I incorporated what i got from scripter and simon and this what came out of the ashes.
Over: the rhythmic sound of mental scraping earth.
FADE IN:
EXT. NEVADA DESSERT – NIGHT
Push across the vastness toward a spec of a LIGHT.
The sound more distinct, shovel to earth, again and again.
The light gets closer. The digging intensifies.
CLOSER. The digging sounds like it’s on top of us.
The light manifests into a SUBURBAN, it’s headlights cut into the night, it's bumper hangs like broken teeth, scarred in mud.
In the open back hatch, TWO BODIES, one in a bloody suit, gagged, lifeless. The other, bruised up, chest heaves ever so slightly. He’s alive.
His arm twitches. Then his eyes pop open.
INT. HOLE
Labored, heavy breathing. Headlights spray over a hole.
The loudest shovel to earth yet... then a shovel flies from the ground, in tow, a pile of dirt.
It clanks to the ground. EDDIE THE ACE, (40s), pulls himself out. Overweight, wheezing badly, he collapses at the base of the hole.
He searches in his pockets - wheezing – his eyes water.
Finally from his pocket, an inhaler. He fires hits into his lungs… rolling onto his back, completely gassed.
His breathing less labored, clearer. His eyes focus on the moon less sky.
A noise. Eddie snaps up. SCANS. He takes another hit.
He gets to his feet. He can’t see past the ring of light that emits a eight-foot halo around the truck.
EXT. BACK OF SURBURBAN
Eddie stares down at one body.
                        EDDIE
        @#%$. @#%$.
                (fear engulfs him)
        Dugan… this isn’t what
        it looks like. Dugan.
Eddies eyes dart from side to side. He looks around one side of the vehicle. Nothing.
       
                        EDDIE
        Man… don’t play it this way.
       
Darkness in all directions.
                        EDDIE
        Dugan Roach!
A crackle. Eddie turns just in time to meet the business end of a shovel.
BLACK
EXT. NEVADA BORDER - PARKING LOT - WEE HOURS
               
The suburban hogs two spots in the deserted lot. It looks like it’s about to fall apart.
A hypnotizng VOICE, deep and rich in the dialect of blue collar Scotland, leads us into the diner.
DUGAN (O.S.)
I’m a nightmare. A holocaust.
A walking cataclysm.
Red Neon: LAST STOP DINER. In flickering green below:
FREE COFFEE FOR LOSERS.
DUGAN (O.S.)
That kinda pressure builds on
a man, level on level like
those casinos, spiraling up so
high ya can't see ground.
INSIDE this ‘desert way-station’.
DUGAN (O.S.)
And if you could, know your
feet aren’t planted there.
I was born with the convoluted
mess gene. A carrier no less.
Past 50’s diner booths --
DUGAN (O.S.)
Generations of the Roach,
bad decision gene funneling
down into yours truly --
DUGAN ROACH, (25), gaunt and sinewy, the guy in the Suburban, sporting a ‘shiner’ and fat lip, spins a ‘B’ encrusted lighter on the table.
DUGAN
… and the dead guy?
EDDIE
Dr. Frankenstein... some
sicko.
Across the table is Eddie, blood caked to his hair.
EDDIE
He chopped folks up and sold
their parts.
DUGAN
What happened to the girl?
EDDIE
Laying dead in a hotel room.
You’re hotel room
DUGAN
This is @#%$ all. You’re
a sinking boat Eddie and
I’m tied to ya.
EDDIE
I’m the reason you’re alive.
DUGAN
You were digging a hole.
in the ground. in the desert.
EDDIE
It was for the other guy.
Eddie’s really concentrating, his stare frantic but believable.
EDDIE
You got to forget about that
fairytale you been holding
onto… we’re both better than
dead if we don’t disappear.
The lighter stops spinning. It is now we see the intricate diamond pattern that makes up the ‘B’.
DUGAN
I’m handing you in. End of story.
Then I’m gonna Fetch my Mum, and
leave the ghosts of my father’s
name where it belongs, Scotland.
He flips the lighter to a hand rolled cigarette. The flame burns to smoke --
                               
EXT. SOCCER STADIUM - GLASGOW, SCOTLAND
SUPER: Twenty years ago
Fog swallows the air concealing something beneath –
A BUZZING hush, that gradually, insidiously builds to a crescendo --
-- explode through the fog into a soccer match. In the stands there is pockets of fighting, drinking hooligans.
Down amongst the chaos to a boy, Dugan, now (7) all skin and bones hunched between the cement and his seat.
Above him, madness.
CRAIG ROACH
Get a shot in Dugan. Get
one in boy.
CRAIG ROACH (40’s) a Scottish Bulldog, vice grips another colored shirt, pulling his head down to his son.
CRAIG ROACH
Get one in.
Dugan rises to his feet – everything slows down – his father screaming, his fierceness horrifying.
He steadies himself.
CRAIG ROACH
Strike.
Dugan’s frozen. Shaking.
CRAIG
Strike.
INT. ROACH KITCHEN - NIGHT
OVER: SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
A female Winston Churchill, plump and homely, ELLEN
ROACH (30s) holds her rosary beads to her forehead, her elbows rest on the table.
Behind her, down a hallway, Dugan takes his beating. A belt rises in view, then whoosh. SMACK.
Over: the rhythmic sound of mental scraping earth.
FADE IN:
EXT. NEVADA DESSERT – NIGHT
Push across the vastness toward a spec of a LIGHT.
The sound more distinct, shovel to earth, again and again.
The light gets closer. The digging intensifies.
CLOSER. The digging sounds like it’s on top of us.
The light manifests into a SUBURBAN, it’s headlights cut into the night, it's bumper hangs like broken teeth, scarred in mud.
In the open back hatch, TWO BODIES, one in a bloody suit, gagged, lifeless. The other, bruised up, chest heaves ever so slightly. He’s alive.
His arm twitches. Then his eyes pop open.
INT. HOLE
Labored, heavy breathing. Headlights spray over a hole.
The loudest shovel to earth yet... then a shovel flies from the ground, in tow, a pile of dirt.
It clanks to the ground. EDDIE THE ACE, (40s), pulls himself out. Overweight, wheezing badly, he collapses at the base of the hole.
He searches in his pockets - wheezing – his eyes water.
Finally from his pocket, an inhaler. He fires hits into his lungs… rolling onto his back, completely gassed.
His breathing less labored, clearer. His eyes focus on the moon less sky.
A noise. Eddie snaps up. SCANS. He takes another hit.
He gets to his feet. He can’t see past the ring of light that emits a eight-foot halo around the truck.
EXT. BACK OF SURBURBAN
Eddie stares down at one body.
                        EDDIE
        @#%$. @#%$.
                (fear engulfs him)
        Dugan… this isn’t what
        it looks like. Dugan.
Eddies eyes dart from side to side. He looks around one side of the vehicle. Nothing.
       
                        EDDIE
        Man… don’t play it this way.
       
Darkness in all directions.
                        EDDIE
        Dugan Roach!
A crackle. Eddie turns just in time to meet the business end of a shovel.
BLACK
EXT. NEVADA BORDER - PARKING LOT - WEE HOURS
               
The suburban hogs two spots in the deserted lot. It looks like it’s about to fall apart.
A hypnotizng VOICE, deep and rich in the dialect of blue collar Scotland, leads us into the diner.
DUGAN (O.S.)
I’m a nightmare. A holocaust.
A walking cataclysm.
Red Neon: LAST STOP DINER. In flickering green below:
FREE COFFEE FOR LOSERS.
DUGAN (O.S.)
That kinda pressure builds on
a man, level on level like
those casinos, spiraling up so
high ya can't see ground.
INSIDE this ‘desert way-station’.
DUGAN (O.S.)
And if you could, know your
feet aren’t planted there.
I was born with the convoluted
mess gene. A carrier no less.
Past 50’s diner booths --
DUGAN (O.S.)
Generations of the Roach,
bad decision gene funneling
down into yours truly --
DUGAN ROACH, (25), gaunt and sinewy, the guy in the Suburban, sporting a ‘shiner’ and fat lip, spins a ‘B’ encrusted lighter on the table.
DUGAN
… and the dead guy?
EDDIE
Dr. Frankenstein... some
sicko.
Across the table is Eddie, blood caked to his hair.
EDDIE
He chopped folks up and sold
their parts.
DUGAN
What happened to the girl?
EDDIE
Laying dead in a hotel room.
You’re hotel room
DUGAN
This is @#%$ all. You’re
a sinking boat Eddie and
I’m tied to ya.
EDDIE
I’m the reason you’re alive.
DUGAN
You were digging a hole.
in the ground. in the desert.
EDDIE
It was for the other guy.
Eddie’s really concentrating, his stare frantic but believable.
EDDIE
You got to forget about that
fairytale you been holding
onto… we’re both better than
dead if we don’t disappear.
The lighter stops spinning. It is now we see the intricate diamond pattern that makes up the ‘B’.
DUGAN
I’m handing you in. End of story.
Then I’m gonna Fetch my Mum, and
leave the ghosts of my father’s
name where it belongs, Scotland.
He flips the lighter to a hand rolled cigarette. The flame burns to smoke --
                               
EXT. SOCCER STADIUM - GLASGOW, SCOTLAND
SUPER: Twenty years ago
Fog swallows the air concealing something beneath –
A BUZZING hush, that gradually, insidiously builds to a crescendo --
-- explode through the fog into a soccer match. In the stands there is pockets of fighting, drinking hooligans.
Down amongst the chaos to a boy, Dugan, now (7) all skin and bones hunched between the cement and his seat.
Above him, madness.
CRAIG ROACH
Get a shot in Dugan. Get
one in boy.
CRAIG ROACH (40’s) a Scottish Bulldog, vice grips another colored shirt, pulling his head down to his son.
CRAIG ROACH
Get one in.
Dugan rises to his feet – everything slows down – his father screaming, his fierceness horrifying.
He steadies himself.
CRAIG ROACH
Strike.
Dugan’s frozen. Shaking.
CRAIG
Strike.
INT. ROACH KITCHEN - NIGHT
OVER: SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
A female Winston Churchill, plump and homely, ELLEN
ROACH (30s) holds her rosary beads to her forehead, her elbows rest on the table.
Behind her, down a hallway, Dugan takes his beating. A belt rises in view, then whoosh. SMACK.