Freddy was standing in the hot sun on the roof above the station. Holdoway had told him he'd be up soon after he filed some reports so Freddy was just biding his time, having a cigarette and enjoying the view. It was still early July and the LA weather hadn't gotten too hot yet, and for that, he was grateful. In another month the roof would turn unbearable and he fervently hoped that Holdoway would consider his training complete enough to go out on a job well before then. The guy kept insisting that they go over stuff in private and the roof provided the perfect place for it. Freddy was puzzled when Holdoway kept insisting they work without any of the other guys around. What harm could they do? They were cops after all. But Jim had explained that privacy was necessary not only for Freddy's safety but the safety of the other guys as well. He'd insisted that if the other guys overheard he and Freddy working on their cover stories then they could potentially be in danger. What if they were caught on the scene by one of the crooks and forced to tell a story about a rat? Freddy thought Holdoway was being a bit ridiculous. What was this, an old movie? Who the hell kidnaps cops these days and forces them to talk? But Freddy humored Holdoway and after a few initial arguments, he now came meekly to the roof when summoned and didn't argue.
Finally Holdoway came out of the rooftop door and Freddy quickly put out his cigarette, eager to get started. Holdoway had some papers which he handed to Freddy without a word. Freddy looked at them and saw what appeared to be a story of some sort.
"What is this?" he asked, puzzled.
"It's a scene man, memorize it" Holdoway replied.
"A what?" What the hell did Holdoway have up his sleeve this time? Freddy wondered.
"Look man, an undercover cop has to Marlon Brando. To do this job you got to be a great actor. You got to be naturalistic. You got to be naturalistic as hell. Cuz if you ain't a great actor you're a bad actor, and bad acting is bullshit in this job" Holdaway explained.
Freddy knew all this already, of course he had to be a great actor to do undercover work. Who the hell didn't know that?
"But what is this" Freddy asked again, pointing to the sheaf of papers in his hand.
"It's an amusing anecdote about a drug deal" Holdaway replied.
"What?" Freddy asked, still puzzled.
"Something funny that happened to you while you were doing a fucking job, man" Holdoway was getting a little pissed now at the obvious obtuseness of his pupil.
Actually Freddy had understood what an anecdote was but he was sure he was definitely not going to like what he thought might be coming next.
"I gotta memorize all this shit?" he asked, in shock. Memorizing crap was not one of Freddy's strong points. "There's over four fucking pages of this shit here" he continued in protest.
"Look man" Jim interrupted Freddy's bitching "Just think about it like it's a joke, alright? You memorize what's important and the rest you make your own, alright? You can tell a joke, can't ya?" Holdoway asked with a little grin.
"Nope" Freddy replied truthfully.
Actually Holdoway knew Freddy couldn't tell a joke if his life depended on it. Every time he would try he'd end up screwing it up somehow. He'd forget the punch-line, tell it out of order or sometimes even give the punch-line first. He was awful at it and everyone knew it. But one thing Holdoway knew the kid could do was lie through his teeth. For even though he was known for not being able to tell a joke, he was equally known for being able to pull one off. Some of the best pranks and April Fools Day jokes known around the precinct were legends due to Freddy. Just last year Freddy had managed to get one of the clerks to type up a report for him about one Mr. Michael Moose (aka "Mickey the Moose" in the report). The girl typed the whole thing up referring to "Mickey the Moose's" various crimes, all invented in Freddy's outrageous imagination. The poor girl had gotten through describing "The Moose's" raid on a cheese factory back in '87 before it finally dawned on her that she'd been had, but good. Jim had laughed along with the rest when the truth had finally come out. It had been at that moment that he'd thought Freddy might finally be ready for the undercover work he'd been asking for since practically the moment he'd joined the force. Holdoway had watched in awe that day as Freddy had stood by the clerk's desk and gave her the descriptions of what was ostensibly a giant moose and never once flinched or even came close to a giggle. He was good.
So even though Freddy couldn't actually tell even the simplest "knock-knock" joke without blowing it sky high, he still was responsible for many "Freddy jokes" around the precinct. In fact anytime something really ridiculous and unbelievable happened, many would speculate that another "Freddy joke" had transpired yet again. Sometimes Freddy admitted to them and sometimes he didn't. Thus no one ever really knew how many were his doing. That was part of the legend of a "Freddy joke". You never knew for sure if he did it or not.
Knowing all this, Holdoway continued to coach Freddy.
"Just pretend your Don Rickles or some-fucking-body and tell a joke, alright?" Holdoway said and Freddy looked at him with a grin.
"Now the things you gotta remember are the details, cuz it's the details that sell your story" Holdoway continued, getting down to business. "Now this particular story takes place in a men's room so you gotta know all the details about the men's room. You gotta know if they got paper towels or a blower to dry your hands, if the stalls ain't got not doors or not, man" he explained.
Jim was now walking around the roof, pantomiming various parts of his story. He was really getting into it and Freddy was fascinated by his enthusiasm.
"You gotta know if they got liquid soap or that pink granulated powdered shit they used to use when you were in high school, remember?" Holdoway continued.
Freddy did remember. That stuff sucked.
"You gotta know if they got hot water or not. If it stinks. If some nasty low-life scum-ridden motherfucker sprayed diarrhea all over one of the bowls" Holdoway said, pointing to an imaginary john. Freddy thought that comment was a bit unnecessary but he kept his mouth shut. "You gotta know every detailthere is to know about this commode" he continued.
"Now what you gotta do is take all them details and make them your own" Jim said, finishing his one-act play and walking back to where Freddy was leaning against the wall of the roof. "While you're doing that, you gotta remember that this story is about you and how you perceived the events that went down" he said.
"The only way to do that, my brother" he said, plucking the rolled-up pages from Freddy's hands. "Is to keep saying it and saying it and saying it" he finished, unfolding the pages and handing them back to Freddy again.
Freddy took them reluctantly but with more interest this time. He wasn't looking forward to memorizing all of this but he was beginning to find the challenge intriguing.
The next day Freddy started reading the story and attempting to memorize it. At first he sat at his dining table and read the story out loud over and over again. After awhile he grew bored of this so began walking around his apartment with the papers in his hand, continuing to read it out loud.
A day later Freddy was in his living room, walking back and forth in front of his second-story window.
"This was during the Los Angeles marijuana drought of '86. I still had a connection, which was insane 'cause you couldn't get weed any-fucking-where then" he was saying to no one, pacing his living room with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.
"Anyway, I had a connection with this hippie chick up in Santa Cruz and all my friends knew it" Freddy continued, putting down the paper to see if he could still remember the next bit.
"They'd give me a call and say "Hey Freddy"…………..errrrrrrr!' Freddy corrected himself automatically. No names dumbass, he reminded himself as he continued.
"Hey Dude" he continued. "You getting' some? Could you get some for me too?' Like, they knew I still smoked, so they'd ask me to buy some for them when I was buyin' for me. But it got to be………." Damn, how did that part go again? Freddy consulted the papers on the dining table to remind himself of the next part, then continued his pacing.
"It got to be that every time I bought some weed, I was buying for four or five different fucking people. So finally I said 'Fuck this shit'. I'm making this bitch rich. She didn't have to do jack shit" Still pacing his living room Freddy picked up his baseball bat from the corner and began swinging it as he walked. He liked keeping his hands busy as he went on with the story "She didn't even have to meet these people, I'm doing all the work……."
After a couple days of practicing on his own Freddy thought he'd gotten pretty damn good at the story. Jim called on the third night and asked how it was going. When Freddy said he thought he had it down pretty well, Holdoway asked to see him do it. So they met the next afternoon at an abandoned factory a couple blocks from Freddy's apartment. The place was covered in elaborate graffiti and there was trash everywhere but at least it was quiet. Also it had an old loading dock which served as a make-shift "stage" for Freddy's "play". Holdaway took a seat on an old bucket and Freddy started the story. With days of practice Freddy had it down and was really getting into it, using elaborate gestures and changing his voice to match his "characters".
"…..but then that got to be a pain in the ass. People calling me on the phone all the fucking time. I couldn't even rent a fucking tape without six fucking phone calls. 'Hey, when's the next time you're getting' some?" Freddy said in a perfect "stoner" voice that made Holdoway smile.
"Motherfucker! I'm trying to watch The Lost Boys! When I get some I'll let you know" Freddy said and Holdoway chuckled. That bit wasn't in the pages and he just happened to know that The Lost Boys was one of Freddy's favorite flicks. He was happy to see that the kid had added something of his own.
"Then these rinky-dink pot-heads come by……they're my friends and everything, but still. I got all my shit laid out in sixty dollar bags" Freddy said, indicating imaginary rows of pot. "They don't want sixty dollars worth. They want ten dollars worth and breaking it up is a major fucking pain in the ass. I mean I don't even know what ten dollar's worth looks like" Freddy said in feigned exasperation.
Finally Freddy got so good with the story that when he found himself in front of Eddie, Joe and this Mr. White character, he was at ease. The story flowed from him easily and he actually got a kick out of telling it. It was almost as if this had really happened to him and he liked watching the guy's reaction to it.
Standing in front of the guys sitting at a bar table, music blaring behind him, Freddy was really getting into it.
"Now this was a very weird situation, 'cause I don't know if you remember back in '86 there was a major fucking drought. Nobody had anything. People were livin' on resin and smoking' the wood in their pipes for months" He said, pacing in front of them like some sort of a stage performer. The guys were enjoying the hell out of the story and he continued.
"This bitch had a bunch and she's beggin' ME to sell it. So I told her I wasn't gonna be Joe The Pot Man anymore. But I would take a little and sell it to my close, close, close friends. She agreed to that and said we'd keep the same arrangement as before. Ten percent and free pot for me as long as I helped her out that weekend. She had a brick of weed she was sellin' and she didn't want to the buy alone. Her brother usually goes with her but he's in county unexpectedly." Freddy said and suddenly Mr. White interrupted.
"What for?" Mr. White asked. Freddy was prepared with all kinds of explanations and without missing a beat said "Traffic tickets gone to warrant. They stopped him for something, found the warrants on 'im, took 'im to jail" and White nodded, smiling at the guy's obvious bad luck.
"Anyway" Freddy continued. "She doesn't want to walk around all alone with all that weed. Well I don't wanna do this, I gotta very BAD feeling about this. But she keeps askin' me, keeps askin' me, keeps askin' me, and finally I say okay cuz I'm tired of hearing it" Freddy said, rolling his eyes in mock frustration. The guys ate it up.
"Well, we're picking the guy up at the train station.." This time it was Eddie who interrupted.
"You're picking the guy up at the train station and you got the weed on you?" he asked, surprised. Freddy was ready for this one too and continued effortlessly.
"Yeah, the guy needed it right away, don't ask me why. So we get to the train station and we're waiting for the guy. Now I'm carrying the weed around in one of those carry on bags" Freddy said, acting like one was hanging from his shoulder "and I gotta take a piss. So I tell the connection I'll be right back, I'm going to the little boy's room"
And as Freddy told his story for the umpteenth time something new started to happen. He now started to picture exactly what was happening in his head. He actually saw himself walking into a ratty old men's room in a train station and pushing the door open.
"So I walk into the men's room and guess who's standing there?" he asked. The guy's shrugged.
"Four Los Angeles County Sheriff's and one German Shepherd" he replied with a smile.
"They were waiting for you?" Eddie asked, surprised.
"No man, they were just a bunch of cops hangin' out in a men's room, talking. But when I walked through the door they all stopped what they were talking about and looked at me" Freddy replied.
In Freddy's mind he could see the Sheriff's all standing there, staring at him with suspicion. Actually all of them were guys he worked with but in his little fable they were strangers. Even the dog was familiar, it was one he'd had as a kid named Reb.
"That's hard, man. That's a fucking hard situation" White was saying, laughing.
"The German Shepherd starts barking" Freddy continued "He's barking at me, I mean it's obvious he's barking at ME" Freddy said, pointing to himself.
In Freddy's head the dog was doing exactly that and the Freddy in his head was standing there, frozen. Staring back at the dog and the sheriffs, wide eyed.
"Every nerve ending, all of my senses, the blood in my veins, everything I had was screaming 'Take off, man, just take off, get the fuck outta there!'" Freddy was saying to the guys but in his head he was still in that smelly old bathroom, staring down the dog and the sheriffs.
"Panic hits me like a bucket of water. First there's the shock of it – BAM, right in the face! Then I'm standing there drenched in panic. And all those sheriff's are lookin' at me and they know, man. They can smell it. As sure as that fucking dog can, they can smell it on me" he said
In his head he was still frozen as a statue, in fear. Finally one of the sheriff's yelled at the dog "Shut up!" and continues telling a story to his pals.
Freddy , seeing this all in his head, is now telling the guys what the sheriff is saying.
"So my gun's drawn, right? I got it aimed right at him. I tell 'im 'Freeze, don't fucking move' And the little idiot's looking at me, nodding his head 'yes' saying 'I know…….I know…… I know'. Meanwhile, his right hand is creeping towards his glove box. So I scream at him, 'Asshole, you better fucking freeze right now!' And he's still looking at me, saying 'I know……I know…..I know'. And his right hand is STILL going for the glove box" The sheriff in Freddy's head was telling all his buddies.
The imaginary Freddy has now unfrozen and walked over to the urinal, pretending to take a piss. The sheriff continues his story.
"I tell him 'Buddy, I'm gonna shoot you in the face right now if you don't put your hands on the fuckin' dash.' And the guy's girlfriend, this really sexy Oriental bitch, starts screaming at him "Chuck! Chuck! What are you doing? Put your hands on the dash like the officer said' And then like nothing, the guy snaps out of it and casually puts his hands on the dash" He said and his buddies chuckled.
Imaginary Freddy finishes taking his fake piss and as casually as he can, walks passed the sheriff's to one of the sinks. One of the sheriffs watches him, not really paying attention, still listening to the story.
"What was he goin' for?" Another of the guys asks the one telling the story.
"His registration. Stupid citizen, doesn't have the slightest idea how close he came to getting' shot" The first one replied and all of them laughed.
Freddy washes his hands and when he's finished, looks around for towels. But there are only drying machines so he heads over to one of them and presses the button. He is still nervous that these guys are gonna figure him out and it seems like the hand dryer is the loudest thing he's ever heard. Drowning out all other sound, the dryer roars as imaginary Freddy rubs his hands beneath it. Finally his hands are dry and he walks out of the bathroom without a second glance.
Finished with his story Freddy came back to present time to see Joe smiling at him, nodding approval.
"That's how you do it, kid. You knew how to handle that situation. You shit your pants, and then you dive in and swim" Freddy found himself laughing along with the rest.