Chapter 6
Starsky's mouth was a dry as a bone, the wadded cotton leeching every bit of moisture from his tongue and lips. He didn't know how long he had been unconscious. He was cold and shivering through the thin cotton coveralls he was wearing. He only knew that his head hurt and that he hadn't the strength to fight the prison chains that still bound him in order for him to sit up.
The vehicle he was in looked like a standard panel van and the inside was a dark blue, so he assumed the outside would be too. At the moment he also realised that the floor of the van was very hard as every time they hit a pothole in the road he bounced against his hip bones, bruising them but couldn't find the leverage to get into a better position.
He felt sick from the blow on the head, but concentrated on keeping his stomach in order, there being nowhere for the results to go, him being gagged and all. He considered his position, trying to cast his mind back to the last moments in the prison van. Oh God, Hutch. His last view of Hutch was as he lay bleeding in the back of the prison van, unconscious. God, Blondie, I hope you're alright. How bad are ya hurt? Hang in there. No help from that quarter then, he thought. As he mentally made a list of what his assets were – nothing, and what his problems were – everything else, the van drew to a stop and the back door opened.
The brunette blinked at the light blinding his eyes after the dim interior of the van. Hands came towards him and manhandled him roughly out of the van, dragging him into a farmhouse type building. He had the vaguest impression of trees around and a long dirt road. Starsky's legs refused to support him and the men on either side of him virtually dragged him, shins dragging and scraping painfully on the uneven ground into the interior.
It was a ramshackle place with virtually no furniture, the paint peeling off the walls and doors. A damp smell pervaded the rooms. The brunette was bundled through the doors and roughly thrown to the floor in one of the back rooms. His hands and feet still chained to the belt fastened round his waist, he had a hard time finding his balance and staggered forward, putting out his hands to brace himself, before falling awkwardly. Hitting the ground hard, his left wrist snapped back and he felt an agonising pain shoot up his arm to his shoulder. The ache in his head hiked up a notch and the room took on a blurry quality.
He pushed himself up with his right hand until he was kneeling on the ground and looked around at his captors. Bobby came forward and quickly tore the duct tape from his mouth, smiling at the sharp intake of breath that followed. Starsky thankfully spat out the wadded cotton, trying to get enough moisture together to lick his stinging lips.
There was a tall thin man with a scar down his left cheek, a small bald man, who seemed to be in charge and an enormous black man, who had muscles on his muscles. Stood to one side was another tall man who seemed not to belong. He stared vacantly into space and smiled to himself. Not a vicious smile, just the gentle smile of someone who is experiencing happy memories.
The three men stood in a predatory ring around their captive, anticipation on their faces as Starsky stared defiantly back at them. Finally the bald man broke the silence.
'Mr Ramsey, it's so good that we finally get to meet. We have a mutual friend who is anxious that we speak with you on the subject of some funding'.
The dark haired detective's anger, which he had cultivated and bottled up all the previous night, now raged out of control. Gathering enough spit to be able to speak, he shouted 'Go fuck yourself, I don't know shit'.
The black man came forward and swung a leg at the bound detective, connecting with his stomach and sending the wind whistling through Starsky's teeth as he fell onto his side and arched his back, trying to suck in much needed oxygen. His world sparkled with pain and he knew he would not be able to survive too many blows like that from the mountain of a man. He braced himself as he saw the leg go back and another blow hit him square in the midriff, lifting him slightly off the floor. His breakfast parted company with him and he gasped as he wretched on the ground, waiting for the pain to subside.
Dennis waited until the brunette had recovered a little before continuing. 'This funding. It's quite a lot of money actually and a lot of people would like to know where it is. And believe me Mr Ramsey, you will tell us'.
Starsky raised his eyes. 'I don't know what you're talking about' he managed to gasp. 'I don't know nothin' about any money. You got the wrong guy'.
Tyrone came forward and grasped Starsky by the wrist he had seen snap. He held it in his big hand and squeezed sending white spikes of agony up the brunettes arm and down his chest. He managed to swallow the scream that brewed inside him and instead managed a strangled yelp. Tyrone stared him in the eyes and slowly raised Starsky up to his feet, using his broken wrist as a handle, until the pain, coupled with the ache from the blow to his head and stomach was too much, and he allowed the blackness to consume him.
Dennis crossed over to the black man and punched him in the arm, not that such a puny blow would even be felt by the mountain of flesh. But the black man immediately dropped the detective into a heap on the floor, looking abashed.
'I told you, we can't question him if he's unconscious, or dead. Now we have to wait for him to come round again. We're wasting time and Mr Ramirez will not be happy',
'Sorry boss' Tyrone responded, smiling. 'I guess I got a bit carried away. I'll play nicer next time, honest'.
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In Spain, the three DEA detectives had landed the previous evening and, ignoring jet lag, had gone straight for a meeting with the chief of the Bilbao police. The man was a straight forward Spaniard who was all too aware of the drugs problem he had in his city and was happy to help anyone who would take at least one of these powerful men away and off his patch. He had listened carefully as Holmes had put flesh on the bones of the explanation he had had over the telephone the previous evening, and agreed to giving the three Americans as many men as they would need to be able to take Ramirez out of the country.
After interminable paper work, the plan was finalised and now Fernandez, the only one of the three who spoke passable Spanish, stood outside the huge office of Ramirez Enterprises' Chief Executive.
He knocked on the door and entered at the 'Hola' from within. Ramirez was sitting back in his chair staring at a sheaf of papers in front of him, the thick blue smoke from an enormous cigar curling lazily into the air. He was the epitome of the powerful executive, sat back with his heels resting on the table in front of him. He looked up in surprise at the man who now walked confidently towards him.
'Si, que pasa? No comprendo.
'Oh you comprendo plenty. Xavier Ramirez, you are hereby arrested on charges of cultivation, distribution and possession of just about any goddamn drug you care to mention. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney, but of course you already know that and have access to the most expensive attorneys in the world, so we'll cut the crap shall we?'
The Spaniard was reaching for the telephone but Fernandez knocked the hand away.
'Not so fast my friend. You're gong to take an all expenses paid trip to Los Angeles, where a lot of your friends are going to watch you go to jail for an awful long time. You'll have plenty of time then for your phone call'.
Ramirez watched the detective, looking for signs of weakness. Could he be bought? Could he be taken out? He reached quietly under his desk to the gun taped to it's underside, gently easing away the tape that held it there. He smiled genially at Fernandez, then looked round the detective as the two other Americans and at least twelve Spanish policemen in uniform crowded into the room, knowing his odds of escape had just been severely depleted.
Fernandez delivered his final hand. 'The man you know as Ramsey is still in our custody and has attended his first hearing, giving his preliminary evidence. You're well and truly hooked Ramirez'. He smiled.
To his credit the man's face never showed any sign of the confusion he was feeling. So, if Ramsey was still in custody and had attended at the hearing, who exactly had the Terriers got hold of? And evidence had been given. Madre de Dios. He was suddenly so tired. So overcome with the enormity of it all. He had kept it together for so long, but now could see no way out. Either he went with the police back to America to a life jail sentence, or he took his chances at escape, but his powerful friends in Colombia would have a piece of him. Hell, their power even extended to the prisons., so he wouldn't be safe there!
'Then you have me……Cómo se lo dice en Inglés? ….what is your American phrase?...banged to rights', he said carefully. 'May I please have the courtesy of an internal phone call to my executive, then I promise I will come quietly?'
Fernandez nodded and pushed the telephone towards him. Ramirez lifted the receiver with his left hand, the right freeing the gun from its hiding place, and brought it close to his stomach. He dialled a number and spoke quietly into the phone 'Terriers, plan B, immediately. It's all over'.
Fernandez caught the last and was looking round to his companions in surprise as in one movement, Ramirez stood, aimed the gun at the window and fired, then dived out through the hole into thin air.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Hutch was driving back from the safe house, scenarios running through his head. He couldn't extinguish from his memory that last sight of his partner being carried away, still chained, by the two men. He knew they had probably taken him somewhere local first to regroup, but then what?
He smacked the steering wheel in frustration. Someone must have seen something. Someone must know something. He's drawn a blank with Huggy earlier but maybe he'd remembered something since. He would have called ya. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he turned his car in the direction of the Pits, the sun slowly dipping down and dusk coming over the city.
As he pulled up outside his friend's bar, Hutch realised just how weary he was feeling. His shoulder throbbed unmercifully and his head felt like one good nod would take it right off his shoulders. He struggled out of the car and headed inside, enjoying the cool of evening on his skin.
Pushing open the door, he saw Huggy look over at him from the bar. He shook his head slightly and the black man came over to meet him.
'Starsky?' he asked
The blond shook his head and was about to sit down at a table when Huggy motioned him to follow him upstairs. He followed and Huggy opened the door into the first floor bedsit. He motioned to Hutch to sit down in the chair and went to fix a coffee for the worn out detective. Coming back into the room, his heart cracked a little as he saw the blonde's head in his hands, his shoulders drooping disconsolately. Knowing everything that the two detectives had been through together, he realised exactly what Hutch was going through. Hell, he loved the hamdsome brunette almost as much as his partner did.
He placed the coffee down on the table and laid a comforting hand on the blonde's arm.
'Hutch, my man, we'll find him. I know we will. But you look like shit man. You need to rest or you'll be no use to anyone'.
The blond looked up, his ice blue eyes red rimmed. 'I can't rest, Hug. Ya don't understand. He was still chained up when they took him. He was completely defenceless. I was supposed to be watching his back and I didn't and now he's gone who knows where. God knows what they're doing to him. And it's my fault' his voice cracked and his head went back to his hands.
'If it's anyone's fault, which it aint, it'd have to be mine. I was the one that brought Jack to ya, and you an' Starsk put your lives on the line for him'.
The blond swayed in his chair, and Huggy was there immediately. He put an arm round Hutch's shoulders and drew him over to the bed. Gently, he pushed him back onto the bed, meeting little resistance from the exhausted detective.
'Sleep a while, Hutch. Even if it's only a couple of hours. I'll do some more phoning and if I hear anything I promise I'll wake ya, OK'
Hutch knew he couldn't keep going too much longer, the strain of the day and his injuries taking their toll on his body. He nodded at the black man and was almost immediately asleep.