My Own Private Idaho Page #9

Mike and Scott run off, laughing at him.

BOB:

I can't see a damned thing in

here.

BUDD:

Jesus, will you shut up! And keep

on your toes!

Budd sees the promoters coming and waves to Bob as he lies down

on the ground.

BUDD:

Lie down!!

BOB:

Lie down!?

BUDD:

Lie down and stay quiet, until

they round the corner and we'll

ambush them.

BOB:

Have you got a crane to lift me up

again?

Budd laughs.

MIKE:

They're coming!!

Down the way, the rock and roll promoters are approaching, having

no knowledge of the buffoonery at the other end of the tunneling

alleyway. They are drunk.

VICTIM 1

Come along neighbor, Tommy will

lead the way. I've lost track of

time... (burp)

At the other end of the alley:

Bob and three others are marching in procession, chanting, a

facsimile of Rashneesh, but a bad act.

The rock promoters approach, smashing a bottle.

VICTIM 1

Who are these jokers?

VICTIM 2

Rashneesh, listen!

VICTIM 1

They're chanting....

Scottie and Mike hide behind garbage cans, laughing.

The rock promoters circle the group of chanting Rashneesh.

VICTIM 3

I thought that all you Rashneesh

had up and left...

Victim 1 pours a beer on one of their heads. Just as he does this

Bob pulls out two long pistols, almost heavy enough that he

cannot hold them straight, barrels parallel.

BOB:

Aha! One move and I'll blow you

away, you sully scumbags, up

against that wall!

One of the victims falls down and begins to run away. One of

Bob's men starts after him. A lockbox that he was carrying falls

to the ground. Bob spies it.

BOB:

No! Let him go!

Bob aims one pistol at the running figure as he keeps the others

against the wall with the other pistol. He fires three times. One

of Bob's boys grabs the lockbox.

A VIEW of the running figure, bullets cutting around him.

BOB:

Look at him go!

VICTIM 2

Don't shoot us!

Bob winks at the lockbox and shoots the gun in the air.

All the rock promoters go running. Bob charges after them, firing

the gun twice more in the air, then once at the lockbox, breaking

it open.

BOB:

The valise is open. Let's see what

we got.

Mike and Scottie hiding behind trashcans.

SCOTTIE:

Where are our disguises?

Mike runs to his stash and finds two large capes and large hats.

They put these on.

Bob finds wads of money and receipts.

BOB:

Ticket anyone? To next week's

show?

He throws these on the ground and the boys fall over themselves

for the tickets. Bob wads the money and puts it back in the box,

laughing to himself.

Mike and Scottie sneak closer to the group still hiding, long

flowing capes concealing their identity.

BOB:

Scott and Mike have disappeared,

did the shots scare them away?

They sneak closer. Mike lights a big firecracker and waits.

BOB:

...maybe we should get the hell

out of here. But, are they such

chickens?

A LOUD EXPLOSION!

Mike and Scottie, disguised, jump out with large silver baseball

bats, swinging them and making as much noise as they can,

knocking over a set of garbage cans, flashing flashlights into

Bob and the others' eyes.

Frightened, Bob drops the lockbox and runs, the others follow,

Mike and Scottie hitting them with the bats as they go.

BOB:

Get the box! Oh, F***!

Mike swings the bat at Bob, it grazes the side of a building and

sparks fly from it. Bob wheezes from the run.

Scottie chases the others in the same direction.

They stand, kicking garbage cans and watching them run,

convulsing with laughter.

SCOTTIE:

The thieves scatter!

MIKE:

Bob Pigeon will sweat to death!

Jack Favor enters the Governor's CHAMBERS day.

JACK:

Can anyone tell me about my son?

He walks across the room.

JACK:

It's been a full three months

since I last saw him. Where is my

son Scott?

AID:

We don't know, sir.

JACK:

Ask around in Old Town, in some of

the taverns there. Some say he

frequently is seen down there

drinking with street denizens.

Some who they say even rob our

citizens and store owners. I can't

believe that such an effeminate

boy supports such 'friends.'

A high overhead (helicopter?) view of the country landscape in

the early morning. Far below us on a lonely road is a small dot,

a motorcycle, traveling east.

Further along on its travels, the motorcycle crosses a steel

BRIDGE.

Old Town day.

Scottie and Mike, riding on a stolen motorcycle, sweep through

the early morning streets without being noticed.

Stopping at a stop light in the city.

Scott pauses to think.

SCOTT:

Mikey, do you realize how long I

have been here out on the streets,

on this crusade?

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