Inherent Vice Page #21

DOC:

... you didn't happen to take out

a policy yourself, Saunch...

SAUNCHO:

If there's litigation -- I'll be

on it.

DOC:

Well... I hope it works out for

you, man. That boat and you

really do belong together...

Sauncho starts singing "We Should Be Together," from

Little Miss Broadway.

CUT TO:

113 INT. DOC'S PLACE - DAY 113

Doc is on his couch. LONG PAUSE, THEN: BIGFOOT'S FOOT

SMASHES HIS DOOR DOWN... The door is shattered in a

thousand pieces. Doc looks up scared shitless:

125.

BIGFOOT:

Don't get up...

DOC:

Bigfoot. Bigfoot, man... smash

down my door?!?! Come on, man...

BIGFOOT:

After a long and busy day of civil

rights violations, I found myself

in the neighborhood and compelled

to drop in... just to check and see

the current state of affairs of my

old stomping grounds. Seeing as

your effort to keep lines of

communications open with me have

been limited to say the least...

DOC:

I've been busy...

BIGFOOT:

Trying to figure out which side of

the Zig-Zag paper is the sticky side?

Then... they both talk at the same time...

DOC/BIGFOOT

Listen... I'm sorry about last night.

You? Why should you be sorry?

The spell is broken.

DOC:

Weird.

BIGFOOT:

Extraordinary...

Bigfoot looks over Doc's weed supply... BIGFOOT starts to

EAT DOC'S WEED BAG AND JOINTS.

HE SWALLOWS... BIGFOOT takes another BIG BITE OF DOC'S

DRUGS... FINDS SOME PILLS, EATS THEM UP, TOO.

BIGFOOT:

This f***ing Gordita Beach has

been cursed from the jump. I've

been trying my whole life to get

out of here. Indians lived here

long ago, they had a drug cult,

smoked toloache which is

jimsonweed, gave themselves

hallucinations, deluded themselves

they were visiting other realities

-- why, come to think of it, not

unlike the hippie freaks of our

present day.

(MORE)

126.

BIGFOOT (CONT'D)

Their graveyards were sacred

portals of access to the spirit

world, not to be misused. And

Gordita Beach is built right on

top of one.

DOC:

Yeah? And these spirits, can you,

like, catch them, Bigfoot?

BIGFOOT:

You plod along in pursuit, maybe

only wanting to apologize and they

fly away like the wind, and wait

their moment...

He heads for the door and WALKS INTO THE WALL.

DOC:

You okay, brother?

BIGFOOT:

I'm not your brother.

DOC:

No... but you could sure use a

keeper.

Bigfoot walks out the door and falls over the balcony...

114 INT. DOC'S CAR (DRIVING) - NIGHT 114

Doc driving on the freeway. Shasta is curled up in the

passenger seat. A fog is rolling in on the Santa Monica

Freeway. Headlights drift ahead and behind him...

SHASTA:

Remember that day, the Ouija board

set us off into that big storm?

DOC:

One of a couple things I never

forgot -- don't know why.

SHASTA:

This feels the same way, tonight.

Just us. Together. Almost like

being underwater. The world,

everything gone someplace else.

DOC:

Figured it was Sortilege just

settin' us up.

SHASTA:

No, she...

DOC:

Her Ouija board...

127.

SHASTA:

She knows things, Doc... maybe

about us that we don't know...

DOC:

This don't mean we're back

together.

SHASTA:

Course not.

She drifts -- off to sleep.

SORTILEGE (V.O.)

Doc fell into a car convoy, moving

slowly, single lane through the

fog. He figured if he missed the

Gordita Beach exit, he'd take the

first one whose sign he could read

and work his way back on surface

streets. He knew that at

Rosecrans, the freeway began to

dogleg east, and at some point,

Hawthorne Boulevard or Artesia,

he'd lose the fog, unless it was

spreading tonight, and settled in

region wide... Maybe then it would

stay this way for days, maybe he'd

have to just keep driving, down

past Long Beach, down through

Orange County, and San Diego and

across a border where nobody could

tell anymore in the fog who was

Mexican, who was Anglo, who was

anybody. Then again, he might run

out of gas before that happened,

and have to leave the caravan, and

pull over on the shoulder, and

wait. For whatever would happen.

For a forgotten joint to

materialize in his pocket. For the

CHP to come by and choose not to

hassle him. For a restless blonde

in a Stingray to stop and offer him

a ride. For the fog to burn off,

and for something else this time,

somehow, to be there instead.

FADE OUT.

THE END:

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