The Public Eye Page #9

He looks at the other filing cabinet. It has no lock, but is

marked "UNCLASSIFIED MATERIAL." This seems less than promising

but Bernzy unrolls the top drawer, anyway.

He takes out his cigarette lighter, strikes the flame. It

throws a wavering flame over the file tabs. He finds the one

he WANTS:
"PORTIFINO, EMILIO."

INTERCUT TO:

INT. FEDERAL BUILDING - LOBBY - SAME

Chadwick charges in.

CHADWICK:

Where is he?

The Watchman, who by now has two other Uniformed Guards with

him, points to the clock-style indicator on one of the

elevators:
4TH FLOOR.

They all get into the available elevator.

INTERCUT TO:

INT. CHADWICK'S OFFICE

Bernzy opens the file. We read it with him. The pages are

attached to a manila folder from the top, like a medical

file:

PORTIFINO, EMILIO

Deceased 6/3/42

ALL FILES EXPUNGED, TRANSFERRED TO WASHINGTON, D.C. 6/3/42.

BERNZY:

Damn.

In frustration, he turns the page, to see if there's more.

There is a second page, on which all the print is blacked

out. A third page is likewise obliterated.

INT. 4TH FLOOR HALLWAY

Chadwick and the three Guards come hurriedly off the elevator.

INT. CHADWICK'S OFFICE

As the footsteps of Chadwick et. al. echo down the hallway,

Bernzy pages past several more blacked-out pages, before

coming to the last page, on which a single sentence remains:

SEE ALSO "CL(assified) FILE #42784 -- "BLACK GAS"

The waving lighter flame excites a sense of evil as we come

close to these sinister sounding words -- "BLACK GAS."

Bernzy knits his brow -- but has no time to wonder: the

silhouettes of Chadwick et. al. are on the frosted glass.

As he digs into the file cabinet to re-insert the goods, we

watch the silhouettes growing nearer and nearer on the glass.

Bernzy rolls shut the drawer just as the door swings open,

plops himself into Chadwick's chair, puts his feet on the

desk (a more insolent, but less incriminating pose).

CHADWICK:

What is this?

BERNZY:

I'm not leaving till I get back my

plates.

Chadwick looks at Bernzy suspiciously. He plunges his hand

into his pants pocket, extracts a ring of keys, moves swiftly

to the locked file cabinet, opens it.

He pulls out Bernzy's plates (in a pouch), spreads them on

the desk, counts them. Then he puts them back in the pouch,

back in the file, and locks it.

He turns back to Bernzy, seething.

WATCHMAN:

Should I call the cops, Inspector?

Chadwick is thinking about it.

CUT TO:

INT. PARKING GARAGE - DAWN

OPEN CLOSE on a poster which shows G.I. Joe -- his weary

face smudged black with battle. The enemy advances from a

distant hill. Joe stands beside his jeep with a gas can --

but only a last drop of fuel is left.

"DO YOUR PART! SAVE A GALLON FOR G.I. JOE!" proclaims the

poster's bold slogan. Then, in lesser letters: "Rationing

Saves American Lives."

Bernzy stands in his underground parking garage, studying

the poster, his brow knitted.

By the concrete wall beyond the pumps, a teenage grease-monkey

reads a "Shadow" pulp on a folding chair.

BERNZY:

You got any Black Gas, Freddy?

FREDDY:

What kinda gas?

BERNZY:

Black Gas.

(guessing)

Black -- I dunno -- black market

gas.

FREDDY:

(confused)

Only gas we got here is Texaco.

BERNZY:

(he sees it's futile)

Thanks.

FREDDY:

There's somebody was lookin' for

you, Mr. Bernstein.

BERNZY:

Oh yeah?

CUT TO:

INT. STAIRWELL - BERNZY'S APT. - SAME

As Bernzy comes up the stairs he sees a man in a tweed sports-

coat with leather arm patches hunched against his front door,

reading the New York Times. He looks up from his paper when

he hears Bernzy, comes to his feet, smiles pleasantly.

BERNZY:

What're you doin' up at this hour?

Like I don't know the answer.

Bernzy is unlocking his door. AARON is his younger brother.

INT. BERNZY'S APT - SAME

Aaron is unfazed by the disarray of the apartment.

BERNZY:

I'm not comin' with you. Coffee?

Aaron has the same New York accent as his brother but uses

the grammar of an educated man.

AARON:

It's inconceivable to you I just

came over for a little visit?

Aaron examines the photographs on Bernzy's desk as Bernzy

fixes coffee in the bathroom: he pours coffee grinds into a

saucepan.

BERNZY:

Yeah it is.

AARON:

(he joins Bernzy)

Just come sit with him for half an

hour.

Bernzy imitates the voice of an aged, immigrant Jew from the

Lower East Side, via Russia, i.e., his father.

BERNZY:

'Such a vaste, Leon. Vit' your

beckground, it's a tregedy. Your

bruther Aaron's a learned men, a

professor, vit' a beautiful vife --

end you? you drife eround in a car

all the night teking pornogrephic

pictures, eating in drugstores all

alone. Breaks my heart, Leon, it

breaks en old men's heart.'

He goes back to the coffee, uselessly stirring the grounds.

AARON:

I don't know what to say. I spend my

life defending you. But when it comes

down to it, I don't know what the

hell you're doing down here --

BERNZY:

See for yourself; it's no big secret.

AARON:

Believe me, you look around this

place it leaves you with a few

questions.

BERNZY:

What's that s'posed to mean?

AARON:

Forget it... He's a professional

immigrant. He's the ultimate outsider.

But he's an amateur, compared to

you.

BERNZY:

Yeah? I wonder if you'd say that if

you'd seen me at Cafe Society last

night. I mean inside.

Bernzy strains the coffee, and pours it.

AARON:

Yeah? So who invited you? Lou Levitz?

BERNZY:

He's dead, Professor... How would

you know him, anyway. I thought guys

like you didn't read the tabloids.

He moves into the main room. Aaron follows.

AARON:

I read the tabloids, Leon. I take an

interest in my brother. I'm glad

you're an insider now. What's that

got to do with Pa, rotting on his

ass down on Delancey Street?

BERNZY:

Other people're startin' to take an

interest in me, too, alright? When

the time comes, when I get my book

published, I'll go see Pa.

AARON:

D'you really think your own father's

opinion of you needs to be validated

by a publishing house?

BERNZY:

No less than anybody else's.

They look at each other, as Bernzy hands him a mug of coffee.

CUT TO:

INT. BERNZY'S APARTMENT - DAY

The shades are drawn against the daylight. The police radio

hisses at low volume. We find Bernzy, slumped asleep in his

clothes, in a chair. On the armrest is one of his cigar box

files marked "Prizefights." Around Bernzy there is a litter

of photos of Kay with her husband, ringside.

Bernzy holds a picture of Kay in his hand. He fell asleep

holding it.

The telephone rings, shrilly. Bernzy answers it, groggily.

BERNZY:

'Lo?

(he listens)

Oh yeah? Right.

He hangs up the phone. He looks at the picture in his hands --

then at the squalor around him -- then at Kay, again.

CUT TO:

EXT. HAYWARD'S CAR/HIGHWAY - DAY

Bernzy rides in the passenger seat of Hayward's sportster on

the Palisades Parkway. Hayward drinks from his flask.

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