Chapter 10

Hutch drove quickly from the dunes, his eyes scanning the vicinity searching and finally finding a blue telephone booth mounted on a pole by the side of the road. His heart hammered in his chest, each second ticking away the possibility of Starsky remaining alive - if in fact he hadn't already killed him. As the black pick up truck sailed past, he pulled up and stopped, leaping out from the car as Mel looked at him curiously.

'Where're ya goin'?' he asked through the open window. Hutch looked back at him.

'Boss lady wanted to know when it had gone down. Gonna phone an' tell her' Hutch said, running back up the road to the booth. He fished in his back pocket for a couple of dimes. He fumbled through his loose change with hands that still shook violently with shock and adrenaline, picking out two coins and pocketing the rest. He smiled encouragingly at Mel who was hanging out of the window and dropped the first dime into the slot, punching in the numbers he'd memorised, literally hopping from one foot to the next as he heard the dialling tone on the other end.

'C'mon, c'mon' he muttered, hammering at the dumb booth with his left hand. Didn't they know his partner was dying out on the dunes? Didn't they know that he'd been forced to fire on the man he loved more dearly than life itself? He snickered at the irony of the situation; being forced to send a bullet into Starsky's body trying to make out he'd killed him in order to try to save his life. Sometimes life could be dumb and sometimes just so damned complicated that it sent his head into a spin. And for what? To catch some drug dealer who'd have a good enough lawyer to get them out in a year? The phone at the other end picked up and he heard O'Rourke's voice.

'Starsky?'

'No Hutchinson. Listen up, I don't have much time. Starsky's injured – bad. On the dunes, um….. t two miles south of …..of….fuck!' Hutch ran his hands through his hair, his brain refusing to function in his anxiety 'M Mariners point, got that? He needs help fast or he'll d die'.

'Mariners Point got it. You ok Hutchinson? You sound like crap. Don't blow your cover man, keep cool. Ya did good. I'll take care of this'.

'Fine, just g get to him an' fast'. Hutch put the phone down, breathing heavily. He sent a silent prayer up to any God who happened to be listening. Please don't let him be dead. Please God don't let me have killed him, otherwise I may as well die too. Don't blow your cover! Easier said than done when ever fibre of his being wanted to go back and gather the broke brunet body into his arms and yell his apologies to the heavens.

Hutch gritted his teeth and tried to aim for composure on his face. He was meant to be a heavy. He wasn't supposed to have feelings for the men he wasted along his way.

Dialling Lilly's number, he managed to grind out 'It's done. He's dead' without the words sticking in his throat. But the woman was not easily impressed.

'Did you check?' she pressed.

Hutch felt like yelling at her; telling her that she was the worst woman in the world and that he'd kill her as soon as look at her. Instead, he harnessed his anger, stowing it down deep to use later.

'No, I didn't get time. There was a car coming' the "you callous bitch" hung on the air between them. She said nothing more and Hutch heard the phone go down. With a heavy heart and fighting the almost irresistible urge to turn and make his way back to his partner, Hutch walked slowly back to the car. He needed to trust their back up and trust that Starsky would be well cared for so long as O'Rourke, Jiminez and the others cold get to him in time. If indeed he hadn't killed him already! Oh shit, Starsky, what have I done to ya?

oOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Starsky managed to force his eyes open and stared up at a milky blue sky and a pale sun lingering over the horizon. The sand felt cool and damp beneath him, but that seemed to be the least of his worries. His last memory was of Hutch staring at him with fear and self-loathing on his face. He knew what Hutch was doing – saving his life before one of Lilly's other goons got to him and he understood also how the blond must be feeling. When Hutch had levelled his gun at him, he'd so wanted to take his partner in his arms and tell him that it was ok, he understood and he wanted Hutch to do what he had to do. But with Bo standing by the side of them there was no time and instead he'd just managed the final words – do it now.

He felt himself as a light and insubstantial being, floating above the earth a little way. There was very little pain and Starsky realised that that was very odd and a little disturbing. From the beating he'd sustained he knew he had some pretty serious injuries and yet those injuries didn't seem to be bothering him too much. There was no pain at all in his shoulder and for moment the brunet had actually forgtten he'd been shot.

Hutch. Oh God, Hutch where are ya buddy?

When he'd been surrounded by Bo, Mel and Ramp outside the Angels disco, he'd somehow been comforted to have Hutch at his back. When they were hurting him, their bats and fists slamming into him, he could take a little comfort from having the big blond holding him and he tried to absorb as much strength as he could from the solid arms around him. And then he'd heard Hutch's pained voice telling him to roll with it and pretend to pass out. But that had never been the brunet's style. Starsky would always go out fighting and his temper had got the better of him until he'd done his best to fight back with his feet, the only weapon that was at his disposal.

Starsky tried to raise his head and at once experienced the knife edged pain ripping through his left shoulder and arm. With his right hand he explored the area his fingers coming away red and sticky. The bullet had hit between his heart and shoulder blade and there was a pleasant warm numbness to the area which he recognised as shock. Letting his head fall back he let out a quiet whimper. Shit, not good Davey. Not good at all. He tried again to raise his head and the pains took his breath away as he decided instead to roll over onto his stomach. If Bo and the others were to come back and find him……

Painfully and using his good right arm as a lever, the brunet managed to heave himself backwards a couple of feet, his shattered right knee dragging uselessly behind him. He screamed and continued to scream with each movement as he went about his slow and agonising progress up the face of the dune. The screaming showed him he was still alive, each sound reminding him of who he was and what he was struggling for, but with each movement he became weaker and weaker until his flailing arm moved him only inches at a time and his breath was singing in his throat. Finally he collapsed back, a long run of blood stained sand the only reminder of where he'd started out from. With a last agonised groan, he let his head sink back onto the cool strand and closed his eyes.

Bo….Mel….Hutch. Would anyone find him? And would he still be alive? He could feel the life draining from him with every beat of his heart and as he lay exhausted on the sand his last conscious thought was of his partner, golden hair haloed against the sun like an avenging angel. Come get me Hutch…..help me….someone.

oOoOoOoOoOo

'Two miles south of Mariners Point on the dunes' O'Rourke reported back to Dobey as the big man wiped a white handkerchief over his face. 'And he said Starsky was in a bad way. That area is 15 minutes away if we push it'.

'And you're gonna push it mister. Take Jiminez and go, now! I'll have an ambulance from the hospital meet you there by the pier. Find him huh? And quick'.

Jiminez and O'Rourke nodded and ran for their car, slamming the mars light onto the roof and starting the sirens wailing. O'Rourke drove, pedal to the metal like a dervish. As they got out of the city and started down the coast road, the sun coming up over the dunes Jiminez snickered to himself.

'What?' O'Rourke asked, stunned that the Puerto Rican could find anything even vaguely amusing in the current situation.

'Just thinkin'. He was an accident waiting to happen' Jiminez said, his head propped on his hand as he looked out of the window at the waves lapping the shore across the beach from the road.

'What?'

'Starsky. He was a liability right from the start. Why the hell Dobey chose those two clowns is anyone's guess. They might have got him wrapped round their little finger, but I saw right through 'em right from the start'.

'You have no idea what you're talkin' about man' O'Rourke grunted, anger rising inside him. For the past four months he'd listened to Jiminez sniping at the blond and his partner, backed up and fuelled by Ivan Simonetti, who seemed to have a personal grudge against the two detectives.

'Don't tell me they brainwashed you too? Jiminez looked sideways at the man driving the car.

'No, they didn't brainwash me. I just watched two real good detectives goin' about their job. They knew what they were letting themselves in for; how dangerous this was going to be. And yet they argued not about doin' it, but how they were gonna be able to watch each other's backs'.

'Aww, aint that sweet' Jiminez sneered.

'It's somethin' I don't think you'd know anythin' about'.

The Puerto Rican looked sideways, anger on his face. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Means I get the impression you'd sooner watch your own back than any partners. You could learn a lot from watchin' Starsky and Hutch' O'Rourke pulled the car up on the side of the road. In the far distance he could just see Mariners Point pier and as he got out, he scanned the dunes. 'Shit it's like lookin' for a needle in a haystack' he said, seeing the pale golden sand stretch for miles in either direction.

Jiminez got out of the car also and looked around at the road. He squinted his eyes against the rising sun, shielding them with his hand as he looked up the road. Ignoring the disagreement he'd just had with the Narcotics guy, he started to trot comfortably off the road, his eyes fastened on something further up. O'Rourke watched him go, curious and set off at a dead run as he saw the big man pause and squat down then signal for him to join him.

O'Rourke knelt down in the sand at the side of the road by Jiminez and looked at the tire tracks etched into the sand. The morning breeze hadn't had time to erase them yet and Jiminez studied them then stood slowly. 'Car stopped here no more than 3 or 4 hours ago. It's a long shot, but maybe this is the place to start?'

'I'm fresh out of ideas, lets go' O'Rourke said and started walking purposeful over the crest of the small dune, seeing a larger one in front. A tiny patch of red glistening on the sand made him catch his breath and he broke into a jog, his feet sinking ankle deep into the soft sand. As he got closer he could see marks in the sand and as he crested the rise, he yelled back at Jiminez who was lagging behind.

'It's Starsky, he's here. Get back to the car and radio the location to the meat wagon. GO'.

He saw Jiminez nod and turn back and with the utmost caution, O'Rourke slid down the other side of the dune, coming to a stop by the side of the bleeding cop. He knelt down and gently pushed a hand against the brunet's neck, searching for the carotid pulse. It was there, weak and thready and running a mile a minute and at the gentle pressure, the indigo eyes flashed open.

O'Rourke was staggered. Starsky's face was almost covered in blood from a wound on his temple, cuts across his cheek and from the broken smashed lips. More blood encrusted the curly haired cop's left shoulder and continued to seep from the horrendous wound there. Starsky lay with his head held to the left, his left clavicle seeming markedly shorter than his right. O'Rourke recognised the signs of a broken collar bone immediately.

'Starsky….Dave, can ya hear me?' he said softly, his fingers cupping the side of the blood soaked face.

Starsky's eyes opened again, closed, then reopened, focusing on the cop above him, although there was no recognition in them. 'Utch?' the voice was rasping and incredibly weak and the Irishman had to bend close to hear.

'No, It's me, Pat. Dave? Can ya hear me?'

The brunet swilled his tongue around his torn lips, crying out as he tried to raise his head. 'Utch…..noooo. Not…..' the sticky right hand lifted and grasped O'Rourke's arm with surprising strength. Pat caught it and held on.

'Sssh, Dave, don't try an' talk. The ambulance'll be here soon. Just lie back buddy'.

'Noo…..don't und'stand. Utch…….danger…..'

'I know. I'll fix that, honest I will buddy'.

'Not his fault' Starsky's head rolled from side to side, his eyes closed as he became lost in his pain and confusion. 'Not…..fault…..'Utch……Ut'shh'

O'Rourke looked back the way he'd come and was relieved to see Jiminez coming back over the dunes and in the distance the sparkling flashing blue lights of the ambulance. He carded his fingers through the cop's hair, trying to sooth the feverish mumblings as best he could.

'Don't talk Dave. Save your strength, they're coming now. Soon be here' he crooned. 'Sssh'.

Starsky made one last titanic effort and forced his eyes open again. 'Pat?'

'Yeah buddy, right here'.

'Heist…..going down….on f…..' the light left the dull indigo eyes finally and Starsky's head rested back on the sand with a sigh just as the paramedics panted down the dune and immediately knelt down by the side of the injured cop.