Dorian Gray
They find the first body three stories
up, on the landing: head-shot, chest-shot; a paper bag of groceries on the
floor; blood on the wall. The second’s the next up, in the doorway that leads
to a long dim hall, shot in the back. Hutch sees doors opening, faces peering
out. Starsky’s yelling at them to get the hell inside and Hutch is scrabbling
for his badge, for a second missing the damned uniform.
A distorted,
wordless scream echoes in the stairwell behind them, up the last flight of
steps—there’s only the roof above them and none of what this guy is doing makes
any sort of sense. On the other side of the doorway Starsky is tense and scared
and rock-steady. A nod and Hutch has the door open and it all starts going very
fast—feeling Starsky move, following at his signal, pressing up against the hot
metal of a utility shed. Starsky catches his glance and motions he’s going
left; Hutch nods and goes right, keeping low, working towards the fire escape.
If the guy’s sane
that’s the only place he’d be heading and Hutch looks down over the edge, but
there’s no one which means . . .
He realizes suddenly he doesn’t know
Starsky’s position, can’t feel where he is. And it’s a shock—should he call
out?—because this hasn’t happened before, not with Starsky. Then shots, behind
him, spaced so close they almost overlap. Ducking is instinctual—find cover—but
what he needs to find is Starsky and he’s not moving fast enough, downstairs
half of Joe’s face is missing and . . .