Story disclaimer: Although the story's inspiration is based loosely around a true life event... names have been changed and the story itself does not depict any actual facts. This story is purely fictional and was written solely for the purpose of entertainment. No profit is made and no rights to Starsky and Hutch are claimed.
A/N: Aloha Everyone! Thank you all for your very kind and supportive feedback. It means a lot! We are trying to crank this story out and will try to post every 5 days until the story finally comes to a close. Mahalo for coming along with us for the ride. We hope it will be a fun one for you!
-oo0oo- No Escape-oo0oo-
Chapter Three
It looked like a serene portrait -- one far off the beaten path of horror, destruction, and soul crushing pain of the most recent bombing.
Starsky looked out the window at a dusty ball field surrounded by the shade of several large old trees. The sky was a cloudless blue, and the California ocean breeze, warm. Out in left field a father squatted, patiently throwing a ball back and forth with his nine-year-old son. Both wore matching red and white Los Angeles Angels ball caps. It made Starsky want to throw up. McVeigh was anything but an angel, yet looking at him right then with his son, was like looking at a Norman Rockwell portrait.
The scene playing out before Starsky brought fond memories of him and his father doing much the same thing so many years ago. Father and son, tossing a baseball out behind their New York home in an empty open grassy field. The only difference -- Starsky's father had taught him morals. Taught him right from wrong. Taught him to respect life and the law.
What cold and devious things was McVee teaching his son?
What parts of a bomb go where? What switches, fuses, and chemical compositions were best to use. How far away to be when the device detonated, and how many bodies could you expect to kill per explosion.
Would McVee's son learn from his father's mistakes -- or follow in his footsteps?
"Look at him, he's pathetic," Starsky grumbled as he watched McVee continue to toss his son a baseball underhanded. "You'd think he was an ordinary dad, playing ball with his kid on a sunny day.
"Partner." Hutch angled Starsky's way. "To his kid that's exactly what he is. An ordinary dad," he said in a sad voice.
Starsky avoided Hutch's gaze. He didn't want to believe that fact. Didn't want to think about what all this would eventually do to McVee's young son, Timothy. Starsky wrung his hands together feeling Hutch's worried gaze upon him.
"Starsky you okay? Do you think --"
"I can handle it, Hutch!" Starsky turned and implored his partner, "I can handle it."
"Cut the crap, Starsky! I know this is eating you up inside."
Starsky's eyes grew dark and hard. "What about you? What's this all doing to you?"
Hutch swallowed and cocked his head. "Same as you. But I'm controlling it. I know you, Starsk. You're reliving Terry's death all over again through Sally. You're blaming yourself. I love you, buddy. I can't stand to see you do this to yourself."
Starsky's hard gaze softened as he mulled over all that his friend had said. "I love you too, Blondie." He reached a hand over, slipped his fingers around the back of Hutch's neck, and gave a squeeze. "You let me do the worrying, buddy." Starsky let his hand drop away.
"That's what's worrying me," Hutch gave a heavy sigh, turning to look back at the ball field. "Uh-oh. Looks like he made us."
"Fucking, bloodhounds!" McVee yelled, flipping them the bird, gathering up his son, shoving him into the backseat of his car and tearing off.
They had lost track of McVee for about forty minutes, but finally caught back up to him at his home. Hutch parked his car behind a camper. They didn't need to be blown off again. After a short time, McVee got into his car alone and headed down the road. Hutch gently eased out from behind the camper and followed the Irishman to Mill's Market on Seaside Street. They watched McVee strut inside the market, quickly agreeing Starsky would go in and keep tabs on him. They didn't need to waste time losing him again.
Starsky opened the car door and was just about to exit when Hutch's hand grabbed on to his forearm.
"Remember, Starsky what Dobey said about watching our step on this one. We can't --"
"I got this, Hutch. Don't worry."
"The thought never occurred to me," Hutch deadpanned. "If you're not back in five minutes . . ." Hutch glanced at the car clock. "I come in after you."
Starsky nodded and walked away.
Starsky breathed in deeply, pushing his empty shopping cart through the produce section of Mill's Market. The tang of citrus, tart apples and the unmistakable sweetness of concord grapes perfumed the air. The smell reminding him of his Aunt Sandy's grape cobbler, the memory easing some of the tension he felt in his shoulders.
Starsky causally edged past a pretty woman with short brown hair bagging apples. Her young daughter safely sat in the child's seat happily sucking on a pacifier. The youngster giggled, and served only to remind him of all the children lost in the strategic explosion. The woman briefly met his gaze and Starsky managed a small smile on the outside, but inside his heart hemorrhaged.
Nothing could have prepared him for the bombing of The Marshall Center and the death of one of Terry's most beloved students. Walking up and down the aisles, he felt a mindless blur take over. Terry had asked him to watch over Sally. Never to let her give up. She had come so far -- now she was far-gone.
Starsky gripped the handle of his cart feeling as though the floor had turned to liquid and he would sink into the ugly white tile if he didn't hold tight. To lose Sally over a crazed man with a bomb was volatile, senseless and fucking sick!
Starsky's anger suddenly flared. He watched in an almost Twilight zone way, as William McVee rounded the corner pushing a cart. He parked in front of a bin to inspect the vine ripe tomatoes that were on special.
Starsky was frozen in place, couldn't stop watching. Couldn't stop thinking of all the things he could do to McVee if he gave himself permission. He could shoot him right now and his life would all be over. He could capture McVee. Drag him out to the desert, hogtie him to a cactus and leave him for dead. He could tape a bomb to his chest and watch him evaporate into small particles. He could -- oh hell what was he thinking. He was a cop. He could stake him out, hoping against hope to catch McVee in some illegal act and gather some sort of evidence to prove what they already knew to be true. That was what he could do. Prove beyond any doubt that William McVee was the man behind the mall bombings. That he was the man who left the Marshall Center in smoking ruins. That he was the man who murdered Sally. Murdered all those children. The only thing Starsky had left of Terry.
It wasn't in Starsky's nature to seek revenge like a vigilante cop, but something inside him cracked and fissured like an iceberg melting in the summer sun. A deep growl bubbled in his throat. McVee looked up, shocked to see the detective glaring at him like a rabid wolf.
A slow smirk crossed McVee's face. Never taking his eyes off Starsky, he reached down, plucked a tomato from the pile and squeezed it between his fingers. The meaty guts and pulp squirted out, chunks of red skin stuck to his fingers, and juice dripped like blood to the floor.
"What a shame," McVee gave an antagonizing laugh. "Such a mess I've made."
The metaphor McVee had conveyed didn't go unnoticed. The blood of all those children. Sally's blood dripping from his hands. Hands that were still free to kill again. Starsky didn't think it was possible to feel any more anger than he already did. He wanted to draw his gun. Put a bullet in the man's so called heart. But he held a badge, and something deep inside him wouldn't allow him to cross that line. McVee continued to smile, an unabashed grin that ate at Starsky's very soul.
"Ahhhhhhhhh!" Starsky's growl turned into a tribal scream.
In sudden, uncontrolled fury, and with all his power behind the shopping cart, Starsky rushed forward. The cart's wheels squeaking in an ear-piercing way, as he darted across the aisle crashing into McVee. The force sent the man, his cart, and half the bin of tomatoes toppling to the tiled floor.
Breathing heavily, Starsky glared at the man as he squirmed to gain purchase on the slippery tomato covered floor.
The woman with the child who had smiled at Starsky frowned disapprovingly, as she hurried on by. Several other patrons had gathered around to see what the fuss was all about. Ooh's and aw's filled the air . . .
"What is all this?" A man in a blue blazer, with a nametag that read manager yelled.
"That man's crazy!" McVee pointed a red sauce covered finger at Starsky. "He attacked me. For no reason."
"I have every reason… you sick son of a bitch!" Starsky panted.
McVee stood wiping tomato paste off his clothing in vein. "Where's there a payphone in here? I need to call my lawyer!" He screamed at the manager.
"You can use the office phone but first I'm calling the police," the manager informed sternly.
"H…."Hold it!" Hutch skittered around a corner badge pushed out in front of him. "I'm the police."
"We're going to nail you McVee. There isn't a grain of sand you can hide under!" Starsky's voice was dangerously low as he took a threatening step toward the man.
"Easy." Hutch grabbed his partner's arm stopping him.
"Who's going to pay for this mess?" The manager angrily asked, placing his hands on his hips in a no nonsense stance.
Hutch shoved his badge back into his pocket in trade for his wallet, dug out a few bills, and handed them to the man. "This outta cover damages."
"You're a walking dead man, Starsky," McVee threatened.
"Have at it!" Starsky strained against Hutch's hold.
"Calm down sir, and come with me. We'll talk about this at Police Headquarters," Hutch said, as he headed Starsky toward the front door.
Back in Hutch's car, both men sat quiet in the market parking lot.
"He won't stop, Hutch. He-he's going to bomb another place," Starsky panted, completely out of breath. "More -- more people, more children are going to d-die if we don't stop him." The brunet's uncontrolled anger reflected in his eyes.
"We're on his back." Hutch looked Starsky's way. "We'll get him," he nearly whispered. "But, not like this." Hutch waved a hand toward the market. "Starsky, you can't go around --"
"I know that!" Starsky stiffened, and a fisted hand slammed down on the dashboard. "Ow!" he screeched, and waggled the sting from his hand. "Damn it, Hutch!" Starsky squeezed his eyes shut.
"Starsk." A gentle hand dropped to his shoulder. "I know you're hurting. Hell, I'm hurting too. But you gotta pull it together, partner. Okay?"
No answer.
"The tougher you make it on McVee; the tougher it's going to be for us to make the bust. We can't allow any mistakes or he'll get off on a technicality. Come on," Hutch said in a feather soft voice. "You know that, buddy, right?"
Starsky gave a small nod of acceptance, his answer coming in the form of one lone tear streaming down his cheek and dripping to the leather seat.
Starsky turned his head and opened his eyes to meet his partner's.
"I got you back with me?" Hutch smiled.
"You got me, Hutch."
"That's my partner." Hutch gave a squeeze to his friend's shoulder. "Oh, and Starsk," he said in after thought.
"Huh?"
"You could have hit him a little harder."
Both men chuckled.
Fifteen minutes later, Hutch looked up just in time to see McVee putting his groceries in the trunk of his car.
"There he is. Finally." Hutch gestured with a nod of his head. "You good to go, buddy?"
"Let's… get… this… monster," Starsky pounded out each word.
Just as Hutch was about to pull out of his parking slot and follow McVee, dispatch broke in.
"Captain Dobey wants to see you and Starsky in his office, now!" Mildred's voice came over the air. "Code 3. Lights and sirens. Get here now!"
"We're really in for it, huh, Mildred?" Hutch asked.
"You got bulletproof vests?" Mildred asked in a serious tone.
"In the trunk." Hutch frowned.
"You better put them on," Mildred drawled.
"Terrific," Starsky mumbled.
Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Dobey was on his feet pacing his office, furiously fumbling with his pencil in one hand. He stopped in front of his Rookie Of The Year Award. Where had the time gone? It seemed a lifetime ago that he solemnly swore to serve and protect. He was proud of his life on the force and he knew the men who worked under his command were equally as proud. However, Starsky and Hutch were walking on dangerous ground. Their emotions, especially Starsky's, had gotten the better of him. Yet, he knew the blood seeping out from under the rubble of the Marshall Center would haunt them all for years to come. It was enough to make the Pope sell his soul to the devil to see McVee get what he had coming to him.
Using his thumb, Dobey snapped his pencil in two, one half falling to the floor. It filled him with sadness at what had happened years ago to Terry, and even sadder the short-lived lives of the children, especially one special young lady named, Sally. And what about all those people at the malls?
The whys and heartache of the job hung thick in the air. To put on the uniform meant to put one's own heart on a shelf. Dobey knew there was a thick book of laws conceived from the very roots of this country. A book that was meant to uphold humanity. Meant to keep order and justice. Without it, we would eat each other alive. Red meant stop. Green meant go. He had to be strong, had to uphold the laws. What his two detectives were doing was wrong, though their hearts were in the right place; their emotions were like a runaway train on the wrong track.
Dobey took a deep breath, holding back his tears when he heard a knock at his door and two rogue detectives slowly entered his office.
"It's about time you got in here!" Dobey growled as he went to sit behind his desk.
Starsky and Hutch moved toward their usually seats in front of the mahogany desk.
"No!" Dobey screamed at the top of his lungs, and pointed his broken pencil at his men "You stand!"
Starsky and Hutch snapped to attention, hands behind their backs, awaiting their captain's tyrant.
"Are you two hard of hearing?"
"No, sir," both men answered.
"Good. Because I am only going to say this one more time. I'd love to tell you to haul McVee in. I'd love to tell you to avoid slapping the cuffs on him and send him straight into hell where he belongs!" Dobey barked. "But I won't! I can't! That is not how the system works!" Dobey dropped his broken pencil into the trashcan next to his desk. "McVee has contacted his lawyer. This is your last chance to back off of him. I want you on this case, but if you continue with these antics of yours --"
"Captain," Starsky interrupted.
"Starsky!" Dobey shoved up out of his chair and pointed an aggressive finger at the dark haired man's chest. "Quiet!"
"Yes, sir." Starsky's right leg twitched; he pressed his lips together and brought his shoulders straighter.
"Look, Captain," Hutch started.
"Don't, 'look captain me, Hutchinson!" Dobey took a breath and shook his head in regret. "I know how you both must feel. You think I don't feel the same? But if you continue I'll have to pull you off this case and put you both on suspension -- without pay!" Dobey looked to the ceiling wanting to escape the pain he saw in his men's eyes. Gathering strength, he made eye contact once more. This was serious and he had to send his point home. "I've called McVee's lawyer. It took some doing, but I got her to drop the harassment charges against you. One more slip, one more incident of playing super cop and it's over! Do you hear me, you two?"
Starsky and Hutch's heads bobbed in silent understanding.
Dobey laid both hands flat to his desk, leaned over, and glared at his men. "I … said… do…you…hear…me?"
"Yes, sir," Starsky and Hutch said in a low voice.
"Good. Now go get him. By the book!"
Noticing the sick look on Starsky's face, Hutch placed a hand to the small of his back and guided him out the door.
After Dobey morphed their strategy from push him until he cracks -- to sit on the sidelines and wait it out, Starsky and Hutch found themselves at the Pits. The longer McVee was on the street the more likely another bombing would occur.
Starsky angrily picked up his pool stick and chalked the tip. None of this felt right. It was like putting your shoe on the wrong foot, only you couldn't fix it 'cause you're hands were tied behind your back. Dobey drew his line, and Starsky and Hutch couldn't cross it.
Hutch leaned over the table. The blond carefully lined up his shot, took aim, and sent the cue ball breaking the triangle apart with a loud clack. The colored balls wildly went rolling dropping three solid colored balls.
"I'm solids." Hutch stood straight, and grinned.
"Terrific," Starsky grumbled, as he strutted up to the table and bent way over to take his shot.
This was their fourth game and Starsky hadn't won a round yet. It sure was doing nothing to ease his rapidly souring mood. "Twelve ball, corner pocket." Starsky took careful aim, and shot, sinking the solid purple number four ball instead.
"I said I was solids," Hutch chuckled. "Thanks for the helping hand, pal, but I don't think I need it."
"Just take your shot, Hutch!"
"Sore looser." Hutch bit his lower lip wanting to say so much but thinking better of it. Instead, he leaned far over the table and lined up his next shot. "Five ball, side pocket," Hutch muttered, but before he could take it a voice from behind stopped him.
"Another round for my Compadres." Huggy smiled.
"What's wrong with my curly headed man tonight? That's one nasty game you've got going." Huggy handed Starsky and Hutch each a frozen mug of beer. "What did Hutch do? Pay you to lose, Curly? I don't think you've played this bad since you were sho--"
"Huggy, not now," Starsky snarled, and tossed his pool stick to the center of the table disturbing all the remaining balls obviously ending the game.
"Whoa, My man. If it's your game strategy you just have to concentrate a little more."
"Sorry, Hug, my partner here isn't much in the concentrating mood. It's the case we've been working on," Hutch offered. "The mall bomber."
"Yeah. It's a bad situation." Huggy shook his head sadly.
"Hug, were searching for anything. Any information you can find. Starsk and I are all tapped out," Hutch said taking a swig.
"I know what Dobey is saying. We have to follow the law." Starsky took a huge swallow from his mug. "But if we don't get this guy, and soon, more people, more kids -- "He slammed his beer down spilling a large amount to the green felted table. "I don't want to lay anymore pompoms and teddy bears on anyone else's coffin." Starsky lifted his mug and took another deep swallow of beer choking the rest of the liquid down.
"Starsk, relax," Hutch said in a honey soft voice, moving to stand near his friend.
"That's some heavy blues." Huggy shook his head sadly. "I better dig something up or I'll be recovering my table and maybe even buying a new bar if hothead here doesn't calm way down." Huggy gathered the empty beer mugs and sat them on his tray. "If Curly can keep his grove for the next ten minutes -- give The Bear time to see what he can find out. I'll make a few calls," Huggy said, and walked away.
Starsky picked up the eight ball and shook it hard. Feigning the magic eight ball game he asked the question, "Will we ever nail this turkey?" Starsky held the ball close to his face hoping the answer would float to the top.
Hutch snorted. "What's it say, partner?" he asked playing along.
"Reply hazy try again," Starsky snipped.
"Try again, then," Hutch encouraged.
Starsky shook the eight ball, and said, "Mother may I? Simon Says. Mirror….mirror. Open… says me."
Hutch smiled. At least his partner seemed distracted. "So what's it say, now?"
Starsky looked up and pinned Hutch with a murderous look. "Very doubtful. Don't count on it." Starsky's voice raised three decibels, "Outlook not good! Damn it, Hutch!" Starsky erupted.
In his frustration, he flung the black billiard ball to the floor and watched as number eight rolled out of sight under the pinball machine.
"Hey, hey," Hutch soothed, quickly at his friend's side. "Easy -- easy, buddy." Hutch glanced around and frowned. Several of Huggy's patrons had nervously got up, mumbling how the place had gone down hill as they left the bar. "Starsk, come here," Hutch said, leading his friend by the arm over to a private corner. "You've got to settle down. You're not helping the situation blowing up like this. We'll get him. We've worked --"
"Six months, Hutch. Six! And we still got nothing!"
Starsky needed to scream. Needed to break something. The only thing around close enough now was his partner and the paneled wall in front of him. He chose the latter, fisted his left hand, drew it far back, and punched a hole in the wall.
"Aw!" he screeched out in pain, quickly withdrawing his hand and coddling it to his chest. "Aw, damn it that hurt. I'm such a complete idiot!" Starsky blinked back the tears, and shook his head. That was the second time today he'd injured to his hand due to his own anger.
"Nah." Hutch reached out a sympathetic hand. You're only half an idiot, Starsk -- you still have some parts missing." He smiled weakly. "Come here, let me see that." Hutch pulled Starsky's hand away from his chest and held it flat upon his. A layer of skin was scrapped off the knuckles. They were tinged red with blood and swollen, the pinky ring finger seemed to have taken the worst of the damage. Hutch raised Starsky's hand higher up and inspected the area intently. "That's gotta hurt, but I don't think it's broken, Gordo. It looks like it's going to be deeply bruised, though." He probed his friend's fingers gently.
"Hutch, people are staring," Starsky grumbled, and fidgeted back and forth.
"I'll give them something to stare at," Hutch said puckering his lips.
"Don't you dare kiss my hand, Blondie or --"
"Huggy's going to kill you, Starsk." Hutch glanced at the wall. "That's a nice hole, maybe next time punch a pillow," Hutch suggested as he pulled a hanky from his pocket and wrapped it around Starsky's knuckles.
"I can't exactly carry a pillow around everywhere, ahhh --" Starsky winced as Hutch tied off the hanky. "Smart guy."
"Starsky --" Hutch pinned him with serious look. "Justice. Not revenge, okay, partner? We'll get, McVee. I know we will!"
"Hutch, you can't know that." Starsky coddled his bandaged hand to his chest and paced in a small tight circle, like he was the last caged animal on earth. "The creep has no conscience. McVee's not afraid to die and he's not afraid of us. He's got a rock solid alibi and his sleazy lawyer on his side. Even Dobey said to, 'back off.' Starsky took in a deep shuddering breath. "You tell me, Hutch -- how are we going to get him?"
"Buddy." Hutch dropped his head and stared at his shoes. "I don't know. I just don't --"
"Chill out. I know how!" Huggy bounded over with a piece of paper in his hand. "McVee's going to bomb The Old Stone Church on Seaway Drive. My man, Reliable -- he plays the horse track. McVee was there betting high stakes, and shooting his drunken mouth off about the church. About how it sits high on a hill above a daycare and how he plans on blowing it in such a strategic way that it all comes crashing down on the little kiddies below." Huggy swallowed. "He said it was going to be a beautiful sight. His masterpiece. Here's the address. Reliable said he'd meet you there. He wants to help out."
"Call 'im back and tell him to stay home. He'll only be in the way if McVee's really there," Starsky said, reaching for the paper, only to wince as he drew back his injured hand.
"Hey, what about my wall?" Huggy ranted, as he waved the paper around.
"Later, Huggy!" Starsky snapped.
"Later, Huggy. Not now, Huggy. Sorry, Huggy." The bar owner chanted his dismay.
"'Reliable', better be reliable," Hutch said, ignoring Huggy and snatching the paper with the address. "How you going to hold a gun in that hand?" Hutch questioned as he and Starsky bolted from the bar.
"I'll hold the Statue of Liberty in this hand -- if it means getting that crap off the streets!" Starsky said firmly, sliding into Hutch's car, and tearing down the road toward the Old Stone Church.
To Be Continued . . .