Breakdown Page #7

JEFF:

I want your name and badge number.

The Sheriff looks up at Jeff, sighs.

SHERIFF BOYD:

Sheriff Arthur Boyd. 226-93.

This really isn’t necessary -

JEFF:

Don’t tell me what’s necessary,

goddamnit. I’m noting the exact

time of this conversation. 10:52

A.M.

SHERIFF BOYD:

(exhaling)

Suit yourself, Mr. Taylor.

The Sheriff shifts into gear and drives away. Jeff is

left standing on the side of the road, desert in all

directions.

CUT TO:

INT. POLICE STATION -DAY

A wall is covered with missing persons’ notices.

Photographs of men, women and children stare back at us.

Names and dates are printed across the bottom of the

notices.

PULL BACK to reveal Jeff staring at the gallery of faces.

It’s a creepy feeling. Several yards away, DEPUTY LEN

CARVER, a young puffy-faced lawman, sits at a desk

filling out a form. Jeff looks shaken.

DEPUTY CARVER:

Is this a recent picture?

Jeff glances over. Deputy Carver is holding up a wallet-

sized photograph of Amy.

JEFF:

Two months old.

DEPUTY CARVER:

She still wear her hair like that?

JEFF:

Yes.

(CONTINUED)

40.

CONTINUED:

The Deputy resumes filling out the form. He clicks his

tongue sympathetically.

DEPUTY CARVER:

We’ll certainly do our best, Mr.

Taylor. There’s over a hundred

thousand people go missing in this

country every year. Runaways,

deadbeat dads, dropouts, folks

hiding from the I.R.S. --all

vanishing without a trace.

Jeff stares at the faces.

DEPUTY CARVER:

Now I’m not saying she’s one of

them. I sure hope not. But

unless there’s a ransom demand or

evidence of forced abduction,

believe me, the F.B.I. won’t even

look at your case till it’s been

24 hours.

Deputy Carver finishes the paperwork and staples the

photograph to the form. He looks up at Jeff.

DEPUTY CARVER:

Nevertheless, we’ll sure keep our

eyes peeled. How’s that sound?

Jeff clenches his jaw.

CUT TO:

EXT. ROOF OF BELLE’S DINER -DAY

From this high vantage point, we see Jeff’s car

approaching.

EXT. PARKING LOT -DAY

The Cherokee pulls up to the side of the building. Jeff

gets out and walks inside.

INT. BELLE’S DINER -DAY

Jeff enters, looks around. It’s the same scene as

before:
same Bartender, a slightly different cast of

characters.

No sign of Amy.

(CONTINUED)

41.

CONTINUED:

Jeff advances to the Bartender, who stands at a sink

rinsing beer mugs.

JEFF:

Did she come in?

BARTENDER:

(looks up, uninterested)

Didn’t see her.

JEFF:

You didn’t see her, or she didn’t

come in?

BARTENDER:

Buddy, I told you the last time.

I’m busy. Maybe she came in,

maybe she didn’t. All I know is,

I didn’t see her.

Jeff looks around, not particularly trusting the

Bartender’s skills of observation. He grinds his jaw.

The other customers at the bar have been watching all

this.

Jeff.

One of them, an older grizzled BARFLY, looks up at

BARFLY:

(confidentially)

None of my business, mister. But

if I was you I’d take a look in

the ladies room.

The Barfly gives Jeff a wink and turns back to his beer.

Snickers from some of his bar mates, who avert their eyes

when Jeff glances at them. Jeff knows this is almost

certainly a put-on, but he can’t take a chance.

While the Barflies watch, poker-faced, Jeff walks to the

door of the ladies room, hesitates, then knocks. His

knock is answered by a wordless sound, HALF-GROAN, HALFGASP.

JEFF:

Amy?

Silence. Jeff tries the door. It’s locked. He rattles

it. Another GROAN. Jeff puts his shoulder against the

door, heaves inward. The door swings open, revealing -

42.

INSIDE BATHROOM:

Flo, bent over the toilet, vomiting. She whirls around,

a strand of spittle dangling from her lip.

FLO:

Hey --what the hell you doing?!

Jeff backs away, yanks the door shut. The barflies

chuckle among themselves.

Jeff strides angrily for the exit. He stops at the door,

takes one last look around. No one seems to be paying

him much attention. He turns to leave...

... but something stops him. He can’t put his finger on

it. There’s something wrong here...

He stares at the other customers. Why do they avoid eye

contact? Are they hiding something?

He scrutinizes more closely...

There is the gruff trucker, sitting at a nearby table

shoveling food in his mouth. He’s been averting his gaze

ever since Jeff walked in.

And then there’s the traveling salesman. Overweight,

sweaty. Popping vitamins along with his coffee.

Or what about the shirtless biker, reading a comic book

at the bar? Probably an ex-con.

While Jeff is running these suspicions through his mind,

a trucker approaches the counter to place an order. The

Bartender jots it down on a pad, then tears off the

carbon slip. He places one copy above the grill and

another in a pile by the cash register.

Jeff stares, an idea forming...

He approaches the bar.

JEFF:

I want to see your order slips.

BARTENDER:

What?

JEFF:

You write down the names. I want

to see them.

BARTENDER:

What are you, nuts? I don’t have

to show you jack sh*t.

(CONTINUED)

43.

CONTINUED:

Jeff leans in his face.

JEFF:

If my wife came in here, then her

name’s in that pile.

The Bartender stiffens, stares him straight in the eye:

BARTENDER:

You calling me a liar?

A tense beat.

Possessed by a sudden impulse, Jeff makes a grab for the

receipts. Before he can reach them, the Bartender’s hand

clamps onto his.

BARTENDER:

Mister, I’ve had just about enough

of you.

JEFF:

Let me see the f***ing slips.

In one swift motion, Jeff overpowers the man and extracts

the receipts. He starts going through them, fast,

looking at names. TULLY, MARK, FLO, ANDY and...

Jeff raises his eyes to face the unpleasant end of a

Smith & Wesson revolver.

BARTENDER:

Now, mister, you’re going to have

to leave.

Jeff takes a step back. Everyone in the diner is

staring. He stumbles backwards, heads for the exit.

EXT. BELLE’S DINER -DAY

Jeff exits, breathing hard, and runs to the phone booth.

PHONE BOOTH:

is occupied by a YOUNG MAN with an awkward oversized

frame, ill-fitting clothes. Jeff raps on the glass

anxiously.

JEFF:

Please, I need the phone --I have

to call the police!

(CONTINUED)

44.

CONTINUED:

The Man looks up, dull and glassy-eyed. His sluggish

demeanor suggests mental retardation. He hangs up and

slowly opens the door.

SLUGGISH MAN:

(drawls)

My name’s Billy. You the feller

lookin’ for his wife?

JEFF:

How’d you know? Did you see her?

The Sluggish Man hesitates. There’s something holding

him back. Jeff senses this.

JEFF:

Please, if you know something,

anything, tell me.

BILLY (SLUGGISH MAN)

(a beat)

I seen her... maybe.

JEFF:

What? When?

Billy is about to answer. In b.g., the Bartender sticks

his head out of the diner. Billy backs away, spooked.

BILLY:

Oh man. Never shoulda opened my

damn mouth. Now I’m gonna git it.

Billy breaks into a loping run through the parking lot.

Jeff hurries after him and catches up, cornering Billy

between two cars, trying to calm him.

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