WARNING FOR JUST A LITTLE BIT OF "ADULT" CONTENT - MORE A SUGGESTION THAN ANYTHING GRAPHIC. IF IT OFFENDS - PLEASE READ NO FURTHER

4

The two goons holding his arms dragged Hutch back to his glass-fronted cell and pushed him roughly inside. He overbalanced and fell against the wall, knocking the breath from his body. One of the guards threw a pair of white cotton drawstring pants at him, identical to the ones Starsky had been wearing.

'Strip and put those on' he ordered in a voice that brooked no argument.

'And if I don't?' the angry blond spat out.

'There is no alternative. Either you do as we say voluntarily, or we make you, and have a little more fun on the way'.

Seeing the force of the argument, Hutch braced himself against the wall and levered himself into an almost upright position. As the guards stood watching, he unbuttoned the tattered and torn, blood covered shirt he'd been wearing since the two partners had been taken, almost two weeks previously.

'….and then I said to her "is hanging a suspended sentence?" and she doubled up. Thought it was hilarious'.

Starsky chuckled at his own humour, ignoring the rolling ice blue eyes next to him. He'd been full of news of his new girlfriend all morning and the descriptions he gave of Helen's hair and Helen's eyes and the way Helen kissed were beginning to wear a little at Hutch's nerves. When they gotten to the part of "Helen likes the tight pale blue jeans I've got. She says she can…." he'd held his hand up in defeat.

'Enough! I've been "Helened" all morning Gordo. I'm glad you got a new lady. Honest I am, but do I have to know what she had for breakfast and how she giggles when ya blow in her ear?'

The brunette looked offended. 'Well she does! It's one of those girly giggles that…'

'See, there ya go again! Get your mind out of your trousers and back on the job huh?'

They were driving down Ocean Boulevard, past the entrance to the docks, on their way to questioning one of their snitches on the waterfront when they first saw it. Starsky had finally shut up about his Helen and was now keeping his mouth clamped closed in an effort to show the blond that he was annoyed and upset. He hadn't had a girl in a while and he was excited at the prospect of nights out and more importantly nights in.

Without warning, the brunette swung the big Torino in a wide arc and set off up Mandaley Avenue towards the garment district of the town. Hutch was more than used to his partner's erratic and unconventional driving and as soon as he'd felt the powerful car sideslip on the dirt he'd grabbed for the dashboard, bracing himself against further daredevil antics.

'What the….Starsk, what the hell are ya doin'?'

He saw the devilish light in the indigo eyes. 'Dark green Lincoln 3 cars back. Get the impression they want to get to know us a little better'.

'A tail? Did ya see the driver?' Hutch asked craning his neck around to try and get a look. The car swung another sharp right and he fell against the door with a grunt.

'No'.

'Well how long have they been following?'

'Dunno'.

'But you're sure they're following us?'

'Yep'.

Hutch knew better than to question his partner's instincts. He'd trusted them enough times in the past to be happy trusting his life to the brunette, so he got himself braced into the passenger seat and tried to enjoy the ride. And what a ride it was!

From the avenue, Starsky threw the striped tomato up the bends of the canyon road, leaving the city behind them. As the cars behind tailed off, taking their own routes, it soon became apparent that the curly haired cop's instincts had been right and the Lincoln followed as though there was an invisible rope from fender to fender. The speedo touched 80 as the brunette skilfully threw the monster machine around the curves of the road, the tyres kicking up dust on the tight bends and still the Lincoln followed, if anything, gaining on the Torino.

'Who the hell's driving that thing? Pedro Rodriguez? Starsky yelled as his hands worked feverishly over the wheel. 'I can't shake 'em. Can you see who they are yet?'

Hutch took another look in the wing mirror, seeing dark eyes and dark hair, but nothing distinguishable in the reflection. 'Can't tell. Who did we piss off lately?'

'Ya want the definitive list, or a rough guess' the brunette grunted.

'Well, whoever it is, they're getting closer. Can ya step on it?' Hutch said as he cast another look in the mirror.

Starsky pushed harder on the gas pedal, the toes of his sneaker now hitting the floor of the car. 'C'mon baby, ya can do it' he wheedled, as if talking to his pet would increase the engine output. Another turn came up, almost too quickly. If the detective hadn't have known the road so well, there would have been an accident, but he nursed the car round the almost hairpin bend and heaved a sigh of relief, just as he saw the juggernaut bearing down on them on the wrong side of the road.

Starsky hit the break pedal full force and sheered the wheel to the side as the enormous vehicle passed by with mere inches to spare. But the damage had been done and he was fighting the understeer on the tomato now as he wrestled the wheel going into the next bend.

As the corner came up, Hutch knew they'd never make it. As Starsky threw the car round the left hand bend, the blond put his arms up to protect his face as the big red car careened off the road and came to a juddering halt with the nose buried in a large and thorny bush. The blond was thrown forward and hit his head on the black dashboard and Starsky found himself trapped behind the wheel, his feet wedged beneath the pedals. Steam rose from the buckled nose of the car and there was silence as both men tried to recover their senses.

As the brunette put his hand on the door handle, he felt the door wrenched open. The driver and passenger of the Lincoln were at the sides of the Torino now, pulling its passengers out onto the road, and in their stunned state, neither Hutch nor Starsky were in a position to fight back.

Both men felt cotton rags being forced over their mouths and nose and had the familiar acrid smell of chloroform. Starsky's deep blue eyes met for the last time with his partner's ice blue ones before they fell into a drug induced and painful sleep, waking up, God knows where, God knows how long later.

Hutch had found himself in the small white cell, fully clothed and with the mother of all headaches, but without his curly haired friend. The big glass window gave him a clear view of the corridor, and four times now, during his captivity, in between the trips to the room to watch the soul being ripped from his partner, he'd seen Starsky's half naked body being paraded in chains down the small space. Perhaps half an hour later, he'd seen the same partner coming back, bruised, bloody and weary and he'd wondered what the hell was going on.

Now it looked as though he may be about to find out.

Hutch shrugged out of his filthy shirt and dumped it on the ground, stalling for time. He looked from one man to the other and then at the door, realising that he had no prospect of escape that way. He also realised that he needed to keep himself in as good shape as he could if he was going to have any chance of getting them both out of the hellhole and so it was pointless to pick a fight with these suckers. They stood watching, looking as though they meant business. Reluctantly, he unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them. The guards had waited for that moment and descended on the naked man, pushing him backwards onto the floor. Roughly they turned Hutch until he was kneeling in front of them.

'Well, Blondie. You don't have to be anywhere for a few minutes. More 'n' enough time for some enjoyment!' The guards unzipped his pants and walked towards the defiant blond...

Eventually Hutch was allowed up and he stood braced against the wall, shaking before taking the proffered garment and stepping into the plain, thin cotton pants. Thus attired, bare chested and bare foot he followed the guards quietly as they paraded him back to the sickeningly familiar room with the chair at it's centre. He felt sick to the stomach at his debasement and longed for retribution, but the assault had left him feeling dirty, vulnerable and defenceless and for the moment, the fight had flown from him.

This time, his partner was not there and the two men at his side motioned for him to take up position in the chair. Hutch stopped in his tracks. There was no way he would willingly submit to the same treatment he'd seen meted out to his partner. He stood stock-still staring defiantly back at his two captors and braced himself as he felt the firm grips of the guards on either side of him. He pulled back, although he had no idea where he was going to run to if he'd gotten away and tried to twist out of their grip. It was pointless to kick out at them with his bare feet and he had no way to punch at them with them anchoring his arms. He gave up the unequal fight and the guards dragged him towards the dreaded chair and forced him into it, swiftly immobilising his arms and legs as he kicked out at them, making it as difficult as possible for them to complete their task.

As they finished, the door opened again and Matwick came into the room and sat down on his small wooden chair, opposite the bound and panting blond. He had his clipboard in his hand and a pen in the top pocket of his white coat and he took a moment to make himself comfortable before looking at the shining ice blue eyes.

'Detective Hutchinson. Or is it Mr Hansen? Who know? Perhaps after the drug it won't matter'. He chuckled at his own joke. 'Have you figured out yet what's going on?' he asked conversationally.

'I've figured that you're as mad as you ever were Matwick. Does that count? Hutch ground out, determined not to let his fear get the better of him. The thought of the needle left him cold. The thought of the needle's contents and their effects left him even colder and he swallowed hard.

'But I told you about the drug when we had the cosy little chat at the hospital' the doctor was continuing, obviously happy at the sound of his own voice. 'The adrenaline derivative? It seems that others got wind of my little experiments and decided that the drug could be adapted and used in a different way and to their own advantage. It's lining their pockets quite well now'.

'You're sick, you know that?' Hutch said, pulling ineffectually at his bonds. His mind went back to that time at Cabrillo. The sight of his partner trussed up and sweating on Matwick's operating table had stayed with him a long time. And in his nightmares he was still standing at the bottom of the small metal framed bed in the cold room, having just enveloped the smaller man in straight jacket and pushed a gag into his mouth.

'I may be sick, but I'm rich, and you're the one who's sitting immobilised in that chair. My syndicate wanted to know how powerful my drug was and asked me to give it rigorous testing. My first subjects were fairly tame individuals. Low life who's basic instinct was to fight in any event. I needed more powerful, intellectual minds and I thought of you two!'

'I'm flattered' Hutch grunted, eyeing the guard who was coming towards him with a silver bracelet type object.

'You should be. Your partner has provided me with reams of useful data about dosages and effectiveness, and now it's your turn. Two such determined individuals! I wonder if the final test will prove too much even for you?' Matwick nodded at the guards and they descended on Hitch's sweating body, clamping his right wrist to the armrest as they unfastened the restraint. They lifted his arm and fitted the bracelet around his wrist, squeezing it shut. The hinge and fastening were hard to detect, making it seem seamless and as they stood by him, Matwick stood over him, with the dreaded syringe.

Hutch's body started to tremble as the needle hovered above his arm and he closed his eyes to stop himself from pleading with the doctor. No way on earth would he stoop to that level.

With a cold feeling of dread, he felt the pinch of the needle as it entered his arm. And then there was a period of nothing, followed by a sea of red-hot fluid coursing through his veins. The blood thundered in his ears as he felt raw rage consume him. With his arms and legs immobilised he had nowhere to spend his pent up emotion and he yelled out at the surrounding men.

Matwick stepped forward and shone his light again into the ice blue, wild eyes and then sat down on his chair.

'Show him' he said, and the guard lifted Hutch's right wrist up into his line of vision. Inscribed on the shiny white metal were three words and two numbers

Designation - Green 1

Wins - 0

'Tell me your name' Matwick began.