Work Text:
The Imposters
by TLR
Plot: Related to the episode "Starsky and Hutch are Guilty".
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Starsky was in the Torino that night and on his way to pick Hutch up for their late shift when Mildred the dispatcher's voice said, “Zebra 3, Hutchinson down,” in a way that made his heart shrink. It sounded like she was trying to hold it together. “Reported fatality. Al... alley off Grant and Ninth.”
Starsky didn’t answer. He was almost there, taking the corner too fast, too tight, tires protesting. He didn’t slow or think, he just drove.
Hutch was supposed to be at Venice Place waiting for him, maybe bring a coffee and multi-grain bagel down to him if he were in a good mood, maybe humming a song or gushing about how nice the breeze felt tonight. Hutch was supposed to be fine.
Starsky jumped out and ran toward the alley entrance, but there was a crowd gathered in the red and blue lights strobing off the brick walls. Crime scene. Hutch. It didn't compute. He couldn't merge the two thoughts together. The only sensation he was keenly aware of was fear crawling inside and out like spiders.
He couldn't look, and he didn't want to see. He wanted to be blind so he could never see anything again, least of all that swish of bloodied blond hair and pale denim jacket he glimpsed on the ground through a couple of bystanders who were gawking as if watching a sporting event.
Dobey's presence registered dimly, like a distant warning siren, but Starsky couldn't speak. He went to his knees. The blond was on his back, some distance away, but Starsky's head went down because he couldn't bear the sight a second longer.
A couple of uniforms came over, Dobey with them. Strong hands caught him under the arms and hauled him up.
“No!” Dobey said shaking him. “Starsky, look at me. It’s not Hutch. It just looks like him. It's not him.”
Starsky shoved at him but couldn't escape his grip. “Get off me. Dispatcher said--”
“They were mistaken,” Dobey said again as he fought to hold Starsky still. His voice was lower now, urgent and unable to hide compassion. “The dispatcher was misinformed. I swear to you.”
A voice cut through everything.
“Starsk?”
Now hands were on him again, but they were Hutch's hands, turning him around and holding on to him so he wouldn't collapse.
“I just went to get my car washed,” Hutch said in an absurdly soothing way. “I just went to get my car washed. I'm all right. I heard the call too. Got here as fast as I could, tried to reach you on the radio...”
All Starsky could do was bury his face in Hutch’s shoulder, breath coming in broken gasps as he wrapped his arms desperately around his neck.
“Hey,” Hutch murmured with a sad, nearly mystified smile to Dobey as he gently patted Starsky's back. “I’m right here. I’m okay. It'll be okay. ”
Dobey scrubbed at his mustache. “Deli owner called the body in. Said it was you, Hutch. I admit he does look like you, but whoever it is, we have a murder on our hands and I'm giving it to you.”
Only then did Starsky and Hutch look back at the body, Starsky seeing this time that, on second glance, he could see that the dead man was a little shorter than Hutch, a little thinner, and the jacket was a shade or two off from Hutch's. It was wild how the mind could play tricks on you when you were in panic mode.
Starsky sniffed and blotted his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Who is he?”
Hutch kept his hand on his partner's shoulder. “I think we both know.”
::
The dead blond's ID confirmed what Dobey now suspected: He was one of the same two men who impersonated Starsky and Hutch a couple of years before in order to not just discredit them, but ruin them. This one was obviously out on parole.
In the privacy of Dobey's office where he could watch and make sure both of his men had their feet back on the ground, he told Hutch, “Either someone wanted you dead, or him dead. It's your job to find out.”
Starsky still sat rather pale and still in the chair in front of Dobey's desk, the cup of coffee he held in his hand, still full.
“Starsky,” Dobey said, “You gonna be able to do this one?”
Starsky passed him a look that would make most men look away.
::
The why came fast.
Huggy’s place was thrumming with business when Starsky and Hutch showed up to meet with him upstairs while Diane took over.
Going up the stairs, Starsky realized no matter how many times they were up there in that room, he was reminded of the harrowing time Hutch had of kicking his forced heroin addiction. Hutch seemed to have settled it, but Starsky doubted he ever could.
Huggy Bear shut the door behind them and locked it, then turned with a look that said this wasn’t business as usual. “Sit,” he said quietly. “Both of you.”
Starsky didn’t argue. He dropped into a chair and leaned back. Hutch stayed standing a moment longer, then leaned back against the wall, arms folded, watching and listening, causing Starsky to reconsider just how much the ghost of withdrawal still lingered.
Huggy nodded toward a man coming from the restroom. The same swarthy guy who'd impersonated Starsky two years before.
“Be cool,” Huggy said quietly to the detectives. “He came to me. Voluntarily.”
Starsky and Hutch didn’t speak, they just stared, their shared instincts firing at once.
The double cleared his throat. “I uh... didn’t know Hanson was gonna die.”
Hutch’s voice was calm, but it carried gravitas, and some sudden sympathy, because the two imposters had been friends. Not for long, and not very close, but friends. They'd been in jail together, and were the talk of the cell blocks, nicknamed Starsky and Hutch Knockoffs. “Start talking.”
The man nodded quickly, blinking back tears. “We got paroled three days ago. We put a quick plan together and got in over our heads.”
Starsky’s eyes flicked up. “Obviously.”
The man went on, words tumbling faster now. “We wanted to lean on some tough guys for hush money, pretend like we were gonna haul 'em in if they didn't pay up.”
Starsky jumped to his feet and grabbed the front of the man's jacket, shaking him. “So now me and Hutch are targets! And have to clean up your dirty work!”
Hutch stepped up close too. “We want a list of who you shook down.”
“Just three. That's it. I swear.”
Starsky's voice lowered to a menacing sound. “You're goin' down for possible accessory in the murder of your buddy Hanson.”
The double looked a little miserable now. “I know. But you have to find Hanson's killer. That's all I want now.”
Starsky shoved him back a step and turned away, hands on hips. Part of him was still at the mouth of that alley, still on his knees and blocked by the crowds, still convinced he’d lost half if not all of himself.
Finally, he nodded. “Yeah. That's all we want too.”
Hutch looked at the double with eyes that had lost some of their warmth. “Turn around. You're under arrest.”
::
Interrogation room.
Hutch ticked items off his fingers. “Attempted extortion. Violation of parole. Impersonation of a police officer, and yes, possible accessory to murder.”
“Immunity? Can you help with immunity? Or the witness protection program? Or something? I already told you it was--”
“We'll see. No promises. It's up to the DA, not us.”
“And then what about Hanson? Who killed him?”
Starsky looked over at him from where he leaned against the wall. “We aren't sure, and it'll be hard to prove, but we think Eddie Nash. And you could be next. So what we're all gonna do is play ball with one another and make sure the right people go to jail and the right people get protection.”
end