Klute Page #12

SPENCE:

(calmly)

They'll drop off theirselves when

she comes out.

We CUT TO -

BERGER - DAY

We see Berger sitting huddled against the tugboat

cabin -- we haven't seen him before -- with his

hands bunched in front of his mouth. We identify

the noise which may have puzzled us before -- his

SOBBING.

DOWNSHOT:
SURFAICE OF WATER, BASKET, BODY

We catch a fleeting glimpse of the body being

lifted, just before it breaks the surface of the

water.

FAVORING KLUTE:

Klute looks on as EFFECTS trace the processing of

the body. SPENCE kneels down out of frame to slide

the bag around it. TRASK kneels down to make a

brief examination -- straightens again. To Klute --

TRASK:

It'll go to the Examiner. But I

don't see nothin that means nothin.

We MOVE WITH KLUTE as he turns and moves away a few

feet along deck. Here he stands. Then SUGARMAN

moves into view holding a clipboard. Routinely --

SUGARMAN:

You help us with ID? We can't get

nothin from him.

He indicates the direction of Berger. Klute

examines the clipboard data.

KLUTE:

Arlyn Page was probably an alias.

She went by the names Terry Arlyn

and June Price. She may have been

from Pittsburgh, someone told me. I

can give you a list of people who

knew her, if that would help to --

SUGARMAN:

No point, thanks.

KLUTE:

Is he claiming the body?

SUGARMAN:

Uh uh, that'd mean funeral

expenses.

He spits, moves back in the direction of the group;

Klute continues to stand. BERGER moves in his

direction. Brokenly --

BERGER:

Man could you help me?

Klute doesn't understand his purport, reacts

instantly, sympathetically --

KLUTE:

Yeah, what?

BERGER:

You know, help me out. That's my

baby there, dead. I got to get up.

Klute stares at him -- a quiet horror -- as Berger

insists --

BERGER (CONT'D)

Man you don't know what that does

to me, my baby dead --

KLUTE:

-- You've got to get up.

BERGER:

Yeah.

Klute shoves a bill in his hand, turns away very

sharply, off the tugboat.

EXT. DOCK:
KLUTE - DAY

Klute walks a longer distance this time, sits down

on one of the pilings of the dock. Watching him we

see what might be a profound awe and grief at all

these things -- but is, in fact, a good deal more.

EFFECTS, O.S. as Police Vehicles are loaded, driven

away and as tug toots, runs up engines, puts out

again.

TRASK moves into scene, sits on another piling,

looks at him speculatively. Silence. Then --

TRASK:

That's how the other one died, you

know. In the water.

KLUTE:

(nods)

I looked it up.

Then -- (we are assuming a complete understanding

here between Klute and Trask, non-verbal. What

Trask is asking, in effect, is: is this meaningful?

Do we both suspect the same man?)

TRASK:

Well?

KLUTE:

Yeah.

INT. BREE'S APARTMENT - DAY

It is late afternoon, but BREE is in her pajamas

curled up in her bed. There are some magazines

scattered around the bed and the television set is

on an old movie. There are cracker crumbs in the

bed and a cup of coffee and an open jar of peanut

butter with the knife sticking out of the jar on

the floor by the bed. It would seem that BREE has

spent most of the day in bed. She looks like an

unkempt child. The phone is ringing, but she does

not answer it. The phone no sooner stops than the

door bell rings. Reluctantly she gets out of bed

and goes to the door. She looks through the spy

hole and sees Klute's face. She undoes two locks

and an obviously new chain and bolt and opens the

door.

BREE:

Well hello -- come on in.

He barely enters the room. His manner is cool and

remote.

KLUTE:

I thought you ought to know, Arlyn

Page is dead.

BREE:

How?

KLUTE:

The same as Jane McKenna.

BREE:

(she betrays no reaction)

Thanks for the jolly news. I

thought maybe you'd left town by

now. You kind of just disappeared.

But you boys from Tuscarora have a

habit of disappearing, don't you?

Klute looks around the disorderly room. The plants

in the windowsill have never been in worse shape.

They look as if she deliberately let them die of

thirst.

KLUTE:

The next few weeks I would like to

know where you are all the time.

BREE:

(harshly)

Why?

KLUTE:

Just let me know when you are going

out and where --

BREE:

What if i go out on tricks - you

wanna come along? You could sit and

read the National Geographic.

KLUTE:

How can you do it to yourself?

BREE:

(coolly)

I don't get you.

KLUTE:

Ligourin:
How could you do it?

BREE:

I told you before, you wouldn't

understand.

KLUTE:

You're right, I don't understand.

Explain it to me.

(pause)

You were scared. Arlyn Page, that

scared you. Well it should; that's

death.

So what did you do, you ran

straight for it, death. Ligourin

kills women.

BREE:

No.

KLUTE:

No, no you're right, I'm sorry. He

uses women; he lets them kill

themselves. Is that how you want

it?

BREE:

Arlyn was a junkie; I'm not on

junk!

KLUTE:

No, you can find some other way.

(beat)

Explain it to me. Bree, show me any

sense to --

BREE:

(screams, incoherently)

You get the Christ out! You dumb

stupid bastard, you don't know

anything, you square, you get out!

I don't have to show you anything;

you get out!

Klute goes.

INT. KLUTE'S APARTMENT - DAY

The empty apartment. He enters, switches a light on

(dusk), tosses aside jacket, bookcase, etc., then

sits down on the edge of his bed, with one foot

propped up on it.

FOOTSTEPS and A RAP at the door. He looks up, but

doesn't move, doesn't answer. BREE opens it,

enters. There are tear-tracks down her face, but

she's no longer crying. She tries to smile, tries

to explain her wants. Then with the unhurried,

graven composure of absolute desperation, she sits

on the edge of the bed.

BREE:

If I asked you something, would you

not laugh? -- asked you to look at

something?

She pushes up her sleeve, points at tiny spot on

her arm - a freckle. He peers at it then at her

puzzledly.

BREE (CONT'D)

(apologetic)

I thought it was maybe changing

shape or something.

Klute looks at it again. Judiciously --

He shows her a spot or two on his own forearm. She

compares, is reassured. Embarrassedly, she tries to

smile. It is unsuccessful. She gets up and moves

about. Her manner in general is totally unguarded,

honest, undramatic, searching.

BREE (CONT'D)

Look -- I hate everybody; and I'm

sorry for everybody; and I'm scared

all the time.

He only grunts. A sound like 'OK' or 'all right' --

an invitation to leave. But she won't be driven

away. More urgently, helplessly:

BREE (CONT'D)

Look, I don't know either. It's

like the only thing I know how to

do -- I feel safe.

She's left the door a little ajar. He widens it for

her.

KLUTE:

It's been a full day.

She pushes it out of his hand, pushes it shut. A

little more angrily:

BREE:

Please.

KLUTE:

We did this before.

BREE:

No.

(then)

Well all right. But you want to and

I want you to and we both know it

and all right.

KLUTE:

(evenly, slowly)

I don't like getting splashed.

She accepts it decently. Tries to smile again,

nods.

BREE:

OK ----- OK

She gestures, tries to find something more to say,

moves by degrees toward the door -- and would

succeed in leaving. But then:

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