A/N: I received requests to post the sequel to Addendum (part I), so here it is. It will be twelve chapters long, similar to the first story. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own Reservoir Dogs. Period.

Chapter 1: On the Doorstep

Freddy stood in front of the door, wanting nothing more than to simply turn around and walk away. He paused on the step, hesitating, hand drifting towards and away from the bell like a pendulum. What had he been thinking, coming here? What the fuck would he say? There was seriously no way he could handle this. He was a fucking coward, and he knew it.

But before he could just leave and forget about the whole thing, an unpleasant memory began to resurface, creeping out from the dark reaches of his subconscious. And like all unpleasant memories, it was impossible to block out.

He couldn't see, he couldn't move. Noises were penetrating the darkness. Scuffling sounds, footsteps, raised voices. He fought towards consciousness. It was like swimming upwards through molasses.

"… the hell you think we've been askin' each other?"

"Yeah, and what'd you come up with, huh? You think I did it? You think I fuckin' set you up?"

Pink and Nice Guy Eddie. Freddy couldn't bring himself to care what they were quarrelling about, and allowed his concentration to wane again. Larry's voice joined the argument, and Freddy felt strangely comforted – in a weird, detached, semi-conscious way – that the man was still close by. Then a quieter voice caused Freddy to pay attention once more, straining to identify the speaker:

"Where's Joseph?"

Blonde. So the motherfucker had somehow escaped too. Freddy was finding it difficult to concentrate, but he forced himself to keep on listening:

"… ain't talked to him! I talked to Dov. He says daddy's comin' down here and he's fuckin' pissed."

Sweet welcome relief washed over Freddy like a frothy breaking wave. Joe was on his way. As soon as he arrived the cops would move in and then this would all be over. Exhausted by the effort of staying more or less awake, he allowed his consciousness to fade…

…?

It was the sound of raised voices that roused him once more. He had no idea how much time had elapsed. It could've been three seconds or three days.

"…make it fuckin' so! Come on, man, think!"

Freddy wished they would stop shouting, just shut the fuck up and let him rest. His mind didn't seem to be working properly, because he found it hard to understand what they were saying. Must be the blood loss. But he did manage to figure out that they were bringing the diamonds back to the warehouse. Hope rose within him, and he relaxed. Joe was on his way, and would be caught in the presence of the diamonds and the thieves. Just like Holdaway had planned. It wasn't going to be a total fucking failure after all; he could still get the job done, and then this whole fucking mess wouldn't be one terrible bloody waste.

"Blondie. Stay here, babysit them two. White and Pink, you take a car each…"

Great, he was going to be left in the warehouse with the trigger-happy Mr. Blonde? Some small part of Freddy's mind wondered who else Eddie meant by "them two." Had Mr. Blue arrived at the rendezvous? Was he injured too? Freddy didn't have the energy to dwell on these thoughts for long, and quickly slipped back into unconsciousness…

…?

Music was playing. Shuffling sound of feet. Was Blonde dancing? Now that was just fucked up… Confused sounds that Freddy couldn't figure out. Speech. Laughter? Someone was groaning. Mr. Blue? Was he in pain? A strange splashing sound. Then screaming.

"Don't! Stop! Stop!"

That voice wasn't familiar at all. Blonde was speaking, but the other guy – he was begging. Freddy fought to open his eyes. What the fuck was going on?

"…stop. Just talk to me for a minute, don't – please – don't, don't burn me, please!"

Burn? Was Blonde going to fucking burn this man? He smelled gasoline – shit! He had to help this guy, whoever he was. He had to move. He had to open his eyes.

"…I don't know anything about any fucking guys, I'm not gonna say anything!"

One eye open. He saw the floor, and – was that an ear? Freddy's stomach churned and he fought down nausea. Two eyes open. A pool of clear liquid on the ground. A pair of shoes. A chair. A cop… a cop?!

"Please… Look I got a little kid at home now, please…"

Oh shit! Freddy struggled to clear his mind. His gun was still hooked around his finger, thank fucking god, and he tightened his grip, hand settling into the familiar position. He dragged his left arm closer to his side, and painfully heaved himself up onto his elbow.

Raised the gun. Fuck, it was heavy.

Aimed.

"How 'bout some fire, scarecrow?"

Squeezed the trigger.

Freddy blinked, brought suddenly back to his present location on a quiet suburban doorstep. He bowed his head and sighed. Shit, he couldn't back out now, not after all he'd been through. Not after coming this far. It was his responsibility, and nobody else's. If he turned around and left he'd be the worst fucking scumbag in history.

He brought his hand up, finger pointed like a gun, and pressed the doorbell. Deep down he hoped that nobody would be home, but he was out of luck.

A woman answered the door. Dark hair cut short. Latino, maybe South American. "Can I help you?"

Her sleeves were rolled up and her hands were damp and soapy. She'd been washing dishes. In the room behind her, a baby was poking his head through the bars of a playpen.

"Ma'am, I'm Freddy Newendyke from the LAPD." She glanced down at his badge and looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Are you Irene Nash?"

"Yes."

Deep breath. "I knew your husband Marvin. I was –" He faltered. Swallowed. Started again. "I was there when he died."

A/N: God, I would hate to be in Freddy's shoes. How awkward. Some people have complained about Freddy waiting until the very last minute to shoot Blonde, thus letting Marvin get tortured, and Freddy was definitely conscious because of his "Now you heard 'em. They said he's on his way," comment. But he very well could've been drifting in and out of consciousness, right? Reviews are welcome.