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- Feb 12, 2005
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Blackmailed by the ruthless bookie he collects for, a Scottish fugitive must find, then bring back his con man friend to his execution or face a murder rap in his native land.
The rhythmic sound of metal scraping earth.
FADE IN:
EXT. NEVADA DESERT – NIGHT
A LIGHT in the distance, merely a spec amongst the vastness. The sound intensifies.
The light gets CLOSER. The SOUND more distinct, shovel to earth, again and again.
The light manifests into a SUBURBAN, headlights cut into darkness. A bumper hangs like broken teeth.
In the open back hatch, TWO BODIES. One a bloody mess, gagged, lifeless.
The other, DUGAN ROACH, (25) his chest heaves ever so slightly. Fingers twitch. Eyes pop open.
EXT. FRONT OF SURBURBAN – SAME
EDDIE THE ACE, (40s) bloody, his suit tattered, holds himself up by the shovel handle, wheezing badly. He looks like he’s about to fall over.
He’s knee deep in a hole, the width of a coffin.
He summons up one last burst, digs out a scoop, throws the shovel to the ground.
Wheezing terribly now, he climbs out, drops to one knee.
Searches in his pockets… a gun snug in his belt.
He pulls out an inhaler; three blasts; rolls onto his back. Breathing less labored -- color drains to his face.
His focus on the moonless sky. Stars. The galaxy.
A noise. Eddie snaps up.
Another blast from his inhaler. On his feet. A ring of light emits a eight-foot halo around the Suburban.
EXT. BACK OF SURBURBAN
ONE BODY. Eddie snaps his head one way, then the other.
EDDIE
Dugan buddy… this isn’t
what it looks like. Dugan.
Around to one side, he takes out the .38. More cautious with each step.
EDDIE
Things got convoluted… but
this… this is innocent.
The stillness is maddening.
EDDIE
Dugan Roach.
A CRACKLE. Eddie wheels into the business end of a shovel.
EXT. DINER PARKING LOT – NIGHT
The Suburban hogs two spots in this deserted lot.
A sign hangs from the building in red neon: LAST STOP DINER: In flickering green below: FREE COFFEE FOR LOSERS.
INT. LAST STOP DINER
In a corner booth sits Dugan, gaunt and sinewy, with distant blue eyes.
DUGAN
You were digging a hole Eddie.
What am I supposed to think.
Across from Dugan is Eddie, blood caked to his hair, nervously taps a cigarette on a ‘B’ encrusted, lighter.
EDDIE
How about you’re supposed to
be my friend. You’re supposed
to say no when a psycho asks
you to kill your friend.
DUGAN
Horseshit. You burned him.
EDDIE
Look at the logistics of this.
You punched the Gourds ticket,
puts you better than dead. I
sink. You’re anchored to me.
DUGAN
The Gourd was a mistake.
EDDIE
So was the Titanic, but what
is-is. And you think bringing
me back will change that?
Nothing changes that.
Eddie snaps open the lighter, the flame dances to life.
A PLUME of orange. Then the concussion of the EXPLOSION blows out the window. Like rag-dolls Eddie and Dugan slam to the ground.
The Suburban in flames, roof blown completely off. Black thick smoke bellows skyward.
Dugan gets his wits quickly, Eddie’s still dazed. The .38 under a chair. You could see Dugan’s gears working….
… he moves for it… a hail of machine gun fire rips the outside of the diner apart ricocheting off the floor.
Instead Dugan grabs Eddie by the collar and pulls him in the other direction, behind a counter.
A pony tailed MEXICAN (40s) with prison tats running up his neck, steps through the space spitting lead –
Out of ammo. A cartage SMACKS against the floor. The diner creaks.
The COOK and WAITRESS break for it -- from another direction they’re cut down in a torrent of bullets.
Another clips CLANKS to the floor. Two clips SLAMMED in. Dugan and Eddie frantic, stop behind a freezer.
A HISSING sound. Gas from a severed line pumps. Five feet away, under debris, the gold lighter shimmers.
Dugan crawls over glass, extends his arm and pops open the lighter. Flame.
More machine gun fire. bullets whistle, ping, shatter.
Dugan duck-walks to the back -- the second KILLER, tosses away a table like balsa wood.
The tip of his machine gun, smoking.
A sudden calm. HISSING.
A flame gurgles up from the oven and fires out like a serpents head on a collision course with the killers.
EXT.PARKING LOT
Another explosion blows Eddie to a crumpled mess, his arm folds into itself, dislocated. Dugan’s up.
EDDIE
My arm. ****.
The hood of a car sticks out behind a dumpster.
DUGAN
Let’s go. Let’s go.
EDDIE
My arms a pretzel. **** you.
Dugan checks Eddie’s arm; then slams it to the pavement. Eddie whales. A shoulder relocated.
Dugan runs for the car. An old school purple CADDY, license plate: ‘COOL’. The keys are in the ignition.
Dugan plows around the dumpster, right at Eddie.
Hits the breaks, skids an inch from his head.
EDDIE
You’re crazy. **** you.
**** you.
Out of the car he slams a right to Eddie’s face. BLACK
EXT. ARIZONA DESSERT - DAY
The sun fights its way over the mountain. The purple Caddy rolls down the empty stretch of road.
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