The Big Lebowski Page #33

FRANZ:

VEAKLING!

WALTER:

draws back his fist.

DIETER:

NUSSING!

WALTER:

ANTI-SEMITE!

Bam!--A powerhouse blow to the middle of his face drops Dieter

for the count.

DUDE AND FRANZ:

With a piercing shriek Franz finally summons the nerve to

charge the Dude, hands raised to deliver karate blows.

As he reaches the Dude--WHHAP--the boom box swings into

frame to smash him in the face. Its volume shoots up.

Walter bashes him a few more times over the head. The music

screeches to static, then quiet. Laid out now, Franz too is

quiet.

All quiet.

Walter, panting, looks around.

WALTER:

We've got a man down, Dude.

With a hand pressed to his bleeding side he trots over to

Donny, who lies gasping on the ground.

The Dude, also panting, rises and trots over.

DUDE:

Hy God! They shot him, Walter!

WALTER:

No Dude.

DUDE:

They shot Donny!

Donny gasps for air. His eyes, wide, go from the Dude to

Walter. One hand still clutches his eighteen dollars.

WALTER:

There weren't any shots.

DUDE:

Then what's...

WALTER:

It's a heart attack.

DUDE:

Wha.

WALTER:

Call the medics, Dude.

DUDE:

Wha. . . Donny--

WALTER:

Hurry Dude. I'd go but I'm pumping

blood. Might pass out.

The Dude runs into the lanes. Walter lays a reassuring hand

on Donny's shoulder.

WALTER:

Rest easy, good buddy, you're doing

fine. We got help choppering in.

FADE OUT:

HOLD IN BLACK:

THE DUDE AND WALTER

---

They sit side by side, forearms on knees, in a nondescript

waiting area. Walter bounces the fingertips of one hand off

those of the other. They sit. They wait.

A tall thin man in a conservative black suit enters. He

eyes the Dude's bowling attire and sunglasses and Walter's

army surplus, but doesn't make an issue of it.

MAN:

Hello, gentlemen. You are the

bereaved?

DUDE:

Yeah man.

MAN:

Francis Donnelly. Pleased to meet

you.

DUDE:

Jeffrey Lebowski.

WALTER:

Walter Sobchak.

DUDE:

The Dude, actually. Is what, uh.

DONNELLY:

Excuse me?

DUDE:

Nothing.

DONNELLY:

Yes. I understand you're taking

away the remains.

WALTER:

Yeah.

DONNELLY:

We have the urn.

He nods through a door. Another man in a black suit enters

to carefully deposit a large silver urn on the desktop.

DONNELLY:

And I assume this is credit card?

He is vaguely handing a large leather folder across the desk

to whomever wants to take it.

WALTER:

Yeah.

He takes it, opens it, puts on reading glasses that sit

halfway down his nose, and inspects the bill with his head

pulled back for focus and cocked for concentration. Silence.

The Dude smiles at Donnelly. Donnelly gives back a

mortician's smile. At length Walter holds the bill towards

Donnelly, pointing.

WALTER:

What's this?

DONNELLY:

That is for the urn.

WALTER:

Don't need it. We're scattering the

ashes.

DONNELLY:

Yes, so we were informed. However,

we must of course transmit the remains

to you in a receptacle.

WALTER:

This is a hundred and eighty dollars.

DONNELLY:

Yes sir. It is our most modestly

priced receptacle.

DUDE:

Well can we--

WALTER:

A hundred and eighty dollars?!

DONNELLY:

They range up to three thousand.

WALTER:

Yeah, but we're--

DUDE:

Can we just rent it from you?

DONNELLY:

Sir, this is a mortuary, not a rental

house.

WALTER:

We're scattering the f***ing ashes!

DUDE:

Walter--

WALTER:

JUST BECAUSE WE'RE BEREAVED DOESN'T

MEAN WE'RE SAPS!

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