The Onion Field

Campbell!

- I'm sorry. You wanted me? - I'm Karl Hettinger, your new partner.

Ian Campbell. Welcome to the felony squad.

I thought they were woofing me when they said I could find you here.

I was just bouncing a few notes off the walls.

If I do it at home, the neighbors call the cops.

I don't know how you can stand it.

This place gives me the crawlies. It's like a tomb.

A piper plays where he can. It's in me blood, you know, laddie.

- Strange music. What's it called? - Cha Till MacCruimen.

It's an ancient funeral dirge.

And that means, "MacCrimmon will never return."

- Ian? - Yeah?

How long have you been hanging around in cellars?

Talk to anybody about it?

Hey! Youngblood!

Jimmy Youngblood!

- Say, old thing, how you doing? - Jimmy, my man! When did you get out?

- Yesterday. - Damn! Ain't that a mother?

Hop on up and let me have this boy clean some skates.

They could do with some help.

I could do it my own self, if it's okay.

Like they say, once a shine boy, always a shine boy.

Go ahead, help yourself. My man, buy yourself a trip to Hawaii.

You look like new money. Guess your ship came in.

Sure did. Jimmy, meet my partner.

- I'm Greg Powell. - This is a homeboy, Greg.

Always called him Youngblood.

Everybody on East Sixth Street got an alias.

- Youngblood your righteous name, Jimmy? - Good as any, ain't it?

Now, a man's name ain't important.

Being a loyal, standup guy, that's what's important.

And any friend of Billy's, etc., etc...

Say, Jim...

You know, those kind of look like jailhouse hot dogs.

You just got out of the slammer, didn't you?

Seems like everybody in LA got a thing for shoes these days.

Used to be pussy before I went away.

Greg, my man, come on, let's go do our business.

Jimmy, see you around.

Say, brother, how about loaning me 10 scoots till I get myself together?

Go see the car wash boss.

He pays minimum wages to any ex-con who wants a job.

Minimum wage?

I expect more than that for watching flies fuck.

Say, Jim, now, I just got out 10 months ago, myself.

Paroled from Vacaville. And I know how you're feeling about now.

- Like, thanks for the loan. - Hell, Jim, that ain't a loan, it's a gift.

Billy, give him $5 more.

Shit, what do I look like, the Bank of America?

Man, go see the car wash boss. He pays minimum wages.

- Where you staying, Jimmy? - A little hotel on Sixth and Wall.

- How you planning to make money, Jim? - Same way you guys make yours.

See you around, Jimbo.

Catch you later, Greg.

Cornpone, jive-ass, peckerwood.

Think you're gonna like felony, Kars?

It beats wearing a blue suit.

Beats writing traffic tickets.

It might be boring most of the time, but who knows?

There might be something right around the corner.

Something?

Not thrills, but something other folks don't see.

What if it's something you don't understand?

I don't know.

It doesn't matter, I guess, just as long as it's something.

To be there is the thing, partner.

Yes, sir?

- You feel like another piece? - I finally got my weight below 200.

I'll get it for you.

At least you're tall enough to carry it.

Married life's making me feel like an avocado with feet.

That's just a little excess adipose tissue.

What were you going to do before you became a cop?

You'll never guess. I was a premed student.

I could have guessed.

There you go.

- What did your dad do? - He was a doctor.

He died when I was a boy.

My mother and I always figured that I'd become a doctor, too.

College dropouts sure end up in the strangest jobs.

When I worked vice, I busted that pig for beating up a whore.

There's a guy that could use a doctor.

Dr. Smith & Wesson, for a frontal lobotomy.

- A large cheese to go. - Come back in 20 minutes, okay?

I'm a fellow dropout.

Let me guess. Engineering.

Agriculture, beer, and poker, not necessarily in that order.

My life's ambition was to own a farm.

Truck crops.

You know, smogless sky, clean earth...

clean people, all that corny stuff.

And acres of dewy, wet...

fat, ripe tomatoes.

- Tomatoes? - Tomatoes.

Police work's so noisy.

- Tomatoes are so... - Quiet.

- Yeah. - Yeah.

Bet you never thought you'd see me again.

No, like, I meant to look you up.

It's only been two days. I ain't made a sting yet.

- I'll pay you and Billy back. - Hell, Jim, I told you, that was a gift.

That ain't why I'm here.

- This sure is a dump, Jimbo. - Yeah.

It ain't forever. My parole officer paid for a week.

- By then, I should have... - Come on, get your clothes on.

- We are going somewhere. - Yeah?

- I thought I'd go look my old partner... - I won't take no for an answer.

I got a feeling about you.

I think I can help you make some real money.

Real money, Jimbo.

Lollipop?

Youngblood, what you doin' here?

- Greg brung me. - Yeah.

We all don't need nobody else working with us, you understand?

Jimmy, this here is my little woman.

- Hi, Jimmy. - You fix us a whiskey and 7-Up?

- Okay, honey? - Okay, buns.

Honey, buns. Just sit down, Jim.

So, Billy...

My woman says you took that roll of $1 bills...

I had stashed in the bedroom.

- Bullshit. - Yes, it's true. She can't find it.

And furthermore, I've been told, you gave her a pat on the fanny today.

I don't care about the pat.

We're sort of a family here. I'd appreciate you don't make it a habit.

- Greg, please... - Billy, I want my dough back.

Maybe she took it.

After all I've done for you, and you dare steal from me!

I know that whiskey makes you do wrong things.

Or I'd bust a cap in your goddamn head.

Now, Billy, we're gonna go out again tonight.

Only this time, you're gonna pull your own weight.

And if you don't get me my money...

Anything you say, brother, anything.

Jimmy, you're in. Can you drive?

- Greg, like, I've been away five years. - Goddamn it! Can you drive?

Yeah, I can drive.

All right, then.

- How do you like my car, Jimbo? - Yeah, it's groovy, Greg.

The clutch slips bad, though.

Maybe after a good score, you ought to think about getting another car.

I had the clutch fixed that way on purpose.

Keeps the guy from speeding away from a job and drawing heat.

On purpose? Yeah!

By the way, Jimbo...

- Notice anything unusual about me? - No.

Yeah, Greg. I mean, you do look different.

But I can't figure out why you look different.

Goddamn it, it's pretty obvious, isn't it?

Like, you're wearing a Humphrey Bogart trench coat.

That it?

Greg, I can't see too good. I need glasses and all.

Jim, for Christ's sake, look at my ear!

Look, see there?

I put a little mole on my ear with my honey's mascara.

Stuck a few hairs in it.

Then I darkened my eyebrows, made them bigger, see?

Any witness will say, "The guy had bushy eyebrows and a mole on his ear."

Now, that's slick. That's slicker than slop!

Okay, Billy, this is the job I cased.

Now's your chance to get back the money you stole from me.

- And you better get it. - I swear, I didn't steal no money, man.

Just go in there and get me at least $50...

and maybe you'll prove to me that you didn't do what I know you did.

This is the last night for old Billy. I got to cut him loose.

He drinks too much.

I think, after tonight, it's gonna be you who's a part of our little family.

I can't do it, Greg. The guy in the store knows me.

- What? - He knows me, Greg.

Guy used to work at the shine parlor.

You lying, thieving...

Jimmy, tell him. Guy named Hellfire Jack. Ain't that right?

When we drove by, I did think I saw Hellfire Jack.

I think it's Hellfire Jack in there.

See? I told you.

Used to work over there on East Fifth Street. Used to...

It's the truth. He used to work in a process parlor over there.

- I thought you said a shine parlor. - Process parlor, man! He did my hair.

He said a process parlor.

Fuck it.

- I'll do it myself. - Yeah, you go ahead on and do it.

I'll help Jimmy drive.

I use this little hop, skip, jump, which moves me fast.

It isn't noticeable to someone passing by, like running is.

When you see me skip, start this baby moving!

"Skip, jump."

Like a goddamn kangaroo jumping around out there.

All this funny talk! "Furthermore, wherefore!"

Don't give me any more "furtherfore" or "whereover"...

or any more of that funky-ass bullshit!

Greg said he was paroled out of Vacaville. That's a nut jail.

Let her go, Jimbo.

- Goddamn it, let the clutch out! - I did. It ain't going nowhere.

Let the goddamn clutch all the way out!

Now you're rolling. Go left!

- He's shooting at us! - Lord, are we hit?

Goddamn it, you'd know if we were hit! Let's go!

- There must be over $300 here! - Help me, Jesus!

Hold it! Don't touch that! Lord, don't touch that! Now, look!