Disclaimer: They don’t belong to me. Wish they did. I claim no money for this work, yadda.
Category: angst, crossover with Starsky and Hutch
Author’s notes: This has been a long time coming. I’ve been sitting on it for so long, I don’t even remember when I started it. Huge thanks go to SassySouix for not only hosting this but being a great beta! Couldn’t have done this without you. Huge thanks also to Voni who not only helped me with the title but became a sounding board for those tough to reach places (even if she’s not into S&H, silly girl). As for a part 2… hopefully I’ll get around to it. This can stand alone. Enjoy!
Part 1: Red rover! red rover! Tell Ezra to come over!
*******
July 1, 1977 Friday 4:00 pm Bay City, California
It was a beautiful July day in Bay City. While it was hot, it wasn't stifling and everyone was taking advantage of the weather. It was one of those rare days where the smog was light and the breeze was coming off the ocean, soothing and cool. Ken Hutchinson took a deep breath and couldn't help but grin. He felt more alive than he had in days. After a relaxing weekend, he felt ready to face the work week and for once he, and his partner David Starsky, had no pressing cases needing their immediate attention.
Except for the cop killer case.
However, they weren't assigned to it, Simmons and Babcock were heading the task force that had most of the detectives in the city occupied. The task force had yet to locate their major suspect and just like every other officer, Hutch and Starsky were keeping their ear to the ground but hadn't been asked to pursue it too rigorously yet. It wasn't their case.
"It's been a beautiful day, hasn't it Starsky?"
"I'd say so. Ya didn't bother me 'bout breakfast. Or lunch for that matter." Starsky grinned, "and they were both good too."
"Starsky, day old pizza is not a healthy, nutritious breakfast and four alarm chili is a horrible lunch. Really, one of my shakes-"
"Here we go again," Starsky muttered.
"What was that?" Hutch asked. He knew what Starsky had said but decided to play the dumb blonde.
"Nothin', nothin' at all." Starsky drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. There was a comfortable silence for a bit as they drove through the streets they had patrolled as beat cops.
"Hey Hutch."
Hutch looked over at Starsky, surprised by the contemplative expression on the dark haired man's face. "Yeah?"
"Ever wonder 'bout fate?"
"What?" Hutch wondered what caused this sudden shift in conversation and mood, but then, who knew what went on in Starsky's brain.
"Y'know, predetermination-"
Hutch interrupted with a patient smile, "That's 'predestination' Starsk."
Starsky continued on as though Hutch had never spoken. "Luck, destiny. That sort 'a thing."
Hutch was silent for a moment. "What brought this on Starsky?"
Starsky glanced at his partner then looked back at the road. "Think of it Hutch. Is it our destiny to watch over this neighborhood for the rest of our lives? Was it fate that gave us this particular area?"
"Starsky,” Hutch sighed as he ordered his thoughts. “Some religions believe that everything is destined to happen and that reincarnation enables a person to make up for their sins in the past life bringing them closer to God. Than again it just could be that we happened to get this particular beat. That's all." He saw Starsky's serious look but tried to joke anyway. "Hey, maybe it's your destiny to eat cold pizza every morning for breakfast." Hutch chuckled at his comment.
"What about us?" Starsky asked softly.
"What?" Suddenly serious, Hutch focused fully on his friend. "What do you mean?"
"Well," Starsky hesitated. "Do ya think it was fate that, y'know…."
"No I don't know Starsky. Spill it."
Starsky turned a corner before answering.
"Do ya think it was fate that we met? Or was that just chance? Just coincidence?"
Hutch opened his mouth to respond flippantly once again but stopped at the look on Starsky's face. The two men had been friends for more than a few years and Ken knew his partner often had a cock-eyed way of looking at things. Dave Starsky was by no means stupid but he had a carefree, jovial, attitude that didn't allow him to worry about things he couldn't change. On the other hand he could go off on a tangent about something everyone else considered trivial or worse…downright crazy. Normally, Starsky would have considered a philosophical discussion such as the one they were having at the moment, an egghead subject.
"Starsky I…" Hutch looked away. The truth was he liked the thought that the two were destined to be together. He liked thinking that they might have been friends in some past life and that they would be together in a future life, laughing together, leaning on each other through the hard times and watching the other's back
"I don't know. It's kind 'a, well, comforting." Hutch looked at Starsky and saw the half grin on his face.
"I know what ya mean." Starsky was silent for a moment. "Wonder if we were destined to get Dobey as a captain?"
"I'll bet he's wondering what horrible thing he did in a past life to get stuck with us." Hutch chuckled, thinking of all the times their commander could have happily wrung their necks.
Starsky snickered. "I wonder if-"
"Zebra 3. Zebra 3, see the man at 1573 Montgomery."
"That's Mad Manny." Starsky stated. "Figure he's got some info for us?"
Manny Mannford had built his small pawnshop into a chain of electronic stores. He'd moved his main office to a fancy building downtown but still used the warehouse at the corner of Chandler and Montgomery. When it came to what was happening on the streets, Manny was almost as good a source as Huggy Bear.
Manny wasn't the most patient informant the partners had, so slapping the Mars light on the roof, as Starsky made a U-turn, Hutch picked up the mic. "This is Zebra 3; we are responding."
Dodging traffic the detectives made their way to the warehouse district, each man hoping the call would help lead the department to a serial killer. Turning off the light they slid the Torino to a halt in front of drab one story warehouse with a faded sign above the door, which looked like every building in the area.
"Somethin' don't feel right." Starsky glanced around the area, taking in every detail as his partner did the same.
"I know." Hutch nodded agreement, pulling his weapon from its holster and checking the loads. "Where's that atrocious gold boat on wheels Manny's got the nerve to call a Cadillac?"
Weapons in hand, the two men carefully opened the door glancing inside before silently entering the shadowy interior.
Inside, crates and boxes were stacked up along the floor. A shadowed, metal catwalk hung overhead, ringing the main floor.
"Manny?" The blond called quietly. "Manny it's Hutch."
They silently split up, searching behind the piles. Moving to the left Starsky made his way along the edge of the warehouse, trying to stay out of sight and still keep an eye out for the danger that had chills running down his spine. Taking a deep breath, he fought the urge to drag his partner from the old building He had a bad feeling and wanted to get out of the warehouse as soon as possible.
Starsky whirled to the right at the sound of someone knocking over a box. Hutch stood near the center of the warehouse, completely exposed.
The sound of gunfire registered in his brain mixing with Hutch's cry of pain as Starsky watched his partner jerk forward before collapsing face down on the warehouse floor, his gun skittering away.
Starsky could see the blood pooling on the floor beneath his motionless friend. Tearing his gaze from Hutch, he used his radio to call for back up and an ambulance. Keeping his gun ready, searching for the source of the gunfire, he worked his way toward his fallen partner. Hearing running footsteps and a door slamming, Starsky knew that the shooter had escaped but didn't care. He'd find him later. He'd find him and make him pay!
"Hutch!" He skidded to a stop and dropped to his knees beside his partner. "Oh my God, Hutch." He placed his hand on Hutch's back, trying to stop the flow of blood. "Buddy, you still with me?"
Hutch's eyes were half closed. His breathing was rapid and his skin was clammy to Starsky's touch. "Sssta-arskk," he breathed.
"Hey," Starsky said. "I'm right here. Okay? All right? I'm here."
Coughing lightly, Hutch moaned in agony as blood spilled from his lips.
"Shhh, it'll be okay Hutch, it'll be okay." Starsky was trying to reassure himself as well as his best friend. "Ju-just stay with me please? Stay."
Hutch tried to breathe in. "S-s-starsk… l-l-loo-"
"Save yer strength partner. Please Hutch!" Starsky bent over, looking into Hutch's eyes. "You'll be fine." He never realized that his own tears were mingling with ones trickling down Hutch's cheek. "You will. You will!" Starsky grabbed Hutch's hand and held on. "Don't you dare leave me!"
"Loooo," Hutch faltered again.
Starsky nodded. "Don’t talk like that buddy. You can tell me when yer all better right?"
Hutch sighed and went still, his eyelids sliding closed.
That was when Starsky realized Hutch had stopped breathing. "Hutch? Hutch?! HUTCH!"
He shook Hutch. Rolling him onto his back, the brown haired detective started CPR, trying to get him back. "Don't you leave me too! Not you too!"
Several moments later, uniformed officers burst in to the warehouse only to discover Starsky cradling his dead partner on the dirty floor, tears running down his face.
*******
June 28, 2002 Friday 1:00 pm Denver, Colorado
"Hey Ez, ya ok in there?"
Ezra jumped. He glared at Vin Tanner, embarrassed to be so distracted, the sharpshooter had obviously had to repeat his questions. "Why do you ask?" he said, trying to calm his racing heart.
"Ya just seemed to be really gettin' into that file there." Tanner got up and walked around the desks so he could get a look at the name on the folder. "Oh, ya got the LSD file." Vin sighed. "Seems to be on everyone's mind these days."
Ezra nodded. The file in question referred to Leonard Scott Davis and the murders he committed in the 1970s. Ezra turned the pages back to the beginning, studying the face of the man who had managed to kill so many police officers between Denver and Bay City before he was finally stopped. Davis had been a tall man, six foot and stick thin. He had a gaunt, almost otherworldly look about him, with stringy brown hair that was slicked back and thin red lips. But it was his eyes that caught Ezra's attention. They were pale blue and had the look of a man who had given up on his humanity. He quickly turned the page.
Having been undercover for several weeks, it was first day he'd been able to get to the office and had found a copy of the file the entire building seemed to be talking about laying on JD's desk.
Ezra looked up at Vin. "Was there something you needed Mr. Tanner?"
Vin shook his head. "Nothin' real important. Got a call so I couldn't finish readin' the file. What happened?"
"How far did you manage to read?" Ezra asked.
The longhaired man sat on the corner of Ezra's desk, much to the agent's annoyance. Ezra sighed in resignation knowing he wouldn't get anywhere explaining the difference between desks and chairs. "Got up to the part where the last detective died. What was his name?"
"Detective Kenneth Hutchinson died from a gunshot wound to the back. The bullet nicked the aorta: cause of death: massive blood loss," Ezra recited mechanically. "Apparently Detective David Starsky, his partner, took matters into his own hands. A few days later, he tracked down Mr. Leonard Scott Davis and cornered him in another, similar warehouse. There was a shootout and Detective Starsky killed Mr. Davis. However the detective was wounded in the battle and died shortly afterwards."
JD piped up, having listened to the conversation. "They say the two detectives were closer than brothers. I heard that the detective, Starsky, didn't care if he lived or died."
"And how would you know kid? You were still in diapers then," Buck joked.
"Was not," JD replied. After a moment's reflection he added indignantly, "So?"
Nathan spoke up, trying to be heard over Buck and JD's arguing. "I looked over the medical records of the injuries Detective Starsky sustained. It wasn't enough to kill him." The medic gave a sad shake of his head. "The doctor's notes say he just seemed to give up."
Vin shrugged, and went back to his desk across from Ezra, ignoring the commotion behind him. He didn't want to admit he understood how the detective must have felt as he'd often wondered what would happen to his team… his friends, if one of them were killed in the line of duty.
Ezra tuned out the background noise and continued to regard the file, mulling over his teammate's comments. According to Nathan, the doctors thought Starsky had surrendered to death. Why? Had he felt guilty for being unable to protect his friend? Had he been unable to consider carrying on without his best friend, someone he thought of as a brother?
"Something wrong Ezra?"
Startled, Standish looked up at Josiah. "No, everything is fine. Why do you ask, Mr. Sanchez?"
Josiah smiled softly. "You look a little troubled."
Ezra forced a grin. "Your concern is unnecessary. I am fine."
"You always are, brother. You always are."
"Buck, JD, stop that b'fore you hurt yourselves," Nathan exclaimed as he watched the bantering turn into a mock-wrestling match.
Chris's door opened and he looked out into the office. "Ladies, if you're done clowning around it's time we earn our paycheck. Conference room."
Ezra stood up and pushed his disturbing thoughts aside. The whole time he had read the file, a feeling of dread he didn't understand had been welling up inside him. There was also a feeling of wrongness, but at what he didn't know. It was quite strange really. He didn't know these two detectives. He'd only been to Bay City once as a child but he had never met any officers of the law. Ezra stepped into the conference room, taking his seat next to Vin.
With a clearing of his throat, Chris started the meeting. Ezra focused on Larabee as he went over the plans for the bust they were planning in a few days. The ATF had heard that there was a new player in town, one Franco Garibaldi. The powers that be assigned Team Seven to infiltrate Garibaldi's organization and take him down. After weeks of research and careful planning, Team Seven was finally ready to bust Garibaldi and stop his underworld dealings.
Chris moved to the overhead projector. "Now this is how it's gonna go down…."
*******
June 29, 2002 Saturday 9:55 pm
It was a clear night in Denver. A waning moon lit the night sky, casting a soft glow over the city. Everything seemed brighter away from the city lights. While he wouldn't admit it to the others, Ezra truly enjoyed the times he and rest of the team spent at Chris's ranch. Here, civilization seemed far away; all the dirt and grime couldn't touch him in this beautiful place.
Ezra gulped down some of his beer listening to the night sounds. There were no sirens, no need to rush, and no distractions. The woods around the ranch housed a different sort of nightlife than the city. Crickets chirped, owls hooted and other nocturnal animals went about their business. Ezra shook his head ruefully.
Well, this is different Ezra, he said to himself. Ruminating on the differences between the city and nature. What would mother say? Not wanting to get into that particular argument, Ezra focused on the reasons behind his sudden strange mood.
The truth was that he didn't know what had brought about the odd melancholy that engulfed him. He put down his beer and stood up from the lawn chair. It had started when he had read that file on the cop killer, although he still didn't understand his reactions to it. Everything about the file had felt wrong. He was missing something… something very important. Or perhaps something was missing from the file itself? In the last twenty-four hours, Ezra had gone over the files time and again to the point of obsession. He'd memorized all of the important information.
He knew everything about Leonard Scott Davis and the last two officers he had killed, Detectives Starsky and Hutchinson. He had looked into the records of the two detectives and had been impressed with what he found. They had made a formidable team with a high success rate. They had triumphed over some very troubling cases, if everything in the files were indeed factual. What truly troubled Ezra was why he felt the need to learn about these two men. They're dead, Ezra. Let them rest.
"Evening Ezra. You going to join us inside?"
Ezra looked up, clearing his thoughts. Perhaps everything would look better in the morning. Tomorrow his mind had to be completely on the job at hand. Letting his mind wander could be a fatal mistake. A mistake that could cost lives. Now was the time to relax before the big bust. He needed this. He'd been away from his friends for too long. He grinned at Josiah, his gold tooth glinting in the moonlight. "Why of course, Mr. Sanchez. I am the life of the party after all."
Josiah's laughter followed him inside.
*******
July 1, 2002 Monday 11:00 am
"Everything set?"
Dressed in a stylish gray Armani suit that was perfectly tailored for him, Ezra looked down at himself, adjusting his sedate tie. He glanced up and quickly looked over Vin, who was looking uncomfortable in an expensive sports jacket and tie, his long hair pulled back and tied at the nape of his neck. Standish nodded to Chris. "We are ready, Mr. Larabee."
Chris nodded. "Now boys, be careful. I don't want any heroics here." He glared at the two men making his warning clear. Both men had a habit of putting other agents' lives above their own.
Vin broke in, tugging irritably at the tie. "Yeah, yeah Chris. We know. Can we hurry this up so I can get outta this noose?"
Ezra quickly stopped him. "Please be careful, Mr. Tanner. This 'noose' as you call it, cost just over a hundred dollars," he admonished.
Vin gaped at him. "This… this little thing is worth a hun'red bucks? You got to be kiddin' me."
"Ezra, I hope you didn't buy that with the ATF charge," Larabee growled.
Ezra quickly smiled and turned on the charm. "Mr. Larabee, you wished for us to look the part did you not? Even the bean counters in our organization realize it's imperative we fit in with those we are attempting to bring to justice. And a man of Mr. Garibaldi's impeccable taste will most definitely recognize Senor Armani's work. This tie will most assuredly ease Mr. Garibaldi and make our job a degree less difficult.
"Ezra, it's a tie."
Ezra gave a genuine grin this time, knowing he had won. "To you, it is just a 'tie' Mr. Larabee. But it could be the key to the whole operation."
Vin shook his head in amusement and adjusted the tie once more. Only Ezra.
Chris sighed. "We'll talk about this later Ezra. Now get the hell out 'a here and make an arrest."
With a mock salute, Tanner left for the car, followed by Ezra.
*******
July 1, 2002 Monday 12:00 pm
"Good afternoon Senor Garibaldi." Ezra pasted a smile on his face.
Garibaldi nodded. "Stewart."
Garibaldi was a tall man who knew how to use his height to his advantage. He positively towered over Ezra with his six foot three frame. With classic Italian looks, he had earned quite a reputation with the ladies. A reputation he enjoyed. He had a Grecian nose and full lips with straight black hair that hung over his mysterious dark eyes that made the ladies swoon. Garibaldi made sure to stay in shape to continually impress the ladies and intimidate his business associates. His designer clothes were imported from Italy and set off his olive skin.
After several minutes of introductions and small talk, Ezra turned the conversation to business. "Have you brought the merchandise?" He wanted to get this assignment over with. He was tired and needed a few days to recuperate.
"Of course. You have the money?"
Ezra nodded and gestured to Vin who held a briefcase. "It is all there, as you requested."
Garibaldi nodded. "Bene, very good."
"I would appreciate it immensely, signor, if my associate could inspect the weapons? He's an expert in this field. It is not that I do not trust you," Ezra said quickly before Garibaldi could object, "it is merely good business practice. You understand?"
"Si, that will be fine." The gun merchant stepped aside, indicating the crates behind him. “I would like to count the money as well. Good business practice," Garibaldi stated with a mocking smile as handing the briefcase to Standish, trusting the southerner to watch his back, Vin walked to the crates and opened one. Garibaldi counted the money while Vin pulled out an assault rifle, checking the mechanisms. He caught Ezra's eye, nodded then put it down quickly returning to the con man's side.
"Well signor, it has been a pleasure doing business with you," Ezra said. This time his smile was genuine. "There is one more thing."
"Yes?" Garibaldi asked, distracted by the money.
Doors around the warehouse suddenly burst inward as ATF agents stormed the building. Vin and Ezra quickly dove for cover, pulling out their own weapons. A few shots were exchanged but ended quickly when realizing they were outnumbered, Garibaldi ordered his men to surrender.
Team Seven regrouped outside the warehouse as the handcuffed gunrunners were loaded into wagons.
Keeping their cover intact, their wrists handcuffed, Standish and Tanner attempted to look angry at the questions being directed at them from Chris and Josiah.
"Well this is certainly a first!" Nathan exclaimed. "No injuries."
Buck let out a whoop. "I say we celebrate at the saloon."
"You just wanna any chance to hit on Inez again, don'tcha."
"Shut your mouth JD, you don't know what you're talking about." Buck grinned and shoved JD hard. It was a given. Team Seven always celebrated at what had become known as the saloon.
At that moment there was a loud crack. JD gave a cry and stumbled forward, Wilmington's arms encircling him as the smaller man's knees buckled. The others automatically ducked for cover, pulling out their weapons as they searched the area.
"Find cover!" Chris shouted at agents manhandling the captured criminals, pushing Vin aside, and seeing Josiah do the same to Standish.
Buck quickly gathered JD into his arms and dove behind the nearest vehicle.
"Nathan!" Buck pressed a hand to JD's shoulder where blood pumped out of the gunshot wound, frantically calling for the medic.
"Anyone see the shooter?" Chris shouted. All around there were negative replies.
Keeping low, Nathan quickly made his way to where Buck was attempting to staunch the flow of blood, quietly reassuring the unconscious agent he was going to be all right.
"Chris, we need an ambulance. Now!" As he assessed JD's condition, Jackson spoke calmly into the mic he still wore, knowing Team Seven's leader would hear the urgency in his tone.
*******
July 1, 2002 Monday 10:36 pm
Ezra wasn't just tired he was exhausted. JD had slipped into a coma caused by blood loss. While his blood count was still low, the doctors were optimistic he would make a full recovery.
Ezra yawned as he maneuvered his Jag down the dark street. He, Vin and Josiah had been forced to go home and get some sleep. Chris and Nathan were going to keep Buck Company during his bedside vigil. Everyone had wanted to stay but Chris had overridden the suggestion, saying they would need someone to be fresh tomorrow.
His mind wandered as the events of the day replayed in his thoughts. The ATF suspected Red Rover was to blame for JD's injury. Ezra slowed down as he approached a curve and straightened out the Jag.
Red Rover was the codename given to the serial killer currently operating in Denver. He mimicked the LSD murders of the '70s, targeting single male law enforcement officers and shooting them in the back. Red Rover had displayed a talent that rivaled Tanner's own, placing the bullet exactly in the same place each time. The bullet would nick the aorta, causing massive blood loss. JD had been lucky; his horseplay with Buck had ruined the bullet's trajectory.
Currently the task force, a conglomeration of Denver police officers, FBI and ATF agents, were stumped. They had no clue to his identity and no idea what the motive was behind Red's shootings. Even Josiah, who was assigned to the task force as a profiler, had been unable to discern a reason for the sudden killing spree. Red Rover always managed to disappear before the officers could reach his current location and left the scene as clean as if he'd taken time to scrub it down.
They knew what had prompted the LSD murders. Davis had caught his wife in bed with a Denver police officer. In a fit of rage, he had killed his wife and the officer. His young daughter had been placed in the foster care system and Davis had gone on a killing spree from Colorado to California before he'd been cornered in Bay City and killed in the ensuing shootout.
Ezra was brought back to reality by the squealing of tires. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the out-of-control car bearing down on him. He tried to swerve but there was no time and nowhere to go. His tail end was clipped and the Jag spun. The tires struggled to keep a grip on the road, doing an admirable job as Ezra fought to bring the car under control. However fate had other ideas. Ezra's head connected with the driver's side window as the expensive car slipped sideways. The last thing he saw before the air bag was deployed was a very large tree hitting the front of his car.
******
The sounds of cars whizzing by greeted Ezra as he returned to consciousness. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees, gently maneuvering so he could sit down. He cradled his head, searching for the source of his headache. With a hiss, Standish drew his hand away from a tender point on the left side of his head. Sticky blood coated his fingers and Ezra cursed softly. Trying to focus his blurry vision, the con man took in his surroundings trying to determine his location.
He was in a sunlit alley, lying near a wall. A closed dumpster was a few feet off to his right and trash littered the area. Ezra shook his head to clear it and immediately regretted the action moaning softly in pain. Where the hell was he? The last thing he remembered was driving down a dark road, screeching tires and bright lights before darkness.
"What the hell?" he muttered, his southern accent even more pronounced. "How long have I been out?"
Ezra wavered as he gingerly pulled himself to his feet. Placing a hand against the wall to balance himself the southerner glanced down at his torn and dirty suit. Brushing away as much dirt as possible he straightened his jacket and tie. Pleased to discover he was still in possession of his weapon, he checked the gun before returning it to its holster and carefully making his way toward to the nearest doorway. In search of a payphone, he entered the building to find himself in a large, well-lit kitchen where a cook was flipping burgers and yelling at the waitresses as they came and went, gathering orders.
Ignoring the shouts from the cook, Ezra made his way through the kitchen. He needed to find a phone. He needed to call his teammates. One of them would pick him up. They would explain what had happened. Most importantly he needed to find out about JD. He needed to know if JD was conscious yet. He needed to know his young friend was indeed going to recover.
The establishment was fairly large. It was a respectable looking bar and grill with a certain charm not unlike the Saloon, the bar that the Seven frequented. There was a pool table and dartboard over in a corner, near the pinball machine. The main area had small tables and chairs near the bar. There was no payphone however.
Ezra took in the few patrons, automatically looking for any threats. A mousy looking man sat on a large stool, nursing a beer and wearing a large overcoat. With shaking hands, he lifted the mug to gulp at his drink. Ezra moved on; that one was no threat. A pretty woman stood behind the bar washing glasses. She had rather large hair and wore a tight shirt, emphasizing her voluptuous figure. Ezra looked away, shaking his head to clear it. A young couple sat in a corner booth, sharing food and conversation. They were so wrapped up in each other that Ezra knew it would take a natural disaster to get their attention. It was the trio sitting at the end of the bar that caused him to stumble.
There was a tall black man who was almost skeletal in appearance. His thin fame was covered in loud, though finely tailored clothes. He was wearing a bright red shirt and flare pants of the same color. A scarf around his neck and a rakish hat set off the ensemble, but it was the man's companions that caused Ezra to freeze. The thin man was talking to two men. One was blond haired, with striking blue eyes that were reminiscent of Mr. Larabee's own gray ones in terms of strength. He was dressed in corduroy pants and a blue shirt with a guitar drawn on the back that accented his upper body. Next to him was a curly-haired brunette. He also had blue eyes although his were of a darker shade and were more jovial. His faded, tight jeans and red t-shirt showed off his muscled physique.
They're supposed to be dead, Ezra thought. Why are they here?
The black man looked around the bar, checking out the patrons when he spotted Ezra. Ezra knew he must have been a sight, with blood running down his face and his torn suit but for once he didn't care. All he knew was that there were two dead men sitting in front of him. Am I dead too?
"Hey m'man. You alright?" Ezra stepped away from the advancing black man. "Huggy Bear's my name and helpin' folks is my game."
Standish struggled to compose himself. He could do this! It was just like any other undercover situation. Even if Ezra didn't understand what was happening to him, he'd been raised in the art of the con. He was the best undercover agent in the ATF. He could do this! "Yes, well Mr. Huggy Bear. Perhaps I could trouble you to utilize your telephone?"
"Hey Hug, any problems?" The dark-haired apparition spoke and Ezra couldn't help but stare at him. He put a name to the face, Detective David Starsky. Died in the line of duty shortly after his partner Detective Kenneth Hutchinson was killed. The southerner's eyes automatically traveled to the blond man standing next to Detective Starsky.
"Ya got a dime?"
"Pardon?" Ezra tore his gaze away from the two men and looked back at Huggy Bear.
"A dime, ya got a dime." Huggy peered at Ezra. "You sure you're alright? Ya get mugged? Looks like some bump on the noggin there."
Ezra stood up straight. "I'm fine. I have an important phone call I wish to make. Ezra dug into his pocket thankful he still had his wallet and the change from his visits to the hospital coffee machine. *A dime? Why so little? And why not direct me to a pay phone?* Ezra mentally shrugged and handed Mr. Bear a dime. "Here you are, sir." Huggy took the dime and pointed at the phone.
"Whaddya make of that?" Starsky asked Hutch.
"Dunno. Looks like he had some type of accident. He's certainly not all there right now." Sipping his ice tea, Hutch unobtrusively studied the stranger.
"Yeah and didja see his clothes? He's got money."
Rejoining his two friends, Huggy piped up. "His taste in clothes is impeccable, unlike you heathens. You guys could learn something from him. Says he wasn't but it looks like he mighta been mugged or at least someone sure tried to."
Hutch rolled his eyes. "The accent too. He's a southern boy."
"He's far from home. Notice the holster?"
"Of course I did. I'm not some two-bit rookie." The blond snapped. "Probably the reason the mugger wasn't successful."
Starsky grinned. "Gotta wonder what an armed Reb is doing here."
"Think he's here for a job?" Hutch asked softly.
"Who knows."
"He does." They quieted down as they watched Ezra put the phone down and slump against the wall.
Ezra quickly dialed the phone number for the Denver Memorial Hospital. Momentarily stunned when a recorded message informed him of the need to dial the area code for the number he was attempting to reach, the con man stared at the receiver as if he’d found himself holding onto a cobra. Attempting to shake off his bewilderment, Ezra redialed the number adding the area code.
"Denver Memorial. How may I direct your call?" a pleasant female voice answered.
"ICU please."
"One moment."
Ezra waited a few seconds when another voice answered. "Intensive Care Unit, how may I help you?"
Ezra took a deep breath. "I'd like to know to know the status of one of your patients. A Mr. JD Dunne."
"Are you a member of the family sir?"
"Yes. I have clearance. It is stated on his file, my name is Ezra Standish."
"One moment sir, I'll check."
Ezra ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. Damn his head hurt.
"Mr. Standish? I'm sorry but we have no record of a Mr. JD Dunne."
Ezra's eyes widened. "What? But he was there just last night!"
"Sir, Mr. Dunne has never been treated at this hospital. I have no record of him. I'm sorry sir."
Momentarily stunned, Standish couldn't speak. He finally managed to croak out a thank you and replace the receiver before leaning back against the wall, attempting to gather his thoughts. His head felt clearer but he was still so puzzled over this new turn of events. Where the hell is JD? Surely someone would have some type of record of him? What's going on? How did I get here in the first place? Why am I seeing dead men? His eyes flickered to Starsky and Hutchinson and he looked them over, as though they possessed the answers he needed. Maybe they did. Ezra took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He had to get control of himself. It was time to take charge. But first he had to look presentable.
He strode towards the waiting trio and put on his best smile. "Thank you for the use of your phone, Mr. Bear. Is there a room where I may straighten up?"
Huggy nodded. "Right this way, sir," he said grandly. He led Ezra to a small bathroom, gesturing grandly. "For all your toiletry needs," he said.
Ezra couldn't help but grin at the man's theatrics. "Thank you." Closing the door, he finally got a good look at himself in the mirror. Sighing at the horrid sight in front of him, he got down to the business of washing the streaks of blood from his face. He winced as he carefully cleaned the cut and was relieved to see it had stopped bleeding. He wiped his face and stared at himself in the mirror.
Let's recap. First and most important, I cannot locate Mr. Dunne and the hospital has no record of him. Second, I am conversing with two very dead detectives in a strange bar run by an outlandish proprietor. This situation should not be possible. Before this turn of events, I was driving my Jag when I was hit. Yes that must be it. Ezra smiled proudly to himself. *This is all a dream, a hallucination. I am not really here. Those men outside are figments of my imagination, most likely caused by stress and the accident. I am seeing them because of my recent unhealthy obsession with them. Ezra turned that thought around in his head for a moment. *Well then, if I allow this dream to work itself out, perhaps I shall awaken. He nodded to himself, pleased with this course of action. Straightening up his clothes he squared his shoulders and went outside.
Taking a deep breath, the southerner put on his most charming smile as he joined the trio. "I thank you. Your hospitality is most appreciated Mr. Bear." He paused for a moment then decided to ask the question he had in mind. It couldn't hurt... This was only a hallucination after all. "Gentlemen, could you please tell me the date and time? To tell you the truth, I am horrible with such trivial things."
Starsky looked at Hutch then shrugged. "Sure, it's July 1st. And the time, sir, is-" Starsky extravagantly stretched his arm out and checked the time, "2:50 pm."
Hutch rolled his eyes and muttered something about "high-faluttin' watches".
Ezra paled at the information. "And the year?"
"You want to know the year?" Hutch asked incredulously. "You sure you're okay. That's a pretty ugly cut on your head."
"Other than a headache, I assure you I'm fine. Please, humor me gentlemen," Ezra croaked. "My memory is not what it used to be."
"1977."
The undercover agent merely nodded and replied, "Of course it is." He struggled to keep the surprise off his face. This must be a hallucination brought on by the head wound. It has to be.
"Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?"
"Of course," Ezra blinked. "What can I help you with gentlemen?"
Hutch smiled disarmingly. "I'm Kenneth Hutchinson, this is Dave Starsky. We're police detectives here." The two men showed Ezra their badges. Ezra made a show of looking at them, wondering what this had to do with anything.
"Ezra Standish."
"Well Mr. Standish, we were wondering what your business was here in Bay City?" Starsky asked.
Answers whirled through the undercover agent's mind. His instincts were screaming that telling the truth would be detrimental to his situation. Of course, rewording the truth with a bit of embellishment wouldn't exactly be lying. "I am here on business, detectives and was involved in an unfortunate car accident."
The two detectives looked at each other, communicating silently. Starsky spoke up. "Care to tell us why you're packing?"
"Pardon?"
"You're weapon, Mr. Standish. Why are you carrying a concealed weapon?" Hutch asked harshly.
Ezra paused. So much for embellishing. He decided a more direct route would be satisfactory. "Gentlemen, if you please." Ezra pulled out his ATF badge and flashed it. "I work with the ATF and am on a sensitive case."
"ATF?" Starsky asked glancing from the stranger to his partner.
"Yeah. I remember them. ATF stands for," Hutch paused, trying to remember what the anagram of the recently formed department, stood for..
"Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms," Ezra supplied.
"Yes. The ATF became their own bureau a few years ago."
"I would be happy to provide you with the names of my superiors so that you may check my credentials" The con man stated, praying they wouldn't accept his offer.
Hutch nodded, accepting the story then turned to Starsky. "We gotta get out on patrol. It was nice to meet you Agent Standish. You should have that cut checked out."
"I will. Thank you."
He watched, releasing a sigh of relief as the two detectives waved to Huggy and left the bar.
Watching as they exited the establishment, hearing the friendly bantering, Standish squashed the urge to follow them. He wanted desperately to stop them; wanted to warn them, wanted to prevent what he knew was about to happen. "Today, he dies. Today is the beginning of the end." he murmured. "But this is a dream, they are already dead. So why should it matter?"
"Who's dead?" Huggy asked, his features taut. He glanced toward the door where Starsky and Hutch had just exited then looked back at the southerner. "What doesn't matter?"
Ezra jerked. "N-no one." Quickly making up his mind, Ezra dug in his pocket for another dime. "Mr. Bear, would you be so kind as to call for a taxi?"
Huggy studied the man before him. Something was not right. He could feel it in his bones. But what? He sighed heavily, glancing once more at the door as a shiver of dread washed over him, then focused his gaze upon Ezra. He nodded. "With pleasure, my genteel friend."
*******
July 1, 1977 Friday 3:30
Ezra watched the unfamiliar scenery pass by from the window of old model Yellow cab, wondering again why he was doing this.
*Ezra, you have lost your mind. As Mr. Wilmington would say, you are one fruit loop short of a full bowl. Ezra quickly sobered. Poor Buck. He is still with the ailing JD. I wonder how he is fairing. Standish bit back a sigh. And I am stuck here cavorting in dreamland with two dead detectives and a bear. What a wonderful situation. Looking out the window, he couldn't help but shake his head. And the clothing these people wear. How did I ever survive?
"Hey buddy, we're here."
"I'm sorry?" Ezra looked up at the driver blankly.
"We're here. It's gonna be 7 bucks."
Ezra blinked at the cab driver. I must really be in 1977. That is quite cheap. Ezra quickly composed himself. "Of course." He handed him the folded bills and stepped out of the cab, vaguely aware of the car speeding away as he stood staring at the dark warehouse. This is the place where they die. This is only a dream, right? Therefore anything I do will have no effect on history. So why am I here? Without realizing it, Ezra was searching the back of the building for an entrance. He spotted one and gently opened the door, trying to keep quiet. He silently slipped inside and shut the door behind him, shoving the slide bolt into place to slow any possible escape attempt.
Sunlight streamed in from the dirty windows, casting a pale glow around the room. To Ezra's right was a set of steps that led to a metal catwalk above him. He slowly climbed the steps to get a better vantage point while his inner argument continued. They are fellow officers of the law, I can't let them be gunned down without attempting to prevent it. But this is not real after all. Besides, I should not interfere with the past. It could conceivably alter the future in an extreme way. Lord, I knew I should never have agreed to watch Star Trek IV with Mr. Dunne. He hunched down in the dark corner and held onto the metal railing. Perhaps if I merely watch the events unfold, the dream will end and I will wake up. Then I can finally find out Mr. Dunne's condition. After all, this is merely a manifestation of my unconscious mind. The stress, my strange obsession with this case, as well as the accident is causing me to hallucinate. What does Mr. Bear represent? Ezra's wayward thoughts were cut off as a door opened and two figures warily stepped inside.
Starsky and Hutchinson moved quickly and quietly, glancing at one another before moving out. Ezra watched as Starsky followed the wall while the blonde weaved between the boxes. Scanning the other side of the warehouse, Ezra froze when the shadows on the opposite side of the catwalk shifted. He squinted slightly and was finally able to make out the shape of a man. Acting on instinct, Ezra drew his weapon and crept slowly towards the man. The southerner glanced at the floor, where the two officers were almost to the center of the warehouse.
Ezra clicked the safety off his gun and moved as quickly and as quietly as possible, not wanting to alert the shooter. It was Davis! His heart skipped a beat. Davis was kneeling on the metal catwalk with a rifle aimed at Detective Hutchinson. Dream or not, he couldn't and wouldn't stand by and watch an innocent person gunned down in cold blood. Without thinking, Ezra ran full on at Davis. He raised his weapon and shouted, "ATF, FREEZE!"
Davis jerked. The bullet he was about to place in Hutchinson's back went wide. Hutch went down, clutching at his arm and rolling for cover among the crates. A well-placed kick, as Ezra reached Davis sent the rifle clattering to the floor below. The struggle on the catwalk as the serial killer attempted to escape was short lived; Davis quickly succumbing to the southerner's training and superior skills. Trying to catch his breath and waiting to awaken from the hallucination, Ezra barely noticed when Starsky cuffed the subdued man before hurrying to tend his friend's wound.
*******
July 1, 1977 Friday 4:24 pm
Ezra leaned against the red Grand Torino. I'm still here. Why am I still here? Why haven't I woken up? He took a deep breath and tried to control his racing heart when he saw the two detectives walk towards him.
"I see you are alright, Detective." He nodded to Hutchinson's bandaged arm.
"It's just a graze. It could have been worse. Thank you." Hutch extended his hand. "If you hadn't been there, I'd most likely be dead."
Ezra felt a chill travel down his back but forced a smile as he shook the grateful detective's hand..
"Still have to make a stop at the hospital though." Starsky grinned. "Wonder if Janet's workin' today?" He glanced at the southerner. "She's this pretty little red head that just started..."
"And to smart to go out with you." Hutch teased before turning his attention to Standish again. "We can give ya a ride down to the station if ya want. Captain Dobey's gonna want a full report.
"So how'd ya know where to go?" Starsky asked nonchalantly.
"Although I can honestly say Mr. Davis' file is committed to memory, I'm here by sheer luck." Ezra thought fast. "I was sent by the ATF to look for Mr. Davis."
"Why?" Starsky peered at Ezra. "What made them think he hadn't moved on?"
Hutch stayed back, letting his partner question the agent.
Ezra looked away when something caught his eye. He turned and focused on it, growing pale.
"Agent Standish?" Hutch asked, noticing the change in Ezra's stance, worried when the color drained from the southerner's complexion.
Ezra looked at the crowd gathering across the street. Staring at a young brown-haired boy clutching his mother's hand, the southerner's emerald eyes widened as he recognized the perfectly coifed hair and stature of his mother. And there, next to Maude was a young wisp of a boy with disturbingly familiar green eyes. He watched her tug at the boy’s hand as they hurried down to the corner.
Standish suddenly remembered what would happen within a few days; what would happen to him and his mother. Without a thought, Ezra took off down the sidewalk and started to cross at the corner, eyes focused on the young boy. He could stop it from happening, he could stop his mother from leaving him with "Uncle" Tom and save himself a month of hell. He could save his mother from…. All he had to do was talk to them.
Heedless of the calls from the two detectives, he never heard the blare of a car horn or the squeal of tires as the approaching car attempted to stop. Pain flared and his last thoughts as unconsciousness slipped away were of sorrow that he hadn't been able to prevent his mother's pain and humiliation.
******
"I think he's twitchin'."
"That wasn't a twitch, that was a muscle spasm."
"His finger moved."
"Even in a coma, he's still a wiseass. I think he was givin' ya the bird, Vin."
"Yer full of it Buck."
"Boy, if you weren't in that hospital bed-"
Ezra groaned. He was in hell. "Ezra, wake your lazy ass up," an authoritative voice broke through the shroud of sleep he was desperately clinging to.
He was in hell and Chris Larabee was Satan.
Ezra winced when a bright light attacked his eyes. Hell apparently had fluorescent lights as well. He groaned and turned his head away from the annoying brightness.
"Ezra, you waking up?"
Recognizing the smell of antiseptic, hearing the steady beep and drone of monitors Ezra groaned again when he heard the concerned tones of Nathan Jackson. He wasn't in hell, he was in the hospital! Damn! He could kiss his privacy goodbye for the next few weeks. He knew he was going to have to deal with six mother hens and then he remembered. "JD!" he rasped out. His eyes flew open, regardless of the light and he blearily looked around.
A hand steadied him as he attempted to sit up. He looked into the blue eyes of Josiah. "Easy there Ezra. JD is fine. It's you we're worried about at the moment."
"Shot?" Ezra blinked, trying to clear his clouded head. "JD..."
"JD woke up this morning. He's fine." Josiah smiled reassuringly.
"Yeah, I'm fine Ez. See?" Ezra winced as he slowly turned his head to see a smiling, pale JD sleepily waving at him from the next bed. "You, on the other hand, ain't lookin' so good."
Ezra tried to stay focused on the conversation. He looked at everyone. Wasn't he with two detectives? "Wha...hap-happened?"
Chris stepped forward. "You were in an accident on your way home. You've been unconscious for two days." Before Larabee had finished his sentence, Ezra was asleep.
*******
July 15, 2002 Monday 10:01
Ezra walked into the office and smiled brightly. "Mr. Dunne. It's wonderful to see you. The doctors have cleared you for duty?" Ezra walked up to JD's desk, taking in the slightly pale features of the young man.
JD grinned brightly despite this. "Yep. Only desk duty though. But I'm back."
"Finally," Buck said. "JD here, has been nothing but trouble, always naggin' and crampin' my style."
"What style?" JD retorted.
Smiling, the undercover agent moved on, nodding a greeting to Tanner as he took a seat at his own desk. Waiting for his computer to boot up, he took a sip of his coffee, his gaze falling on the manila folder that still occupied the corner of his desk. The LSD file.
Since JD's shooting, Team 7 had exhausted their resources looking for Red Rover but had come up empty. They had been forced to pull back by Judge Travis and focus on other cases since they were not really part of the task force. Ezra once again thought about the strange dream he had experienced while unconscious. It had come back to him while he had been recovering at home but the southerner had dismissed it as a delusion brought on by head trauma.
But what if...
Ezra's hand crept toward the file, ready to open it. Perhaps if he studied the contents once more, he would find something he missed. He couldn't dismiss the feeling that Davis and Red Rover were somehow connected. Ezra sighed and turned away. No, he had more important things to do. He would worry about Davis and Red Rover another time, another day. He had a feeling Red Rover wasn't finished with them yet.
And this time, Team 7 would get him.
*******
Epilogue
July 1, 1977 3 a.m.
The phone continued to ring insistently pulling the man from sleep. A hand lazily searched the nightstand on the left side of the bed to silence the annoying racket. Fumbling for the receiver, the hand finally gripped it and brought it to the vicinity of his ear. "'Lo?"
"Hutch?"
The sound of his friend's voice cut through the fog caused by the pain pills and brought Hutch to full alertness. "Starsky? Somethin' wrong?"
"Hey Hutch, were you sleepin'?"
Hutch looked at the clock and sighed. "Ya big dope, it's three in the mornin'. 'Course I was sleeping."
Starsky chucked nervously and Hutch rubbed his eyes. "Now tell me what's wrong." Hutch slowly sat up and yawned, making himself comfortable against the headboard. The blond knew his partner and best friend better than anyone in the world and had heard the hint of fear in his voice.
"I had a dream."
Hutch closed his eyes. He thought about that statement for a moment, running it through his 'Starsky-translator'. That meant that Starsky had woken up from an awful nightmare and needed to be reassured. It had happened before after Hutch was injured. Starsky needed to know his friend was alive and going to be all right. "Gonna tell me about it?"
There was a pause while Starsky gathered his thoughts. "It's weird."
"Starsk, you're weird. I'd expect no less from you. Now what was the dream?" His arm was beginning to throb and Hutch tried to keep his irritation out of his voice but he knew he wasn't succeeding. As Starsky began to talk Hutch forgot about his discomfort.
"It had to do with today. We were at that warehouse where we caught Davis. Only that Standish guy wasn't there. We split up, like we always do, y'know." Starsky paused. "Well I was at the wall and you were near the center of the warehouse, just like this afternoon and then you were shot.…
Hutch held his breath, afraid he'd miss one of his partner's soft-spoken words.
"I ran ta you but there was so much blood. It was everywhere and I couldn't st-stop it. It was on the floor and in yer hair and clothes and on m-my h-hands." Hutch could hear Starsky try to control himself and hold back his tears. Strangely transfixed by the story his partner was weaving, Hutch couldn't bring himself to say anything comforting.
Starsky continued. "Ya were gasping for air Hutch and ya tried to tell me that you l-loved me. And then…then you died," Starsky broke off, breathing heavily.
Hutch shuddered as a shiver ran down his spine. He felt as though someone had walked over his grave. He could almost see the scene in his head, like an old forgotten memory. Taking a deep breath, Hutch tried to calm himself. He heard Starsky do the same thing over the phone. "Hey buddy, it was just a dream." He finally managed to voice but his words sounded hollow even to himself.
Starsky was silent for a long moment. "If Standish hadn't been there, ya would 'a died Hutch. I know it! You would have died."
And for the life of him, Hutch could not think up a response.
The End
************************************************************************