Faulk ‘N Schette: Buddy Cops – Episode 104
They’re cops. They’re buddies. They’re buddy cops. This is their story.
Episode 104 – Heads, You’re Dead
(Wealthy Spanish industrialist Pedro Blówvar is enjoying a bottle of champagne on the deck of his yacht — El Emenopee — with some friends in the Long Island Sound, preparing for a world cruise when they are interrupted by one of the crew members..)
Crew Member: Excuse me, Mr. Blówvar.
Blówvar: Si? Are we ready to disembark?
(The crewman draws a gun and points it at the Spaniard’s head as his lady guests shriek and drop their glasses..)
Crew Member: Not quite yet.
Blówvar: Ay dios mio!
Faulk: (sighs) Call it in the air.
Faulk: (checks the coin, rolls his eyes) Heads it is.
Schette: (ecstatic) That’s amazing!
Faulk: No. It isn’t. It’s a two-headed coin. It’s always going to be heads.
Schette: You never know, though. Flip it again.
(Chief Red Tree flies by the detectives’ desks..)
Chief: Follow me, boys. We got a live one.
Schette: (putting on his jacket, rushing after the Chief) Just flip it again, Ricky.
Faulk: We’re running. You can’t flip a coin while you’re running.
Schette: Sure you can.
(Harry grabs the coin as they burst through the double doors into the carport, flips it and watches helplessly as it rolls down a sewer grate..)
Schette: (holds his hand out) Best two out of three.
(The Chief and his detectives are stationed at the marina, the El Emenopee sitting at the end of the dock..)
Chief: The man’s name is Pedro Blówvar. He’s a wealthy businessman from Barcelona.
Schette: Oh, in Ethpain?
Chief: Yes, Harry. In Spain. He and his friends are being held hostage. It seems the gunmen entered the yacht disguised as the crew. They have yet to make any demands.
Schette: (shrugs, eating a small bag of Fritos) Maybe they just wanna kill everybody.
Chief: Well, that would be a worst-case scenario.
Schette: Would it, Chief? Would it? (eats Frito)
Chief: Yes. It would.
Faulk: What’s the plan, boss?
Chief: I wanna put you two on that ship, posing as friends of Blówvar’s and take ’em down from the inside.
Schette: (tosses empty Fritos bag on the ground) I ain’t goin’ on that boat.
Chief: And why not?
Schette: You just said there’s a buncha dudes with guns on there!
Chief: Yes. And you’re a police detective trained to deal with such situations.
Schette: I’ll be perfectly honest with ya, Chief. I cheated my ass off on that test. Why can’t you get Det. Bananas on there? Dress him as a little monkey waiter. That would be adorable.
Chief: Det. Bananas is back in Hollywood this week, consulting for CSI: Miami.
Schette: Well, there is no way in Hell I’m getting on that– (looks down at the wooden deck and the three-piece suit he’s now wearing) –I’m on the boat, aren’t I?
Faulk: You’re on the boat.
Schette: How the heck did that happen?
Faulk: Chief knocked you out and changed your clothes.
(Det.’s Faulk and Schette are making their way through the hallways of the yacht towards the front of the ship where the passengers are being held..)
Schette: So what’s our game plan?
Faulk: We’ll pose as foreign diplomats. I’ll be Ngotwe Chwebe from Kenya and you can be Foglehardt Bernsworth from England.
Schette: Aw, I wanna be the Kenyan!
Faulk: Not sure a white boy from Kenya is going to be very believable.
Schette: But I can do the accent.
Faulk: No, you can’t.
Schette: Rude boy. Seen?
Faulk: That’s Jamaican.
Schette: (scowling) You’re Jamaican!
(Pedro Blówvar and his partygoers are tied up on the front deck while the lead gunman marches in front of his captives, when Faulk and Schette burst out onto the deck..)
Schette: What dese rude boys be doin’ on ma friend’s boat, seen?
Faulk: You are kidding.
Yarlsborough: (turning his gun on the detectives) Who are you?
Schette: I be Ngotwe Chwebe, seen?
Yarlsborough: (frowning) You don’t look like an Ngotwe.
Schette: I’m from Kenya, neega.
Yarlsborough: Where in Kenya?
Schette: Da beach.
Yarlsborough: Which beach?
Schette: Um…Kenya Beach? And dis is my English friend Foglehardt Bernsworth, seen? Enough with da questions, mon. Why you got dat dere gun on ma friend, Pedro? (waving) Irie irie, Pedro!
Blówvar: (confused) Hello.
Yarlsborough: My name is Pettigrew Yarlsborough and I’m holding these rich assholes hostage.
Faulk: How come…govna?
Yarlsborough: None of your business. Now get down here with the rest of ’em.
Schette: (getting on his knees as one of the henchmen ties his wrists together) Buncha rude boys.
Faulk: (whispering to Harry) Remind me to kill you after this.
(Det. Ricky Faulk makes his way over to Pedro Blówvar and explains the situation..)
Blówvar: The NYPD? And you will help me out of this, no?
Faulk: We’re working on it. Do you have any idea who this Yarlsborough guy is?
Blówvar: I do not. An aristocrat like myself would not be seen commingling with the likes of him.
Schette: Be honest. He’s your secret gay lover, isn’t he?
Blówvar: He most certainly is not!
Faulk: Let me handle this, Harry.
Schette: What? It’s an honest question. I mean, he is a Spaniard.
Yarlsborough: (pointing his gun at Det. Schette) Enough talking!
Schette: Look at the jealousy in his eyes.
(Det.’s Faulk and Schette are leaning against the railing, trying to loosen their binds and discussing the case..)
Schette: So who do you think Yarlborough and these guys are? Who hates Spain? France?
Faulk: I don’t think this has anything to do with Blówvar being from Spain.
Schette: Basque Separatists?
Faulk: This seems more personal to me.
Schette: I still haven’t ruled out secret gay lovers. Maybe this Yarlsborough guy was spurned.
Faulk: Yarlsborough seems more invested in this than the rest of his men.
Schette: Have you ever been spurned?
Faulk: If I can just get to him. Get into his psyche.
Schette: Being spurned sucks. That’s why Booth killed Lincoln; they were secret gay lovers. But when the War ended, all the excitement went with it. Lincoln became distant and Booth got spurned.
Faulk: Do you ever just listen to your thoughts before you say them?
Schette: If I did that, nothing would ever get said.
Schette: (whispering) British accent!
Faulk: Oi, mate! Like to have a talk with ya, you…wanker.
Yarlsborough: What can you do for me, you Englishman?
Faulk: You untie me and tell me why you’re doing this; maybe I can get you extradited to a friendlier country.
(Pettigrew ponders for a moment, then unties Ricky..)
Yarlsborough: Follow me to the back of the ship.
Schette: (shouting after Ricky) Get to da troof, me brudda!
Faulk: (frowning) You hate yachts.
Yarlsborough: Yes, with an unbridled passion.
Yarlsborough: I used to be a head writer for Yachts! Magazine. Then one day the editor comes into my office; says my writing has suffered. My articles aren’t “yacht-y” enough. And he fired me.
Faulk: Tough break.
Yarlsborough: So now I’ve made it my sole mission to destroy all yachts. I figure if I destroy them all, I’ll put Yachts! Magazine out of business. Can’t have a magazine about yachts without yachts.
Faulk: That is true. Look Pettigrew, I’m gonna level with you. I’m an NYPD police detective and I’m here to take you in. I can’t have you killing anybody today.
Yarlsborough: The only person I’m going to kill today is this yacht. You clear this ship off and let me burn it to the ground and nobody’ll get hurt.
Faulk: You know I can’t let you do that, Pettigrew.
Yarlsborough: Then we all die!
(Yarlsborough lights a match and throws it onto a stack of backcopies of Yachts! Magazine and the boat quickly catches fire..)
Faulk: (drawing his gun on Pettigrew) If you do this, Pettigrew; you’ll die too! What about all those other yachts out there!
Yarlsborough: There are others just like me. They will carry on my work after I’m gone. Yachts! Magazine shall be no more!
Faulk: This is the most ridiculous mission everrrrrrrrrrr!!
(Chief Red Tree looks on in horror as the El Emenopee is completely engulfed in flames.)
(Det.’s Faulk and Schette are wrapped in blankets in the marina, sitting on the back of an ambulance with Chief Red Tree..)
Chief: It’s a good thing Det. Bananas showed up when he did.
Faulk: Two weeks in a row. This is getting embarassing.
Schette: You should’ve seen his moves out there, Chief. That monkey was on fire.
Chief: Yeah, he sure is somethin’.
Schette: No, I mean he was literally on fire. Is he gonna be alright?
Chief: (putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder, staring off at the sinking yacht) He’s gonna be fine, Harry. He’s gonna be just fine.
Faulk: I guess Yachts! Magazine has got its cover story for next month’s issue.
(The detectives and their Chief share a hearty laugh..)
Schette: (hands on his hips, grinning) Oh, Ricky. You so cray-zay!