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Faulk ‘N Schette: Buddy Cops – Episode 111

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 09/21/2011

They’re cops. They’re buddies. They’re buddy cops. This is their story.

Episode 111 – Burial

(Det.’s Harry Schette and Ricky Faulk are sitting in Harry’s car outside a park a few blocks from the 47th Precinct. Harry is behind the wheel, reading the Times..)

Schette:  Says here the Japanese are developing affordable female cyborgs for the home.

Faulk:  Why just female?

Schette:  You know, for cleaning. And sex.

Faulk:  (shaking his head)  I couldn’t have sex with a robot.

Schette:  Not a robot, Ricky. A cyborg. Half-human; so, half-okay.

Faulk:  So the Japanese are breeding humans and robots and then selling them?

Schette:  At an affordable price.

Faulk:  I don’t think you’re reading that article right.

Schette:  Yeah, me neither. A robot girlfriend, though. Imagine that. She starts nagging and BOOP, shut her down.

Faulk:  I don’t think I’d like that.

Schette:  But women, though. With the nagging, am I right?

Faulk:  (staring aimlessly out the passenger side window)  Yep.

Schette:  No seriously, am I right? Because if my wife is the only woman that nags, I’m going to be so fucking pissed.

(The car radio flickers to life and the detectives hear Chief Red Tree’s voice..)

Chief:  Faulk and Schette, I need you to get over to the county morgue immediately.

Schette:  (grins)  Jeez, Chief. Who died?


Schette:  (smile fading)  Do you get it?

Chief:  Harry..

Schette:  Hey Chief, does your wife nag?

Chief:  Just get over there!

Schette:  But seriously, though; who died.

Chief:  Abe Vigoda.

Schette:  (gasps, belches)


(Harry and Ricky arrive at the county morgue and meet with Paul the mortician..)

Paul:  Thanks for getting over here on such short notice, detectives.

Faulk:  What seems to be the problem?

Schette:  Where’s Mr. Vigoda?

Paul:  That’s the thing. We received Mr. Vigoda’s body from East Anglican Memorial late last night and were holding it until a family member could arrive to identify the body this morning.

Schette:  What do you need to do that for? He’s Abe Vigoda, world-famous actor extraordinaire. You can get any bum off the street to identify that body!

Paul:  There’s a procedure.

Faulk:  So where’s the crime here?

Schette:  (grabbing Paul by the collar)  Was Abe Vigoda murdered? I swear to God, if–

Paul:  He died of natural causes. He was ninety. No, the problem is when I went downstairs to open up the freezer this morning, Mr. Vigoda’s corpse was missing.

Faulk:  My God.

Schette:  (nodding, stroking his chin)  Corpse theft. Most likely some sort of necrophiliac cult. Probably a ritual sacrifice/orgy-type situation.

Paul:  Oh my goodness, do you really think so?

Faulk:  No, we’ don’t.

Schette:  Were all of Mr. Vigoda’s holes sewed shut?

Paul:  Uh…

Faulk:  (grabbing Harry by the sleeve)  We’re gonna find that corpse, sir. I promise you that.

Paul:  Thank you, detectives.

(Harry and Ricky head back upstairs..)

Faulk:  What kind of sick person would steal a corpse?

Schette:  Well, I know one thing for damn sure.

Faulk:  What’s that?

Schette:  I’m gettin’ me one of them Japanese sexbots.


(Clem and Boomer are cruising down 15th Street with Abe Vigoda’s corpse in a Hawaiian shirt in the back seat, slowly tilting to the side..)

Clem:  Whooooo! Weekend at Bernie’s!

Boomer:  This is awesome! We should take him to a bar and get wasted!

Clem:  This is the best day everrrrrrrrrrr!


(Harry and Ricky are in the elevator of a rundown old apartment building on the east side of town meeting with Chet Turtleman, an expert on cults who’s worked with the 47th Precinct in the past..)

Faulk:  You’re really running with this cult angle.

Schette:  Why else are you gonna steal a dead body? There’s no profit in it.

Faulk:  Black market organ harvester?

Schette:  Shoot, I didn’t think about that. But Vigoda’s organs were pretty old.

Faulk:  Really cheap black market organ harvester?

Schette:  Crap. Now I like your idea better. And I hate Turtleman; he creeps me out.

Faulk:  Let’s just go back downstairs.

(Ricky hits the lobby button frantically as the elevator doors open, revealing cult expert Chet Turtleman..)

Schette:  Oh, hey…Chet.

(Chet Turtleman a disheveled, greasy-haired older man spreads his arms wide..)

Turtleman:  Gentlemen! Let’s have a hug.

Schette:  Oh…kay.

(The cult expert embraces the two detectives and they reluctantly follow him into his apartment..)

Turtleman:  Yes. Corpse theft. Very interesting. A lot of necrophilia in the cult community these days.

Faulk:  Forgive me, Chet. But weren’t cults really more of a…70’s thing?  (elbows Harry, grinning)  Hey, kinda like Abe Vigoda.

Schette:  (thrusts a finger in Ricky’s face)  Abe Vigoda is timeless!

Turtleman:  No no, Det. Faulk. Cults are still very popular today. Perhaps even more so.

Faulk:  And they really have sex with dead people?

Turtleman:  (nods, thumbing through pages strewn across his desk)  It can be an initiation rite. Sometimes it’s a ritual, after a blood sacrifice. And the great thing is they can’t nag ya afterwards!  He he.

Schette:  That’s what I’m saying!

Faulk:  (frowns)

Schette:  Except with robots, not dead people. That’s just gross.

Turtleman:  (leaning back in his chair)  So what are you guys doin’ now? Wanna grab a drink?

Faulk:  We’ve kinda got this case. The dead guy?

Turtleman:  (waves a hand at Ricky)  Oh, he’s been long-fucked and discarded by now. I wouldn’t worry about it. C’mon, there’s this pub around the corner you guys will really like.

Schette:  (turning to Ricky)  Eh, maybe one drink?

Faulk:  What about Vigoda?

Schette:  You heard the expert. He’s long-fucked by now.

Faulk:  What about the black market organ harvester?

Schette:  It’s pretty late in the afternoon. The black market’s probably closed by now.

Faulk:  It’s not an actual place.

Turtleman:  Drinks?

Schette:  Drinks!

Faulk:  (sighs)  Drinks.


(At Houlihan’s Pub..)

Clem:  Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!

Boomer:  Shots! Shots! Shots! Shots!

(The Hawaiian-shirted corpse of Abe Vigoda tilts and leans against Boomer..)

Bartender:  Is he okay?

Clem:  He’s wasted, bro!


(At a back booth in Houlihan’s Pub..)

Faulk:  (frowning at the three wasted patrons at the bar)  White boys.

Schette:  (chugging a pint)  This place is alright, Turtleman.

Turtleman:  You should try the potato-jalapeno poppers.

(Vigoda’s corpse thumps to the ground and Clem and Boomer are falling over each other laughing. A waitress shrieks and drops her tray of potato-jalapeno poppers. The detectives rush to the bar..)

Faulk:  Oh my lord.

Schette:  Vigoda!

(Harry grabs Clem by the collar and throws him to the ground..)

Schette:  You monsters! How many times did you fuck Vigoda? How many times!

Clem:  (holding his hands over his face)  What? No! We didn’t– Nobody–

Turtleman:  (fishing around in Vigoda’s pants)  No signs of penetration!

Faulk:  (frowns)  Stop that.

Boomer:  (crying)  We just wanted to party!

Clem:  I’m the janitor at the county morgue. When I saw old Abe Vigoda just lying there, I thought he’d wanna party just one last time; Weekend at Bernie’s-style.

(Harry glances up at Ricky and shrugs.)


(Det.’s Faulk and Schette, Clem, Boomer and Chet Turtleman are cruising down 8th Avenue hooting and hollering with Abe Vigoda’s corpse hanging out the sunroof, to the horror of passersby..)

Schette:  Whooo! This is just like Weekend at Bernie’s 2!

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