Bringing Out the Dead Page #6

Larry and Frank turn, secretly pleased, and wheel Mr. Oh

outside.

CUT TO:

EXT. MERCY EMERGENCY--NIGHT

Larry setting Oh outside the entrance, heading towards the

all night deli. Frank takes out a cigarette.

Mary Burke walks up the drive opening a pack of cigs. Frank

offers her a light. She inhales, exhales:

MARY:

It's my first cigarette in over a

year.

FRANK:

The first is always the best.

MARY:

It's the waiting that's killing me,

not knowing, you know? It's really

hard on my mother. The doctor doesn't

think my father'll make it. He says

he was dead too long, after six

minutes the brain starts to die and

once that goes, close the door.

FRANK:

You never know.

MARY:

I mean if he was dead, I could handle

that.

FRANK:

At least he's got people around him.

MARY:

I'm not so sure. My father and I

haven't spoken in three years. When

my brother called to say my father

was having a heart attack, that he'd

locked himself in the bathroom, all

the way going over I was thinking

how I was gonna tell him what a

bastard he was. Then when I got up

the stairs and we moved him onto the

bed, I thought of all these other

things I wanted to say.

FRANK:

Even when you say the things, there's

always more things.

MARY:

Right now, I'm more worried about my

mother than anything. They won't let

her see my father.

FRANK:

Go home. Take her home. Get some

rest. Not going to find anything out

now.

MARY:

That's what I told her. If she could

just see him a second, then I could

take her home.

Larry walks back with a coffee for himself and a brown bag

beer for Frank.

LARRY:

Time to switch. I wheel, you heal.

CUT TO:

EXT. LOWER EAST SIDE--NIGHT

4:
00am. The EMS vehicle drives downtown. The city has

transformed:
a deserted city, inhabited by the hardcore:

hardcore night-shift employees, hardcore party-goers, hardcore

druggies, hardcore homeless, people with something special

to do or nowhere to go.

RADIO DISPATCHER

12 David on the corner of Thirty-

eight and Two you'll find a three-

car accident, two taxis and a taxi.

One-two Henry, 427 East Two-two,

report of a very bad smell. No further

information ...

Larry driving at a good clip, riding both the gas and the

break pedals, enjoying the newfound freedom of movement.

FRANK:

Larry, swing over on Eighth. We're

gonna hafta run one of these calls.

LARRY:

Relax, will you.

Frank places both hands on the dash as Larry squeals around

a corner.

FRANK (V.O.)

The biggest problem with not driving

is that whenever there's a patient

in back you're also in the back.

The doors close, you're trapped.

Four in the morning is always the

worst time for me, just before dawn,

just when you've been lulled into

thinking it might be safe to close

your eyes for one minute. That's

when I first found Rose ...

Larry slows down on a side street. Frank turns to watch a

homeless man. The man looks back: it's Rose. The Rose face.

FRANK (V.O.) (CONT'D)

She was on the sidewalk, not

breathing.

Frank turns to Larry:

FRANK (CONT'D)

I'm not feeling very well, Larry. I

say we go back to the hospital and

call it a night.

LARRY:

You have no sick time, Frank. No

time of any kind. Everyone knows

that.

FRANK:

Take me back, put me to bed; I

surrender. We've done enough damage

tonight.

LARRY:

You take things too seriously. Look

at us, we're cruising around, talking,

taking some quiet time, getting paid

for it. We've got a good job here.

FRANK:

Yeah, you're right.

Larry pulls into the Jacob Riis projects by the river, slows

to a stop. Larry cuts the lights, not bothering to inform

his partner what his partner already knows: they're taking

a rest.

CUT TO:

EXT. RIIS PROJECTS--NIGHT

13 Zebra sits in the quiet dark. Larry puffs a cigarette.

FRANK:

Tell me, you ever think of doing

anything else?

LARRY:

Sure, I'm taking the captain's exam

next year. After the kids are in

school, Louise can go back to the

post office and, I thought, what the

hell, I'll start my own medic service.

Out on the Island the volunteers are

becoming salaried municipal. It's

just a matter of time and who you

know. Someday it's going to be Chief

Larry calling the shots.

Larry tosses the cigarette out the window, leans against the

door jab, closes his eyes. In a second he's asleep.

Frank turns down the radio volume: the calls are fewer and

further between now. Frank leans back, tries to rest:

FRANK (V.O.)

I'd always had nightmares, but now

the ghosts didn't wait for me to

sleep. I drank every day. Help others

and you help yourself, that was my

motto, but I hadn't saved anyone in

months. It seemed all my patients

were dying. I'd waited, sure the

sickness would break, tomorrow night,

the next call, the feeling would

drop away. More than anything else I

wanted to sleep like that, close my

eyes and drift away ...

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