The Man Who Wasn't There Page #5

ED:

No. I might be interested in that,

uh, business proposition--

Creighton, surprised, quickly picks up his hairpiece and

arranges it on his head.

CREIGHTON:

You got the dough?!

ED:

I can get it, yeah.

CREIGHTON:

Come in, come in, siddown over there.

Coffee?

ED:

No. I--tell me--

CREIGHTON:

Sure.

ED:

What's involved, aside from putting

up the money? What're you looking

for the partner to do?

CREIGHTON:

Do? Hell, nothing. Well, you'll want

to keep tabs on your investment, of

course, but I'm looking for a silent

partner. I've done the research,

I've contacted the vendors, the deal

is set. I'm just looking for venture

capital, friend. Disappear if you

want, check in whenever you like--I

want the dough; I don't take

attendance.

ED:

And how do we share--

CREIGHTON:

Fifty-fifty, straight down the line.

You and me. Finance and expertise.

So--you've got the dough then, do

ya?

ED:

I'll have it in a week.

CREIGHTON:

Well, I'll be damned. The barber!

And I thought this trip was a bust.

Well...

He reaches for a bottle of bonded whiskey on the night stand

and hands Ed a glass.

CREIGHTON:

...it just goes to show, when one

door slams shut, another one opens.

Here's to ya, uh...

ED:

Ed.

They both knock back the whiskey. Creighton leans back and

gives Ed a heavy-lidded stare, a faint smile on his lips,

his hairpiece slightly askew.

Ed stares back.

After a beat, without taking his eyes of Ed, Creighton reaches

up and loosens his tie. An almost imperceptible wink.

Ed stares.

ED:

...Was that a pass?

CREIGHTON:

(hoarsely)

Maybe.

ED:

You're out of line, mister.

Creighton throws up his hands apologetically.

CREIGHTON:

No problem!

ED:

Way out of line.

CREIGHTON:

Right! Strictly business.

ED:

Yeah.

CLOSE ON TYPEWRITTEN NOTE

It says:

I KNOW ABOUT YOU AND DORIS CRANE. COOPERATE OR ED CRANE

WILL KNOW. YOUR WIFE WILL KNOW. EVERYONE WILL KNOW. GATHER

$10,000 AND AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS.

A hand pulls the note out of a typewriter carriage.

ED (V.O.)

I sent it to Dave the next morning.

And I waited.

BARBERSHOP:

We are looking down at the top of an eight-year-old's crew

cut as clippers buzz its perimeter.

Frank reads a magazine. The youngster reads a comic as Ed

works his head.

ED:

Frank.

FRANK:

Huh?

ED:

This hair.

FRANK:

Yeah.

ED:

...You ever wonder about it?

FRANK:

Whuddya mean?

ED:

I don't know... How it keeps on

coming. It just keeps growing.

FRANK:

Yeah--lucky for us, huh, pal?

ED:

No, I mean it's growing, it's part

of us. And we cut it off. And throw

it away.

FRANK:

Come on, Eddie, you're gonna scare

the kid.

Ed shuts off the clippers and give the apron a flap.

ED:

OK, bud, you're through.

The kid hops down, still reading his comic, and ambles out

the door. Ed gives Frank a considering stare.

ED:

...I'm gonna take his hair and throw

it out in the dirt.

FRANK:

What the--

ED:

I'm gonna mingle it with common house

dirt.

FRANK:

What the hell are you talking about?

Ed turns back to the counter to hang up his clippers.

ED:

I don't know. Skip it.

EXT. ED'S HOUSE

It is twilight. Ed lifts the latch on the front gate and,

cigarette in his mouth, heads up the walk.

Music filters out from the house.

INT. ED'S HOUSE

Ed walks though the living room, hands in his pockets. The

music emanates from a radio in the bedroom.

DORIS:

Ed?

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