A Feature-Length Screenplay by Mark Barkawitz

FADE IN:

The following quote appears:

"I and the public know What all schoolchildren learn, Those to whom evil is done Do evil in return."

W. H. Auden

EXT. HILLSIDE NEAR PASADENA-NIGHT

The sliver of a moon hangs crookedly in the black, starless sky. The area is crowded with POLICE and their squad cars, an ambulance, PARAMEDICS, and Coroner’s wagon. Searchlights and flashing color bars atop the vehicles light up the night. DETECTIVE JOHN REESE, a big man around forty with a furrowed brow, talks with the CORONER, which is spelled out in large, yellow letters on the back of his jacket. Nearby, a station wagon pulls to a sudden stop. HARRY DOYLE hurries out the driver’s side. About the same age as the detective, his neatly-shorn hair is unkept, as if a hand rather than a comb has been run through it, and his mouth is set tightly in a square-shaped jaw. Wearing an off-the-rack sports coat and the tie loose around his neck, he runs for the hillside below, where yellow-white beams of light from the flashlights move in and out, back and forth, indicating the search in progress. But before he can descend the hillside, Detective Reese moves quickly into his path.

DETECTIVE REESE

Don’t go down there, Harry.

HARRY

Get out of my way, Reese.

DETECTIVE REESE
(grabbing his arm)

You don’t want to see her like this.

Harry pushes Reese out of his way and DISAPPEARS into the brush down the hillside, where more searchlights criss-cross. Seconds later, OFF-CAMERA, we hear Harry’s mournful cry:

HARRY
(Voice-Over)

No-o-o!

Like the howl of a lone wolf at the moon, it echoes in and out of the hillside canyons.

INT. HARRY’S BEDROOM—NIGHT

Sitting bolt upright in the king-size bed, Harry wakes in a cold sweat. His hair is untrimmed and streaked with gray and the lines around his eyes have deepened. Breathing heavily, he realizes he has been dreaming again. He reaches over to the nightstand, on which rests a framed picture of an attractive blonde woman in her mid-thirties, standing outside a church with her likewise blonde teenage daughter. From the drawer, he retrieves a half-empty bottle of whiskey next to a black steel handgun. Quickly, he unscrews the cap and sucks down a shot. Slowly lowering it from his lips, he leans back on the bed and cradles the whiskey bottle to his bare, heaving chest. A breeze blows the curtains at the open window, through which a full moon shines.

EXT. SOMEWHERE OUTSIDE OF BARSTOW—NIGHT

Under the full moon, an RV is parked on an unlit dirt road. The interior lights turn the drawn curtains on the windows yellow-orange, like the burning eyes of an over-sized jack-o-lantern.

INT. RV—NIGHT

The bedroom door opens and a MAN STEPS INTO the room, but we only see the pair of custom-made rattlesnake skin boots he wears. With eye sockets on either side, the toe of each boot looks like the rattler’s head about to strike. As the door closes, we follow the boots across the carpeted floor, stepping over thick, black extension cords that run to a stand of lights and a video camera on a tripod. A school uniform—blazer and skirt—are strewn next to the bed. The man’s hand, on which he wears an ornate silver and diamond ring, lays a half-smoked, brown cigarette in an ashtray next to a pair of scissors, a rubber Ronald Reagan head mask, a small make-up kit, and a pile of cut-out pictures of nude women, posing. His hand picks up the pictures and methodically drops them on the carpet surrounding the bed, then reaches over and turns on the camera.

INT. AUDITORIUM—DAY

At the monthly meeting of the floral society, Harry sits in the last row of the AUDIENCE, who are mostly senior citizens. Wearing a slightly rumpled suit, pad and pencil in hand, he is oddly out-of-place behind his dark glasses. On the dais, the CLUB PRESIDENT, a matronly senior with white hair, continues announcements concerning upcoming events. But a disinterested Harry is having trouble staying awake. As he begins to nod off, the ELDERLY WOMAN in the floral print dress next to him, elbows him in the ribs, startling him.

HARRY

Huh?

He sits up quickly. But having disturbed the orderly proceedings, all eyes are already turned on him. He pretends to clear his throat, smiles, and feigns interest, as the president continues her announcements.

INT. SHAKEY’S BAR—DAY

The downtown bar is small, dark, and empty except for SHAKEY the bartender/proprietor, who stands behind the bar, wiping glasses clean with a bar towel. On his T-shirt is the bar’s logo—two hands tightly holding a shaker. His meaty bicep is tattooed with a red heart and a dagger stabbing through it. Harry ENTERS through the front door and sits at the bar. Without asking, Shakey draws him a glass of draft and a shooter of whiskey.

SHAKEY

How’s it goin’, Harry?

HARRY

Shakey, there’s only one thing worse than sitting through two-and-a-half hours of Floral Society monthly. (shoots down whiskey; grimaces) Having to write about it.

Chasing it with the beer, he tosses a ten-dollar bill on the bar. Without waiting for change, he gets up to leave. Behind the bar, Shakey continues cleaning glasses.

SHAKEY

See you tonight, Harry.

Without turning, Harry raises his arm to wave goodbye; EXITS.

INT. LOS ANGELES UNION—DAY

The offices of the daily newspaper are busy with REPORTERS and OFFICE WORKERS toiling at their desks or criss-crossing in the aisles between them. Only Harry, leaning back in a chair at his desk, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses, and a blank screen on the computer monitor before him, doesn’t appear busy. From across the room, with sleeves rolled up and a pen leaking in his shirt pocket, JAKE BERK the editor, a balding work-aholic who is ten years Harry’s senior, APPROACHES.

JAKE

Damnit, Doyle! What the hell is this? You want me to fire you?

But Harry doesn’t move.

JAKE
(continuing)

I’d hoped transferring you to the Style Department might rattle your cage. But look at you. Fluff or no fluff, Harry. I need that goddamn story, goddamnit.

Reaching for his mouse, Harry calls up a file on the computer. He wears a plain, gold wedding ring. On the screen, appears a story entitled, “Shrinking Violets Have Their Day.” Jake leans over Harry’s shoulder, reads, then takes the mouse to transfer the story to his computer.

JAKE

Go back to sleep.

But as Jake turns to leave, he almost bumps into SYDNEY OLSEN. Around thirty, she is attractive, career-oriented, and recently hired to cover hard news—the front page stuff—Harry’s old beat. She wears a stylish suit/dress.

OLSEN
(referring to Harry)

So this is what a Pulitzer Prize winning reporter looks like?

Harry continues to relax, as though he weren’t the topic of anyone’s conversation.

JAKE

You’re new around here, Ms. Olsen. Things—people—aren’t always as they first appear.

Midway through his explanation, Jake notices the leaky pen in his shirt pocket, sighs, removes pen.

JAKE
(under his breath)

Shit. (to Olsen) Anything new on that hostage situation at the bank?

OLSEN

I’m on my way back down there now. Police aren’t saying much besides the usual P.R. I’m trying to get an interview with the bank president. He was at home when they took over the bank.

JAKE

You think he’ll talk to you?

OLSEN

I’ll make him think we’re trying to help. (half-smiles) I’m good at that.

JAKE

We are trying to help. (shaking head) Let me know.

As Jake turns to walk away, a young COPY BOY/ARNOLD PENSKY ENTERS in a rush. With his arms full of office supplies and his black-framed glasses slipping down his nose, he bumps into Jake. Oddly, they are dressed alike, except for the glasses and the copy boy’s pocket protector with its numerous pens.

COPY BOY

Sorry, Mr. Berk. I-I didn’t see you. (trying to push glasses back up without dropping supplies) My fault. Definitely my fault.

Without answering, Jake calmly pushes the supplies back into Arnold’s arms, then hands him the leaky pen.

JAKE

Do something with this.

Patting him on the back, Jake EXITS, muttering to himself. Arnold puts the leaky pen in his pocket protector and EXITS in other direction. Olsen comments to herself:

OLSEN

So this is how they run a newspaper in La-La Land.

She, too, shakes her head, then starts to walk away. Still lazing at his desk, Harry turns his head slightly, and from behind his shades, watches her EXIT.

INT. SHAKEY’S BAR—LATE NIGHT

It’s near closing time. On the TV behind the bar, Cal Worthington is standing on his head, selling cars. An empty shot glass sits next to a half-empty beer glass and a few loose dollars on the bar in front of Harry, who is passed-out with his head on his arms. On the stool next to him, sits a LADY LUSH with springy hair, drooping eyes, and a long cigarette between her fingers. Behind the bar, Shakey attends to closing duties. A few OTHER PATRONS sit at tables in BG. The Lady Lush tries keeping a one-sided conversation going with Harry:

LADY LUSH

. . . so after my second husband run off, I was gonna join the Navy. Ya know, see the goddamn world. But then I figgered I’d seen enough of it already goddamnit.

She laughs alone, smokes, drinks. On TV in a replay of the eleven o’clock news, an attractive LADY NEWSCASTER with a stiff, blonde hairdo reports an end to the aforementioned hostage situation at the bank:

LADY NEWSCASTER

. . . and although police now have both bank robbers in custody, psychologists agree it will be years before many of the hostages are able to put this nightmare behind them.

SHAKEY

Closin’ time. Drink ‘em up or I pick ‘em up.

Shakey carries a plastic trash can full of empty bottles from behind the bar and EXITS to alley. On TV, the Lady Newscaster segues to the next story:

LADY NEWSCASTER

San Diego police are looking for a missing teenager. They now believe seventeen-year-old Patricia Long was abducted on her way home from high school yesterday afternoon. And although police are down-playing any link between this and last month’s kidnapping of a sixteen-year-old Santa Barbara schoolgirl, the similarities are striking.

Two, side-by-side pictures of blonde, teenage schoolgirls appear on screen; one wears the same school uniform with crested blazer as was on the bedroom floor in the RV.

LADY NEWSCASTER (cont.)
(VO)

Both are approximately the same age. coloring, and each disappeared on her way to or from a Catholic girl’s high school. (CUT BACK TO Lady Newscaster) Anyone with information about either of these cases is asked to contact their local police department.

RE-ENTERING from the alley with the empty trash can, Shakey reaches up and turns off the TV. Finishing her drink, the Lady Lush rises, turns to the still-sleeping Harry.

LADY LUSH

Thanks for the rousin’ conversation, honey.

But as she is about to leave, she reaches over and snags a ten-dollar bill from the money in front of Harry. Smiling to herself, she turns, but before she can make her getaway, a hand reaches from behind the bar and grabs her arm. Shakey stares across the bar at her. Dropping the money, she wrenches her arm free.

LADY LUSH

Whatta’ you? His goddamn babysitter?

As she stumbles towards the front door, Shakey looks down at Harry, still slumbering next to his drinks on the bar.

EXT. DARK STREET—LATE NIGHT

A gray-primered ‘Vette parks in front of a dark house in a middle-class neighborhood. The bondoed, fiberglass door on the driver’s side opens and Shakey GETS OUT. He goes to the passenger side and helps a drunken Harry OUT of the car and up to the front door of his house. He reaches into Harry’s coat pocket for the house keys.

INT. HARRY’S HOUSE—NIGHT

Inside the dark livingroom, the front door opens. Flipping on the light switch, Shakey helps Harry INTO the house. The room is a mess of old newspapers, empty beer cans, TV dinner trays, et cetera. Shakey dumps Harry on the couch, who immediately falls back to sleep. Looking around at the room’s condition, Shakey shakes his head. On top of the TV is a pile of unopened mail. An overdue electric bill is on top. Shakey picks it up, exposing an ad mail card on which is the photo of a missing boy and the words: “Have you seen me?”

SHAKEY
(looking at bill)

Harry, they’re gonna shut-off your electricity again.

But Harry is asleep, so Shakey puts the notice into his own pocket. On his way out, he turns on the lamp next to the couch, so Harry won’t trip and fall in the dark if he wakes. Shakey turns off the light switch on the wall and EXITS out door. In the soft, yellow light spreading down from the cone-shaped lampshade, Harry curls into a fetal position. Below him on the carpet halfway under the couch, lies an old, yellowed newspaper. The headline reads: “Missing Student Found Murdered.” In the B&W photo below the headline, a blonde teenager in school uniform smiles for her high school picture—the same girl who stands on the church steps with her mother in the framed picture on Harry’s nightstand.

INT. L.A. UNION—MORNING

Into a glass of water, two Alka-Seltzer tablets drop and fizz. Sitting at his desk behind dark glasses, an unshaven Harry props his chin on his hand and waits.

INT. EDITOR’S OFFICE—MORNING

In his shirtsleeves, Jake stands at his office window with the publisher MR. HERTZ, both staring out at Harry. Hertz is a few years younger than Harry. Under his impeccably-groomed hair and whisper-thin moustache, he wears an expensive, three-piece suit.

HERTZ

I’ve allowed this to go on for too long.

JAKE

He’s been with the paper a long time, Mr. Hertz.

HERTZ
(turning from window)

That’s why I’m telling you, Jake, not only as his boss, but as his friend. Clean him up now or he’s history. It’s been three years since his daughter was murdered. Time enough for him to get over it. We have a newspaper to run. That’s the bottom line.

They both turn and look out the window at Harry again, who holds his nose and shoots down the bubbling glass of antacid.