Safe House

Chapter 11

In Barranquilla, on the north coast of Colombia, Jose Barrera was making telephone calls to his contacts in LA, confirming that Ramirez was indeed dead and that Ramsey was in the custody of the Terriers. What he heard, he did not like and so he arranged for his private jet to take him to a private airfield outside Bay City, in order that he could check for himself what the situation was.

Always a cautious man, he had not got to be the head of such a big organisation without being careful and on top of things. As he stepped down from the plane to his waiting chauffeur driven limousine, he wondered again whether this 'Dennis' had indeed come up with the goods, and looked again at the picture of Ramsey that he'd been given.

He gave the driver the address of 'Dennis' safe house, wanting to see for himself that Ramsey was indeed there and willing to give the information he needed. The car sped away for the two hour drive up into the hills.

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The men arrived at the diner a little before 5.30 that afternoon and went immediately to their window seat, pulling out the chequers board and counters, and talking excitedly amongst themselves.

Hutch took his cue and walked over to the corner.

'Hey guys' he began as they looked up at him. He noticed that one of the men had the rounded features and almond shaped eyes of a person with Downs Syndrome whilst the other man had a cast in one eye and a hand that refused to work.

He continued 'Can I join in?'

They looked confused. Why would anyone want to join in? They were used to being ignored. Hutch sat down at the table, Huggy leaning against the window, his arms folded across his chest.

'My name's Ken, and he's Huggy Bear. I heard you talking the other day about your friend, Big B. Is that his real name?' he asked casually.

The man with Downs Syndrome replied. 'I'm Stevie. This is Mikey. We play chequers every day and I always win'.

'Don't always', Mikey retorted.

'Do too'.

Hutch put up his hand. 'I bet you're both real good at chequers, but who's Big B? He got another name?'

Stevie nodded. 'His real name is Bernie, but we call him Big B coz he's big an' his name begins with a B' he finished, obviously pleased with himself.

Bingo, Hutch thought. 'Where's Big B now?' he asked, carefully

'He's gone with his folks out of town. They've gone to Dennis' house for a while', Mikey answered.

Hutch licked his lips. 'Do ya know where Dennis' house is?' he asked, hoping against hope that the answer would be yes.

The two men looked at each other before Mikey said 'We aren't supposed to tell. Dennis said it was a secret an' he'd hurt Bernie if we told'.

Hutch tried again. 'I'm er……a friend of Dennis. I just forgot where he lives, but I need to find him. If you tell me, I'll make sure he doesn't hurt Bernie, OK?'

A smile. 'OK. It's a house on a dirt road an' its at a place called Middle,……..no, not Middle. Erm………Mandy? Yeah mandy highs'.

'Mandy Highs?……..Mandy Hi?…….Do you mean Mandalay Heights? Hutch asked.

'Yeah, that's it' Stevie said, his face cracking into a grin. 'Mandy Highs'.

Hutch smiled back at him and got up quickly. He walked over to the bar and handed the waitress a $10 bill. 'Buy the guys in the window all the soda they want, OK?'

He headed quickly for the door as Mikey and Stevie shouted 'Thanks Mister' after him.

Back in the car, Huggy stared at the blond.

Have you any idea how big an area Mandalay Heights is? It'll take forever to go down every dirt road around there!'

'Yeah, but on the phone Bernie said the house was near a Seven Eleven. How many stress can there be I that area?'. He reached for the mic. 'Mildred, its Hutch. Patch me through to Dobey'. A moment's pause. 'Cap? Hutch. Confirmed Bernie is part of the Terriers, and they have a house on Mandalay Heights down a dirt road near a Seven Eleven. Can ya get someone from R & I to check the available addresses, I'm on my way up there now'. He put the mic back on its cradle and gunned the big engine into life.

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Jose Barrera sat back in his limousine and stared at the passing scenery. The city itself was nothing special. An average American city with far too many people and far too many buildings. Although, he thought to himself, if there weren't all these people, I wouldn't be selling all the drugs, so I have to be thankful.

The chauffeur eased the big car through the down town traffic, driving smoothly and unhurriedly as he negotiated the stop lights, the crossings and the hills going out of town. Consulting his map, he took a sharp left and continued up the canyon road.

Barerra was anxious to get this little deal over and done with. The whole business with Ramirez had left him with a nasty taste in his mouth. Who'd have thought the stupid Spaniard would have jumped like that. He would have thought that after being at the top of his game for five years, Ramirez would have been used to the pressure and had the mechanisms and men in place to deal with hiccoughs like this. He sighed,. Que sera.

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Tyrone reached for the kettle which was now boiling nicely. He lifted it down from the table and carried it over to the bound detective. Starsky started struggling, trying desperately to escape his bonds. Shit, beatings I can just about handle, but God, not this. Please not this. For Gods sake someone help me now. He tried to back away as far as he could, shrinking back in the chair, trying to make himself invisible. Oh God, this can't be happening,….can't be happening. Get the fuck away from me, please.

The look in the stormy cobalt eyes said it all – I've had enough now and this is more than I can stand. I don't care about Ramsey or any drug dealer any more, just let me be. He moaned, uttering low and persistently, 'No, please, no more, no more', no longer ashamed that he had come to the end of his tether.

Dennis was at his side, picking a handful of curly hair and pulling Starsky's head back fiercely.

'Ya got something to say, Ramsey. Has Tyrone just jogged that memory of yours?'

But the brunette was too far gone, The pain and damage that had been inflicted on him over the past two days, compounded by what he knew the big ex boxer was going to do to him had tipped him over the edge. He continued his low pleading, 'No more, please, no more', his mind shutting down to just that one phrase, over and over again.

Tyrone advanced and lifted the kettle. Aiming at a spot on the brunette's thigh, he dribbled a little of the scalding liquid onto the bound man's leg. The effect was dramatic. Starsky let out an almost animal scream, his fingers and toes contracting and his body becoming quite rigid, before collapsing back against his bonds. His head fell forward onto his chest and he let out a miserable, pitiful moan. Sweat poured down his face.

Again, Tyrone dribbled more of the boiling water, this time on the other thigh, noticing how the skin reddened and blistered almost immediately.

Starsky was beyond human reactions now. His mind was shutting down at the horror of it all. His pathetic whimpers were interspersed with the same pleading – 'No more, please no more', which all in the room ignored.

As another stream of water hit his chest, he gave one final heart rending scream, which tailed off into a sob before unconsciousness finally took him.

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In the speeding red car, the mic crackled into life. 'Hutch, this is Dobey. I think we got an address for ya. It's up on the road out North from Mandalay Heights, going towards the freeway. About two miles on, there's a Seven Eleven and a turning right immediately after. Go down that road about a mile an' you'll see the house on the left hand side. Got that?'

Hutch floored the accelerator and the car sped off as directed, 'Be there is fifteen minutes, Cap. Send backup'.

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The limousine was cruising up the hill. It got to the Seven Eleven on the corner and took the small dirt road off to the right, the tyres sending clouds of dust into the sky as it went. The man in the back prepared himself. The next few minutes would make or break his dealership and he readied himself for all eventualities.

The car stopped outside the small farmhouse, and the chauffeur trotted round to the passenger door to allow Barerra to exit. He stood just outside the car unhurriedly brushing down his immaculate suit, tweaking the cufflinks in the cuffs of his perfectly laundered white shirt, and straightening his navy blue tie. Satisfied that he was, as always, the height of sartorial elegance, he strode purposefully towards the front door of the house. Without knocking or waiting, the chauffeur opened the door and stood aside to let Barerra enter.

As they went through the door, they were greeted with a blood curdling scream which tailed off into a pitiful sob. Barrera turned to his chauffeur. 'I think Dennis is enjoying himself' he said with a chuckle.

He walked through and into the back room where he found all four of the Terriers and a man bound to a chair, obviously unconscious.

'Dennis?' he asked, checking the bald man over.

Dennis came forward, uncertainly. 'Mr Barrera, it's good to meet you'. They shook hands.

'And so, Dennis. Do you have the whereabouts of my money?' asked Barrera expectantly.

Dennis licked his lips nervously. 'Not yet, but soon, soon. He's near to breaking, so very soon'.

Barrera crossed to the man slumped in the chair and grabbed a handful of hair, pulling the lolling head back. He looked into the face of the bound man, then left the head hanging back as he turned away in disgust. Looking over to the bald man, he leered.

'I don't think you will have the information anytime soon, you idiot. It would appear you have been entertaining the wrong man. This is not jack Ramsey'.

Dennis stared at him, incredulous. 'Of course it's Ramsey. We took him from outside the courthouse two days ago. Who else could it be?'

Barrera sniggered at him. 'I would surmise that as the police went to Bilbao for Ramirez, they also knew about Ramsey. I would also surmise that this as they have taken the opportunity to make Ramsey safe, this unfortunate is probably a cop, wouldn't you? In which case, Mr Dennis, you are most definitely a fool'.

Jose Barrera felt his blood boil at this stupid man in front of him. There was only one thing to do with a man like this.

He raised his gun quickly to eye level and fired, even as the bald man was trying to apologise.

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The red car drew to an abrupt halt outside the farmhouse, finding a limousine and a blue panel truck parked outside. Hutch checked his gun, passing Starsky's Beretta to Huggy, who took it as though it would bite him. Both men quietly got out of the car and at a signal from Hutch made their way round to the back of the house, crouching down to run under each window opening along the way.

Just as they reached the back door, they heard a shot ring out. Hutch, spurred on now and frantic at the thoughts of whether they had just shot his partner, raised his foot and kicked out at the door with all his strength. The hinges gave and the door flew backwards.

Hutch and Huggy were just in time to see Tyrone and Bobby hot footing it out for the front door, the chauffeur in hot pursuit. As he got to the open door, he steadied himself and fired two shots, one in the back of each fleeing man. Both dropped to the ground, dead in an instant.

Hutch crept forward down the corridor, and peeped around the door into the back room. He could see Starsky's body on the chair and a well dressed figure bending over it. Motioning Huggy to cover the Chauffeur, who had still not clocked they were there, he inched into the room, coming carefully up behind the stranger and, as the stranger hit out at Starsky's exposed neck with the blade of his hand, Hutch brought the butt of his gun down on the head in front of him, sending the body pole axed to the ground.

At the same time as the body fell, he heard Huggy's pleading with the man at the front door to put down his gun, before a shot rang out. Quick as a flash, Hutch was in the corridor, staring at Huggy Bear, holding the small gun in his hand and staring in disbelief at the man he'd just shot.

'Huggy, get to the car. Call for backup and an ambulance, Now!'