CHAPTER 23
Taking in the surroundings, Starsky catalogued what was in front of him, looking for a way to diffuse a tense situation.
Diaz held Ronnie at knife point. The younger boy's face was bloody, one eye swollen and bruised.
"Let the boy go." Starsky kept a steady gaze on Diaz, his gun leveled on him.
'Nah, this is my baby brother. I'm protecting him." The young boy shuddered as his captor kissed the bloody side of his face.
"I ain't your brother! Let go of me." Ronnie struggled without success.
Keeping his gaze on Diaz, Starsky tried to reassure the boy.
"It's okay Ronnie. Trust me."
Turning his attention to Diaz, Starsky kept his voice sharp but spoke in low tones.
"Who're you?"
"Oh yeah, you don't know. I'm Diaz Ramada." He slid the knife slowly down Ronnie's face, never breaking the skin. "It was me and my gang brothers you messed with and now you're gonna pay for interrupting us. This is our turf!"
The detective tried to move closer to the two boys but the older of them backed away, dragging Ronnie with him.
"I just want my lighter!" Ronnie's voice cracked with fear. He took a large gulp of air. That same fear rooted him, cemented his body and mind.
Trying to calm the boy, the detective attempted to gain Ronnie his freedom.
"This is just between you and me, Diaz. You don't need the kid so let him go."
"Yeah, right. He'll go straight to the cops." Ramada moved the knife down the boy's torso, delighted with his captor's trembling body.
Diaz wanted control, so Starsky went with that as he tried to reason with him.
"You got me here, so what's the deal? You want a fight, then get rid of the kid and face me. I'm ready, but remember, every cop in the city will be out for your ass."
Diaz laughed and squeezed his arm tighter around the teen's neck. Instantly, the boy coughed and choked. He wondered how things got so messed up. It was his fault. He was forced to witness the hatred in Diaz but he felt oddly confident that Starsky could get them out of this.
"Yeah, it's really you I want. I get rid of you, then I'm the most famous gang member. By the time anybody finds you, you'll be dead, and I'll be untouchable with the help of my brothers."
He ordered Starsky to empty the bullets from his gun. "I wanna see them drop on the ground. Do it!" He jabbed the knife into Ronnie's side for emphasis.
Quickly, Starsky did as he was asked, emptying the chamber. When it was empty, he threw the gun to the side. It slid across the dirt.
Ronnie was pushed out of the way; he tripped and landed on his side, his head hitting a rock. Instantly he went still.
"You bastard." Starsky desperately wanted to go to the boy, but he didn't dare take his eyes off Diaz. Instead he tried to gauge the extent of the boy's injuries just by talking to him.
"Ronnie, can you hear me? C'mon, get up" But the boy didn't move, didn't show any signs of having heard the words. Faint moaning came from the boy, but still Ronnie's position didn't change, he didn't even cry out for help.
Deciding to get things started and have the advantage of surprise, Starsky lunged toward Diaz, the two men fighting for the knife. The detective thought he had overpowered his attacker when he forced the knife into Diaz's neck. Diaz stared, his face dark with anger and his breath hot on Starsky's face. But then the fight changed. The younger man wrestled his body against the cop and flipped them both so that now, Diaz was on top. He snarled at his opponent, kneeling on his chest, effectively aiming the knife at his target.
Starsky felt the knife biting into his shoulder. His grip on the weapon faltered and then Diaz pushed the point deeper.
Diaz punched him in the face, stood up and stomped on the wound.
The injured man sucked in his breath, groaning against the assault. He tried getting control of the pain and willed the world to stop spinning. Above him, Diaz gloated; sneering at the man on the ground. Starsky rolled onto his side and forced himself to stand. Diaz waited, letting his adversary get his bearings. He wanted to drag this out, and make the cop suffer.
The dark-haired man held his arm tightly to his side, blood seeping through the shirt. He swayed slightly, then propelled himself, head down, as he aimed for the other man's stomach. He connected and they both went down, rolling and vying for control. Slowly, Diaz got up, holding his side. He shook off the pain of cracked ribs and the nauseous feeling in his stomach.
The gang member grunted with effort as he leaned forward, waving his knife which somehow he still possessed. He reached out, slicing the buttons off Starsky's shirt.
Struggling for breath, Starsky looked down at his shredded piece of clothing.
"Now ya did it. That was my favorite shirt."
Wincing as he fought against his own pain, he shook himself, trying to clear his mind. But instantly the air hit the exposed open gash in his shoulder, causing his pain to increase and the sticky blood another reminder that he was in bad shape.
The detective shifted his weight, It was now his turn to inflict pain on his enemy. This time, he acted quickly despite the fact that the damn knife was still a menace and the possibility of death looming nearer. He landed a few well placed punches to face and kidney area, causing the young man to fall to his knees. The knife fell out of his hand and Starsky kicked it away. Now the fight was at least even. Hand to hand, fist to fist, muscle against muscle.
Starsky rocked sideways, gained his footing and kicked the fallen man in the side, cracking another rib.
Diaz groaned, spat to the side and forced himself to his feet.
"That's it, pig. I'm gonna feed ya to my dog." Diaz growled, his eyes smoldering with hatred.
"Bring it on punk." Starsky taunted him, even though his energy was swiftly bleeding out and the pain wearing him down.
However, Diaz could smell fear. His opponent was getting weaker. Like any animal, the Latino sensed that the end was near and readied himself for the final strike.
