The Public Eye Page #7

Chadwick brings his fists down hard onto the desk, rattling

the lamps, ashtray and desk-set.

CHADWICK:

Tell us how Portifino made his money!

BERNZY:

I don't know anything. I see the guy

once for five seconds, next time I

see him he's dead.

(he looks around)

I have to get to work now.

CHADWICK:

Oh? You have a job?

BERNZY:

(wearily, patiently)

I'm a free-lance photographer. If

I'm not on the street at midnight,

the world passes me by.

CHADWICK:

Tough way to make a living... You

were hoping to get money from

Portifino, is that right?

BERNZY:

What?

CHADWICK:

You intended to blackmail him.

BERNZY:

This is a joke.

(he looks to the others)

It's a gag, right?

CHADWICK:

Mr. Bernstein, you came to this

country from Russia when you were

six years old.

BERNZY:

(getting up, putting

on his hat)

Alright, that's it. I got my cell

meeting in half an hour.

He reaches for his exposed film plates on the desk. But

Chadwick traps his hand there.

CHADWICK:

Where you going? How d'you know you're

not a suspect in the murder of Emilio

Portifino?

BERNZY:

This is the stupidest interrogation

I've ever seen. You're telling me

more than I'm telling you. Already I

know this guy got rich quick doing

something the Feds don't like. Already

I can see you're tryin' to keep it

quiet, and when you bring up Russia,

I figure it's something treasonous.

Chadwick begins to speak, but the Older Agent -- alarmed by

Bernzy's perspicacity -- takes over.

OLDER AGENT:

Mr. Bernstein, thanks for your

cooperation. We're sorry if we've

taken you away from your work. This

is a time of war, and we hope you'll

keep your conjectures about Mr.

Portifino to yourself. Fact is, we

know nothing about the man, and hoped

perhaps you did.

Bernzy doesn't believe the last part, but keeps it to himself.

BERNZY:

Yeah, okay. So if I could just get

my film plates back...

OLDER AGENT:

We can't give them to you. Not for a

few days.

BERNZY:

He's news tonight. I won't be able

to sell 'em in a few days.

OLDER AGENT:

Stop back here at Inspector Chadwick's

office in the morning. He'll give

you the proper forms to fill in.

Bernzy looks from face to face, seeing he has no choice in

the matter.

CUT TO:

EXT. FEDERAL BUILDING - NIGHT

Bernzy comes down the stairs of the F.B.I. building and begins

walking, camera in hand.

Across the street, a car starts up as Bernzy heads up the

block. It begins to follow him, keeping a discreet distance.

Bernzy turns off the avenue, onto the sidestreet. The car

makes the turn too.

EXT. SIDESTREET

As Bernzy moves along the dark sidewalk, he realizes the car

is following him. He picks up his pace, but the car follows

suit. Almost reflexively he begins to load a film plate into

his camera, but the car accelerates, and overtakes him on

the sidewalk. Two MEN get out -- thick-featured and thuggish --

while a third Man stays behind the wheel.

The Men close in around Bernzy. Each takes one of his arms.

The camera falls to the ground; the lens shatters. They drag

Bernzy gruffly into the car.

BERNZY:

You boys work for Farinelli, right?

(recognizing one of

them)

It's Tonio, right?

Bernzy's attempt at affability is futile: grimly serious,

they push him into the car.

BERNZY:

(as he's stuffed into

the seat)

At least pick up the damn camera!

CUT TO:

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

The same car pulls up and parks.

As one of the Thugs pulls Bernzy out, Bernzy reaches back to

pick up his smashed camera.

CUT TO:

INT. FARINELLI'S OFFICE - NIGHT

The panelled office might belong to a well-off insurance

agent with a weakness for ugly nick-nacks.

Farinelli rises to his feet as Bernzy is pushed into the

room. He is an overweight, mid-level capo of 55. Two of his

lieutenants are sitting on a couch.

FARINELLI:

(to his goons)

What're you pushin' him around for?

We know this guy.

(he shakes his head)

Have a seat, Bernzy. Want a drink?

BERNZY:

You got coffee?

He gestures to one of the Hoods to fetch coffee.

FARINELLI:

You know Mikey and Sal?

The two lieutenants nod from the couch. SAL is lean, with a

particularly arresting face (we will see him again).

LIEUTENANTS:

Hiya, Bernzy/Bernzy.

FARINELLI:

Bernzy, you found the body of this

punk Portifino, right?

Bernzy nods.

FARINELLI:

So what d'you know about him?

BERNZY:

Nothing, really.

FARINELLI:

'Nothin.' Then why'd you call the

Feds?

BERNZY:

I didn't.

FARINELLI:

You didn't.

BERNZY:

I found the body. Not the first I

ever found. I called the cops, like

I always do. They called the F.B.I.

Annoyed, Farinelli turns to his lieutenants, speaks in

Italian. After a brief tirade, he turns back to Bernzy.

FARINELLI:

Okay, so you didn't call the Feds,

we was misinformed by a police stooge.

I'd still like to know how you knew

Portifino.

BERNZY:

I didn't. Not really.

The Hood returns with coffee from someplace outside. But

Farinelli, annoyed by now, directs him to put it on a side

table (instead of giving it to Bernzy).

FARINELLI:

You didn't, not really... Then what

were you doin' in his apartment, if

I may ask?

Bernzy studies Farinelli a beat before answering. He can see

how agitated Farinelli is about all of this.

BERNZY:

I met him the other night. At Cafe

Society. He said he needed somebody

to take his picture. He offered good

money.

FARINELLI:

You don't do commissions. I offered

you plenty when my sister's boy took

communion two years ago.

Close on Bernzy, caught in a lie.

BERNZY:

That's right, I don't. Do commissions.

But I got a nose for news. Talkin'

to this kid, it smelled like there

might be somethin' in it.

FARINELLI:

(getting up)

Oh! So that's all there is to it?

Bernzy nods; he watches as Farinelli moves next to his seat,

looms over him, smiling. But his face turns fierce as

Farinelli kicks the chair out from under Bernzy, who flops

onto his back and hits his head on the tiles.

Bernzy lies on the floor, more stunned and humiliated than

hurt, and looks up at the half-circle formed around him by

Farinelli and his thugs.

Bernzy stares up at Farinelli. He raises his right hand to

God.

After a long beat, Farinelli extends his hand, to help him

up.

FARINELLI:

Okay, Bernzy. As it is, I gotta trust

you. You never crossed nobody, got

no interest in dough, do nothin' but

take pictures, noon and night.

He circles his arm around Bernzy, and walks him to the door.

FARINELLI:

What is it with you, anyway? Dope

fiends live better than you do. You're

a f***in' freak, you know that?

BERNZY:

Yeah, well, like the guy who shoveled

the elephant sh*t said to the circus

owner, 'What? And give up Show

Business?'.

Farinelli laughs but grips Bernzy a little too tightly.

FARINELLI:

Don't go around talkin' about this

dead little f***, awright?

We begin to hear lively music play, anticipating the

CUT TO:

EXT. CAFE SOCIETY - NIGHT

The usual crowd is gathered by the ropes. The other

Photographers watch sullenly as the rope is raised for Bernzy.

INT. CAFE SOCIETY - SAME

Bernzy is looking upward, toward the windowed office as he

crosses the club. He is therefore taken unawares when a Man

at a good table catches him by the sleeve --

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