"Starsk, are you sure you're feeling up to this trip?" It was Friday morning and we were packing the Torino, getting ready to head to the mountains for a long weekend. This weekend away had been on our calendar for some time, and as it turned out the weeks leading up to it had been long and difficult; we'd never been more ready to escape from Bay City. We almost had to postpone it due to the big and very high profile case we were working. We really earned this time away and were looking forward to some canoeing, fishing, cooking our catch of the day and relaxing. Well, at least I was looking forward to all of that. My partner had honed in on the relaxing part.
Unfortunately, Starsky was still recovering from a severe whack to the head. The ER doc said he had a pretty serious concussion and kept him overnight Wednesday for observation. Since we already had Friday through Monday off, Dobey told him to stay home Thursday and rest up for the weekend. As anyone who knows Starsky could tell you, that didn't go over so well with my bull-headed, and thankfully hardheaded partner. The doctors released him from the hospital Thursday morning, and Starsky immediately started giving the Captain grief.
"But Cap'n, Hutch and I have reports to finish up. I'll just be sittin' all day typing. I can do that." Starsky argued as he rose from the wheelchair and walked the short distance to the car. He reached for the car door and obviously felt a moment of dizziness as he used the car as support to keep from falling.
"Starsky, if I see you in the squad room today you'll get an official reprimand!" Dobey yelled. "Got it?" Captain Dobey was at the hospital to see that Starsky was ready to be discharged. The apprehension of the criminal who caused this injury was big news, and Dobey was making himself available to the press as well, as a way of diverting them from my partner and me. Once we were gone, he would be giving a press conference along with the commissioner and the mayor regarding last night's activities and Starsky's condition.
Starsky winced at the yelling, his head obviously not yet ready for Dobey's bellow. "Okay, Cap. I'll stay home." The quick, brief reply and the clipped manner in which it was supplied said all there was to say about how Starsky was really feeling. He eased slowly in to the passenger seat of his car.
Wednesday night we apprehended Henry King, the suspect in a series of assaults of young, college-aged women, two of which ended in homicide. King was a dangerous criminal. The only weapon he had used so far to commit his crimes was his significant brawn and his own two hands.
We received an anonymous tip that King might be hiding out in an abandoned house on Green Street. We had been working long, fruitless hours; any and all tips were worthy of our attention. It was early Wednesday evening when Dobey called me with the information. Starsky had already dropped me off at Venice Place; I called to see if he'd made it home yet.
"Hello." He sounded tired. I knew how he felt.
"Hey, Starsk. Just got a call from Dobey. A tip on where King might be holed up." I gave him the address.
"You're closer. I'll meet ya there in ten." He sounded like it was the last thing he wanted to do and the most important all at once. This case had made its way to disturbing all too soon after the fourth assault resulted in the first death. The M.O. on the assaults screamed King from the beginning, although he had never taken any previous assaults this far. And the fact that he continued to elude police this time was bringing added pressure from the commissioner, the press and the public, as if the pressure from Dobey and our own consciences wasn't enough.
King had several convictions for assault, and had served time for them, but was currently out on parole. The fact that he'd never used a gun or a knife or other lethal weapon when committing these crimes always seemed to help him at sentencing time. When we caught him this time he would be put away for the rest of his life. We would make sure of that. The chance to catch this guy before heading off for the weekend would be a bonus.
I approached the area quietly and parked on a side street near 324 Green. Starsky rolled up on the other side of the road within moments. He must have broken every speed record to get there that fast.
"Okay, let's do it," my partner said as he approached. Starsky was ready to get this guy, and so was I.
"Dobey has black and whites securing the block. Even if he gets out of the house, King shouldn't be able to slip through this net." Starsky nodded in agreement. At that moment, Dobey drove up. He opened his window and handed me the warrant.
"I don't want any slip-ups. All nice and legal. No excessive force. Everything by the book. Got it?" He couldn't have been clearer.
"Yeah, Cap'n," Starsky replied. We understood the need to keep this one clean. We headed to the corner.
"I'll take the back," Starsky announced. He headed down the driveway, gun in hand. I walked to the front porch. I gave Starsky some time to get in position, and then pounded on the front door.
"King, open up! Police!" I knew he'd make an attempt to exit the building, and that would mean King would be heading toward Starsky. I kicked the door in quickly and entered the house. I was in the living room and there was a faint light coming from what I assumed was the kitchen, toward the rear of the house. It was the only light, and it barely provided enough illumination for me to see that I wasn't walking in to walls or furniture.
"King, the house is surrounded!" I yelled. "Give it up!" As I got to the doorway leading to the kitchen, I saw that the back door was wide open. He had, in fact, tried to make a run for it out the back. I hurried out to see what help I could be to my partner.
As I reached the bottom step of the back porch, I heard a struggle to my left. Starsky and King were going at it. And it looked like King had just gotten the upper hand, throwing a vicious right to Starsky's face, knocking him back hard against the brick wall of the house. From the minute I saw King pull his arm back and follow through with the punch, I felt like I was watching a slow motion replay of the hit, because I could see exactly what would happen next. And I could do nothing about it. Starsky was too close to the wall to take a hit with that force without slamming into it. I heard a hard smacking sound as Starsky's head connected with the wall, and I watched in dismay as his body folded, going limp as he ended up unconscious on the ground.
I fired my gun in the air. "That's it, King! Move and I'll shoot." He turned to look at me; he was clearly considering his options, just as two uniformed officers rounded the corner of the house, guns drawn. He was surrounded and he knew it.
"Get on the ground. Now!" I ordered. I gave Coleman and Wilcox a nod and they took care of King while I headed to my partner.
"Hey, call for an ambulance!" I yelled to them as they escorted King away.
I quickly made my way to Starsky. I could see he was unconscious; he was not moving and hadn't woken when I called to him. I dropped to my knees and reached to check his pulse. It seemed strong. His body had landed in what seemed an uncomfortable position, but I was afraid to move his legs for fear of causing further injury. I placed my jacket on the ground under his head, which was bleeding heavily. He groaned as I set his head gently on the jacket.
"Uuuh, Huutsch." Starsky was coming to, which had to be good. He looked pretty pale though and as he started to move I placed my hands on his chest and shoulder, stifling any further movement.
"Hold on, partner, where do you think you're going?" He stopped moving pretty quickly, the agony the head injury was causing him evident in the grimace on his face.
"Uh, nowhere. Oh, wha' happen'd?" He asked, grabbing for the back of his head. I took his hand and held it and said, "Hey, just hold tight for a minute. Ambulance should be here soon." I held on to his hand, hoping to keep him distracted from his injury; pulling his own bloody hand from his head wound would only have added anxiety to an already painful situation for my friend.
"I don't…oh, Hutch my head is killin' me. What'd I do?" I admit I was a little worried about these questions. Did he really not remember? I guessed he might have suffered a severe enough blow to affect his memory of the event. Hopefully that was the only negative result of this incident. And I hoped that was only temporary.
"You got in a fight with King, don't you remember?" He looked at me, concentrating on trying to remember, his eyes glassy and unfocused, looking confused. And the energy he was wasting on talking was probably not helping him either. I was really worried.
"Starsky, just relax. Don't worry about it. I'm sure it'll come back to you. Just close your eyes." He did just that, but now I was even more worried. The doctors like to keep people with a possible concussion awake, and keep waking them to make sure they were okay. I thought maybe I should try to keep him talking, so I decided a compromise was in order.
"Hey Starsk?" I asked. His eyes fluttered a little, he was under deep just that quickly. "Starsky, wake up a second." I spoke a little louder and my partner blinked a few more times and was awake. Only then did I notice the nasty welt on his cheek from the blow he took from King. The entire left side of his face was going to be a rainbow of bruising soon.
"Yeah, Hutch, whaddya need?" Need? Well, I needed my partner to be okay, which was the only thing I was interested in just then.
"Nothing, I just want you to stay with me until the paramedics arrive. Can ya do that for me?" He was really drowsy and I knew he wanted to sleep. But Starsky's a trouper and I don't know whether he recognized the need to stay awake for his own benefit or if he was just doing it because I asked, but his answer was typical Starsky.
"Sure, Hutch. I'm more tired than I've ever been, my head feels like ten tons of concrete is restin' on it and when I open my eyes everything's spinnin' around like a ferris wheel, but sure, I can stay awake."
"I don't want to put you out, pal. Why don't you close your eyes, if that helps, but I'm going to keep talking to you and I'm going to expect some responses, do ya hear me?" I heard Starsky's trademark giggle, faint though it was and abbreviated by a pained look as he winced from the throbbing in his head. I grabbed tighter to his hand as he gripped hard through the wave of pain.
"Mmm. Oh, I feel sick." He quickly leaned over and started to throw up. I pulled him over farther as he expelled what little he had in his stomach. It had been a long, rough day, and except for breakfast and a quick candy bar for Starsky we hadn't eaten the rest of the day. He seemed finished after just one round, and even that little bit of nausea started him sweating. It was a cool night, though, and he immediately started shivering as he lay back down on the ground.
"Just a couple more minutes, partner. The doctors will be lookin' at you in no time. Just hold on." I soothed as I rubbed his arms to try to warm him up. He looked at me with watery eyes, the added strain of the vomiting having done a job on his already severely aching head.
I'm sure he read the worry in my countenance and decided to try and lighten the atmosphere. "How do I look?" He grinned through the pain and got the result he sought – a smile from me. I love that my best friend has that power over me. I think he does this to me on purpose, to help me through these crises when he physically cannot. The signal it sends is all I need. It's that sign that says 'don't worry, it isn't life threatening. I'll be okay'.
Thankfully, I had heard the sirens while Starsky was being sick and the paramedics jogged toward us with the stretcher and equipment. They quickly worked him up and contacted the hospital and were on their way faster than I could have asked.
Despite my reservations about sticking with the plan to go away for the weekend, somehow my partner had managed to convince me that he would take it easy. Yet here he was, helping with the packing and really pissing me off.
"Hutch, I'm fine. Well, I will be fine if you'd stop hoverin'." Just as my stubborn partner said that, he suddenly dropped the bag of groceries he had in his hand in to the trunk of the Torino and leaned heavily on the back of the car, a wave of dizziness undercutting his false bravado.
"I might be hovering, but I'm telling you Starsky that if you don't go sit down in the car and rest right now then I'm calling off this trip." He stared at me, jaw firm and pushed out slightly. He knew I meant business, but Starsky can be obstinate, even when it's not good for his health. Especially when it's not good for his health. But since he wasn't going to have to back me up on the streets for four days, I could afford to be just as inflexible. We stared each other down a little longer, but Starsky folded first, no doubt the effort more than his tired body and mind were willing to bear.
"Okay, I don't wanna start this weekend off like this." It was a good sign. I was proud of my partner.
"Me neither, partner." He smiled, and so did I, and Starsky headed to sit in the car.
"Hurry up, will ya. We're wastin' good drive time." Starsky yelled back to me as he adjusted the seat back to a lounging position. I smiled, watching him get comfortable as I headed in to his apartment one last time for the remaining supplies for the weekend. While I was inside, I grabbed a pillow off of Starsky's bed. If he was going to sleep the whole way there, he might as well be as comfortable as possible.
I shut the trunk and climbed into the driver's seat, dropping the pillow on Starsky's lap. I think he was already sleeping, and he woke with a start, but covered it well. "What's this? I don't need this. I won't be sleeping, I'm gonna enjoy the scenery."
"Sure you will. Well, you can just prop it between you and the door, just in case." He gave me an irritated look, and stuffed the pillow just where I told him.
"Hey, let's stop for some coffee and donuts for the ride, huh?" Starsky asked.
"That's what you want today for breakfast? I thought maybe we'd get started and then stop for breakfast on the way." At least that way I could be assured of something a little more nutritious than my junk food loving partner had in mind.
"I'm hungry now." I wondered how his mother reacted to that pout when he was a kid. I wondered how she reacted now.
"Fine. We'll stop at Jake's Bakery. I guess you'll want two chocolate glazed donuts, right?" My partner was smiling happily, having gotten his way once again. It was the story of my life.
"And coffee." He added as he pressed his head to the pillow. It again did not take long for Starsky to fall asleep. He probably wasn't quite ready for this trip, but I decided to alter the plans for the weekend to make it as easy, stress-free and relaxing as possible for my healing friend. I took the added precautions of including the Monopoly game, cards, chess, some magazines and books just in case fishing and canoeing never made it on the agenda.
I came out of Jake's with a bag of donuts for my partner, a bagel for me, and two large cups of fresh squeezed orange juice. Starsky didn't need the caffeine, and it seemed unfair to have some if he wasn't having any. I downed a cup that morning before picking Starsky up anyway.
I shut my door and that woke Sleeping Beauty. "Where'd ya go?" My partner asked drowsily.
"Uh, donuts, Gordo?" That woke him right up. "And orange juice."
"Orange juice? Where's my coffee?" He looked so put upon.
"No coffee. Orange juice is good for you. It's fresh squeezed," I said helpfully. Fortunately, I had started the car and pulled away before my partner realized what had happened. That didn't stop him from complaining about it for the next ten minutes, in between bites of donut and swigs of juice, which he finished with no trouble.
"Hutch, ya know I didn't have time to make any coffee this morning. How'm I supposed to wake up today without my coffee?" My partner could be really dense sometimes.
"Starsk, you're not working today, you don't have to be anywhere that you need to be awake for, and most importantly, you need your rest. Don't worry about missing your coffee today. If you feel like you need it, you can have some at lunch." I think the warmth of the sun, the car's constant, comforting humming and Starsky's tiring of the conversation was all conspiring against him as he eased in to the pillow and fell asleep before I finished the last sentence.
We were heading to the same place we stayed after the Kohlman case. Even though we had an unfortunate experience the last time we stayed there, it was a nice place and since we weren't planning anything at all adventurous I decided it was worth another try. Of course, I cleared it with Starsky first, or I would never have heard the end of it.
Traffic was pretty light and I was making good time, although I was driving at a leisurely pace so as not to disturb my sleeping passenger. I looked to my partner, who was sleeping comfortably. I could tell it was getting close to lunchtime; it was my stomach that was growling for a change. But I didn't want to stop until Starsky woke; this sleep was surely helping him recuperate from that nasty head injury inflicted by King. Okay, that was going to be my last thought about work until Tuesday morning.
It was close to one in the afternoon when Starsky finally woke up. "Jeez, Hutch, why'd you let me sleep so long?" He wasn't really upset, but maybe just a little embarrassed.
"You needed it, buddy. How do you feel?" He looked better, although he was still not looking like he was feeling quite up to par.
"Okay. Feelin' just a little woozy." He leaned back against the pillow, closing his eyes to fight the dizzy feeling.
"Maybe you'd feel better if you ate something. It's almost one. Do you think you could eat something?" I was worried about this dizziness.
"Yeah, maybe we should try that," he replied. I think he was willing to try anything to feel better.
We pulled in to a rest stop with a restaurant that advertised, "Pancakes" across the entire length of the roof. There were lots of tractor-trailers parked in the lot, so we figured we could get something decent to eat there. Truck drivers always know the best places to eat.
Starsky had stayed awake for the drive to the rest stop, but still seemed to be fighting the dizziness. He walked without help to the restaurant, albeit with decidedly less Starsky strut than usual. I hoped that getting some food in him would help; it had been almost four hours since those donuts he downed for breakfast. And Starsky was used to a mid-morning snack, so I'm sure his body clock was telling him it was time to eat, even if his head and stomach were fighting against it.
"You think they serve breakfast all day here?" he asked. I had no doubt that they did.
"Sure. You thinking about pancakes?" I nodded up to the overly huge sign on the roof.
"Nah. Maybe some eggs and toast. My stomach's doin' somersaults right now. Don't think I could keep anything too sweet or too spicy down right now." He took his hand and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"Okay. Grab a seat, I'm gonna head to the john," I told my partner. I grabbed Starsky's neck and rubbed a little, noticing that he seemed pretty warm and the muscles in the back of his neck were stiff, a clear sign that his head was really bothering him. But being the stoic that he is, he preferred to keep that knowledge to himself.
As I finished in the men's room I came out and noticed my partner staring intently my way, and then saw the slight nod he made to his right. I looked left and saw two men with stockings covering their faces. One had a gun pointed at the waitress covering the register. The other was hovering nearby, glancing about at the people in the restaurant. The place was about half full, probably a normal sized crowd for one in the afternoon.
A split second faster reaction could have gotten me out of their eyesight, but timing was against me and the one with the gun saw me and immediately turned the gun in my direction. The gunman said, "Hey, you. Get over here with the rest of 'em." I started to put my hands up, to project that I would do what he said. Apparently he read it wrong and fired, the bullet piercing through my jacket and slicing through my left arm.
The impact propelled me back against the wall, just next to the door to the rest rooms. I felt a hot, burning pain in my arm, but could tell that it was only a flesh wound. But Starsky didn't know that. He jumped from his seat, the movement causing him to lose his balance a little. The punk standing behind the gunman must have thought that Starsky was coming for him, my partner's unsteadiness looking more like lurching their way. He double fisted a punch to Starsky's stomach, and when that made my partner fall forward, the bastard gave him a hard chop to the back of the neck. And that movement knocked him down; I wasn't sure if the hit knocked him out.
"Hey, what are you doing?" I yelled as I headed toward Starsky to check his condition.
"Stop right there or I'll shoot you, and I promise my aim will be better this time." I decided to just wait this out a few minutes. I didn't think these guys were here to kill anybody. Nobody was hurt too badly so far, I hoped, as I looked at my partner on the floor. He appeared to be breathing okay, but was otherwise disturbingly still. I thought maybe these guys would just take the money and run. The gunman yelled for the waitress to empty the cash in the register into a canvas bag, and then instructed all the customers to cough up their wallets and jewelry. People began slowly moving again, pulling out wallets and purses and placing them on the dining tables. Rings and watches also were placed out for the gunman's friend to collect. The guy who punched Starsky went to pull out his wallet, but found his shield and ID instead.
"Hey, this guy's a cop. He's a cop. What're we gonna do?" The man with the gun headed over, apparently realizing the possibility that Starsky would be armed. Just as he leaned down to check for my partner's weapon, Starsky had his gun pulled and aimed directly at the gunman's head. We were all fortunate this particular afternoon for several things. One, that these guys were not very swift, two, that the gunman had pretty slow reflexes, three, that Starsky had forgotten to stow his weapon in the trunk and four, that Starsky had perfected playing possum.
As my partner struggled to keep his aim and his gaze steady, the gunman decided it might be worth a try to raise his gun, but Starsky was having none of that. He nimbly kicked the guy in the groin, the gun at that point flying out of the bad guy's hand. His partner in crime tried to grab it as it skidded on the floor, but the distraction of my partner in control of the situation allowed a busboy to take a chair and crash it over the punk's head. That earned him a well deserved round of applause from the patrons.
I hurried over to Starsky. All this activity, the punches he had taken and the short-lived adrenaline high had sapped all of the energy he gained from all that good rest today.
"Hey, partner, are you okay?" He looked bad. He looked like he was ready to hurl. He looked up at me pleadingly and said, "Can ya get me to the john?" I pulled him up and told the waitress to call the police, and then grabbed my handcuffs and told the busboy to handcuff the two robbers together through one of the stools at the counter. He looked at me incredulously.
"We're cops. But we're out of our jurisdiction and we're on vacation. I'll be right back."
I took my partner to the restroom, where he heaved in to the toilet. I rubbed his neck, knowing this activity had to be hurting him; especially with the extra hit he took to the back of his head. But again, he finished pretty fast. I handed him a wet paper towel and he wiped his face and got up shakily, heading to the sink to rinse his mouth. He looked in the mirror and spotted the blood on my jacket.
"Hutch how's your arm? I forgot about it, tryin' to get those guys. Here, come lean against the sink and let me look." He grabbed my arm and started to pull my jacket off gently. I stopped him, as he didn't look like he would be standing too much longer.
"Hey, buddy, I'm okay. It's just a graze. The bullet went straight through." I pulled the jacket off the rest of the way and then the shirt to show him. That seemed to ease his mind, but it also seemed to take away his last reserves as he leaned up against the wall and started to fall to the floor. I held him up and took him out to a table to sit.
I asked the waitress for some coffee and scrambled eggs and toast for each of us. She left for the coffee right away, and delivered it quickly, explaining that the police were on their way. "Are you guys okay?" She asked worriedly. Starsky wasn't looking good, and it didn't help that his face was still covered in various shades of green, purple and yellow from that punch Wednesday night.
"We could use a doctor, but we need to eat first. And we'll have to make a statement to the police. Is there a hospital nearby?" I would just need the wound cleaned and bandaged and an antibiotic, maybe some stitches. I wasn't sure yet whether Starsky had been seriously hurt again, but he was going to see a doctor either way.
"Oh, my dad's a doctor and I called him. He said to send you right over as soon as you finished here." She smiled. She was a nice girl. "I'll go get your order."
"Thanks." I looked at Starsky across the table. Damn. He couldn't catch a break this week. He looked like he needed a month's worth of sleep to get back to fighting shape. I think he was avoiding direct eye contact with me on purpose, knowing that if he looked me in the eye I'd be able to read how much he was really hurting. But I didn't need eye contact for that. We've known each other a long time; I could tell how he felt just from watching him, how he was sitting, slouched in the chair, jaw and neck muscles tense, and not saying anything unless prompted. But before I could broach that subject, the police showed up. I got up to meet them, stopping briefly next to my partner.
"Be right back." I grasped his shoulder firmly and bent down so only he could hear and said, "I'll try to get us out of here as soon as possible." Starsky nodded, but didn't look up.
I went to speak with the highway patrol officers. The rest stop, it turned out, was their jurisdiction. I spoke with one of the troopers while the other took a look at the two perps. He proceeded to call for more back up and I walked to the other officer and pulled him aside.
"Look," I said, "I hate to call professional courtesy here, but my partner and I need to get a move on. We're on vacation, and we both need to see a doctor before heading out of the area. Can you take our statements here so we can get going?"
"I…I'm not sure Sergeant Hutchinson. I'm going to have to check on that for you." He was young and inexperienced and wouldn't have the authority to make that call. But it started him checking, which was all I wanted. I went back to eat my lunch, which had just been delivered to our table. As I sat down, I noticed Starsky had taken a couple of bites.
"How's the food?" I asked, smiling at him. He looked up with a forced grin and said, "I'd like to come back and try it some other day. You know, when I cared." He took another bite, but looked like he still had more to say.
"What is it, Starsk?" My question was meant to get some reaction from my partner so I could gauge any additional injury he may have sustained. He looked at me, shook his head and said, "What exactly is it about us and vacations? How come we can't manage one vacation without runnin' into criminals? Huh? I mean, I understand that we're gonna run into 'em on the job, I mean, that's our job. But on vacation? We can go a whole weekend without dealing with criminals. Why not on vacation? Hm? Can you explain that to me?"
I didn't know what to say. He was obviously upset about this and I couldn't blame him. We hadn't had good luck in the getting away to relax department for what seemed like years.
"It's not every vacation, Starsk. It just seems that way because, well, it has been the last three or four. I don't know, I guess we'd have to call it an extremely unlucky streak. Good thing we weren't going to Vegas, huh?" I thought the humor might help the tension, but in the end it was just Starsky's weariness that did in the conversation. His response to the Vegas comment was another simple nod of the head, and then he took another bite of his eggs. I wolfed mine down pretty quickly and headed outside to find the officers who had responded, who had since taken the two suspects out to a couple of cruisers.
I walked up to the most senior looking officer. "Hey, what's going on? I'm Detective Sergeant Hutchinson. My partner and I were involved with the incident here. We'd like to get going over to the doctor to have my arm and my partner looked at. Can we go?" I knew that wouldn't go over very well, but this was taking a little too long for my taste.
"Sergeant Hutchinson, I'm Officer John Downey. I just got off the horn with HQ. They said we could take you and your partner's statements out here in the field. Do you want to head inside and get this over with?" Finally, some action.
We went inside and I gave my statement to Officer Downey while Starsky gave his to one of the other officers. In about twenty-five minutes we were headed out the door, having stopped to get the waitress to give us directions to her father's office.
I was getting tired and we still had about two hours of driving to get us to the lodge. I pulled in to the doctor's parking lot and got out of the car. I noticed my partner was not attempting to follow. I'm sure he was just sick of the thought of seeing another doctor. I walked to his side of the car and opened the door.
"Come on, Starsk. Out. You have to be checked out, and I need my arm treated. I'm sure we'll be in and out in no time." And I actually was pretty sure about that. Starsky hadn't seemed too much the worse for the two hits he took today. But it was better that we were sure about that before heading out to the far reaches of the Sierra Nevadas.
My partner dragged himself out of the car and walked in to the doctor's office with me. It was a small general practice office and I think that made Starsky feel a little more at ease. It wasn't as antiseptic as hospitals can be.
Dr. Martin looked at Starsky first, checking his stomach and chest area first and finding nothing to be too worried about. Just some light bruising. He asked about the bruises on Starsky's face. We explained our encounter with King a couple of nights ago. It was a case that was regionally well known; if we hadn't caught King it might shortly have made its way to national attention.
The doctor then spent a fair amount of time doing a neurological exam on Starsky. After about twenty minutes he came away satisfied that Starsky would continue recovering well from the concussion previously sustained and that he didn't show any further evidence of injury other than having one more ache that needed rest. The doctor gave him a prescription for a light sedative for sleeping, as the aches he was recovering from might keep him from falling asleep and he explained for what seemed like the thousandth time in our lives that rest was the best cure for his current list of ailments. But he also re-emphasized the symptoms to watch for after a concussion, a list that I'm sure we both had memorized.
It was then my turn for Dr. Martin's ministrations. He cleaned and stitched the wound, and then put on a topical antibiotic followed by a clean dressing. He said as gunshot wounds go, this was the most pleasant one he'd ever had to deal with. Apparently, most of the gunshot wounds in this area are from hunting accidents and end up fairly messy. He gave me a shot of antibiotics and a prescription for more and told both of us to use Tylenol for pain when we needed it.
We were on the road and heading for the cabin forty-five minutes after entering the doctor's office and picking up the prescriptions. The short and relatively painless visit seemed to lift my partner's spirits more than I could have hoped, and despite the fact that he had to be tired as hell, he stayed awake and kept the conversation lively as we finished our drive to the cabin.
Despite how our weekend started, it turned out to be a satisfying time away for both of us. I hadn't seen Starsky so enthusiastic at the end of a vacation in a long time.
"Hutch, that was the best vacation we've had in years." My partner's recuperative powers were a sight to behold. He had helped me with the last trip up to my place with stuff from his car and was heading over to the refrigerator for some beer. We were expected in at eight o'clock sharp the next morning, and the weekend seemed to be just the ticket to get us both ready to go back to work.
"Glad to hear it, Gordo. Grab me one, too." Except for the barely visible bruise on his face there would be no way to tell how beaten up he'd been at the end of last week.
"Hey, so what do you think Dobey will have us working on first this week? Getting more witnesses to tighten up the King case for the D.A. or what?" It was barely seven o'clock Monday night, and I really wasn't interested in discussing work yet.
"Look, Starsk, I promised myself when we left Friday for this trip that I wouldn't think about work again until Tuesday. How about helping me out here?" I pleaded, getting a smile from my partner.
"Well, I don't know Blintz, whaddya call our little side trip for lunch on Friday?"
"I would call it the beginning of the end of our bad luck. But it wasn't really work. We were just in the wrong place at the wrong time and I'd just as soon forget about it." And just as I said that, the phone rang. I grabbed for it from the couch.
"Yeah, Hutchinson." It was Dobey. This couldn't be good; after all, he was going to see us in about twelve hours. As I listened to what Dobey had to say, I could tell that I was projecting negative vibes, as my intuitive partner began to sense that something bad was going down.
"What?" His eyes questioned, not requiring words. I nodded, letting him know that he would soon be aware of the bad news.
"Do you want us in now?" I asked, knowing the answer even before asking the question.
Starsky saw the answer on my face; he was just waiting patiently for me to verbalize it. I hung up the phone and looked at my partner.
"What's up? What'd Dobey say? He's callin' us in, right?" He looked as upset as I felt. I didn't know any other way to say it, so I just said it.
"King escaped."
Continue to Part II...