Pulp Fiction Page #36

MARSELLUS:

You ain't got no problems, Jules.

I'm on the muthafucka. Go back in

there, chill them niggas out and

wait for The Wolf, who should be

comin' directly.

JULES:

You sendin' The Wolf?

MARSELLUS:

Feel better?

JULES:

Sh*t, negro. That's all you had to

say.

INT. HOTEL SUITE – MORNING

The CAMERA looks through the bedroom doorway of a hotel suite

into the main area. We SEE a crap game being played on a

fancy crap table by GAMBLERS in tuxedos and LUCKY LADIES in

fancy evening gowns. The CAMERA PANS to the right revealing:

Sitting on a bed, phone in hand with his back to us, the

tuxedo-clad WINSTON WOLF aka "THE WOLF". We also see The

Wolf has a small notepad that he jots details in.

THE WOLF:

(into phone)

Is she the hysterical type?

(pause)

When she due?

(jotting down)

Give me the principals' names again?

(jots down)

Jules...

We SEE his book. The page has written on it:

"1265 Riverside Drive Toluca Lake 1 body (no head)

Bloody shot-up car Jules (black)"

THE WOLF:

...Vincent... Jimmie... Bonnie...

HE WRITES:

"Vincent (Dean Martin) Jimmie (house) Bonnie (9:30)"

THE WOLF:

Expect a call around 10:30. It's

about thirty minutes away. I'll be

there in ten.

He hangs up. We never see his face.

CUT TO:

TITLE CARD OVER BLACK:

"NINE MINUTES AND THIRTY-SEVEN SECONDS LATER"

CUT TO:

EXT. JIMMIE'S STREET – MORNING

A silver Porsche WHIPS the corner leading to Jimmie's home,

in HYPER DRIVE. Easily doing 135 mph, the Porsche stops on a

dime in front of Jimmie's house.

A ringed finger touches the doorbell: DING DONG.

INT. JIMMIE'S HOUSE – MORNING

Jimmie opens the door. We see, standing in the doorway, the

tuxedo-clad man. He looks down to his notebook, then up at

Jimmie.

THE WOLF:

You're Jimmie, right? This is your

house?

JIMMIE:

Yeah.

THE WOLF:

(stick his hand out)

I'm Winston Wolf, I solve problems.

JIMMIE:

Good, 'cause we got one.

THE WOLF:

So I heard. May I come in?

JIMMIE:

Please do.

In the dining room, Jules and Vincent stand up.

THE WOLF:

You must be Jules, which would make

you Vincent. Let's get down to brass

tacks, gentlemen. If I was informed

correctly, the clock is ticking, is

that right, Jimmie?

JIMMIE:

100%.

THE WOLF:

Your wife, Bonnie...

(refers to his pad)

...comes home at 9:30 in the AM, is

that correct?

JIMMIE:

Uh-huh.

THE WOLF:

I was led to believe if she comes

home and finds us here, she wouldn't

appreciate it none too much.

JIMMIE:

She won't at that.

THE WOLF:

That gives us forty minutes to get

the f*** outta Dodge, which, if you

do what I say when I say it, should

by plenty. Now you got a corpse in a

car, minus a head, in a garage. Take

me to it.

INT. JIMMIE'S GARAGE – MORNING

The three men hang back as The Wolf examines the car. He

studies the car in silence, opening the door, looking inside,

circling it.

THE WOLF:

Jimmie?

JIMMIE:

Yes.

THE WOLF:

Do me a favor, will ya? Thought I

smelled some coffee in there. Would

you make me a cup?

JIMMIE:

Sure, how do you take it?

THE WOLF:

Lotsa cream, lotsa sugar.

Jimmie exists. The Wolf continues his examination.

THE WOLF:

About the car, is there anything I

need to know? Does it stall, does it

make a lot of noise, does it smoke,

is there gas in it, anything?

JULES:

Aside from how it looks, the car's

cool.

THE WOLF:

Positive? Don't get me out on the

road and I find out the brake lights

don't work.

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