Bringing Out the Dead Page #16

A large framed photo of a volcano hangs over the couch.

COATES:

It's okay, Kanita. Come on in.

KANITA:

He looks like a cop.

COATES:

He's not a cop, he's a medic.

(extends hand)

I'm CY Coates.

FRANK:

Frank Pierce.

COATES:

Mary said you might be coming.

FRANK:

Where is she?

COATES:

Sleeping in the back.

FRANK:

She asked me to pick her up.

COATES:

I know, but she told me to tell you

she wants to crash here a few hours.

Terrible about her father, isn't it?

FRANK:

I better just go in and see her.

Kanita sits on the sofa next to an unshaven sleeping man.

Coates gestures:

COATES:

I call this the Oasis. Refuge from

the world out there. Did you know

two people were shot in this building

last week?

Frank heads down the hall toward the rear of the apartment;

Coates follows. They pass an open door where inside TIGER, a

fat man with dried blood running down the corner of his mouth,

sits punching computer keys at a desk.

COATES (CONT'D)

Careful. That's the Tiger. The lady's

down the hall. Welcome to Sunrise

Enterprises, Frank, the stress-free

factory.

In the NEXT ROOM Mary lies on a mattress on the floor, yellow

sheet pulled up to her neck. Frank leans over her:

FRANK:

Mary. Mary, we've got to get going.

MARY:

(groggy)

No, no.

COATES:

She wanted something to help her

sleep.

FRANK:

Mary, we really have to go.

Mary blindly swings her fist at him, collapses unconscious

back to the mattress.

COATES:

Frank, she's suffered enough. She's

okay, I promise.

(puts hand on Frank's

shoulder)

C'mon, Frank.

Coates escorts Frank back to the LIVING ROOM.

COATES (CONT'D)

I'm always interested in people in

stressful occupations and being a

paramedic is about as stressful as I

can imagine. Here, sit down. What's

it like? Tell me some war stories.

FRANK:

(sits)

Got a beer?

Cy sits across from him, pulls out a pin-sized joint, lights

it:

COATES:

That sh*t is poison, Frank. We don't

drink alcohol here. What you need is

one of these.

FRANK:

Did you give Mary something called

Red Death?

COATES:

Red Death?

(passes joint to Kanita)

Tell me something, Frank--does killing

your clients make good business sense

to you? The kids selling that sh*t

have no sense. They'll be taken care

of, don't worry about that.

FRANK:

I should be going. I just quit.

COATES:

Sleep is all stress reduction. Here.

(offers white pill)

You take one of these, sleep two

hours, that's all you need.

(Frank hesitates)

Why do you think I'm telling you

this, Frank--for my health? You

ought to look at yourself in the

mirror, man. Kanita, get him a glass

of water.

Frank watches as Kanita gets up, walks to the kitchen. Coates

places the pill in his hand.

FRANK:

Is this what you gave Mary?

COATES:

That's the stuff. I call it the Red

Lion. Very king-of-the-jungle.

No language, only brute power. You can't believe how relaxing

it is.

Kanita returns with a glass of water, gives it to Frank;

Coates stands, feeds the fish.

COATES (CONT'D)

Frank, I'm trying to help you. Drink

up.

Frank swallows the white pill, drinks the water. He places

his arms on the chair:

FRANK:

I guess I'll be going.

COATES:

Just take it easy.

Frank looks around the smoke-filled room. Kanita walks over,

extends her hand.

KANITA:

Take my pulse.

(he does)

It's good, isn't it?

FRANK:

Perfect.

KANITA:

I knew it. I was wrong about you.

You're not so bad.

Kanita runs her hand across his shoulders. Frank starts to

nod. The room getting warm and dark. His eyelids lower: sleep,

precious sleep.

CUT TO:

FRANK'S ROSE DREAM

Voices and sounds echo through the purple haze as Frank's

mind drifts in time and space. Action and sounds slow, speed

up, distort--intermix with the Oasis--as Frank goes back:

This is how it begins: the last time, the first time ...

Larry exits 13 Zebra as Rose, 18, wearing a yellow rain

slicker, falls to her knees in the miasmic dream stank, onto

the sidewalk, then onto her back. From forty feet away Frank,

seeing her reach for a parking meter, grabbing the tube kit,

running.

Rose gasping for breath, Frank falling to his knees, lifting

her tongue, prying her teeth apart, slipping the blade between

her lips--Rose not breathing: waiting for her to inhale,

shooting the tube down her vocal cords. Larry listening to

lung sounds, belly sounds:

LARRY:

You're in the stomach!

FRANK:

You sure?

ROSE:

Rose!

FRANK:

Huh?

ROSE:

My name. Rose.

LARRY:

You're in the stomach, man.

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