Red Riding Page #13

Eddie knows this place...

114 EXT. LANE & SHANGRILA - NIGHT 114

Eddie follows Paula’s figure up a dark, leafy lane lined with

high walls. Fairy lights are strung in the trees...

Eddie watches Paula buzz the gated grounds of the luxurious

bungalow. “Shangrila”... He watches her slip through and head

up to the house. The gates swing closed after her.

115 INT. REDMOOR CAFE AND MOTEL, ROOM 27 - DAWN 115

An empty bottle. Eddie is in a deep drunken sleep. The room

is trashed.

Sounds of trucks outside the motel. Lights travel across the

dingy room and across his shrine - the photos of

“Shangrila”...

The drawing of the golden crowned Rat Man on a throne is

pinned to the wall. Rat Man dominates Eddie’s shrine to his

investigation; the columns and lists and photographs.

RAT MAN, PRINCE OR PEST?

Men are not our judges. We judge men!

116 INT/EXT. VIVA / THE KARACHI SOCIAL CLUB - DAY 116

Eddie parks up outside: THE KARACHI SOCIAL CLUB. He gets out -

heads for the restaurant and club.

117 INT. THE KARACHI SOCIAL CLUB - DAY 117

Eddie comes through the vast red restaurant. Dark, hot

colours. Heavy Indian drapes. Hindu gods. White tablecloths.

Heavy silver. Indian muzak. Empty. WAITERS IN WHITE COLONIAL

UNIFORMS lay out dishes. A FLUNKY comes to Eddie.

EDDIE:

I’m here to see Mr. John Dawson.

FLUNKY:

Mr. Dawson. One second, sir.

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The flunky aims Eddie at the bar where the barmaid - CLARE

STRACHAN - cleans glasses.

Eddie watches the flunky go down the far end to a cordoned

VIP area. John Dawson and Jason King Moustache sit at a *

table. The flunky speaks to Dawson.

CLARE:

What’s it to be, hen?

EDDIE:

On the big man, is it?

Dawson approaches Eddie, grinning.

JOHN DAWSON:

It’s all right, Clare, he’s with

me... Same again, love.

Clare drops her cheery smile. Does as she’s told.

JOHN DAWSON:

(to Eddie)

You look like sh*t.

EDDIE:

Up all night. What’s your excuse?

JOHN DAWSON:

I’ve got my weaknesses, lad.

EDDIE:

Paula Garland one of them?

A second... Then the big man laughs, puts an arm round Eddie

and guides him away...

JOHN DAWSON:

Me and Paula go back a long way.

Old friends.

Three pints are brought on a silver tray. Eddie, John Dawson

and Jason King are seated round the table in the snug. Jason *

lights Eddie’s cigarette.

JOHN DAWSON:

I like this place. It’s private.

Just the wogs and us. That’s how I

like things. Private. Cheers.

The waiter arrives with the food.

JOHN DAWSON:

Another round, Sammy. And bring

over the pud trolley. I want to

show Mr. Dunford some delights.

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John Dawson upends his deep red sauce over yellow rice. He

and Jason King start shovelling it in. *

JOHN DAWSON:

Get stuck in, lad. We don’t stand

on ceremony here. Hope you like

your curry hot.

EDDIE:

I only had it once before.

JOHN DAWSON:

Let me pile a load of this on for

you.

John Dawson loads pickles and yoghurt on a popadum and shoves

it at Eddie. Eddie tentatively tries some. Too hot for him.

JOHN DAWSON:

If you don’t mind me asking, what

are you working on at the moment?

EDDIE:

The Clare Kemplay murder.

JOHN DAWSON:

Bloody appalling. There aren’t

words, are there. They got the

c*nt, didn’t they?

EDDIE:

Looks like it, yeah.

The pints arrive. A waiter pushes a dessert trolley draped

with a sheet.

JOHN DAWSON:

Here we go. I think you know we’ve

got an important investment over at

Hunslet Carr... Feast your eyes.

Dawson pulls off the sheet to reveal a perfect little

architect’s model of the proposed shopping centre.

JOHN DAWSON:

Look it’s got little trees and

everything. What your Yanks call a

shopping mall. You got your high

street chains, your cinema, bowling

alley, caffs, restaurant, all under

one roof. Put a hotel in there and

there’s no need to f*** off home.

EDDIE:

And your pals in the West Yorkshire

Police already cleared the site for

you.

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JOHN DAWSON:

Gypos. Squatters. My land.

EDDIE:

So what’s the problem?

JOHN DAWSON:

I’ve got investors to look after,

haven’t I.

EDDIE:

Bill Molloy one of them?

JOHN DAWSON:

Don’t be a c*nt. Course Bill

Molloy’s one of them. Not the only

copper neither... Give it to him,

Paul.

Jason King pushes an A4 envelope across the rapidly staining *

tablecloth to Eddie. Dawson keeps shovelling food.

JOHN DAWSON:

Open it.

Eddie deliberates. It’s the same size and colour as the

envelope that contained Clare Kemplay’s post-mortem...

JOHN DAWSON:

Take a f***ing look, lad.

A breath. Eddie pulls out large black and white photos.

JOHN DAWSON:

I apologise for the vile content of

these snaps, Mr. Dunford. I hear

you’re a bit of a c*nt man.

The photos:
Glimpses of two men in flagrante. One is BJ. The

other is a older, greying man. John Dawson and Jason King *

continue to stuff themselves.

JOHN DAWSON:

Sticks in the craw, doesn’t it? I

mean, how can they do it?

EDDIE:

Who is it?

JOHN DAWSON:

Who is it?! Bloody hell. How the

mighty have fallen. That’s

Councillor William Shaw, that is;

TGWU representative of the bloody

Labour Party. That’s your Man Most

Likely to Succeed, that is.

John Dawson pulls out a cigar. Jason lights it. *

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JOHN DAWSON:

He’s your n*gger in the whatsit, is

Councillor Shaw. Traitor to the

Cause. It’s a scoop, is what it is.

EDDIE:

Don’t think so.

JOHN DAWSON:

Ambitious lad like yourself? Make

your name with this one.

EDDIE:

You’ve got the wrong boy, Dawson.

JOHN DAWSON:

You going to be a failure all your

life, son?

Cuts deep. A still moment.

JOHN DAWSON:

Come on, Eddie, I need a little

cooperation. You play your part,

son, and we’ll all get what we

want.

EDDIE:

I’m a journalist, for f***’s sake!

JOHN DAWSON:

Like Barry.

EDDIE:

Barry’s dead, isn’t he!

Eddie’s on his feet. Dawson leans across -his hand goes to

Eddie’s balls. He squeezes. Clare watches from the bar.

JOHN DAWSON:

I respected Barry. He was a good

man. His problem was he had his own

agenda...

EDDIE:

That why you had him killed?

Dawson laughs at that one. He squeezes. Eddie yelps.

JOHN DAWSON:

What you going to do, lad? You’re

just a f***ing student with a

notebook.

EDDIE:

I don’t want to be part of this.

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JOHN DAWSON:

Tough sh*t. You already are.

Another squeeze makes Eddie shriek.

118 OMITTED 118

119 INT/EXT. VIVA / M1 MOTORWAY - LATE DAY 119

Eddie in the fast lane. Putting distance between him and

Dawson. Radio full up: “Tubular Bells”. The Castleford

turning looms out of the murky day. Eddie swerves across

three lanes of traffic. Horns blare.

120 INT. PAULA GARLAND’S HOUSE, FRONT ROOM - EVENING 120

Robot aliens are eating instant mashed potato on the TV.

Eddie’s slumped on the sofa, half-cut, watching Paula fix a

drink.

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