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The Bad Guy
John Burns
John Burns386 Union StreetSan Francisco, CA [email protected] 640-2626© ® WGA,west - Library of Congress - All Rights Reserved
FADE IN:
EXT. MONTAGE
The Golden Gate Bridge, grid locked. The Bay Bridge, grid locked. Central Freeway - grid locked. Helicopter shot - streets grid locked.
HELICOPTER VOICEGood morning commuters. It's Wednesday and 6:30 AM and if you're stuck in it, you already know we've got a really a testy little traffic condition right now. But for those of you just heading into the city... out on 101 we've got an overturned big rig that's blocking the south central artery and another big rig that's on fire blocking the north central artery. Those two incidents alone are effecting the flow from both bridges. On a brighter note there are no reports of injuries and the Highway Patrol reports that they'll have the mess cleaned up before noon. Back to you in the studio, Bill.
EXT. FINANCIAL DISTRICT - SAN FRANCISCO - DAY
Morning rush hour traffic, grid-lock, angry drivers wave fists, shout, HORNS BLARE.
EXT. SIDE STREET
A beat-up, lopsided Yellow Plymouth, bearing a sign, "Bob's Taxi Service" rumbles along the street, swerving, swaying as if it is difficult to steer. Smoke bellows from its undercarriage and from beneath its hood.
There are no other cabs or traffic on that street.
Bob's cab slowly makes its way past a plethora of good looking women, dressed in finely tailored suits and other city dress, all of whom try to flag down his cab.
No men are present on the sidewalk. The cab jerks to a stop, HISSES and CLANKS (as a steam locomotive.)
INT: CAB
Bob reaches for the flag, turns off the meter.
EXT - STREET - DAY
A sophisticated, well dressed GENTLEMAN opens the rear door of a taxi, exits. SMOKE follows him. He quickly hands the driver a hundred dollars and runs off coughing.
INT: CAB
The meter reads $3.10.
BOB FREDELLA, 60 something, wearing a dingy white shirt and spaghetti stained tie, looks at the money through his thick, wire rim glasses. Flabbergasted, he checks the meter again, nervously begins a stuttered protest.
Gentleman dashes across the sidewalk. SMOKE trails after him.
Bob fidgety manner quickens. He speaks with a heavy New York accent.
BOBHey! Hey, fella. It's 7:10 in the morning. What do I look like, a bank?
Gentleman brushes smoke away and without breaking stride hurriedly runs off, toward a large, modern high rise. He calls back coughing.
GENTLEMANKeep the change.
Bob does a double take on the money, yells out.
BOBH-Hey, thanks. First piece of good luck I've had in a month and a half.
Bob snickers but frowns as he glances to the back seat and sees the rear door is still open. He exits the cab, grumbles to Gentleman who's already gone. He talks to himself.
Bob (cont'd)The least you could do is close the door... I mean, I don't want to seem ungrateful but, where was you brought up?.. In a barn? I mean cows know how to close the door... I actually read that somewhere, my Aunt Molly, she sent me the article. They can train cows... the farmers... that is. Course, they have to be basically smart cows, not your run of the mill cow.
Bob contemplates.
2.
BOB (cont’d)I mean, I'm not talking Harvard here, but... well you know basically smart cows.
Bob turns, starts to shake a finger at the unseen gentleman, thinks better of it, shrugs.
Others passing on the sidewalk look at Bob warily.
Bob starts to close the rear door but he sees a tiny white envelope on the back seat. He reaches for the envelope and picks it up.
Bob holds up the envelope to the unseen gentleman, as if trying to call him back, shrugs again and closes the door.
He sticks one hand in his pocket and with his customary slumped-shoulder, droopy walk, shuffles around to the drivers side, gets back into the cab and closes his door.
INT. CAB - DAY
He looks at and sniffs the envelope.
BOBMust be some kind of dope.
Bob carefully open the envelope, puts his finger inside and removes a trace of white powder. He places his finger tip on his tongue and grimaces intensely.
Bob (cont'd)Augh, it must be heroin.
Bob spits out the window several times. The face of grimaced disgust, terror begins to overtake his expression.
Bob (cont'd) Oh god! No.
He breaths deeply as if he is clinging on to dear life, wipes his brow.
Bob (cont'd)Heroin. Now I'm probably addicted. Oh, god what would my Aunt Phyllis say?
Bob starts to throw the envelope onto the street, looks at it again, thinks better of it, shrugs, puts it on the seat beside himself.
3.
Bob (cont'd)Some child or an animal could pick this up and god knows then there'd be another addict in the world. I'd better hold on to until I can turn it in to a cop. One can't be too careful these days.
Bob starts the engine. It starts hard, as if flooded but noisily comes to life.
Oblivious to the commotion and the smoke, he slowly drives away. The rusted bucket of bolts spewing exhaust like a dense fog in its wake. The street is devoid of people.
INT. CAB - DAY
Bob continues his dialog with himself, smiles mischievously.
BOBIf this had been cocaine I could have probably got Carolyn Bathmyer to screw my brains out...
(deep thought)Course, Carolyn hasn't spoken to me in twelve and a half years, but it would have been worth a try.
Bob's POV: Through the windshield, a Beautiful Woman dressed in shirt-waisted dress and high heels tries to keep her hat on her head as she flags him down.
RED LIGHT - Bob brakes to a stop. A stiff wind HOWLS
Bob (cont'd)Maybe my luck is changing. Damn, she is almost too good to be true
The woman attempts to maintain control of her hat and then skirt which has blown up past her thighs and reveals the top of her hosiery. She hails another cab.
Bob, at the light, has visions of grandeur.
DISSOLVE TO:
DREAM SEQUENCE
EXT. MOUNTAINSIDE - DAY
An overlook of the pristine county country side, rolling hills of unspoiled pasture land and San Francisco Bay. The city sparkles in the distance.
4.
A picnic, in which Bob, dressed in a tux dances a waltz with- The beautiful woman - still dressed in her dress and heels.
In the back ground: a banquet, with silver candelabras, spreads out under a shade tree.
A small chamber orchestra, seated beside the picnic blanket, plays music from the Opera "Die Fledermaus", as Bob and the woman stop dancing.
She hugs Bob (tiny compared to her) passionately, bending one leg back, standing on one foot, tiptoe.
Bob gestures at the country side scene before them.
Their faces next to each other, cheeks together, they gaze in to the distance. She bats her eyelashes as if hopelessly in love.
BEAUTIFUL WOMANOh, Bob you're so romantic.
A HORN BLARES. Bob snaps out of the dream.
BACK TO:
INT. CITY STREET - DAY
The beautiful woman stands on the sidewalk, still struggling with her hat and skirt.
Bob tries to pull over to her, but is cut off by another taxi who grabs the fare and drives away.
INT. CAB - DAY
Bob yells out his window at the other cabby.
BOBHey! Hey wait. That was my fare. Hey buddy?
Bob, totally depressed, hangs his head out the window and bangs on his door with his hand.
Bob (cont'd)Darn, drat-it.
EXT. CITY STREET - DAY
Another fare (a Lovely Lady) stands at an intersection waves to him. Consumed by his depression Bob does not see her.
5.
The LOVELY LADY dressed in a skirt, sweater and high heels calls out-
LOVELY LADYTaxi!
INT. CAB - DAY
Bob looks exceedingly depressed.
LOVELY LADY (V.O.)
Taxi. Oh, taxi!
The voice is faint, but loud enough to alert Bob. He looks up, sees her flagging him down.
He steps on it, but is interrupted from his goal by a smoldering lack of performance from his engine which, COUGHS, CLANGS and BELLOWS SMOKE.
As Bob approaches LOVELY Lady, he is cut off by a red light. He waves to the woman. She waves back, with a big friendly smile.
Another cab pulls up, the woman gets in. Bob protests meekly.
BOBHEY! Hey! Hey fella. That was my fare.
Bob watches as the woman pulls her shapely legs in through the rear door and drops a small package. Her legs reappear as she gets out to pick up the package.
She gets back in the cab offering Bob yet another view of her legs. She closes the door, the other cab roars off.
Bob hangs his head again, the light changes to green, a HORN BLARES - brings Bob back to earth. He nervously lambastes the horn blower, lumbers through the intersection.
BOB (cont'd)Could ya' hold on a second... It's not like I'm drivin' a Ferrari here.
HORN BLARES. The car zooms by.
BOB (cont'd)Yeah, well the same to you fella.
Bob drives through the intersection and pulls to the curb.
6.
He sees a convertible sports car containing two women. They roar past him, their long hair trailing like flags through the open top.
BOB (cont'd)Oh, yeah. My luck is changing. Changing right back to where it's always been. A day late and twenty bucks short.
Another cab passes him, pulls to the curb, cutting him off and blocks his way.
Bob's POV: through his windshield, the other cab lets out a Lovely Woman.
Bob watches as the lovely woman pays the other cabby with a fifty dollar bill.
The Lovely woman turns to walk away, stops again reaches into her purse and pulls out a business card.
She hands her card, leans through his window gives him a kiss on the cheek, turns, slowly sashays away.
LOVELY WOMANJust give me a call sometime, Pete. I'm sure I can always... you know?... use your services.
The other cabby smiles waves to her.
She continues to walk away with mesmerizing gate to her walk.
Bob sits in his cab fully depressed. The cab blocking his way roars off.
BOBI guess I'll wait at the Marriott. At least I can work on my screenplay.
Bob's cab pulls out directly into traffic bellowing smoke. Other cars on the street SCREECH to a stop.
Bob pays no attention to the commotion but weaves his bucket of bolts through the traffic, other cars clear a path for him. A dense fog of SMOKE follows his cab.
EXT. MARRIOTT HOTEL - DAY
Bob's cab chugs and hiccups along a line up of 70 waiting cabs parked curb side. He spots a parking space and tires to pull in.
CUT TO:
7.
EXT. MARRIOTT HOTEL - DAY
DOORMAN's POV: Bob tries to park in the spot close to the front doors. The doorman's happy expression turns to panic. He runs out to the street and waves Bob off.
INT. CAB
Bob sees the Doorman and drives off. The doorman sighs relief.
BOB I can see there no preferential treatment around here. I'll just have to park in the alley and wait my turn.
Bob pulls into an alley and parks. He smiles as if he's just pulled something over on someone.
BOB (cont’d)It's a cinch to get a fare from this spot.
EXT. ALLEY
Bob shuts off his engine. The engine makes an AMAZING MULTIPLICITY of NOISES as it SPUTTERS to a stop.
INT. CAB
Bob coughs and nonchalantly counts the cabs in line.
BOB Sixty-seven cabs. No problem, I'll be out of here in less than an hour.
Bob reaches under his seat, pulls out a laptop computer. He talks to himself as if he were also another person.
BOB (cont'd)Only sixteen more pages to finish this screenplay. Now... If I can just think of how to make the jealous husband die so that the wife and my hero can live happily ever after... I can sell it for a couple of million bucks.
He polishes his fingernails against his shirt, grins confidently.
BOB (cont'd)When you're as talented as I am, it's no problem selling a screenplay.
8.
Bob types on the laptop, momentarily stops and scratches his head.
BOB (cont'd)I wonder, who I should sell it to?
He shrugs and begins to type again while he talks to himself.
BOB (cont'd)Someone will buy it. 'Cause a romance scripts like this..? They always sell... And, they need new writers in Hollywood.
He picks up the pace on the typing.
BOB (cont'd)Those bums don't know how to write, anyway... Course, Rod Serling... Now, he could write. If he read this, we'd be friends for life.
CUT TO:
I/E. CAB - ALLEY - DAY
MUSIC - TENSION.
Through the rear window of Bob's cab, a seedy looking character slowly approaches. He looks menacing, his appearance although youthful is street-worn and disheveled.
INT. CAB - DAY
Bob, unaware of the approaching madman.
BOBNow, should I have the husband commit suicide or just accidently get killed.
(beat)No, I'll have the wife kill the husband and collect the insurance money... That will throw them. No one would suspect the wife to be a killer.
Bob sits back, smiles broadly, continues to compliment himself on his simple minded stroke of brilliance.
BOB (cont'd)What a plot twist. Your a genius Bob... Maybe, I'll get five million for this script.
BEAT
9.
BOB (cont'd)After all, I don't want to sell myself to cheap... Those snakes in Hollywood will take advantage of you at every turn. Ten Million that's what I'll get.
The derelict madman approaches and is at Bob's rear door.
BOB (cont'd)Course, I can always come down... The real strength of the deal is in the bargaining.
He smiles broadly again, as the cabs rear door opens and a junkie, brandishing a hand gun, hurriedly gets in.
Bob is surprised and terrified by the invasion.
JUNKIEI got a gun on you asshole. Don't turn around. Just give me everything in the cab and you don't die.
Bob freaks out, but instantly regains his composure, which is by nature fidgety and nervous.
BOBEverything?
JUNKIEYeah, even that shitty little computer.
Bob clutches the computer.
BOBNot the computer, it has my screenplay on it.
JUNKIEI don't give a damn about your screenplay.
Bob looks insulted, but replies nervously.
BOBBut, this... this is the War and Peace of all screenplays.
JUNKIEI don't get a sweet shit about the screenplay, War and Peace or whatever.
10.
Bob turns to look at the junkie, he looks straight down the barrel of a snub nosed pistol. The junkie has a dead serious look on his face.
JUNKIE (cont'd)Look asshole... you got ten seconds before I blow your brains out.
BOBLook don't be so upset. I, I, I'll give you the computer.
A tear wells up in Bob's eye. He begins to shake and points to the gun.
BOB (cont'd)Is that thing real, I mean I've never seen a gun close up like this before. I mean... It looks real.
JUNKIEIt's real enough to blow a very large hole in you.
Bob looks as if he will spontaneously combust from fear and nervousness.
BOBWell okay, hold on. I'll get the money.Don't get excited. Okay?
Bob turns, reaches under his seat, removes a cigar box, shakes violently as he hands it to Junkie.
The hundred dollar bill is still on the seat beside him.
BOB (cont'd)Here's the money. I'd like to get my screenplay off the computer before you steal it.
JUNKIEI don't give a shit about your screenplay.
BOBBut, I've worked two years on this and it's going to make me a multi millionaire.
Junkie laughs out loud. He falls back in his seat and laughs.
11.
JUNKIEYour going to become a millionaire over what's in the fucking computer?
Junkie slaps his knee, continues laughing.
JUNKIE (cont'd)That'll be the day.
BOBIt's a screenplay.
JUNKIEA screenplay.
BOBIt's my screenplay.
JUNKIEOh, it's your screenplay. Well hey... I mean, fuck... that makes all the difference in the world.
BOBReally?
JUNKIE(snickers)
Oh, sure.
BOBWould you like to read it. It's really very interesting and... and a man of your obvious caliber would probably enjoy-
Junkie cuts him off.
JUNKIE-look Mack, I need a fix worst than life itself. So why don't you just hand me the fucking computer so I can get the hell out of here? And, you can live another day, to write another fucking screenplay.
BOBYou need a fix?
JUNKIEYeah - what of it?
Bob cuts him off.
12.
BOB-wait a minute. Do you have a way to shoot it up?
JUNKIEWhat?
BOBI mean, do you have a needle with you?
JUNKIEWhy? . . Look, I don't need this crap.
BOB'Cuz, I mean to answer your question. I just happen to have some heroin with me... Er, ah... if that's what you'd like, you know heroin, right?
The junkie looks dumbfounded.
JUNKIEYou a junkie?
BOBNo!
He contemplates this.
BOB (cont'd)- well, that is... not actually... I thought I was addicted earlier today, but it was a false alarm... You know how things like that can be. My Aunt Edna had some thoughts on addiction. 'Course, I was just a boy at the time so I didn't get all the ramifications of the wisdom she was trying to impart to me. But I'm sure you know best about these things
Junkie points the gun at Bob.
Bob (cont'd)I mean... I'm sure with all your experience with this you'll be fine. Well here.
Bob hands over the package of dope.
JUNKIEWhat's in this?
BOBHeroin, I think.
13.
JUNKIEIn a pig's eye.
BOBNo really, I think it is.
Junkie undoes the envelope with one hand simultaneously scratching his head with the barrel of the gun.
He sticks his tongue into the envelope, grins and spits, smiles a little.
JUNKIEFuck if you ain't right.
Bob breaths a sigh of relief and offers a deal.
BOBSo while you shoot up, or, or, or... whatever you do with that stuff, I'll put my screenplay on a flash drive and... And, then you can steal the computer... At least I won't have to write the whole thing over.
Junkie looks at Bob warily.
JUNKIEAny fucking around, I blow your brains out.
Bob nods agreement.
Junkie tears off his jacket, an arm at a time, still keeping the pistol aimed at Bob with his free hand.
JUNKIE (cont'd)I'm still a good shot as a lefty.
Bob puts his hands up, as if surrender would make the situation easier on the thug.
BOBI give up, really I do. I just want to get my screenplay-
JUNKIE-Shut up about the fucking screenplay... I heard enough about it to make me sick already.
Bob looks dejected, meekly defends his literary work.
14.
BOBListen, you might have the gun and, and, and, all the power in this situation. But I'd like to say one thing... Do you mind..? I mean, I'm just trying to get a word in here... I mean, do you mind if I just say one thing?
Junkie tying off his arm, has his kit on the seat, ready to explode.
JUNKIEWhat?.. For fucking Christ sake. WHAT?
BOBWell, I just want you to know that it's no easy trick.
Bob waits for a response, the junkie silently continues with his drug preparations. Bob gets impatient, flings his hand in the air in frustration.
BOB (cont'd)Are you going to respond to that? I mean I'm saying something here... Writing a screenplay is not exactly your everyday, you know, run of the mill project. It's not like a job. You know it takes vision and talent... There's a creative element here.
JUNKIEJesus Christ, why do I have to listen to all this?
BOBYou should have respect for the literary arts. My Aunt Doris once told me that, when I was a boy, she said-
JUNKIE(cutting him off)
Do you have a match?
Bob fiddles around in his jacket pocket, produces a book of matches, hands them to the junkie, puts his hands back in the air.
BOBYou can't smoke in the cab. There's a city law against it. Besides, I might loose my job.
15.
JUNKIEI don't smoke. I don't give a shit about your job. Now put your hands down before someone sees you.
BOB(keeping them up)
Well, that much is true, someone might see me. I mean you've got a point, but I just want you to know that I'm not a threat. Because you seem like you could be a nice guy under all that gruff exterior.
The Junkie leans forward quickly points the gun in Bob's face.
JUNKIEWill you please shut up and put your fucking hands down.
BOB(puts his hands down)
Anything you say, really. I don't mean to offend you. I,I,I,I just wanted you to know, that I think you're a hell of a guy and all, besides my aunt Betsy-
The junkie reclines against his seat, points the barrel of the gun at his own temple, cuts Bob off.
JUNKIEIf you don't shut up I'll blow my own brains out right here your cab.
Bob gets a horror stricken look across his face, holds his hand to his mouth, stares at Junkie, wide-eyed.
BOBOh, please don't do that. It would be a terrible waste of your life. And, what's more, the company would probably fire me because of the mess.
Junkie rolls his eyes, as Bob babbles on.
BOB (cont'd)I know what a mess bullets can make... well not from actual experience but I've seen it in the movies... there's the blood all over everything and the broken glass... I'd have to pay for the glass you know?
16.
Junkie's drops a the gun from his temple, he leans his head back on the seat, rolls his eyes, groans. Tears rolls from his eyes.
BOB (cont'd)But, it's only right I wouldn't want the company to pay. After all, it isn't their fault. My aunt Martha once said, "you should always be responsible for your messes,"... But in this case I wouldn't feel particularly responsible. No offence intended but, it is your bullet and your gun that would shoot the bullet. Still I'd have to clean it up, it's just such an awkward position to be in. I hope you understand... I mean it's no reflection on you personally -
Junkie cuts him off.
JUNKIEShut up, take your god damn screenplay off the fucking computer, but please shut up. Your driving me crazy.
BOBOkay. Okay... I can see your upset, I'll shut up, but I just want you to know I think your a real human being for not er, ah... you know?.. shooting me just now.
Junkie starts to cry
JUNKIEPlease shut up.
BOBOkay! Okay. Geez, I was just trying to make you feel good about yourself. I mean... after all, what's a fellow human being to do, but support another human being in obvious trouble?
JUNKIEShut up, not another word.
(pointing the gun at his temple)
Just nod, or else.
Bob nods.
17.
JUNKIE (cont'd)That's good. Now, just go to work doing whatever you have to do to take your masterpiece off the computer, while I fix myself up.
Junkie lights a match, holds it under a spoon, he looks at the spoon lovingly.
Bob reaches under his seat pulls out a flash drive, inserts it into the computer. Bob begins reading his screenplay, LAUGHS out loud.
Junkie - just ready to insert the needle in his arm, stops.
JUNKIE (cont'd)Jesus you scared the hell out of me, I thought you were going to be quiet.
BOBWell, that was the deal. But, you see - I started reading what I wrote last night and it turns out to be very funny. If you'd like, I'll read it to you. You know... you being a man of the world such as you are... you might very well appreciate this screenplay, because it has to do with-
JUNKIEShut up! I'm almost finished back here and I want to go after I get off. Please, give me another minute of silence.
Bob leans over his seat, looks intently at Junkie.
JUNKIE (cont'd)Whatdaya' lookin' at?
BOBNothing... Well, you ... not that you're nothing... I mean... that is, I was watching you... you know..? Ah doing, what your doing.
JUNKIEWell, I don't want you to watch.
BOBI won't watch. That is, if your sure you know what your doing. I mean doesn't that hurt?
18.
JUNKIEI doesn't hurt.
BOBYour sure? It looks like it'll hurt.
JUNKIEI said... It, doesn't hurt.
BOBI've always hated needles. It probably comes from my childhood, when I had Hepatitis. In the hospital they gave me penicillin six times a day. Course, I was only seven and I don't remember much about it. My Aunt Rose?.. She told me about it. My aunt Rose, god rest her soul...
(he blesses himself)...she didn't like needles either. I thought I had a phobia and was in therapy for years, but that was before I talked to her. Actually it's quite common, did you know that?
JUNKIE(rolls his eyes)
What?
BOBThe fear of needles. It's a common phobia.
Junkie puts the gun to his temple, cocks the hammer.
JUNKIEThat right?
BOBIt is... you think my therapist would have told me about it?.. Humph, he only wanted my money. Don't you just hate people like that?
(beat)Well, I guess hate is a strong word here. I mean, he did actually help me in some ways. My therapist, that is... I'm a lot better now than before I started seeing him.
Junkie starts to shake, another tear falls from his eye. He drops the gun onto the seat.
Bob continues in earnest.
19.
BOB (cont'd)But about the needles, would he tell me? Oh, no I had to find out from My Aunt Rose... She was a beauty. Ya' know, you only meet a swell person like my Aunt Rose once in a blue moon, ah... ah, ah that is, with the exception of yourself-
JUNKIE-you're a beauty. Now, please shut up and finish with the computer, already.
Junkie puts the needle to his arm, looks at Bob from the bottom of his tear-swollen eyelids.
JUNKIE (cont'd)I'm going to be out of here in about one minute, have you finished with that screenplay of yours?
The needle goes into Junkies arm. Bob looks as if he is going to be sick. He turns to face the windshield, puts his hand to his mouth, upchucks slightly.
BOBSorry... I was probably disturbing your concentration... and... and... and I can see what your dong is a very personal thing... much the same as this screenplay is a very personal thing... so if you don't mind I'll get back to saving it to the flash drive.
Junkie shoots up, immediately goes into convulsions.
Bob is oblivious.
BOB (cont'd)I can't tell you how grateful I am that you're letting me do this 'cause I'd never be able to remember the whole thing. I mean, after all, this is a literary masterpiece. There's over four thousand eighty hundred pages to this script and it's going to make me-
The cab, rock and rolls with the convolutions of the dieing Junkie. Foam is frothing from his mouth. Bob takes notice, a horror-stricken look crosses his face.
BOB (cont'd)Oh, my god!
20.
Bob quickly opens his door, exits the cab, paces back and forth by the cab, gestures frustration and looks to the street for help. People pass by the alley but ignore Bob.
Bob opens the rear door, enters the cab, tries to calm Junkie down.
BOB (cont'd)Please stop. Oh god, you didn't even tell your his name.
Junkie continues thrashing about.
In his last moment of consciousness Junkie reaches out, grabs Bob by the throat, begins to strangle him.
JUNKIEI'm gonna' kill you if its the last thing I do.
Bob fights for his life as he struggles against the larger convulsed man.
Bob' eyes bulge from the strangulation, he however continues in earnest.
BOBI'm sorry. I never asked your name. I'm sure it would be a comfort, especially at a time like this. My Aunt Betty told me to always be polite to strangers. I'm extremely sorry, it's not that I don't have manners, it's just... well, under the circumstances... you know the pressure and all... I've never done well under pressure. But, I wouldn't expect you to understand. After all, what with you're having a seizure and all... But I want you to know-
Junkie rolls his eyes, has a final seizure, releases Bob, collapses and dies. THUD
Bob eyes bulge, he panics and tries to revive Junkie.
BOB (cont'd)Hey, fella. Wake up.
Bob shakes Junkie violently, decides on CPR.
BOB (cont'd)Wait! Don't die on me! When I was at summer camp, I was a kid you know?.. they taught me CPR. My Aunt Martha sent me to
21.
(MORE)
camp for six weeks. I couldn't figure out why she wanted me out of the house for the whole summer.
He pounds on the Junky's chest.
BOB (cont'd)But that's beside the point. What I'm trying to do is CPR, that's what I learned, at summer camp-
Bob looks at the mouth of Junkie. It is covered with white foam, a clear liquid rolls down his chin.
Bob looks disgusted.
BOB (cont'd)-course back then I was only nine.
Bob turns away in disgust. He grimaces, upchucks, reaches in his pocket, removes a hanky and wipes his brow. He turns back to the Junkie.
BOB (cont'd)Are you dead? Are you actually dead? Do you know how much trouble this is going to cause me?.. I mean, here you are dead, in my cab and ... Oh forget it.
(beat)I mean, it's not that I don't have respect for the dead but well, you know?... I'm trying to think about my career here. The company is going get very upset with me over this. I, I, I could loose my job.
The words sink in, Bob takes on a maniacal appearance, starts to strangle the dead junkie.
BOB (cont'd)You idiot, you may have cost me my job. I hope you die...
Some of the foam from Junkie's mouth gets on Bob's hand. He quickly pulls back, resuming his neurotic personality.
BOB (cont'd)Augh, that's disgusting-
Bob begins wiping his hand on his hanky.
BOB (cont'd) -but please, it's no reflection on you. My Aunt Cynthia, god rest her soul,
22.
BOB (cont'd)
(MORE)
(blesses himself)she told me to keep my hands clean. They spread germs you know? Hands do.
Bob looks sick, opens the other rear door, begins to vomit.
I/E. CAB - ALLEY - DAY
Bob POV: A large pair of mens black brogans. Splatters of his up-chuck speckle the shoes.
OFFICER MC NAILEYAhem!
Bob looks up to the grimaced face of OFFICER Mc NAILEY (50, extremely large, ruddy faced, beat cop.) He holds his riot baton in one hand, slaps it against the palm of his other hand. He speaks with a thick Irish brogue.
OFFICER MC NAILEY (cont'd)
Would you mind tellin' me just exactly what's going on here?
EXT. ALLEY - DAY
Bob gets out of the cab, closes the door and tries to hide the cop's view into the cab.
Bob gestures with his hands.
BOBWell first off, I'm terribly sorry... this is inexcusable of me, I mean about the shoes.
(points to the rear of the cab)I have a rag in the trunk for just such an occasion. If you could allow me just a moment to get it, I'll have those cleaned up in a jiffy.
OFFICER MC NAILEYI'm not askin' about the shoes, I'm-
BOBS-My Aunt Rebecca told me, to always keep your shoes shined, even if they're worn out on the bottoms.
OFFICER MC NAILEYAll right wise guy, enough of your fast talk. Give me some answers or I'm gonna bust you one.
23.
BOB (cont'd)
BOBWell personally, I wouldn't blame you for wanting to, ah, er ah... bust me one, seeing's as how, well...
(gestures to the dead Junkie)After all, this puts me in a bad light. Especially, with the shoes and all. But, let me assure I can get those as clean as new. Really I can.
Mc Nailey gives Bob a hard stare.
OFFICER MC NAILEYForget about the shoes.
BOBRight. You want to know about... You see... About this man, he just... It's extremely difficult to explain, and I know this is going to come as a shock to you and quite frankly I don't blame you, seeing's how he's dead and all. But, there's a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this, I can assure you. Now, I know this puts me in a bad frame of reference, especially with your shoes, and I certainly wouldn't want you to think badly of me, but as my Aunt Hortense would say-
Bob's voice trails off
FADE TO:
INT. TELEVISION STUDIO - EVENING
JEFF STILLMAN AND REBECCA HEART co-anchors for the channel 7 news - they report.
JEFFIt was a bizarre incident indeed.
REBECCAYes it was one of the most unusual crimes of the year. We have our instant eye news anchor Lydia Zigelbaum standing by for a full report. Lydia?
CUT TO:
EXT. ALLEY - EVENING
A sharp dressed LYDIA ZIGELBAUM reports - throngs of on-lookers try to get in the frame of the TV camera.
24.
Security Guards push away the bystanders to reveal Bob's Taxi.
Commotion in the background.
A Hippie approaches Lydia offers her a joint, a cop drags him off but takes a drag off the joint.
Lydia steps in front of the cab.
LYDIA ZIGELBAUMYes... Rebecca, it's been total mayhem since around noon today - here - in this normally quite section of our very upscale Union Square.
INT. TELEVISION STUDIO - EVENING
Rebecca and Jeff watch Lydia on a monitor.
JEFFCan you give us any of the details, or is it too soon to tell.
BACK TO:
EXT. ALLEY - EVENING
Lydia looks dead serious.
LYDIAYes, Jeff. We have all the news on this. It seems the owner of this cab, who 'the press' is now calling the CAB CRAZED TRANSIENT KILLER was involved in the possible murder of a perfectly innocent homeless man.
(grimaces)It seems, as eye witnesses have revealed - a certain Mr. Bob Fredella actually held a gun to the head of an yet unidentified homeless man and forced him to shoot pure heroin into his vein.
BACK TO:
TELEVISION STUDIO
Rebecca gasps, turns away from the monitor - Jeff stands and tries to comfort her.
JEFFWhat happened to the homeless man?
25.
Lydia on the monitor.
LYDIAHe was pronounced DOA at San Francisco General...
(almost in tears)It's such a tragic waste of the flower of a human life that was intentioanlly taken by a power hungry, controlling, manipulative bully with a severely warped and demented mind . . . but of course, Mr. Fredella is still only a suspect.
Jeff hugs then fondles Rebecca as the TV camera cuts to them, they immediately straighten out their act.
Jeff takes his seat.
Rebecca straightens her hair then her paper work.
REBECCAThank you so much, Jeff and thank you Lydia, for that eye opening report.
Lydia, on the monitor.
LYDIAI'll keep you posted on this fast breaking story because, as you know, no one blabs it faster than Channel 7 'Eyesight News'. Back to you in the studio.
JEFFOkay, Lydia... In News of the world - Government sources told Channel 7 news today that they have broken up yet another major drug cartel in Afganistan... with more on that late breaking report we take you to our world-wide and international correspondent, Blake Smilley. Blake?
CUT TO:
EXT. POLICE STATION - EVENING
An old red brick building. A brass plaque reads Central Station.
Two uniformed police officers in hysterics, run from the precinct building.
26.
They go in separate directions, run down the sidewalk, one appears to be Officer Mc Nailey. He screams maniacal as he runs away.
INT. CENTRAL STATION - INTERROGATION ROOM - EVENING
Birds eye view: Bob sits at a long table with a plainclothes cop.
Bob gesture wildly with his hands.
SERGEANT GRIFFEN stands against a wall and bangs his head against it while he simultaneously pounds it with both fists.
LIEUTENANT BROWN sits at the table, kitty corner from Bob. Momentarily, Brown's head falls to the table, with a THUD.
Bob's face, a look of complete innocence, his hands animate his every word.
LT. Brown pounds on the table in frustration. Griffen someone sobs(OS).
Bob, very sincere to Griffen.
BOBI'd offer a hanky, but they took it when I came in. And , I don't blame them.I've heard stories about attempted suicides with hankies, they tie them together, or... or something like that. But quite frankly the thought of it makes me sick... suicide that is... Death in general makes me feel pretty uncomfortable. But, I know how you must feel. I mean, just think of how I feel, I was there. Not to take anything away from you, after all your tears are real. It's just so marvellous to see someone who feels the same way. It like the way my Aunt Veronica felt about the loss of a human life. It's always such a tragedy, she said-
Lieutenant Brown slams his hands down on the table, abruptly stands, screams.
LIEUTENANT BROWNShut up.
He continues crying.
27.
LIEUTENANT BROWN (cont'd)
Don't you ever shut up?
BOBI get it. You have enough information.
Sergeant Griffen turns away from pounding the wall.
SERGEANT GRIFFENYou haven't told us a bloody thing.
Bob ardently defends himself, he is dead serious.
BOBDon't be silly, I've been here for seven and a half hours.
SERGEANT GRIFFENSure, we know all about your screenplay and your Aunt Lydia's secret recipe for tapioca pudding. We had to swear an oath before you'd tell us.
BOBBut you did swear, ah, ah. Am I right here?
In an attempt to prevent further running dialog.
LIEUTENANT BROWNAbsolutely... Absolutely. The recipe will never pass my lips.
BOBYeah, but what about him?
LIEUTENANT BROWNOh, his lips are sealed too. Ain't that right Griff.
Sergeant Griffen stops banging his head against the wall, walks to the table, paces.
SERGEANT GRIFFENOn my mothers grave, I swear, sealed till the day I die. Now, will you please tell us, in as brief a fashion as you know how, what exactly happened today? I express the word briefly. Please explain how a man ended up dead, in the back of your cab?
Bob sits back, he goes into heavy thought.
28.
The cops look at each other hopefully.
Bob snaps out of it.
BOBWell, I'm glad you asked, because... as you know - I was an eye witness... My Aunt Beatrice told me to always cooperate with the authorities-
The faces cops melt into deranged looks of hopelessness.
Bob, ever sincere-
BOB (cont'd)- she was a little on the heavy side, my aunt Beatrice was. Not that she wasn't womanly - 'course I've only seen pictures-
Bob whispers-
BOB (cont'd)-she was an exotic dancer...
(normal tone)not that those pictures were smutty. She was an artist, my Aunt Loretta told me all about it... It seems that back in the twenties she, Aunt Beatrice that is, not Aunt Loretta - she was a housewife and quite a housewife she was, but I'm getting away from Aunt Beatrice she was the dancer - she did a number - with feather fans - sort of peek-a-boo style... very popular back then yeah' know?
Sergeant Griffen walks back to the wall and bangs his head against it. Lieutenant Brown's head falls back to the table - THUD
BOB (cont'd)Those were different times back then, not like it is today with all the ramblings that happen in modern life.. Er, ah - if you know what I mean?
Lieutenant Brown's face - drool drips from his mouth, he SNORES LOUDLY.
BOB (cont'd)Ah? Lieutenant Griffen? Are you okay?
29.
Sergeant Griffen continues to bang his head against the wall. Bob shakes an unresponsive Lieutenant Brown. Bob looks horror stricken.
BOB (cont'd)Sergeant Griffen? There seems to be something wrong with the Lieutenant.
Sergeant Griffen ignores Bob, bangs his head against the wall. KNOCK at the door. Bob turns to face it as it opens.
SYLVIA PINKERTON a young blond, built for memories, enters carrying an attache case. Bob's eyes widen as she approaches the table with her hand outstretched.
SYLVIAMr. Fredella. Hi. I'm Sylvia Pinkerton.
Bob tries to straighten his frumpy appearance.
BOBHaven't I seen you some where before... like on the Playboy channel.
SYLVIADon't let my appearance throw you Mister Fredella... I am your attorney.
Bob looks like he's died and gone to heaven.
BOBReally! I mean, isn't that a coincidence... you know... especially since I might have use for an attorney at some critical juncture in my life. Won't you have a seat.
Sylvia sits next to Bob - she sees Sergeant Griffen banging his head and Lieutenant fast asleep.
SYLVIAWhat's with these two.
BOB Well I have really no idea... They were fine when I got here several hours ago... but, as you can see the Lieutenant obviously needs some sleep and Sergeant Griffen is all upset about Aunt Lydia's recipe for Tapioca pudding.
SYLVIAWho's Aunt Lydia?
30.
BOBWell, seeing how I just meet you I wouldn't expect you to actually know her but she was as kind a person as the world's ever seen... she made the best Tapioca pudding this side of heaven.
SYLVIATapioca... um.
BOBI could give you the recipe but only if you swear you'll never-
SYLVIAPerhaps some other time, Mr. Fredella. There is this matter of a man dieing in the back seat of your taxi cab.
BOBOh... is that why your here..? Well I can always write down the recipe later... Say, you're a lawyer right?
SYLVIAYes... Mr. Fredella... I am your legal counsel. Did you have some specific question?
BOBWell, now that you mention it... I'm having a rather annoying time with my screenplay... the situation requires a dramatic end to a dramatic story. They're very tricky... dramatic endings are.
Sylvia looks around the room, for help she shakes the sleeping Lieutenant.
BOB (cont'd)-the main problem is whether the wife should kill the husband-
Bob's voice fades.
CUT TO:
INT. TELEVISION STUDIO - NIGHT
Jeff Stillman and Rebecca Harris anchor the 11 O'clock news - both look extremely serious.
31.
REBECCAIn our top story tonight... the case of the Cab Crazed Transient Killer has taken the national spot light.
JEFFThat's right, Rebecca... Channel seven has a photo of the alleged suspect, a Mr. Bob Fredella.
A photo of Bob pops up on the monitor.
REBECCASources in the San Francisco Police department, who wish to remain anonymous, have provided Channel 7 with a detailed report on the depravity this suspect may have been involved with in the past.
JEFFA man without a record but a thug who's habits might link him to other cold cases and hundreds of previously unexplained, deaths of transient and homeless and other over the the last decade.
REBECCATrue, true, Jeff. And to shed more light on this type of criminal mind we have in the studio with us tonight, Doctor Hienrich Von Hoopersburgen, a Professor of criminal psychology at The University of California at Berkeley.
Doctor Von Hoopersbergen (70 serious-looking, glasses wrinkled suit) pops up on the monitor. In the background - his office - complete disarray.
REBECCA (cont'd)Doctor Von Husterburg so nice of you to join us.
VON HOOPERSBERGENSank you very much, Rebecca. Zuch a pleasure to be here tonight.
REBECCACan you shed a little light on this most interesting case.
VON HOOPERSBERGENVell vas ve have here mit zer case of zer Kab Krazed Transient Killer is a not zo
32.
(MORE)
typical un introduction into ze mind of a psychotic killer.
Rebecca puts her hand to her mouth, gasps - Jeff comforts her with a soft adoring look.
VON HOOPERSBERGEN (cont’d)
I know zese things are difficult to zwallow but in ze analysis of such minds ve in zer professional physiatric kommunity have great hope of finding the actual causes zat lead to this most unusual behavior.
JEFFIt's so comforting to know that persons of your caliber are working to establish guidelines so that future generations may be able to live in the hope of finding a cure for this mental disorder.
VON HOOPERSBURGENSank you, Jeff... Yes... I should zink - mitten another decade of research and multi-million dollar funding, ve might approach a deeper understanding of zer issue. After all... a mere twenty-seven million in grants today might von day lead to shortened prison time for zuch unfortunates as vat ve are studying here tonight.
(big smile)Is it really too much to ask?... A mere 27 million per year? To protect the life of even one human who might von day make a valued contribution to society?
REBECCAThank you, Doctor Von Husterburg for that enlightening bit of information.
JEFFAnd - this just in - The famous trail lawyer Sylvia Pinkerton has taken on this case. Ms. Pinkerton's credentials are widely recognized in San Francisco legal circles.
REBECCAThat's right, Jeff. She's never lost a case. But with all the evidence piling up I think even she'll have a tough time getting this alleged barbarian off the
33.
VON HOOPERSBERGEN
(MORE)
hook... Bail, by the away, has been set at 5 million dollars.
Bob's face pops up on the monitor.
JEFFObviously the police do not want to give this Neanderthal another chance to strike. In news of the world-
FADE TO:
EXT. CITY HALL - SEVERAL MONTHS LATER - DAY
Huge throngs of protestors promenade on the side walk - carry signs - NOTHING BUT DEATH WILL DO - HANG THE CAB CRAZED TRANSIENT KILLER. Hari Krishina people chant and dance. Some one with a bull horn shouts about injustice to the homeless.
INT. COURTROOM - DAY
A ponderous judge looks sternly at Bob who has his typical look of nervous innocence across his face. A Hannibal-type gag is strapped across Bob's mouth.
An extremely anxious SYLVIA PINKERTON - stands next to Bob.
Sylvia has aged considerably and has gained about forty pounds. Her previous bombshell look is now frumpy, over worked and wrinkled. She has a distinctive twitch in one eye.
The Prosecuting Attorney WILBUR BINGLEY sags on his seat behind the prosecution's table. He looks totally deranged.
The court room is otherwise vacant, except for a Bailiff and female court reporter. There is a virtual mountain of steno paper in front of her.
SYLVIAAnd in conclusion your honor, with all the evidence presented, I think we all have to agree that my client has an unusual talent for delivering evidence and that there can be no doubt as to his innocence.
Bob motions to Sylvia. She shushes him with a hand gesture.
34.
REBECCA (cont'd)
JUDGE PETERSONI don't see that the accused has presented one iota of evidence... I fact I don't think the accused is capable of presenting an iota of evidence... but, I'm not going to dwell on any of the trivialities concerning this case... the public is demanding justice and I...
(blesses himself)I am here to see that the law is served.
SYLVIAI understand, your honor. But I might ask your honor to remember that it was not I who introduced my clients screen play into evidence.
JUDGE PETERSONYes, yes... that has been underscored as admissable evidence by Judge Emerson who as you know is still recovering from the stroke he suffered during the first eighteen months of this trial. He's resting comfortable at Saint Mary's hospital.
SYLVIAThank you very much, your honor.
JUDGE PETERSONWith regard to the screenplay, because I had to read the entire manuscript, I'm still not sure that the wife shouldn't kill the husband and collect the insurance money... it's the only possible ending that works.... Mr. Prosecutor, any closing remarks?
Wilbur Bingely stands and mops his brow with an overused hankie.
WILBUR BINGELY(histerically)
Not on your life, your honor.
Judge Peterson looks at Bingley and winks. Bingley sits down behind his table, takes on the look of a madman.
Bob fidgets.
JUDGE PETERSONBailiff, would you please remove the gag form Mr. Fredella's mouth.
35.
Everyone in the room sighs. Bob get's a hopeful look. Judge yells at the Bailiff.
JUDGE PETERSON (cont'd)
Bailiff - if you please... we haven't got all day.
Bailiff stands at ease, smiles and bounces his restless leg.
JUDGE PETERSON (cont'd)
Would some one ask the bailiff to remove the cotton from his ears?
Court reporter stands, approaches Bailiff, taps him on the shoulder and points to his ears.
Bailiff gets it, pulls a wad of cotton from his ear, smiles to Judge who points to Bob.
Bailiff approaches Bob, removes the mouth gag.
Bob smiles politely.
JUDGE PETERSON (cont'd)
As you can see, after twenty three months, you've driven everyone who was attending the trial, including the jury to the point of insanity. As a result they won't be attending the sentencing this afternoon.
BOBI'm awfully sorry, had I known I could have sent flowers, they all seemed like such nice people. You, you know sensible, caring individuals-
JUDGE PETERSON-Silence.
BOBOf course, how stupid of me, but if I could just interject this one thought...
JUDGE PETERSONENOUGH! You have been charged with possession of narcotics with intention of sales, aiding and abetting a known felon, possession of counterfeit money and murder in the first degree. I'm required by law to ask if you have anything to say
36.
(MORE)
for yourself before I pronounce your sentence.
The judges head falls to his desk with a CRASHING THUD.
Bob is dead serious.
BOBWell I'm glad you asked, because I'd like to say something here...
He looks around the court room at the others who busy themselves and avert his pleading eyes.
BOB (cont'd)I mean I, I would never do anything like that aiding and abetting kinda stuff, let alone murder and dope dealing. And, the money was from a fare, how was I to know it was counterfeit?.. I'm a writer, for Pete's sake. Oh sure, I drive a cab to make ends meet, but some day I'm going to be famous. My mother's best friend Tootie, she was from Armenia ya' know, she was a writer you know?
Judge Peterson slowly props his head up on his arm, there are tears in his eyes.
JUDGE PETERSONYou don't say?
BOBShe was, god rest her soul.
(blesses himself)She wrote detective stories... for those dime magazines. She didn't make much money but she loved what she was doing... Much the same as myself. That is, I love the writing.
JUDGE PETERSONThis is all leading somewhere regarding the judgement?
BOBActually, yes. I actually am, that is if I could introduce one very specific point of ideology. In fact you might think I have some interesting thoughts on the matter of judgements... not to take anything away from you, your Honor. You know?.. You being a judge and all. I'm sure you didn't get that black robe for
37.
JUDGE PETERSON
(MORE)
nothing. I mean, I'm sure you know all about this judgements sorta' stuff and I wouldn't want to overstep my bounds, but since you asked... Ah, you did ask, didn't you?
JUDGE PETERSONFascinating. Truly fascinating.
BOBWell I'm glad you're showing some sense about all this... after all a judgement hangs in the balance of what I'm about to say. It's not too often I've had the opportunity to... you know speculate on the matter of judgements but I for one can definitely say, I feel pretty good about the opportunity. And I have you, your honor, to thank for this. 'Course my Aunt Janet might have thought differently because she was a bit on the rebellious side. Not that I blame her what with her mother being so strict. She, my Aunt Janet, not her mother, was, after all, the youngest of five and her mother only wanted the best for her... I'm sure you can understand that.
JUDGE PETERSONPerfectly - I understand perfectly. Now, about the judgement.
BOBThat's what I was saying about Aunt Janet's mother she was very judgemental - so much so that Aunt Janet had terrible neurosis - she was in therapy for years. Can you imagine?.. The pain inflicted by her own mother.
Judge Peterson nods his head, from it's propped up position it falls back to the bench with a CRUNCHING THUD.
Bob panics, looks around the court room.
BOB (cont'd)Isn't anyone going to help him. He could be dying. You know my Aunt Rita, she was a registered nurse... She told me once that passing out like that could bring permanent injury and, you know, stuff like memory loss... Someone should get his feet elevated....
38.
BOB (cont'd)
All present avoid eye contact with him. The bailiff begins dusting the jury box rail with his hanky.
INT. HALL OF JUSTICE - DAY
Bob, dressed in orange prison clothes, hand cuffs and leg irons chained together. He wears a full face mask with a closed mouth, the area around the masks's eyes accommodates his glasses.
He is lead down a vast, empty corridor by ten enormous guards, carrying riot shotguns.
PRISON GUARD 1They finally got this guy.
PRISON GUARD 2Just don't talk to him... I've heard he can kill just by talking to you.
PRISON GUARD 1Get out of town.
PRISON GUARD 2He killed Judge Peterson.
CUT TO:
EXT. JAIL CELL - DAY
A thickly barred jail-cell-door closes with a THUNDERING CRASH. The guards run away. Bob's voice echoes.
BOBThis could be serious... Isn't anyone going to listen to me? There are some serious social implications here, a crime... a real crime against humanity-
Close up: Bob. His woeful eyes look straight into the camera.
BOB (cont'd)-I mean, at least I think this is a breach of the public trust, a chink in the armor of society, a crimination in the normally accepted platitudes of social behavior...
Bob's sad face looks through the prison bars. His voice echoes, as if in a vacant chamber. CAMERA PULLS AWAY.
39.
BOB (cont'd)My Aunt Sylvia would never have approved of this. Hello? Isn't anyone going to listen? Hello?
FADE TO BLACK.
40.
