Capernicus stormed into the small office area, slamming the door behind him. The remaining pieces of glass hanging in the window frame fell to the floor. He stalked through the room, seeking to burn off some of the consuming rage. The sound of the door reopening startled him, and he whirled around to see Kevin standing quietly before him.

"Well? What do you want?"

"Mr. Ca-Ca-Caperni-c-cus, I…I…"

"You what? For crying out loud, you moron, what is it?"

"I th-th-think you should l-l-l-et Da-Da-David g-g-g-go." The severity of the young man’s stutter increased under Capernicus’ mocking scrutiny. "He d-d-d-don’t know n-n-nothin’."

"You’re the one who doesn’t know squat, you lousy excuse for a human being." Capernicus had found an outlet for his anger. He stalked up to Kevin, who outweighed him easily by seventy-five pounds, and began pushing him roughly. "What do you think we’ve been doing here for the last four days, huh? Your friend out there has information I need, and when he leaves here, it’ll be in a pine box!"

Each sentence was punctuated with a shove, slamming the younger man into office equipment. Kevin cowered against the tirade, somehow infuriating Capernicus more. He finally lost control and began striking Kevin harder and faster until the young man sunk to the floor to protect himself from the blows.

He’d been dreaming again, dreaming of the time Hutch’s car had been forced off the road and he’d been trapped under it for several days. Only this time it wasn’t Hutch who was pinned in the wreckage, unable to move, in his delirium he was the one who couldn’t get out from underneath the wreckage and was dying--dying and losing hope.

But then somehow, miraculously, Hutch was there, laying a cool cloth on his fevered brow, murmuring soothing words.

"’utch? Hutch...help me..."

The gentle hand wiping at his face paused for a moment before continuing. Kevin’s voice was a wisp. "No, n-n-not Hutch. It’s m-m-me, K-Kevin."

Starsky forced his eyes to open. The bruises on Kevin’s face were shadows in the darkened room.

"Kevin, you’d...better go. They’ll...be mad...if...they find you…with me."

Kevin’s hands paused briefly in their gentle ministrations. "I know."

The small show of kindness brought tears to Starsky’s battered eyes. "Why...why are ya...doing this?"

"I c-c-couldn’t help Mich-chael."

"Oh." Starsky’s mind raced. He was in no shape to run, but with Kevin’s help...Starsky knew it was his last chance to escape, or at least get word to Dobey. "Kevin, I’m sorry...you couldn’t…help…your brother. But you...you helped me, didn’t you?"

"Yes." The answer was filled with pain, both emotional and physical.

"Kevin, please...you’re my…only chance. If you...could just...unlock the cuffs..."

"No." The response was a whisper, but definitive.

"Kevin, please... They’re going...to kill me...kill Hutch--my brother. Do you...understand, Kevin? They’re...going to... kill us."

"Yes." Tears were evident in the young man’s voice as he stopped sponging Starsky’s face.

"Kevin, listen...to me! You could…call my…captain...ninth precinct…there’s a card…in my wallet…with the…phone number…he wouldn’t…"

"Kevin! What are you doing in here?" Eddie’s hissing voice reverberated throughout the room. "You idiot! Don’t you know how mad Capernicus would be if he found you in here? Get out of here, now!"

From Starsky’s vantage point all he could make out was Kevin’s running feet and Eddie slamming the storeroom door.

The hand that covered Dobey’s mouth was firm, but without a fierceness to inflict pain. Instinct still caused his hand to grope toward his dresser to retrieve the service revolver hidden there.

"Captain, it’s me." The large, callused hand was withdrawn.

"Hutchinson, that’s a good way to get yourself shot," Dobey hissed. "How did you get in here?"

Even in the dark, Dobey could make out Hutch jerking his head toward the now open bedroom window. Without a word the captain climbed out of bed, and picking up his robe, switched on the nightstand’s lamp.

Hutch blinked owlishly as he looked around the room. "Where’s Edith?"

"Away." Dobey threw him a harsh look, then studied him more closely. Even the dim light couldn’t disguise the deep circles under Hutch’s eyes. Several days’ worth of stubble bristled from his normally smooth face and lines of tension marred his eyes and furrowed between fair brows.

"What’s going on?"

"We’re not sure yet."

"Well, what are we sure of?"

"Don’t start. Capernicus and a few of his thugs have been busy. You could say they’ve been paying visits all over town. Huggy, Minnie, even here. I got word they harassed your parents and busted into your sister’s house, too."

Hutch swore under his breath. "Are they…are they all right?"

"They will be."

An unsteady hand reached up to rub tiredly at his already bloodshot eyes. "Cap’n, where’s Starsky?"

"I don’t know. They haven’t contacted us yet. I want to think that they snatched him in order to find out where you were."

"You want to think? What does that mean? Do you think he’s still…?"

"We don’t know. They’ve left everyone else they’ve ‘visited’ alive. There’s no reason to think they’ve changed their MO with Starsky."

"The FBI hasn’t come up with anything? What about the evidence from Perrigo and Avelechez’s murders--anything?"

"Not much. Nothing concrete."

Hutch stared hard at his captain, then finally nodded tiredly. Unsteadily he turned and made his way back toward the window. Dobey quickly grabbed him by the arm.

"Where do you think you’re going?"

"If they’re looking for me and they’ve got Starsky, then I’m going to let them know I’m available for negotiations."

"That’s suicide."

Hutch sighed, the anguish on his face evident even in the dim light. "It’s Starsky."

"I’m talking to you, cop!" Capernicus stalked up to the semi-conscious detective and grabbed him by his hair, jerking his head up from where it rested against his chest. "This can end right this second if you’ll just tell me where your partner is!"

Although Starsky’s head was ringing, Capernicus’ voice managed to register. He tried to open his swollen eyes, but was only partially successful. He did manage a bloody sneer.

"Come on, pig! Hutchinson--where is he? No one can possibly be worth this kind of pain! You can end this with a word." When he received no immediate response, Capernicus pushed the swollen face away from him, disgusted by the futility of their actions.

With a supreme effort, Starsky lifted his head up off his chest. There were no words that could possibly make the felon understand. More eloquently than any speech was the glob of bloody spit that nailed Capernicus directly on his right cheek.

The pain caused by the effort of spitting drew Starsky over the brink of consciousness, moments before the next blow landed, knocking him from the chair and onto the floor.

Kevin watched as Capernicus struck Starsky’s face, knocking him to a crumpled heap at his feet. Finally, he covered his eyes and looked away, until a series of oaths marked Capernicus storming across the room to the office. Kevin waited several minutes before daring to peek from behind the makeshift wall of ink drums. Capernicus sat in the office with his back to the window, animatedly talking on the telephone to someone.

Kevin managed a crouching run to where the detective lay, his breath quickening with unsettled emotions. Cautiously, he prodded Starsky’s shoulder, trying to wake him. A few more attempts proved unsuccessful. Tears filled Kevin’s eyes at his own futility, and he wished for the tenth time that day for his brother. Mikey would know what to do. Mikey would make it better. Kevin’s hand traveled up to Starsky’s battered face and trembled as it made contact with fresh blood. Unnerved, he backed away and crouched behind the ink barrels. Kevin buried his face against the cradle of his arms and wept silently.

Hutch threw twenty dollars on the tabletop and climbed out of the booth. Mickey’s hand crept out to retrieve the money, but a vice-like grip froze him inches from the bill. The alcoholic looked up into the ice-blue eyes and was instantly chilled by the fury and disgust there. Hutch spat out each word with precision.

"I’m only going to say this once, Mickey, so I’d advise you to listen very carefully. I’ve never forgotten how you sold me out to Monk and his goons. Obviously, I’m very serious about finding my partner, or I wouldn’t be here sharing the same air with you. You’re going to start telling everyone you see that I’m back in town, and that I’m angry." Hutch’s voice almost dropped to a whisper, but never lost its deadly intensity. "Do you understand me, Mickey? I am very, very angry."

Mickey shook his head rapidly, his cap all but bouncing off his head. Hutch dropped his grip from the snitch’s now numb hand and stalked out of the bar to the streets.

"Are you just stupid, or what?" Eddie goaded, giving Starsky a shove with his foot. He was no longer bound, too weak to stand or even try to defend himself. "You’re going to die, pig. You know that, don’t ya? We’ll just leave ya here for the rats to feed on, whether you’re dead or not." Eddie crouched down in front of Starsky and grabbed a handful of the matted curls, jerking his head up at a painful angle. "You hear me, cop? How’d ya like to lay here and watch the rats feedin’ on your face and there’s nothin’ you can do about it?"

The swelling only permitted Starsky to crack his eyes open a fraction. His tongue was thick from dehydration, making speech nearly unintelligible.

"...fool...you’re…a fool, Eddie."

He gave Starsky’s head another jerk, eliciting a small grunt of pain. "You’re the one lying on the floor, man!"

"When this is...all over...Capernicus’ll kill...kill you, too."

"You’re full of it, pig! He needs me!"

"He...he killed...his partner, Eddie. You’ll...just...be dead weight..."

Eddie lashed out with his boot, catching Starsky’s exposed stomach. Starsky felt his already broken ribs dig into something deeper, the pain causing him to retch.

Eddie left Starsky lying in the middle of the warehouse floor. Fresh blood began to bubble up from his panting mouth, but he was too weak to wipe the froth away.

Kevin stood at the far end of the room, dancing from foot to foot in indecision, wanting nothing more than to go to his friend, yet knowing too well the repercussions of his actions. Finally, he slunk off to the opposite end of the warehouse to find food and maybe a Coke he could share with Starsky. Then he would wait for Eddie and Capernicus to leave again.

Eddie lit a cigarette, tossing the extinguished match in Starsky’s direction. "So now what, Mr. Capernicus? I’m not sure how much more he can take. Maybe if we give him a day or two to shore up, I can try something else."

"Except that we don’t have a day or two. We need Hutchinson now. Some of the other men have heard that the police have increased their manpower in looking for us. It’s only a matter of time before they get lucky." Capernicus looked down at Starsky’s mangled body thoughtfully. "Of course, there is one thing we haven’t tried."

"Yeah? Well, sir, if you don’t mind my saying, I really don’t think the cop can take much more. I’m surprised he’s lasted as long as he has. Tough little S.O.B."

"The one thing we haven’t done is use him for bait."

"What do you mean? Hutchinson’s probably figured out a long time ago that we’re the ones who snatched his partner."

"Of course, but he hasn’t found us yet, has he? And that’s presuming that Hutchinson’s come out of hiding. The last thing we need is to be caught in here by the police with Starsky."

"So, do we dump him?"

"Not yet. What if..." Capernicus crossed over and perched on the edge of the worn desk. "What if we contacted Hutchinson and offered him his partner?"

"What do you mean? Just give Starsky to him?"

"Use your brains, Eddie. What’s Hutchinson’s Achilles’ heel? I’m betting that it’s his partner. If Starsky’s refused to give up Hutchinson no matter what we’ve done to him, what do you think Hutchinson would do for his partner?"

"Ransom?"

"A trade. Hutchinson’s life for Starsky’s." Capernicus turned steely gray eyes on his assistant. "We contact Hutchinson and give him a series of instructions that will lead him here--alone. No backup or we kill his partner. We’ll tell him that he’s to come solo, and we’ll let Starsky go. Once he’s here, however, we take care of them both."

"Think he’ll buy it?"

"In a heartbeat." Capernicus turned cold, hard eyes to where Starsky lay on the floor trying desperately to move. The detective had heard every word of their conversation, but neither of the hoods were concerned. "You just keep Starsky alive until Hutchinson gets here. If what you’ve told me about these two is true, they’re no slouches. Hutchinson will want to talk to his partner to ensure he’s still alive or he won’t deal. We’ll give him what he wants, but once Hutchinson meets up with us, they’re both dead and we’re home free."

"I don’t know, Mr. Capernicus. Nobody’s seen Hutchinson in almost a week. These guys are good. On the street they say they’re the best. A little nuts, but nobody to mess with. And if you do one of them, you might as well kiss your mother goodbye, because the other one will track you down like a dog."

"Good. There’ll be no problem motivating Hutchinson in to come here and retrieve his partner."

Eddie glanced over at the struggling man bleeding on the floor. Provided he lives that long.

Hutch cruised the streets throughout the remainder of the night in the Torino, making himself as visible as possible. His only concession to his superior was to don a flak vest from the station when he retrieved his partner’s car.

In times past, Hutch would drive the red sedan in Starsky’s absence, somehow gaining comfort and reassurance from the familiar car. But this time...this time it was devoid of his partner’s presence. It was a disquieting feeling.

Hutch scanned Holland Avenue for the car he had seen there days before, even though R&I yielded nothing about the plates he provided for it or the one in front of Starsky’s apartment. The blond found a parking spot in front of The Pits and cautiously stepped away from the vehicle, scanning the street.

Determining that there were no apparent threats, Hutch made his way into the bar, again scanning the crowd for familiar and unfamiliar faces. A thin, black hand latched onto his forearm and spun him around.

"What are you doing out on the streets? Where’s Starsky?" Huggy hissed, drawing Hutch into the kitchen. The look on the blond’s face answered all the bar owner’s questions in a heartbeat. "Aw, man! If you’re out there alone, that means..."

"I’ve got to find him, Hug."

"You figure Capernicus snatched him?"

"You mean there’s been nothing on the street about all of this?"

"Nada. Like I told you before, folks’s scared and ain’t talkin’."

Hutch jabbed a finger into Huggy’s shoulder. "Then I need for you to do some talking. Let people know that you’ve seen me."

Huggy nodded grimly. "So they can see you. I dig it, but I don’t like it."

"What choice do we have?" Hutch squeezed his friend’s shoulder before he made his way back into the night.

When the call came in on the captain’s direct line, it wasn’t too much of a surprise. He more than half expected Capernicus to have found out about Hutch’s suicidal mission. Dobey snatched up the receiver on the third ring. "Dobey."

"Captain, I believe we have someone who would be of great interest to you and Detective Hutchinson. That is, provided that you can get in touch with him. Your lovely wife didn’t seem to be able to provide us with that information."

"Who is this?"

"I think you know who it is. We had hoped that Detective Starsky could be persuaded to tell us where his partner is, but he’s a very stubborn man, Captain. No matter how much persuasion we employed, he wouldn’t give us what we wanted. You find Hutchinson and tell him that. Tell him we persuaded his partner within an inch of his life. Then tell him we want to talk about a trade. You’ve got three hours, Captain."

"Wait a minute, how do we know he’s still alive?"

"I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it."

"No deal, we want proof!"

"You’ll get your proof. Just get in touch with Hutchinson. You’ve got three hours, Captain."

"Three hours? How the..." Dobey realized he was shouting into a dead receiver. Hutch sprinted into his superior’s office just as the large man was hanging up the phone.

"I heard you yelling. What have you got?"

"That was Capernicus."

"I figured as much!" Hutch bit out. "Where have they got Starsky?"

"They said three hours…they said they’d call back in three hours."

"Why didn’t you keep them on the line? How can we trace..."

"Hutchinson, back off! What the blazes do you think I was trying to do? They’ll call back in three hours. They want to speak to you about a trade."

"Then he’s still alive."

"Maybe." Angry brown eyes met blazing blue. "Let’s just hold on to that. In the meantime, let’s follow up with a couple of ex-employees of Randolph’s that are currently doing ten-to-twenty. County should have them downstairs in Interrogation by now."

Dobey made his way out of his office ahead of the blond. Hutch stood silently for a moment, staring at the phone as if he were willing it to ring again. His reverie was broken by a large hand gripping his shoulder.

"I’ve switched my lines to the operator. If they call back early, the switchboard will put it right through. Let’s go, son."

Hutch nodded once and followed him out the door.

Eddie looked up from cleaning his gun as Capernicus walked out of the office. "How’d it go?"

His boss nodded briefly. "Dobey’ll find Hutchinson. They’re going to want proof."

"Figured as much. We’ll just have to make the pig squeal."

Capernicus looked down to where Starsky lay. "Exactly. If he won’t talk, we can always take a Polaroid of him with today’s newspaper and have it delivered to the police station. That’s worked in other situations before. Eddie, go round up Johnson and the others, I want a man posted on every entryway from here to the wharf. Anybody who even resembles Hutchinson gets within ten feet of this place, blow his head off."

"Sure thing, Mr. Capernicus." Eddie paused for a moment. "What if he brings more cops with him?"

"Then we stick with the original plan, Hutchinson in exchange for Starsky. It’d mean we’d have to make a fast trip out of the country, but it’d be worth it to drop Hutchinson out of a plane over the Pacific on our way."

As soon as the two men left the printing area, Kevin risked a look over the skid of paper he’d been hiding behind and moved to where Starsky lay pathetically struggling. Eddie had long since given up the need to bind him, knowing that the detective was in no condition to necessitate it.

"David, di-di-did you hear? Th-they’re going t-t-t-to call Hutch and h-he’ll c-c-c-come rescue you."

Starsky had a hard time forming words, though his mind was surprisingly clear. "Kevin...would you...let me have...a drink...of...your Coke?"

"Sure. I’ll g-g-get it." Kevin crept back to the crate and returned quickly with the half-finished soda and a portion of his stale sandwich. "Let me h-h-help you sit up..."

Kevin began to lift Starsky into a sitting position, but the movement caused the detective to cry out in pain. At that same moment Eddie reentered the warehouse. Seeing Kevin with Starsky, he glared and rapidly crossed over to the young man. Kevin dropped the soda and Starsky, the fall sending the detective back into a state of semi-consciousness and smashing the Coke bottle on the floor in the process.

Eddie cuffed Kevin on the side of the head and dragged him out of the shop by the arm to the adjacent storeroom, leaving Starsky lying on his side. As his vision cleared, his eyes came to rest on the broken bottle, a scant foot from his face. Starsky remained motionless as Eddie flung open the storeroom door, hollering something at Kevin, then stomped back across the print shop and out the dock door.

Starsky fought against it the darkness that clawed at him. Focus, focus…think of other things besides the pain, think… Memories rolled over him like a flood. Hutch’s arms around his shoulders when the poison burned his guts so badly all he could do was lay in his partner’s arms and gasp in the torment. Hutch carrying him through the Italian restaurant when he was too stunned to move. Hutch’s tears as they sat on the floor playing monopoly, unwrapping Terry’s farewell gifts. The joy in Hutch’s face at the hospital when he first woke up after Gunther’s assassination attempt.

But this time… This time there would be no more rescues--no more last-second saves.

A sob escaped, and Starsky gagged as the tears brought up congestion from his fluid-filled lungs. He spit out what he was able to and managed to bring his hand up to wipe at the fluid on his mouth. Though his eyes were unfocused, he could still make out the fresh blood he had coughed up. With an uncanny certainty, he knew the blood was not from his injured mouth. He had seen too many fellow officers with gunshot wounds to the stomach, too many soldiers with punctured lungs. Starsky knew what coughing up blood meant.

He would be dead by evening.

As he lay there, two things became clear: first, if Capernicus contacted Hutch, nothing in heaven or hell would stop Hutch from coming for his partner; and second, Hutch would be dead before they ever saw each other again. There was no way Capernicus would let Hutch elude him again. If Capernicus forced Starsky to speak during a phone call, or showed him alive in a photograph, Hutch would risk coming alone, without backup or protection. But if I were already gone…Hutch would know it, somehow. Yes, he would still come to retrieve his body, but would bring an army of cops to avenge his partner’s death. But alive… Allowing Hutch to give himself up was never an option, so there was no need to further contemplate what he had to do.

Now all he needed to do was find a way out.

Starsky attempted to blink his vision clear again, and his eyes came to rest on the shattered soda bottle. The thought of dying should have terrified him, but he was beyond caring, beyond fear. His sacrifice would be the last thing he could do for his partner.

It took incredible effort to drag himself the remaining distance to the broken bottle. The exertion brought on a spell of coughing, bringing another batch of bloody froth trailing down his cheek. Starsky had to give himself a moment to regain his strength, but felt a grim sense of satisfaction. By not binding him, they had underestimated him again.

Swollen and clumsy fingers brushed over the pieces of glass, searching for a suitable piece from the breakage. The bottom of the bottle remained intact with an uneven scalloping of glass rising from its base. One portion stuck up an inch above the rest at a deadly point. Another muscle spasm from his abdomen jarred Starsky like a seizure. Be gone soon, anyway...just can’t take any chances…and I’ll be damned if they’ll use me first to get to Hutch! After days of captivity and losing control over his own fate, there was a fierce satisfaction in knowing he still had control over how he would die.

The jagged bottle glowed dully from the dim overhead light. Starsky drew another shaky breath, overwhelmed by pain and the enormity of what he was about to do. Unsteadily, he extended his right arm, trying to judge the distance between his wrist and the free-standing piece of glass. Starsky raised his arm as high as he could and forced himself to keep his eyes open and locked in on the sharp point. The arm trembled in the air for a moment before plunging toward the jagged edge.

"Nothing!" Hutch felt himself at the end of his rope. The hour and a half spent interrogating Randolph and Capernicus’ former employees yielded little. No early call from the extortionist had come through on any of the switchboard lines to Dobey, and the officers staking out Hutch’s apartment had checked in, reporting no calls had been received there either. Hutch leaned heavily against the wall outside the holding tanks. "We haven’t got a single thing we can use. Good God, what am I going to do?"

Dobey gripped Hutch’s shoulder and gave it a quick shake. "First thing you’re going to do is go get a sandwich and some coffee before you fall over, then you’re going to meet me in my office. Something’s gonna break soon, Hutch. We’ve just got to be ready when it does." I just hope it isn’t you that breaks first, son.

Hutch tore his eyes away from the ceiling. Giving a brief nod, he made his way unsteadily down the hall toward the commissary.

Dobey watched Hutch stagger away, the effects of countless days without sleep evident in his every movement. "Good God, is right." The captain’s eyes looked past the ceiling. "Dear Lord, what are we going to do?"

Starsky stared at where his arm lay on the cold cement, scant inches past the dagger-like glass. Survival instincts had kicked in and subconsciously forced his arm away from certain death at the last second. A self-incriminating sob escaped his lips. What kind of a man are you? You’ve lived your life for him, why should it be that hard to die for him?

The rebuke was enough to raise the shaking arm back into the air. God…please remind him how much I loved him.

Starsky’s right arm plunged downward a second time, his eyes riveted on the broken bottle. Even with his agonized muscles screaming in protest, he was able to pierce his wrist on the shard. An uncontrollable cry escaped as the glass ripped through muscles and veins, slipping between bones and nicking the main artery. Blood immediately began to pool and flow from the critical wound.

Without conscious forethought, Starsky began to whisper what he remembered of Kaddish, the ancient prayer for the dead: "Y’hay shlomo rabbo min sh’mayo--May there be abundant peace from Heaven--v’chayim alaynu v’al kol Yisroel--and life, upon us and upon all Israel--v’imru Omein--and say Amen--Oseh sholom bimromov--He who makes peace in his high holy places-- hu ya’aseh sholom olaynu--may He bring peace upon us--v’al kol yisroel--and upon all Israel--vimru Omein--and say Amen."

A surge of fear coursed through Starsky with the thought that perhaps he had not severed enough of the major artery. If that were the case, then he would need to release the glass serving as a dam to hold back his life’s blood. Shaking fingers reached out to pull the imbedded shard free, but Starsky found it increasingly difficult to get a sufficient hold on the slick surface.

Cutting the fingers of his left hand repeatedly with each attempt, the exertion left Starsky panting. As the comfortless darkness began to overtake him, the dying man prayed the initial wound would be fatal.

Chapter Eight