The hardest way
I cleaned his appartment. It's as he left it.
Huggy helped, though I think he didn't understand why I was doing it.
I needed something to occupy my mind.
Dobey came over as well. He told me some nonsense that I shouldn't be alone
right now, that he understood me. He said I shouldn't be so hard on myself.
But how could I not?
I failed Starsky, failed to protect my partner. And he paid the price.
Everything's squeaky clean, almost sterile. Just like the hospital room he had been lying in.
Only his Baretta left.
I don't think Dobey knew I had it. He took my Magnum with him, saying it would be better if I didn't have it right now.
I've cleaned it, too. Compared to my Magnum it's actually small but not less
Starsky always said it wasn't about the size, maybe he was right. It gets the job done.
My fingers close around the handle, the steel of the barrel against my head. So cold. Reminds me of Starsky.
The last thing I'm thinking is that Starsky's going to be so pissed when he sees the mess I've made.
Then I remember, that he won't.