Blood Simple Page #2

A telephone rings.

SAME WIDE SHOT MORNING

Ray and Abby are asleep. On a nightstand next to the bed,

the telephone is ringing.

Ray stirs, reaches for the phone.

RAY:

...Hello.

VOICE:

Having a good time?

RAY:

...What? Who is this?

VOICE:

I don't know, who's this?

A silence at both ends.

VOICE:

...You still there?

RAY:

Yeah, I'm still here.

Ray listens to another silence. It ends with a disconnect.

Abby is stirring as Ray gets out of bed.

ABBY:

...Ray?

RAY:

Yeah.

ABBY:

What was that?

RAY:

Your husband.

BAR BACK OFFICE NIGHT

We are tracking past a man seated behind a wooden desk,

towards an 8 x 10 black-and-white photograph that has just

been slapped down on the desktop.

The picture is of Abby and Ray in bed together in the motel

room.

VOICE:

I know a place you can get that

framed.

The voice is familiar as that of the narrator whose musings

on life in Texas and the Soviet Union opened the movie.

We cut to him.

He is settling himself into a chair facing the desk. He is

LOREN VISSER, a large unshaven man in a misshapen yellow

leisure suit.

He smiles at the man behind the desk.

JULIAN MARTY:

Sits staring down at the photograph. Behind him a window

opens on the bar proper. Country-western music filters in

from the bar.

Marty is not pleased.

MARTY:

What did you take these for?

VISSER:

What do you mean...

He removes a pouch of tobacco from his breast pocket and

nonchalantly starts rolling a cigarette.

VISSER:

...Just doin' my job.

MARTY:

You called me, I knew they were there,

so what do I need these for?

VISSER:

Well, I don't know... Call it a fringe

benefit.

MARTY:

How long did you watch her?

VISSER:

Most of the night...

He lights his cigarette, then slaps his lighter onto the

desktop.

It is silver, engraved on the top with a lariat spelling out

"Loren" in script, and on the side with a declaration that

he is "Elks Man of the Year."

VISSER:

...They'd just rest a few minutes

and then get started again. Quite

something.

Marty stares down at the photograph.

MARTY:

You know in Greece they cut off the

head of the messenger who brought

bad news.

A smoke ring floats into frame from offscreen.

VISSER:

Now that don't make much sense.

MARTY:

No. It just made them feel better.

Marty rises and goes to a safe behind his desk.

Visser laughs as he watches Marty.

VISSER:

Well first off, Julian, I don't know

what the story is in Greece but in

this state we got very definite laws

about that...

Marty, hunched over the standing safe behind his desk, tosses

in the photograph and takes out a pay envelope.

VISSER:

...Second place I ain't a messenger,

I'm a private investigator. And third

place--and most important--it ain't

such bad news. I mean you thought he

was a colored.

(he laughs)

...You're always assumin' the worst...

Visser blows another smoke ring, pushes a fat finger through

the middle of it, and beams at Marty.

VISSER:

...Anything else?

MARTY:

Yeah, don't come by here any more.

If I need you again I know which

rock to turn over.

Marty scales the pay envelope across the desk. It hits Visser

in the chest and bounces to the floor.

Visser looks stonily down at the envelope; no expression for

a beat. Then he roars with laughter.

VISSER:

That's good... "which rock to turn

over"... that's very good...

Sighing, he leans forward to pick up the envelope. He rises,

straightens his cowboy hat, and walks over to a screen door

letting out on the bar's back parking lot.

VISSER:

Well, gimme a call whenever you wanna

cut off my head...

He pauses at the door, c*cks his head, then turns back to

the desk and picks up his cigarette lighter. Returning to

the door:

VISSER:

...I can crawl around without it.

The door slams shut behind him.

Marty scowls at the back door. After a moment he rises and

crosses the office to the window looking out on the bar.

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