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Life Page #14
RAY:
BISCUIT:
(scolding)
On Christmas Eve.
POKER FACE:
He wasn't the Santa Claus, he was
just wearing the suit and ringing a
bell.
WILLIE:
What did you guys do?
The whole table waits expectantly for their reply.
RAY:
I kinda lost track of how many people
we killed that night. Must have been
15 or twenty -- not counting women
and children. It was a real bloodbath.
All that screaming...
CLAUDE:
Pack of lies. Don't listen to him.
We didn't kill nobody. We were
railroaded. And we gonna prove that.
RAY:
He just blocked it out. N*gger's
crazy. He's the one who did all the
stabbing. He's capable of some heinous
sh*t.
(thumbing down the
table)
How 'bout him down there?
At the end of the table, GOLDMOUTH, a hulking specimen, snarls
menacingly, flashing a glittering set of teeth.
WILLIE:
Goldmouth? They say he was born out
back behind the shithouse. That's
what they say.
RAY:
You all been here a long time. Doesn't
anybody ever escape from this place?
WILLIE:
They run but they never get too far.
RADIO:
Couple years back, Cookie made it
clear to Greenville.
RAY:
Greenville, that the nearest town?
WILLIE:
(nodding)
It's a two-day walk if you don't get
lost. Take a mighty cagey country
boy to navigate the woods and bayous
between here and there.
BISCUIT:
Those dogs they got can sniff a skid
mark in your underpants from a half-
mile off.
RAY:
Alright, well, let's say you make it
to Greenville. What's there, anyway?
COOKIE:
Grandma Dodi's Pork Rib Joint.
POKER FACE:
COOKIE:
Didn't even get to have my peach
cobbler.
WILLIE:
The most important thing they got in
Greenville is a train that heads up
north.
Just then, Goldmouth stands up, casting a shadow over Claude.
GOLDMOUTH:
Hey, girl, you gonna eat your corn
bread?
Claude looks up, considering his options.
CLAUDE:
No, man. I want you to have it.
RAY:
Wait up there, Claude. You give that
guy your corn bread and the next
thing you know you'll be ironing his
shirts and clipping his toenails.
GOLDMOUTH:
Maybe I oughta eat your corn bread.
RAY:
My corn bread? Oh no, my friend. I
love corn bread.
Ray picks up his corn bread and takes a huge bite out of it,
rolling his eyes with enthusiasm.
RAY:
I thought my mama made good corn
bread but this is really something
special.
Ray looks at the faces around the room, smiles broadly.
Goldmouth is getting embarrassed.
RAY:
Who knew I'd have to come all the
way down to this here prison, deep
in the a**hole of the great state of
Mississippi, to find such a tasty
piece of corn bread?
The prisoners begin to laugh. Ray's got them now.
RAY:
And who knew that in this great corn
bread-making institution I'd come
face to face with the biggest,
ugliest, stinkiest, ugliest gold-
mouthed negro in the entire world.
Now get out of my face before I lose
my appetite!
A punch sends Ray sprawling in the dust. Goldmouth looms
over him. The incorrigibles form a circle around the
combatants. Poker Face, the camp bookie, is taking all bets.
GOLDMOUTH:
How you like your corn bread now,
New York?
Goldmouth and Ray square off. Goldmouth swings, Ray ducks
and counters with a swift jab to the gut. Goldmouth just
flashes a shiny grin and clobbers Ray with a fist the size
of a Thanksgiving turkey. Ray sinks to the dust. Radio drops
down near him.
RADIO:
Come on, New York, you can do better
than that! Get up and show him how
they do it in Harlem!
Ray shakes his head and staggers back to his feet. He circles
the big man and gets in a couple of good shots, much to the
crowd's approval. Goldmouth shakes his head and wipes the
blood from his nose. Now he's mad. He grabs Ray by the shirt
and delivers a crushing blow. Ray reels backward into Cookie's
arms.
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"Life" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 30 Aug. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/life_450>.
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