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Life Page #7
Claude narrows his eyes.
CLAUDE:
Alright. You want some pie?
RAY:
Yeah, I want some pie.
CLAUDE:
Okay then, I'm gonna walk over to
that counter and get us some f***ing
pie.
Resolved, Claude stomps over to the counter.
CLAUDE:
Excuse me, ma'am, I bet a brick will
turn that one right there into a
colored pie.
Claude lays down a dollar bill. Mama casually pulls a shotgun
from under the counter.
MAMA:
And I bet this right here will turn
you into a colored pie.
CLAUDE:
Okay, Ray, I think we can go now.
Much obliged...
Ray gives the whole place a cool once-over as Claude pulls
him out the door. Mama turns to Billy, still studying the
stitching on his shirt.
MAMA:
Don't be concentrating so hard, baby.
You're liable to seize yourself again.
EXT. DOCKS -- NIGHT
The truck rolls up to the waters edge. Ray kills the engine
and flashes the lights twice. In the passenger seat, Claude
is fast asleep. After a few moments, a FAT MAN appears,
shining a flashlight into the cab.
RAY:
How you doing? We're looking for
Slim.
SLIM:
You found him.
Ray c*cks an eyebrow.
EXT. DOCKS -- NIGHT
Under cover of darkness, a couple of MEN finish loading crates
into the bed of the truck. Ray and Claude keep their eyes
peeled for the law. Down by the river, they can see lights
and hear music from a district of rowdy juke joints. SLIM
steps up, wiping his hands.
SLIM:
That's it, fellas. Thirty six cases
of Puerto Rico's finest. At five
bucks a case, that's $180.
Ray pulls out a wad and slaps it in Slim's sweaty palm. The
fat man starts counting it out.
RAY:
Man, that music is hot. What goes on
down there, Slim?
SLIM:
That's Natchez-under-the-Hill.
RAY:
Blacks welcome there?
SLIM:
Green's the only color that matters
under the hill. They got gambling,
girls. You oughta check it out.
RAY:
Maybe we will. Nice meeting you.
Slim slips into the shadows.
CLAUDE:
Nice meeting you? You've been here
before, haven't you?
RAY:
What gave you that idea?
CLAUDE:
Oh, I don't know, maybe because our
lives depend on it, I just sort of
thought you knew what you were doing!
RAY:
Don't get all agitated on me. I bought
a bottle of rum from a couple of
dudes, I heard 'em talking...
CLAUDE:
Let me get this straight. We drove
all the way down to Klan country
'cause you heard a couple of guys
talking?
RAY:
What are you complaining about? It
worked out. Everything's cool. Now,
come on, let's head down there and
see what's shaking. We deserve a
little reward.
CLAUDE:
(dubious)
Reward?
RAY:
There are people down there having
fun. I want to be one of them. I
want you to be one of them. On Monday
you can be a bank teller if you want,
but tonight you're a bootlegger with
a truck full of Puerto Rican rum and
a fistful of cash.
A look of excitement crosses Claude's face, but he quickly
shakes it off.
CLAUDE:
That's gas money.
Exasperated, Ray stuffs a few bills into Claude's pocket.
RAY:
There's your gas money. You stay
here and watch the truck. And don't
worry, I've got the keys.
Left alone, Claude mutters and kicks at the dirt. He leans
against the truck.
UP AHEAD/EXT. JUKE JOINT -- NIGHT
Ray emerges from the woods and heads down the hill toward
the juke joint. Claude hustles up next to him.
CLAUDE:
I'm just gonna keep an eye on you,
make sure you don't do nothing stupid.
A ramshackle den of iniquity on the banks of the Mississippi.
The band is laying down some serious Delta blues, creating
an inviting atmosphere for sin and moral corruption.
On a far side of the room, Ray is playing poker with some
LOCALS. He seems to be having a bad night. WINSTON HANCOCK,
a formidable black man, sweeps in another big pot and puffs
happily on his cigar.
Perched on a stool, Claude shoots a dark look at Ray and
motions for the door. Ray waves him off and returns to his
game. Claude becomes aware of a soft, young female hand on
his shoulder.
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"Life" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 29 Aug. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/life_450>.
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