say "hello" to a motherfucker who's inside. cabot's doing a job and take a big fat guess who he wants on the team?
it ain't no joke, i'm in there. i'm up his ass.
nice guy eddie tells me joe wants to meet me. he says i should just hang around my apartment and wait for a phone call. well after waiting three goddamn days by the fuckin phone, he calls me last night and says joe's ready, and he'll pick me up in fifteen minutes.
nice guy. when we got to the bar.
the boots and socks in gardena. when we got there, i met joe and a guy named mr. white. it's a phony name. my name's mr. orange.
who, mr. white?
no, he ain't familiar. he ain't one of cabot's soldiers either. he's gotta be from outta town. but joe knows him real well.
the way they talk to each other. you can tell they're buddies.
me and mr. white?
a little.
the brewers.
yeah. they had just won the night before, and he made a killing off 'em.
where i was from, who i knew, how i knew nice guy, had i done time, shit like that.
he asked me if i ever done armed robbery before. i read him my credits. i robbed a few gas and sips, sold some weed, told him recently i held the shotgun while me and another guy pulled down a poker game in portland.
fuckin-a. i tell it real good, too.
what's this?
what?
but what is this?
what?
i gotta memorize all this shit?
i can do that.
this was during the los angeles marijuana drought of '86. i still had a connection. which was insane, 'cause you couldn't get weed anyfuckinwhere then. anyway, i had a connection with this hippie chick up in santa cruz. all and my friends knew it. and they'd give me a call and say, "hey, freddy, you buyin some, you think you could buy me some too?" they knew i smoked, so they'd ask me to buy a little for them when i was buyin. but it got to be everytime i bought some weed, i was buyin for four or five different people. finally i said, "fuck this shit." i'm makin this bitch rich. she didn't have to do jack shit, she never even had to meet these people. i was fuckin doin all the work. so i got together with her and told her, "hey, i'm sick of this shit. i'm comin through for everybody, and nobody's comin through for me. so, either i'm gonna tell all my friends to find their own source, or you give me a bunch of weed, i'll sell it to them, give you the money, minus ten percent, and i get my pot for free." so, i did if for awhile.
but then that got to be a pain in the ass. people called me on the phone all the fuckin time. i couldn't rent a fuckin tape without six phone calls interrupting me. "hey, freddy, when's the next time you're gettin some?" "motherfucker, i'm tryin to watch 'lost boys'-- when i have some, i'll let you know." and then these rinky-dink pot heads come by--there's my friends and everything, but still. i got all my shit laid out in sixty dollar bags. well, they don't want sixty dollars worth. they want ten dollars worth. breaking it up is a major fuckin pain in the ass. i don't even know how much ten dollars worth is. "well, fuck, man, i don't want that much around. if i have that much around i'll smoke it." "hey, if you guys can't control your smokin, that's not my problem. you motherfuckers been smokin for five years, be a adult about it." finally i just told my connection, count me out. but as it turns out, i'm the best guy she had, and she depended alot on my business. but i was still sick to death of it. and she's trying to talk me into not quitin. now this was a very weird situation, 'cause i don't know if you remember back in '86, there was a major fuckin drought. nobody and anything. people were livin on resin and smokin the wood in their pipes for months. and this chick had a bunch, and was beggin me to sell it. so i told her i wasn't gonna be joe the pot man anymore. but i would take a little bit and sell it to my close, close, close friends. she agreed to that, and said we'd keep the same arrangement as before, ten percent and free pot for me, as long as i helped her out that weekend. she had a brick of weed she was sellin, and she didn't want to go to the buy alone.
her brother usually goes with her, but he's in county unexpectedly.
traffic tickets gone to warrant. they stopped him for something, found the warrants on 'im, took 'im to jail. she doesn't want to walk around alone with all that weed. well, i don't wanna do this, i have a bad feeling about it, but she keeps askin me, keeps askin me, finally i said okay 'cause i'm sick of listening to it. well, we're picking this guy up at the train station.
yeah, the guy needed it right away. don't ask me why. so we get to the train station, and we're waitin for the guy. now i'm carrying the weed in one of those carry-on bags, and i gotta take a piss. so i tell the connection i'll be right back, i'm goin' to the little boys room.
so i walk into the men's room, and who's standing there?
six los angeles county sheriffs and a german shepherd.
no. they were just a bunch of cops hangin out in the men's room, talkin. when i walked through the door they all stopped what they were talking about and looked at me.
the german shepherd starts barkin'. he's barkin' at me. i mean it's obvious he's barkin' at me.
every nerve ending, all of my senses, the blood in my veins, everything i has was screaming, "take off, man, just take off, get the fuck outta there!" panic hit me like a bucket of water. first there was the shock of it--bam, right in the face! then i'm just standin there drenched in panic.
and all those sheriffs are lookin at me and they know. they can smell it. as sure as that fuckin dog cam, they can smell it on me.
that's him, that's mr. white.
what was it?
goddamn, that's hard time.
when did he do this time?
they couldn't pin the killing on one of the bank robbers?
and larry dimick was one of the boys?
today they may know something, tomorrow they may know something else. but yesterday they didn't know anything.
what's the next step?
hello.
i'll be right down.
don't pussy out on me now. they don't know. they don't know shit. you're not gonna get hurt. you're fucking baretta and they believe every word, cuz you're super cool.
do things? what would he do? you mean like beat her up?
you can do some crazy things with it.
what's your visibility of the interior?
this is bullshit, jim. i get all the fuckin danger of having you guys in my back pocket but none of the safety.
oh this is great. you ain't giving me no fuckin protection whatsoever. but you are giving me an attitude.
i didn't say i wasn't gonna do it. i'm just remarking on how shitty the situation is!
isn't this risk unorthodox?
letting them go ahead with the robbery?
that's out. they know the faces of who works what shift.
i stand outside and guard the door. i don't let anybody come in or go out.
mr. brown stays in the car. he's parked across the street till i give him the signal, then he pulls up in front of the store.
crowd control. they handle customers and employees in the display area.
you two take the manager in the back and make him give you the diamonds. we're there for those stones, period. since no display cases are being fucked with, no alarms should go off. we're out of there in two minutes, not one second longer. what if the manager won't give up the diamonds?
you're not blind, there's just blood in your eyes.
i'm sorry.
i'm sorry. i can't believe she killed me.