A/N: Here it is, the final part of the Addendum Trilogy, where Freddy starts closing in on Vega. Like the previous stories it will be twelve chapters long when completed. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: If I said I owned Reservoir Dogs, would you believe me?

Chapter 1: Garage

"Wakey, wakey..."

Someone slapped Freddy's face and his eyes fluttered open. He was hit by a strong smell of dust and gasoline. A part of his mind was telling him that regaining consciousness was a really, really bad idea right now, but he was too disoriented to do anything about it. Then he got a good look at the person who'd woken him up, and instantly wished that he'd remained out cold. Fuck.

Vega was crouched over him, smiling at him like an ad for fucking toothpaste. "Lost you for a minute there, Orange," he was saying, friendly as hell. He fastidiously wiped his blood-spattered hand on the knee of Freddy's jeans. "Or I guess it's Newendyke now. Glad to have you back." His voice was rough and his back was hunched over slightly. Freddy couldn't help smirking; seems Vega hadn't completely recovered from when Freddy had unloaded a shitload of lead into his chest.

"Pleasure's all yours," he said dryly. His left eye was swollen shut, his mouth was bleeding, and his entire body ached. All courtesy of you-know-who.

"So what'd you think?" asked Vega thoughtfully, holding up a rusty hammer in one hand and a wrench in the other. "How'd they compare?"

Freddy felt justified in ignoring the question. Vega had just broken his left ring finger in two places, once with each tool. He must've passed out while Vega was using the wrench. Freddy looked up at his mangled finger, wondering dazedly if it was really his. This whole experience was pretty fucking surreal, like a scene out of a cheesy horror movie. He was in a dusty garage, sitting against a ladder with his wrists roped to one of the rungs above his head. An altogether fucking uncomfortable position, thank you very much. Especially with Vega leering down at him with a fucking toolbox open beside him.

Vega watched Freddy as he stared at his twice-broken finger, and shook his dark head sadly. "You know," he said, laying a friendly hand on the cop's shoulder, "if you're not really married, you shouldn't wear a ring. It's bad manners to lie."

Freddy gave a laugh which turned into a cough, and he spat out a stream of blood. "Imagine you lecturing me on bad manners," he muttered. "I guess this is your idea of revenge? Still not over that rat bullshit?"

"I don't know," Vega answered mildly. He suddenly threw the hammer and wrench aside, and Freddy winced as they smashed into some old furniture. Picking up a clear plastic box of screws, Vega turned it over contemplatively in his blunt fingers. Freddy felt panic rising within him for about the umpteenth time that afternoon. This guy was fucking nuts.

"Killing someone's friends and employers ain't somethin' that can be easily forgotten. I went to county for the Cabots. We were real close." From the tone of his voice, they could've been a couple of buddies talking. But the truth remained that Freddy was tied to a ladder and bleeding from about a dozen fucking places, and Vega was currently looking for his next torture tool. Not something that buddies usually did.

Vega had abducted Freddy as he'd been leaving the batting range, and had been torturing him in this fucking garage for a while now. Freddy was scared shitless, no lying about that. He knew exactly what Vega was capable of – he'd seen it first-hand – and he also knew that pleading with this psychopath was fucking useless. His only hope was to keep Vega talking, though it had done fuck-all amount of good for Marvin.

"So is this garage your next target?" he asked, trying not to watch as Vega idly rummaged around in the toolbox. He could at least try to get some information out of the guy before he lost a couple of limbs. "You dumped that gasoline all over the floor, and I don't think it's just for decoration. Today's Thursday, and I was just wonderin' –"

"Eddie and I knew each other since we were kids, you know?" Vega examined a pair of pliers before chucking them over his shoulder. "We were practically brothers. Well, I already had a brother. But you know what I mean."

"What's with the arsons?" asked Freddy, trying not to let Vega unnerve him. "We know you're the one behind 'em all."

"And Joe, he was the closest thing to a father I had. My old man never gave a shit about me. It was nice, you know, having Joe look out for me like that."

"What's linking all those places together?" Freddy was determined to get some sort of a response. He was still a cop on the job, though a fucking terrified one. "Seven buildings so far, and the last one was a fuckin' barbershop. Why burn 'em down? You a closet pyromaniac or somethi–?"

"Remember that cop?" Vega interrupted, sorting through the toolbox with both hands now, spilling rusty nails onto the stained concrete floor. "I cut off his ear. Now that was real fuckin' funny." He silently deliberated for a moment. "I wonder... should I do the same to you? Another ear?" His hand hovered over the tools, then selected a screwdriver. "Or maybe an eye?"

"Fuck you," said Freddy. He was done with trying to get information. There was no use distracting the bastard; he had a one-track mind. He tortured cops for entertainment, for fuck's sake! Freddy's fate was looking more and more like a grease-spot amidst the burnt wreckage of a garage in the middle of fuck knows where.

"Fuck me?" Vega gave a surprised little laugh. "Fuck me? Huh... Well kid, when I'm done with you, you won't be able to fuck a single fuckin' thing."

Freddy had no idea where this was going, and watched as Vega flung the screwdriver away and picked up a hacksaw. But then he started to get some idea of what was in store for him when Vega reached over and began unbuttoning his jeans. Shit!

"What the fuck are you doin', man?" he yelped, not caring that his voice had risen a couple of octaves. "Jesus, what the fuck? Oh, oh shit! Please, no, oh god no!"

Vega was just about to remove the possibility of Freddy ever fathering children for the rest of his natural life, or even pissing properly, when they both heard the sirens. Someone had tipped off the cops. For a long moment Freddy stared at Vega out of his eye that wasn't swollen shut. Then Vega let his breath hiss out between his teeth.

"It's your lucky day, Newendyke," he remarked, getting up from his crouch and dropping the hacksaw. He calmly took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lit one, and blew out the smoke in a long, steady stream. Then he smiled. Fucking Marlboro Man. "Or maybe not." He held up the cigarette and flicked it into the pool of gasoline. The puddle flared up immediately, and Freddy watched as Vega disappeared through the door.

The sirens were getting louder. The smoke was already thick and dark, and Freddy coughed uncontrollably, wrenching at the rope around his wrists as he felt a burning sensation in his throat. The fire was eating up the oxygen in the musty garage, and his head was spinning. His feet were getting very hot, but he couldn't move them. Difficult to breathe. Feet burning. Dizzy. Someone banging on the door. Getting dark. Losing consciousness –

Gone.

A/N: In the style of epic poems, I have decided to start the final story of this trilogy in medias res. I chose to set Freddy's torture scene in a garage because originally Reservoir Dogs was supposed to take place in a garage instead of a warehouse. I also couldn't resist giving Vega all those lovely tools!