Part Four

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Kenny didn't look too good.

Louis focused his new binoculars a little better. They really worked great. He was nearly two blocks from Kenny and it was as if they were standing right next to one another. Kenny came down the steps of the police station and paused for a moment on the sidewalk. He exchanged a few words with a policewoman standing there and then got into the Torino.

Louis decided not to follow him. For one thing, he was afraid of being spotted. Anyway, he had more important things to do. Back at Funland, where David was waiting for him.

The man on the car radio kept talking about how hot it was and wondering about rain. Louis made only one stop on the way back out to the park. He went into a coffee shop for some sandwiches and things. David would probably be hungry by this time. Besides . . . it would make what he had to do easier.

He wanted to avoid any more hassles. Last night he'd been forced to punish David for trying to get the tape from around his wrists. He hated doing it, but his control had to be maintained. David just had to learn who was the boss.

Before getting out of the car back at the park, Louis pried the plastic top off the cup of Dr. Pepper. He broke open two of the red capsules and dumped the contents in, stirring it well with an extra straw. Then he replaced the lid and put the soda back into the sack.

David was sitting on the cot. Louis sighed in exasperation; the tape on David's wrists was gnawed again and his ankle was bleeding from futile attempts to get free of the chain. But David seemed exhausted from his efforts. He looked up listlessly as Louis came in. The small room was stiflingly hot, especially with the afternoon sun pouring in through the hole in the roof.

"Hello, David."

Starsky didn't answer.

"I brought you lunch."

"I don't want another goddamned Big Mac," he muttered.

"It's not. I got you a nice ham sandwich. And some cold soda."

Starsky shrugged. Louis set the food on the table and sat down in one of the chairs. He began to eat his own sandwich. After a moment, Starsky stood and walked over to the table. Ignoring the sandwich, he picked up the paper cup and began gulping down the soda. It helped a little. He felt like hell and figured that, besides the heat and generally rotten conditions, he was suffering a delayed reaction to the chloroform he'd been drugged with. It happened that way sometimes. He recognized that he was also experiencing a severe depression. A giant case of homesickness. He sat down across from Louis. "So where you been?" he asked, taking a small bite of the sandwich and washing it down with another gulp of soda.

"In the city."

Starsky nodded. That confirmed his suspicion that they were some distance from town. He took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. "'And what did you there?"'

"Huh?" Louis seemed more interested in watching him eat than in his own food. "Oh, I saw Kenny for a little while."

Starsky forced his voice to remain even. "How is Hutch?"

Louis laughed a little, softly. "Actually, he's looking kinda bad. Tired, you know?"

"Yeah." He lost what little appetite he had and pushed the sandwich away. "Tell me something, Louis. Why do you hate Hutch?"

"I have my reasons. Good reasons."

Starsky drained the cup and crumpled it. "So what happens now?"

Louis didn't answer.

Starsky stood. "'Course we could just go through life together in this room, right?" He had been waiting each day for the gun to get far enough away from Louis' hand so that he might have at least a fighting chance of grabbing it. But it never did.

He took one step toward the cot and the room began to spin. He tripped and almost fell, just managing to make the cot before crumbling. "Hey . . . ." he murmured vaguely. Could it be the chloroform again?

"David? Are you all right?"

Louis was standing over him. But he looked funny. Sort of wavy. Far away one second and then right on top of him the next. "You . . . put something . . . in my drink," he said, and then he giggled. "That sounds like . . . a line . . . from an old MGM flick," he said.

"I thought you needed to relax."

"Son . . . of a . . . bitch," Starsky said. He tried to raise his taped hands to hit Louis, but the thought didn't seem to get from his brain to his arms. He stared up at Louis. "Are . . . are you going to . . . kill . . . ?"

"Kill who?"

"Me . . . ." Starsky shook his head, trying to clear away the fog. "No . . . not me . . . Hutch. Are you going to kill him?"

Louis didn't answer immediately; he walked around the room, rubbing his hands together. Starsky blinked, trying to keep him in sight. "One way or another, I will. I don't want to kill him, you know? But he has to be punished. God wants me to punish him. Because of what he did."

"What . . . what did he do?"

"I don't want to talk about that." From somewhere, Louis produced a black medical bag and began to rummage through it. "He should have been my friend. Then I could forgive him. Friends forgive each other."

Starsky was watching him warily. "Hutch is . . . friendly with everybody," he said.

"Not me. He was mean to me. And then . . . and then he killed her."

Starsky's mouth wasn't working right and his words came out thick and twisted sounding. "Killed . . . who?"

"Marcie. My sister. I loved her best in the whole world and Kenny killed her." He took a hypodermic needle from the bag. "You shouldn't be friends with someone like Kenny. You can see that, David, can't you?"

"Hutch is . . . my friend."

"No!" Louis shouted. "I'm your friend, not him. Kenny will hurt you someday, just like he hurt me."

Starsky managed to move his head back and forth a little. "No," he said firmly. "Hutch . . . will never . . . hurt me."

Louis sat down on the edge of the cot, smiling gently. "But he already has, don't you see? You're here because of him." He shifted the hypo in his fingers. "Won't you be my friend, David? Help me to punish Kenny."

Absurdly, he knew, Starsky returned the smile. "No, Louis."

"Well," Louis said regretfully, "you will help me, David, whether you want to or not." He gripped Starsky's arm tightly.

Starsky tried to get away, but the hold on him was too strong. "I don t like . . . needles," he said, willing his body to move. All of his thoughts kept getting sidetracked, though. Nothing seemed to work.

"Close your eyes."

But Starsky shook his head. "Screw . . . you." A great wave of blackness was beginning to descend upon him and he knew that there was no sense in struggling against it. Still, his anger survived and he made one final attempt. "No . . ."

"All your dreams will be pretty," Louis murmured.

Starsky managed to lift his head a little. "Don't hurt him," he said breathlessly. "I'll . . . kill you . . . if you . . . hurt Hutch."

From somewhere far away, he heard laughter and then waves of color and sound swept over him and washed him along helplessly.

~~~

Hutch's earlier optimism had faded and now he could only sit at his desk reading through the reports of every arrest he had made since he first joined the force. It was slow, boring, and thus far, useless work.

Someone was standing by his desk. The uniformed cop looked vaguely familiar. "Detective Hutchinson?"

"Yes?" Hutch said, reaching for his cold coffee and taking a swallow.

"Mike Powers . . . you remember me?"

After a moment, Hutch nodded. "Oh, sure, Mike . . .how you doing?"

"Fine," Powers replied, twisting his hat in his hands. "I just wanted to let you know . . . I'm sorry about your partner." His voice was quiet. "I know how you feel."

"Yeah, I guess you do." Hutch leaned back for the coffee pot and poured more into his cup. "Want some?"

"Uh, no, I gotta get on the street." He gestured toward the hallway, where a slim black officer waited. "That's my new partner."

"Wilkins. I know him. A good man."

Powers nodded. "Yeah. He seems like a nice guy." They were silent for a moment. "I still . . . well, I miss him, you know?"

Hutch was sipping at the coffee; it was at least hot, even if it tasted like tar. "You'll be okay," he said finally.

"Oh, sure." Powers held out one hand. "So will you, Sergeant. Good luck."

They shook. "Take care," Hutch said.

"You, too."

Hutch watched as Powers walked out and joined his partner. The two men spoke quietly for a minute, then both smiled a little and they left. Yeah, Powers would be okay, Hutch thought. And what about himself? Oh, he'd be all right, too. What had he said to Starsk before, about Powers? "He'll get a new partner. That's all." Well, he had. Simple as that.

He tried to imagine a new partner for himself. Couldn't do it.

Dobey, unnoticed, had come in and was standing next to Hutch's desk, a computer readout in one hand. "Hutchinson," he said. Then, when Hutch's glassy expression didn't change, he said again, more sharply, "Hutchinson!"

Hutch raised his bleary eyes. "Huh? Oh, yeah?"

Dobey stared at him. "You need a shave."

"Yeah, Captain, right. I need a shave. I need to change my socks and underwear. I also need twelve, no, eighteen hours of sleep. And several thousand milligrams of vitamin C. But do you k'now what I need most of all?"

Dobey didn't like the rising tension in the tone of Hutch's voice. Day by day, hour by hour, it was increasing. "Yes, Ken, I know. Take it easy. It's going to work out okay."

Hutch sighed and sat back. "Yeah, so everybody keeps telling me. Well, clap your hands if you believe in fairies. Personally, I don't think there are any more happy endings."

"Maybe." Dobey lifted the paper. "You know a guy named Mitchell? Louis Alfred Mitchell?"

Hutch rubbed his face and thought. "Did I ever bust him?"

"No. This would have been years ago."

"Mitchell . . . ." He raised his eyes suddenly. "Louis Mitchell? Yeah . . . hell, he grew up in my neighborhood. Why?"

"We just got a communiqué from the state police in Minnesota. This Mitchell has been in and out of mental hospitals for about ten years. Two weeks ago, he got out again. This time without permission. Killed a psychiatrist, took a large sum of money and a supply of drugs and disappeared. They think he might have come this way."

Hutch grabbed the paper and read it quickly.

"You know any reason why this guy would have it in for you?"

"Hell . . . after all these years? I haven't even seen the creep since before I went to Nam."

"Creep?"

Hutch nodded. "Yeah. Louis was strange . . . even when we were kids, he never fit in. A lot of us tried, but he was just . . . strange." He swiveled the chair back and forth. "I once saw him kill a kitten. The animal scratched him on the hand and he became so furious that he grabbed the kitten and twisted its neck until it died. I tried to stop him, but . . . even after I knocked him down, he wouldn't let go. And then he laughed." He tossed the computer readout onto his desk. "Jesus, I can still hear that laugh of his. And now he's got Starsk?"

"I'd say the odds are in favor of his being our man."

"Yeah. We have a picture?"

"They're sending one across the wire. Should have it soon."

"APB?"

"It's going out now."

Hutch rubbed the back of his neck. "I can't understand why. I mean, I always thought he was a fruitcake, but to show up here after all these years and start killing people . . . and snatching Starsk. Hurting people that he doesn't even know . . . .

"The man is insane."

"Yeah."

"Hutchinson, you better go home for awhile." Dobey raised a hand to forestall the protest. "That's an order. Shave. Shower. Eat something. Take your damned vitamin whatever. Hutch, it's not going to do Starsky any good if you collapse."

"I'm all right," Hutch insisted.

Dobey's gaze went pointedly to Hutch's trembling hands.

Hutch sighed. "All right. But I'm coming back later."

"Sure. But try to get some sleep first, will you?"

The muggy air hit Hutch like a brick wall when he stepped out of the building. He made the drive home like an automaton, listening dully to the APB being broadcast for Mitchell. "It's a big city," he said aloud. And I seem to be talking to myself a lot lately. Isn't that a bad sign? Maybe I'm going crazy, too. "Fifteen square miles of city," he said. "Is this another game of hide-and-seek, Starsk?"

And who said they're still in the city?

"It's a big state. A big country. And a damned big world."

Assuming that Starsky was still alive. Hutch remembered something that Mike Powers had said when his partner was killed. Something about the fact that he should have known McGowan was dead. Hutch wondered if he could feel it if Starsk was dead.

"Yeah. Yeah, I would." And damn the logic that said he wouldn't.

He parked the Torino and sat there for another moment, listening to the APB one more time. Somehow he didn't expect much to come of that. Maybe he had known from the very beginning of this case that, in the end, it was going to come down to a battle between the murderer and himself. Now he felt that way even more strongly.

"Aim, hell," he said. He got out of the car and started toward his apartment. From somewhere, he could hear a faint roll of thunder.

**

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

He was running . . . running . . .and something was chasing him . . . a huge, shapeless, rolling beast . . . a creature of many colors . . . grayblack . . . yellowred . . . closer and closer it came . . . his legs were pumping madly, but his feet wouldn't move . . . the beast came closer . . . closerclosercloser . . . .

He sat up. Someone was screaming. The voice was full of terror and he thought perhaps he should do something to help the person who was so frightened. Then he recognized that it was his own voice that he heard. But he couldn't stop. He just kept screaming and screaming.

Someone was shaking him. A hard slap to his face knocked him against the wall. "DAVID! DAVID!" a voice yelled at him. A face took shape in front of his eyes. He tried to get away, but his body wouldn't move.

Then, suddenly, it was over.

He fell, drenched in sweat and panting, back onto the cot and opened his eyes. Someone he thought he should know was crouching next to the bed. "David? Are you all right now?"

He didn't know who this person was, but he knew that he was scared. He wanted to get away. An idea took fragile shape in his mind. "I . . . I need to . . . take a leak," he said. "Let me go to . . . the john."

"Well . . . okay. But be careful." Louis didn't go for the gun. He bent to unlock the chain from Starsky's leg and as soon as the padlock fell open, Starsky moved. He brought both arms down onto the back of Louis' neck. Louis toppled over like a tree.

Starsky slid from the cot and got to his feet. His eyes weren't working right. Everything wavered and quivered in front of him. He tried to figure out where the door was. That was all he could think of. Just get out. Get away. He forgot the gun. Forgot the scalpel. He opened the door and stumbled out into the night. As he ran, he gnawed desperately at the tape around his wrists.

He fell, scraping both knees against the ground. A sharp pebble dug into his leg. He held the rock pressed between his knees and rubbed it against the tape around his wrists until finally the tape broke and his hands were free.

Struggling to his feet again, he moved toward a light and a familiar shape in the distance. By the time he reached the phone booth, there was a number in his mind. He didn't know whose number it was; it wasn't his own, that much he was sure of. He giggled a little as he pushed open the door of the booth. Wouldn't do any good to call his place. After all, he wasn't there. After the fit of giggles passed, he dug one hand into the pocket of the cut-off s, looking for change, and finally came up with some coins. He tried to get one into the slot, dropped it, tried to bend and retrieve it, gave that up and tried another coin. This time, it worked and he slowly, painfully, dialed the numbers that were making a vague memory in his head.

There were some clicks and other machine noises and then a tinny voice told him more money was needed. He kept shoving coins into the slot until the voice said, "Thank you," and then he heard a phone ringing on the other end.

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Hutch couldn't sleep. He had done everything else Dobey ordered. Showered. Shaved. Ate a carton of yogurt. Swallowed some vitamin C and several other miscellaneous nutrients. But he couldn't sleep. He got dressed again. Watched the evening news on TV--where they no longer even mentioned the fact that a local detective was still missing. Time and the EYEWITNESS REPORT waited for no man. He listened to the weather. They were still saying that it might rain.

He walked around the apartment. Watered the plants. Finally, he went into the bedroom to get his shoes and socks. To hell with it. He'd go back to work.

Ollie was sitting on the high shelf in the closet. Hutch saw him, paused, and took the stuffed bear down. Terri' s note was stuck to the toy with a piece of yellowing Scotch tape. Not knowing why, Hutch carried the bear back into the living room and sat down on the couch.

He knew what the note said by heart, although he' d not read it since that first time, and he'd been drunk then. They were both drunk that night, at their private wake for Terri. Both drunk, both crying; the tears helped to purge the grief. He spoke the words aloud to the uninterested room. "To dearest Hutch . . . to you I entrust Ollie and Dave. Please love them both and don't let either one of them change." His voice cracked a little. "Damnit, Ollie," he said. "I don't know if you and I can make it alone."

The phone rang.

He almost didn't answer it. He was afraid of what he might hear. Could be Dobey: "Hutchinson, we've got another body."

The phone kept ringing.

Still holding Ollie, he lifted the receiver. "Hello?"

There was no voice on the other end, just the sound of someone breathing.

"Hello?" he said again. "Look, I don't go in for funny phone calls."

Then, softly, hesitantly: "Hut . . . Hutch?"

He thought for a moment that he was dreaming.

"Hutch . . . ?

"Starsk?" Hutch's eyes closed as he fought for steadiness. "My god, Starsk . . . ?"

"Hey . . . Hutch. . . he . . . he's got me . . . Hutch?"

"Starsk, where are you? Where are you? Are you all right?"

It sounded like Starsky was crying; he sniffled loudly. "It's after me . . . I keep trying to run, but . . . I can't . . . oh, Hutch . . . ."

Hutch tried to keep his voice calm. "Tell me where you are, Starsk."

"I don't know . . . phone booth . . . it's all dark and funny colors . . . nothing is standing still . . . .

"Starsk, listen, please." His partner kept mumbling. "Listen to me, Starsky," Hutch said sharply. There was a silence on the other end of the line. "Are you listening?"

"Y . . . yes, Hutch."

What the hell is wrong with him? "Starsky, look straight out the front of the phone booth. Are you doing that?"

"Yeah . . . ."

"What do you see?"

"Huh? Oh . . . a horse . . . a blue horse . . . big."

Jesus, he's totally zonked. "Starsk, please . . . look again. You don't see a big blue horse, do you?"

"Uh-huh . . . yesyesyesyesyes!" His voice rose in near hysteria.

"All right, Starsk, all right. Take it easy."

"I hurt, Hutch . . . I hurt . . . ."

"Shh, okay, I'm going to help you. Now, babe, look out to your right. What do you see?"

"Right?" Starsky muttered to himself again, apparently trying to determine which way was right. "A building . . . a big building."

Hutch licked at the sweat forming above his upper lip. "Okay, good. Are there any words on the building?"

"Words? Uh, yeah, yeah."

"What do the words say, Starsk?"

"Uh . . . M . . . A . . . Z . . . Hutch, I hurt, please."

"Read the letters, babe, come on. Tell me what the letters say and I'll come get you."

"No!" Starsky yelled the word.

"Starsk? What's wrong?"

"He . . . wants to . . . kill you . . . don't come."

"Read the letters, buddy. M-A-Z, what's next?"

"Letters? M . . . A . . . "

"You said that already, partner, what's next?"

"M . . . A . . . oh, no," Starsky suddenly whimpered.

"What? You okay?"

"He's coming . . . he's coming to get me . . . Hutch, Hutch, please, help me."

"Where are you!" Hutch shouted into the phone. "For christ' s sake, babe, where are you?"

"Hutch . . . ." It was a faint whisper, filled with despair and pain, fear and hopelessness. It didn't sound like Starsky at all, but like some lost, scared little kid.

"Starsk?" Hutch heard the sound of the receiver hitting against the wall of the phone booth. Then he could hear voices, but the words were unintelligible. He listened desperately, straining to understand.

"HUTCH . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . "

The one piercing scream came over the wire clearly and struck Hutch like a sharp blade in the heart. "Starsky?" he whispered. A moment later, someone was breathing into the other phone. He knew it wasn't Starsky. "Louis?" he said softly.

"Hello, Kenny. How'd you know it was me?"

"I'm a cop, remember? It's my business."

Louis seemed to find that funny. "Yeah, right."

"What'd you do to Starsky?"

"David was getting a little upset. I just gave him another shot. Now he's all nice and relaxed. Quiet. But he'll be punished for what he did. David is very stubborn, do you know?"

"Where are you, Louis? It's me you really want, right? Tell me where you are and I'll come. Then you can let Starsky go."

There was a pause and he thought that maybe Louis was going to agree. But then he chuckled again. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? No, I won't tell you. Not yet. You're the big hero cop. Find me if you can."

The phone clicked as Louis very carefully hung up.

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Hutch just sat there, listening to the dial tone until the phone began squawking in protest, and then he hung up, too. He realized that he was still holding Ollie in his hand. He looked at the bear for a, long moment, then carefully propped it in one corner of the couch. "A big blue horse?" he muttered, quickly pulling on his shoes and socks. "MAZ? What the hell is all that supposed to mean?"

Driving to headquarters, he tried to imagine what the letters M-A-Z might signify. Mazzard? Mazurka? Maze? Mazaedium? None of which made much sense. Or it could be a name. MAZ . . . something.

MAZ and a big blue horse.

He deliberately kept thinking about those things and that kept him from remembering the sound of his name being screamed, from remembering the pure terror in the voice, from thinking about what might be happening to Starsky right now.

Dobey looked up in surprise when Hutch came crashing into his office. "What's going on?"

Hutch dropped into a chair, gripping the arms. "I talked to Starsk."

"What?" Dobey said, obviously stunned.

Hutch quickly related the details of what had happened. "All he talked about was that big blue horse," he finished. "And M-A-Z." He slumped in the chair, chewing on his fingernail. "He was drugged."

"Well, that fits in with the report from Minnesota. Mitchell has a whole cache of drugs he took from the hospital."

"Yeah." Hutch's mind wandered for a moment as he recalled his own experience with drugs. Strung out and hurting. Crashing down and nearly checking out. And Starsky there with him the whole time. He never would have made it without him. And now his partner needed him and where was he? Sitting here passing the time of day with Dobey.

Dobey toyed with some pencils on his desk. "How did Starsky sound?" he asked finally, quietly.

"Huh? Oh . . . good as could be expected, I guess. Except that he was talking so crazy." Hutch gave a rueful half-smile. "It was good to hear his voice."

The captain nodded his understanding. "Well, at least we know he' s still alive."

"Or he was. Half an hour ago."

Dobey's forehead wrinkled. "You talked to Mitchell. What's your evaluation? Think he'd kill Starsky?"

"Who the hell knows? He's a madman." Hutch was silent for a moment, before continuing thoughtfully, "Still . . . no, I don't think he will. Not yet anyway. I got the impression he was enjoying the game."

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"The game?"

"Using Starsk as bait. He wants me to jump when he whistles." Hutch sighed and got to his feet. "See you."

"Where are you going?"

"To hunt down a blue horse, I guess. What else do I have?" He opened the door.

"Hutchinson."

He looked around without speaking.

Dobey's eyes were hard. "When Mitchell whistles . . . ."

"Yeah?"

"Don't jump without letting me know. I mean it," he added sharply, as Hutch seemed about to protest. "This isn't a private battle between you and Mitchell."

Hutch's voice was colder than Dobey had ever heard it. "He's got my partner."

"Hutchinson, if you try to turn this into a personal vendetta, you could wind up in big trouble."

"Starsky's already in big trouble."

"Don't you think I know that? All I'm saying is, handle it right."

Hutch nodded, his eyes midnight dark. "Okay. I'll try."

"You'll try?" Dobey said tightly.

"Man, that's the best I can do. I won't promise."

They stared at each other for a long moment. Dobey lowered his gaze first, looking at a report on his desk. Hutch started to say something else, then changed his mind and went out, closing the door quietly.

**

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Louis sat on the floor and watched David.

It had been hours since the last shot and David had scarcely moved or made a sound, beyond an occasional low mumbling. Louis was beginning to worry a little. Maybe he'd given him too much stuff. He leaned over the cot. "David?" he said. "David, wake up."

Obediently, David's eyes opened; his gaze was unfocused. "Huh?" he said thickly.

"Are you awake now?"

"Yeah . . . yeah . . . Hutch?"

Louis took hold of Starsky's arm and squeezed it tightly. "No. No. Not Kenny. This is Louis."

Starsky suddenly whimpered and tried to crawl away. "No . . . ."

"You can't go anywhere, David. I have you all chained up and I won't let you get away again. That was a very bad thing you did before. You hurt me."

Starsky shook his head. "Sorry . . .sorry . . . ."

"Well, I've decided to forgive you. This time." He pointed to Starsky's knees. "See? I even cleaned up your legs where you hurt them. Aren't I your friend, David? Don't I take care of you?" As he spoke, his hands smoothed ointment on Starsky's scraped knees. "I take good care of you. Not like Kenny. Kenny lets you get hurt. Remember the time you were shot?"

Starsky wanted to object. Hutch tried . . . he tried to get there on time . . . he didn't want me to get shot . . . Hutch would never hurt me . . . he cares.

"And remember when that guy beat you up on the porch? I saw that. Kenny should have helped you."

He tried . . . he came as fast as he could . . . it was so quick . . . .

Louis finished his ministrations on Starsky's knees. "You shouldn't have called Kenny, David. We don't want him here. Not yet. Not until we' re ready."

"I want . . . ."

Louis stood and spoke briskly. "When I was in town last time, I bought a new surprise. Guess what?"

"I saw . . . I saw the horse," Starsky said suddenly, clearly, rationally. "I saw the big blue horse."

"What? Oh, yeah. His name is Prince. I read it on the sign. Prince. That's a nice name for a horse, I think." He was busy ripping open a paper sack. He pulled out a camera and beamed proudly. "See? Isn't this nice? It's the kind that gives you the picture in only sixty seconds."

But Starsky didn't seem to hear him; he was talking to himself, shaking the chain angrily.

Louis shrugged and began to read the instructions on using the camera. It took him nearly forty-five minutes to figure it all out and get the film properly loaded. "Stand up, David," he said finally. "I want to take your picture."

"Go to hell, you son of a bitch."

Louis walked over to the cot, grabbed Starsky by the hair, and lifted him. "Get up!" he shouted, throwing him against the generator. "I said I want to take your picture."

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Starsky hit the generator with a crash and sank to his knees. Somehow, he managed to push himself into a standing position. "I ain't saying cheese," he mumbled, wiping blood from his chin.

Louis didn't answer. He pointed the camera and snapped the picture. "There," he began, "that wasn't so bad--"

To Starsky's clouded mind, the flash from the camera seemed to explode like a bomb. The whole room was ignited in a blinding, burning light that was trying to consume him. He covered his face, screaming, and tried to get away. He ran until he reached the end of the chain and then fell flat, jerked back harshly. "No," he moaned, "nononononono." He rolled around desperately, trying to keep the flames from devouring him.

Louis tore the developing picture from the camera and dropped it on the table. He grabbed Starsky, trying to hold him down against the floor. "David! Stop it, David!"

Finally, he relaxed, still trembling, but quiet. Louis helped him up and back to the cot. "You all right now?"

"Y . . . yes."

Louis patted his shoulder, not appearing to notice that Starsky flinched away from the touch. "Sure, you're okay. 'Cause I was taking care of you. Isn't that right?"

Starsky nodded.

"Do you know whose fault it is that you're hurting?"

"N . . . no."

"It's Kenny's fault."

Starsky shook his head. "No, not Hut . . . Hutch."

"Yes, it is." Louis' fingers tightened their grip. "It's his fault. Kenny is evil; he hurts you. I don't hurt you because I'm your friend. Who takes care of you?"

Always placate a madman. From somewhere in the confused mess of Starsky's mind, the thought rang clearly. "You do," Starsky whispered.

"Who hurts you?"

"Hut . . . Kenny."

Louis smiled. "Yes, that's right."

Starsky huddled on the cot, his whole body hurting. He wanted to fight Louis; at least, part of him did. He wanted to call back his traitorous words, deny the lies. But he was so tired. So sick. It was easier to accept. Easier to give up. He was probably never going to get out of here anyway. He would die in this hot, stinking room. Hutch would never find him. Probably his partner had stopped looking. He'd been here so long. Hadn't he? Weeks, he thought. Maybe longer. So surely Hutch would've given him up by now. Figured he was dead. Found a new partner and gone on with his life. Silent tears rolled out of Starsky's eyes and coursed down his face.

Louis walked over to the table and picked up the picture. It had come out very nicely. He gazed at it proudly. David was looking directly into the camera and there was blood trickling down his chin. Louis wondered how Kenny would feel when he saw it. Guilty? Maybe.

Pretty soon Kenny would join them. Soon.

Louis glanced over toward the cot. David was half-asleep and talking to himself again. His face glistened wetly. Louis smiled faintly as he sat down to address the envelope. A streak of lightning zig-zagged across the sky. Maybe it really was going to rain.

Two days.

~~~

Hutch could not believe that two days had passed since his phone conversation with Starsky. During that time, he'd made no progress. None. He still had no idea what M-A-Z meant or what the hell Starsky could have meant by all of his talk about a big blue horse.

Of course, it all could mean nothing. Everything Starsky said might have been part of a drug-induced fantasy. That's what Dobey thought and there were moments when Hutch was beginning to agree. But Starsky had sounded so sure. Dobey hadn't heard him. And even if Dobey had, he didn't know Starsky, not as well as Hutch.

Hutch reached into the desk drawer and brought out two items. The first was an arrest warrant for Louis Mitchell, on kidnapping charges. He was holding that in reserve until needed. The other paper was a colored pencil sketch of a blue horse. Jacobs, the police artist, had given Hutch a strange look upon hearing his request. But then the jovial man shrugged and complied. Hutch had stared at the sketch for hours and it was still nothing more than a picture of a blue horse.

"Sergeant Hutchinson?"

He looked up and saw a clerk standing there. "Yes?" he said, trying to sound civil. On two hours sleep out of the last forty-eight, civility did not come easily.

"You have some mail. Marked urgent and personal."

He took the envelope and saw his name printed carefully on the front. There was no return address. "Thanks," he said belatedly to the already-gone clerk. He took a sip of coffee and ripped the envelope open.

The photo fell, face-up, onto the desk.

Click on illo to see larger version

Hutch stared at it for a long time, not touching the glossy picture, just looking. Starsky looked like a caged beast, desperate to escape, but knowing there was no place to go. There was blood trickling down his chin. He looked . . . scared.

Finally, Hutch picked up the photo and carried it into Dobey's office. Without speaking, he dropped it onto the Captain's desk. Dobey glanced at it and then at Hutch. "So. A new move."

"Yeah."

Dobey picked the picture up by an edge. "What' s that behind him?"

"Huh? I didn't notice." He bent closer to look. "Looks like a machine of some kind."

"A generator," Dobey said.

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "A fairly good-sized one. Something like that could provide a lot of power."

"Think it's a factory, maybe?"

"Could be."

Hutch swore under his breath. "We keep learning. We keep getting more 'clues', whatever the hell that means, but we never get any closer to Starsky."

Dobey looked thoughtful. "You know, Hutchinson, I have a feeling that sooner or later, Mitchell will tell us where Starsky is."

"Oh, sure."

"Sure?"

Hutch nodded. "I've known that ever since I spoke to him. Like I said, this is a game."

Dobey's gaze went back to the picture. "Looks like Starsky is the big loser. Starsky and three dead men."

Hutchinson didn't answer. He picked up the photo and left Dobey's office.

Dobey sat still for a moment, his face creased. He reached for the phone, dialing an adjoining office. "This is Dobey. When Detective Sergeant Hutchinson leaves the building, I want a tail put on him. A good one. And stick close."

He hung up slowly.

The old lady looked vaguely familiar to Hutch. She was sitting in a chair next to his desk, watching the activity in the squad room with eager eyes. "May I help you, ma'am?"

"Oh, Detective Hutchinson. Remember me? Miss Corby?"

He remembered then. The cookie-and-lemonade lady. "Sure, I remember," he said. "You have something to tell me about the case?"

"Well, no," she replied.

Hutch hadn't thought so. He sat down and tried to sound cordial. "Well?"

"I read in the paper about that other officer being kidnapped. Such a terrible thing. Have you found him yet?"

"No, ma'am, not yet."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry; such a terrible thing."

"Thank you for your concern."

She reached into a voluminous shopping bag and pulled out a wrapped package. "I noticed how much your friend enjoyed my cookies when you two were visiting me before."

Hutch managed a faint smile. "Yes, ma'am, he did."

"So I baked up a special batch just for him. I thought perhaps you could give them to him when he's found." She held the package out to him.

After a moment, he took it. It was another moment before he could trust himself to speak. "Thank you, Miss Corby," he said softly. "I'll make sure that Detective Starsky gets the cookies. I know he'll appreciate them."

She smiled. "Have faith. You're both good boys and I know everything will turn out all right." Her conviction seemed to radiate across the desk and touch him. "Well, I know you're busy, so I'll be on my way." As she stood, her gaze skimmed over the top of Hutch's desk. Her eyes brightened. "Why, my gracious, that makes me think of Prince."

Hutch, tucking the cookies into a drawer, glanced up. "Beg your pardon?"

"That drawing. It reminds me so much of Prince."

Slowly, Hutch reached out for the artist's rendering of the blue horse. "This?"

"Yes, indeed."

His mouth was dry. "Who is Prince, Miss Corby?"

"When I was a child, every summer my father would take me out to the Funland Amusement Park for a whole day."

"Funland? I've never heard of it."

"Oh, it's been closed down for a number of years now. But Prince was always my favorite thing to see."

Hutch fought back the impulse to grab the woman and shake the rest of the story out of her. "Prince? The horse was at the park?"

"Oh, yes. He was a large wooden horse painted the most lovely shade of blue."

He ran the tip of his tongue across his lips. "This horse was in the park?"

"Just outside the main gate."

Hutch searched frantically through a drawer and finally found the map, which he spread on top of the desk. "Can you show me where this park is?"

"Well . . . ." She leaned over the desk and studied the map carefully before pointing a neat, white finger. "Right there."

Hutch gave a long, long sigh, closing his eyes.

"Detective Hutchinson, are you all right?" Miss Corby asked.

He opened his eyes. "Yes, ma'am," he said, folding the map quickly. "I'm better than I've been in a long time." He bent and kissed her on one wrinkled cheek. "I love you."

She blushed and tittered all the way out of the squad room.

Hutch sank into the chair, his hands clasped together tightly, his face revealing none of the turmoil that was going on inside. It was so simple now. All he had to do was step into Dobey's office and tell him where Starsky was. In moments, a virtual convoy of cars and armed men would be on their way to rescue his partner. So why wasn't he on his way into Dobey's office?

Well, it was his partner. That was part of it. And this whole thing was his fault. Still . . . he wasn't an idiot or suicidal. At least, he didn't think he was suicidal. Not yet, anyway.

But Hutch still felt that the final battle was one that would be fought--must be fought--between two men. Louis and himself. That was the way Louis wanted it and if his wish was thwarted, he would kill Starsky. Hutch felt very sure of that. He picked up the envelope that the photo had arrived in and noticed for the first time that there was also a slip of paper tucked inside. He took it out and carefully unfolded it. The block letters were precisely made. Neat. There were only two words written on the paper and they proved what Hutch had felt for so long. Louis expected to be found. Even wanted to be found, at least subconsciously. Hutch ran one fingertip along each letter carefully. COME ALONE.

That was all the note said. It was enough. There didn't have to be any threats or hints of what would happen to Starsky if the order was disregarded. It was all very understated and casual. It also scared the hell out of Hutch.

He folded the note again and tucked it into his shirt pocket. Then he picked up the warrant and, looking like a man going out for coffee, he strolled from the squad room and headed for the car.

He hadn't gone more than three blocks when he spotted the tail. It didn't surprise him very much. Dobey was no fool. But he couldn't allow Dobey's plan to work. There was no way he would lead that car to Louis, thus risking Starsky's life. No way. Probably there would be hell to pay later, but if Starsky was back safely it wouldn't matter. And if Starsky wasn't all right, it wouldn't matter either.

The unremarkable black sedan was sticking close. Hutch made a sudden turn and headed toward Starsky's apartment--because it was closer than his own place. The sedan immediately followed. He parked in Starsky's usual spot and got out, carefully not glancing toward the tail.

He climbed the steps and went inside, hoping that the two cops in the sedan would enjoy staring at the Torino for a while. He went through Starsky's place, not even pausing for a moment, and climbed out the fire escape that ran down the back of the building. Two minutes later, he was in a taxi on his way to the garage where his own car was.

The mechanic on duty eyed him malevolently. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "The car is done. Been done for two days; I was about ready to start charging you rent."

Hutch couldn't be bothered. He paid for the car and drove away, leaving the mechanic still talking. As he left the city, Hutch tried to figure out just what he should do when he reached the park. Just go walking in calmly and say, "All right, you son of a bitch, here I am"? That might work. Or break the door down and go in shooting? Hell, he didn't know.

He didn't even know for sure that Starsk was still alive. Unless he'd misread Louis completely, he should be. Should be. That wasn't much to hold on to. It was damned little, in fact. But it was all he had right then, so he clung to it.

He hunched over the steering wheel and watched for the turn-off that would take him to Funland. And Starsky.

**

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

There was a sense of frenzy in the day.

It began before dawn. Louis came into the room, slammed the door, and stood watching as Starsky woke from his drugged, heavy sleep. "David?"

"Huh?"

"Are you listening to me?"

Starsky tried to see, tried to listen, but every-thing was shrouded in a thick gray fog that would not dissipate. He struggled to sit up a little, leaning one shoulder against the wall. "Huh? Yeah, yeah . . . I' m listening."

Louis paced the room, repeatedly wiping his palms against the front of his shirt. "Too hot to sleep," he said. "I got a funny feeling."

Starsky rested his head on his knees. "Yeah? Is it hot?" he mumbled.

Louis looked at him impatiently. "What's the matter with you, David?"

"Nothing."

"Well, get up. Let's have breakfast."

"Not hungry."

"Get up, I said," Louis repeated irritably. "It's time for breakfast. We have a busy day ahead of us."

"Yeah?" Starsky finally managed to get up from the cot and stumble over to the table, where Louis was unwrapping two Carnation breakfast bars. Starsky took one, nibbled at the corner, and made a face. "I don't like this."

"Eat it. It's good for you." He ate his own bar. "I bet you're tired of staying in this room, aren't you?" he asked cheerfully.

"Uh-huh."

"Well, I think I'll let you go outside today. We'll go for a walk around the park."

"What park?"

"My park. It all belongs to me now. I'll show you everything."

"Terrific."

Louis was fastidious about certain things. His tidy habits stemmed, primarily, from numerous long stays in various hospitals, where habit becomes deeply ingrained. Habit in the wards included such daily activities as washing, brushing one's teeth, and shaving. Presentability was considered very important. One might be mad, but that was no excuse for slovenliness.

Just because he was no longer in the hospital or under the bright-eyed scrutiny of Doctor Goldbaum, Louis saw no reason to abandon the rituals. Each morning, he washed in the cold water that was available, brushed his teeth, and shaved with his single-edged razor. It all served to make him feel better able to face whatever the day might bring. Additionally, he felt that it was his responsibility to extend these habits to David. So, when his own ablutions were complete, he always brought water, soap, toothpaste, and the razor to the cot and stood watching as David did a rather superficial job of cleaning himself. This morning, though, David's hands were trembling so badly that Louis was afraid to let him use the razor. So he took on the job himself, carefully soaping David's face and running the razor over it.

Starsky longed to escape the too-intimate contact; his stomach heaved at the touch of Louis' soft fingers on his face and neck. But he was afraid to move away, not knowing what Louis might do. So he clenched his teeth and bore it. Louis wiped the last of the soap from Starsky's face carefully. "Do you think that Kenny will find us?" he asked suddenly, as he cleaned the razor.

Starsky was startled by the unexpected question and it was a moment before he could reply. "I don't know."

"You know Kenny."

"Yes."

"So what do you think?"

Starsky thought. Sometimes lately, it had been difficult to even remember what his life had been like before Louis brought him to this room. Sometimes he could hardly even remember Hutch. Now he concentrated very hard, closing his eyes with the effort, and he could see an image. A face. Yeah, that was Hutch. He opened his eyes and nodded. "Yes. Hutch will find us," he said firmly. The image was gone now, but he felt very sure that Hutch would come.

Louis apparently agreed. He got up to put the shaving things away. "I think it might be today," he said.

"Why?"

"I just have a feeling." He sighed.

Starsky felt a surge of hope and a flicker of fear flow through him at the same time. Hope that this whole thing would soon be over. Fear of what might happen when Hutch did show up.

It was fully light outside now. Louis began to make preparations for their excursion out of the room. He carefully and tightly re-taped Starsky's wrists. Then, using a short length of chain, he fastened Starsky's legs together and released him from the long chain. "You can walk now," he said, "but don't try to run, or you'll just fall down."

"I won't."

"If you do, David, I'll shoot you. Believe me."

"Yeah."

"I don't really need you anymore. Kenny will be coming."

"I know."

Louis nodded, satisfied that Starsky would behave.

Starsky had no intention of trying to run. He had to keep himself alive at least long enough to prevent Louis from killing Hutch. Getting himself shot wouldn't help Hutch one damned bit. Louis shoved Starsky out through the door in front of him and Starsky was suddenly outside for the first time in longer than he could remember. It was a muggy, overcast day. The first thing he saw was a huge wooden horse, its blue paint chipped and faded. He stared at it, vaguely remembering it, but not quite sure of its significance.

Louis nudged him a little. "Come on. I want to show you the mazes. It's my favorite building."

Starsky stumbled in the direction Louis indicated. "I like the merry-go-round," he mumbled.

"Later."

Starsky glanced around at Louis. The gun was in his right hand, deceptively casual. That didn't scare Starsky as much as the sight of the too-familiar hypodermic needle that he could see in Louis' shirt pocket.

When they reached the MAZES OF FUN, Louis took a cloth from his pocket and tied it around Starsky's eyes. "We're going to play a game," he said. "I'll take you to the very center of the maze and then we'll see if you can find your way back out. Okay?"

Starsky didn't answer. He tried to concentrate on the route Louis dragged him along, but they turned so often, seeming to backtrack, and spent so much time going in circles, that he was totally confused. Louis obviously knew the maze well. Like a dumb animal trained to run the labyrinth as his best trick, Starsky thought bitterly.

When they finally stopped, Louis did not remove the blindfold immediately. Starsky tried to pull away when he felt the needlepoint touch his arm, but then he also felt the edge of the scalpel pressed against has jugular and he stayed very still. The needle slipped in, deposited its poison, and slid out again. Louis stepped away. "Keep your eyes closed," he ordered, pulling off the blindfold. "Count to one hundred slowly, then open your eyes and try to get out. Understand? Do you understand, David?"

The drug seemed to react more quickly in his system each time that Louis injected him. Already, reality was getting fuzzy. Starsky managed to nod.

"Count out loud so that I can hear you. Loud, real loud."

"One!" Starsky yelled. He could hear Louis' footsteps moving away. "Seven!" He couldn't tell which way Louis was going. "Twenty-five!" His own voice seemed to echo all around him. He kept counting, kept shouting. "Seventy-three!" Louis was gone. He was alone, but he kept counting. "One hundred!"

Now there was total silence in the maze. He opened his eyes slowly and saw three passages. One was the correct way out. But even as he watched, the passages seemed to change, shift, waver. He rubbed his eyes with his taped hands, took three steps, and fell sideways against the wall. Damned drugs must be affecting my . . . my equilibrium, he thought. He tried again and this time guessed. correct1y.The passage led somewhere.

Step by step, he made his way toward what he hoped would be the exit. Someplace out there, Louis was waiting for him. Someplace out there, Hutch was looking for him. What if Hutch arrived while he was trapped in this damn place? Louis would kill him and there would be nothing he could do about it.

He moved faster and faster, bumping into the wall at each step, nearly falling, moving again. Without knowing it, he began to sob, gasping for breath. The beasts were chasing him again and if the monsters were merely his own fears, his own terrors given substance only within his imagination, they were no less frightening for that.

"Louis!" he yelled.

From somewhere, he could hear laughter. Colors began to spin around him. He couldn't move anymore. Helplessly, he sank into a corner. "Hutch?" he said between hoarse sobs. "Somebody . . . ? Please, help me . . . ."

But there was only laughter and the raspy sound of his own crying.

**

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Hutch parked one-half mile from the entrance to Funland, on the very edge of the huge parking lot. He took his gun from the holster and checked it automatically with one part of his mind on that and the rest of his thoughts on what lay ahead. Then he slid out of the car, leaving his jacket behind, and quietly shut the door behind him. The muggy afternoon air was perfectly still.

As he approached the amusement park, the first thing he saw was the big blue horse that sat just outside the main gate. A blue horse. He looked at it for a moment, sighing. Poor Starsk. Everybody thought he'd gone crazy. Well, I believed him. Mostly. The lock on the gate had been smashed long ago and there was a faint rusty creak as he pushed it open and went into the park. He smiled grimly as a sign caught his eye. MAZES OF FUN. M-A-Z. So far, Starsky was batting a thousand.

Hutch wondered which of the buildings might hold a generator. He turned away from the MAZES OF FUN and started toward a smaller wooden structure with no sign.

"Stop there, Kenny." The voice, soft and almost kind, came from behind him. He started to lift the gun. "Don't do that, Kenny," the voice admonished.

"Hello, Louis," he said, holding quite still.

"Drop the gun carefully."

Hutch hesitated.

Louis sighed. "David is still alive, but he won't stay that way if you don't do as I say."

The gun hit the ground with a dull thud. "Where is Starsk?"

"Oh, he's in a safe place."

"Not good enough. I want to see him right now."

Louis' voice took on an edge. "You're not the boss here, Kenny. You may be a big hero cop outside, but in here, I'm in charge. This is my place. In here, David belongs to me, not you. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, I want you to take out your cuffs and fasten your right wrist." Hutch slowly complied. "Put your hands behind you now. Pull the cuffs through your belt and fasten the other wrist. Do it tight. Don't try to shit me."

Hutch did as ordered. A moment later, he felt a hand on him, checking the cuffs. "Good boy." The hand spun him around. "Well, Kenny. Hello."

"Louis. It's been a long time."

"Yeah, it has. But you look the same."

"So do you." Hutch glanced around. "Where's Starsk? I'd like to see him. Please," he added, hoping to please Louis with his civility.

Louis chuckled. "Yes, I bet you would. Had you going for awhile, didn't I?"

They were walking slowly toward the center of the park as they talked. "You sure did, Louis."

Like many criminals, not all of them mad, Louis felt the urge to brag about his accomplishments. "I did everything right, didn't I?"

"Yes, I guess you did."

"Sure. I had a plan and I followed it. Dr. Goldbaum always used to say that it was important to have a plan."

Hutch's gaze darted from side to side as he searched for a sign of Starsky. "That was before you killed him, though, right?"

Louis looked a little surprised. "You know about that?"

Hutch gave a small, bitter smile. "I'm good at what I do, too."

Louis only grunted sullenly. They stopped next to a ride called the CIRCLE-O. "You know something about all these rides, Kenny?"

"What?"

"They can all be run by hand, if the power goes off."

Hutch nodded. "Yes, I remember that from the summer we worked in the carnival. That's so in case of an emergency, the passengers can be taken off."

"Uh-huh. You remember our summer?"

"Yes."

The CIRCLE-O consisted of a dozen or so small metal cylinders arranged in a circle around a tall center pipe. "Get into the first little car there, Kenny."

"Why?"

"Because I said so, that's why." Louis gave him a shove toward the platform.

It was awkward climbing with his hands fastened behind him, and Hutch nearly fell before he managed to scramble into the car. He glared at Louis. "Now what?"

Now nothing. Just sit there and be good."

"Where's Starsky?"

"Shut up about him." Louis crouched down in the center of the platform and began to turn the crank. "It was a little rusty," he commented casually, "so I oiled it up and now it works fine."

"Very nice, I'm sure." Hutch braced his legs against the front of the too-small car, trying to keep himself from falling out as the machine began to turn in a slow circle.

"I'm glad you came alone."

''Those were your orders."

"Uh-huh." Louis was turning the handle more quickly now. "I'm glad you obeyed, because I didn't want to have to kill David. I like him."

"Do you? Then why have you been hurting him? If you like him?" It was getting a little hard to talk, moving in ever-faster circles and fighting to stay in the car.

"It was necessary." To Louis, that seemed sufficient explanation. "Besides, sometimes he misbehaved. Discipline must be maintained." He was obviously quoting a rule from some past officialdom.

"Well, now that I'm here, why don't you let Starsky go?" Hutch could feel the wall of metal digging into his spine. He was getting very dizzy. Louis appeared only in quick flashes and the ride went around in circles.

"No. Not yet."

Hutch was nearly shouting now, his words seeming to be whisked from his mouth. "Look, it's me you want, isn't it? Let him go."

"No. I won't. I don't have to. Stop pretending like you care what happens to him. You don't have to pretend now; there's no one here but you and me." Louis stopped turning the crank for a moment and the ride slowed. "Stop pretending to be David's friend."

"Pretending?" Hutch kept his eyes closed in an effort to fight the waves of dizziness that threatened to overwhelm him. As a kid, he'd always gotten sick on the rides that went around in circles. Even now, he didn't like them. Every time Starsk and he went out to Disneyland (usually with visiting stewardesses) his partner kept up a constant stream of teasing, trying to get him on some of the wilder rides. But he stayed off the ones that went in circles. Hell, sometimes, Starsky's driving was enough to make him sick. "What do you mean, pretending?" he asked breathlessly.

"You never cared about anybody but yourself. You never cared about me or about Marcie, and you don't care anything about David."

"I do care about him!" Hutch yelled. Then he struggled to take a deep breath. Damnit. He couldn't afford to lose control. One raving maniac at a time was quite enough. "Louis, I don't understand what this is all about. What did I ever do to you? And who is Marcie?"

Slowly, slowly, the crank began to turn again. "You don't even remember her?" Louis sounded close to tears. "You killed my sister and you don't even remember her?"

Hutch kept his eyes closed tightly, trying to concentrate on the words, trying to ignore the round and round motion. "Your . . . yeah, Louis, yeah, I guess I remember Marcie . . . your sister? Sure . . . but god, man, what do you mean? I didn't kill her."

"Stop lying! She told me all about it."

Hutch's legs were beginning to cramp painfully. "About . . . what?" He hoped to god that he wasn't going to throw up.

"How you got her pregnant before you went to Viet Nam. Didn't you ever wonder what happened?" He turned the handle more quickly, not giving Hutch a chance to answer. "She went to a back-alley butcher for an abortion. And she died from it."

Hutch was beginning to remember Marcie: a beautiful, angelic-looking girl, with a lifestyle that was far from angelic. She was the kind of girl whose name was frequently mentioned--justifiably or not--in the high school locker room. He had probably spoken to her half a dozen times in his life, had never dated her, and had certainly not gotten her pregnant. "Louis . . . I don't know . . . what Marcie told you . . . but it wasn't me . . . please, believe me."

"No more lies, Kenny!" Louis shouted. "I'm tired of your lies!"

"Louis . . . I don't . . . I never . . . ohmygodimgonnabesick . . . ."

"It's all your fault, Kenny! Your fault that Marcie is dead. Your fault that all the others are dead. And it's your fault that I had to hurt David. It's all because of you."

Great waves of blackness rolled over Hutch and he fought to stay conscious. "Where's Starsk?" he murmured. "What have you done to him?"

"Your fault . . . your fault . . . your fault . . . ." The echo seemed to go on forever as the blackness of sweet oblivion swallowed Hutch.

The pounding in his head was insistent. There was a rhythm to the noise: yourfaultyourfaultyourfaultyourfaultyourfault. He rolled over and opened his eyes. Louis was gone. Hutch was no longer sitting cramped in the CIRCLE-O. He was lying on the floor of a room that smelled of age and dampness.

He finally managed to sit up. The sight of himself reflected in several mirrors around the room threatened a return of the dizziness. He closed his eyes again, seeking equilibrium. Where the hell am I?

And more important: where was Starsk? That question was enough to propel him first to his knees and then onto his feet. He started to take a step and promptly lost his balance and fell against the wall. What the devil . . . ? He couldn't seem to stand up straight. The walls all seemed to be tilting over on top of him. . . . god . . . did he drug me, too? No matter how hard he tried, the room wouldn't stay level. By leaning against the wall, he managed to reach an exit--or what looked like an exit, only to bump into a mirror and fall down again.

He didn't get up immediately this time. Instead, he pulled his knees against his chest and closed his eyes, trying to understand just what the hell was going on. He didn't feel drugged, exactly, just very, very dizzy. Discombobulated, as his grandmother used to say.

"Please . . . somebody. . . ."

The voice came from nearby, suddenly and softly. Hutch held his breath, waiting. " . . . please . . . ."

Hutch lifted his head. "Starsk?" he said softly. "Starsky?"

There was a pause. "Who's that?" the voice said.

"Starsk? It's me."

"Hi, me." It almost sounded like Starsky laughed a little.

"Where are you, partner?"

"Hutch?"

"Yeah, buddy, yeah." Hutch fought the urge to jump to his feet and run toward Starsky. Instead, he began to scoot on his knees, still leaning against the wall, toward another exit. "Keep talking to me, Starsk. Where are you?"

"Hutch?"

He had guessed correctly this time and there really was an exit. "Hey, boy? You still there?"

"Yeah, Hutch . . . is it really you this time?"

He lost his balance at that moment and crashed face-first into the wall. Blood began gushing from his nose. "Damn," he mumbled, sinking down against the wall.

"Hutch?" Panic was evident in Starsky' s voice. "Hutch!"

Hutch tried to wipe the blood on his shoulder. "It's okay, Starsk, I'm coming." He began to move again.

"I thought . . . I thought you went away again," Starsky said. "Or maybe you're a dream. Are you a dream?"

Hutch blinked, trying to see beyond the wavering mirror images of himself that filled the hall. "I'm real," he said absently.

"Yeah?" Starsky sounded skeptical.

It was confusing as hell trying to follow the sound of Starsky's voice, because it seemed to echo. Hutch paused for a moment, leaning against a mirror, staring at his own bloody face as he tried to catch his breath. "You hanging in there, buddy?" he said after a minute.

"I'm here."

"Good boy." He moved again.

Abruptly, he rounded a corner and nearly fell over Starsky. They stared at each other for a long time. "Hey, " Hutch said finally, softly.

Starsky gave a long, shuddering sigh. He raised his taped hands and gripped Hutch's arm tightly, as if needing to be sure of his reality. To be sure that this wasn't another dream image that would vanish when he reached for him. Then he fleetingly touched Hutch's face and hair. "Thought . . . thought you'd quit looking for me . . . been so long . . . months and months . . . ."

Hutch tried to smile. "Hasn't been that long, partner. 'Sides, you should have more faith in me. I wouldn't give up."

"Yeah. . . . " Starsky touched Hutch's cheek lightly, seeking and offering consolation. "You're hurt . . . bleeding . . . ."

"Nah. Just bumped my nose. This place is strange. Can't seem to get my balance."

Starsky moved to lean his back against the wall, pulling Hutch with him. They sat shoulder to shoulder. "Tilts," Starsky mumbled.

"What?"

"The building, Hutch. It tilts."

Hutch realized that Starsky was right. The floor of the building had been constructed at a very slight angle, hardly noticeable when one looked at it, but enough so that anyone walking there was thrown off-balance. "Yeah," he said.

Starsky seemed to have lost interest in the conversation. He was humming softly to himself.

Hutch sniffled. The bleeding seemed to be stopping. He took a moment to wonder where Louis was.

"Did you see it?" Starsky asked suddenly.

"What?"

"The blue horse. Did you see the blue horse?" Starsky's amethystine eyes were unnaturally bright, especially as contrasted with his pale, hollow face.

"Yes, I saw the blue horse, Starsk. You were right."

Starsky chuckled. "Yeah. You thought I was seeing things."

"We have to get out of here, Starsk. Think you can manage it?"

"Sure . . . sure, we can make it."

Life was being lived in the plural again. Hutch, who had not cried before, even when he thought Starsky was dead, blinked away a sudden hot wetness. He scooted around so that his pocket was close to Starsky. "Get the keys out so you can unlock the cuffs."

"Huh? Oh . . . keys . . . yeah, okay." Starsky managed to get his fingers into Hutch's pocket and pulled out the key chain.

"The small one, Starsk," Hutch urged. "You know which key is for the cuffs, don't you?"

"'Course I do . . . whaddaya think, I'm suddenly gone dumb?" Starsky mumbled, fumbling with the keys.

Hutch grinned for the first time in days. "Nothing sudden about it, partner."

"Ha, ha." Starsky dropped the keys, swore, and managed to pick them up again. It took another couple of minutes, but finally the cuffs slipped from Hutch's wrists.

He rubbed his numbed arms. "Thanks. Can I return the favor now?"

"Huh?"

Hutch reached toward Starsky's hands. "Let me undo the tape."

Sudden fear filled Starsky's face. "No . . . I'm not supposed to . . . he said if I took the tape off again, he'd hurt me . . . I did it before and . . . ."

Hutch put an arm around Starsky, gripping tightly, and tried to give him a reassuring smile. "Hey, man, it's okay. He won't hurt you anymore. I promise." Although he felt tight inside with the urgency to move, to get out of this place, he sat very still for another moment, just holding Starsky. He could feel his partner relax a little. Slowly he began to pull the tape off. Starsky was still trembling and suddenly Hutch was afraid. Those drugs . . . whatever the hell he's been pumping into Starsk . . . what if they've done something permanent to his mind? He firmly pushed those fears aside. Later. Later for all that. Now they just had to get out of here. The last of the tape peeled away. "I can't do anything about the chain on your legs," he said, "so we'll just have to manage as best we can, okay?"

Click on illo to see larger version

"Okay."

Hutch started to get up, then thought better of it. "We better crawl. Can you crawl, Starsk?"

Fleetingly, Starsky smiled. "Yeah. And I can also feed myself and talk in whole sentences."

"Bastard," Hutch said.

They started to crawl, slowly and carefully, with Hutch leading the way. He found that by looking downward only, it was easier to move. Starsky stayed right on his heels, occasionally talking to himself. "Where is he?" Starsky asked at one point.

"I don't know," Hutch replied, staring at the floor.

"He won't let us get away, Hutch, you know that, don't you?"

"Never mind him right now. Just keep moving."

"Never mind?" Starsky's voice sounded strained. "I can't 'never mind' him, Hutch. He . . . he scares me."

"Shut up, Starsk," Hutch said firmly. He thought he could see an exit up ahead. But it might be another wall. A mirror. A goddamned optical illusion. "See that, Starsk? What's that look like to you?" There wasn't any answer. All he could hear was the raspy sound of Starsky breathing. Hutch glanced over his shoulder and saw Starsky still doggedly following him.

It was, indeed, a door. Hutch breathed a sigh of relief and pushed it open. He got to his feet, helping Starsky up as well. Starsky's face had a strangely vague expression, and he didn't even seem aware that Hutch was holding him. "Hey, Starsk?" he said sharply. "You still with me?" Starsky didn't answer. Hutch tightened his grip on his partner. "Okay, babe, never mind. You just hang on tight, okay?" They stepped out of the building and started slowly toward the entrance of the park.

They had taken only a few steps when the first shot rang out and a bullet hit the ground just in front of them. Hutch glanced around frantically. "Louis!" he yelled. "Damnit! It 's over!" The only reply was another bullet, even closer than the first. Hutch, dragging Starsky by one arm, ran toward the Ferris wheel. "Get in," he ordered Starsky. "Get in there and keep your head down." Starsky, made awkward by the chain on his legs, tried to climb in; he struggled for a moment until Hutch finally shoved him over the side and into the first car.

He crouched on the floor and looked up. "Hutch?"

"Stay there until I come for you. Hear me?"

"Yeah."

"And for Christ's sake, keep your head down." He turned and ran away, dodging more bullets as he went. The shots seemed to be coming from the building opposite the maze and he cut around to the rear, hoping to surprise Louis.

Louis crept out of the side entrance and headed toward the Ferris wheel. Rain had started falling at last. He leaned over the first car. He smiled. "Hello, David."

Starsky looked up at him. Rain splattered onto his face. "Go . . . to hell," he said hoarsely.

Louis struck him across the face with the barrel of the gun. Blood streamed from Starsky's cheek. "Don't say that to me, David. When you talk like that, I have to punish you. You understand that, don't you?" He spoke sadly. "I don't like to punish you, but I have to. For your own good."

Starsky tried to climb out of the gondola.

"If you move, I'll kill Kenny right now," Louis said mildly, pulling the hypodermic from his pocket. "I will shoot him in the head like I did the other cops and I'll make you watch. Do you want to watch Kenny die?"

"No," Starsky whispered, sinking back. "No . . . no. . .no . . . ."

"Then behave yourself." Louis leaned forward with the needle and pressed it into Starsky's arm. He didn't notice that the arm, wet with rain, slipped a little. The needle didn't penetrate the vein properly and most of the liquid simply flowed back onto Starsky's skin. Starsky watched dully as Louis dropped the needle onto the ground. "There. That should keep you quiet for a while. Now I have to go take care of some other business."

Starsky's hand moved a little and he grabbed the edge of Louis' sleeve, holding on with surprising strength. "I told you before . . . if you hurt Hutch . . . I'll kill you."

"Oh, David." Louis laughed and then he was gone.

Starsky kept his head down, as Hutch had ordered. When the car first started to move, he thought it was the wind. But then he realized that the car was getting higher and higher. Very carefully, he eased up far enough so that he could see over the edge.

Far below, he could see Louis slowly turning a crank. As he turned, the Ferris wheel revolved. When the car Starsky was in had reached the very top of the arc, Louis stopped turning. Then he picked up a length of pipe and jammed the mechanism.

Starsky watched all of this with an air of mingled disbelief and detachment. Finally, he just settled back in the bottom of the car to wait for Hutch. Hutch would handle it. Right now, he needed some sleep. His eyes closed.

Even the thunder and lightning didn't wake him.

**

Part Five

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