Safe House

Chapter 7

Dennis answered the telephone on the third ring.

'Yes, this is Dennis, who is this?'

The voice on the other end of the phone gave him information and Dennis slammed the phone down in disgust. He paced the room, thinking. His ticket to his easy millions had just dove out of the window of his fifteenth floor office and was now strawberry jam on the pavement below. He had Ramsey but now what to do with him. How the fuck had it come down to this?

A name came to mind. Barberra. Wasn't that the name of the guy Ramirez hooked up with in Colombia? He was the one who ultimately wanted payment and Dennis knew how to get hold of him. He smiled to himself, rubbing his hands together. Something good could yet come of this, if he could get Ramsey to spill. That was the key. The slimy drug dealer he had in the back room. He was the key to the fortune because if Dennis could get the information on the money, he'd get a share of that and a share of the next big shipment that went down. He just needed to get Ramsey to talk.

He walked back into the room, where Starsky's body had been left where it fell, and signalled to Tyrone. 'Get these cuffs off him and string him up and then let me know when you're done. I need a drink'.

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Hutch woke with a thundering headache. He stayed still a moment remembering where he was, then tried to rise. His shoulder had stiffened considerably and the wound on his head had bled whilst he was asleep, leaving a brown crusted trail down his forehead and lodging in his pale blond eyebrow. Coupled with the black eye he now sported on that side, it gave his a vaguely piratical look.

He groaned and sat up, just as Huggy was coming into the room with a pot of his special strong black coffee. Hutch headed for the bathroom and cleaned as much of the blood off his face as he could without disturbing the steri-strip across the wound too much, then headed back out into the main room.

'Anything Hug? Anything at all?'

'The Terriers. Four dudes who have been known to work the East Side. They'll do anything for the right money, ya dig? They match the description ya gave me. The guy who was screaming in the shop is Bernie. He's Dennis' brother. Dennis is the brains of the outfit and he has Tyrone and Bobby too. Tyrone is one bad assed dude. An ex boxer. Punchdrunk'.

'Ya got an address, a location?'

The barman looked crestfallen. 'They've been out of the area for some time but one of my "friends" saw them two days ago renting a blue panel truck from the car lot on the main road out of town. The address they gave was….'

'Phoney' Hutch spat, frustration rising again. 'Thanks Hug. We've got more than we had five hours ago. I just need to find 'em. Listen, I'm going back to the shop on the corner by the courthouse. Maybe the shop owner can give us a lead'

'Ya want some company?' Huggy asked, knowing how the blond was missing his partner.

Hutch smiled. 'Well, two heads are better then one' he said, heading for the door.

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Back at the safe house, Ramsey had had a bad night. He was haunted by dreams of Starsky's body being found somewhere and him being accused of murder. He really did like the dark haired cop and genuinely wanted to help in any way he could. He stayed awake for half of the night going over what he knew of Dennis and his cronies.

What did he know about them? He tried to go over all the dealings he had with them in the past, when he'd had cause to get them to rough up one of his dealers who hadn't come through with the money. They'd always taken their captives away to do the dirty. They'd always gone out of town and he racked his brains now trying to remember any addresses or any locations. Nothing came to mind. The Terriers had always been secretive, that's why they'd survived without being arrested for so long.

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The pain of Tyrone's actions brought the brunette awake. The big man was wielding a bolt cutter. He'd cut the chains round Starsky's ankles and had picked the locks on the cuffs themselves, so his legs were now free. Starsky realised the belt had gone from round his waist. The ex boxer was working on the wrists now. Once again he'd cut the chains, and was picking the lock on the right wrist. Unknown to Starsky he'd tried to undo the cut from the left, broken, wrist, but the limb had swollen so much that the metal was embedded in the flesh and he couldn't get to the locking mechanism properly. So he left it and concentrated on the right.

Starsky watched him, trying to bide his time for his escape bid. He couldn't remember ever feeling quite so bad as he did at the moment. His head still hurt abominably, his wrist was sending a blazing pain up his arm and down his fingers. It was so swollen that he couldn't move his fingers any more and as he looked at it, he was amazed that such a dark bruise could develop on anything human. His stomach was also giving him grief, feeling stiff and sore. His most over riding emotion, though, was to get to his partner. He had to believe that Hutch was still alive although he couldn't understand how that would be possible as he'd suffered a gunshot wound at point blank range. He only knew that if he saw Hutch dead in his mind, he wouldn't have a reason to go on and try to escape. If Hutch was dead, he might as well just let them kill him now.

Tyrone finished picking the lock and pried it from Starsky's right wrist. As he moved away to put down his bolt cutter, Starsky rallied his remaining stength and swept his legs across, hooking Tyrone's legs from under him. The big black man went down like a pin in a ten pin bowling alley, his body making the floor shake as it hit. Starsky saw his chance and staggered to his feet looking towards the door. He ran into the corridor, looking left and right for the exit and charged down the corridor towards the door and freedom.

At that moment Dennis had finished his drink and was coming back into the room where he thought his captive was. He had a fleeting glimpse of a dark body charging past him as he realised that Ramsey had escaped. He reached into the holster at his side, brought out his Walther P99 semi automatic and aimed it at the fleeing detective.

'Mr Ramsey' he called down the corridor, 'I don't think you should be leaving just yet'.

Starsky ignored him, the sight of the outside world now in view. He was stopped by the loud noise as the gun behind him discharged and he felt a crushing blow to his left thigh, as the bullet entered, spinning him round and depositing him unceremoniously onto the ground.

Gasping for breath and clutching his wounded leg, he lay a moment as Tyrone's bulk appeared at the door. Dennis motioned for Tyrone to pick up the dark haired detective. The ex boxer walked slowly towards Starsky and seeing him down on the ground, lashed out once again with his foot, engaging exactly with the fresh bullet wound and eliciting a deep throated scream from the detective.

He picked the body up easily and dragged it back to the back room. He tied a rope round each of Starsky's wrists, uncaring for the fact that the left one was swollen blue and purple. Once secured, he threw the other end over the beam above their heads and hoisted Starsky's body up until the toes were just brushing the floor.

Starsky's world was a red wilderness of pain. He didn't know which hurt most; his broken wrist, now forced to hold his weight up, or his leg which was now bleeding freely, and sending it's own spikes of agony through his body. Both injuries fought for his undivided attention and he was having a hard time trying to ignore them to listen to what Dennis was saying.

The small bald man had watched Tyrone's effort from the side of the room, satisfaction building at each scream and groan the black man drew from his captive. He was impressed at the endurance Ramsey showed, knowing lesser men would have been pleading for Dennis to leave them alone as they told him everything. But this was one tough guy.

He walked over now to the man swinging gently at the end of the rope. Starsky's eyes were closed as he tried to calm his breathing, blocking the world out till he could come to terms with what his body was telling him.

Dennis slapped the brunette's face hard and cobalt blue eyes snapped open. Dennis looked over to Tyrone. 'Bring the knife and get rid of the clothes'.

Tyrone cut away the overalls and left them where they fell, in a puddle at Starsky's bare feet. Dennis stood back to take a long look at the bound man. He was impressed with the physique. The chest that was splayed open, the arms being pulled into the air, was muscular and sported a tan beneath the mass of dark curly hairs there. The stomach was flat and showed signs of regular training, but was marred at the moment by the dark bruised blossoming across it and extending round the sides of the body. He noticed too, that the bullet wound was still bleeding heavily, rivulets of red coursing down the brunette's leg and forming a small puddle on the ground.

Starsky stared back at Dennis, loathing in his eyes. Dressed now only in his boxers, he felt vulnerable and alone. He mentally prepared himself for whatever was to come. He knew Hutch was injured or worse, dead, and he knew that the others that would look for him would have no clue where to start.

Dennis gave a brief order to Tyrone and Bobby, and both men disappeared from the room.

'Now, Mr Ramsey, or may I call you Jack? You've been very stupid and caused yourself a lot of unnecessary pain, but you can stop it all now. Just tell me where the money is, and we can all go away happy'.

Starsky knew they'd never let him go, even if he did know where the money was. He stared defiantly back at the bald man. 'I think it's gonna be a real long night' he gasped, 'cos I have no idea what you're talking about. I said before, you've got the wrong guy'. He stopped as the other two men came back into the room, suddenly feeling sick as he saw what they carried.