The Ladykillers Page #7

DORR:

...Gentlemen, I believe you are all

aware that the Solons of the State

of Mississippi, to wit, its

legislature, have decreed that no

gaming establishment shall be erected

within its borders upon dry land.

They may, however, legally float

upon any watercourse defining a state

boundary. But while the gambling

activity itself is restricted to

riverboats, no such restriction

applies to the functions ancillary

to this cash besotted bidnis. The

casino's offices, locker rooms,

facilities to cook and clean, and

most importantly its counting houses-

the reinforced, secret, and super

secure repositories of the lucre --

may all be situated... wherever.

Gawain -- where is wherever?

GAWAIN:

Say wha?

Dorr's smug smile fades. Testily:

DORR:

Where is the money?

GAWAIN:

Oh. End of every shift pit boss brings

the cash down to the hold of the

ship in the locked cash box; once a

day all the cash boxes're moved to

the counting room.

DORR:

And where is the counting room?

GAWAIN:

Well, uh... in that square there.

Where you pointing.

DORR:

And what, to flog a horse that if

not at this point dead is in mortal

danger of expirin', does the dotted

square represent?

Gawain hesitates, the question's obviousness suggesting to

him some trick.

GAWAIN:

...Offices. Underground.

Dorr's eyes close. A smile of feline contentment curls his

lips. He murmurs:

DORR:

Underground... Mmm... During the

casino's hours of operation the door

to the counting room is fiercely

guarded, and the door itself is of

redoubtable Pittsburgh steel; when

the casino is closed the entire

underground complex is locked up and

the armed guard retreats to the

casino's main entrance. There, then,

far from the guard, reposes the money,

cosseted behind a five-inch-thick

steel portal, yes, but the walls,

gentlemen, the walls of that room,

are but humble masonry, behind which

is only the soft loamy soil deposited

over the centuries by Ol' Man, the

meanderin' Mississip', as it fanned

its way back and forth across this

great alluvial plain...

He has pried a fistfull of dirt from the cellar wall.

DORR:

...This earth.

He crumbles it, letting it sift to the floor, and then,

pleased with himself, he smiles.

DORR:

...Any questions?

Lump looks around, then hesitantly raises his hand.

DORR:

...Yes, Lump?

LUMP:

What, uh... what does "cosseted"

mean?

Once again Dorr's smile fades. He does not dignify the

question with answer.

DORR:

The General here, whose curriculum

vitae compahends massive tunneling

experience thoo the soil of his native

French-Indochina, will direct our

little ol' tunnelin' operation.

The General acknowledges with a curt nod.

DORR:

...Clark Pancake, while a master of

none, is a jack of all those trades

corollary to our aim. He will be

doin' such fabricatin' and demolition

work as our little caper shall

require.

Clark acknowledges verbally:

PANCAKE:

Happy to be on board.

DORR:

Gawain is the proverbial "inside

man". He has managed to secure a

berth on the custodial staff of the

Lady Luck, thereby placin' himself

in a position to perform certain

chores whose precise nature needn't

detain us here, but whose performance

shall guide this expedition to its

happy conclusion.

GAWAIN:

Ya damn skippy.

DORR:

And this brings us to Lump. To look

at Lump you might wonder, what

function could he possibly fill,

what specialized expertise could he

possibly offer, to our merry little

ol' band a miscreants. Well gentlemen,

in a project of such magnitude and

such risks, it is traditional --

nay, it is imperative -- to enlist

the services of a hooligan, a goon,

an ape, a physical brute, who will

be our security, our fist, our

batterin' ram. Lump is our blunt

instrument, and on all our behalfs I

wish him a warm Mississippi welcome.

LUMP:

Thanks, Professor.

DORR:

Well gentlemen, here you are, men of

different backgrounds and differing

talents, men with, in fact only two

things in common: one, you all saw

fit to answer my little advertisement

in the Memphis Scimitar, and, two,

you are all going to be, in

consequence, very very incredibly

rich. Let us revel in our adventure,

gentlemen. Let us make beautiful

music together. And above all,

gentlemen, let us keep it to

ourselves. What we say in this root

cellar, let it stay in this root

cellar.

LUMP:

There's no "I" in "team".

All stare at him.

DORR:

...Lump has a very excellent point.

The music swells, supported now by a male chorus that has

the spirited manliness of the Red Army choir. We

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. MUNSON HOUSE - BASEMENT - NIGHT

The men at work, tunneling.

The cat sits on the cellar floor, head cocked, gazing at the

hole now opened in the wall.

Lump, in a sleeveless undershirt, glistening with sweat,

wields a pickaxe at the forward point.

At the mouth of the hole Clark Pancake shovels dirt into a

heavy plastic refuse bag held open by Gawain.

G.H. Dorr sits on a camp chair, one hand idly waving time to

the music, reading an old and yellowed tome with half-glasses

perched midway down his nose.

The General hops nimbly out of the tunnel and unzips and

steps out of his all-in-one to reveal, underneath, his neatly

pressed leisure suit and ascot.

INT. MUNSON HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Later, Dorr stands at the head of the cellar stairs, looking

around the empty parlor. He gives a nod down the stairs and

the men troop up past him, carrying sacks of earth.

Over the mantelpiece, the eternal flame of the devotional

candle almost animating his features, Othar seems to watch

the men as they cross to the front door.

EXT. MUNSON HOUSE - NIGHT

The men load the earth into the hearse.

EXT. MISSISSIPPI RIVER - NIGHT

We are at the Mississippi bridge that we saw in the prologue

to the movie, but now, in dead of night, deserted.

The hearse is pulling up at the middle of the bridge and

dimming its lights. The men emerge; when they open the back

of the hearse to pull out the sacks, the cat bounds out to

watch from a distance.

We watch the men from HIGH, ANGLED DOWN along the masonry of

a tower that stands in the middle of the suspension bridge.

An ornamental gargoyle leers in the foreground.

The garbage scow is approaching. We hear the low toot of its

horn as it nears the bridge.

Lump is poised with the first sack hugged to his chest,

leaning over the railing.

The nose of the barge enters below us.

Lump releases the sack.

We watch it drop dead away like a bomb from an airplane.

It thuds distantly onto the barge. The next sack has been

passed up to Lump and is released.

The cat watches. Its orange eyes blink. Its pupils adjust.

INT. MUNSON HOUSE - CELLAR - NIGHT

A PULL BACK shows that the cat is in fact back in the

basement.

Its POV:
continued tunneling.

Back to the cat, watching, then turning its head at a noise:

At the head of the stairs, the cellar door is opening.

A whistle from the General and Lump and Clark Pancake scramble

from the tunnel. They whip a curtain over its opening and

all men grab up their instruments as Dorr, covering with a

cough, turns off the CD player.

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