Jennifer 8 Page #5

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You're my favourite man - raining -

I gotta go - Ronny - I gotta go - I

got a house fulla removal men and a

date at the morgue - And, Ron, Con-

gratulations - you're my first call ..

16:
INT. MORGUE. COUNTY HOSPITAL. EUREKA. DAY.

ROSS has a Vic inhaler up his nostril. An inadequate defense.

A sudden stink slams into his neck muscles. Head and inhaler

travel rearward. He shifts eyes to BERLIN who scans the Bum's

autopsy reports. A PATHOLOGIST comments on his handiwork into

a microphone hanging from the ceiling. "Except as previously

noted, the liver is not remarkable." ROSS doesn't believe it.

PATHOLOGIST:

.. if the knife hadn't killed

him, the booze would .. I nev-

er seen such a bad cirrhosis ..

BERLIN:

You say the cut's left to right?

(He does)

Isn't that unusual? He's left handed?

He picks up a nicotine-stained left hand. Simultaneously a LAB

TECHNICIAN wants BERLIN to sign in exchange for the picnic box.

PATHOLOGIST:

I guess he was so drunk, he did-

n't know which hand he was using.

(Re box)

What are you gonna do with it?

BERLIN:

Depends how healthy it is. If it's

any good, I'll try and get a print ..

He hands the clip-board back and remembers a question for ROSS.

Oh, Ross, that newspaper guy at the

station, asked me if the hand was

"frozen?" Why would he ask me that?

ROSS:

Frozen? .. I've no idea ..

Another fast fix on the Vic and BERLIN chews fresh gum. A need-

le on a weighing machine quivers. "The liver weighs 1420 grams."

A few beers wouldn't do

that to you, would they?

PATHOLOGIST:

No, Freddy .. Not a few ..

17:
INT. KITCHEN. THE ROSS RESIDENCE. EUREKA. DUSK.

An explosion of hugs in the kitchen. Everything happens at once.

MARGIE ROSS is slim and dark and still looking "twice as pretty."

She's got compliments for BERLIN too if they can get out of each-

other's arms "You're looking wonderful, John." But greetings are

better performed than described, so I'm leaving it to the actors.

ROSS:

You do a rush on three pizzas?

He emerges from the refrigerator wielding a bottle of champagne.

MARGIE:

I'm not giving him Pizza. I

haven't seem him for a year?

I'm gonna cook him a dinner.

ROSS:

Dinner's another night, darlin ..

This is a drive-by. I got an hour ..

He detours via the kitchen door to shout upstairs. "Hey. Bobby.?"

MARGIE:

Bobby's out .. What's the hurry?

ROSS:

Friday night at City Hall. Got a

great chance to frighten the fat.

MARGIE:

Freddy's new obsession ..

BERLIN:

Who is who?

ROSS:

A professional, whining, con-person

b*tch with an ass the size of Africa ..

ROSS fights a difficult cork "You wanna get some glasses, Honey?"

She's an accounts-manager, very pal-

ly with our mayor, up to her elbows

in fraud, and I just can't prove it ..

MARGIE:

So tonight she confesses?

ROSS:

Tonight I'm feeling lucky ..

The cork explodes and he goes for glasses but one isn't willing.

BERLIN:

Not for me ..

ROSS:

What d'you mean, I just opened it

for you? This is French champagne.

MARGIE:

No it isn't .. It's Californian ..

ROSS:

Even better.

BERLIN:

Not today .. I'm on a diet to-

day .. I'll take a diet soda ..

ROSS:

Since when did you drink diet soda?

MARGIE:

Stop nagging him. If he doesn't

want it, he doesn't want it. You-

're quacking like an old duck ..

And she's already at the fridge and popping a can of diet cola.

Here you go, Honey .. You're

looking wonderful, John .. I

can't believe we got you here ..

ROSS:

How's the new residence?

BERLIN:

O.K.

ROSS:

What does that mean?

BERLIN:

Not too good in daylight ..

ROSS:

C'mon, just shut your eyes until

it's painted. You're gonna love

it. This is "God's Country," John.

18:
INT. CRIME LAB. POLICE STATION. DAY.

This in huge close-up. Focus hardens on a finger tip. A shock

of light. The focus adjusts and a flash bulb fires again. BER-

LIN moves away from the view-finder. Chewing gum stuck to the

side of the camera returns to his mouth. He activates an auto-

matic rewind. It fills the silence while he heads for a phone.

A lot of paraphernalia and technical type of sh*t. The bullet-

in board is filling up. Photographs chronicle the hours spent

on the dump. He dials with eyes on the pictures. A dozen cata-

logue discovery of the bra. "This is Mike Blattis/I can't take

your call right now/ If you have a message/You know the sound."

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