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Faulk ‘N Schette: Buddy Cops – Episode 204

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 11/01/2011

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

Episode 204 – Bad Sheriff

Chief:  Faulk and Schette, get in here!

(Det.’s Ricky Faulk and Harry Schette hustle into Chief Galarraga’s office. Harry winks at the Chief’s secretary, Conchita, on the way by. She rolls her eyes…)

Faulk:  What’s up, Chief?

Schette:  Hola, Chief. Coma esta?

Chief:  Bien, Harry. I need you boys to look into a delicate matter for me.

Schette:  You think your wife’s cheating on you? I can see that. She is crazy hot.

Chief:  (glares)

Schette:  Nope. I didn’t–

Chief:  I want you to look into Cyrus Costella.

Faulk:  The Sheriff of LA County. I’ve been reading up on him. He’s gotten himself into some trouble in the past. In 1996, he was convicted of wife fraud; but was later acquitted.

Schette:  What’s wife fraud?

Faulk:  Didn’t have a wife.

Schette:  That sonuvabitch. Wait, is not being married illegal in California? What about babies?

Faulk:  He claimed a spouse on his tax forms; but she never existed.

Chief:  (nods)  Oldest trick in the book.

Schette:  That’s the oldest trick in the book? Seems like a complicated trick.

Chief:  Anyway, I want you two to head over to Monterey Park and check up on Sheriff Costella. See what he’s gotten into this time.

Schette:  Ooh, Monterey Park!  (taps Ricky on the shoulder)  That’s where they invented the Jack cheese!

Faulk:  I don’t think that’s true.


(Det.’s Faulk and Schette enter the LA County Sheriff’s Dept. in Monterey Park where they are greeted by a rotund woman at the front desk…)

Woqueesha:  Whatchu want?

Faulk:  I’m Det. Ricky Faulk. This is Det. Harry Schette. We’re here to speak with Sheriff Costella.

Woqueesha:  Mmhmm.

(The secretary gets up and shuffles down the hallway and the detectives follow…)

Woqueesha:  (knocking on an office door)  Cyrus. Two young boys in suits wanna talk to you.

Faulk:  You could at least tell him we’re detectives.

Woqueesha:  (glares)

Schette:  (whispers to Ricky)  She’s sassy.

(The door opens and the detectives are greeted by a grizzled old man chewing on a stick…)

Costella:  Well, get in.

(Harry and Ricky enter and the Sheriff shuts the door…)

Costella:  Sorry about Woqueesha. I’d fire her; but I’ll be perfectly honest with you gentlemen. I’m scared of that woman.

Faulk:  I can see that.

(The Sheriff eases behind his desk and pulls out a whittlin’ stick…)

Costella:  Well LAPD, what can I do ya for?

Faulk:  We wanted to ask you a few questions. We’ve received word from reliable sources that you may be in trouble.

Costella:  You talkin’ about the Russians?

Faulk:  What? Uh, yeah.

Costella:  Yeah, we got that covered.

Faulk:  Care to elaborate?

Costella:  I’m workin’ with the Russians. Makin’ ’em think I’m crooked.

Schette:  Is this just what people do in California?

Faulk:  Are you speaking about Andrei Rublov?

Costella:  Yeah, that old Commie sonuvabitch. We’re fixin’ to take down the whole dang Borscht Crime Syndicate. Ain’t that right, Enos?

(Harry turns to see another officer sitting directly next to him…)

Podunk:  I reckon.

Schette:  Whoa! Have you been sitting there the whole time?

Podunk:  I reckon.

Costella:  This here’s my Deputy, Enos Podunk. He’ll creep up on ya!

Podunk:  (toothy grin)  I like creepin’.

Schette:  Oh…kay. Ricky, can I speak with you out in the hallway?

(The detectives get up…)

Costella:  Take your time. We’ll just be whittlin’.


(Out in the hallway…)

Schette:  So what do we do? Do we tell these crackers about our investigation?

Faulk:  Not yet. Let’s see what they’ve learned. And nobody says ‘crackers’ anymore.

Schette:  Well, what do you call us? Honkies?

Faulk:  White people.

Schette:  Well, that’s racist.


(The detectives re-enter the Sheriff’s office and Enos holds up a sleeve of Ritz…)

Podunk:  Cracker?

Schette:  The fuck you call me?

Costella:  So why are you boys askin’ questions about the Russians? You run into some trouble with big Red?

Schette:  Not a fan of cinnamon gum. More of a Juicy Fruit guy.

Faulk:  We’ve recently transferred here from New York and we just want to familiarize ourselves with the different organizations we may be encountering in this town.

Costella:  Well, I s’pose a couple beans spilt between departments won’t hurt nobody. The Borscht Crime Syndicate is a far-reaching organization that stretches from the States all the way back to the Kremlin.

Schette:  Oh no! That’s where Stalin lives!

Faulk:  What kind of crime are they into? We know Rublov owns a number of small businesses; but we assume they’re just fronts.

Costella:  Rublov’s the stateside brains of the operation. They’ve got guys on the docks that let everything get in; and men on the streets to help disperse it.

Faulk:  Drugs?

Costella:  Drugs. Guns. Hell, people.

Faulk:  People?

Costella:  Prostitutes. Assassins. White slaves.

Schette:  Whoa, there are white slaves?

Faulk:  Sounds like you’ve got these guys mapped out pretty good. Why haven’t you attempted to take them down?

Costella:  Rublov’s careful. Always keeps two or three levels of men between him and anything nefarious. Plus, we’ve heard he’s just put two detectives on his payroll. We wanna see where that’s goin’.

Faulk:  Interesting.

Costella:  Rublov thinks he’s got me in his pocket. Boy is his face gonna be red when I slap the cuffs on him! He’ll be cryin’ vodka crocodile tears!

Schette:  Interesting.

(Harry jots down, “SyFy TV Movie: Vodka Crocodile“…)


(Harry and Ricky are driving back toward the city…)

Schette:  Why didn’t you tell that redneck Sheriff we’re the two detectives on Rublov’s payroll?

Faulk:  Rublov has to trust us more than he trusts the Sheriff. We hand over a fellow cop and we’re in with both feet.

(Andrei Rublov holds out his hands, lit cigar in his mouth and hugs Harry and Ricky…)

Rublov:  My boys!

Schette:  (buries his head in Rublov’s chest)  Awww!

Rublov:  (pokes Ricky in the chest)  I want you to know your wife stitched my boy Alex up real good. She going to make great Mob doctor.

Faulk:  What? Oh, I’m not sure–

Rublov:  What do you have for me?

Faulk:  Sheriff Costella. I believe he’s a friend?

Rublov:  Yes, Cyrus. That fat pink slob give us many informations.

Faulk:  He’s playing both ways.

Rublov:  He’s bisexual?  (motions to one of his henchmen in the next room)  Ivan! The Sheriff? He is the bisexual!

Ivan:  Ha! I knew this! Is funny, boss!

Faulk:  No, I mean he’s playing you and the Sheriff’s Dept. He’s stacking up a file against you five stories tall.

Rublov:  That rat. I knew it.

Schette:  What are you gonna do? Horse head in the bed? Dead dog on his doorstep? Cut off your ear and mail it to him? Wait, that’s Picasso.

Faulk:  Van Gogh.

Schette:  Go where?

Rublov:  We will take care of situation. You boys have done good today.

Schette:  (holding his arms out)  No goodbye hug?


News Anchor:  …Sheriff Costella is survived by his wife, three children and five grandchildren. In other news–

(Chief Galarraga clicks off his office television and scowls at Harry and Ricky…)

Schette:  I honestly did not see that coming.

Faulk:  That one’s on me, Chief. It was the only way I could think to get us in deeper with Rublov. We had no way of knowing he would have the Sheriff killed. We thought he might just send a warning.

Chief:  Andrei Rublov is not the type of man to send warnings.

Schette:  Well, we know that now!

Chief:  I’d discipline you; but since this isn’t exactly an official operation, I’d be on the hook too.

Schette:  So you’re in just as deep as we are.

Chief:  It would seem that way.

Schette:  Interesting.

(Harry doodles a crocodile with a thick mustache and a vodka bottle…)

Schette:  (smiling at the doodle)  Very interesting.


(In the offices of new Los Angeles County Sheriff Enos Podunk…)

Podunk:  Ya know, I find it curious that the day after them LAPD detectives show up, ‘ol Cyrus winds up dead. What do you think, Deputy Roscoe?

(A basset hound in an oversized deputy sheriff’s hat…)

Roscoe:  Ruff!

Podunk:  I reckon we oughta look into these boys, Faulk and Schette.

Roscoe:  (licks crotch)

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