Affliction Page #4

Jack sprints over, helps him up, safety latches the

Winchester. Hands it back.

TWOMBLEY:

I'm okay.

JACK:

Follow close. We'll cross the next

meadow.

Jack finds a path, one eye on Twombley:

JACK:

I used to play ball.

TWOMBLEY:

Yeah?

JACK:

Drafted by the Red Sox.

TWOMBLEY:

You played for the Sox?

JACK:

Double A. New Britain.

TWOMBLEY:

Oh.

JACK:

Pitcher. "Best ballplayer to come

out of New Hampshire since Carlton

Fisk."

TWOMBLEY:

Really.

JACK:

They said.

TWOMBLEY:

Hmm.

JACK:

The only difference between me and

that Clemens on TV is luck, sh*t

luck.

TWOMBLEY:

What happened?

JACK:

Ruined my arm. Brought me along too

fast. Why'd it have to be my f***ing

arm, I used to think. Then I realized

it had to be somebody's f***ing arm.

Jack waits for Twombley as they enter a meadow. Jack aims

his rifle at Twombley as he approaches.

TWOMBLEY:

Hey, Hewitt! Slow the f*** down!

Jack aims away, following an imaginary bird. Twombley steps

alongside.

JACK:

Safety on?

TWOMBLEY:

Yeah.

JACK:

This way.

TWOMBLEY:

(walking loudly)

Sun's gettin high.

JACK:

(fingers to lips)

Deers have ears too.

CUT TO:

EXT. LARIVIERE CO. - DAY

Milky sky flatters LaRiviere Co., a sprawl of well-digging,

septic and snow plow equipment. Billboard declaimes:

"LARIVIERE CO. -- OUR BUSINESS IS GOING IN THE HOLE!" a motto

repeated on every truck and piece of equipment. Wade's green

Fairlane is parked outside the office.

CUT TO:

INT. LARIVIERE CO. - DAY

Wade, puffing a cigarette, passes ELAINE'S (LaRiviere

secretary) desk, her large red "No Smoking" sign, eases into

an office modum chair. He unzips his jacket, slaps his cap

against his thigh, spraying drops of melted snow.

Gordon LaRiviere, speaking on the phone past a glass

partition, calls to Wade:

LARIVIERE:

Told you the snow was coming down.

Take the grader.

WADE:

Where's the plow?

LARIVIERE:

Jimmy took it. Jack's out hunting

with Evan Twombley.

WADE:

His son-in-law damn near killed me.

LARIVIERE:

(hangs up)

Huh?

WADE:

At the school crossing. In his BMW.

Coulda hurt some kids. I'm gonna

bust his ass.

LARIVIERE:

Don't go playing policeman.

WADE:

What am I -- a security guard? You

hired me, you and your Selectman

friends.

LARIVIERE:

You don't want the extra police pay?

WADE:

I'm not saying that.

LARIVIERE:

Get the grader. Go out 29 past Toby's.

Don't let Lillian get to you. She

didn't belong here. That's why she

left.

WADE:

F*** you.

LARIVIERE:

That's what I love about a small

town. You know everybody.

Wade exits toward the blue grader.

CUT TO:

EXT. WOODS - DAY

Jack and Twombley walk through fresh snow. The hillside's

thick with pine trees. Twombley, red-faced, puffing, leans

to speak to Hewitt. Jack lifts a finger to his lips:

JACK:

Stay here, stand where I am.

Twombley peers over a slight cliff at a lumber trail twenty

feet below. Jack points:

JACK:

Fresh tracks.

(sniffs)

Deer sh*t. Big one. Here's your buck,

Mr. Twombley. I'll circle around.

TWOMBLEY:

You only got a little while if you

want your hundred bucks.

Jack zig-zags down the incline, while Twombley, gun poised,

waddles along the edge.

Jack stops fifty feet away, watches Twombley, a cartoon

character. A stag pokes his nose through the pines, steps

into a clearing. Jack aims his rifle, looks at Twombley.

Twombley turns to see the buck, loses his footing, TUMBLES

down the twenty-foot cliff.

CUT TO:

EXT. TOBY'S INN - DAY

An open cab grader ("Our Business Is Going In The Hole")

sits in the rutted lot outside Toby's, a beer joint with

fake wood siding and 24-hour neon sign.

A four-wheel drive plow with the LaRiviere motto pulls in,

parks beside the blue grader. JIMMY DAME, 40, gets out,

glances at the grader as he enters.

CUT TO:

INT. TOBY'S INN - DAY

Jimmy joins Wade at the bar, calls for a beer. Frankie LaCoy

bullshits with two long-haired locals at a nearby table;

their conversation drifts in and out. Country music plays

through a broken juke box speaker. Wade touches his tooth,

grimaces.

JIMMY:

How's it goin?

WADE:

Cold. How you think?

JIMMY:

Sorry about that. Why's it every

year, come first snow, you get stuck

with the grader?

WADE:

School. Traffic crossing.

(lights cigarette)

I gotta quit these things.

JIMMY:

What we doing after? Wells?

(Wade nods)

Don't work too fast. Business the

way it is, Gordon's probably looking

to lay me off earlier than usual

this year. He's got too much money

as it is. Why's it always the little

guy that gets kicked in the butt in

hard times?

Wade shrugs. LaCoy's conversation has caught his ear. He

turns to watch.

LACOY:

...That was no pisser. I'll tell you

who was a pisser. Glen Whitehouse.

There was a real pisser. He was mean

normal, but when he drank it was

like he burst on fire. Canadian Club.

Always drank CC. One Christmas there's

this cord of wood out back he forgot

about and he decides to have his two

boys stack it. Except it's been out

back two months and it's snowed and

rained and froze so now the wood's

all iced in. He takes the boys. He

was drunk, of course.

Wade's face as the story comes to life:

CUT TO:

EXT. WHITEHOUSE FARM - DAY (1964)

Thirty years before. GLEN WHITEHOUSE ("POP"), 42, pushes his

boys, Wade (13) and Rolfe (10), toward snow-covered lumps of

firewood behind the barn. He's drunk. The boys carry shovels

and a pickaxe.

POP:

Move it! Daylight in the swamps!

ROLFE:

Pop, the kids are waiting for us.

WADE:

(reproving)

Rolfe.

POP:

A lesson in work and its rewards.

You'll thank me for this one day.

(to house)

Sally, turn off that TV!

His sons chip at the wood. Hopeless. Frozen solid.

WADE:

(to Rolfe)

Just do it.

POP:

Atta-go.

ROLFE:

Please, Pop. Let's go back.

Wade notices his mother, SALLY, watching from the window.

POP:

What are you, a quitter?

CUT TO:

INT. TOBY'S INN - DAY

LaCoy roars with laughter.

LONG-HAIRED LOCAL

(puzzled)

So what happened?

LACOY:

Beats me. That's all I heard. Wade

would know more about it.

(calls)

Wade! We were just talking about

your Old Man. "What are you, a

quitter!"

Wade grabs his keys, walks over. Jimmy follows.

WADE:

Jesus, LaCoy, you got nothing better

to do than sit around and tell

stories. Pity is, some college student

will come some day and believe this

sh*t cause you're the only one dumb

enough to talk to him. Take care.

Wade and Jimmy head out.

CUT TO:

EXT. BACKROAD - DAY

Wade, shivering in the open grader, plows a narrow winding

road. He lights a cigarette, exhales steamy smoke. LaCoy's

laugh triggers a memory:

CUT TO:

INT. WHITEHOUSE FARM - DAY (1964)

The flashback continues: Glen Whitehouse pushes his sons

inside. Sally steps from sight. Out back, the firewood lies

frozen amid futile shovel marks.

POP:

That was some job.

ROLFE:

We'll work at it everyday, promise.

POP:

I think we made the point.

WADE:

(mumbles)

You just needed a drink.

Pop, swigging Canadian Club, turns:

POP:

What was that?

(no answer)

You got something to say, say it!

Say it!

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