Chapter Four

Waves of white hot nauseating pain sliced through the entire left side and back of his skull, crested, rolled, ebbed away only to be followed immediately by another crashing into him threatening to send him over the edge into the dark abyss of unconsciousness. He fought the sensation more out of innate stubbornness than any type of conscious thought.

He tried to open his eyes, but they felt glued shut.

A kick flipped him over onto his back, sending another dagger of hot liquid searing through his ribs. His head rolled uncontrollably to the side with the momentum forcing a strangled, agonized moan to escape his lips. The wave of nausea that followed the jarring movement made him gag and he nearly choked on the bile forced up into the back of his throat.

He at last managed to pry his eyes open into slits and saw the blurred dark figures of his attackers.

Instinctively his left hand reached under the right flap of his jacket, but it was knocked aside with another swift kick. A second later his gun was stripped from its holster.

Hands then grabbed him by his jacket, yanked him up and sent a new crescendo of pain through his head.

His hands reached up, tried to grab at the wrists as black spots swam across his blurred vision.

Suddenly the alley was bathed in brightness and somewhere Starsky thought he registered the sound of a siren.

"Shit, it's the cops, man! Let's get out of here!"

He was abruptly released and scuffling footsteps quickly faded.

In the silence that followed, Starsky's eyes rolled back into his head as he passed out.

~S/H~

The Lincoln town car had completed its left hand turn apparently unaware of the events in the alley and continued down the main street, while two blocks away an ambulance with its sirens blaring rounded the corner on its way to Memorial.

~S/H~

He could feel the pull of the darkness…

"Why did you have to do that for?" The voice said quietly, close enough to his ear he could feel the exhale of air on his face. For a brief moment their heads touched. "He was our only lead."

His vision cleared for a brief moment and met glittering blue eyes filled with despair.

It was so hard to breath now, but he replied, "Seemed a good idea at the time."

The darkness was pulling him down and this time he didn't try to fight it.

Hands slid under his armpits, eased him down against the wall as it encompassed him.

Somewhere he could hear the voice again. It was angry now, so angry.

"Don't you fuckin' do this! Not now! We still have time!"

He wanted to tell the voice not to be angry, it was just that he was so tired, so very tired of all the pain, all the hurt, but the voice didn't seem to want to listen.

The pain that had been tearing his guts out was suddenly replaced by pain to his chest, then strangely the sensation of air being forced into his lungs.

The angry voice was breathless, almost exhausted. "Breath, damnit! Breath! Don't give up! Don't you give up on us! You hear me!"

The words echoed in his mind.

"Don't give up! Don't give up!" his own voice pleaded to the gasping, high pitched, rattling wheeze beside him. "Oh, god, please…They'll find us! They'll find us!"

But the gasps suddenly ceased leaving only stillness behind. Terror filled him in the quiet emptiness which followed. Tears stung his eyes as he lay there bound, gagged, waiting.

And eventually he heard it, the lock being turned…

~S/H~

Consciousness awareness came back with a jerk and drew out a deep moan. Eyes struggled to open and when they finally did hazy, blurred shadows greeted him along with pain: excruciating, throbbing, stabbing pain and another groan escaped his lips.

Slowly he rolled off his back and onto his side gritting his teeth as his head, back and ribs protested with the effort. The sudden wave of dizziness that hit him a moment later had his fingers scraping the coarse texture of asphalt beneath him as he rode it out.

The odor of decay and urine assaulted his senses making him cringe and he curled his body protectively inward, waiting.

When the blows to his back and legs didn't come as he expected, shakily he unfurled his body, then slowly rolled onto his stomach and up onto bent arms and knees. Gasping from the pain shooting through his head and bruised ribs, he awkwardly forced himself into standing position.

Immediately he staggered, falling sideways until his shoulder hit the side of a building. His palm came out, gripped the rough texture of brick to steady himself as his world tried to tilt to one side.

His vision remained blurred, incapacitating him, forcing him to move by feel more than sight with only one instinctual thought in mind, to escape, to hide before they came back.

Injured and confused, Starsky unknowingly groped his way along the wall moving in the opposite direction down the alley, away from the Torino parked only a few blocks down the street, and away from the Pits. He felt his way around trashcans, abandoned wooden crates, pipes running up along the mortar and brick, all the while trying to remain upright as his head swam with a kaleidoscope of colors flashing in front of him.

He reached the end of alley, felt the openness in front of him and forced his eyes to open wider, to focus, but only fuzzy, blurring images wavered in front of him. Pushing off the wall he stumbled and nearly fell between two parked cars. Leaning against one of them, he fought another wave of nausea and when he was able to lift his head saw a blurred flash of light, movement just ahead. He took a few steps forward.

A horn blared and as he looked up, he was immediately blinded in the beams of oncoming headlights. Instinctively he flung his body to the side, the passing vehicle nearly mowing him down.

From the open window the driver shouted, "Fuckin' drunk!"

The momentum sent him crashing to the ground and up against another parked car on the opposite side of the street.

A shaky hand came up, gripped the metal bumper.

"What'sa matter, Skyler, loose your balance?" a voice sneered.

He shook his head trying to push the voice away before he pulled himself back up and staggered down the sidewalk. Reaching out with one hand to feel his way, the other held his throbbing head, the pain stabbing with such intensity that it bowed his shoulders with each step.

He clung to whatever would give him support, keep him upright: a lamppost, a newspaper dispenser, the sides of the buildings, but it was getting harder to think, to focus.

When he came to a chain link fence he wrapped his fingers into the metal wire and followed its length until it suddenly ended. By now both his legs were shaking badly. Suddenly his knees buckled. His body twisted oddly around the end the fence and he landed awkwardly on his left hip. Only his fingers still gripping the wire prevented him from completely falling on his face.

His head lolled back, staring at the distorted links of chain he clung to and the image of wire and mesh, and bars over windows flashed through his mind.

It disturbed him and he reached up, grabbed at the links only wanting to escape. With a grunt he managed to pull himself up enough to untangle his feet from their awkward position and got back up on his knees. But the effort tired him out and he had to rest a moment, letting his head fall against his forearm.

For a second the pain eased and when he raised his head his vision cleared enough to make out trees, grass, a path, a light. Freedom?

Pulling himself back up into a standing position, he moved towards the light but his vision began to blur again and his head swam. Suddenly his left foot stepped off into "nothing" and he pitched sideways. With a cry, he tumbled, bounced and finally came to an abrupt stop when he hit something solid and knew no more.

~S/H~

Anita set a tray of cleaned glasses back under the bar while Huggy finished sweeping up the floor. Diana, who had come in earlier, had already gone home and their last single customer had left the Pits fifteen ago.

Huggy started switching off the lights.

"What do you want to do about the rest of the dishes in the dishwasher?" Anita asked.

"Just leave them. We can get them in the morning. Go ahead and call it an early night. I'm beat."

She pulled off her apron. "Well you don't have to ask me twice, boss."

Huggy grinned. "Just gimme a sec and I'll walk you to your car."

"Sure, thanks."

Less than five minutes later, Huggy was escorting the waitress to her car never liking the idea of his girls leaving the bar alone after hours, especially in this neighborhood.

They had only gone down a few blocks when Huggy spotted the Torino parked on the opposite side of the street.

Anita noticed it almost immediately at the same time. "Hey, isn't that Curly's car?"

"Yeah."

They cautiously approached the candy apple red car with its distinctive white tapering stripe down each side. Huggy walked around the car, checked the doors. Both were locked. He leaned in to peer inside. It was empty.

"I don't get it. What's Curly's car doing here?" Anita asked. "He left hours ago."

"I don't know."

"Maybe he had some car trouble?"

Huggy's face deepened into a heavy frown. "Yeah, but if he did, he would'a just come back to the Pits."

"But he didn't, Hug. I'm sure of it."

An unsettling feeling hit the pit of Huggy's stomach. He grabbed the waitress by the forearm, dragging her back to the bar.

~S/H~

The phone peeled incessantly waking Hutch up. Beside him, the soft naked body spooned against him stirred.

Rolling onto his back, his hand groped sleepily for the receiver, dragging it to his ear. "'Lo."

He was more than a little surprised to hear Huggy on the other end.

He looked at the clock. It was 1:36 in the morning.

"Hutch. I need you to come down to the Pits right away."

"Huh? Why? What's up?"

"Just come. I'm not sure but I think Curly may be in trouble."

At the mention of his partner, Hutch was suddenly fully awake. "Starsky? What do you mean? What kind of trouble?"

"I'm not really sure, man."

"Huggy, you're not making any sense."

"I think Curly's missing. Just come down. I'll explain when you get here."

The phone went dead leaving Hutch to stare into the receiver. Missing?

Clicking on the light and flooding the bedroom alcove in brightness, Hutch got out of bed.

His date, who had indeed given him a beautiful night, rolled over, watching curiously as he moved about the room, pulling on tan pants, a white shirt, searching for his shoes.

"What are you doing?" she asked sleepily.

"Sorry, I need to go."

She propped herself up on her elbows, looking at the clock a bit irritably. "Go? Go where? It's the middle of the night, Hutch."

"I know. I just need to go."

"Is this supposed to be my brush off? Was our evening that bad?" she teased.

He sat on the edge of the bed. "No. No. It was great. It's just that call was about my partner."

"Your partner? But you're not even on duty. I'm sure whatever it is, it can wait until the morning at least."

Hutch looked at her oddly.

"Look. It's still late. Why don't you go back to sleep. I'll probably be back in a couple of hours."

Her fine brow arched. "My flight leaves at eight-thirty."

"Oh…well, uh," he dug into his pants, pulled out some cash. "In case I'm not back here's some money for a cab."

He thrust the bills into her hand, leaned over to give her a kiss on the lips in apology before quickly pulling on socks and shoes, grabbing his magnum and a white linen jacket off the back of a chair and heading out the door.

The airline stewardess sighed into the empty room, and then rolled her eyes as she flopped back down in bed. Cops!

~S/H~

Hutch examined the Torino. It did indeed looked perfectly undisturbed, not a scratch on it. From his pocket he pulled out his set of keys, searching the ring for the extra spare to his partner's car. Each had a set of the other's keys just in case of an emergency.

He unlocked the car, checked the interior. It was clean, just as Starsky liked it. He then put the key in the ignition and flicked his wrist. The muscle car immediately came to life, which knocked out any idea of apparent car trouble.

Shutting the car off, he climbed out, glancing up at Huggy and Anita who stood nearby.

"And what time did you say he left the Pits?"

"About ten thirty," Huggy answered.

"And he didn't leave with anyone?"

"No. He was tired and was just going to go home," Anita replied. "You think something really happened to him?"

"I don't know. But I do know one thing. Starsky wouldn't have just left his car here without a good reason." Hutch thought. "Huggy, did he get into any trouble while he was at the Pits tonight, I mean after I left?"

"Well, no, not really. Except maybe with those two drunks," the black man replied.

Hutch's eyes narrowed. "What drunks?"

Anita explained. "Two losers who got a little too friendly with my ass and took it a little too personal when Huggy cut them off."

"What happened?"

"Starsky just helped me, help them find the back door," Huggy replied.

"What did they look like?"

"Two white dudes, little taller than Curly. One was little heavier than Starsky, the other was skinnier with red hair. The bigger guy wasn't too happy with Starsky buttin' in and got a little mouthy when we pushed both their asses out in the alley, especially when he flashed his badge and threatened to haul them both in if they didn't leave."

"And you weren't concerned about this?" There was accusation in Hutch's voice, the light blue eyes turning dark.

"Hey, both of us just figured it was the alcohol talkin', nothin' else," Huggy defended himself. "Besides, man, the two of them left after that."

"What else can you tell me about them?"

"Nothin', Hutch. I told you."

"Think, both of you. Anything. Had they been in here before?"

"Nah, I don't think so. Would'a remembered those two," Huggy replied and Anita agreed.

"Anything distinguishing about them? They way they were dressed, talked?"

"I don't know, man. The big angry dude had on an army surplus jacket, his buddy some kind of coveralls."

"Coveralls?"

"Yeah, you know, like mechanics wear."

"Did you see any type of logo on them?"

"No, sorry Hutch. I really wasn't paying that much attention," Anita apologized.

"It's okay." Hutch sighed, raking his fingers through his hair. He then climbed back into the Torino, reached over and opened the glove box and retrieved a flashlight that was always kept inside before climbing back out.

"What are you going to do?" Huggy asked.

"Take a walk. Look around."

"I'll come with you."

"Someone should stay at the Pits. You know, in case Starsky shows up back there."

"I can stay," Anita offered.

"Thanks," Hutch replied.

Hutch returned to the entrance of the Pits after Anita had told him Starsky had left out the front door and not the back alley, trying to trace a logical path his partner would have taken to his car. He walked slowly, shining the flashlight at the ground, looking for any types of clues, not knowing really what else to do.

He crossed an alley, paused, back tracked, directing the beam down into the dim interior. Huggy followed as Hutch walked cautiously into it, passing a dumpster which reeked of decaying trash, scanning the darkness. But it was empty, deserted except for the roaches scurrying over pieces of debris scattered about.

About to turn and walk back, something in the beam caught Hutch's attention. Crouching down, he touched the small dark burgundy pool accumulated on a discarded paper bag with the tip of his finger. When he examined it, his fingertip was dark red.

TBC…