Reservoir Rats: A Discarded Script by Q. Tarontino

By Rob Reuter

FADE IN on a coffee shop in Los Angeles. We focus on a round table in the center of the room, surrounded by nine men. One, NICE GUY, wears a jogging suit. One, JOE, wears slacks, a polo shirt and a sports jacket. Seven wear cheap black suits with white shirts and thin black ties, BLUE, BROWN, ORANGE, WHITE, BLONDE, PINK and DAVE. The table is covered in empty plates; these men have finished breakfast and are having coffee.

BROWN: Let me tell you what Like a Virgin’s about: it’s about a girl who digs a guy with a big dick. The entire song’s a metaphor for big dicks.

BLUE: No it ain’t. It’s about a nice girl who’s been fucked over a few times-

BROWN: No, no, no, no! Time out, Green Bay. Save that shit for the tourists. Like a Virgin’s not about some sensitive-

DAVE: What?

BROWN: What what?

DAVE: "Time out, Green Bay?" He’s Blue. Who the hell’s Green?

BROWN: (pausing) He is Blue. It just means… wait a second… I guess.

DAVE: Okay… (Muttering) "Time out, Gree…" Whatever….

BROWN: Anyway (Glaring at DAVE). Like a Virgin’s all about this cooze who’s a regular fuck machine. I mean, morning, noon and night: dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick, dick.

BLUE: How many dicks-

DAVE laughs.

BROWN: (Irritated) What?

DAVE: Sorry. I was just thinking that would make a good sound file for when I turn my computer on. Go ahead.

BROWN: (Sullen) Fuck you. Forget it.

(Pause for a few seconds.)

JOE: Toby… Toby… Toby Wong?

WHITE: What’s that?

DAVE: (To no one in particular) Hey, how come I don’t have a color? And did any of you guys see The Taking of Pelham 1-2-3?

JOE: (Glares at him sideways, ignores him) It’s just an old address book I found in a coat I haven’t worn in a coon’s age.

WHITE: Who’s Toby?

JOE: This little oriental girl.

DAVE: An oriental girl named Toby? Are you kidding? That’s like finding an Irish guy named Ipschitz.

JOE: Huh?

DAVE: And didn’t you mean "gook?" I mean, you jumped all over "coon," you racist bastard.

BLONDE: (With a sneer) Hey Joe, you want me to shoot this guy?

JOE: God, yes. After a week of this shit… Wong?

DAVE: Hey, why are you telling us this girl’s name? I mean, you won’t let us tell each other our names, but it’s okay to know the name of one of your friends? If one of gets caught and fingers her, do you think the cops’ll have to search for more than say, ten minutes to find an oriental girl named Toby? And do you think she’ll have a long list of people she knows who plan daylight armed robberies to give the police?

JOE: (Ignoring him) Chu?

DAVE: (Muttering) Don Corleone would never stand for this…

JOE: Woo?

DAVE: Do you mean John Woo? The Hong Kong action movie director? Are you trying to tell me you know John Woo? I love that scene in the Woo movie where everyone’s pointing their guns at each other at the end. If they did that in an American movie, I bet it’d be a big hit.

WHITE: (Grabs book from JOE) Give me that fucking book.

JOE: (To WHITE) Gimme back my book!

WHITE: (Shouting) No! Do you want him to keep talking?!

DAVE: (Still thinking about John Woo) Of course, the American director would be an unoriginal thief…

Pause. ALL look at Dave with horror, similar to the horror an actor feels when a director fires him and he has to go back to waiting tables or hustling at the bus station.

NICE GUY: (Trying to redirect conversation) Hey, have you guys been listening to Super Sounds of the 70’s?

PINK: Oh yeah, man.

NICE GUY: I love that show. You know what I heard yesterday?

DAVE: An intellectually stimulating, sonically rich song like C’mon, Get Happy?

NICE GUY: (Muttering) I liked the Partridge Family… (To DAVE) No, Heartbeat is a Love Beat, by Little Tony DeFranco and-

DAVE: Are you kidding me? Why would anyone get nostalgic about the decade that brought us Nixon and herpes?

Silence. NICE GUY looks like he’s considering muzzle velocities and the legal points behind a justifiable homicide defense.

JOE: All right: I’ll get the check, you guys get the tip. It should be about a buck apiece. And when I get back, I want my book. (Glares at DAVE, stands up and walks to the register, muttering, "I wonder if I can do this job with six guys…")

NICE GUY: All right, everybody cough up some green for the little lady.

Everyone pulls out their wallets and begins to put money on the table except for PINK.

NICE GUY: C’mon. Throw in a buck.

PINK: Nope. I don’t tip.

DAVE: Good idea, Einstein.

PINK: I don’t need your approval…

DAVE: Yeah… In about four hours, every local news station in LA is gonna lead with a story about how seven guys in black suits robbed a diamond wholesaler. But I figure we stand about a… I dunno… one hundred percent chance of getting caught when our underpaid, vengeful waitress calls the cops saying: "Seven guys in black suits? Why, I saw them 45 minutes before the robbery! Wanna know what they look like?"

ORANGE: Now, wait a second-

DAVE: "Sure I can come to the station and look at mug books, I don’t have enough money to do anything else!"

PINK: (Taking out his wallet) Forget it, here’s a-

DAVE: You know, this is not the way a robbery should happen. We’re less than an hour away from sticking up like, twenty people, and we’re loading up on coffee! My God, Pink’s had three cups; at the first loud sound, he’ll probably simultaneously shoot himself in the kneecap and piss himself like an infant!

ORANGE: Why don’t you-

DAVE: Ah, the storyteller chimes in! That was a great one, about the commode and the sheriffs and the German shepherds.

WHITE: Yeah, that was pretty funny-

DAVE: It must be an urban legend, though: an undercover cop told me the same story before he arrested me a couple years ago.

(Short pause. Everyone looks from DAVE to ORANGE and back for a couple of seconds.)

ORANGE: What? I am not-

DAVE: (To everyone) You know how, just to be on the safe side, we’re not supposed to know anything about each other? Remember that first time we all met with Joe when we picked up Orange at his apartment? You think it’s okay to know where he lives as long as you don’t know his name? Jesus, why don’t we just write our mothers’ maiden names on the wall before we leave with the diamonds?

NICE GUY: (Loudly) Everyone calm down.

DAVE: Or maybe our Social Security Numbers!

NICE GUY: (Shouting) Calm down! (Conversation stops) Let’s talk about something else. I was thinking about Rudy Ray Moore the other day, and-

DAVE: You guys amaze me. We’re about to commit armed robbery, assault with a deadly weapon, grand larceny, felony menacing and murder. We could face 629 years minimum. We could ride the lightning. I don’t want to talk about Dolemite! (Stands up) Screw you guys. I only work with serious people. The way this abortion of a job was planned, one of you’s probably a damn cop.

FADE OUT. Cue Little Green Bag.

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