Fan Fiction ❯ The Rage of Mr. Blonde ❯ Mr. Brown ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: I do not own `Reservoir Dogs', nor did I come up with the actual plot, I am merely telling a part of the story that was NOT shown, but merely left to the viewer to figure out.

Author's Note: Although Mr. Brown was killed last chapter, I am going to a flashback for this chapter to tell how Mr. Brown became part of Joe's team in the first place. Sorry for the short chapter!

Chapter Three of `The Rage of Mr. Blonde': Mr. Brown

Tommy in his stained blue tee shirt with Robert Page and his infamous guitar on the front, walked noisily into his cruddy apartment. After slamming the brown door, he turned his keys to lock it. After latching on a couple more locks for extra measures of security, he turned to his room, his cruddy room.

The tall brown-haired man lounged on his ratty old leather couch and clicked on the remote to watch some television.

"Some old people, baby seals, starving kids, pompous celebrities," Tommy droned on as he clicked on the "Next Channel" button over and over, his face not twitching in emotion. Only his mouth moved. "More politicians, rappers, Oprah, Dodgers, stupid cartoons, and… some other boring stuff."

Tommy was beginning to lose all hope on his stolen cable (He didn't want to pay the extra $30 a year for skin channels) when he came upon something that caught his attention.

"Hello," he said to himself as the young man sat straight up, "what have we here?"

On the screen was a scene from an old 1950's movie about Al Capone. Tommy's mouth gaped in curiosity and interest as one of Al's henchmen flew across Prohibition-era Chicago, guns blazing.

Tommy watched the movie up until the end at 2 am, ignoring his day old pizza which was supposed to be dinner. He clicked off the tv as the credits rolled, and yawned with a disgusted look on his face at his current life. It was all around him, and he hated it.

His bed was small and unkempt, dirty with old food particles and garbage. Worst yet, in his own opinion, he had no girl in that disgusting bed with him. He looked away from the bed to gaze at his desk, which was almost invisible to the naked eye due to the piling bills. He had unpaid bills for this room, and soon enough, Old Benzendrine, as Tommy called his aggressive landlord, would be on his ass. First it was the `no puppy' policy, and then it was the habit of the old man to spy on him, wondering 24/7 what he was doing and where. Now, the landlord threatened him off his land unless the bills were paid for.

Old clothes were discarded everywhere, and beer bottles that came as old as his high school days to as new as that very evening, were mounting together in a recycle bin next to the tv in an ever-menacing form that resembled a monster.

Tommy's eyes began to water as he soon evaluated the situation he was in. But what was he gonna do?

His eyes looked for an answer in his room, searching for the feint hope that an answer would be there. When he saw the morning newspaper on the floor, something caught his eye. It was a picture of an intimidating bald-headed man with a mean look on his remorseless face in a crowd of press and cameramen.

At the top of the paper it read in bold black ink: "JOE CABOT NOT FOUND GUILTY OF DRUG TRAFFICKING, more on page 2."

Tommy walked over and bent over to pick up the paper, and began to read standing up, his concentration totally on the article. In his excitement, he read aloud the more important parts to himself as if to think through each piece and sentence.

"Los Angeles gangster Joe Cabot was not found guilty of the longtime suspicion of selling drugs to the northern parts of California, and in the city itself." Moments later, he continued, "Although the LAPD had enough evidence to convict a couple of Cabot's workers, sufficient evidence, and lack of testimony by the convicted led the judge to believe Cabot could go free. While Cabot has been in the business of crime and gangs, he has actually only served a token number of sentences in prison, both due to his surprisingly clean hands of most matters, and the loyalty from both his son Ed Cabot, also known as Nice Guy Eddie, and his men. Fours years ago, one of Cabot's men refused to accuse Joe Cabot of selling drugs when the man was caught in a warehouse full of the illegal substances. The man has just been released, however, after serving his four years."

Then came the part that REALLY got Tommy's attention. "Joe Cabot answered a question after yesterday's decision on what he was going to do next. `Something big,' was his only explanation as the cops just looked on. Cabot has also been running legit businesses as well, differing from automobile making, to brewery. He has been known to take any and all new employees willing to work under his command in his businesses. Amazing perks and high pay is what helps keep Joe #1 on his employees lists a lot, not to mention the fact that many of his employees are allegedly his gang, as well."

"His current residence is the humongous mansion the Cabot family has owned for a generation or two, since 1924, titled Cobblestone. On Yale Road, where the mansion is, the police have tapped the phones and event he computers in Cabot's house."

Knock! Knock!

Tommy jumped at the noise which had disturbed him from the article. "Who is it?"
"It's me."

Tommy put down the paper on his couch and unlocked the door. Opening it, his friend Dent came in with a beer in his hand. "Hey, dude."

"What do you want?" Tommy was not in the mood for Dent this time as his friend collapsed on the bed lazily.

"Relax, man."

"Is there something you need?"

"Hmm, nope," answered Dent. He took a swig of his beer, and threw the empty bottle into the bin.

"Can you get out then? I have a phone call to make," announced Tommy, whose hands were on his hips.

"To whom, Tom?" Dent's eyes looked down, his eyelids closing.

"A guy called Joe Cabot."

This caught Dent's attention. His eyes were opened, and Tommy's friend was now sitting on the bed just as Tommy had done when he was watching Al Capone.

"What for?"
"A job. I need one so badly. Why so interested," queried Tommy.

Dent looked down in embarrassment, but stated the truth to his friend. "I've bought some weed from him like a year ago I think. His son's pretty cool. Real party animal." When Dent saw the look on Tommy's face, he decided to continue. "Eddie asked me if I wanted a job. I said yeah, but a week later, I just said, `Fuck it!', and left."

"Is it true about the employees being in gangs?"

Dent thought for a moment, then answered, "Joe said he would let me in, but only if I proved that I could handle being in a gang."
"How?" Tommy asked his friend, crossing his arms across his chest.

"Well, I couldn't be high or drunk while at the meetings, but I never even did a crime. After three days, I left.

"Do you know his number?"

"Yeah, I got it somewhere."

"Can I have it? I really want to try this job out."
"Well, I'd never thought I'd see the day."
"What," smiled Tommy.

"You doing anything remotely illegal."

"Hey!" Tommy tried to sound insulted, and pointed a finger at his friend, "I stole cable, that counts for something."

"Not really. I mean, hell, even the landlord steals cable. Everyone steals cable. That women at the K-Mart? Steals cable. My 6th grade teacher? Stole cable. Your ex-girlfriend? Stole cable."

Tommy winced at the mention of her, but realized what's done was done. He was just glad that his stoner buddy had finally been some kind of help. "Got anymore beer, dude?" Dent would of course ask for a reward.

"Sure." Tommy handed Dent another bottle of beer from a cooler, and closed it tight.

* * *

It had been two days since Tommy's conversation with Dent, and he was already in the office of Joe Cabot, sitting in front of the man himself. Tommy, in his white Police shirt, sat in front of the wide desk where Joe had stationed himself, puffing his great cigar.

Tommy had called the number his friend had given him, and called Nice Guy Eddie, who seem relieved to have someone `volunteer' for a job. Cabot remained silent as he looked over his paper, scribbling on it every now and then. After ten minutes of painfully waiting in the silent and smoky office, Joe looked up at Tommy.

"So," started Joe, "I hear from my son you want a well-paying job. Am I right?" Tommy nodded, letting Joe continue. "Would you like some brandy, or something of the finer stuff?"

Joe's question surprised Tommy of the casualness of it, and answered with a stuttering yes.

Joe opened a cabinet, and poured a brown liquid into two glasses. Joe walked back over behind his desk and handed one of the glasses to Tommy.

Tommy did not drink from it.

"So, Tommy," continued the crime lord, "how much are we talking?"

"Well," Tommy shrugged but Joe's expression did not change, "I'm about two to four thousand in the red from various debts, but I want a healthy pay so that I may be considered `rich'."

"Mm, I see."

"Just about any job will be fine, I just want to have money again."

Joe finished the rest of his drink, and said, "Well, I do have a job that will make everyone incredibly rich. Filthy rich!" Tommy moved in his chair. He liked the sound of this. "It's a job that will be pulled off by five other men."

"Do I know any of them?"

"No. The whole point of this operation is that all six men involved, including you, will never have known each other."

"And why is that?"

"So that no one can rat out the other. Clear?"
"Not really. What kind of a job is this anyway?"

Joe smiled. "Ever been in a crime before.

Tommy thought, and remembered, "I was held up at a 7-11 one night five years ago. I was getting a Coke slushee when this guy took out a gun and pointed it at my face!" Tommy's hand shaped itself to the best gun it could produce, and motioned as if it was going to shoot Tommy in the head.

"How'd you survive?"

"I told him that he wouldn't dare kill his roommate from college."

"How did you know he even went to college?"

"He didn't go to college, Joe."

Cabot's mouth gaped open, and asked, "Then you weren't his roommate."

"No, the thing is is that he was supposed to go to UCLA, but this one really smart kid from Costa Rica went ahead of him because of that affirmative action shit. And so here he was, crying on my shoulder, gun hanging out of his hand, ranting on and on between tears about why colleges want diversity and crap. Quite a hilarious moment, really."
Joe smiled, "How'd it end?"
"Let's just say I walked away with my slushee, and I even managed to make a friend." Tommy lounged on the chair, impressed even with himself. He took a sip of his brandy, and realized how bad it tasted.

"You know what, Tommy my boy? I think you've convinced me. You're going to be on my team for my next robbery."

"Uh, okay. I get paid, right?"
"Sure, sure."

* * *

The next couple of days were some of the best in Tommy's adult life. He met some really cool guys, like Mr. Pink, Eddie, White, and Blonde. He had conversations with them about everything from food, tv, and even the real meaning of `Like a Virgin'. Being part of the group made him feel important. And he wished it would it last.

* * *

Okay guys, end of Chapter Three!!!

Better than the first two???

Read and review guys!

Next chapter will be ALL about Mr. Blue as this chapter was about Mr. Brown.

Chapter Four: Mr. Blue