Chapter 24

They circled once or twice. Starsky's arm burned with pain. He felt light headed and short of breath.

Diaz also was battling fatigue but he pushed it away, concentrating on inflicting damage to his opponent.

Suddenly, Diaz attacked, kicking Starsky's knee. They both heard a cracking noise as the injured man fell heavily to the ground. Staring at his leg which now was in an unnatural position, he began to think that Diaz was right.

He was in deep shit.

In fact he was attacked again, this time a knee to his belly as Diaz landed on top of him. He was sure he felt his insides explode as his attacker punched him in the gut, then got up and kicked at his side.

Starsky coughed, feeling the blood as it dribbled down his chin. He took in great gulps of air which only caused the burning pain in his lungs to get worse. He waited for the next assault, mildly surprised when it didn't come as quickly as he expected.

Diaz didn't disappoint though. He had retrieved his knife and now straddled the fallen man.

"Had enough yet?" He held the knife so that Starsky's eyes followed the movement.

"I don't go down so easy, scum." The tortured man's voice was low but he still had enough energy to galvanize one last burst of energy.

With all that he could summon, he made a fist, reached up and landed a sucker punch to the other man's eye. Diaz was surprised so he ended up rolling off the prone body, holding his face and groaning.

Starsky tried to force himself to get up one more time. But it was not possible. He stayed where he was, waiting to die. He knew it was only a matter of time.

Getting up again to straddle his enemy, Diaz retaliated swiftly. He smashed his fist into Starsky's face repeatedly. The ring that he wore on his right hand cut into the battered face, splitting lip, cheek and eye brow.

He began to laugh when Starsky didn't react. He knew he'd done what he set out to do. The man on the ground had passed out.

But one more thing, one more action was required.

He took his knife and lanced the man's thigh. When the wound bled, he ripped the rest of the pant leg, slicing it down to the ankle. The exposed wound bubbled, pulsed with blood, running down the naked flesh.

With perverse pleasure, he took the knife and began to carve out a brand on the bleeding leg. He didn't care that he was giving authorities his identity. It wouldn't matter because the man would be dead by the time he was found and Diaz himself would be invisible. The gang would cover him in their web of protection, giving him the chance to escape without being caught.

He glanced away from his artwork, seeking a place to dispose of the body.

Not happy with the surroundings, he decided that a dumpster near an abandoned warehouse would be perfect.

He got Starsky into a sitting position and tossed him over his shoulder. The man was heavy but Diaz was used to lifting bales and sacks of material all day at the docks. Shouldering his burden, he slowly made his way to his truck and dumped the body in the back. He covered him with a tarp. During this time, Starsky never moved but did groan as he hit the hard surface of the truck bed.

Ronnie still lay where he'd landed on the ground. Diaz didn't concern himself with the young boy, except he returned to the boy and threw the lighter on the ground next to him. He always kept his word.

The streets were still fairly deserted. It was late morning now but he'd chosen a route which wasn't normally busy. He took back alleys, avoiding the main streets and traffic lights.

Arriving at the dumpster, Diaz checked out the dumpster, satisfied that it was the perfect place to discard garbage.

Letting the man fall into the container, Diaz was exhilarated at the result of his abuse. The man's leg twisted at an odd angle, the bone sticking out, visible. His shirt had fallen off, exposing the shoulder wound and other various cuts and bruises to his face and torso. He gave no notice to the shoe that had fallen off and landed to the side of the garbage dumpster. He only delighted in the bleeding, comatose form.

He leaned against the refuse container, casually smoking a cigarette. He looked at the glowing end then at the still body among the garbage. Diaz took the burning end of the cigarette and set it against Starsky's bare chest. He watched as the hair singed, disappearing and leaving a round, red blotch on the skin. He did it a few more times, enjoying the abuse. Starsky groaned and coughed but didn't fully awake.

Diaz got bored and dropped the still glowing cigarette to the ground. As if he hadn't a care in the world, he got back in his truck and drove off, leaving the wounded man to die among the garbage.

*******HHHHHHSSSSSSSSSSSHSHSH*************************

"Hutchinson! Where's your partner?" Dobey bellowed from the open door to his office. Actually, Hutch was wondering the same thing.

Yesterday, after Dobey had introduced a new case, Hutch had gone to interrogate the suspect. By the time he got home it was well after midnight. Not one call from Starsky, who was probably still brooding. But it wouldn't surprise the blond to see his friend burst through the doors, whistling as if it was just another day.

"Probably just slept in. I'm sure he'll be here soon." Hutch bent his head to examine the folder in front of him. He heard Dobey's blustering wordless aggravation and tried to ignore it.

It wasn't like his partner to ignore the responsibilities of his job. No matter what had gone down between them, Starsky would arrive on time, be professional and carry out his duties as required. He could do all this without any personal connection with his partner. It was not something Hutch enjoyed and thankfully, the situation had only occurred on a few occasions. But now, he didn't know if he should be worried or angry. He could go to the man's home walk in, demanding answers but there was still something in Hutch that wanted to hold his ground, not give in, and not be the one to apologize.

He looked at the clock on the wall again. Mildly startled to see that it was after lunch time, Hutch was sure Captain Dobey would make another appearance in the squad room, looking for Starsky and demanding his badge if he didn't show immediately. The detective stood up and was about to walk into his superior's office to ask for more time, when the doors opened, revealing a bloody, tearful and scared young boy. Hutch went directly to Ronnie, worried about the confused look in the teen's eyes. He guided him to a chair and crouched in front of him. He watched as the boy's body shook as if he was cold but realized that it was from shock. He tried to ignore the nagging suspicion that this had something to do with his friend, but for now, Hutch addressed the present situation in front of him.

"How did this happen Ronnie?" When the boy didn't answer right away, Hutch stood up, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and went to the water cooler where he saturated the material with cool water. When he went back to the boy and began wiping at the blood that had caked on his face, the teen startled and tried to pull away.

Now suddenly aware of where he was, Ronnie took a big gulp of air and touched the back of his head. His hand came away bloody. Surprised, the blond immediately pressed the damp cloth to the area, feeling a large knot at the base of his skull.

"Who did this?" Hutch was losing patience and steadily becoming more worried about his partner. He looked straight into the confused and frightened eyes of the young boy as he asked again, a little more forceful this time.

"What happened?"

Ronnie sniffed, wiped his nose with the back of his hand before he spoke. He was so frightened that he spoke as if he had laryngitis, his voice hoarse and scratchy. But the meaning was clear to the detective.

"I think he's dead."