INT. FATBURGER
Skinheads hassling people for spare change just outside here leave Charlie alone when he enters past them, heading down a long hallway to rest rooms where he inserts quarters for the turnkey.
INT. MEN'S ROOM
A tattooed and naked young Skinhead’s squatting in one of the sinks, taking a bath. Anticipating a shocked reaction, what he gets instead is no reaction at all. Charlie’s got other things to deal with. He disappears into one of the stalls.
The stall's filthy and there’s no toilet liner to sit on, no toilet paper, either, so he lays the attaché case across the seat and sits on that. He's got the shakes. But he needs clean water, so he gets back up and flushes, then flushes again before dipping a handkerchief into the bowl, using this to wipe blood from his face and hands. He then opens out the scissors of his Swiss Army knife and, working it left-handed, starts cutting his beard.
The Skinhead’s got his pants on now and he’s shaving stubble from the back of his neck when the door to the stall swings open. He shoots a look to the mirror. Charlie’s just standing there, watching him. His hair’s been cut short; the beard, too.
SKINHEAD
Yeah? You want something?
EXT. FATBURGER
When he rejoins the other skinheads out on the sidewalk, he lets the wet and bloody shirt he's wearing, Charlie’s shirt, say all there is to say about what went down inside. He’s not answering questions, he’s not in the mood for questions, or for company, either. Despite this, the others follow after, trying to keep up as he takes off, running down the block.
Charlie, clean shaven, wearing a filthy, sleeveless T-shirt, stops just inside the glass doors and stands there watching the street until the manager, tracking his muddy footprints, comes up behind him, tells him he has to leave.
EXT. AVENUE
Of the two public pay phones here, one has no receiver at the end of its cord and the other’s occupied by a pregnant young woman with four small children, two of them on leashes. She speaks a spitfire Spanish, and leaves behind a wet mouthpiece when she hangs up. Even after wiping this dry, Charlie uses news-print to hold it, and he’s careful not to let it touch his face. He dials a number.
INT. JACOB'S DETECTIVE AGENCY
Nobody here. An answering machine picks up on the third ring.
SYLVIE (RECORDING)
Jacobs. Leave your name and number.
The line clicks, goes to dial tone.
EXT. AVENUE
There’s nobody by the pay phones. A bus is pulling away from the stop.
EXT. SIDESTREET
Where a missing section of the sidewalk has been staked out with forms, a construction worker stands at the rear of a cement mixer, ready to pull the gate on the pour chute. The Blond Man, soaked through and animated as he comes this way, talking on his cell phone, never breaks stride as he passes by, losing all he took off the dead Columbians under a flood of concrete.
He’s talking non-stop, and whoever it is he's talking to, it's nobody he likes.
BLOND MAN
... so he called and he's coming to see
you, and you'll handle him now. Well,
who could ask for anything more? ...
How do I know it’s cracked? I saw it!
It’s cracked, alright? It’s no good. He
says he's got a backup ...
EXT. EMERGENCY CLINIC
Charlie exits, his thumb heavily bandaged and taped.
INT. CAB – MOVING
Examining the cracked computer disk, Charlie glancess up just as the driver, instead of continuing east on 50th, makes a right onto 2nd Avenue.
CHARLIE
Why're you turning here?
CABBY
Cuz you can't get through that way.
Some bullshit at the UN.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING
Heading down the sidewalk, Charlie sees two cops at the south end of the street where barricades close off 1st Avenue. He pulls on his jacket. And buttons it.
INT. PENTHOUSE
Coming inside, Charlie goes straight for the bookshelves and takes down an outdated and disemboweled edition of the Social Register where he keeps his backup diskette in the cut-out. Removing this, he puts it into an envelope, on the flap of which he writes a phone number, a date, and the account's access code.
CHARLIE
Just for fun. Just for fucking fun!
The message light on the answering machine is blinking. He hits playback and, as the tape rewinds, starts pulling off his wet clothes. A sudden twinge of pain in his balls. He eases himself down onto the couch, takes a prescription bottle out of his pocket. Shaking out three, four pills, he pops them, but can’t choke them down dry, so he pulls flowers from a vase on the side table and drinks the scum-green water. The first message clicks in:
VOICE (RECORDING)
Ya, Mr. Hastings, this is Klaus at West
Side. Your car, it is here now. We try
to have it back to you by 3. Thankyou.
His thumb hurts, but his balls hurt more. He holds himself ...
The next call on the machine is a dial tone hang-up, as is the next one, and the one after that, three blanks of empty noise that crank up his fear. He gets to his feet. And then just stands there, adrenaline pumping, but stuck in neutral until the pain medication kicks in and then he has to move just to keep from falling, stumbling a few steps to the mantle-piece where he hangs on. And now there’s another voice on the tape. It’s Gaines.
GAINES (RECORDING)
Got your message, Charlie. Five'd be
just fine. See you there.
Charlie watches the answering machine, waiting for more. But that’s the last of it. A brief moment of silence before a clock on the mantle sounds the half hour. It's 4:30.
INT. BEDROOM
After putting on a clean shirt and getting a duffle bag down from the closet, he's dizzy again. Needs to sit. On the bed. But he's too dizzy even for sitting, and so he lies down. And uses the remote control to turn the TV on. For the sheer noise of it. To keep himself awake. He flicks channels until he comes across an interview show where the guest is just now being introduced.
HOST (TV)
And here to help us better understand
all of this is Theodore Twombly. Dr.
Twombly’s a graduate of Yale, class
of ‘52 ...
TWOMBLY (TV)
(Interjecting) '53.
HOST (TV)
... ‘53, where he also earned both his
Masters and doctorate in economics,
Dr. Twombly was senior fellow at the
esteemed Brookings Institute until 1997,
at which time he was elected to the
Federal Reserve's Board of Governors.
So. Welcome. Thankyou for being here.
TWOMBLY (TV)
(Careful, fruity voice) My pleasure.
Charlie has difficulty striking a match left-handed, and then, when he does get a light, discovers that the cigarette has a tear and won't draw.
HOST (TV)
The Chairman, in a statement issued
earlier today, said that any tightening
of the money supply to further slow
the dollar's decline would be premature.
As he tries to get comfortable, Charlie keeps getting tangled up in the bedcovers and clothing he's laid out there to be packed. And now he smells something and he gets himself even more tangled as he shifts about, looking for the dropped cigarette.
TWOMBLY (TV)
I believe what he actually said was that
it would be premature to comment on
any such eventuality.
HOST (TV)
I have the transcript right here if …
TWOMBLY (TV)
Yes, I’m sure you do. In any case the
Central Banks of all the G8 member
nations have pledged to continue their
support, and we ...
Charlie's frantically slapping at a slow spreading burn hole in the comforter when the channels begin to flip. He must be sitting on the remote. He is. He moves and the flipping stops. But he can't get at the damn thing. He can feel it buried there, but doesn’t have the energy to dig for it, and now the TV's stuck on a program hosted by rhinestone Christians with big hair, teary eyed hucksters who use film clips of starving orphans of the Coffee Wars to solicit contributions in the name of Jesus. The phone rings.
There's a phone on the bedside table, but he lets is ring, instead retrieving the .38 from his attaché case and, on the third ring, when the call's handled by the answering machine, he goes to stand in the doorway, listening, waiting for a voice. But once again, the caller hangs up.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING
Exiting from the service door, Charlie makes his way down the alley, lugging the unzipped duffle bag.
EXT. 49th STREET
He hurries along the sidewalk to the parking garage near the corner; barricades along 1st Avenue close the street to cross-town traffic.
INT. PARKING GARAGE
Charlie keeps glancing at the wall clock as the Manager looks for his car keys on the pegboard. It's 5:25.
MANAGER
Nope. Still checked out. And now that
they got everything blocked off round
here, ain' no way you gonna ...
CHARLIE
They said they'd have it back by 3!
The Manager looks at the clock, looks at Charlie. Nods, shrugs, blows his nose.
MANAGER
Long past 3.
Charlie's already out the door.
EXT. 49TH STREET
A cop lets Charlie past the barricades. As he crosses 1st Avenue, he reacts to loud bi-lingual chanting and sees a large number of people spilling over from the UN Plaza on 48th. He continues east along 49th toward Beekman Place.
INT. GAINES APARTMENT
Gaines keeps checking the time. He's got his angry wife on speaker phone.
MRS. GAINES (OS)
... and they're not just dropping by.
This has all been planned for weeks,
as well you know, you who set such
great store by tradition. Certainly it
is not for my sake that I ...
GAINES
Bunny ...
MRS. GAINES (OS)
It's 4th of July weekend, Randolph,
we do this every year!
GAINES
Yes, I know we …
MRS. GAINES (OS)
I hope you don't expect me to fire that
obnoxious little cannon of yours.
GAINES
Damnit, Bunny, I told you, I can't be
there. I wish I could be, but I can't.
The doorbell rings. He turns off the speaker, finishing what he has to say into the receiver.
GAINES
Look, Bunny, I’ve got to go. I'll call
you later. Okay?
The line's dead. Hanging up, he quickly composes himself and strides briskly out of the room to the front door. He’s taken aback when he opens it and finds himself face to face with a clean shaven Charlie.
GAINES
Lord love a duck, it's the Godchild I
remember. Come in, Charlie, come in.
I was beginning to think you might not
Show up. I worry about you, Boy-O.
Charlie leaves the duffle bag in the entryway when he comes in. Still groggy, he avoids looking directly at Gaines who, after closing the door, crosses to the bar.
CHARLIE
About lunch today, I ...
GAINES
You weren’t hungry. Sit down, take a
a load off. Drink?
There's the clink of ice cubes, drinks being poured, Charlie unaware that Gaines is watching him in the mirror as he takes the envelope out of his pocket.
GAINES
A little R&R, Charlie. You get your fill
of that, you'll come back chomping at
the bit.
Setting two highballs down on the coffee table, he waits for Charlie to hand him the envelope, and then acts pleasantly surprised when he does just that. He notices the numbers printed on the flap of the envelope, has a quick look at the diskette inside. Explaining what each of the printed numbers signifies, Charlie starts at the top with 7/16/00.
CHARLIE
Expiration date ... And this here is the
access code ... Fund manager's phone
number, in case you feel like leaving a
message.
GAINES
Fine. Now you can put it out of your
mind. Relax. Let me worry about it.
He returns to the bar where he locks the envelope inside a mirror fronted wall safe. Charlie, watching him, fiddles with a silver cigarette box on the table, opening and closing the lid.
GAINES
The hell happened to your thumb?!
CHARLIE
Car door.
GAINES
Jesus, Charlie!
CHARLIE
What do you make of all this stuff
coming out now about the coffee,
how this blight's no accident and ...
GAINES
Fairy tales.
Joining Charlie on the couch, he moves the cigarette box to his side of the table to stop him from playing with it.
CHARLIE
They're saying it's CIA.
GAINES
Who's they, the Columbians? Always
consider the source, Boy-O.
CHARLIE
But what if it's true? I mean, how do
you explain ...?
GAINES
(Interrupts) It's not my job to explain.
We're not here to fix all the world’s
problems, Charlie. We're here to make
money for our clients.
CHARLIE
And if that means people are going to
get killed, then, if that's what it takes,
that's what it takes.
GAINES
So now this is the house Jack built?
You make out on the coffee and all
of a sudden, it’s blood money? Hey,
Charlie, look, people get killed, okay?
People are always getting killed. It's
a jungle out there.
Plainly irritated, he pats his pockets down for his pipe, the one he now spots on the mantelpiece. He gets back up.
CHARLIE
Survival of the fittest.
GAINES
Goddamn right.
With ritualistic precision he stops before an antique clock there by the fireplace, and proceeds to wind it.
GAINES
Let you in on a little secret, Charlie.
Those people down there, whenever
something goes wrong, it's always the
CIA. What was it your dad used to say?
Jesus may be their savior, but it's the
CIA has to suffer for their sins.
Finished with the clock, he packs his pipe and lights it, and Charlie, reading this as an invitation to smoke, and out of Camels, reaches for the cigarette box. It's polished silver, an ebony deaths-head mounted to the underside of the lid. It's also empty. Gaines puffs on his pipe, watching him.
GAINES
The Great Satan.
Charlie's not listening, his attention totally on the box. Engraved on the outside of the lid is the name DEATHSHEAD, the year 1953 in Roman Numerals, and a motto in Latin which he tries to translate.
CHARLIE
We die and salute you? About to die.
We about to die salute you.
He picks the box up, showing it, but Gaines, pouring himself another drink, dismisses it with a wave of the hand.
GAINES
Something like that. Afraid Latin never
was my strong suit.
CHARLIE
Deathshead. 1953. This was at Yale?
GAINES
Silly thing really.
CHARLIE
'53. Twombly was '53. You know him?
GAINES
Who?
CHARLIE
Twombly. Federal Reserve Board.
GAINES
Know the name. (BEAT) So. Where you
off to?
CHARLIE
Just point the car and go, I guess. Wind
up someplace. Oh no, I ...
He suddenly remembers he doesn't have a car and needs the business card he has in his wallet. His thumb’s hurting again. He holds the card up to the light.
GAINES
4th of July weekend, you're driving?!
CHARLIE
Use the phone?
There’s one on the coffee table. He dials it. The ensuing conversation alternates between Gaines and whoever it is he’s got at the other end of the line.
CHARLIE
Car's in the shop. Supposed to be back
by now, but ... (PHONE) Hello? Yes,
I’m calling about my car. I was told I’d
have it back by 3, and here it’s almost …
Hastings.
Gaines sets his drink down on the table, on top of the business card.
CHARLIE
(To Gaines) Something at the UN. They've
got all the streets ... (PHONE) No, it’s not,
I was just there ... But that’s the point, he
can’t drop it there, they’ve got the streets
closed off all along 1st Avenue.
GAINES
Just have them drop it off here. Building
reserves spaces out front. I'll tell the door-
man.
CHARLIE
(PHONE) Right. So could you have ... Yes,
I know he's not back yet, but when he gets
back, could you tell him to drop it off at 21
Beekman ... Place ... And about how long
do you ... Bitch!
The line's dead. He hangs up.
GAINES
I 'll go call that down right now.
When he exits the room, he takes his drink, and with it the card that's stuck to the bottom of the glass.
Charlie, once again patting his pockets for cigarettes he hasn’t got, gets up and wanders about the room. An Air Canada ticket’s been left out on the desk, the itinerary typed on notepaper that's clipped to the folder. He's looking at this when Gaines comes back in, all business.
GAINES
Done.
Hooking arms with Charlie, he steers him to the door.
GAINES
Hate like hell having to kick you out of
here, but Bunny'll be back any second
now. With our houseguests. If she finds
you here looking like something the cat
dragged in ... Well, you know Bunny.
Gaines remains in the open doorway as Charlie carries the duffle bag out to the elevator and hits the call button. There’s an awkward silence with only elevator noise to fill it. Until the car arrives and Charlie gets on.
CHARLIE
So you're off to Toronto?
GAINES
(BEAT) Some damn charity thing. I'll
tell Bunny you said to give her a hug.
He treats Charlie to a wink and a big smile that dies as soon as the doors slide closed and Charlie's no longer there.
Comments