And If You Wrong Us Do We not Revenge?

Chapter 12

His residual anger had to find an outlet and the Range seemed like as good a place as anywhere to expel it. With earpieces on and the wire stall around him he was pleased to have a physical barrier separating from the other two men who were on the range when he had walked in. Not that it was likely that they would make an attempt to approach him – he doubted that would find him approachable with the intensity he was carrying around. It was even weighing his own shoulders down. The double load of waning fury and creeping guilt.

Damn Riley to hell and back. The kid had fucking provoked him – pushed and pushed until he got what he should have gotten a long time ago – a taste of his wrath that he had held in check for too long since that fateful night at the beach house. Well it was done now and Riley had a souvenir from him for his efforts, no doubt right now he would be nursing one hell of a swollen jaw and loose teeth – something to remember what happens when you drive a point just a little too far with someone who doesn't want to see the point. Let alone have their face pushed into it by some smart ass kid who hadn't learned how to keep his thoughts to himself.

He had it up to his eyeballs with people trying to analyze him, walk around in his head, work out the whys and the hows of his recent behavior. Freakin' shrink, doctors, the IA, Dobey - and Hutch of course.

Hutch most of all because in the end it was always Hutch who liked to try and get inside his head and find out things that even he didn't know were lurking there. Hutch of course he was used to - the others he simply had to tolerate in order to do what was necessary to get his badge back. But Riley for Christ sake! Seemed that everyone had become an expert on what was making him tick the way he was ticking after Ryan laid his filthy hands on him.

And Riley had stepped way over the red line today. Pushing his nose into his and Hutch's partnership, trying to tell him how Hutch must be feeling and thinking. As if he knew Hutch better than he - his own partner knew him.

Damn kid was lucky he got away with what he got away with and that he didn't in fact break his jaw and cheekbone.

He turned to reload his gun and adjust his earmuffs and took a moment to look down at his grazed knuckles. The sullied flesh was the mark of his transgression, the evidence of his guilt. Now that he had stopped shooting he could see the tremor in the bruised and dominant hand and pressed it firmly against his stomach for a few moments to contain the shaking.

Despite his agitation or maybe because of it – he knew he was performing in top form. He didn't even need to see the thick paper target perforations to know that he hitting pay dirt with almost every shot.

Not that it surprised him. He had always known that he did better workouts in the gym and better shooting trials when he came laden up with excessive negative energy to dispel.

Adjusting his legs he returned to his preferred shooting stance and brought the gun up again, his hand steadier now that he had the cool metal to wrap it around and the familiar feedback of the weight of the firearm in his grasp. In the distance a fresh target had popped up and he brought it into his sight.

The silhouette was dark against the white background. Two sets in and his mind was only just starting to settle, the crippling tension only now easing away. When he had first walked onto the Range, the scene in the locker room and Riley was foremost in his mind. And now – with the fresh, clean target ahead of him he eyed it with calculating reserve. This time when he released the trigger guard and pulled back the hammer the black silhouette morphed into a tall rangy form with dark – almost black hair. It was too far away of course to see his eyes, but as the first shot of the new set thundered out into the void to find its target, Starsky liked to think that the black eyes would be looking right at him. He imagined how those dark eyes would open wide in surprise when he knew it was too late to move and would then close shut in reflexive shock the moment when the bullet shattered his chest.

Starsky emptied out his chamber and only then let himself suck in a breath and wipe the trickle of sweat from his furrowed brow. For the first time in hours he felt better. Some calm had been restored; some sense of righting had been done. He rubbed at the now tender heel of his left hand where the repeated kick back of the gun butt had made it's mark felt and thought about the philosophy of shooting at a paper silhouette of a man. There was something to be said for practicing a skill – albeit a violent one – for clearing his head of mental shit and gratifying his growing hunger for completion of a goal.

Today his aim was true and his form was better than it had been in a long while. Starsky wondered about that.

Wondered about motivations and drives, about closing circles and rebalancing dues. Wondered about targets that were not made of paper but bone and flesh, that were 3D and not 2D, that bled and writhed instead of tearing and ripping open and flapping in the breeze.

Today, this moment, he thought about how much he needed 3D dreams to take care of 3D nightmares that would never leave him alone.

Lately if he was honest these quandaries had occupied his head too much and too often to be healthy.

The thoughts had made him stronger for sure, brought him back from the pits of despair and self-disgust at what he had allowed Ryan do to him. He understood what was happening for him, he understood this since those long drawn out sessions with the female shrink. Revenge amplified and fortified his strength – it gave him direction and fuelled his reserves.

Strength for sure, power and endurance, a bottomless pit of reserve – but at a price.

For revenge, even the conceptualization of it, let alone the act of it, was highly self-destructive.

It shaped his moods into hot fury and cold antipathy and transformed him into something he wasn't sure even he could tolerate for much longer – let alone those closest to him.

Let alone Hutch.

He knew that too.

He just had to find a way to get the timing right and make sure that he used revenge to accomplish what he needed to do.

Before it used him up completely.

Before in turn the cancerous growth of it made him use up everyone he cared about completely.

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Hutch stood to the side of the shooting stalls and waited. He'd been watching and waiting for a while now but it gave him some time to think.

He needed that time.

He needed to convince himself that his worries were all for nothing and that he was way off on his suspicion.

He needed to reassure himself that his partner, who was right now heavily engrossed in decimating the central chest region of the silhouette, was not involved in any way in what he had recently walked away from in the precinct garage.

The second half of his first shift in Robbery had been quieter than the morning had promised and in the late of the afternoon when there had been a hiatus in call outs it seemed safe enough to sign off and hand over to the next rotation. A quick call through to his own squad room proved that Starsky had already called it quits for the day too and remembering that he had mentioned the idea of the Range earlier on, a call to the desk verified that Starsky had only just arrived at the Range himself. Hutch had begged a lift with one of the other officers winging his way home and the two of them had walked down together to the garage to his personal vehicle.

In the near distance he had spotted the familiar figure of Riley as he was unlocking a rust bucket of a car which was fit to rival his own.

Hutch had a quiet smile to himself about the fact this was tangible proof for Starsky that people other than himself chose to drive around in metal disasters. Somehow though he suspected the mechanical eyesore might be more a product of Riley's financial situation and not his preferred choice .

He had walked toward him meaning to ask him about the car and signaled to Rick, the cop beside him that he would only be a moment.

Riley had seen him – or at least he had thought so. So when Riley pulled open his car door and all but leapt in behind the wheel he had quickened his pace toward the car calling out to him as he did.

Confused now because there was no way that Riley could not have heard his shout if not seen him, he was baffled why he hadn't turned around to greet him.

Riley had already closed the car door when Hutch had reached the car and was standing by the open window with what he knew was perplexity on his face.

"Riley! It's me – didn't you see me? What's with the big rush? Late for a hot date or something?" He had leaned down into the open window with a conspiratorial grin in place.

Riley had remained elusive. His head was turned to the side, as he appeared busy rummaging in the console for something.

"Riley?"

Riley had turned slowly, a handkerchief held up across the lower part of his face that was facing away from the window. It was obvious that he was trying to conceal something.

"Hutch. Hi – no I did hear you but – but – geez I'm running so late that if I don't get going I will be – I'll be in real trouble."

"OK – sorry, just thought I'd say hello and thanks for the drink and the talk last night. I appreciate your concern – but –"

He lost his train of thought when Riley grimaced in pain at his own ministrations. "Hey? What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No – no. Just late that's all. Gotta' fly."

"What's with the handkerchief – your face? Are you ok?"

"Yeah – yeah. Nothing. It's really nothing."

"What's really nothing? You've got blood there – I can see it on the handkerchief. You have a run in with a perp or what?"

It was then, as though the game was up that Riley dropped the cloth he held to his lower face and turned partly toward Hutch.

"Look I'm really late Hutch. I'll catch you soon – I need to get to this meeting and –"

"You don't need to get to a meeting Riley, you need to go home and ice that jaw up. What the hell! Look at it. You are going to have one hell of a swollen jaw tomorrow kid. You really took a slug hard by the looks of it. Did you get the perp in the end? Hope you wrote this up in your report. Dobey needs to know about this. You let him know? You might even need tomorrow off if that swells up too much. Lose any teeth?"

"Hutch it's fine ok. Just leave it. I need to go."

Riley turned the key and the car groaned, stuttered and rumbled but the engine refused to start.

Perhaps he wanted to go – to make the exit as soon as possible, but like his own ill-fated cars with an added emphasis on the plural, his engine refused to kick over.

By this stage Rick who had been standing off to the side waiting had sauntered over with a look of vague interest on his face.

"Car trouble over here?"

Riley tried again but all he got was a weak splutter and strangled choke of engine.

Now Hutch and the other officer were standing by the window and Hutch noted that Riley was every shade off red imaginable.

"Riley – I hate to be the one to break it to you, but your pride and joy sounds flat as a tack. You want some help looking under the hood? You want to call your road help company? "

"No."

"No? Just like that – No? Then what? You just sit in this garage and keep ramming down on the clutch and twisting the ignition until it's completely flat? You need some ice on the jaw Riley. Why not lock it up and come with us? Rick can drop you somewhere near your place – maybe you can get a cab home from there? I haven't got my own car or I'd drop you myself."

"No! It'll turn eventually. Always does."

It was when he had turned to face them full on that Rick just as Hutch had done, demonstrated his shock at Riley's face by letting out a low whistle.

"Man! Look at that jaw. Ouch. Someone sure landed one on you. Must be hurting that's for sure. Who gave you that little present?"

Hutch noted that his comment seemed to be the limit for Riley who grimaced – probably more in pain, but with some frustration also and turned away to pump the clutch and turn the ignition even more furiously than he had been doing. It was clear that Riley wanted out of there and or at least was not prepared to share the story of how his face had come to look like it had just been slammed by a steel door.

This time the engine took and Riley revved it so heavily and with such desperation that Hutch wondered what was really the issue – the malfunctioning car or his face.

"Ok – well I'll catch you soon Hutch ok?"

"Sure – but, Riley? You sure you're ok to drive. You seem more than a little unsteady there? Your head feel ok? That sure is some blow. Did you black out at all?"

"Come on will you Hutch. Enough with the questions. I'm not your partner anymore alright? I'm responsible for my own shit – I can handle my own stuff. I'm out of here."

And then he was.

In a trail of thick trail blazing smoke and heavy oil laden pollutant.

Hutch stood nonplussed at how out of character Riley had just been. Totally out of sorts with himself and with Hutch.

Rick was standing beside his own car when Hutch walked back toward him.

The two gave each other something of a knowing look.

The other cop grunted lightly.

"Well he couldn't get out of here fast enough. Something to hide do you reckon? Scared maybe? "

Hutch was still looking at the bomb of a car as it turned out onto the main road and his vague response belied the true concern that was already creeping into his guts.

"Yeah – maybe. Maybe he's just young and his first big slug from a perp on the job shook him up more than we remember how it did to us. He's still pretty green after all and still just a kid Rick."

The older cop merely shrugged. "Well I guess you know him better than me. Still he'd do well to learn to open up a bit when some dick in an alley beats him up – can't just keep it to himself if he's gonna survive for long in this shit of a job. Need your support backup back up in the squad room if you're gonna keep going back more of the same. It sure won't be the first smack in the face he gets in the line of duty."

And of course that was crux of Hutch's concern.

If Riley had been slugged on the job then why wasn't he sitting up in the office with an icepack and some solicitous offers for the ubiquitous bottle of aspirin? Why trail blaze out of the garage as though he should deal with the injury himself? Where had his partner been when he got assaulted?

"Hey Hutch, you coming dream head or just gonna stand there and look at the ground. You want a lift then jump in - You want me to drop you at the Range right?"

Hutch shook himself and climbed in. "That'd be great. I can bum a lift for home from there with Starsky – he's down getting in some practice."

"Ol' sharpshooter Starsky getting in some practice? From what I remember of lefty back in the Academy he was a hotshot then and still is – don't reckon he'd need practice."

Nor did Hutch for that matter.

He chose however to keep that to himself.

"Being off for a while I guess he wants to get back into the feel of it."

"How is he? Heard he went through hell on some damn undercover drug job?"

Hutch was grateful for Rick's broad comment even though he was certain that the rumor mills would have churned out far more detailed fodder than was covered in the word "hell".

"Oh – getting there. Getting there."

And that much was true – Starsky was getting "there". Hutch just wished he knew where "there" was exactly and, if the stirrings in his gut about Riley had any validity to them, then Starsky was further from "there" than they both realized.

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The cessation of cracking gunfire conversely broke the chain on his inner musings.

Strangely it was the quiet that seemed loud and almost harsh to his ears after a full ten minutes of standing deep in thought with the thunder of multiple shots firing not more than twenty feet from him.

Starsky was the last man on the Range and now deafening silence rang in Hutch's ears.

He waited for his partner to lower his gun and to turn around and see him.

It seemed important to remain quiet, wait and watch. He wanted to be totally still and observant to read whatever was going to be on his partner's face when he first looked at him.

Then he would know. That was the only proof he would need, the only measurement he would go by. He wouldn't even need to look at his friend's left hand to know. Starsky's expressions were the best way for Hutch to read him and he had been doing it well for years now.

Starsky turned, did a quick double take when he saw him and looked down too quickly. He knew too, he had also been reading expressions and no doubt Starsky could clearly see what was written on Hutch's troubled face. No secrets when they could look at each other. They knew each other that well, that perfectly.

Within a second Starsky lifted his head and met the evaluation head on.

"You get off earlier than you thought or did you do a runner? First day weigh in heavier than you expected?"

"I didn't do a runner but you got it right. First day back has been more than I expected. How about you? By the way you've been pumping out those shells partner, you sure look a little het up."

Something has made him look like that. Like he has just purged himself of some terrible pent up load by shooting the crap out of some cardboard cutouts.

There is something in his eyes – a look that hasn't been there for a long while.

Hutch knew it was the representation of guilt and he also recognized how Starsky immediately moved into questioning mode to take the focus off himself.

"You been watchin' for long?"

"Long enough to see that you don't need any more trips down here for target practice. Glad you're on my side buddy. Wouldn't much want to be on the receiving end of that weapon with an aim like you're showing off at the moment."

Starsky had pulled off the ear protectors and picked up his notebook and keys from inside the stall and had walked back toward Hutch.

"Can never have too much practice. Didn't we get that rammed down our necks during our Rookie training? Just aim to keep getting better. Ain't that what we were told?"

"Sure, but there's no denying that you've shot the hell of those targets so looks like those weeks away didn't do any harm to your gun skills. You did what – must have been more than three sets? That's a fair amount when you've been wounded and laid up. How's your hand holding up with the reverberation?"

Did he ask the question purely to get Starsky to bring his left into better view? In that moment Hutch knew he almost didn't want to look more closely and see what he strongly suspected he would see.

So he didn't and instead kept his eyes on Starsky's face, watching for the instant he looked uncomfortable with any reference to his hand.

"It's fine. No tingling…."

He shrugged but didn't look down at his hand but instead bent down to start packing up the two guns and the ammunition cases.

"So you wanna cut out, go home? Someone drop you here?"

"Yeah pegged a ride with one of the guys from Robbery."

Hutch moved forward when he knew it was inevitable. Any second now he would get a clear look. Starsky was juggling with the guns, extra ammo and his jacket and notebook. Hutch held out his hands and waited for Starsky to do the same as he offered up some of the load.

"Here – give me the ammo and the book to carry."

And Starsky did just that.

And then the blatant evidence was staring Hutch in the face as he somehow knew it would be. For hadn't he already seen the evidence in the eyes and the tight line of Starsky's mouth?

Guilt on his face and blood on his hands.

Dried and crusted in the small fissures of his cracked and swollen knuckles.

The fact that Hutch chose to say nothing at that point made Starsky look even more uncomfortable. As though he was twisting in his own disquiet as he watched Hutch appraise the damage to his fist and simply put it aside.

Not until they were in the Torino and headed for Venice did Hutch address what he would normally have mentioned as soon as he had seen the damage to Starsky's knuckles.

"Must have been tough holding that gun for that long with that swollen fist."

"Done it plenty enough times over the years when we have to. You know what it's like – don't notice it once you've got your mind on the target or you're trying to shoot your way out of a hell hole."

"True – but you didn't need to shoot anything today. You were just practicing. Needed the feel of that gun in your hand Starsky? Needed the buzz? Didn't get enough of what you needed from whoever it was you laid into with your fist? "

Hutch could feel the electricity sparking up inside of the car, could see in Starsky's profile the tic in his throat and cheek, could hear the uptake of both of their breaths as they readied themselves. Again. For more of what Hutch would have liked to have thought they were through with doing to each other. Tearing and picking at small shreds until it gave way to ripping great pieces off each other.

And yet he wasn't strong enough to stop himself from picking away at the corner of Starsky's defenses until he opened him up enough to find out why.

And yet Starsky still held out. Breathing more obviously but still holding out. No doubt he was as tired as Hutch was of the same war-games between them.

"Target practice fills a need - yeah for sure."

"And so? You didn't manage to get your need filled with your busted up knuckles?"

"What's the question here Hutch? It ain't like you've never seen me with a fist that's been cracked open before. And visa versa. More times than we can remember I'd say. "

"More times than we can both remember, you're right. But I don't remember seeing you with a busted hand like that from driving a desk all day. Where between me seeing you this morning and then this afternoon did you do the number on your hand? What did you do Starsky – have a round with the typewriter? The desk? Dobey push you just that bit too hard with the backlog of paper work? You decide to lay one on our Captain?"

A silence hung in the air for the time it took for Hutch to forcibly calm himself. He heard the curse beneath Starsky's breath just before he felt the car swerve toward a wider shoulder of the road.

Starsky jerked the hand brake on with enough force to leave the stationary car rocking and then turned to Hutch.

"You gonna lay it on the line Hutch or are we gonna dance around for a few more rounds? I'm fuckin' tired of this shit, I can sure tell you that."

"You and me both buddy. So let's cut to the chase. Did you get those spilt knuckles from letting loose at Riley sometime this afternoon?"

A grunt of something approximating disgust and disbelief stuttered from Starsky's mouth.

"He tell you that? Well he sure works fast I'll give the kid that."

"He didn't tell me a thing. Ran into him in the garage and he was trying his best to avoid me. Something about the fact that he was doing that was a dead giveaway. One look at your left hand doesn't leave much room for doubt."

"Yep – burned like a bitch for the first half hour. Too late to ice it up now though."

The smart ass glibness grated on Hutch.

"That all you've got to fucking say? You smash Riley in the face and that is all you've got to say?"

"Had my reasons. He wouldn't have got one in the jaw if he'd kept his opinions to himself."

"So only you can have opinions of others? That right? Is that how it is now?"

"You weren't there Hutch – it was just between the two of us. He's a big boy. He can handle himself. He chooses to go around pushing people's buttons, he's gotta be prepared to take the fall."

"Whatever he said surely didn't warrant that you slug him in the face. This is me Starsky, me – I know how easily you let the left fist fly."

"Told you he pushed. You know I don't like to be pushed."

Hutch nodded slowly and looked straight ahead at the street, not trusting his own rising temper.

"No you don't like to be pushed."

Hutch had the door open before he even realized he was doing it.

"What ya doin? This is a busy road. You wanna get smeared all over the blacktop?"

"I think I'll walk the rest of the way."

"Now ya' just bein' stupid. Calm down. It's at least five miles to Venice from here. Close the damn door will ya?"

"I"ll catch you tomorrow. Go put some salve on your knuckles."

"Hutch!"

However the tall blond form was already navigating his way across the strip, weaving his way through the slowly moving late afternoon traffic and Starsky's frustrated call was lost in the drone of a car engines and beeping horns.

Too late he slammed his hand down hard on the steering wheel and cursed again as fresh pain fired across his tender hand and up his forearm .

"Ah Shit!"

Not caring that he risked a near sideswipe he bullied the flow of cars until he sandwiched the Torino back into stream of traffic.

He barely noticed the earful of horns he got in response.

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Beneath lashes thick with dark mascara, she took a long sweeping look at him. Her gaze ran appreciatively over his tall muscled physique and openly admired the aesthetics of his angled face and dark hair. Like just about any other female she was so easily captivated by his physical attributes and smooth confidence.

"Sorry what was the reason again that you said you'd be needing the apartment for the short-term rental? I'm sure of course that you mentioned it when you first phoned up to enquire about our listings."

"I didn't."

He had turned to face her now, pulling his attention away from his view from the apartment's window and the cold disdain in his eyes for her was like a slap in the face. The flirtatious poise she had effected instantly faltered.

"Oh – well – I thought – that -"

He waited for her to wither just a little beneath his bored look and took satisfaction as the color rose in her neck and up into her cheeks. She tucked her overly styled hair nervously behind her ear, twisted a little on her ridiculously high stilettos and smoothed her skirt down almost subconsciously.

It amused him how quickly women could have their chic personas dismantled when he chose to treat them in this manner, to give them the look he knew he wore now on his face.

"You thought what?"

She had driven up to the property for their appointment in her gleaming European car and his first glance at her as she stepped prettily out of the car and glided sleekly toward him told him all he needed to know about her.

Within the first few minutes of introducing herself to him it was not difficult to see that she was giving out all the signals that she was interested in him. He had her summed her up before she had even extended her business card to him, held in one elegant, bejeweled hand. She was no doubt used to rubbing shoulders with the higher echelons of the city's property magnates and by virtue that her professional life intersected their personal ones this woman considered herself elite.

Pretentious. Fake. Opportunistic.

Toffee nosed slut with her fashion gloss and flawless makeup.

As if he would be remotely interested in her. Still it was always fun to go through the steps of reeling women like her in then cutting the line with a cruel flourish. He'd enjoyed the beginnings of watching her begin to flounder. A bit pathetic really, because he had barely had the chance to begin before she showed signs of crumbling.

"I didn't think anything - what I mean is that I didn't mean to say - it's just that, we generally like to know a little about your background, your needs for the property, so that we can - "

He cut her off with a slicing action.

"I need an apartment not a relationship. You don't need to know anything about my background or my personal life – just what I am looking for in a property. That is all you need to know. If you don't want my business than don't waste my time."

"Of course – of course Mr. …ah Mr. Copeland. That's perfectly understandable."

He liked watching her color up again as she hastily retrieved the name he had given her from her clipboard, the memory of it so easily forgotten with the unease he had caused her.

"And – of course I am more than happy to assist you with your search for a suitable apartment. "

"Good – we are on the same page now. Let's hope you can stay there. Now is this apartment available because it suits my requirements and I would like to take the lease as of the next day or so."

"I think this listing is available immediately and it comes as you see it, fully furnished. I can call you later today with the exact details of the lease and maybe you can come by the office in the morning to arrange the paperwork. That is, if it suits you to do that of course."

"Call me on the number provided and we can get the matter settled. I'd like to take possession by tomorrow evening."

Bored with her and bored with the little game Ryan strolled toward the door to leave her standing in the center of the room, her cheeks still flushed and her initial glamour a puddle on the floor.

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