The Elevator

K Hanna Korossy

Written: 2001

Serendipity (2003)

  Keith Terrick was not a claustrophobic person, but he could swear the elevator walls weren’t as far apart as when he’d looked at them a minute before. Of course, it could have been the concussion his partner suspected he had, but he sort of doubted it. Sitting in an elevator on the brink of a twenty-story plunge would make anyone feel trapped and suffocating.

  Not that his partner seemed to be minding it. Well, temporary partner, Terrick reminded himself, since he’d only been assigned to the senior detective until the man’s regular partner recovered from an injury and was back on street duty. But until then, as the newest detective in the Special Units Division, Terrick had jumped at the chance to ride along with one of the most seasoned. Who wouldn’t want a chance to observe firsthand one half of the infamous team of Starsky and Hutchinson? As for all those rumors that the two detectives attracted trouble like a freshly washed car did birds, Keith had dismissed them without a moment’s thought.

  That was before some routine legwork had inadvertently taken them into the wrong elevator at the wrong time, just before something had snapped and sent them hurtling down a good dozen feet to where they now precariously hung. Suddenly those rumors didn’t seem so farfetched.

  So Terrick now stood in the corner of the small room opposite the seated Dave Starsky, department legend, five years Terrick’s senior, and already a veteran of far more than the young detective could even conceive. His cool blue eyes had been studying Keith, unnerving him further. And then the man’s face abruptly lit in a grin.

  “Not exactly what ya expect in line-of-duty injury, huh?”

  His calm was both disconcerting and reassuring, but Terrick found himself smiling a little back. “Not exactly—you think they know we’re down here yet?”

  He’d asked that about ten minutes before, soon after their aborted fall, and Starsky’s answer was the same now as it had been then. “They will, just take it easy.”

  Keith ran a hand through his hair. Take it easy—yeah, right. But Starsky was still watching him and so Keith made himself sit down and try to relax. Those sharp blue eyes followed his movements, perceptive in a way Terrick hoped he’d be after a few more years on the job. With three years of street patrol under his belt, he’d earned his street eyes, but being a detective seemed to have its own set of rules. He’d picked up a lot just following Starsky around the past few days and watching the man interact with people, by turns menacing and cajoling, knowing when to ask and when to order. It was a skill every good cop learned, but detectives, or at least this detective, seemed to have it down more to an art.

  The elevator gave another lurch, sending Keith scrabbling for a hold on the smooth metal walls, but the movement ended just as suddenly. He tried hard not to think about for how long it would hold.

  “It’s a big building—they’re gonna know something’s wrong with the elevator. They’re probably already workin’ on it,” Starsky said reassuringly, tucking his right hand closer to himself with a wince. Terrick hadn’t gotten a good enough look at the man’s hand to see how badly Starsky had hurt it, but he’d already caught a glimpse of bruised and swelling skin. Starsky held it protectively cradled against his up-drawn knees, the position he’d been in ever since the first fall. After he’d stopped Terrick’s head from bleeding and put a makeshift bandage on it.

  “If we don’t fall first. I’m not crazy about how this elevator sounds,” Keith muttered.

  Starsky didn’t look thrilled by the thought, either, but he shook his head with a hint of a smile. “Optimism, Terrick—gotta think positively.”

  Keith reached up to gingerly feel the bandage on his head, wincing as he found a particularly sensitive spot. He wasn’t about to give the obvious rejoinder that he was positive they were in trouble, but instead said quietly, "I was just...never crazy about small spaces, you know?"

  Starsky's expression softened sympathetically. "I know what ya mean—I feel the same way about heights."

  That made Keith grin. "Guess we picked a heckuva place to get stuck, then, huh?"

  Starsky matched it. "Guess so."

  Another slight shudder of the elevator, and Keith gulped. Tough street cop or no, his heart was thumping away and he wanted out of there, soon. It was too easy to think about how the elevator could break free at any moment and send them into a freefall they'd never live to see the end of. His gaze darted around the small elevator, finally settling on the apparently unflappable Starsky. He licked his lips. "You sure don't look like it bothers you very much. How do you get used to knowing you could die any minute?" It was a fear cops lived with every day, but Keith had never even drawn his gun, let alone been in a situation where death seemed so...imminent.

  The blue eyes seemed to deepen, as if dipping down further into the soul of the man, and Starsky’s voice grew rough. “Don’t kid yourself, Terrick, nobody gets used to that, I don’t care how many years you've been on the job.”

  It was the first crack he’d seen in the detective, and Keith was taken aback. Maybe Starsky wasn’t as impervious as he seemed. Still, he didn’t want to antagonize the man, both his boss and his sole companion in their little crucible. Maybe even the last person he’d ever talk to. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything—”

  A sharp shake of the dark-curled head. “‘S okay. But I’m not Superman, kid. I’m scared, too, I’d just like to think we’re gettin’ out of here.”

  Okay, he could accept that. Keith leaned back into the corner of the elevator and sighed, his hand straying up to his head again. It throbbed with his every heartbeat. Well, either they’d get medical attention soon or it wouldn't matter, right?

  “How’s the head?”

  Terrick gave the older man a rueful grin. “A little sore,” he admitted. “How’s your hand?”

  Starsky shrugged off the concern. “I’ve had worse.”

  "So I've heard." A quizzical glance from Starsky, and Keith added, "There're a lot of stories floating around about you and Hutchinson."

  Something softened in Starsky's eyes at the mention of his partner, an effect Terrick had noticed before. Word was the two detectives were close, the kind of partners Keith hoped he'd be someday with someone. Hutchinson's presence seemed to linger with them wherever they went, as if Terrick weren't so much taking his place as riding along with the pair. It was a strange feeling, like having a ghost along.

  Starsky's voice drew his wandering attention back. He must've hit his head harder than he thought.

   "What kinda stories?"

  "Oh, you know..." But there was genuine interest in the senior detective's eyes. Keith took a breath, wondering if he was about to get himself into trouble. "Uh, like your getting shot a few years ago in that restaurant, then, uh, kidnapped or something not too long ago, and Hutchinson got hurt in an attempted hit or something like that, right?" Maybe this wasn't the best topic to be discussing, he squirmed belatedly.

  But Starsky didn't seem upset by it. He leaned his head back against the metal wall behind him, looking up at the ceiling of the elevator for a moment. "Yeah," he finally said, "sometimes it's been rough. But there're good parts, too. We've helped a lot of people, some of 'em in pretty deep. A couple who were expectin' a baby and being held hostage, we got both of them out. A girl who fell into a bottle and couldn't get out on her own. You're not gonna believe this, but there was even this little old couple who filled the trunk of their car with dynamite 'cause they wanted to protest the living conditions in the home they were in." He almost smiled at that. "A little girl who was raped, and a piano player who almost got killed because of his playin' the cards. Even our cap'n was being stalked for a while by a real low-life. Then we also busted a few big ones: Coyle, Amboy, Danner. That's what the job's about, Terrick." Starsky shrugged. "The risks come with that."

  "An old couple who filled their car with dynamite?" Keith tried not to laugh, but with three years on the streets, he could believe it.

  Starsky grinned. "You think that's weird, you shoulda seen the big bust we made at the funeral parlor, and the guy who thought he'd fool us by pretendin' he was a corpse. I could tell you some stories..."

  Keith did laugh at that one. "Man, sometimes I think we're lucky so many bad guys are so stupid," he nodded.

  Silence fell for a minute, broken by a sudden groan and hard lurch of the elevator. It took several seconds before Terrick could convince himself that they weren't falling to their deaths—yet—and uncurl his fingers, which had been desperately clawing at the floor. He took an unsteady breath, watching as a somewhat paler Starsky did, too.
  "Did you—” he began.

  "Hello?" The third voice, tiny and distant and coming from above, was the most welcome interruption Keith had ever heard. "How y'all doin' down there?"

  Keith pushed himself upright, Starsky watching him but staying put. "We're okay but not for long—can you get us out?" he yelled back.

  "Hold on, we're workin' on it. How many of you down there?"

  "Two."

  "Okay." The voice faded, followed by some mechanical pings and thumps. Then another voice filtered down.

  "Starsky?"

  The change was amazing. Starsky didn't move, but his expression blossomed into a wide smile, one so genuine that Keith realized abruptly how affected the trapped detective really had been by their dilemma. "Yeah, I'm okay. What're you doin' here?"

  "Coming to save you again, dummy," the same voice responded. "Just take it easy, we'll have you out soon."

  Hutchinson, Keith realized. He'd only met the blond detective a few times in passing, right before he and Starsky would set out, and he didn't quite recognize the voice, but there was little doubt who the speaker was from either his words or Starsky's reaction.

  Slowly, he sat back down, trying to ignore the metallic crunches and groans that came from above now, and watched Starsky instead.

  Starsky looked back at him, touches of his earlier smile still lingering on his face and his expression a little less haggard. "You know all the tough times you mentioned before?"

  "Yeah?" Terrick answered.

  "I got through 'em because of him." Starsky jerked his thumb up toward the source of the voice. "You get lucky and end up with a good partner, and you've got somebody who'll watch your back and share it all with you, the good stuff and the garbage."

  Terrick smiled briefly, a little longingly. "I kinda get the feeling it'd take more than just luck to have the kind of partnership you two seem to have?"

  Starsky shrugged. "I was lucky. Didn't look like much the first time I saw him at the Academy, but you couldn't find a better cop than Hutch in the precinct today. He's smart—got a college degree—even does his crossword puzzles in ink. And he cares about people more than anybody I've ever met. Feels what they're feelin', you know? He's great with kids and he wants to help everyone who's in trouble."

  "Sounds like the kind of partner I'd want to have," Keith quietly agreed. It wasn't exactly what he'd heard about Hutchinson around the station, but then, Starsky wasn't exactly like they’d said, either. And seeing Starsky's expression when he’d heard his partner's voice had told the young detective an awful lot, too.

  "There's more to partnership than that, Terrick," Starsky said seriously.

  "Yeah?" he prompted, half out of curiosity and half because he was fascinated by the change in Starsky's demeanor. The laid-back, wisecracking detective of minutes before and of the last few days had been replaced by this intense, earnest person who'd apparently been hiding beneath that surface all along.

  "Hutch is...he's loyal like nobody else you'd ever meet—he's got a blind spot a mile wide when it comes to me. He chews me out when I go too far, then joins the ride. He makes the world make sense. He's the first one I call when I'm in trouble, and he's always there, even after the job's over. Everything could fall apart and he'd still be there. Working with him is the easiest thing I've ever done, but it's more 'n just laughing at jokes nobody else gets—if you're lucky, you've got someone like Hutch who loves you just 'cause you were born."

  Keith Terrick listened without a word. What could you say to that? He felt like he'd just been given the template of the ideal partner, the kind he hoped someday to find and to be. Apparently, Starsky and Hutchinson had already succeeded. And he envied them as much as he admired them.

  A loud scrape came from above, and a panel abruptly slid aside to reveal the friendly, grease-smeared face of a man in overalls. He grinned at them.

  "You two ready to come out of there yet?"

  "Would you sit down already?" Craig Simmons didn't think he could stand to watch his pacing fellow detective one more minute. Pacing on crutches—he didn't even know a person could do that.

  Ken Hutchinson paused, startled, to look at him. Realization sunk in and, making a face, he sat, sliding the crutches down next to his chair. There was a row of seats in the lobby in front of the jammed elevator, but of course Hutch sat in the one nearest the two mechanics working in the open elevator doors. "You'd think if they could get the doors open and see the car, they could get Starsky out of there," he muttered, rubbing one palm on his leg.

  "They told you already," Craig patiently repeated, "if they try anything before they reinforce the car enough, they could make it fall all the way."

  There was a loud creak from the direction of the shaft, the sound of fatigued metal bending and then briefly screeching. Hutch half rose out of his chair before one of the mechanics motioned to them that everything was okay.

  "They'll be out soon, Hutch, and you talked to Starsky, you know he’s okay," Simmons soothed, reaching up to put a hand on Hutch's shoulder and firmly press down. "Didn't the doctor say you were supposed to rest that leg?"

  Hutch gave him a dark look. "Come on, Simmons, you think I care about that now?"

  Craig just smiled knowingly at him. "No, but Starsky will. What's he gonna say if he gets out of there and finds out you set yourself back by not taking it easy?"

  The corner of Hutch's mouth hitched minutely. "I suppose you're gonna tell him, too."

  "Hey, what're friends for?" Craig asked generously, spreading his hands wide. Hutch was always edgy when Starsky’s safety was at risk, as Starsky was when the tables were turned. But while the he turned his worry into nervous energy, constantly moving, Hutch tended to turn inward and stew until either everything turned out all right or, rarely, he reached the boiling point. The injury didn’t slow him down at all, just made it more likely he’d hurt himself in the process. And so Craig Simmons was there to be the coolant.  

  Hutch snorted, then gnawed his lip briefly as he looked back at the elevator shaft, wincing at the sound of another metallic creak. "Can't take him anywhere..." A glance at Simmons. "An elevator, for pete's sake! How many people do you know who could get in trouble in an elevator?!"

  "You almost bought it in your car, buddy," Craig reminded him gently.

  Hutch's anger melted and he sagged back in his seat, momentarily contemplative. When he looked up at Craig, his expression was caught between bitterness and gratitude. "Starsky didn't stop looking."

  "And he found you. So you can wait a few minutes for him, right?" There were still some shadows around his eyes, but he didn’t look haunted the way he had when Craig had first gotten a glimpse of him at the hospital. No wonder the two detectives were close; even their worry for each other was obvious, let alone how much they looked out for and helped each other.

  He got another Hutchinson glare, if one tempered by Hutch knowing he was right. The blond leaned back, tilting his head up to stare at the ceiling. "You know I almost gave up?" he asked softly.

  "I'm not surprised." And he wasn’t. Craig didn’t know if he’d have made it, but it seemed like the only thing that rivaled Starsky stubbornness was Hutchinson determination.

  "I didn't because...I knew he was looking. Didn't know if he'd get there in time, but I knew he wouldn't stop looking..." Hutch swallowed, his hand having strayed down to absently rub at the exposed skin just above his cast. "You know what that means, to know there's someone out there who cares about you like that?" He turned to look at Simmons.

  "I can imagine," Craig answered softly, automatically glancing up at his partner talking to a uniform at the end of the hall. He and Ed Babcock were two years partners and he already trusted the guy as if he’d known him all his life. Friendship...that was still developing.

   Hutch was rubbing tiredly at his forehead, and Craig reminded himself again that the blond was only a few days out of the hospital after a week-long stay. It was another reason he'd quickly agreed to bring Hutch over as soon as they heard about Starsky, and had parked himself by the detective's side ever since.

  Time for distraction. "I'd say you were pretty lucky," Craig announced.

  A soft smile touched Hutch's lips. "Yeah... He drives me nuts but there isn't anybody I trust more. He's smart, and he talks to people. 'S a lot better at that than I am," Hutch added ruefully. "Especially old people. I admire his patience. He really hears what you say, and what you don't say. And he can make you laugh no matter how bad things are—you just can't look at that stupid grin of his and not grin back. But more than anything he...he just cares about you, no matter what you do, you know?" And then Hutch suddenly seemed to realize what he was revealing and broke off, turning red.

  Interesting effect, with that blond hair, Craig mused, but as easy as it would have been to make a joke and lighten the tone, he didn't want to belittle the heart-spoken words. Honesty like that deserved something more. "You mean somebody who cares for you because of who you are, not what you do. I think that's great, mi amigo. Really. It's probably why you two are such good cops."

  "Yeah," Hutch admitted absently, but soul-baring was over, his attention already back on the elevator shaft. Hutchinson was a notoriously private person and Craig was a little surprised, but  appreciative, that he'd gotten that much out of the man.

  "'Bout ten more minutes," one of the mechanics called over his shoulder, repeating it down the shaft, and Hutch pulled out his pocket watch again before tucking it carefully away once more. His lips moved soundlessly as he stared at the working elevator men, and Craig wondered if he was praying or talking to his partner.

  They sat back to wait.

  Twelve minutes later—Simmons had watched Hutch's knuckles slowly whiten on the chair arms the last few minutes—a cry of triumph sounded from the propped-open elevator door. Craig reached down for the crutches as Hutch levered to his feet, handing them to the detective, then they moved closer for a look.

  He wasn't quite at the right angle to see down into the elevator shaft, but Hutch stared at the darkness as if he could see right through it. One of the mechanics braced himself, then reached down, and Craig stepped forward to offer a hand.

  The bloody but alert young man they pulled up first was no doubt Starsky's temporary partner, his gaze steady and relieved even in his white face. Simmons immediately waved closer the paramedic hovering down the hall, waiting until he'd taken over the young detective before returning to the lip of the shaft. Already the two mechanics were hauling out the other occupant of the stuck car. No blood on Starsky that Craig could see, though the mechanic seemed to have hoisted him by his right forearm in deference to his swollen and discolored right hand.

  Before Craig could step close or the paramedics move in, Hutch pounced on his partner. Holding Starsky at arm's length with a grip that looked unbreakable, he studied him from top to bottom and then back up to look him in the eye. "Are you all right? Starsk, did you hit your head?" He barely waited for each nod or shake before the next question. "What happened to your hand?" He was suddenly gentle as he picked it up and carefully turned it.

  "'M okay, think I just broke my finger," Starsky was protesting, but he didn't try to pull away. And the look he gave his partner was pure fondness. "I'm all right, Hutch."

  "Yeah?" Hutch didn't sound fully convinced, but Craig could see his tension easing. "What is it about you—you can't even ride an elevator without getting into trouble. You're only out here two days—two days—without me to look after you—”

  "—an' I suppose your x-ray vision woulda seen the elevator was about to break," Starsky cut in, ready to give as good as he got. "Would you stop fussing!" Craig almost broke up as Starsky rolled his eyes at him with a see-what-I-put-up-with expression that wasn't fooling anybody. "And I had back-up, he just didn't have x-ray vision, either. Hey, where is he?" Casting a glance around, he located the young detective—Terrick?—sitting on the floor nearby and being tended to by a paramedic, and he moved toward the younger man, dragging his partner behind.

  "Starsk—”

  Starsky immediately stopped as Hutch was forced to let go of him and grab at slipping crutches, and he watched closely to make sure Hutch had found his balance before going on, matching Hutch's pace. In front of Terrick, he crouched down to eye-level with the man. "How you doin'?"

  "Okay, thanks," Terrick gave him a slightly wan grin, wincing at the paramedic's ministrations. He did look like he'd be okay to Craig's eyes, and the medic's nod to Starsky seconded that. "How 'bout you?"

  "Yeah, how about you?" Hutch repeated sternly from above.

  Starsky grimaced, pointing back toward his shadow. "See what I mean?" Then he smiled, giving Terrick a pat on the shoulder. "I’m okay—I'll see you at the hospital, kid."

  He slowly pushed himself up, the face he made real this time as he briefly wavered. It was Hutch's turn to balance him, but the blond's voice lost all its grievance as he gently chided, "Take it easy—what did I tell ya? You can have them check out that hand here or downstairs, your choice." Starsky turned to look at the paramedic nearby, and Simmons saw Hutch's expression slip for a moment, revealing his still-present worry and the lingering darkness of his earlier uncertainty, all wiped away again as Starsky turned back. Craig wouldn’t have even sworn he saw it.

  Starsky's glance had moved on to the gaping elevator shaft and he shuddered. "Downstairs."

  Hutch frowned, hesitating. "Uh, Starsk, we’ll have to take the other elevator down."

  Starsky threw him a comically horrified expression.

  "Look, that's how I got up here. They said it's completely safe, only the other one's broken. I'm not about to go twenty stories down on these things..." He gave the crutches a shake.

  It took a minute of low arguing before they finally got into the elevator, and Craig didn't know any longer who was holding on to whom. But the last he heard was Starsky plaintively saying, "You're mean, you know that?"

  Chuckling, Simmons turned back to see how Terrick was doing, just as the paramedic tied off the bandage. Together, he and the medic got the younger man on his feet. "You ready to take the next elevator?" Craig asked him.

  "Guess I don't have any choice," Terrick answered, not without humor. "Hey, uh, you known Starsky and Hutchinson long?"

  "A while, why?"

  "They just seem pretty...unique."

  Simmons would have said the younger man was being sarcastic except for the slight note of wistfulness in his words, so he just nodded, glancing again at the elevators.

  "Yup. They sure are."