Captain's Prerogative

by Kaye

The bodies fell, the smoke cleared and Hutch scrambled from behind the couch. He shouted out to Starsky, who was rolling out from behind the chair, cursing.

"Starsk – you okay?"

"Damn, tore my jeans."

"Starsky, you got weird priorities. Guy almost blows your head off and you're worried about your crummy blue jeans." Hutch stood, slipping his Magnum back into the holster, kicking guns away from bodies. Never hurt to be sure – he'd hate to get it in the back from a perp who was supposed to be dead.

"Guess you can buy me a new pair, Captain – thanks for the warning." Starsky turned to the doorway where Dobey had been standing when the gunfight erupted.

They had all three gone to serve the warrant on Jimmy Shoes, a lieutenant in Stryker's little mafia kingdom. They had been working for the better part of the year to bring him down – got the break they needed last night when Dobey had stumbled upon an old bench warrant and used it to get a new search warrant on Shoe's donut shop. They found all the evidence they needed. Automatic weapons, drugs, the ledger where Jimmy had painstakingly written each and every sale in even columns. It had turned out to be one of the best nights of Starsky's life as he helped himself to at least two dozen donuts while he searched.

But Jimmy Shoes must have gotten wind of the arrest warrant, because when they arrived, they were shown into the house nicely enough, and then lured into the living room where two goons were waiting. If Dobey hadn't noticed the shadow of a man in the kitchen, they would have all needed the coroner's wagon. Starsky, for once, was glad his captain came with them.

"Oh, God. . ."

Starsky heard Hutch's soft prayer and saw him huddled over the still figure of Dobey, sprawled in the doorway. Hutch turned to Starsky, eyes wide. Starsky knelt beside him, assessing the damage. There was blood everywhere. Looked like the captain got one in the leg, the shoulder, and somewhere in the midsection.

The captain groaned and opened his eyes. He knew he had been hit by the first bullet out of Tiny McGraw's gun. Tiny had been just inside the kitchen door, his .38 aimed at Starsky's chest. He had shouted out the warning, which sent Starsky over the back of the chair, and the .38 swung around to him. He had been caught in the frame of the door.

"You guys okay?" Dobey whispered. He wondered if Starsky was going to cry. Dobey moved his hand and laid it on Starsky's knee. "Ripped your pants, son?"

Starsky looked at Hutch, felt the panic rise in his throat. Hutch grabbed a pillow from the couch and pressed it against Dobey's leg. He tossed Starsky the other pillow and Starsky shoved it under Dobey's suit coat, pressing firmly on the captain's shoulder.

Detective Campos, first on the scene, stopped in the doorway. "Son of a . . ."

"Manny – get a fucking ambulance!" Hutch roared, coming to life. He turned to Dobey.

"Captain, how you doing?"

"How does it look like I'm doing? I'm bleeding like a stuck pig and all I got is you two hovering over me like mother hens. Hurts like hell. . ."

He grimaced and tried to move away from the pain. Starsky felt blood seep through fabric of the pillow and pressed harder. Dobey reached up to push Starsky away, relieve the pressure, but his hand was caught by Hutch.

"Don't move, Cap – we don't know what kind of damage you got going on. Try not to move. Help's coming." Hutch looked at Starsky and shook his head, worried.

"Will you two cut that shit out?" Dobey managed a ghost of his usual growl.

"What shit?" Starsky thought maybe the Captain was delirious.

"That eye thing. Like you think I don't see you." Dobey groaned and took in a breath. He forgot how much getting shot hurt. The last time he had been in this position, the man holding his chest had been boohooing like a baby. Elmo Jackson, big, tough, badass detective, clutching his hand, bawling his eyes out . . .

"You better not fucking die on me, Harold."

"Harold? Now I know it's serious. Come on, Elmo – get a grip. People's gonna be here soon and what are they gonna think – you laying all over me, crying?"

"What eye thing?" Starsky asked, bringing the captain back to the present.

"You know what eye thing," he croaked. "Every blasted thing I say to you two – you check it with each other. Gets downright disrespectful . . . see right there, that's what I mean."

Starsky had glanced at Hutch when Dobey was talking, to see if Hutch thought Dobey might have hit his head or something. They both made an effort to focus only on Dobey's face, which was pale and sweating.

"Hang on, Cap – help is coming. You just hang on," Starsky soothed.

Sirens echoed through the room and two paramedics came barreling in. Hutch moved out of the way and as Starsky tried to move to make room, Dobey grabbed his arm and pull him back down.

"Don't tell Edith, yet."

"But Cap. . ."

"No, Starsky – not yet. That's an order. Wait till you know I'm gonna make it."

Starsky looked at Hutch, remembered the captain's reprimand, and quickly looked back down. "Okay, Cap – not till we know."

Captain Dobey closed his eyes, hoping his life insurance policy would be enough for the kids.

To be continued . . .