Disclaimer This story was written purely for entertainment and is not for profit. It is not meant to trespass in any way on the holders to the rights of Starsky and Hutch.
A/N: Aloha everyone,
Okay peeps . . . the next incredible writer hails all the way from England and she does a stupendous job! All reviews for this chapter will be forwarded to the author through me, and they in turn, will respond directly to you okay?
Love you all! And now … chapter four . . .
Tag, You're It!
Chapter 4(By: Kirsty Welsh)
Starsky tried to force himself up off the mattress, the chain jingling against the hot water pipe he'd been attached to and the padlock weighing down the links. With his wrists tied together in front of him and fastened to the chain at his waist and his ankles also bound together he didn't get very far and the movements caused his head to hurt so that he felt a pile driver was being driven into his temples. Matt Coyle! So the rat was finally out of prison and back on the streets. After he and Hutch had ruined his little empire building scheme. Coyle had told them he'd do time and come out rested and ready to start again, while Starsky and the blond would be older more tired and probably non the wiser. They'd expected him to come out and relocate, perhaps up north towards New York to start over again. They'd never thought he'd come back to his old haunts. The pseudo Irish accents rang through Starsky's tired head, seeming to mock him for his stupidity and complacency.
The two men still in the room with him laughed at his pitiful struggles and calmly one of them walked over and knocked him back against the dirty bedding as he yelled out a string of curse words, tailing off into a gasp and a sob. He had no idea where he was, no idea how he'd gotten there and no idea why Coyle should be on the scene, although the idea of him wanting retribution against the cops rang true enough. His memories of his bedroom seemed far away now and Coyle's admission of his escape made the chains, bonds and headache make sense. Somehow he must have escaped and gotten back to his place. But if he had, how had he done it and why hadn't he called Hutch right away? Shit! His head was so screwed!
The two men went back to their card game, satisfied their captive was going no further then the end of the chain. They'd laughed when they'd gotten his limp, unconscious body back to the warehouse, but the grins had left their faces when their boss had told them another mistake would cost them their lives. That was one thing about Mr. Coyle. He kept his word and his word was law. He kept his men on their toes and no-one ever knew who'd be the next to be sold down the river to the heat. So they'd bought the length of chain and lock from the chandler's yard and had chained their captive to the pipes, making sure the links were good and tight and ensuring the rest of his bonds were secure. Now, Starsky's body carried several link shaped bruises around his back and sides and his writs and ankles were swollen and raw. And now they waited for Coyle to carry out the next part of his heinous plan – the death of the blond one.
That was what was so clever. No-one would ever be able to pin the death on them. Coyle had had Starsky taken early enough to start his conditioning well in advance and he'd been trained on a couple of unsuspecting and helpless victims until Coyle was sure the brainwashing and the drug had worked. And now he'd summoned the curly haired detective's partner to the boat shed and was expecting fireworks.
Starsky stared up at the ceiling trying desperately to remember anything. Facts; faces; names. Nothing came to him, the last week being a mere blur and it scared him almost more that the crisping and discoloured blood on the front of his tee shirt. He closed his eyes and prayed that the blond would be clever enough to bring backup. If he had truly been gone a week, surely Dobey would have had a search started for him.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Hutch floored the gas peddle as he neared the boathouse, needing to get there to check his curly haired hellion of a partner was ok, although he still couldn't understand the brunette's connection to the dead body in his apartment. As the shed came into view, he lifted his foot off the pedal and braked sharply, finally swinging the powerful red car to a halt at the side of the open and inviting door. Slowly he checked out the building from the confines of the vehicle, taking his cannon of a gun out of its holster and checking each chamber carried its deadly load of lead and there was one in the pipe. He thumbed on the safety. Cocked and locked they called it and the split second it saved in bringing the weapon up to shoot had saved his life more than once. He pushed the gun down the waistband of his jeans and slowly and quietly got out of the car. As he walked towards the boathouse door he saw a movement to his left and a man dressed in black tee shirt and black pants approached him. Hutch started to reach for his gun, but the man was faster and showed him the Beretta in his hand. Slowly, Hutch brought both hands into the open and up to shoulder height, seeing another man approaching him from the other side. They flanked the flaxen haired cop as they directed him into the dark shed and over to a small room in the corner. As they got to the door an alarmingly familiar voice rang out.
'To be sure it's good to be seeing your face, Detective Hutchinson'.
Hutch whirled around at the Irish brogue and glared at Coyle as the white haired man smiled an irritating smile at him. 'Coyle!'
The man gave a small bow. 'I'm flattered that you remember a poor lowly two bit criminal like myself' he muttered sarcastically. 'Perhaps you remember our last meeting too?'
'Only too well' the blond ground out, berating himself for now following Dobey's advice and getting back up. The two men in black pushed him towards the door of the small room and he walked cautiously through it, Coyle bringing up the rear, wanting to see the Nordic cop's reaction at the occupant.
Hutch took in the room with one sweep of his ice blue eyes and they settled in shocked horror on the chained, bound and filthy man on the dirty mattress. Starsky was curled on his side, facing away from the door and as he heard noises, he turned, his indigo eyes stormy as he saw his partner.
'Oh God, Hutch….no!' his voice full of despair. Why the hell had the blond not just followed procedure and gotten himself some reinforcements?
'Good to see you too partner' Hutch said, keeping his voice level. He was shocked at the condition Starsky was in and angry at seeing the brunette tied and chained like a wild animal.
'Now that we've had the fond introductions, perhaps we can get down to business' Coyle said strutting into the middle of the room. He looked from one detective to the other, but Hutch ignored him and crossed the room to kneel by the bed, ignoring the sounds of weapons cocking behind him. He reached down and put his hand on his partner's arm.
'You OK Gordo. What the hell's happened?'
Starsky tried to smile back, but it was a shadow of the usual lop sided grin. He was scared and he knew he couldn't hide it from the blond. 'Dunno' he said softly. 'Hoping you could tell me?'
Rough hands pulled Hutch away from the bed and to the middle of the room.
'That's what I always liked about you two. The sickening brotherhood you shared. It makes me want to puke'.
'Jealousy won't get ya far' the brunette said softly and braced himself as one of Coyle's goons kicked out at him, catching him on the side above the chain. He gasped, but bit back the yelp.
His assailant looked down at him in disgust. 'Mr. Coyle wasn't speaking to you'.
Hutch tried to get to his partner, but the men held him back and he struggled in their grip. Coyle laughed.
'What would be the worst thing to happen to two such close guys?' he said conversationally. 'What could possibly drive a wedge between the Metro's finest huh? Maybe, the ultimate?'
Hutch glared at him. 'Don't waste our time, Coyle. Just spit it out and forget the dramatics'.
'Why the rush? Don't you want to enjoy your last few minutes with him?' he pointed at Starsky who was struggling to sit up on the mattress.
'You lay a finger on him again and so help me I'll kill every last one of ya'," the angry Viking spat out, seeing Coyle's face crumple into a grin.
'How can you be so wrong so many times?' he said. 'He's not going to die, rest assured. But you on the other hand, well that's a different kettle of fish, as my grandmother used to say. You, Detective, are not going to see another sunrise and there's nothing you can do about it'.
Hutch put his hand up. 'Fine. OK. Do what you want with me, but for Gods sake let him go' he pleaded. He so wanted to knock that grin right off Coyle's open, flushed face. But the man was laughing again.
'Oh believe me, we will do what we want with you, and you will die. Bt I won't lift a finger. Neither will my men. Your sweet, curly haired, kind, compassionate partner, on the other hand, will be your executioner'. He looked at the two men by the bedside. 'Prepare him'.
As the two men descended on Starsky, the two others took a firm hold of the blond, holding him still as he was forced to watch.
Chained and bound as he was, Starsky had little chance to retaliate and Hutch watched as his usually hot-headed partner cowered back as the rough hands reached down to him. As one man opened the padlock and released the chain from around the brunette's waist the other reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a well used and tattered leather bound case. He opened is slowly and Hutch saw with horror that it contained a syringe, a vial of colorless liquid and a set of needles. As Starsky continued to try to push himself back into the wall, his eyes wide and transfixed on the hypo, Hutch felt the bile rise in his throat.
'For God's sake Coyle. What is this? Some sort of sick game? Ya gonna string him out? Why?'
Coyle put his hand up, silencing the distracted blond. 'We wouldn't dream of getting him hooked. Heroin is illegal Detective. I'm sure you know that. No this is a special little concoction that your friend has been getting used to. One dose and his training will kick in. The man you know as your partner will be replaced by the man who killed that girl in his apartment and the man down by the docks on Monday. Good little practice targets, and now, I think, he's ready for the big time'.
In horror Hutch watched as the two men knelt by the struggling, terrified brunette. The memories of that needle came flooding back to Starsky now and his mind rebelled at the horror of all he'd done. Angry at himself, but unable to stop, he started to plead with his captors, the sweat beading on his forehead.
'No, please don't…not again….no, please….nooooo'.
One man pushed the brunette back until he was lying on his back while the other knelt on the outstretched arm and flicked at the veins, finding one to stand proud and turgid. Hutch tried to close his ears to the strangled cry that forced itself pitifully from his partner's throat as the needle plunged into its target and the man depressed the plunger, sending the drug to course through Starsky's sweating and trembling body. As he removed the needle, the men got up, leaving the curly haired detective shaking and convulsing on the ground.
Very slowly, the shudders ceased and Starsky's cramping muscled relaxed. He opened his eyes again and looked around as if for the first time. Sitting up, he shook his head as if to try and rid himself of a dream and with a grunt, got to his feet. The brunette looked uncertainly around the room, his eyes finally resting on Hutch.
'Do you know this man?' Coyle asked. Seeing the curly head nod, he continued. 'You know what to do. He's your enemy. He killed your family. He needs to die and you need to avenge them.
Hutch watched horrified as he saw the hate on the familiar indigo eyes and his partner walked towards him with predator like grace as the four men left the room, leaving behind a knife on the floor.
To be continued . . .
A/N: Way to go Janet! (Whistling and applauding!) Please write and let Janet know how much you enjoyed her chapter . . . she would love to hear from you . . .