The Man Who Wasn't There Page #11

EXT. HOUSE

He pulls up, sits motionless for a beat. Gradually, something

draws his attention; he c*cks his head and looks up through

the windshield.

A branch creaks and sways in the breeze.

INT. HOUSE

Ed gets into bed next to Doris. He stares at the ceiling.

Wind rustles outside.

The shadow of a branch on the ceiling nods in time with the

wind.

He looks at Doris.

Her face is still lightly sheened with sweat but her mouth

is closed now, her breathing more peaceful. The leafy shadows

play over her face.

ED (V.O.)

...It was only a couple of weeks

after we met that Doris suggested

getting married. I said, Don't you

wanna get to know me more? She said,

Why, does it get better? She looked

at me like I was a dope, which I've

never really minded from her. And

she had a point, I guess. We knew

each other as well then as now...

He is gazing at her.

ED (V.O.)

...Anyway, well enough.

Sound and image face.

BARBERSHOP:

The next day.

Ed cuts hair, a cigarette between his lips.

FRANK:

Holy-moly, do I got a headache.

Frank is giving a haircut as well.

FRANK:

...How you today, Ed?

ED:

OK.

FRANK:

You don't got a headache?

ED:

...Nah.

FRANK:

Damn, I got a headache to beat the

band.

LATER:

Ed sits in his chair, hands folded in his lap, head tilted

back, eyes closed.

We hold on Ed as we hear a clipper buzzing and Frank talking

to someone in his chair.

FRANK:

Ya can't pump it. Did ya pump it?

That'll just flood it.

CUSTOMER:

Ya gotta pump it. Ya can't just hold

it down. *That'll* flood it.

FRANK:

You crazy? You pumped it?

CUSTOMER:

Well, ya can't hold it down.

There is the jingle of the door bell. Ed opens his eyes.

Two men in fedoras are entering.

Ed starts to rise.

MAN 1

Ed Crane?

ED:

Right.

MAN 1

Come on outside.

ED:

Sure.

OUTSIDE:

The two men are staring at the sidewalk, smoking, hesitant

to speak. One of them finally comes up with an icebreaker:

MAN 2

...So you're a barber, huh?

ED:

That's right.

MAN 1

I'm Officer Persky. This is Krebs.

Ed nods toward their car:

ED:

...We goin'?

KREBS:

Huh? No.

Beat.

PERSKY:

...Cigarette?

Ed holds up one hand with its smoking cigarette.

PERSKY:

Right. Uh... Pete's got some news

for you.

His partner gives Persky a dirty look.

KREBS:

...Look, pal, it's a tough break,

but, uh... well damnit, your wife's

been pinched.

PERSKY:

They sent us to tell ya.

ED:

Huh?

KREBS:

They sent us to tell ya. We pulled

the detail.

ED:

My *wife*?

PERSKY:

Yeah, uh, they brung her to the county

jail, uh...

KREBS:

Homicide.

PERSKY:

Well, embezzlement. And homicide. A

guy named David Brewster. He's, uh...

He's the decedent.

ED:

I don't understand.

KREBS:

He's the dead guy.

Ed stares at him.

PERSKY:

...Yeah, it's a tough break.

KREBS:

Visiting ends at five. Too late today.

You can see her tomorrow.

PERSKY:

Sorry, pal. They sent us to tell ya.

He shakes his head.

PERSKY:

...Crap detail.

RESIDENTIAL STREET

It is evening. Ed is pulling up to a house on a tree-lined

street similar to his own. He gets out of his car and goes

up the walk, and a man sitting on the porch swing holds up a

hand of greeting.

MAN:

'Lo, Ed.

ED:

Hello, Walter.

He steps up on the porch.

The man is holding a tumbler of whiskey and ice that clinks

as the swing moves. His skin glistens with drinker's sweat,

and he has the slightly expansive manner of someone who's

put at least a couple away.

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