Only If His Eyes are Blue
Chapter 25
For close on an hour Hutch had hovered near the main entrance of the house waiting for some sort of signal from Joey's guard at the front gate. Another of Joey's men was stationed near the house itself, his two-way radio crackling and buzzing as he kept abreast with any action or signal that might show that their quarry had fronted. Pete Bradshaw who had expressed to Dobey his wish to remain involved with the case ever since he had been brought into it after the bust on Calvetti's home, and one uniform cop were inside the house with Hutch. Bradshaw was doing his best to absorb the ever-increasing tension in his colleague who seemed to be spiraling toward some sort of pinnacle, some endpoint of tolerance and containment.
Bradshaw felt his own anxiety mounting.
"Come on, try to relax. He'll be here Ken. He'll front. Joey threw down the ultimatum to him. From what we know of his obsession with Starsky and the caliber of the business relationship between him and Joey…it's highly likely that he will show his face before the night is out. He really can't afford not to."
"And if doesn't…and he goes under too deep for us to find him, crosses the border - shit, skips the fucking country? What if this isn't enough to drag him in and I lose him?"
"He's not going to do that Ken. There's no indication that he suspects Joey has blown him, no indication that he suspects anything. He'll be here. The sick bastard will be here so he can see Starsky again."
"Christ I hope you're right Pete. I want him. I want him tonight, right now. I need to …"
"Ken! I know…I understand. We all understand. I know you think …" Bradshaw knew they were both remembering how Hutch had latched out at him during the interrogation of Calvetti's guard." "Look I know you think I don't get what you're going through, but - "
"Pete – its not that I think that – hell its just…I need to do this...for me. For Starsky."
The two cops shared a long look and there passed between them unspoken words of heavy intent.
Leave the words unspoken Ken. Don't tell me what you need to do with Calvetti. Don't say them. I don't want to hear them – I can't hear them. You're a cop and so am I.
Hutch pulled back from dangerous ground, grateful for the other cop's perceptive interpretation. His lips closed tight over utterances that they both knew he wanted to make. He would keep the words inside but he couldn't do the same with the wrath that was straining to be released.
He went back to his ceaseless pacing of the front rooms of the big house and made his way down the corridor to the room where Starsky had been held. The room where he intended to wait for Calvetti - if and when he showed up.
Even standing just inside of the room was more than he could bear.
His eyes were drawn to the bed, the bed where Starsky had been lying when he found him. It featured there in the center of the room, a representation of his partner's ordeal; undisturbed from how it had been left when the medics had taken Starsky away hours ago. The crumpled bed sheets were pulled aside, the tousled blankets were strewn haphazardly across its narrow width, and the thin pillow, its case stained by dried blood, still seemed to hold the indentation of Starsky's head.
Like a fucking altar!
An altar where his partner lay brutalized and vulnerable – offered up to a depraved and merciless personality whose crazed mind was filled with ideas of complete ownership, complete dominance of Starsky's strong and resilient personality.
Hutch didn't want to look at it - the bed, the soiled linen, the room in its entirety. It was all anathema to him. It was all evidence of Starsky's captivity and pain. It was all evidence of what he had been unable to prevent from happening to Starsky.
It was all evidence of what he owed the man he was waiting for.
I owe you so much Calvetti... I owe you such much pain and suffering.
The debt lay heavy and sickening in his heart and guts.
Hutch wanted so desperately to pay him back and turned his mind away from the inner voice of conflict, the constraint of justice.
As he stood looking into the room, Hutch thought about justice and its many forms.
"And how do you decide who is corrupt and deserving of your own form of justice?"
…Calvetti's words to Starsky, emblazoned in his memory…the sounds and the images, would they be in his head forever? Could he ever erase them? Would hurting Calvetti erase them, even help to erase them? Would… killing Calvetti erase them completely?
He was still thinking about it when Bradshaw entered the room behind him. He startled, as though Bradshaw had just read his thoughts and had found him culpable for something he had not yet even begun. Something that his subconscious and body had been contemplating ever since he had sat in Huggy's small side office and watched the monstrosity that was Calvetti inflicting untold misery and pain upon Starsky.
"He's here! Calvetti has fronted. He's at the gate now. Joey's man is about to go out to get him and supposedly bring him in here to Starsky's room for his last visit.…he's just waiting on your word."
Bradshaw paused carefully and looked directly at Hutch's face.
"This is your call Ken. How do you want to do it? You want to nab him when he gets inside the house or….."
"No. Let him think he's going to see Starsky. Let them bring him down to this room. I'll take him here when he comes in. I want to be able to see his face Pete – I want to be the one to tell him that it's all over for him. Let me have this Pete. OK? You knew I would want it like this."
"Yeah I knew. You going to be ok with this? With Calvetti? "
Hutch hesitated for only a moment before dipping his hand into his back pocket and pulling out the small leather holder that contained his badge. With a similar quick fluid movement he removed his gun and held both out to Bradshaw.
The other cop looked down at the gun and badge and back up at Hutch.
"This doesn't change anything for you, you realize that? Handing me these doesn't change a thing, you have to remember that."
"To me it does. Take them both. I'm here now as a friend and a partner, not as a cop. I think we understand each other. You can give them back to me later – your decision Pete."
"That's a hell of a lot to ask of me."
"I would have preferred it didn't happen this way - didn't leave you pushed into a corner - but that is how it played out. I'm sorry."
"OK…OK…but I want to be able to hand these back to you when you leave this room Ken. I don't want to be left holding these …."
Hutch said nothing more just turned and made his way to the hard backed chair in the corner of the room.
" Get Joey's men to frisk him properly before he enters the house. Tell them to show him in and wait outside. That goes for you too Pete. I'm asking you that much. Wait outside and don't come in. I don't want you in here...unless..."
"Unless what? What do you want me to do here Ken?"
"I just want you to leave us alone and not come back into this room. Not until this is …..finished."
Bradshaw cursed softly, looked down at the other man's gun and badge in his hands, but then finally just nodded.
"Alright. I 'll give the signal to let him in. But Ken…. remember Starsky is waiting back at that hospital and when he comes to after surgery, he's going to be expecting to see you sitting there beside him. You want to be able to do that don't you? Keep that thought in your mind when we let Calvetti into that room."
With that Bradshaw was gone. He walked toward the entrance to give Joey's man his instructions and to move himself and the uniform out of sight.
He remembered the absolute intention on Hutchinson's face when he had handed him his badge and gun. As he and the other officer took their positions to the side of the entrance, he wondered whether his own words about Starsky waiting would be enough to sway that intention.
For both of their sakes he hoped so.
SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH
The low wattage bulb afforded only the gloomiest light in the shadowed room but Hutch's eyes had adjusted to it as he sat waiting. In contrast to the weak low energy lighting, his own electrical system was on overdrive, every nerve in his body was alive and firing.
When the man entered the dim room from the brightly lit corridor, the door closing firmly behind him, it was obvious that he was struggling to accommodate his vision to the contrast.
It gave Hutch a precious opportunity to take his first look at Calvetti in an unguarded moment. He wouldn't have been surprised if his sudden sharp intake of breath was the first thing that alerted Calvetti to his presence. The well-dressed and stiffly held Calvetti swung his head from the empty bed to the corner of the room from where he had located the sound. Hutch was waiting for the moment when it dawned upon him – when he realized what he had walked in upon.
"Hello Calvetti. It's really very late but I waited up for you."
The slick composure slipped just a fraction as the scarred face looked about the room once more as if doubting his own perception. In the shadowed light Hutch thought he might have discerned a look of shock. He wanted to think so. He wanted to shock Calvetti - shock him hard.
"David is gone. He's…? Is he…?"
Hutch flinched at the implied hesitancy. Was he asking whether Starsky was dead?
"Is he what Calvetti? Say it… Go on ask the question. Please. I want to hear you ask me."
Calvetti seemed to relax marginally at Hutch's demanding tone.
"So this is all a complete set up. You've taken him."
Hutch unfolded his long body carefully, almost slowly as he rose to a stand and move a few steps closer to the shadowed man.
Calvetti stood his ground.
"No – you were asking me a question. When you first came in and saw the bed empty… you got a shock. You were trying to ask me whether Starsky was …..what was it Calvetti? What were you going to say?"
"Alright. You want to play your game Detective. You want to put me on the defensive? Joey informed me that David was in a critical condition. Obviously that was all a fabrication on his behalf so that he could conspire with you to get me to come here. Was that just a lie to get me here or is there some truth in the statement?"
"You tell me what condition you think my partner might be in right now Calvetti. Go on. I'm sure you must have some idea. After all it was you who left him here many hours ago nearly beaten to death. Had you forgotten that you had left him like that Calvetti?"
"No Detective…I am not one who forgets anything. I remember everything about David – he is a special subject, a very special subject. I would have liked more time with him. One more opportunity to –"
Of its own accord his hand snaked out and grabbed Calvetti by his shirtfront.
" He is not your 'Subject' you fucking freak. He is a person, he is my partner. My partner you fucking hear me you motherfucking bastard! You nearly killed him. You beat him and tortured him and tried to break him down mentally. He's long gone from this nightmare – far away from here and far away from you. You will never, NEVER, get the opportunity as you call it, to see or talk to him, much less lay your filthy hands on him again. "
"I have my memories of the challenges he posed for me. He was a worthy subject, a strong and willful subject. My memories and my experiences – they will always be with me."
Both men had adjusted enough to the muted light for them to read each other's expressions. Ice cold blue lasers stared wildly at the skewed face – one half almost calmly composed against the onslaught of the frigid stare, the other contorted and twisted into a caricature of evilness.
"Memories? Of course you do Calvetti! Your memories get a boost every time you let your disturbed mind watch the footage you filmed of what you did to him. You like watching that shit over and over don't you Calvetti? Gives your soft cock a thrill doesn't it?"
Calvetti gave a small sneering smirk.
"Ah - obviously my employees are not so faithful after all. I am learning that no one is to be trusted. That is how you tracked me here isn't it? Through Reed? I asked him to secure the tapes and films for me. So did you enjoy what you saw Detective? Did you like watching your partner with me? How did it make you feel Hutchinson, to see him so overpowered, so controlled?"
Hutch increased his twisting grip on Calvetti's shirtfront and collar, bringing his face in so close to the other man's he could see the striations and the silver puckers in the ravaged scars. He could hear his own labored breathing as he fought to quell the increasing tension in his muscles and chest.
"Don't mistake physical abuse for control and overpowering Calvetti. You would never control Starsky. That is why you became so obsessed with him. You could beat him and hurt him while he was in a captive situation, weakened and compromised. But that is not control. Yes I saw the footage. I saw some of what you and your creeps did to him. But in any of it there was no control of Starsky by you. Making someone bleed and suffer doesn't mean you have control over their mind."
"Ah – then you mustn't have seen the wonderful heart rendering scenes where I informed him that you and the police department assumed he was dead. I gravely told him that you believed him to be burned to a cinder when a body closely resembling his had been planted in his torched car. "
"You did what? You – you fabricated some – some bullshit story about him showing up dead? Starsky wouldn't have bought that – he just wouldn't."
Hutch's shallow breathing became quicker, louder and his strangled voice was strained and stuttering. Rigidity and tension in his forearms was becoming almost painful – his hands squeezing and twisting the fabric of Calvetti's shirt till the friction burned his fingertips. With almost morbid objectivity Hutch watched as the color in Calvetti's face began to change to a purplish hue, his oxygen supply cut off my the stranglehold on his collar. Still Calvetti did not attempt to move.
Hutch loosened his grip marginally to free his burning fingers. Calvetti coughed lightly and only then did he pull back away from the relentless grip. In a deft movement Hutch changed his hand position and hold on the man from his neck to his shoulder.
"You're wrong, very wrong Hutchinson. It wasn't difficult to convince him when he was so much already under my control. I had him pushed into a tight box where everything seemed insurmountable. It really was quite tragic to watch your partner give into his despair. When one takes away all of another's hope, it becomes easier to control that person."
For a moment Hutch looked into the near distance and closed his eyes against in anguish. His soft words were bereft and emotional.
"He thought I wasn't coming to get him. That I'd given up – accepted that he had gone…"
Calvetti smiled knowingly – pleased to have hit the spot where it hurt the blond the most.
Hutch attention snapped back to the man in his grasp.
"You made him think that I'd given up. You made him think there was no hope for him at all – that he was all alone."
"Yes, when he finally comprehended that you had given up looking for him, that you had thrown in the search or the hope of finding him, it was a beautiful example of me controlling the way he reacted and dealt with such personal loss. He realized that you thought he was dead – and it had a huge impact on him."
Calvetti's words were like an accelerant to an already blazing fire.
Hutch felt his own internal rage combusting, igniting.
He had tried very hard.
Jesus I have been trying so hard since he first walked into the room.
Had he not fought against it with incredible resistance?
Had he not focused on Pete Bradshaw's parting words about Starsky waking up in hospital and expecting him to be there – be there beside him – not elsewhere – not in a cell?
He had been holding on with the last vestiges of his fragmenting reserves.
Holding on and managing. Exercising restraint. Limit setting. Upholding justice as was his job as a cop.
He had been managing to simply talk – just talk. Civilized talk to a sociopathic ruffian in a designer suit. To try just a little to understand this barbaric animal who had chosen his partner as an object to hurt and to maim.
But breathing through the rage was no longer a winning technique and nor was imagery of Starsky waking in the hospital to an empty chair. Other imagery was winning and it was far more powerful and far more gut wrenching. The imagery of Starsky's brutalized body, imagery of Calvetti's calculated torture of Starsky, images and sounds of Calvetti's taunts and threats as Starsky lay broken on the floor beneath him.
Brutalized Starsky.
Technicolor imagery.
Cinematic horror.
The imagery advanced - brighter, louder and closer. It mingled now with Calvetti's last provocation. A provocation certainly, but the truth also.
Hutch believed Calvetti's story of Starsky's fabricated death. He knew that Starsky would have been left stripped bare of all hope. Convinced that his partner had given up and believed him dead.
Calvetti's lies would have cut Starsky to the core two fold. Once to realize that Hutch was never going to save him from his hell and then a second time when he knew how much pain his partner would be going through when he believed it was his murdered body that had been found. To be left wounded, hurting and then grieving like that must have been enough to break Starsky's spirit completely.
Calvetti was correct.
He had won total control over his partner – psychologically and physically.
Calvetti used his one good eye to look directly into Hutch's appalled face, seizing the moment to drive home a victory.
" Do you know I do believe he cried when he thought you would no longer be looking and searching for him, when he believed that even you had given up on him?"
In his arms, starting from his shoulders and moving down through his upper arms and forearms, the tightness in his muscles grew – contracting, flexing, sliding on bone and pulling across joints. Physiologically of course he was not aware of it, but his body was sensing it, sensing its preparedness to use the machinery of his well oiled physical components to drive his limbs forward, his body forward, propelling his closed fist forward with sudden violent momentum.
In an upward arc his fist flew, poised perfectly for a targeted landing on the underside of Calvetti's jaw. The sound was unmistakable as bone and tight flesh met flesh and rigid jawbone – the crack and then the resounding snap of the head flying back and away from the neck. All over in an instant, so quickly, so powerfully effective at wreaking damage.
Calvetti's head snapped up and away but his body stayed more or less still – the impact that should have knocked him off his feet was useless against the stronghold that Hutch had on his other shoulder and neck. Holding him in place and before he had a chance to pivot and fall away from the blow, Hutch came at him again with a second even more ruthless blow, lower this time and hard into his lower belly. Short, sharp and vicious, he delivered two better-placed gut punches before Calvetti grunted and rolled away from the death grip that Hutch had relinquished for a second while he repositioned his stance.
Calvetti had fallen slightly to the side, sliding part way down the wall and glaring maniacally, almost curiously at Hutch with his one good eye.
Blood was trickling from his mouth and as he swiped casually at it he sneered.
"Didn't like to hear that about David did you Detective? Didn't like to hear that I could control David – hurt him and make him beg for mercy? He did you know? He cried that he wanted to go home? Do you know that? I could hear it clearly on the tape? Watched it over and –"
The words were knocked from his mouth literally as Hutch smashed his now bleeding fist into the distorted scarred mouth and nose with a full front on close - ranged blow. The taunting words stopped instantly to be replaced by a spurt of bright blood and a gurgling bubble of mucous blood from Calvetti's disjointed nose.
"I broke your fuckin' nose you fucking asshole. You motherfucking asshole. I'll smash every tooth in your head too if you don't shut your fucking dickhole of a mouth! You say his name one more time, one more time….I will rip your fucking tongue out of your scarred up face! You freak! You freak show! I should kill you for what you did to him. I want to kill you! Make me kill you – make me! Make me fucking KILL YOU! "
Calvetti snorted with contemptuous laughter and the effect had Hutch pulling back marginally on his tight grip of the flailing body. The lurid spectacle of a smashed up, scarred and twisted face, spurting blood and laughing diverted Hutch's attention for the split second it took for Calvetti to act.
Suddenly he was back on his feet, lightly and athletically springing to a steadier position. Hutch sucked in his breath – he should have known – should have realized that Calvetti had more than this to offer him. He had allowed Hutch to take the upper hand – he had seduced him into thinking he could easily overpower him with just brutish violence and vengeance.
Calvetti fought back now with his own arsenal – and his was a far more eloquent and choreographed act of personal combat. Instead of defending himself against Hutch it would seem that Calvetti had bided his time savoring the moment when Hutch was partly exhausted from his savage opening attack.
In a smooth fluidic action Calvetti's hand found Hutch's shoulder and neck and the intense burning needles of pain radiating down Hutch's arm had him swearing and dropping his right fist to his side. Calvetti brought his leg up high and the blow to Hutch's liver was pure excruciation. The pain of the contact and the need to double over to protect his tender center gave Calvetti open slather to chop down hard on the back of Hutch's exposed neck.
On the cold floor now, Hutch curled up to avoid the blow he knew was coming from Calvetti's sharp boot. At the last moment he rolled away and managed to push himself into a half sitting position. When Calvetti struck out again with a shout and curse, Hutch hooked his leg and brought him tumbling down beside him.
Too tired and too breathless for words now, their concentration focused entirely on attack and defence, the pair grappled and fought, rolled and pushed, pulled and stretched – Calvetti using different fighting tactics to those Hutch practised. Hutch found himself doubling his efforts of his entire repertoire of wrestling and street fighting to control the half faced monster who sneered and cursed him in breathy gusts while he delivered blows to have Hutch howling in agony.
Part of Hutch knew that Bradshaw was outside the door – he wasn't sure whether he had really heard him or if in fact it was the roaring in his ear from the last blow that Calvetti had landed across his ear. He didn't want Bradshaw or the other cop in here until this was done.
It would be done – it had to be. There was not one part of him that could allow Calvetti to walk out of this room with a look of victory on his misshapen face – victory for what he done to Starsky. He had to make Calvetti know that he would suffer as he had made Starsky suffer. Because he had made Starsky suffer.
Another blow rang through his ear and the resounding slapping sound was followed by Calvetti choking laugh as blood bubbled freely from his smashed in mouth. He labored over the words but he got them out.
"And... so now... Detective? Tell me. Do you - think ... you're stronger than me?"
Hutch heard the words but in his mind he saw the image and heard the other similar words directed at the bleeding mess of his partner on the floor of the small studio….
"Answer my question….David. Do you think you're stronger than me? Does it look like you're strong now?
It was enough for him. Enough to not only find the last reserves in his battered body but to call up fresh rage, fresh hatred and razor teethed vengeance.
Rolling over the top of the taunting, imperious man, Hutch made the transition to a secure straddle. He expertly encased Calvetti's wrists in a vice with a still strong left arm and hand while he simultaneously brought his bleeding right fist down with an almost primeval cry. The force of the blow was fuelled now by a deep, animal instinct - the human side of him lost to its dominance. Control slipped entirely from his grasp.
The hidden reserve had come from seemingly nowhere but Hutch knew it was always there, the part of him he had held in check. The part of him that he couldn't let loose in this room because it could mean that he had used his own brand of justice. A justice that went beyond the code of his being a cop.
But hearing him say those last words – almost the same words he had used against Starsky, broke the defenses down.
"I'm sorry Starsk…I'm sorry…but I can't let him have done that to you…."
He knew he was crying now – loud sobs as he continued with the blows, each one weaker than the last, but still finding a body of grunting, moaning flesh in which to bury his throbbing bleeding fist.
The face was no longer his target – so covered in slippery blood and mucous that his hand slid off with contact, he moved down lower to strike at the firm muscle bound chest and belly of the man who was now only barely conscious.
Energy levels were draining away rapidly – leaving him shaking and cold – but the body under him was still alive…. and his own body still with just enough drive to finish this job….
"Until this is finished...don't come back into this room until this is finished..."
His words to Bradshaw - words he meant.
And then the images invaded him again – the images of what he saw in the film with Calvetti and Starsky.
"Fucking get out of my head! I don't want to have to remember what he did to you Starsk! I want it to stop playing in my head! Make it stop now…"
He was crying in earnest now, and he couldn't be sure he wasn't crying the words out loud.
But Starsky voice from the film footage pushed its way through his own thoughts and words.
"Do you feel proud of what you do and believe you are an asset to the law enforcement system David?"
"I do my best, win some lose some and yeah I'm proud of what I do every day. I could ask you the same question. Are you proud of what you do? Proud of what you're doin' now?"
The raised trembling fist stopped in its descent. Hutch looked at it midway to its target and then looked at the target. The monster beneath him, the monster that had done so much damage to them both.
"Are you proud of what you do? Proud of what you're doin' now?"
He could hear his partner's question as though Starsky was beseeching him.
No Starsk! No…but I'm doing it for you. I have to do it for you don't you see? Don't you see? Don't you understand?
With a shuddering sob he sat back on his haunches and held his torn and throbbing fist in his left hand. Somehow, with muscles quivering and shaking from total exhaustion, he moved off the body and crawled painstakingly toward the wall where he fell heavily against its cool rigid support.
Consciousness was wavering for him as the shock entered and the adrenalin drained from his pain filled, bruised body. In the background, from the middle of the room, Calvetti's tortured breaths were almost in time with his own staccato gasps.
He slumped listlessly to the side and unintentionally his focus landed once more on the empty bed where only hours earlier he had found his friend – the friend and partner he had feared he had lost. Lost so soon after he had got him back from Marcus' people.
"I stopped Starsky. I stopped before….. I won't give Calvetti the satisfaction of taking me away from you again. I keep losing you Starsky. You are never safe...Why can't I keep you safe? ...Marcus, now Calvetti... I want to be there Starsky. I want to be in the chair beside the bed when you wake up. Nowhere else. Just there. I'll be there…I promise you."
Time passed. He could not be sure how much time had gone by because his dulled brain was capable of only measuring pain and distressed emotion. The rational cop side of him told him that it could not have been too long. Not too long because Bradshaw wouldn't have let time slip by when he no longer heard sounds emanating from inside the room in case…..in case….
"In case what?"
He thought he had been asking himself, but obviously not as Bradshaw's face swam into his vision and the other cop's firm grip came to steady his slumped and bleeding head.
"In case what Ken?"
"Oh... its you… well…in case …" He knew he sounded punch drunk and incoherent, but he needed to say it. Needed to express it to the other man.
" In case... I didn't remember to be proud of what I do…like Starsky asked me. In case …in case…I didn't decide that the most important thing was to be there for him when he woke up in hospital... You understand Pete?"
"Yeah…I think I do. You're a bit bloodied up here Ken, a bit bent out of shape. You might well be needing a hospital bed yourself you know that?"
"No. No. I'm stronger than him. Stronger than Calvetti. He said I wasn't…said Starsky wasn't. But we are. We are."
He nodded his head over at the softly groaning heap on the floor, the defeated form of Calvetti still lying in the center of the room where the fight had finally subsided.
Hutch shook his head gingerly and then clamped together his bleeding lips at the resultant knives of pain. He could feel himself starting to wake up more minute by minute while the room began to gradually come into focus.
Bradshaw's words were taking on more meaning and more intent.
"He's going to need an ambulance Ken. I've already called for it. Same goes for you. The two of you really went at it. I left you like I promised I would. I nearly busted in …but then I heard you stop. Figured you worked it out for yourself."
Sitting up a little higher, using Bradshaw's arm as a brace, Hutch tried to smile at what the other man had said.
"I have you to thank for that Pete. What you said about the hospital and Starsky…Look, shit…I know I am half punch drunk here, but let me get this out will you? I'm sorry about how I went off at you about not understanding how I felt about partners ….sounding off at you when I should have shut my mouth. You've proved you understand. I asked a lot of you tonight. I hope not too much."
He looked over at Calvetti who showed signs of coming more awake and more active in his movements. The other cop was standing by him.
Hutch thought of the concept of justice again - but in was all a swirling confusion in his clouded, throbbing head.
"There'll be some questions Pete…. questions for both of us about what went on here tonight. We could have taken him at the door, soon as he came in. You let me…do what I needed to do...I asked this of you…perhaps I should have thought more about how this might affect you."
Bradshaw shook his head.
"The man on the floor there? He's nothing but low shit scum. He's maimed and tortured so many and killed too - more than we probably will know. A sadist and a one-man freak show. He's also a cop's worst enemy because he messed with one of our brothers. He messed Starsky up. That's bad enough for other cops - but for you - . That's really tough going. You're only human Ken. Only human and humane. You have loyalty, trust and love for your partner. There's not a cop involved in this case who wouldn't see it like that."
"Thank you Pete…I really… I really mean that…still…"
"And for Christ Sakes, look at what that bastard did to you will you! You're a walking advertisement for how deranged he really is. One look at you and I don't think the IA will have too many questions. You didn't even draw your gun on the asshole – you could have shot him down cold, but you didn't…if you really wanted to kill him you would have had him point blank when he walked in the door. Why would you take this hard way to kill him when one shot would have taken him out?"
Hutch just gave him a long slow look as Bradshaw held out Hutch's badge. Hutch let it sit in his palm; it weathered and worn edges almost a balm to his aching hand. He looked at Pete's hands almost expecting him to have the magnum waiting for him also.
"My gun?"
"I'll keep it for now in case. …There are any questions. I will say that I found it on the floor in the corner where it must have skidded away during the fight. Better than trying to explain why you didn't have it on your person when Calvetti came in. It's unlikely that it will come up...but Calvetti's prints are all over it ...perhaps while he was trying to wrestle it off you."
Hutch gave him a quizzical look.
Bradshaw simply shrugged.
"Wasn't hard to do when he was out for the count..."
"Pete…you don't have to….Besides there are too many holes - great big ones- all through that story. Like where were you while I was being attacked by Calvetti? "
"Listen. Enough talking. No one is going to be looking at this, trust me. You're just too close to it right now and thinking it out from too many angles. You don't even know what you're saying you're that confused and that beaten up. And Calvetti? That walking horror show? He's not dead, last time I checked anyway. Roughed up some but not dead. You pulled back Ken, you pulled back and that is the most important thing here."
"I have to be honest Pete...it was fucking hard to do - to pull back. Your words about Starsky got me through."
"Hey don't sell yourself short. You know Starsky better than any one. You know how he thinks and how he'd feel if you went down for Calvetti's death. I just fed you the line to keep it foremost in your mind. Now, I think the ambulance is here. Do you know its nearly dawn? Need to get you checked over, patched up quick and back to the hospital. Last time I checked in with Dobey, Starsky was still in the OR…but I know you'll want to be back there before –"
Hutch tried to make a smile but his busted lip protested.
"You got it Pete. Before he wakes up."
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