Cop

What city, please?

Yo, is this Information? I want information.

For what city, please?

I'm in Hollywood and I want to report a murder. What number do I have to call?

- One moment please. - All right, cool.

- Thank you for calling. - You're welcome.

The Los Angeles police emergency number is...

- Can't you connect me? -...911.

911? Can't you connect me?

Once again, the number is...

- Sweat, sweat. -. . .911.

Oh, man. Damn.

Fuck! Where's my fucking quarter, you piece-of-shit machine? Damn.

I got to call them again.

I should be home, like, watching The Flintstones, or some shit.

You have reached the City of Los Angeles Police Emergency Dispatch Center.

All our lines are busy. Do not hang up.

An operator will answer your call in the order it's received.

Okay, yeah. I'm first.

What the fuck is this shit, man?

Yo, I don't speak no Spanish.

Que pasa to you, too, Lupe, and I'd like to speak to somebody else.

You have reached the City of Los Angeles Police Emergency Dispatch Center.

This is a tape. This is like a computer, right?

Hello? Fuck you!

Why am I even doing this shit? I can't afford it. I'm down to my last quarter.

Let me try the damn operator. Maybe she knows what's going on.

Operator.

Yeah, listen. I'm trying to report a murder and I can't get no one.

Have you tried calling the police?

I got no more money. I'm down to my stolen credit cards.

Can I use them?

One moment. I'll connect you.

What do you got?

On the Black Cat, not much. I'm not getting any help. No leads yet.

What do you mean, no leads? You got the crime and the F.I. reports?

"At approximately 11:30 p.m., Thursday, March 19...

"the Black Cat bar on Sunset and Vendome was held up by two male Mexicans."

"They wore silk stockings to disguise their faces, carried large revolvers."

How do you know they were Mexicans?

- They spoke with Mexican accents. - To each other?

- I didn't ask. - There's your first lead.

"Questioned two white males outside residency, 2269 Tracy Street."

"They were drinking vodka and sitting on top of a late model Camaro...

"license, blah, blah, blah."

These go to Bunko, not Robbery, Homicide.

"Explained the car was not theirs but that they lived in the house."

"Partner and I searched them, clean.

"Got hot call before we could run warrant check."

Check these files, Lieutenant. Sorry about that.

You know, it's really a shame...

when I know a neighborhood better than the beat cops who patrol it.

When I was a kid, 2269 Tracy Street was a halfway house for ex-cons.

We used to call it "Gangster Manor."

It's been abandoned for years...

and this guy says he lives there?

There's your second lead, all right?

I was gonna hit this place in Hollywood until I seen what was inside.

Heavy shit went down in there, man. Like something out of a Peckinpah movie.

You better send some cops right away to Aloha Regency, Apartment B.

You got some heavy shit on your hands, man.

Are you presently at the scene of the crime?

This is Sergeant Hopkins. I want that call on 2-5.

Scotty, that one's mine.

You're gonna go to the Black Cat bar, you're gonna check with the bartender...

see if those guys spoke Spanish, all right?

- Not English with Mexican accents. Spanish. - Spanish.

Okay. Go to 2269 Tracy, see what you can find there.

Run to the DMV, run a check on the Camaro...

check with R&I, see if you can find out anything about the owner.

- You like it? - I like it.

- Then why are you still standing here? - Right.

You back again?

This guy's back again. He's running a scholarship.

Fuck!

Jesus Christ.

Dutch, it's Lloyd.

I got a 187 at 7251 De Longpre, Apartment B.

I need S.I.D., the coroner, and the on-call homicide team.

Dutch, I know this is Hollywood, but I want this one.

Dutch, can you clear it for me?

Thanks.

I'll call you later.

Bingo.

You up, Penguin?

Come in, Daddy.

Hi, sweetheart.

Give me five.

On the side.

- Cut the pickle. You owe me a nickel. - You owe me a nickel.

You had a bad day, didn't you?

How can you tell?

You always shake, just a little.

I'm sorry, Penguin.

It's a shit storm out there. You know that, don't you?

Yeah.

And you know you gotta develop claws to fight it.

- Sharp ones, Daddy. - Attagirl.

Daddy, you owe me.

Do I'.>

- Yes, you do. - I don't think so.

Please. It doesn't have to be a long one, just good.

Just good?

You ready?

Once upon a time, about a year, a year and a half ago...

Daddy had just cleared the Haverhill-Jenkins homicide case, you remember?

Right after, I got assigned to a robbery deployment...

a loan-out to the West L.A. squad room because there had been a series...

of nighttime burglaries at doctors' offices in large buildings in the Westwood area.

Cash and saleable drugs were the burglar's meat.

Now, this guy had ripped off about $5,000 in cash...

and a shitload of pharmaceutical speed and heavyweight downers...

in less than a month.

The West L.A. dicks had his M.O. figured this way:

This bastard used to hide out in the building all clay long until nightfall...

he'd hit his mark...

and then he'd run into a second-story office...

and jump out the window into the parking lot, if you can believe that.

But there was evidence to point to this.

Chipped cement on window ledges.

The dicks had figured this guy for, like, a gymnast.

Some bullshit cat-burglar type who could jump two stories without getting hurt.

They were so sure of it...

that the commander of the squad was setting up parking lot surveillances.

When this guy hit a doctor's office right on Wilshire Boulevard...

that two, not one, two teams of detectives were staking out...

that threw this commander's thesis all to hell...

and Daddy was called in to save the day.

Tell me how you got the scumbag, Daddy.

Sweetheart, nobody jumps two stories repeatedly without getting hurt.

So, I formed my own thesis.

This guy was just brazenly walking out of the building.

Okay, that's enough. No more stories.

Kiss your daddy good night and get to sleep.

Your mommy's right. It's late. I'll finish it tomorrow.

It's okay. I know how it ends.

This is the one that ends with the queen who did full drag B and E, isn't it?

You little bugger, you knew all along, and you let me tell the story.

Three to five, no parole.

I love you, sweetheart.

I love you, too, Daddy. Thanks.

Good night.

Snuggle in. Snuggle.

She's really something, that little Penguin.

Do you have any idea what you're doing to that child?

Here we go again. Daddy's gonna catch hell.

Daddy? You call spilling out all that filth and violence being a father?

Do you, Lloyd?

Jen, what do you want me to do?

You want me to tell her about the Three Bears? Is that it?

She's just a little girl.

An 8-year-old little girl. Can't you get that through your head?

Let me tell you something you should get through your head.

They're all little girls, Jen.

Every one of them.

Every one of those pathetic souls who eventually does herself in is a little girl.

Every neurotic who lies on a couch...

and pays some asshole shrink good money to listen to her bullshit is a little girl.

Every hooker out hustling her ass for a pimp...

who winds up with a dyke, a habit, or wasted by some psychopath, is a little girl.

All these little girls have one thing in common.

You know what that is? Disillusionment.

It always comes from the same thing, expectations.

The greatest woman-killer of all time.

A terminal disease that starts way back when they're all just little girls.

When they're being fed all the bullshit...

about being entitled to happiness like it's a birthright.

That's what you don't understand...

when to stop perpetrating the myths that ruin their lives.

Innocence kills, Jen. Believe me. It kills.

I see it every fucking day of my life.

Lloyd, I think you're a very sick man...

- Jesus. -...in need of some real help.

Christ, is that the best you can come up with?

Can't you see that she's got to know before it's too late?

Know what, Lloyd? What does she have to know?

What chance has she got?

Her mother still believes in white knights and happy endings.

I think I'm going to go check on Penny.

Then I think I'd like to sleep alone.

What else is new?

Hello?

Yeah.

Yeah, go.

That's great. No, you get some sleep. I'll take it from here.

Gibbs? Good work, kid.

Dutch? What're you doing?

Come on, man, you can sleep anytime.

How would you like to take a couple of armed robbers?

Yeah, by ourselves. What's the problem? We've done it 100 times.

A stakeout. The guy's pad.

I got the address. I'll pick you up in half an hour.

Great.

Okay. Bye.

No car, no Wilson.

I got a peek in the back.

Looks like the fucking House of Stereo in there. It's like an electronics emporium.

- You look happy, kid. - You're goddamn right. You?

If you are.

It's like old times. Same old thermos. Same bad coffee.