The Major Redemption
Chapter 9
Starsky was getting more and more anxious with each room he searched, as one by one he drew a blank. He had moved up now to deck five and was starting with the Reception area and bars. Again after a thorough search, he found nothing, and kicked out in anguish at a convenient table, overturning it with a crash. Looking round, he saw that no one was around, and bent down to retrieve the piece of furniture and right it.
He carried on up the corridor, seeing more and more cabins to each side of him. These were passenger cabins, and he knew he had absolutely no jurisdiction to barge into any of them to search them. That would come later, if he didn't find Hutch in the mean time, when a member of Alex's team would accompany him. He ploughed his way on up the corridor looking left and right, almost giving up and turning round before he saw a door marked laundry to his right.
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Hutch's muscles were tiring. How long had he been in this impossible position? He was braced on his buttocks, shoulders and the back of his head, arched over the knife at his back, and secured there by ropes. He could feel its point on his skin and knew it was only a matter of time now before he would have to relax and the metal would skewer him. Not only were the muscles in his legs and back screaming for relief, his tortured abdomen was also giving him grief, the bruises pulling unmercifully and the right hand side of his stomach now tight and aching abominably.
He had tried shouting for help, but the acres of linen within the room deadened any noise and he knew that unless his partner could find him very soon, all Starsky would find would be a Hutch Kebab.
His muscles had started to tremble, the build up of lactic acid playing its devilish dance in the fibres. His left shoulder slipped a fraction on the metal of the deck, and Hutch let out a scream as he felt the blade point penetrate his flesh. Unable to move to get any better purchase on the deck, he tried to stay still, but his traitorous body was having none of it. After hours of confinement in the bonds, the muscles and sinews were rebelling, the trembling developing into out and out shakes, which jarred his shoulders further and further away. Frantically Hutch tried to get a grip on the cold metal beneath him. But there was no way the blond detective could grasp even an inch more traction and with a final strangled scream, he felt the knife plunge all the way into his back, entering with a fierce fiery pain which left him gasping, tears forming in his pale blue eyes. In the darkness, his final thought was for his partner. Sorry Gordo, I tried, but you're on your own now.
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Starsky moved towards the door of the laundry room, fumbling to find the master key. Inserting it into the lock, he cautiously opened the door. It was pitch black inside and the brunette searched around on the wall next to the door for the light switch. Grasping his Beretta in his relatively uninjured left hand, he threw the switch and the room was flooded with light.
At first, all Starsky saw was rack upon rack of bed linen. He inched gingerly into the room, gun now cupped in both hands and pointed skywards. Moving more quickly now he took up a stance at the head of one of the rows of racking, back against the rack and knees bent as he steadied himself. Quick as lightening, he turned, crouched in firing position and brought the gun down.
What he saw made his heart stop. Hutch was lying spread-eagled on the floor in a pool of blood, ropes securing him to the fixed racking by his wrists and ankles.
Wedging the gun into his waistband, he hurried forward and dropped onto his knees beside his partner's body, hardly daring to touch it for fear of what he might find. Hesitantly, he reached out and gently pushed his fingers against the carotid in the blonde's neck. Searching, he finally found a weak, thready pulse. He bent down to cup Hutch's face in his hands, looking down at the wounds on his chest and arm and the discoloured hands and wrists. There was way too much blood to have come from those wounds, deep as they were. Where's it all coming from Blondie?
'Hutch, can you hear me? Hutch, I need you to wake up for me Blintz. Where are ya hurt? Aw, come on Hutch, please wake up'. He gently patted the face, waiting for any sign of life.
Hutch was riding a cloud. He was under water. He was in a furnace. He knew he shouldn't be in any of those places, but they were all far more comfortable than where he knew he should be. He'd finally given in to the pains his body had borne for so long. He was too tired and wanted to sleep. He wanted everything to go away, but he knew that by going away he'd never see his partner again. And somehow, the pain of loosing Starsky was more than the sum of all his bodily pains put together.
Very slowly, a voice penetrated the fog that had taken over Hutch's mind, stuffing the blonde's head with cotton wool. He knew the voice and wanted to answer it, but it seemed to be so far off, and he couldn't shout so loud. He wished the voice would come nearer so that he could answer it, but just breathing hurt like the devil and he wanted the pain to stop. But the voice wouldn't go away. He thought he should try and listen a bit more carefully and concentrated on it one more time. Yes. He did recognise the voice. He shouted at the top of his voice for his partner.
To Starsky, the shout came out as a whispered 'Starsk?'
'Hey Blondie. I got ya, partner. I got ya. Just stay with me here. I need to know where you're hurt. Can ya tell me, huh?'
Again a whisper 'Back……knife……..stuck' the effort cost Hutch dearly and his breathing hiked up a notch as the pain redoubled its efforts to cut him in two.
Starsky looked down, noticing for the first time the piece of wood protruding from under his partner's body. 'Where's the knife Hutch? Are you lead on it?'
The ice blue eyes cracked open a little and he concentrated on the sound of Starsky's voice. With an almost superhuman effort he forced his mouth to form words coherant enough for the brunette to understand. 'Knife was in w wood. He p pushed it under m me. Couldn't keep off it…….its in m my back' he gasped.
Understanding the situation, Starsky dived for the telephone on the wall by the side of the door, dialling the security office. The phone was answered on the second ring 'Security, Morgan here'.
'This is Dave Starsky. Can you get an urgent message to Alex Moore to say I've found my partner, then get Doctor Jackson up to the laundry room on deck five quickly''.
'Certainly Sir. Is that the forward or aft laundry room?'
'How the fuck do I know' shouted the brunette. He opened the door and looked at the number on the cabin door opposite. 'Its opposite cabin 5467. Hurry' and slammed the receiver down.
Running back to his partner, Starsky gently undid the ropes binding Hutch to the racking, noticing the state of his hands and wrists, which were blue and swollen to almost twice their normal size. God, Blondie, what have they done at you?' All the time speaking comforting words in a low even voice, he proceeded to check over the rest of the body. He didn't know if Hutch could hear him or not, he seemed to be in limbo, between consciousness and blackness. Once or twice as he moved a limb, Hutch gave a low, weak moan, which cut the smaller man to the core. Starsky was worried not only about the knife impaling the blond, but also the state of Hutch's stomach, which instead of being a flat muscular plain, was discoloured and swollen. He suspected some internal injury, but wasn't a medical man. No, that's your department, Blintz.
After freeing his friend, all Starsky could do was to sit by his side, hand on the blonde's shoulder. Ordinarily, he would have cradled his head, or pulled him up so that he was in Starsky's lap, but that wasn't an option this time and Starsky was too afraid of doing further damage to move any part of his partner's body more than a couple of inches. Craving the touch as an addict craves the next fix, he knew that by touching his partner, by laying his hand on the blonde's body, he could connect and through that connection could sustain the other until help arrived and so he sat still at the blonde's side, his hand gently holding the others, willing his essence into his partner.
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Starsky sat on the floor next to Hutch's body, time seeming to extend beyond all reasoning. As he watched the blond fight for each laboured breath, he thought back to all the times it had been Hutch comforting him. He started to talk – anything to try and keep his partner conscious, terrified that if Hutch passed out, he may never wake up again.
'Hey Blondie. Remember that time at the Italian Restaurant? All you'd wanted was scrambled eggs, but nah, I had to have Italian. Didn't realise they were planning to do a job on the Vic Monty. I'm gonna look after you like you looked after me then. Do you remember packing all those table cloths against my back?' He chuckled at the memory. 'There were so many at the end, I could hardly lie on that damn couch!'
'And that time Bellamy did a number on me. Do you remember cruisin' the streets lookin' for him? Ya never gave up on me. What did ya say? Its always harder on the ones' he choked on the words.
'Left behind' a feather light whisper floated on the air between them 'Not goin' anywhere'. Hutch gasped 'Just k keep talkin'. Need to hear your lousy v voice'.
'I'm right here, Blintz. Ain't goin' nowhere. Leastwise not without you. Ya know, I never wanted to come on this stupid cruise. I didn't want us to get so close again'. Starsky put his head in his hands. 'My head just keeps goin' back to Gautemala, an what I did to ya. I didn't think I could live with myself – still don't sometimes. I hurt you so bad. And knowing that hurts me more than anything. I thought if we weren't so close, no one could use either of us again, like Sharpe used me. I wanted to kill myself'.
Hutch was struggling to lift up his head to see his partner, but the effort was too much for him. Instead, he closed his eyes, focussing on the right words. 'If ya killed yourself', he gasped in pain before continuing 'you'd kill me too'.