REVERSE ANGLE FROM BEDROOM DOOR - ON ERIC
as the cat, dropped, hits the floor and scrambles out of the way.
CLOSE-UP - ERIC
vising his head, teary-eyed, his nose bleeding.
ERIC
No! Don't look! No! No!
He whirls unexpectedly and punches his fist completely through
the masonry wall.
FLASH: Eric and Shelly in a mock waltz. He spins her and they
collapse on the bed.
FLASH ENDS.
ANGLE - ERIC
slowly pulling his arm out of the wall.
ERIC
(whispering)
Stop it.
His eyes roll up and he slumps the length of the door frame like
a drowning man.
ANGLE - GABRIEL
watching Eric. He hits with an o.s. THUD.
INT. THE PIT - ON FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT
As a gloved hand sets up four bullets next to four shots.
FUNBOY (O.S.)
Let's have some fun.
Funboy pops the bullet, like a contact capsule and washes it down.
T-Bird turns to Tin-Tin, the new guy.
T-BIRD You first.
TIN-TIN
You're outta your fuckin' mind.
Into it, almost jazzed, Tin-Tin downs his bullet and shot, and
T-Bird does likewise. Points to Skank.
T-BIRD
No. I'm not the lunatic. He is.
Skank riles, pulls a huge Auto Mag and sticks it in T-Bird's
face, cocking.
SKANK
Fuck you, T-Bird.
Just as lightning fast, T-Bird has his own gun out and jammed
right under Skank's jawbone. He makes a kissy face.
T-BIRD
I love you too, you madman.
They all crack up laughing like ax murderers. Skank drinks,
Tin-Tin spot checks the satchell from Top Dollar's. Darla
delivers more shots and funboy feels her ass.
FUNBOY
Hey, pussycat.
INT. LOFT - DOWN ANGLE (CROW POV) - ERIC ON FLOOR
He's awake. Pushes himself up.
REVERSE ANGLE - THE CROW
Is perched in a dead light fixture, monitoring Eric.
ANGLE - ERIC ON FLOOR
He's awake. Pushes himself up. Realizes he is in the center of a
faint chalk outline on the hardwood floor. He reaches to touch
the dark stain of old blood.
FLASH: Shelly spills into frame, mouth bloodied. T-Bird
instantly on top of her, rough.
FLASH ENDS.
ANGLE - WITH ERIC
as he abandons the outline and staggers to the window... where
he cuts open his hand on jags of glass.
FLASH: Eric held firm in the grasp of T-Bird and Funboy, one
arm each. Five bloody bullet holes in Eric's chest.
The thugs 1-2-3 and hurl Eric backwards through the window,
which shatters.
FLASH ENDS.
ANGLE - ERIC AT THE WINDOW
Reeling backward, same trajectory as in the Flash, but toward
the floor, in SLO-MO. Overloaded. Blacking out.
AS ERIC FALLS - INTERCUT MONTAGE
A jumble of good/bad images from the loft: Tin-Tin embedding a
page of paper in the loft wall with a throwing knife...
Shelly's face as she lights a candle... a POPPING champagne
cork... the echoing CANNONADE of the shots that killed Eric...
Skank backhanding Shelly... Shelly blowing bubbles from a
clawfoot tub full of suds... Eric catching Funboy's first slug
high in the chest... NEW ANGLE of the glass in the window
blowing out as T-Bird and Funboy through Eric through...
ANGLE - ERIC'S REAL TIME FALL
He plummets to BLACK OUT FRAME. THUMP. Out cold.
INT. PIT - RESUMING FUNBOY'S TABLE - NIGHT
Funboy contemplates his drink as the previous scene reverbs.
FUNBOY
More fun than a torture chamber.
Tin-Tin's pocket pager goes BEEP and startles them all. Skank
nearly shoots it, jumpy. Tin-Tin pulls back on a black leather
trenchcoat after clicking off the pager.
TIN-TIN
I hate this goddamn thing...
ANGLE - DARLA watching them from a distance as Tin exits.
INT. LOFT - FLOOR LEVEL - NIGHT
An enormous cockroach trundles past, large in FRAME. RACK to
show Eric lying on floor b.g. as his eyes pop open. A flurry of
dark motion as the crow flies past frame.
ANGLE -- THE CROW -- Having snatched the bug in it's beak. Eats
it.
ANGLE - ERIC
rising from the floor. Careful. Stealthy. Watches his fireplace.
ERIC
We have company.
ANGLE ON FIREPLACE
Huge. Marble. COld. Eric's paper mache masks of Comedy and
Tragedy still hang there. The Skull Cowboy steps out of the
dark and into the vague blue light. Shadowy as ever.
SKULL COWBOY
Having fun yet? No?
(beat)
I'll give you a hint. Remember
whatshername?
ERIC
Shelly?
SKULL COWBOY
Miss her?
ERIC
Yes.
SKULL COWBOY
Kill the men who killed you both,
and the Day of the Dead will be
your reunion.
The Skull Cowboy prestidigitates a flat throwing knife(like Tin-
Tin's). Eric's gaze follow it closely.
SKULL COWBOY (CONT'D)
You must use your eyes.
He points to the crow.
ANGLE - THE COMING KNIFE - ("CROWVISION")
Weirdly distorted, a shared vision between Eric and the crow.
TIGHT ON ERIC
As he DUCKS out of the path of the knife he sees through the
bird's eyes. He rolls.
ON THE CROW
It hops out of the way as the knife embeds in the wall. Eric's
ROLL finishes him up nearby.
ERIC
Goddammit.
He grabs for the knife as if to use it on the Skull Cowboy, but
the knife causes an unexpected painful FLASH.
FLASH: Eric bouncing off the bedroom doorframe, Tin-Tin's knife
stuck in his shoulder.
FLASH ENDS.
RESUME ERIC
vising his head with his hands, in pain. Too much pain.
SKULL COWBOY
Get it?
ERIC
Leave me alone -- !
He looks up, the Skull Cowboy is still there.
SKULL COWBOY
(contempt)
Do something about it.
ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AND THE SKULL COWBOY.
A horrible beat between them. The Eric runs full tilt across
the room, bounding to the open window and then leaping.
ANGLE - SKULL COWBOY
as close to surprise as he gets. Steps out to watch as --
ANGLE ON WINDOW - ERIC
FLIES feet first out into space.
CLOSE-UP - BRICKWORK ABOVE WINDOWFRAME
Eric's fingers smash into grip the tiny mortared gaps!
EXT. LOFT BUILDING - UP ANGLE FROM STREET - NIGHT
High above, Eric's feet shoot out the window, knocking loose
stray shards that fall toward frame. He swings into an upside-
down pose, impossibly holding himself rigid against the
building's side, face down. by his quarter-inch finger grip.
CLOSE-UP - ERIC
Every muscle rigid, quivering with tension. Hold. Then he
relaxes, and swings back inside.
INT. LOFT - AT WINDOW, PICKING UP ERIC - NIGHT
He arches, flips, to land on his feet. The Skull Cowboy is
gone. No knife either. The crow watches. O.S. "meow".
ANGLE - WITH ERIC AS HE TURNS TO SEE THE CAT
ERIC
I guess I'm not ready to leave...
just yet.
He picks up the cat -- wary of flashes, which don't come this
time -- and returns to the window. Feeling safer.
ERIC (CONT'D)
The last time we saw each other,
I didn't do so well.
(holds cat up)
Huh, Gabriel?
He moves to the fireplace. With his free hand, lifts the
Tragedy mask off its hook. Puzzles it, fact-to-mask.
ERIC (CONT'D)
I bet you need some cat food...
right?
EXT. STREET - NIGHT -ESTABLISHING:
Eric walking, the Tragedy mask hanging from his hip. An
occasional PEDESTRIAN passes without comment, brutalized
by the city. Eric, more confident, smells the night's bouquet.
EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT ("CROWVISION")
Two men around a trashcan fire. We should recognize Tin-Tin by
his black leather trench coat. A wonderfully rude Rap tune, "Got
a White WOman Tied Up In My Closet, Gonna Jab Her With A Stick,"
RAZZLES b.g.
EXT. STREET - RESUMING ERIC - NIGHT
As Eric reacts to what the crow has just seen. Slows. Stops.
And directs his attention toward the mouth of the alley.
EXT. ALLEY - TIGHT ON TIN-TIN - NIGHT
He pulls the nickel plated revolver from the satchel. FOLLOW as
he hands it across to RATSO, who removes the suitcase-sized boom
box (the source of the music) from his shoulder to accept.
Ratso is a feral skull-head; street trash.
|
|
|
|
TIN-TIN
Three hundred and your a
gunslinger.
HIGH ANGLE - TIN-TIN and RATSO
As the crow is still watching, yet perched. A brief
shove-and-standoff. The gun deal has gone bad.
RATSO
Please, TIn-Tin, you know I'm good
for the money, man, I promise,
Leslie put me up to it, please,
man, don't --
(choking scream)
Tin-Tin has just up-rammed a throwing knife into Ratso.
TIN-TIN
Ratty -- shut the fuck up.
Tin-Tin lifts Ratso on the knife, gutting him. Ratso goes
slack, deader'n hell. Tin-Tin reaches around to click OFF
the boom box... then let's Ratso`s corpse fall.
ERIC (O.S.)
Another satisfied customer?
TIGHT ANGLE - TIN-TIN
galvanized by the surprise voice. He automatically draw a
fresh knife from the bandolero of knives across his chest inside
the coat. Can't yet track the source of the voice.
TIN-TIN
Who the hell is that?
(beat, venomous)
Come on out man, I won't hurt
you.
ANGLE - ERIC IN ALLEY
He steps out from behind another flaming trashcan. Wearing a
long black scarf and the Tragedy mask.
ERIC
Hello, Tin-Tin.
ANGLE ON TIN-TIN - AS HE RISES (FROM RATSO)
trying to process what he sees. And cover. And buy time.
TIN-TIN
Little early from trick-or-treat,
homie.
(re: Ratso)
This dick trying to bushwack me.
ERIC
Murderer.
Tin-Tin blows out a breath. No bluff. Time to kill again.
TIN-TIN
Guess you got that goddamn right.
He shrugs. The shrug becomes the launch of a knife.
TIGHT SHOT - MOVING - ERIC
His black-gloved hand slaps away the incoming knife and inch from
his nose. It CLATTERS. Eric continues striding toward Tin-TIn.
ERIC
Try harder. Try again.
SHIFTING ANGLE - ERIC NEARS TIN-TIN
as Tin-TIn throws another knife. Eric closing in. He claps
hand together, immobilizing the next knife. Opens his hands,
almost an "oops" gesture. Keeps on coming.
ANGLE - ERIC AND TIN-TIN
As they meet. Tin-Tin attempts a roundhouse. Eric blocks it
and smashes Tin-Tin into the alley wall.
ERIC
A year ago. Halloween. A man
and a woman. In a loft. You
helped to murder them.
TIN-TIN
Last Halloween, eh? Yeah...
(beat)
Yeah, I remember. I fucked her
too, I think.
ERIC
You cut her. You raped her.
(rage)
You watched!
TIN-TIN
Hey, I got my rocks off, so
fuck you in the ass, man.
They're face-to-face now, sweaty and tense. Eric peels off
the Tragedy mask.
ERIC
I want you to tell me a story, Tin-Tin.
TIN-TIN
I don't know you...
But, as Eric bears down on Tin-TIn, Tin begins to recognize him.
Fear. Sweat.
For the first time, Tin-Tin starts to loose control.
TIN-TIN (CONT'D)
Holy shit... you're dead, man...
EXTREME CLOSE-UP - ERIC
ERIC
Victims. Aren't we all.
INT. LOFT - NIGHT
TIGHT ANGLE - TABLETOP
as Eric's hands place Ratso's boom box on the table and click on
suitable weird b.g. MUSIC.
ANGLE - FLOOR LEVEL
Eric's boots pass frame. An open can of cat food CLANKS down
big in f.g. as Eric walks b.g. obviously wearing Tin-Tin's
trenchcoat. Gabriel noses into to frame to eat from the can.
INT. LOFT, BEDROOM - NIGHT (LATER)
Shelly's vanity. Dusty, disused. The mirror spiderwebbed with
cracks but still hanging precariously in its frame. Eric is
seated, his image crazily split into many. He pulls on a long-
sleeved, tight-knit, black shirt.
WIDEN ANGLE to reveal the loft now lit with dozens of candle
stubs. Placed all around. Ceremonial and weird.
CLOSE-UP - ERIC
ERIC
Halloween is coming. The Day of the Dead...
In the mirror, multi Eric's. He touches the glass, tightening up
as he realizes he's in for another --
FLASH: Shelly, sleeping on her divan, a year ago, wakes as Eric
(O.S.) says "Boo". She cracks an eye open.
SHELLY
Your scary quotient needs work.
FLASH ENDS.
ANOTHER ANGLE - ERIC AT VANITY
Considering old cosmetics. Everything he touches will hurt him.
But he's ready to eat this pain. He grabs a lipstick.
FLASH: Shelly at the vanity in happier times
SHELLY
I think red's my color, don't you?
FLASH ENDS.
RESUME ERIC
wincing. He drops the lipstick on the floor. Grabs a
hairbrush.
FLASH: Eric smashes into the street after his death-fall,
trailing broken glass.
FLASH ENDS.
NEW ANGLE - ERIC AT VANITY
Later. He's wearing white pancake makeup on his cheeks. Shaky.
FLASH: Eric sucks up Funboy's gunshots in the chest. 1-2-3-4.
FLASH ENDS.
RESUMING ERIC AT VANITY
his face a crazy warpaint maze of white streaks, not blended
yet. He looks at his own reflection. In one cracked,
triangular facet of the mirror is not a multiple of his face,
but the Skull Cowboy. Just one.
SKULL COWBOY
Glad to see you're finally with
the program.
ERIC
Bugger off to the graveyard, skull-
face, I'm busy.
SKULL COWBOY
You work for the dead. Forget
that, and you can forget it all.
The Cowboy tips his hat and isn't there. Eric sees the crow
perched on the edge of the mirror now.
ERIC
Forget this.
He smears the streaks until his face is uniformly grave-wave
white.
ANGLE - GABRIEL THE CAT
coming in to sniff around the clutter at the foot of the vanity.
Eric looks down towards him... and toward the lipstick he dropped.
CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND
as it glides down to pick up the lipstick. CONTACT, and --
FLASH: Eric, smashed on the street, T-Bird's car b.g., upside down
in Eric's POV as he rolls over and blood courses from both
corners of his mouth, a definite foreshadow of the "Crow" face.
FLASH ENDS.
RESUMING ERIC AT VANITY - TIGHT
ERIC
She always red red was her color.
EXTREME CLOSE - THE MIRROR
We see only a reflected corner of Eric's mouth as he duplicates
the blood trail in red lipstick, making one one half of a crow
harlequin smile.
EXT. LOFT BUILDING - LATER - NIGHT
A MEDIUM SHOT as lightning strikes; a storm brews.
EXT. LOFT - LATER - NIGHT
CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S BOOTS
crossing the floor. Tin-Tin's knife slotted to the bucklework.
CLOSE-UP - VANITY
Eric's hands discard a hairbrush there. He moves off.
CLOSE-UP - GABRIEL
looking up o.s., watching his master stalk around with purpose.
Thunder rumbles long o.s.
ANGLE - AT ERIC IN WINDOW FROM OUTSIDE
The storm boils. Eric framed in broken window.
CLOSER ANGLE - ERIC IN WINDOW
Eric all in black, Firm-wrapped. Tight-wired. The trenchcoat
flutters, cloak-like. His shadowy face framed by the upturned
collar, his hair punkish and spiky.
SIDE ANGLE - ERIC
as he moves forward in the light. The crow lights on his shoulder.
ERIC
All right, bad guys...
FRONT VIEW - ERIC
Full crow regalia. Face makeup streamlined. Eric's eyes flash.
ERIC
(in drawn out yell)
Here I commme -- !
PULL BACK swiftly, vertiginously, as Eric swan dives from the
window, his voice a howl.
UP ANGLE FROM STREET - ERIC'S FALL
Coat, wing-like. MATCH his dive yell with o.s. crow SCREECH.
SLOW MOTION as Eric fills the frame and we --
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. ALLEY - WHERE TIN-TIN GOT IT - NIGHT
Cop lights bounce, competing with the trash fires. Albrecht and
several other UNIFORMS assess the double-death scene. A
detective, TORRES tries to appear in charge.
TORRES
Couldn't have happened to a nicer
couple.
ANGLE - ALBRECHT AND TORRES OVER DEAD TIN-TIN
Tin-Tin frozen in deathshock, all of his knives sticking out of
him. Dead Ratso, b.g., where he fell.
ALBRECHT
Sure it coulda. Funboy's not
here, neither is T-Bird -- none
of Top Dollar's number ones.
TORRES
You know, you sure got a hard-on for
a guy that's guilty of zip on
paper. Top Dollar runs Showtime;
what's the matter, don't you like
adult entertainment?
ALBRECHT
This sack of shit is called Tin-
Tin.
TORRES
Don't any of your little pals have
real, grown up names?
ALBRECHT
He was a runner for Top Dollar.
Just muscle.
TORRES
Was.
ALBRECHT
(sigh)
This isn't Top Dollar's style
anyway. This was somebody else.
Somebody new.
Albrecht lights a fresh smoke. Torres waves the smoke away.
TORRES
And you're gonna tell me who.
ALBRECHT
Who ever made that.
Albrecht points. CAMERA FOLLOWS to wall behind Tin-Tin. A crow
silhouette has been daubed in blood there, now dry.
TORRES
What in the hell... do you
call that?
ALBRECHT
I call it blood, Detective. If
you want, you can call it graffiti.
INT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT
CLOSE-UP of Gideon's thick fingers shuffling grimy currency.
Some scratchy 1920's TUNE plays throughout b.g., like a broadcast
from another time and place.
TIGHTER ANGLE - GIDEON
looking up at a metallic SOUND, o.s. Irritated.
GIDEON
Piss off, we're closed.
As the outside security gate rattles, Gideon draws his magnum
and approaches the front door.
GIDEON
Fucking creatures of the night;
they never goddamn learn.
|
|
Sudden surprise as he sees the silhouette of the gate SCREE back
against the frosted glass of the front door.
GIDEON (CONT'D)
HEY!!
And he hustles to close up the distance between himself and the
door, gun up. Before he can touch the door, the crowbar comes
rocketing through the glass, pegging Gideon in the forehead and
knocking him flat on his ass. He loses the pistol.
Eric walks through the door, causing the fractured glass to
disintegrate around him. He disclaims, thespian.
ERIC
"Suddenly I heard a tapping, as of
someone gently rapping, rapping at
my chamber door."
(pause)
You heard me rapping, right?
LOW ANGLE - GIDEON ON THE FLOOR
reacting to Eric's weird appearance and looking for his gun.
GIDEON
Oh, bullshit! You're trespassing
asshole, you're breakin'
and enterin' and you just bought me a
fucking door!
During Gideon's rant, Eric brushes glass cubes from his
shoulders, nonplussed. Now he flings Gideon across the room.
Gideon crashes into the counter cage. As Eric advances on him:
ERIC
I'm looking for something in an
engagement ring. Gold.
As Eric comes up behind him, Gideon reaches through the open
cage door and pulls a big combat knife from beneath the counter.
GIDEON
You're looking for a coroner,shit-
for-brains!
And he tries to nail Eric with the knife.
NEW ANGLE - BEHIND GIDEON - AS GIDEON SWINGS
No Eric behind him. TILT to reveal Eric hanging off the cage
above Gideon. Eric slams the cage door against Gideon's head.
Drops down like a spider and collects the knife.
ERIC
I repeat: a gold engagement ring.
It was pawned here, a year ago, by
another gentleman whose name, I
believe was... "T-Bird"?
IN TIGHT ON ERIC AND GIDEON
Eric twists Gideon's sail-like shirt and Gideon turns bright red.
ERIC (CONT'D)
Cute nickname, don't you think?
GIDEON
(gasping)
I ain't got no fuckin' ring.
ERIC
Wrong answer.
Eric nails Gideon's hand to the counter top. Gideon howls!
GIDEON
All's I got is in a box! Behind
the counter!
Eric jumps through the cage door. Gideon's eyes bug as he sees
his own pierced hand, immobilized.
ANGLE - ON ERIC BEHIND THE COUNTER
scans the shelves. Rows of boxed ammo. Kerosene tins. A shotgun.
Knives and assorted knuckle duster curios. And the ring box.
CLOSE-UP - THE RING BOX IN ERIC'S HAND.
Dozens of gold rings. Eric's fingers sift through them.
TIGHTER ON ERIC
He brings each ring to his face. INTERCUT with Gideon's feeble
struggles and invective, o.s.
ERIC
No... no... no... no...
He tosses each rejected ring over his shoulder. Until:
CLOSE-UP - THE RING IN ERIC'S HAND
Obliterated by a stab of brilliant white light --
FLASH: Shelly's face. A perfect vision...
FLASH ENDS.
RESUMING ERIC
He closes his fist tightly around the ring. A moment of
decision. Then he draws the shotgun from beneath the counter.
Uses the butt to knock the knife free of Gideon's hand. It goes
spinning across the countertop. Eric shucks the shotgun and
rams it into Gideon's nose as the big man slumps to the floor.
ERIC
Tin-Tin confided in me, before he
ran out of breath. You have one
chance to live.
GIDEON
No fucking way. He'll kill me.
ERIC
Who would waste time killing you...
besides me?
Gideon sweats, pants, contemplates the hole in his hand.
GIDEON
(cowed)
Top Dollar.
ERIC
Another jolly nickname?
GIDEON
You want those assholes, you want
Top Dollar.
ERIC
T-Bird?
GIDEON
Like the car. He hangs out with
Skank. that little ass-hair, and
they hang at the Pit -- hell,
Funboy lives there. Ask Top
Dollar.
ERIC
A whole club of pirates, with
pirate names...
Eric seems to go berserk, SMASHING and PUNCTURING cans of
flammables and powder while Gideon flinches, nursing his holed
hand. Blows just miss Gideon's head. Soon he's cowering.
LOW ANGLE - ERIC
Looking down at Gideon in revulsion.
ERIC
You feed off the living.
SMASH! as another tin ceases to exist next to Gideon. Then
Eric is gone, past him without further word, ignoring him
entirely. As he exits, shotgun shouldered, he pauses to admire
a white Fender Strat hanging among the pawnables. He reaches
for it.
ON GIDEON
As he summons some last minute budget bravery.
GIDEON
You walk outta here Top Dollar
will erase your ass! Top Dollar
owns the fucking street here and
you can't dick with me, you son of
a bitch!
RESUME ERIC - FRAMED IN DOORWAY
The guitar now bowslung across his back, the shotgun levelled at
Gideon's position.
ERIC
One chance to live. Take it.
MOVE IN TIGHT ON GIDEON
as he realizes what Eric means. Hauls ass and bangs through the
rear door with a bleat of terror.
ANGLE - RESUMING ERIC IN DOOR
as he cuts loose with the shotgun.
EXT. GIDEON'S PAWN SHOP - NIGHT
as seen from across the street. Eric silhouetted, unmoving as
the whole store front blows hellaciously out around him, raining
glass and debris. Stirring his hair. Eric is the black eye of
the fireball.
LOW ANGLE - FRONT OF PAWN SHOP - EMPHASIZE ERIC
lit by flames and residual explosions. He hurls the shotgun
into the inferno. Casually brushes flaming/smoking detritus
from his own clothes.
ALBRECHT (O.S.)
Don't move! I said don't move.
NEW ANGLE - ERIC
as he turns slowly, to see Albrecht, out of reach, gun drawn.
Eric's attitude lightens; Albrecht is not the threat here.
ERIC
I thought the police always said
"freeze:.
Albrecht divides his attention, jumpy, between the odd sight of
Eric (guitar on his back), and the raging instant inferno of
Gideon's.
ALBRECHT
I'm the police and I say don't
move, Snow White. You're under
arrest; I don't care what else is
wrong with you! You move and
you're dead.
Eric has begun to pace towards Albrecht. Palms up. A gesture of
submission. Albrecht's battle calm begins to waiver.
ERIC
And I say I'm dead... and I move.
ALBRECHT
No further. I'm serious.
Eric bows, bringing his forehead in line with the gun's muzzle.
ERIC
Then shoot, if you will.
TIGHT ANGLE - ALBRECHT
He gives it up. Can't shoot. This is too weird for him.
ALBRECHT
Are you nuts, walking into a gun?
NEW ANGLE - LESS THREATENING - ERIC AND ALBRECHT
ERIC
You must listen carefully: the
Fire Department will be here soon.
There is an injured man in the
alley who needs assistance.
(meaningfully)
As Shelly Webster once needed your
assistance, and as you are shortly
going to need my assistance.
Albrecht gestures casually, almost comically, with his pointed
gun. B.g., the crow lands on a fire escape to monitor them.
ALBRECHT
You wanna run that back for me one
time?
SIRENS near, o.s. Eric listens to them, to the night.
ERIC
Listen: Top Dollar. He "owns the
street here." He will "erase
my ass."
ALBRECHT
You don't say.
ERIC
I know Top Dollar has turned your
streets into his hell.
ALBRECHT
Fucking A, my friend.
ERIC
The others are called Skank, T-
Bird. Street names. Funboy.
(beat)
Watch me, office Albrecht.
Eric lifts a chunk of glass from the sidewalk. Slow and easy.
Albrecht doesn't completely trust him. Up comes the gun.
ALBRECHT
Watch it...
Eric slices open his palm. Blood flows. To his fingertips.
NEW ANGLE - ERIC AND ALBRECHT
as Eric quickly daubs a crow silhouette in blood on the wall...
then exhibits the gashed hand to Albrecht.
CLOSE-UP - ERIC'S HAND
as the blood retreats and the wound seals itself up.
TIGHT ON ALBRECHT
and the silhouette. Mouth hangs.
ALBRECHT
You're the one who did Tin-Tin...
PULL BACK FAST to reveal Eric is gone from the frame. Albrecht does
a quick 180. No Eric. Flashbars from incoming units begin
to bounce red and blue off his face.
ALBRECHT (CONT'D)
Great. Good night. Guy shows up
looking like a mime from hell.
(beat)
Least he didn't do that "walking
against the wind" shit; I hate
that.
EXT. SHOWTIME - NIGHT - TO ESTABLISH.
A night-owl pornucopia. T-Bird enters beneath a garish theater
marquee. The 2-bill: RUMP ROMP with BUTTBUSTERS II.
INT. SHOWTIME LOBBY - NIGHT
T-Bird approaches the snack bar. Wet, breathy mating NOISES
from the auditorium throughout, o.s. Looking supremely bored,
the counterman, DICKEY BIRD, thumbs a porn tabloid. So what.
DICKEY BIRD
T-Bird. Thrill me.
T-BIRD
Business.
T-bird heads left through s steal door that Dickie buzzes
open for him.
INT. SHOWTIME AUDITORIUM (BACKSTAGE) - NIGHT
T-Bird walks past dust-covered boxy black speakers as we glimpse
Lance and Angelique making history in reverse, on the back of the
movie screen: oratoria as good as porn films can make it.
PORN QUEEN (O.S.)
I don't know how to describe how
I feel, Lance -- so restless --
PORN KING (O.S.)
You're my Moon Queen, Angelique.
PORN QUEEN (o.S.)
Oooh -- I want you're rocket right
now in my Sea of Tranquility --
Lance --
ANGLE - CATWALK STAIRS
As T-Bird approaches, the movie sounds dwindle o.s. He ascends
the skinny metal stairway two steps at a time.
ANGLE - STEEL FACED DOOR AT TOP OF STAIRS.
As T-Bird nears it, a viewplate SNAPS open to asses him. By
the time he reaches the top, the door unbolts to admit him.
INT. TOP DOLLAR'S LAIR - NIGHT
As T-Bird enters. The room is organized around a long meeting
table and flavored with a taste of everything illegal: drug
paraphernalia, weapons.
Across the table are a couple of Sentries like the one that
admits T-Bird to the room. TRACK PAST them to a lank-haired
silhouette as he turns away from a windowshade, backlit by
Showtime's exterior neon.
This is TOP DOLLAR. Who looks like a Johnny Winter acid
casualty but is deadly cold, definitely the man in charge.
TOP DOLLAR
Wild fucking night. I hear our
pal Tin-Tin got himself very dead.
T-BIRD
And Gideon's just burned all the
down to the foundation.
Top's eyebrows go up. Oh really?
T-BIRD (CONT'D)
I didn't have nothin to do with
that.
TOP DOLLAR
Bet that pisses you off, right?
T-BIRD
Top, what the fuck is going on
tonight?
TOP DOLLAR
Stay normal, T. Cops'll be all
hotwired and aggressive. No
combat moves until I check this
out.
EXT. STREET - NIGHT - (~CROWVISION") HIGH ANGLE
Taking in the street, the Pit, and a little girl seated on an
abandoned car.
ANGLE - STREET LEVEL - ON ELLY.
Seated on the looted wheelless car, playing with a small doll.
CLOSER ANGLE - ON ELLY
She doesn't notice someone is watching her yet.
TIGHT ON DOLL, THEN ELLY
She looks up o.s. at Eric, who is still out of the frame.
ELLY
What are you supposed to be? A clown?
CLOSE-UP - ERIC
He smiles for what seems to be the first time. Warm, even past
his crow makeup.
ERIC
Sometimes.
He glances back and logs the location of the Pit for later, not
in a big hurry just now. Turns back to Elly.
WIDE ANGLE - ERIC AND ELLY
ELLY
You look like a rock star without a
job.
ERIC
I dabble. May I?
He indicates the car hood, a "seat" next to Elly from which he
may observe the Pit.
ELLY
If you're not some kinda child
molester.
Eric looks behind himself. Who, me? Genuinely amused. He
shakes his head no and sits down next to Elly.
INT. CLUB TRASH - NIGHT
The music POUNDS and smoke is everywhere, like incense.
INTERCUTS of the clientele, retro, robotic, clove cigarettes and
rubber clothing; fetish casual wear.
ANGLE - TOP DOLLAR
right in the center of the noise, looking downscale and dirty
in this milieu.
ANGLE - ANOTHER CUSTOMER
Passing Top, appraising him, finding him as boring as life
itself. Undertaker chic, she stares at Top.
TOP DOLLAR
I thought Halloween was tomorrow
night.
An Oriental bodyguard passes him in f.g., motioning to follow.
INT. LAO'S NIGHTCLUB OFFICE - NIGHT
Lao watches club activity on his flybank of TVs. When Top
Dollar shows up at the office door two Sentries try to bar his
passage. He shoves through.
TOP DOLLAR
Get outta my way, you mooks.
Lao's demeanor indicates that they should not kill Top.
LAO
An unexpected pleasure.
TOP DOLLAR
Bad news. Alot of action on the
streets tonight, and nobody
bothered to clear it with me. Tin-
Tin got himself whacked.
LAO
Who got himself what?
TOP DOLLAR
One of mine. And it wasn't a
standard hit.
LAO
I had heard something like this.
(beat)
Describe it for me. The "hit".
TOP DOLLAR
I was wondering if you could tell
me anything... about a wildcat
operative.
LAO
I know of no one.
(beat)
But even if there is, I am sure it
is nothing outside your capacity
to deal with?
TOP DOLLAR
Anybody violates my turf -- our
turf -- I'll rip out there heart
and show it to 'em.
LAO
To be sure. Now tell how your
friend died.
INT. PRECINCT HOUSE - NIGHT
ANNABELLA, a comfortable large, spider-in-the-web deskworker,
sits typing at a terminal. Miked headphone in one ear, police
scanner chatter o.s. She blows and pops a pink bubble of gum.
ALBRECHT (O.S.)
Annie?
ANGLE - ANNABELLA AND ALBRECHT
Albrecht enters frame from across her countertop.
ANNABELLA
Whatever it is, the answer's no,
Eddie. I'm too busy tonight.
ALBRECHT
Annie, I need a file.
There is a desperate edge to Albrecht's voice.
ANNABELLA
Speak up.
(beat; her guard up)
Clear it with the Captain if you
need a file.
ALBRECHT
This is special, darlin'. Please?
Annabella eyes Albrecht doubtfully. Fatalistic sigh.
ANNABELLA
Just don't tell me you "owe me
one." What file?
ALBRECHT
Double homicide. A year ago.
Las Halloween.
EXT. STREET NEAR THE PIT - ERIC AND ELLY - NIGHT
Still hanging by the car, a bit more familiar with each other
now. A low-slung mirror-windowed LIMOUSINE hisses past them and
curbs across the street from the Pit.
ELLY
My mom works over there. I'm
waiting for her, but she's
probably with him, right now.
ERIC
Who?
ELLY
Mister Funboy.
ERIC
Mister Funboy lives there?
TWO SHOT - ELLY AND ERIC - (PIT B.G.)
ELLY
He has a room, upstairs. I don't
like him very much.
Elly is not happy about this. B.G. we see Grange get out of the
car, heading to the Pit, and notice in passing a guy with the
white face talking to the little girl down on the block.
ELLY (CONT'D)
Can you play that thing or do you
just carry it around everywhere?
Elly indicates the guitar strapped to Eric' back.
ERIC
I can pick out a tune now
and again.
ELLY
Can you play "Teddy Bears' Picnic?"
(re: doll)
It used to be her favorite.
ERIC
Does she have a name?
ELLY
No name. You sure ask a lot of
questions.
Elly HANDS the doll to Eric and he experiences a wholly
unexpected flash.
FLASH: Elly and SHelly sitting as SHelly's vanity, goofing with
makeup, test-driving lipstick, the doll visible on the vanity.
FLASH ENDS.
RESUME ERIC - AS THE DOLL DROPS FROM HIS HAND
Pain is trying to fight it's way out of Eric in surges.
ELLY (OS)
(smart alec)
Hel-lo? Earth to anybody...?
Eric snaps out of it. Elly retrieves the doll.
ELLY (CONT'D)
Do you feel okay.
ERIC
No.
ELLY
You gotta go now, I bet.
ERIC
I have to go.
Half-zomboid, half-determined, he exits.
INT. PIT - NIGHT - WITH GRANGE
As he circulates to the bar, unimpressed. To the bouncer:
GRANGE
Top Dollar?
BOUNCE
Never heard of him.
GRANGE
Funboy?
BOUNCER
Oh, prob'ly upstairs bangin'
Darla. Pay for your own beer and
they'll prob'ly be down before you
can drink it.
INT. PRECINCT HOUSE - OFFICE - NIGHT
CLOSE-UP of an 8x10 of the loft slaughter in Albrecht's hands.
Subject: a document pinned to the wall with a knife.
ANGLE - ALBRECHT AT DESK.
flipping through the file. Smoking.
ANGLE - THE 8X10 IN ALBRECHT'S HAND
Subject: Eric, dead in the street in front of the loft
building. The blood on his face reminiscent of his crow face.
As Albrecht's hand moves the photo we can see in the file
several band shots of Eric as a member of Diabolique...
including the shot on Lao's wall gallery of past performers at
Club Trash.
A DOUGHUT on a paper plate suddenly touches down in the middle
of all this research, startling Albrecht.
ANGLE - ANNABELLA BEHIND HIM
ANNABELLA
Don't thank me. Your ass is
already in enough trouble for this shit.
ALBRECHT
I knew that.
Albrecht holds a typewritten page closer to the the light.
CLOSE-UP DOCUMENT, torn by the knife hole made by Tin-Tin.
It reads: We, the Undersigned tenants of 1929 Calderone Court
Apartments...
ALBRECHT
Another nice white girl with a
cause. Like a big KICK ME sign.
Albrecht takes up and 8x10 of Eric's face.
ALBRECHT (CONT'D)
Shelly Webster. And her nice
white boyfriend, Eric Draven.
With a felt-tip pen he superimposes the crow smile, like the make-
up, like the blood.
ANNABELLA
Your last little wild goose chase
got you busted back to the Beat
Patrol, just like in a bad
detective story, Eddie. Are we
doing the wildgoose thing again?
UNDER THIS Albrecht sketches in Eric's spiky Crow hairdo.
ALBRECHT
Could be.
ANNABELLA
You gonna wind up working at a school
crosswalk. that doughnut's
chocolate you, know.
PUSH IN on the doctored photo. It's Eric. It's the Crow.
PUSH IN on ALbrecht.
ALBRECHT
Well, hello there...chocolate,
ANNABELLA
Don't thank me.
ALBRECHT
Thanks, babe.
INT. THE PIT (REAR) - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE - NIGHT
Climbing. The crow perched on his shoulder. Not in a hurry.
ERIC
It's a Raymond Chandler evening
And the pavements are all wet, And
I'm lurking in the shadows, for it
hasn't happened ...
TIGHT CLOSE-UP - ERIC
Impish. Clown killer.
ERIC (CONT'D)
... yet.
INT. THE PIT - NIGHT
Grange at a table. SMoking and waiting. No beer. His back
protected, he is stationed near the fire stair door and has a
good overview of the room.
INT. FUNBOY'S ROOM - NIGHT
CLOSE-UP of a base pipe being lit and hit hard.
EXT. THE PIT (REAR) - FIRE ESCAPE - RESUMING ERIC - NIGHT
Eric's gloved hand slides sinuously up rusted railing.
INT. FUNBOY'S ROOM - NIGHT
A hypodermic needle rises into frame. A nicotined fingernail
flicks bubbles in the syringe. FOLLOW needle down and BROADEN
ANGLE: Funboy taps up a vein in Darla's arm and shoots her up.
Both are naked in a shabby bed. Bare lightbulb above.
DARLA
Ooh, baby -- gimme all of it.
CLOSE-UP - THE NEEDLE
As the plunger depresses.
ANGLE - ON THE WINDOW
As the crow quite unexpectedly arrives and perches on the sill,
scaring the shit out of our two dopey friends. Funboy pulls a
giant auto pistol; mock aims, calms down, doesn't fire.
DARLA
It's a big fucking bird...
She falls back against her pillow, eyes dreamily defocusing.
Funboy giggles. Relaxes the gun, which half-disappears into the
sheets at his side.
FUNBOY
It's a squab. Here bird, Here,
birdie...
NEW ANGLE - DARLA AND FUNBOY
Except that Eric now stands near their bed, across from the
bird's position, the guitar bowslung.
ERIC
Here Funboy.
Contained panic as Funboy and Darla both startle. The needle
flies and lands at Eric's feet. Empty. Funboy struggles to
maintain against his high.
FUNBOY
Oh wow, oh wow, don't fucking do
that, man. I nearly had a fucking
heart attack.
DARLA
Fun -- look at that guy...
FUNBOY
It's just the dope, don't worry
DARLA
Fun, he's not going away; he's
scaring the piss outta me!
FUNBOY
Not me.
Funboy draws the gun from underneath the sheers. Suddenly he seems
totally focused.
FUNBOY (CONT'D)
Time for you to take your bird and
leave, freako.
Eric rips open his shirtfront to reveal a circlet of bullet
punctures. This gives Funboy pause.
ERIC
Take your shot funboy. You got
me, dead bang.
Funboy tilts the gun off target. Grins as Eric flat handedly
past his chest, indicating where to shoot.
FUNBOY
You are seriously fucked up, man.
Just look at yourself.
In a blur, he sighs, and shoots Eric through the heart.
FUNBOY (CONT'D)
BANG! He shoots, he scores!
Then his expression drags a little bit.
ANGLE - ERIC
Looking down and daubing his hand in the bullet wound on his chest.
ERIC
Bull's eye. Good shot.
Continued on Custom Page 2
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