Brooklyn Nine-Nine Wiki

< Coral Palms Pt. 1


3 women are walking down the street in a suburban neighborhood chatting with one another.

WOMAN 1: Are you ready for this one? Dottie's daughter Anne's getting divorced. Hate to say "I told you so," but I told you so.

WOMAN 2: You know, we should fix her up with Bernice's son.

What's his name? The doctor.

The camera pans to reveal Greg Stickney, the undercover identity of Captain Raymond Holt, walking alongside.

GREG: Oh, Vince. And he's not a doctor. He's a pharmacist. Although that might appeal to Anne. Paw-paw-paw.

The women all laugh together at Greg's joke.

WOMAN 1: Greg, you are such a crack-up. Forget Anne who should we fix him up with, huh?

GREG: Oh, now, Stella, you know I'm still getting over the tragic loss of my wife. She was such a strong, female woman with nice, heavy breasts.

STELLA (WOMAN 1): Who's that?

Camera pans to Larry Sherbet, the undercover identity of Jake Peralta, pushing an ATV down his driveway.

GREG: Oh, that's my neighbor. Hey, Larry.

Greg and the women stop at the bottom of Larry's drive.

LARRY: Oh, hey... Greb.

GREG: Greg.

LARRY: Ah, that was it. I'm not sure why I have so much trouble remembering, probably 'cause our relationship is so casual.

Larry turns to address the women.

LARRY: Morning, ladies.


GREG: Uh, do a lap without me. I need to talk to Larry about an issue with our shared fence.

Greg turns to Larry as the women continue without him.

GREG: Larry, I need to talk to you about an issue with our shared fence.

LARRY: Yes, I also need to discuss this shared fence issue with you.

GREG: Okay, they're out of earshot. Why are you up so early?

LARRY: No reason just excited to face a new day.

GREG: Oh, because ever since we've been down here, you've been a little depressed.

LARRY: Have I?



Larry is crying and sitting alone in a hot tub with cans of beer surrounding him. Larry lifts his hand from under the water to reveal a burrito. Camera cuts to his fence where Greg is looking over the fence at him.

GREG: No, no, no, don't eat the burrito.

Larry takes a bite of the burrito and continues to cry.

LARRY: Oh, I'm disgusting.


LARRY: Okay, fine, I may have had a teensy bit of trouble adjusting when we first got here for, like, six teensy, little months, but I took your advice, and I got a job.

GREG: Doing what?

LARRY: I sell ATVs now, eh?

Larry pats the ATV next to him.

LARRY: Well, the truth is, these little babies sell themselves. They're super fun, and they're a lot safer than you might think if you're standing next to one. If you're driving it, it's actually much more dangerous than you could possibly imagine.

GREG: Well, a job is good. I know being stuck down here in Florida isn't ideal, but we need to make the best of it. In fact, I'm applying for a promotion at my new job.

LARRY: Ah, very "noice".

GREG: And if all goes well, tonight you might be neighbors with Greg Stickney, Assistant Manager.

LARRY: Very double "noice". Well, I'm off to work.

Larry places the helmet on his head and climbs onto the ATV.

LARRY: Might want to stand back. You're kind of in the blast zone here. Don't want to forget the strap.

Larry fastens the strap around his chin.

LARRY: Safety first. That's what I always-

The ATV lurches forwards.

LARRY: Ooh, okay! Whoa!



Greg is sitting in his car, looking at himself in the rear-view mirror.

GREG: You deserve this promotion. Now go in there and get it. Give 'em hell, Greg.


Greg gets out of his car, shuts the door, and walks into Frank's Fun Zone: Greg's place of work.


Greg walks through the arcade where two young women are working.

GREG: Good morning, Carly, Tanny. Looks like you're keeping the machines running smoothly.

CARLY: Whatever.

Greg marches forwards looking ahead.

GREG: Carly will be the first to go.

Greg walks up to the manager who is playing a basketball game against a young child.

GREG: Excuse me, sir, there's something I'd like to talk to you about.

MANAGER: Uh, one second. I'm busy.

The manager gets a ball in the basket and a buzzer sounds.

MANAGER: Oh, at the buzzer! Suck it, Chase, you dirty, little hippy.

Chase, the young child walks off.

GREG: Uh, yes, well, um, as you know, I've been here for four months, and I think I'm a model employee.

MANAGER: Oh, no doubt. No doubt. You had the idea to install sinks in the bathrooms. I love that.

GREG: Yes, what I'm getting at is, I'd like to be assistant manager.

The manager scoffs.

MANAGER: You serious?

Greg gives a stern look.

MANAGER: Oh, I just never expected you to be interested in management. I mean, you don't seem like the type of person who's really interested in leadership roles.

GREG: Really? Anyone who knows me would say the opposite. I'm very hard-working.

MANAGER: Yeah, when you're not totally blazed.

GREG: I assure you that's not me.

MANAGER: Okay, tell that to the Count Blunt-ula T-shirt that you were rocking last week.

GREG: It was the only thing in lost and found. A child and his father threw up on me.

MANAGER: Okay, I'll think about it.

The manager starts walking off and turns around to point at Greg.

MANAGER: Management! Full of surprises, Greg.

Greg's phone starts ringing and he raises it to his ear.

GREG: Hello?

MYSTERY WOMAN: Go to location one now.


Greg's car pulls up two spaces from another car in an empty parking lot. The other car's window rolls down.

GREG: Marshal Haas.


Larry pulls up into the space between riding his ATV. The engine is very loud.


LARRY: I can't hear you. Can you hear me?

MARSHAL: I cannot hear you.

GREG: What did you say? We can't hear you.

LARRY: I can't hear you; I think my engine's too loud.

MARSHAL: It's your engine. Turn off your engine.

LARRY: I don't know how to turn off the engine. We should talk in your car.

MARSHAL: Let's all talk in my car.

GREG: Let's talk in the marshal's car.

LARRY: I think we should talk in her-


The Marshal is sitting in the driver's seat and Greg and Larry are both seated in the rear passenger seats.

MARSHAL: Okay. Let's go over the normal checklist stuff. Have you had any contact with anyone from your previous life?


MARSHAL: Has anyone questioned your current identity either in person or online?


MARSHAL: Pop quiz. Greg, where did you go to college?

GREG: Ohio State, where I majored in... communications.

MARSHAL: Perfect. Larry, what's your favorite movie?

LARRY: Uh, "Die Hard".

MARSHAL: Wrong. Jake's favorite movie is "Die Hard", I asked you for Larry's favorite movie.

LARRY: Two people can have the same favorite movie.

MARSHAL: They can, but they don't. Larry's favorite movie is "Failure to Launch". Say it. Say, "My favorite movie is 'Failure to Launch'".

LARRY: My favorite movie is "Failure to Launch".

Larry gulps.

MARSHAL: I wish I could believe you. Moving on, three weeks ago an informant told the FBI where to find Jimmy "The Butcher" Figgis.

Larry looks at Greg concerned.

MARSHAL: Acting on that lead, 50 federal agents and I raided a warehouse in Paramus. It was awesome.

LARRY: So you got him- it's over- We can go home?

MARSHAL: No, sorry. Figgis wasn't there. The raid was awesome. Caught up with a lot of dudes I don't normally get to see.

LARRY: Do you know what happened to Figgis?

MARSHAL: No, but what we do know is that Figgis was never there. Our Intel was wrong from minute one.

GREG: Is there any way we could help with the investigation?

MARSHAL: No, absolutely not. Your involvement would endanger your lives and this case.

Larry sighs.

MARSHAL: I'm sorry, but it looks like Larry and Greg will be in Florida indefinitely.

Larry nods slowly.

MARSHAL: Pop quiz, Larry: who's the female lead in "Failure to Launch"?

LARRY: Kate Hudson?

MARSHAL: Sarah Jessica Parker, man! God, it's like you want to die.


The Marshal starts reversing in her car and Greg and Larry are standing next to each other beside the car. Larry sighs.

GREG: So we're in Florida indefinitely. You okay?

LARRY: I squirt-anly am. Poor choice of words, but the sentiment remains.

Greg looks at him concerned.

LARRY: What? You were right. It's the job. It keeps me focused.

GREG: Well, good, I'm glad to hear it.

LARRY: Yep. Now if you'll excuse me, I got to drive this Bee-otch back to work.

Larry walks over to his ATV.

GREG: What?

LARRY: Oh, sorry. This is the Ikura Bee-otch 5,000. Brand-new model. Just came in.

Larry puts his helmet on and climbs on top of the ATV.

LARRY: I was gonna go for the 10,000, but that Bee-otch is way too fancy.

Larry starts the engine and starts reversing.

LARRY: See you soon.

Larry revs and then pulls away.


Larry passes his supposed place of work on his ATV but keeps driving. He then drives down an alley.


Larry opens up the door to a storage locker.

LARRY: Hey, babe.

Larry kisses his fingers and places it on a printed-out photo of his girlfriend, Amy Santiago, from Brooklyn. Larry puts down his bag, looks at his investigation on the wall and sighs.

LARRY: Okay, Jimmy Figgis. Where the hell are you?

Larry looks around outside his locker and closes it. The camera pans to show Greg come round the corner.

GREG: Oh, Larry.


Greg and the three women are walking along the suburban street again.

GREG: So I marched in there and I told him I wanted that assistant manager position.

STELLA: I wish my son had your backbone. Then he could finally divorce Emily. What does he see in her anyway?

GREG: Probably her breasts, which are heavier than average. I don't mean to be crude, ladies, but that's just how the straight mind works.

Larry is on his ATV in his drive.

GREG: Oh, hey, Larry.

LARRY: Ah, hello, Groot.

GREG: Greg.

LARRY: Right.

GREG: Is there an issue with our shared fence that we must discuss?

LARRY: Nope, our shared fence is fine. Just off to work.

Larry revs the engine of his ATV.

GREG: Is there something going on at the ATV lot?

LARRY: Yes, uh, having a sale on big, old springs.

GREG: Shocks.

LARRY: Right. I knew that; I was just dumbing it down for you. At any rate, I am off. Honk, honk.

Larry gestures as if he was beeping a horn.

LARRY: I don't know where the horn is.

Larry slowly drives off and Greg's eyes follow him.


Larry opens his storage locker to see Greg standing inside.

LARRY: Gahh! What the-

GREG: ATVs? The only thing you're selling is a huge pile of bunk.

LARRY: How did you get here so fast? You were walking.

GREG: I was power-walking.



Greg is keeping a fast past as the women struggle to follow.

GREG: Roll heel, ball, toe roll heel, ball, toe.


GREG: I was already suspicious about your new positive attitude towards Florida, a state you once described as "America's stinky butt".

GREG: But then, after we met the marshal, you said something very strange.

LARRY: It was "squirt-anly," wasn't it?

GREG: No, something much stranger.



Larry's voice is slowed down.

LARRY: You were right.


GREG: I knew then that you were up to something, so I followed you here. I guessed the combination on the first try: 69-69.

Greg holds up an open padlock.

LARRY: June 9, 1969, the day my parents got married.

GREG: No, it isn't.

LARRY: My mom's birthday.


LARRY: The moon landing.

GREG: Nope.

LARRY: Fine, you're right. It's a completely random number. Look, the feds are useless. They're never gonna catch Figgis, so I'm working the case. I want to get home and see Amy. Don't you want to see Kevin?

GREG: Of course I do. But we were told not to get involved. Why can't you just follow orders?

LARRY: Because I hate this stupid place, and I've got to get out. This town's claim to fame is that its mayors keep dying, and no one knows why. That's insane.

GREG: You're selfish, and you're putting my life at risk. So no, you're not getting those files back. I suggest you accept the reality of the situation and make the best of it. Snap out of it, and get a job.

LARRY: Okay. Interesting idea. I wonder who's hiring.


The manager is talking to all his employees who are gathered under a couple parasols.

MANAGER: Hey, everyone, just want to introduce you to our new assistant manager.

Greg starts to stand up.

MANAGER: Larry Sherbet.

Larry walks over carrying a cup. Greg sits back down.

GREG: Son of a bitch.

MANAGER: Larry, you want to say a few words?

LARRY: Absolutely. Thanks. Hey, everybody. Uh, couple things about my management style. Number one: don't nobody ask me about what's in my cup, we ain't gonna have no problems.

Larry and the manager both laugh.

LARRY: Uh, two, I believe in the power of nicknames. Smile Face

Larry points at a frowning Carly.

LARRY: Señorita Swag

Larry then points at Tammy.

LARRY: Kahuna!

Larry then points to the manager, clearly happy with his nickname.

MANAGER: Oh, yeah.

LARRY: And you, my friend, we will call Mr. Fart.

Larry turns towards Greg.

GREG: Seems rather unprofessional.

MANAGER: He called you "Mr." Fart, Mr. Fart.

LARRY: Thanks, Kahuna. Guys, can I get real with you for one sec?

Larry takes a long sip from his cup.

LARRY: I used to work for a real stickler the type of guy that just got off on telling me what to do. One time, he invaded my private space and stole my stuff.

MANAGER: Why would he do that?

GREG: Perhaps he had a good reason.

LARRY: Wrong, Mr. Fart. He was a jerk and he sucked. But he was the one who motivated me to get off my ass and get this job, so in a way, we really have him to thank for all this happening.

MANAGER: Give it up.

The employees all start clapping except fro Greg.

MANAGER: How great is this guy, Greg?

LARRY: Wait, that's Greg?


LARRY: The stoner?

MANAGER: Yeah, look at him. He's such a Rasta.

LARRY: Aw, total Rasta.


Larry is pouring ice cream from an ice cream machine into a cup as Greg walks up to the counter.

GREG: How did you even get this job? You have zero experience. I guess you lied on your resume.

Larry laughs, slowly walking up to the counter.

LARRY: Greg, you stoney macaroni.

Larry looks around before whispering to Greg.

LARRY: Of course I lied on my resume. Our entire lives are a lie. I straight up said I was that guy who landed the plane on the Hudson.

GREG: Taking my job just to spite me that's low, even for you.

LARRY: Oh, but it's not spite. It's blackmail. I'm gonna be your boss, and I'm gonna make your life miserable, unless you give me back my Figgis file.

GREG: Oh, never gonna happen.

LARRY: Okay. Suit yourself. Hope you like kids' birthdays.

Larry stops whispering and turns to address the rest of the Fun Zone.

LARRY: Hey, everyone, someone just volunteered to be DJ B-Day.


Hip-hop music starts playing and we see Greg "rapping" along to a crowd of children.

GREG: Here at the Fun Zone, we live by one rule: when it's your birthday, you're always cool. Parents and kids are all the same. Watch as I do a dance to your name.

Greg looks at Larry angrily who is standing among the children and parents. Greg then dances to the name "Derek".

GREG: D-d-d-d-d-d-Derek. D-d-d-d-d-d-Derek.

LARRY: Again.


Greg is sweeping a broom on the inside of a windmill obstacle on a mini-golf course. Larry approaches from behind.

LARRY: Figure out what's living in there yet?

GREG: Well, uh, judging by the empty beer cars, the fur, the pornography, and the claw marks, I'd say a homeless man and a raccoon. The exact nature of their relationship is still revealing itself.

LARRY: I'm gonna assume sexual. You ready to give me those files yet?


LARRY: Well, then, I guess it's time for your next task. You're gonna need to change.

GREG: Into what?


The camera pans up to revel Greg dressed up as a hot dog with Larry opposite, enjoying the sight. They are standing a go-kart track.

LARRY: Oh, Mr. Fart. You look perfect.

GREG: So a silly costume is that all you got?

LARRY: Hardly. Every time a go-kart drives by, I want you to scream, and this is very important.

Larry puts his hands either side of his mouth and yells.

LARRY: "Me so corny!"

GREG: You can ruin my job, Larry, but that's not all I've got here in Florida. I've got a life. I've got friends.

LARRY: You sure about that?



Larry is dressed in jogging gear alongside the three women that Greg walks with.

LARRY: Honestly, Estelle, it almost sounds like you should stop eating beef altogether.

STELLA: I know. That's what I keep saying.


GREG: Oh, go to hell, Larry! That's my walking group!

Greg turns around and starts walking away.

LARRY: Off to get my file?

GREG: No, you will never get the f-

Greg then gets hit with a go-kart and flies backwards.

LARRY: Greg!

Larry runs up to Greg to check on him. Larry narrowly avoids another go-kart

LARRY: Are you okay?

GREG: Yes, but we got bigger problems.

Greg points at a woman holding a smartphone and recording Greg.

FLORIDA WOMAN: This is gonna break the Internet.

LARRY: No, no, ma'am, please, you can not put that on the Inter- oh!

Larry then gets hit by another go-kart and flies backwards. The woman then starts laughing

FLORIDA WOMAN: I was hoping that would happen. Yes! Yes!

She then starts walking away.


Greg and Larry are both tending to their injuries, Larry is flexing his wrist.

GREG: I don't think your wrist is supposed to move like that.

LARRY: No, it's been like this since I broke it playing football in high school.

Greg looks at Larry, unconvinced.

LARRY: Fine, I petted a horse too hard.

GREG: If that woman posts her camera phone video that she took with a camera phone camera to the Internet, Figgis could figure out where we are. This is your fault.

LARRY: Or maybe it's your fault for stealing my files. You know what? It doesn't matter. We have to get that video. Can we please just press "pause" on this fight and work together?

GREG: Yes, on one condition: you stay the hell away from my walking group.

LARRY: The walking group meant nothing to me.

GREG: That's even worse.

LARRY: Okay, fine, I'll stop. What did this lady look like?

GREG: White, female, 5'3", T-shirt that read, "Orgasm Donor".

LARRY: We need more.

Larry snaps his fingers.

LARRY: We need access to the security tapes.


Larry peers round the corner into an office and, seeing it's all clear, runs to sit down behind a desk where four TVs are placed in a 2x2 formation. Larry switches on the TVs.

LARRY: Okay, we got teenagers stealing a stuffed gorilla, old lady siphoning gas out of a go-kart, junkie ripping copper wires out of the wall God, this place is messed up.

Larry presses a button on the remote.

LARRY: Ah! There you are.


Greg seems to be sitting alone in his car.

GREG: What did you find?

Larry then sits up and is no longer hidden.

LARRY: Not much. Camera was behind her. But look at her calf.

Larry passes Greg a printed out photo of the woman's legs.

LARRY: It's a tattoo of Jesus punching bin Laden in the nuts.

GREG: Hmm. Maybe a local tattoo artist will recognize it. It can't be that common.


Greg and Larry are standing in a tattoo shop opposite a tattoo artist who is comparing the photo of the woman's legs and his portfolio of designs.

TATTOO ARTIST: That's the most common tattoo we give.

GREG: So these photos tell us nothing?

TATTOO ARTIST: Actually, you know what? That's a high school graduation ring. Dan Marino High, class of 2003.

The tattoo artist points at another picture where the woman's hand is visible.

LARRY: Marino High, home of the Dolphins, I suspect.

TATTOO ARTIST: Nope, Pet Detectives. Town was really into Marino's cameo in "Ace Ventura".

LARRY: Ah, it stands to reason. Classic film, one of my childhood favorites. And it only gets overtly transphobic at the very end, so a win.

The tattoo artist looks at Larry confused.

LARRY: Anyway, thank you very much. You've been very helpful.

Larry picks up the photos and him and Greg turn to walk out.

TATTOO ARTIST: But you guys getting ink, or what?

Larry and Greg turn back around.

GREG: No, I already have a tattoo.

Larry turns to Greg.

LARRY: What? Where? Why? How? When?

GREG: I will never talk about it again.

Larry makes a strained noise as Greg walks out the shop.


Larry shuts the door of Greg's car as they both sit next to each other.

LARRY: Okay, now all we have to do is go to Dan Marino High and get all the personal info on the class of 2003 and then show each other our tattoos. You go first.

GREG: Oh, never gonna happen. We're not cops anymore. How are we gonna get access to those files?

LARRY: Easy: I walk in there dressed as an exterminator saying I'm from 1-2-3 Pest Removal. Secretary's like, "Never heard of you". Then I'm like:

Larry then puts on a Scottish accent.

LARRY: "Listen, lassie, it's best you let me speak with your principal".

Larry turns to Greg and stops the accent.

LARRY: I hear it. I'm gonna drop the accent. She takes me to see the principal, you walk in behind me and download the file.

GREG: The only question is, where are we gonna find an exterminator's outfit?

LARRY: We're gonna need khaki pants and a khaki shirt.

GREG: To my casual wear closet.


The receptionist is writing at the reception desk and Larry approaches, dressed in khaki and carrying a bag full of various cleaning equipment.

LARRY: Hey, there, I'm the exterminator here for the-

RECEPTIONIST: Yes, you're here for the snakes.

Larry looks confused.

LARRY: Oh, right. The snakes, yes. That is why I'm here.


LARRY: Okay.

Larry turns to look behind him as Greg peers from behind a doorway. Larry follows the receptionist. Greg then goes behind the front desk and on the computer.


Greg is standing next to his car as Larry exits the school.

GREG: I found our suspect. Her name is Jordan Karfton, and she lives on Shula Lane. How did the snake removal go?



We see Larry running down a hallway, holding a snake at arm's length whilst squealing.

LARRY: Eeeeeee!


LARRY: It was good. It was good.


Greg and Larry approach the door of an unkempt house. Larry knocks on the door and the woman from the go-kart track opens the door.

GREG: Ms. Karfton, you don't know us, but-

JORDAN: Uh, yeah, I do. I got you on video looking like a couple of dumbasses.

Jordan leans against the door frame and chuckles.

LARRY: I like to think I handled it with some amount of grace.

JORDAN: Nope, you looked dumber than my kid Jaden, and his eyes are perma-crossed. You want to see? Hey, Jaden!

Jordan turns and shouts into her house.

GREG: No, that's not necessary. Have you posted that video to the Internet?

JORDAN: Not yet. Ran out of data on my phone because of all the porn I watched.

LARRY: We don't know each other. You could've just said you were out of data.

JORDAN: I'm uploading the video tomorrow at my cousin's wedding. Dog track has free Wi-Fi.

LARRY: Would you ever consider not uploading it and deleting it instead? If our boss sees that video, we could be fired.

JORDAN: I don't care about you. A great viral video like that could fetch me ten grand. And do you know what type of tanning bed I could get for that kind of money? A mid-range one.

GREG: Not necessary. Your tan is great as-is. You look like an evenly-stained deck.

JORDAN: All right, dude. Keep it in your pants. Like, I get why you're into this, and I could see something going on with us later, but right now, I need the cash.

Jordan turns to leave.

LARRY: Wait, what if we gave you the $10,000?

JORDAN: Make it 15, you got a deal.

LARRY: Fine. Meet us tonight at the Fun Zone. 8:00.

JORDAN: I will. Wear something cute.

Jordan goes back in her house and shuts the door behind her. Greg and Larry walk away from her porch.

GREG: We don't have that kind of money.

LARRY: Don't worry. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve. The only thing I need you to do is-

GREG: I'm not gonna show you my tattoo.

LARRY: Come on, just give me a hint. Is it an antique boat? Is it a musket? Is it me on a dragon?

Greg sighs and walks off.

LARRY: Sir, is it me on a dragon?


Larry and Greg are alone in the arcade of Frank's Fun Zone and Larry opens a briefcase with cash inside.

LARRY: Boom. $15,000 cash.

GREG: Wow. How'd you get it?

Greg picks up a wad and flicks through it.

GREG: Oh, you didn't. You just stuck a few 20s around a bunch of corn dog coupons.

LARRY: Smart, right?

GREG: What if she decides to count it?

LARRY: Oh, I'm not too worried about that. She doesn't strike me as a big counter.

GREG: Oh, well, that's quite an assumption. So- so this is your big plan. Oh, we need to call this off.

Greg shuts the briefcase.

LARRY: No, this is our best shot.

Larry turns to see Jordan and three larger men with her. Larry whispers to Greg.

LARRY: And right now, it's our only shot.

JORDAN: Where's my money, bitch?

LARRY: Charming. I see you brought friends.

JORDAN: Oh, yeah, for backup.

LARRY: Well, here is your money.

Larry opens the briefcase and gestures towards it.

LARRY: It's all there if you want to count it.

JORDAN: Hey, I graduated high school. I don't have to prove to you I can count.

LARRY: Of course not. Of course not.

JORDAN: Here's the phone. You can delete the video.

Jordan passes Larry her phone.

LARRY: Thank you- pictures

JORDAN: Hey, Billy, check it out. I'ma stick $1,000 out of my zipper.

Jordan picks a wad and goes to put it in her zipper but turns to see that it's not all real.

JORDAN: Hey, what the hell? This isn't real money. Hey, give me my phone.

LARRY: You're gonna have to catch me first.

Larry tries to run off but one of the men tackle him.

LARRY: Argh!

JORDAN: You really thought that would work? This video is going viral. And you-

Jordan picks up the phone and turns to Greg.

JORDAN: This can still happen anytime. You know where I live.

Jordan and the three men walk off. Greg helps Larry get up.

GREG: You okay?

LARRY: Yeah. A little sore, but-

GREG: Good. Then I can excoriate you freely. You half-assed living in Florida, and you half-assed getting the phone back. You've probably blown our cover, which means the marshals will have to move us. And when they do, I'm gonna demand they send us to different cities, because I don't want you anywhere near me.

LARRY: I swapped the phones.

GREG: What?

LARRY: I got the video.

Larry passes a phone to Greg.

LARRY: Sorry. I won't bother you anymore. Bye, Greg.

Larry leaves as Greg looks at the phone in disbelief.


Greg is now standing in front of all the employees and the manager who are all under parasols. He is addressing them all.

GREG: Lastly, hole 13 on the mini golf course is missing, so tell all the players to just repeat hole 12. All right, dismissed.

The employees walk off and the manager approaches Greg.

MANAGER: Damn, Greg, you are killing it as assistant manager. I mean, having the idea to have people come in at 9:00 a.m. that has really helped business.

GREG: Yes, that is when the sign says we're open.

MANAGER: Yeah. Look, there's one other thing. Now that you're management, I need you to promise me that you're gonna lay off the drugs. Just a little I don't want to kill your whole stoney vibe or anything.

Greg shrugs.

GREG: I'll try.

MANAGER: Thank you. You keep this up, and I genuinely believe that you could be night manager in, like, two to three years.

GREG: Yes.

The manager walks off.

GREG: Two or three years. Here. In Florida.


Larry is talking to a couple about an ATV.

LARRY: Well, it's an all-terrain vehicle, so yeah, you can do doughnuts in your living room.

Greg walks up to Larry and the couple.

GREG: Hi, I hear you're the man to talk to about the XTR-XP 49789WJ8-09 Xtreme four-wheel drive Z-Cat.

LARRY: Sir, I'm gonna stop you right there. I think you might be more comfortable speaking with one of our other associates.

GREG: No, no, I need to talk to this particular associate and apologize for saying he half-assed his ATV sales technique.

LARRY: Well, that's very nice, but I've moved on, and I'm with customers, so, thanks.

Greg turns to address the couple.

GREG: These machines are death traps. If you purchase one, you will be maimed.

Larry laughs.

LARRY: You won't be maimed. Most of the injuries are internal. You know what? I'm gonna speak with this gentleman for one moment. I'm so sorry. Give me a second.

The couple walk off.

LARRY: Sir, can I speak with you over here?

Larry and Greg walk further from the couple and speak in hushed voices.

LARRY: What is this all about? I've been staying away from you; I got a job. I'm trying to make the best of it, just like you said.

GREG: Well, don't bother. Making the best of it sucks. I want to go home. This town is a crap circus.

LARRY: What has gotten into you? You clearly got the promotion like you wanted. Congratulations, by the way. The blue looks great on you.

GREG: The day we spent acting like cops and getting that video back was the only time I've felt alive since we've been down here.

LARRY: So what are you saying?

GREG: Can I take this for a test drive?

Greg gestures to an ATV next to them.

LARRY: Yeah, sure.

Greg climbs on the ATV and Larry walks over.

LARRY: The ignition is here-

GREG: I've ridden ATVs before antiquing in the Berkshires.

Greg fastens the strap, revs the engine and drives out of the shop, leaning back on the rear two wheels.


Greg opens the storage locker door and Larry rushes in.

LARRY: Oh, my files. My beautiful files.

GREG: I've looked over what you've got. Given your resources, very impressive, but-

LARRY: I know. It'll take me months to find Figgis, but we'll find him faster if we work together.

GREG: What if we don't find Figgis? What if Figgis finds us?

Greg pulls out Jordan's phone.

LARRY: But I thought you deleted the file. I was going to, but this camera phone camera is not the same kind of camera phone camera as I have, so I couldn't figure out how. But I'm glad I didn't. I say we post this video and use it to lure Figgis down here, making ourselves into bait.

LARRY: And once Figgis is here, we take him down, climb out of America's steaming orifice, and go home. I like the way you're thinking, Greg.

GREG: It's Holt. Captain Raymond Holt.

Larry sighs.

HOLT (GREG): Now come and get us, Figgis.


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