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Ladykillers, The (2004)

by Joel Coen and Ethan Coen.
Based on the 1955 movie "The Ladykillers" by William Rose.

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
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