Starsky pulled up at Venice Place seconds after a black and white. Thankfully Abby had gone home with a bad headache, but shit, just what had he been thinking, letting Hutch go back to that apartment on his own?
Cursing, Starsky rushed to the door, only for Hutch to run out and right into him, almost pushing him over.
Bloody mouth and nose, jacket all ripped up, but he seemed alright otherwise, at least as far as Starsky could—
"Tommy! It was Tommy, Solkin's kid!" Hutch yelled and wrenched himself out of his grip, pulling Starsky after him like a whirlwind; they ran for the car.
Flying downtown over asphalt, Starsky shot a concerned look to the passenger's seat where Hutch was staring right through the night.
"You okay over there?"
He reached out to give Hutch's good hand a quick touch and found it in a tight fist. Hutch looked down like he’d forgotten he was still clutching it.
"Yeah," he muttered.
Starsky frowned. Put a pin in that. He turned back to the road, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw something small glint in Hutch’s palm when he opened it; metal, shiny-wet.