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Faulk ‘N Schette: Buddy Cops – Episode 305

Posted in erbooker by erbooker on 04/10/2013

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

Episode 305 – Harry Schette And The Prisoner of San Quentin

Schette:  What if dogs are really reverse werewolves that turn into naked men during a full moon?

Faulk:  Feel like there would’ve been a news report about that by now.

(Det.’s Ricky Faulk and Harry Schette are eating breakfast in a Carl’s Jr. parking lot during a torrential downpour…)

Schette:  Maybe dog owners just wanna keep it on the hush, ’cause they got a good thing goin’.

Faulk:  What?

(There’s a tap on the driver’s side window and a disheveled Hispanic man climbs into the back seat and points a gun at the back of Ricky’s neck…)

Man:  Drive.

Faulk:  What?

Man:  Drive…the car.

Schette:  (turns around)  Are you kidding me? We’re cops, bub. Get outta here with that nonsense.

Man:  I don’t care if you’re the goddamn FBI. Drive the car or I put a bullet in the back of your partner’s head.

Schette:  How do you know I don’t hate my partner and maybe you’d be doing me a favor?

Faulk:  Harry!

Schette:  (mutters)  Relax, Ricky. I’m playin’ this fool. You know I love your urban flavor.

Man:  Idiot. I can hear you. We’re in a tiny car.

Schette:  You know, these are pretty cramped quarters for a couple big-ballin’ detectives like us. We oughta talk to Chief about getting a Cadillac or something.

Faulk:  (shakes head)  Not gonna happen. Commissioner Davison says the city’s broke. We’re slashing budgets across the board.

Man:  (cocks hammer)  Will you just drive the damn car?

Faulk:  (turns key in ignition)  Driving.

~~~

(At a downtown steakhouse, Chief Chief — in full Indian headdress — and African-American dwarf Police Commissioner Tyrell Davison are waiting on the arrival of the new Mayor…)

Commissioner:  (his tiny feet dangling off the edge of his seat)  You’re gonna love Mayor Balls, Chief. He’s got a fresh new take on policing. He’s gonna turn this city around.

Chief:  (frowns, adjusts headdress)  Did you say ‘balls’?

Mayor:  (extends a hand)  That’s Mayor Balls to you, you tall red drink of firewater.  (whispers)  Petey, if you’re nasty.

Chief:  Uh.

(Chief Chief rises and shakes Mayor Pete Balls’ hand. The Mayor scratches Commissioner Davison’s head as he slides into the booth across from the two men…)

Mayor:  How’s my little bottle of Yoo-Hoo doing?

(Commissioner Davison giggles…)

Mayor:  Commissioner, I just wanna pick you up and cradle you in my arms like a little baby koala.

Commissioner:  Thanks for seeing us, Mayor.

Mayor:  My pleasure, Tyrell.  (snaps his fingers)  Waiter, can we got some apps over here like yesterday? I’m hungrier than a bear at Club Discipline on Leather Night.

Waiter:  Yes sir, Mr. Mayor.  (turns for the kitchen)

Mayor:  (whispers)  I knew I recognized that bitch. Let’s just say the service here sucks.  (winks)

Chief:  Well, Mr. Mayor.You’re certainly…not at all what I expected.

Mayor:  Chief, you sound like my last two exes. Once they found out about each other.

(Commissioner Davison chokes on his water laughing…)

Mayor:  (drops smile)  Now let’s talk about drastic payroll cuts.

Chief:  (gulps)

~~~

(Rain batters the windshield and the wipers squeak against the glass as Ricky steers with a gun pressed to the back of his neck…)

Schette:  So what’s the game plan here, guy? Kidnap some cops? Hold us for ransom? Get a briefcase full of money from the chief of police in a botched exchange and dump our bodies in a dumpster? Make for an airfield and escape to Canada?

Faulk:  Harry, don’t give him any ideas.

Man:  Drive me to the docks. From there we’ll take a boat.

Schette:  Ooh, I get seasick.

Faulk:  Why don’t you just take the car, man. You don’t need us.

Man:  Oh see, that’s where you’re wrong. I’ve got the entire state of California after me.

Schette:  (narrows eyes into backseat)  You’re not a reverse werewolf, are you?

Man:  I escaped from San Quentin this morning.

Schette:  Ohh, you’re that guy.

Faulk:  What.

Schette:  Yeah Ricky, I forgot to tell you. When you went inside to order breakfast, a report came over the radio about a guy escaping from San Quentin Prison and he was in the area, armed and highly dangerous or whatever.

Faulk:  What? And you forgot to tell me that? Why haven’t we heard anything since?

Schette:  Well I shut the radio off, ’cause it was bumming me out. Plus we were having such a nice morning discussion of reverse lycanthropy.

(Ricky turns on the police radio to a flurry of activity and a cacophony of voices over voices…)

Radio:  If subject is identified, shoot to kill. Repeat, shoot to kill.

Faulk:  (sighs)  Harry, you idiot.

~~~

(Chief Chief, Commissioner Davison and Mayor Balls finish their lunch and the Mayor leans back in his booth, rubbing his belly…)

Mayor:  Whew. I am stuffed like a goose on Christmas morning over here, girlfriends.

Chief:  Mr. Mayor, if you would only reconsider.

Mayor:  Look Buster Brown, this city is hemorrhaging money. We have to cut one division and yours is bringing in the lowest numbers. Your neck’s under the axe, Chief. Or should I say the tomahawk.

Commissioner:  You shouldn’t say that, Mr. Mayor.

Mayor:  I shouldn’t say that. I didn’t say that. I never said that.

Chief:  What if I told you we were on the verge of a full-blown gang war and I’ve got my top two detectives on the case.

Mayor:  Then I’d say you better wow me, Chief Chief. Now, do you girls want to split a dessert? I am simply dying for a pudding, but if I finish it by myself it’s just heading straight for my ass.

~~~

(The escaped con is leading Det.’s Faulk and Schette down a dock at gunpoint and onto a small motorboat as the rainstorm stirs the choppy waters…)

Schette:  (presses random buttons)  Where we headed, skip?

Man:  El Salvador.

Schette:  Whoa, should we have packed snacks?

Man:  No, we have to move.

Blanco:  Not so fast.

(The man glances up at a gorgeous Hispanic woman with jet black hair flanked by two large men armed with sub-machine guns. The con’s face turns shock white…)

Man:  Blanco!

(Harry and Ricky exchange a glance…)

Blanco:  Adios, hermano.

(The detectives duck as Blanco’s henchmen tear the escaped con apart with bullets and he topples overboard. The henchmen drag Harry and Ricky up out of the boat and knock them out before throwing them in the back of a van…)

~~~

(Harry Schette regains consciousness and he glances around the dark basement to see his partner tied to a seat beside him, the two henchmen from before and a cigarette being lit from a dark corner of the room…)

Schette:  (tears welling up)  Please don’t kill me. I didn’t see nothin’, ya hear me? Nothin’! I don’t know that your name is Blanco and you’re the head of a Salvadorean crime family that’s going to war with the Armenians. I have a wife and kids. We’re not living together for the time being, but I’m trying to work it out and oh, I’m pissing myself.

Blanco:  (steps forward out of the shadows, stamps out her cigarette at Harry’s puddling feet)  Are you done making a fool of yourself, Mr. Shit?

Schette:  It’s Schette. And if you mean am I done pissing myself, the answer unfortunately is no.

Blanco:  You disgust me.

Schette:  Jeez, gimme a break. I’ve been holding it since the docks. Rainy days always make me have to go.

Blanco:  I am going to make this quick. My name is Blanca Blanco and you work for me now. When I call, you answer. When I need something, you get it for me. When I want someone killed, you will kill them. I own you, Mr.’s Fuck and Shit.

Schette:  Again, it’s Schette.

(Blanca Blanco slaps Harry with the back of her hand and he topples over the chair onto his back. Blanco and her henchmen exit and Ricky finally regains consciousness…)

Faulk:  What happened? Where am I?

(Ricky glances over at his partner laying on the ground, hands still tied behind his back, pants soaked…)

Faulk:  Harry, are you alright?

Schette:  (struggling to loosen the rope around his wrists)  Yeah, I’m okay. Think a little of my pee got in my mouth when I fell over, though.

~~~

Email this crooked cop at ethanrbooker@gmail.com

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