There was a moment of desperate silence in the car as both men stared hard at the steering wheel as though that very action would somehow mend the vehicle and set it going again. With a long shaky sigh, Starsky started to get out of the car then stopped, realising he couldn't go anywhere as he was attached to Hutch. He pointed the gun at Richardson. Just what else could go wrong with his day? He fixed the man in the passenger seat with a steely gaze.
'No funny moves OK? Just release the hood and tell me what you see'.
Richardson smiled at him. 'Listen guy, I want out of here as much as you do. Ya know anything about cars? D'ya think ya can fix it?'
'A bit' the brunette mumbled wondering whether to believe the man who'd shot his partner. Deciding he really didn't have a lot of choice in the matter, he allowed the gunman to get out of the car and trot around to the front, popping the hood and staring hard at the engine. It was covered in dust from the 'quake and as he waited, Starsky hoped it was just the plug points that were dusty and not making contact properly. He directed Richardson to pull each one out of its place, blow on the tip and wipe them carefully on the cleanest spot he could find on his jeans before reinserting them one at a time. Pulling down the hood again, he watched as Richardson walked back round to the drivers door and got in.
'OK, try it now' he said with his fingers crossed.
Richardson turned the ignition key again and there was the vaguest of coughs as the engine turned over once.
'Pump the gas pedal up and down a few times, then try it again with your foot to the floor' the brunette advised, praying that the old trick would work.
The tall man tried again following the instructions. The engine turned over a few more times, then died again. He looked frustrated.
'One more time for luck?' the tall man said as his fingers strayed to the key again. This time, he kept the key turned as the engine coughed, turned, coughed, turned and finally caught, the man's foot on the gas making it roar in the morning quiet. Quickly he flung the car into drive and made down the drive, not wanting to give the temperamental engine another chance to stop. As he got to the gates at the end of the driveway he found they were once again closed, barring their way out onto the road. He stopped and looked at the curly haired cop.
'What now boss?' he asked without a hint of sarcasm.
Starsky looked at the gates, then behind them.
'Back up a hundred yards or so, floor the gas and bust 'em down' he said decisively, bracing himself as once again the gunman followed his instructions.
Swiftly the gates were coming at them full tilt and they felt a lurch as the powerful car hit them head on, ramming them out of the way with a violent wrenching sound, then pulled away out into the road.
Richardson drove fast and easy back down the road towards the city, nursing the big car round the bends and driving smoothly so that the blond in the back wouldn't be jostled around too much.
The tall man was actually getting to like the two detectives in a strange sort of way. He liked the way they looked out for each other and the way the brunette cared for his injured partner. Richardson had never had a friendship like that and he envied it. His life had been one long round of violence and fear and he found himself longing for the same sort of relationship that the two guys he was sharing the car with had. And so he was extra careful although he doubted that the brunette at his side would ever believe that he didn't want to hurt them any more.
As they hit the outskirts of the city it became apparent that the 'quake hadn't had the same impact it had had on the hilltop. Some of the smaller buildings they passed seemed a little battered and bruised but there wasn't the same devastation they'd experienced and as they got further into the heart of the city, there was no evidence at all of damage. That kind of answered the question Starsky had had in his mind about why Dobey hadn't sent anyone to see if they were OK. He'd been terrified that the whole of the city had been destroyed and was thankful that that wasn't the case. As it was he thought his captain wouldn't have thought it necessary to check. Who would have thought that a distance of 15 miles or so could make such a difference? After another 15 minutes or so of driving, they pulled up outside the hospital and Starsky reached into the back of the car, gently patting his partner's face, worried at the pallor of his partner's face.
'Hutch buddy, we're here now. C'mon pal wake up for me huh? I need to see those baby blues again Blintz. For me? Huh?'
There was no reaction other than the flutter of silky blond eyelashes to mark that his partner had heard him and Starsky looked up desperately, looking for medics and some way to get his injured friend into the hospital. He saw Richardson get out of the car and a part of him wanted to stop him, feeling he'd probably run away. But he was surprised when the tall man instead went quickly into the hospital entrance and returned a moment later with a gurney and two nurses.
With their help, he managed to deposit the limp form onto the trolley and walked by his partner's side as they made their way into the ER. A young male doctor walked up and started to make a preliminary examination even before they'd gotten Hutch into a room, noting the flush and the sweat soaked features.
'Who's with this man?' the doctor asked the no one in particular.
'I am' Starsky said as he held onto his partner's hand. 'We were in the 'quake up on the ridge, trapped in a hotel. This is Ken Hutchinson, 32. He's been shot and he's lost a lot of blood. He knew he was in trouble and he managed to…..he's type B-'
He stopped as he saw the doctor looking at the dressing around the blonde's middle. The young man looked up at him.
'What the hell's these?' he asked looking at the manacles biding the two men together.
'Long story Doc' the exhausted cop mumbled. 'Look is he gonna be OK?'
The medic went back to his examination. 'You did this?'
The brunette cast stormy indigo eyes from the doctor down to his friend then back to the doctor again, suddenly scared that the medic was going to tell him he'd made his partner a whole lot worse. He swallowed down his fear.
'Erm…yeah. He was in a lot of pain an' he was bleeding so much….we couldn't get out. He ah…he talked me through it' Starsky mumbled, stroking his thumb down the back of his partner's limp hand.
'Talked you through what?' the medic asked slowly.
'I….I got the bullet out'. Why did he feel like a little kid confessing to the headmaster? He gulped. 'Did I make it worse?' he asked in a small voice.
The doctor smiled at him. 'Worse? No, certainly not. If anything you probably saved his life. Is he a relative?'
The relief washed over the curly haired cop like a tide, almost as though he'd been hit with a physical wave. His head swam and his knees buckled as he watched the ground coming up to meet him fast. From a distance he thought he heard the doctor shout 'Catch him before he drags my patient off the table. And get someone to cuts these cuffs off 'em.' before there was a loud roaring in his ears, the ER slipped sideways and then winked out completely.
One of the male orderlies had stepped up behind the brunette as he'd seen him sway and as the relieved detective started to crumple, he'd managed to catch him under the arms. Gently he lowered the dark haired man to the floor as the indigo blue eyes closed. Looking around, the doctor spoke to the only other man in the room who may know anything more about the two.
'Well, are they related?' he asked Richardson.
'No sir', the tall man said promptly. 'They're cops'.
'And are you a cop too?'
'No, just a concerned bystander' Richardson excused himself the lie. He'd gotten the two men safely to the hospital and now the euphoria and camaraderie he'd felt upon getting out of that damned hotel was beginning to wane, he just wanted to get the hell out of there as soon as he could. If answering a few damned silly questions got him out quicker, he wasn't going to argue
Richardson pointed to the detective lying on the floor. 'He's called Starsky. They're partners, so I'm guessin' they'll want to stay together. They seem close' he mumbled as he backed away from the doctor.
The medic looked at him, taking in the grime, the sweat and the torn pants, showing the flash of a white bandage beneath.
'Do you need medical attention?' he asked, glancing up from the blond body he was still working on.
'What? Ah..no. No I'm fine. Just dropped 'em off here. I'm going now. Need to…ah to be some place' he muttered and he backed out of the door and made his bid for freedom, satisfied that the two were getting the care he needed.
Back in the ER, the orderly had managed to get the unconscious Starsky onto another gurney and another doctor had been brought in to examine him. He looked the brunette over, raising eyelids and shining his penlight into the indigo eyes. Making further assessments, he saw the deep gash on the tanned brow and the still bleeding wound on the brunette's left leg. He probed it and the curly haired cop moaned, trying to jerk the limb away, but didn't wake.
The two medics compared notes.
'This guy's got head trauma, which has been partly dealt with. I'll take off these strips and put four or five stitches in the wound. Nothing much else apart from a nasty gash on his left leg that'll need cleaning. I can see fragments of wood in there, then that'll need suturing too. He's dehydrated but nothing that a couple of litres of saline won't rectify. What have you got?'
'Gunshot wound. His friend there got the bullet out. God knows how, but he saved his partner from bleeding to death. He needs to go up to the OR to have it cleaned and stitched, but I think he'll make it. He's got a fever, but nothing antibiotics won't sort out. Two units of blood, a saline drip and he should be as good as new'.