Thanks everyone, for being patient!
Author's Note: This chapter contains subject matter that may be disturbing to some people. The author, in no way, condones these acts.
WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of childhood and adult sexual assault.
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Chapter 4
"If there's no one beside you, when your soul embarks,
then I'll follow you into the dark." Death Cab for Cutie
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Starsky arrived back at the apartment around one o'clock. Walking inside, the aroma of freshly made chili greeted his hungry stomach. He could detect hints of chili powder, garlic and even what smelled like cinnamon. God, that girl knows how to cook! At least the enticing smells were helping to ease his cranky mood.
"Hey, you're just in time. Go ahead and sit down, I've just got to get us something to drink." Throwing some ice into two glasses, Bree set them on the table. "What'd Hutch have to say? Anything?"
"No, he didn't take it personal, if that's what you're getting at."
"Okay, funny guy. Thanks for running interference." Noticing David seemed a little down, she decided not to ask how his day was going. After spooning the chili into bowls and handing him two cans of Coke, Bree sat down at the table and started to eat.
"This tastes great, Bree. Maybe I should keep you around as a personal cook, huh?" Starsky said, only half joking.
"You couldn't afford me!"
They ate the rest of the meal in relative silence. David was very quiet, and while tempted to wait until the evening to talk to him, Bree knew she couldn't. He had made the special trip to the apartment at her request. Clearing off the dishes, she sat back down at the table.
"David, I've needed to talk to you for a while, even before coming out here. And something happened last night that makes what I have to say even more important. This might be hard for you to hear, but it's the truth."
"Okay, you've got my attention—what's goin' on?"
"Well, first of all, who's the girl in the picture on your bookcase?" Bree asked, nodding towards the living room.
Her question surprised him. He hadn't told Bree about Terri, or their relationship, so he couldn't understand why she'd be asking about the woman he would have married. He cursed himself a little realizing he hadn't even thought much about her lately. He missed her sweet essence and character.
"Her name was Terri," he reluctantly answered. "She was my fiancée. She died about two years ago—some nut case shot her tryin' to get back at me for arresting his son."
"Oh God, that's insane! I'm so sorry, Davey." Bree had felt Terri's absence was due to a tragic event, but had never imagined it to have been so appalling. Seeing his grief was still fresh, Bree could only imagine the heartache he must have suffered upon her death. Cautiously going on, she said, "David, when I've been alone in your apartment, I've heard a spirit's voice, speaking just as loud and clear as you and me talking right now. And I think that voice belongs to Terri."
"Bree, are you fu…are you nuts? What'd ya mean, you've been hearing voices? Terri's dead—I was with her when she..."
The agony in his voice was hard to ignore. Bree thought back to when she'd encountered Maddy's sister, but couldn't let her brother's reaction stop her from telling him what she knew. "David, I wouldn't be saying this unless I really had to, I swear."
"Sure. So what's this voice telling you, huh? Tonight's winning lotto numbers?"
Okay bro', all bets are off. You're gonna hear this. "This isn't a joke! What you don't know is, I've been hearing, well, voices for a long time now. Call them ghosts, spirits, whatever you like, but I'm not crazy. One time, after hearing one of these voices, I told a woman standing next to me what it said. Turned out it was her dead sister, telling her where to find a missing ring. I swear, after that happened, I never wanted to tell anybody again, but I heard what I heard."
Starsky scanned Bree's eyes. Years of interviewing suspects had taught him to recognize when people were lying—they'd either not look at him, or shift their eyes away when answering, but Bree's gaze was passionate and strong.
"I also see things, like halos around certain people. I know it's weird, but it's very real and this voice last night, told me something that happened twenty years ago. Something only three people could have known, and two of those people, are sitting right here." Bree waited, hoping her brother wanted to hear more.
Starsky kept staring at her, not knowing what to say or believe. A minute ago, he was wondering how he could get her to a shrink, now he wasn't sure if these bizarre things she was talking about might actually be real. Deciding to hear her out, he said, "Okay. Ball's in your court, sis—you call the play."
Relieved, Bree continued. "Two weeks ago, I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling someone was in my bedroom. I could feel this unbelievably cold mass by my side. I swear Davey, when I exhaled, I could see my own breath."
Starsky momentarily broke eye contact. Although trying his damndest to keep an open mind, her story was getting too strange. He'd never believed in ghosts, considering them hallucinations or just figments of people's imaginations. But here was someone he loved and cared about, talking as if this was an everyday thing.
Bree noticed his reaction, but kept talking. "I saw this mist forming, hovering near the foot of my bed. I had to pinch myself, to see if I was really awake. The next thing I hear, clear as day is, "He needs your help." I asked 'who?' "Davey" it says. So then I asked, 'Davey who?' And it said, "Your blood badge brother."
Starsky remained silent, looking at Bree in disbelief.
"Yeah, that's right. Our blood badge oath. After Pop died, we took his badge and stabbed our hands, remember?"
"So what's this got to do with last night?" Starsky snapped, his patience worn thin.
"Well—last night I was looking at Terri's picture. It wasn't the first time I heard her voice…"
"Don't! Don't say you're hearin' Terri's voice…you don't even know what she sounded like!" Starsky bolted up from the table and stormed into the living room. He didn't want to tell Bree she was crazy. The idea of ghosts and goblins occupying his apartment was ludicrous. She was obviously sure she was hearing and seeing things, but there had to be an explanation—at least one from this side of the pearly gates.
Trying to be reasonable, he asked, "Bree, how do you know these things you're hearing aren't just you being worried about me, or your inner voice talkin'?"
Calmly, she said, "Maybe for the simple reason I know what my voice sounds like, and what I'm hearing isn't it."
Starsky didn't look convinced, and Bree was starting to lose hope. She had one more thing to tell him, but before she could begin, he walked back over to the table.
"Bree, I don't know what to say. I've got to go back to work. Maybe we'll talk about this more…"
Feeling a sudden pain like an ice cream freeze rush through her head, Bree flinched as she put a palm up to her temple. Thoughts began flooding in, centering on a message. Bree wasn't sure about its meaning, but felt it was something her brother couldn't ignore.
"She never said yes."
Cut off in mid-sentence, Starsky looked wide-eyed at Bree as if she had just spoken fluent Yiddish. "What did you just say?" he asked curtly.
"She says she never said told you 'yes'." As the last remnants of the message seeped in, Bree knew she finally had what she needed. "You asked her to marry you, but she didn't answer. She loved you very much, but knew you were asking for all the wrong reasons."
Completely dumbstruck, Starsky stood frozen. Only he and one other person could have known that, and she had died. Feeling suddenly lightheaded, he sat back down at the table.
Seeing her brother looking so helpless and lost hurt Bree immensely, but she couldn't stop now. Putting a comforting hand on his arm, she delicately said, "I'm sorry, that just came to me. It has to be Terri, Dave. She wants you to know about something really bad. I'm not sure what it is, but I think I'm involved somehow."
Starsky's vacant look instantly changed. "How? What makes you think that?"
"Because of what I heard her tell me last night. She said, 'He's going to need you, like he did before.'"
"Like I did before? What before?"
"David, yesterday you started to talk about Dickie Roberts…well, there's something I never told you about what happened that day…"
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Dick Roberts had worked with Michael Starsky as a beat cop. Although not close friends, the two had shared an interest in firearms marksmanship and often paired up to compete in shooting tournaments. Dickie, as he liked to be called, took an interest in the Starsky household soon after Michael was killed. He would show up practically every day, offering to be a handyman, chauffeur and even what some could call a surrogate father. He ferried the children out to baseball games, carnivals, toy stores—anything to show Rachel they were in good hands. The only drawback was, those hands always seemed to be on David.
Bree noticed it right away. Although innocent in appearance—a grip on top of the shoulder, the clasping of an arm, a pat on the head—its true intention was far from virtuous. David seemed to like the attention, but Bree knew what Dickie really wanted. One of her birth mother's boyfriends had been similarly interested in her, constantly offering to look after Bree while her mom was off entertaining other men. His hands were always wandering. At first, just around her arms and shoulders. Then on the thighs. Lastly, between her legs. Too young to understand the meaning, Bree had still known it wasn't a loving touch. Fortunately, her mother started dating another man who didn't like kids, but at least he'd never fondled her.
Seeing Dickie place his hands on David allowed those tainted memories to resurface. Bree sensed it wouldn't be long before he arranged to be alone with her brother, as Dickie never expressed more than a casual interest with either her or Nicky. So she kept watching and waiting, knowing the monster would soon surface.
It didn't take long. One day, she heard Dickie asking David to walk with him over to a local gun shop. Secretly, Bree tagged along. After the two entered the store, she stayed outside for a while, and then went in. A few customers stood by the front counter, but she didn't see David or Dickie. Bree began looking around the store, careful to avoid any suspicious looks from the salesman at the counter. Finally, she located the entrance to a basement storeroom and could hear a man quietly talking down below. Dickie's voice. After tiptoeing down the stairs, she slowly worked her way through the maze of packed shelves and boxes, careful not to make her presence known. When she got close enough for a clear view, the sight sickened her.
Dickie was sitting naked on a chair facing David, his pants and shirt lying in a pile on the floor. Bree could see Dickie's penis as he held it with one hand, the other hand clasped around David's arm. Her brother was standing, his jeans removed and curled around his feet. Dickie then took hold of David's underwear, and slowly slipped the cotton briefs off of his hips and down his legs. Grabbing one of David's hands, Dickie placed it on his adult penis. Keeping his hand on top of David's, he began stroking his manhood, moaning softly as it started to enlarge.
Dickie lifted his hand and took a hold of David's penis, applying the same hand movements and slowly massaging it, using his thumb to caress around the head. Bree could see David's expression and realized she must have looked the same way in front of her molester. Disengaged—not quite understanding the abuser's intentions. Moving his hand, Dickie began tickling David's scrotum, then used his fingers to gently squeeze and tug on his twin pouches. He looked up at David, as if studying his face for a sign of enjoyment, but her brother gave none. Dickie then joined and began rubbing the two penises together. His groans became louder, more intense. As he took hold of David's rear and attempted to bring him closer, her brother tried to push away, but Dickie grabbed harder—pulling David in and squeezing him up against his chest. Physically restrained, David struggled, trying to break free. Dickie stood up and spun David around, shoving him towards a desk. He snaked an arm around his neck, gaining control and securing the teenager in a head lock. With his other arm, Dickie reached in between David's legs, separating them, and clamped hold of his genitals. David started to scream but Dickie's hand flexed up, closing her brother's mouth.
"Now you're gonna keep quiet and do like I say or that little brother of yours is going to be next!" Dickie sneered, tightening his grip down below hard enough to make David's body cringe. Thrusting him forward onto the desk, Dickie separating David's butt cheeks, and began to guide his erect penis towards the opening.
Bree couldn't watch anymore. Finding a box of ammunition on the shelf beside her, she took hold of the heavy carton and hurled it down to the floor. The thunderous smack stopped Dickie cold, and he stood transfixed, looking at Bree with panic exploding from his eyes.
"Davey, get your clothes on and go home. Right now!" He looked as shocked to see Bree as the adult standing next to him. Still not moving, Bree yelled, "Davey, god damn it! Put your pants on and get the hell out of here!"
This time, she got his attention. Her brother slipped his clothing back on. Holding his hands against his stomach, he asked Bree, "What're you doing? Aren't you coming?"
"Don't worry about me. You get outta here, now!"
David glanced at Dickie, who was fumbling at trying to get his own pants back on, his eyes locked on Bree. Turning back to her, David said, "I'm not leaving without you. Come on."
"No! I'm not telling you again; just go! I'll be alright." Bree took her eyes off of Dickie, giving her brother a reassuring look. David shot a hateful glare at Dickie, then turned and darted out of the basement and up the stairs.
As Dickie finished zipping up his pants, he said, "Now look, sweetie, you don't know what you saw here."
"I saw plenty, you son of a bitch!" Bree said, wishing she had a loaded gun. Fleetingly, the thought seemed funny, considering she was in a gun shop.
"You listen here, Breanna Starsky. You didn't see what you think you saw. Besides, who's gonna believe a thirteen year old girl? Huh? Yeah, a kid versus an adult. A cop at that!"
Before she could answer, Bree felt another entity taking over her mind. Thoughts began pouring in, formulating a plan that no child could have conceived.
"So, you like boys, huh? Isn't that what they call 'a queer'? What do you think all your cop buddies would say if they knew?" The change in Dickie's expression signaled that she had his attention. "Yeah, exactly. So, are you afraid of girls? Is that your problem?"
"Look, just go on home—get out of here," Dickie snarled.
"No, I don't think so. You came here to have fun, right? Well, instead of playing with a boy, why not with a girl?" Bree pulled her sweater off, then took a couple of steps forward.
"Are you crazy? Look, Bree, you leave right now! I mean it!"
Bree unzipped her pants and let them fall to the floor. She slipped her feet out of the pile and walked towards Dickie. "I've done this before. My Mom showed me. The guys that came over to our house paid her more when they could play with me. Nothing really wrong with that, is there? I mean, when a guy and a girl get together? You're not a queer then, are you?" Bree started to slip her underwear off.
Dickie's expression was full of shock. His gaze drifted from Bree's face down to her chest and then at the smooth skin folds between her legs. Unzipping his jeans, he slipped his clothing and underwear back off.
During the rape that followed, Bree's soul was in another place. She never had a clear memory of it. Some sense of pressure and thrusting inside of her—but no emotional attachment. When Dickie had finished, Bree calmly got up, putting her clothes back on as if getting dressed for school. Before walking out of the room, she looked at Dickie with a scornful look.
"Now I'm only going to say this once, so you'd better listen good, you son of a bitch." Bree almost spit the words out. "I'm calling the police as soon as I leave. I'm going to tell them I was raped by someone I didn't know. When they take me to the hospital to check me out, they're gonna know I wasn't lying. If you ever, ever lay another hand on Davey or come anywhere near my family again, I'm going to suddenly remember who it was that raped me. And you know what else? I'm going to make sure that guy up at the counter sees me leavin' here all upset. Did you get all of that!?"
Dickie was speechless. He could only stare at her in horror, probably in shock knowing a teenager had just played him good. Bree shot him a smug look, then turned around. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, she dashed up them as fast as she could—hoping to never see Dickie again. A few days later, Rachel mentioned to her children that Dickie had suddenly resigned from the police department and had apparently left town. Only Nicky seemed to be devastated by the news.
Starsky sat at the kitchen table, numbed to the core. He'd never understood why Dickie had quit the force, he was just glad the molester was gone. Dickie had promised to show him, that day, how to make out with a girl, but obviously the pervert had other plans. No one else in the family, besides Bree, knew what had taken place in the gun shop basement. But now, the realization of what she sacrificed for him was sinking in. He had only gotten groped by Dickie, Bree allowed herself to be raped.
"You ever go to the hospital?" Starsky could barely get the words out of his dry mouth.
"Not really. There was a free clinic down by the old bakery building. I went there and told the doc I had gotten raped. Said I was sixteen, but I don't think he believed me…about my age, that is. Said I wasn't ready to talk to the cops, because I didn't know who did it. He examined me, kept some of my clothing—told me to come back if I changed my mind. And that was it."
Starsky couldn't believe how nonchalant Bree sounded. She didn't acknowledge in any way the depravity of Dickie's assault. Maybe that's just the way she chose to deal with it...
He, on the other hand, was ready to explode, wanting to lash out at the violator who had robbed them both of youthful innocence. But Dickie wasn't there. As the anger turned into pain, Starsky couldn't suppress it anymore.
"Bree…I…" Starsky hadn't felt his heart so torn since Terri died. Heavy tears started flowing as the raging waves of anguish hit. Bree jumped up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Raising his head, he reached around her waist and folded Bree onto his lap, as if she was a small child needing comfort. Squeezing her body in against his, he cradled her head against his shoulder, trying in vain to stop the spastic sobbing erupting from his gut.
"Why did you do that, Bree? Why?" He could have survived being constantly played with by Dickie, even being raped if that meant keeping her and Nicky safe. But he had been an unwilling victim. Bree willingly intervened. Somehow she knew Dickie had been after him all along. Sacrificing her own body, Bree had made sure Dickie would never touch him again.
"I did it for you, David. Because you had always cared about me."
After the tears ran out, the two sat silently for a long time. Suddenly, the phone rang. Starsky lifted Bree and got up, wiping his nose and trying to compose himself enough to answer. It was Hutch.
"Hey, was wondering where you were. Do you know what time it is?" he asked.
Starsky looked at his watch, surprised more than two hours had gone by since he left the station. "Yeah, I'm sorry. Got caught up with somethin' here at the house."
"Everything okay? You need me to come over there?"
"No, got it taken care of. I didn't realize it was so late." Starsky hoped the change in his voice wasn't noticeable.
"Starsky, are you sure everything's alright?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Look, I'm leaving right now. Is there something I should know about?"
"No, just that Dobey's been circling the squad room like a vulture, and I'm starting to run out of excuses."
"Okay, I'll be there as soon as I can."
Starsky hung up the phone and looked back at Bree. He walked over and took hold of her chin, lifting it slightly. Staring into her sapphire eyes, he started to say something, but stopped. He pulled her close, drawing her head underneath his chin. Placing both arms around her, he gave her a tight hug, then lightly kissed the top of her head. "We're not through here, Bree," he whispered. "Somehow I need to make this up to you. I don't know how yet, but I will."
"You don't owe me anything. I only told you so you'd believe me about the voices I've been hearing."
Starsky rolled his eyes. Yeah, I forgot we'd been talking about that.
"I think something's gonna happen," Bree went on, "and soon. I'm afraid you're going to get hurt. That's why I came out here, to warn you."
"Look, Bree," he said, pushing back from her. "I don't want you—or anyone else—worryin' about me. I can take care of myself, really. Hutch would be ashamed of me if I didn't. I'll be back home as soon as I can, okay? And we'll finish talkin' about…these voices."
With that, Starsky left the apartment and raced down to his car. Great; once again alone with the spirits. Bree walked back over to Terri's picture. She still had to tell David about the broken glass, but it wasn't important anymore. David had bigger concerns. Problem was, how was she going to convince him?
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Once back at the station, Starsky paired up with his partner. There had been no further developments in the case involving Malcolm's murder. Worse yet, informants out on the street were avoiding the detectives like the plague. Hutch noticed Starsky wasn't acting like himself. He'd perk up if someone said hello to him or if he was involved in conversation, but otherwise he seemed off in another world.
Sensing an opportunity when the squad room temporarily emptied out, Hutch grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down on the desk in front of his seated partner, intentionally maneuvering his body as close as he could get.
Unable to ignore the deliberate act, Starsky glanced up at him and asked, "Is there something you want?"
"Yeah, I wanna know what's up? And don't give me that look, Starsky! I know you, and something's happened today that's got you upset. I wanna help, but I can't do that if you treat me like—like I'm invisible!"
"You're not invisible, and whatever you had for lunch is still degrading in your stomach." Starsky waved his paperwork in front of his face, as if clearing away some undesirable odor.
"Don't think you can just change the subject, buddy. I'm serious. What's going on with you? I can't take you out on the street if you're not there a hundred percent."
"Look, it's…a family thing. Just need some time to think it through, that's all. Don't be makin' such a big deal outta nothing, okay?" Starsky loved the guy, but sometimes Hutch could almost suffocate him with concern.
"Oh, a family thing." Painful memories from when Nicky had visited emerged in Hutch's mind. Starsky had pushed him aside then too, choosing to believe his brother instead of trusting his partner. "Well, since I'm not Nicky, I guess that leaves me out. Sorry I asked."
"Hey! You're taking this all wrong."
Setting the coffee cup down, Hutch said, "Oh, am I? I guess I wouldn't know Starsk, because I'm not family—just your fuckin' partner."
Starsky shot up from his chair, almost knocking Hutch over. He grabbed his jacket off of the desk and started heading for the door. He was struggling to keep his mouth shut, knowing if he and Hutch continued, frustration over the murder case would lead to saying things neither truly meant. He didn't need the extra drama. He had plenty of it waiting at home.
"Oh, well that's real mature Starsky. Just wanted to know what's buggin' you. Is that too much to ask for, or does our friendship mean nothing to you?"
Starsky froze halfway out the door. Again he fought the urge to respond, but this time he lost. Pointing a finger at him, he said, "Ya know, Hutch, you're wrong. Family demands things from each other. Friends are supposed to care enough to never demand anything. I guess that does make you family."
As Starsky pivoted and swung the door closed behind him, Hutch looked down and shook his head. For a guy who wore his heart out on his sleeve, Starsky could still hold plenty of secrets inside.
Once Starsky got back to the Torino, he called dispatch to let them know he was going off shift. Driving home, he thought about what to say to Bree, but nothing sounded right. He was still having a hard time understanding how she had known about his proposal to Terri. She did tell me she'd always be there, whenever I needed her. So if it is you, babe, what's so important that you gotta let me know? Starsky didn't want to believe Bree, but he wondered if he could really afford not to.
After arriving home, he walked up the stairs and went inside. Bree was lying on the couch, apparently the only one who felt entirely comfortable on it for long periods of time. Another old movie was playing on the television. She must really like those soapy flicks. He took his jacket and holster off, hung both on the coat rack, and walked over to the front of the couch. Bree moved her legs over as usual, inviting him to sit down.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey yourself."
"What ya watchin' this time?"
"Twelve Angry Men. It's a classic. You ever seen it?"
"No." But someone could make a movie about two certain cops and call it 'Two Really Pissed Off Men.' "You hungry enough for dinner yet?"
"Umm, I might be after the movie's over." Bree kept her eyes glued on the television screen.
"How much longer 'til then?" Starsky's stomach was preparing to lodge an objection.
"About an hour I guess. Here—" Bree patted her hand on the exposed part of the couch cushion. "Take your shoes off and lay down. You should watch this—it's really good."
See, I told ya, Hutch. Family always demands things. Starsky complied with Bree's request and settled in beside her. She was right though; it was a good movie.
When the credits started rolling, Starsky asked Bree about dinner again. She suggested they make something Mexican. Finding no taco shells in the pantry, they decided to run down to the store. Just before going out the front door, Starsky grabbed his jacket but decided against putting his holster on; they were only going to be gone for just a few minutes. After getting into the Torino, they took off down the hill.
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At Venice Place, Hutch was placing his dinner dishes in the sink. The meal, leftover meatloaf, had been edible, but his appetite wasn't good. He was thinking about the conversation earlier at the precinct, and why he'd gotten upset when Starsky talked about family. Hutch knew his partner thought of him like a brother, certainly more than just a friend. But the emphasis Starsky had put on the word 'family' bothered him, as if no matter how close Hutch was, this time he wasn't close enough.
Starsky could be exceptionally protective and forgiving about his relatives; Hutch learned that first hand when the infamous younger brother had paid a visit. Even when Nicky's illegal activities were obvious, Starsky still didn't want to believe his brother was involved. Hutch wondered what Bree might have disclosed that put Starsky in such a touchy mood.
Thinking back to the night before, Bree certainly didn't give him any indication she had any unsettling secrets. Freely discussing her childhood with him, as torrid as it had been, was some proof of that. Their time on the beach had been enticing, and her sensuous behavior gave no indication of turmoil occurring in her life. But women could hold many secrets, and, well…the ex-Mrs. Hutchinson had proven that.
When he finished drying the last dish, Hutch grabbed another beer from the fridge and sat down on the couch. He thought about calling Starsky, more as a prelude to see if he could make plans for a date with Bree. Glancing at his watch, he figured there was still plenty of time left in the evening for a number of possibilities, even if some of those had to include Starsky. Dialing the number, Hutch let it ring for over a minute, but there was no answer. Guessing they had gone out to eat, he decided to give it another hour and try again. Perhaps the later it got, the better chance he'd have of enjoying Bree's company alone.
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Arriving back home, Starsky and Bree sat in the car for a few minutes, singing out loud to an Eagles' song until it finished playing on the radio. Despite the events of the last two days, each was in a good mood. Exiting the car, they climbed the stairs, and Starsky grabbed the doorknob to turn it. When the door cracked open, he stopped, looking at the handle clearly puzzled.
"What's wrong? Did you forget something?" Bree asked.
"No…I thought I locked it when we left."
"Well, then why didn't you use your key? You must've forgotten to lock it."
"Yeah, I guess." Starsky couldn't shake his unease, which became even worse when he realized he'd left his gun inside. Thinking he was overreacting, he went ahead and pushed the door open, making sure to scan the dark living room as best as he could before stepping inside. Bree pushed in around him, more concerned with finding the light switch. After flicking it on, she began to hurry to the restroom, telling David she needed to go. Starsky wanted to tell her to wait, but in the brightened room nothing appeared to be out of place—that is, until he turned around to the coat rack and noticed the Beretta missing from its holster.
Before he could spin around and yell Bree's name, Starsky heard the metal clicking of a gun hammer being cocked back, freezing him immediately.
"Don't move a muscle," Frankie Suko said, getting his first close look at his prey.
Starsky closed his eyes and tried to swallow the lump forming in his throat. Standing with his back towards the room, he felt extremely vulnerable.
"Drop the bag on the floor and put your hands up." Suko's voice was cold.
Starsky wanted to turn around and confront his intruder, but with Bree still in the house, he knew he couldn't risk it. Complying with the order, he lifted up his arms.
"That was good. You're doin' better than I thought."
"Who are you? Wadda ya want?" Starsky raised his voice, hoping that if Bree could hear him, she might try to find a way out of the apartment.
"Oh, now we got a problem. Here's the deal. You don't say anything. I talk; you listen. You're not the only one here that has a gun pointed at them."
Starsky's heart sank. He knew the man was talking about Bree.
"Okay. Now I want you to raise your arms really high, like you're tryin' to touch the ceiling. Then turn around real slow. I want you back facing that wall, understood?"
"Yeah, I hear ya." Starsky couldn't wait. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of the intruder, or Bree. But as he turned he saw no one, only a glimpse of a gun barrel sticking out from the darkened doorway of his bedroom.
"Okay, very nice. Now, take off your jacket, real slow and toss it over towards the door."
Starsky realized he wasn't dealing with just some burglar. This guy knew what he was doing and it only added to the apprehension rising inside of him.
"That's good, detective. Now, pull your shirt out from your pants."
So this guy knows I'm a cop. T'rrific! He ain't here for money; he wants something else.
"Okay. You've been very cooperative. You don't know how much that might help you tonight, or someone else you care about."
Starsky began wondering how he was going to fight his way out of this. He hadn't heard Bree or any other movement in the apartment. Whoever this guy was, he definitely wasn't an amateur.
"Now, cop, remember what they taught you at the academy? About cuffing someone? You get to show me how good you can play the bad guy. Put both hands on the top of your head and interlock your fingers. That's right. Now spread your legs."
Starsky hated this part. It was designed to put the suspect in an awkward position so they couldn't attack without giving the officer a head's up.
"Okay, one of my partners is going to come up and cuff you. You're not gonna give him any problems—that understood?"
"Yeah, perfectly." So I'm outnumbered; somebody sent me a welcoming committee. I wonder who went to all the trouble.
Starsky could hear someone behind him. As Lou Vinetti took a hold of his clasped hands and bent him back slightly, Starsky could sense the person's massive bulk from the heavy breathing on his neck. The cold feel and quick snap of metal on his right wrist was nauseatingly familiar. As the cuffed arm was jerked behind his back, the left hand was quickly brought down, joining the right as the last half of the handcuff clicked around it. The bracelets were then tightened snugly on each wrist.
Vinetti turned Starsky around, giving him a chance to finally see one of his unwanted visitors. The man holding him was enormous, towering several inches above him and packing an extra fifty pounds in weight. A second felon, was now standing in the living room, and Starsky noticed both hoods were wearing business suits. Nice of these gorillas to come dressed up. Glancing around, he couldn't see any sign of Bree. Looking back at the second hood, he recognized the Beretta in his right hand. Realizing his options were limited, Starsky glared at him, using the gesture to gather up some mental courage.
Hearing noise towards the hallway, he looked over and saw a third man stepping out of the bathroom, holding Bree in front of him. Her face showed concern, but her movements were composed. Starsky wasn't sure if the man was armed, but he focused on Bree, hoping to calm her by just making eye contact.
"Take him over to the table," Suko ordered.
Starsky was hauled over to the kitchen and, without warning, slammed face down on the table, bending him at the waist. Trying to catch his breath, he felt his belt buckle being undone, sending a nervous tremor through his body.He turned his head, looking for Bree. The shock on her face sickened him. She caught his gaze, and both held onto it like a lifeline. He gave her a slight smile, tightly shutting both eyes one time. Hang in there, kid. I'm okay; you need to be, too.
The belt was yanked free from his jeans, and the top button undone. He tried twisting off of his stomach, but the heavy hand on his back just pushed him down harder. Starsky felt fingers drag along the inside waistband of his pants. Hands then patted around his groin, moving all the way down both legs and around each ankle. His car keys and wallet containing his detective's shield were snatched out of his pockets. Vinetti then grabbed a handful of Starsky's hair and jerked him back up, sending painful spikes through his scalp.
Suko walked over and jabbed the Beretta's barrel in his abdomen. As Starsky tried to shake his head free, Vinetti tightened his grip, pulling Starsky's head back until he was staring up at the ceiling. Swallowing hard, he tried to focus on calming his quivering stomach. One thing was becoming apparent—whoever these goons were, they could do anything they wanted to him, with very little warning.
"Okay pig, you've been a good boy. Just a few more places to check and then we'll be done."
With that, Starsky's head was yanked down hard, sending his legs slipping out from under him. He landed backwards on the table, expelling a lungful of air and smacking his head against the hard surface. The handcuffs jabbed sharply into his spine, pinching both wrists. Suko immediately stuck the gun in Starsky's face. While the painful spasms in his head and arms begged for relief, he felt the scrutinizing strokes again—fingers slipping under the waistband, hands patting around his groin. The zipper on his jeans was pulled down and the pant flaps tugged back. His stomach muscles instinctively tightened, trying to protect his blatant vulnerability. A hand shoved into the tight opening under the flaps, causing uncomfortable pressure as it moved around. Tightly closing his eyes, Starsky fought keep his composure, but his trembling muscles kept betraying his efforts. Suddenly, his genitals were grabbed and squeezed hard. Starsky couldn't help but let out a pained yelp. God, I hope Bree can't see this. When the stars cleared from his vision he saw Suko sneering down at him.
"Looks like you got a little gun hidden down there, huh?" He squeezed hard again, but Starsky held his cry this time, not wanting to give the attacker the satisfaction. Peering past the end of the gun barrel, he flashed the goon a hate-filled stare. Suko smiled back and tightly grasped again, this time with a violent twist. Starsky couldn't hold the scream in and it escaped with a vengeance. "Well, guess we don't have to worry about that weapon; it sure as hell ain't loaded." Suko let out a chuckle. "Okay, enough playing around. We're gonna go for a little ride."
Starsky was grabbed off the table and set back on his feet. Suko zipped the jeans closed, but the tight fabric only added to the throbbing pain in Starsky's groin. He glanced over at Bree, who was standing by the couch, a look of terror plastered on her face.
"Go ahead and cuff her." Suko ordered. Lapentz holstered the weapon he had pointed at her back and, after slipping a pair of handcuffs from his waistband, quickly secured Bree's hands behind her back.
"Look, you got me. Just keep her out of this," pleaded Starsky, the pain in his head making his breathing erratic and his voice sound raspy.
Suko got in front of him, and shoved the gun against Starsky's throat so hard he had to stretch his neck back to relieve the pressure. "Now what did I say about you doin' the listening and me doin' the talkin'?" Getting no response, Suko assumed he had made his point for the last time and withdrew the Beretta.
Turning to Lapentz, he said, "Okay, you take her in the cop's car." Tossing him the Torino's keys, he continued. "We'll meet you where we planned. Go on and go. We shouldn't be here too much longer."
Lapentz grabbed Bree's arm and pulled her towards the front door. She struggled to keep her eyes on David, but she and her captor were out the door within seconds.
Suko pulled a chair out from the kitchen table and had Vinetti set Starsky down on it. Grabbing a handful of curls, Suko bent over, placing his mouth up against Starsky's ear. In a calm voice, he said, "Okay, now here's where you're gonna listen real good. My boss wants you in one piece, and breathing." Pulling Starsky's head back, he continued. "Now me, I don't give a flyin' fuck what kind of shape you're in. So, the rest is up to you. But you better realize somethin' right now. You and me, we're going to be spending a lot of time together in the next few days. I would strongly suggest you don't start pissin' me off too soon, because that would make me mad—and you won't like me when I'm angry."
Starsky closed both eyes, wishing the whole scene would just turn into a bad dream so he could wake up. Alone, he could handle these hoods and their threats, but he wasn't the only captive. They had Bree. She may not have known who they were or what they wanted, but she had seen them, and that was bad news. What was worse, they were separated and he had no idea what these gorillas were planning to do with her.
Suko straightened and nodded his head at Vinetti who then yanked Starsky out of the chair. As he was led out of the front door and taken down to the Oldsmobile, Starsky thought about one other person.
Hutch, I'm sorry about that stupid argument, but I think I really need you bad this time, partner.