The Big Lebowski Page #14

WALTER:

Yeah yeah, "kill that poor woman."

He waves both arms as if conducting a symphony orchestra.

WALTER:

Kill that poor woman.

DONNY:

Walter, if you can't ride in a car,

how d'you get around on Shammas--

WALTER:

Really, Dude, you surprise me.

They're not gonna kill sh*t. They're

not gonna do sh*t. What can they

do? F***in' amateurs. And meanwhile,

look at the bottom line. Who's

sitting on a million f***ing dollars?

Am I wrong?

DUDE:

Walter--

WALTER:

Who's got a f***ing million f***ing

dollars parked in the trunk of our

car out here?

DUDE:

"Our" car, Walter?

WALTER:

And what do they got, Dude? My dirty

undies. My f***ing whites--Say,

where is the car?

The three bowlers, stopped at the edge of the lot, stare out

at an empty parking space.

DONNY:

Who has your undies, Walter?

WALTER:

Where's your car, Dude?

DUDE:

You don't know, Walter? You seem to

know the answer to everything else!

WALTER:

Hmm. Well, we were in a handicapped

spot. It, uh, it was probably towed.

DUDE:

It's been stolen, Walter! You f***ing

know it's been stolen!

WALTER:

Well, certainly that's a possibility,

Dude--

DUDE:

Aw, f*** it.

The Dude walks away across the lot. The portable phone starts

ringing again.

DONNY:

Where you going, Dude?

DUDE:

I'm going home, Donny.

DONNY:

Your phone's ringing, Dude.

DUDE:

Thank you, Donny.

DUDE'S LIVING ROOM

The Dude is slumped disconsolately back in his easy chair,

fingers of one hand cupped over his sunglasses. Facing him

on the couch are two uniformed policeman, one middle-aged,

the other a fresh-faced rookie.

At the cut the portable phone, in the Dude's lap, is chirping.

The Dude waits for the rings to end. When they do:

DUDE:

1972 Pontiac LeBaron.

YOUNGER COP:

Color?

DUDE:

Green. Some brown, or, uh, rust,

coloration.

YOUNGER COP:

And was there anything of value in

the car?

DULLY:

DUDE:

Huh? Oh. Yeah. Tape deck. Couple

of Creedence tapes. And there was

a, uh. . . my briefcase.

YOUNGER COP:

In the briefcase?

DUDE:

Papers. Just papers. You know, my

papers. Business papers.

YOUNGER COP:

And what do you do, sir?

DUDE:

I'm unemployed.

OLDER COP:

...Most people, we're working nights,

they offer us coffee.

There is silence. Dude continues to stare at a spot on the

floor. The older cop stares at him.

DUDE:

...Me, I don't drink coffee. But

it's nice when they offer.

AT LENGTH:

DUDE:

...Also, my rug was stolen.

YOUNGER COP:

Your rug was in the car.

The Dude taps the floor with his foot.

DUDE:

No. Here.

YOUNGER COP:

Separate incidents?

The Dude stares at the floor.

Silence.

OLDER COP:

Snap out of it, son.

The home phone starts ringing--a ring distinct from the

chirp of the portable. The Dude makes no move to answer

it. Finally the rings stop as an answering machine kicks

on.

DUDE:

You find them much? Stolen cars?

Dude's Voice on Machine The Dude's not in. Leave a message

after the beep. It takes a minute.

YOUNGER COP:

Sometimes. I wouldn't hold out much

hope for the tape deck though. Or

the Creedence tapes.

DUDE:

And the, uh, the briefcase?

Beep.

FEMALE VOICE ON MACHINE

Mr. Lebowski, I'd like to see you.

Call when you get home and I'll send

a car for you. My name is Maude

Lebowski. I'm the woman who took

the rug.

Beep. Dial tone.

OLDER COP:

Well, I guess we can close the file

on that one.

TRACKING FORWARD

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