I own neither Buffy or Pulp Fiction and have no intention of making a profit. Not that this story actually would anyway.
Everything stopped. Or at least that’s how it seemed to him. He sank into the corner of the small, dingy, 5th floor apartment as he heard the knock at the door. It was them, he knew it. Maybe if he stayed silent they’d think he was out? The whistle of the over boiled kettle put a stop to that line of thought as the noodles he’d been cooking alongside it for a light lunch boiled over the pan. Jesus, why’d he borrow the money from them he thought to himself. What he’d give to have Buffy here right now. Or Faith. Or even Dead-boy and Dead-boy Jr. Really, anyone super powered on his side would be a tremendous help right now for what he knew was coming,
Maybe they’d leave, it could happen right?
Silence, probably no more than 30 seconds but it seemed like forever and suddenly, with a great crash he knew was coming but that scared him nonetheless, the door was kicked wide open and two suited figures walked in. He knew them both, of course. The afro-headed black guy Jules and his white, greasy-haired partner, Vincent. How the hell had it come to this?
“When you knock on a god-damned door twice is it really unreasonable to expect a damn answer?” said the black guy, Jules, in a sort of half-mock outrage.
“Don’t think so,” chimed in his partner, Vincent.
“It’s really just good manners to answer in a timely fashion” said Jules, as if not hearing him as they both advanced towards the figure squatting in the corner, hoping the wall would swallow him up.
“Motherfucker stand up” the huge black guy said in utter disgust at the cowering figure before him. Vincent had moved off towards the apartment’s small kitchen space as soon as he noticed the noodles.
“You mind?” He asked as he poured them into a bowl. It wasn’t really a question.
The brown-haired figure that had previously been cowering in the corner was now stood up.
“Oh no no, go right ahead” he replied, knowing Vincent would regardless of his consent or not.
“What the hell you trying to pull boy?” was the sudden question and abrupt change of subject from Jules who had been staring at him the whole time.
“Nothing, absolutely nothing. I just need a day or two more and I’ll have it all” came the scared reply.
“A day or two more,” repeated Jules. “A day or two so you can disappear, you mean.”
“No it’s not like-“
“SHUT THE FUCK UP,” bellowed Jules. “You think this is some kind of joke boy? You think this is negotiable? You think you have some position of authority that implies that people like us should provide a little more time to a scrawny motherfucker like you?!”
“When you borrow money from Marsellus Wallace,” he continued “Mr. Wallace expects that you’ll honour your agreement and pay him back on the arranged date. Now Mr. Wallace is a patient man and is willing to let a day or two slip by if you’re having trouble meeting him but to not show up or even try contacting him for 3 weeks makes Mr. Wallace think that you might, just might, be trying to run away with his money. And Mr. Wallace doesn’t like that my little friend, no he does not.”
As this confrontation continued, Vincent had taken a chair next to the sofa and was eating through the noodles as if nothing was happening in front of him.
“So tell me, Mr. Harris,” Jules continued. “In fact no, Mr. Harris is too formal. You know I’m Jules and you know this” he indicated to the sofa “is Vincent. So what do they call you? We know each now well enough to be on first name terms right? We’re all friend here, right?”
“X-Xander” the man replied.
“Xander huh? Weird ass name, most motherfuckers would be calling themselves Alex. So Xander, why do you think you can fuck Marsellus Wallace?”
“I don’t. Really I just need-“
“More time, you need more time. Motherfucker I need more time. I need more time to make sure the shopping’s done, too iron my suit and to make sure the 9mm that you know is just under my suit jacket is cleaned and loaded. But you know what? I ain’t got more time, so I use the time I have. But I make sure that before I do all those very important things that if I owe money to a very nasty man that I pay him back on time and in full. Priorities mother fucker, do you have them?!”
With that, Jules reached under his jacket and him one swift movement pulled his firearm from its holster.
“Because it seems to me, you don’t understand priorities,” Jules shouted, volume ever rising. “Seems to me you just don’t care at all. Well I got some damn good news for ya Xander. Priorities ain’t never gonna be a worry for you ever again!”
“Wait!” Xander cried in panic.
However that was all he said. The sound of a gun went off and all he saw was black.
Xander’s lifeless body was streaming blood into the carpet as Jules turned from the scene and looked over to the nearby sofa, where Vincent was sitting, now covered in blood.
“Couldn’t you do that over there?” Vincent complained. “I good the fuckers blood in my noodles.”
“Vincent, you too goddamn fat already. Your ass doesn’t need anymore food, get down the gym before you have a heart attack” Jules replied in his usual agitated voice.
“Yeah yeah, I’ll do it tomorrow or something” answered Vincent.
He tossed the bloodied noodles aside and they strolled across the apartment and towards the kicked-in door as if they had just completed a leisurely round of golf rather than murdered a man in his own apartment.
“Hey,” Vincent said as they walked through the door. “You know what they call a quarter-pounder in France?”