More info about this movie on IMDb.com
FOR EDUCATIONAL PURPOSES ONLY
EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - DAY A BOAT Specifically, a garbage scow. We see it from ON HIGH, chugging down the placid but mighty Mississippi. Head credits play over COVERAGE of the garbage scow. No sound, except for an incongruously heroic score. The COVERAGE is a little rough, coarse-grained; along with the overbearing score it almost suggests an industrial film rather than a feature. One piece of sound -- the toot of the boat's horn -- is obviously library. And not a new library either. The garbage scow passes under a bridge spanning the broad, sluggish waters, and proceeds on to its landfill, a steaming river island. Disturbed gulls and other scavenger birds rise from where they were picking through trash. Their squawks, like the boat horn, are not quite believable as SYNC. The head credits end as the anthemic music resolves. EXT. SAUCIER, MISSISSIPPI - DAY AN OLD HOUND DOG lies on the weather-grayed and -roughened planking of a front porch. The porch is half-shaded from the noonday sun. It is quiet except for the chirr of heat bugs, close by, and, very distant, many voices in chorus, engaged in divine worship in a Baptist church sufficiently far away that vagaries of breeze fan them in and out of audibility. We once again hear the toot of the scow's horn, distant now and played as real, not slapdash effect. At this, the dog lifts his nose to catch the breeze, sniffs, and then, whining, lowers his head to the floor and covers his snout with his forepaws. He huffs briefly and goes to sleep. We DRIFT UP to show that the dog is sleeping before the SAUCIER WORM STORE Your source for worms, lures, etcetera, etcetera... We TRAVEL OVER TO REVEAL that the modest one-story structure houses two establishments; its other front door leads to the SAUCIER MUNICIPAL BUILDING. A campaign sign in the window on the municipal side shows a black man of late middle-age beaming and giving the viewer a thumbs-up: RE-ELECT WAYNE WYNER SHERIFF/He Is Too Old to Go to Work. INT. SAUCIER MUNICIPAL BUILDING - DAY We hear snoring on top of a low, steady hissing sound. We are DRIFTING toward the door of the lock-up, which stands open. The small cell is empty, its bed neatly made. A KEY We are ARCING slowly around a jailer's key on a ring that hangs from a nail. The OFFSCREEN snoring and whirring continues. The TRACK'S SHIFTING ANGLE now makes the light catch a spider web spun between the key and the wall. POLICE SCANNER We DRIFT across the face of the radio. The peaceful steady hissing jumps in louder at the CUT: it is uninterrupted: a transmissionless, crimeless, misdemeanorless idle radio hiss. The snoring is also louder here. As we TRAVEL OFF the radio we are COMING ONTO a pair of feet propped up on the desktop. They belong to SHERIFF WYNER, tipped back in his chair, fingers laced on his chest, head lolling forward. As the MOVING CAMERA FINALLY ENDS on him, there is the ring of a telephone -- muffled, not present. It nevertheless rouses the sheriff who almost strangles on a snore as he awakes, and then rocks forward to pick up his phone. SHERIFF WYNER Sheriff Wyner... The muffled ringing continues; the sheriff looks, puzzled, at the phone. Now the ringing stops and we hear a muffled voice next door: VOICE (O.S.) Worms. The sheriff replaces the phone, leans back again, adjusts his hat, and is about to go back to sleep when we hear the front door open. The sheriff looks and reacts with genuine, if momentary, fear. He manages to compose himself and give the intruder a smile: SHERIFF WYNER Afternoon, Miz Munson. Entering is an elderly black woman in a floral print dress and fruited bonnet. MRS. MUNSON Afternoon, Sheriff. You know the Funthes boy? SHERIFF WYNER ...Mackatee Funthes? MRS. MUNSON No no, WeeMack! Mackatee's eldest! SHERIFF WYNER Oh yeah, believe I do. MRS. MUNSON Well, he's a good boy but he done gone down to the Costco in Pascagoula and got hisself a blastah -- and he been playin' that music! Wyner is not sure where this is going: SHERIFF WYNER Uh-huh... MRS. MUNSON Loud! SHERIFF WYNER Well-- MRS. MUNSON "Left my wallet in El Segundo!" SHERIFF WYNER He-- MRS. MUNSON Songs like that! SHERIFF WYNER Uh-huh... MRS. MUNSON Hippity-hop music! SHERIFF WYNER I could-- MRS. MUNSON You know they call it hippity-hop music, but it don't make me wanna go hippity-hop! SHERIFF WYNER No ma'am-- MRS. MUNSON And Othar don't like that music neither! Sheriff Wyner now displays an exaggerated solicitousness: SHERIFF WYNER It's been disturbin' Othar then, has it? MRS. MUNSON How could it help but do! That kind of music! You know what they call colored folks in them songs? Have you got any idea? SHERIFF WYNER I don't think I-- MRS. MUNSON NIGGAZ! I don't wanna say the word. I won't say it twice, I'll tell you that. I say it one time. SHERIFF WYNER Yes ma'am. MRS. MUNSON In the course a swearin' out my complaint. SHERIFF WYNER Yes'm-- MRS. MUNSON NIGGAZ! Two thousand years after Jesus! Thirty years after Martin Luther King! The age of Montel! Sweet lord a-mercy, izzat where we at? SHERIFF WYNER Mm-mm-- MRS. MUNSON WeeMack down to Pascagoula buyin' a big thumpy stereo player?! So he can listen to that word in the house next to mine? Sheriff, you gotta help that boy! SHERIFF WYNER Help him? MRS. MUNSON You gotta take an innarest! EXTEND that helpin' hand! SHERIFF WYNER (dubious) Well, we're here to help... MRS. MUNSON Well God bless ya. Don't wanna be tried and found wantin'. SHERIFF WYNER No ma'am. MRS. MUNSON Many many tunkalow parzen, Sheriff Wyner. Many many tunkalow parzen! SHERIFF WYNER Many what ma'am? MRS. MUNSON You have been tried and found wanting. Don't want that writin' on the wall! SHERIFF WYNER No ma'am-- MRS. MUNSON Feast a Balthazar! SHERIFF WYNER Mm-hm. MRS. MUNSON John The Apostle said: Behold there is a stranger in our midst, come to destroy us! SHERIFF WYNER Yes ma'am. EXT. SAUCIER MUNICIPAL BUILDING - DAY Mrs. Munson closes the door behind her. She wags a paper fan and mutters: MRS. MUNSON He's a good man. Just needs instruction. Dog, you in peoples' way. The dog stirs with a whine and ambles off. EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - DAY With a neatly tended garden. It is the last house on a street of other similarly modest but well maintained homes; beyond it the street disappears down a bluff. The empty space beyond suggests a wide river, and indeed we can see the top of an anchored, gaudily painted paddle-boat poking over the rise. The paddle-boat is apparently anchored at the near bank of the river. Mrs. Munson is entering by the gate. She stops in the garden and stoops to pull a tiny weed marring the otherwise perfect row of flowers. I/E. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - DAY Mrs. Munson lets herself in. A cat lopes up to her, the bell around its neck tinkling, and leans mewing into her leg. MRS. MUNSON You need somethin' to eat, Angel? INT. MUNSON HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY Mrs. Munson hand-cranks a can opener around a tin of cat food. MRS. MUNSON Mm... gizzards... The cat paces back and forth between her legs, leaning into them and purring, responding to the snap of tin as the cover comes off the can. The can contains cubed processed gizzard in a gelatinous medium like the stuff that clings to gefilte fish. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT Above the fireplace is an oil portrait of a serious-looking black man of late middle-age with a neatly groomed mustache starting to gray. A couple of candles sit on the mantel below the portrait, giving it the semblance of a shrine. Mrs. Munson enters and lights the candles. MRS. MUNSON Othar, I went'n complained about WeeMack, I hope it'll do some good. That boy hangin' by a thread! Over the pit! Fiery pit! "I Left My Wallet in El Segundo"! She shakes out the match and sits in a rocker and takes up her knitting. As she sits she gives an audible groan. MRS. MUNSON ...Sixty-seven years of life, forty- six years of marriage, you mean to tell me you never one time suffered from piles? It's the human condition, most humans anyway. Like that ball player said: world's got two kinds of folks -- them that's got piles and them that's gonna get 'em. But you was always healthy as an ox... There is the distant moan of a riverboat horn. MRS. MUNSON ...Passed on before you got piles. Mmmmhmm. Thank the Lord you wasn't sick. You don't wanna sicken 'n die. No, you wanna pass nice 'n peaceful... go to sleep one night, wake up in the glory land... woof... A gust of wind hums under the eaves; the candles below the portrait flicker. As Mrs. Munson looks around the room, vaguely towards the ceiling, sensing a negative aura, the cat arches its back and hisses. At this moment the doorbell rings. MRS. MUNSON ...Well who's that now, Pickles? She grunts as she hoists herself out of the chair. I/E. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - NIGHT She opens the door-- A draft-- INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT The candles below the portrait of Othar go out, sending up thin wisps of smoke. I/E. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - NIGHT The cat shrieks and bolts out the door, past the man on the stoop: GOLDTHWAIT HIGGINSON DORR, III. He is a middle-aged Southern gentleman wearing a panama hat and a cape over a cream-colored suit. He has dark circles under his eyes. The smile he attempts, mournful yet courtly, is wiped away by: MRS. MUNSON PICKLES! DORR Ma'am? MRS. MUNSON Go get 'im! DORR I do beg your pardon? MRS. MUNSON Go get Pickles, I didn't let 'im out! DORR (tasting the name) Pickles... EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT Dorr walks down the stoop followed by the old lady. MRS. MUNSON Oh, he's up the tree again. Your gonna have to shimmy on up. DORR I am so terribly sorry, madam. But won't the feline eventually tire of his lonely perch and, pining for his master's affection, return on his own initiative? MRS. MUNSON Huh? No, he won't come down less you fetch him. He'd set there til Gabriel blows his horn if someone didn't shimmy up. Up with you now! DORR Well then couldn't we perhaps offer him kitty treats and enticements, or if not foodstuffs perhaps squeaky little toys of the kind formerly manufactured in Hong Kong but now produced in the other so-called "Little Tigers"... His fingers form the quotes. DORR ...of the Pacific Rim? The point bein', do we have to actually ascend the tree-- MRS. MUNSON Look, I don't want no doubletalk. If you ain't gonna fetch him down I guess I gotta call the po-lice... DORR Police... His face darkens. MRS. MUNSON They ain't gonna be happy. Every time they come fetch him down they swear they won't do it no more... Dorr casts his hat aside and starts awkwardly climbing the tree. He gasps as he climbs: DORR No need to call the authorities. I did this often as a youth -- why, I was a positive lemur... Here, kitty... The cat backs away down a branch, arching its back and hissing. MRS. MUNSON Don't upset him, now! Dorr, on his stomach, inches after the cat, grunting: DORR I wouldn't dream of it... harmless little felix domesticus... Come to G.H... The branch breaks, hinging down to slam Dorr face-first into the trunk, from where he drops the rest of the way to the ground. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT Othar's portrait, upside-down, seems to be looking bemusedly down on us. An OBJECTIVE ANGLE shows Dorr lying on the couch, a damp washcloth on his forehead, eyes rolled back to look at the picture. Mrs. Munson is entering with a cup of tea. Dorr swings his feet out to sit up and accept the tea. DORR I thank you, madam, for your act of kindness. MRS. MUNSON Well you let him out. DORR I certainly did and I do apologize no end. Allow me to present myself, uh, formally: Goldthwait Higginson Dorr, Ph.D. MRS. MUNSON What, like Elmer? DORR Beg your pardon, ma'am? MRS. MUNSON Fudd? DORR No no, Ph.D. is a mark of academic attainment. It is a degree of higher learning bestowed, in my case, in recognition of my mastery of the antique languages of Latin and Greek. I also hold a number of other advanced degrees including the baccalaureate from a school in Paris, France, called the Sorbonne. Munson chuckles. MRS. MUNSON Sore bone, well I guess that's appropriate. You ever study at Bob Jones University? DORR I have not had that privilege. MRS. MUNSON It's a bible school, only the finest in the country. I send them five dollars every month. DORR That's very gener-- MRS. MUNSON I'm on their mailing list. I'm an Angel. DORR Indeed. MRS. MUNSON They list my name in the newsletter, every issue. I got the literature here, you wanna examine it. DORR Perhaps when my head has recovered from its... buffeting. Mrs. Munson, are you at all curious as to why I darkened your door, as the expression has it, on this lovely camelia-scented morn? MRS. MUNSON I was wondering, til you let Pickles out. Then in all the excitement-- DORR I quite understand. The fact is that I saw the sign on your window advertising a room to let, and it is the only such sign among the houses of this charming, charming street. MRS. MUNSON Yeah, I got a room. I'm lookin' for a quiet tenant. Fifteen dollars a week DORR I quite understand. Madam, you are addressing a man who is quiet -- and yet not quiet, if I may offer a riddle... He sets down the teacup and rises. DORR ...Perhaps you can show me the room, Mrs. Munson, and allow me to explain. MRS. MUNSON Well you can see the room, but I don't like double-talk. Mrs. Munson precedes him... INT. MUNSON HOUSE - STAIRCASE - NIGHT ...up the stairs. DORR You see, madam, I am currently on sabbatical from the institution where I teach -- the University of Mississippi at Hattiesburg. I am taking a year off to indulge my passion -- I don't believe that is too strong a word -- for the music of the Renaissance. I perform in -- and have the honor of directing -- a period instrument ensemble that performs at Renaissance fairs and other cultural fora... INT. MUNSON HOUSE - DORR'S BEDROOM - NIGHT They enter a small bedroom. There is a small bed on a brass frame, a chair, a wash basin, and cheerful yellow chintz drapes on the window. Dorr appreciatively takes it in. DORR ...thoo-out central and southern Mississippi. We perform on the instruments for which the music was originally composed, in the belief that... that... Why, this is lovely... MRS. MUNSON Wait a minute. You got some kind of band? Dorr once again wiggles quotes with his fingers: DORR The word "band" would be, in this context, something of an anachronism. Though we do play together -- hence the word "ensemble" -- the nature of the music is such that one would hesitate to apply the epithet "band" with its connotations of jangling rhythm and ear-popping amplification. MRS. MUNSON So you don't play hippity-hop, "I Left My Wallet in El Segundo," songs with the titles spelt all funny? DORR Madam, I shudder. I quake. The revulsion I feel for modern popular music, and all other manifestations of contemporary decay, is, I have no doubt, the equal of y'own. Why, we play music that was composed to the greater glory of God. Devotional music. Church music. MRS. MUNSON Gospel music? DORR Well-inspired by the gospels, certainly. The vintage, of course, is no more recent than the Rococo. MRS. MUNSON Rococo, huh? Well, I guess that'd be okay. DORR But I certainly don't propose to inflict our rehearsals on you. May I enquire -- do you have a root cellar? INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT Dorr ducks while descending the steep, narrow stair in order to avoid an overhead beam. He is followed by Mrs. Munson. DORR Yes, yes, yes, this looks promising... He pulls on a hanging string to light a bare bulb overhead. MRS. MUNSON Little dank, ain't it? DORR Oh, indeed, but that only improves the acoustics... He experimentally claps his hands. DORR ...Marvelous. These earthen walls are ideal for baffling the higher registers of the, uh, lute and, uh, sackbutt. That's why so much music of the cinquecento was played in crypts and catacombs. Yes, this will do nicely... He dry-washes his hands with enthusiasm, but his tone remains mournful. DORR ...This is perfect. This is more than perfect. I can scarcely contain my glee. MRS. MUNSON You containing it okay. He starts to peel cash out of a large, well-worn billfold: DORR Allow me to pay you a week in advance. Allow me to pay you two weeks in advance. Allow me to pay you a month in advance. I cannot countenance the thought of these charming apartments being tenanted by someone unappreciative of their special je ne sais quoi. MRS. MUNSON That would be a shame. INT. CASINO - DAY TRACKING ON A GARBAGE CART On the cart is a boombox. It is playing "I Left My Wallet in El Segundo." It is being pushed through a casino empty of customers. As the cart stops and a wastebasket is emptied into it: VOICE (V.O.) You gotta peel this shit out sticks to the bottom. WIDER shows two youngish black men in the khaki uniforms of custodians. Emptying the wastebasket is WEEMACK-MACKATEE FUNTHES. He is instructing GAWAIN MACSAM. WEEMACK ...You wouldn't believe this shit, sometimes even out here on the casino floor you gonna find sanitary napkin shit stuck there, Tucks, I don't know what the fuck people do while they're gambling here man. GAWAIN I ain't peelin' funky shit with my human hands, man. That's a prescription for disease and viruses and shit, attackin' y'insides. As they roll on we see more of the gambling floor, which is on something less than the scale of a Las Vegas casino. The floor is not yet open and dealers stack and count chips at the tables, pit bosses with clipboards looking over their shoulders. Other dealers strap on visors and sleeve garters, preparing to work. WEEMACK You gotta do it. Mr. Gudge checks everything. Man is a motherfuck. Shit -- looka this. After a furtive look around he plucks a chip from the next wastebasket and slips it in his pocket. WEEMACK ...You keep an eye out, man. I found a hundred-dollar chip once. GAWAIN Fuck that, man. I ain't pawin' through used Tucks for a fi' dollar chip. WEEMACK I said it was a hundred. GAWAIN Man, your guts gonna turn to soup'n leak outcha fuckin' asshole. SERVICE HALL The cart jitters loudly on the dimpled plastic floor. WEEMACK This tunnel leads back onto land. To the office for all the people work for Mannex. Mannex Corporation. Owns the Lady Luck 'n three other boats... INT. CASINO - SERVICE HALL - DAY The two men are entering a windowless fluorescent-lit office area. A row of wooden office doors and one heavy steel door. WEEMACK ...This is where they think on their corporate shit, Gudge and them. He stops to empty a wastebasket. WEEMACK ...The lights is ugly but it ain't as many Tucks. He bangs on the steel door: WEEMACK ...YO, motherfuck! Lemme in! MUFFLED VOICE (O.S.) What's the password? WEEMACK Kiss my ass. We hear a deep chuckle and the door, steel reinforced, swings open. INT. CASINO - COUNTING ROOM - DAY The two men enter, WeeMack nodding at the security man (ELRON). WEEMACK This is where they count the dough. You try to take any of it Elron there shoot your ass. Again the security man chuckles. WeeMack picks up some fast- food wrappers. WEEMACK ...This place is a fuckin' pigsty. You a pig, man, nothin' but a squeaky ol' motherfuckin' pig... Elron chuckles. He is an enormously fat man; his chuckles come from deep, deep in his chest. WEEMACK ...You got fuckin' Kocoa Krispies in ya uniform man, still got breakfast there and you eatin' motherfuckin' lunch. Elron uses one hand to swipe crumbs off his uniform shirt, chuckling. WEEMACK ...You a disgrace before motherfuckin' God... Elron chuckles. WEEMACK ...You a motherfuck-- oh, hello Mr. Gudge, how we be this mornin'? A man in a buttoned white shirt nods at him. GUDGE Funthes. How's the new man? WEEMACK He is a cleaning motherfucker, man! GUDGE Is that a fact. INT. SOUNDSTAGE - SMOKING FIELD SET - DAY HIGH ANGLE It is a ruin of a field; charred trees point bare and gnarled limbs toward a gray sky; smoke drifts across the desolate waste. Something is bounding towards us from the deep background. We BOOM DOWN as it approaches: a bulldog, running avidly toward us on its stumpy little legs. An OFFSCREEN male voice (CLARK PANCAKE): PANCAKE (O.S.) One, Mountain! There is an explosion that showers dirt in front of the dog and makes it veer. Something strapped around the dog's neck bounces as he runs. PANCAKE ...Scrub two! Scrub three! Four, Mountain! Another explosion makes the dog veer back so that it once again bears on us. The thing that has been bouncing around its neck flies off. Our CONTINUING BOOM DOWN has brought us to ground level just as the dog arrives in front of us to feed at a dog food bowl in the foreground. The yellow plastic bowl has a K-Ration logo facing us. We hear another OFFSCREEN voice (DIRECTOR): DIRECTOR (O.S.) Cut, goddamnit. His canteen fell off. The Director's feet enter in the foreground. He hooks the dogs belly with one foot and hoists it roughly away from the bowl. We CUT UP TO: The DIRECTOR. He scowls down at the animal. DIRECTOR ...Props! A man in a Hemingway field-jacket with multiple pockets, and also a loaded utility belt, trots up toward him, his belt jangling as he runs. This is CLARK PANCAKE. Pancake is a florid beer-bellied man in his late fifties. He has a full blond-grey Grizzly Adams beard and wears multi- pocketed shorts that form an ensemble with his Hemingway jacket. The director is angry. DIRECTOR ...The goddamn thing's canteen fell off. It would have been a good take. Pancake is unperturbed. PANCAKE Okay. Okay. We're prepared for that... He hits a button on the radio on his belt and talks into his headset: PANCAKE ... Mountain, bring Otto with the apparatus. PULLING ANOTHER BULLDOG He strains at his lead, muscling forward as quickly as his minder and his own stumpy little legs will allow. He peers through the two goggly eyeholes of an antique leather gas mask, its pignose breathing apparatus covering his own snout. His phlegmy breathing is amplified by the device. We TILT UP the lead to show his minder, MOUNTAIN GIRL. She is a solid woman in her late forties with freckles beginning to merge into age spots. Her long straw-colored hair is tightly braided into Heidi pigtails bound with red ribbon. Otherwise her dress is unadorned. The director squints at the dog. DIRECTOR What the hell is this? Pancake's manner is professorial: PANCAKE World War I vintage gas mask. It's authentic. Strapped on, of course, so it can't fall off. The animal is free to be as active as he wants, doesn't inhibit his movement, and I think it really sells the whole doughboy thing-- DIRECTOR It looks like a fucking joke. Pancake stares at the director for a moment and, though not doing anything, makes a sound of concentrated effort: PANCAKE ...Nnnnrnff! The director squints at him: DIRECTOR What? Pancake comes out of his trance, or whatever it was: PANCAKE No, nothing, uh... you're absolutely right, the gas mask is a whimsical concept-- DIRECTOR How the hell does it eat when it gets to the Kennel Rations? The dog looks up from person to person as each speaks, twisting its neck to peer through the eyeholes. Its breathing is growing louder. PANCAKE Well, you're absolutely right–- DIRECTOR Don't let the client see this. PANCAKE Of course not, that would be inappropriate-- DIRECTOR Or the Humane fucker. PANCAKE No no-- The dog gets down on its knees, slowly, like a camel, breathing ever more loudly. DIRECTOR They'll shut the fucking spot down, Pancake. Put the goddamn canteen back on. That says he's a soldier. Dented tin canteen. Just tie the damn thing to his collar. The dog flops over into the mud. PANCAKE Easiest thing in the world. I just thought -- but the canteen is much better. Good concept. Let's go with that-- DIRECTOR What's he doing? The dog has started to convulse. PANCAKE Well, he's uh... Just breathe normally, Otto. DIRECTOR The fucking dog can't breathe. PANCAKE Oh, he can breathe, that thing is -- just breathe normally, Otto. The dog's breath is rasping and horrible. DIRECTOR The fucking dog cannot breathe! Get that fucking thing off him! PANCAKE Of course. Easiest thing in the world. He stoops and fiddles at the straps. PANCAKE ...It's on good and tight, I, uh... Just breathe normally, Otto. He starts thumping at his pockets. DIRECTOR Get the fucking thing off him! PANCAKE Don't have my Leatherman. Mountain! Give me your Leatherman! Chop chop! DIRECTOR Get the fucking thing off him! Chitra, make sure the Humane fucker doesn't come over here! Bring him to craft services! As he makes to scoop up the dog: PANCAKE Good idea! Ice water, treats-– DIRECTOR Not the dog, you idiot! The Humane fucker! Distract him! PANCAKE Right! Of course! He goes back to work on the mask. DIRECTOR Oh my god, he's bleeding! PANCAKE No, that's me -- I -- the Leatherman... here we go. His hand gouting blood, he finally manages to get the gas mask off. A crowd is starting to gather and gape. The director barks at a grip: DIRECTOR Put up a couple solids here -- I don't want the client seeing this! Pancake thumps on the inert dog's chest. PANCAKE Come on, Otto! DIRECTOR Otto is fucking dead! PANCAKE Mountain, have electric run me a stinger! Don't give up on me, Otto! Mountain, I need two live leads! More people crowd in to look. MOUNTAIN GIRL Clark, the gennie's a hundred yards away! PANCAKE Goddamnit! Otto's gonna have brain damage in about ninety seconds! Okay! He pulls the dog's lips back, exposing its teeth and slobbered tongue. PANCAKE ...Kiss of life! He sucks in a deep breath and starts mouth-to-mouthing the beast. EXT. FOOTBALL FIELD - DAY POV We are looking out from inside a football helmet; we hear the super-present breathing of the helmet's occupant. Just over the breathing we can hear the muffled shouting of a snap count. We are in a crouch position looking downfield. At the call of "Hike!" we and everyone on the field spring into action. We sprint downfield, the breathing becoming even louder. A very big person downfield is sprinting toward us. After several yards, still on the move, we PAN quickly around to look back for the quarterback. Barely visible among converging bodies, he is releasing the football toward someone else. Easing up on the run we PAN BACK around to look downfield just as the oncoming defender is upon us and -- CRUNCH -- slams into us. A STROBING PAN leaves us looking up at the sky. Our loud breathing has stopped. After a long beat the breathing resumes with a raggedy labored inhale. It continues irregularly. Another helmeted player appears above us to peer down into our helmet. He extends a hand to help us up. HUDDLE We are looking back and forth around the circle at our gathered teammates. QUARTERBACK Delta thirty-seven. On four! All, with a simultaneous hand clap: TEAM Huh! LINE OF SCRIMMAGE Lined up opposite us is a snarling defender. Once again, over loud breathing, we can just hear the shouted count. At "Hike!" we straighten to meet the defensive lineman lunging at us. His mouthpiece clatters against ours and in horrific CLOSE-UP he strains against us, his animal gurgles of effort audible over our own ragged breath. With a primal roar from the defenseman our POV tips back and up, BOOMING DOWN to stop with a CRUNCH against the ground, staring up. Once again our breathing has stopped. After a beat a foot is planted on our helmet as a looming running back steps on us in his charge downfield. He is pursued by defenders some of whom leap over us and some of whom by the sound of it step on various body parts. HUDDLE The same back-and-forth PAN. QUARTERBACK Okay, Epsilon twenty-two! You the man!... Hey! BUTTHEAD! This brings our wandering attention PANNING back to the quarterback: QUARTERBACK You the man! A very, very present VOICE (HUDSON): HUDSON (O.S.) Me the man? TEAM Huh! LINE OF SCRIMMAGE The same breathing and count. On "Hike!" we sprint downfield. The same distant defender sprinting toward us. We hear low but very present a dismayed: HUDSON (O.S.) Unh... oh no... Our breathing is torn by rasping wheezes of effort as we continue to run. We look back. Every player is looking directly at us. A huge spiralling football coming at us -- too close, too soon -- and-- BONK! It bounces off our mouth guard and flies up. HUDSON (O.S.) ...shit... We are looking forward just as CRUNCH! We are hit by the defender. We once again land face-up. Very steeply FORESHORTENED, right over us, we see the defender juggling the live ball. With a moan, our own hand reaches weakly up towards the ball and the high, distant defender. He finally gathers in the ball and securely tucks it, and starts back upfield. We climb wearily to our feet. We look back upfield just in time to see the defender start an elaborate victory dance in the end zone. He pauses for a moment to point a gloved hand directly at us, then resumes his strut. Shouting from the sidelines brings our PANNING attention over. The coach, face twisted with fury, is shouting at us and using his clipboard to wave us off the field. We trot toward the sidelines. All of our teammates stare at us –- some in shock, some in anger, some in pity. At the sideline bench our POV swings round as we seat ourself. A hand reaches up to the mouth guard to pull off the helmet and we MATCH CUT TO: Our first OBJECTIVE SHOT as the player (HUDSON) finishes pulling off his helmet. He is a big blond boy. His entire body, including his face, is solidly built. An offscreen Voice: COACH (O.S.) Hudson! The boy, Hudson, turns to look, and we cut to one last POV The COACH is striding up, swinging his clipboard at the camera: with a loud CRUNCH! it brings on: BLACK EXT. MINI-MALL / HI-HO DONUT - DAY HIGH ANGLE It is a typical sunbaked concrete strip mall with a Seven- Eleven, a launderette, and a Hi-Ho Donut. The Hi-Ho Donut sign shows a pink donut with sprinkles and says in much smaller lettering: And Croissants. A beat-up Impala pulls into the lot, pulsing hip-hop music. After a long rumbling idle the ignition is killed. Both front doors open. Two BLACK KIDS get out and look around with a manner that is if anything too casual. INT. HI-HO DONUT - DAY There is faint muzak and loud air-conditioner hum. Glass cases display donuts identified as GLAZED, JELLY, and FANCIES. Fancies ooze yellow goo. The jelly on the jelly donuts is developing a crust of age. The glazed also look moth-eaten. One customer, a disheveled older man, sits at one of the little formica tables staring into a coffee cup. Next to the coffee is a brown paper bag from which a straw protrudes. Behind the counter is a middle-aged VIETNAMESE WOMAN in a neat white blouse. The two youths enter pulling out enormous handguns from underneath their windbreakers. YOUTH #1 All right Dragon Lady, give us all the fuckin' money! The woman stares blankly. YOUTH #1 We want that donut money! VIETNAMESE WOMAN Yao gin nyap! A man appears from the kitchen in back. He is a middle-aged Vietnamese gentleman in a crisply pressed khaki leisure suit. An ascot is knotted at his neck. He wears aviator eyeglasses. In his mouth smolders a half-burned-down filterless cigarette. This, we shall learn later, is THE GENERAL. YOUTH #2 Okay papa-san, we want that donut money. YOUTH #1 And we ain't fuckin' around, Mr. Hi- Ho. VIETNAMESE WOMAN Hi-Ho. The two youths look at her briefly. Nothing else is forthcoming. The drunk looks up from his paper bag. YOUTH #2 Look, this fuckin' thing, it ain't complicated. You give us all the fuckin money, you don't get shot in the head, you make more donuts, get more money. That's how it works, see? The General stares at him. As with his wife, none of it seems to register; unlike his wife, he seems unperturbed. YOUTH #1 Give us the money! He is pointing the gun directly at the General's head. YOUTH #1 ...You got three fuckin' seconds. You understand one-two-three? I'm gonna count one-two-three and then shoot. Okay? Three sec–- huh! The General has swung his fist up to hook two fingers inside the youth's nostrils. His gun clatters to the floor. The fingers are way, way up his nose. Only one knuckle shows on each finger. The youth is staring cross-eyed at his own nose. His friend is also stupefied. YOUTH #1 (very nasal) His fingers are way the fuck up my nose. YOUTH #2 GET... YA FINGAS... OUT... THE MAN'S... NOSE! The General still impassively sucks on his cigarette. The first youth is on the verge of tears: YOUTH #1 I think they're in my brain, man... YOUTH #2 MOTHERFUCK! He raises his gun to start firing. As he does so the General uses his hook-hold on the other youth's nose to slam his head backwards, down into some Fancies. The door opens and a customer walks in, a semi-elderly lady with a cane. Youth #2, eyes rolling, wildly swings to cover the door, then back to the General who has his friend's head pressed into the Fancies, then uncertainly over to the Vietnamese woman who is loudly yelling at him in Vietnamese. Cigarette still dangling from his lower lip, the General calmly plucks a pot of coffee from the coffee warmer and tosses it into Youth #2's face. Youth #2 screams. EXT. HI-HO DONUT - DAY HIGH ANGLE The car is still pulsing hip-hop music. Youth #2 stumbles out of the Hi-Ho, hands covering his face and sinks to his knees. INT. HI-HO DONUT - DAY The General now has the first youth's face pressed into the Fancies from behind. Without disturbing his smoking, the General repeatedly kicks the youth in the ass. His wife, muttering irritably in Vietnamese, is wheeling a water bucket and mop to where the floor is covered with coffee. INT. CHURCH - DAY At the CUT many voices are swelling in a song of worship. It is a black Baptist church, and the music has great energy. The white-robed choir finishes singing; a preacher takes the podium. PREACHER I know you all remember that when Moses came down the mountain, carrying the word a God, come down that Sinai peak, he caught those Israelites red- handed. What he catch 'em doin'? He caught 'em worshipping a golden calf. Shouts of "That's right!" PREACHER ...He caught 'em with their backs turned on God! More shouts of "That's right!" PREACHER ...He caught 'em worshipping a FALSE God! A God of EARTHLY things! He caught them Israelites in DECLINE! "He caught 'em!" PREACHER ...Because backslidin' is DECLINE, brothers and sisters! You hear talk these days, and I know you've heard this talk, you hear talk of DECLINE, well all that means is we done turned our back on God! "That's right!" PREACHER ...People say civilization doin' this, civilization doin' that, civilization in DECLINE! Well it ain't no civilization! It ain't no them! It's US, brothers and sisters! "Amen!" We are TRACKING among the congregants, disproportionately women, mostly of middle age and elderly, mostly wearing elaborate go-to-church hats. PREACHER ...It's what's in our hearts, each and every one of us when we like them Israelites! Slidin' awa-a-a-ay down that Godly slope, slippin' and slidin' toward the mire and muck a the stinkhole of greed -- that's DECLINE! "That's decline!" The CONTINUING TRACK brings us onto Mrs. Munson, wearing, like most of her peers, an oversized hat; hers is adorned with a great deal of plastic fruit. PREACHER ...And what did Moses do when he saw those declinin' backslidin' never- mindin' sinners? "What he do?" PREACHER ...Moses SMOTE those sinners in his wrath yes he did! "Yes he did!" PREACHER ...Y'all know what smote is! I smite! You smite! He smites! We done smote! "That's right!" PREACHER ...To smite is to go UPSIDE the head! "Uh-huh!" PREACHER ...Because sometimes, brothers and sisters, that is the ONLY way! "Yes it is!" PREACHER ...To smite is to reMIND! We got to STOP that decline! And scramble back UP to the face a the almighty Gyod! "Amen!" PREACHER ...'Stead a worshippin' that GOLDEN calf, that earthly TRASH on that GARBAGE island! That GARBAGE island in that shadowland WAY outside the Kingdom a God! "Way outside!" PREACHER ...That GARBAGE island where scavenger birds feast on the bones a the backslidin' damned! "Yes they do!" PREACHER ...And so, let us pray... EXT. CHURCH - DAY It is a white clapboard country church. The preacher stands at the door chatting with the congregants filing out. WOMAN #1 You preach a wonderful sermon, Brother Cleothus. PREACHER Why thank you, Sister Rose. MRS. MUNSON That man has a lot to say. WOMAN #1 Yes he does. MRS. MUNSON And every word of it the truth. WOMAN #2 Mm-mm. Jesus well pleased with him. WOMAN #3 Deed he is. PREACHER Oh now ladies... WOMAN #3 Pleased as he can be. WOMAN #1 Mm-mm. MRS. MUNSON Stout, too. WOMAN #1 Mm-mm. PREACHER Oh now you gracious ladies. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY Mrs. Munson is at the kitchen table. She folds a five dollar bill into a sheet of paper, raising her voice as she does so: MRS. MUNSON It was a good sermon. That man has a lot to say. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY We have CUT to the portrait of Othar over the mantel. He does not answer. From the kitchen: MRS. MUNSON'S VOICE (O.S.) ...Stout, too. It would've been a comfort to you... INT. MUNSON HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY Mrs. Munson has stuffed the paper-enclosed bill into an envelope, which she is now laboriously addressing to Bob Jones University. MRS. MUNSON And the choir was all in good voice. Mm-mm- There is a knock at the door. MRS. MUNSON ...Who could that-- The cat yowls and hisses. I/E. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - DAY As Mrs. Munson swings open the door. G.H. Dorr stands on the stoop mournfully dry-washing his hands and obsequiously ducking his head. DORR My dear Mrs. Munson, I do so hope this is not an inopportune time for our first practice-- MRS. MUNSON Somebody die? DORR I beg your-- Oh! He looks back at the long black vintage Lincoln hearse parked at the curb behind him. DORR ...No no, no bereavement, though it is so kind of you to enquire. No, the hearse is simply a vehicle commodious enough to accommodate all of the members of our ensemble. And of course our instruments, contrived in an age ignorant of miniaturization... He turns and gestures at the vehicle. At his sign, Gawain, the custodian, emerges from the driver's side. Clark Pancake emerges from the front passenger side. The General, wearing a different but equally pressed khaki suit and ascot, and with a smoking cigarette in his lips, emerges from a back door. Gawain goes to the back of the hearse and opens its hatch to let out Lump Hudson, the football player. Lump helps unload five large and oddly shaped instrument cases, each man taking one except for Lump himself, who carries two. As the parade of losers and misfits winds its way up the walk: DORR ...Let me introduce you to my friends, my colleagues, these devoted and passionate musicians... This is Gawain MacSam, our bassoonist... Gawain nods as he passes by. DORR ...General Nguyen Pham Doc, viola da gamba... MRS. MUNSON No smoking in this house. The General tosses his cigarette away and bows stiffly as he passes. GENERAL So sorry. DORR ...Clark Pancake -- a multi- instrumentalist, but with his remarkable embosser Clark specializes in wind instruments, and is especially accomplished on the French horn... He nods, passes. DORR ...And, finally, Aloysius "Lump" Hudson. Lump is our sackbuttist and -- thank you, Lump -- I see you've also brought my fiddle... As he hands Dorr the violin case: LUMP Here's your fiddle, Doctor. Mrs. Munson sizes up the group. MRS. MUNSON You ain't gonna make a racket, are ya? DORR Oh no. Oh no no no no no. No, we shall recuse ourselves to the basement where we shall be -- I think here the expression is uniquely appropriate... He gives a sickly smile. DORR ...as quiet as the crypt. MRS. MUNSON Hmph. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - DAY The General stands stock still, his nose an inch away from the earthen wall, studying it, squinting through the smoke of the cigarette pinched between his lips. The rest of the men are opening their cases and taking out the instruments. Gawain's case contains, however, not a musical instrument but a boombox and several tapes. He loads one of the tapes into the machine. DORR What do you think, General? Present any problems? After a beat the General turns away from the wall to give Dorr a look into which one might read anything, or nothing. Gawain hits play on the boombox and the cellar is filled with the fussy strains of baroque chamber music. Dorr nods. DORR ...Good then. He spreads a map open on the sackbutt case. DORR ...All right, gentlemen, why don't we all crowd around and go over the plan. The biggest feature on the map is a wavy, roughly north-south pair of lines: a river. A boat icon sits at one edge and from it a dotted rectangle extends inland. Dorr taps at the boat icon with his fiddle bow. DORR ...This, gentlemen, is the Lady Luck, gambling den, cash cow, Sodom of the Mississippi delta -- and the focus of our little exercise. Here is Orchard Street... He is tracing a street that parallels the dotted rectangle extending from the boat. The street is lined by small house icons on either side; the bow comes to rest on one of those icons. DORR ...and here is the residence of Marva Munson, the charming lady whom y'all met moments ago. Gentlemen... Bow taps emphasize: DORR ...You... are... here. Now. This brings us to this square... The bow indicates it, and then withdraws. Dorr uses the bow as a swagger stick to punctuate as he begins to pace. DORR ...Gentlemen, I believe you are all aware that the Solons of the State of Mississippi, to wit, its legislature, have decreed that no gaming establishment shall be erected within its borders upon dry land. They may, however, legally float upon any watercourse defining a state boundary. But while the gambling activity itself is restricted to riverboats, no such restriction applies to the functions ancillary to this cash besotted bidnis. The casino's offices, locker rooms, facilities to cook and clean, and most importantly its counting houses- the reinforced, secret, and super secure repositories of the lucre -- may all be situated... wherever. Gawain -- where is wherever? GAWAIN Say wha? Dorr's smug smile fades. Testily: DORR Where is the money? GAWAIN Oh. End of every shift pit boss brings the cash down to the hold of the ship in the locked cash box; once a day all the cash boxes're moved to the counting room. DORR And where is the counting room? GAWAIN Well, uh... in that square there. Where you pointing. DORR And what, to flog a horse that if not at this point dead is in mortal danger of expirin', does the dotted square represent? Gawain hesitates, the question's obviousness suggesting to him some trick. GAWAIN ...Offices. Underground. Dorr's eyes close. A smile of feline contentment curls his lips. He murmurs: DORR Underground... Mmm... During the casino's hours of operation the door to the counting room is fiercely guarded, and the door itself is of redoubtable Pittsburgh steel; when the casino is closed the entire underground complex is locked up and the armed guard retreats to the casino's main entrance. There, then, far from the guard, reposes the money, cosseted behind a five-inch-thick steel portal, yes, but the walls, gentlemen, the walls of that room, are but humble masonry, behind which is only the soft loamy soil deposited over the centuries by Ol' Man, the meanderin' Mississip', as it fanned its way back and forth across this great alluvial plain... He has pried a fistfull of dirt from the cellar wall. DORR ...This earth. He crumbles it, letting it sift to the floor, and then, pleased with himself, he smiles. DORR ...Any questions? Lump looks around, then hesitantly raises his hand. DORR ...Yes, Lump? LUMP What, uh... what does "cosseted" mean? Once again Dorr's smile fades. He does not dignify the question with answer. DORR The General here, whose curriculum vitae compahends massive tunneling experience thoo the soil of his native French-Indochina, will direct our little ol' tunnelin' operation. The General acknowledges with a curt nod. DORR ...Clark Pancake, while a master of none, is a jack of all those trades corollary to our aim. He will be doin' such fabricatin' and demolition work as our little caper shall require. Clark acknowledges verbally: PANCAKE Happy to be on board. DORR Gawain is the proverbial "inside man". He has managed to secure a berth on the custodial staff of the Lady Luck, thereby placin' himself in a position to perform certain chores whose precise nature needn't detain us here, but whose performance shall guide this expedition to its happy conclusion. GAWAIN Ya damn skippy. DORR And this brings us to Lump. To look at Lump you might wonder, what function could he possibly fill, what specialized expertise could he possibly offer, to our merry little ol' band a miscreants. Well gentlemen, in a project of such magnitude and such risks, it is traditional -- nay, it is imperative -- to enlist the services of a hooligan, a goon, an ape, a physical brute, who will be our security, our fist, our batterin' ram. Lump is our blunt instrument, and on all our behalfs I wish him a warm Mississippi welcome. LUMP Thanks, Professor. DORR Well gentlemen, here you are, men of different backgrounds and differing talents, men with, in fact only two things in common: one, you all saw fit to answer my little advertisement in the Memphis Scimitar, and, two, you are all going to be, in consequence, very very incredibly rich. Let us revel in our adventure, gentlemen. Let us make beautiful music together. And above all, gentlemen, let us keep it to ourselves. What we say in this root cellar, let it stay in this root cellar. LUMP There's no "I" in "team". All stare at him. DORR ...Lump has a very excellent point. The music swells, supported now by a male chorus that has the spirited manliness of the Red Army choir. We DISSOLVE TO: INT. MUNSON HOUSE - BASEMENT - NIGHT The men at work, tunneling. The cat sits on the cellar floor, head cocked, gazing at the hole now opened in the wall. Lump, in a sleeveless undershirt, glistening with sweat, wields a pickaxe at the forward point. At the mouth of the hole Clark Pancake shovels dirt into a heavy plastic refuse bag held open by Gawain. G.H. Dorr sits on a camp chair, one hand idly waving time to the music, reading an old and yellowed tome with half-glasses perched midway down his nose. The General hops nimbly out of the tunnel and unzips and steps out of his all-in-one to reveal, underneath, his neatly pressed leisure suit and ascot. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT Later, Dorr stands at the head of the cellar stairs, looking around the empty parlor. He gives a nod down the stairs and the men troop up past him, carrying sacks of earth. Over the mantelpiece, the eternal flame of the devotional candle almost animating his features, Othar seems to watch the men as they cross to the front door. EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT The men load the earth into the hearse. EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - NIGHT We are at the Mississippi bridge that we saw in the prologue to the movie, but now, in dead of night, deserted. The hearse is pulling up at the middle of the bridge and dimming its lights. The men emerge; when they open the back of the hearse to pull out the sacks, the cat bounds out to watch from a distance. We watch the men from HIGH, ANGLED DOWN along the masonry of a tower that stands in the middle of the suspension bridge. An ornamental gargoyle leers in the foreground. The garbage scow is approaching. We hear the low toot of its horn as it nears the bridge. Lump is poised with the first sack hugged to his chest, leaning over the railing. The nose of the barge enters below us. Lump releases the sack. We watch it drop dead away like a bomb from an airplane. It thuds distantly onto the barge. The next sack has been passed up to Lump and is released. The cat watches. Its orange eyes blink. Its pupils adjust. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT A PULL BACK shows that the cat is in fact back in the basement. Its POV: continued tunneling. Back to the cat, watching, then turning its head at a noise: At the head of the stairs, the cellar door is opening. A whistle from the General and Lump and Clark Pancake scramble from the tunnel. They whip a curtain over its opening and all men grab up their instruments as Dorr, covering with a cough, turns off the CD player. The General, his ever-present cigarette smoldering between his lips, tongue-and-lips it up and backwards so that it is inside his mouth, which he now closes. Marva Munson is heavily and carefully descending the stairs. As the men come into view they are looking up at her, Lump holding his sackbutt but still glistening with sweat and smeared with dirt. MRS. MUNSON That's okay, don't stop on account of me. Lump looks around, saucer-eyed, then blows gamely into his sackbutt. It sounds like goose farts until Dorr waves him down. DORR No no, madam, we were about to take a break anyway. The glissandi on this particular piece are technically very demanding and I think we would all welcome a moment of relaxation. MRS. MUNSON Huh. I just thought you might like to see-what a you gotten up to, honey? Why you sweatin' like that. It is directed at Lump, who looks down at his own sweat- stained undershirt. LUMP I, uh... GAWAIN That man plays one bitch barrelful a sackbutt. Ain't no one can blow the tenor sackbutt like Lump, hoowee! goes at that thing like it was a pu-- uh, like it was a woman! Goddamn! He-- She cuffs him on the head. MRS. MUNSON You mind! I don't want that kind of talk in my home, even in the root cellar. This is a Christian house, boy, none of that hippity-hop language. DORR Sadly, Gawain is given to-- WHAP! She slaps Gawain again. MRS. MUNSON Sometimes it's the only way! He untenses after what seemed like the final blow, but -- WHAP! -- she slaps him again. MRS. MUNSON ...I'm tryin' to help you, son! WHAP! MRS. MUNSON ...Better yaself! DORR As well you should, ma'am. But Gawain at times is so far transported by his love of the music of the early Renaissance as to-- MRS. MUNSON Don't make no never-mind he's transported! Dorr has her by the elbow and is ushering her back up the stairs. DORR I understand your-- She pulls her elbow away and sniffs. MRS. MUNSON You been smokin'? DORR Certainly not, madam. I understand your indignation. And I was offering explanation, not excuse. I myself am offended by those who cannot find the proper words to express themselves and have recourse to-- Gawain calls up the stairs: GAWAIN Don't you be explainin' me, dawg! You can't look into my mind, cape man! DORR Yes, yes... Dorr's tone is soothing as he shuts the door at the top of the stairs. DORR ...A fiery lad! But then Youth is fiery! A fact often remarked upon by the poets of the Romantic era. MRS. MUNSON My youth I was in church, I wasn't walkin' around fiery. Youth ain't no excuse for nothin'! Well, anyway... only came down to show you the fife. She hands him a thick, roughly whittled piece of cane. Dorr holds it, looks at it dumbly. He is, for the first time that we have seen anyway, non-plussed. MRS. MUNSON ...Othar's fife. He burned his own. Dorr tries to summon conversation as the two sit with their backs to the fireplace: DORR ...Did he? MRS. MUNSON Mm-hm. I thought maybe bein' a musical man you'd be interested. DORR Oh, I am indeed-- MRS. MUNSON Cut it himself and burned the holes. Israelites called it a kalil. DORR Ah. MRS. MUNSON Kalil, fife, same thing. You can read about it in the Bible. Ain't nothin' new under the sun. DORR Indeed not. MRS. MUNSON Gone these twenty years. He was some kind of man. From Othar's POV, slightly high, we see them both twist in their chairs to look up at the portrait. REVERSE of the portrait, LOW ANGLE. Othar looks down at us with what appears to be bemusement. Marva Munson and Dorr gaze up at the portrait for a motionless beat. At length, Marva Munson sighs: MRS. MUNSON ...Blowed the kalil. Dorr's eyes remain on the picture as he inquires: DORR ...I don't suppose Othar ever turned his hand -- or, uh, heh-heh-heh, turned his lip -- to the shofar? Prompted by her silence, he adds: DORR ...The ceremonial ram's horn, sounded by the priests of the Hebrews? MRS. MUNSON I don't know nothin' 'bout that. Othar didn't study no shofar, to the extent a my knowledge. The kalil was good enough for my Othar... She gazes at the portrait. MRS. MUNSON ...Some kind of man. INT. CASINO - DAY TRACKING BEHIND A SASHAYING ASS following a woman in a red dress. GAWAIN (O.S.) Hey baby, don't be cruel. Jus' sneak one little peek... The woman looks back over her shoulder, smiling, as she continues to walk. GAWAIN ...Don't let this uniform fool ya-- REVERSE PULLING TRACK leads Gawain MacSam, pushing his wheeled trash bin. GAWAIN You don't need to be gamblin', honey, you lookin' at a sure thing. They call me Mr. 21, baby, 'cause that's how I measure up. I am the original black Jack, honey, accept no substitutions. You can pull my lever all day long, sweet mama, I ain't never gonna come up lemons. That's right, sugar, you can blow on my dice any ol' time. INT. CASINO - GUDGE'S OFFICE - DAY Gudge has his feet up on the desk and is filing his nails with an emery board. GAWAIN But Mr. Gudge, she had an ass that could pull a bus. This lady was fine, fine, dandy, divine. GUDGE I don't care how big her ass was, MacSam. You're fired. GAWAIN Say what? GUDGE There is no fraternizing with customers on the Lady Luck. Clean out your locker. GAWAIN But Gudge–- GUDGE Get out of here. You're fired. GAWAIN You can't fire me. I sue your ass! GUDGE Sue me? For what? GAWAIN Sue you for fuckin' punitive damages, man! GUDGE Punitive damages. GAWAIN Ya damn skippy. I know you firin' my ass 'cause I'm black! GUDGE Everyone on the custodial staff is black, MacSam. Your replacement's gonna be black. His replacement will no doubt be black. GAWAIN Fuckin' judge is gonna be black, motherfucker, that's who gonna be black! You gonna stand tall before the man! EXT. WAFFLE HOUSE - DAY VERY HIGH ANGLE We are looking down past the distinctive pylon-mounted yellow letters: WAFFLE. INT. WAFFLE HOUSE - DAY The band of miscreants is seated around a table with cups of coffee. Dorr's wardrobe makes no concession to the informality of the setting; he still wears his cape and a black string tie. His manner is more mournful even than usual: DORR Oh my. Oh my my my my my. This is a severe setback. I am distraught. I am more than distraught, I am devastated. Oh my, this is quite the monkey-wrench heaved into the meticulously engineered construct of our little escapade. LUMP Yeah, it fucks things up. DORR I am beside myself. I am at a positive loss for words. GAWAIN You still talkin' okay though. WAITRESS Have you all decided? Dorr's intensely mournful agitation is brought to bear upon her: DORR Oh madam, we must have waffles. We must all have waffles forthwith! They hand in their menus. DORR ...Oh we must think. We must all have waffles and think, each and every one of us to the very best of his ability! Perhaps if you apologized to the man and gave him flowers, or perhaps a fruit basket, with a card depicting a misty seascape and inscribed with a sentiment. GAWAIN Shit, man, it ain't about apologizin'! He fired me 'cause I'm black! PANCAKE He can't do that. You could sue him. Open and shut case. GAWAIN Fuckin' A. PANCAKE This is not 1952. GAWAIN Man's a fuckin' bigot. DORR Well then, perhaps, surely, a chocolate assortment has been known to warm the heart of even the most hardened misanthrope, especially if it's a premium chocolate, imported, say, from Switzerland, or the Netherlands, or some other of the so- called "Low" countries be they Dutch or Flemish or Walloon-- GAWAIN Walloon my ass, the man ain't gonna roll over for a fuckin' candy bar! PANCAKE I'm afraid there's a setback on the tunneling front too. We've run into a pretty large rock, and-- GENERAL -- Rock! All turn to look at the General. He continues to stare at a spot in space. He slowly releases some inhaled cigarette smoke, murmuring: GENERAL ...Very bad. DORR Oh my my, it seems that the poet was right: Troubles never singly come. PANCAKE Oh, we can get through the rock, no worries there. Simplest thing in the world. Why we blow right through it; I've got a pyro license, we bore a hole in the rock, pack in a little plastique; igneous blows pretty good, and we-- LUMP Is he gonna want a piece of the action? All turn to look at Lump. PANCAKE ...Who? Lump hesitates, looking at the inquiring faces that surround him. LUMP ...Igneous? A female Voice: MOUNTAIN GIRL (O.S.) Hello Clark. Am I ordering the prima cord? The men look up at her. PANCAKE Yes, Mountain, we were just talking about that, and some plastique. All the men are staring at her, agog. GAWAIN ...The fuck is this? PANCAKE This is Mountain Girl. Mountain is my right hand. She helps me with ordnance. Helps me with damn near everything. The men stare. GAWAIN ...You brought your bitch to the waffle house?! There is tension in the air. Dorr clears his throat. DORR I confess myself to be puzzled as well. I thought we all understood that, so far as our little enterprise is concerned, mum, as the saying would have it, is the word-- PANCAKE Of course. I understand that. But this is Mountain... He chuckles. PANCAKE ...I don't keep secrets from Mountain. That's not how you maintain a loving, caring relationship. GAWAIN ...You brought your bitch to the waffle house? He looks around. GAWAIN ...Man brings his bitch to the waffle house! PANCAKE Look, you, I'll thank you to stop referring to Mountain that way. She's the other half of my life. GAWAIN Everybody lookin' at me like I'm a fuck-up, losin' that sorry-ass job, and this motherfucker bring his bitch to the waffle house! Pancake lunges across the table, sending dishes clattering to the floor as he grabs Gawain by the shirt. PANCAKE You son of a bitch punk! Shut your goddamn mouth! He shakes him vigorously and rears back to take a swing at him. Gawain draws a gun. GAWAIN Come and get me motherfuck! Come on, baby, let's get it on! Mountain starts screaming. People look, aghast. DORR Gentlemen, please! The other men pry Pancake and Gawain apart. DORR ...Gentlemen, this sort of behavior does you no credit in the eyes of your colleagues, or in those of the other patrons of this waffle house! Pancake grumbles as he composes himself and straighten his clothes. PANCAKE ...Nobody talks to Mountain Girl that way. She had an abusive family! GAWAIN Fuck you, man. PANCAKE Little punk. I got syrup on my safari jacket. He embraces Mountain, who continues to sob quietly. DORR Gentlemen, I propose that we consider the matter of this woman, Mountain Water, to be-- PANCAKE Mountain Girl. DORR I am so very sorry. I propose that we consider this matter to be closed, and we shall chose to trust her, since we now have no choice, and since she shall share only in Mr. Pancake's portion of the booty. Over the shoulder of the quietly weeping Mountain Girl: PANCAKE Of course. Wouldn't have it any other way. GAWAIN Damn right you won't. PANCAKE Up yours, punk. DORR Gentlemen! And the manner of disposing of our igneous impediment is also settled. That leaves only the question of Gawain retrieving his job. LUMP Couldn't you just bribe the guy? All turn to look at Lump. INT. MUNSON LIVING ROOM - NIGHT Othar looks serenely down from his spot over the mantelpiece. Marva Munson knits; G.H. Dorr sits nodding over an ancient volume of half-forgotten lore, reading glasses perched midway down his nose. Curtains waft lazily in the summer night breeze. MRS. MUNSON ...You just a readin' fool, ain't you Mr. Dorr. DORR Yes yes, I must confess, madam, that often I feel more at home in these ancient volumes than I do in the hustle-bustle of our modern world. To me, paradoxically, the literature of the so-called "dead tongues" has more currency than this mornin's newspaper. MRS. MUNSON Mm-mm. DORR In these books... He removes his glasses and lazily twirls them. DORR ...In these volumes, there is the accum'lated wisdom a mankind which succours me when the day is hard or the night lonely and long. MRS. MUNSON Wisdom of mankind, what about the wisdom of the Lord? DORR Oh yes, the Good Book, mm. I have found reward in its pages. But for me there are other good books as well; the heavy volumes of Antiquity, freighted with the insights of Man's glorious age. And then of course I love, love, love the works of Mr. Ed G'Allan Poe. MRS. MUNSON I know who he is. Kinda creepy. DORR Oh no, madam, noooo. Not of this world, true; he lived in a dream, an ancient dream... Dorr himself is lost in a dream: DORR "Helen, they beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks a yore That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, wayworn wanderer bore To his own native shore... " MRS. MUNSON Who was Helen? She wasn't a loose woman, was she? Some kinda whore a Babylon? Dorr is still lost: DORR One doesn't know who Helen was, though I picture her as bein' very, very extremely... pale. He comes to himself, focuses on Mrs. Munson. DORR ...Miz Munson, I was tryin' to think of some way of expressin' my gratitude to you for takin' in... He chuckles. DORR ...this weary, wayworn wanderer... The Professor takes a small ticket envelope from where it had served as bookmark, and hands it across. DORR ...It's just a modest little ol' present, why it's practically nothing at all. Beaming, she takes two tickets out of the envelope and inspects them. MRS. MUNSON Oh Mr. Dorr, why you are such a gallant man... DORR Oh no madam, I blush. I melt. No, I just happened to hear of this gospel concert tomorrow night, The Mighty Mighty Clouds of Joy, and I thought you and a friend from church, perhaps... MRS. MUNSON Othar loved that music... Yes, I got a widow-lady friend... DORR The concert is up in Memphis, but I have arranged for a car service to transport you thither and, needless to say, back home at the concert's termination. My friends and I will be rehearsing here tomorrow evening so you needn't worry about the security of your charming little old house... There is a knock at the door. MRS. MUNSON Huh? Excuse me. I/E. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - NIGHT Mrs. Munson swings the door open to Sheriff Wyner. His squad car is parked at the curb. MRS. MUNSON Sheriff Wyner, how you doin'... INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT The Professor's eyes widen with concern as he hears the voices, off: SHERIFF (O.S.) Evenin', Miz Munson, I just came by... I/E. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - NIGHT The sheriff is tipping his hat and already backing away, trying to make his visit brief: SHERIFF ...to let you know I had a word with WeeMack. He says he gonna comply with your request, keep the music down and neighborly. MRS. MUNSON Mm-hm. He calls from the bottom of the stoop: SHERIFF So you have a pleasant evening now, and just let us know-- MRS. MUNSON Hang on there, Sheriff, somebody I want you to meet. SHERIFF Ma'am, I'm a little pressed for time-- MRS. MUNSON Why, you chasin' a gang of bank robbers? Get on in here say hello. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT The Voices approach: MRS. MUNSON ...We was just havin' tea, talkin' about Othar-- The two enter and Mrs. Munson stops short, looking. The living room is empty. Even the Professor's teacup is gone. MRS. MUNSON ...Hm... Bussed his own dishes. You can always tell a gentleman. The sheriff, hat in hand, gazes about. SHERIFF Someone was here, ma'am? MRS. MUNSON Mm-hm, with me'n Othar. Once again, he tries to excuse himself: SHERIFF Well, maybe I'll catch him next time... MRS. MUNSON Come on up to his room. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - DORR'S BEDROOM - NIGHT The door opens and the two look in. The neatly made bed next to the small, barren dresser. MRS. MUNSON Mm, he's neat. SHERIFF Very neat. MRS. MUNSON Probably went down to the cellar to play with his friends. She turns. SHERIFF Ma'am, I really have to... POV FROM UNDER THE BED Top-teased by a dust ruffle in the foreground, we see Mrs. Munson's heavy orthopedic shoes turning to pass Sheriff Wyner's shiny black boots. REVERSE shows Dorr, cheek pressed to the floor, his teacup and saucer under the bed with him. SHERIFF ...be gettin' back... BACK TO NORMAL PERSPECTIVE Mrs. Munson is about to go out the door but notices something: A corner of the Professor's cape, protruding from under the end of the bed. MRS. MUNSON What the... BACK TO DORR fearfully watching. HIS POV The heavy orthopedic shoes approach, and then, with loud Mr. Mogul sounds of effort, Mrs. Munson's hands and knees hit the floor. Her head drops in to view to peer in, her own cheek against the floorboards. MRS. MUNSON ...What the... Why, Professor! We see the Sheriff watching and his HIGH POV of Mrs. Munson's enormous ass. MRS. MUNSON ...What you doin' havin' tea down there?! Dorr makes silent hand waves to disavow his own presence. Mrs. Munson roars with laughter. With difficulty she pushes herself back upright, still laughing. MRS. MUNSON ...Land of Goshen! Get out from under there! SHERIFF Miz Munson, my pager just went off... MRS. MUNSON Why of all the... INT. MUNSON HOUSE - STAIRCASE/FOYER - NIGHT The Sheriff is already backing down the stairs: SHERIFF 'Fraid I gotta respond... He opens the front door and calls up: SHERIFF ...I'll try to meet your friend some other time. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - DORR'S BEDROOM - NIGHT Dorr shimmies out from under the bed. DORR Well that was very... refreshing... As you know... He gets to his feet, slaps dust from the front of his pants. DORR ...we academics are inordinately fond of wedgin' ourselves into confined spaces. At Yale the students will see how many of their number they can enclose in a telephone booth; Harvard, a broom closet. MRS. MUNSON Why I never! DORR There was the goldfish-swallowin' craze, of course, a different but related phenomenon... Ahem... I hope I didn't spill any tea... INT. CASINO - GUDGE'S OFFICE - DAY CLOSE ON A BOX OF CHOCOLATES The box is being pulled open. GUDGE (O.S.) What the hell is this? WIDER shows Gawain in Mr. Gudge's office as Gudge, behind the desk, looks at the gift-wrapped box. GAWAIN It's just my way of sayin', well, goddamnit, I don't know what it's like walkin' in your shoes, bein' all tightass and all, and you don't know what it's like to walk in my shoes, but, well... Gudge is opening a card that was inside the box. Its floral front says in gold script, "I'm Sorry... If I hurt your feelings... " GAWAIN ...You know, there's the custodian, and then there's the man inside the custodian, y'understand what I'm sayin'... Gudge opens the card. Inside is a hundred-dollar bill. GAWAIN ...and that man has needs, dig, and I guess those needs, Mr. Gudge, which they usually involve women with big asses, well those motherfuckin' needs sometimes well up over the custodian like the motherfuckin' Johnstown Flood. But my point is it ain't gonna happen again. Not if it's humanly possible... Gudge reads the card, flips it over to look at its back. GUDGE Hmm... GAWAIN But Jesus, if you'd seen the ass on that girl, Mr. Gudge, you'd a wanted her sitting on your face too. GUDGE Well, we're all human. GAWAIN Ya damn skippy. GUDGE This apology buys you a one-week probationary period. Stay away from the customers, MacSam. INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT Pancake is on his stomach, wearing goggles, boring a hole into a rock face with a power drill. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT We hear the whine of the drill faintly here, all but covered by the sound of the chamber music on the boom box. The other men sit around. Dorr gives a casual glance at his watch as the whine subsides. Pancake emerges from the tunnel covered with grime. PANCAKE The drill bit's getting awfully hot. Gawain, maybe you could fill a hudson sprayer and spritz it down while I drill. GAWAIN Fuck you, man, I ain't your house nigger. I'm the inside man! PANCAKE Look, are you gonna have a bug up your ass for the rest of the time we work together? LUMP I'll get the sprayer. PANCAKE No no, me and this gentleman here have to get square. Let me tell you something, MacSam. You wanna know something? GAWAIN I don't wanna know shit from you. Pancake leans against the wall and pushes his goggles up on his forehead, leaving raccoon eyes. PANCAKE I'm gonna tell you how I came down to Mississippi. Wasn't born here, you know. I'm from Scranton, Pennsylvania... Abruptly, he stares off into space. PANCAKE ...Nnnff! GAWAIN Huh? Pancake's eyes regain their focus: PANCAKE ...Scranton, Pennsylvania. Came down here in 1964. Greyhound Bus. With the Freedom Riders. You know who the Freedom Riders were, MacSam? GAWAIN I don't give a shit who they were. Just tell me when they gonna leave. PANCAKE The Freedom Riders, my fine young man, were a group of concerned liberals from up North -- whites, Negros, and yes, Jewish people -- all working together, just like we are here. Concerned citizens who came down here so that local black people could have their civil liberties. So that people like you could have the vote. All look at Pancake. Quiet, except for the delicate chamber music. Gawain's tone softens: GAWAIN ...You know what, man? PANCAKE What, brother? GAWAIN I don't vote. So fuck you. Pancake darkens: PANCAKE Why you fucking-- GAWAIN And the bus you rode in on! PANCAKE That's it! He peels off his coat. PANCAKE ...Let's step outside, MacSam! There is a knock on the cellar door. The men freeze momentarily, then scramble for their instruments. The General flips his cigarette backwards into his mouth. Dorr turns off the boom box, then calls: DORR Yes, madam? The door opens and Mrs. Munson comes down the stairs, holding a large plate covered by a checked napkin. MRS. MUNSON My friend Mrs. Funthes is here so I'm about to go on out. I just wanted to leave y'all with some cinnamon cookies... She takes the napkin off and carries the plate from person to person; each obediently takes a cookie with a murmured "Thank you, ma'am." MRS. MUNSON ...Y'all sound pretty good. It'd be nice if you'd come by the church some day, give us a recital. Dorr takes her by the arm and escorts her back to the stairs. DORR Oh madam, you are too kind. Our music, however, is -- how shall I put it? -- rather Roman in its outlook; many of our pieces were commissioned by the Holy See. MRS. MUNSON Oh, I see all right, but we don't make a big whoop-dee-do about denominations; everybody welcome at our church. We've had Methodists come in. Episcopals. Even had a Jew come in once with a guitar back in the sixties. DORR Indeed. Excuse me, one moment, ma'am, and I shall see you off... They have reached the top of the stairs and the Professor ushers her out but stays behind himself. He turns to address the rest of the men below: DORR ...If you gentlemen can labor harmoniously in the course of my absence, then perhaps upon my return we shall be prepared to explode that vexin' ol' piece a igneous. GAWAIN He's the motherfuckin' piece of igneous. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT The Professor emerges from the cellar. Mrs. Munson awaits with her friend who is likewise togged out in fancy Sunday dress and carrying a shiny black purse. MRS. MUNSON Professor, this is Rosalie Funthes, Rosalie, Professor G.H. Dorr, Ph.D. ROSALIE Oh my, that's an awful lot of letters. DORR Well of course in my youth I was simply known as Goldthwait... INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT Pancake is taking the boom box off the table to clear some space. PANCAKE All right, safety meeting, let's listen up. General, could you hand me the prima cord and the compound there. Before we set the charge we'll run through our procedure. Various paraphernalia are laid out on the table. The cat sits in a corner of the cellar, watching carefully and, it seems, listening attentively. PANCAKE ...I have earplugs for whoever wants them. Just wedge them in your ears. Now here we have -- not yet, Lump. Lump stops putting in his earplugs. PANCAKE ...Now. Prima cord. Gelatinite. C4. Time comes, we pack the hole in the rock with the C4 and insert two leads. A... He holds up one lead. PANCAKE ...and B. He holds up the other lead. PANCAKE ...Charge comes from a battery that is inside this plunger. Ordinary auto battery, you can pick it up at Sears, easiest thing in the world... EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT A black town car idles at the curb. Dorr is just escorting the two ladies out the front door and down the stoop. DORR I remember my father telling me -- and it is one of the few memories I retain of the man, from one of his visits home, and how I do cherish it -- he said, "Goldthwait, you are not formed as other little boys." ROSALIE Mm-mm. MRS. MUNSON He a man of learnin'? DORR G.H. number two was self-educated; he had no career, as such, though the state recognized the breadth of his readin' by making him librarian at the state nervous hospital in Meridian, where he was a distinguished inmate. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT Pancake sets down the two electrical leads and picks up a hammer. PANCAKE This is the same procedure we will be using when we collapse the tunnel after entering the casino vault and returning to the root cellar. He looks pointedly at Gawain. PANCAKE ...This is for your own protection, so pay close attention. Once these materials are combined only the professionals may handle them. That means me, or the General. Separately they are harmless-completely inert. Why, you could light this stuff on fire, hit it with a hammer-- He swings the hammer down onto the plastique-- EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT --and there is the dull thud of an explosion and the house's windows rattle in their frames. The Professor, at the open door of the car into which the two ladies have just sat, looks up at the house, as do the ladies. MRS. MUNSON ...What in the name of heaven was that? Dorr stares at the house, appalled. DORR I'm... quite sure... that there is... no cause for alarm... He struggles for self-possession. DORR ...Why, I'm not even absolutely certain that I heard anything at all. MRS. MUNSON Didn't hear anything?! DORR Well, something, perhaps, but... Marva Munson starts to get out of the car. DORR ...nothing that need discompose us, was the sense I was trying to convey... He urges her back into her seat. DORR ...Miz Munson, I will not have you missing your musical recital. Why, you go ahead now. Miz Funthes, you as well, I beg of you... He is backing up the walk. DORR ...I shall call the gas company, or the water company, or whatever subterranean utility is implicated in this little... occurrence... I shall see to the matter... as only a highly educated classicist could. At the door now, he gives the two women peering out the car window a smiling but vigorous wave away, which they do not heed, and then he enters. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT The room is filled with smoke. Othar, slightly askew over the mantel, looks a little huffy. We hear clomping and screaming on the cellar stairs. Lump bursts out, shrieking: LUMP Blood, Professor! Oh my God! Blood! The General comes bounding up the stairs like a panther, a cigarette burning in his lips. He lands catlike in the living room, glides to the blubbering Lump, grabs one shoulder firmly with one hand, and with the other slaps him sharply, once forehand, once backhand. Lump stares at him, shocked, his blubbering cut short. More noise is coming from the stairs: PANCAKE ...why, it's nothing to make a fuss about. Perfectly all right... happens all the time... GAWAIN ...You gotta go find it, dipshit! Pancake emerges from the stairwell, his hair singed, his face and the front of his jumpsuit darkened by the blast. He is clutching one hand with the other. PANCAKE ...No, no. Really, I'm perfectly all right. Gawain has ascended just behind to hector him over his shoulder: GAWAIN Perfectly all right? You just blew your fucking finger off! PANCAKE Sure, but-- GAWAIN Well get back down there and find it, man! I ain't pickin' up your goddamn finger! DORR I gather there was a premature detonation-- GAWAIN They can sew that shit back on, jack! Like that guy his wife cut his dick off! Just sewed that motherfucker back on! PANCAKE Of course. Simplest thing in the world. Microsurgery-- GAWAIN Saw that motherfucker in a porno! Thing still works! Pancake is pale from loss of blood and his pontifications lack full conviction: PANCAKE Oh yes, they have remarkable abilities in the, uh... EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT Quiet. The two women sit in the idling car, looking at the house. From the house there is very muted bellowing. Still looking toward the house, Mrs. Munson offers a word of explanation to her friend: MRS. MUNSON They using the house to practice music a the rococo. ROSALIE Mmmm-hm. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT The cat, with a human finger in its mouth, sidles cautiously to one side, warily eying someone. VOICES (O.S.) Get him! The General, pluming cigarette in his mouth, tensed arms extended outwards, sidles cautiously to cut him off. DORR I propose that we get our fallen comrade to the hospital, and the General shall follow when he manages to recover the severed digit. PANCAKE I don't know what all the fuss is about. The cat jumps. The General leaps to follow. EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT The two women looking. The front door of the house opens. Lump, the Professor, and Gawain emerge, escorting Pancake. Just before Gawain finishes closing the door the cat slips out. MRS. MUNSON PICKLES! The door is yanked fully open and the General races out after the cat. MRS. MUNSON ...You catch Pickles now! The cat races across the lawn and, with no break in stride, up his favorite tree. The General follows and, also without breaking stride, clambers up the tree after it. Tree limbs shake with activity hidden by the leaves. We hear the hiss of the cat. The men are bundling Pancake into the hearse. Dorr calls to the women before climbing in: DORR The house is perfectly in order, but we need medical attention for Mr. Pancake who, during the disturbance, pinched his finger in a valve of the sackbutt. The cat leaps out of the tree and runs away down the road. MRS. MUNSON You let the cat out! The General leaps out of the tree to land catlike on the street, arms tensed, casts a look both ways, and then pursues the animal down the road. We hear the retreating padding footsteps of all six feet. DORR The General is even now exercising every effort to retrieve your mischievous little pet. Please go, go and enjoy your concert, and we shall see you later in the evening. Au revoir, mes dames! EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - NIGHT A new day. The garbage scow chugs down the mighty Mississippi. It toots its horn. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT CLOSE ON SCHEMATIC MAP It shows the underground complex and, stretching towards it in a line drawn with a blunt pencil, is the tunnel. It is now almost to the vault. A violin bow enters to tap at the line. DORR (O.S.) Despite our little setback we find ourselves on schedule to penetrate the vault... The bow taps at the vault outline. DORR ...here, this afternoon, having successfully blasted that little ol' rock to pieces during Miz Munson's choir practice. The violin bow withdraws. DORR ...Clark, perhaps you can run us through the game plan for what remains of our tunnelin'. A bandaged hand enters frame and a finger-stump points at the end of the penciled line. PANCAKE (O.S.) Of course. Why, it's child's play now, easiest thing in the world. Only a couple of feet separate us from the vault... WIDER The men are clustered around the map, spread out on the sackbutt case in the cellar. Clark continues: PANCAKE ...Just the usual spadework until we hit the masonry of the vault, and then we drill through. DORR And will you be able to wield the drill with your maimed extremity? PANCAKE Oh, I should think so, it's only one finger. Inhibits me in doing finer work, of course. I'll always have to live with that... Ahem. Maybe, and I'm just thinking out loud here, maybe since, as you say, it will present problems later... DORR Yes, Clark? PANCAKE Well, maybe -- and this is something I've talked over with Mountain Girl, and she agrees with me, so it's not just one person's opinion -- maybe I should get a little extra compensation for the accident. A long, stony silence. PANCAKE ...Somewhat larger share. Why, if this were any other line of work I'd be getting workmen's comp, wouldn't I? Might even have a pretty good lawsuit. GAWAIN You gonna sue yaself for blowin' off your finger? PANCAKE Well that is simply asinine-- DORR Yes but you see, Clark, this is not what you just called "some other line of work." PANCAKE But if it were-- DORR This is a criminal enterprise, not to put too fine a point on it, entailin' all manner a risks not involved in honest labor. Governmental regulations an' civic safeguards cannot be assumed to apply to antisocial pursuits. LUMP Yeah, but he lost his finger. GAWAIN We don't give a shit! Man can blow his own dick off, don't make no nevermind to us! We don't gotta pay the man for goin' around blowin' off body parts! Getcha head outcha ass, man! PANCAKE Look, you-- DORR I think that in this instance Gawain has a very excellent point. I-- GENERAL No extra share! All stop and stare at the General. Clark grumbles: PANCAKE Well, okay, majority rules, like I say, it was just a trial balloon. Hand's not so bad really, I even get some phantom feeling. GAWAIN You pull on your prick you get phantom feeling. Greedy motherfuck. DORR Now that that matter is settled, let us synchronize our watches before Gawain reports to work. In... twenty seconds... it will be twelve-sixteen exactly... fifteen... PANCAKE It will be twelve-fifteen? DORR No, in fifteen seconds -- now eleven seconds -- it will be twelve- sixteen... eight... LUMP Professor? DORR Six... five -- yes, Lump? LUMP I don't have a watch. EXT. CASINO - DAY It is the weathered doorway to the main entrance of the Lady Luck. A hand enters to rap. ELRON (O.S.) Yeah? GAWAIN Me, dickwad. A low, chesty chuckle. The door swings open and Gawain enters. INT. CASINO - DAY RUMBLING WHEELS ON NUBBY FLOOR A garbage bin is being wheeled across the empty casino floor. WIDER Gawain is wheeling it. He is approaching the tunnel to the corporate annex. BACK TO THE WHEELS As they roll down the tunnel. INT. CHURCH - DAY Loud singing at the cut. We are looking at Mrs. Munson in the middle of the choir, holding forth in song. INT. CASINO - SERVICE HALL - DAY Gawain leans back against the wall next to the vault door, arms folded across his chest. Faintly, from inside the vault, we hear the whine of a power tool. Gawain leans over and punches the button on boom box that hangs from the rolling garbage bin. The hallway pulses with "I Left My Wallet In El Segundo." INT. CHURCH - DAY More singing, Mrs. Munson and the rest of the choir now clapping as they sing. INT. CASINO - VAULT - DAY The power-tool whine is louder here. We are looking at a patch of wall. After a beat, and with a loud rev as resistance gives way, a drill bit emerges from the wall, spitting out bits of the masonry. The drill withdraws. After a beat, hammer blows. The chunk of masonry begins to buckle. INT. CASINO - SERVICE HALL - DAY The General opens the door, still somehow immaculately groomed. Gawain enters. INT. CHURCH - DAY The gospel number rising to climax, supported by the organist and the rest of the congregation. INT. CASINO - VAULT - DAY Clark and Lump, covered in dirt and plaster dust, have started stuffing bundled bills and small sacks into large garbage bags. An irregular hole, about three feet across, gapes in the far wall. Gawain punches off the boombox, looking at all the money. GAWAIN Well ain't that somethin'. Clark suddenly freezes in the act of collecting money. He straightens slowly. PANCAKE Hnnnn. Arrunggggh! Rnffff. He stands stock still, wincing, gazing off into space. PANCAKE ...Mmmmnggh! He whispers hoarsely, urgently: PANCAKE ...IBS! The other men look at him. GAWAIN ...Say what? PANCAKE IBS! Irritable Bowel Syndrome! Is there a men's room down here?! GAWAIN Oh man, you shouldn't be using the men's room-- PANCAKE Or a lady's room! IBS! Quickly! GAWAIN You shoulda shit back in the house, man! We don't want Elron finding you in the goddamn crapper! Clark's voice is still hoarse. He does small knee bends of urgency: PANCAKE No choice! Quickly! It's a medical condition! GAWAIN You are disgusting, man. All right, follow me. INT. CASINO - DAY We are CLOSE ON Gawain peering anxiously to one side. He turns and peers the other way. We hear a toilet flush and, after a beat, Clark emerges from the men's room door next to which Gawain stands. His manner is now completely relaxed. PANCAKE Feel thirty pounds lighter. They start walking back to the vault. PANCAKE ...Thank you for being so understanding. Not everyone is, of course, which is why the biggest challenge of IBS is educating the public. Afflicts over two million people yet most of us have never heard of it. And it strikes without regard to age, gender or race. GAWAIN Oh fuck, man, I don't wanna know about it. PANCAKE That's the kind of attitude we're fighting. GAWAIN Well maybe you should sign me up, man, 'cause you startin' to irritate my bowel. INT. CHURCH - DAY The choir finishes a number and sits -- all except for Marva Munson, who unties the knot on her robe at the nape of her neck, slips it off and, with murmured goodbyes, slips away. INT. CASINO - VAULT - DAY As the two men enter Clark is still holding forth: PANCAKE ...I guess I never told you, that's how Mountain Girl and I met. They had an IBS Weekend at Grossinger's, in the Catskills. Of course the tourist business up there has suffered, with the demise of the Borscht Belt. So they have different promotions, mixers, so on. This was a weekend for Irritable Bowel singles to meet and support each other and share stories. GAWAIN Man, I don't wanna hear a single one a them stories. PANCAKE Well, some of them are very-- GAWAIN Not one fuckin' story! You one fucked- up motherfucker! You-- They stop short, looking: The General and Lump are standing in the middle of the floor, stock still, each clutching a bag of money, staring up at the same corner of the ceiling. Lump turns to Clark and Gawain. LUMP Hey, lookit that. Gawain and Clark join them in the middle of the vault and look up at the corner of the ceiling. A small video camera, aimed squarely at the four men. THROUGH THE CAMERA Black-and-white video, very WIDE ANGLE HIGH SHOT, of the four motionless men below goggling up at the lens. Smoke plumes from the General's cigarette. BACK TO NORMAL PERSPECTIVE PANCAKE Huh. Looks like an Ikegami. He slips on his reading glasses as he gets a leg up on a shelf just below the camera and hoists himself. He peers in at the lens. THROUGH THE LENS Clark looming into EXTREME CLOSE SHOT. PANCAKE ...Oh yeah. Mm-hm. I'm not sure whether it's broadcasting... NORMAL PERSPECTIVE PANCAKE ...Um-hm... No... He is fingering the back of the camera. PANCAKE ...Hard wire... Down below, Gawain looks at the wire snaking along the seam of wall and ceiling. At the opposite corner it travels down the joint of the two walls. He traces its path down and then across one wall at chair- rail height towards the door. The other men follow in an anxious herd as he traces one finger along it. Just before reaching the vault door the wire goes through the wall in a hole finished off with a grommet. Gawain goes out the vault door... INT. CASINO - SERVICE HALL - DAY ...and picks up the line where it emerges on the other side, travels down to the joint of wall and floor, and then continues along the floor. Gawain follows it and the other men continue to follow him. He traces it anxiously down the hall in a hunched lope. The other men scuttle behind into... INT. CASINO - MONITOR ROOM - DAY The wire winds around into the room, back up to chair-rail height, along one wall, behind some cabinetry which Gawain hurries past to find it again on the far side, and then down to a video recorder. It is not, however, hooked up to the video recorder: its pronged end swings loose just by where it would be plugged in. Inside the video recorder is a casette, which Gawain ejects. The men crowd to look over his shoulder as he examines it: "Shevann's Schvanz". There is a pile of other videos by the monitor: "Charlayne and the Chocolate Factory," "Big Dick Blaque's Big Night Out," "Lemme Tell Ya 'Bout Black Chicks," "Anus & Andy." Just next to the pile is an old bowl of Kocoa Krispies. INT. CASINO - VAULT - DAY The General climbs into the tunnel with a garbage bagful of money, followed by Lump, likewise encumbered. Lump hands back out a satchel to Gawain, who sets it on the vault floor by the hole. From the way he handles it, it is quite heavy. Pancake, also with a bag of money, is getting ready to climb in: PANCAKE Look, I didn't choose to have IBS-- GAWAIN Shut the fuck up! Lump hands Gawain a smaller, lighter satchel which he likewise sets on the floor. PANCAKE There's no cure, you know. Only control. Lifelong condition. Not complaining, just fact. And I did meet Mountain. GAWAIN Grab your bag and get in that fucking hole! EXT. CHURCH - DAY Mrs. Munson is leaving, with singing still audible from the service that continues inside. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - DAY We are looking from inside the tunnel towards its mouth, where the Professor stoops slightly to peer in, anxiously dry-washing his hands. A REVERSE shows the hunched-over men scuttling along the tunnel towards us, holding large garbage sacks. DORR Welcome back, gentlemen, mission accomplished I see. I am so very very delighted... He gives a hand down to each man as he exits the tunnel. DORR ...Congratulations. Congratulations. I have some cold duck on ice for the occasion. LUMP Maybe we could have something to drink, too. INT. CASINO - VAULT - DAY Gawain, left behind, is muttering to himself as he uses a trowel and other instruments from his satchel to patch up the hole at his end of the tunnel. GAWAIN Motherfucker can't stop talking, can't stop shitting. Motherfucker tell everyone about his motherfuckin' asshole. No one gives a shit about his asshole. Nobody interested in another man's asshole. Or his bitch's. EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - DAY Mrs. Munson is letting herself in. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - DAY The men are sitting around the table, champagne glasses raised. On the table sits the money, stacked in orderly piles. DORR Gentlemen, to we few. We who have shared each other's company, each other's care, each other's joy, and who now reap the fruits of our communal effits, shoulder to shoulder, from each accordin' to his abilities so forth whatnot. We have had our little diffences along the way, it's true, but I like to think they have only made us value one another the more, each coming to understand and appreciate the other's unique qualities, potencies, and, yes, foibles. I suggest that we shall look back upon this caper one day, one distant day, grandchildren dandled upon our knee, and perhaps a tear will form, and we shall say, Well, with wit, and grit, and no small amount of courage, we accomplished something on that day, a feat of derring-do, an enterprise not ignoble -- we, merry band, unbound by the constraints of society and the prejudices of the common ruck, we happy few. Gentlemen -- to us! MEN To us! They clink. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - KITCHEN - DAY Upstairs Mrs. Munson runs water into a teapot, humming to herself. INT. CASINO - VAULT - DAY Having finished patching, Gawain starts painting. He turns on his boombox, and out comes the big bassy "I Left My Wallet in El Segundo." INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - DAY The men, having drunk deep, are setting down their glasses. Pancake looks at his watch with some concern. PANCAKE Charge should've gone off already. DORR I do beg your pardon? PANCAKE The charge to collapse the tunnel. I set it for eight minutes. Dorr looks at his watch. DORR Well that time, and more, has most certainly elapsed. FROM INSIDE THE TUNNEL Looking toward the mouth. The men stoop over and peek fearfully in. They again stand upright. A silence. Dorr clears his throat. DORR I need not remind you of the importance of obliterating any trace of a connection between the vault and this house. It was of the essence of this plan that it should appear that the money had simply vanished. Without a trace. Spirited away, as it were, by ghosts. PANCAKE Of course. I understand. DORR The conundrum of the undisturbed yet empty vault, the unsolvable riddle of the sealed yet violated sanctum, is of the utmost importance not only to make our caper innelectually satisfying. It is also exigent as a matter of practical fact: I remind you that if a tunnel is ever found leading to this house, this house's owner knows all of your names. PANCAKE She certainly does. DORR Therefore -- to draw the unavoidable conclusion -- someone shall have to reenter the tunnel to reset that charge. INT. TUNNEL - DAY Pancake, hunched over, scurries along the tunnel. He reaches the remnants of a large rock, where the tunnel grows smaller. He drops to crawl position and elbows his way forward, toolbelt clanking along. We are getting closer and closer to a muffled but thuddingly bassy "I Left My Wallet in El Segundo." INT. CASINO - VAULT - DAY The music loudly present at the cut. Gawain takes a handheld blowdryer out of his satchel and flips it on, directing it at the fresh paint on the wall whose repairs are now invisible. INT. TUNNEL - DAY Music once again muffled. Pancake has reached a little LED- displaying timer with leads trailing off of it. He grabs it, puts on his reading glasses, squints. The display shows: TIME REMAINING: 00:12. The colons in the display rhythmically blink, but the number does not advance. For some reason, stuck. PANCAKE Huh. He reaches to his tool belt, pulls out his Leatherman. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY Mrs. Munson is setting places at a large table. There are about a dozen place settings. INT. TUNNEL - DAY Pancake now has a mini-mag light clenched between his teeth, aimed down at the timer. He opens the phillips head on his Leatherman but abruptly stops and stares off into space. PANCAKE Nnnnrungh... He is squinting with pain. The muffled hip-hop song is beginning to recede. INT. VAULT - DAY Gawain is wheeling his garbage cart out the door. The vault is completely empty but looks completely undisturbed. He closes the heavy vault door behind him, leaving quiet. INT. TUNNEL - DAY Quiet here as well, now. Pancake's moan trails off to nothing. He relaxes. The moment, whatever it was, has passed. He looks back down at the unit, flicks it with his finger, and it emits a soft beep. PANCAKE ...Huh? He squints at the back of the unit. As it beeps again, he turns the unit over to look at its face. The readout now says: 00:10. As he watches, peering down through the bottom of his glasses, it continues to advance with a beep as each second slips by: 9... 8... PANCAKE ...What the-- His eyes widen and he frantically shakes the unit. It continues beeping. He briefly and sloppily tries to fit the phillips head into one of the four screws on the back of the unit but immediately gives up and starts a panicked wriggle back up the tunnel, whimpering. INT. CASINO - DAY Gawain is wheeling his garbage cart past Elron. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY Mrs. Munson is placing the last piece of silverware, just so. INT. TUNNEL - DAY Pancake is in full panicked awkward flight as-- INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - DAY --BOOM! We CUT TO the cellar and Pancake is shot out the tunnel like a human cannonball, trailing a comet-tail of dirt, dust, and debris that wafts what were neatly stacked bills up into the air. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY The portrait of Othar jostles back to square. He now looks a little angry. The cat arches her back, emitting a startled yowl. Mrs. Munson stands, frozen, then looks slowly around, trying to assimilate what has just happened. INT. CASINO - DAY Gawain and Elron are staring at each other, frozen, also reacting to what just happened. Finally: GAWAIN ...You just fart? ELRON Heh-heh-heh. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY Mrs. Munson is looking at the cellar door. Dust drifts out from under it. She takes a slow step towards it. Another step. She opens the door. There is no visibility in the cellar due to swirling clay dust. She takes one step down the stairs, waving at the air in front of her face. Paper money wafts in and out of the dust. We hear Voices: PANCAKE (O.S.) Perfectly all right. Not a problem. LUMP (O.S.) Well there sure as shit ain't no tunnel left. The clearing dust reveals the caped Professor anxiously dancing from foot to foot, gathering money out of the air. As he reaches up to grab a bill that has him facing up in Mrs. Munson's direction, he freezes. His POV reveals her through dissipating dust. MRS. MUNSON Professor, I'm surprised. There is a long beat, through which all stare at her. DORR ...Properly speaking, madam, we have been surprised; you are taken aback. Though I acknowledge that the sense you intend is gaining currency through increasing use. Further dissipation of the dust reveals how much money there is, settling now to cover the floor of the cellar. DORR ...You have returned from your devotions betimes. We hear the ring of the doorbell. MRS. MUNSON I hadda fix tea. I wanna talk to you, Professor, don't you be leavin'. And don't make any more noise! And you! She points at the General who, in the excitement, has neglected to hide his ever-present cigarette. MRS. MUNSON ...I told you, I don't want any smokin' in here! She clomps upstairs and shuts the cellar door. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM We PULL HER towards the front door, angry and lost in thought. Her look softens somewhat as she opens the door. It is a chattering infestation of hens: all of her friends from church push in wearing church dresses and elaborate hats. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - DAY The men are still frozen looking up toward the door. The muted cackle of church ladies. The men gradually unfreeze. LUMP She saw everything. She saw our hole... He turns to Dorr, near tears: LUMP ...She saw our hole, Professor! Dorr rubs his hands anxiously, thinking: DORR Yes... Yes... LUMP What do we do? DORR Well, first, my dear boy, we follow the General's example... The General remains staring up at the door, frozen but for the smoke pluming from the cigarette in his mouth. DORR ...and refrain from panic. Secondly, we cooly, calmly, collectedly think... think... The gaze of all the men drifts back up to the cellar door, and we look down at them, gazing up. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY The chattering ladies are gathered at the table, Mrs. Munson pouring them tea. The cellar door creaks noisily -- one might almost say gothically -- ajar, and the Professor peers out with an ingratiating smile. DORR Hsst... Madam... The chattering abates and the ladies all look at him. His smile broadens into ghastliness and he crooks a finger toward Mrs. Munson. DORR ...Mrs. Munson, if I might have a word... MRS. MUNSON You get back down those stairs! DORR I assure you I shall be-- MRS. MUNSON Hush! Down those stairs! We havin' tea now! I be down shortly. He nods meekly and retreats, easing the door creakily shut. The ladies look inquisitively at Mrs. Munson as his footsteps are heard descending the stair. MRS. MUNSON ...He's the tenant. LADIES Mm-hm. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR DAY As the Professor rejoins the still staring and silent group. The money has been picked up and is once again in stacks upon the table. DORR She shall be down shortly... Explaining, he indicates upstairs with a jerk of the head: DORR ...Tea. Dainties. The men nod, murmuring. The cellar door squeaks open. There is the clomp of careful footsteps on the stair. Using only tongue and teeth, the General flips his smoking cigarette inwards into his mouth and gives Mrs. Munson his usual deadpan look. She halts halfway down the stairs, still wearing an apron and holding a spatula. MRS. MUNSON I don't know what you boys been up to but I wasn't born yesterday and I know mischief when I see it. Now I want an explanation, but first I want you boys to get your fannies up here with y'alls period instruments. I been tellin' the ladies about your music and they wanna hear you play. She turns to head back up the stairs but abruptly stops to turn and give the General a hard look which he innocently returns. MRS. MUNSON ...Hmph. She turns again and clomps back up the stairs. The General opens his mouth and, again without using his hands, restores his cigarette to its usual place on his lower lip. Lump is fretful: LUMP Professor? DORR Yes, Lump? LUMP I can't really play the buttsack. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - DAY The cellar door opens and the men troop out, G.H. Dorr leading and the other men following rather sheepishly behind. DORR Madame -- or rather, mesdames -- you will have to accept our apologies for failing to perform since, as you see, we are shorthanded. Gawain is still at work and we could no more play with one part tacit than a horse could canter shy one leg. LADIES Mm-hmm. MRS. MUNSON Hmph. DORR Perhaps I could offer as a poor but ready substitute a brief poetic recital. Though I don't pretend to great oratorical skills, I will happily present, with your ladies' permission, verse from the unquiet mind of Mr. Ed G'Allan Poe. Lump, Pancake, and the General sit and awkwardly accept dainty teacups. The Professor rises, spreads his hand, and pronounces: DORR ..."Ladies, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore..." CLOSE-UPS of the various ladies, some sipping tea or slowly munching biscuits, but all eyes glued to the declaiming man in the cape. DORR "That gently, o'er a perfumed sea The weary, wayworn wanderer bore To his own native shore... " Murmuring Voice: VOICE Amen. A slurp of tea from another quarter. Dorr bears on: DORR "On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome... " A long silence. Then, scattered: VOICES Mm-mm. Glory hallelujah. A lady holding a teacup turns to the General: LADY That was soooome poem. The General stares at her. LADY ...You know any? We hear the front door opening and Gawain enters, still wearing his Lady Luck custodial uniform. He looks. His POV: church ladies with teacups and his comrades seated among them, also holding teacups and scones. GAWAIN Y'all been celebratin'?. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - FOYER - LATER (EVENING) The bustling and chattering ladies are just finishing leaving; Mrs. Munson is seeing them off at the door. Evening is gathering, and we hear the lonely toot of the distant garbage scow. The men as well stand by the door and, affecting good cheer, wave off the departing ladies. DORR Goodbye, ladies. We had such a pleasant time. Mrs. Munson closes the door and her manner instantly darkens. MRS. MUNSON Now, I wanna know what's goin' on. DORR Yes indeed, and the thirst for knowledge is a very commendable thing. Though in this instance, I believe when you hear the explanation, you will laugh riotously, slappin' your knee and perhaps even wipin' away a giddy tear, relieved of your former concern. MRS. MUNSON Hmph. DORR You see Lump here is an enthusiastic collector of Indian arrowheads and, having found one simply lying on your cellar floor, a particularly rare artifact of the Natchez tribe, he enlisted us in an all-out effort to sift through the subsoil in search of others. Well, in doing so, we apparently hit a motherlode of natural gas -- I myself became acutely aware of the smell of "rotten eggs" -- and it was at just this unfortunate moment that the General here violated one of the cardinal rules of this house and lit himself a cigarette. The General stiffly bows: GENERAL So sorry. The Professor, nodding, smiling, and dry-washing his hands, continues to look at Mrs. Munson, though his story, apparently, has ended. She returns his ingratiating look with a stare. MRS. MUNSON ...What about all that money? Dorr's smile fades. DORR ...Ah. The money. The money is... Mr. Pancake's. PANCAKE That's right. DORR He only just re-mortgaged his house in order to pay for the procedure that will correct the wandering eye of his common-law wife, Mountain Water, who suffers from astygmia and strabismus and a general curdling of the vitreous jelly. Mr. Pancake however is an ardent foe of the federal reserve and is in fact one of those eccentrics about whom one occasionally reads, hoarding his entire life savings either under the proverbial mattress or, as in Mr. Pancake's case, in a Hefty bag that is his constant companion. Under her stare, he elaborates: DORR ...Steel Sack. PANCAKE Don't trust the banks. Never have. She thinks, decides. MRS. MUNSON This don't smell right. I'm callin' Sheriff Wyner. A chorus of gasps. DORR Madam -- if you please. Yes! Yes! It was a lie! A fantastic tale! You have us! Dead to rights! But please allow me to tell you the truth -- in private. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - EVENING He escorts her to sit beneath the portrait of Othar, sits across from her, and leans confidentially in. DORR Madam... He agonizes. The words do not come easy. DORR ...What I am about to reveal to you, you may find... shocking. Mrs. Munson, I must tell you that we are not... what we appear. MRS. MUNSON Mm-hm. DORR We are not in fact musicians of the late Renaissance. Nor of the early or mid period. We are, in fact... criminals! Desperate men, madam! We have tunneled into the nearby offices of the Lady Luck gambling emporium and have relieved it of its treasure! MRS. MUNSON Lord have mercy! DORR It is true that the Lady Luck is a den of iniquity, a painted harlot luring people into sin and exciting the vice of greed with her false promise of easy winnings. Oh, her gains are ill-gotten, yes, but I offer no excuses -- save one! We men have each pledged half of our share of the booty to a charitable institution -- the General, to a placement service for Southeast Asian refugees; Mr. Pancake to the Blue Ridge Parkway Conservancy; and Lump to the United Jewish Appeal. As compensation for use of your house we had planned to donate a full share to Bob Jones University, without burdening you with guilty knowledge by informing you of same. But you have wrested the information from me! Now it is all on the table. Now you have it, the whole story, the awful truth. MRS. MUNSON Stolen money! DORR Yes, yes, shamefully I admit it, yes! But find the victim, Mrs. Munson, I challenge you! Even the casino itself, that riparian Gomorra, shall suffer no harm! It has an insurance company, a financial behemoth that will cheerfully replenish its depleted vaults! That is its function! And the insurance company itself is made up of tens and tens of thousands of policy-holders so that -- we have done the calculations, Mrs. Munson! -- so that at the end of the day, at the final reckoning, each policy- holder shall have contributed only one penny -- one single solitary cent -- to the satisfaction of this claim. MRS. MUNSON ...Just one penny? DORR Think of it, Mrs. Munson! One cent from thousands upon thousands of people so that Bob Jones University can continue on its mission! Why, I have no doubt that, were the policy- holders aware of the existence of that august institution, why, each and every one of them would have volunteered some token amount to the furtherance of its aims! MRS. MUNSON Well that's prob'ly true... The Professor, warming, has resumed dry-washing his hands: DORR Yes madam, sadly, the criminal stain is upon my soul, but the benefit shall accrue to any number of worthy causes. As long, that is, as the secret stays with us. And I, surely, shall not be the one to divulge it. Mrs. Munson nods, musing. MRS. MUNSON Well... it's hard to see the harm in it... One penny... Her gaze drifts around the room, a smile beginning to warm her face. The smile freezes, though, as her look catches on something. Her POV: Othar, above the mantle, looks down with a disapproving scowl. MRS. MUNSON ...I'm sorry, Professor. Dorr is taken aback: DORR Excuse me, ma'am? MRS. MUNSON No. It's wrong. Don't you be leadin' me into temptation. DORR Madam, I must strenuously protest-- MRS. MUNSON No, it's just plain wrong. Stealin'. I know your intentions were good, and I won't call the police if you give the money back. But I gotta see that you do it. DORR Madam-- MRS. MUNSON And all a you gotta go to church with me next Sunday. The Professor is incredulous: DORR And... engage in divine worship? MRS. MUNSON I made up my mind. You can double- talk all you want, but its church or the county jail. DORR But-- She rises. MRS. MUNSON You think it over. I gotta feed the cat. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT The men all sit around the card table, lit from below by an oil lamp. The General is neatly packing the stacks of banknotes into the sackbutt case. GAWAIN Motherfuck! DORR Yes. Unfortunately, Mrs. Munson has rather complicated the situation-- GAWAIN I know how to discomplicate it! Put a cap in the old lady's head! Then everything simple again! The group lapses into silence, considering. Even Gawain needs a moment to digest the horror that he himself has proposed. The Professor is solemn: DORR ...Not easy to do. Many reasons. Practical ones: a quiet neighborhood, a sleepy town. Reasons of moral repugnance: a harmless woman, a deed conceived and executed in cold blood. No, Gawain; would that it were simple! GAWAIN Well -- fuck, man! What we gonna do, give the money back and go to church?! DORR I shudder. I quake. He turns to the General. DORR ...You sir, are a Buddhist. Is there not a middle way? The General grunts as he closes the clasps on the sackbutt case full of money: GENERAL Must float like a leaf on the river of life. And kill old lady. The men murmur. DORR Well... I suppose you are right. It is the active nature of the crime, though, that so horrifies -- the squeezing of the trigger, the plunging of the knife. But, think a moment -- look at the other tools we have at hand. He looks around. DORR ...We have the cellar. We have masonry and trowel. Perhaps we could simply... immure her. PANCAKE Sure, easiest thing in the world. I could whip up a little mortar in one of those snow saucers, lay the bricks, anchor in some chains, Mountain has a source for the manacles... DORR Ahh but gentlemen, we delude ourselves. Think of the woman's piteous moans as we lay tier upon tier of brick. Think of her lamentations as we fit the last brick into place, appealing to our better selves, the higher angels of our nature, our recollections of our own sainted mothers... No, I fear that we lack the sand to commit such an act. No... no... shortest and most painless is best. Let us confront reality. Gawain's gun... the retort muffled by a pillow... into the brain... the affair of an instant. The only question is... who wields the weapon. He looks around the table. Silence. No volunteers. DORR ...I believe it is traditional, in such circumstances, to draw straws. PANCAKE Well, sure, fair enough. He takes a broom leaning against the wall, bends back and snaps a handful of its bristles. PANCAKE ...I'm thinking, though, that since I lost my finger -- I mean, literally lost it because of that goddamn cat -- maybe I should be excused from this thing. Hard for me to squeeze a trigger anyway-- GAWAIN You one whiney motherfucker! I squeeze your nutsack you keep that up! PANCAKE Listen, punk-- DORR Gentlemen, no special pleading, no exceptions. It's in the nature of the situation that we would all prefer to be excused. Pancake grumbles as he counts out five bristles, takes one and snaps it in half, displaying the short straw to the group, and then hands the four long and one short to the Professor: PANCAKE Well, okay... it was just a trial balloon... With a flap of his cape the professor jumbles the straws and encloses them in one hand. Sweaty CLOSE-UPS. Each man stares at the straws. Some hesitant, some resolute, they draw: First, the General: long straw. His reaction: impassive. Next, Lump: long straw. His reaction: relieved. Next, Pancake. Long straw. PANCAKE Long straw. You all see it. All your fuss over nothing, punk. Two straws left. Gawain stares at them, licks his lips. He reaches for one straw, touches it, hesitates. GAWAIN ...Motherfucker... He touches the other straw, hesitates. He goes back to the first straw, closes his hand around it, closes his eyes, and pulls. He lifts the straw into frame before his squeezed-shut eyes, raises his eyebrows, and slowly opens fluttering eyelids to look: short straw. The Professor, smiling, opens his fist to confirm that he holds the last long one. Gawain moans. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT PULLING HIM UP THE STAIRS Slowly, slowly, Gawain mounts the cellar stairs. Behind him, gathered in a semi-circle and looking up from the foot of the stairs, the other men wait. As he plants one plodding foot in front of the other Gawain raises the gun, slides back its primer to make sure there is a round in the chamber, and then slides it shut as he reaches the door. INT. MUNSON - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT In the foreground Mrs. Munson sits knitting, humming an old temperance tune. In the background the cellar door swings open. Marva Munson doesn't notice; her knitting needles continue their rhythmic clack. We PULL Gawain, gun at the ready, as he takes slow, cautious steps across the floor. We INTERCUT his POV of the back of the old lady's head, bowed over her knitting. As Gawain passes the sofa he picks up a cushion and buries in it his hand holding the gun. He looks back up at the old lady. But now, still cautiously approaching, he cocks his head, his expression bemused. HIS POV nearing the old lady is now different somehow. The perspective is somewhat lower; the humming woman sounds not quite the same; the rocking chair and the room itself are subtly different. WHEN WE CUT BACK TO GAWAIN he is a runty, TEN-YEAR-OLD CHILD walking slowly across the floor; he is cradling not a gun in a pillow but a squirming little puppy dog. The dog yips; the woman turns to look at us. It is not Mrs. Munson, but another black woman of about the same age. MAMA What you got there, Gawain? CHILD GAWAIN Why -- nothin', mama. MAMA Nothin' my ass! You got a dog there! CHILD GAWAIN No, Mama! MAMA A filthy noisy little pest of a puppy dog gonna shit all over the house! CHILD GAWAIN He won't shit in the house, Mama, I'm gonna train him, I promise, gonna train him real good-- WHAP! She cuffs him on the side of his head. MAMA I'm gonna train you real good! I told you don't bring no stray dogs into this house! WHAP! Another slap. MAMA ...You wait til your Daddy gets home, he gonna lay into you proper! WHAP! The little boy, weeping, throws his arms around his mother: CHILD GAWAIN Please don't hurt me no more! I love you, Mama! MAMA Daddy gonna kick your ass! WHAP! MAMA ...Bringin' in a filthy dirty dog! WHAP! Gawain's little brothers and sisters, drawn by the commotion, have gathered excitedly to watch. SISTER Mama's whuppin' Gawain's ass! BROTHER (eagerly) Ain't you gonna use the strap, Mama? WHAP! WHAP! Gawain is sobbing: CHILD GAWAIN Please don't hurt me, Mama! Now it is the adult Gawain blubbering. The clack of knitting needles stops and Mrs. Munson turns to look. MRS. MUNSON What you doin'? What you doin' with my pillow there? He surreptitiously slides the gun into his pocket, sniveling: GAWAIN I'm sorry, ma'am, I-- WHAP! She cuffs him on the side of the head. MRS. MUNSON I'm displeased with you! Colored boy like you, falling in with that trash downstairs! WHAP! MRS. MUNSON ...Ashamed a yourself! Didn't your mama raise you right! INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT Gawain is tramping down the stairs. GAWAIN I can't do it! The men are stunned. DORR Why... this is most... irregular. GAWAIN She reminds me of my mama. I can't shoot my mama! You motherfuckers just draw straws again. PANCAKE Wait a minute. You've got to accept your responsibilities, young man. GAWAIN Fuck you. And your irritated bowel. I can't shoot that old lady. GENERAL Must shoot! PANCAKE Now look here, it's the easiest thing in the world. Pretend her head is a casaba melon, and the gun is a melon- baller, and-- GAWAIN What the fuck you talkin' about, man? You think this a melon-baller, you do it, man! DORR My my, this is most irregular. PANCAKE Look, with equal rights come equal responsibilities-- DORR I'm afraid that Mr. Pancake is right, my dear fellow. We cannot draw straws again; the exercise loses all credibility if you show that the loser can simply beg off doing the job. GENERAL Must shoot! Gawain shoves the gun toward Pancake. GAWAIN She just an old colored lady to you -- you do it, man! PANCAKE Why you sniveling little coward! GAWAIN What you say, you whiney motherfucker? I come up your irritated ass with this -- motherfuckin' gun-- He is waving the gun. PANCAKE You think you scare me, you mewling punk! You don't scare me! Bull Connor and all his dogs didn't scare me! He shoves Gawain. PANCAKE ...Be a man! GAWAIN You fuck! He shoves him back. Pancake shoves: PANCAKE Be a man! GAWAIN You ain't no fuckin' man, fuckin' a sixty-year-old lady in pigtails! PANCAKE WHY YOU BASTARD PUNK! MOUNTAIN GIRL IS FIFTY-THREE! They are shoving each other now, getting into it. PANCAKE ...SHE COULD RIDE YOUR ASS TO JELLY! He lunges at him with a bear hug and his inertia sends both men tumbling to the floor, where they roll and wrestle. DORR Gentlemen, please! GAWAIN I seen Virginia hams I'd rather stick my dick in than your old-- BANG! A muffled gunshot. Quiet. The two men have stopped rolling. They stare at each other where they lie, Pancake on top. At length: PANCAKE ...Oh my god... Horrified, he slowly rises. PANCAKE ...I think he's hit! The men gather round and look down. Gawain still stares up at the ceiling. Pancake stoops, waves his hand in front of his eyes. No reaction. PANCAKE ...I'll just check the carotid artery. He checks the carotid artery. PANCAKE ...That's a negative. LUMP Oh, fuck. DORR Oh my. LUMP Is he dead, Professor? PANCAKE Sure he's dead. I checked his carotid artery. DORR Well this is most irregular. We will need a Hefty bag. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT THE CELLAR DOOR Creaking open. The Professor, Lump, and the General peek out. The living room is empty but a sliver of the kitchen is visible; its light is on, and we can hear water running. Dorr hisses: DORR She is in the kitchen. I shall distract her while you steal out with the carcass. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - KITCHEN - NIGHT Dorr enters breezily; Mrs. Munson is at the sink, filling a teapot. Dorr positions himself so that, to talk to him, Mrs. Munson has her back to the living room. DORR Well, my dear Mrs. Munson, I have outlined your position to my colleagues and I now return to you to return our collective verdict. MRS. MUNSON Mm-hmm. Behind her, the General peers around the corner and starts a catlike advance across the living room. DORR There was much spirited discussion and an atmosphere of frank give-and- take. Some of our number were initially appalled at your proposal that we simply return the money; some were more receptive. MRS. MUNSON I don't care they was receptive or not! DORR And that attitude, madam, was a factor in our discussions. To a man, I must say, they were devastated at the prospect of not being able to contribute to their respective charities. The General signals to Lump who now crosses the living room with a big garbage bag slung over one shoulder in a fireman's carry. MRS. MUNSON Well that is a shame. DORR Indeed. But at the end of the day, your position prevailed, and the men have decided that we shall return the money -- every last cent of it! -- and attend Sunday services, rather than spend the remainder of our years wasting away in the Mississippi Men's Correctional Facility. Though that was the original preference of some. MRS. MUNSON Well I'm glad y'all came to see the light, anyway. I'm gonna have some tea and go to bed. The Professor, seeing that the General and Lump have made it out the door, is anxious to wind things up: DORR So the money shall be returned tomorrow at the opening of the casino office. Enjoy your tea, madam... Backing out, he looks to one side. Through the living room window he can see the hearse pulling away from the curb. There is another car -- an old Volkswagon microbus -- slowly tooling the opposite way down the street. Dorr looks back to Mrs. Munson. DORR ...and congratulations on having recalled to the fold five poor, confused sheep who had momentarily strayed. EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - BRIDGE - NIGHT We are at the middle of the bridge, the tower gargoyle looking blankly down at the doings below. In the misty night Lump and the General are braced over the railing, looking down, each holding one of the feet that protrude from the Hefty bag cinched around Gawain's ankles. A cigarette burns on the General's lower lip. Behind the two men we can see the idling hearse. There is the toot of the garbage scow. Lump and the General release Gawain's feet. Their POV shows the sack receding and flumping into the garbage piled onto the scow that slips by below. A flock of scavenger birds, disturbed by the impact, lifts off the scow with angry caws. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT Dorr skulks at a corner of the living room's picture window, peering out at the street. EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT DOOR'S POV The Volkswagon microbus again cruises slowly down the street in the same direction as previously; apparently it has been circling. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT The Professor scowls. EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT DORR'S POV The hearse pulls up to the curb. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT The Professor clomps down the cellar stairs. Pancake is loading their digging implements into a satchel. PANCAKE They back yet? Dorr is absent: DORR Yes... yes, they just arrived. Pancake straightens from the satchel. PANCAKE Good. I'll go dump these in the hearse. He mounts the stairs with a satchel in either hand. We can hear the front door opening as the other men enter. Dorr, bemused, but apparently moved by a hunch, advances slowly to the sackbutt case. He slides the catch that lets its spring clasp pop up. He lifts the lid. Mother Jones magazine. Piles of Mother Jones magazines. DORR What in heaven's name... He riffles a pile, confirming that it is in fact all magazine, no money. Lump and the General are clomping down the stairs. DORR ...General! EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT We are PULLING Clark down the street, a satchel in either hand. HIS POV The microbus, parked halfway down the block, ominously idling. THE BUS We are CLOSE on its side-view mirror. Someone leans from the driver's seat for a view into the mirror, and in the mirror we see her, pigtails swinging: Mountain Girl. HER POV Clark Pancake, still rather small, approaching up the empty street. PANCAKE PULLING him again. A smile is beginning to play at the corners of his mouth. PANCAKE No extra share, huh... The smile abruptly fades. He stops in his tracks for no discernible reason. At length: PANCAKE ...Nnnrnf. He pants. Behind him, in the deep background, we see the General bounding into the street and silently toward us. PANCAKE ...Oof! The moment passes. Pancake shakes his head, as if to clear it, and resumes his walk. HIS POV We are nearing the bus. THE BUS Mountain Girl sits in the idling bus, waiting. With a thunk and a gentle rock of the bus, we hear its back doors opening, and Pancake's voice. PANCAKE Mountain. MOUNTAIN GIRL Clark. We hear an oof! of exertion as Pancake hoists each of the two satchels into the back. The oofs are followed by: PANCAKE ...Nnrungh! Aaarmh... Ninnnff... Offffflleghhll... MOUNTAIN GIRL IBS, dear? WE CUT TO: THE BACK OF THE BUS to show Pancake being garotted by the General. PANCAKE Nnnnnmmmmfffgh! EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - BRIDGE - NIGHT The tower gargoyle stares sightlessly down. Lump and the General are at their accustomed place, each holding a foot shod in a large hiking boot. Behind them we see the hearse idling. Near them on the bridge, both hands grasping the railing as he gazes dreamily out into the night, is the Professor. DORR "...Like those Nicean barks of yore That gently, o'er a perfumed sea..." We hear the toot of the boat's horn and the men drop the body. LUMP Quick! Grab Clark! They quickly stoop and grab another bag-swaddled body out of which even larger hiking boots protrude. DORR "...The weary, wayworn wanderer bore... " They drop the second body. DORR "...To his own native shore." We hear the distant flump and the cawing of scavenger birds. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT CLOSE ON A FIST With three protruding straws. SWEATING CLOSE-UPS: Lump picks a long straw: relief. The General picks a short straw. A short grunt. DORR Excellent. I believe, at last, we have the right man for the job. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - MRS. MUNSON'S BEDROOM - NIGHT Mrs. Munson lies on her back gently snoring. At the open window, sheers ripple in the evening breeze. A large clock ticks upon the mantle. It is almost one o'clock. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT THE CELLAR DOOR It creaks open. The General looks stealthily out. A cigarette in his mouth plumes smoke. He pushes the door fully open, emerges. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - MRS. MUNSON'S BEDROOM - NIGHT Mrs. Munson's snore catches on an inhale. She mutters something, sighs, and resumes snoring. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - STAIRCASE - NIGHT The General treads lightly, noiselessly, up the stairway leading to the second floor. He slides one hand into his jacket, pulls out a garotte. With the faintest whoosh he whips it in a complicated loop and snags the other handle with his other hand. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - UPSTAIRS HALLWAY - NIGHT The General emerges from the staircase and advances on the closed bedroom door. As he reaches for the knob he performs the no-handed flip of the burning cigarette into his mouth. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - MRS. MUNSON'S BEDROOM - NIGHT The door swings noiselessly open. The General pauses to survey: The still room. The ticking clock. Mrs. Munson, a large sleeping mound upon the bed. The General advances, raising the garotte in both hands. He closes on her sleeping form. The garotte is lowered toward her exposed neck. It is a foot -- half a foot -- inches-away... Somewhere a muted gear ratchets and triggers the toll of-- The clock, striking one. It is a cuckoo clock but, instead of a bird emerging, a berobed Jesus comes out with his hand resting on the head of a child who gazes up in adoration. The General starts at the noise and then suddenly freezes, his eyes widening. Jesus retreats back into the clock. The General has swallowed his cigarette. He reaches up to his throat, panicked. In a silent frenzy, he yanks loose his ascot. He gazes wildly about. He reaches for the water glass at Mrs. Munson's bedside. He tips it back into his mouth. There is a rattling sound. HIS POV The uptilted water glass is sending false teeth -- full uppers and lowers -- rattling toward his face. THE GENERAL He frantically -- but still noiselessly -- sets the glass back down. Wildly looks about, one hand clamped to his throat. A mad but silent dash for the door. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - UPSTAIRS HALLWAY - NIGHT Plunging for the head of the stairs-- --a brief yowl from the cat-- --recoiling from where its tail has been stepped on, a hiss and a flash of its claws at the General's leg-- INT. MUNSON HOUSE - STAIRCASE/LIVING ROOM - NIGHT --and he falls down the stairs, each thudding impact bouncing his body like a rag doll's. At the bottom of the stairs he lies still. A CLOSE-UP shows his head bent at an unnatural angle, unblinking eyes staring. Traces of smoke wisp from each nostril and his open mouth. Over the mantle, Othar returns the dead man's stare. He looks somewhat smug. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT The Professor and Lump, responding to the noise, look slowly up toward the ceiling. EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - BRIDGE - NIGHT The body is laid out in a garbage bag by the rail. The Professor stands looking at it, contemplatively. Lump stands looking at it, contemplatively. The cat sits nearby on its haunches looking at it, impassively. The professor muses: DORR ...T'was our até brought us to this pass... LUMP What, Professor? There is the toot! of an approaching scow. Dorr's manner is still absent, his regard still on the corpse: DORR Our overweening pride... The old woman is a more potent antagonist than one had imagined... He rouses himself, goes over to the bagged corpse. Lump follows him and the two men hoist the body over the rail. DORR ...Now, Lump, I'm afraid it falls to you to finish the job. They let the body fall onto the scow passing below. DORR ...The comedy must end. The Professor turns to Lump and tries to hand him Gawain's gun, but Lump, uncomfortable, declines to take it. LUMP ...Professor, I been doing some thinking. DORR Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear. LUMP Maybe she's right! Maybe we should be going to church! DORR Oh dear, Lump. I feared that those would be your words. Not that I don't appreciate your giving the matter the benefit of your thought. But please recall, young man, our respective functions in this enterprise. I am a professor, the professor as you yourself so often say, the thinker, the "brains of the operation," trained in fact in the arts of cogitation. You, Lump, are the goon, the hooligan, the dumb brute whose actions must be directed by a higher intelligence. LUMP Yeah, I know, but-- DORR No buts, dear boy! Do not repeat the error of thinking! Now is the moment of praxis! Now, my dear boy, you must act! Lump reluctantly takes the gun that the Professor thrusts upon him. LUMP I can't do it, Professor! A nice old lady like that! DORR Think of the riches, Lump, that you and I alone shall divide! Recall the dream of wealth untold that first drew you to this enterprise! LUMP But-- DORR And reflect also that if you decline to act, forcing me to do so, then you shall no longer have any entitlement to the money! Your offices shall have been nugatory! LUMP You mean -- you mean -- you're gonna kill her?! DORR Of course! My hand would be forced! LUMP I can't let you do that, Professor! A nice old lady like that! DORR You?! Allow? Not allow? What presumption! You stupid boy! You very very extremely stupid boy! We hear the toot of an approaching scow -- this one very long, sustained under all of the following: LUMP Oh yeah? He points the gun at the Professor and-- LUMP ...Well who looks stupid now? --squeezes -- click -- on an empty chamber. LUMP ...Huh? He turns the gun to have a look. LUMP ...No bullets? HIS POV shows the foreshortened barrel as he experimentally squeezes the trigger. WE CUT TO: the Professor on the BANG! and, after a sad shake of his head, CUT BACK TO: Lump in time to see him finish toppling back over the rail. The scow-horn ends. DORR Perhaps... it had to be thus. He goes to the railing to look down. Lump, face-up on a pile of garbage, glides away. Disturbed birds flap upward. The professor muses: DORR "...Lo, in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand..." His gaze rises with the ascending birds. Among the white gulls is one black bird. The Professor eyes it as it rises past him. DORR ...Hm. A raven? FROM VERY HIGH we look down on the Professor, the black bird rising to perch on the gargoyle on the suspension tower in the foreground. The bird settles on a loose, teetering piece of masonry. BACK TO THE PROFESSOR looking at the receding red light on the bridge of the receding scow: DORR "...The agate lamp within thy hand... " BACK HIGH The teetering chunk of masonry tips away and the perchless bird flaps off. BACK TO THE PROFESSOR very dreamy: he sees something in the distance, beyond time and space: DORR ...Ah, Psyche! from the regions which Are Holy land!" This is punctuated by the crunching impact of masonry scoring a direct hit on his head. He falls over the rail. His cape snags on the railing and he hangs limp and lifeless. Directly below his dangling body the stern of Lump's barge is slipping away to leave black waters and the clanking of chains. The fabric of the Professor's cape begins to tear. His body drops in fits and starts as the fabric gives way. Finally the body rips free. It falls away from us. As it does so the clanking chains are pulling into view the second- banger -- a garbage barge being chain-towed by the receding scow. Dorr's body lands neatly on the barge. A gust of wind. The cape flaps free of the railing and is wind-tossed away amidst the cawing birds. The cat, watching, blinks. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - MRS. MUNSON'S BEDROOM - DAY DRINKING GLASS It is resting on the very edge of the night table -- protruding, in fact, past the table's edge. It is morning. We hear rustling from the bed. Hands reach INTO FRAME and hesitate, finding the glass empty of water and precariously perched. MRS. MUNSON (O.S.) Hmm. The hands tip the glass and take the teeth. We hear complicated oral noises. EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - DAY The door opens away to reveal the morning paper lying on the stoop. Mrs. Munson leans INTO FRAME to pick it up and we ADJUST as she straightens to have a look: The headline says: $2.6 MILLION DISAPPEARS FROM LADY LUCK CASINO. The subhead: POLICE BAFFLED. MRS. MUNSON Mm-hm. INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - DAY Mrs. Munson is walking down the stairs. MRS. MUNSON Professor! She stops midway down and looks: The empty cellar. Money stacked neatly on the card table. Mrs. Munson sadly shakes her head. MRS. MUNSON ...Hmm. Couldn't face the music. EXT. SAUCIER MUNICIPAL BUILDING - DAY Mrs. Munson is climbing the porch in her Sunday best. She feints at the dog who lies curled in the sun: MRS. MUNSON Scoot now! Outa the way! INT. SAUCIER MUNICIPAL BUILDING - DAY The sheriff is busy on the phone; there is a DEPUTY today also on the phone. The sheriff, seeing Mrs. Munson enter, covers the phone with one hand. SHERIFF WYNER Miz Munson. MRS. MUNSON Sheriff, I gotta make a statement. SHERIFF WYNER Could it possibly wait, ma'am? We're a little busy today. MRS. MUNSON I guess it can wait, but it's about that casino money. The sheriff exchanges a significant look with the deputy, then murmurs into the phone: SHERIFF WYNER Call you right back. He cradles the phone and smiles at Mrs. Munson. SHERIFF WYNER ...You know something about it? MRS. MUNSON Something? Everything! I got it at home. SHERIFF WYNER You... you have what at home, now? MRS. MUNSON The money. Two point six million dollars. Down in my root cellar. All stacked up nice and neat. SHERIFF WYNER Mm-hmm. The deputy pauses to look up from his phone: DEPUTY How'd it get there, Marva? MRS. MUNSON Bunch a desperate men that stole it put it there, that's how! They was musicians of the Renaissance period, played the sackbutt and so on -- well, it turns out they really couldn't play, although they could recite poems to break your heart. Their ringleader speaks in dead tongues. SHERIFF WYNER Does he now. MRS. MUNSON I tried to get you to see him! That night? SHERIFF WYNER Oh yes. MRS. MUNSON I had to yell at 'em 'bout stealin' all that money and I guess I made 'em feel pretty bad 'cause they picked up and left without takin' the money. But I was peeved with 'em, Sheriff, they'd been up to all sorts of mischief, come close to blowin' up the house, disturbed Othar no end. SHERIFF WYNER Angry, was he? MRS. MUNSON Wouldn't you be? All that racket! SHERIFF WYNER I expect so. MRS. MUNSON And they let Pickles out too! The sheriff sighs. SHERIFF WYNER So you want us to go fetch him. MRS. MUNSON No, he's back, but what you want me to do with the money? SHERIFF WYNER Well... He and the deputy exchange looks. The sheriff looks back at Mrs. Munson. SHERIFF WYNER ...Why don't you just keep it, Miz Munson. MRS. MUNSON Keep it? DEPUTY You keep it, Marva. MRS. MUNSON Well... I know it's only a penny offa everybody's policy... SHERIFF WYNER How's that ma'am? MRS. MUNSON I know folks don't much care. Could I... You s'pose I could... SHERIFF WYNER Yes ma'am? MRS. MUNSON Could I give it all to Bob Jones University? SHERIFF WYNER That'd be nice, ma'am. She picks up her handbag and heads for the door. MRS. MUNSON ...Well, long as everybody knows. SHERIFF WYNER Thank you for the information, ma'am. MRS. MUNSON You're welcome, sheriff. Just doin' my duty. EXT. SAUCIER, MISSISSIPPI - DAY Mrs. Munson is walking home. It is a beautiful spring day. From far off, wafting toward us on the breeze, we can hear the church chorus singing. Mrs. Munson joins in. She has a strong voice: MRS. MUNSON Leaning, Leaning, Safe and secure from all harm. Lean on Jesus, Lean on Jesus, Leaning on the everlasting arm. She turns up the walk to her house. MRS. MUNSON ...What a fellowship, What a peace of mind, Safe and secure from all harm. Lean on Jesus, Lean on Jesus, Leaning on the everlasting arm... When she opens the front door the cat slips out. MRS. MUNSON ...Pickles! It races off down the street. MRS. MUNSON ...Pickles! EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - BRIDGE - DAY Pickles scurries along the walkway. We hear the toot! of an approaching scow. The cat reaches the middle of the bridge. He sticks his head through the bars of the railing. When we CUT CLOSE on the cat as he looks down at the water, we see that he holds in his mouth a human finger. As the scow passes underneath, the cat opens its mouth and lets the finger drop. The finger falls away and is barely visible by the time it hits the scow. The cat looks up INTO THE LENS, and blinks. Its sideways irises adjust. The scow is gliding away. With the low mournful toot of its horn we tilt up the river to the great garbage island where scavenger birds pick through the trash. THE END