The Man Who Wasn't There Page #3

ED (V.O.)

...and I doubt if she believed in

life everlasting; she'd most likely

tell you that our reward is on this

earth and bingo is probably the extent

of it...

Still focused on her cards, Doris mutters to Ed:

DORIS:

Watch your card, honey.

CALLER:

I... sixteen...

Ed continues to gaze off at the window, smoke pluming from

his cigarette.

ED (V.O.)

I wasn't crazy about the game, but,

I don't know, it made her happy, and

I found the setting peaceful.

CALLER:

Gee... nine...

Doris sucks in her breath.

DORIS:

Jesus, bingo--BINGO!

BARBERSHOP:

Sun slants in through the big window at the end of the day.

Ed sweeps hair trimmings, looking intently down at the floor,

a cigarette dangling from his lip. Frank sits on one of the

vinyl waiting chairs, talking at Ed's back.

FRANK:

...so you tie your own flies, Ed. I

mean, if you're really serious. You

tie your own flies, you do a--I know

it's matickless, I know, people say,

hey, you can buy flies at the store--

but you can buy your fish at the

store, Ed, you see what I'm saying?

ED:

Uh-huh.

FRANK:

The point is there's a certain art

to the process. The point is not

merely to provide, and let me point

out, these fish are not as dumb as

you might think.

ED:

Uh-huh.

FRANK:

Sportsmanship! That's my point. June

fly, Ed? Mosquito? Which of these?

Well, what fish do you seek?

ED:

Yeah.

FRANK:

Sure, go to the store. Go there,

describe to the man where you will

be fishing, and for what, and the

weather conditions, sun, no sun,

whatnot, and so forth, and then you

might as well have the man go ahead

and sell you the goddamn FISH, Ed...

We see a black-suited figure approaching through the windows

at the far end of the shop. He is almost blown out by the

late-day sunlight hitting the window.

FRANK:

...My point is, this is a man who

knows nothing no matter how much you

tell him, so sell him the goddamn

FISH, Ed.

The bell over the front door tinkles, and the swarthy middle-

aged man walks in. He is well dressed--perhaps a little too

snazzily for this small town--and has a sporty pencil

mustache.

MAN:

OK, boys, which of you gets the

privilege?

FRANK:

We're just closing, friend.

MAN:

Oh, happy days! I wish I was doing

well enough to turn away business!

More power to ya, brother! The public

be damned!

FRANK:

Hey, what's your problem, friend?

This is a business establishment

with posted hours--

Ed cuts in with a jerk of the head.

ED:

I'll take care of him, go ahead,

Frank. Have a seat, mister.

Frank looks sourly at the stranger.

FRANK:

...You sure, Eddie?

ED:

Yeah, yeah--go home.

As Frank leaves:

FRANK:

In your ear, mister.

The stranger chuckles.

STRANGER:

Oh, those fiery Mediterraneans. Say!

Not so fast there, brother--

Ed has switched on the clippers, but the stranger waves him

back; he lifts off a toupee.

STRANGER:

...Pretty good, huh? Fools even the

experts. 100 percent human hair,

handcrafted by Jacques of San

Francisco, and I'd hate to have to

tell you what I paid for it.

ED:

Uh-huh.

STRANGER:

Yes, it's a nice rug. I'm paying for

it down on the installment plan...

Ed starts to trim the stranger's fringe.

STRANGER:

...A lot of folks live with the pate

exposed. They say the dames think

it's sexy. But for my money it's

just not good grooming--and grooming,

my friend, is probably the most

important thing in business--after

personality, of course...

He twists around to offer his hand.

STRANGER:

...Creighton Tolliver, pleased to

know ya.

ED:

Ed Crane. What brings you to Santa

Rosa?

CREIGHTON:

A goose, friend. I was chasing a

wild goose. Ed, have you ever heard

of venture capital?

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