'Starsk, we'll find Emma. I know we will' Hutch put his arm up to put round his partner's shoulder, but the anger that Starsky had been shoving deep inside him all these hours just had to find a way out. He pushed the arm away bitterly and stood in the middle of the corridor, panting slightly as if he'd run a 100 metre dash.
'I can't do this any more' he yelled, pointing at his partner. 'I can't wander round like everythin' is gonna be OK, coz, ya know somethin? Its not. I'm done with bein' the hero. I'm done with always bein' the one who gets hurt and beaten. I'm done with spendin' more of my time in the ER than in my own home'.
'Oh, I hear 'em, the other guys. Jeez, he's so brave! Like I'm some kinda fuckin' saint. Well, I got news for 'em. I'm not a saint an' right at this moment I am so shit scared that there are no words to express it. So don't tell me its all gonna be alright. Let's just be realistic here shall we? At 7.00am tomorrow morning, you'll need a new partner, and there won't be enough pieces of David Starsky left to put in a matchbox. So, no funeral, no need to buy a coffin. How's that for cheap? How's that for realism huh?' The brunette sank to the ground exhausted by his outburst, suddenly just a puddle of detective on the floor of the Metro.
Hutch was stunned. Not that he hadn't expected something like this. What man wouldn't crack with the pressure they'd been under? But he was stunned at the venom Starsky had put into that speech. He was usually so laconic, his motto seeming to be why use 3 words when 1 will do. The words hit Hutch physically and he agreed with the sentiment of every single one of them. It did always seem to happen to the smaller man, and they had had cause to chuckle about it on more than one occasion – the Starsky luck. But this was no laughing matter. It was down to life or death, and how do you respond to a speech like that without sounding contrite or somehow diminishing the sentiment?
He did the only think he could think of. He walked over to the brunette and silently reached his hand down offering such support as the smaller man needed – a hand up now, a shoulder to hang on to later. Starsky looked up at that hand, unsure for a moment and hesitantly took it, Hutch pulling him up into a bear hug that both men cherished for a moment. Eventually it was the brunette who pulled away first and locked eyes with his partner.
'Sorry Hutch' he said quietly. 'I shouldn't have said that. You've got enough to worry about without me goin' off the rails'. He turned his back ruffling his hand through his curly hair and walked back to the squad room as Hutch silently followed.
As both men entered, the telephone on Hutch's desk was ringing. He trotted over and punched the line button. 'Hutchinson'.
The blond listened a moment, then said 'Thanks Ernie, we're on our way. Anything else, patch it through to Zebra three. We owe you'.
Nodding for his partner to follow he made for the door. 'Ernie has the address of one of DeMaine's sweat shops down town. Ya comin?'
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
They covered the distance to the factory in the old quarter of the city in record time, light flashing and siren blaring for most of the way. But Starsky, who was back driving the Torino again, killed the siren before they reached the back street, the mars light lending a ghostly red air to the dingy alleyway.
There was no sign proclaiming DeMaine Clothing Industries on the door to the factory and the door and the wooden steps leading up to it were devoid of any paint or varnish. It was a mean little entrance which held the promise of more meanness inside. Both men got cautiously out of the car and made their way over to the steps. Starsky made sure there was a fresh clip in his Beretta and Hutch checked the rounds in his big Colt, but neither man drew their weapons. They were there just in case, their heavy metal presence affording some measure of reassurance.
Hutch got to the top of the wooden steps first and cracked the door open slightly, peering around the corner. Seeing a spartan corridor of sorts, he opened the door all the way and both men entered. The corridor had bare dusty floor boards and doors off to right and left. Starsky tried the first door and, finding it open, went in.
The room was about 15' square. Again, there was no carpet or any other covering on the floor boards and there was just one small window in the room. It was covered by a spare bedsheet hung from a sagging piece of wire across the window frame. The floor was covered in stained and lumpy mattresses with hardly room to put a foot between them. Some had the rudiments of bedclothes on them, some had sleeping bags and some were covered only by outdoor coats. There must have been eight or nine mattresses in the room all crammed together, and from the smell of sweat and body odour which pervaded the area, it seemed obvious that the small window did not open. A single naked light bulb hung from the stained ceiling giving the room a stark air, devoid of any creature comfort.
Across the hall, Hutch tried the opposite door, flicking on the light switch. The mirror image of the previous room greeted him, again with the mattresses on the floor and the small window. The room was equally airless. Starsky walked a little way into the room, looking around in disbelief.
'How can anyone live like this?' he asked incredulously. 'It's inhuman!' He was about to walk away when he heard a small noise from the corner. Looking closer he realised that the thing he had taken to be a pile of rags thrown in the corner was, in fact, a small child of perhaps nine or ten. The tiny girl was pixie thin, with a sweet round face, almond eyes and black bangs hanging down the sides of her face. She peered shyly at the brunette from behind her hands, still with her back to the wall. Starsky stared back, forcing a comforting smile onto his face, although he was still disgusted that any human being could be forced to live in such a way.
'Hiya' he said, quietly, hunkering down till he was at the child's level. She hid her face in her hands again, but he heard a faint giggle. He tried again.
'Hey there. What ya called? I'm Dave' he said, smiling a broader Starsky smile.
The little girl dropped her hands and returned his smile with one of her own, her pretty little face lighting up, the smile playing in her eyes as well. She giggled again, a girly sound incongruous in the shabby surroundings. At Starsky's beckoning, she moved quietly over to the brunette and stared earnestly into his indigo blue eyes. As he winked at her, she reached a tiny hand up and smoothed her fingers gently across the cut on his forehead, her head on one side.
'Oh, yeah, I hurt myself' Starsky said quietly, entranced with this tiny creature, sinking into her large brown eyes. Those eyes strayed towards the brunette's chest and her small brow knitted together as she caught sight of the white dressing peeking out from the open neck of his shirt. Once again, she reached towards him, her fingers skimming the hairs on his chest, but this time, the curly haired man clutched her hands in his, terrified she would somehow hurt herself on the explosives. Her hands were cold and he felt her tremble slightly as he held her, but she didn't pull away from him. Instead, to his utter amazement, she leaned into him and rested her head against him, sighing deeply.
Starsky looked over her head to his blond partner, shrugging his shoulders.
'Looks like you've made a friend' Hutch said, squatting down next to the pair.
'What can I say' the brunette responded. 'I'm just a magnet for women!' he stood up, still holding the little girl's hand in his and together they crossed back to the doorway and back out into the corridor.
'Hey, Starsk' whispered the blond, 'Sorry buddy, but ya can't keep her', he nodded towards the tiny Chinese girl.
Starsky knelt down again, disengaging his hand. 'Sorry honey. I know ya go for the older man, but it'd never last' he said, still smiling. He was entranced with her. She smiled back at him as he stood back up and watched as both men made their way down the corridor, opening doors to either side and seeing rooms set up like the first two with mattresses and bedding everywhere. Altogether they counted over 50 beds in a space hardly bigger than an average American single storey home. The more they saw, the more incensed both became at the inhumanity these people were having to cope with.
At the end of the corridor, a slightly larger door opened into the factory and they were greeted by the sight of 50 or so Chinese men and women sitting behind sewing machines at 10.00 o'clock at night, sewing denim jeans as if their lives depended on it, piles of semi constructed garments lying in baskets and overflowing tables as seams were sewn and rivets punched into the fabric.
No one looked up as they entered the sweat shop, probably because over the noise of the machines and the loud music blaring from a cheap radio no one would be able to hear.
The two detectives stood at the top of the stairs leading down into the workroom and looked around for anyone who looked like they may be in charge. Eventually a small man with a work table nearest the door looked up from his sewing. Seeing the two white men in the room, he panicked and started gabbling something in a language the detectives took to be Mandarin. The little oriental was excited and was waving his arms about and shouting as they approached him.
Hutch shouted above the noise in the medium sized room. 'We're policemen' he flashed his shield, which the Chinese man seemed to recognise. 'Do you speak English?'
The little man nodded and motioned the blond to follow him out of the door and back into the corridor. Once there, and with the door closed behind him, they could hear better. Hutch tried again.
'Do you speak English?' he said slowly.
'A little' the Chinese man responded.
'Do you know a man called DeMaine? Is this his factory?'
'Mr DeMaine good man. He give job and bed' the little man said, bowing from his waist, bobbing his head up and down.
'Do you know where we can find him?'
The Chinese man shook his head. 'Mr DeMaine good man. He help us. You go now. I go back to work'. And with that, he bobbed his head once more and turned to go.
At that moment, the little girl ran back into the hallway and bounced along to where the three men were talking. She said something in Mandarin to the Chinese man, who answered shortly, then said something else. The little man's face became ugly as he shouted something at the little girl, and he pulled his hand back and struck her across her face, cannoning her into Starsky's leg, where she melted to the floor silent tears running down her face.
The brunette looked at the Chinese man as of he'd been hit himself, a look of such loathing on his face. Reaching down, he gently picked up the tiny body and handed her to Hutch as he rounded on the Chinese man.
'I don't know about China, but in America we do not beat little children' he spat, pointing his finger into the small man's face. 'Where's her Mother?'
'Mother dead. She here on her own' the little man said, obviously unaware he had done anything wrong.
The brunette looked at his partner questioningly as the little girl glanced between him and the big blond, her eyes still swimming in tears and a red welt appearing in her face.
'I can't leave her here, Hutch' Starsky pleaded, knowing Hutch felt the same. The child had such a way with her, Starsky couldn't bear the thought of her staying in this place all alone, with no comfort, nr friends and no family to look after her. His heart had melted.
'Know what ya mean, buddy, but what we gonna do with her. In case you forgot, we got one or two problems of our own to deal with?'
As Starsky was about to answer, a little voice said 'I see Mr DeMaine come here before'.
Both men looked at her as the Chinese man shouted something at her again. She ducked her head against Hutch's shoulder, shutting the man's sight away as Hutch and his partner made the same decision silently. Turning their backs on the ranting oriental, they left, clutching the little precious bundle, keeping her out of harm's way. The clock on the wall as they passed read 10.42