"Oh," Ed says. Tomorrow? Right, this is Thursday, not Friday, so...(and this is a mighty leap of logic for Ed)...so Donna's gonna want to see him tomorrow? Is that right? Oh, geez. He'll have to look at the note again, later.
"Gee, Tammy Lee, that's real swell of you," he says, fumbling for his keys and pulling them from his jeans front pocket like a goddamned magic trick. "You just...turn off the lights, check them doors and windows, and then lock up," he says. "I'll come 'round for the keys tomorrow." (Too-marrah.) Leaving no room for disagreement, Ed hurries towards the front door. "Yer a peach, Tammy Lee! Thank you! Good night!"
Tammy Lee's Fiero crunches to a stop in Rocco Carbone's driveway. She was nosy, but never in her entire life had she expected to stick her nose into what she found at Drew's Video Emporium*, and now she needed to ask for help from the one man who might actually have dealt with this sort of thing before. Allegedly.
And... she might've had a long day already, and she might've tried some of the white stuff she found inside Bare Trek VI: The Undiscovered Cunt before she thought too hard about it and realized she shoulda probably figured out what it was before she snorted it, but she'd seen enough movies. She felt pretty good, anyhow. No, scratch that. She felt really good. It was late, but, like, the party was just gettin' started, hon.
Rocco hears a voice he'd tried to forget shouting his name in his own goddamn foyer. Tammy Lee Plinkett was inside his house. Had he left the door unlocked? Maybe Donna forgot? It was too late now, though. Oh, god - he heard the coffee maker start up in the kitchen.
"Uurrggh...Tam...Tam....Tammy....dammit." croaks Rocco, checking the Rolex on his wrist, the only thing that bitch ex-wife of his didn't get in the divorce.
Putting on a bathrobe, he heads for the bathroom for a piss and to clear his throat. Nearly fifty years of smoking Marlboro Reds making any sort of speech at this hour more of an exercise than it really should be.
(finds Zippo and half-crushed pack of Marlboro's in the robe pocket)
Fortune favors the semi-lucid and bleary-eyed, Rocco lighting up a cancer stick as he heads downstairs. The sight in the kitchen...Tammy coked-out her gourd and looking a like hot mess; he'd would've like to have thought this to just be a bad dream from which his alarm clock would stir him out of any minute.
"Dammit...gotta quit mixing the Prozac and whiskey just before bed."
The smell of brewing coffee and Tammy's Jean Nate perfume wafting throughout his kitchen unfortunately meant this nightmare was, in fact, the real deal.
"Tammy..." grunts Rocco with a heavy sigh, taking an extra long drag on his cigarette before continuing.
"...it's a little late for a booty call, even for you."
"I knew you'd be groggy, sugah, that's why ah made you some coffee already," Tammy Lee offers the mug to Rocco. She's pretty chipper for... well, it's too damn late for Tammy Lee to be this chipper. "Listen, hon, I need you to tell me what all this is." She takes an array of small baggies out of her purse and spreads them on Rocco's counter.
"Ah'm pretty sure this one is cocaine," she says, indicating a bag of white powder that has been hastily reclosed with an elastic ponytail holder with a little plastic butterfly on it.
Upon seeing the bags on his kitchen table, Rocco does his best Dan Aykroyd....pushing past Tammy to examine the, *ahem*....product.
"What...WHERE did you get this, Tammy?" asks Rocco, his eyes shifting from the coke to coked-out Tammy and back to the coke.
Regardless of the answer, Rocco knows the boys in Miami aren't going to be happy...especially since it looks like Tammy had already snorted half of Bolivia.
"Tammy, this is some serious shit you got here...." adds Rocco, grabbing her by the arms in an attempt to get a somewhat lucid response out of her all while trying to figure who actually was the perpetrator of this theft.
There were only a few people in this shit-burg of a town competent enough to this this let alone capable of doing it.
Tammy begins her ferret-on-crack banter; Rocco walking into the adjacent laundry room and putting on some clean clothes (black slacks, black socks, black shirt) all while replying in the affirmative to whatever drug-addled talk Tammy's going on about.
"Uh-huh...Uh-huh....OH REALLY?!"
Halfway through the rant, including some shit about a movie title she saw at the video store, Bare Trek: 8-Inch Erection, Rocco finishes dressing. About to rejoin Tammy and her coke-talk, he hesitates leaving the laundry room in favor of pulling out the dryer from against the wall revealing a cut-out in the drywall.
"Yeah...Yep...Right....Be right out, Tam..." continues Rocco, pulling out a nickel-plated Walther PPK and accompanying silencer.
Stashing the gun in his pants, he walks out where Tammy has not only done more of the coke in the short time he'd been away, but also consumed nearly all the cannoli Donna had made the night before.
Ed was dumb as a box full of... things that weren't too bright, but he weren't part of this. Tammy Lee could be an oblivious cold bitch sometimes, but even she weren't about to drag the poor doofus into Rocco's sights. She starts hemmin' and hawin', makin' it seem like she's reluctant to say where she got the stash.
"Right, so like ah said, it don't matter so much right now where ah found it, I jest wanna know how much I can git for it." Tammy's head whips back up from the table as Rocco reemerges, dressed like he's ready to seat a table of 8 at the Applebee's by the interstate. "You wanna buy it, Rock?"
"Uh...think ya got the wrong guy, Tammy. Don't get me wrong, I'm no angel...but most of my shady business deals involved stolen furs and watches (looks down at his Rolex), with some occasional hot cars thrown in there for good measure. This shit is in a whole other league. You're talking people who have crocodiles for pets and who use chainsaws to negotiate." replies Rocco, attempting to take the heat off him.
"Although...."
(Rocco taking a pinky-nail's worth of coke and tastes the goods)
"....We're looking at some primo-shit here. I might know someone still in the business, although he's gonna want more than this to make it worth his while."
As much as he hates Tammy, Rocco knows she's too dumb to pull this coke caper off on her own and just really wants to know who took/cut the coke before the "Boys in Miami" find out....especially the Boss.
Tammy Lee slams her palms down on the table. Holy sheeee-it, what an awesome idea she's just had! She is the fuckin' Hannibal of this lil' A-Team! All she's gotta do is drive over to the car lot, wait for Ed to show up, and see what kinda shit he's up to. After that, her options are wide open!
She'll need some muscle, though, and Rocco was just the guy for that. It was his lot, after all, he'd want to come along.
"We'll make it worth his while, sure. Ah know where ah can git more, Rock! Oh, I jest hope we ain't too late! Come on, ah'll drive!"
"Well, I'm already awake and dressed. Make a to-go cup for me...would ya? I gotta get a pair of shoes."
Rocco's ready to leave, gun in his waistband...a few more mags plundered for his upstairs stash as well as a duffelbag full of what could've been described as "necessities" for the line of work he's been accustomed to for so many years. Not in the bag but in his slightly blacker jacket is a roll of duct tape.
"Ok, we should get going." remarks Rocco, taking a sip of coffee from the travel mug and placing it on the counter while picking up the duffelbag.
As they get outside, Rocco stops at his Cadillac.
"On second thought, we should probably take my car...there's more room." popping the Caddy's trunk and palming the Walther.
"Shit, left my coffee inside...could ya get it?"
As Tammy turns to go inside, Rocco cold-cocks the waitress...duct-taping her hands, feet, and mouth and placing her into the trunk.
Thursday Night
Just about ten minutes later than Drew asked Ed to show up at Rocco's
---
There's two guns in play here, out at tarmac parking lot of Rocco's dealership: one is Drew's snubnosed .38, having a good rest on said tarmac about two feet away from Drew's actual feet. Drew's hands are trying to get away from it, too, reaching for the sky. And Donna's hands, why, they're doing the same darn thing.
It's all thanks to gun #2: Rocco's Walther.
"I've seen some dumb shit in my day," Rocco opines, "but nothing on you two. I don't suppose one of you wants to waste my time with an explanation?"
Two guns, and a baseball bat. Specifically, Ed's baseball bat, giving Rocco a good smack across the back. Who'd have figured that lunk quiet enough to sneak up on anyone? Bat aside, he's wearing one of these dark oilskin work coats over his regular clothes, as well as a promotional "Drew's Video Emporium" basecap pulled down over his face. Oh, and there's three guys behind him, too. Can't rightly say how you'd miss those muscleheads even at first glance.
"Sorry I'm late, boss!" Ed calls out. "I had to get the stuff and my momma said I had best not go nowhere without my friends so I called my friends. Them's Bob and Jackie and -"
And Joeboy Junior, who didn't waste no time pushing past Ed and grabbing Rocco's Walther.
"Awright!" Joeboy Junior says, swinging the gun wildly in an attempt to keep everyone at bay. "I'm headlinin' this 'un now! Don't nobody reach for nothin'!"
The silence that settles over the scene then is just enough for Tammy Lee's bound struggle in the trunk of Rocco's car to become clearly audible.
"Jesus...goddamn...fucking...Christ!" exclaims Rocco, wincing and groaning as he tries to get up to his knees.
(looking up at Ed)
"Ed...I swear, on my mother's grave I have never seen a dumber mook in my life." adds the wounded mobster, turning his attention to Donna and that shitbird Drew.
"Madonna Catalina...what the hell were you thinking? This is how you treat your godfather, the man who snuck you outta school so we could go watch Opening Day at Yankee Stadium? The same guy who taught ya how to drive and shotgun beers? Maron . It's a good thing your father ain't around to see how this shit turned out."
Donna's already unsteady pistol grip begins to shake at the sight of her surrogate dad bleeding on his knees.
Rocco's monologue momentary silences the crowd as the muffled plight of Tammy continues from the back of the Cadillac.
"OH...SHUT THE FUCK UP, TAMMY! I STILL OWE YOU..." shouts Rocco toward the Caddy's trunk.
Fucking bitch has been screwin' up my life since I got here.
"Should I hit 'em again?!" asks Ed to Drew.
Drew's about to suggest that very idea, when the sound and sight of multiple gunshots/flashes erupt behind Ed & Co....dropping Joeboy Junior, Bob, and Jackie like bad habits.
Approaching with their own guns drawn are four men dressed in similar "2AM Mobster-style" fashion to that of Rocco.
Cutting a path between the goons is a considerably older man.
"Daddy?" exclaims Donna.
Rocco turns his head, to verify Donna's impossible question.
"Lou?!"
"Been a while, Rocky. You look good. Wish we coulda had this reunion on better terms."
Stay cool, Donna thinks. Its all going according to plan. Make them think you are confused, that's your cover.
Donna runs over to Lou, and gives him a warm hug. She then pulls away and studies his face in concern. "Daddy, they said you had to stay in Miami or you could go to jail. Why are you here?"
"Well that's very nice of you to apologize," Lou says, looking Ed up and down before his eyes rest on Ed's hat. "Drew's Video Emporium," Lou says to himself. He glances at Drew. "I'm guessing that makes you Drew. Are you and your polite compatriot here gonna be problems, Drew?" Lou nods his head towards the still-twitching corpses of Ed's associates. "The thing about dead bodies, boys, is that it's sorta like a 'more the merrier' situation. If my friends here in the slightly blacker than black turtlenecks have to clean up three bodies, well, why not toss a few more in on top?"
Drew's last 10 minutes had been a rollercoaster of ups and downs.
Down: Ed was late. Couldn't that moron get anything straight? Now they'd have to do it without someone to stand guard.
Up: the drugs were exactly were Donna said they'd be, and it was a huge stash! They were set up for life!
Down: Rocco had driven onto the lot with squealing tires and caught them red handed. Could have really used someone standing guard.
Up: Drew had brought his gun!
Down: so had Rocco.
Up: Ed finally showed up!
Down: .. and he brought three more dimwits with him. Goddamn, what part of 'don't tell anybody' was so fuckin' hard to understand??
Up: at least Ed managed to whack Rocco, and make him lose his gun, but...
Down: ... one of the dimwits got it and suddenly thought he was fuckin' Scarface or somethin'.
Ya know, there should have really been another 'up' right around here, but instead, the floor fell out of the ride, and it went just down, down, down, and looked like it might be coming to a dead stop real soon.
Drew swallows hard and glances at the corpses. Hands stay exactly where they are, reaching for the moon.
"Well that's very nice of you to apologize," Lou says, looking Ed up and down before his eyes rest on Ed's hat. "Drew's Video Emporium," Lou says to himself. He glances at Drew. "I'm guessing that makes you Drew. Are you and your polite compatriot here gonna be problems, Drew?" Lou nods his head towards the still-twitching corpses of Ed's associates. "The thing about dead bodies, boys, is that it's sorta like a 'more the merrier' situation. If my friends here in the slightly blacker than black turtlenecks have to clean up three bodies, well, why not toss a few more in on top?"
Seeing things leaning heavily toward the Away Team, Rocco takes the opportunity to get up...taking back his Walther and appropriating Ed's bat.
Stashing the pistol in his waistband, Rocco leans the bat up against his Caddy and lights a cigarette...the murmerings of Tammy long gone silent in the trunk.
"Tammy, darling...this'll all be over a few, just stay calm and you might still have a shot at that Assistant Manager job at the Chicken Hut."
(picks up the bat and walks toward Ed)
"Hi, Ed! Bye, Ed!" smiles Rocco, winding up for a big swing to the video store employee's cranium. The blow's enough to take Ed out, but probably not leave him with permanent dain bramage.
(drops the bat and stands next to Lou with Walther at his side)
"Donna, honey...get away from Drew right now. Your Uncle and Dad need to have a word with Drew. Wouldn't want anything to get on that pretty jacket you've got on."
"Oh," Ed says, as he finally realizes what happened to his beloved.
Tammy's in there!
And that's the second-to-last thing that goes through his head before the shockwave of the blunt impact on his numb skull. The actual last thing are the dulcet musical stylings of Miss Sheryl Crow, playing a private session for him as he hits the ground in slow motion.
At this point, Drew finally decides that standing around and having a 'word' with the cartel people is more likely to end up with him dead than, well, pretty much anything else he could be doing right now, so he makes the fateful decision to leap behind the car he is standing next to and out of the gangsters' sight while Donna is still making up her mind.
Bullets zing around him and smack into the car. He gets back to his feet and runs off into the darkness of the used car lot.
Lou waves his goons down. "Leave him, last thing we need is more bodies right now." He smirks at Donna and Rocco. "What? Yeah, yeah, 'more the merrier' my ass. I was saying that shit to scare them. These three meatheads are gonna be problem enough to get rid of all by themselves." Lou shakes his head at the situation. "Make sure the shipment's all there," he says. "And do something with those bodies," Lou barks.
Opelika might not have the largest or the most professional police force, but Rocco's dealership was within town limits and while gunshots weren't uncommon for the area, a flurry of handgun reports before sunrise are suspicious enough that the distant red and blue flashes approaching from downtown are probably headed for the lot.
"Shit," one of Lou's guys grumbles as the police involvement threatens impending trouble. He redoubles his efforts to wrestle Joeboy's ventilated corpse into a black Chrysler's trunk. A second man gives the thumbs-up from the stash car. "All here, boss."
"My guys weren't supposed to take the car until tomorrow, Rocky," Lou explains. "I'm not about to sit on it any longer than I have to, so you take the car and my guys'll get it tomorrow. Capiche?"
"Capiche. Better get outta here. Take this sad sack of shit, will you?" asks Rocco, giving Ed a parting kick in his unconscious ribs.
"Sad really, Ed getting hit by that car...don't you think?" infers the mobster to Donna and the cowering Drew in the background.
Jury's still out on Drew, but seeing three men getting murdered in cold blood didn't have him staying around to see the highlight reel from the morning news. He was a good half a mile when the decision was made to clean up the mess and wait things out until tomorrow.
As Lou's goons do the heavy lifting, Rocco has a moment with Lou and Donna.
"I guess that's what happened to you. Thanks for the help, really. Donna, I think it's best you go with your dad. If anyone asks, say you were at the casinos down in Gulf Shores or some shit like that, more importantly...NO WHERE near here."
Rocco watches as Opelika's Finest roll up in their dilapidated squad car a few minutes after Lou & Co. take off.
(turns on the parking lot pressure-washer and begins hosing down the not-crime scene)
The car comes to a screeching halt with both officers drawing down on Rocco.
"Hands up, drop the....uh hose! Yeah, drop the fucking hose!" shouts the passenger, Deputy Stakehouse...always a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
"Woah...woah...It's just fuckin' coyotes!" shouts back Rocco, hands outstretched and dropping the wash wand as the last remnants of Ed's fucktard-squad wash into the gutter.
Opelika's Finest interrogate Rocco for the better part of.....10 minutes, half of which was talking to Sheriff Belfleur about how 'Bama's Offense is better than LSUs and the chances of them going all the way this year. After years of dealing with the bad side of the law in Jersey, Rocco made sure that a sizable donation was given to the local Fraternal Order of Police every fuckin' Christmas.
"Yeah, again...sorry for all the fuckin' brew-ha-ha with the gunshots. Man's gotta defend what's his, amiright? Fuckin' coyotes. Anyway, I'm sure you have better things to do than bullshit with some car dealer at 4AM."
Just then, a call comes over their radio...something about a reported break-in at Drew's Video Emporium. Both cops look at each other.
"Well, guess we had better git going. Have nice night, Mr. Carbone."
As the police cruiser lights and siren fade out in the distance, Rocco finishes cleaning up and heads back to his house for some shut-eye. Halfway home, he hears a thud.
"Fucking roadkill." mumbles Rocco.
(another thud, more of a thump actually)
"Goddamn...when's the county ever gonna fix these potholes!" adds Rocco, quite a bit louder.
It's not until his backseat is nearly kicked out when he realizes what's going on, pulling off to the side of the road.
Gatac
