Let’s give Nick, Roy and the rest of the R.I.P.D.
It seems as though Nick has, essentially, been given a license to kill. Technically, the celestial beings in charge don’t encourage such ruthless retaliation, but that doesn’t seem to bother Nick’s new partner, Roy-a shoot-first-and-ask- mumbled-questions-later dude who hails from the Old West. Or, if hauling them all the way back to the other side is too much trouble, they can just shoot ’em, erasing the stain of their ugly souls forever. No, this spirit squad is designed to capture earth’s evil dead (those reluctant to pass on and who’ve somehow slipped through the Universe’s bureaucratic cracks) and bring them back to face the music. Well, certainly not directing traffic or even busting burglars. He’s told the “Universe” needs his skills, and in exchange for a good recommendation on Judgment Day he’ll spend 100 years serving the Rest In Peace Dept. Instead of being damned, Nick is rerouted to a postmortem police station-a purgatory of sorts for crooked cops. Sure, he had every intention of turning it in, but you know what they say about good intentions. Now Nick’s on the wrong side of eternity because of that shiny stuff in his yard. Partners: Can’t live with ’em, can’t-Oh, wait. So much so that, as soon as he gets a chance, Hayes kills Nick. So the morning after he buries it, he tells his partner, Hayes, that he’s going to turn his share in. And he’s been trying to convince himself that it’s a purely victimless crime.īut the 24-karat cache nibbles at Nick’s conscience.
No one was going to miss the gold-the only one who’d ask for it is safely locked away now.
In a moment of weakness, this typically conscientious Boston cop pilfered a handful of weird gold chunks from a drug dealer’s apartment and buried them in his backyard-a nice, shiny nest egg for he and the missus. Even if you haven’t been wicked for very long.