The Grifters Page #2

TWO SHOT, the bartender and Roy, as the bartender gives Roy a

very cold look. He knows, and Roy knows he knows. Roy tries

an innocent smile, which doesn't work. Roy moves.

CU, the ten dollar bill, as Roy grabs it, but the bartender

simultaneously grabs Roy's wrist.

AN ANGLE on Roy and the bartender as Roy tries to pull away

and the bartender holds him with his left hand while reaching

under the bar with his right. He comes up with a sawed-off

baseball bat. Roy, seeing it, throws his free arm up to

protect his head, but the bartender pushes the blunt end of

the bat straight across the bar at a downward angle and hard

into Roy's solar plexus, driving the air out of him and

propelling him back away from the bar, leaving the ten. The

nearest CUSTOMERS on both sides become aware that something

happened, but nothing follows and they're already involved in

conversations. The bartender scoops up the ten as he puts the

bat away under the bar.

AN ANGLE on Roy, arms folded across his torso, staring in

shock toward the bar, where the space he filled has already

been closed in by other bodies. Nearly retching, he stumbles

toward the door.

EXT. RUIDOSO DOWNS - DAY

AN ANGLE on four PEOPLE at a table, CHEERING a race,

switching to disgust and despair when they lose, moving away

from the table, leaving their betting tickets behind. Lilly

passes by, smoothly and casually scoops up the tickets, moves

on along a row of tables, and there finding more tickets.

INT. JEWELER'S OFFICE - DAY

Myra sits as before. The jeweler enters with a check, which

he hands her. She looks up at him, making no move to leave.

JEWELER:

I hope you're not too badly

disappointed with us, Mrs. Langtry.

MYRA:

It's not your fault.

JEWELER:

You'll give us an opportunity to

serve you again, I hope. If there's

anything you think we might be

interested in...

MYRA:

I have only one thing now. Are you

interested?

JEWELER:

Well, I'd have to see it, of

course.

MYRA:

You are seeing it. You're looking

right at it.

The jeweler is puzzled, then startled.

JEWELER:

I see.

He turns away, goes behind his desk, sits down, looks at

Myra.

JEWELER:

You know something, Mrs. Langtry? A

bracelet like that very rarely

happens. A fine setting and

workmanship usually mean precious

stones. It always hurts me when I

find they're not. I always hope --

(faint sad friendly smile)

-- I'm mistaken.

Myra likes him better now, even though he hasn't solved her

problem. She rises.

MYRA:

Thank you. For everything you felt

you could do.

EXT. STREET - DAY

Roy has been throwing up but is finished now. He's sprawled

like a shot deer across the hood of his Honda, still

clutching his stomach. A police car stops, the passenger COP

gets out. He's suspicious at first.

COP:

Sir? Everything all right?

The sight of the uniform forces Roy into gear. He

straightens, smiling through his pain.

ROY:

Getting better. A bad shrimp, I

think.

The con's suspicion changes to concern.

COP:

Want us to take you to a doctor?

ROY:

No no, I'm fine now, thanks,

anyway. Still got a lot of clients

to see.

COP:

Take it easy, now.

ROY:

Oh, I will.

EXT. RUIDOSO DOWNS - DAY

Late afternoon. AN ANGLE on the parking area, where almost

all the cars are gone and the few remaining are widely

separated. The white Chrysler is one of these. Lilly walks to

it from the track entrance.

AN ANGLE on the Chrysler as Lilly opens the trunk, puts her

bag inside.

CLOSE UP, Lilly and the trunk. She takes betting tickets from

her bag, sorts them, files them in envelopes in different

compartments, puts some to one side, then sorts through these

separated tickets, throwing some away, keeping some. She

takes money from the bag, puts tickets in, closes the bag

with the money on the trunk floor. Reaching farther in, she

lifts the pad deep inside the trunk, lifts the metal floor

panel, and reveals a cache mostly filled with money. She adds

today's skim, puts everything away, puts the bag back on her

shoulder, closes the trunk.

EXT. MADERO APARTMENTS - DAY

A shabby apartment hotel on Wilshire. An exterior hall

balcony on each floor has the entrance doors to the front

apartments. Roy's Honda makes the turn and enters the

basement garage.

INT. MADERO LOBBY - DAY

Modest but clean. The owner, SIMMS, a sloppy garrulous old

bore, talks with a potential RENTER.

SIMMS:

Put it this way, now. Say I rent to

a woman, well, she has to have a

room with a bath. I insist on it,

because otherwise she's got the

hall bath tied up all the time,

washing her goddamn hair and her

clothes and everything she can

think of.

In b.g., Roy, still in pain, comes out of the elevator, waves

to Simms, who waves back without pausing in his monologue,

and crosses to the mailboxes.

SIMMS:

Now, your minimum for a room with

bath is three hundred a month, just

for a place to sleep and no cooking

allowed.

And just how many of these tootsies

make that kind of money and have to

eat in restaurants and buy clothes

and --

Roy, carrying his junk mail and pretending not to be in pain,

crosses to Simms.

ROY:

Mr. Simms.

SIMMS:

(fawning)

Why yes, Mr. Dillon. Here's a

potential new neighbor, looking at--

ROY:

(uninterested)

Uh-huh. Mrs. Langtry may drop by.

Simms doesn't like Mrs. Langtry, but can't say so.

SIMMS:

I'll send her right up.

Roy goes back to the elevator. Simms continues his monologue.

SIMMS:

I had my first hotel thirty-seven

years ago in Wichita Falls, Texas,

and that's where I began to learn

about women. They just don't make

the money, you see, not regular

they don't, and there's only one

way they can get it.

Roy enters the elevator.

SIMMS:

Now, that Mr. Dillon there, that's

the fine type of person I have in

mind for here. Like yourself, I

have no doubt. He's a salesman,

regular as clockwork, has a suite

here. Fine man. Now, about these

women. At first, you know, they

just go out and do it now and then,

just enough to make ends meet. But

pretty soon they got that bank open

twenty-four hours a day, and then

you've got trouble. Hookers and

hotellin' just don't mix.

You'd think the cops'd be too busy

catching real criminals, not

snooping around after working

girls, but that's the way the gravy

stains, as the saying is, and I

don't fight it. An ounce of

prevention is my motto.

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