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Faulk ‘N Schette: Buddy Cops – Episode 301

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 03/18/2013

lapd

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

Episode 301 – You’ll Never Work In This Town Again

(Two LAPD officers pull their squad car into a quiet alleyway in Little Armenia and shut off the radio…)

Officer Jeremy Johnson:  I’ve been waiting for this all morning.

Officer Kevin Johnson:  (grins)  Me too. C’mere, ya big lug.

(The officers embrace and begin deep tongue-kissing, when Officer Jeremy Johnson looks up, squinting through the morning sun 0rays down the long dusty alley…)

Off. J. Johnson:  Hey, what’s that?

Off. K. Johnson:  That means I like you.  (kisses Jeremy’s neck)

(Officer Jeremy pushes Officer Kevin away and points…)

Off. J. Johnson:  No, that.

(Officers Johnson & Johnson exit their squad car and approach a body laying prone behind a dumpster…)

Off. K. Johnson:  Probably just a wino.

(Officer Jeremy leaps back and shrieks…)

Off. K. Johnson:  What? Does he stink–OH MY GOD

(The two officers stare down at a beheaded corpse in stunned silence. Officer Jeremy kneels down and examines an engraved ring on the corpse’s finger…)

Off. J. Johnson:  The Garbanian Family.  (glances up at Kevin)  I thought the Armenians were out of the game.

Off. K. Johnson:  (turns on his radio)  We better get our best men on this one.

~~~

(Detective Harry Schette is hollering from the second story stairwell balcony of his apartment building at his wife and son as they climb into a taxi, luggage in hand…)

Schette:  Baby, come back! You can blame it all on me. I was wrong. And I–

Mary:  Just can’t live without me. You’re just quoting Hall & Oates, Harry.

Schette:  The sentiment stands!

Mary:  I just need a break, Harry. The late nights. The drinking. The missed dinners and soccer games. Maybe when you’re ready to take this seriously.

Schette:  I’ll have you know I am extremely serio–  (falls down two entire flights of stairs)

~~~

(Detective Ricky Faulk is driving his wife’s Prius down Olympic Avenue, bouncing in his seat and singing…)

Faulk:  Buyin’ diapers for my baby at the grocery store. He gonna poop in them diapers, then I’ll buy some mo–OH SWEET MOTHER OF

(Ricky skids to a stop as his car is quickly surrounded by dozens of LAPD squad cars, officers piling out with weapons drawn…)

Faulk:  (exits Prius)  What’s goin’ on here, guys?

(A nervous young officer shakily points his glock at Det. Faulk…)

Officer:  Hands up! Hands up!

Faulk:  Easy there, fella. What’s all this about?

Officer:  We received a report of a robbery in this area and you match the description, sir.

Faulk:  What’s the perp look like, officer?

Officer:  Uh.

Faulk:  Hm?

Officer:  He’s, uh…he’s black, sir.

Faulk:  Well, shit. Ya got me. Anything more specific?

Officer:  He was driving a blue car.

Faulk:  This is a green car, officer.

Officer:  Maybe you ditched the blue one.

(Ricky’s phone starts ringing and he reaches into his coat pocket…)

Officer:  (cocks glock)  He’s got a gun! Sir, remove your hand from your jacket at once!

(Another officer gets on the radio…)

Officer #2:  We’ve got a standoff at the intersection of Olympic and Beverly. I repeat, Olympic and Beverly. Requesting backup and SWAT. Over.

Faulk:  (sighs)

~~~

(Harry listens to Det. Faulk’s voice-mail and hangs up his cell…)

Schette:  He’s not picking up, Chief. I’m sure he’ll be along any second.

(Det. Schette is in the office of LAPD Central Division Chief, Chief; a Native American Indian chief of the local Chumash tribe and also a police chief — a fact that confuses many…)

Chief Chief:  Just tell him to meet you at the scene. Get goin’, Schette. I can’t have my city buried in headless Armenian gangsters.

Schette:  So…you want us to find the head, or…?

Chief:  I want you to find the killer, Schette.

Schette:  But Chief, where there’s a head, there’s a killer. Providing the killer killed its victim by removing the head. And then hung onto the  head for some sick reason. My theory’s falling apart.

Chief:  Just get to Little Armenia and be a hard-boiled–

Schette:  Egg?

Chief:  (weary sigh)  Detective, Schette. Be a hard-boiled detective.

Schette:  Right. Makes more sense. Guess I’m just hungry. My wife left me this morning and she usually cooks breakf–

Chief:  Leave.

Schette:  Leaving, Chief.

~~~

(Det. Faulk’s phone is ringing again as more police surround the scene, blocking traffic in four directions…)

Faulk:  I’m tellin’ you, officer: If you just let me answer this phone, it’s probably my partner. He can explain all of this. I left my badge at home. I was just going out for diapers. Please let me answer my phone.

Officer:  I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, sir. In my line of work, a phone can often be mistaken for a gun and I’m not willing to make that mistake again.

Faulk:  Again?

Officer:  (glances over his shoulder)  Great, SWAT team’s here. Make a line around the perimeter, men.

Faulk:  You can’t possibly need this many officers for a robbery suspect. Is that a bomb robot?

Bomb Robot:  Beep boop.

~~~

(Det. Harry Schette is racing through central Los Angeles, still getting Ricky’s voice-mail…)

Schette:  (chuckles)  Lazy bones probably slept in. GPS, which way to Little Armenia?

GPS:  Armenia. Turn east.

Schette:  East? Thought I was supposed to be heading north.  (glances at the GPS screen)  Is that Europe?

~~~

(A news helicopter hovers overhead as Ricky leans against his wife’s Prius…)

Faulk:  What was I supposed to have stolen, anyway?

Officer:  A dog.

Faulk:  All this for a dog?!

(The bomb robot pokes at Ricky’s shin and he kicks it over on it’s side…)

Faulk:  Stop that.

Bomb Robot:  Beep boooop.

~~~

(Det. Schette is parked in an empty lot and exits his car…)

Schette:  This doesn’t look right. I don’t see any headless bodies OR bodyless heads.

(A small brown mutt trots up to Harry…)

Dog:  Ruff!

Schette:  (squats, pets)  Hey, little buddy. You see any headless Armenians around here?

Dog:  Ruff!

Schette:  (stands up)  Yeah, me neither. What’s your name?

Dog:  Ruff!

Schette:  Oh yeah? Well, I’m gonna call you ‘Dog’. Now–

(A gunshot rings out and Harry and Dog leap into a nearby prickly bush overlooking an excavated construction pit. Harry glances through the pricker bush at a group of men standing over a body, guns drawn…)

Schette:  (gasps)  Crimes!

~~~

Officer:  Listen Det. Faulk, I’m really sorry about all this. It was just a case of mistaken identity. No hard feelings, sir.

Faulk:  (pulling out cellphone)  Yeah, yeah. Go pull over some other black guy. Damn, eleven missed messag–*BANG*

(Ricky Faulk slumps against his car clutching his blood-spurting shoulder, while Harry’s voice echoes from the receiver…)

Schette:  Ricky. Ricky! RICKYYYYYY!

Faulk:  (staring at his bloody hand and back up at the young officer)  The fuck, man?

Officer:  (white-faced)  Uh, my finger slipped? I swear I’m not racist, Detective. I get sweaty fingers.

Bomb Robot:  (wheels whirring as it’s stuck on its side) Boop beep.

~~~

(Dog starts barking as Harry hollers into his cellphone from the bushes…)

Schette:  Son of a gun ain’t answerin’. Quiet, Dog. The Armenian gangsters will hear you.

(Harry glances up just as one of the Armenians in the gravel pit fires into the bushes. Harry tumbles backwards out of the bush…)

Schette:  Ah, my knee!

(Det. Schette scrambles/stumbles for the car, leaving a trail of blood behind him that Dog licks up as he follows…)

~~~

(In the emergency room of St. Francis Memorial on adjoining hospital beds. Ricky motions to Harry’s bandaged knee…)

Schette:  Armenian gangsters. And you?

Faulk:  Racist cop. What’s that smell?

Schette:  (nervous)  Uh, that’s my new dog. Dog. He pooped his pants when he saw the Armenian gangsters.

Faulk:  …his pants?

~~~

Email this poophead at ethanrbooker@gmail.com

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