Life Page #5

RAY:

I'll take the little choirboy, if

you don't mind.

SPANKY:

If I was you, I'd want somebody who

can handle himself in a tight spot.

RAY:

I just want somebody who won't put a

bullet in my back once the truck is

full.

Spanky sees Ray's point. He nods to the henchman, who hoists

Claude's limp body out of the water and onto the cement.

Spanky plants a foot on Claude's chest and applies pressure.

A geyser of Harlem River water shoots from Claude's mouth as

he sputters back to life.

SPANKY:

For your sake, I hope you can drive.

Somebody give him some dry clothes.

CUT TO:

THE SPINNING WHEEL OF A TRUCK

The CAMERA MOVES UP the side of the old Ford truck to find

Claude sitting pensively in the passenger seat.

INT. TRUCK (MOVING) -- NIGHT

Ray palms the wheel.

RAY:

Tell me about that hot sketch you

were hypin' last night. She was a

choice bit of calico. You two been

seeing each other a long time? Gonna

slap the handcuffs on her and stroll

down the aisle one of these days?

Tight-lipped, Claude shifts in his seat.

RAY:

Sometimes I wish I could find me a

sheba to settle down with. Suppose

I'm just a tomcat by nature.

(trying to fill the

silence)

This little rum run is gonna seriously

improve my relationship with Spanky.

He's a good man to have on your side.

He's got the capital and the

connections. That's what you got to

have in that business. Spanky's place

is pretty plush, but one of these

days I'm gonna open up my own

establishment. Ray's Boom-Boom Room.

You like that? Ray's Boom-Boom Room.

That's in the groove, don't you think?

If Claude does like it, he's not letting on.

RAY:

Come on, daddy-o. You haven't said a

word since we started. Least you

could do is make some friendly

conversation.

CLAUDE:

Look, man, I don't want friendly

conversation. I don't want to be

your friend. I've seen your friends

and I don't like them. I just want

to do this thing and get back to New

York in time to start my job.

RAY:

Start your job? What kind of job?

CLAUDE:

Well, if you must know, bank teller

at First Federal of Manhattan. I'm

responsible for keeping track of

hundreds, occasionally thousands of

dollars.

RAY:

That's some long green.

CLAUDE:

Damn straight, it is. I got my own

set of keys because I'm supposed to

open up. So if I ain't there 8 a.m.

Monday morning, there's gonna be

hell to pay.

Beat of silence. Ray laughs to himself.

CLAUDE:

What?

RAY:

Nothing.

CLAUDE:

No, tell me what's so funny.

RAY:

I don't know. Bank teller. Sounds

like ladies work to me.

CLAUDE:

Well, maybe I should dig around in

other people's clothes for money.

It's obviously been highly successful

for you.

RAY:

Hey, you'd be surprised what you

find in other people's pockets. Just

gotta avoid them deadbeat bank

tellers. Get you every time.

CLAUDE:

I didn't start out to be a bank

teller. I was gonna be a ballplayer.

Even had an offer to play short for

the Newark Eagles.

RAY:

Why didn't you take it?

CLAUDE:

The Negro League don't pay so good.

And you're always on the road. That

don't wash with Daisy.

RAY:

You gave up baseball to be a bank

teller? I can't latch on to that.

CLAUDE:

At some point a man's got to get

serious about his future. I'm sure

you have no idea what I'm talking

about.

RAY:

You're talking about giving up

baseball to be a bank teller.

CLAUDE:

Bank teller's just a start. I got

plans. Real plans. Not opening some

Zoom-Boom Room. This time next year

I'll be a loan officer.

RAY:

A loan officer?

CLAUDE:

That's right, a loan officer.

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