It was the light that finally roused the brunette from his exhausted sleep and he blinked owlishly at his surroundings as his mind finally crystallised exactly where he was. He had a crick in his neck caused by sleeping with his head resting on his knees and his left hand had gone to sleep from being held in the air by the manacle and chain attaching him to his blond partner, but he rejoiced as yet again he woke able to see.
Starsky allowed himself the luxury of a moment's peace before, grunting with the effort, he forced himself upright and checked on Hutch. The injured cop's face was still shiny and wet with sweat and was still flushed a feverish pink. He pushed aside the material of the unconscious detective's shirt and saw the patch of red swollen flesh extending outwards from the wound, showing the infection was spreading. Making his mind up he knew there was no way he could wait any longer to get them both out of the mess. It had to be now if he was to save his partner's life. He looked desperately around the room and suddenly he had an idea.
Still on the floor at the opposite side of the table Hutch was led on was the body of the hired gunman that Hutch had dealt with earlier. Richardson was still lying on his stomach, his hands trussed behind his back, but he too was awake now and the idea formed in the brunette's mind that if he couldn't carry his partner out on his own, he could enlist the help of the man on the ground. After all, it was Richardson's bullet that had caused part of this problem in the first place.
Carefully he edged his way round the table and bent over the gunman, his arm attached to his partner almost at full stretch.
'Hey, you awake?' Starsky asked, nudging the man with the toe of his shoe.
Richardson ignored him and the angry detective kicked a little harder, hearing a satisfying grunt in reply. Slowly, Richardson turned his head so that he could look uncomfortably up at the brunette and glared.
Starsky bent lower, seeing the brief flash of pain cross the man's features as he squirmed on the ground. 'I'm gonna take it you want out of here as much as I do' he started as Richardson listened. 'So here's what we're gonna do. My partner here is pretty sick, an' most of it is your fault. So' Starsky reached his foot out and hooked it around the gun lying on the floor. He slid it towards him and took hold of it checking it was loaded, feeling it's reassuring weight as he pointed it at the downed gunman. 'In a minute, I'm gonna untie your hands and you're gonna help me carry my partner out of this hellhole, is that clear?' he ground out.
Richardson seemed to consider his options but only for a moment. His leg hurt where the splinter had been removed and his shoulder, which Hutch had mended was aching with a fury from having his arms tied behind his back for so long. He nodded slowly, seeing the sense in co-operating with the detective at this stage, knowing he needed to get out of the hotel as much as his two captives did.
Starsky stood up and went back to the bed, gently running his hand over his partner's face. 'Hutch, buddy, I need ya to wake up for me. Hutch, c'mon Blintz, wake up huh?' he pleaded. But the blond was deeply unconscious and unresponsive. Quickly the brunette checked his partner's pulse in his neck, feeling it weak and thready, but still beating there. Satisfied his friend was still with him, he went over to the tall man on the ground again. He pointed the muzzle of the gun at him once more.
'Ok, you take his legs and be careful. You hurt him, even a little, an' I'll blow your brains out, ya hear?' he said, his voice low and intense. Seeing the small nod, he bent down, wedging the gun between his knees and one handed unbuckled the brown leather belt.
Richardson's arms flopped limply to his sides, the use having gone out of them from the protracted period of time he'd been tied, but he groaned once, then managed to get them under him and he levered himself into a sitting position.
'You've rested long enough. On your feet' Starsky said, still levelling the gun at him as he started to rise. The tall gunman stood swaying a moment, getting his balance, then limped heavily to the side of the table, looking with a certain satisfaction at the injured blond. Starsky followed him and with one careful eye still on the tall man, he bent down and stroked the blonde's cheek again.
'Time to go Blondie. Gonna get ya out of here now and into a hospital. Then ya can have the pretty nurses fussin' round huh?' he said gently, wishing he could just catch a glimpse of those ice blue eyes again. But Hutch was still unconscious and in a way the smaller man was thankful, knowing that it was going to hurt a lot, no matter how careful they were. He instructed Richardson to take hold of Hutch's legs, then he manoeuvred himself behind his partner until he could grasp the blonde's shoulders, although it meant that the injured cop's arm was bent back because of the manacle.
On three, they lifted the limp body off the table, eliciting a deep guttural groan from the blond. The sound tore at Starsky's heart. He hated hurting his friend like this, but knew it was the only way to get him to safety.
'Easy, buddy, m'sorry, don't want to hurt ya, but we're goin' home now. Just try 'n' rest' Starsky muttered as the two started making their way out of the room that had been their tomb for over 24 hours. The going was slow as they stepped over and around the obstacles caused by the earthquake until they got out to the remains of the reception hall again.
Here the devastation was slightly less, as the tall marble pillars had kept up a good proportion of the ceiling, although the sweating brunette could see the bodies of the other two hired guns sprawled beneath piles of masonry. Of McKay and Shepherd there was no sign and for a brief moment Starsky wondered whether they had gotten out of the building in one piece. Both men were panting with exertion now and the brunette's head had started to ache again, black dots swimming before his eyes and making him dizzy and sick.
'OK, rest a minute' he grunted setting his partner's body gently down on the ground. Hutch was still groaning occasionally, as they'd had to jolt his body going over a particularly rough area, but Starsky took that to be a good sign – at least he was conscious enough to feel something and even that heart rending noise meant that his friend was still there with him. He watched as the tall gunman eased his partner's legs down and slumped to the ground hanging his head as he tried to catch his breath. Both men were bushed. The going was hard the building hot and stuffy, dust still thick in the air, making it feel as though they were breathing fog. Richardson's face was grimy and streaked with sweat and Starsky assumed he looked much the same. He felt dirty, hot and sticky and longed for a cool shower and the comfort of a soft bed, or even better bed and a long cold beer. The sweat beaded on his brow and stung at the cut there, but he tried hard not to touch it and make it worse. He rested back against a fallen pillar and planned his next move, the barrel of the gun in his right hand never wavering from its target as he rested, his dominant left, manacled hand lightly touching his partner's shoulder.
He surveyed the new area. Gone was the smooth black and white marble splendour they'd admired so much such a short time ago. In its place was a scene from a horror or disaster movie. The brunette was reminded of a film he'd recently seen at the movies, the Towering Inferno, and although there were no flames licking at them, the ruination of the hotel held the same feeling that movie had portrayed. The big door to the hotel was blocked by one of the big marble pillars that had fallen across it, but there was a big fancy stained glass window to one side, which had miraculously survived the earthquake. The brunette reckoned that if he threw a large enough piece of rubble at it, it would shatter and they'd have their escape route. Once outside, they needed to find a phone or some means of transport and get help. He only hoped that the rest of Bay City had survived the 'quake and was in better shape that the hilltop.
With a groan he forced himself back to his feet, watching as Richardson did likewise and seeing the exhaustion in the man's eyes. If he hadn't been the man who'd shot his partner, Starsky might almost have felt sorry for the man, but as it was, he stuffed those feelings down deep inside him. Looking round for something to lob at the window it suddenly occurred to the brunette that it really wasn't necessary. Cocking the AK47 and flicking the switch to single shot mode, he fired off a couple of rounds at the glass watching it crack and shatter to the ground, leaving a large opening for them to get through.
Hutch flinched as the shots went off, throwing his left arm up reflexively to shield himself from any harm, but once the echoes of the report had died down, he whimpered once, then lay limply on his back, eyes closed, breathing rapidly. Again the two men picked up their blond burden and slowly and carefully made their way to the window opening, gently manoeuvring through, mindful of the shards of glass littering the floor and sticking out from the remains of the window frame. As they got outside, Starsky lifted his face to the sun, savouring their freedom and enjoying the feeling of the sun on his face and the gentle breeze ruffling his sweat soaked curls sending goose bumps up his arms and down his back. He'd never felt happier to be outside than he did at that moment and even the problem of getting the little party down into the city seemed a little less onerous.
As he looked around him, he noticed that there were still a couple of cars parked at the hotel parking lot and he directed the tall gunman to help him carry Hutch's body over to them. As he peered through the door with his fingers crossed, he saw that the keys to the dark blue car were still in the ignition. With a groan of relief, he opened the door of the car and tenderly laid his partner on the back seat, giving the flushed face a final stroke. Pointing to the driver's side, he instructed Richardson to get in as he sat in the back seat next to Hutch's supine body, gun resting on the headrest f the front seat, still pointing at the tall man.
'No smart moves now' he said. 'You're gonna drive nice and smoothly down to Memorial, got that?' he growled as Richardson nodded, glad himself to be out of the ruined building and tasting freedom himself. He turned the key in the ignition, but nothing happened.