911 is a Joke!
folder
M through R › Reservoir Dogs
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
3,325
Reviews:
13
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
M through R › Reservoir Dogs
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
3,325
Reviews:
13
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Reservoir Dogs, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 3
911 is a Joke - Chapter 3
NGM
This story is a fan fiction based on the screenplay and film ‘Reservoir Dogs’, by Quentin Tarantino. Everything belongs to him. This fiction has no ok from ‘A Band Apart’, Quentin Tarantino, or Lawrence Bender. All rights reserved to them. I make no profit off this. Some dialogue is yanked directly from the text of the script, ala the soft cover screenplay.
The characters are placed in each scene as Quentin Tarantino describes in the screenplay, I suggest purchasing it at BarnesandNoble.com for added detail and stuff that was removed from the original script.
Again, all rights reserved. I only gain mental pleasure from this.
~*~*~
All four doors opened at once, and they all slid out, Eddie had slickly pulled on a leather Kangol, and then locked the doors, leading the way in. He lead them down a hallway, past some sorta empty rooms, into a larger one, where three nameless men sat in front of Joseph Cabot, who was gesturing emphatically at the green chalkboard behind him, voice rumbling angrily from his chest.
“You’re here! Great!” Came Daddy Cabot’s exclamation, sounding a bit more excited than normal.
Eddie slid into the chair next to a broody looking man, then grinning at him, diverted his attention to his father, eyes wide.
“Sorry we were late Daddy, we woulda gotten here sooner, but we got backed up around La Brea and Pico.”
Joe arched an eyebrow at his son, and shook his head, throwing his hands in the air.
“Will you get rid of that goddamned hat?! You look like a fucking nigger.”
The others sniggered as they sunk into their chairs; Larry on the other side of the oddly handsome broody looking man, some other man in a gaudy Hawaiian shirt was already in the seat next to White. An older man with scraggly long hair was behind the man next to Larry, and Freddy took his seat in the chair between the scraggly old man and Pink, eyeing the men in front of him. The man next to Eddie curled his lips into a faint smirk as he ashed his half smoked cigarette on the floor.
“See what I mean Joseph, your kid’s a fuck up…”
Eddie glowered, then punched him in the arm, grumbling as he stuffed the Kangol into his pocket, the handsome man laughing as Joe grunted, rolled his eyes, then sighed, eyeing the motley crew in front of him.
“Jesus, this ain’t some fuckin’ ice cream social ladies, let’s get to goddamned work!”
Freddy eyed the oldest man, with mild fascination as he listened to the wise words thunder from Joe’s mouth. In an odd way, he thought he’d feel real bad arresting this man. He seemed rather brilliant, even if he was a scheming, murdering fuck. Very organized, tight-knit, there was a nagging feeling he had, but for some reason, he thought that somehow these guys knew each other, had heard of each other, or had some inclination of who the other was.
All except for him.
Joe was real smart, and if it weren’t for the fact that he, Frederick Newendyke, born and raised until the age of 8 in London, England, hadn’t seeded his way into this job, this heist would have gone off perfectly, as many of Cabot’s had in the past.
But… it sounded like a dream. In essence, the robbery, though in broad-daylight would be rather simple, and the payout to each of them would be ridiculous… The gnawing hum of spending a fortune down in Hawaii tickled him a little, but his cop-integrity was still getting the better of him… More than once, to his utter horror, had he found himself staring up at his ceiling at night, watching headlights streak by as he lay with his bedclothes pooled at his hips, hands folded behind his head, thinking about it.
Hawaii… Riches… No cares. No rent, no bullshit. No trying to fit in at the precinct, not still feeling inadequate. No hiding his natural-born accent. No shit. Just… disappear. It was probably too late for those thoughts, even thinking them made him feel terrible…
“Here are your names…”
His face stayed blank, eyes blazing darkly as his attention snapped back up to Joe, watching the man’s blunt finger point towards the man with the tacky Hawaiian shirt and the massive forehead.
“Mr.Brown.”
To Larry, who sat in front of him calmly.
“Mr.White.”
To the man who was awfully handsome (for uh… a man), wearing the green shirt, exuding coolness quite like Larry.
“Mr.Blonde.”
Freddy paused for a second, his mental eyebrow arching.
‘Blonde… isn’t really… a color…’
To the quiet, scraggly old man in the back.
“Mr.Blue.”
He, of course, was Mr.Orange; when his name was called, he lowered his eyelids, waiting for the attention to be diverted off of him, which only took a second, before Joe’s finger pointed heavily at the scrawny man to his right.
“And Mr.Pink.” It was almost a murmur, which caught ‘Mr.Orange’ off guard. He sat up a little in his seat, intrigued as Mr.Pink piped up, on his own behalf.
“Why am I Mr.Pink…?”
“Because you’re a faggot, alright?” Joe snapped back, pointing at the man again.
Mr.Brown erupted in giggles, Mr.Blonde had caught Nice Guy’s eye, and the two of them grinned, a few of the others adding a soft laugh here or there.
“Why can’t we pick our own colors?”
Ooh, Pink was persistent, this would be interesting. Freddy grinned a little more, shifting in his seat, wondering if Joe would fly off the handle at the gaunt man, and shoot him or something.
Joe sighed agitatedly, rolling his eyes.
“Tried that once, it don’t work. You get four guys fighting over who’s gonna be Mr.Black. Since nobody knows anybody else, nobody wants to back down. No way, I pick. You’re Mr.Pink. Be thankful you’re not Mr.Yellow.”
Pink arched an eyebrow of acknowledgement before the man dubbed Mr.Brown glanced up, also sounding a tad off put by his name.
“Yeah, but… Mr.Brown? That’s a little too close to Mr.Shit.”
“Mr.Pink sounds like Mr.Pussy. How about if I’m Mr.Purple. That sounds good to me, I’m Mr.Purple.”
Nice Guy Eddie rolled his eyes at Mr.Blonde, who rolled his own back, as Joe growled at the thin man again.
“You’re not Mr.Purple, somebody from another job’s Mr.Purple, you’re Mr.Pink.”
Larry, finally fed up, turned back, glancing back at Pink.
“Who cares what your name is…?”
“Oh, that’s easy for you to say, you’re Mr.White. You got a cool-sounding name. So tell me, Mr.White, if you think ‘Mr.Pink’ is no big deal, wanna trade?”
Freddy smirked a little, and Mr.Brown quirked an eyebrow, glancing to the cool man on his right, sizing up the aforementioned Mr.White.
Joe, at this point was close to grinding his teeth down, his eyes narrowing.
“Nobody’s trading with anybody! Look! This ain’t a goddamned fuckin’ city council meeting!! Listen up Mr.Pink.” He snarled with emphasis, eyes narrowing further. “We got two ways here, my way or the highway. And you can go down either of ‘em. So what’s it gonna be, Mr.Pink?”
Freddy smirked as Pink finally caved and folded to Joe’s directions, sounding a tad bid sulky but otherwise apt to listen to what Cabot had to say. The rest of the meeting had to do with what they were going to be doing between now and the actual heist.
Nice Guy and Blonde were to scope out the scene on their own time, planning out the ‘to and from’ routes in the area, the amount of time they had to get everything down pat. Blue and Brown were also scope out the shop, but, focus more on what the crowds looked like around mid-day, mid-afternoon, they were split into twos, though Pink tagged along with Nice Guy, only because Joe had started to yell at him again by the end of the meeting.
And... Joe had paired him up with White which was oddly pleasing, as well as convienent. He idly wondered as the other’s got up, chairs scraping across the floor, if Cabot was just that observant, or if White had persuaded Joe to be paired with him. The way the two of them spoke was like long time friends, or even brothers, in some odd way, low murmurs while the other’s chatted. He sat until Nice Guy Eddie drifted away from his chair, pulling Mr.Blonde to the side for a moment; then he stood, White turning to grin at him, with something similar to a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Looks like it’s you and me…”
Freddy smiled, eyed him, and continued to grin, his arms folded behind his back, almost coyly. He knew that he’d never really acted like this in front of anyone, well, except for his mother, and that was when he wanted something.
Being Mr.Orange let him… be a tease, if one could go as far to say that.
“Looks like it…”
White smiled back at him, then pursed his lips.
“Well… I know your building… so how about I swing by your place in the late afternoon, we’ll check out the area and what not when it’s not so busy...”
Freddy arched an eyebrow, but nodded, still smiling.
“Alright then…”
“Any specific time you’d like me there?”
“Nah…” The man paused, noticing that Nice Guy Eddie was flagging them down by the end of the hallway. “Surprise me.”
The two walked in silence until White pulled his pack of Red Apples out, offering one to Mr.Orange first.
“What a gentleman…” Freddy murmured, then clucked his tongue, and happily took one, placing it between his lips. He paused, patted down his legs, then jacket for a lighter, frowning.
“Ahh… ya got a…” Blinking as the other man’d already literally snapped his scuffed up Zippo open and lit it with an odd little parlor trick... Snapping to light a zippo, (and it actually *worked*!), cupping the tall flame as he brought it to the tip of Freddy’s cigarette.
Taking a drag, Mr.Orange lifted his eyes from the flame to Larry’s face, half-shocked/half-amused at the smug look, the roaring orange cherry of his own cigarette glowing in his dark eyes.
“Jesus Christ, you fucking drama queens!!!” Eddie balled his fists together, face already red from lack of patience. Apparently, he’d come back to witness the… show. “Sorry to interrupt your fucking moment, but I’m gonna get the fuck outta here, with or without’cha!”
Freddy lifted his hand to wave in apology for making Eddie wait, Larry did nothing, the kid was a spoiled brat anyway, what was waiting a few extra seconds, eh? That’s why the kid was such a goof, no friggin’ patience. The two walked over, Mr.White lagging behind just long enough to agitate Eddie just a bit more.
Mr.Orange was dropped off first, Nice Guy now in a pissy mood, his face still a little red. They didn’t talk too much on the way home, not because of the tension flowing off of Eddie, just out of not having much to say. Aside from the driver, Pink, Orange and White had some real planning to do; Joe had pretty much shown them how to get through it, the deal now was to get it done, but most importantly, successfully.
With as few casualties as possible.
NGM
This story is a fan fiction based on the screenplay and film ‘Reservoir Dogs’, by Quentin Tarantino. Everything belongs to him. This fiction has no ok from ‘A Band Apart’, Quentin Tarantino, or Lawrence Bender. All rights reserved to them. I make no profit off this. Some dialogue is yanked directly from the text of the script, ala the soft cover screenplay.
The characters are placed in each scene as Quentin Tarantino describes in the screenplay, I suggest purchasing it at BarnesandNoble.com for added detail and stuff that was removed from the original script.
Again, all rights reserved. I only gain mental pleasure from this.
~*~*~
All four doors opened at once, and they all slid out, Eddie had slickly pulled on a leather Kangol, and then locked the doors, leading the way in. He lead them down a hallway, past some sorta empty rooms, into a larger one, where three nameless men sat in front of Joseph Cabot, who was gesturing emphatically at the green chalkboard behind him, voice rumbling angrily from his chest.
“You’re here! Great!” Came Daddy Cabot’s exclamation, sounding a bit more excited than normal.
Eddie slid into the chair next to a broody looking man, then grinning at him, diverted his attention to his father, eyes wide.
“Sorry we were late Daddy, we woulda gotten here sooner, but we got backed up around La Brea and Pico.”
Joe arched an eyebrow at his son, and shook his head, throwing his hands in the air.
“Will you get rid of that goddamned hat?! You look like a fucking nigger.”
The others sniggered as they sunk into their chairs; Larry on the other side of the oddly handsome broody looking man, some other man in a gaudy Hawaiian shirt was already in the seat next to White. An older man with scraggly long hair was behind the man next to Larry, and Freddy took his seat in the chair between the scraggly old man and Pink, eyeing the men in front of him. The man next to Eddie curled his lips into a faint smirk as he ashed his half smoked cigarette on the floor.
“See what I mean Joseph, your kid’s a fuck up…”
Eddie glowered, then punched him in the arm, grumbling as he stuffed the Kangol into his pocket, the handsome man laughing as Joe grunted, rolled his eyes, then sighed, eyeing the motley crew in front of him.
“Jesus, this ain’t some fuckin’ ice cream social ladies, let’s get to goddamned work!”
Freddy eyed the oldest man, with mild fascination as he listened to the wise words thunder from Joe’s mouth. In an odd way, he thought he’d feel real bad arresting this man. He seemed rather brilliant, even if he was a scheming, murdering fuck. Very organized, tight-knit, there was a nagging feeling he had, but for some reason, he thought that somehow these guys knew each other, had heard of each other, or had some inclination of who the other was.
All except for him.
Joe was real smart, and if it weren’t for the fact that he, Frederick Newendyke, born and raised until the age of 8 in London, England, hadn’t seeded his way into this job, this heist would have gone off perfectly, as many of Cabot’s had in the past.
But… it sounded like a dream. In essence, the robbery, though in broad-daylight would be rather simple, and the payout to each of them would be ridiculous… The gnawing hum of spending a fortune down in Hawaii tickled him a little, but his cop-integrity was still getting the better of him… More than once, to his utter horror, had he found himself staring up at his ceiling at night, watching headlights streak by as he lay with his bedclothes pooled at his hips, hands folded behind his head, thinking about it.
Hawaii… Riches… No cares. No rent, no bullshit. No trying to fit in at the precinct, not still feeling inadequate. No hiding his natural-born accent. No shit. Just… disappear. It was probably too late for those thoughts, even thinking them made him feel terrible…
“Here are your names…”
His face stayed blank, eyes blazing darkly as his attention snapped back up to Joe, watching the man’s blunt finger point towards the man with the tacky Hawaiian shirt and the massive forehead.
“Mr.Brown.”
To Larry, who sat in front of him calmly.
“Mr.White.”
To the man who was awfully handsome (for uh… a man), wearing the green shirt, exuding coolness quite like Larry.
“Mr.Blonde.”
Freddy paused for a second, his mental eyebrow arching.
‘Blonde… isn’t really… a color…’
To the quiet, scraggly old man in the back.
“Mr.Blue.”
He, of course, was Mr.Orange; when his name was called, he lowered his eyelids, waiting for the attention to be diverted off of him, which only took a second, before Joe’s finger pointed heavily at the scrawny man to his right.
“And Mr.Pink.” It was almost a murmur, which caught ‘Mr.Orange’ off guard. He sat up a little in his seat, intrigued as Mr.Pink piped up, on his own behalf.
“Why am I Mr.Pink…?”
“Because you’re a faggot, alright?” Joe snapped back, pointing at the man again.
Mr.Brown erupted in giggles, Mr.Blonde had caught Nice Guy’s eye, and the two of them grinned, a few of the others adding a soft laugh here or there.
“Why can’t we pick our own colors?”
Ooh, Pink was persistent, this would be interesting. Freddy grinned a little more, shifting in his seat, wondering if Joe would fly off the handle at the gaunt man, and shoot him or something.
Joe sighed agitatedly, rolling his eyes.
“Tried that once, it don’t work. You get four guys fighting over who’s gonna be Mr.Black. Since nobody knows anybody else, nobody wants to back down. No way, I pick. You’re Mr.Pink. Be thankful you’re not Mr.Yellow.”
Pink arched an eyebrow of acknowledgement before the man dubbed Mr.Brown glanced up, also sounding a tad off put by his name.
“Yeah, but… Mr.Brown? That’s a little too close to Mr.Shit.”
“Mr.Pink sounds like Mr.Pussy. How about if I’m Mr.Purple. That sounds good to me, I’m Mr.Purple.”
Nice Guy Eddie rolled his eyes at Mr.Blonde, who rolled his own back, as Joe growled at the thin man again.
“You’re not Mr.Purple, somebody from another job’s Mr.Purple, you’re Mr.Pink.”
Larry, finally fed up, turned back, glancing back at Pink.
“Who cares what your name is…?”
“Oh, that’s easy for you to say, you’re Mr.White. You got a cool-sounding name. So tell me, Mr.White, if you think ‘Mr.Pink’ is no big deal, wanna trade?”
Freddy smirked a little, and Mr.Brown quirked an eyebrow, glancing to the cool man on his right, sizing up the aforementioned Mr.White.
Joe, at this point was close to grinding his teeth down, his eyes narrowing.
“Nobody’s trading with anybody! Look! This ain’t a goddamned fuckin’ city council meeting!! Listen up Mr.Pink.” He snarled with emphasis, eyes narrowing further. “We got two ways here, my way or the highway. And you can go down either of ‘em. So what’s it gonna be, Mr.Pink?”
Freddy smirked as Pink finally caved and folded to Joe’s directions, sounding a tad bid sulky but otherwise apt to listen to what Cabot had to say. The rest of the meeting had to do with what they were going to be doing between now and the actual heist.
Nice Guy and Blonde were to scope out the scene on their own time, planning out the ‘to and from’ routes in the area, the amount of time they had to get everything down pat. Blue and Brown were also scope out the shop, but, focus more on what the crowds looked like around mid-day, mid-afternoon, they were split into twos, though Pink tagged along with Nice Guy, only because Joe had started to yell at him again by the end of the meeting.
And... Joe had paired him up with White which was oddly pleasing, as well as convienent. He idly wondered as the other’s got up, chairs scraping across the floor, if Cabot was just that observant, or if White had persuaded Joe to be paired with him. The way the two of them spoke was like long time friends, or even brothers, in some odd way, low murmurs while the other’s chatted. He sat until Nice Guy Eddie drifted away from his chair, pulling Mr.Blonde to the side for a moment; then he stood, White turning to grin at him, with something similar to a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Looks like it’s you and me…”
Freddy smiled, eyed him, and continued to grin, his arms folded behind his back, almost coyly. He knew that he’d never really acted like this in front of anyone, well, except for his mother, and that was when he wanted something.
Being Mr.Orange let him… be a tease, if one could go as far to say that.
“Looks like it…”
White smiled back at him, then pursed his lips.
“Well… I know your building… so how about I swing by your place in the late afternoon, we’ll check out the area and what not when it’s not so busy...”
Freddy arched an eyebrow, but nodded, still smiling.
“Alright then…”
“Any specific time you’d like me there?”
“Nah…” The man paused, noticing that Nice Guy Eddie was flagging them down by the end of the hallway. “Surprise me.”
The two walked in silence until White pulled his pack of Red Apples out, offering one to Mr.Orange first.
“What a gentleman…” Freddy murmured, then clucked his tongue, and happily took one, placing it between his lips. He paused, patted down his legs, then jacket for a lighter, frowning.
“Ahh… ya got a…” Blinking as the other man’d already literally snapped his scuffed up Zippo open and lit it with an odd little parlor trick... Snapping to light a zippo, (and it actually *worked*!), cupping the tall flame as he brought it to the tip of Freddy’s cigarette.
Taking a drag, Mr.Orange lifted his eyes from the flame to Larry’s face, half-shocked/half-amused at the smug look, the roaring orange cherry of his own cigarette glowing in his dark eyes.
“Jesus Christ, you fucking drama queens!!!” Eddie balled his fists together, face already red from lack of patience. Apparently, he’d come back to witness the… show. “Sorry to interrupt your fucking moment, but I’m gonna get the fuck outta here, with or without’cha!”
Freddy lifted his hand to wave in apology for making Eddie wait, Larry did nothing, the kid was a spoiled brat anyway, what was waiting a few extra seconds, eh? That’s why the kid was such a goof, no friggin’ patience. The two walked over, Mr.White lagging behind just long enough to agitate Eddie just a bit more.
Mr.Orange was dropped off first, Nice Guy now in a pissy mood, his face still a little red. They didn’t talk too much on the way home, not because of the tension flowing off of Eddie, just out of not having much to say. Aside from the driver, Pink, Orange and White had some real planning to do; Joe had pretty much shown them how to get through it, the deal now was to get it done, but most importantly, successfully.
With as few casualties as possible.