The Ladykillers Page #16

The General stiffly bows:

GENERAL:

So sorry.

The Professor, nodding, smiling, and dry-washing his hands,

continues to look at Mrs. Munson, though his story,

apparently, has ended.

She returns his ingratiating look with a stare.

MRS. MUNSON

...What about all that money?

Dorr's smile fades.

DORR:

...Ah. The money. The money is...

Mr. Pancake's.

PANCAKE:

That's right.

DORR:

He only just re-mortgaged his house

in order to pay for the procedure

that will correct the wandering eye

of his common-law wife, Mountain

Water, who suffers from astygmia and

strabismus and a general curdling of

the vitreous jelly. Mr. Pancake

however is an ardent foe of the

federal reserve and is in fact one

of those eccentrics about whom one

occasionally reads, hoarding his

entire life savings either under the

proverbial mattress or, as in Mr.

Pancake's case, in a Hefty bag that

is his constant companion.

Under her stare, he elaborates:

DORR:

...Steel Sack.

PANCAKE:

Don't trust the banks. Never have.

She thinks, decides.

MRS. MUNSON

This don't smell right. I'm callin'

Sheriff Wyner.

A chorus of gasps.

DORR:

Madam -- if you please. Yes! Yes! It

was a lie! A fantastic tale! You

have us! Dead to rights! But please

allow me to tell you the truth -- in

private.

INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - EVENING

He escorts her to sit beneath the portrait of Othar, sits

across from her, and leans confidentially in.

DORR:

Madam...

He agonizes. The words do not come easy.

DORR:

...What I am about to reveal to you,

you may find... shocking. Mrs. Munson,

I must tell you that we are not...

what we appear.

MRS. MUNSON

Mm-hm.

DORR:

We are not in fact musicians of the

late Renaissance. Nor of the early

or mid period. We are, in fact...

criminals! Desperate men, madam! We

have tunneled into the nearby offices

of the Lady Luck gambling emporium

and have relieved it of its treasure!

MRS. MUNSON

Lord have mercy!

DORR:

It is true that the Lady Luck is a

den of iniquity, a painted harlot

luring people into sin and exciting

the vice of greed with her false

promise of easy winnings. Oh, her

gains are ill-gotten, yes, but I

offer no excuses -- save one! We men

have each pledged half of our share

of the booty to a charitable

institution -- the General, to a

placement service for Southeast Asian

refugees; Mr. Pancake to the Blue

Ridge Parkway Conservancy; and Lump

to the United Jewish Appeal. As

compensation for use of your house

we had planned to donate a full share

to Bob Jones University, without

burdening you with guilty knowledge

by informing you of same. But you

have wrested the information from

me! Now it is all on the table. Now

you have it, the whole story, the

awful truth.

MRS. MUNSON

Stolen money!

DORR:

Yes, yes, shamefully I admit it,

yes! But find the victim, Mrs. Munson,

I challenge you! Even the casino

itself, that riparian Gomorra, shall

suffer no harm! It has an insurance

company, a financial behemoth that

will cheerfully replenish its depleted

vaults! That is its function! And

the insurance company itself is made

up of tens and tens of thousands of

policy-holders so that -- we have

done the calculations, Mrs. Munson! --

so that at the end of the day, at

the final reckoning, each policy-

holder shall have contributed only

one penny -- one single solitary

cent -- to the satisfaction of this

claim.

MRS. MUNSON

...Just one penny?

DORR:

Think of it, Mrs. Munson! One cent

from thousands upon thousands of

people so that Bob Jones University

can continue on its mission! Why, I

have no doubt that, were the policy-

holders aware of the existence of

that august institution, why, each

and every one of them would have

volunteered some token amount to the

furtherance of its aims!

MRS. MUNSON

Well that's prob'ly true...

The Professor, warming, has resumed dry-washing his hands:

DORR:

Yes madam, sadly, the criminal stain

is upon my soul, but the benefit

shall accrue to any number of worthy

causes. As long, that is, as the

secret stays with us. And I, surely,

shall not be the one to divulge it.

Mrs. Munson nods, musing.

MRS. MUNSON

Well... it's hard to see the harm in

it... One penny...

Her gaze drifts around the room, a smile beginning to warm

her face. The smile freezes, though, as her look catches on

something.

Her POV:
Othar, above the mantle, looks down with a

disapproving scowl.

MRS. MUNSON

...I'm sorry, Professor.

Dorr is taken aback:

DORR:

Excuse me, ma'am?

MRS. MUNSON

No. It's wrong. Don't you be leadin'

me into temptation.

DORR:

Madam, I must strenuously protest--

MRS. MUNSON

No, it's just plain wrong. Stealin'.

I know your intentions were good,

and I won't call the police if you

give the money back. But I gotta see

that you do it.

DORR:

Madam--

MRS. MUNSON

And all a you gotta go to church

with me next Sunday.

The Professor is incredulous:

DORR:

And... engage in divine worship?

MRS. MUNSON

I made up my mind. You can double-

talk all you want, but its church or

the county jail.

DORR:

But--

She rises.

MRS. MUNSON

You think it over. I gotta feed the

cat.

INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT

The men all sit around the card table, lit from below by an

oil lamp. The General is neatly packing the stacks of

banknotes into the sackbutt case.

GAWAIN:

Motherfuck!

DORR:

Yes. Unfortunately, Mrs. Munson has

rather complicated the situation--

GAWAIN:

I know how to discomplicate it! Put

a cap in the old lady's head! Then

everything simple again!

The group lapses into silence, considering. Even Gawain needs

a moment to digest the horror that he himself has proposed.

The Professor is solemn:

DORR:

...Not easy to do. Many reasons.

Practical ones:
a quiet neighborhood,

a sleepy town. Reasons of moral

repugnance:
a harmless woman, a deed

conceived and executed in cold blood.

No, Gawain; would that it were simple!

GAWAIN:

Well -- f***, man! What we gonna do,

give the money back and go to church?!

DORR:

I shudder. I quake.

He turns to the General.

DORR:

...You sir, are a Buddhist. Is there

not a middle way?

The General grunts as he closes the clasps on the sackbutt

case full of money:

GENERAL:

Must float like a leaf on the river

of life. And kill old lady.

The men murmur.

DORR:

Well... I suppose you are right. It

is the active nature of the crime,

though, that so horrifies -- the

squeezing of the trigger, the plunging

of the knife. But, think a moment --

look at the other tools we have at

hand.

He looks around.

DORR:

...We have the cellar. We have masonry

and trowel. Perhaps we could simply...

immure her.

PANCAKE:

Sure, easiest thing in the world. I

could whip up a little mortar in one

of those snow saucers, lay the bricks,

anchor in some chains, Mountain has

a source for the manacles...

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