Reservoir-Walkies

Four unlikely team-mates narrate their stranger Canadian misadventure of treasures and cop-crosses originally intended to be a (simplified) bureaucracy-escape.

A bright fanfiction/adaptation of Reservoir Dogs (Quentin Tarantino). Thanks for reading! 

DISCLAIMER: This work of fanfiction/adaptation offers no ties to the Canadian city of Toronto and all images/references used herein comprise a purely 'personal' expression of creative language-arts (for 'open' entertainment). 

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EMPLOYER: You four human beings will create a treasure-insurance street-chatter for my rival Ion.

TEAM (Amlan/Marcus/Ezzy/Danica): Are we to get special field goal Toronto aliases for the chess?

EMPLOYER: Don't be curt, wise-folks; I may be old, but I still know bloody-diamond IQ (ok?).

TEAM: Sounds like a police-eye hoot, Mr. Employer.

EMPLOYER: Field-names (Amlan - Mr. Pink; Marcus - Mr. White; Ezzy - Ms. Green; Danica - Ms. Red).

AMLAN ("Mr. Pink"): Why'd I have the name Pink, like a female or effeminate signature, Employer?

EMPLOYER: Because your wise-folk teammates squealed you were hitting on a waitress in Toronto!

AMLAN: I was gonna ask her to marry me, Employer.

EMPLOYER: Do a Facebook-like...now get to work (bureaucracy-reading).

I'll relay this tale to you, since I'm putting it in a special time-capsule for future archaeological discovery of bloody-diamond chess-stalemate intrigue in North America, folks. Yes, it's me (Amlan) and I was given this Toronto field goal team alias 'Mr. Pink' (by our unnamed employer!) and had to find the right tone(s) of diamond-heist and cop-evasion and street-shootout disaster superstition image to justify the investment. Our team was quite a thing, each 'character' with traits. I was just a gem-specialist and small-time crook with ex-Interpol relation and considered this a Facebook-ad worthy diamond-consumerism 'insurance' hype for worthwhile capitalism-race activity/hygiene. Was I wrong (for social media comment)?

MR. WHITE: Why'd you care about being Mr. Pink, eh?
MR. PINK: Because I had to shoot that cowboy-cop who stormed in after the alarm was hit.

MR. WHITE: So the merchant didn't buy our business-tourist insurance-writeup profile claim, ok?

MR. PINK: This got real messy for us and it'd blow-up for (Interpol-relation?) street-gibberish, no?

MR. WHITE: Who cares, we made the swap, used the acid-bottles, and expect the commission.

MR. PINK: Well, if it's so darn clean, where the hell is Ms. Green and why's she blonde?

MR. WHITE: Ha, Facebook-joke (like!).

Now, Ms. Green was an ex-secretary and took up merc/underworld work and was recruited (somehow) by Mr. Employer by some unknown standard(s). What we learned was she was psychotic and had I not shot the cowboy-cop in the leg to disable and tie him up and complete the half-clean work after the merchant hit the alarm, Ms. Green (origins: unknown) would've cut the merchant's middle fingers (both!) off. This would not make for social-media/consumerism photo-synthesis, even in Canada (the home of maple-syrup ads!).

Now, Mr. White as straight-pro and a great shot. In deed and words, he was clean and hip, so I clung to him, in case I needed to feel 'good' amidst all this anarchy for this sort of work, which really offered some nice street-gossip language-arts for bloody-diamond insurance superstitions/paranoia, and since he was from China (originally), it'd make for 'cool' social-media consumerism ads for autumn and the Super Bowl (wow).

MS. RED: You're cute!

MR. PINK: I really am in love with that waitress (Toronto), Ms. Green, and I intend to marry her!

MS. RED: What if she doesn't like you, Mr. Pink?
MR. PINK: All waitresses 'appreciate' good animations for treasure-island readings (or monsters).
MS. RED: Well.

MR. EMPLOYER: Did you guys watch 9/11 on television?

QUARTET (Pink/White/Green/Red): Yeah (it sucked).

EMPLOYER: Where were you on that glorious day (home)?

MR. PINK: I was watching Kelly and Regis on TV (you know, daytime morning-glory crap).

EMPLOYER: You're quite the wise-crack, Mr. Pink (Amlan!).

MR. PINK: Hey, I loathe 9/11 like any other decent Western-man (ok?).

EMPLOYER: Spill it on FaceTime (ok).

Underworld life's not for the birds, and even if you're a Hitchcock-fan, you know life in the streets for treasure-intelligence or 'chess-stalemate' IQ renders hellmouth(s). That's what we Reservoir-Walkies made for 'discovery' after taking our disoriented cowboy-cop 'hostage' and leaving him on the lot of a curious policewoman who'd have no inkling of the real dark ties with Sierra Leone smugglers-highways (or bureaucracy-chemistry!).

Well, Ms. Red and I got-out alive, but Ms. Green and Mr. White were shot after cops stormed into our warehouse haven where we reunited after dissipating out of that Toronto (Canada) treasure-store of (rumored) smugglers-storages, and I decided to catch a Selfie-sigh for what became my 'Rationalism' of why pink became my new (unofficial) fave-underworld color(s).

MR. EMPLOYER: Thanx for the notes/bonds/items...you keep yours, Pink.

MR. PINK: Considering a Brussels sprout eatery-dive venture for work with the leviathans.

MR. EMPLOYER: Good...hey, Mr. Pink...marry that special ('darling') Toronto-waitress (ok).

MR. PINK: Surely; we'll have a son who'll appreciate the toys I get him for Xmas (thanx).

MR. EMPLOYER: Stay cool (for FaceTime).

MR. PINK: I can (for bureaucracy-readings).

"Doing well is the result of doing good. That's what capitalism is all about" (Ralph Waldo Emerson). 

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"Money is everything" (Ecclesiastes)