Please note: This story was written purely for entertainment and is not for profit, and is not meant to trespass in any way on the holders of the rights to Starsky and Hutch.
This story takes place just before the episode Sweet Revenge

His short legs, hanging off the side of the top bunk, swung faster and faster as the schematic for the toy grew nearer to completion. Excited, he threw down the charcoal pencil, flipped to a fresh page in his sketchbook, and took up a red pencil. He began drawing an outline.

His eyes bugged out behind his glasses. "Has to be perfect."

*****

"Didja hear Kira is transferring to Chicago PD?"

"Good," Hutch sighed. "Now she's their problem."

Starsky laughed with thinly disguised gratitude. Things between them had gotten back to normal in the few days since they jointly dumped the policewoman. He started to speak but stopped when he saw a courier peering in at them through the squadroom window. Waving him in, Starsky moved his feet from his desk to the floor.

"Either one of you, uh, D. Starsky?"

"That's him," Hutch responded as he snatched the package from the visitor.

"Hey!" protested two voices.

"Shut up and give the man a tip." Smirking at the angry expression on his partner's face, Hutch untied the string around the breadbox-sized package. He raised his eyebrows on reading his name beneath Starsky's.

Moments later, Starsky made a grab for the box. Hutch, anticipating the move, gracefully stepped just out of range. Quickly he exposed a perfect scale model of Starsky's car. "Wow."

"A toy Torino! Who sent this?!"

"Don't know. Hey, I think this works…" He opened the driver's door.

Starsky scowled from a sense of uneasiness. "That guy . . . I think he works for that big law firm . . . Lawton, Gillies --" He started toward Hutch.

"Just a little more," Hutch whispered, "and I'll be able to turn the key. Amazing work. Looks almost like the real thing."

The tumblers in Starsky's brain began to fall into place. "Didn't Gillies represent Basil Monk?"

"Yeah, so?" Hutch had a finger on the key and started to push.

It all clicked -- the tumblers, the toy car, the toymaker. "Shit!" Starsky yelled as he took a hard swing at the toy. With the other hand, he grabbed Hutch and twisted him down and away from the object.

The model car sailed toward a corner of the room and burst into flames in midair. Just before reaching the wall, it exploded into hundreds of hot, needlelike pieces.

The explosion punched the partners to the floor. Some of the shrapnel pierced through their clothes and into their backs, stinging them as if starving mosquitoes had attacked. Hutch rubbed his left wrist, Starsky his right knee.

People swarmed in, some going to the detectives, some to put out the multiple fires scattered around the room.

"Dammit, Starsk, your car is a death trap even when you're not driving it," Hutch hissed as Babcock helped him up.

"Hey, partner, you can forget about that GI Joe with the kung fu grip I said I wanted for next Christmas. Another tree would suit me just fine."

"What's wrong, Starsky?" asked Captain Dobey, assisting his detective to his feet. "Finally growing up and leaving the toys to the kids?"

"Uh, they can have 'em. Toys are a little too realistic for me these days, Cap'n."

"At least one certain imprisoned manufacturer's toys are," interjected Hutch with a snarl.

*****

Dobey stood in the center of the mess that was the detectives' squadroom and watched the last firefighter leave. He whistled tonelessly, thinking about the statements Starsky and Hutchinson had given him before he sent them packing for the hospital. Sometimes, I think those two have big targets painted all over them. He sighed and surveyed the destruction around him. "Well, now we have to get this room painted."