Chapter 10

Hutch walked into the small quadrangle surrounding the swimming pool. Several women dressed only in skimpy bikinis were lounging on the towel strewn beds around the turquoise oblong of water and he smiled at each of them as he carefully negotiated his way around the pool to the apartment block in the corner. It was quieter here, away from the canned music playing softly and the laughter and hum of conversation. He knocked once on the solid teak door and waited, knowing Sweet Alice may well be "entertaining" clients. He didn't want to cramp the woman's style. Although he wished she could find a different, less hazardous line of work, Hutch admired the fact the Alice supported herself and despite the men she saw, still maintained a quiet composure and pride. He smiled at the memories of the times she'd tried to come on to him. The times she'd even offered her services to him for free. In Alice's world, that was almost the same as offering him the key to Fort Knox. And Hutch had always refused her advances, always making the same excuse. "Not now love, but maybe later". And Alice always understood. A cop could never become "involved" with a hooker, no matter how discrete.

A moment later, the pretty blond woman opened the door and peeped around it, her face cracking into a broad smile as she saw her favourite blond. Hutch always treated her like a lady.

'Well hi there, Handsome Hutch. What brings you to maa door?'

Hutch smiled back. He had a soft spot for the glamorous hooker and always felt protective towards her. 'Hi Sweet Alice. I just wondered if you might be able to help me out' he said, his voice soft and gentle.

She opened the door wider and beckoned him in, closing it and standing with her back against it as she gathered her pale blue, feather trimmed "work clothes" around her. 'Well suga….if ya want a good taam…ya only need ta ask.'

The blond cop stood close and held her delicate chin between his finger and thumb and dotted a little kiss on her nose. 'You know, one day, I may take you up on your offers'.

'But not now…..ah know Suga, but ya can't blame a girl fer tryin. So, what can ah do fer ya'.

Hutch's face showed concern. 'Starsky's missing. He's been missing a couple of days. I was wondering if you might have heard anything on the grapevine. George Prudholm broke out of Cabrillo and I think he has something to do with Starsk's disappearance. You know, anyone talking about a cop, or askin' questions about prudholm'.

Alice's face clouded over. 'Crazy George? Starsky? No, ah haven't heard a thing. Oh maa. I hope he's ok, an' ah'll do anything ah can, ya know that'.

Hutch smiled. 'I know honey. Its important to me. You know that'. he paused. 'How's business?'

'Well….ah manage' she said coyly.

The blond cop reached into his back pocket and took out a roll of bills. He peeled off $10 and handed it to the young woman.

'Go buy yourself something pretty' he said softly, burying his face in her long blond hair as his fingers entwined themselves in the blond cascade at the nape of her neck. Alice's hair always smelled so clean and delicious, like apple pie and lemons and all the good things he remembered from his childhood.

'You don't have'ta do that suga' she whispered.

'I know. See ya' Hutch breathed as he headed for the door. It was always difficult leaving the woman. If they had different jobs, maybe they could get something going. But it couldn't happen now. Not like this.

Outside once again he leaned his back against the cool wall. What had his partner called it once? Strike one? Well this was it, strike one again, with balls two three and four coming up pretty soon. He pushed himself on, his body protesting the lack of sleep and the over dosing quantity of adrenaline coursing through his veins. But it was only the adrenaline that was keeping him going now. He was so weary he was operating on the chemical and hope. Hope that the next snitch might be the one that could hint at where Starsky might be,

Hutch got back to the car and got in, sitting behind the wheel and massaging the back of his neck, trying to ease out the knots of muscles cording across his shoulders. Alice would have done that for him, and then some! He smiled at the thought then grimaced at the pains. Pains his body was going to have to endure until he and his partner were back together.

oOo

On the other side of the city, Starsky too was beginning to experience his pains again. After the first euphoric rush of the horse entering his system, he entered a twilight world. A world where he loved everyone and everyone loved him. The feeling left him warm and languorous as though it didn't matter that his arms and legs had been bound into the same, muscle crunching position for the past 4 days. It didn't matter that his body lay on a filthy, damp mattress and that his jeans were once again wet with urine.

Beneath the stiff fabric, his skin was red and raw, the acid in the fluid beginning to chafe and abrade his skin so that it roughened and started to blister. The smell inside the crypt was nauseating, but to the bound cop, nothing else mattered. He was floating. He was in a glorious freefall where outside stimuli meant nothing, his only focus being the wonderful high the heroin had given him.

The feeling had lasted long enough for him to miss it terribly when he started to come down. At first he felt tired, his eyelids refusing to keep open for longer than a second at a time. He realised he had a smile on his face although there was no longer anyone there to see it, and even when he opened his eyes and stared into the thick, blackness surrounding him, it didn't worry him. The darkness was his friend. The darkness clung to him and caressed him like a lover would and he moaned into it, yearning to have hands for real on his body. He longed to have some woman's hands stroking him, his chest and legs, holding her hand over the hot bulge he could feel in his jeans. The heroin worked it's insidious way into his psyche, so that he was no longer a bound captive waiting for the next round of maltreatment. He was floating on a sea of testosterone fuelled by the recreational drug and all he wanted was to release the burgeoning hard on and use it as nature had intended.

The feelings seemed to stretch on the winds of time into infinity. He was happy. Hutch might find him, or there again, he might not. And did it matter? Well maybe it did.

The drug started to leave his system, feelings of euphoria giving way to seconds, then minutes of blind panic and depressive thoughts. What if Hutch didn't find him? What if he never got to see his partner again? What if Prudholm never came back? What if he died in this stinking hell hole with only the rats for company?

The feelings started to over whelm him, the depression being all the more powerful after the high he'd experienced with the rush. The panic built like a solid wall in his chest, crushing his breathing so that his breath came in short, sharp pants, excluding the oxygen from his brain so that he felt light headed.

Starsky started to pull wildly at his wrists again, the pain from his already bloody and raw skin only serving to fuel the flames of panic licking at his mind and roiling around his whole being. He wanted out. He wanted to be able to get off this stinking bed. He wanted to be able to move so that he could change the position of his body which now felt even more confined amd sore. His shoulders and hips seemed to have locked into that one position now after being held immobile for the entire time of his captivity. Although he had no way to know that he had been held for four days, his body told him that sufficient time had elapsed to make his joints protest. In his anguish, he yelled out into the darkness.

'PRUDHOLM!!! ANYONE. HEEEEEELP ME'. The shout tailed off into tears of forlornness which now coursed down his cheeks unchecked. David Starsky was one of the bravest, most stoical men alive. But this incarceration was beyond even what he could endure without breaking.

Part of his mind wanted the oblivion the drugs had afforded him. When he was on the rush, he could cope with his confinement and captivity. It didn't seem to hurt him in the same way. But the downside, the time when he was coming down from the sweet feelings was made doubly difficult. Did he want more? Yes and no. If he was never to get away, then at least the drug would make his time bearable. But if Hutch could find him, there was no way that Starsky would want his blond partner to find a junkie.

The thoughts were still carouselling around in his mind when he jumped at the sliver of light which pierced his darkness. A candle flared to life in the corner and Prudholm's face appeared above him, grotesquely lit by the flickering light.

'Gary? How are you feeling son?'

'Fuck off. I aint Gary and I aint feelin' in the mood t'play your games any more Prudolm' Starsky growled. It would have sounded more of a threat if the brunet's voice hadn't been weakened by the fever and the lack of fluid. Now, it sounded raw and thin and he rasped the words out in a husky parody of his normal voice.

Prudholm' eye's opened wide at the verbal attack, and in the amber light, Starsky could see differing emotions flitting across the older man's face.

'What did you just say?' he asked.

'I told ya I aint your son. An' I want outa here, now. C'mon George. Ya made your point. Ya got me. You got your own back on me, now lemme go huh?' Starsky tried to remain as calm as he could, but he could feel the anger below the surface as he fought for control. The heroin had heightened his emotional state, his nerves jumpy and fuelled with the chemical imbalance.

'You're Starsky' Prudholm said almost wonderingly, as if seeing the bound cop for the first time. His face split into an evil leer. 'an I got you just where I want ya. I'll make you pay for what ya did to my boy. I'll make you wish you'd never been born: never set eyes on my Gary. You ruined his life. You killed him, an' now its my turn to make you suffer',

'Your son was a worthless junkie. He robbed old ladies to fuel his habit. He killed those old ladies coz he wanted his next fix' Starsky yelled at the stunned man, flinching away as Prudholm once again back handed his across the face. Silenced, he licked at the trickle of blood from his split lip, panting with the exertion of his outburst.

'Don't ever speak his name again' Prudholm growled. 'You aint worthy enough to speak his name. My Gary was a good boy. An' then you went an' sent him to jail. He was a good boy….a good boy'. The light of understanding was once again leaving Prudholm's eyes. 'Gary's a good boy' he whispered. He looked back at the panting cop. 'You're a good boy Gary…..a good boy'.

Starsky hitched a ragged breath. 'if I'm a good boy…..Dad…..why not let me up huh?' he tried, wondering if playing along to Prudholm's fantasy would change the balance of their relationship.

'You're sick son. D'ya hurt any?'

'Uh huh. My arms hurt. I need ya to let me up' Starsky pleaded.

Prudholm ran his fingers through the brunet's matted curls. 'I'll get ya some more medicine. That'll make it all better'.

'No, oh for fucks sake no. Don't gimme any more. Please…..Dad…Papa….don't gimme any more. I don't need any more' Starsky was beside himself, needing to get away from the needle and the madness the silver spoon represented. Please God not more dope. He couldn't cope with more. How many doses before he didn't care? How many before he was hurting so bad he wouldn't care how much Prudholm gave him?

He pulled away as far as he could, the raw skin around his wrists tearing again and the pain fuelling his struggles.

But Prudholm was ready, the warm brown drug already pulled up into the barrel of the syringe. He seemed not the notice the ineffectual struggles of the man n the bed as he tied the rubber tubing around Starsky's upper arm. He seemed not to hear the pleadings which ranged from shouts to sobs. All Prudholm heard was the need in his son's voice. His mind making him sure that he was helping Gary and that everything was for the best.

Starsky felt the nip of the needle and his mind went into freefall. He gathered his breath and yelled out into the amber light

'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO' before his breath gave out and his husky voice gave way to a quiet sob. And then the familiar rush of the drug took him and the heroin pushed away his fears, replacing them with the warm fuzziness which wrapped itself around him and hugged him.

Prudholm looked at the dilated pupils and slack expression on the other man's face.

'That's it, Gary. Isn't that better? C'mere. Let me fix that for ya' he reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a comb. Leaning forwards, he started to gently pull the comb through Starsky's mahogany curls, the teeth snagging in the mats caused by the days of neglect.

'I'm gonna make ya feel better Gary. Jeez, your hair's long. And so curly. Was it ever this curly Gary? That's it. Papa's gonna make it all better. Sssh'

And Starsky gave himself over to the older man's ministrations as the euphoria took him and made love to his senses.