Gee's Angels

Written by Pamela Rose

Picture this:

Voice over: Once upon a time there were three little boys who wanted to be cops.

Flash of Frank grilling a suspect in the box.
Flash of Tim standing by Adena's coffin.
Flash of Kellerman shooting down Mahoney.

Voice over: But since they could no longer be the kind of cops they wanted to be--

Flash of Frank turning in his badge.
Flash of Tim stuck behind a newspaper in the coffee room.
Flash of Kellerman falling off a bar stool.

Voice over: --they became GEE'S ANGELS!

Jaunty but bluesy music.

Flash of Frank in zoot-suit mode, complete with red kerchief hanging from pocket.
Flash of Tim with Hawaiian shirt, Sonny Crockett stubble, floppy bangs--very moused.
Flash of Mike in tight blue jeans, black shirt open to the waist, gold chains at his neck.

Voice over: Gee brought them together to work for God.

Flash of the three of them walking down the brick Thames street. Frank pulls down the brim of his fedora, Tim cleans his glasses, Mike exposes his dimples and twinkling blue eyes.

[Sleezy P.I. office down an alley (camera angle tilted 90 degrees). Three rapid jump cuts with appropriate zoom music as camera moves in on discreet nameplate on door "Unnecessary Investigations" with the names F. Pembleton/T. Bayliss/M. Kellerman. (Note: the slash symbol is purely a separator--this isn't that kind of story, unless we can sell it to Showtime or HBO.) Inside the office, Frank is checking out his teeth in the mirror, Mike is checking out his do behind Frank's shoulder, and Tim is just sitting on the corner of the desk since he hasn't looked in a mirror since 1995.

A disembodied, growling voice emits from the speakerphone. "What happened last night at the stakeout, Michael?"

Mike turns: Oh, they were going at it like bunnies, Gee. I got several good shots.

Gee: Shots? You *did* use a camera, didn't you?

Mike (looking blank): Camera?

Gee: Never mind. How about you, Francis? Did you check out those nursing homes?

Frank (glaring): Of course. I do *my* job. I'm dedicated to *my* job. I found no evidence that anybody's pulled the plug for at least a week. I interrogated a nurse's aid in the whirlpool room for 6 hours. It felt great. Cold, damp brick walls....

Gee: And you, Timothy? Did you get those truant kids back to class?

Tim: Yes, but-- It was horrible. I don't know if I can do this any longer, Gee. Maybe Frank should take over.

Gee: What is it now?

Tim (dropping his face into his hands, manfully trying to restrain his tears): Bobby had a math test. The poor kid, he was terrified, Gee! What good am I if I can't protect him from that horror?

Gee (sternly): That's not your job. It's your job to track them down and bring them in. What the school board decides is their fate, is not up to me or you.

Tim: Bobby would be better off on the street, at the Stop-N-Go. He can have a slurpy there. He can be happy.

Frank (glaring more): Happy? Is that all you ever think about? What about misery, pain, dispair? All those dark things that win emmys? If you'd developed prostate cancer last season, you'd have at least got nominated! But NOOOO, you had to become "bicurious". That makes people nervous. Unless you develop AIDS, you're never going to get noticed! Happy? Name me one happy actor that won an emmy?

Mike: Lucy?

Frank: Shut up, asshole. I don't know why I'm working with you. I hate you. I've always hated you.

Mike: Because you have to have somebody to yell at and treat like shit. Tim took a bullet for you; you can't very well be nasty to him. Besides, I don't know what everyone's complaining about--I'm having fun!