Fic: Coffin For Sam (10/13), blue cortina, dakfinv
Title: Coffin For Sam (10/13)
Author: dak
Word Count: 1455 this part; [16,044 overall]
Rating: blue cortina
Pairing: some heavy-handed Sam/Gene wink-wink/nudge-nudge, but no direct slashing of the boys
Warnings: angst, just a teeny-tiny bit o' blood
Spoilers: Set after 2.02, so consider anything before that fair game
Summary: When Sam has only 36 hours to live, will Gene and the team be able to catch the perpetrator and save their DI before it's too late?
A/N: This is a response to a plot bunny posted by ausmac. Premise and title taken from the "Starsky and Hutch" episode "Coffin For Starsky." I think there might be only 1 or 2 more parts left but as you know from past experience I could totally be (unintentionally) lying. We'll see. And I have another teeny favor - I have four icon-sized pics thanks to the joint efforts of
culfand
dorsetgirlthat I would love to be turned into a gif-animated icon. If anyone has the power and time and willingness to do this they would most certainly be loved forever. Thank you! And enjoy the angst!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13
The Cortina slammed to a stop in front of the hospital entrance.
“Cartwright out. Go trade places with Chris an’ Ray.” Gene tapped anxiously on the steering wheel.
“Guv, I’d like to come with you,” she said politely but firmly.
“You did good, Cartwright, but so help me, if you do not get out of this car an’ get Chris an’ Ray down here so that someone can sit with your boyfriend so that he’s not dyin’ on his own, I will personally see to it that you’re back in uniform so fast your knickers’ll have flashbacks to bein’ nappies!”
Annie nearly leapt out of the car. Gene waited as impatiently as possible, gripping and flexing the wheel with such force he thought he might accidentally rip it off at any moment. He couldn’t even pause long enough to light a cigarette or take a drink. They had a lead. A good, solid, real lead and so help them, if Ray and Chris weren’t in the car in another two seconds something particularly painful was going to happen to them, most likely involving their scrotums, rubber tubing, and/or the empty vinegar bottles from canteen.
Gene wondered if this is what Sam felt like all the time. Wound so tight that he couldn’t breathe, all his organs pressing in on each other, muscles constricting to the point of disuse. Maybe there was no drug. Maybe Tyler had finally fretted himself to death.
No. Not to death. Not yet anyway. He was there. He was still up there, in his hospital bed and Christ if Gene didn’t want to run in and check on him quick himself but there wasn’t any time. No. If he went in there now, he’d probably end up staying for much longer than he intended, even if he couldn’t figure out exactly why, and what good would that do? Sam needed him to be out here, away from him, checking out this bastard big lead. There would be plenty of time to sit with him later, when he was healing, or at least until 4pm tomorrow.
After an endless, wasteful, eternity, his two officers finally came scurrying out of the building, throwing both of their bodies in the backseat out of habit. Without a second’s hesitation, the Cortina was off for the distribution company, the address of which the wonderful Phyllis had immediately tracked down for them.
Ray and Chris were silent.
“Well?”
“Cartwright told us ‘bout the lead,” Ray mumbled. Chris simply stared out the window.
“I mean Tyler.”
There was more silence.
“ ‘E’s alive,” Ray finally muttered. Chris coughed though it was probably just a way to cover up a sob.
“Right,” Gene said. “Right.”
*
The Denox Distributors building was probably the oddest warehouse in all of Manchester. It was clean. Gene decided that at least whatever drugs were pumped into Sam, they probably weren’t contaminated, though that was hardly a fair trade. The trio of detectives marched to the head office and Gene couldn’t deny that it felt odd only have two men at his side rather than three.
Two, however, plus a DCI, was enough to startle the tired secretary, who was preparing to leave for home, into telling them, without question, where to find the janitor’s office. The door they were looking for was inside the main warehouse, on the bottom floor, in a dark corner where there was nowhere to run.
At least, there would have been nowhere to run if Miller had been in the office when they kicked in the door. Instead, the man they wanted appeared just behind them, recognized the danger and took off through the numerous aisles of medical stock.
Ray went left, Chris went right, and Gene went straight. There was no one else in the cavernous storehouse, the workers having already clocked off for the day, and Miller’s footsteps echoed through the building, leading the coppers directly to him. They managed to back him into a corner but it was a corner near an exit. Miller made a dash for the door, failing to reach it as a fist collided with his face, sending him sprawling to the floor.
Chris stumbled backwards, muttering “ow, ow,” over again to himself as he rubbed his aching knuckles while Gene and Ray seized Miller, hoisting him to his feet and routinely “accidentally” bumped him into the metal shelves on the way out to the car.
*
“What was it?”
“I don’t know.”
Yet another bruise began to form on Ed Miller’s face after DCI Hunt received yet another inadequate answer to his question.
“I really don’t, alright!” Miller raised his cuffed hands in an attempt to shield himself from another blow. “I just clean the place. ‘M no science person or whatnot. Don’t know anything ‘bout any of that stuff or what.”
“The note you left was quite precise.” Gene threw the evidence on the table. It was in its proper, little bag, Gladys would be pleased. The interview, however, was not being tape recorded. This time, he didn’t think Tyler would care. “You called it a ‘unique, slow-acting, experimental drug’ that would kill ‘em in thirty-six hours.”
“I made it up,” Miller said softly, still cowering behind his hands.
“Sorry?” Hunt did not just hear what he thought he heard.
“The thirty-six hours bit. Din’t know ‘ow long it’d really take. That other stuff I jus’ overheard one night when the docs came to look at their stock.”
Miller was on the floor, nose and mouth bleeding profusely. Hunt was standing over him, kicking him like the miserable stray dog he was. This interview was not being tape recorded. The tape would have easily been lost even if it were.
“Why?” Gene roared. Another kick to the chest. Something cracked. Only a rib, probably. The stupid nonce was getting blood on his clean, white loafers, too.
“I owed ‘im. I owed ‘im a favor!” Miller cried out.
“Who?” No kick this time. Ray was holding him back. Ray was telling him he was going to far.
“Vic. Vic Tyler. We used to gamble together. I owed ‘im a bit a money. When ‘e ‘ad to skip town I thought I were in the clear.”
“But he came back,” Gene wasn’t shouting any longer but it didn’t make him sound any less dangerous.
“Yeah. The other week. Said ‘e found a way I could pay off me debt.” Miller was shaking. Hopefully it wasn’t from blood loss. Maybe it was. Gene didn’t care.
“By killing DI Tyler.”
“Vic said there were this copper what destroyed ‘is life, made ‘im ‘ave to leave ‘is family an’ all. Told me ‘e wanted ‘im to die but ‘e wanted ‘im to suffer first. Like, ‘e ‘ad to suffer, leavin’ ‘is wife an’ kid behind. Jus’ steal summit from the warehouse, an’ give the copper one, little prick. ‘S all I ‘ad to do.”
“Where’s Vic Tyler now?”
“Don’t know please don’t kick me!” Ed screamed all in one breath. Gene held back. Ray was still holding him back. “I really don’t. Jus’ said ‘e ‘ad to go abroad. ‘S all I know. ‘S all ‘e would tell me.”
“The name of the drug. What was it?”
“I...those names, they’re all really long with lots of x’s and z’s an’ stuff.”
Gene raised his heel.
“Pictures!” Miller called out. “They put these pictures on the bottles! Symbols for each drug. I remember that. I can draw it. I can. I can!”
“Ray. Fetch the scum some pencils.”
*
He yanked open the creaking cell door and stomped over to the man, thrusting the drawing into his hands and waiting for an answer.
“And what’s this?” Paul Bond asked, adjusting his glasses as his eyes focused on the crude picture.
“You know all about medical drugs and shite. What’s this one for?” Gene questioned.
“It’s hardly an accurate representation of the...but, yes, yes I think that’s what it’s supposed to be.”
“What?” Gene snapped, impatiently waiting for the fat man to babble out an answer.
“It’s a new drug, still in testing stages, meant to help in the fight against cancer but from the results I’ve read, there is no way it will ever make it into human testing. The side effects on the laboratory rats alone have been enough to warn off any scientific panel.” Paul suddenly looked up at the DCI. “Dear God. Is this what they injected your man with?”
“How do you stop it, the effects. What’s the antidote, the cure?”
Bond shook his head. “DCI Hunt, sir, this is meant to be a cure. It’s not a poison, there is no antidote. The effects, they’re not meant to be reversed.”
________
Part 11
Author: dak
Word Count: 1455 this part; [16,044 overall]
Rating: blue cortina
Pairing: some heavy-handed Sam/Gene wink-wink/nudge-nudge, but no direct slashing of the boys
Warnings: angst, just a teeny-tiny bit o' blood
Spoilers: Set after 2.02, so consider anything before that fair game
Summary: When Sam has only 36 hours to live, will Gene and the team be able to catch the perpetrator and save their DI before it's too late?
A/N: This is a response to a plot bunny posted by ausmac. Premise and title taken from the "Starsky and Hutch" episode "Coffin For Starsky." I think there might be only 1 or 2 more parts left but as you know from past experience I could totally be (unintentionally) lying. We'll see. And I have another teeny favor - I have four icon-sized pics thanks to the joint efforts of
culfand
dorsetgirlthat I would love to be turned into a gif-animated icon. If anyone has the power and time and willingness to do this they would most certainly be loved forever. Thank you! And enjoy the angst!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13
The Cortina slammed to a stop in front of the hospital entrance.
“Cartwright out. Go trade places with Chris an’ Ray.” Gene tapped anxiously on the steering wheel.
“Guv, I’d like to come with you,” she said politely but firmly.
“You did good, Cartwright, but so help me, if you do not get out of this car an’ get Chris an’ Ray down here so that someone can sit with your boyfriend so that he’s not dyin’ on his own, I will personally see to it that you’re back in uniform so fast your knickers’ll have flashbacks to bein’ nappies!”
Annie nearly leapt out of the car. Gene waited as impatiently as possible, gripping and flexing the wheel with such force he thought he might accidentally rip it off at any moment. He couldn’t even pause long enough to light a cigarette or take a drink. They had a lead. A good, solid, real lead and so help them, if Ray and Chris weren’t in the car in another two seconds something particularly painful was going to happen to them, most likely involving their scrotums, rubber tubing, and/or the empty vinegar bottles from canteen.
Gene wondered if this is what Sam felt like all the time. Wound so tight that he couldn’t breathe, all his organs pressing in on each other, muscles constricting to the point of disuse. Maybe there was no drug. Maybe Tyler had finally fretted himself to death.
No. Not to death. Not yet anyway. He was there. He was still up there, in his hospital bed and Christ if Gene didn’t want to run in and check on him quick himself but there wasn’t any time. No. If he went in there now, he’d probably end up staying for much longer than he intended, even if he couldn’t figure out exactly why, and what good would that do? Sam needed him to be out here, away from him, checking out this bastard big lead. There would be plenty of time to sit with him later, when he was healing, or at least until 4pm tomorrow.
After an endless, wasteful, eternity, his two officers finally came scurrying out of the building, throwing both of their bodies in the backseat out of habit. Without a second’s hesitation, the Cortina was off for the distribution company, the address of which the wonderful Phyllis had immediately tracked down for them.
Ray and Chris were silent.
“Well?”
“Cartwright told us ‘bout the lead,” Ray mumbled. Chris simply stared out the window.
“I mean Tyler.”
There was more silence.
“ ‘E’s alive,” Ray finally muttered. Chris coughed though it was probably just a way to cover up a sob.
“Right,” Gene said. “Right.”
*
The Denox Distributors building was probably the oddest warehouse in all of Manchester. It was clean. Gene decided that at least whatever drugs were pumped into Sam, they probably weren’t contaminated, though that was hardly a fair trade. The trio of detectives marched to the head office and Gene couldn’t deny that it felt odd only have two men at his side rather than three.
Two, however, plus a DCI, was enough to startle the tired secretary, who was preparing to leave for home, into telling them, without question, where to find the janitor’s office. The door they were looking for was inside the main warehouse, on the bottom floor, in a dark corner where there was nowhere to run.
At least, there would have been nowhere to run if Miller had been in the office when they kicked in the door. Instead, the man they wanted appeared just behind them, recognized the danger and took off through the numerous aisles of medical stock.
Ray went left, Chris went right, and Gene went straight. There was no one else in the cavernous storehouse, the workers having already clocked off for the day, and Miller’s footsteps echoed through the building, leading the coppers directly to him. They managed to back him into a corner but it was a corner near an exit. Miller made a dash for the door, failing to reach it as a fist collided with his face, sending him sprawling to the floor.
Chris stumbled backwards, muttering “ow, ow,” over again to himself as he rubbed his aching knuckles while Gene and Ray seized Miller, hoisting him to his feet and routinely “accidentally” bumped him into the metal shelves on the way out to the car.
*
“What was it?”
“I don’t know.”
Yet another bruise began to form on Ed Miller’s face after DCI Hunt received yet another inadequate answer to his question.
“I really don’t, alright!” Miller raised his cuffed hands in an attempt to shield himself from another blow. “I just clean the place. ‘M no science person or whatnot. Don’t know anything ‘bout any of that stuff or what.”
“The note you left was quite precise.” Gene threw the evidence on the table. It was in its proper, little bag, Gladys would be pleased. The interview, however, was not being tape recorded. This time, he didn’t think Tyler would care. “You called it a ‘unique, slow-acting, experimental drug’ that would kill ‘em in thirty-six hours.”
“I made it up,” Miller said softly, still cowering behind his hands.
“Sorry?” Hunt did not just hear what he thought he heard.
“The thirty-six hours bit. Din’t know ‘ow long it’d really take. That other stuff I jus’ overheard one night when the docs came to look at their stock.”
Miller was on the floor, nose and mouth bleeding profusely. Hunt was standing over him, kicking him like the miserable stray dog he was. This interview was not being tape recorded. The tape would have easily been lost even if it were.
“Why?” Gene roared. Another kick to the chest. Something cracked. Only a rib, probably. The stupid nonce was getting blood on his clean, white loafers, too.
“I owed ‘im. I owed ‘im a favor!” Miller cried out.
“Who?” No kick this time. Ray was holding him back. Ray was telling him he was going to far.
“Vic. Vic Tyler. We used to gamble together. I owed ‘im a bit a money. When ‘e ‘ad to skip town I thought I were in the clear.”
“But he came back,” Gene wasn’t shouting any longer but it didn’t make him sound any less dangerous.
“Yeah. The other week. Said ‘e found a way I could pay off me debt.” Miller was shaking. Hopefully it wasn’t from blood loss. Maybe it was. Gene didn’t care.
“By killing DI Tyler.”
“Vic said there were this copper what destroyed ‘is life, made ‘im ‘ave to leave ‘is family an’ all. Told me ‘e wanted ‘im to die but ‘e wanted ‘im to suffer first. Like, ‘e ‘ad to suffer, leavin’ ‘is wife an’ kid behind. Jus’ steal summit from the warehouse, an’ give the copper one, little prick. ‘S all I ‘ad to do.”
“Where’s Vic Tyler now?”
“Don’t know please don’t kick me!” Ed screamed all in one breath. Gene held back. Ray was still holding him back. “I really don’t. Jus’ said ‘e ‘ad to go abroad. ‘S all I know. ‘S all ‘e would tell me.”
“The name of the drug. What was it?”
“I...those names, they’re all really long with lots of x’s and z’s an’ stuff.”
Gene raised his heel.
“Pictures!” Miller called out. “They put these pictures on the bottles! Symbols for each drug. I remember that. I can draw it. I can. I can!”
“Ray. Fetch the scum some pencils.”
*
He yanked open the creaking cell door and stomped over to the man, thrusting the drawing into his hands and waiting for an answer.
“And what’s this?” Paul Bond asked, adjusting his glasses as his eyes focused on the crude picture.
“You know all about medical drugs and shite. What’s this one for?” Gene questioned.
“It’s hardly an accurate representation of the...but, yes, yes I think that’s what it’s supposed to be.”
“What?” Gene snapped, impatiently waiting for the fat man to babble out an answer.
“It’s a new drug, still in testing stages, meant to help in the fight against cancer but from the results I’ve read, there is no way it will ever make it into human testing. The side effects on the laboratory rats alone have been enough to warn off any scientific panel.” Paul suddenly looked up at the DCI. “Dear God. Is this what they injected your man with?”
“How do you stop it, the effects. What’s the antidote, the cure?”
Bond shook his head. “DCI Hunt, sir, this is meant to be a cure. It’s not a poison, there is no antidote. The effects, they’re not meant to be reversed.”
________
Part 11