Safe House
Chapter 9
Something was niggling at the back of the blonde's mind, but he couldn't quite focus on it. He'd gone back to his apartment with Huggy bear at the end of the painful, frustrating day, and had a cool beer before reaching for his jacket.
'Hey man, where'd ya think you're goin',? you're all done in' Huggy had said, looking at Hutch's pale haggard face. The pallor was only made worse by the now purple bruise surrounding his right eye, above which, the cut swelled the skin. The usually tidy golden hair was streaked with grime and mussed, like he'd just got out of bed, and as he stood he leaned a little over to the left, favouring his injured shoulder.
'I can't stop Hug. Starsk could be dea………he'll need me', his voice cracking over the words. Truth to tell, he was at his wits end. There was no trail to follow, no leads to investigate. It was as if an alien spaceship had beamed his partner up to another planet. He rebelled at the helplessness of it all, cursing the body that needed rest, when time was of the essence. But he also knew that if he didn't rest a while again, he wouldn't be able to carry on much longer.
Reluctantly, he'd had a quick shower and eased himself into bed, the tall lanky frame of the black man folding itself into the settee. Sleep came quickly. He was exhausted, but with the sleep came the nightmares of Starsky injured; Starsky hurting; Starsky dead. But there was a theme surrounding all of his dreams. He'd finally shook himself awake yelling Starsky's name at the top of his voice. Huggy was by his side immediately, soothing the blond and handing him a towel to dry away the sweat soaking his body and face.
If only he could remember what the dream was trying to tell him.
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Dennis was tired of listening to the screams now, the timbre of them having changed so that they were now mere crackles and rasps.
Tyrone had picked up the cane and showed it to Starsky, flexing it between his hands. It was the sort of cane it showed sadistic school teachers using in those old black and white films. He could remember being hit with a ruler at school and vaguely wondered how different the cane would be.
He soon found out, as the first stroke landed across the already bruised skin of his back. It was a sharp, agonising white pain that took his breath away, immediate and sparkling. Tyrone used the cane liberally, and Starsky lost count of the number of strokes that landed on his back and shoulders. Once or twice, the big gorilla took a short diversion and lashed upwards between his legs, which left the brunette whimpering and sweating, unable to catch his breath between one stroke and the next. Eventually, his jerks and spasms at the end of the rope slowed again and Dennis held up a hand. Tyrone reluctantly stepped back to admire his handiwork.
The back before him was red raw, the strokes having all been delivered in the same direction, so that the livid red welts laid side by side with not so much as an inch between them. Blood flowed from some of the deeper welts, sending a stinging stream down the brunette's spine. The whole session had been conducted with no questions being asked, the only noises in the room being the thwack of the cane hitting flesh and muscle and the pitiful screams and groans of the dark haired detective dancing at the end of the rope.
Dennis came forward and was about to open his mouth, when the telephone in the other room rang.
With a curt 'cut him down' he left the room.
Bobby reached up with a knife and cut the ropes and Starsky fell with a satisfying thud to the floor. The two men left him and went to find their boss.
Starsky hadn't the strength left to move. He lay gasping for breath, his back a fiery mess, his left wrist now completely numb and pain shooting down his injured leg. He felt sick and knew he couldn't keep this up for much longer, knew his reserves of strength were not that great, as shock from blood loss set in.
If only Hutch were there, he might be able to make it, but the last he had seen of him meant that the blond was out of the equation so rescue was hopeless. He rested his sweat soaked curls against the floor and closed his eyes, trying to blot out the pain, but failing miserable,
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Huggy woke Hutch with orange juice and cereal at 6.00am the following morning, and after another shower, they were once again out on the streets. There was still that same thing niggling at the back of Hutch's mind and as he drove he tried to piece together the dreams he had had the previous evening.
Eventually he pulled over and tried to explain his feelings to the black man sat next to him.
'I just can't get it out of my mind that there's something that I'm ignoring. Something that's vital that I can't remember. It's eating me up. I was dreaming it all last night, but now I can't remember. Damn it!' He banged his hands against the steering wheel in frustration.
Huggy looked over at the blond, sympathising with his friend. Truth to tell, he was having just as hard a time of it, and he would do anything he could to get his dark haired friend back.
'Why don't we retrace our steps from yesterday? If it was something that you saw yesterday, maybe you'll remember when you see it again' he suggested.
The big blond considered. 'Well, it's as much of a plan as anything. Fine, back to the East Side it is'. As he gunned the big engine and stormed off up the road.
They drove in silence, each wrapped in their own thoughts of Starsky, smiling, cracking stupid jokes, ribbing Hutch about his choice of cars. Hutch pulled up outside the little diner they had used the day before and they both went inside and sat at the same booth at the rear of the shop. They ordered the same sodas and looked at some of the same clientele, but nothing.
After fifteen minutes, Hutch had had enough and got up to leave. He walked down the length of the diner as one of the men from yesterday entered and went to sit in the window seat waiting for his friend. He took out the chequers board and started setting it up. Hutch smiled again as he walked past. God, what he wouldn't give for a chance to just play chequers all day!
Back out in the sunshine, the two men got back into the car and drove off as the man's friend joined him. Hutch's feeling was now turning into an obsession, as they continued to visit the places they had found their snitches yesterday.
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Starsky was beyond tired. He still lay where he had fallen, each small movement causing another shock wave of pain to surround his body, he was cold too and the shivering didn't help. He noticed a small movement at the back of him, and flinched waiting for more pain. Instead, Bernie came around to the front of him with another glass of water. Very carefully and gently he held Starsky's head as the injured man sipped the cool fluid.
Exhausted by the small act, he laid his head back on the floor, as Bernie looked on.
'I'm sorry' Bernie whispered. 'Dennis shouldn't do that. He gets mad sometimes'.
Starsky swallowed. 'Does he hit you, Bernie?' he rasped, his throat dry and sore.
The tall man nodded a little adding 'But he doesn't mean it. I do things wrong and he gets mad. It's my fault though. Sometimes I go out with my friends an' I don't tell him where I am. Or sometimes I use the telephone when I shouldn't. it's my fault', he repeated.
The brunette closed his eyes, enjoying the fact that someone was there with him, who wasn't going to hurt him. 'Ya got a lot of friends, Bernie?'
'Oh yeah' the tall man responded 'we play chequers at the diner all the time. They're like me – they're………I dunno………not clever like Dennis'.
A plan forming in Starsky's mind he asked 'Is there a telephone here Bernie. Can ya use it?'
'Yeah there's a telephone, but Dennis says I haven't to touch it. He says that would be bad'.
Starsky desperately tried again. 'Bernie, I'm going to die unless my friends find me. I have some friends in Bay City and if you were to telephone them, they could come and find me. Can ya do that for me?'
The tall man was shaking his head. 'Dennis says I haven't to use the telephone. If your friends came here, they'll hurt Dennis'.
Almost out of strength, Starsky tried one last time. 'It'll be OK Bernie, they won't get Dennis, I'll make sure you're all OK. You just need to call 911 and ask for Captain Dobey, ya got that? Captain Dobey, tell him Starsky needs him'.
Bernie nodded '911. Captain Dobey. But Dennis wouldn't like it at all, I couldn't'.
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Dennis slammed the phone down in triumph and turned to Tyrone. Not only was Barberra interested in the little deal he'd put together, he was on his way to meet with him. Now he just needed to find out from Ramsey where the money was and his lifestyle would change beyond his wildest dreams. He'd spent too long as an underdog, being paid to do everyone else's dirty work. It was about time he got a chance at a slice of the action. He stalked back into the other room and stared at the heap of humanity on the floor.
'Tyrone, put the kettle on. It seems that Mr Ramsey is going to be out passport to a far better life. I've just done a deal with Barberra that will mean we never need to work for anyone else ever again. And it all hinges on our curly little friend here,