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EXT. ROADSIDE PARK/LATER
- NIGHT
Virgil's still up, smoking and reading "The Lost Lady" by
Willa Cather. Bud starts to moan and move around -- he's having
a nightmare.
BUD
No!
Get out! Swim for it! Ya gotta get out!
We're
goin' down!
Virgil
reaches over and shakes Bud's shoulder, waking him.
BUD
(groggy)
Huh?
VIRGIL
Go
back to sleep.
Bud sits up and lights a smoke.
BUD
Thanks.
In a while.
Soon Stan starts to moan from a nightmare. He talks in his sleep and
doesn't stutter.
STAN
Jesus
Christ, they're everywhere! They're
behind
us, too! We gotta get outta here!
Bud reaches over and shakes Stan's shoulder
waking him up, too. Bud hands him the lit cigarette and Stan takes
it.
STAN
T-t-t-thanks.
The three men sit up smoking, not very interested in going back to sleep.
Suddenly, Dewey springs up, looking all around blankly.
DEWEY
(panicked)
Where
the fuck am I?
Stan hands Dewey the cigarette.
As Dewey takes the smoke it all comes back to him.
DEWEY
Oh,
yeah.
Virgil glances over at Jason, dead asleep and snoring. Virgil
looks back at the other guys and they all grin.
BUD
Man,
I used to sleep like that, too.
VIRGIL
We
all did.
Suddenly, bright lights hit them in the face. They all hold up
their hands to shield their eyes and see what's going on. Two
Ohio State TROOPERS come walking up wearing Smokey the Bear hats.
TROOPER
#1
What're
you fellas doin' out here?
VIRGIL
We're
camping.
TROOPER
#2
I
don't see no tents.
VIRGIL
What
have tents got to do with it?
TROOPER
#2
You
can't camp without tents.
VIRGIL
Who
says?
TROOPER
#1
We
say.
BUD
You
guys got any other camping tips for us? Like
what
kinda plants we shouldn't eat?
TROOPER
#1
Don't
get smart with us, friend.
BUD
I
can't get any smarter'n I already am and I ain't your
friend.
Stan puts his hand on Bud's shoulder.
STAN
C-c-can
it, B-B-Bud.
TROOPER
#1
That
fella has sense. You listen to him.
TROOPER
#2
Just
pack it up and move it out. This is a day park,
no
camping. Try readin' the signs next time.
The Tropper aims the beam of his flashlight at a sign nailed to a tree,
"No camping." The guys wearily get to their feet and
begin rolling up their sleeping bags. The Troopers stroll back
toward their car.
DISSOLVE:
EXT. SHAMROCK, TEXAS - DAWN
The sun is just starting to rise over the small town of Shamrock in
the panhandle of Texas on Route 83, about a mile south of Route 66.
It's a dust-blown little town with a few shops, The Panhandle Saloon,
an outrageously art deco Fina gas station with the Drop Inn Cafe attached
to it. The entire town exists on about a half a mile of road with
most of the houses right behind the businesses. About a half a
mile south of town are a few oil wells and a small refinery.
EXT. McMILLAN HOUSE - DAWN
The black Chevy with "Shamrock, Texas, Sheriff" written on
the door is parked in front of a little, windblown wooden houses.
Sheriff McMillan steps out the front door of the house. He takes
a deep, hearty breath of morning air, starts to violently cough and
hocks up a big goober. He then unwraps a fat cigar, tosses the
wrapper on the ground, bites off the end and spits it, then plugs the
stogie in his mouth. He gets in the car and drives away.
A moment later LuAnne comes out the front door. She nervously
looks in both directions, then hurries up the street.
EXT. DROP INN CAFE - MORNING
LuAnne arrives at the Drop Inn Cafe, goes around back and knocks on
the screen door. It is opened by a worn-out, middle-aged woman
with unruly black hair named RUTH. She looks surprised to see
LuAnne.
RUTH
Why,
LuAnne, I didn't thank you'd atchually come.
LUANNE
(determined)
I
said I would an here I am.
RUTH
You
shore this is all right with your Daddy?
LUANNE
What's
my daddy got t' do with it? 'Sides, there ain't
no
other jobs to git here in Shamrock and I jus' gotta
make
some money of my own.
RUTH
Whata'ya
need money for, LuAnne?
LuAnne's eyes blaze for a second.
LUANNE
To
git the hell outa this town, that's why.
RUTH
(nods)
I
kin un'erstand that. I been wantin' t' get outa this
town
for twenty years an' I never made it.
Ruth takes LuAnne's shoulder and leads her inside.
INT. DROP INN CAFE/KITCHEN - DAY
Ruth hands LuAnne a white waitress uniform.
RUTH
You'll
have t' wear as it is today. Y'all kin bring it
home
with ya tonight and take it in and let it out
where
ya need t'. Just 'member, the tighter it fits
the
better the tips you'll get. An I thank you'll
get
some good ones.
Ruth and LuAnne exchange a smile.
DISSOLVE:
INT. DROP INN CAFE - DAY
The Drop Inn Cafe is open and doing brisk breakfast business.
Ruth and LuAnne are taking the orders and bringing the plates of eggs
to a crowd of all men wearing cowboy hats and boots. Most of them
are at least fifty, just a few are in their twenties or thirties.
All of them, however, are extremely amused to see LuAnne working there.
A lean, fifty year old, grey mustached, intense-looking man wearing
expensive cowboy gear, MR. BUFORD, grabs hold of LuAnne and pulls her
down on his lap.
MR.
BUFORD
Damn,
LuAnne, I 'member when you was born. Seems
like
it was 'bout three years ago. Now you'se all growed
up,
an' lookin' real good, too.
LuAnne tolerantly peels his hands away and stands up.
LUANNE
Now,
Mr. Buford, don't be grabbin' me like that. I ain't
even
eightteen yet.
MR.
BUFORD
(grins)
Shit!
I married my first wife when she was fifteen. I
was
seventeen.
LUANNE
Yeah,
but that was back in the last century when things
was
different.
This gets a big laugh from everyone in the vicinity. At first
Mr. Buford looks angry, but he decides to go with it. As LuAnne
starts to walk away he grabs her hand.
MR.
BUFORD
Now
jus' hold on a minute there, girl. Don' go rushin'
off,
I ain't done.
LUANNE
(tolerantly)
What?
MR.
BUFORD
Why
didn't ch'all come t' me if you was lookin' for a job?
I'da
made ya my secretary down t' the refinery. Make a
helluva
lot more money'n here.
LUANNE
I
ain't got enough iron in my blood t'put up with ya chasin'
me
around the desk all day. I'd get plumb wore out.
This gets another laugh. Mr. Buford pulls LuAnne back down on
his lap.
MR.
BUFORD
Honey,
I'd catch ya in no time an' you'd get wore out
for
other reasons than me chasin' ya.
LuAnne tries to stand, but he's not letting go.
LUANNE
Leggo.
(he
doesn't)
Come
on, Mr. Buford, leggo.
MR.
BUFORD
(grinning)
Uh-uh.
LUANNE
I'll
tell my Daddy an' he'll make ya.
MR.
BUFORD
(laughs)
Your
Daddy? Make me? Your Daddy can't make me
do
nothin', or anyone else for that matter, prob'ly not
even
you.
(he
pushes LuAnne away)
Now
go get my food afore it gets cold.
Mr. Buford smacks LuAnne on the ass. LuAnne straightens her dress
and heads back toward the kitchen. She and Ruth exchange a look
saying, "Men, Jesus!"
That's when Sheriff McMillan comes walking in. He sees LuAnne
and blows a gasket.
SHERIFF
(furious)
What
the hell's wrong with you, girl!? I didn't say
you
could get no job!
LuAnne turns around balancing four plates. Everyone in the cafe
goes silent, tensely watching the scene.
LUANNE
Y'all
don't say I kin do nothin'. An' ya won't gimme
no
damn money, ya cheapskate, so what'm I s'posed
t'
do?
The Sheriff turns red and looks around, totally embarrassed.
SHERIFF
Your
s'posed t' do what I tell ya t' do, that's what! Now
git
your butt home! Ya wanna job? Clean the goddamn
house!
It's a pig-sty!
LuAnne is on the verge of tears.
LUANNE
(begging)
But
Daddy, please . . .
The Sheriff grabs LuAnne's arm causing her to drop all the plates and
drags her out the door.
SHERIFF
Goddamn
you, girl! I'm gettin' sick and tired of your
gum!
Now git home!
EXT. DROP INN CAFE - DAY
The Sheriff drags LuAnne outside, then goes back in. LuAnne stands
there in her ill-fitting white uniform, tears streaming down her cheeks.
She feels utterly helpless and finally turns and runs away.
INT. DROP INN CAFE - DAY
The Sheriff addresses the attentive crowd.
SHERIFF
I
apologize for the disturbance ever'one. Go on with
your
bidness.
(to
Ruth)
I'll
pay for them dishes, Ruth.
RUTH
Damn
right ya will.
Ruth bends down to clean up the mess. The Sheriff sits down at
the counter and re-lights his cigar. Mr. Buford calls out.
MR.
BUFORD
That
gal a yer's is lookin' good, Alex. Spunky's all
git
out.
The Sheriff doesn't turn around.
SHERIFF
She's
got a bad attitude, just like her ma. I'll tell ya
this
much, mouthy women're a curse.
All of the men in the restaurant grunt and nod in agreement. Ruth,
on her knees with her hands full of dirty food and broken dishes, rolls
her eyes in wonderment.
MR.
BUFORD
Ya
know, Alex, that little girl a yours embarrassed me
in
front of ever'one.
The Sheriff turns around, his cigar halfway to his mouth.
SHERIFF
What
she say?
MR.
BUFORD
(enjoying
himself)
She
said that you were gonna make me do somethin'.
The tension has returned.
SHERIFF
What?
MR.
BUFORD
I
don't thank it matters what. Are you gonna make me
do
somethin', Sheriff? Anything?
SHERIFF
(carefully)
Let's
just say I'm not of a mind t' try t' make you do
anything.
MR.
BUFORD
(pushing)
What
if you were of a mind? What then?
SHERIFF
(quietly)
I
wouldn't be.
MR.
BUFORD
(nods)
That's
right. Now why don't you bring me one of them
cigars
a yours, would ya please? Sheriff.
The Sheriff hesitates, then finally stands, walks over and hands Mr.
Buford one of his cigars. Buford takes it and peels off the wrapper.
The Sheriff sits back down at the counter.
MR.
BUFORD
You're
a good man, Alex. A fine law officer. Got a light?
A look of distress afixes itself on the Sheriff's face. He sighs
deeply, takes out some matches, goes over and lights Mr. Buford's cigar.
Ruth watches from the kitchen and disgustedly looks away. Everyone
in the cafe looks ashamed. Mr. Buford looks up at the Sheriff
through the cloud of smoke and winks.
MR.
BUFORD
Thanks.
DISSOLVE:
EXT. SPRINGFIELD, OHIO - DAY
The guys on their motorcycles drive south of U.S. 68, Jason's radio
is playing "East Of The Sun (West Of The Moon)" with Frank
Sinatra singing. Just as they're nearing the city of Springfield
they encounter a crown-topped, black and white road sign that states,
"Route 66, Ohio." They all look at each other and grin.
BUD
California
here we come.
They turn right, heading west.
DISSOLVE:
EXT. THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER - DAY
The motorcycles cruise over a huge, old suspension bridge spanning the
mighty Mississippi River. Jason tunes his radio and picks up black
men playing the blues on both stations. Jason shrugs and leaves
it.
JASON
Hey,
dig these crazy tunes.
When they get to the western end of the bridge they pass two MOTORCYCLE
COPS with "St. Louis Police" on their gas tanks, parked on
both sides of the road. The Cops both do double-takes, look at
each other, shake their heads and start their bikes.
Our guys glance over their shoulders and see the two motorcycles approaching
fast. They all look at each other, now what? The Cops pull
up on either side of them.
MOTORCYCLE
COP #1
Where
you fellas goin'?
VIRGIL
California.
MOTORCYCLE
COP #1
(amazed)
California?
On motorcycles?
(to
the other Cop)
You
hear that, Bill?
MOTORCYCLE
COP #2
(nods)
Yeah,
sounds great. Wanna go?
MOTORCYCLE
COP #1
Shit!
We should.
MOTORCYCLE
COP #2
You
fellas vets?
(they
all nod except Jason)
Me,
too. Patton's Fifth.
VIRGIL
(impressed)
Rugged.
2nd Marine Division.
Both Cops look impressed.
STAN
(pokes
his chest)
M-m-me,
t-t-too.
BUD
Navy,
7th Fleet.
DEWEY
Army.
Staff Sergeant 87th Battalion.
Cop #2 looks at Dewey in disbelief.
MOTORCYCLE
COP #2
You
were a Staff Sergeant?
DEWEY
Motor-pool.
The Cop nods and Dewey looks bugged.
Cop #1 turns to Jason.
MOTORCYCLE
COP #1
What
about you?
Jason points at Virgil's back.
JASON
I'm
his brother.
VIRGIL
So,
what's a good, cheap place to eat in St. Louis?
MOTORCYCLE
COP #1
Brown's
is good.
MOTORCYCLE
COP #2
It
sure is, but doesn't really make a difference since you
guys
ain't stoppin'.
VIRGIL
(tightens)
We're
not? How come?
MOTORCYCLE
COP #1
'Cause
we're ridin' you out to the city limits.
BUD
(tense)
And
why's that?
Both Cops shrug.
MOTORCYCLE
COP #1
Why
not?
MOTORCYCLE
COP #2
Right.
I mean, we gotta do something, don't we? But don't
sweat
it, we don't mean anything by it. It's our job.
Our guys all nod. They all ride up the road.
DISSOLVE:
EXT. ROADSIDE - DAY
Dewey and Bud work on Stan's motorcycle on the side of the road.
They have the engine in pieces. Dewey is busily cutting out a
piece of a coffee can to use as an engine part. Bud shakes his
head in disbelief.
BUD
You
really think that's gonna work?
DEWEY
(shrugs)
For
a while. It worked on tank engines.
BUD
You
sure?
DEWEY
Hey!
Did the tanks get t' Berlin? Did we win the war?
All
right then.
The other guys are hanging out smoking cigarettes.
A fellow in dirty overalls holding a lunch pail comes limping up the
road. His name is HORACE BERGER. His right leg is stiff,
the right side of his face is scarred and burned and his head is cocked
to the left. As he gets near and sees all the motorcycles a look
of amusement and interest crosses his face.
HORACE
What're
you fellers up to?
VIRGIL
(defensive)
What's
it to you?
HORACE
It
ain't nothin' t' me. I jus' like motorcycles s'all.
VIRGIL
(nods)
We're
heading out to California to visit some of our
service
buddies.
HORACE
I
got service buddies in California.
JASON
You
in the service yourself?
HORACE
(nods)
Shoot
. . . I was a captain in the damn Air Force, pilot
of
a B-17. I flew twenty-seven missions 'til I got shot
down
over Germany.
JASON
(interested)
What
happened?
Virgil taps Jason on the arm and whispers.
VIRGIL
Nix.
HORACE
(waves
his hand)
S'okay.
Spent the rest of the war in a hospital in France.
They
put me back together pretty good, too. Didn't have
all
that much t' work with, that's a fact. The name's Horace Berger.
Dewey looks up from the motorcycle engine.
DEWEY
What'cha
doin' now, Horace?
HORACE
I'm
a janitor over t' the high school. It ain't very
hard
an' the pay's all right.
(nobody
says anything;
Horace
coughs)
Ya
know, I gotta motorcycle. Triumph. Ain't touched
it
in years. Not since before the war, anyway.
VIRGIL
If
you wanna come along, you're more than welcome.
HORACE
(chuckles)
Shoot
. . . Ride t' California on a motorcycle? I dunno
about
that . . . I don't even walk too good no more . . .
But
thanks.
Horace hobbles away, throwing a number of glances over his shoulder.
Dewey finishes working on the engine. Stan kicks the starter and
it fires right up. Dewey turns to Bud and nods, see? They
all hop aboard their machines, kick them to life and head up the road.
EXT. OLD FARM - DAY
As they pass a dilapidated farm house about a mile up the road, they
see Horace out in front of a barn sitting on a dusty Triumph kicking
it and kicking it. He's now wearing a brown, leather bomber jacket.
HORACE
(calling
out)
Hey!
Hold up!
The guys all slow down and watch.
Horace is in a sweat as he keeps kicking the starter and turning the
throttle.
HORACE
(aggravated)
Shoot!
As he comes down on the starter with all his weight, one of the bolts
holding the front wheel on drops of into the grass. Horace doesn't
see this. The engine hesitantly catches, sputters, then revs.
Horace grins as he puts it in gear, guns it, sprays dirt and grass out
behind him and rides up to the others.
VIRGIL
What
changed your mind?
HORACE
You
ever cleaned a urinal?
VIRGIL
Yeah,
during basic. I didn't like it much.
HORACE
(nods)
Me,
neither. 'Sides, ridin' sure as hell beats walkin'.
VIRGIL
Well,
Horace, you're the ranking officer in the bunch.
In
fact, you're the only officer in the bunch.
HORACE
I
hope ya don't hold my bein' an officer against me,
fellas.
These days I see myself more as a janitor
than
a Captain.
BUD
You're
still a Captain.
HORACE
If
you say so, but I thought the war was over.
DEWEY
If
you say so.
HORACE
(pauses)
I
don't know that I do.
DISSOLVE:
EXT. ROUTE 66/MISSOURI - DAY
Lightning flashes in the sky over Route 66. Rain is pouring down
in buckets and no one is on the road. At the side of the road,
under a stand of evergreen trees, the bikes are all parked in a line.
The guys are sitting under picnic tables waiting out the storm.
Jason looks nervous.
JASON
Ya
know, being under trees is about the worst
place
to be in a lightning storm.
Everybody shrugs. Big deal. Bud points at Stan.
BUD
It
ain't the trees I'm worried about, it's Stan's head.
I
hear those steel plates're like lightning rods.
DEWEY
(grins)
Yeah,
I heard that, too. I think I'll jus' slide away
here.
Dewey and Bud both slide over an inch.
VIRGIL
Yeah,
maybe if you get hit in the head with lightning
you'll
get super-powers like in the comic books.
STAN
L-l-like
S-S-Superman. T-t-then I'll j-just f-fly t'
C-California
and l-l-leave you a-a-assholes here.
A big bolt of lightning flashes and comes down very near, followed by
an Earth-shaking crash of thunder. Everybody looks at Stan, then
they all slide away from him and start to laugh.
STAN
(smiling)
F-f-fuck
all of y-y-you.
Dewey crawls over to his motorcycle, reaches into one of his saddlebags
and pulls out a red can of Prince Albert tobacco. He crawls back
to the others. Dewey gets back to his spot under the table and
opens the tobacco can.
DEWEY
Any
a you white boys ever smoke any hooch?
They
all look at him blankly.
DEWEY
Ya
know, Jive? Marijuana?
Bud grins and nods his head.
BUD
Oh,
sure. In Bangkok once. I woke up back on
the
ship and it was the next day.
Dewey pulls out a cigar-sized bomber, puts it in his mouth and lights
up.
DEWEY
Let's
see if you wake up back on the ship again.
Dewey takes a big hit and passes it to Horace. He takes it and
holds like an alien object.
HORACE
Now,
what do I do with this thing?
DEWEY
Smoke
it. Hold it in.
Horace takes a puff like a cigarette. He smacks his lips.
HORACE
Shoot
. . . That's nice an' sweet. If cigarettes tasted
like
this I think I'd take 'em up.
He hands it to Bud. Bud takes a hit, starts to cough and passes
it to Jason.
JASON
I
heard about this at school. Some of my friends
smoked
some down at a jazz show. Duke Ellington.
I
was supposed to go, but my Dad wouldn't let me.
Jason takes a hit, immediately starts to cough and hands it to Virgil.
Virgil eyes it suspiciously.
VIRGIL
And
what's it supposed to do?
Dewey is already lighting another one.
DEWEY
It's
gonna make you not give a damn for a little
while.
VIRGIL
I
already don't give a damn.
DEWEY
Then
it'll make ya not give a damn that you don't
give
a damn.
VIRGIL
(grins)
Gung
ho!
Virgil takes a hit. The joints go around and around. Everybody's
eyes get red and drop to half-mast. They're all quiet, each one
totally absorbed in something: the dripping water from between the table
slats, the veins of a leaf, a caterpillar, a knife into the table leg.
Dewey watches all of them with great amusement and reaches into his
coat pocket.
DEWEY
I
don' suppose any of you guys wanna share these
with
me.
Everyone looks up from what they're doing.
VIRGIL
Share
what?
Dewey's hand slowly comes out of his pocket with . . . Two Baby Ruth
bars. Everybody screams and attacks him.
DISSOLVE:
EXT. MOTEL - DUSK
The motorcycles are parked in a line in front of a little, roadside
motel, The Missourian Motel. Jason comes out the door of one of
the rooms, hops on his bike and rides away.
DISSOLVE:
INT. MOTEL ROOM - NIGHT
All the guys are crammed into one room. They are sitting on the
floor in their skivvies playing poker and drinking beer.
Jason comes walking in with a white bandage on his forearm. Everyone,
particularly Virgil, looks up and notices the bandage.
VIRGIL
(concerned)
Hey!
What happened?
Jason grins and peels back the bandage. He shows them a tattoo
of a three-headed dragon.
JASON
It's
a Chinese dragon. It means good luck.
Everybody's impressed -- it's a nice tattoo-- except Virgil, that is,
who looks baffled.
VIRGIL
Why'd
you go and do that?
JASON
(shrugs)
Why
not? All you guys got tattoos.
VIRGIL
(shakes
his head)
But
we were in the service.
JASON
Who
cares? There's no rules, Virg. Jesus, gimme
a
beer.
Jason sits down and joins the game. Horace gets dreamy.
HORACE
I
got a tattoo. A beautiful, redheaded gal give it t' me in
England.
She really thought I was somethin'. Sybil Shears
was
her name. Reddest hair you ever saw. Freckles, too.
But
she weren't one of them ugly redheads that looks like they
got
a rash all over 'em. She was the prettiest gal I ever
seen.
Sybil . . .
Horace drifts off into a nostalgic dream. Everyone else is just
looking at him.
BUD
So,
let's see the tattoo.
Horace returns to reality.
HORACE
(embarrassed)
Huh?
Oh, no.
They all look at each other.
DEWEY
Why
not?
HORACE
(serious)
I
just can't, that's all.
JASON
Was
Sybil a bad tattoo artist? Is it really crappy
looking?
HORACE
Aw,
no. It's beautiful. Sybil was top-notch. Prob'ly
still
is.
VIRGIL
(impatient)
So
let's see it.
Horace looks embarrassed, then finally
stands and lowers his his boxer shorts. He reveals a colorful,
complicated tattoo of a naked woman with bright red hair and a banner
that says, "Sybil" nearly covering one whole cheek of his
ass. Everybody bursts out laughing. Horace pulls up his
pants and sits down, blushing red.
JASON
Wow!
It looks like it took a month to do.
HORACE
(grins)
Two
months. Ever'day.
BUD
(laughing)
That
gal made sure you'd never forget her.
HORACE
Damn
straight, and the tattoo had nothin' to do with
it.
(grabs
a beer)
Shoot
... I'm poppin' a mean woody jus' thinkin'
about
it.
Horace puts the cold beer bottle between his legs.
DISSOLVE:
EXT. MOTEL - MORNING
All of the guys mount their bikes preparing to leave. Bud takes
a knife from his Army boot and cuts off the sleeves of his jacket.
Now it's a vest. The multitude of tattoos on his arms are clearly
visible. Jason does the same thing, peels off the bandage and
tosses it. With their beards and hair growing out, Horace's leather
bomber jacket, the vests and the visible tattoos, they're really beginning
to look like a motorcycle gang.
DISSOLVE:
EXT. SALT CREEK ROAD - DAY
A rusty, bent street sign riddled with bullet holes reads "Salt
Creek Road." It stands out sharply against the deep blue
sky; the town of Shamrock is in the distance across Route 66.
Salt Creek Road is a thin little dirt road in the desert. At the
point where it intersects a wider dirt road there is a wooden road-block.
LuAnne comes riding up on her bicycle and stops. She has a crumpled
brown paper bag in her basket. She looks all the way around, then
quickly pedals past the road-block, up Salt Creek Road.
LuAnne rides up to a winding groove in the sand that was once a stream.
She gets off her bike, reaches into the bag and removes a green, U.S.
Army surplus entrenching tool. She wanders slowly along the edge
of the creek.
LuAnne arrives at an unusually large mound of dirt. She unscrews
the head of the tool, pulls the shovel halfway out and tightens it into
a hoe. LuAnne swings the blade of the tool into the dirt and starts
digging. Three scoops down the blade clangs against something
hard. LuAnne pushes the dirt away to reveal the rusted handlebar
of a motorcycle. It pokes out from the dirt like a twisted root.
LuAnne scans the vicinity, shading her eyes from the sun. Right
nearby is another mound, this one covered with colorful wildflowers.
EXT. LONE STAR REFINERY - DAY
The Lone Star Petroleum refinery is about a quarter of a mile east of
Shamrock, just off Route 66. It's a small business with just a
few oil derricks, some dusty machinery and a wooden shack housing the
office. A corrugated tin fence surrounds the whole thing.
Mr. Buford comes out the door of the office and gets into a pick-up
truck with "Lone Star Petroleum" on the door. He drives
away from the refinery up a bumpy dirt road toward Route 66.
EXT. ROUTE 66 - DAY
Mr. Buford makes a left on Route 66, grinds the gears and heads west.
Way in the distance, shimmering in the heat haze, Mr. Buford sees someone
on a bicycle crossing Route 66 riding into town.
From Mr. Buford's expression we can see that he finds this an odd, unsettling
sight.
When he arrives at the turn-off into town, he looks to his left, toward
Shamrock, and can see the person on the bicycle in the distance riding
up Main Street.
Mr. Buford looks to his right. The sign on the dirt road north
of Route 66, where the bicycle just came from, says, "Salt Creek
Road."
Mr. Buford's eyes go wide with panic. He slams the truck in gear,
kicks up a cloud of dust and barrels into town.
EXT. MAIN STREET - DAY
Mr. Buford drives along Main Street, apprehensively looking in both
directions. No bicycle, no people, no nothing. The old farts
in front of the drugstore all wave, but Mr. Buford pays no attention.
The old farts all appear a bit hurt at being ignored.
EXT. McMILLAN HOUSE - DAY
As Mr. Buford slowly cruises past the McMillan house, LuAnne comes out
the front door, a paperback book in one hand ("The Postman Always
Rings Twice" by James M. Cain), a brown paper bag in the other.
Mr. Buford stops the truck, gets out and steps up to the porch.
MR.
BUFORD
What'cha
got there, LuAnne?
LuAnne sits down on the porch swing.
LUANNE
A
book.
Mr. Buford comes up the steps.
MR.
BUFORD
I
mean, in the bag?
LUANNE
What
bidness is it of yours?
MR.
BUFORD
It's
my bidness 'cause I say it is!
He grabs the bag, opens it and takes out a bottle of Coca-Cola.
Mr. Buford looks confused.
MR.
BUFORD
What
were ya jus' doin' over t' Salt Crick?
LUANNE
(innocently)
I
wasn't at Salt Crick.
MR.
BUFORD
(flatly)
But
I saw ya.
LUANNE
Ya
saw me? Ya shore?
MR.
BUFORD
(confused)
Well,
I saw someone on a bicycle.
LUANNE
T'weren't
me.
Mr. Buford looks befuddled. He starts looking up and down Main
Street.
MR.
BUFORD
I
ain't s'shore I believe ya, LuAnne.
INT. McMILLAN HOUSE - DAY
We can see Mr. Buford through the screen door standing on the porch.
Through the front window we can see LuAnne on the porch swing.
In the foreground, sitting on the kitchen table, is a rusty, cracked
motorcycle headlight.
LUANNE
Ya
know what, Mr. Buford, I don't give a good
goddamn
what'cha believe.
MR.
BUFORD
(offended)
How
dare ya talk t' me like that! I'm twice your age-
LUANNE
-At
least. More like three times.
Mr Buford looks inside through the screen door. LuAnne stiffens.
MR.
BUFORD
Is
your Daddy home?
LUANNE
Nope.
EXT. McMILLAN HOUSE - DAY
Mr. Buford turns to LuAnne.
MR.
BUFORD
Well,
I'm gonna speak t' him about you. You got
no
respect for your elders.
LuAnne places the edge of the Coke cap on the porch rail. She
smacks it and the cap pops off the bottle.
LUANNE
Damn
tootin'. I got a theory 'bout respect, Mr.
Buford,
ever'body gets jus' as much as they
deserve,
an' not a speck more.
Mr. Buford furiously stomps back to his truck.
MR.
BUFORD
Why
don' ya jus' shut your big bazoo, li'l girl!
(muttering)
Kids
these days!
He gets in his truck and drives away.
LuAnne glances inside through the window, sighs and takes a big slug
of Coke.
DISSOLVE:
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