Risk Assessment

All cops knew what they were getting into when they took the oath to serve and protect. But there’s knowing, and then there’s shit getting real.

Originally published in the 2018 SHareCon zine. I’m so grateful for Cyanne, zine editor and producer, and the rest of the CONspirators who keep the S&H love going—thank you! ♥

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

Starsky didn’t bother to turn around, he just grunted and held up his lighter. He heard the metallic snap and snick as Hutch lit up his own cigarette. They smoked in silence for a while. Starsky continued to stare out over the emptying parking lot.

“Think we should quit?” he finally asked.

“Do you?” Hutch countered. “Why’d we start in the first place?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time, I guess.”

“And now?”

“Now….” Starsky sighed.

“Nothing’s changed,” Hutch said, then softened his tone. “Come on. You don’t really want to quit.”

Starsky turned his head to look over his shoulder, even though he knew what he would see: Hutch standing tall behind him, his cap tucked under his arm, his face somber and concerned. He looked sharp, professional.

Starsky glanced down at himself. He looked pretty good too, he supposed. Dress blues would do that for an officer. Even dead ones.

Starsky knew the risks that came with the badge, of course. So did Hutch. All cops knew—or learned real quick—what they were getting into when they took the oath to serve and protect.

Max Robbins, a fellow Academy classmate, had known. Max and his partner Felix Jankowski had responded to a ‘routine’ domestic disturbance call that turned out to be anything but. The argument between a woman and her ex had been loud and profane, but not physical. The two cops were well on their way to diffusing the situation, getting both parties to calm down, when the guy said something. The woman started shrieking again and without warning the guy snatched up a chair and swung it at the officers.

The blow to Jankowski’s head put him down for the count, and he never felt his gun leaving his holster, never heard the shots fired. When he woke up, he couldn’t even remember what the guy had said that had blown the whole thing out of the water.

Max and the woman never woke up at all.

Starsky closed his eyes, but the image of his friend, looking sharp and professional in his uniform, persisted. Lying in his coffin, Max Robbins was the ultimate risk made manifest.

Yeah, Robbins had known the risks, and a fat lot of good that had done him. Forewarned might mean forearmed, but it didn’t mean forfended. Starsky and Hutch and their fellow pallbearers were on the front lines of a war, and being good at their jobs didn’t mean jack if luck decided to fuck them over.

“Hey.”

Starsky felt a warm hand clasp his arm. He opened his eyes to find Hutch crouched down next to him.

“It’s still a good idea, Starsky. What we do, it makes a difference out there on the streets.”

“You’re wrong.”

“No, I’m not. We do make a difference—”

“Not about that. What you said just now, about how nothing’s changed. It has.”

He and Hutch were finally partners, fulfilling the promise they’d made to each other back in the Academy. It was literally a dream come true, and he absolutely did not want to give that up, not in the least. But—

I feel like I just got you. What if I lose you?

Their dedication to the job and to their partnership: it lowered the risk, but raised the stakes. A double-edged sword. Which edge was sharper?

Hutch smiled a little and shook his head, as though he had read Starsky’s mind. Hell, he probably had.

“As long as we do it together, watch each other’s back, we’ll be okay.”

The quiet assurance in Hutch’s voice, the genuine confidence in them, made Starsky’s chest unclench, just a little. If Hutch had faith, well. He was the first and best reason for believing in good luck rather than bad. There was no one better to beat back the odds. And frankly, the thought that Hutch might go out there without him was even more terrifying.

No.

Fuck you, you can’t take him. He raised a metaphorical middle finger to every criminal in Bay City. Starsky was going to make sure, damned sure, they stayed sharp.

“Yeah, together,” Starsky said.

“Me and thee, partner.” Hutch stood and extended his hand. Starsky took it and rose as well, dusting off the seat of his uniform.

“Right. Let’s go, partner.”

Hutch slung his arm across Starsky’s shoulder, and they began walking towards Hutch’s car, parked in the far corner of the church’s parking lot. Starsky took a last drag on his cigarette and looked at the butt thoughtfully before flicking it away.

“Y’know, I think we should give up smoking. This stuff’ll kill us.”

“I will if you will, Starsk.”