Chapter 3
Getting towards his home Starsky started to get a little panicked. He'd told Ross he'd be home by 5.30 and it was close to 8.00pm now. He knew she worried and didn't want a repeat performance of last night. He felt dirty and his damp clothes still clung to his lean frame, itching slightly. Ducking inside, he headed straight for the bathroom, closing and bolting the door behind him.
Turning on the shower, he started to strip off the wet clothes, puddling them in a heap on the floor. Gingerly, he looked down and pressed at the blossoming bruises on his left side, twisting slightly to look at this back in the mirror. There were bruises there too, in long lines across his back, and he was glad his partner hadn't seen the mess he was in.
When Ross had found the card from 'The Pink Angel' in his top pocket she'd lost it completely. She'd taken hold of the broom handle and had used it liberally on his body. Starsky didn't want to hurt her. He'd just stood there, with his arms up protecting his head and face as she'd laid into him. In fact, he knew it was probably all his fault that she'd got mad in the first place. Why on earth would she do this otherwise? They loved each other so much. He must have deserved it. But it didn't make it any easier doing a days work when he was hurting so much. It had really taken it out of him chasing those flakes round the lake, and that dive down into the water at the end really aggravated his side. He wondered if he'd broken anything. He chuckled grimly at the irony. If it had happened in the line of duty, Dobey would have given him a week's leave.
He stepped into the shower and soaped his tired body, washing away the mud smell from his hair and skin. Content finally that he resembled a human being again, he turned the water off and dried himself, finger combing his hair, so that the curls laid reasonably flat. He was just looking in the mirror to check, when Ross started banging on the bathroom door. He sighed, moving across and unbolting it, as the blond fury entered.
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The next morning, Hutch was not surprised to find that once again his partner was not on time. He'd had a phone call the night before, which, for Starsky was odd. The only thing the brunette said was that he'd meet at the Metro, rather than have Hutch pick him up at home. Hutch didn't question it, just agreed and put down the phone.
So now he sat at his desk, reading through he files and the statements that had been taken from the three guys the previous day and hoping the brunette would appear before the Captain realised he was late again.
Hutch was engrossed in his file on Gunther Industries when the telephone on his desk rang. Putting down his coffee cup and punching the line button he answered 'Hutchinson'.
'Hey partner, that you?' Starsky's voice sounded on the other end of the line. 'Ah……I'm not coming in today. I'm not well. Think it was all that lake water I drank yesterday, ya know. Just a bit feverish. I should be back tomorrow though. I'll let ya know'.
Hutch listened. In all his years of working with the brunette, he'd never known him take a day off sick, unless he'd been badly hurt on the job. He even came in when he had flu, although it was probably more for the sympathy vote than to do any police work. Hutch would be the first to admit that whilst Starsky was the bravest, toughest guy he knew when he was in great pain, little things like colds and paper cuts left him quivering and turning to anyone for tea and sympathy.
'Can I get you anything?' he asked. 'Should I come over?'
'No'. the word came out almost like a shout. 'No, I'm fine; just need a bit of sleep. I'll be OK. See you tomorrow'.
The phone went dead and Hutch was left staring at it, his suspicions now thoroughly raised. He sat back in his chair and wondered what to do. Should he go with his gut instinct and ignore the brunette's plea to stay away? Or should he just leave the fuck alone and let things work themselves out? After all Starsky was a big boy and could look after himself. He sighed. What would you do Gordo?
Hutch went back to his files, reading through the information Morito and his two men had given him yesterday. The arms shipment was coming in today at 16.00 and he had spent the time so far getting together the men needed to cover the docks and recover the shipment. He'd organised the black and whites and the extra men coming in on their rest days. But he'd been counting on his partner to back him up. Neither man ever felt completely safe on a heist unless the other was there watching his back. He sighed again.
This feeling that something was wrong just wasn't going to go away and he knew he had to act on it. Putting the file back on his desk, he made a decision and stood up, straightening his holster under his jacket. Calling in at Dobey's office, he told his Captain that he was going to check on his sick partner. Ignoring Dobey's raised eyebrow, he walked out and closed the door behind him.
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On his way over to Starsky's apartment, Hutch tried to decide how to handle this. He knew that if his partner was definitely sick, he wouldn't mind Hutch being there, especially if Ross had had to go to work. If, on the other hand, this was a cover for something else, the brunette was going to be madder than hell. Hutch's conscience was clear though. He'd rather have Starsky mad at him, but OK, rather than on his own and sick.
As he pulled up on the drive he checked that Ross' car wasn't there. He got out and heaved a calming breath before going up the steps and knocking on the door. There was no response. He tried again, knowing that the Torino was parked beneath them. Still nothing. Cautiously pushing the door open, gun drawn, Hutch eased himself inside, crouching down to make himself less visible to anyone who may decide to take a pot shot at him. The interior was dim and he couldn't see anyone. He stood and made his way further in, still careful.
There was no one in the kitchen area and Hutch was just beginning to think that his partner was playing hooky for the day, when he heard a noise from the bedroom.
Hutch pushed the door open quietly, ready to shut it quickly if it turned out Starsky and Ross were………..well.
He peeked inside and saw his partner lying on the bed, facing away from him. Entering he said gently 'Starsk?'
The man on the bed jumped and looked round.
Hutch gasped. Starsky's left eye was swollen closed, a ring of black around it, making that side of his face look like a panda. There was a scratch leading from it down his cheek to end just above his lips. The blond crossed quickly to the bed and sat down, eliciting a groan from the brunette.
'Told ya not to come', he mumbled, looking embarrassed. 'Just leave me alone. I'm fine'
'Well ya don't look fine to me, hot shot. What happened?'
Starsky's back was still turned, his voice muffled by the pillow. 'Would ya believe I walked into a door?'
'No. And that's the lamest excuse I ever heard. Come here an' let me look at you' the blond said, tugging the bedclothes from around the smaller man. Again, he stopped, staring at the bruises that decorated the dark haired man's torso. 'Jeez Starsk! OK that's it. Ya gonna tell me what's goin' on?' he asked angrily. 'First ya ring in sick, which ya never do. Then I come over here an' I see you with the best shiner I've seen in a long time, which you say is caused by a door, and now this' he waved his hand at his partner's body, sickened at the sight of the multiple colours blossoming on the otherwise olive toned skin.
Starsky pushed himself up to a sitting position, wincing at the movement. His face was sad. He looked like a little lost boy. Without raising his eyes from the bed covers, he sighed.
'It was my fault. I was late home an' when I got here, I took a shower, so I was in the bathroom'.
Hutch swallowed. 'Oh my God Starsk. Was there someone in the house? Did ya call it in? Where's Ross? Who did this to ya, buddy?'.
A tear rolled down the brunette's face as he stared imploringly into his blond partners eyes. 'She did' he whispered.