I wrote this 90 second monologue for a young LA-based actor named Oliver Tejeda. The dramatic scene is of a soon-to-be retired police detective on his last assignment.
Look at this. 8 years old. You believe this shit? 20 years I’ve been working this job, and this is the last detail I get. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of all the bureaucratic bullshit. Worst part is, the sick fuck who did this won’t even get caught. It never ends, this sick cycle. If it were up to me, I’d finish it all myself. Bring the fuckin’ hammer down. I’d be the bully pulpit of God. My right hand would be Vengeance, and my left Justice. I’d beat the fucker to a pulp. And he’d know my anger as my knuckles collapsed his deformed skull into a bloody mass. Right. Left. Vengeance, Justice. Over and over until my knuckles bled, and my blood would be infused with the same vitriolic sickness that encompasses this city. You know what I fuckin mean?