CHAPTER SIX

After Alice and Huggy left his apartment, Starsky began pacing the confines of his space, tormented by his memories. Too many years on the run, trusting no one, had left him paranoid and suspicious. The unexpected arrival of two friends from his past had shaken him badly and he knew that he had to make some hard decisions. Momentarily, he had let his guard down and now he was having second thoughts. He knew that he had revealed too much information to Huggy and Alice. Inadvertently, he may have placed them in danger too.

Noticing the .38 automatic still lying on the floor where he had dropped it earlier, he bent down and picked it up. The familiar weight of the weapon fit comfortably in his hand. With a heavy sigh, he sank down on the sofa, staring at the gun in his hand. It would so easy to just give up, to end it all right now. It wasn't the first time that the idea of killing himself had crossed his mind. And it wasn't the first time that he had seriously considered it.

After his mother and Nicky had been murdered in their sleep, he had come dangerously close to pulling the trigger. But, in the end, he just couldn't do it. His will to live was stronger than any death wish he might have had. The years of running from his past had taken their toll. He was tired. Tired of running, tired of hiding, tired of the life he had been living. But, there were still men out there who wanted him dead and he refused to put anyone else he cared about in danger because of his own shortcomings.

With a muffled curse, Starsky laid the gun down on the coffee table and shoved himself to his feet, resuming his frantic pacing. He thought about the things that Alice and Huggy had told him about Hutch's steady decline in alcoholism since Starsky's alleged murder. One more thing to blame himself for. It felt as if he hurt everyone in his life that he let get too close to him. In the end, they always ended up leaving him in one way or another. But, at least Hutch was still alive. That had been Starsky's biggest fear that Hutch would have given in to his suicidal impulses when he believed that Starsky was dead. A bitter smile twisted the brunet's lips. In a way, that's exactly what Hutch had done. Over the past nine years, more than once, Starsky had crawled into a bottle to help him forget.

Finally, Starsky stopped pacing and squared his shoulders. He had made his decision. Walking into the bathroom, he grabbed his shaving kit and personal hygiene items from the medicine cabinet. Glancing up, he caught his reflection in the mirror and paused, staring at the face of a stranger that he was no longer sure he knew. He hurried back into his bedroom before he changed his mind and pulled open the closet, jerking his clothes off the hangers, tossing shirts and jeans on the bed. He grabbed a ragged duffle bag from an overhead shelf in the closet and began stuffing it full of clothes.

When he had finished packing, he knelt down beside the bed and used his pocket knife to pry open a loose floorboard. Reaching into the sub-flooring, he pulled out an envelope stuffed with money, money Starsky had been hiding in case of an emergency. He took the money out of the envelope and stuffed it into a hidden pocket in the duffle bag.

Walking back into the living room, he dug his keys out of his jeans and tossed them on the coffee table. He wouldn't be needing them anymore. Glancing around the room, Starsky felt a pang of regret at leaving behind the life he had built here. It may have been a lonely existence without any friends, but it had been the closest thing to a normal life that he'd led since this whole nightmare began.

He had no doubt that Huggy and Alice would return to Bay City and tell Hutch everything, which meant it wouldn't be long before the big blond would be on his trail. He sighed heavily. He knew that Hutch would never give up looking for him once he found out that Starsky was still alive. But, he was too afraid of coming out of hiding. He had carried the guilt for his mother and Nicky's murder all these years and, even now, not a day went by that he didn't think of them and blame himself because they were dead. If anything ever happened to Hutch because of him, Starsky knew that he would never be able to live with that.

Starsky picked up the .38 automatic and carefully tucked it under his waistband in the middle of his back where it would be hidden by his jacket. Slinging the strap on the duffle bag over his shoulder, he took a deep breath and opened the door, slipping out into the early morning darkness. With any luck, he would have several hours head start before anyone realized that he was gone. He had no particular destination in mind, running for so long had taught him that it was better that way. He turned his steps towards the highway that led out of town.

Since it was almost two in the morning, there wasn't much traffic on the road but Starsky didn't care. He knew that sooner or later someone would come along who would give him a ride. With determined steps, he began walking down the highway, never noticing the tears that were drying on his face.

He had been walking for almost an hour when he heard the distinctive sound of an eighteen wheeler approaching from behind him. He stopped and turned, shading his eyes against the glare of the semi's headlights. He heard the sound of the airbrakes as the driver pulled to a stop. The driver leaned over and opened the door on the passenger's side, grinning down at Starsky.

"Need a lift?" he drawled in a broad accent.

"Yeah. Thanks." Starsky said as he grabbed the handle on the side of the rig and climbed inside the cab. Settling into the seat, he glanced at the face of the driver. He was a big man with tattoos on both arms and a belly that hung over his belt. His face was tanned and lined with deep wrinkles with eyes that were intelligent and alert.

"Where you headed?" the man asked

"Anywhere you are." Starsky said evasively.

The driver didn't ask any more questions, he simply shifted into gear and pulled back on the road. "My name's Sam." He said in a friendly tone. "And I can take you as far as El Paso."

"I'm Mike." Starsky said, giving an abbreviated version of his middle name. "And El Paso will be fine."

Starsky leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, pretending to doze off. He felt himself mentally shutting down, erecting a wall around his emotions and his memories. It was a survival mechanism he had learned during his time in Viet Nam and it had served him well over the years. Still, it was hard to ignore the lump that seemed to be lodged in his throat and the pain in his chest where his heart used to be. He felt like crying, something he thought that he had forgotten how to do. As the semi rolled down the highway, Mitch Conners slowly faded into the distance and Mike Alexander was born.