Miller's Crossing Page #11

Tom

I was in the neighborhood, feeling a little

daffy. Thought I'd drop in for an apperitif.

He pours himself a drink.

. . . Rug Daniels is dead.

Verna

Gee, that's tough.

Tom

Don't get hysterical. I've had enough excitement

for one nigit without a dame going all weepy on

me.

Verna

I barely knew the gentleman.

Tom

Rug? Bit of a shakedown artist. Not above the

occasional grift, but you'd understand that. All

in all not a bad guy, if looks, brains and

personality don't count.

Verna

You better hope they don't.

He gives her a sick grin.

Tom

. . . Yeah well, we're none of us the saint I

hear your brother is.

Verna

Who killed him?

Tom

Leo thinks Caspar did.

Verna

But you know better.

Tom

I do now. Caspar just tried to buy me into

settling his tiff with Leo, which held hardly do

if he was waging war. So I figure you killed

him, Angel. You or Saint Bernard.

Verna

Why would I--or my brother--kill Rug Daniels or

anybody else?

Tom

Rug was following you. He knew about you and me.

That wouldn't help your play with Leo, would it?

He looks at her. She holds his gaze.

Verna

You think I murdered someone. Come on, Tom, you

know me a little.

Tom

Nobody knows anybody--not that well.

Verna

You know or you wouldn't be here.

Tom

Not at all, sugar. I came to hear your side of

the story--how horrible Rug was, how he goaded

you into it, how he tried to shake you down--

Verna

That's not why you came either.

Tom shrugs.

Tom

Tell me why I came.

Verna looks at him.

Verna

The oldest reason there is.

Tom

There are friendlier places to drink.

Verna

Why can't you admit it?

Tom

Admit what?

Verna

Admit you don't like me seeing Lee because you're

jealous. Admit it isn't all cool calculation

with you--that you've got a heart--even if it's

small and feeble and you can't remember the last

time you used it.

Tom

If I'd known we were going to cast our feelings

into words I'd have memorized the Song of

Solomon.

Verna smiles.

Verna

. . . Maybe that's why I like you, Tom. I've

never met anyone made being a sonofabitch such a

point of pride.

She turns to walk across the room.

. . . Though one day you'll pay a crice for it.

Tom grabs her wrist.

Tom

Okay, Verna. But until then, let's get stinko.

He draws her close.

Verna

. . . Let's do something else first.

She reaches up, takes off his hat, and tosses it casually

away. We pan with the hat to where it lands on the floor,

in front of a curtained window.

Tom (off)

Yeah. Let's do plenty.

25. DISSOLVE THROUGH TO:

ANOTHER WINDOW NIGHT

A living room window, open, its white sheers billowing

lazily in the draft.

Faintly, from another room in the house, we can hear a

phonograph playing John McCormack singing "Danny Boy".

At the cut we hear a thump, close by, and briefly the

sounds of a struggle. We then hear a breathy, gurgling

sound, which quickly subsides.

The living room is late-night quiet.

The shot is a lateral track, which brings us off the window

to an end table in the foreground. On the end table is a

pouch of Bull Durham, a package of rolling papers, a cup of

coffee with steaming rising off of it, and a section of a

newspaper. The draft gently lifts a couple rolling papers

off the table.

The continuing track takes us off the end table and,

booming down, shows us an upset chair and the legs of the

man who occupied it.

We track along the man's body to discover that he is face-

down on the section of newspaper he was reading, blood

oozing out of his slit throat onto the newspaper.

The continuing track shows that, between the fingers of one

outflung hand, a cigarette burns. It is resting on the

newspaper.

We see the feet of another man who is turning and walking

away from the man on the floor, into the background. We

pan over to watch him recede, framing out all of the dying

man except his outflung hand and cigarette.

As the walking man recedes, more and more of his topcoated

body crops in. By the time he reaches the house's front

door, in the deep background, we can see him full figure.

The newspaper in the foreground is crackling into flame.

The rug it rests on is beginning to smoke and discolor.

As the man in the background opens the front door we jump

in:

OVER HIS SHOULDER

Waiting in the darkness just outside is another man in a

topcoat and fedora. He is holding two tommy guns.

The men do not exchange words.

The man outside hands his partner a tommy gun and follows

him as he walks back into the house.

Still faint, we continue to hear "Danny Boy". We also hear

the lick of flames.

26. A VICTROLA

The song is louder at the cut. We are in an upstairs

bedroom.

LEO:

Stretched out an his bed, wearing a robe over his pyjamas,

smoking a cigar, listening--but only to the phonograph.

Its sound covers any other noise in the house.

27. STAIRWAY

A close track on the two pairs of feet climbing the stairs.

We see only the feet, the swaying hems of the topcoats and,

occasionally dipping into frame, the muzzles of the two

tommy guns.

26. BEDROOM

Leo, is motionless, looking down, a puzzled expression.

HIS POV:

The floor.

Thin smoke is beginning to sift up through the floorboards.

28. STAIRWAY

Tracking on the approaching feet. The song grows louder.

26. BEDROOM

Leo, looking, slowly taking the cigar from his mouth.

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