Chapter 6
Harry, a volunteer on the afternoon shift at the Humane Society, was a tall, muscular man in his early twenties who loved animals and was in college to become a veterinarian. Because of his physical strength and skill in managing dogs, he was usually in charge of taking some of the strongest and most excitable ones for walks.
"Look what we've got here, Harry. Ralph and Steve brought him in a while ago. He's beautiful, isn't he?" John, the shelter coordinator said to the younger man.
"Whoa, it sure is… name?" Harry asked looking at the impressive Newfoundland dog that barked and whimpered, scratching the door's cage, clearly distressed and wanting to get out.
"Well, Theresa has named him Blacky. It sorta suits him, I guess." John shrugged. "Want to take him out for a walk, kid?"
"Sure, how's he behaving?"
"He doesn't seem aggressive, though he did put up a bit of resistance to being brought in. Lots of barking and trying to get out of the cage. I hope someone shows up soon to claim him, otherwise this poor doggo may go bananas."
"Ok, big guy, let's go for a walk. Some fresh air and exercise will be good for you," Harry said to the dog, as John handled him a leash.
Once out of his cage, the dog appeared calmer. He let Harry pet him and put the collar and leash on him. It looked to Harry as if he was in for an uneventful walk, and for a few minutes, it actually was, until they had walked some distance away from the shelter. Then, unexpectedly, the strong animal yanked at his leash, throwing Harry to the ground and breaking into a run. The young volunteer tried to run after the dog, calling after him, but soon, the animal had run too far ahead to be caught.
OOOOOOOOOO
At the warehouse, Hutch kept trying to buy time, to save Starsky, and find a way out of the deadly trap they were in.
"Peterson… think about what you are about to do." Hutch said, trying to sound calm, mostly for Starsky's sake. "Killing a police officer is a very serious crime…"
"Really? And what about killing two, Hutchinson?" The perp grinned creepily, but then he lowered his knife, moving it away from Starsky's neck. Peterson turned on his heel and headed to the back of the warehouse only to return carrying a gallon jug full of a transparent liquid. With his knife, he broke the seal and opened the lid.
"Damn you, Peterson! What are you doing?" Hutch kept pulling at his cuffs, trying to free himself from the pipe.
"What does it looks like, Hutchinson?" Peterson splashed the contents of the jug all over Starsky's still form, and calmly, he produced a matches' box from his pocket, lighting one.
"Peterson…no…" Hutch said, as terror gripped at his very core.
"Yes, Hutchinson. Now, I am gonna drop this match onto your partner. He'll burn to a crisp, screaming and hollering in unbearable pain, and there's not a single thing you'll be able to do to help him. One thing is sure, though. He'll go in a blaze of glory!" His bone-chilling guffaws echoed through the warehouse.
"Then, once done with him, I'll think about what I want to do with you…. I might even let you live. Perhaps a bit maimed, with a few fingers less than you used to have or something like that, but alive. Yes, that's a great idea. Let you live, crippled, unable to be a cop anymore and tormented for the rest of your life by the memory of your partner's horrific death."
"Peterson… no… no, don't do that, please, I am beggin' you! Take me; me for him, but don't do it, please, don't kill him… please!" Hutch was aware that he was begging, but he just didn't care. He knew that if he had to watch Starsky burning to death in front of his eyes, his sanity would be gone forever.
"Oh, my… look how sweet this is. I am almost in tears, Hutchinson," Peterson mocked, cruelly. "Well, no more chitchat. Let's get the fireworks started!"
"PETERSON!... DON'T!" Hutch bellowed, pulling frantically at his cuffs, and tearing the skin of his wrists in the process.
By then Starsky was half-conscious, unable to move, but aware enough to hear what the perp was about to do. He felt the wetness of the gas pouring over his exhausted body, and smelt the pungent smell of the flammable liquid permeating his hair and clothes. Starsky knew that he was about to die, killed in one of the most atrocious ways possible.
Then, out of the blue, amidst the fog in his brain, the words that the woman he'd loved dearly had said to him on her deathbed came to his mind, giving him a measure of peace.
'I'll always be there when you need me. If you're scared... Or your world seems like it's falling apart... Or just some dark night when you're all alone... You just close your eyes, and you try to remember me... I'll always be there.'
Terry, sweetheart… Starsky thought, his fear replaced by a strange kind of serenity, I think we'll be together again soon... TBC