Control; Alt; Delete

‘Its good to see you two back’ Dobey’s usually thunderous tones were markedly softer as he saw his two star detectives finally back at their desks. They seemed to have spent so much time in the hospital this last twelve months that the nurses had jokingly said they’d re-name the ward Curly and Blondie in their honour. Neither Starsky nor Hutch laughed too much as the humour. It was too close to the truth and they had come so close to loosing each other so many times that they just wanted to forget Memorial and all its painful associations. As they smiled up at their Captain, he asked them to come into his office and sit down. Glancing warily at each other they slowly and stiffly complied and limped into the small inner office, sitting down gingerly on the chairs there, Hutch holding his left leg and Starsky wincing at the pull of the wounds on his still healing back.


‘I’ve been getting some disturbing reports of violence in the area and I think there may be a link with the bad luck the two of you have been experiencing of late. The FBI have just informed me of a gang operating out of the Bay City area, headed by woman of extraordinary power. She’s been on the A list of America’s most wanted for some time now and they’re asking if you’d help them track her down and stop this rot from going any further’. Dobey looked hopefully at the two detectives. Starsky sat forward in his chair.


‘Well I’m sick of hospital jell-o, so anything to stop the next Memorial call is fine by me. Do we have any information on her? Where’s she from? How many are there in her group?’ His indigo blue eyes searched his Captains face for the answers and Dobey duly obliged.


‘So far as we know there are four that we know of, although there have been known to be more. They all operate under pseudonyms so we aren’t sure of their real names. They’re an international organisation. The leader controls an area stretching from the mid Pacific right through to Europe. Interpol have been after her for years. She hails, we think from the mid west, but she’d been known to operate out of Bay City for the past few years. Her group are evil, hell-bent on causing misery and pain although she is the ringleader and they are only following her instructions’.


Hutch ran his hand over his face. ‘And you’re telling us that one woman is responsible for all our problems? The nose bleeds, the headaches, the times we’ve been tortured? Jeez Cap! How come she’s been allowed to get away with it all this time?’


Dobey grunted. ‘She has a huge following. What more can I say? She’s well known all over the world. There’s even an operative in Australia. We need to take her down, and soon. So, are ya gonna take this on?’


The two detectives glanced at each other, ice blue locking with indigo, reading each other’s minds perfectly.


‘You got it. We need to bring her down before she starts on someone else’ the said in unison.




The room was dimly lit by a single naked bulb. There was no window and it was stuffy and hot, the air conditioning not extending to the basement of the large house. The walls were whitewashed and around them hung various whips, chains and implements of torture. From the outside it seemed an ordinary suburban building and the casual passer by would never have thought to question what went on the basement, but the house held a dark and wicked secret.


It was occupied at that moment by four women. Three were chained by their ankles to desks in three corners of the room, their hands manacled to the laptops whose screens illuminated their pale and pasty faces. They stared owlishly in the dim light at the flickering screens as their fingers worked feverishly. None of them could remember the last time they’d seen daylight and their fingers ached with the constant tapping as they were forced to type ever faster and faster, their fates sealed by their willingness to please their mistress. The fourth occupant of the room sat in the middle on a swivel stool as she scanned from one desk to the next, playing seductively with the cat ‘o’ nine tails in her hand.


‘So ladies, how’s it going so far?’ she asked, her voice loud and forceful in the enclosed space.


The woman in the right hand corner looked up from her keyboard. ‘I’ve got Starsky hauled up a mast having seven shades of stuffing whipped out of him by the bad guy, while Hutch is steadily loosing his mind. Should be onto the last chapters soon. Then it’s on to the Jewish slave farm. I’m sorry, I can’t type faster’ Delia said, hoping the harridan in the middle would be satisfied. She received a nod of approval and went back to her typing, a relieved expression on her face.




‘Curly the biker has just had his ribs broken and the real Snake is on his way from New York. I wrote the knuckle dusters in like you wanted’ she pleaded, not wanting to taste the whip again. The woman in the middle turned away and Shawne went thankfully back to her work, her fingers dancing over the keyboard as though her life depended on it.


‘And Janet?’ she addressed the newest member of the group


‘Hutch has been shot in the head and I’ve just tried to drown Starsky. What did you say we were doing next?’


‘For the hundredth time, it’s the Tazer and then the lights. How many more times?’ the woman raised her voice and all three writers cowered back in their seats as the woman flicked the wicked whip their way.


They all knew that Brook demanded nothing but perfection from her girls. Only the thought of tormenting the two most dashing and handsome cops in the BCPD satisfied the blond bombshell and she took her role seriously. She had a particular flair for hurting the tall, devastatingly handsome brunette and had hand picked her team for their willingness to whip, beat, shoot, drown and otherwise maim her boy. She licked her lips in satisfaction.


‘Good, good. Keep at it ladies. I expect several more chapters before sunset’.


The three looked at each other in despair. They’d been writing non-stop now for the past three weeks as Brook put up their word quota day by day. Any lack of chapters was severely punished and twice Delia had had her back rest and footstool removed, leaving her feet dangling uncomfortably in mid air. None of them had been fed for the past two hours and all were craving their ration of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. It was one of Brook’s little delights to withhold the delicacy, making the women watch as she lovingly caressed the pot of double choc chip cookie dough and seductively spooned the desert into her mouth, while they looked on, almost faint from lack of nourishment.


Twice now, Shawne and Janet had tried tunnelling out of the basement using an old plastic ice cream spoon while Delia had kept watch. But they had gone no further than the a couple of centimetres before their attempt was discovered and Brook forced them to watch as she lasciviously caressed a picture of Paul Michael Glaser, running her fingers over the picture of the hairs on his tanned and muscled chest. The two women writhed in discomfort when she held the poster just out of their reach. After that, none of the writers had the courage to try another escape plan and hope disappeared to be replaced by day after endless day of spellchecking thesaurus and re-writing.




‘Is this it? It seems so ordinary’ Starsky said as he drew his candy apple red Torino up outside the large house. ‘You sure the FBI have got it right?’


His partner squinted up at the frontage, taking in the bright white paint, the deep eaves of the house and the brightly painted gate. ‘Yeah, they said she had ‘em kept in the basement. Toss ya for who goes round the back’ he held a dime in is hands and flipped the coin up, catching it and covering it.


‘Tails’ the brunette said as Hutch peered underneath.


‘Tough luck Gordo, its heads’.


Starsky looked confused. ‘What? Heads you go round the back, or heads I lose and I go round the back?’


The blond looked heavenwards. ‘Heads I win and you go round the back. Just try an’ keep up huh? We need to be on our toes for this. Dobey's never sent us on such a dangerous job before. Don’t know about you, but this woman….well….just watch your back partner’.


‘I know buddy, she’s got to me too. It just creeps me out that she can enjoy what she does so much! Apparently she doesn’t get off on hurting anyone else. Seems to me its “Who do we Trust time”.


With a sigh, Starsky got out of the car and trotted around to the back of the building as Hutch mentally prepared himself and walked up to the front door. He gave his partner time to get into position, then knocked and waited, getting no response. He hammered on the door again, then tried the handle, seeing the door was open, Cautiously he went in, looking for the stairs down to the cellar. He stood on the top step and waited, hearing raised voices below.


At the back of the house, Starsky had just gotten himself into position hunkered down by the back door, when he suddenly felt an arm smelling of perfume snake around his neck, drawing him back towards a female body.


‘Ssh’ the body hissed. ‘Are you going to come quietly? Or are you going to struggle….please’


He nodded slowly and tried to get to his feet, but his assailant still had her arm around his neck.  As he stood he felt as though he was being dragged backwards and he realised that while he was almost 6’ of lean and handsome muscle, his captor was only 5’ 5” and she dangled in mid air, her feet kicking against him as her arm threatened to cut off his air supply around his neck. He staggered towards the back door and as he got inside he heard her yell


‘Quick, write me in as being 6’’’


The disorientated cop heard the rattle of laptop keys and suddenly the pressure around his neck lessened as his assailant seemed to have grown by 7”. With her feet now firmly planted on the ground she steered her captive detective down the narrow staircase and into the basement where the other three women looked up, their eyes suddenly unfocussed as they sighed and gazed at the object of their desire.


‘Enough! Back to work and write me a bed and soft candlelight’ Brook ordered as the women bent to do her bidding. Again Starsky heard the rattle of keys and a four poster bed lit by a candelabrum appeared in the middle of the room, its top decorated by sumptuous red satin sheets and a fur’s throw. ‘And make sure the other one’s way is barred’. A large padlock appeared on the door to the upstairs as Starsky gazed frantically around him, realising there was now no escape


As Brook pulled her man down onto the bed, the curly haired cop struggled to keep upright.


‘Hey lady, you’ve got the wrong idea about me! I’m the shy retiring sort’ he grunted as she pulled him into an embrace.


‘That’s not how I have you written and you know it. You’re a red blooded, hot, rough around the edges, dynamo’ she said dotting little kisses all over his face and chest. Starsky melted into her arms, his hand reaching to caress her hair. Suddenly he yelped.


‘Ungh….cramp…in my foot’ he shot off the bed and hopped up and down, trying to take off his blue Adidas to rub the appendage. Brook stared around the room, her gaze falling on one of the writers who had a particularly jealous look on her face.


‘Not funny Janet! You’d better delete that now or suffer the consequences!’


The terrified dark haired woman bit back a squeal and  hit the delete key and Starsky staggered back to the bed as Brook  drew him to her and continued her ministrations. From outside the room, the blonde’s muffled voice could be heard as he shouted and pounded on the door. In desperation Starsky stared at Shawne, the nearest writer to him.


‘if you want us to get you out of here, for Gods sake write in a key to the padlock now’ he pleaded as Brook forced him back onto the bed and started to unfasten the belt around his waist.


Shawne looked at Starsky then at the woman intent on having her wily way with him and furiously typed a sentence on her computer, hitting the enter key with deliberation. Within moments, Hutch had opened the door to the basement and charged down, gun raised as he pointed it at the bed.


‘OK lady. Let my partner go now’ he said levelly as Brook looked up at him. The women all glared at the blond, then back at the bed and the brunette still lying on it, his shirt now undone and his chest bare. As Hutch looked on he saw a devilish light appear in the women’s eyes.


Slowly Delia bent over her keyboard and typed a final set of words on the computer. She looked up in satisfaction as she hit the enter button and the blond disappeared in a puff or smoke. With another rattle of keys, the women rose from their desks, their balls and chains unlocked from their ankles. Slowly, like predators closing in for the kill all four women descended on the panting brunette on the bed and he gasped as they threw themselves on him, before admitting defeat and succumbing to their ministrations.