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Faulk ‘N Schette: Buddy Cops – Episode 201

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 10/21/2011

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

Episode 201 –A Person Of Interest

Chief:  Faulk and Schette, get in here!

(LAPD Detectives Harry Schette and Ricky Faulk rush into Chief Armando Alejandro Bobando Galarraga’s office…)

Faulk:  Morning, Chief.

Schette:  Hola, sir.

Chief:  I don’t know who you think you are, lettin’ those tire thieves go last week; but they’ve struck again.

Faulk:  We thought if we let them go, they’d move onto a bigger score.

Schette:  Yeah. Like maybe a whole car.

Chief:  No! They’re just tire thieves! Go pick ’em up!

Schette:  You know, our old Chief never yelled at us like this.

Chief:  Well, I ain’t your old Chief. Go catch those thieves!

(The detectives exit Chief Galarraga’s office and Harry takes a Mexican hard candy off the Chief’s secretary, Conchita Lopez’s desk…)

Faulk:  What were you talkin’ about in there? Chief Red Tree used to yell at us all the time.

Schette:  He doesn’t know that. Is it so bad to want a nice Chief for a change?

(Harry cringes and spits the hard candy on the floor…)

Schette:  Aw man, I got plantain flavor!


(Harry is navigating the LA streets as the detectives make their way to Rublov Tire Supply…)

Schette:  What, did everybody just get new car horns today? Can’t hear myself think!

Faulk:  How’s Max like school?

Schette:  Loves it. California public school system is really more his speed. Everybody’s dumb out here. Only thing left to worry about is finding a place to live.

Faulk:  Still crashin’ at Mary’s college roommate’s condo?

Schette:  Yeah. Gail. Some producer or something, I dunno. She’s crazy hot, though. Her and Mary have been reminiscing about their wild USC days. You know what that means.

(Harry raises his eyebrows at Ricky, who shrugs…)

Faulk:  Memories? Friendship?

Schette:  Three-way.

Faulk:  Ugh. That’s your wife, Harry. The mother of your child. You’re a married man.

Schette:  It’s not cheating if she’s there too! This is how it works in Hollywood, Ricky. Everybody’s bangin’ everybody else all the time. There’s no rules out here!

Faulk:  You’re gross.

Schette:  It’s continental. European!

Faulk:  You missed the turn.

Schette:  “El this”, “La that”. This is America!


(The detectives are greeted at Rublov Tire Supply by manager Petrov Gchev…)

Gchev:  You find tire?

Schette:  Well, we just got here. So, no.

Gchev:  You find tire, or boss kill me.

Schette:  That seems like a bit of an overreaction.

Gchev:  This tire store. We don’t have tire, we don’t have store.

Faulk:  That makes sense. How many tires were stolen?

Gchev:  Four bushels.

Schette:  Tires come in bushels?

Gchev:  You find tire!

Schette:  Jeez. Cool it, comrade.

Gchev:  You find tire, or I find you.

Schette:  And now he’s threatening us. You know Ricky, I’m beginning to not like the Russians.

Gchev:  Apology. My boss angry man. I am desperate, please help.

Faulk:  Any chance we can speak with your boss? Mr. …Rublov, is it?

Gchev:  Rublov out. Please just find tire. You find tire, I give you free tire for car. Deal?

(Harry kicks a tire and it bounces and rolls toward the back of the lot…)

Schette:  These are pretty good tires, Rick.

Faulk:  Sorry, Mr. Gchev. We’re not allowed to take gifts. We’ll find your tires, though.

Gchev:  Thank you, Detective.

(Ricky turns to see Harry with his head buried in a tire hole…)

Faulk:  Harry, stop that.

Schette:  They smell so good!


(Faulk  and Schette are driving toward the tire thieves’ lair…)

Schette:  What was all that back there about not taking gifts? We always take gifts! That’s, like, the whole point of being a cop.

Faulk:  Not anymore, Harry. I’m done with the dirty cop business. That’s what got us kicked out of New York in the first place.

Schette:  Well, is it okay if I still take bribes–er, gifts?

Faulk:  No. We have to stand united on this.

Schette:  It’s just tires.

Faulk:  No gifts.

Schette:  (pouts)  If I didn’t have a three-way to plan, I’d be pretty bummed right now.


(Ricky knocks on the trailer of two-bit petty criminal brothers Terry and Larry Fitzberger…)

Terry:  Hold on, we’re naked!

Larry:  Who is it?

Schette:  Gross, guys! It’s Det.’s Faulk and Schette, LAPD.

Terry:  Aw, man!

Faulk:  Open up, Terry.

(Terry unlocks the door and invites the detectives into their trailer…)

Terry:  Come on in. Let’s get this over with.

Schette:  (looking around the filthy trailer)  God, what were you doing in here? Shaving each other?

Terry:  Yes.

Faulk:  Ugh.

Larry:  What did we do this time?

Schette:  You stole more tires, ya dopes.

Terry:  No, we didn’t.

Schette:  Yeah, right.  (whispers in Ricky’s ear)  New West Coast catchphrase.

Larry:  Honest! We’ve graduated to stealing cars.

Terry:  Shut up, idiot!

Schette:  Ha! I knew it!

Faulk:  You sure you didn’t relapse and steal four bushels of tires this morning?

Larry:  Tires come in bushels?

Schette:  Yeah, sounded weird when he said it.

Terry:  Who said it?

Faulk:  The manager at Rublov Tire Supply.

Terry:  Whoa.

Larry:  No, no.

Terry:  No can do.

Larry:  No thanks.

Terry:  No no, Nanette.

Larry:  No siree, Bob.

Schette:  (head swiveling back-and-forth between the brothers)  What’s this? What’s going on here?

Terry:  Rublov is Russian Mob. We wouldn’t go near that place with a ten-foot pole; which, interestingly enough, is the best way to steal tires.

Larry:  Slide ’em on the pole and roll away. But, again, we don’t do that anymore. We steal cars now.

Terry:  Stop saying that!

Schette:  Russian Mob, eh? Sounds like The Case Of The Stolen Tires just got a whole lot juicier.

Faulk:  Well, I would certainly hope so.

Schette:  Alright Fitzbergers, we’ll get out of your hair…-filled trailer. Just don’t steal cars anymore or whatever. I don’t care.

Larry:  (waving)  Don’t be a stranger!


(Back at Rublov Tire Supply, the detectives are greeted by a chain-smoking older gentleman…)

Rublov:  (shaking the detectives’ hands)  Andrei Rublov. Sorry for the inconvenience, but tires have been found. Thieves learned error of their ways. All is well. Vodka?

Faulk:  Interesting. And where are the tires now, Mr. Rublov?

Rublov:  All sold. Very successful business.

Schette:  (glancing around the barren lot and garage)  Yeah, this place is bustling.

Rublov:  (slips a hundred-dollar bill into Ricky’s hand)  Thank you for your help, Detective.

Faulk:  (hands back the bill)  Sorry, Mr. Rublov. We don’t take tips.

Schette:  (eagerly holding hands out)  I do! I take tips! I even have a jar! Lemme get my jar.

Faulk:  (glares)

Schette:  (drops his hands)  Fine.

Rublov:  (hands Harry a bottle)  At least take some vodka for ride back to station.

Schette:  (clutches bottle to breast, flashes doleful eyes at Ricky)

Faulk:  (rolls his eyes)  Fine.

Schette:  (cracks bottle, chugs)


(Back at Central Division, Chief Galarraga is looking over Det. Faulk’s report…)

Chief:  So, Mr. Rublov made an insurance claim for the missing tires.

Faulk:  Can’t make an insurance claim without a police report. I’m willing to bet there weren’t even tires to steal in the first place.

Schette:  (reeking of vodka)  Especially four bushels.  (bad Italian accent)  That’s alotta tires!

Chief:  (frowns)

Schette:  (sulks)  Our old Chief loved my Italian pizza chef character.

Chief:  (hands the report back to Ricky)  Faulk and Schette, I think you’ve got something here. Let’s work this Russian Mob angle. I want you to get in deep. Convince Andrei Rublov that you two are the dirtiest cops this city has ever seen.

Schette:  (grins devilishly)  We can do that.

Faulk:  (sighs)


(Back at Mary Schette’s friend Gail’s condo, Harry has put his son Max to bed and is sitting in front of the fireplace in a silk bathrobe with a bottle of champagne…)

Mary:  (entering the front door, throwing her purse down)  Another long night at the library. Hey, hon. What’s this?

Schette:  (grinning, hands his wife a glass)  Thirsty?

Mary:  (sits down next to her husband)  Sure, babe. Oh, I’ve been meaning to tell you. Gail is going to be filming in Europe for the rest of the year; so she said we could stay here in the condo indefinitely, until we find a place of our own.

Schette:  Oh…cool.

Mary:  (glances at the coffee table)  Why are there three champagne glasses?

Schette:  Uh, I thought we could teach Max how to drink?

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