Chapter 18

Starsky made Hutch walk in front. He also made Hutch carry all the gear they'd brought with them. Whether he'd learned it from the army or whether he really was a cop, one thing he knew for sure was that you should keep your enemies in sight and keep them occupied. He had the blond man firmly in his sights and with two bags to carry Hutch's hands were full. If this was a trick and the flaxen haired man was leading into some other sort of ambush, Hutch would have to drop the bags first and turn to face Starsky. Starsky would have preferred that Hutch was tied – handcuffed even – to make the brunet feel secure, but that wasn't an option and even if it was, logic dictated that if there were men after the two of them, it was better to have the blond able to fight.

Starsky was tired. His shoulders ached unmercifully from having been tied against the tree for so long. That made his chest hurt even more and breathing was a bit of an issue now that he was up and walking. The centre of his body was just one huge pain. It felt as though someone had set fire to his groin and was steadily adding gasoline to the flames and the loss of blood left the brunet feeling weak and nauseous. As he walked he cursed under his breath and finally Hutch stopped and turned to him.

'Will ya stop that?'

'What?'

'That…..that mutterin'. You want the bad guys to come find us?'

'I wasn't mutterin'.'

Hutch wrinkled his forehead. 'No?'

'I was cursin'. There's a difference.'

'Well curse quieter huh?'

Starsky stopped walking and tried hard not to show Hutch just how hurt he was. Casually he leaned against the trunk of a tree although his knuckles showed white where they were gripping the rough bark. 'Tell me where we're going.'

'Mind if I put the bags down?' Hutch asked.

'Uh uh Pal. Keep your hands full and where I can see 'em.' There was a challenge in Starsky's eyes that told his partner not to push too hard. Hutch sighed but held onto the bags.

'We're getting' off the island, or so I thought we'd agreed.'

It was Starsky's turn to sigh. He needed to show Hutch that he was ok – ready to fight if he had to – but there was no way he was up to another half mile swim across that reef. 'How?' he asked carefully.

'I don't know how you got here, but some guy I don't know said he was a friend from my old life. He got a boat and brought me here. I didn't know it was a set up. He had me fired up ready to kill Ethan Quade…..you.'

'Terrific. And who was this guy?'

Hutch shook his head. 'Like I say. He told me he was a friend from my old life. He said I was a firefighter from up north in Seattle. He told me you'd raped and killed my sister and he could get me to you. He said you'd be here on this island and that no-one else lived here – that it belonged to a friend. He brought me here by boat and landed me at a jetty.'

'There was a jetty?' Starsky asked bitterly.

'Yeah. Where did you land?'

The brunet shook his head. 'It don't matter. And for the record I didn't fuck your sister. I don't even know your sister. I don't know you.'

Hutch shook his head. 'You know my sister Starsk. Karen. She's living back in Duluth. She's alive and well. I never lived in Seattle. I'm not a firefighter, I'm a cop…..in Bay City. And so are you. We're partners and have been for over five years.'

Starsky shook his head slowly. Something stirred inside Starsky's gut. It made him squirm feeling so uncomfortable that it drew a rage so profound to the surface that without any warning he felt a yell of rage ripped from his throat as he launched himself against the blond. Hutch found himself suddenly the target of the curly headed missile and managed to drop the bags just in time to free his hands and drop to his butt, grabbing Starsky's arms and planting a foot into Starsky's midriff so that he could use the brunet's momentum to roll Starsky's body over his head.

The curly haired man landed with a "woof" as the breath was knocked from his body and Hutch scrabbled around so that he could straddle to brunet's body, pinning Starsky's arms to the ground. Breathlessly he locked eyes with his buddy, refusing to shy away from the unmasked anger into the indigo blue eyes below him.

'Will ya stop that Starsk. It's me. It's Hutch. Your partner. Your friend? Starsky? Please? We need to work together to get off this fuckin' place and then we can work on getting' your memories back.'

Starsky struggled all the more. The feeling in his gut had grown so that he felt like fire ants were crawling over his skin. Dr Isaac had told him all about this guy – this Hunt….Hutch…..whatever he called himself. He was the sort of guy who'd do anything to trick him, including playing mind games with him.

Fine. If that was the way he had to play. Starsky stopped struggling and tried to calm himself. He'd get back at the blond later. Right now he wanted to put as much distance between them as he could. 'Get off of me' Starsky growled.

Hutch looked down at him, hoping for some kind of evidence that Starsky was back to being Starsky. There was nothing apparent but he couldn't hold the brunet down all day and so reluctantly he moved, letting Starsky first sit and then stand up. Immediately Starsky picked up his own small bag and stalked off through the trees.

'Starsk. Where are you going?' Hutch hissed.

Angrily the brunet turned. 'The truce is off. I won't kill ya till we both get back to the mainland, but you're on your own till then Hunt.'

'Hutch. I'm Hutch and I don't think it's a good idea to split up.'

Starsky grinned but there was no light in his eyes. 'I just bet ya don't' he said as he turned and walked away.

Hutch was left sitting on the ground cursing. Whatever had happened to them both in that hospital – whatever had been done to them, Starsky was obviously a lot worse that Hutch. For one moment the blond considered. Maybe this was the trick. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him again and maybe he really was Ray Hunt and that really was Ethan Quade. Were Starsky and Hutch the figments of his imagination? It sounded like some cheesy TV cop show when he said it to himself like that and yet, the more he thought about it, the more memories came back to him. As an experiment, Hutch tried to imagine himself living in Seattle as a firefighter. It didn't work. There was nothing. No memory. No feeling of place. No gut reaction. If that was his real life then someone had worked a real job on him! It seemed more sensible that someone would take two cops as retribution for something maybe, than for a firefighter and his enemy to be kindly put in the same place at the same time and given the wherewithal to finish things.

The blond shook his head. Yeah. He was a cop. He was Ken Hutchinson and that curly headed hellion was most definitely his partner Dave Starsky. Even the slightly bow legged strut of the hips was a dead giveaway. He'd watched that strut for five years as it ran down flakes and pulled girls by the score.

Finally as sure of himself as he was going to get, Hutch pulled himself to his feet. A small part of him wanted to leave the brunet to his own devices. Starsky was big enough to look after himself after all. Hutch was not his keeper, but as the brunet was not in his right mind, Hutch picked up his bag and prepared to go and find his partner.

The blond walked off through the trees muttering to himself. The feel of Starsky's lean, hard body beneath him was still as much a memory as was the look of cold hate in those familiar eyes and yet Hutch couldn't quite bring himself to hate Starsky back. Instead, as he felt he'd always done, he felt a compulsion to look after the smaller man, even though Starsky was tough, streetwise and as capable as the next man in a fight. The blond was just thinking of the fights he and his partner had been in as he heard a muffled voice up ahead. At once on the alert, Hutch folded his memories away to be taken out again later. Quietly he dropped the bag and grabbed his knife. He moved forwards through the trees in time to see Starsky, facing him with his hands laced on the top of his head. Between Hutch and Starsky, and with his back to the blond, one of the escorts to the island stood with a gun aimed at Starsky's head.

The brunet had been walking sullenly along a small animal track. His head had been a jumble of mixed emotions, feelings and confusion. He hated Hunt – Ray Hunt. He'd been told that Ray Hunt would be on this island and he'd built up a mental picture of a drug dealer who was tall, muscular and evil looking. Starsky had also cultivated a healthy disregard for Hunt's life and had prepared himself to kill Hunt. When he'd met the blond somehow those feelings had dissipated somewhat. However hard he tried to imagine the flaxen haired man as a drug runner, something in Starsky's head stopped him from believing it. Try as he might, the brunet could not bring himself to hate Hutch….Hunt as much as he felt he should although the thought of them actually knowing each other and even being cops together was one leap of faith too far.

So wrapped up in his thoughts had Starsky been that when he heard the twig snap behind him, he'd been a split second too slow in turning. He heard a voice hiss freeze and was about to snarl at Hutch when the sight of the other man took away his words. So, Hutch had been right about that. There were other men on the island and by the look of the very deadly looking gun in this ones hand, they wanted Starsky and maybe Hutch dead.

Starsky dropped his bag to the ground as ordered and latticed his fingers on top of his head, regarding the gunman with weary but defiant eyes. The gunman leered at him, enjoying the look of exhaustion on the brunet's face and wanting to stretch out the moment for maximum gratification.

Starsky's eyes narrowed slightly and he braced himself for the kiss of the hot metal as the slug would inevitably pass though his body. He readied himself to die as he saw the gunman's finger start to squeeze the trigger and at the last moment, Starsky closed his eyes.

The bullet never came.

There was the sound of the shot echoing through the trees and the smell of cordite heavy in the air and yet there was no pain, no impact throwing him backwards. Nothing.

Starsky opened his eyes in surprise to see Hutch standing by the side of the fallen gunman, the huge knife reversed so that he could use the hilt as a cosh. For a moment the brunet stood in mute silence, looking from the man on the ground to Hutch and back again. When his muscles started to move again, Starsky bent and picked up his bag and shouldered it.

'Why?' the brunet asked.

'Huh?' Hutch's eyebrows V'd in question.

'Why take him out when he was gonna save you the job of killing me.'

Hutch shook his head slowly. 'Starsk why would I kill ya? You're my partner and my friend. I'd rather cut off my……'

'Like you tried to cut off mine?' the brunet grunted looking down at the blood on his shorts.

'I never tried to cut it off!'

'Hm. There was wood….and blood. Same thing.'

'Would it hurt so much to say "thank you Hutch for saving my life?"' Hutch asked, rage and frustration boiling below the surface of his emotions.

'Shuddup' Starsky grunted, turned his back and walked away. Balling his hands into fists, Hutch picked up his own bag and followed.