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.

F***! Where's my f***ing quarter,

you piece-of-sh*t machine? Damn.

I got to call them again.

I should be home, like,

watching The Flintstones, or some sh*t.

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 f*** is this sh*t, 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? F*** you!

Why am I even doing this sh*t? 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 sh*t 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 sh*t

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.

F***!

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 sh*t 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. D*cks had his M.O.

Figured this way:

This bastard used to hide out

in the building all day 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 d*cks 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

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