Some Like It Hot Page #9

TOOTHPICK CHARLIE

(glancing over his

shoulder nervously)

What is it, Spats? What do you want

here?

SPATS:

Just dropped in to pay my respects.

TOOTHPICK CHARLIE

You don't owe me no nothing.

SPATS:

Oh, I wouldn't say that. You were

nice enough to recommend my mortuary

to some of your friends...

He has strolled over to the table, and picking up the deck

of cards, starts to deal out another round to the abandoned

poker hands.

TOOTHPICK CHARLIE

(sweating)

I don't know what you're talking

about.

SPATS:

So now I got all those coffins on my

hands -- and I hate to see them go

to waste.

TOOTHPICK CHARLIE

Honest, Spats. I had nothing to do

with it.

Spats deals Toothpick Charlie's fifth card, then turns up

the hole card.

SPATS:

Too bad, Charlie. You would have had

three eights.

(flips cards away)

Goodbye, Charlie!

TOOTHPICK CHARLIE

(knowing what's coming)

No, Spats -- no, no, no --

(a scream)

NO!

Spats nods, and the two machine-gunners raise their weapons,

start to fire methodically at their off-scene victims.

Behind the Hupmobile, Jerry screws his eyes shut painfully

as the steady chatter of bullets continues.

JERRY:

I think I'm going to be sick.

The machine guns stop firing. There is a moment's silence.

Suddenly, the bas tank of the Hupmobile overflows, and the

rubber hose from the pump whips out, gushing gasoline over

the floor.

Spats and his henchmen, hearing the SOUND, whirl around and

catch sight of Joe and Jerry squatting behind the car.

SPATS:

All right -- come on out of there.

Joe and Jerry emerge quakingly from behind the Hupmobile.

They try to raise their hands, but find this rather difficult

to manage while holding on to their instruments. Jerry darts

a horrified glance toward the foot of the wall.

JOE:

(quickly)

We didn't see anything --

(to Jerry)

-- did we?

JERRY:

(to Spats)

No -- nothing. Besides, it's none of

our business if you guys want to

knock each other off --

Joe nudges him violently with his elbow, and he breaks off.

SPATS:

(studying them)

Don't I know you two from somewhere?

JOE:

We're just a couple of musicians --

we come to pick up a car -- Nellie

Weinmeyer's car -- there's a dance

tonight --

(starting to edge

away)

Come on, Jerry.

SPATS:

Wait a minute. Where do you think

you're going?

JOE:

To Urbana. It's a hundred miles.

SPATS:

You ain't going nowhere.

JERRY:

(quavering)

We're not?

SPATS:

The only way you'll get to Urbana is

feet first.

During this, one of the bodies huddled grotesquely against

the foot of the wall begins to stir. It is Toothpick Charlie.

He is covered with blood, but there is still a spark of life

in him, and his toothpick is still clutched between his teeth.

Painfully, he starts to worm his way across the floor toward

a phone on a wooden shelf.

Spats and his gang, facing Joe and Jerry, are not aware of

Charlie's activity.

SPATS:

I don't like no witnesses.

JOE:

We won't breathe a word.

SPATS:

You won't breathe nothing' -- not

even air.

He motions lazily to the Second Henchman. The henchman slowly

levels his machine gun at Joe and Jerry, who stand frozen.

At that very moment, Toothpick Charlie reaches up for the

phone. But he is too weak to hold on, and the receiver drops

from his limp hand, and clatters to the asphalt floor.

Instantly, Spats and his henchman wheel around. Spats grabs

the machine gun from the Second Henchman, and perforates

what is left of Charlie with a hail of lead.

Toothpick Charlie crumbles in a heap. He is quite dead.

Spats' be-spatted foot comes into SHOT, disdainfully kicks

the toothpick out of Charlie's mouth.

Joe and Jerry have taken advantage of this momentary

diversion. Like scalded jackasses, they are sprinting toward

the entrance, hanging on to their instruments.

Spats and his boys pivot, see the two running. They let go

with a salvo of shots, just as Joe and Jerry scoot through

the garage door and disappear down the street.

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