American Graffiti Page #11

TERRY (amazed)

Gee, that's terrific. Ah, just some ah--Old Harper. He takes

Terry's money and enters the store. The clerk hands the man a

bottle of Old Harper. Terry waves excitedly to Debbie, lowering

his pants a bit. Suddenly, there's a gunshot! Terry whirls to see

the young man stuffing cash from the register into his pockets,

backing away with a smoking gun. He rushes out of the store,

tossing the bottle to Terry and running off into the night.

Suddenly, the owner emerges from behind the counter, shooting

wildly. Terry ducks and heads for the car with his pint of Old

Harper.

AUTO WRECKING YARD

John's '32 deuce coupe crunches to a gravelly stop in front of a

dark auto-wrecking yard. John and Carol get out and climb over

the fence. They walk through a valley of twisted, rusting piles

of squashed, mashed and crushed automobiles. John sticks his hand

into his pockets moodily and stops and looks at one of the burnt-

out cars.

JOHN:

That's Freddy Benson's Vette...he got his head on with some

drunk. Never had a chance. Damn good driver, too. What a waste

when somebody gets it and it ain't even their fault.

CAROL:

Needs a paint job, that's for sure.

John doesn't hear her and walks on. JOHN

That Vette over there. Walt Hawkins, a real ding-a-ling. Wrapped

it around a fig tree out on Mesa Vista with five kids in it.

Draggin' with five kids in the car, how dumb can you get? All the

ding-a-lings get it sooner or later. Maybe that's why they

invented cars. To get rid of the ding-a-lings. Tough when they

take someone with them.

CAROL:

You never had a wreck though--you told me.

JOHN:

I come pretty close a couple of times. Almost rolled once. So far

I've been quick enough to stay out of here. The quick and the

dead.

CAROL:

I bet you're the fastest. JOHN

I've never been beaten--lot of punks have tried. See that '41

Ford there? Used to be the fastest wheels in the valley. I never

got a chance to race old Earl. He got his in '55 in the hairiest

crash ever happened around here. He was racing a '54 Chevy, bored

and loaded, out on the old Oakdale Highway and every damn kid in

twon was out there. The Chevy lost its front wheel doing about

85. The idiot had torched the spindles to lower the front end and

it snapped right off. He slammed bam into the Ford and then they

both of them crashed into a row of cars and all those kids

watchin! Jesus, eight kids killed including both drivers, looked

like a battlefield. Board of Education was so impressed they

filmed it. Show it now in Drivers Education, maybe you'll see it.

Anyway, since then street racing's gone underground. No

spectators, I mean. Too bad.

CAROL:

I'd love to see you race.

Carol takes his hand and they walk a bit, until John realizes

what he's doing, and drops her hand and pulls away.

JOHN:

Come on! None of that.

CAROL:

Whadaya mean? I'm the one who's supposed to say that. Whadaya

afraid of? I'll keep it above the waist.

JOHN:

Funny...(he looks at her for a moment) Who knows, in a few years-

-but not now, bunny rabbit.

CAROL:

Bunny rabbit! Oh brother, you are such a drip.

She stomps off and gets back into the coupe, quickly rolling up

all the windows. John saunters up and finds the door locked.

JOHN:

Come on, open the door.

CAROL:

If you say "Carol's not a bunny, she's a foxy little tail."

John grins and starts to pull his keys out of his pocket. He

stops grinning

Carol grins and dangles his keys inside the car. John leans

against the window, closes his eyes, a defeated man.

JOHN (quietly)

Carol's not a rabbit, she's a foxy little tail.

He hears the button click up and slowly opens the door.

CAROL:

You say the cutest things.

John gets into the car.

WOLFMAN (voice over)

Sneakin' around with the Wolfman, Baby.

The Wolfman's gravelly voice whispers over the airwaves as John

and Carol drive out of the shadowy car grave-yard.

WILSON'S APPLIANCE STORE

Curt is sitting on the hood of a parked De Soto watching a row of

televisions in the window of an applaince store. Twelve silent

images of Ricky Nelson on "Ozzie and Harriet" glow in the dark

showroom.

Music from passing cars rises and fades as they cruise behind

Curt. The Wolfman can be heard.

WOLFMAN (voice over)

Oh, this is gonna strike a raw nerve, mama. Here's the Platters.

The Wolfman howls and the Platters wail into the "Great

Pretender." Curt sings along, mouthing the words. Then somebody

walks in front of Curt.

Curt pays no attention, then sense the presence of another guy.

Soon he realizes that he is being surrounded by a group of three

hoods. They slink up from all sides wearing car coats with the

name "PHAROAHS" embroidered across the back.

Curt looks them over--they all watch the silent tv's. One of

them, without turning, talks to Curt.

JOE:

Whadaya doin', creep?

CURT:

Me?

JOE:

No, I'm talking to the other fifty creeps here. You know Gil

Gonzales?

CURT:

Gil Gonzales...no.

JOE:

Don't know Gil...you oughta. You really should.

CURT:

Yeah...why?

JOE:

No reason...he's a friend of ours...and that's his car you're

sitting on.

There's silence. Curt looks uneasy and slides quietly off the De

Soto. Curt sticks his hands in his pockets and starts slowly down

the sidewalk.

JOE:

Hey, where ya goin?

CURT (turning)

No place. Not going any place.

JOE:

Ya must be going someplace--I mean ya left here. Bring him over

here, Ants, I want to show him something.

Ants (a tall, ghoulish-looking kid who probably got his name

fromt he scar across his face which has recently been stitched to

look like a party of ants marching across his cheek) brings Curt

back gently.

Joe is bent over looking across the hood of the De Soto. JOE

Here--bend down, look here. See that? Right across there--see?

CURT:

I guess so--yeah.

Joe unbends and lightly punches Curt on the shoulder.

JOE:

You scratched it, man. Where do you get off sitting on Gil's car,

huh, man? Joe gives him another charming punch on the shoulder.

The others have left the tv's and are watching Curt now, looking

puzzled and pained at the scratch on the car.

CURT:

I'm sorry. It's not much of a scratch. I don't think he'll even--

JOE:

It ain't the size that's in question here. It's the principle.

Jeez, this is tough...what should we do with ya?

ANTS:

Tie him to the car and drag him.

Curt turns and laughs at Ants' suggestion. He laughs and laughs

until he realizes nobody else is; they are pondering the

suggestion.

CURT:

That's funny (clearing his throat) Hey, you guys know Toby

Juarez? He's a Pharoah, isn't he?

JOE:

Toby Juarez. Yeah, sure we know Toby.

CURT:

He's a friend of mine.

They all grin and laugh with Curt who feels better.

JOE:

Sure, good old Toby. He's a friend of yours. That's cool...we all

hate his guts.

Curt stops smiling again.

CURT:

Oh--well, I don't know him that much anyway.

JOE:

We killed him last night.

ANTS:

Tied him to a car and dragged him.

Curt looks at them both, praying they're kidding. Joe looks at

him, shaking his head.

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