Chapter 12

Prudholm paced the area outside the crypt, his face a mask of distrust, pain and exhaustion. In the hours since he'd taken Starsky/Gary he'd had little sleep, and now he was impatient for the delivery he was supposed to have taken from Mickey. It had been almost 24 hours since he'd given the little man the $80,000 and he was beginning to give up hope of seeing the man, his money or the drugs again. He cursed under his breath.

After the shot he'd given Starsky/Gary the previous day, which hadn't seemed to last as long as the others Starsky/Gary had come around to more and more pain. George had spent a large portion of the night sponging the curly haired man's face and chest in an attempt to break the fever which was ravaging his body, stroking the sweat slick chest and arms and trying to sooth the man with his voice. The curly head had rocked back and forth on the mattress and several times Starsky had called out in his delirium asking for Hutch. Some of the time Prudholm understood that this was Starsky and not Gary, but most of the time, the older man tried his best to stop the violent shudders and low moans that escaped the brunet's lips by whispering into the man's ear that he was Papa and that he was here and he wouldn't let anything happen to his son.

For Starsky the world was descending into a vicious circle of euphoria, fever, tremors, depression and pain until the next hit and the cycle started all over again. His body, during the times when he was coming down hurt more than he ever thought possible without passing out. And on a subliminal level he understood that his body was becoming addicted to the heroin. But the drug was insidious in its takeover and there was no way that even the strongest man could overcome the cravings and effects of withdrawal.

Now Prudholm glanced up from his prowling and sighed as he saw the little snitch weaving his way through the headstones. Mickey's gait was not as smooth as normal and twice the little man seemed to lose his way, stopping a moment and retracing his steps before continuing down the hill. Finally he arrived at the crypt and Prudholm saw the pinpoint pupils and the slightly vacant expression on Mickey's face. Whatever the delay, the small man had obviously taken a shot of courage from the delivery he'd taken for Prudholm.

'Where the hell have you been' George hissed.

Mickey stared at him, working to focus on the man in front of him. 'I had a little difficulty. I met Detective Hutchinson. I had to lie low in case he followed me. But I got your stuff. Its good shit. The best' he handed Prudholm a package containing brown powder and stood back as the older an examined the package.

'Don't seem much for the money' he observed, prodding the plastic wrapper.

'Enough for twelve hits. After that, I need more money. It aint cheep ya know' Mickey sniffed and wiped the back of his hand over his nose.

'OK well, I need to give him some of this now. Wait here, I'll be back'.

He turned and was about to go back into the crypt when Mickey took hold of his arm.

'Hutch is lookin' for him. You gotta be careful. I told ya. If ya need more muck you're gonna have to tap him for it. It's the only way'.

Prudholm looked confused. 'Hutch? What's he want with….oh, yeah, Starsky. Yeah, s'ok. I'll be careful. Just be back here tomorrow at this time huh? Then we can decide what to do next'. He watched the little snitch nod then turned his back and went about his business.

Inside the cool dark crypt, the air was heavy with the smell of ammonia. Whilst Prudholm had taken care to nurse "Gary" through the night, giving him the occasional drink, combing his hair, shaving his beard and wiping his face and neck, there were only a couple of occasions when he'd unzipped the cops jeans and allowed urine to flow into an empty water bottle. For the rest of the time, Starsky lay in his own mess, slowly becoming more and more sore and raw.

Prudholm crossed to the bed and as he sat down Starsky's eyes opened. His pains argued with him, the muscles in his arms and legs needing to be able to flex and bend, but the bonds around his limbs leaving him anchored in pace. Whatever Crazy George was thinking about the bonds, it seemed he had no intention of slackening them and the brunet's shuddering pulled against the ropes, causing more trickles of blood to start their crooked course down his arms through the residue already caked there. He groaned, the "nod" having passed, to be replaced by more fever and cramps in his stomach and limbs. He craved the next fix, just to stop himself from hurting and to escape this nightmare existence.

'Sh shit, hurts….ungh' he tried ineffectually to bring his knees up to relieve the pressure on his cramping guts.

Prudholm knelt next to the bed. 'Easy son, easy. Try to relax huh?'

Pain filled indigo eyes regarded him from a face slick with sweat.

'Go t'hell….get 'way from me. I…ungh, oh God, fuck….hurts' his husky voice trailed off as another set of pains assailed him.

'Tell me what I can do son. Anything Gary, just say'.

Starsky had heard it all before – Crazy George would do anything for him, so long as it didn't include untying him. He refused to waste his breath on that one any more. But he needed something. Something to make the pains go away. Something to make this existence a little more bearable. He needed something. He needed another shot. No, his mind rebelled. No he wouldn't allow himself to descend so far. Would he? The drug's embrace pulled at his consciousness – just one more shot to take away the pain and the horror. But the drug was a horror in itself. Which was the lesser of the two evils? The horror of the dark, the filth and the pain, or the knowledge that each shot he took into his veins made his eventual withdrawal all the harder to bear. He made up his mind.

'G gimme more' he rasped. 'J just need one m more shot'. Starsky heard his own voice asking for more of the drug and his heart rebelled against it. But Hutch wasn't here. He'd lain there so long, his whole world had collapsed to the darkness and discomfort of the nightmare and he wanted any escape he could find. The comfort the drug gave him was compelling, and if the blond wasn't here to help him, he'd find some other way to survive.

Prudholm nodded and quickly prepared the next shot, adding just a little more to the syringe although Mickey had told him it as the good stuff. Starsky no longer shrank away from the needle, instead welcoming the happy place he knew he would float away to, but the effects didn't seem to be lasting quite so long and he hoped Prudholm would have more for him. Other than that, he may just as well die now.

George tied his tourniquet around the brunet's arm and flicked at the veins there, But each one seemed to have been punctured already and none rose up to meet his fingers. He sighed and retied the rubber tubing around the other arm where new veins reared up in answer to his prodding. Starsky sighed too as he felt the sharp scratch before the hot flush on his skin and the calm which smothered his troubled mind. Slowly his limbs relaxed back against the filthy mattress and the indigo blue eyes closed, embracing the feelings.

oOo

Hutch dry scrubbed his face in bewilderment. None of his sources had any information for him. Sweet Alice had telephoned him late the previous night and his heart had leapt as he thought she'd got some information for him. But, sweet Alice was living up to her name in a way other than that she was noted for, and she merely wanted to check in with Hutch that he was ok and that he'd managed to find his partner. Sorrowfully Hutch had had to tell her that he had no more news, and as he'd put the telephone down, he'd felt a rush of despondency. Where the hell was Starsk?

Now he was out on the road again, although he was unaware of where he would be going next. 5th Avenue had come up with nothing, neither had Mickey, Uncle Joey or any of the other miscellaneous snitches he'd questioned around the streets of the city. How could a 6' bundle of energy just disappear? Someone must know something! Hutch looked at his watch. 5:30pm. Time he headed back to the Metro to check in with Dobey. Maybe the police Captain had had better luck than he had.

He wearily walked up the stairs and along the long corridor to his Captains office and opened the door without knocking. Dobey looked up hopefully, but the hope left his eyes as he took in Hutch's exhausted expression, the mussed hair and creased clothing. He knew without asking that the blond had had no luck again and he sighed, putting down his pen. He got up from his desk and silently went into the other room, returning a moment later with a mug of coffee which he handed to the flaxen haired cop. Hutch looked up.

'Thanks'.

'Hutchinson, you look all in. I told ya to get some rest'.

'I know Cap. And I did sleep last night, but it just seems that every way I turn there's nothing. No news. Nada. Its like he never existed. He's disappeared off the face of the earth, I swear'.

'Nothing from 5th Avenue?'

The blond shook his head and took another pull at the hot black coffee. 'He said he'd keep his ears open, but he didn't seem too hopeful. I don't know what to do'.

'Well tonight you're coming home with me. Edith knows what you're like when anythin' happens to Starsky. She's worried for you. She wants to feed ya'.

'Thanks, but I can't'.

Dobey sighed. 'Gimme a break huh? If you don't come home for dinner, she's gonna make me eat everything she's cooked. It happened last night an' I was up all night with indigestion. Its only an hour. Just one hour and then you can go back to lookin' huh?'

Hutch nodded reluctantly. 'Whatever you say Cap'n. Far be it from me to add inches onto your waistline. But first I'm gonna go check on Mickey again. There was just somethin' about the little weasel. I wouldn't trust him as far as I can throw him. He looks shifty at the best of times, but there was something else about him yesterday. I'm gonna go an' push a little bit more'.

'You think he knows something?' Dobey asked.

'Dunno. But there's only one way to find out. He looked anxious….more anxious than usual and I kinda get the feeling he isn't telling me everything. I'll go lean on him so more'. He pushed himself up from the chair, biting back a low groan.

'Hope you're feelings are right' Dobey said although he thought the blond was clutching at straws. 'and don't forget, back at mine for 7:00'.