11
'Dose of 100 percent given on fourteenth day' Matwick said into his tape recorder as he watched the struggling form in the chair opposite.
Hutch/Green's usually pale flaxen hair was a darker golden now as the sweat trickled down the sides of his face. His injuries from the last fight had been dealt with and he'd been left alone in his glass fronted cell for a whole day to recover, but now Matwick was anxious for his experiment to draw to its logical conclusion. The syndicate were happy with the progress of the drug and Matwick was pleased on two levels – the drug worked on even strong minds like his last two subjects, and he'd had a wonderful, God given chance to repay the Detective duo for the time he'd spent in prison. Matwick was one happy little bunny.
'Don't give me that' Hutch ground out as he saw Matwick loading the syringe gun with the drug. 'Don't do it… I'm a …I'm a…a…don't….ungh' the pain lanced through his head again, leaving him pale and shaking as he fought to keep from vomiting on the floor. He was dizzy and as tired as he'd ever felt in his life and all he really wanted to do was curl up and sleep. Hutch didn't know what was worse, the pain in his head prohibiting from thinking, or the inability to remember his identity. His last lucid thought, so far as his memory would allow was seeing the dark haired man in the corridor. He'd known instinctively that he knew him and his name had come unbidden to his lips. He was St..Sta. The pain hit again and he felt the bile rising in his throat once more. He gave up struggling and tried to relax in his chair, closing his eyes against the incredible fatigue and despair he felt.
'Tell me your name' Matwick started the familiar litany.
Hutch glared at him and said nothing. If he didn't reply the question, he wouldn't get the crippling pain in his head whilst thinking about the answer.
'Tell me your name' the doctor said again, seeing the defiance. 'If you resist, your friend will pay'.
The blond continued to stare back and almost joyously Matwick summoned the orderlies. 'Go get Blue and bring him back here'.
They waited in silence. Hutch tried to calm his heart rate and try not to think about anything. But visions of a lop sided smile and deep blue eyes kept swimming into his consciousness and when he thought about their owner, the pains returned.
Moments later, the orderlies re-appeared dragging the damaged brunette between them. Blue was having difficulty standing and there was blood both on the bandages around his middle and on his white cotton pants. Matwick noticed it and made a note to himself to ask questions later. But right now, the conclusion of his experiment was priority
Hutch looked at the injured man swaying in front of him and his heart lurched. Oh God Stars…. The pain redoubled its efforts but Hutch fought it, wanting to follow his natural instincts and go to his partner and comfort him. He pulled against the restraints around his wrists and ankles ignoring the doctor as he struggled to rise.
'Tell me your name, or you can watch as he takes on a fight of a whole different nature' Matwick smiled.
'Don't you dare lay a finger on him' Hutch spat out. He watched in horror as the orderlies arranged themselves so that one held the dazed brunette by his arms while the other stood in front, ready to punch. Although most of his memories were now blocked by the drug, the past 6 years working with his partner would not be erased so easily and on a fundamental level, Hutch 's mind urged him to protect the brunette and ease his suffering.
From Starsky's point of view, he was just glad that someone was trying to stop the vicious guards from using him once again as a punchbag, or worse.
'If you want them to stop, tell me your name' Matwick pressed, almost hoping that he'd have the opportunity of meting out further punishment to one or other of the detectives if not both.
'Hutchins…Hutc…Hutchi' he tried to form the words to stop the men from hurting Blue, but the pain was indescribable and Matwick noted down on the sheet, grinning at the effectiveness of his concoction as he saw the desperate struggles.
'Take him back' he ordered, motioning to Blue.
They took the smaller man by the arms again, and as they dragged him from the room, he looked back over his shoulder at the blond in the chair. Why did the man struggle? Why did he try to stop them from hurting him? Did he know him? Why did he look familiar? Blue's head hung down as exhausted thoughts ran through his mind. Maybe tomorrow, if he got a chance to rest, he'd remember then.
Hutch closed his eyes against the horror as he saw Matwick take up the syringe. He took a deep breath as he felt it pushed against his damp arm. I will remember. I will remember I'm Hutchin…Hut…Oh shit, who am I?
Matwick noted the immediate effects.
The baby blue eyes glazed and the compassion that he'd seen in them a moment ago fled, to be replaced by…what? He looked for a moment, considering. Yes, that was it. The word he'd been looking for. The word that would describe the look in those previously kind eyes perfectly
Bloodlust!
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
The tall, curly haired man walked purposefully up the stairs and along the long corridor to Captain Dobey's office. He'd been to the precinct a sufficient number of times to know his way around and needed no introductions as he stopped outside the familiar office and knocked on the door.
From the back, a casual observer would be forgiven for thinking that this man was Detective David Starsky. He had the same mahogany curls and was 5'11" tall weighing in at a trim 165 lbs. There was the same ruggedly handsome face and only the startling green eyes and the army uniform showed that this was not the detective. This was Lieutenant colonel Thomas (Traff) Trafford of the bomb disposal unit, an old time army friend of Starsky's from their Vietnam days and a more recent friend to Hutch.
He stood tall and straight as he waited for the invitation to enter the room and at the gruff 'Come in' he pushed the door open and went in, standing at ease in front of the desk, feet a regulation 12" apart and hands clasped in the small of his back. Traff was army through and through, but the army hadn't moulded him. He had moulded the army to fit around his wacky sense of humour and easy way with people. He looked straight ahead until Dobey signalled for him to sit down.
'Thanks for coming Traff. We could use an outsider on this. Someone who isn't known to the regular goons in Bay City' Dobey explained.
'No problem Captain' Traff answered in his deep, slightly husky voice. 'There's no way I could let this one go. So what have the dynamic duo gotten themselves into this time?' he asked with a twinkle in his eyes.
'They went missing two weeks ago'.
Traff sat up even straighter in the chair.
'Do you know where? Have you heard anything. My CO was vague on details'.
Dobey nodded. We've had APBs out on both of 'em for the whole time, but today we had an interview with a young lady who claims to have been taken to a nightclub by her boyfriend. This nightclub specialises in fighting. It's a bare fist fight club and for some unknown reason, she says she saw Hutchinson and Starsky out there in the arena'.
'No! Not Curly, or Hutch. They'd never do anything like that ….unless they were coerced' Traff said decisively.
'I know that. That's why we need to go in and find out what's happening. I'd love to just go in there with a warrant and retrieve them, and we will get them back out, beleive me, but we also want to bust this syndicate. According to Mary, the two were ok. Not in the best shape, but ok so far, although we need to get this underway now'.
'So you want me to what? Go in as an investor maybe?' Traff asked.
'Yeah, we want you to go in throwing your money around and letting the syndicate know you're a big investor and you want to see the facility. If you're ready, you can go in tonight. We'll fit you up with funds and the like. Just to case the joint and find out what's happening. Then we can work on busting it down and getting them out'.
Traff pursed his lips. 'I would'a preferred to get 'em out tonight. I hate the thought of either of them being made to fight like some kind of circus show. What's making them do it? Do you know?'
Dobey shrugged his shoulders. 'What ever it is, it's powerful. Drugs maybe? Who knows, but that's something you'll have to find out. And Major? Be careful huh?'
'Hey, you know me Captain. I'll watch my back. Now. Lead me to the money and lets get this show on the road'.
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Four hours later Traff was almost unrecognisable as the army Major who'd walked into the precinct. He'd gone home and changed out of his uniform and into casual black pants, a white open necked shirt and an expensive looking pale cream jacket. His shoes were shiny slip ons and his wallet bulged with the $20 bills the precinct had furnished him with. He looked the epitome of a rich playboy and he had the good looks to reinforce his cover.
'Are you sure you're ok with this. You don't have to. You aren't police' Dobey said uncertainly.
'Don't ya trust me?' the twinkling green eyes turned on him. 'A guy could get a complex ya know'.
Dobey's face softened. 'Ya had to ask? I'm just concerned that you know what you're letting yourself in for'.
'I know I want to help my friends' Traff said softly, seeing the deep concern in Dobey's brown eyes. 'I'll do whatever it tales and' I'll report back tonight. It'll be later. Where do you want me to contact you?'
The black man sighed deeply and rubbed his hand over his exhausted face. 'I'll be here. Till they're found I'll be here' he said with feeling.
The soldier patted the big man on the shoulder. 'Don't worry, they'll be ok. They're big boys, they can stick up for themselves'. He turned and walked out of the small interview room they'd been using, walking down the steps and out into the early evening sunshine.
Traff got into his deep blue sports car, closing the door with a dull click and sat for a moment contemplating what he'd been told and what he was about to do. How was it that of all the cops in the Bay City, when anything bad went down, it was always his two friends that were on the receiving end? He shook his head in disbelief. If it wasn't psychos wiring the curly cop up with explosives it was flakes trying to kill the blond one and torturing the other. He put the key in the ignition and pulled out into the light evening traffic, making his slow and determined way down to the club and getting himself into the rich, playboy character he had to be.
Half an hour later he pulled up outside the discrete entrance to the club. He got out of the car and threw his keys to the Parking lot attendant. 'Be careful with her, she's new' he said loudly, then put his hands in his pocket and made his way into the club. The receptionist, a buxom blond with a pronounced Chicago accent asked if she could help.
'I'd like to see the owner'.
'May I ask what its about Sir?' she asked. 'Mr Padaleki doesn't usually see visitors without an appointment'.
'I heard he was looking for investors. There's a possibility I might be interested in making a little deposit' Traff said casually, flashing his eyes and a brilliant smile before turning his back on the woman and leaning against the reception desk.
'I'll see if he's in' she dimpled and went into an office behind the desk. Traff heard her punch buttons on the telephone and a quiet, one sided conversation. A moment later, she arrived back, smiling.
'I'll show you up to Mr Padeleki's office'.
The soldier followed behind her, enjoying the view in the tight skirt as the receptionist's hips swung from side to side. She stepped out onto a corridor close carpeted in deep maroon deep pile carpet and stopped outside a huge carved oak door. She knocked and let Traff into the wood panelled room. It was moodily lit with table lamps and the maroon carpet continued in there, the heavy oak furniture spread around the room emphasising the decadence of the place. Traff smelled cigar smoke and saw the man sitting on the cream leather couch beside an ornate fireplace.