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Starsky vs Hutch

Chapter 3

Starsky's existence was reduced to periods of unconsciousness interspersed with episodes of pain, thirst, hunger, blindness and noise. He had totally lost track of time and could have been there for hours, days or even weeks.

As a former soldier he knew what they were trying to do to him but he had no idea why. He tried to use the techniques he had been taught before his deployment to Vietnam to protect himself. But it was so difficult. They seemed to know the second he awoke and the beatings resumed before he had chance to muster his defences. Only as darkness beckoned was he able to take his mind to another place and shut out the pain.

He knew he was in a bad way but could find no way to get through to his captors. They never spoke, just went about their 'work' in an unnerving silence.

Starsky had given up shouting abuse and obscenities as it was getting him nowhere. Instead he conserved his dwindling energy supplies to ride out the blows he couldn't see as best he could.

Regaining consciousness for the umpteenth time Starsky slowly realised that something had changed. He now lay on a mattress, uncomfortably restrained by both hands and feet to each corner of an iron bedstead. He felt as though he were stretched on a mediaeval torture device and his spine and ribs protested loudly at this mistreatment.

He found that he could only take shallow breaths. And his head pounded as though his tormentors were now inside his skull, hammering on his brain.

How long had he been here, alone? Where were his captors? He tried to shout out but his voice rasped in his throat, triggering a coughing fit that left him breathless and with tears streaming from his eyes.

He was thankful that he was not naked but he still felt incredibly vulnerable. He struggled against the restraints, testing their strength, but succeeded only in chafing the skin of his wrists and ankles.

The blindfold had been removed and that scared him more than anything. If his captors didn't mind whether he saw them or not, it meant they had no intention of ever letting him go.

His head lolled to one side.

As he lost consciousness again he realised that the terrible noise had stopped.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

In a room upstairs, Jackson and Whitman stood before their employer.

"He's a tough nut to crack," said Jackson.

"We're not trying to crack him. We're moulding him to do a job for us."

The woman behind the desk was petite and wore her blonde hair in a chic bob. She was wearing a severe black trouser-suit with a bright red blouse and looked as though a puff of wind would blow her away. Yet she obviously wielded some kind of power over the two men in front of her.

"I don't think it's gonna work," Jackson continued.

"I don't pay you to think," Charlotte snapped. "I pay you to do a job. If you're not up to it I'll find someone who is."

Jackson glanced at his colleague who was staring straight ahead, like a student called into the headmaster's office to explain some misdemeanour for which he was hoping not to be blamed.

"I'm just saying why this one?" he persisted.

Charlotte's eyes narrowed, then she replied. "Because he has the qualities I need. He was a soldier. He's had special training."

Jackson felt a little braver now that the woman had entered into dialogue with him. "Yeah but there are plenty more ex-soldiers we could use. This guy's a cop...that's dangerous."

"But that gives him even more of the skills I require. His military training combined with his previous life made him a skilful fighter. And now those talents have been enhanced by his police training. He is perfect."

Jackson just had to push it a little more. "Why not just choose a street-fighter? Surely he'd be more suited to your needs? He'd be ready-made instead of all this performance."

"Enough! I have chosen this one. And I do not have to explain my reasons to you."

Whitman shuffled imperceptibly and jogged Jackson's arm. He took the hint and bit back the remark he was about to make.

The woman smiled although it did not reach her eyes. "Now we have settled that, let's move on with the next stage of our plan."

Both men echoed her smile as they readied themselves to return to the basement.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Hutch's first thought was that Simon Marcus's followers had somehow gotten hold of Starsky again. He was all set to go to San Quentin to interview the cultist but Captain Dobey managed to dissuade him.

"Hutch, calm down. You're not thinking straight. Marcus has not made any threats and his followers are all in jail or back with their families. If he was behind this he would be making grandiose statements and talking in riddles. I'm sure it's not him. Now sit down and let's go through some of these files."

Hutch stopped pacing and smiled ruefully at his superior. "Sorry, Captain."

He sank into a chair, scrubbed his face and grabbed the top folder off the pile.

Several hours and countless cups of coffee later, Hutch and Dobey had made inroads into the large stack of files. Copious notes had been made and uniformed officers had been dispatched to check on the few likely suspects they had unearthed.

Dobey put down the phone and turned to Hutch who was slumped in his chair, elbow on the desk and head resting on his hand. Hutch opened red-rimmed eyes as Dobey spoke.

"Time to go home, son," he said kindly. "Edith insists you come home with me...she wants to make sure you're eating."

Hutch gave a small smile, knowing it was useless to argue and also that he could do no more that night.

Both men were surprised to find that it had gone dark while they had been working. In fact the whole day had gone by unnoticed. They walked wearily to the parking lot, got into their cars and Hutch followed Dobey to his house.

The captain's wife kissed Dobey then took Hutch's hands and drew him inside. For a couple of hours Hutch allowed himself to be cared for by the Dobey family, enjoying the comfort while feeling guilty that his partner almost certainly was not deriving any pleasure from his present predicament.

TBC