Chapter 6

The detectives froze where they stood, Hutch's arm half way up to the handle of the cupboard. Slowly he put it down again and looked over his shoulder at the other man. Richardson looked almost as bad as Starsky did. His dark hair was a grey tangle of dust and bits of plaster and stone and his face was covered down one side in blood from a cut on his head. His left arm seemed to hang uselessly by his side but the right hand still held the AK47, which was once again pointing directly at the cops.

Starsky had heard the gun and was now trying to decide what was going on. He'd felt his partner freeze and then the movement as the big blond had turned slightly.

'Hutch, who's there?' he asked cautiously.

'Richardson. They guy with the gun from the corridor' Hutch explained, seeing the still blank look in his friend's eyes. Starsky was knitting his brows in concentration, trying to get a mental picture of his assailant, but still coming up blank.

Richardson was looking from one man to the other. He took a faltering step forward, then stopped with a gasp. Hutch saw the enormous splinter of wood sticking out of the gun man's left leg and the blood down his trousers. Obviously the goon had had just about as much good luck as they'd had. Richardson was waving the gun at them again.

'What's in the cupboards?' he asked, looking from one detective to the other.

'Medical supplies' the blond volunteered. 'I think we all need 'em at this point, don't you?'

The tall man took another hesitant painful step into the room and leaned against the small medical table there which amazingly was still upright and in its place, but dirty and dusty.

'Either of you know anything about medical stuff?' he asked.

Hutch considered carefully. Should he lie and hope their assailant would try to doctor himself, or should he just come clean and hope there was some way to overpower the man while Hutch was treating him. He decided on the latter course of action.

He nodded. 'Some' he said slowly, realising where this was going to go.

Still pointing the gun at the two partners, Richardson started 'OK. Here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna get the stuff together, then you're gonna help me patch this leg up, then I can get you back to Mr Ford'.

Starsky looked in Richardson's general direction. 'You're kidding, right? After all this you're still gonna keep to Ford's job? Where's Shepherd?'

The gun man licked his dry lips. 'Dead. I think they all are. As I came back into the reception hall I saw Faraday and DaSousa fall from the top of the steps. McKay was already dead under one of the pillars that had fallen. I think Shepherd must have been with him'.

'But ya don't know' the brunette pushed.

'Look, just shut it about Shepherd. Like I said, just patch me up an' I'll get us out, OK?' he waved the gun threateningly at them.

Hutch rattled the chain on the manacles at him. 'Ya want to get us out of these first?' he asked, hopefully.

Richardson sneered at him 'I may be hurt, but I wasn't born yesterday! They stay on. An' if ya don't do a good job, he gets it' he pointed at Starsky. It was obvious the gunman meant business and both detectives realised that in their current state, even two on one, they'd be lucky to win a fight.

'Just who's he talking about?' Starsky asked. He hadn't seen the movement, but had heard the threat.

'Give ya two guesses partner' Hutch said quietly, never taking his eyes off the gunman.

'Terrific!' the brunette again wiped his right hand over his eyes. He of necessity followed his partner round the room, manacled together as they were, as Hutch started delving into the cupboards. They were amazingly well stocked and within minutes he had sachets of water, a metal dish, gauze and tape, along with a pair of metal forceps. The place was stocked almost as well as an ER and once again Hutch was left wondering just what the hotel owners expected their clients to get up to during their stay. The brunette heard the stifled gasps at Hutch reached his arm up and knew that the 'stiff and sore' explanation and the 'little nick' were his partner's way of telling him he was hurting badly. He felt powerless in his darkness and hoped Hutch had a plan to deal with the gunman, and some way to communicate it to him.

Turning to Richardson, he pointed at the table. 'Dust that off then lie down' he said.

'What? Why?'

'Because I need to see that leg up close, an' I can't do that while you're standing up. Now dust it off and lie down'. The blonde's voice rose angrily. He was getting weaker himself and knew if he didn't try to get his partner and himself sorted out, there was very little chance any of them would get out of this on once piece. He was desperate not to show the gunman just how badly he was hurt although it would take a blind idiot not to notice the blood soaked shirt and jeans, and he also hoped that Richardson hadn't realised that Starsky couldn't see.

Slowly, their captor did as he was told, brushing the debris from the table onto the floor and wiping the surface down with the sleeve of his jacket. It was far from clean, but Hutch really didn't care too much about infections at that point. The tall man eased himself up onto the bed and lay back, levelling his gun at Starsky and resting the end of the barrel on the detective's flat stomach.

With a sigh Hutch tore open the gunman's trousers around the site of the splinter, eliciting a welcome gasp from the gunman. However, there was also a gasp from his partner and he looked up sharply. Starsky's face registered a brief flash of pain as the barrel of the gun ground into his abdomen.

'Did I forget to mention? You hurt me an' I hurt him. Got it?' Richardson ground out.

'Yeah, I got it' Hutch muttered wishing he could lock eyes with his partner. It was disconcerting to look directly into those indigo orbs and not have the instant connexion he was used to. He was hurting more and more and twice in the past couple of minutes he'd felt as though he was going to pass out. He screwed up his eyes and concentrated. Starsky at this point was staring at the floor, getting his breath back under control.

He looked down again at the wood sticking out of Richardson's leg. 'Look, there's no local around here, so its gonna hurt, no matter what I do. But you hurt my partner one more time an' I'll make sure you never walk on this goddamned leg ever again. Do we have an understanding here?'

The man on the table nodded slowly, realising he was more in this blond man's hands than he'd appreciated. 'Fine. Just get on with it' he grunted.

Hutch leaned heavily against the table as another wave of weakness washed over him. Carefully he reached out his right, manacled hand, trying to pick up the forceps. The metal around his wrist was so tight, however that he couldn't get a proper hold. He shook his head.

'Will ya take these damned things off me so that I can do this' he yelled in anger.

Richardson realised the trouble the blond was having and looked almost apologetic. 'Out of my control, sorry. The keys are out there, under the marble pillar with McKay. Deal with it!'

The blond shook his head in disbelief, then transferred the metal implement to his left hand. It felt awkward and clumsy as he took a hold of the piece of wood. He stopped a moment and put a wad of gauze into Starsky's hand, guiding it towards the other mans leg.

'Starsk, there's a piece of wood I need to pull out then it's probably gonna bleed a lot. When I say, push that against there, OK?'

The brunette grunted a reply and once again Hutch got hold of the enormous splinter. 'Brace yourself' he told Richardson, then counted backward from three and pulled.

The man on the table let out a strangled cry and Hutch yelped as the sudden movement sent another shock wave through his injured side. 'Now!' he gasped as he saw his partner jam the gauze pad against the hole left by the wood. As he looked, Richardson's eyes started to roll up, but the man was tougher than Hutch had anticipated and he heaved a deep breath and stared the blond down.

'You enjoyed that' he grunted, grinding the rifle into Starsky's stomach again. The brunette winced but bit back the gasp and continued to push the gauze against Richardson's leg. The defiance and anger shone from the sightless eyes and if they hadn't been in such a difficult position, Hutch might have chuckled at the typical Starsky attitude. Whatever you did at the brunette, his hot headedness and stubbornness always shone through. Seeing the brief flash of defiance gave the blond a renewed sense of purpose. He looked at the bloody hole in the gunmans leg and his partner valiantly holding the gauze across it, despite the deadly weapon lodged in his stomach. He reached for the tape and used it to tape the dressing in place and then staggered back from the table. He'd hoped that the pain would make the man pass out and they could then overpower him. He'd have to try something else and he cast about desperately looking for another plan. His eyes fell on the gunman's limp left arm and suddenly he had it. Pushing down the pain and weakness he felt, he stumbled around the table and started to examine the arm. As he suspected it was dislocated at the shoulder.

'That must hurt like hell' he said, with a certain degree of satisfaction. 'I can fix it for you'. He took hold of the arm and tried to move it. Richardson yelped in pain and pushed the blond away with the butt of his gun.

'Leave it' he shouted.

'If I leave it you'll loose all use in it' Hutch lied, hoping the man would believe him. 'I can make it right for you. Won't take a minute?' he didn't mention it would hurt like hell and hopefully knock Richardson unconscious.

The gunman looked uneasy, weighing up his options. This flaxen haired cop and sorted his leg out. Should he trust him again? The thought of loosing use of his arm forever and the excruciating pain it was causing him at that moment made his mind up and he nodded.

'OK. Do it' he grunted.

'OK, do exactly as I say, or it won't work. And you need to trust me. Do we have a deal?' Hutch asked, hoping he could remember from his med. school days how to do this. Not that he really needed to help the gun man, he just needed to give him enough legitimate pain to have him incapacitated.

Richardson nodded. Hutch position him so that he was lying on his back on the table, and stood Starsky on Richardson's right, uninjured side facing him. The brunette allowed himslef to be manhandled into position without arguemnt, seeming to understand that Hutch had another plan up his sleeve. Hutch looked frantically around, finding a couple of towels. Clumsily because of the manacles, he tied them together then he slid them under Richardson's body, and wrapped one end around his chest so that both ends of the cloth met below his armpit. He had Starsky pull on both ends firmly like handles. Hutch positioned himself next to the dislocated shoulder, facing the gunman. Working though the procedure in his head, he bent the elbow of the left arm so that the fingertips were pointing skyward and the arm was at a 90-degree angle from the rigid body. He saw the fear and pain in Richardson's eyes and hardened his heart. Even though he hated this man intenseley, it was against the big blonde's nature to hurt someone intentionally.

He had Starsky pull gently but firmly on the bent elbow, pulling the shoulder away from Richardson's body while maintaining the forearm at a 90-degree angle from the body. He gently rotated the arm on the shoulder joint as Richardson was trying to throw a baseball and moved the arm slowly back and forth maintaining steady tension. He saw the grimace of pain on the tall man's face and quickly he pulled and pushed one final time, feeling relief as the shoulder slid back into place. With a blood curdling yell, Richardson bucked convulsively on the table one final time, then went quite limp as the pain of the procedure took its toll.

Forcing himself on now that he'd achieved his objective, Hutch pushed Richardson's body off the table, then took off his belt from his jeans and wrapped it around the unconscious mans hands, binding them behind his back. Satisfied that if and when Richardson awoke he wouldn't be going anywhere, the blond sat back with a groan as he felt his partner put his arm around his shoulders.

'Hutch, that 'little nick' ya talked about. It ain't little is it?' the brunette's voice held concern as he felt the body shaking with pain and weariness beneath his touch.

'M'Ok Starsk. Just need to rest a minute' he gasped as he layed his flaxen head against his partner's body.

Starsky patted his hand. 'Stay there a while Hutch. Just sleep huh?'

But Hutch pushed himself away with a groan. 'No time for sleep. Later. C'mon buddy, let me look at your eyes, then we'll rest'.