The End of Violence Page #2

they probably won't give us

the money, will they?

And they might

kill us instead.

Do you understand?

We kill him...

we live, plus Mercedes.

We don't...

we die, minus Mercedes.

You choose.

Lowell, you've got...

five seconds to tell me...

what the f***

this is really all about.

Five seconds?

I'm not sure I could...

three. I didn't think it'd be so hard!

What's hard about it?

Bullshit. Two.

Oh, man, no!

This is it!

It's all gone downhill.

Don't you see that?

No. One!

No, no, no!

F***! Wait!

All right.

All right, fine.

I'll tell you.

Uh...

Uh...

I like him.

What? Who?

Him.

His name's Mike Max.

Remember?

I was talking to him in

the garage while I covered him.

- You were talking to him?

- I'm telling you, he made some good points.

Max... made good points?

He said we were

wasting our talents...

taking risks that were

not necessary for peanuts.

We had the guts

and the brains to kidnap him.

If we did that, then there's executive

jobs that we could make fortunes in.

You on f***ing drugs again?

I'm telling ya,

he's right.

I mean,

this is going nowhere.

He sussed it.

This guy's amazing.

Think about it now.

You don't wanna

kill him.

I don't wanna

kill him.

Maybe there's some other way we can

enter the 20th century driving a Mercedes.

I am not going back

to stealing!

Maybe there's other stuff

we could do.

What other stuff? I

don't know. Something.

Some... business.

We could go into business,

maybe.

Maybe... maybe

the entertainment business.

The what?

Now I've f***ing heard

everything!

Shh! Shh!

Keep it down.

First you talk

to the hostage.

Then you renege

on your part.

And now,

now you wanna go...

into the entertainment

business!

What kind of bullshit

you been telling him?

It's not bullshit.

- He produced your favorite movie.

- It's true.

It happens

to be my favorite too.

In my pocket...

is my card.

You have your what?

Your...

your card? Huh?

You want me to take

your f***ing card?

- You dipshit, slimy, no-good

little weasel! - Frank... no.

Huh? Huh? Let me give

you my business card.

You know what you can both do with your stupid,

stinking, f***ing entertainment business?

Jesus, Frank, no!

I want to give you...

a million bucks...

in points.

Points!

What the hell's "points" mean?

It means a piece

of the profits.

It means...

a percentage.

It means percentage!

When was the last time

somebody gave you percentage?

Shut up, Lowell,

or I will torture you.

Never is when.

Never did, never will.

Come over here.

Come over here.

One more...

f***ing chirp,

and there's gonna be

a percentage of your carcass...

all over this hill!

Hi, Ray.

Didn't think

I'd find you there so late.

Anyway, I'm finally sending you

a cleaning lady... Mathilda.

She'll start tomorrow.

She's from Salvador.

She passed security.

Speaks five words of english,

badly.

Her family was wiped out

by the death squads,

except for

her little daughter.

They have you working late

at Nasa every night like this?

Yeah. Um,

why don't you, uh...

why don't you

send her over?

Okay.

Get some sleep.

What the f***?

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

So dark and empty, with spikes in the

aing and the room so small it sweats.

But I know it's no different

on the street,

except if you get shot, be one

of them lucky victims you can see.

"Drive by. Drive by."

Everybody love to say it.

But when you're in that room

you can lie there, play dead,

stand up on your head.

Make no difference.

Daddy don't go by.

He comes inside.

He comes right in.

After a hard day

at whittier,

he comes all the way inside

that room, that bed, my pajamas.

He comes all the way inside my

room, and he don't stop there.

He goes inside my crack,

and he don't stop there.

He keeps going, tearing everything apart

while he makes them sweet loving sounds,

and he don't stop there.

He calls me names so hard and bad it

hurts my heart more than it hurts my crack,

and he don't stop there.

See, he's lookir

for my soul.

Everything they took from him

he wanted back.

He's starving for it,

starving so bad

he'd kill me for it.

But I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

So I flip the script, trick the dick

and make him think he got it all.

I make him think he got it all.

Make him think he got it all.

And I slip away inside my head

and visit...

the princess of Beverly hills.

Haing blond, eyes green,

painting her fingernails

like jellybeans,

vanilla skin shimmering.

She don't even notice

when I slip inside her soul...

like a ghost

in a crystal palace.

I be all up in there eating

sugar cakes and bonbons and...

she don't even notice me

while I'm inside her soul.

See, she ain't never needed

to know she needed a soul.

# Don't even know

she got one #

and I watch her...

I'm so close...

while her fingernails dry.

And the princess,

she don't feel a thing.

She can't smell the burning

knife that's splitting me in half.

One time, I think, she smiled

at me, I think she saved my life.

And now...

it's over...

and daddy start to cry.

We go walking and talking

in McArthur park,

and I forgive him sometimes.

The princess

of Beverly hills...

I don't need her soul

no more.

I give her back to you.

I, uh...

I never knew

my father.

Transition to the southbound

side of the Santa Ana freeway.

Disabled big rig in the left lane.

Backed up to the Pasadena freeway.

Montebello, a sig alert

for the 60 eastbound at Finley.

The freeway's still closed

because of an accident.

What is the point

of you having a phone...

if you don't answer it?

What the hell

are you doing here?

Yesterday,

ten days, any days.

You never...

you didn't send me my...

I know, dad.

What should I do?

What is your dad for?

Hmm?

Dad, I wish

you'd answer the phone.

It's important for me...

that I know

that you're okay.

All right, okay.

I'll buy that.

Okay, good.

I got your favorite.

Pepperoni.

You first.

Go ahead.

Mmm.

Oh, I'm tired.

You know,

I was right, dad.

I was more right than

I could ever have imagined.

Give me a second.

I'll call it back in.

We already checked it out.

We didn't find nothing.

Oh, man. Jeez.

Yeah, they're, uh...

they were blown off.

Shotgun, three feet.

Uninged, clean at the cortex.

That one, two feet max, between

the cerebellum and the frontal lobe.

Yeah, what'd I say?

Headless.

I heard they I.D.'d

the killer.

See, that's where I took the liberty

of saying "only in Hollywood."

So the killer's

a deranged hooker?

No, he was a regular guy.

Uh-huh.

Just liked to kill

on the weekends.

Nope, no record of his

killing on weekends.

MacDermot, come on.

Be a little more creative.

There's two people dead here. You

guys are a little cynical, aren't you?

Okay,

here's the spin.

The gentleman in question,

the apparent killer,

was, in fact,

originally the victim.

You got that? The killer

was the kidnap victim...

who was brought here by these

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