Author's NoteI do not own this movie or own any of its characters.
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Chapter 2
At 7 p.m. that night, the guys are still there still bickering over files. One right after the other are declined. Too picky. No experience. No real street credit. Vegetarian.
"I'm gonna go pick up some food for us. Chinese okay?" Deke asks.
"Yea that's fine." Chris and Jim answer back.
Deke walks out of the room leaving Chris and Jim together. They keep talking about the prospects.
"This guy Mark Whitmire sounds good. 29 years old. 6'2. Four years of street with the LAPD and 2 years with the Ohama police department."
"Ohama? God that must have been exciting. What do they chase...cows..chickens?" Chris says sarcastically. Jim laughs and gives a great big grin. Chris smiles back. Then, an awkward silence. Jim looks around trying to figure out something to say.
"So.anybody else that sounds good?" Jim says to file up the silence.
"So far that's it. You?"
"This guy, Clayton Walker. 34 years. 5'11. 7 years on street and two years homicide. He says now he wants to try S.W.A.T."
"Going from homicide to S.W.A.T.? Well, he's diverse."
"Yeah, yeah.. Maybe an over achiever??? Oh well that's almost it." Jim says flipping through the files.
"God damn.this is so boring. I don't wanna do this anymore. Can't we just tell Fuller to go to hell and fuck himself with this damn work!?!?!?!" Chris bursts out.
"I wish. Fuller will have both of our asses if we do though. Come on, you know I am on his shitlist."
"Yeah.he tells me all the time."
All of a sudden, Jim and Chris's beepers start to go off.
"What the hell?" Jim looks at Chris for answers.
Hondo bursts through the door.
"Good, you guys are here. Where's Deke?"
"Getting some food. Why? What's up?"
"We have a shootout in progress. Mount up, we leave in 3 minutes."
Deke rushes into the room just to be ushered back out into the locker room. Chris goes into her private "locker room" or the storage closet. Deke and Jim rush to their lockers and hurry up and suit out. Rushing, they grab their guns and run for the door. Hondo is already in the bus ready to go. They jump in and drive off. Sirens blazing, they weave in and out of traffic trying get through the busy L.A. traffic.
"Jesus Christ. How many fucking people live in L.A.?" Chris yells with disgust.
"A whole lot, but that's not gonna stop me." Hondo says as he jumps the crib, rushing past the bumper-to-bumper traffic. Hondo weaves from street to sidewalk, yet careful of the people around him.
"Jesus, you can sure handle this thing, Hondo." Jim says with amazement.
"Not any better than he can handle your momma." Deke replies. Jim laughs, knowing he doesn't have a comeback.
Finally, they arrive. Hondo jumps out of the driver's seat and walks over to Fuller.
"Now, what's goin on?" Hondo says trying to make as little conversation as possible.
"The LAPD had a stakeout on this place to the left. They deal drugs and the cops wanted something on them to get a warrant and go in. Well, somebody tipped them off and stocked up on weapons. AK47s, '44 magnums, '38 caliber rifles, the works. LAPD goes in, and the shootout begins. There is about 5,6 guys. We can't tell."
Hondo goes back to the guys and tells them what's up. Jim, Chris and Deke get their weaponry and hold until the cops can get a secure line to them.
The cops throw a secure line to group.
"Hello, this is Sergeant Fuller with the LAPD."
"We want 80 million dollars in small bills, a private jet that is not piloted by one of you people. We want it soon. We got bombs in here and we'll start blowing up shit!"
"Okay calm down. Can we just talk..."
"That's it. No more talking." He hangs up and throws the phone out the window.
"That didn't go too well." Hondo says, listening in outside the trailer.
"Shut up Hondo. Get your boys ready."
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At 7 p.m. that night, the guys are still there still bickering over files. One right after the other are declined. Too picky. No experience. No real street credit. Vegetarian.
"I'm gonna go pick up some food for us. Chinese okay?" Deke asks.
"Yea that's fine." Chris and Jim answer back.
Deke walks out of the room leaving Chris and Jim together. They keep talking about the prospects.
"This guy Mark Whitmire sounds good. 29 years old. 6'2. Four years of street with the LAPD and 2 years with the Ohama police department."
"Ohama? God that must have been exciting. What do they chase...cows..chickens?" Chris says sarcastically. Jim laughs and gives a great big grin. Chris smiles back. Then, an awkward silence. Jim looks around trying to figure out something to say.
"So.anybody else that sounds good?" Jim says to file up the silence.
"So far that's it. You?"
"This guy, Clayton Walker. 34 years. 5'11. 7 years on street and two years homicide. He says now he wants to try S.W.A.T."
"Going from homicide to S.W.A.T.? Well, he's diverse."
"Yeah, yeah.. Maybe an over achiever??? Oh well that's almost it." Jim says flipping through the files.
"God damn.this is so boring. I don't wanna do this anymore. Can't we just tell Fuller to go to hell and fuck himself with this damn work!?!?!?!" Chris bursts out.
"I wish. Fuller will have both of our asses if we do though. Come on, you know I am on his shitlist."
"Yeah.he tells me all the time."
All of a sudden, Jim and Chris's beepers start to go off.
"What the hell?" Jim looks at Chris for answers.
Hondo bursts through the door.
"Good, you guys are here. Where's Deke?"
"Getting some food. Why? What's up?"
"We have a shootout in progress. Mount up, we leave in 3 minutes."
Deke rushes into the room just to be ushered back out into the locker room. Chris goes into her private "locker room" or the storage closet. Deke and Jim rush to their lockers and hurry up and suit out. Rushing, they grab their guns and run for the door. Hondo is already in the bus ready to go. They jump in and drive off. Sirens blazing, they weave in and out of traffic trying get through the busy L.A. traffic.
"Jesus Christ. How many fucking people live in L.A.?" Chris yells with disgust.
"A whole lot, but that's not gonna stop me." Hondo says as he jumps the crib, rushing past the bumper-to-bumper traffic. Hondo weaves from street to sidewalk, yet careful of the people around him.
"Jesus, you can sure handle this thing, Hondo." Jim says with amazement.
"Not any better than he can handle your momma." Deke replies. Jim laughs, knowing he doesn't have a comeback.
Finally, they arrive. Hondo jumps out of the driver's seat and walks over to Fuller.
"Now, what's goin on?" Hondo says trying to make as little conversation as possible.
"The LAPD had a stakeout on this place to the left. They deal drugs and the cops wanted something on them to get a warrant and go in. Well, somebody tipped them off and stocked up on weapons. AK47s, '44 magnums, '38 caliber rifles, the works. LAPD goes in, and the shootout begins. There is about 5,6 guys. We can't tell."
Hondo goes back to the guys and tells them what's up. Jim, Chris and Deke get their weaponry and hold until the cops can get a secure line to them.
The cops throw a secure line to group.
"Hello, this is Sergeant Fuller with the LAPD."
"We want 80 million dollars in small bills, a private jet that is not piloted by one of you people. We want it soon. We got bombs in here and we'll start blowing up shit!"
"Okay calm down. Can we just talk..."
"That's it. No more talking." He hangs up and throws the phone out the window.
"That didn't go too well." Hondo says, listening in outside the trailer.
"Shut up Hondo. Get your boys ready."
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