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This is the first piece of Oz fic I've posted. It is un-beta'ed, so any mistakes are my own. I do not own the characters and am making no profit from this. However, I do think I've satisfactorily explained the whole serial killer business at last.

Chris and Ronnie get organized

by Rosybug


(Chris and Ronnie are poring over Chris's daily organizer.)

Chris: So, Ronnie boy, what am I doing at three next Thursday afternoon?

Ronnie (rustling through Chris's organizer): Uh, you're seeing your parole officer, Chris.

Chris: I thought I'd finished with all of that.

Ronnie: Nah, you're still thinking about your...ah...second stint in Lardner. Your parole's longer this time.

Chris: Fuck.

Ronnie: Whassup?

Chris: I was going to meet Angelique for coffee. She's going to be pissed with me. Second time I've cancelled.

Ronnie: S'okay, I sent her those flowers you told me to.

Chris: Shit, Ronnie - you've got a memory like a sieve. You were meant to send the flowers to Bonnie.

Ronnie: But you and Bonnie are divorced...

Chris: Me and Angie are divorced as well. Anyway, I'm remarrying Bonnie. I'm proposing on Saturday.

Ronnie: Uh, Chris ?

Chris: Yeah?

Ronnie: We're finishing off that timeshare ponzi on Saturday. We're gonna be at the hotel for most of the day. Then you said you were going to whack Kozinsky for ratting you out to the Feds.

Chris: Geez, I never get any time for myself these days. I'm working 24/7. Fully scheduled six months in advance.

Ronnie: Price you pay for being King of the Scams. Maybe you can propose to Kitty in the evening. Take her out for a nice meal...

Chris: It's Bonnie.

Ronnie (scribbling a note in the organizer): Oh yeah, sorry, Bonnie. Why'd you divorce her if you're going to remarry her anyway? You could've just stayed married and saved yourself a heap of trouble.

Chris: As well as Angie.

Ronnie: Yeah, especially Angie. D'ya want me to send Angie two bunches of flowers now?

Chris: Nah, better send her a gift. Maybe some perfume. What does she like again? Midnight Orchid? Nah, that was Bonnie. Maybe it was Joie de Monnaie.

Ronnie: That the sweet perfume that smelt like sun-baked marshmallows?

Chris: Yeah.

Ronnie: That was Kitty. I remember 'cause I was allergic to it.

Chris: Me too. Shit. Better not get her perfume. What about jewelry?

Ronnie: Too much.

Chris: Underwear?

Ronnie: Not if you're marrying Bonnie.

Chris: Fuck, I'm gonna be late for gym. I don't want to miss another session. You think of something for Angie, but check with me first, okay?

Ronnie: Hey, I'll come too! I can spot for you. I love watching you work out...

Chris: Yeah?

Ronnie (hastily): Yeah, I can learn a lot about staying in shape from you.

Chris (seductively): I think you're in pretty good shape, Ronnie.

Ronnie (eagerly): Really?

(Later that day. Chris and Ronnie are poring over Chris's organizer again.)

Chris: Okay. I've got ten minutes before I got to head on over to meet a 'client' at Giovanni's. I've decided what I need is to take some time off the street. I'm kinda losing track of myself here. Find me a whole afternoon or evening in the week, Ronnie. That's going to be my 'me' time.

Ronnie (flicking pages): Sure, Chris. Whatcha goin' to do?

Chris (hesitantly): Well, it sounds sort of stupid really, but I thought...I thought I could be a serial killer...

Ronnie (whistling): Wow, Chris, that's pretty ambitious.

Chris (self-deprecatingly): One needs to have a creative outlet.

Ronnie: The best I can do is get you an hour and a half every third Friday.

Chris: Ah, fuck. That's not enough time. I've been reading up about it on the Internet. I need to scout around for victims, pick them up and take them somewhere quiet, so that I can sodomise, torture and kill them in a systematic fashion that people will see as my signature, before I can dump the bodies and make good my escape. And then I've got to make sure that I only leave my trade mark and no other evidence. Evidence is a real pain in the ass to get rid of.

Ronnie: Maybe it'll go quicker once you've got the hang of it.

Chris: I don't want to rush things. I want to relax and enjoy myself. Besides, I need to buy the right kit for the job. Tools. A van. Plastic sheeting for dumping bodies.

Ronnie: I can help with dumping the bodies, Chris.

Chris: That's real sweet of you, Ronnie, but you shouldn't have to clean up my mess.

Ronnie: I don't mind, Chris.

Chris: Okay, we'll see. So when is this hour and a half? Afternoon or evening?

Ronnie: Eleven a.m.

Chris: Fuck. I wanted to kill graduate students. But I wanted to go for guys, because most serial killers do girls. How am I going to pick them up at eleven a.m.? They'll all be studying or teaching. 'Sides, you can't cruise bars at eleven in the morning. It looks far too desperate.

Ronnie: Why d'ya want to kill college graduates, Chris?

Chris: I've been thinking about it. On a symbolic level, it could represent me trying to kill off something inside myself.

Ronnie (anxiously): Being gay?

Chris: Come on, Ronnie. Do I look as if I'm worried about fucking guys? Have I ever made a secret of it? Course not. Nah, I'm trying to kill off my inner intellectual.

Ronnie (relieved): Chris, you're so cool! That's so...so...

Chris: Anti-establishment?

Ronnie (confused): Uh, yeah...

Chris: That's what being an artist is all about. Crap! Look at the time! Guess I'll have to put my creative dreams on ice for now. I can feel we're late for something. Where are we meant to be?

Ronnie: It's Tuesday midday, so it must be the insurance fraud with the bridge club from Twenty Fourth Street.

Chris: What's after that?

Ronnie: We have a couple of bank card scams to run down town, then we need to head across town to that Bikers' bar. They've got some new bikes they're bringing in specially to show us.

Chris: Better not miss them again. They'll be too pissed to do business with us next time. Remind me when it's four p.m. Don't know if I'm really in the market for a new bike right now.

Ronnie: You can afford it. We had a good month last month, especially after you worked your charms on those nuns with the charity collection.

Chris: Yeah, but I never get time to ride anymore. I barely have time to do my laundry. I hope Bonnie says 'yes' when I ask her to marry me, or I won't ever have any clean clothes again, at this rate. She's real good at laundry. Maybe I can do a load this evening...

Ronnie: Um, we've got to be at Smokie's for that pool game this evening. The guys have been taking bets on it for weeks.

Chris: I'm gonna lose the first game just to wind them up a little. Maybe I can bring Bonnie, to save time.

Ronnie: Why?

Chris: Because we need to do things together, if we're gonna be married.

Ronnie (gloomily): Oh yeah, I forgot.

Chris: Christ, Ronnie, I'm beginning to think you're forgetting Bonnie on purpose. She shouldn't be so difficult for you to remember. I mean your names rhyme and all. Ronnie and Bonnie. The two most important people in my life. What did you think of to send Angie?

Ronnie: Shit, I thought it was Kitty. I was going to get that marshmallow perfume on the way to the Bikers, while I was picking up the drugs.

Chris: Ronnie, if you want to be my P.A., you gotta wake up.

Ronnie (plaintively): I can't keep up. You've been married so often. And now you're marrying Bonnie again. Couldn't you marry someone new? Then I wouldn't keep picking the wrong ex-wife.

Chris (sighing): I never get a chance to meet anyone new these days... Let's go get our mark.

(Later, while Ronnie is sorting out the drugs, which takes some time...)

Chris (to himself): Fuck. I should never have mentioned that Ronnie/Bonnie thing to him. He'll probably send himself flowers now. On that new credit card of mine I picked up on the subway. What's next? (rustles through organizer) Goddammit, Ronnie! He forgot to tell me about the East Coast Ponzi Convention tomorrow. I'm the keynote speaker and I just don't have a thing to wear. Man, I hate doing laundry. I don't think I have the energy to be a serial killer, even if I had the time. It's just a pipe dream. What I really want is the simple life. Find a nice lawyer and settle down somewhere with him. Then I wouldn't have to keep getting married and he could represent me in court. Kill two birds with one stone. I could actually have intelligent conversations for a change. I could stop hiding my books behind porno mags. Maybe we could take early retirement and open a tattoo parlor together....

The End

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