Trial Junkies

— 60 -

While Hutch would be the first to admit that he was no Bob De Niro, there were times in his career that he had found himself in the zone.

The zone, as he defined it, was that moment when the cameras started rolling and the external world fell away around him. No distractions, no crew members, no hot lights strategically placed to make the visuals pop. He was so singularly focused that he began breathing the character's energy, getting lost in it.

And at that point, the choices made themselves.

When Hutch heard Ronnie scream, he immediately slipped into the zone. He flew across the hallway and ran up the stairs, no longer a victim to such trivialities as pain and fear and dizziness and nausea and a body that didn't want to cooperate. This wasn't a role he was playing, and the stakes here were much, much higher than the Nielsen numbers or a weekend's worth of box office bounty.

He took the stairs two at a time, bounding onto the fifth floor landing and into the hall, then made a straight line for the apartment door-the right apartment this time-Ronnie's terrified screams the fuel that drove him forward.

When he reached the room with the lights and the overhead camera, Frederick Langer was kneeling on the mattress, trying to smother Ronnie's cries as he raised the switchblade-about to plunge it into her naked, heaving chest.

Hutch shouted, "Langer!" then launched himself across the room.

Hutch tackled him, hard, driving him off the mattress, slamming him into the wall. One of the work lights toppled and began to stutter and spark as they bounced to the floor and rolled across the threadbare carpet.

For a moment they were a tangle of flailing limbs and desperate grunts, Hutch struggling to gain momentum. But he was still in that zone, still acutely focused, and he anticipated the creep's moves before Langer even made them. The switchblade arced toward his face, but Hutch deflected the blow with his forearm and brought his own knife down, burying it in Langer's left shoulder.

Langer howled and fell back, pain and rage in his black eyes. He dropped the switchblade and began to cry like a child, clawing at his shoulder, trying to get at the knife, which was still lodged there, as Hutch pulled himself free and staggered to his feet.

He looked at the man without pity and didn't hesitate. Swinging a foot back, he kicked Langer as hard as he could, square in the face. The glasses went flying and bones crunched as the creep's head snapped back and he crumpled to the floor and stopped moving.

Hutch didn't know if the guy was dead or alive and didn't give a damn.

Scooping up the switchblade, he scrambled back to Ronnie and began cutting away the tape that strapped her to the mattress. As he pulled her free, she lurched into his arms, sobbing, and he hugged her tight, smoothing her hair.

"It's okay," he said. "It's okay…"

She trembled uncontrollably. "Christopher… He took Christopher…"

"I know… I know."

"Gus said he wanted to help us get out of town. But then he drove me here and left me with that sick fuck and took Chris with him." The tears were still flowing. "Oh, my God, Hutch. Oh, my God."

"We'll find him," Hutch said, remembering Gus's promise, hoping that he was a man of his word. "Help me with this mattress."

"What do you mean? Why?"

He pulled her to her feet. "There's something underneath it. A gift from Gus."

She eyed him skeptically, but didn't protest. They grabbed hold of the mattress and flipped it up against the wall-

— and laying face down on the carpet was a rectangular piece of white paper or cardboard.

Hutch grabbed it and turned it over, expecting to find a note of some kind.

Instead he saw a familiar photograph: the shot of Ronnie kissing him in the back of Andy's Mustang. The same shot that had been sold to The Gab Bag by one of her neighbors.

Ronnie wiped at her eyes and stared. "What the hell is this supposed to mean?"

Hutch was at a loss, thinking it had to be another of Gus's games.

But then it hit him.

One of Ronnie's neighbors.

One of Ronnie's neighbors had taken this shot.

Hutch knew what this meant. "Find your clothes," he said, digging into his pocket for his cell phone. "I'll try to get hold of Andy. We need a ride out of here."

"Hutch, what's going on? Where are we going?"

"To your neck of the woods," he told her. "Roscoe Village."