The Crow Page #9

ELLY:

My mom works over there. I'm

waiting for her,

but she's

probably with him, right now.

ERIC:

Who?

ELLY:

Mister

Funboy.

ERIC:

Mister Funboy lives there?

TWO SHOT - ELLY AND ERIC -

(PIT B.G.)

ELLY:

He has a room, upstairs. I don't

like him very

much.

Elly is not happy about this. B.G. we see Grange get out of the

car, heading to the Pit, and notice in passing a guy with the

white face

talking to the little girl down on the block.

ELLY (CONT'D)

Can you

play that thing or do you

just carry it around everywhere?

Elly

indicates the guitar strapped to Eric' back.

ERIC:

I can pick out a

tune now

and again.

ELLY:

Can you play "Teddy Bears' Picnic?"

(re:
doll)

It used to be her favorite.

ERIC:

Does she have a name?

ELLY:

No name. You sure ask a lot of

questions.

Elly HANDS the doll to

Eric and he experiences a wholly

unexpected flash.

FLASH:
Elly and

SHelly sitting as SHelly's vanity, goofing with

makeup, test-driving

lipstick, the doll visible on the vanity.

FLASH ENDS.

RESUME ERIC -

AS THE DOLL DROPS FROM HIS HAND

Pain is trying to fight it's way out of

Eric in surges.

ELLY (OS)

(smart alec)

Hel-lo? Earth to

anybody...?

Eric snaps out of it. Elly retrieves the doll.

ELLY:

(CONT'D)

Do you feel okay.

ERIC:

No.

ELLY:

You gotta go now, I

bet.

ERIC:

I have to go.

Half-zomboid, half-determined, he exits.

INT. PIT - NIGHT - WITH GRANGE

As he circulates to the bar, unimpressed.

To the bouncer:

GRANGE:

Top Dollar?

BOUNCE:

Never heard of him.

GRANGE:

Funboy?

BOUNCER:

Oh, prob'ly upstairs bangin'

Darla. Pay for

your own beer and

they'll prob'ly be down before you

can drink it.

INT. PRECINCT HOUSE - OFFICE - NIGHT

CLOSE-UP of an 8x10 of the loft

slaughter in Albrecht's hands.

Subject:
a document pinned to the wall

with a knife.

ANGLE - ALBRECHT AT DESK.

flipping through the file.

Smoking.

ANGLE - THE 8X10 IN ALBRECHT'S HAND

Subject:
Eric, dead in the

street in front of the loft

building. The blood on his face reminiscent

of his crow face.

As Albrecht's hand moves the photo we can see in the

file

several band shots of Eric as a member of Diabolique...

including

the shot on Lao's wall gallery of past performers at

Club Trash.

A:

DOUGHUT on a paper plate suddenly touches down in the middle

of all this

research, startling Albrecht.

ANGLE - ANNABELLA BEHIND HIM

ANNABELLA:

Don't thank me. Your ass is

already in enough trouble for this sh*t.

ALBRECHT:

I knew that.

Albrecht holds a typewritten page closer to the

the light.

CLOSE-UP DOCUMENT, torn by the knife hole made by Tin-Tin.

It reads:
We, the Undersigned tenants of 1929 Calderone Court

Apartments...

ALBRECHT:

Another nice white girl with a

cause. Like a

big KICK ME sign.

Albrecht takes up and 8x10 of Eric's face.

ALBRECHT:

(CONT'D)

Shelly Webster. And her nice

white boyfriend, Eric Draven.

With a felt-tip pen he superimposes the crow smile, like the make-

up,

like the blood.

ANNABELLA:

Your last little wild goose chase

got you

busted back to the Beat

Patrol, just like in a bad

detective story,

Eddie. Are we

doing the wildgoose thing again?

UNDER THIS Albrecht

sketches in Eric's spiky Crow hairdo.

ALBRECHT:

Could be.

ANNABELLA:

You gonna wind up working at a school

crosswalk. that doughnut's

chocolate you, know.

PUSH IN on the doctored photo. It's Eric. It's

the Crow.

PUSH IN on ALbrecht.

ALBRECHT:

Well, hello

there...chocolate,

ANNABELLA:

Don't thank me.

ALBRECHT:

Thanks,

babe.

INT. THE PIT (REAR) - ERIC ON FIRE ESCAPE - NIGHT

Climbing. The

crow perched on his shoulder. Not in a hurry.

ERIC:

It's a Raymond

Chandler evening

And the pavements are all wet, And

I'm lurking in the

shadows, for it

hasn't happened ...

TIGHT CLOSE-UP - ERIC

Impish.

Clown killer.

ERIC (CONT'D)

... yet.

INT. THE PIT - NIGHT

Grange

at a table. SMoking and waiting. No beer. His back

protected, he is

stationed near the fire stair door and has a

good overview of the room.

INT. FUNBOY'S ROOM - NIGHT

CLOSE-UP of a base pipe being lit and hit

hard.

EXT. THE PIT (REAR) - FIRE ESCAPE - RESUMING ERIC - NIGHT

Eric's

gloved hand slides sinuously up rusted railing.

INT. FUNBOY'S ROOM -

NIGHT:

A hypodermic needle rises into frame. A nicotined fingernail

flicks bubbles in the syringe. FOLLOW needle down and BROADEN

ANGLE:

Funboy taps up a vein in Darla's arm and shoots her up.

Both are naked in

a shabby bed. Bare lightbulb above.

DARLA:

Ooh, baby -- gimme all of

it.

CLOSE-UP - THE NEEDLE

As the plunger depresses.

ANGLE - ON THE

WINDOW:

As the crow quite unexpectedly arrives and perches on the sill,

scaring the sh*t out of our two dopey friends. Funboy pulls a

giant auto

pistol; mock aims, calms down, doesn't fire.

DARLA:

It's a big f***ing

bird...

She falls back against her pillow, eyes dreamily defocusing.

Funboy giggles. Relaxes the gun, which half-disappears into the

sheets

at his side.

FUNBOY:

It's a squab. Here bird, Here,

birdie...

NEW:

ANGLE - DARLA AND FUNBOY

Except that Eric now stands near their bed,

across from the

bird's position, the guitar bowslung.

ERIC:

Here

Funboy.

Contained panic as Funboy and Darla both startle. The needle

flies and lands at Eric's feet. Empty. Funboy struggles to

maintain

against his high.

FUNBOY:

Oh wow, oh wow, don't f***ing do

that, man.

I nearly had a f***ing

heart attack.

DARLA:

Fun -- look at that

guy...

FUNBOY:

It's just the dope, don't worry

DARLA:

Fun, he's not

going away; he's

scaring the piss outta me!

FUNBOY:

Not me.

Funboy

draws the gun from underneath the sheers. Suddenly he seems

totally

focused.

FUNBOY (CONT'D)

Time for you to take your bird and

leave,

freako.

Eric rips open his shirtfront to reveal a circlet of bullet

punctures. This gives Funboy pause.

ERIC:

Take your shot funboy. You

got

me, dead bang.

Funboy tilts the gun off target. Grins as Eric

flat handedly

past his chest, indicating where to shoot.

FUNBOY:

You

are seriously f***ed up, man.

Just look at yourself.

In a blur, he

sighs, and shoots Eric through the heart.

FUNBOY (CONT'D)

BANG! He

shoots, he scores!

Then his expression drags a little bit.

ANGLE - ERIC

Looking down and daubing his hand in the bullet wound on his chest.

ERIC:

Bull's eye. Good shot.

ANGLE - DARLA

who starts scrambling to

get out. Grabbing clothes on the floor

around herself. she runs right

into Eric's outstretched hands.

ERIC:

Stay.

Eric twists her arm.

CLOSE-UP - DARLA'S FOREARM.

where we may clearly see the needle tracks.

UP ANGLE - ERIC

ERIC:

Morphine is bad for you.

He holds her arm

captive. Tight, and we PUSH IN CLOSER to see

the dope evacuating from

the punctures, a reverse of Eric's,

Blood trail. The dope drips from

Darla's arm to the floor.

Darla's eyes roll up into the unconscious. She

slumps.

ANGLE - ON FUNBOY - GAWPING

FUNBOY:

How the hell did you do

that?

ERIC:

Magic.

Funboy regards Eric's battlescars and guitar.

FUNBOY:

Either die or do a solo.

Eric looks briefly to his chest wound,

wincing. He can't seem

to make it tie off fast enough. He turns his

attention back to

Funboy. But his strength is mysteriously ebbing.

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