Shawshank Redemption Page #7

TROUT:

A million bucks? Jeez-Louise! You

get any of that?

HADLEY:

Thirty five thousand. That's what

he left me.

TROUT:

Dollars? Holy sh*t, that's great!

Like winnin' a lottery...

(off Hadley's shitty look)

...ain't it?

HADLEY:

Dumbshit. What do you figger the

government's gonna do to me? Take a

big wet bite out of my ass, is what.

TROUT:

Oh. Hadn't thought of that.

HADLEY:

Maybe leave me enough to buy a new

car with. Then what happens? You

pay tax on the car. Repairs and

maintenance. Goddamn kids pesterin'

you to take 'em for a ride...

MERT:

And drive it, if they're old enough.

HADLEY:

That's right, wanting to drive it,

wanting to learn on it, f'Chrissake!

Then at the end of the year, if you

figured the tax wrong, they make

you pay out of your own pocket.

Uncle Sam puts his hand in your

shirt and squeezes your tit till

it's purple. Always get the short

end. That's a fact.

(spits over the side)

Some brother. Sh*t.

The prisoners keep spreading tar, eyes on their work.

HEYWOOD:

Poor Byron. What terrible f***in'

luck. Imagine inheriting thirty

five thousand dollars.

RED:

Crying shame. Some folks got it

awful bad.

Red glances over -- and is shocked to see Andy standing up,

listening to the guards talk.

RED:

Hey, you nuts? Keep your eyes on

your pail!

Andy tosses his Padd in the bucket and strolls toward Hadley.

RED:

Andy! Come back! Sh*t!

SNOOZE:

What's he doing?

FLOYD:

Gettin' himself killed.

RED:

God damn it...

HEYWOOD:

Just keep spreadin' tar...

The guards stiffen at Andy's approach. Youngblood's hand goes

to his holster. The tower guards CLICK-CLACK their rifle

bolts. Hadley turns, stupefied to find Andy there.

ANDY:

Mr. Hadley. Do you trust your wife?

HADLEY:

That's funny. You're gonna look

funnier suckin' my dick with no

f***in' teeth.

ANDY:

What I mean is, do you think she'd

go behind your back? Try to

hamstring you?

HADLEY:

That's it! Step aside, Mert. This

f***er's havin' hisself an accident.

Hadley grabs Andy's collar and propels him violently toward

the edge of the roof. The cons furiously keep spreading tar.

HEYWOOD:

Oh God, he's gonna do it, he's

gonna throw him off the roof...

SNOOZE:

Oh sh*t, oh f***, oh Jesus...

ANDY:

Because if you do trust her, there's

no reason in the world you can't

keep every cent of that money.

Hadley abruptly jerks Andy to a stop right at the edge. In

fact, Andy's past the edge, beyond his balance, shoetips

scraping the roof. The only thing between him and an ugly drop

to the concrete is Hadley's grip on the front of his shirt.

HADLEY:

You better start making sense.

ANDY:

If you want to keep that money, all

of it, just give it to your wife.

See, the IRS allows you a one-time-

only gift to your spouse. It's good

up to sixty thousand dollars.

HADLEY:

Naw, that ain't right! Tax free?

ANDY:

Tax free. IRS can't touch one cent.

The cons are pausing work, stunned by this business discussion.

HADLEY:

You're the smart banker what shot

his wife. Why should I believe a

smart banker like you? So's I can

wind up in here with you?

ANDY:

It's perfectly legal. Go ask the

IRS, they'll say the same thing.

Actually, I feel silly telling you

all this. I'm sure you would have

investigated the matter yourself.

HADLEY:

F***in'-A. I don't need no smart

wife-killin' banker to show me where

the bear sh*t in the buckwheat.

ANDY:

Of course not. But you will need

somebody to set up the tax-free

gift, and that'll cost you. A

lawyer, for example...

HADLEY:

Ambulance-chaaing, highway-robbing

cocksuckers!

ANDY:

...or come to think of it, I

suppose I could set it up for you.

That would save you some money.

I'll write down the forms you need,

you can pick them up, and I'll

prepare them for your signature...

nearly free of charge.

(off Hadley's look)

I'd only ask three beers apiece for

my co-workers, if that seems fair.

TROUT:

(guffawing)

Co-workers! Get him! That's rich,

ain't it? Co-workers...

Hadley freezes him with a look. Andy presses on:

ANDY:

I think a nan working outdoors

feels more like a man if he can

have a bottle of suds. That's only

my opinion.

The convicts stand gaping, all pretense of work gone. They

look like they've been pole-axed. Hadley shoots them a look.

HADLEY:

What are you jimmies starin' at?

Back to work, goddamn it!

59EXT -- LICENSE PLATE FACTORY -- DAY (1949) 59

As before, an object is hauled up the side of the building by

rope -- only this time, it's a cooler of beer and ice.

RED (V.O.)

And that's how it came to pass,

that on the second-to-last day of

the job, the convict crew that

tarred the plate factory roof in

the spring of '49...

60EXT -- ROOF -- SHORTLY LATER (1949) 60

The cons are taking the sun and drinking beer.

RED (V.O.)

...wound up sitting in a row at ten

o'clock in the morning, drinking icy

cold Black Label beer courtesy of

the hardest screw that ever walked

a turn at Shawshank State Prison.

HADLEY:

Drink up, boys. While it's cold.

RED (V.O.)

The colossal prick even managed to

sound magnanimous.

Red knocks back another sip, enjoying the bitter cold on his

tongue and the warm sun on face.

RED (V.O.)

We sat and drank with the sun on

our shoulders, and felt like free

men. We could'a been tarring the

roof of one of our own houses. We

were the Lords of all Creation.

He glances over to Andy squatting apart from the others.

RED (V.O.)

As for Andy, he spent that break

hunkered in the shade, a strange

little smile on his face, watching

us drink his beer.

HEYWOOD:

(approaches with a beer)

Here's a cold one, Andy.

ANDY:

No thanks. I gave up drinking.

Heywood drifts back to others, giving them a look.

RED (V.O.)

You could argue he'd done it to

curry favor with the guards. Or

maybe make a few friends among us

cons. Me, I think he did it just to

feel normal again...if only for a

short while.

61EXT -- PRISON YARD -- THE BLEACHERS -- DAY (1949) 61

Andy and Red play checkers. Red makes his move.

RED:

King me.

ANDY:

Chess. Now there's a game of kings.

Civilized...strategic...

RED:

...and totally f***in'

inexplicable. Hate that game.

ANDY:

Maybe you'll let me teach you

someday. I've been thinking of

getting a board together.

RED:

You come to the right place. I'm

the man who can get things.

ANDY:

We might do business on a board. But

the pieces, I'd like to carve those

myself. One side done in quartz...

the opposing side in limestone.

RED:

That'd take you years.

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