the time and he still felt shaken up by it.
"Starsky?" Hutch prompted gently. "What happened then?"
Starsky gave another small shudder. "That's when…It showed up," he said quietly.
"It?" Hutch echoed. "It what?"
"Do you remember the kind of dogs that girl you dated once used to raise? The big ones they use as guard dogs?"
Hutch thought a minute. "Oh!" he said, remembering who it was Starsky was referring to. "You mean Mastiffs, Starsk?"
"Yeah," the brunet nodded. "Those are the ones. Anyway, I'm standin' there, wondering what the heck coulda put the wind up Seldon's back when this huge—and I mean really huge—dog shows up outta nowhere. He looked like a cross between one of those Mastiffs and a bear or something." Starsky shuddered again.
"Wow," Hutch agreed, shaking his head. "You're right, buddy, that would be pretty scary! So, what did you do?"
"I shot it," Starsky answered. "Only, I musta missed or something because the thing didn't even slow down. I had just turned to run away when you grabbed my shoulder. I thought that thing had me for sure!"
"No wonder you clobbered me," Hutch laughed. "A giant, monster dog, huh? You sure it wasn't those chili dogs you had earlier, coming back to haunt you?" Hutch teased, hoping to shake his friend out of the last lingering horror of the bad dream.
"Ha ha," Starsky smirked. "You're hysterical, Hutch. If you ever get tired a' bein' a cop, maybe you could make a livin' as a comedian."
The blond reached out and ruffled his friend's hair fondly and Starsky grinned to show that he hadn't really been offended by the remark.
"I wonder what made you dream something like that? Did you watch any scary movies with big dogs in 'em lately?"
"No…I don't think so…" Starsky said, shaking his head, wracking his brain for the source of the monster in his nightmare. Suddenly, he remembered the book he'd just finished reading a few nights ago. It had been a mystery involving an escaped murderer named Seldon who had a sister whose name was Barrymore helping him hide from the police. Only the story he'd read had been set on the Moor in Victorian England, hence the fog. The similarities between the scenario in the story and the case they'd just wrapped up must have been what triggered the dream.
Hutch looked over and noticed Starsky blushing again. "What is it?" he asked. "Did you finally remember where you might have conjured up your demon dog from?"
"Yeah," Starsky answered, not meeting Hutch's gaze.
"Well? Are you gonna tell me or just leave me to wonder?" Hutch finally asked when Starsky didn't say anything else.
The brunet sighed and looked up at last. "I…I'm pretty sure it was this book I just finished readin'," Starsky admitted sheepishly.
"Oh? What book was that?"
Starsky looked away again and mumbled something Hutch couldn't understand.
"I'm sorry, buddy, I didn't quite catch that."
"I said," Starsky repeated a bit louder, blushing harder than ever; "It was The Hound of the Baskervilles by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle."
Hutch burst out laughing, wincing slightly as the movement sent a fresh twinge of pain through his sore jaw. It was a good thing it did, otherwise Starsky might have forgotten the earlier accident and punched him again. Instead, Starsky sulked for a long moment, but then, slowly, he started to smile, and then to giggle, until both partners were leaning on each other for support.
"I still say it was those chili dogs," Hutch grinned.
"Naw," Starsky chuckled. "A giant chili dog I coulda handled." He yawned hugely and glanced at his watch. "Man, look how late it is. No wonder I dozed off. Come on, Blondie, you're sittin' on my bed. Let's get you into your jammies and tucked in so that we both can get some sleep."
With a little effort and a lot more laughter, they soon had Hutch changed and ready for bed. Starsky helped Hutch pull the covers up around him then paused on his way to the door to check one last time that his friend's leg was comfortably elevated and to firmly remind Hutch to call him if he needed to get up for any reason during the night rather than risk falling by trying to handle it alone.
"Yes, Mother," the blond promised, rolling his eyes.
"Hey, Starsky?" Hutch called softly shortly after his partner had turned out the light in the living room and was in the process of burrowing into his own covers.
"Yeah?" Starsky answered him, sitting up again, thinking that maybe, between two beers and that can of soda, Hutch might need to make one last trip to the bathroom.
"Sweet dreams," Hutch said, the smile evident in his voice.
Starsky shook his head as he lay back down. "You, too, Blintz," he laughed. "You, too."