Bringing Out the Dead Page #22

Walls flashes 16 XRay's headlights, hits the horns.

FRANK (CONT'D)

I gotta go. Another call.

Frank, his heart pounding, steps closer to her.

FRANK (CONT'D)

We're all dying, Mary Burke.

He leans as if to kiss her.

MARY:

This is not a good time.

FRANK:

There's no time.

He places his hand on her shoulder, kisses her lightly, walks

toward Walls and the waiting ambulance.

CUT TO:

EXT. FIRST AVE--NIGHT

16 XRay is cooking now--Walls at the wheel, Frank shotgun,

passing a pint of whiskey back and forth: radio blasting--

INXS:
"The Devil Inside."

WALLS:

Get ready, Frank. Missed a drug

shooting while you were dicking around

in there. There's gonna be trauma

tonight!

FRANK:

As long as we keep moving. No standing

still.

WALLS:

(keys mike)

C'mon, look at your screen. Give up

some blood!

DISPATCHER:

Sixteen XRay, a man at the bus

terminal shot three years ago says

his arm hurts.

Frank looks at a group of girls exiting an after-hours club:

every one a Rose. Rose faces.

FRANK:

C'mon, Tom, pick up a job.

WALLS:

You want some bum in the bus terminal?

We'll wait for a real call.

FRANK:

Let's get in a fight, then.

WALLS:

Who with?

FRANK:

That's your job. Just keep driving,

keep moving. No stopping. We're

sharks. We stop too long, we die.

Walls hits the accelerator: the old bus jerks forward:

FRANK (CONT'D)

Let's break something, Tom. Let's

bust something, bomb something.

WALLS:

What do you want to break?

FRANK:

(taking a drink)

I don't know--let's break some

windows.

WALLS:

Why?

FRANK:

Destruction, distraction. I feel the

need.

WALLS:

You need a reason, Frank. You don't

just go around breaking people's

windows. That's anarchy.

FRANK:

What's the reason? Give me a reason,

Tom.

WALLS:

Let me think.

Tom hits the siren as he swings wildly around a stopped cab

and its turban-headed driver:

WALLS (CONT'D)

Classic cabbie move.

(to driver)

Hey, swammy, that's called a

crosswalk. You stop before it, not

on it!

Walls turns onto a cross street, spots Noel standing by a

Mustang, baseball bat on his shoulder. He wears yesterday's

blood-stained clothes, cut tires tied to his shoulders and

elbows, chest and belly wrapped with steel wire.

WALLS (CONT'D)

I know who to work over. Him.

Walls slows as Noel lifts the bat, swings it into the

Mustang's front window, shattering it, puts the bat down,

using it like a cane as he walks to the next parked car.

WALLS (CONT'D)

This guy's been terrorizing the

neighborhood for weeks, ever since

he got outta jail, wreaking general

havoc, contributing to the bad name

of the place. The term "menace to

society" was made up for him.

FRANK:

He's crazy. He can't help it.

WALLS:

(stops ambulance)

Well, why don't they put him away?

Prisons don't want him. I took him

to the hospital yesterday and here

he is again.

Noel reaches the next car, a Bronco, carefully hefts the

bat, smashes it through the windshield.

WALLS (CONT'D)

Look at that. Tell me that's a crazy

person. Every move is calculated. He

knows exactly what he's doing. This

is the guy. I've been after him for

weeks. He's quick, runs like a rat,

tough for one person, but with two

of us--

FRANK:

Okay, whatta I do?

WALLS:

If he sees me, he'll run, so I'll

get out here. You start talking to

him about baseball or something while

I sneak around behind and get down

and you push him. When he falls we

get him.

FRANK:

That's ridiculous.

WALLS:

Believe me, it always works. The

simpler, the better.

FRANK:

You learn that in the army?

FRANK (CONT'D)

Flatbush.

Walls slips out, crouches beside the bus. Frank, stepping

out, walks over to Noel as he whacks the bat through the

hatch of a Pinto.

FRANK (CONT'D)

That's a hell of a swing you got

there, Noel. I'm thinking Strawberry

in his prime.

NOEL:

Strawberry ain't sh*t. Drug p*ssy.

(heads for the next

car)

Me. I swing like Reggie. Mr.

October. Number three, game six,

World Series.

Noel hauls back, lays into a Volvo: glass shatters. Noel

holds the bat out, extends handle towards Frank:

NOEL (CONT'D)

Here, you try.

FRANK:

No, I'd better not.

NOEL:

Sure, sure, give go.

FRANK:

Yeah?

Frank, intrigued by Noel's suggestion, has forgotten Walls'

plan. He takes the bat as Tom sneaks behind Noel, crouching.

FRANK (CONT'D)

What the hell.

(spits into hands)

The next year, tiebreaker for the

division, in Boston, Yanks down two

to nothing, Bucky Dent steps to the

plate.

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