Hardcore Page #21

Mast spots a long-haired youth walking toward the juke box

and calls to him:

MAST:

(continuing)

Hey, buddy, E-fifteen.

The kid ignores him and makes his selection: a rock song.

WES:

I want to rehire you. To find out

what's happening to my brother-in-

law.

MAST:

I've been on another case. All day.

(a beat)

I suppose I can move it over. Seven

fifty a week, plus travel expenses.

WES:

Do you really think Kristen is just

a runaway?

Mast thinks. A shadow crosses his face.

MAST:

Maybe. Maybe not.

WES:

I also want you to protect my brother-

in-law.

MAST:

Huh?

WES:

You have to understand. He can be

mean, self-righteous. He had a Vishund

once. Loved that dog. He came home

one day and the dog bit him. He took

that dog and staked him out in the

back yard. It was winter. Every day

he came home and watched that dog

until he froze. He's capable of doing

anything.

MAST:

To his own daughter?

WES:

To anybody.

CUT TO:

EXT. HIGHWAY - NIGHT

Van Dorn's car speeds through the California night. The

Pacific, moon-lit, stretches like a sinister plain.

CUT TO:

EXT. SAN DIEGO MOTEL - NIGHT

Jake pulls into a freeway exit motel and parks at the office.

CUT TO:

INT. JAKE'S MOTEL ROOM - NIGHT

Jake's suitcase lies open on the luggage rack. He pulls off

his tie-dyed shirt, folds it up neatly, and places it in the

suitcase.

He sits on the edge of the bed and undoes his shoestrings.

He removes each shoe as if it were an individual effort.

There's a KNOCK.

Jake looks through the blinds, unhooks the chain and opens

the door.

Niki, tugging up her jeans, scuffles in.

NIKI:

You actually paid for both these

rooms? I thought you were just going

to get a receipt for two, and kickback

the desk man.

Jake, awkward, puts a shirt on.

NIKI:

(continuing)

I thought you were going to bed?

JAKE:

I am.

Niki is street-wise. She can instantly interpret situations

which would stymie the average person; but, as if to balance

this perceptivity, she is often stymied by the ordinary.

In brief:
she assumes Jake is paying her $900 a week not

only to help him but also to be his personal playmate.

NIKI:

Do you have any pills? Any Valium,

Librium? You know, pimps will sell

Valium at fifty cents a piece. Can

you believe that?

Niki sits on his bed, her legs folded under her.

NIKI:

(continuing)

You know Valiums pick me right up?

Take four or five and I'm wide awake.

Isn't that strange? Know what puts

me to sleep? Coke. I think I'm really

f***ed up.

Niki removes her sweater and starts to pull off her Rorer T-

shirt. Jake motions for her to stop.

JAKE:

No.

NIKI:

Huh?

JAKE:

Niki. Calm down. Relax. Let's just

talk for a while. Then, later, you'll

go back to your room and we'll get

some sleep.

He sits on the bed beside her.

NIKI:

You have anything to drink? You want

to go out and get something?

JAKE:

I don't drink, but you can go out.

NIKI:

You don't drink?

JAKE:

(points to stomach)

Ulcers.

Niki studies him for a moment, then says:

NIKI:

You're not a private detective either,

are you?

JAKE:

No.

NIKI:

I didn't think so. I've f***ed

detectives. Who are you?

JAKE:

A friend.

NIKI:

Of Joanne's?

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