911 is a Joke!

911 is a Joke - Chapter 5
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.

~*~*~

They ate while they drove, Freddy casting glances at the other man frequently, just still… y’know, surprised that there was someone quite like Larry still around. It was a pleasure to be around the guy, he was so polite, so kind… it was hard to believe, even as a cop, that the man was such a felon. Well… that could be the marijuana talking… but he proceeded not to think of it that way.

Larry tapped his thumbs on the steering wheel, turning up The Spinner’s ‘I’ll Be Around’ that was blaring through his speakers, the bass from the song making the speakers warble a little, but he didn’t care.

“We’re heading to Nice Guy’s, I hope you didn’t have plans tonight…”

Freddy raised both eyebrows, but said nothing, waving one hand dismissively as he pulled two cigarettes from his pack, popping one into his mouth, the other held out for Larry, who accepted it with a half smile.

“Was this planned?”
“You could make that insinuation…”

By the time Mr.Orange was half-way through his smoke, the car had stopped.

“I thought we were going to Eddie’s…?” He murmured, sliding out of his seat, an eyebrow arched; his cigarette half hanging out of his mouth.

Larry only grinned, and pointed up at the neon purple and green sign that sat perched atop the building, the side of his mouth quirking as he restrained himself from chuckling that chuckle of his.

“…Gay bar?”

That set White off, and he erupted with laughter, slinging an arm over Freddy’s shoulders, shaking his head as they walked in, letting his arm drop to the younger man’s mid-back as they walked through the doors. The two looked up as they heard a holler, a vision of Nice Guy Eddie Cabot flailing in the back of the bar, arms flailing. Mr.Pink was palming his forehead in the seat next to the man, looking rather irritated.

Freddy, as he approached the table, was mildly surprised at the place. It was rather packed, with a rather eclectic group of people, he’d have to yell at Holdaway for not mentioning Eddie’s bar to him earlier. He’d actually thought that they were headed for Cabot’s home or something.

They parted as they sat, Orange running a hand through his hair, White nudging out the chair next to Pink for him to sit on, then sat down on the seat next to Freddy’s, eyeing the table.

“Welcome to my club, y’know, Daddy got this for me for my 21st birthday…” Eddie begun, lazily grinning. He’d apparently changed, nice to know that he didn’t only own track windbreakers and retro shirts. Well, scratch that. This one was white, oddly enough, unbuttoned like many of his shirts tended to be, gold chain glimmering in the multicolored lights of the bar.

“Really? I had no idea…” Freddy drawled, a smile coming to his lips. Larry laughed some more, and shook his head, glancing at the men around the table. Pink lit a cigarette, rolling his eyes still.

“C’mon Eddie, shut up, will ya? It’s quite obvious that it’s your bar, stop being such a retard.”

He was met with a dark look from the aforementioned, who stuck out his lower lip in a bratty way, mock pouting.
“You’re just fuckin’ jealous, that’s all…”
“Did he tell you that it’s a gay bar?”
“I could tell by the sign.” Came the murmur, Freddy smiling upon Mr.Blonde’s arrival with a pitcher of beer and some faggoty looking drinks.
“Shut the HELL up, you asshole!” Came the huffy response, Nice Guy looking genuinely offended, his lower lip sticking out further.
“C’mon, it’s a sausage party in here.”
“There are chicks!”
“With other chicks.”

So slick. These guys were great. Freddy shook his head a little, laughing faintly at the bickering between Nice Guy and Mr.Blonde.

“Shut the fuck up, man!”
“Alright, alright, here’s your margarita, ya fag.”

Eddie shot the handsome man, who’d just taken the seat to his left, a rather nasty look, then took a dramatically long sip of his drink, still glowering over the salt-encrusted rim of the glass.

“Hey, where’s mine?” Pink piped up, an eyebrow arched at Blonde.
“He’s in Amsterdam.”

Freddy was suddenly aware of one of the reasons why Mr.Pink was called ‘Mr.Pink’. Perhaps because his face bloomed the color of his namesake as soon as the blurb left Blonde’s, draping his arm along the back of Nice Guy’s chair, then lighting up a cigarette.

Eddie began to laugh, then nudged the man to his left, who shook his head and nudged him back, pouring a generous amount of beer into one of the glasses that were already set on the table before offering some to Orange and White.

Larry nodded as he took the pitcher and poured some beer first for Freddy, then for himself, still eyeing the beginnings of a feud, Pink vs. Nice Guy and Blondie. This might prove to be a bit entertaining.

“I don’t know what the fuck your problem is anymore, Vic…” Pink trailed, his brow furrowing darkly.

Toothpick looked up, arching an eyebrow curiously. "You're just too easy to piss off, you fag..." He murmured, lighting his cigarette, shaking his head as he watched a tall, dark haired man walk up behind the agitated Mr.Pink, rolling his eyes as Eddie smacked his arm a little.
"...?"

Freddy looked up at the man with the long, dark hair, pulled back in a ponytail, standing behind the fidgety Pink, holding up a tall glass containing a rather blue mixture, a pink umbrella sticking out from the top. The man leaned down and set the glass down in front of Pink, who, upon recognizing the man, twitched, his mouth falling open, and a squeak emerged.

"Who... is that?" The cop murmured, leaning into Larry, his arm slung along the back of the other's chair, an eyebrow arched at the newcomer. He paused before answering, then rolled his eyes, lighting his own cigarette.
"That’s blonde's older brother."
"Ooh, a family affair.."
"More than you know.."
Freddy's eyebrow stayed arched, and he reached out, plucking the cigarette from Larry's lips, glancing at the newcomer, before placing it back between the man's lips, indirectly getting his fingers kissed.
"What were you saying?"
Pink tilted his head back, staring up at the man who was grinning down at him, short ponytail bobbing a little as his fingers wiggled in a quirky hello.

"Uh..."
Vic smirked at the response, and Eddie glanced up, shifting a bit towards the man on his left, glancing up at the black-suited man. Well, half black suited.
"Hey Tommy..."

Eddie slapped his forehead, he glanced at Vic, looking forlorn, "They're blowin' the fuckin’names here..." He murmured somewhat agitatedly, eyes darting to Larry and Freddy, they probably spilled the fuckin' beans too. He frowned then ran a hand through his hair as Vic smirked; draping his arm around the man’s back, rubbing his shoulder.

"Ah well, don't tell daddy."

"You got that fuckin' right..." He murmured, eyes darting to Freddy for a moment.

Larry, who had been subtly listening to the conversation between Eddie and Vic, narrowed his eyes, following the young Cabot’s gaze to the man on his left. He shifted in his seat and slung his arm over the back of Freddy’s chair, his brow furrowing as he turned to look at the kid.

The night continued without much more interruption, Freddy seemed a bit oblivious to the glances he had been receiving from Eddie and Vic, though they soon diminished as more and more drinks were ordered, cigarette packs had been steadily depleted throughout the evening—However much to Freddy’s surprise, (and chagrin) no one had made any mention to the heist.

It had been deducted that these guys were ‘fucking professionals’, which gave him confidence in the heist… but at the same time…

The kid frowned and pushed back from his seat, suddenly feeling a little nauseous, his head beginning to throb.

He’d never really thought about the repercussions of this job. What kind of person he would end up to be when it was all over. A hero? What, for a day? People were still people; he’d be betraying all of these guys, who’d welcomed him after only a moment’s hesitation. He’d be the guy that they would hunt down and mutilate, then kill. The thought was actually making him sick, it probably didn’t help that he’d only had some drive-thru Mexican food and beer for the last three or so hours… Larry’s hand fell onto his arm, and he shakily looked into those dark, concerned eyes, another wave of nausea hitting him in the back of the skull. He’d betray this man too.

Freddy quickly got up, and without a word, then ran from the table—to outside, the crowd parting like the red sea as he fled, five heads lifting in the direction that ‘Mr.Orange’ had bolted off to. Four heads turned in various directions, their either shocked, or narrowed gazes falling upon ‘Mr.White’ who dutifully stood, marching out after their felled comrade.


When Larry had woven his way through the crowd (which hadn’t split for him) he’d found the youth clutching one of the cigarette receptacles, body heaving as he emptied the contents of his stomach all over the sidewalk that curled around Eddie’s bar.

A hand caressed his back, slowly, and Freddy looked up after a moment, ‘Mr.White’ stroking all the way up and down his spine in a soothing manner.

“You’re gonna be alright Freddy, just take it easy…”

The undercover cop could only nod a little as he gulped in fresh lungfuls of air, trying in vain and desperation to right himself. It only took a moment longer of Larry’s quite pleasant touch before Mr.Orange wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shakily stood. He ran a hand through his hair as Larry stepped back, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and Zippo. Wordlessly as the cigarette was offered, Freddy accepted, looking embarrassed and a little pale as he waited for Larry to light his smoke.

“You okay now…?”

A nod was the only response Larry got as the two stood in the dark of the evening, smoking in silence.

Freddy’d flicked his cigarette away first, as if he was disgusted by it, then folded his arms behind his back, stepping away from the mess he’d left—Someone else could easily take care of it, and they would, goddamnit. He couldn’t believe he lost his fucking tacos over doing his fuckin’ job… Shaking his head, he let out a faint breath, then looked at the hand that had made itself known on his shoulder.

“Everything’ll work out, no sweat, right? Do you want me to take ya home..?”

Nodding again, the cop said nothing, but turned towards the car that wasn’t too far off from where his lunch had left him, he’d felt a heavy arm sling itself across his shoulders, and hesitantly accepted the weight, letting himself be pulled into the other, who was apparently trying damn hard to cheer him up.

‘What the hell is with these people…? This isn’t how crooks are supposed to act!’ The young man thought with a smile that was surprisingly not forced as Larry opened the door for him, then actually *walked* around the nose of the car to get in. Apparently, he did know the difference between business and play.

After they’d both buckled and Larry had pulled back onto the boulevard, Freddy had made the first move to make noise, clicking the radio back on, that Edison Lighthouse song was on again, apparently at K-Billy they just replayed the day’s music at night.

“Say something.”

Freddy arched an eyebrow, glancing over to the driver, surprised at the demand.

“Something.”
“At least that’s something. You alright? Or are you some kinda lightweight?”
“Hey! C’mon, it’s not like that, I can throw it back with the best of ‘em…” Came Freddy’s slightly heated retort, this however, was exactly the reaction that Larry wanted. It opened the kid up, made him more alive. Very good.

“What happened back there?”
“I’m not sure, I guess somethin’ just didn’t sit right…” Came the slightly dejected sounding response, after the flare of indignance died down.
“Well… if anything, go home and shower, and have a good rest, for me, eh?”

Glancing back at Larry, Freddy simply nodded, sinking back into his seat.

“For you, huh?”

Pulling the car to a stop across the street from the younger man’s building, Larry grinned at him, throwing the car into park before unbuckling himself.

“Yeah, that’s good incentive, right?”

Following the other, Freddy nodded, shutting the door as he fell into step with Larry, crossing the street to his building. Home seemed nice now, and he probably would take Larry’s advice, maybe put something in his stomach before going to bed. He had a lot to think about, and unless he got hammered before bed, or rolled himself something, he’d have tumultuous adventures in dreamland… If any at all.

Larry paused at the doors leading to the building, then smiled, offering up another cigarette that Freddy accepted, once again, this time pulling out his own lighter to light Larry’s cig, then his own, eyeing him as he did so. They trudged up the stairs to the Cop’s apartment, smoking in silence, before Freddy paused midstep, glancing back over his shoulder at the man behind him.

“Why are you so nice?”

He was graced with a deep chuckle, the older man blowing out a steady stream of smoke. They continued up until they reached Freddy’s door, which was only a few steps away, then both paused outside of it, Freddy taking another drag as he waited for the response.

“I’m only nice to people I like.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Didn’t I?”
“I asked why you’re so nice, not why you’re nice to me.”
“I’m not nice… Only to people I like, get it?”
“I think I’ve got the idea.”

Larry smirked, taking another long drag before nudging the younger man in the shoulder.

“Get some rest; I’ll be in touch with you by the end of the week.”

Freddy nodded in response, his head dropping against the door as he fished in his pockets for his keys, finally finding the simple key ring, with a beat looking bottle opener and a scuffed up Superman emblem. Larry found this the best opportunity to leave, turning, he murmured a goodbye, and raised his hand over his head to wave, walking back down the stairs. The keys continued to jingle, but the cop was watching the other man leave, creeping to the stairs to peek over the edge, watching his head disappear a beneath a zigzag of concrete.