Blood Simple Page #4

MARTY:

So how long have you know Meurice?

DEBRA:

About ten years.

Marty's attention is caught by something down the bar. He

half-rises from his stool.

MARTY:

What--Waitaminute--What...

HIS POV:

Meurice is pouring the milk down the sink. He looks innocently

up.

MEURICE:

What.

BACK TO MARTY:

Angry but not knowing what to say. He glances around the

bar, sinks slowly back onto his stool.

MARTY:

Deuce in the corner needs help.

MEURICE:

Right.

Marty sits staring across the bar for a moment, nods a couple

of times at nothing in particular, then looks back at the

woman.

MARTY:

...So what're you doing tonight?

DEBRA:

Going out with Meurice.

Marty tosses a beer nut into his mouth.

MARTY:

Tell him you have a headache.

Debra gives him a level stare.

DEBRA:

It'll pass.

MARTY:

We don't seem to be communicating--

DEBRA:

You want to hustle me. I don't want

to be hustled. It's as simple as

that. Now that I've communicated,

why don't you leave?

MARTY:

I own the place.

DEBRA:

Christ, I'm getting bored.

MARTY:

I'm not surprised, the company you've

been keeping the last ten years.

They both fall silent as Meurice enters frame. He takes a

bottle from the bar and pours himself a drink.

MARTY:

What's this?

MEURICE:

What.

MARTY:

(pointing at Meurice's

drink)

This.

MEURICE:

Jack Daniels. Don't worry, I'm paying

for it.

MARTY:

That's not the point.

MEURICE:

What's the point?

MARTY:

The point is we don't serve n*ggers

here.

MEURICE:

Where?

(he looks over his

shoulder; up and

down the bar)

...I'm very careful about that.

Marty tosses back Meurice's drink, then turns to Debra,

smiling.

MARTY:

He thinks I'm kidding. Everybody

thinks I'm kidding;

(as he turns to leave)

if Ray comes in I'm not home.

Debra watches him go, then turns back to Meurice.

DEBRA:

Nice guy.

MEURICE:

Not really. What'd you say your last

name was?

MARTY'S HOUSE TRACKING DOWN HALLWAY

We are following a large German shepherd as it pads down the

hall toward a warmly lit room at its end. We hear only the

sound of the dog's paws on the hardwood floor, and the faint

clicking of billiard balls.

BILLIARD ROOM:

It is a paneled, carpeted room with black leather furniture

and a nine-foot billiard table. Various stuffed animal

trophies are scattered around the room, including a moose

head mounted on one wall. Ray stands alone in the foreground,

shooting pool, an unlit cigarette in his mouth. The room is

very quiet.

In the background the German shepherd enters from the hallway,

sits down in a corner, and benignly watches Ray.

UPSTAIRS BEDROOM

It is expensively appointed; a brightly lit woman's bedroom.

Abby is opening a hinged drawer in a white antique bureau.

She pulls out a leather handbag, gropes nervously through

its contents, then puts it aside.

She crosses the room to a vanity table, takes a purse from

underneath, and spills its contents out on top of the table.

BILLIARD ROOM:

Ray pockets a couple of balls, looks over at the dog, then

up at the wall at the far end of the room.

RAY'S POV

Hanging on the wall are a couple of framed photographs of

Marty and Abby, taken a long time ago.

BACK TO RAY:

Staring at the pictures. He looks back down at the pool table.

UPSTAIRS BEDROOM

Abby is sitting on a large double bed. She puts aside another

purse, rises and crosses the room hurriedly, and pushes back

the sliding doors of a long wardrobe closet. The upper shelf

is lined with handbags--fifteen or twenty of them. She grabs

the first one, looks in, tosses it aside; grabs the second,

looks--and stops.

HER POV:

Inside the purse, a small pearl-handled gun.

BILLIARD ROOM:

Ray is now standing in front of the pictures on the wall,

looking from one to the next.

RAY'S POV

A picture of Abby and Marty standing together on a Gulf beach.

Marty is wearing a long velour beach robe, Abby is in a

swimming suit. Ray's hand enters frame. He traces a finger

down her leg.

CLOSE SHOT RAY:

His head cocked to the side. After a moment his eyes shift.

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