The Hitmen and her

CUT TO:

INT. CAR

A Buick. Mike and Steve are inside - Mike driving. They are dressed like what they are - a couple of two-bit hit-men: rumpled suits, loose ties, cheap shades. Mike is in his fifties, lean, tired-looking. Steve is a good twenty years younger, muscular but running to fat. Steve's persona is very much that of the eager rookie killer: arrogant, slightly unhinged, anxious to prove himself. Mike, on the other hand appears more detached and world-weary - though there is a definite sense that there may be more to him than meets the eye: he listens, internalizes, says nothing. There is also about him a sense of bitter resignation that he has reached the age he is and still has to hang out with low-lifes like Steve.

Steve is half-way through eating a burger. His face is blank with shock. Mike seems pretty cool.

STEVE
(excited)
Did you see that fuckin' maniac? Did you seehim?

MIKE
(calm)
Of course I saw him. How do you think I missed him?

STEVE
Did you see what the fucker was doing? Jerkin' off. The fucker was jerkin' off.

MIKE
I saw him.

STEVE
Jerkin' off. On a fuckin' highway. Jesus!

CUT TO:

Their P.O.V. Ed's truck is a little way ahead of them, in another lane. It suddenly puts on speed and pulls further away.

CUT TO:

Steve and Mike again. Steve reaches down behind his seat and picks up an M-16.

STEVE
You gonna catch the fucker up?

MIKE
(sharp)
Put it away, for Christ sakes. You wanna get us pulled?

STEVE
Hey, what's the sweat? Who's gonna give a shit out here?

MIKE
(firmly)
Just put the gun down.

Pause. Steve puts the gun down, reluctantly.

STEVE
I say keep death off the roads - shoot fuckin' dangerous drivers.

MIKE
Save it.

Pause. Steve carries on with his burger.

STEVE
(to himself)
Fuckin' jerkin' off. I mean, would you believe it? (normal) Did you see the hair on the fucker? All done up in those fuckin' knots they have. Must be a faggot.

Pause. Mike seems puzzled.

MIKE
How'd you make that?

STEVE
What?

MIKE
The guy's a faggot. How'd you make that?

STEVE
I said¦ his fuckin' hair. All these faggots got long hair. They're all doped-out fuckin' hippies. Save the earth - stick your dick up someone's ass. Stop the population explosion.

Pause as Mike considers this.

MIKE
My brother's got long hair. He's not a faggot. He's got nine kids.

STEVE
(looking at him)
I didn't say all people with long hair are faggots.

MIKE
That's what it sounded like to me.

STEVE
No¦ what I said was, all faggots have got long hair.

MIKE
(nodding head)
Ergo, all men with long hair are faggots. So my brother, with three ex-wives, five grandchildren and two live-in girlfriends must be a faggot.

STEVE
(getting perplexed)
Jesus, will you listen¦

MIKE
(interrupting)
I mean, where's your rationale for this?

STEVE
(nonplussed)
What? Where's my what?

MIKE
Your rationale.

STEVE
My rationale¦

MIKE
Yeah.

Steve just looks at Mike as if unable to figure out if Mike's having a game. Finally he shakes his head and smans - though uneasily.

STEVE
Okay, Mike¦ I'll give you that one. You had me going there a minute.

Mike glances across at him.

MIKE
(seriously)
Hey, listen¦ I ain't pullin' your pecker here. I want an answer. You made a statement. You made an assertion. You proffered an opinion. So I want to know how you intend to defend it. Upon what basis do you justify what you say?

Steve - burger poised half-way to mouth - just gapes at him.

MIKE
(continuing)
I mean, you can't just go saying things like that and expect to get away with it. You can't generalise like that. You can't say just because someone looks like this, therefore he must be that. Just 'cos some woman wears short skirts and a low-cut top don't make her a wet deck. I happen to know some faggots. Some of them have long hair and some of them have short hair. I know faggots who are bald. So, does that make all bald men faggots? Johnny Bonanno is bald. Does that make him a faggot? If so, you better tell him, 'cos I ain't. I got better uses for my balls than having them shrink-dried on a key ring.

Steve doesn't know what the fuck to make of this.

STEVE
I don't get it. I mean, the fucker nearly trashes us back there and you're defending him.

MIKE
I ain't defending him. I'm just saying that because he's got long hair don't mean he's a faggot. Okay, maybe he is. Who knows? That's his business. But you shouldn't go making assumptions about people because of how they look. You could wind up in trouble. Joey Dantini's five-two with a club foot and hands so small he can wriggle out of handcuffs. But I seen him take out one guy's eye while he's stamping on another guy's head.

STEVE
(heard it all now)
Jesus, Mike. You got me. You really have.

Steve reaches up to the dash and fingers a photograph that is taped there. It shows the face of a man - sixties, cropped grey hair, weasly, scared-looking.

I mean, look at this fucker for instance. Even if I didn't know who he was, I'd take him for a squeak.

MIKE
How do you make that?

STEVE
You only have to look at him. The eyes are too close together. The face is too thin - like a fuckin' rodent. It's a face that screams out at you squeak.

Pause.

MIKE
I've got a thin face.

STEVE
(sick of this)
Okay, Mike - forget I spoke. I don't wanna go down that road no more.

Pause. He turns to look at Mike.

There's a difference, you know? I mean, I can look at you and straight away I know I can trust you.

MIKE
How? You only just met me. You don't know nothin' about me.

STEVE
I know what I've heard. Everyone respects you.

Mike doesn't flinch, though he is obviously flattered.

And anyway - you don't look like a squeak. You got a thin face, but you don't got a squeak's face. You got a face that says 'here's a guy can be trusted.'

MIKE
(grinning)
'In Mike we trust', huh? I'm flattered. I'll tell my wife what you said. It'll be a source of great comfort to her. (pause; looks at photograph) Actually, I have to agree with you on this one. He does look like a squeak. Don't ask me how, he just does.

STEVE
Who'd you say he screwed?

MIKE
Jimmy Soroka. Guy called Freddy Lee - I worked with him a way back, when he had some businesses in Joliet. Couple of smaller faces. And Davey Piano, of course. (points at photo) Rodent's the word for that guy. That there's one big fuckin' squeak.

STEVE
(grinning)
He'll squeak a different fuckin' tune soon.

Steve make a noise like a pig in distress. Pause.

MIKE
Here we go. Hope Springs.

He signals for an exit and pulls across the road.

STEVE
Squeak-piggy-squeak! (pause) Davey Piano, huh? I heard of him.

MIKE
Everyone's heard of Davey. (shakes head) When I think of the wheels he turned.

STEVE
Yeah?

MIKE
You got no idea. He was a one-off.

STEVE
I heard he got crippled inside.

MIKE
A fuckin' tragedy. Two months from parole. Got stoned on acid, jumped off the fuckin' overhead walkway flappin' his arms. Davey was one big fuckin' bird, too, I can tell you. Bounced outta the safety net, landed head-first on some fuckin' screw, broke both their necks. Tragic thing is, Davey would never touch that shit on the street¦I mean, not just personally - as a matter of principle. I always respected him for that.

STEVE
It's where the dough is.

MIKE
(with contempt)
Is that right? Well, you can fuckin' keep it. I'd sooner be in the halfway house.

STEVE
You never dropped none?

MIKE
No I fuckin' ain't. I don't intend to neither. Only chemical goes in here is Excedrin.

Pause.

STEVE
You know, I always wondered. Why'd they call him Davey Piano?

MIKE
Why?

STEVE
Yeah. I mean, I heard he once nailed some big fat fuckin' wise guy up in a grand piano. Some rich greaser, had a big fuckin' yacht on Lake Michigan. Davey takes his head off with one of the strings first, then nails him up in this fuckin' piano and dumps it overboard. I always guessed that's how he got his name. Like, that was his specialty, you know?

MIKE
You heard that?

STEVE
Yeah.

MIKE
That's bullshit.

STEVE
Yeah?

MIKE
That's right.

Pause.

STEVE
So, what was it, then? Was he a pianist or something?

MIKE
(amused)
A pianist? Davey? The only thing I ever saw him play was the numbers. I tell you, he was like fuckin' Liberace at that.

Pause.

STEVE
So? Why was he called Davey Piano, then?

MIKE
Why?

STEVE
Yeah.

MIKE
(deadpan)
Because that's what Mr and Mrs Piano had him christened. Davey.

STEVE
(disillusioned)
Right. (pause) Jesus, will you look at this place?

CUT TO:

Their P.O.V. They are at the limits of a small plains town: silos and scrub. They pass a paint-blistered sign saying 'Hope Springs'

STEVE
I bet there's some real hot ass-fuckin' goes on out here.

Mike slows down and signals to pull off the road.

MIKE
Better get some gas.

STEVE
Good. I need some more chow.

CUT TO:

EXT. GAS STATION

A small self-serve with a burger restaurant attached. They pull up at a pump and get out, stretching. Mike starts to pump gas. Steve wanders towards the drive-thru window.

STEVE
You want anything?

MIKE
You kidding?

STEVE
Well, ain't I a bitch for askin'.

CUT TO:

The drive-thru window. The server, Jenny, switches on her microphone, beaming. Her teeth are braced. She is about sixteen.

JENNY
(parrot-fashion)
Good day, sir. My name's Jenny. What can I get you?

Steve smirks at her.

STEVE
Well, and a very good day to you, too, Jenny. My, it's a hot one, isn't it. Makes you sweat in the worst places. And can there be a worse place than this, I ask myself? (pause) Now let me see, Jenny - you very kindly asked me what you could get me, and in reply to your courteous question let me say I think I would like to have a double-deck quarter-pound char-grilled burger with double cheese and dill pickles and fried egg on a salad base - not too heavy on the tomato - with onions, mayo, ketchup and corn relish, and just the teensiest squeeze of French's Favorite yellow. Please.

JENNY
(unflinching)
Sorry, sir. (points at menu in window) We only have what's on the card.

STEVE
I see¦ so you only have what's on the card. (looks at menu) In that case, I'll have¦ a Humungous Honchoburger and a Gross-out Special¦ (looks at her, smirking) ...combined in one bun. You think you can handle that?

JENNY
(confused and out of patience)
I'll ask him. Anything with that, sir?

STEVE
Yeah. Make it two.

JENNY
Any fries?

STEVE
What, you think I'm a pig or something?

Jenny is completely flummoxed.

No fries, Jenny. Just as they come. And a large Coke. Diet.