The Big Lebowski Page #26

The Dude, now standing in a field of black, reacts to the

advancing Germans. He turns and runs, fists pumping.

The scissoring sound of the shears turns into the whoosh of

car-bys. The field of black is punctured by headlights.

The Dude is running blearily down the middle of the Pacific

Coast Highway. Cars rush by on either side, horns blaring.

With the BLOO-WHUP of a short siren blast, a squad car with

flashing gumballs pulls up.

SQUAD CAR:

The Dude sits in the back seat, his head lolling with the

motion of the car as he blearily sings the theme of Branded:

DUDE:

He was innocent. Not a charge was

true. And they say he ran awaaaaaay.

CHIEF'S OFFICE

The Dude is hurled against the chief's desk, which he bounces

off of, to come to rest more or less seated in a facing chair.

His wallet is tossed onto the desk.

The chief leans forward, takes the wallet and sorts through

it with disgusted incredulity.

CHIEF:

This is your only I.D.?

He is looking at the Ralph's Shopper's Club card.

DUDE:

I know my rights.

CHIEF:

You don't know sh*t, Lebowski.

DUDE:

I want a f***ing lawyer, man. I

want Bill Kunstler.

CHIEF:

What are you, some kind of sad-assed

refugee from the f***ing sixties?

DUDE:

Uh-huh.

CHIEF:

Mr. Treehorn tells us that he had to

eject you from his garden party,

that you were drunk and abusive.

DUDE:

That guy treats women like objects,

man.

CHIEF:

Mr. Treehorn draws a lot of water in

this town, Lebowski. You don't draw

sh*t. We got a nice quiet beach

community here, and I aim to keep it

nice and quiet. So let me make

something plain. I don't like you

sucking around bothering our citizens,

Lebowski. I don't like your jerk-

off name, I don't like your jerk-off

face, I don't like your jerk- off

behavior, and I don't like you, jerk-

off --do I make myself clear?

The Dude stares.

DUDE:

I'm sorry, I wasn't listening.

The Chief hurls his steaming mug of coffee at the Dude. It

hits him in the forehead with a thud, the scalding coffee

splashing everywhere.

The Chief is already up off his chair, rounding the desk.

DUDE:

--Ow! F***ing fascist!

The Chief slaps him twice.

CHIEF:

Stay out of Malibu, Lebowski!

He kicks the chair out from under the Dude, and then starts

kicking at him.

CHIEF:

Stay out of Malibu, deadbeat! Keep

your ugly f***ing goldbricking ass

out of my beach community!

CAB:

The Dude, in the back seat of a taxicab that rocks and squeaks

with every bump, is gingerly touching at sore spots on his

face and scalp.

"Peaceful Easy Feeling" is on the radio.

DUDE'S POV

The back of the driver, a large black man with rasta dreds

under a knit cap.

DUDE:

Jesus, man, can you change the

station?

DRIVER:

F*** you man! You don't like my

f***ing music, get your own f***ing

cab!

DUDE:

I've had a--

DRIVER:

I pull over and kick your ass out,

man!

DUDE:

--had a rough night, and I hate the

f***ing Eagles, man--

DRIVER:

That's it! Outta this f***ing cab!

THE STREET:

The cab screeches over towards the curb. Another car,

oncoming, its radio blaring Metallica, speeds by.

INSIDE THE OTHER CAR

It is a red convertible. The driver, singing loudly and

badly along with the radio, her hair blowing in the wind, a

dreamy smile on her face as she speeds along, higher than a

kite, is Bunny Lebowski.

THE FOOTWELL:

On the accelerator her right foot, in an open-toed bright

red high-heeled shoe, has five painted toes.

When she downshifts her left foot enters to engage the clutch.

Five more toes.

DUDE'S BUNGALOW

The Dude staggers in the open front door, one hand pressed

to a lump on his forehead, and looks around.

DUDE:

Jesus.

The place is a wreck. Furniture has been overturned,

upholstery slashed, drawers dumped.

Quiet.

The door to the bedroom starts to creak open.

The Dude cringes.

Maude emerges from the bedroom. She is wearing a bathrobe.

MAUDE:

Jeffrey.

DUDE:

Maude?

She pulls open the bathrobe as she approaches.

MAUDE:

Love me.

The Dude is stupefied.

DUDE:

That's my robe.

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