Feel free to correct my grammar and spelling. This chapter feels particularly rushed for some reason.


Hutch removed his jacket as he entered his home, un-tucking his shirt and folding it on his bed before going to the kitchen. He leaned down, getting a bottle of water and took a big gulp. He put the bottle back, holding back a yawn as he closed the refrigerator door. He contemplated taking a shower before deciding against it. After everything that had happened in the last few hours, from the shooting at the alley to Starsky's sudden aloofness and now a last minute meet up wit Gillian, a hot shower sounded perfect. But he had less than an hour before he had to meet up with Gillian and he didn't want to be late.

Everything was set and he wanted this night to be special. Gillian was special; she didn't need Hutch's help (or at least didn't ask for it). He didn't have to protect her; she was her own woman. Hutch liked that about her. He might even go as far as love her… but not quite. There was something off about Gillian, something in the way she held herself in public, which Hutch couldn't figure out. Sometimes, even somewhere as safe as Huggy's, she would be looking around as if searching for someone. She was antsy in public, it was odd, but then again she was a writer and artists are quirky. He had helped her get out of that life. She wasn't anyone's money horse anymore. She was safe. So he paid no attention to it.

But he did pay attention to a strange smell – a cheap cologne smell that only Starsky wore but he knew it wasn't his partner since the tomato wasn't parked in front – which he could sniff. On high alert, Hutch looked around his house, his hand by his gun holster. He looked around the room, leaning back on his heels to look towards his kitchen, but found nothing. Shrugging, he removed his gun holster, throwing it next to his jacket on the bed.

He began to undress when he heard the shuffling of feet. He stilled, alert now that there was indeed someone inside his home. Before he can react, however, a man came up behind him, wrapping a beefy arm around his neck - Hutch reacts out of instinct, not wanting to be the bystander like he had been at the alley, and elbowed the man in the ribs. The arms pulled back and Hutch turned around just in time to be hit over the head.

A voice saying, "Take him out back. I'll follow you," followed by two arms picking him up, is the last thing he heard before blacking out.


Monk looked at the cop, tied up and blindfolded in a wooden chair that leans more to the left than the right. One of the men, Tom who was currently hitting Hutch, heard from an army buddy that having an unbalanced chair while being blindfolded can make a man feel disoriented. Monk had rolled his eyes at that, not believing a word, but he let Tom set Hutch down and then begin their first session.

"Where is she, Hutchinson?" Monk asked as Tom backhanded the detective. "Tell me where she is and we'll let you go."

"I'm Starsky… I don't know what you're talking about." The detective spit out some blood that had gathered in his mouth from the hits to his face and then added, "Even if I did, I wouldn't tell a creep like you."

"Don't be stupid, Hutchinson." Monk leaned against the wall, a safe distance from the detective and said, "she's only a dame, a broad who is in deep with someone very powerful. Tell us where she is and you'll wake up in your bed tomorrow nice and cosy with a busted lip but alive. You hear me? Alive, Hutchinson."

"I don't know what you're talking about," the man insisted.

Monk sighed, turning away from him. There was no talking to him but perhaps after a few more punches he would cave in a bit. Doubtful considering he was a cop but even cops have their limits. Before leaving the room, Monk waved a hand to Tom and said, "Make him talk."

Monk leaves the insulated room, the sounds of grunts being heard only when he opened the door to slip out. Al Grossman paced the living room – the neighbours would be shocked if knew what this house was really used for – his face coated in sweat looking out the window. Monk cleared his throat.

"He's not talking," he told Grossman. "No one saw us take him, we have his car in the garage but he's not saying anything. He denies being Ken Hutchinson."

"You are sure it's him, right?" Grossman turned around completely, walking toward Monk. The man looked like he was on the verge of collapsing from anxiety. "You didn't fuck it up and take some random-"

"It's him," Monk assured him.

"Then why are you not beating the crap out of him? Why aren't you torturing him?" Grossman bit his lower lip. "She slapped my mother. The bitch had the nerve to come into our place of business and slap my mother. MY. MOTHER!"

"He's a cop…" Monk said. "Cops are… they don't talk as easy as regular people."

"She was meeting him tonight. He knows where she is."

"He's a cop," Monk repeated. "We snatched a cop for a call girl. That is not smart."

"He's the only one who can tell us where she is."

"And once you find her?"

"They both die." Grossman said without an inch of emotion. "Simple as that."

"If you're not the one pulling the trigger," Monk said under his breath. "Look, if he can tell us it won't be by being beat."

Tom slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him and joining Monk and Grossman in the living room. He nodded to the men and said, "He's out cold. He's one tough cookie. I think I might have broken his nose."

"He won't need his nose where he is going," Grossman said taking out a small bag from his suit pocket. "We could dump him somewhere and forget about him or we could juice him up."

Monk paused. "OD? You want us to OD him?"

"No," Grossman threw the bag to Monk. "We string him up and by the end of our … treatment, he'll be begging to tell us where she is."

"It'll take time," Monk said opening the bag.

"Then you better get started." Grossman walked away, stopping at the door and saying, "I expect a call in the next few days with the location of Gillian. You don't want to anger mother."

Tom and Monk watched Grossman leave before turning to one another. Monk looked at the bag in his hands. Monk is conflicted but has no choice. He must do this. He threw the bag to Tom and said, "Do it."

They walk back into the room and begin to prepare the cocaine. Monk let's Tom prepare it, still conflicted but willing to do it nonetheless, while he ties a band around the cop's right bicep. He felt the man struggle, still blindfolded he has no idea what they are going to do. Tom came from behind him, and nodded to the table behind.

"It's ready."

"Hold him then," Monk commanded. "Hold him down real good, Tom. He's gonna struggle." Monk grabbed the syringe from the bag and dunks the end into the melted cocaine. The syringe is filled and Monk turned around.

"Last chance, cop," he told Hutch as he leaned over him, one finger touching the vein in his pale skin. The cop struggled, but remained silent.

When Monk touched the tip of the syringe to his skin, however, he yelled, "What are you doing?! No, stop!"

"Where is she, Hutchinson?"

"I don't know!"

"Liar." Monk injects the cocaine into the cop. "Liar."


Gillian mentally kicked herself, angry that she had forgotten her passport. But now the one thing that could get her out of the Grossman's grasp and she had forgotten it in her sock drawer. She had been spending the last few days in different hotels, moving from one to the other at night when there was less chance to be seen. After Hutch didn't show up to meet with her two days ago, Gillian figured either Starsky had told him or Grossman had found Hutch. The latter was a possibility she refused to acknowledge but she couldn't call Starsky up either.

She dialed Hutch's number, but his phone just rang out. Sighing, she quickly goes to her bedroom to look for her passport. She finds it, closing the drawer and looking around to make sure she didn't forget anything else. Her flat was the same except for a few empty shelfs and bottles in her room. Other than that, it looked like she had just gone for the day. She sighed again and as she left her bedroom, she heard the front door close.

Without thinking she calls out, "Ken? Is that you, Ken?" as she went into the living room. But instead of Kenneth she sees Grossman. "What are you doing here? How did you find me?"

Grossman ignored her, walking slowly in her direction. "You, uh, shouldn't hit mom.

"Al. Al." Gillian yelled as he approached. "How did you find me? It's been days!"

"You should really keep that boyfriend of yours on a tighter leash," Grossman replied pushing her against the wall harsh enough that Gillian's vision falters. "He told me everything."

"He does- he didn-" Gillian passed out as he pushed her against the wall again.


Starsky was barely through the door, arms full of groceries, when the phone rang. Hutch had been gone for a few days now and they hadn't spoken for a while, strange but not uncommon especially if Gillian told Hutch the truth.

Starsky ran to the phone, dropping his groceries on the kitchen counter as he did so. "Yeah? Hutch?"

"No, It's Huggy, Starsky."

"Oh, hey Hug. What's up?"

"Dig, I think that chick Gillian is about to get wasted."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Well… She and old lady Grossman had a cat fight at the parlor the other day. From what I hear, Grossman junior found her and is headed to her place right now."

"Wait - Hutch hasn't been answering any calls and hasn't been at work," Starsky said. "You think Grossman's got him?"

"I haven't heard that," Huggy replied. "But i'll ask around."

"Thanks Hug. Do have Gillian's address?"