911 is a Joke!

911 is a Joke - Chapter 4
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.

~*~*~

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 pulled 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.

~*~*~*~

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, it was around 11:50am when they’d picked Mr.Orange up, took around 25 minutes with traffic to get to the warehouse… Throw down another hour and a half for that whole meeting, plus all the time they spent bullshitting… then 20 minutes to get back home, with Eddie’s huffy driving…

He’d spent his afternoon reading up Mr.Dimick, who was to make an appearance some point in the near future. He’d stupidly forgotten to give his number to Larry… Of course, the man’d probably gotten it from Nice Guy, he was quick like that…

Still Musing, Freddy got up and stretched, rubbing his stomach, hungry suddenly. He yawned into the back of his hand, and headed to the kitchen, a knock on his door freezing him in place.

It was times like these he wished his goddamned door had a peephole…

“Holdaway…” He cursed quietly, shaking his head; probably being nosy, wanting to find out about what happened at the meeting… Freddy sighed, but after another knock, and no muffled curses, the now paranoid man froze in his spot, waiting for the person on the other side of his door to at least say something.

Freddy narrowed his eyes, reached for his gun, which he stuffed in his ankle holster, just incase it was a Girl Scout or some shit like that (he didn’t want to traumatize anybody!) He then paused, unlocking the door, then threw it open, his eyes widening as he glanced up at the dark haired man, his mouth falling open in muted shock.

“Sorry… bad time?”

Blinking wildly, the man furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head a little.

“No you ah… you surprised me…” Freddy frowned suddenly, a horrified look ghosting over his face. “How rude of me, come in, sorry Mr.White--”
“Larry.”

Freddy smiled suddenly, and let out a soft sigh, ushering him in, then closing and locking the door behind him.

“Alright, Larry it is then…”

“I don’t mean to seem rude or straight forward, but I’m not really a one for rules, let me just cut to the chase… Y'mind if I ask your name…?” He said with that oddly charming smile, his delivery simply superb.

Blanching, but not showing it, Freddy paused, and idly noticed that his ‘inner voice’ had the English accent he’d long discarded. Gone were thes ofs of ‘Little Lord Fauntleroy’ though… he hadn’t spoken like that in such a long time.

The dilemma at hand… What to say. Come off rude and not wanting to talk, and stick to Mr.Orange? Do we go with Freddy? Frederick… Maybe Ted? He glanced back up at Larry, inhaling sharply through his nostrils as held out his hand, his mind instantly blanking.

“Name’s Freddy.”
‘Shit.’ He inwardly cursed.

Larry smiled, took his hand, and shook it.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

And yet still so slick…

Freddy, against his own will found himself smiling back, dropping his hand, then glanced up at the older, slightly taller man, who was leaning back against the door. It was actually rather disturbing; the way this man carried himself. Either he was really, really fucking smooth, sly, and cunning or he was genuine, smooth, slick… and so on. What bothered him, the thing that made his stomach twist when he really got to thinking about it, was that he couldn’t figure out what this guy’s game was.

“Y’know, you look like a Freddy too…”
“Better a Frederick than a…” He paused for a moment, and with much distain, and a cringe on his face, he murmured – “Theodore.”

Larry laughed a little, pulling off his sunglasses, then stuffed them in his front pocket, eyeing him with that look again.

Freddy, feeling a bit embarrassed over the state of disarray his apartment was currently in, stepped into the white room to his left, mentally flinching as he remembered all of those… y’know, official LAPD documents sprawled across the tabletop. In the back of his head another grating, gnawing American voice was screeching at him to get Larry out, to call Holdaway, to just get off this case, get Cabot on something else! Sure! He’d blow this one to shit, and probably get killed before any other cop could come and save him, but it had to be less… less… confusing as this.

Unfortunately, there was too strong a *part* of him, a need to prove himself… who wanted to play this part, be Mr.Orange, to see where this operation would take him. Believe it or not, for a new cop, LA really wasn’t as exciting as everyone made it out to be.

He found it oddly interesting too, being courted. Freddy led Mr.Dimick into the room, and paused in front of his street-side windows, stepping back to let his guest enjoy the full view, however dismal.

“Sure, it’s the street, but it’s something, y’know?”
“I bet it’s costin’ you a small fortune too…”

The cop nodded. Larry reached for his pack of cigarettes, yet again offering the man one. Freddy gratefully accepted.
“We should get the show on the road, sorry for not just honking the horn, I didn’t want to disturb anybody.”

Freddy arched an eyebrow, lighting his cigarette with Larry’s conveniently placed flame.

“It’s alright, no harm done, of course.”

‘Of course there’s harm done!’ An inner voice screamed at him, hushed by another agitated English one. ‘Shut up, you twit!’

Larry took a deep drag off his cigarette, glancing down at the man. .

“Let’s at least drive by and check it out… We’ll see what happens from there…” He smiled, flicking his cigarette out the window, then turned and headed for the door, unconsciously adjusting his own gun, which he had concealed under his shirt. Watching this, Freddy smile a bit wider, getting up to follow him, adjusting his own gun, out of mockery.

The nagging American voice in his head screeching at him to get this the hell over with, or arrest him for… for… anything! There *had* to be something he could pin on the man now. Sure he’d blow the whole thing, but Dimick knew where he lived… that could be bad.

Very bad.
Freddy was having a rather hard time finding this evil Larry, the one that had the mile-long rap sheet. The one that robbed a bunch of people… maybe even killed some people. At the moment, he could find himself rationalizing these situations, and it bothered him. He’d always felt like he was a pretty good person. Sure he did take get hammered on occasion, did smoke pot frequently, but he generally had morals… At least, compared to criminals he did… But being around these men, faking this lifestyle… it was far too intriguing.

He shouldered into his jacket, ushered White out of his apartment, and then locked the door behind himself, following the man down the flights of stairs to his car.

It was like, having a split personality all of a sudden. The good cop, and the bad thief.

Sliding into the passenger’s seat, still silent, Freddy pondered this. He’d been challenged by Holdaway to consider the phrase ‘You have but one life to live’, and apply it to his own life in one way or another. He’d said that being a cop, especially for the LAPD, was risking that one life, but making the most out of it.
A nagging, a gnawing somewhere in his head told him that no, this probably wasn’t the most. It had been depressing really, to think about it. He’d probably be treated like a rookie until Holdaway got a promotion, then he’d just be ‘Holdaway’s Protégé’, revered for his work on the Cabot case. He’d be kept down to keep that fuck looking better than him… It just didn’t seem fair, for all the shit he was putting on the line.

Stealing these diamonds, fleeing the country, hiding on some tropical island where he could live like a filthy rich pig, smoking, drinking, eating and quite possibly fucking… He paused, and glanced over at Larry, who was drumming his fingers on the wheel, humming along to ‘Doesn't Somebody Want to be Wanted’; then smirked and looked forward.

Good cop, Bad cop. There had to be some out there somewhere.

They pulled up and parked a block away from Karina's Wholesale Diamonds, #2612, the wood-paneled interior of Larry’s car glimmering in the four o’clock glow of the afternoon shifting into evening shimmer. Turning off the music, Larry lit a cigarette, glancing at the store for a minute before murmuring to the man on his right.

“Lets go over it, where are you?”

Freddy looked up, eyeing the building.

“I stand outside and guard the door. I don’t let them come in or go out…”

Larry took a drag, then offered the cigarette to the other who eagerly took a drag, holding it for a moment.

“Mr.Brown.”

“Mr.Brown stays in the car.” Mr.Orange took a drag, passing it back to Larry who already had something else burning between his lips. Freddy’s eyebrow arched slightly as the thick aroma of the joint bombarded his nostrils, mildly amused that he, an undercover cop, was going to be (happily, and eagerly) smoking a joint, in broad day light, in the car with a thief that he was trying to arrest. Slowly, he continued. “He’s… parked across the street 'til I give him the signal… Then he pulls up in front of the store…”

Nodding, and passing the joint, tightly, to not begin to choke on the smoke, Larry continued.

“Mr.Blonde and Mr.Blue?”

Actually surprised at the quality of the stuff, Freddy coughed a little, much to his mortification, but righted himself and cleared his throat.

“Crowd control. They handle customers and employees…” The young man found himself clutching the joint, then readied himself and took a deep hit, letting out the smoke in a steady stream after a moment. He passed it to Larry, who was grinning as a young brunette in a short skirt strutted across the street.

“That girl’s ass.”

Freddy arched an eyebrow, and gestured to his lap.

“Sitting right here on my dick.”

Larry laughed up smoke, holding it up while he chuckled at the other’s comment, intrigued at the bold display of heterosexuality. As Freddy took the nearly dead joint from him, he lit a cigarette.

“Myself and Mr.Pink?”

The cop found himself putting out the tiny bit of joint that was left, rolling it into a ball, then flicking it into the street idly, replying at his apparent leisure.

“You two take the manager in the back and make him give you the diamonds. We’re there for those stones period.” A cigarette found itself between his lips, lighting it as he continued, a brief appearance of his rarely seen lighter making its debut. “Since no display cases are being fucked with, no alarms should go off… We’re out of there in two minutes, not one second longer.” Freddy paused, arching an eyebrow at the other man, wondering excitedly what kind of answer his question would wield.

“What if the manager won’t give up the diamonds…?”

He rubbed his knuckle into his right eye, then blinked, taking a lazy drag, waiting for Larry’s calculated response.

“When you’re dealing with a store like this, they’re insured up the ass… they’re not supposed to give any resistance whatsoever. If you get a customer or employee who thinks he’s Charles Bronson…” He smiled, taking a drag, then holding his cigarette up, as if he were going to stab someone in the eye with it. “Take the butt of your gun and smash their nose in, drops ‘em right to the floor. Everyone jumps, he falls down screaming, blood squirts out of is nose…”

Mr.White grinned a little.

“Nobody says fuckin’ shit after that. You might get some bitch talk shit to ya… but ya give her a look like you’re gonna smash her face in next… watch her shut the fuck up.”

Staring at the other in mild amusement, but shock as well… ‘Maybe this guy with the rap-sheet is really underneath all of this outside stuff…’

“Now…” He said, taking a long drag of his cigarette. “If it’s a manager, that’s a different story. Managers know better than to fuck around…So, if one is givin’ ya static, he must think he’s a real cowboy. So…”

Freddy leaned in a bit, his eyes rounding with the forthcoming possibilities.

“What ya gotta do is break this son-of-a-bitch in two. If you wanna know something he won’t tell you, cut off one of his fingers. The little one.” He said without amusement, holding up his pinky. “You tell’im his thumb’s next, after that, he’ll tell you if he wears ladie’s underwear.”

Larry paused.

“I’m hungry, let’s get a taco.”

Amazed by the man’s answer, then admission to hunger, he could only laugh as Larry flicked his cigarette out the window and sped off, pulling into a rinky taco place, then ordering nearly half the menu, Larry shelling out the cash for their grub.