Hi Everyone! Thanks again for the comments, and here is the final chapter.
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Chapter 11
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Rothman jerked his arm out of Vinetti's grasp. "What the hell are you doing? Have you gone mad?"
Vinetti kept his eyes locked on Bree, shocked at what he had just heard. When he was seven years old, an older sister nicknamed "Gabby" had mysteriously died. All he knew at the time was that she'd gone to bed one night and never woken up. For months afterward, he was afraid to go to sleep, convinced the same thing would happen to him. Compounding his fear was the fact that his parents and older siblings never spoke about the circumstances of Gabby's death. Even after she was buried, her name was rarely, if ever, mentioned in the household.
As a teenager, Vinetti finally learned the sordid details of her death from an uncle he was very close to. He could only imagine at how scared she must have been of telling anyone in their strict Catholic household about what she had done. What he didn't understand, though, was how Bree could know about any of this?
"Who told you about my sister?" Vinetti growled, puffing out his already sizeable frame.
Terrified, Bree stared back at the imposing thug. She barely had any recollection of what went on during the last few minutes. The only thing she did know was she hadn't heard someone from the other side speaking to her in the usual way. And if she didn't understand it, how could she explain it to the gorilla towering over her?
"I…I don't know! Sometimes I just…hear things…in my head."
Vinetti drew out his handgun, pointing it—for the moment—down at the floor. "I'm not asking again. How'd you know about my sister?"
"Honestly! I don't know!" Bree glanced at the gun, then fixed her eyes on Hutch, hoping he could do something to help her.
Hutch read Bree's pleading look, and while still stunned at what she had revealed about Rothman, gathered himself together and started to nudge towards Vinetti.
Seeing movement from the corner of his eye, Vinetti raised the gun from his side and pointed it at Hutch. "Don't even think about it," he warned, keeping his eyes focused on Bree. "You gonna tell me, sister, or do I start shooting?"
"Please, I don't—"
"Hey!" Starsky gasped out. Catching Vinetti's attention, he said, "She's not lying. She's got a special gift."
"A special gift?" Vinetti said mockingly. "Like what?"
"I…I hear things from people that have…died." Bree finally said, cringing at the unwanted ridicule.
"Now I've heard everything. She talks to dead people?" Rothman took his first easy breath, feeling more confident that no one would take anything else the girl said seriously. Turning to Vinetti, he said, "I think we've listened to this nonsense long enough—go ahead and waste her, then take the other two back to the warehouse."
Rothman turned and walked away, but stopped after a few steps when he didn't hear a gunshot. Vinetti was still staring at Bree, and Suko appeared unsure of what to do next. "Did you hear me? I said waste her!"
When Vinetti didn't react, Suko raised his gun and pointed it at Bree. Vinetti quickly responded and aimed his revolver menacingly at a stunned Suko.
"What the hell you doin', Lou?" shouted Suko, keeping his firearm raised.
"She ain't gettin' clipped until I get some answers!" Vinetti growled, then turned a fierce glare on Rothman. "So is she telling the truth? You responsible for what happened to my sister?"
A rare look of panic appeared on Rothman's face. "You actually believe that garbage? The bitch is crazy. She says she talks to dead people. Well, let her go talk to all the dead people she wants to! I gave you an order, Vinetti—now do it!"
Hutch glanced over to Starsky, relieved to see his partner's eyes were staring back at him, no doubt sensing the same as he did—that an opportunity was beginning to form. He realized Starsky was in a bad position, on his knees by Suko's feet, but if there was any energy left in the injured body, Starsky would make the most of it. Hutch began to size up the arguing goons, trying to determine who was most likely to become the greatest threat.
"It was you—Benny—you and that beat up Chevy. I remember now. I can't believe I didn't recognize you." Vinetti turned the gun towards Rothman. "Did you even care about her?"
"You're crazy! Put that gun down!" Rothman started to step backwards, hoping to find cover behind some wooden crates. When he saw Vinetti taking deliberate aim, Rothman yelled, "Shoot him, Suko!"
It seemed like everybody went into motion except him. Suko grasped his gun with both hands and aimed it at Vinetti. Hutch dove towards Jenkins and laid him flat out on the floor with Hutch tangled on top. At the same time, Starsky lurched sideways into Suko as hard as he could, trying to knock him off balance. One shot echoed from Suko's gun before he tumbled to the floor.
Vinetti ducked down and missed being hit. Straightening up, he took a quick glance at Suko, then focused his attention on Rothman, who had spun around and was heading for the back entrance. Vinetti fired two quick shots—both bullets easily found their mark in the middle of Rothman's back.
Hutch rolled off of Jenkins and scrambled to his feet, briefly noting that the man was out cold. He kicked the gun away and turned his attention towards Bree, who was crouched down, trapped midway between Suko and Vinetti. Hutch stumbled over and plowed his body into hers, effectively pushing her out of the line of fire.
Suko got back onto his knees, wanting to shoot Starsky, but caught sight of Vinetti ready to take aim. Both hit men fired wildly at each other, and missed. While Suko got up and staggered backwards towards cover, Vinetti dashed into the office and got behind the doorframe.
Yelling, Suko said, "Lou! We ain't got no issues, you and me. What're you doin'!?"
"The hell we don't!" Vinetti poked his head out a bit. "You shot my brother, you son-of-a-bitch!"
"That was an order, Lou! I had no choice, and you know it!" Suko's stomach turned as he realized this was something Vinetti wasn't going to be talked out of. "I came to you first, though. I told ya what was gonna happen."
"You still shot him, you bastard!" Vinetti yelled, then blindly fired again at Suko.
Hutch laid himself on top of Bree, trying to use his body as a shield. He looked over at Starsky, scared at seeing him still lying out in the open. As their eyes met, Hutch could see a fearful look on his partner's face. Starsky was pinned down and in no shape to try and move out of the way. As he stared at Hutch, he nodded his head slightly, indicating he was in a bad situation, but still doing okay.
Seeing Hutch and Bree out of the line of fire was comforting, but Starsky was feeling anything but safe. Even the potshots being traded between the two hit men and flying over his head weren't enough to convince his wounded body to move. He was starting to believe the last thing he would ever feel was the unforgiving cold and hardness of a cement floor. As one more errant bullet flew by, Starsky tried to bury his face into the impenetrable surface beneath him.
Suddenly, the rising wail of approaching sirens began to filter into the large building. Hutch thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world. Bree heard it also, and raised her head slightly. Hutch looked over at Starsky, who remained frozen, his eyes shut and head pressed down.
"Lou!" Suko yelled, "Hear those sirens?"
"What about 'em?"
Suko cursed under his breath. He scanned the front and back entrances, as he tried to figure out which one offered the quickest and safest way out of the building. Deciding on the rear, he reloaded his gun and prepared to make a dash for the exit.
"I'm not stayin', Lou. You shouldn't either, considering you're the one who shot somebody in the back today."
Vinetti hated to admit it, but Suko was right. He'd feel better about leaving if he could just plant a bullet in Suko first. Shooting Rothman felt right—in a small way, he had avenged Gabby's death—now if he could only do the same for Tony. As he peeked out from the doorway, he caught Suko starting to run from behind his cover. He shot at the moving figure, but had to duck back again when Suko returned fire.
Making it halfway across the open room, Suko slid in behind a large crate, barely avoiding being hit by Vinetti's fire. As he glanced around the container's edge, he had a straight shot into the opened doorway of the office and, even better, Starsky's prone body lay just a short distance away. Suko rose to a hunched position behind the crate, then slowly reached across the top and aimed directly at the brunet.
Starsky had heard Suko run behind him and moved his head to see where the man was. As he looked up, he saw the automatic pointed right at him. Not wanting to watch death coming at him in an exploding flash, Starsky tightly closed his eyes and braced himself, praying he wouldn't feel a thing.
Vinetti maneuvered around so that his left side was against the doorframe. Taking a deep breath, he flung his body into the open doorway, instantly aiming at the portion of Suko he could see over the top of a large crate.
Hutch had watched Suko try to run for the back exit, then dive behind cover as more bullets were fired. Now, seeing the hit man stand up and take aim at Starsky, Hutch felt absolutely powerless—he was only milliseconds away from seeing his best friend die and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it.
The sound of multiple gunshots filled the room. Hutch saw Starsky flinch then buried his head against Bree, unwilling to watch any more. He could only hope against impossible odds that his partner hadn't been hit. When the gunfire stopped and quietness arose, Hutch heard someone stumbling away, then another running in the same direction. He lifted his head and saw the remnants of smoky haze drifting nearby, then focused on the deadly stillness of Starsky's body.
Telling Bree to stay put, Hutch rolled off her and quickly scooted over to his partner. Just as he got close, he heard the sound of someone entering the warehouse through the front door.
Seeing two uniformed officers warily approach, Hutch called out, "I'm a police officer! Get these cuffs off and get an ambulance rolling!" As one officer unlocked the handcuffs, the other checked on Rothman's body lying nearby.
"This one's dead," the officer said, then moved over towards Bree.
Hutch finished removing his cuffs then spoke to the first officer. "Two suspects, both male, just took off through the back door. Get more back up here and see if they're still in the area."
"There's two other units just arriving—I'll get them heading that way," the officer said.
Hutch motioned towards Jenkins, who was starting to wake up. "He's a suspect, too."
As the officer headed towards the prone man, Hutch turned his attention to Starsky. He sighed in relief as he saw unsteady, but definite breathing. Freed from her restraints, Bree came up and knelt down at his side, joining him in searching Starsky's body for any bullet wounds.
"Here—" Bree said, her heart sinking at the sight of fresh blood.
Hutch looked at the top of Starsky's left shoulder. Pulling the shirt collar back, he could see an entry wound right at the base of the neck. "Oh God…" Hutch quietly groaned, and slid the handcuff key clasped between his fingertips into the palm of his hand. He couldn't risk uncuffing Starsky's arms, fearing it could aggravate the injury. Instead, he placed his hand on his partner's cheek, and while gently stroking said, "Hey, buddy—can you hear me?"
In a daze, Bree watched his actions. It didn't make sense. All that had happened, all that she had tried to do to avoid this, and she was still looking at David critically injured and barely clinging to life. She sat back on the floor, fighting the urge to let her emotions break loose.
Hutch continued talking to Starsky, wishing he would respond. He knew once the ambulance arrived, he would be relegated to the sidelines, and again at the hospital. It could be hours, maybe even days, before he'd get another chance to be this close with Starsky, and that was if he didn't…no. That wasn't going to happen…it couldn't.
"C'mon, Starsk. Let me know you're still here." Hutch glanced up at Bree. She sat like a statue, looking as though she were suspended in time, her face robbed of all expression.
Finally, Hutch heard a tiny groan and noticed Starsky's eye lids flutter. "How ya doin', huh?"
"…'utch?" The voice was weak, almost nonexistent.
Bending down closer, Hutch said, "Yeah, I'm right here."
The drawn lids partly separated, and a spot of blue peeked through. Starsky's throat bobbled as he tried to speak, but the effort was halted as a tremor ran through him. Hutch put a hand on Starsky's shoulder, hoping to calm him, but his body violently contorted at the touch.
"Hey, take it easy, okay? I'm right here."
Starsky's eyes opened wide, then darted around, until they locked onto his partner in a brief moment of recognition that quickly faded. As his expression folded into a pained grimace, he quietly moaned, "Oh Hutch…"
"Just hang on. You hear me, Starsk?" Hutch couldn't hide the fear in his voice.
"Can't…don't wanna…"
Starsky's voice trailed off. Just as Hutch heard the paramedics approach them, he saw Starsky's body seize one last time, then go still. He sensed Bree moving beside him, coaxing him away so the medical team could get in.
After applying a cervical collar and strapping an oxygen mask on, the paramedics worked feverously to get an IV line in. Hutch sat nearby, holding onto Bree, and watched helplessly as the medics searched Starsky's limbs and body for an open vein. Finally, after several attempts, one was found by his collar bone that hadn't collapsed. Once the IV was secured, Hutch was asked to uncuff Starsky's hands. Silently, Hutch reminded himself that the ugly welts on his partner's wrists were the least of his injuries. The two medics then quickly loaded Starsky on a stretcher and wheeled him out to the ambulance.
Hutch wanted to go with them, but Bree asked him to keep her company as both were offered a ride to the hospital in one of the patrol cars. He could tell she was scared, and even though he was torn between staying with Starsky and going with Bree, he couldn't let her ride alone. But it was one of the longest trips of his life. Hutch couldn't get the thought out of his head of Starsky dying in the ambulance and not being there.
When the patrol car pulled up behind the ambulance at the hospital, Hutch and Bree got out and dashed over to the emergency entrance just as the medics were wheeling the gurney inside. One of them turned to Hutch and said, "He's still with us," then hurried to join the group of medical personnel descending on Starsky in the hallway. Watching as they disappeared into one of the trauma rooms, Hutch stood motionless outside the door, with Bree at his side. He let out a deep breath and said, "Well, he's got a chance now."
An admissions nurse approached the couple and asked if they could fill out the obligatory forms. Bree glanced at the paperwork, then nervously eyed Hutch.
"I…I don't think I'd know how to answer any of these questions," she said, feeling as if she had again failed David.
"It's okay," Hutch replied. He took the clipboard and started filling in the necessary information, hoping that Bree wouldn't ask how he knew so much about her brother's medical history.
Once the forms were taken care of, Hutch told Bree, "It might be awhile before they let us know anything. You want some coffee?" Lifting up an exhausted face, she said, "Yeah, sounds good." Hutch helped her get up then both slowly made their way, hand in hand, down the hall to the cafeteria.
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A gentle beeping sound entered into his foggy consciousness, prompting him to become aware of an intense brightness surrounding him. As he pulled out of his stupor, the smell of disinfectant and sound of mumbled voices combined to help convince his brain that he was still among the living. Slowly opening his eyes so they could adjust to the glaring examination lights over his head, Starsky tried to make sense of his fuzzy surroundings.
"David? Can you hear me?"
Starsky blinked his eyes a few times, but the blurry figure looming over him didn't change much.
"I'm Doctor McNeal, and you're at Memorial Hospital. Can you tell me how you're feeling?"
He tried to answer, but the first attempt got caught in his throat. Trying again, Starsky managed a very hoarse, "Been better."
A weak smile materialized on the young doctor's face. "Yeah, I'm sure you have." He placed both his hands into Starsky's. "Can you squeeze my hands? Good. How's your pain level right now?"
Starsky took a quick mental inventory of his body. Although he could feel some moderate aches, compared to what his pain had been, he wasn't feeling too bad. "S'okay." he slurred.
"I've given you a little morphine, probably just enough to take the edge off, but until we can get you upstairs into surgery, it'll have to do."
The concerned look on Starsky's face wasn't hard to interpret. "You've got quite an assortment of injuries, officer." McNeal said. "I won't lie to you, but a few of them have got me very concerned."
Dr. McNeal was glad to see his patient finally alert for the first time since being brought in. It had been touch and go for the last several hours, and the doctor was concerned about getting Starsky into surgery. But before he did, McNeal wanted to discuss the risks involved in trying to treat the more serious injuries. Not seeing a change in his patient's expression, he said, "If you're up to it, I think you should know what we're faced with here."
Starsky tried to gulp down the nervous lump stuck in his throat. He would have preferred just to be knocked out and woken up sewn back perfectly together again, but that wasn't likely to happen. As the doctor's image became clearer, he looked at the intense face and weakly nodded his head.
"You've got blood in your urine, which is usually an indication of some kidney damage. I'd say it's your left one judging from the large bruise on your back. Hopefully, it's something I can repair, but you need to be aware of the possibility that I may not be able to save it." Dr. McNeal paused for a moment to study his patient's reaction. "I think your other kidney is fine, but after surgery you might have to go on dialysis until we're sure everything can function on its own."
Seeing a feeble head nod, Dr. McNeal added, "The cut across your lower abdominis muscle appears to be infected. I've given you some strong antibiotics to treat it, and with luck, we may have caught it in time before it turns septic."
The doctor noticed a change in Starsky's face. "I know this isn't the best news you could be hearing," he said, "and you've got some rough times ahead of you, but from what you've already been through—I don't doubt you're going to come out of this just as strong as you went in."
Starsky felt his hand being squeezed. He almost let his feelings go, but managed to draw them back inside. Releasing a small sigh, Starsky gazed up at McNeal and muttered, "Did I get shot?"
"Twice. The one in your side," McNeal paused to choose his words carefully, "caused some muscle damage, but nothing that shouldn't eventually heal. The other one entered in along the base of your neck, but it missed your spine. From what I can see on the x-ray, the bullet may have hit your shoulder blade, which is fortunate because the bone probably stopped it from traveling deeper."
Starsky closed his eyes and turned his head until the pull of injured neck muscles stopped the effort. If there was anything else wrong with him, he didn't want to know. He concentrated on the soft feel of the mattress and the warmth of the knitted blankets covering his worn body. The only thing keeping him from slipping into a fantasy where he was fine and well was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.
Dr. McNeal knew his patient had reached his mental limit, but there was still one thing he wanted to say. "There's a couple of people out in the waiting room, wanting to see you." Starsky opened his eyes. "You really need to rest. If your vitals remain stable for the next hour, I'd like to get you into surgery. It's up to you, but they can only visit for just a couple of minutes."
Starsky nodded his head, then softly said, "Hey…'s'okay to tell 'em…what you told me."
The doctor left the trauma room and walked out into the hall, making his way to the nearly empty waiting room. It had been a quiet evening in the emergency department, except for his last patient, so he had no problem locating the two people he had spoken to a few hours earlier.
"Sergeant Hutchingson?" he asked, spotting the tall blond. Seated next to him and David's sister was a man McNeal hadn't seen earlier.
"Hutchinson." Hutch corrected him, as he stood up. "And this is Harold Dobey. He's our captain."
Shaking hands with the man, Dr. McNeal said, "Pleasure to meet you, although I'm sure we all wish it could be under better circumstances." Motioning towards the bench seats, he said, "Let's sit down, shall we?"
After everyone was settled, Dr. McNeal continued. "David's awake now, he's stable but still in critical condition. If there are no significant changes in his condition over the next hour, we'll be taking him upstairs for surgery." Worried looks appeared on his audience's faces. "He's got some pressing concerns that I can only address by going in surgically."
For the next several minutes, he explained everything he had told Starsky. When he was done, there was only one question.
"Is he going to be okay?" asked Hutch.
"It's impossible for me to say at this point. David's young and in good shape, which will certainly help, but I need to know the extent of his internal injuries. He's severely dehydrated and anemic, and when he comes out of surgery he'll need to go into ICU. The most critical issue is keeping the septicemia from turning into septic shock. I hate to have this sound like a cliché, but the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours will be crucial in determining how he will progress."
"I'd like to see him now, if that's okay," Bree said, not wanting to hear any more.
"Of course. You're each welcome to visit, but keep it short. No more than a minute, two at the most. He needs rest as well as support. And just one of you at a time."
Hutch turned to Bree. "Go ahead, we'll wait."
Dr. McNeal escorted Bree back to the trauma room. The initial sight of all the hanging IV bags, tubes and wires upset her, but she looked through the dizzying maze of equipment and just concentrated on her brother's face. As soon as the nurse moved away from David's side after checking one of his IV ports, Bree slipped in and stood along the bedside. She laid her hand on top of his forearm, and lightly pressed down. "Davey? It's me."
Starsky opened his eyes, and a slight smile emerged on the pale face when he recognized Bree. "Hey, " he said in a throaty voice. "Doin' okay?"
Bree moved her hand down and dipped her fingers into Starsky's. "I think I'm doin' better than you." As she studied his face, Bree noticed the thin, damp lines extending down along his temples. She raised her other hand and ran it gently across his forehead. "It's gonna be okay. I'm not letting you go."
Starsky broke eye contact and glanced up at the ceiling. He briefly examined the IV bags and tubing before returning his sad gaze to Bree. "Don't tell Mom…not yet."
"Okay. I won't." She wiped his temple with the back of her hand. "David, don't give up. They're gonna take good care of you, so you need to hang on."
He shut both eyes in affirmation, then opened them. Weakly, he mouthed, "Sure." He would try, but he was so damned tired.
Bree bent over and kissed his forehead. "I've gotta go now," she murmured. This was harder than she thought. She wished time could just stop at this moment while he was alive and still able to talk to her. But David's injuries were serious, and she had to accept the fact he wasn't going to get better until they operated on him. 'Don't tell Mom'…are you kidding? I couldn't even begin to tell her anything about this, Davey. Clearing her voice, she said, "Hutch and your captain are here. Do you want to see them?"
Starsky nodded his head. Bree squeezed his arm one last time, wishing if there were any way to trade places with him, she could do it.
Dr. McNeal met her at the door and escorted her a little ways down the hall, where he asked, "So how did he seem to you?"
She could only think of one answer. "Scared."
McNeal offered her a slight grin. "I think that would be an understatement. Since you're his sister, I was wondering if he has any other relatives that should be contacted."
Bree immediately stopped walking. "Is David dying?" she asked, dreading a reply.
"I…I'm sorry. I didn't mean for my question to imply that. It's just if there's anyone else he's close to, they should be called."
"He's got a brother, and our mother is still alive. I wouldn't know how to contact Nicky. I'm not sure he would come here even if he did know. Our mother, she's in New York. David's already told me not to tell her anything yet. I'd have to agree with him. She'd just sit at home and be worried sick."
"I see. If that's your choice, I'll respect it."
Bree reflected on the doctor's words, not sure if he was implying something or not.
"Doctor, please don't take this wrong, but my choice would be for my brother not to be here at all. God knows, he didn't deserve any of this. He was just doing his job and pissed off someone who had no right to even walk this earth. Maybe our mother does deserve to know about this but I'm not about to do anything to add to my brother's worries right now. He's scared and he's hurting, and I have no idea how he's holding himself together." Bree hesitated for a moment, trying to keep her emotions in check. "I can't imagine what he's gone through, nobody can, but he deserves the best you and this hospital can give him. So just remember that he and I and his partner and boss are all counting on you to take care of his medical issues—we'll have enough on our hands trying to deal with his emotional ones."
Both Dr. McNeal and Bree turned to find Hutch and Dobey standing only a few feet away from them. Hutch had caught most of the conversation, and wanted to add something.
"Doctor, we know he's in bad shape—he'll hold up his end, he just needs you to hold up yours. If it's okay, I'd like to see my partner now."
"Of course—if you'll just follow me." Dr. McNeal said as he led Hutch down the hall.
Bree and Dobey returned to the waiting room and sat down on the stiff vinyl seats. Dobey glanced at his watch, wondering if he should call Edith now or wait until Starsky was in surgery.
He turned to Bree and said, "Can I get you something?"
"No, thank you. Maybe later."
Dobey let out a deep sigh. "You know, what you did was real gutsy." Bree looked at him apprehensively. "Hutch didn't go into a lot of detail, but from what he told me, if it hadn't been for you, things may not have ended as fortunately as they did."
"David got shot. I wouldn't call that fortunate."
"Look, there's a lot of 'what ifs' that could've happened, young lady. But the only thing that matters is that you and Hutch and Starsky are alive, and Rothman's dead. And that's about as fortunate as you can get."
"Sure," Bree replied unemotionally.
Hutch slipped tentatively into his partner's room, trying to ignore the monitoring equipment engulfing his partner. He moved towards the bedside, noticing that Starsky looked more at ease, but hardly better than when he had last seen him. Finding an area free of tubes, Hutch laid his hand onto Starsky's arm.
"Hey, buddy, you still awake?"
Starsky open heavy eyelids and tried to focus his temperamental vision on the visitor beside him. "Hey…was wonderin' where you were."
"What? You thought I'd forgotten about you already?" Hutch said, with a grateful grin.
Starsky smiled, but with a glint of sadness. "What time is it?" he asked weakly.
Hutch couldn't see a clock, but had a good idea. "Around nine, I think. Why, you late for a date or something?"
"They're gonna operate…" Starsky said, his voice becoming shaky. "I don't want to lose my kidney, Hutch."
"Starsk," Hutch began, tightening his grasp, "you're in good hands. I know you're scared, but—"
"Hutch…"
Starsky didn't want to be patronized. He wanted to tell Hutch that he was tired of fighting, tired of dealing with pain, and scared that this nightmare was never going to end. "I'm sorry. Just really tired."
Out of the corner of his eye, Hutch saw Dr. McNeal standing in the doorway. Knowing he only had a few more moments, Hutch said, "Starsk, whatever happens, we'll deal with it. Try to get some rest now, okay?"
"…'kay."
Hutch straightened up, giving Starsky's arm a final comforting squeeze. Inside, though, he felt totally beaten down by the whole situation. There wasn't anything he could do to ease his friend's pain or apprehension. Even knowing about every one of Starsky's injuries, he could only guess at what happened each time one was inflicted. Jenkins had already been interviewed by a detective team Dobey assigned to Starsky's case, but he had pled the fifth. Rothman was dead, and Suko, along with one Louis Mario Vinetti, had disappeared. Before leaving the room, Hutch paused for a second, watching Starsky settle into what he hoped would be a restful nap.
"You two must work very closely together," Dr. McNeal said, as they left the room. "He seems to really trust you."
"Yeah." Hutch answered, his mind elsewhere. "Look, doctor," he said, stopping in the middle of the hall, "he's trusting you with his life. Just…keep that in mind."
"I look after all my patients, sergeant, even those with an ample supply of guardian angels. And I trust the police will do their job, and find the ones responsible for putting your partner here in the first place."
Hutch started to say something, then changed his mind. The doctor had a point, one that even Hutch couldn't argue with.
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Six days later, Bree sat at Starsky's bedside, watching another episode of All My Children. She had never cared for daytime soaps, but since this was the time of day when she stayed with David while Hutch was working, she'd gotten interested in the show. Huggy had gotten information about one of Rothman's drug distributors and was helping Hutch track down the rest of the supply network. More importantly, was just that morning Dr. McNeal had upgraded David's condition to fair and he was moved out of ICU into a regular room.
The good news felt long overdue; the last several days had tested everyone's nerves. While the doctor was able to repair the injured kidney, David's vital signs had suddenly plummeted during surgery, and he had to be put on life support. Two days later, he started fighting the ventilator after developing a high fever and was placed into a drug-induced coma until he got strong enough to be off all support. On top of everything, Rachel had called the precinct, frantic because she couldn't get a hold of either Bree or David, and was certain they were either missing or dead. Bree had called her mother, and while down-playing David's injuries and her own involvement in the kidnapping, she'd given Rachel a reasonable explanation of why no one had called sooner.
As Bree watched the previews for tomorrow's show on the television, David started to stir, waking up from one of his numerous naps.
"Hey there, sleepyhead. How're you feeling?"
Starsky grunted and tried to shift over on his side. The pulling of drain tubes and still tender stitches stopped him cold and he rolled back, frustrated as he tried to untangle himself from the maze of IV lines and heart monitor leads.
Bree went over to the bedside. "Here, let me help." She separated out the tangled web and raised the head of the bed. She then grabbed her chair and moved it closer. "You feel like trying to eat something?" she asked, sitting back down.
The disgusted look on David's face gave her his answer. "Is your side still hurting? Do you need some more pain pills?"
Starsky let out a muffled 'shit', then took a deep breath before turning tired eyes to Bree. "I'm sorry," he said. "Just sick of lying around like a beached whale."
"A beached whale?" Bree reached over and grabbed David's hand. "Hey, haven't you noticed? You're in a regular room. When I phoned Hutch this morning and told him you were out of ICU, he couldn't believe it." Getting no reaction, she said, "What is it, David? What's wrong?"
"Nothin'."
Deciding not to press him further, Bree picked up a cup filled with apple juice from the tray table, and adjusting the straw, offered it to David. When he only took a small sip, she said, "You should try and drink some more. It's been sitting there since breakfast."
"'M not thirsty."
Bree sat the cup back down. Obviously, this wasn't going to be one of David's good days; then again, he hadn't really had one yet. She was just hoping the emotional lift from being out of ICU would have made him feel better. Bree glanced at the clock, noting it was about a quarter past one.
"I wonder where Michael is; he's usually right on time," she said. Michael was a physical therapist that had been seeing Starsky since his second day in the hospital. Normally he arrived right at one o'clock. Hearing someone coming into the room, Bree said, "Oh, I bet that's him."
The first thing that struck Bree was the man who walked in was certainly larger than Michael. It wasn't until she looked at his face that her gasp caught Starsky's attention.
"What do you want?" she snarled, throwing an arm over David's chest. Starsky brought his free hand up and placed it over Bree's, trying to comfort her.
"Don't you dare scream or even think about pushing that call button." Dressed in an orderly's uniform, Vinetti was pointing an automatic with a silencer attached at the two siblings. "Just want to talk."
Dumbfounded, Bree asked, "Talk? About what?"
"About how you knew what happened to my sister. Who told you?"
Gathering her wits, Bree said, "Nobody told me. It's like I said—I can hear things people who have died say to me." When Vinetti gave her a doubtful glare, she nervously added, "Look, I don't know what else to tell you!"
Vinetti waved the gun towards Starsky. "Is he really your brother?"
"Of course he's my brother."
"He's looking better. I'd hate to see all that good work go to waste." Vinetti coldly eyed Starsky, who tensed up and gave the hit man a go to hell look. Continuing, Vinetti told Bree, "So, if that's what you can really do, I want you to talk to my sister. There's something I need to know."
Ignoring what he said, Bree nodded towards David and said angrily, "Were you the one who shot him, and sliced his gut open?"
"I might have punched him a couple of times, but I'd didn't shoot or cut him."
"But you were there, holding me so the other bastard could," Starsky broke in.
Stunned, Bree looked at David, then back at the mobster. "You son-of-a-bitch. Why should I do anything for you?"
"Okay. You made your point," Vinetti answered, lowering the gun, "but who pulled that bastard off, right when you were ready to get your ass reamed?"
Starsky's demeanor instantly changed. Humiliated, he lowered his head. There may have been a chance he could have forgotten about that particular attack, the only one that hadn't left a physical scar, but not anymore. As déjà vu struck, taking him back to that conversation in his kitchen with Bree, he glanced at her, not sure what to think of the empathetic look on her face.
Bree turned to Vinetti. David's reaction had convinced her the mobster wasn't lying, but did that mean she owed him anything? "I don't think I can give you what you want," she said. "It's not something that I can turn on anytime I feel like it."
Vinetti aimed the gun back at Starsky. "Either you're lying, sister, or this ability of yours sure has a convenient way of showing up just when you need it to!"
"Stop it!" Bree cried. "I'm not lying! If I could do it I would, just so you'd get the hell out of here and leave us alone!"
"Keep your voice down!" Vinetti growled. He carefully stuck the gun back inside of his pants pocket. With a softer tone, he said, "It's just that she always took care of me, and I wanted to..." Vinetti paused, lost in thought, then reached into his other pocket and pulled out an envelope. He tossed it on the foot of Starsky's bed. Talking to Bree, he said, "It's all good and clean, what's in there. Regardless of what you would've done today, I figure I owed that to ya."
As he turned to leave, Bree called out, "Wait!" Starsky looked at her like she was crazy, but she had to ask. "Do you have something that belonged to her? Or a picture, maybe?"
Vinetti stopped, surprised at her request. He pulled out his wallet, and opening it, retrieved a small, black and white photo of a teenage girl. After looking at it longingly, he stepped over to the bed and handed it to Bree.
Bree took the photo and had to catch her breath when she saw the image. She showed it to David, who instantly mirrored her shocked reaction.
"What?" asked Vinetti. "Why the funny looks?"
Bree brought the picture back and held it close. "She…your sister, looks exactly like a girl named Terri. She was David's fiancé, but she died a couple of years ago."
Vinetti studied both of their faces. "Gabby died in 1947," he said. "She was sixteen years old."
"Terri was born in 1948." Starsky murmured, then glanced back at the image. "If I didn't know any better, I could swear that was a picture of Terri at that age."
Bree cradled the photo in her hand, and while staring at it asked Vinetti, "What did you want to know?"
He swallowed hard, then said, "I just want to know if…if she's still proud of me."
Bree closed her eyes and sat still, trying to concentrate. After a long moment, she looked back at Vinetti and handed him Gabby's picture. "I'm sorry," she said sadly, "I'm just not picking up anything."
Vinetti offered a slight smile, then took the photo and tucked it back in his wallet. As he let out a sigh, he started to turn towards the door.
"Hey!" Bree said, getting him to stop. "The other day, in the warehouse…I've never had that happen before. I can't explain it, but I wasn't hearing Gabriella talking to me, it was more like…she was me." Bree thought for a moment, then said, "I think she just didn't want to see Rothman getting away with killing another sister who really cared about her brother. Maybe that might answer your question."
Vinetti looked at Bree, then Starsky. With a contented smile, he said, "She's a good one to have around. As far as you and me…I leave here and we don't got no issues, right?"
Starsky shook his head. "No, not personal ones. I'm still a cop, though. And your partner, he's another matter."
"Only if you get him before me." With that, Vinetti turned and quickly left the room.
Bree and Starsky looked at each other, then dove into a comforting hug. "He was right, you know." Starsky said, as he pulled away. "You're a good one to have around."
"Hmpfh!" she answered, combing her hand through his hair. "Let's hear you say that a couple days from now when I'm trying to get you to eat more or get out of bed."
"Yeah, might have to take it all back then," he said, with a big grin. "Hey. What's in the envelope?"
"I don't know." Bree reached over and picked up the thickly wadded item. Tearing it open, her eyes lit up. "Oh my God, Davey!"
Starsky leaned forward, and glanced at the contents. Stunned, he said, "How much is in there?"
She was still thumbing through the bills. "There's at least five thousand dollars here. I've never seen that much money before!" Apprehensive, she asked, "What're we going do to with it?"
"We? I heard him say that belonged to you."
"But…I mean, what if it's hot money?"
Starsky chuckled. "I kinda doubt it. He made a point of saying it was clean. I could check the serial numbers, just to make sure it didn't come from some bank holdup."
"You mean this is probably all mine?"
"You want to give it back to him?"
Bree thumbed through all the hundred dollar bills again. "Well, he did say I earned it." A sudden thought hit her. "I think I know where at least some of this can go," she said, eyeing her brother.
"Yeah, where's that?"
"To get your car fixed."
Starsky glared at her. "My car? What's wrong with my car?"
"Oh, I guess Hutch didn't tell you…"
"Tell me what? What happened to my car, Bree?" he said, sounding more desperate.
"Well, nothing a little reconstructive frame work and paint couldn't fix," she said slyly.
"Breanna Starsky!!"
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The End
Thanks for reading this, everybody. A special thank you goes out to the ones who offered reviews. As a 'newbie', it meant alot to know that people enjoyed the story. Bree thought she'd thank everyone by making up a big batch of her special chili, but I told her to save it for the sequel. She's a good kid and pretty resourceful. She actually got Vinetti and Suko to stop bickering over who gave the best performance by tossing someone's porn magazine in the trash can out front. I won't tell you who ran outside to get it.
The sequel to 'A Sister's Love' is in production. Its title is "When the Curtain Falls" and will pick up a few months after 'Sweet Revenge.'
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