Some Like It Hot Page #8

NELLIE:

(melted by now)

Yes, Joe.

JOE:

(brightly)

Good! Then you won't be needing your

car.

NELLIE:

My car? Why, you --

Joe silences her protest with a kiss. Jerry shakes his head

with mock admiration.

JERRY:

Isn't he a bit of terrific?

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. CLARK STREET - DAY

Joe and Jerry, carrying their instruments, are coming along

the snow-covered sidewalk toward a garage entrance, above

which is a sign reading: CHARLIE'S GARAGE. Their shoulders

are hunched up against the cold.

JERRY:

We could've had three weeks in Florida --

all expenses paid. Lying around in

the sun -- palm trees -- frying

fish...

JOE:

Knock it off, will you?

They step over the chain blocking the entrance, start into

the garage.

INT. CHARLIE'S GARAGE - DAY

There are rows of parked cars, a lube rack and a gas pump.

Against the wall under a naked electric light bulb hanging

from a cord, five men are playing stud poker.

A couple of mechanics, in grease-stained coveralls, are

watching the game. The dealer is Toothpick Charlie, the

inevitable toothpick in his mouth.

TOOTHPICK CHARLIE

(dealing)

King high -- pair of bullets --

possible straight -- possible nothing --

pair of eights --

Joe and Jerry come in from the street. One of the mechanics

notices them, nudges Toothpick Charlie. Charlie looks up,

and seeing the instrument cases, leaps to his feet, drawing

a gun from his shoulder holster. The other four players also

jump up, and pulling their guns, level them at Joe and Jerry.

TOOTHPICK CHARLIE

All right, you two -- drop 'em.

JERRY:

(stops; puzzled)

Drop what?

JOE:

We came to pick up a car.

TOOTHPICK CHARLIE

Oh, yeah?

He nods to one of the mechanics, who steps up to Joe and

Jerry, starts to open the instrument cases.

JOE:

Nellie Weinmeyer's car.

MECHANIC:

(as the bass and sax

are revealed)

Musicians.

TOOTHPICK CHARLIE

Wise guys!

He mops his brow with the back of his sleeve, and putting

his gun back in the holster, picks up the deck of cards again.

TOOTHPICK CHARLIE

Let's go. Pair of aces bets.

The other players resume their seats. Joe and Jerry follow

the mechanic toward the parked cars.

JOE:

It's a '25 Hupmobile coupe. Green.

The mechanic leads them up to the car, which is parked near

the gas pump.

MECHANIC:

Need some gas?

JERRY:

Yeah.

(takes some coins out

of pocket)

Like about forty cents' worth.

The mechanic unscrews the cap of the gas tank, inserts the

rubber hose from the pump.

MECHANIC:

Put it on Miss Weinmeyer's bill?

JOE:

Why not?

(signals Jerry to put

coins away)

And while you're at it -- fill 'er

up.

From the street outside comes the loud squeal of tires. Jerry

glances off casually toward the entrance.

A black Dusenberg bursts the chain hanging across the street

entrance, skids into the garage, takes to a screeching stop

some ten feet from the card players. Toothpick Charlie and

his cronies leap up and reach for their guns.

Too late. Four men have scrambled out of the car, two armed

with submachine guns, the other two with sawed-off shotguns.

We recognize them as Spats Colombo's henchmen.

FIRST HENCHMAN:

All right, everybody hands up and

face the wall.

The frightened poker players start to obey.

Jerry is watching the scene, open-mouthed. Joe grabs his

shoulder, pulls him down behind the Hupmobile.

The Second Henchman notices the mechanic standing petrified

beside the gas pump.

SECOND HENCHMAN:

(waving machine gun)

Hey -- join us!

The mechanic raises his hands, moves reluctantly toward the

six men lined up against the wall.

SECOND HENCHMAN:

(continues)

Okay, boss.

A pair of men's feet step down from the limousine. They are

encased in immaculate spats.

Jerry, crouching behind the Hupmobile with Joe, grabs his

arm.

JERRY:

(whispering)

It's Spats Colombo --

Joe clamps his hand over Jerry's mouth.

Spats Colombo joins his armed henchmen, who are covering the

seven men facing the wall with their hands up.

SPATS:

(very blasé)

Hello, Charlie. Long time no see.

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