Miller's Crossing Page #8

Tom

Yeah. . .

He casually looks forward, just off to one side, at a

specific point in space. He does not react to whatever he

is hearing.

. . . I need a couple days. . . Because I don't

have it now. . .

We are almost in close shot now. His gaze is still fixed

and emotionless.

. . . Because I say so. . . What would be good

enough?. . . Well, if it'll make him feel any

better, tell Lazarre he can send someone by to

break my legs. I won't squawk.

He prongs the earpiece, still looking off. The track has

stopped in close shot. He exhales a stream of smoke, then

after a beat:

. . . 'Lo, Bernie.

REVERSE:

Slouched in a chair, in the corner of the room, facing Tom,

is Bernie Bernheim. He is about thirty and wears his

overcoat and hat and a good-natured smile. He holds an

apple in one hand and a paring knife in the other. The

long peel of the apple corkscrews down off the knife.

Bernie

'Lo, Tom. What's the rumpus?

Tom

C'mon in, make yourself at home.

Bernie

Yeah, you weren't here so I thought I'd do that.

Didn't wanna answer the phone, though. Figured

it wasn't for me.

Tom

Uh-huh.

After a silent beat, Bernie chuckles.

Bernie

. . . I get it, get to the point, huh? Okay.

The point is:
I'm a good guy.

Tom

I've heard that from a lot of people today.

Bernie slices off an apple section and holds it out to Tom,

who shakes his head.

Bernie

Good guy, lot of friends--that's the way it

works. Maybe if you appreciated me a little

more, you wouldn't be making waves with Leo.

He pops the slice in his mouth.

It's a bad time to be doing that. I mean, right

now we're both in a jam. I hear you're on a bad

streak, short of funds, and I've got that

psychotic guinea mad at me. Don't ask me why;

I'm just a small-timer trying to get by, like

everyone else. I need help from my friends.

Like Leo. And you.

Tom

Leo gets your sister, what're you selling me?

Bernie

C'mon Tom, its not like that at all. Wasn't

my idea. She'll sleep with anyone, you know

that. She's even tried to teach me a thing or

two about bed artistry. Can you believe that--my

own sister! Some crackpot idea about saving me

from my friends. . .

Bernie laughs pleasantly.

She's a sick twist all right. I guess some

guys like that.

Tom

She speaks highly of you.

Bernie shrugs.

Bernie

Yeah, well, you stick by your family. The point

is, I can help you with your debts if that would

make us friends. My motto is, a guy can't have

too many. Big payday Saturday, Tom. You could

be in on it.

For the first time, Tom is interested.

Tom

Another fix? Which fight?

Bernie

Well that's confidential at the moment. But it

doesn't have to stay that way.

Tom gives Bernie a speculative eye.

Tom

How d'you know about it? Caspar isn't laying any

more bets with you.

Bernie

Mm.

Tom gives a humorless smile.

Tom

. . . You must really have Mink jumping through

hoops.

Bernie is getting to his feet wiping the knife blade on his

coat.

Bernie

Like I say, you can't have too many.

He pauses at the open door, looks up and down the hall and

turns to look at Tom.

. . . We got a deal?

Tom

. . . I'll think about it.

On his way out:

Bernie

I wouldn't want it any other way.

On the click of the door latch we cut to:

17. STREET DAY

Pulling Tom along the sidewalk.

Tom

Cud. . .

He is calling out to a short rail-like man lounging against

a building who joins him as he walks. Cud has small sharp

features except for one cheek, which is hugely distended by

a wad of chewing tobacco.

. . . My credit still good with you?

Cud gives a so-so flutter of his hand.

. . . Give me a hundred across on Tailor Maid in

the third tonight.

Cud shakes his head.

Cud

Lazarre won't like it.

Tom

Try fifty across.

Cud shrugs.

Cud

I'll try. That'll make another one-fifty you owe

him.

Tom

Only if I lose, Cud.

Cud

Tommy, the way you're goin'--horses got knees?

Tom

I dunno. Fetlocks.

Cud

Well the way you're goin', if I was a horse I'd

be down on my fetlocks prayin' you don't bet on

me.

Another man, a huge man, has walked up to flank Tom's other

side. This is Frankie.

Frankie

Drift, small guy.

Cud

Drop dead, ape.

Frankie

C'mon Tom, my boss wants to see you. He didn't

have time to engrave nothin' formal.

Cud starts to fade away.

Cud

I'll see you later, Tommy. I gotta go spit.

18. INT ROOM

It is a large room with a couple of card tables, straight-

backed chairs, a ratty sofa--a sparsely furnished card room

off the main floor of a club.

At the cut we are tracking behind Tom into the room as

Frankie and Tic-Tac, a small ferret-faced-man, escort him

in. We hear a woman's voice speaking rapid-fire Italian.

Bluepoint is sitting on the couch, wearing his overcoat and

his hat pushed back an his forehead.

Sitting at one of the card tables is Caspar. With him is

his wife, a short, very round Italian woman, and his son,

Johnny Jr. Johnny Jr., about five years old, is also very

round. He wears a suit with short pants that reveal

dimpled knees.

Bluepoint, an the couch, is watching the domestic scene

without any particular warmth.

Caspar

Whaddya mean he's eatin' too much? Whadduz the

goddamn doctor know?

Rate this script:5.0 / 2 votes