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Introducing LOOSE ENDS

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LOOSE ENDS

 Act One

Scenes 1-10

 

Scenes 11-17

 

Scenes 18-36

 

Scenes 37-48

 

KUDOS

 

Author Interview

PAPER DOLL

GIRL ON A DOLPHIN

 

HOWARD BEALE

MEMORIAL

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     (Continued from Scenes 1-10.)

 

     11.  EXT.  WHITE HOUSE  -  NIGHT    

 

 

 

     A black limo drives up to the White House.  Marine Guard opens

     the limo door.  Ford, Young, and Bowie get out.

 

     12.  INT.  WHITE HOUSE  -  HALLWAY

 

     Ford, Young, and Bowie follow SECRET SERVICE OFFICER down

     a corridor to the Oval Office.

 

                                           SECRET SERVICE OFFICER

                          The President said to sit down and

                          make yourselves comfortable.  He’ll

                          be with you in a minute.

 

 

 

 

     13.  INT.  OVAL OFFICE

 

     Ford, Young and Bowie sit in front of the presidential desk, their

     faces grim, their postures stiff.

 

                                           MAN’S VOICE (OS)

                          Take care of yourself, y'hear?

 

     A side door opens.  Enters PRESIDENT WILLIAM E. CANAL (49)

     -- beefy, bull-nosed, a shock of grey hair, in shirt sleeves sans

     tie, a huge smile on his florid face, casually zipping up his pants.

     Canal seats himself behind the presidential desk, reaches for

     the presidential humidor, pulls out a cigar.

 

                                           PRESIDENT CANAL

                          I need a fresh one.

 

     Still wearing his smile, he extends the humidor to Ford.  But his

     hard eyes say this is an act of domination, not courtesy.

 

                                           PRESIDENT CANAL

                          Have a see-gar, boys.

 

     With clenched jaws, Ford shakes his head.

                                           

                                           YOUNG

                          Thank you, no, Mr. President.  I don't

                          smoke.

 

     Canal LAUGHS, but his eyes fixed on Ford aren’t laughing.

 

                                           PRESIDENT CANAL

                          Go ahead.  Cuba's finest.  From old

                          hairy-face Fidel himself.  The Secret

                          Service boys say they’re fit for human

                          consumption.  And I guarantee it.

 

     Ford grimly shakes his head.  He still don't want no fucking

     see gar.  Canal LAUGHS.  Raises his eyebrows, eyes still hard,

     clips the end off his cigar, rolls it under his nose, savors the

     aroma, licks the tender leaf.  Looks at his three CIA chiefs. 

     Waits.

 

     No offer to light him comes from the three CIA officerfs.  Canal

     GRUNTS sourly, lights his own smoke, puts his feet up on the

     desk, leans back, takes another lick on the cigar, blows a huge

     smoke ring.  Bowie reaches for the humidor.

                        

                                           BOWIE

                          Oh, what the hell.

 

     Canal LAUGHS.

 

                                           PRESIDENT CANAL

                          Now what can I do for you boys?  Y’all

                          look mighty serious.  Matt here filled

                          me in on your story.  What’s wrong

                          with takin’ these guys down? 

 

                                           YOUNG

                          Mr. President, it’s been a long time

                          now and if this doesn’t come off

                          smoothly, a real shit storm is going

                          to come down.

 

     Canal glares at Young, looks darkly at Bowie. 

 

                                           PRESIDENT CANAL

                          And what’s your problem, Bowie?

 

                                           BOWIE

                          I’m with Cliff, Mr. President.  These

                          people have powerful family connections

                          all over Latin America.  Except for this,

                          they’ve been very supportive of the

                          United States.

 

     Canal slams his feet to the floor, stands, bellows.

 

                                           PRESIDENT CANAL

                          “Except for this?”  God dammit, they

                          murdered a great man!  Do what you

                          have to do, and you damned well

                          better not leave any loose ends.  Now

                          get the fuck outta here.

 

     14.  INT.  WHITE HOUSE DRIVEWAY  -  LIMOUSINE

 

     Ford, Young, and Bowie, their faces grim, sit silently as the limo

     drives away from the White House.   Then --

                        

                                           BOWIE

                          What did he mean?  “Do what you

                          have to do.  No loose ends.”  Both

                          these guys are married.  They've got

                          kids in college in the United States,

                          aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews

                          all over Latin America.  Does he want

                          us to exterminate the whole family?

                        

                                           YOUNG

                          That's what Machiavelli advised Cesar

                          Borgia.  Kill the whole kit and caboodle,

                          or sure as hell some snot-nosed kid is

                          going to grow up with just one goal in

                          life: to avenge his father by killing you.

 

                                           FORD

                          For God’s sake. That was then.  This

                          is now.  I don't like where this is

                          taking us.  God dammit!  Unless I get

                          a written order, signed personally by

                          Canal, you just take out Marco and

                          Roberto.  Leave their families out of it.  

                          They want to go on with the vendetta,

                          that’s their problem.

 

                                           BOWIE

                          Right, chief.  That’ll make it OK.  Right?

 

                                           FORD

                          Don’t be a smart ass, Bowie.  And you

                          better be damned sure you do them

                          both at the same time.  We don’t want

                          one of them warning the other.  And

                          deep-six those damned records.  We

                          don’t want to open up that can of

                          worms.

 

                                           BOWIE

                                  (aside to Young)

                          Think we should tell him what really

                          went down?

                                 

                                          YOUNG

                                  (aside to Bowie)

                          Don’t waste your breath.

 

                                           FORD

                          What did you say?   What’s going on?

 

                                           YOUNG

                          Nothing, Chief.  Just a sick joke.

              

                                           FORD

                          God dammit.  Don’t mess with me or

                          some wise guy is going to end up

                          interrogating Eskimos.  Maybe both

                          of you.  Canal can be dangerous.

 

 

 

 

 

     15.  EXT.  CABO SAN LUCAS  –  GIGGLING MARLIN  -  NIGHT

 

 

     Street CROWD NOISE mingles with BLARING MUSIC and SHOUTS

     of revelers coming from the nightclub.

 

 

     16.  INT.  GIGGLING MARLIN

 

     “STAYING ALIVE” blasts from LOUD SPEAKERS.  The tables

     around the small dance floor are packed.  At the far end of the

     room, a cartoon of a huge fish holding a fishing rod stands beside

     a cross-beam block and tackle rig. 

 

     FIRST WAITER and SECOND WAITER are hoisting a YOUNG

     WOMAN upside down.  Young Woman SCREAMS, struggles, pulls

     on her skirts to cover her bottom parts.  Doesn’t make it.

 

                                           YOUNG WOMAN

                          Help.  Please let me down.  Please.

 

     Crowd’s ribald LAUGHTER drowns out her protests.  THIRD

     WAITER rushes up, cradles Young Woman’s head on his lap.

     Forces her to drink a tequila banger.  She chokes on the foaming

     liquid, abandons all modesty efforts.  Crowd ROARS.

 

 

 

 

     Pepper, clad in skin-tight purple shorts, white tank top and

     sandals, sits with three burly SPORT FISHERMEN at a table

     littered with beer bottles.  Pepper nods to the music, stares into

     her beer.  Sport Fishermen stare at Pepper's breasts.

 

     The background MUSIC changes to a TANGO.  DANCER (35), a

     handsome Latino, mike in hand, prances onto the floor, circles

     the tables.

                        

                                           DANCER

                          Come on, ladies, dance wi’ me.  You

                          can do eet.  Come on.  I show you. 

                          No problema.

 

     Dancer makes it around to Pepper’s table with no takers,  cries to

     the audience --

                                                                                  

                                           DANCER (continuing)

                          Hey, look’ a’ wha’ we have here, folks. 

                          Thees pretty lady can dance, I jus’

                          know eet.

 

                                          FIRST SPORT FISHERMAN

                          Hey, Pepper.  You've been  telling us you

                          used to be a professional dancer.  Come 

                          on, give him a go.

 

                                           SECOND SPORT FISHERMAN

                          Yeah, Pepper, go for it.

 

                                           CROWD

                          Go for it, Pepper.  Yeah, Mona.

 

     Dancer eyes Pepper's lush breasts and long, tanned legs, gallantly

     extends his hands.

                    

                                           DANCER

                          Come, señorita, come dance wi’ me.

 

     Pepper hesitates, shrugs, tipsily gets to her feet, trips to dance

     floor center spot.  Dancer is close behind. 

 

The music strikes a CHORD.  Dancer, pressed behind Pepper, forces her arms into a cross.  Dancer, looking sublimely innocent, cups her breasts with his hands.  Pepper indignantly tries to snatch the mischievous hands but too late.  They’ve moved to her pelvis.

 

The Crowd ROARS with LAUGHTER.  The comic routine repeats.  Another CHORD.  Dancer again forces Pepper’s arms into the cross, chucks her under her chin to force her head up.  The music SWELLS. The dancers glide forward sensuously, Pepper seemingly under Dancer’s total control.

 

The music tempo INCREASES. Dancer forces Pepper into ever faster and more complex steps, ending a spinning climax with Pepper on the verge of collapse. Dancer escorts her back to her table.  Crowd YELLS, APPLAUDS. Pepper sinks into her chair, grabs a bottle, gulps the beer.

 

                                           FIRST SPORT FISHERMAN

                          Hey, you really are a pro, Pepper.

 

                                           SECOND SPORT FISHERMAN

                          I thought you said you were a yacht

                          skipper.  It looks to me like you and

                          this guy have been working together

                          a long time.

                                          

                                            FIRST SPORT FISHERMAN

                          Yeah, Pepper.  You tryin’ to hustle us?

 

                                            PEPPER

                          Hey, fellas.  No way. I haven't danced

                          professionally for three, four years.

                          This guy is really good.  He was forcing

                          me all the way.  I was so tired, I liked

                          to die.

 

Sport Fishermen eye Pepper suspiciously, look up as FRED FINGER

(40), tall, powerfully built, approaches Peper.  Fred whispers in her ear.  Sport Fishermen bristle. Second Sport Fisherman starts to rise. Mona puts her hand on his arm.

 

                                            PEPPER (continues)

                          Down, boy.  It’s okay, guys.  It’s only

                          Fred.  What's up, Fred?

 

                                            FRED

                          Can we step outside, Pepper?  It's too

                          noisy to talk in here.

 

                                            PEPPER

                          Come on, Fred. I'm with friends, can't

                          you see?

 

                                            SECOND SPORT FISHERMAN

                          Yeah, Fred.  Fuck off.      

 

                                            CROWD

                          Fuck off, Fred.          

 

Pepper stands up.

                       

                                             PEPPER

                          Watch it, guys.  Management is quick

                          to call the cops.  Mexican jails can

                          really teach you the virtue of being

                          polite.  Believe me, you don't want to

                          screw with them.  So cool it.  I’ll be

                          back.

 

                                            FRED

                          Thanks, guys.

 

                                            FIRST SPORT FISHERMAN

                          Fuck off, asshole.

 

17.  EXT.  OUTSIDE GIGGLING MARLIN  –  NIGHT

 

Pepper and Fred walk along the busy sidewalk.

 

                                           PEPPER

                          Jesus, Fred.  I'm right on the edge

                          of a score, big time.  These guys are

                          dirty.  I know it. 

 

                                           FRED

                          Sorry, Mona. My orders come from

                          the top.

 

Pepper and Fred approach a cast iron bench, sit.

                        

                                           PEPPER

                          CIA don't mean shit to me, Fred.  I’m

                          DEA.  You know I work for a piece of

                          the action.  I’m not on a salary with

                          full benefits like you free loaders.

 

                                           FRED

                          You wish.   Anyhow, we need your

                          special talents for this job, so there's

                          five Gs in it for you.

 

                                           PEPPER

                          Hey.  Who do I have to kill?

 

                                           FRED

                          Nah, that's my line of work.

 

                                                        (Continue to Scenes 18-36.)

 

 

     

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                                                                        Last modified: 07/17/12