Pulp Fiction Page #7

VINCENT:

Got it.

Vincent flips the two locks, opening the case. We can't see

what's inside, but a small glow emits from the case. Vincent

just stares at it, transfixed.

JULES:

We happy?

No answer from the transfixed Vincent.

JULES:

Vincent!

Vincent looks up at Jules.

JULES:

We happy?

Closing the case.

VINCENT:

We're happy.

BRETT:

(to Jules)

Look, what's your name? I got his

name's Vincent, but what's yours?

JULES:

My name's Pitt, and you ain't talkin'

your ass outta this sh*t.

BRETT:

I just want you to know how sorry we

are about how f***ed up things got

between us and Mr. Wallace. When we

entered into this thing, we only had

the best intentions –

As Brett talks, Jules takes out his gun and SHOOTS Roger

three times in the chest, BLOWING him out of his chair.

Vince smiles to himself. Jules has got style.

Brett has just sh*t his pants. He's not crying or whimpering,

but he's so full of fear, it's as if his body is imploding.

JULES:

(to Brett)

Oh, I'm sorry. Did that break your

concentration? I didn't mean to do

that. Please, continue. I believe

you were saying something about "best

intentions."

Brett can't say a word.

JULES:

Whatsamatter? Oh, you were through

anyway. Well, let me retort. Would

you describe for me what Marsellus

Wallace looks like?

Brett still can't speak.

Jules SNAPS, SAVAGELY TIPPING the card table over, removing

the only barrier between himself and Brett. Brett now sits

in a lone chair before Jules like a political prisoner in

front of an interrogator.

JULES:

What country you from!

BRETT:

(petrified)

What?

JULES:

"What" ain't no country I know! Do

they speak English in "What?"

BRETT:

(near heart attack)

What?

JULES:

ENGLISH, MUTHAFUCKA! DO YOU

SPEAK IT?!

BRETT:

Yes.

JULES:

Then you understand what I'm sayin'?

BRETT:

Yes.

JULES:

Now describe what Marsellus Wallace

looks like!

BRETT:

(out of fear)

What?

Jules takes his .45 and PRESSES the barrel HARD in Brett's

cheek.

JULES:

SAY "WHAT" AGAIN! SAY WHAT

AGAIN! I DARE YA! I DOUBLE-DARE

YOU, MUTHAFUCKA! SAY "WHAT"

ONE MORE GODDAMN TIME!

Brett is regressing on the spot.

JULES:

Now describe to me what Marsellus

Wallace looks like!

Brett does his best.

BRETT:

Well he's... he's... black –

JULES:

– go on!

BRETT:

...and he's... he's... bald –

JULES:

– does he look like a b*tch?!

BRETT:

(without thinking)

What?

Jules' eyes go to Vincent, Vincent smirks, Jules rolls his

eyes and SHOOT Brett in the shoulder.

Brett SCREAMS, breaking into a SHAKING/TREMBLING SPASM in

the chair.

JULES:

Does-he-look-like-a-b*tch?!

BRETT:

(in agony)

No.

JULES:

Then why did you try to f*** 'im

like a b*tch?!

BRETT:

(in spasm)

I didn't.

Now in a lower voice.

JULES:

Yes ya did Brett. Ya tried ta f***

'im. You ever read the Bible, Brett?

BRETT:

(in spasm)

Yes.

JULES:

There's a passage I got memorized,

seems appropriate for this situation:

Ezekiel 25:
17. "The path of the

righteous man is beset on all sides

by the inequities of the selfish and

the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is

he who, in the name of charity and

good will, shepherds the weak through

the valley of darkness, for he is

truly his brother's keeper and the

finder of lost children. And I will

strike down upon thee with great

vengeance and furious anger those

who attempt to poison and destroy my

brothers. And you will know my name

is the Lord when I lay my vengeance

upon you."

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