LOST
SOUL
After being shot by Gunther's hired
assassins, Starsky receives a devastating letter from the Police Department and
bolts. Can Hutch find him before it's too late?
CHAPTER
ONE
Detective Ken
Hutchinson, Hutch to his friends, signed the finished report and tossed it in
his out basket with a relieved sigh. It had been a long day and he was ready to
go home. Home for the past seven months had been a secluded little cottage on
the beach that he shared with his partner and best friend, Detective David
Starsky. The two men had moved into the cottage when Starsky was released from
the hospital after a near fatal shooting.
That day, over
nine months ago, would be branded in Hutch's mind forever. They had just left
the building intending to go out on patrol of their assigned district. Two men
dressed up like officers, driving a stolen police vehicle, had opened fire on
them as they stood beside Starsky's car. Hutch had been protected from the high
power bullets by the body of the car but Starsky was caught in the open with no
place to hide. He had taken four bullets to the torso at close range. The
damage had been massive, his body ripped apart by the gunfire.
Hutch still
remembered running around the front of the car and finding Starsky lying on the
ground beside the vehicle with his head cradled gently in the rear wheel well.
Blood was already pooling rapidly on the pavement beneath the still body. For a
moment Hutch couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, terrified that his partner was
already dead. Then the adrenaline rush kicked in and he ran to Starsky's side,
falling to his knees in his partner’s blood and gently pulled the brunet's head
into his lap. That was when he noticed the shallow, ragged breathing as his
best friend struggled to draw air into his shattered body.
Within minutes,
they were surrounded by their fellow officers. Some had actually witnessed the
shooting and others had been attracted by the sound of the gunshots. Hutch's
numbed mind had barely registered the voices yelling for a medic and an
ambulance. He had sat there holding Starsky tightly in his arms and prayed to a
god he was no longer sure he believed in not to let him die. Not now, not like
this. He remembered hands pulling at him, forcing him to relinquish his hold on
his partner, when the ambulance arrived so that the paramedics could stabilize
him enough to be transported to the hospital.
Hutch had sat
for hours, surrounded by friends and colleagues, unmindful of his bloodstained
clothes and hands, desperate for news on his partner's condition. When it
finally came it wasn't encouraging. Massive Damage.
Complete life support. Coma. None of the doctors
expected him to survive the night. So, Hutch waited some more. This time
outside Starsky's room in the I.C.U., staring through the glass observation
window at his fallen partner.
Somehow, Hutch
was granted a miracle and Starsky survived against all odds. It wasn't until
much later that the big blond found out that the brunet's heart had stopped
three times; once in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, once during the
emergency surgery to try to repair the worst of the damage and save his life,
and once in the I.C.U. during that first 24 hours after the shooting. Somehow,
God had heard Hutch's prayers and the prayers of everyone else who loved the
unruly brunet.
But Starsky had
paid a high price for his survival. He had spent almost six weeks in the
hospital, battling infections, bed sores, two bouts of pneumonia, three
additional surgeries to his shattered body, and extensive physical therapy just
to get strong enough to go home. Even then, he was so weak that he still needed
24 hour a day care since he couldn't do anything for himself. It was a job that
Hutch refused to delegate to anyone else. He had taken an unpaid leave of
absence, living off a trust fund his grandfather had left him, to care for his
partner as he slowly recovered from his injuries. Hutch had bought the cottage
on the beach since both of their apartments had steps and Starsky was in no
condition to climb stairs. The cottage was peaceful and serene with large open
rooms that Starsky could easily navigate with assistance either from Hutch or
in the wheelchair that he had to use in the beginning.
During those
first three months at home, Starsky had been re-admitted to the hospital four
times for another infection, a severe allergic reaction to one of his various
medications, a blood clot in his leg, and another bout with pneumonia. It had
taken almost six months for Starsky to reach the point in his recovery where he
could fend for himself without Hutch's constant assistance. He was still in
pain but he had become an expert at hiding it from Hutch, pasting a brave smile
on his face as he faced his daily regimen of doctor's appointments and
extensive physical therapy. With the same single minded determination that had
kept him alive for so many years on the streets, Starsky fought to regain his
strength, his stamina and his health.
The doctors had
warned them both that he had some permanent damage from the shooting. His left
lung had been almost shredded by the bullets and Starsky had only regained 90
percent use of it. For the rest of his life he would be more susceptible to
lung infections and even a mild cold could easily turn into pneumonia. He got
winded more easily and couldn't run for long distances the way he used to. His
immune system had also been compromised and he was more vulnerable to illness
and infection. The doctors had also warned him that his body would never be
able to survive the trauma of another shooting or serious injury. Starsky chose
to ignore their dire predictions that he would never be fit to return to active
duty. He continued to work hard to regain his health so he could qualify for
reinstatement to the police force.
Hutch had worked
diligently to find the man responsible for the assassination attempt, resulting
in the downfall of one of the most powerful men in the entire country. During
the first few months of Starsky's rehabilitation, Hutch had worked on the case
at home where he could still care for Starsky. As the brunet got stronger,
Hutch began going into the office two days a week, working in the mornings
while Starsky was at his various appointments for the day. Finally, a little
over a month ago, Starsky had persuaded him to return to work full time. Hutch
still called his partner at least once a day to make sure he was okay. It was
hard for the blond to let himself relax. He continued to have nightmares about
the day Starsky was shot and, despite the brunet's miraculous recovery; he was
still terrified of the possibility of Starsky dying.
"Hutch, can
I see you in my office for a minute?" Captain Dobey's voice said, cutting
into the blond's reminiscing. Startled, Hutch raised his head and looked at his
commanding officer questioningly. Something in the burly black man's tone made
Hutch uneasy and apprehensive. He tried to ignore the cold chill that ran down
his spine as he shoved himself to his feet and followed Dobey into his office,
closing the door quietly behind him.
"What is
it, Cap?" he asked cautiously. "I was just getting ready to go
home."
"Have you
talked to Starsky today?" Dobey asked gruffly, sinking down behind his
desk with a heavy sigh.
"He called
me this morning and said he was going to run some errands. Why? Is something
wrong?" Hutch's voice escalated a notch as his 'Starsky sense' kicked into
overdrive. He slumped down in the chair facing the Captain's desk as a sense of
foreboding overwhelmed him. "Did something happen to Starsky?"
"I think
you'd better take a look at this." Dobey said, shoving a sheet of paper
across the desk towards him. "That was just delivered to me half an hour
ago. A copy was delivered to Starsky by certified messenger sometime this
afternoon. I tried calling Dave immediately but nobody answered the
phone."
Hutch's hand was
trembling were trembling as he picked up the sheet of paper and began to read:
Detective Sergeant First Class David M. Starsky
Dear Sergeant Starsky,
After a careful review of your medical records and
progress reports concerning the shooting that occurred on
You are eligible for permanent disability status
with a pension equaling three-fourths of your former pay per month. Your
medical insurance will continue while you remain under a doctor's care for the
injuries sustained in the line of duty to this department.
This board would like to commend you for your years
of loyal service to the Bay City Police Department. Your sacrifice to duty will
be duly noted.
Sincerely yours,
Charles A. Peterson
Medical Investigator
Medical Board
Bay City Police
Department
"The
bastards can't do that!" Hutch hissed, crumbling
the letter into a ball and tossing it back on the desk in front of the Captain.
His eyes blazed with a blue fire at the injustice. "Starsky has the right
to try for reinstatement! They can't just write him off like that without
giving him a chance!"
"They can
and they did." Dobey said solemnly. "How do you think Starsky's going
to take the news?" Although Dobey kept his voice calm and level, Hutch
could hear the undercurrent of worry and concern evident in his tone. Over the
years, Starsky and Hutch had become as close to the Captain and his family as
if they were his own sons. Somewhere along the way, the professional
detachment, the line between superior officer and the men who worked for him
had faded. It was a well known fact that the two detectives were not only
Dobey's best team of officers but also his favorite team. After the shooting
and Starsky's long, painful recovery, Dobey and his family had offered more
than their share of prayers for both men.
"I don't
know." Hutch said, bouncing to his feet. He made no attempt to conceal the
fear that had crept into his voice. "I have to go! I have to check and
make sure that Starsky is okay."
"Call
me!" Dobey yelled after him as Hutch rushed out of the office. Hutch
ignored the plea as he hurried out of the squad room. He had to get home. He
had to get to Starsky.
CHAPTER TWO
Hutch broke
every traffic law in the books in his rush to get home and make sure that
Starsky was okay. He knew how much Starsky had counted on proving the doctors
wrong and being able to regain everything he had lost after the shooting. Even
if his expectations weren't that realistic, the brunet still hoped to continue
working as a cop in some capacity. Now even that option had been taken away
from him. Hutch knew that he would be devastated by the news. For the first
time in all the years that they had been friends, he had no idea how Starsky
would react. He knew that Starsky had suffered from bouts of depression in the
past few weeks because his recovery seemed to have reached a plateau and wasn't
progressing as rapidly as it had in the beginning. This could be the final
straw, one that even the usually resilient brunet wouldn't be able to deal
with.
It took Hutch
20 minutes to make a drive that usually took at least 40 minutes during rush
hour traffic. A long gravel lane ran from the main road to the secluded college
that had been their haven for the past seven months. Hutch had picked the
cottage because it offered the peace and quiet that Starsky needed so
desperately in those first few months but it was still close enough to the city
to make it convenient to both of them. They had their own little stretch of
private beach where Starsky could walk or swim without being afraid of being
stared at by unwelcome eyes. He was still terribly self-conscious of the scars
that marred his chest, stomach and upper back. Since his chest hair had finally
grown back, they weren't as noticeable as they had been in the beginning. To
Starsky, they were ugly and disfiguring. To Hutch, they were a sign of his
partner's courage and indomitable will to live.
The cottage
had a redwood deck that wrapped around the front and two sides of the structure
had ramps instead of steps to make it easier for Starsky to navigate on his
own. The one-story, two bedroom cottage had large bay
windows and an attached greenhouse in the back that Hutch had built after they
moved in for his plants. Sliding glass doors in front opened directly into the
main room of the cottage.
Alarm bells
went off in Hutch's head when he realized that Starsky's car was gone. Praying
that he had just taken a drive to a carryout just down the road, Hutch climbed
out of his car and hurried to the deck. The front doors were locked, another
bad sign. Starsky seldom locked the doors if he only intended to be gone for a
few minutes. Hutch unlocked the doors and stepped inside, shivering
involuntarily at the eerie silence that filled the house.
"STARSKY! ARE YOU HERE?" he called out even though
the heavy silence in the air answered that question for him. Starsky was not in
the cottage. Hutch's anxious eyes swept across the room, immediately noting the
pile of torn up paper on the floor beside the coffee table and the sealed
envelope lying on the table with his name clearly written across the front in
Starsky's left handed scrawl. Hutch slumped down on the sofa and picked up the
envelope, staring at it. He was afraid to open it. He didn't want to know what
it said. To avoid the inevitable, he carefully picked up the pieces of torn
paper from the floor. A quick glance at the scrapes of paper told him that it
was the letter from the department. The same letter that he
had read in Captain Dobey's office. He let the pieces flutter through
his fingers to the top of the coffee table.
Unable to put
it off any longer, he tore open the envelope clutched tightly in his hands. It
contained a single sheet of paper covered with Starsky's distinctive script.
Taking a deep breath, Hutch began to read the message from his missing partner.
Dear Hutch,
By the time you read this letter I'll be gone.
Don't try to find me. It's better for both of us this way. We were fools for
believing that things could ever be the way they used to be…at least for me.
I'll never be the man I was before I got shot. That man died that day in the
parking lot. We just didn't know it at the time.
I'm tired of fighting. Tired
of trying to be something that I'll never be again. And I refuse to drag
you down with me. You still have a life, a career that you can be proud of.
Make the most of it, Blintz. Take the Lieutenants exam. You've earned it. At
least that way I know that you'll be off the streets and won't end up like me
or worse. I don't trust anyone else to watch your back
out there the way I did. Knowing that you're safe, even if I'm not there beside
you, will at least give me some peace of mind.
I don't know where I'm going. I just know that
I need to get away from this city. I don't plan on coming back. It would hurt
too much. There are too many memories here, memories that will only drive me
crazy if I stay.
Always remember one thing, Blondie. You're the
best friend I ever had and I love you more than you'll ever know. You kept me
alive when all I wanted to do was give up and die. I guess I should be grateful
for that but right now I don't know if I am or not. You'll always be with me in
my heart. Me and thee forever.
Starsk
"Oh, damn
it, Starsky…" Hutch choked out through the lump in his throat, his eyes
flooding with tears. "What the hell have you done?" His chest felt as
if someone had reached in and ripped his heart to pieces. He knew that Starsky
was in no condition, emotionally or mentally to be making any life altering decisions
right now. He was scared and he was in pain, his first instinct to run and hide
so that he could lick his wounds. All Hutch knew with any certainty was that he
had to find him as soon possible before Starsky did something that couldn't be
undone.
Hutch forced himself
to his feet and stumbled into Starsky's bedroom. The closet door and dresser
drawers were open, most of his clothes were missing except for a couple of
jackets and his dress uniform, which still hung covered in protective plastic
in the closet. His shaving kit was missing from the bathroom and a few personal
items were gone from the bedroom. Most of his framed pictures and other
belongings, like his TV and his stereo system, were still in the room. His
departure had been impulsive but thought out. He was traveling light, leaving
behind the material possessions that would draw attention to himself.
A sudden thought crept through Hutch's brain and he reached up on the top shelf
of the closet to pull down a box where he knew Starsky kept some of his personal
papers and keepsakes. Starsky's birth certificate, his passport, and the title
to the
Hutch sank
down on the edge of Starsky's bed and buried his face in his hands. He tried to
think of places where Starsky might have gone.
Hutch fumbled
for the phone and called Captain Dobey at home. When Dobey answered with a
gruff hello, Hutch said,
"He's
gone, Cap. Starsky's gone."
"What do
you mean he is gone?" Dobey growled
"Just what I said. I came home and he was gone. He left a note.
He said he was leaving and not coming back."
"Any idea where he might have gone?"
"No, not really. I have to find him, Cap." Hutch said,
reluctant to express his deepest fears even to Captain Dobey.
"You
don't think he'll try to hurt himself, do you?" Dobey asked quietly,
lowering his voice in deference to his family. The thought of the brunet trying
to harm himself seemed far fetched but in his present state of mind, he may not
be thinking straight.
"I don't
think so. God, I hope not." Hutch said, allowing just a touch of fear to
creep into his voice. "Captain, he's hurt and he's scared. He feels like
his world is falling apart around him…that all the work he's done to regain his
health hasn't been worth it."
"What do
you want to do?" Dobey asked in a resigned voice.
"I need
some time off so I can find him and try to talk him into coming back home with
me."
"How much time?"
"I don't
know." Hutch admitted "He's got a good head start on me and I have no
idea where to even start looking for him. It could take a while."
"You
don't think he went back to
"No. He
knows that's the first place I'd start looking."
"All right." Dobey said with a heavy sigh. "I'll give
you a week. If you haven't found him by then, I'll see what I can do to get you
some more time. But, I want you to check in with me at least once a day so I at
least know where you are."
"Thanks,
Cap. I appreciate it." Hutch said gratefully. He hung up and started
making plans to find his lost partner. He knew it wouldn't be easy, especially
if Starsky didn't want to be found. He knew how to cover his tracks and slip
under police radar.
Picking up the
phone, he made a quick call to the bank. Luckily it was a Friday night, the one
night of the week that the bank stayed open late. Since Hutch's name had been
added to all Starsky's accounts when he was shot to simplify taking care of his
finances, the woman he talked was very helpful. She volunteered the information
that Starsky had closed out his checking account and his savings account around
two-thirty that afternoon, a little over three hours before Hutch got home. He
had also cleaned out the contents of his safety deposit box and returned the
key. Hutch knew that safety deposit box had contained Starsky's copy of the
deed to the cottage, a copy of his will, and some savings bonds.
Hutch's next
call was to the company that had issued Starsky's credit card. Identifying
himself as a police officer and telling them that he was investigating a
possible case of identity theft, he asked to be notified of any unusual activity
on any of the cards. They promised to forward a daily report to the answering
machine at the cottage which Hutch could check from any location. Once his
phone calls were finished, Hutch set about packing a bag for a road trip. One
way or the other, no matter how long it took, he was determined to find Starsky
and talk some sense into him. Since it was too late to start his search, he
decided to take a shower and turn in so he could get an early start in the
morning. Not that he expected to get much sleep. He was too worried about
Starsky.
CHAPTER THREE
After a
sleepless night, Hutch got dressed at dawn and made himself a pot of black
coffee to jump start the day. In the past two years, his normally healthy
eating habits had given way to a junk food diet that rivaled that of his
partner. Since the shooting, he had returned to a healthier diet since Starsky
was forced to follow a rigid diet of his own during the first months of his
recovery as his stomach was still healing from his injuries. The brunet could
no longer eat most of the spicy foods he craved without paying for it later
with hours of painful heartburn and nausea. He also had to eat smaller amounts
at a time but more frequently during the day. That concerned Hutch too. He knew
that since he had returned to work full time Starsky had been cheating on his
diet and not eating when he was supposed to.
When Hutch
reached into the cabinet for a bowl to get some cereal, he was startled to find
Starsky's medications still sitting neatly arranged on the shelf. Granted, he
wasn't on as many medications as he had been in the beginning, but there were
still a few that he was supposed to be taking on a regular basis including one
for nausea, an antibiotic for a recent respiratory infection, and a medication
to help boost his immune system. Those medications were all still there. The
only thing that seemed to be missing was his recently refilled medication for
his pain pills. Hutch felt his concern soaring for his wayward friend. He could
be jeopardizing his recovery by neglecting his prescribed medications. Somehow,
Hutch sensed that Starsky wasn't concerned about his recovery any longer. Just one more thing for Hutch to worry about while he looked for
him.
Hutch spent
most of the morning calling motels within a hundred mile radius of
Grabbing his
bag, Hutch locked the cottage and hurried out to his car. A little over two
hours later, he was pulling into the parking lot in front of the motel where he
believed Starsky had spent the night. He climbed out of his car and walked
towards the office. A middle aged woman with stringy blonde hair was on duty
behind the desk. She eyed Hutch suspiciously as he approached.
"Hi,"
Hutch said with a friendly smile. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. I
think he may have spent the night here. I called earlier this morning from
"Yeah,
that's the guy. But I told you that he checked out this morning around
nine." She said
"I know.
He didn't happen to say where he was headed, did he?"
"Nope and
I didn't ask."
"Would
you mind if I took a quick look at his room? Maybe he left something behind
that'll help me find him."
"You a
cop or something?" the woman said with a sneer. "Cause you sure sound
like one."
"As a
matter of fact, I am." Hutch said, pulling his badge from his pocket and
showing it to her. "Now can I look at his room?"
"I guess
so." She reached behind her and pulled a key off the pegboard behind her,
handing it to Hutch. "Room 112. Last room at the end."
"Thanks."
Hutch said gratefully, palming the key and hurrying out of the office. He found
the room where Starsky had spent the night and unlocked the door, stepping
inside. He paused, closing his eyes for a moment, and savoring the familiar
scent of Starsky that seemed to linger in the air. Sighing, he opened his eyes
and let his gaze sweep across the room. It looked like a thousand other motel
rooms around the country. Minimally furnished and painted in drab colors with a
cheap threadbare carpet on the floor. The bed was neatly made and the trash can
in the bathroom was empty. There was nothing to show that Starsky had ever been
there except for the faint scent of his favorite after shave lingering in the
bathroom. Hutch returned the key to the office and continued his journey.
He stayed on
the main highway, stopping at every truck stop and rest area he saw along the
way. He showed anyone he encountered Starsky's picture and asked them if they
had seen him. By
Hutch knew
that he was only a few hours behind Starsky despite the brunet's head start. He
continued to drive late into the night, hoping to shorten the distance that
separated him from his fleeing partner. Finally, around
Hutch was back
on the road early the next morning. Around
It wasn't
until almost
If Starsky was
going into
Hutch stopped
that night at a motel just 20 miles from the Mexican border. After settling
into his room for the evening, he placed a call to Captain Dobey at his home.
"Hey,
Cap." Hutch greeted him "I'm still on Starsky's trail. I think he's
headed for
"
"I don't
know unless it's far enough away from
"Do you
think he knows you're following him?"
"I don't
think so. He's checking in under assumed names and paying for everything in
cash to keep from leaving a paper trail…but he's not trying to hide his route
or doing anything to keep anyone from remembering him. And he's still driving
the striped tomato. Kinda hard to miss that thing." Hutch heard a small chuckle
on the other end of the line. Hutch sighed and stifled an exhausted yawn.
"I'll call you tomorrow. Maybe by then I'll have caught up with him…if he
decides to stay in one spot long enough for me to do that."
"Make
sure you do." Dobey ordered as he hung up the phone on his end.
Hutch
disconnected the call and reached out to turn off the light. Staring into the
darkness, he whispered,
"Hang in
there, buddy. I'm coming and you're going to listen to what I have to say even
if I have to handcuff you to make sure you listen."
The next day
dawned bright and sunny, the temperature in the low eighties by eight a.m.
Hutch felt confident that soon he would catch up with his partner and they'd be
able to talk about the letter that had sent him on the run. Before leaving
Hutch arrived
at the customs checkpoint and presented his documents to the officer in charge.
After examining his identification carefully and he asked Hutch what his
business was in
"Just taking a little vacation." Hutch told him with a
friendly smile. "I plan to stay for a week…maybe a little longer."
The guard nodded and handed Hutch a travel permit before passing him through
the checkpoint. Now all he had to do was pick up Starsky's trail again.
CHAPTER FOUR
(A big thanks goes to
Elivalero for helping with the Spanish phrases used
in this story)
After finding
an unguarded spot to cross over into
The hardest
part had been leaving without saying goodbye to Hutch. He knew that his letter
was taking the coward's way out but he knew if he stuck around until Hutch got
home, the big blond would talk him out of leaving. Hutch had already sacrificed
so much to take care of him during the long, painful months of his initial
recovery. He couldn't allow him to sacrifice anymore of his life taking care of
a man who was a cripple, both emotionally and physically. An
empty shell of a man with no future in sight, at least not a future that he
wanted to think about.
He had packed
his clothes, wrote the letter to Hutch, and cleaned out his bank accounts
without any thought about where he was going to end up. He knew that
Although his
body was recovering well from the horrendous injuries he had suffered in the
shooting, he was still far from being fully recovered and he knew it. He could
only drive for two to three hours at a time before he was forced to pull over
and rest. At night, he turned in early so he could start fresh the next
morning, his battered body screaming for sleep and a pain pill or two to ease
the discomfort of being on the road all day.
Shortly after
his return from
He hoped to
find the same peace of mind that he had found here so long ago when he first
returned from
After a
drunken binge that had lasted for over a week, he found himself in
After settling
into his room and taking a nap for a couple of hours, Starsky's stomach started
reminding him that it was time to eat. He left his hotel and found a restaurant
not far away that offered both authentic Mexican cuisine and more traditional
American dishes. Deciding to indulge in his love for Mexican food, he ordered a
meal that consisted of Frijoles or refried beans and a Mexican sandwich
consisting of a large roll filled with a generous amount of mildly spiced
chicken, sour cream and guacamole. The meal came with a side order of tortillas
which took the place of bread in a traditional Mexican restaurant. He ordered a
glass of dark ale to drink with his food. Taking into account his still
sensitive stomach, he carefully avoided ordering any hot sauce or salsa with
his meal.
After eating
his fill, he left a generous tip and went back to his hotel. His muscles ached
and cramped from his long drive and he found himself wishing that Hutch was
there to massage away his pain. Sighing deeply, he decided to take a hot shower
to soothe away the discomfort. Walking into the tiny adjoining bathroom, he
stripped off his clothes and reached into the shower to adjust the water to a
comfortable temperature. He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror above
the sink, momentarily startled by the dark circles under his eyes and the
haunted expression on his face. He turned away from the mirror, his fingers
absent-mindedly rubbing the thick ridge of scar tissue on his chest, the one
nearest his heart.
He could
barely stand to look at the scars on his body, a permanent and painful reminder
of that day in the parking garage. Thankfully, he remembered very little of the
events of that day. He had no memory of the shooting itself except in his
nightmares. His clearest memory was waking up in the hospital, confused and in
more pain than he had ever imagined possible. Even his memories of those early
days in the ICU were clouded by the heavy doses of morphine he was being given
to combat the pain from his shattered body. He knew that the scars weren't as
noticeable as they had been; his chest hair covering the worst of them. But in
his mind, they were still as vivid as the day he saw them for the first time
and he knew that they always would be to him.
He stepped
under the shower and let the water run over his body, relaxing him and easing
the pain of his tortured body. He gasped in shock when the water turned cold.
Quickly turning off the water, he stepped out of the stall and grabbed the
thick terrycloth towel to dry off with. Dropping the towel to the floor, he
walked back into the other room and threw himself down on the bed, falling
asleep almost immediately even without his usual nighttime pain pill. Starsky
had no way of knowing that Hutch was only 30 miles away spending the night in
another hotel just over the Mexican border.
He slept in
the next morning, not waking until almost ten. His body was sore and stiff as
usual. He knew it would loosen up once he started moving around. His stomach
felt a little upset so he decided to skip breakfast, settling for a cup of
coffee with lots of sugar and cream. The Mexican coffee was stronger and more
bitter than the brand he used back home. A casual conversation with his
waitress rewarded him with the directions to a tiny village not far away where
he could find some local art. He also walked away with the girl's phone number
and a promise to call her while he was in town.
Grabbing a
bottle of water from the cantina along with some fresh fruit to eat later, he
set out for the village. Since it was only a few miles, he decided to walk. It
was a beautiful day and he missed the exercise. Back home, he often walked for
miles along the beach in while Hutch was at work. He missed their little
cottage and the beach but he still thought that he had done the right thing.
He walked for
almost two hours before realizing that he must have taken a wrong turn
somewhere. He should have reached the village by now. He turned around and
started to make his way back to the main road. It didn't take long for him to
realize that he was lost but Starsky wasn't concerned. He knew if he kept
walking towards the sun, he would eventually find the road again. He wasn't as
inept in the outdoors as he had led Hutch to believe over the years. He had
learned how to mark a trail and to survive on his own in the jungles of
He stopped to
rest and to eat the fruit he had brought with him. The exercise had made him
hungrier than he had been in days. He had lost almost 30 pounds after the
shooting and still needed to regain 10 pounds before he was back to his normal
weight. Hutch was constantly trying new dishes to tempt his appetite. Food,
once a source of pleasure to the brunet, had lost its appeal. It didn't taste
quite as good when he knew it was just as likely to make an abrupt reappearance
in the toilet bowl. The vomiting and nausea weren't as bad as they had been in
the beginning but he was still plagued with bouts often enough to make eating
more of a chore than a pleasure. The only thing he seemed to be able to eat
consistently without barfing was ice cream or fruit. And frankly, he was
getting a bit tired of both. The foods he craved the most were the foods he
still wasn't allowed to have on his diet because the doctor felt they would be
too hard on his recovering digestive system. He was sick and tired of being
sick and tired.
He was ready
to move on when he heard the sound of voices approaching in the heavily wooded
area to his left. Loud voices, arguing in Spanish.
Suddenly, four men appeared out of the heavy foliage. Big men
in dirty clothes with heavily muscled torsos and arms. They stopped and
stared at Starsky in surprise, obviously not expecting to find anyone else in
the area.
“¿Quien demonios eres?” one man growled in a decidedly unfriendly tone.
“¿Que estas haciendo aquí?”
Since Starsky
wasn't quite sure what the other man had said, he simply held his hands up,
palms forward, in the universal sign of surrender and shook his head hoping
that they would get the message that he meant them no harm. Apparently that
wasn't enough to pacify them. One man took a threatening step forward and said
in heavily accented English,
“Mis amigo asked you who the hell you were and
what you are doing here?”
“I was looking
for the main road. I got lost.” Starsky said truthfully. Every cop instinct he
had was warning him to be careful. These men were dangerous.
“This is no
place for a gringo…especially one who looks like you.” The man said with a leer
that made Starsky's skin crawl.
“I don't want
any trouble. Just point the way to the main road and I'm outta here.”
“Too late,
gringo…you've already got more trouble than you can handle.” The man said
threateningly as he took another step forward. Starsky instinctively fell into
a defensive stance and balled his hands into fists. He took a cautious step
backwards with his left side turned at an angle, his chin tucked, and brought
his hands up to protect his face while he kept his elbows close to each side to
protect his ribs. He braced his feet and bent his knees slightly to help center
his body weight and keep his balance.
He knew he was
in no shape to take on these four men, especially in his present physical condition,
but he wasn't going to go down without a fight. His eyes darted from side to
side as the four men began to close in around him, trying to keep each of them
in sight and prepare for their attack. A sudden, unexpected blow came from
behind when a fifth man that he hadn't seen crept up behind him and hit him in
the head with the butt of a rifle. Starsky fell to the ground, unconscious and
bleeding heavily from a wound at the base of his skull. Laughing, two of the
men picked up his limp body and the five men disappeared back into the woods.
CHAPTER FIVE
The pounding
in his head slowly pulled Starsky out of the darkness and back into awareness.
As he regained consciousness, he realized that he was strung up with his hands
tied to a beam above his head and his ankles tied together. As his vision
cleared enough for him to survey his surroundings, he realized that he was in a
tiny hut with an earthen floor and no windows. The only light came from the
sunlight that filtered in through large cracks in the wall. Starsky groaned
softly as he remembered his encounter with the men in the woods. No matter
where he went, he always seemed to attract trouble like a magnet.
“I'm glad to
see that you're finally awake,” said a deep voice from the shadows to Starsky's
left. The voice spoke in perfect English with just a hint of an accent. “I was
beginning to think I hit you a bit harder than I intended to.” A man stepped
out of the shadows and into Starsky's line of vision. He was younger than the
other four men that Starsky remembered and more neatly dressed but just as
muscular and well built. “I'm Miguel Sanchez…and you are?”
“Starsky. David Starsky.”
“So…David
Starsky…what are you doing here by yourself in the middle of nowhere?”
“I got lost.
I'm trying to find my way back to the main road.” Starsky said truthfully.
“Surely, you
don't expect me to be foolish enough to believe that, do you?”
“I don't
really give a damn if you believe me or not. It's the truth.” The brunet
growled. He was tired and his head hurt. He was in no mood to play nice with
one of the men who had taken him prisoner and strung him up a side of beef.
Miguel
chuckled. “Cocky little bastard too, aren't you? I like that.” The smile faded
from his face. “Now suppose you tell me why you're really out
here.”
“I told you. I
got lost.” Starsky snapped in an irritated voice.
“Well, then
that is too bad for you, David. It looks like you're gonna be to be our guest
for a while.”
“Look, why
don't you just let me go? I'm going back to the states in a few days. I won't
tell anybody you're out here or what happened.” Starsky said. He knew his
appeal would probably fall on deaf ears but it was worth a shot.
“Why should I
believe you, David? And even if I did, Mis compañeros will never let you leave…not alive anyway.”
“If you're
going to kill me anyway, why don't you just do it and get it over with?” the
brunet said defiantly, tugging instinctively at the ropes that bound his
wrists.
“Because my
amigos have been out here for a long time and they've gotten bored. They've taken
an interest in you and want to have a little fun with you first.” Miguel said
with a chilling smile.
“Terrific.”
Starsky muttered, wondering what their definition of fun was supposed to mean.
“I always like making new friends.”
Miguel stepped
forward and pulled open Starsky's shirt which he realized for the first time
was unbuttoned, exposing his chest and stomach. “These scars…you were shot,
yes?”
“Yeah, I
caught four slugs in the back.” Starsky said shortly without going into any
more detail about the shooting.
“You're a
lucky man to have survived an attack like that. I'm sure it must be an
interesting story. Perhaps you tell me about it.”
“I don't think
it would it would interest you that much. Let's just say I was in the wrong
place at the wrong time.”
“Sort of like
now. Yes?”
“Something like that.”
“You're
obviously a man who isn't afraid to die. You've already faced death… more than
once I would venture to say.”
“Dying is
easy. It's living that's a bitch.”
“Still, a man
who has embraced death as closely as you have and survived isn't always so
quick to embrace it when it comes calling again.”
“I guess that
depends on if you have anything left to live for.”
“Are you
saying that you don't?” Miguel asked in a surprised voice. “Frankly, I find
that hard to believe.”
“Believe what
you want. It's none of your business anyway.”
“I suppose
not…and as much as I'm enjoying this conversation with you…I really must go and
see what my friends are up to.” Miguel walked to the door and then paused,
glancing back at the bound brunet. “We'll chat again…soon.”
“Terrific.”
Starsky muttered as the younger man stepped through the doorway, leaving him
alone with his various aches and pains. He tugged at the ropes around his
wrists even though he knew it was an exercise in futility. They were tried too
tightly, the rough rope cutting into his flesh, his fingers numb from impaired
circulation. The position of his arms pulled on the healing incisions in his
chest and stomach, making them throb and burn. It also put a strain on his
damaged left lung making it hard for him to take a deep cleansing breath.
Combined with the insistent pounding in his head, he was getting nauseated and
dizzy.
Starsky lost
track of time as he hung there, unable to change his position or to ease the cramps
in his arms and shoulders. In the past when he had found himself in similar
situations, he always knew that he could always count on Hutch to be out there
looking for him but this time he knew that Hutch wasn't going to show up like a
white knight and save him. Hutch didn't even know where he was. Starsky had
made sure of that himself. This was one mess he might not walk away from alive.
What hurt the most was realizing that Hutch would never know what had happened
to him. For the big blond there would no closure except for Starsky's abrupt
departure and his curtly worded letter.
The creaking
of the door opening aroused him from his stupor. He raised his head and watched
as two of the other men entered the room. Since he didn't know their names, he
dubbed them with nicknames to keep them straight. Since one of them had a long
scar down the left side of his face, Starsky immediately christened him Scar Face. The second man was the one who had spoken in heavily
accented English. Starsky dubbed him Stupid. They were speaking rapidly between
themselves in Spanish. Starsky only recognized a few words and the words he did
recognize did little to ease his mind. Words like 'nice ass', 'tight' and
'pretty'. His stomach churned uneasily as he suddenly realized what Miguel may
have meant when he said his friends wanted to have some fun with him first
before they killed him.
As the two men
moved closed, leering at him suggestively, Starsky instinctively began to
struggle against the ropes that held him prisoner. He felt the blood running
down his forearms as the ropes cut into the tender flesh of his wrists but he
didn't care. The fear of these men taking what they wanted from him without
being able to defend himself repulsed him and made his heart pound loudly in his
chest. A cold sweat broke out on his face, stinging as it dripped down into his
eyes. He flinched and tried to pull away as Scar Face reached out and grabbed
the front of his shirt, ripping it from his torso, leaving him naked from the
waist up.
Stupid muttered
something in Spanish and grinned as he stroked his fingers through the thick
curls that covered Starsky's chest. The other man's touch made Starsky retch,
his stomach rejecting his meager lunch. The two men laughed and quickly took a
step back, watching impassively as Starsky's retching turned into painful dry
heaves. They both turned around in surprise when the door slammed open. A third
man stood in the doorway, glaring at Stupid and Scar Face. He had a head of
thick curly hair so Starsky labeled him Curly for future reference. The three
men held a heated discussion for a several minutes in Spanish and then all
three left the building. Starsky heaved a deep sigh of relief. He was safe from
any further unwelcome fondling, at least for now.
Starsky had
always felt a special compassion for women who had been attacked and brutally
raped but he had never imagined finding himself in a similar situation where he
could very well end up a victim of the same crime. The thought of being
assaulted sexually, especially by another man, scared the hell out of him. He
had worked with enough female victims to be well aware of the shame and
disgrace they felt after being attacked. He knew that there were male victims
of the same crime but those crimes were seldom reported because of the stigma
people seemed to attach to it when the victim was a man instead of a woman.
Telling himself that rape was an act of violence and that it had nothing to do
with sex did little to reassure him. He swore to fight
back in any way possible to make sure that it didn't happen to him, even if he
died defending himself.
As the hours
wore on, Starsky's stomach began to growl with hunger pains, his mouth dry and
parched. Somehow he doubted if his captors would be too concerned about feeding
him anytime soon. As the sun began to set, dark shadows crept into the hut and
a chill settled in the air. Starsky shivered involuntarily from the cold, goose
bumps breaking out over his uncovered chest. He took short catnaps throughout
the night, unable to fall asleep due to his awkward position and discomfort
from the cold. By the time the first rays of the early morning sun crept
through the cracks in the walls, his entire body was sore and stiff, his
cramped muscles screaming in protest. Starsky choked back an agonized groan. He
knew that it would only get worse as the day wore on and he continued to hang
in the same position with no relief in sight.
It wasn't long
before another urge was made painfully clear. His stomach knotted with cramps
as he fought to control himself but it was a losing battle. He felt his face
flush with shame as he felt himself lose control of his over extended bladder,
the hot wetness soaking through the front of his jeans and running down the
inside of his legs. The arid odor of urine filled the air surrounding him. He
wondered how long it would be before another bodily function demanded his
attention. He could vaguely remember losing control of his bladder and
sphincter muscle when he was in the I.C.U. and soiling himself but at least
then there had been a physical reason. This time it was just another form of
humiliation and degradation. Nothing more, nothing less.
Similar strategies had been used in
Warning: This
chapter contains scenes of a graphic nature involving the sexual abuse of a
major character. If this offends you or disturbs you, please do not read.
CHAPTER SIX
Hands were
touching him in places that he didn’t want to be touched, fondling parts of his
anatomy that had only known a woman’s touch. Starsky awoke with a startled cry
only to find himself staring into the grinning faces
of Scar Face and Stupid. Oh, God! It wasn’t a dream! It wasn’t just a
nightmare! “GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF OF ME!” he screamed in outrage as he
tried to pull away from the hands that were touching his body so intimately.
Scar Face
laughed, a cold evil sound, and pulled a switchblade knife from his jeans. With
a flick of his wrist, the long lethal looking blade flashed open. Stupid
grinned at Starsky and said in his heavily accented voice, “Don’t move or my amigo
will cut you and cut you bad.” Stupid leaned in and ran his tongue along the
side of Starsky’s face, almost making the brunet gag at the smell of rotten
teeth and bad breath. In a harsh whisper, Stupid snarled into a curl covered
ear “Fight all you want…its better when you fight.”
Starsky
flinched as Scar Face moved closer and slid the edge of the blade underneath
the waistband of his jeans, the metal cold against his skin. The sharp knife
slit through the heavy denim like butter as the other man cut the jeans from
Starsky’s body. He winced in pain when the blade nicked his right leg as Scar
Face cut down the seam. Tossing the ruined jeans aside, both Stupid and Scar
Face stepped back to admire their unobstructed view of Starsky’s body, nude
except for a pair of black bikini briefs. Their eyes lingered on the
distinctive bulge between his legs.
Stupid reached
out to trace his thumb over the largest scar on the brunet’s torso, the one
that ran from just below his left nipple down to his naval. He pressed harder
than necessary on the still sensitive scar tissue causing Starsky to choke back
a moan of pain. Momentarily distracted by the pain, he failed to notice Scar
Face moving around behind him until he felt a beefy hand pawing at his right
buttock. Before he could react to the unwanted caress, he felt strong heavily
muscled arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him back against the bigger
man’s body. He could feel the hardness of the other man’s arousal thrusting
against his barely covered ass, the erect shaft sliding obscenely between his
thighs. He panicked and began fighting the ropes that still bound his hands.
With a laugh
that could only be described as a cackle, Stupid unzipped his jeans and pulled
out his own fully erect cock. He pressed up against Starsky’s body from the
front, the two men effectively pinning him between them so he couldn’t
struggle. Stupid ground his erection against Starsky’s groin, grinning in the
brunet’s face, obviously enjoying the shame and the fear that he saw reflected
in those sapphire eyes. It didn’t seem to matter to either man that Starsky
wasn’t getting aroused by their attention but instead was trying desperately to
avoid contact. The two men continued to rub up against Starsky’s body, their
breathing getting heavier and louder as they rapidly approached their climaxes.
Starsky felt the hot sticky liquid that suddenly splattered against his stomach
and between his thighs almost simultaneously.
As the two men
pulled away, Scar Face mumbled “La próxima vez, descubriré lo apretado que es
tu culo”in Starsky’s ear.
Stupid grinned
at his friend’s words and told Starsky with a smirk, “He said the next time, he’s gonna to stick it in so he can see how tight you are.”
Both men laughed as they turned and left the hut, leaving Starsky alone to deal
with his shame and the humiliation of being treated like a piece of meat by his
two assailants.
The brunet let
his mind drift wishing that he had stayed back in
He heard the
door opening and raised his head just as Miguel stepped into the hut. Deep
brown eyes surveyed Starsky’s condition critically, a thin smile tugging at his
lips.
“I see that Paco and Ricardo have been having a little fun.”
“Is that what
they call it?” Starsky said in a hoarse, raspy voice. His throat was so dry he
could barely swallow, his lips were cracked and sore.
He watched with carefully guarded eyes as Miguel pulled a silver flask out of
his jacket and took a step towards him.
“Relax,” Miguel
said with an encouraging smile as if reading Starsky’s thoughts. “It’s only
water. You look like you could use a drink.”
“Please…”
Starsky said. He hated the pleading sound he heard in his voice but if that was
what it took, he’d beg just so he could have something to ease his thirst. The
Mexican nodded and held the flask up to Starsky’s lips, tipping it so the tepid
water spilled into his mouth. He swallowed greedily, whimpering softly when
Miguel removed the flask after just a few sips.
“That’s enough
for now. Too much at one time and it will just come right back up.” Miguel
tilted his head to one side and eyed the brunet’s face critically. “You’re
flushed…” he gently laid the side of his hand against Starsky’s cheek. “And you
have a fever. Are you sick?”
“It’s cold in
here at night.” Starsky said “Especially when I’m only half dressed.”
“Is that all
it is? Just a bit of a cold?”
“Yeah.” Starsky said, refusing to elaborate any further. He was
determined not to disclose any of his medical problems to his captors. He
doubted if it would matter much to any of them anyway. He took a shallow
breathe and looked at Miguel questioningly. “If you’re going to kill me
anyway…why don’t you at least tell me why? What’s here that I’m not supposed to
see?”
“You’ve already
seen it. You’ve seen us.” Miguel said with a ghost of a smile. “A very powerful
man is looking for us because Carlos was stupid enough to try and make a pass
at his daughter. Of course, Paco and Juan didn’t help
matters any when they stole a great deal of money from him before they took
off.”
“Where do you
figure into all this? You don’t seem like the others.”
“Ricardo,
Carlos and Juan are my cousins. They asked for my help and I couldn’t turn my
back on them. Blood is blood.”
“So now this
man is hunting all of you. And if he finds you?”
“Then we die.
This man you do not cross. He is the head of the local sindicato.”
That was one of the Spanish words that Starsky recognized. The syndicate. He smiled ruefully. Even in
“So, the other
four all worked for him but not you…”
“No. I was
smarter than that…at least I thought I was. But, now it does not matter. My
fate has been sealed along with theirs because I helped them escape.”
Starsky
remained silent. He could understand being willing to die for a principle. He
had faced that same dilemma every day when he was still a cop. Hell, he had
almost died simply because he carried a badge. Even without the badge, he would
still sacrifice his own life if it meant saving the life of an innocent person
or a child, his mother, Nicky, or Hutch. Especially Hutch.
Thinking about Hutch only made him sad again, knowing that he would never see
the big blond again.
Miguel looked
at Starsky with a thin smile. “A man like you understands about honor and
obligation, don’t you?”
“You could say
that.”
“Did you serve
in your military?”
“Yeah. The Army for three years.”
“
Starsky gave a
slight nod of his head. “Eighteen months.”
“I was
educated in the
“Maybe you
should have.”
“Well, it’s
too late to worry about that now. Are you hungry?”
“No…” Starsky
lied “But I wouldn’t mind some more water.”
Miguel pulled
the silver flask from his jacket and held it to Starsky’s lips once more. This
time he let the brunet drink his fill. Slipping the flask back into his pocket,
he looked at Starsky with a faint smile. “You are not a very good liar. I will
get you something to eat.” He turned and left before Starsky could voice any
objections. The truth was he was starving but in spite of his hunger he didn’t
really feel like eating.
Miguel
returned in a few minutes carrying a steaming bowl. As he came closer, Starsky
recognized the aroma of refried beans and rice. “It’s not much.” Miguel said
apologetically “But, I’m afraid it’s the best I can do.”
Starsky let
Miguel feed him a few bites before shaking his head and refusing to eat
anymore. Sitting the bowl on the ground at his feet, Miguel glanced at Starsky’s
badly torn writs and said, “That must be painful. You shouldn’t pull so hard on
the ropes. You’ll only hurt yourself more.” He hesitated and then picked up the
bowl from the ground. “I must leave you now.” He paused and then added “For
what it’s worth, I’m sorry that things have to end this way. In another time,
another place, I think we could have been friends.” Without another word, he
turned and left Starsky alone. In spite of his involvement with the other men,
Starsky found himself pitying Miguel. He was only doing what his honor and
tradition obligated him to do.
As darkness
fell once more, Starsky began to shiver violently and his cough became worse as
the congestion filled his lungs. Sometime during the early morning hours, he
began drifting in and out of consciousness as his fever began to climb higher.
During one of his more coherent moments, he realized that someone had cut him
down. He was now lying on his side on the ground with his hands and feet still
securely bound. The most disturbing thing he noticed was that he was now
completely nude. He wasn’t sure it that should worry him or not and frankly he
was too exhausted to care. He closed his eyes and let himself drift back into
the darkness.
The next time
he opened his eyes, Starsky knew that he was in trouble. He could barely
breathe. His chest felt like it was on fire and the best he could do was to
take short panting gulps of air and even that didn’t satisfy his burning need
for oxygen. He knew his minor chest infection had turned into a raging case of
pneumonia. He was hot and cold at the same time, his teeth chattering even as
the sweat poured down his face. It was too much of an effort to stay awake so
he let himself sink back into unconsciousness.
He didn’t hear
the door slamming open to his prison sometime later or see the two strange men
that strode into the room with firm determined steps. One of them knelt down
beside Starsky and felt his forehead. Glancing up at the distinguished looking
man standing beside him, he said in a disinterested voice,
“This one is
sick. He’s as good as dead. Should we leave him?”
“No…” the
other man said slowly, looking at Starsky’s face quizzically. “I know this man.
We’ll bring him with us. I want to know what he’s doing here.” The other man
smiled coldly “Then we can kill him if I don’t like the answer.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cold sterile air. Soft barely audible voices.
A deep burning pain in his chest. Chills.
Fever. Ice packs under his arm pits and placed against
his groin. Slowly, Starsky's foggy brain registered the fact that he must be in
a hospital. It took too much effort to try to figure out where he was or how he
got here. It was easier to just go back to sleep.
The young
woman standing beside the bed gently brushed his fevered brow with a cool damp
cloth. His fever was still dangerously high.
The doctor her
father had called had ordered him to be packed in ice to try to bring it down.
The IV running into his right forearm was delivering strong antibiotics
directly into his blood stream to try to combat the massive infection that was
ravaging his body. A second IV was being used to re-hydrate him and provide him
much needed nutrition intravenously. His sweat soaked sheets were changed
regularly, the young woman at his side supplying a lot of his care despite her
father's strenuous and very vocal objections. Even with the doctor's best
efforts, the brunet's breathing was still labored and shallow.
The woman's
eyes filled with tears as she looked at the man lying on the bed. The terrible
scars on his chest and stomach bore mute evidence to a life altering trauma
that had occurred after she had left him. She had read about the shooting. Her
father regularly received outdated copies of the Bay City Newspaper sent by an
old friend who still lived in the States. She had religiously saved every
clipping she found about him, much to her father's chagrin and obvious
disapproval. She glanced up as the door opened and a hired nurse stepped into
the room. In a quiet voice, she said,
"Your
father is looking for you."
"Thank
you, Joanna." With one last glance at the man on the bed, Rosie Malone
turned and left the room to join her father, Frank Malone, in his study. Her
father looked up with a dark scowl as she knocked and then quietly entered the
room.
"You've
been with him again." He growled. It was a not a question, it was a simple
statement of fact.
"He's
still very sick. I'm helping take care of him." Rosie said demurely. She
had been raised to respect and honor her father. It was not in her nature to
argue with him, not even in private. She knew what her father was. She knew
what he had done. But, she still loved him despite his short comings. She had
made her choice between her father and the man she had left behind almost six
years ago and it was choice she had learned to live with. But, then she had
never expected to see David Starsky again. Especially not
here in
She knew that
her father and his men had found Paco and the other
traitors that had turned against him. After disposing of them, they had found
David in one of the huts while searching the hidden camp. Stunned and surprised
to find David Starsky in that most unlikely of places, Frank Malone had ordered
him brought back to the compound so he could find out why the Bay City Detective
was in
He had spent
the past six years rebuilding his empire south of the border and out of the
reach of the United States Government. He needed to know why David Starsky, an
undercover police officer with the Bay City Police Department, was in
"I want
you to stop spending so much time with him, Rosemary." He said firmly.
"The nurse will take care of him. That's what I hired her for."
"What are
you going to do with him when he gets better?" Rosie asked, voicing the
question that had been on her mind since she found out that David was at the
Villa.
"That
depends on what he's doing here in the first place…and how he ended up in the
camp where we found Paco and the others."
"You've
seen his wrists and his ankles! He was tied up for God's sake! He certainly
wasn't there voluntarily!"
"Maybe
not but Paco and the others must have had a reason
for taking him prisoner."
"I'm sure
they did and I'm sure you know what that reason was as well as I do!"
Rosie declared. It had been no secret that Paco and
the oldest of the three Ortiz brothers were bi-sexual and that neither of them
was averse to taking what they wanted by force. David was a ruggedly handsome
man who was considered attractive by anyone's standards, male or female.
"There's
no evidence that he's been sexually abused. I had the doctor check." Her
father said with a smirk.
"Maybe
they never had a chance to get that far before you found them." Rosie
stated coldly. "Or before he got so sick…not that something like that
would have stopped those two from doing whatever they wanted anyway."
"I want
you to go into Santa Domingo with Maria this afternoon. You can help her with
the shopping. I also have some letters I want you to mail for me."
"You're
trying to get rid of me so I won't go back to David's room." She said
flatly.
"You and
I both know that it's better if you don't. Do you really think that he would
still want you after all this time?" her father's words were harsh and
they cut deep.
Rosie knew
that he was right; she just didn't want to admit it. She bowed her head so her
father wouldn't see the tears that gathered in her soft blue eyes. She would do
as he ordered, at least for now. She would stay away from David's room and let
the nurse care for him.
Frank Malone
watched his daughter as she gracefully rose to her feet and left the room. She
wasn't fooling him for a minute. She was complying with his wishes for now but
the longer the
There was a
light tap on the door. A moment later it opened to admit the doctor he had
hired to treat Starsky. The man looked at the syndicate boss nervously as he
shuffled across the room and sank into one of the overstuffed chairs facing the
desk.
"So,
Doctor," Frank said with a carefully calculated smile. "How is our
patient doing?"
"Better I
think. He seems to finally be responding to the antibiotics and the ice is
bringing his fever down."
"How soon
will he be alert enough to answer some questions?"
"Probably not at least for a couple of more days. He's still very weak
and when he wakes up he's going to be confused and disoriented."
"I want
my daughter kept out of his room. Please inform the nurse to let me know
immediately if she attempts to see him."
"Yes, sir."
Frank stood up
and walked over to a picture hanging on the wall. He swung it aside to reveal a
concealed wall safe. Swiftly dialing in the combination, he opened it and
pulled out a thick stack of bills. Turning, he tossed them to the doctor with a
disdainful sneer on his face.
"That
should be more than enough to compensate you for your time and your efforts to
keep him alive…let's make sure he continues to stay alive."
"Yes, sir. Thank you, Mr. Malone." The man
groveled.
Frank waved
his hand, dismissing the man curtly, as he sank back down behind his desk. The
doctor's biggest asset was that he did what he was told with no questions asked
and he knew how to keep his mouth shut. But then the crime boss paid handsomely
to make sure that's exactly what the doctor did. Personally, Malone had little
use for the man himself. He didn't even know his name and he intended to keep
it that way.
CHAPTER EIGHT
It took Hutch
almost two days to pick up Starsky's trail again. Obviously, he had crossed the
border at a different location than the one Hutch had used. By the time the
blond managed to track his wayward partner to the town of
Hutch climbed
out of his car and walked through the main entrance to the hotel, heading
straight for the registration desk. He pulled the familiar snapshot of Starsky
out of his pocket and said in fluent Spanish,
"Estoy buscando a mi amigo. ¿Ha visto usted a
este hombre?"
"Si, señor" The
desk clerk said politely in stilted English. "He check
in three days ago but I haven't seen him for past two days."
"What
room is he in?" Hutch asked, switching to English.
"Room 216. Upstairs…second door on right."
"He's a
friend of mine and I've been looking for him. Can you give me a key so I can
check and make sure he's not sick or something?"
"He not there. My daughter clean room each morning…she say he no there for past two days."
"Do you
have any idea where he may have gone? I really need to find him."
"He no tell me when he leave. Maybe check at restaurant down the
street. My daughter say he ate there. She saw
him."
"Thank
you, I'll do that." Hutch said. He pulled a bill out of his wallet and
slid it across the desk towards the clerk. "That's for your help."
The man nodded
and grinned happily, stuffing the money in his pocket before Hutch could change
his mind. Hutch smiled pleasantly and hurried back into the street. He glanced
around, noticing the tiny restaurant just down the block. Assuming that was the
one in question, he strode rapidly in that direction. Stepping inside, he was
pleasantly surprised and pleased with the warm, welcoming atmosphere inside the
building. He found a vacant booth in the back of the room and sat down, taking
a minute to look at the menu as he waited patiently for the waitress.
Only a few minute