Reindeer Games Page #18

Rudy nods thanks as Gabriel hands him the cash --

GABRIEL:

(threateningly)

Don't. Lose.

Rudy pockets the wad, hooks his elbow for Ashley to slip her

arm through. Grins with a drawl:

RUDY:

You ready to gamble, darlin'?

She regards him warily, but puts her arm in his.

RUDY:

(to the boys)

Y'all take care of my guitar.

He tips his hat, and strides for the casino entrance. Gabriel

and his truckers watch them go.

MERLIN:

(grumbles)

Who's robbin' who here, Gabriel...

GABRIEL:

Get in there and watch 'em. Watch

their every f***in' move.

INT. TOMAHAWK CASINO - DAY

The cascade of JINGLING and JANGLING COINS fills the brightly

lit, horrendously-carpeted space. Wooden-beamed ceilings

suggest a rustic theme, but the neon slots, lush green tables

and red wheels of fortune are pure Midwest Vegas.

The Tomahawk is tiny by Nevada standards, about the size of

a large bingo hall. This morning, about FIFTY GAMBLERS mill

about.

Skimpily-dressed COCKTAIL WAITRESSES, most of them Powahachee

Indians, pimp drinks. Bored DEALERS deal.

As the sound of slot machine payoffs suddenly go silent --

INT. JACK BANGS' OFFICE - DAY

CLOSE ON STEREO SYSTEM

And some scattered cassettes, labeled "Big Winners," "Little

Winners," and "Medium Cash." A HAND pops the tape currently

in the system -- "Big, BIG Winners" and flips it over. Presses

play. The sounds of JINGLING and JANGLING return.

ON FULL SCENE:

An office overlooking the casino floor through smoked glass.

JACK BANGS, late 50's, silver-hair, capped teeth, shark suit

and high blood pressure, paces his office. He's got the air

of a washed-up gameshow host, Wink Martindale, Peter

Tommarkin, one of those hacks. Right now he's all caffeine.

JACK BANGS:

There's an S-word I'd really like to

throw in the discussion here, guys,

cause it's a big part of what's going

on. Big element, 'kay? S-word. It's

a serious issue, serious factor, so

I'm just gonna get it out there,

throw it an out there, so we can

know it, we can talk about it, we

can get things done...

(big pause)

Snow. Are you with me, guys? Snow.

Big time, f***ing, grade-A, God-

quality, S-N-O-W-snow.

Two INDIAN GOVERNORS sit before him. Business-dressed, with

overcoats, ponytails. One gray-haired, one jet-black.

JACK BANGS:

There's no snow in Vegas, 'kay? They

don't know it, they don't want it,

they got laws against the stuff.

They got Egypt down there, right,

they got Monte Carlo, Hawaii, they

got ancient Rome, but where's the

Winter Castle, right? Where's the

Swiss miss Chalet? Where's the Big

F***ing Igloo?

YOUNG GOVERNOR:

We understand you, Mr. Bangs.

JACK BANGS:

Capades? They don't do it. Mittens?

Outlawed. Why?

YOUNG GOVERNOR:

We're aware of your position.

JACK BANGS:

(picks up a chip)

Because down there this is money.

Up here this is heat.

(pleads)

You wanted Vegas quality, I brought

it to you. You wanted Vegas press, I

gave it to you. But guys, please,

guys... I can't get you Vegas

profits... till one of ya does some

spirit dance and does something about

this snow.

The tribal governors stare him down.

OLD GOVERNOR:

We understand the Paiutes' casino

saw a net profit of twelve million

dollars last year.

JACK BANGS:

The Paiutes, they cook their books.

OLD GOVERNOR:

The Waitela reservation made seventeen

million.

JACK BANGS:

(sobers)

Seventeen?

OLD GOVERNOR:

Perhaps you have researched this,

Mr. Bangs. Is the snowfall on our

side of the lake that much greater

than the snowfall on theirs?

Jack Bangs stares at them both. Considers his next move --

JACK BANGS:

I'm bringing in this great showroom

act next week; these three Russian

girls, they look like Meryl Streep,

they can juggle anything.

YOUNG GOVERNOR:

Mr. Bangs.

JACK BANGS:

Guys. We're doing it right, here.

$5.99 prime rib? Nobody does that in

Michigan. Nobody.

YOUNG GOVERNOR:

The tribe is concerned that many of

your... new ideas are not resulting

in any new venues.

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