Hi all,

So glad that you are enjoying the ride so far. Thanks for all the kind reviews, you ladies are the very best!

WARNING: This is a DARK story. Bad words and bad deeds will happen. Please do not read this if you are sensitive.

Chapter 4

Mohave Desert, Bench's gold mine

Hutch had been awakened that morning by having his blanket yanked away and a annoyingly perky, "Wake up sleepy head!" Peter had kept him working long after dark the day before and then begged Hutch to help him just one more day.

Though Hutch really didn't relish another day toiling away in the mine, the man had nearly been in tears as he had told the detective he had been at this for nearly five years and now he was so close to striking it and finally having enough money to retire and maybe, just maybe his wife would take him back. "… and after all, I did save your life."

At those words, the Hutch had caved. What was one more day to help this man achieve his life's goal? Sure, Starsky would be frantic, but he was pretty sure that if Starsky were in his shoes he would help Peter out for just one more day.

At lunchtime, Peter Bench had sent the detective into the cave after a meager meal of a single tin cup of water and a biscuit. When Hutch looked at him with askance, "Supplies are gettin' low." Was Peter's rejoinder as he then began clean up of the plates and pan.

The blond's stomach complained loud and long, but he was used to fasting for days at a time. It would all be over this afternoon when Peter would take him back to town. He put his back into the work knowing that the prospector would be on his own after today. He was heartily wishing for the man to strike that gold vein.

The tall detective didn't know how long he was working before it got too hot and his mouth was parched. He also noticed that his legs were getting wobbly and his lungs, back and arms were beginning to burn with fatigue. He wandered out of the hot mine and into the bright afternoon sun. He made a beeline for the canteen, which was next to where the prospector was picking through the rock pile.

"What're you doin' out here?" Peter's words were sharp.

Hutch, seeing that Bench was once again in a snit, ignored him, picked up the canteen and took a big gulp. It was pulled roughly out of his hands. "Hey! I wasn't done drinking."

"Yeah you are, get back in there." Peter capped the container and pointed at the mouth of the mine. "Now."

Since those two thugs had stolen his pocket watch, Hutch tilted his head up and shaded his eyes as he checked to position of the sun. The day was far enough along, if they didn't pack up to leave now, it would be too dark for Peter to find his way out of the desert. He was done humoring the prospector. He started walking towards the jeep.

"Where do you think you're goin'?" All pretence of friendliness was gone from the prospector's voice.

"I've had enough Peter, I've busted my ass helping you for nearly two days and now I'm leaving." Hutch continued walking to the jeep.

Peter ran over and grabbed his arm. "You're not leaving until I get my gold outta that mine."

Hutch easily broke the hold on his arm. "The gold will keep. We can't eat it and we can't drink it. You just drive me back to town and I don't give a rip what you do if you find your gold. Bathe in it, or shove it up your ass for all I care." He turned his back to the prospector and stalked towards the jeep.

A vulture sat on the roll bar. It had to be Larry, the vulture that Peter had spoken of on the first day. It turned its ugly, bald head and looked at him. Normally Hutch would have been amused, but there was nothing normal about today. "Git!" He flapped his arms at the big bird, attempting to shoo it away. It merely tilted its head and stared at him. "Fine, ride along, I don't care."

The blond headed around the front of the vehicle to the driver's side.

BANG!

The crack of a rifle split the air. Hutch whipped around and Peter was pointing the gun at his chest. Behind him the blond could hear liquid hitting the ground. Peering over his shoulder, he could see fluid leaking out of the radiator and on to the sand. Knowing that the engine would readily overheat and seize without the radiator or enough water to replace the spilled fluid, he knew they were in big trouble. "What the hell are you doing? How are we supposed to get out of here now?"

"You don't leave until I say you can leave. And you don't leave until I get my gold. Get back in that mine." Peter motioned with the barrel of the rifle. "Go on, get in there!"

"What if I don't?" Hutch drew himself to his full height, standing straight and tall before the muzzle of the gun.

"I'll kill you." Peter fired another round. It kicked up sand between Hutch's feet. "I hit whatever I aim at. Get back to work. And if you work hard enough, I'll give you food and water. Which is more then those two punks did for you. I'm giving you something they didn't." The man smiled as he leveled the barrel at the detective's chest.

"And what's that?" Hutch sneered.

"A choice." Peter cocked the rifle and pointed it at the detective's chest. "Work and live, or don't and die."

Upon hearing that, Hutch stepped back towards the mine. This was not the time to argue. He would wait for a better time, when the muzzle of a rifle wasn't pointed at his heart.

XXXX

Mohave Desert

Starsky put the binoculars down, but continued to squint out at the bright desert. "Where are you, Hutch?" His eyes burned from the constant peering through the field glasses and the brightness of the sun. Part of that burn was from the advanced stages of fatigue.

The Search and Rescue team had been looking for his partner for over a couple of days now and Hutch wasn't anywhere along the route he had given to Starsky. The team had found where the blond had camped the first night, not that he had left much evidence of being in that spot.

If his partner hadn't marked that spot on the map, Starsky would have been hard pressed to figure out that anyone had ever been there. The trackers assured Starsky that that was where Hutch had camped on his first night out and that would have to be good enough for him. What all this meant, was that the search grid would have to be expanded.

Starsky had already put in a call to Dobey and filled him in as best he could about what was going on. Dobey had instructed him to keep him posted. The brunet agreed to do just that. He picked up a canteen and quaffed it down. S&R personnel had instructed him to keep hydrated and to consume some salt as well, since he was sweating out electrolytes along with the water.

With each sip, the brunet took in the blazing sun and he was reminded of how quickly Hutch's meager water supply would dwindle in this heat. What water his friend had taken into the desert, must surely be gone by now. Though he had now heard of people who had been found dead by S&R with water still in their canteens. They had essentially conserved themselves to death. Starsky didn't really find that information particularly helpful, or comforting.

XXXX

Bench's mine

Hutch staggered out of the cave, dragging a heavy sack of rocks that he had hammered out of the mine wall. He pulled it over to the pile of stones by Peter and dumped it out.

Peter looked up from a rock he was studying. "That's not a full load."

"Peter, it's hotter then hell in there. I can't w-work-" Hutch paused to suck some oxygen into his lungs so he could continue, "-any harder or I'll drop from heat exhaustion." He panted as he bent at the waist, rested his hands on his knees and gasped for air.

"You poor, poor baby. Poor little rich boy. I feel so sorry for you. 'It's too hot… This is too hard… I can't take it anymore.'" The miner sneered in falsetto. "Poor baby. For the first time in your life, you have real work to do and you can't take it. Tsk, tsk, tsk." He clucked as he shook his head mockingly.

That pissed Hutch off and he stood up, rammed his finger under the man's nose and snapped, "Dammit Peter-"

The prospector raised a pistol and thumbed back the hammer. "You are no longer permitted to address me as 'Peter'. We are not equals anymore. You must now call me Mr. Bench." He gave the blond a haughty look.

"What? Why?" The detective's eyes slid from the muzzle of the pistol to Peter's steel gray eyes. He hadn't known that the man had a pistol as well as a rifle, this was not good.

"You are whining like a child. You must now be treated like one." The man's tone voice had taken on a superior tone.

Hutch shook his head in disbelief. "That's crazy-"

Peter stood up and shoved the pistol into the detective's face. "Who're you calling crazy?"

Hutch didn't need to be a detective to figure out the man was on the edge. With the business end of a gun pointing at his right eye, there was no chance of Peter missing him if he tried to jump the prospector. Hutch simply held still, making no move, waiting to see what Peter would do next.

The prospector backhanded him hard across the face. Peter had been hammering away at rocks for five years; he had the strength to prove it.

The tall detective staggered with the might of the blow.

"That's for back talkin' me. Now, get back to work and there'll be no supper for you tonight."

Hutch wiped at the thin trickle of blood from his split lip as he headed back into the mineshaft. The monotony of hammering stone would give him plenty of time to think about how to get out of this mess.

He glanced over his shoulder, trying to keep Peter in sight, it made the spot between his shoulder blades itch knowing the crazy prospector was behind him with a loaded gun. As he snuck his glance, Hutch noticed Larry the vulture sitting on the roll bar of the jeep, watching them and seeming to reside over the spectacle.

XXXX

Mohave Desert, day 9

Starsky watched the knot of Search and Rescue personnel. Every so often one of them would sneak a quick look at him. He had been excluded from the huddle – so far. He wanted to bust into the middle and demand to know what they were talking about.

Not that he needed them to tell him. They were talking about Hutch and were likely debating whether to keep looking or give up. They had been looking for over a week now. Nine days to be exact. Nine days, eight nights, an eternity to be in the desert without sufficient supplies.

He could hear snatches of conversation, they said words like 'too long',' needle in a haystack' and the one word Starsky couldn't make himself believe 'dead'. Hutch wasn't dead. He couldn't be. Starsky figured after all they had been through as partners, he would somehow know if his friend were dead. And right now, Hutch didn't feel dead to him. Starsky was well aware that he could be wrong. He had been wrong before about 'knowing' someone was still alive, when in reality, they were quite dead. One was his father; another was a close friend in Vietnam.

Hutch was the believer in physic abilities, not Starsky. Though his recent dealings with Collandra caused him to change his thinking- some. Still, Hutch did not feel dead. And since no body had been found, there was no call to give up the search just yet. Starsky made his way to the huddled group of S&R, determined to convince them of that.

XXXX

Bench's gold mine

After being in Peter's clutches for seven days… or was it eight? Nine? The detective shook his head and scratched at his sweaty, itchy beard. Shaving was one more 'luxury' that Bench had taken away from him. The days were melting together now and Hutch decided the he was officially in Hell. His sunburned skin had peeled off of his face and arms a couple of day ago. His lips were chronically cracked from being so dry. Crazy Peter kept up the pressure and kept on taking away 'luxuries' and heaping on punishments.

His latest punishment was to serve Peter his food. The blond was also required to call Peter 'sir' and sit in the sun while he ate his meager meals. Hutch wondered if next he'd be required to call Bench 'master'. He snickered giddily at that, not quite knowing if he thought it were funny, or if he was beginning to lose his own mind from the heat, hard work, and ever decreasing amounts of food and water he was now getting.

Then there was Larry the vulture. The bird was ever present now, winging in -- in the morning and leaving as dusk gathered. Of course the detective had no way of knowing if the bird left while he hammered his days away in the mine – which had still yet to produce a single nugget or flake or speck of anything resembling gold. Hutch was certain there was no gold, but that did nothing to stop Peter from making him dig for it anyway.

Tonight it would end. Tonight he was going to escape. He may not know exactly where to go, though he had been studying the stars and the lay of the land, so he knew what direction he would head in. Now it was time to leave. Anything was better than staying here with crazy Pete the prospector.

XXXX

Hutch listened intently, hearing no movement from Peter's pallet, he carefully rolled up the blanket he had been using during his forced stay and tossed it over one shoulder. He was glad of the full moon over head; it would give him light to navigate by. He made his way to the canteen and removed it from its hook, from the feel of it, it was full of water.

The pistol and rifle were somewhere. He couldn't risk going near Pete and looking for them, it was too dangerous. He wanted to be as far away from the man as he could get by morning. He planned on hiding during the day, conserving his energy for walking at night.

He wouldn't take any food. It would actually be better that way. Food took a lot of water to process and with only a single canteen available; he simply couldn't afford to take any with him. Not that there was much food left. As for the limited water, he would have to be vigilant and ration it until he reached civilization. Hutch crouched low and walked on the balls of his feet, thus minimizing any sound he might make.

The blond heard a sound and dropped quickly to his belly and froze. After hearing nothing for several minutes, he belly crawled slowly away from camp. Once he made it to the outer rim, he got back to his feet and started to run. It felt good to run; a smile broke over his face. It felt good to be free of Peter Bench. He could barely contain his giddy laughter, but he forced it down. He would laugh later, when he was a long way away from here.

Click

Hutch skidded to a halt; he knew that sound. His heart and stomach clenched as one, fear scrunched them into a ball.

"Going somewhere rich boy?" Bench stressed the word rich.

"Yeah, away from you!" Hutch sneered.

"No, I don't think so. Lay down!" Bench motioned with the rifle. "NOW!"

"Screw you!" Hutch spit, it landed on Peter's cheek.

Peter took his fingers and collected the spit from his cheek. Smiling, he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked on them.

Thoroughly disgusted Hutch stepped back from the man. A bullet whizzed by his right ear. He stopped moving, knowing that Peter would kill him if he moved again. 'Can't escape if your dead, Hutchy, bide your time, try again later' he carefully counseled himself. His hands ignored his coaching and rebelliously clenched into fists.

The prospector gave him a considering look. "Change of plans, before you lie down, walk back to camp."

Hutch had no recourse but to do as he was told. Reluctantly, he forced his feet to take him back to camp.

Once there, Peter forced him to lay down, spread eagle on the ground, face down. Bench then picked up his pistol and proceeded to tie the detective's hands behind his back. "Get up and walk over to the shelter, put your back against the main support pole."

Hutch stood up, but didn't move. "No."

Peter attacked him; using the pistol grip portion of the weapon, he whacked the detective across the chin, knocking him to his knees. Bench hit the blond again, knocking him flat this time, he tossed the pistol away and took another piece of rope and tied Hutch's ankles together.

"You stole from me rich boy. You took my canteen and my blanket. That makes you a thief – a common criminal. So now I'm gonna treat you that way. For stealing from me, I am going to cut your rations. Since you had enough energy after working all day to try to escape, you're obviously getting too much food anyway."

Peter reached down and picked up the canteen, then sat down hard on Hutch's back, using him like a chair. Bench unscrewed the lid and tipped the canteen over, sand poured out onto the ground next to the detective's head. He burst out laughing at his sick little trick.

Hutch closed his eyes and buried his face in the dirt, defeated. Even if he had escaped Peter tonight, he would have died in the desert without water in that canteen.

TBC