The Rum Diary Page #8

I was taken aback.

Not because of who

was doing the talking,

because I finally

understood the connection

between children

scavenging for food

and shiny brass plates

on the front doors of banks.

Gotta go.

(KNOCKING ON DOOR)

Shh. Come in.

Come in.

SALA:
We gotta go.

Give me a minute.

I'll be waiting

for you downstairs.

Oh, how nice of you to drop in.

I was covering the carnival.

That's not what I heard.

I heard you were

in the moonlight

for Sanderson.

I was what?

Moonlighting for Sanderson.

Where's Segurra?

Mr. Segurra's

no longer with us.

I got a story for you.

Yeah, you may have noticed

that I'm somewhat busy.

This is real important,

involving Mr. Segurra

and Mr. Hal Sanderson.

I'm gonna tell you

how important it isn't.

I got 21 jobs on the line

and a newspaper going under.

Print this, and you'll sell it.

A planning scam.

Literally despoliation

of a paradise.

A thousand people

will be swept

into the sea like garbage.

You are weird, Kemp.

It's not what it's doing

to them, it's what

it's doing to you.

It's called journalism.

Oh, make me laugh.

I asked you

to tidy up the booze,

you couldn't even

sweep out a room.

Why do you think

you're working here?

'Cause you're everything

that's wrong

with a journalist.

And you're everything

that's wrong with

this insult of a newspaper.

Unanimously agreed.

Why don't you shut it, Moburg?

You are a waste of human sperm.

MOBURG:
Die a prolonged and

relentlessly agonizing death!

Enjoy her.

(WHISTLING)

Made you some tea.

You should try and sleep.

I stole your bed.

(CHUCKLES) It's okay.

I'm going to write.

I'm so sorry.

Don't be sorry.

You did me

the best favor

I ever had.

There is no dream, Chenault.

Just a piss puddle of greed,

spreading throughout the world.

KEMP:
I want

to make a promise to you,

the reader.

And I don't know

if I can

fulfill it tomorrow

or even the day after that.

But I put the bastards

of this world on notice.

That I do not have their

best interests at heart.

I will try and speak

for my reader.

That is my promise.

And it will be a voice

made of ink and rage.

Sit down.

I made you coffee.

Oh, thanks.

One for you and one for me.

Oh, man, I would

rather not start

the day with this.

What is it?

It's a writ.

Means we're going to court.

Lt means

they can arrest us,

should they so desire,

any damn minute they please.

We need to speak to a lawyer.

We don't even have a phone.

I know an old guy,

Spanish Advocate.

Kind of owes me one.

You should get dressed.

We'll go down there.

Water ran out.

I'm covered in soap.

F*** it.

See what I can do.

What's it for?

Uh... It's Hal.

He put up a bond for us

on this thing,

and now he's pulled it.

Here.

You know he's a crook, Paul.

And we get the writs.

(RECORDING OF ADOLF HITLER

SPEECH PLAYING)

What is it?

It's, er... Hitler.

(RECORD SCRATCHES)

It's over.

What is?

They shut us down.

DONOVAN:
He just

stood there

and lied to us.

He hasn't got the morality

of a clapped out cash register.

I hate to tell you this, guys,

but it was to avoid severance.

We all know what

it was for, Charlie.

What are we gonna do?

Nothing.

There's nothing we can do,

except report him

to the labor board,

which is the same thing

as doing nothing.

I disagree.

We gotta strike back

and nail this bastard

to his own front door.

DONOVAN:
And how,

pray, do we do that?

By printing the paper.

We got tons of stuff

on Lotterman.

Every happy maggot with

his hand in the till.

Lt may be

the last-ever issue,

but we go out

in a blaze of rage.

What are you

talking about?

lt costs $2,200 a shot.

We bring in the scabs.

They're picketing for money.

You're through

the looking glass.

We haven't even

got enough money

for drinks.

It's not worth the fight.

This has been coming down

the pike for a long time.

You got to know

it's over when it's over.

This lousy little

Caribbean rag

is nothing

but a wrapping for fish heads.

Plus, it's a lockout.

F*** the locks.

I say we just walk in.

Anybody with me?

Bob?

You know I'm with you.

SALA:
We didn't

pay the bill.

Where's Chenault?

(STRIKES MATCH)

She's gone to New York.

She left me $1 00.

I don't believe it.

She didn't have any money.

You should use it

to go with her.

Red-eye for 50 bucks.

No.

I'm not going anywhere.

By some means or

another, I'm gonna

put the paper out.

Print the bastard,

then we're gone.

Face the reality, Paul.

There's no job,

no money, no girl,

and a warrant out

for our arrest.

There's no contest.

Donovan's right,

it ain't worth

the fight.

I'm not Donovan!

And I'm not like the others.

I'm telling you

right now, next time

some greasy moron

starts bullshitting me,

I'm going after him.

All the way up

to the president

of the United States.

I just want to win one once.

(STRIKES MATCH) One sheet.

You ain't gonna

get far on $1 00.

MOBURG:
Some of the scabs

will do it for nothing.

We're gonna need

No, no, all you need

is two grand.

We're out of rum.

It's as if God,

in a fit of disgust,

has decided to wipe us all out.

(ROOSTER CROWS)

Yea, the cock crows thrice.

What about El Monstruo?

Bet the $1 00 on El Monstruo.

How do you know he lives here?

I saw him come out.

You better let me

do this on my own.

If he gets it,

we should bring it

to Papa Nebo.

Who's that?

My witch doctor.

She's a hermaphrodite.

MOBURG:
Stop here!

Stop here!

By day, she drives

a garbage truck.

By night,

she becomes Papa Nebo,

the hermaphroditic

oracle of the dead.

When permission

is granted

from Papa Samedi,

the keeper of the cemetery,

she'll visit,

and she'll dig up a corpse.

Certain organs of

the disgrounded stiffs

are indispensable

for use in ouangas.

(WOMAN BABBLING)

This is horses hit, isn't it?

She cured my prick.

(WOMAN MUTTERING)

(BEADS CLATTERING)

(BABBLING)

She wants to know

what you want.

We want her

to empower this fowl.

We want it blessed

and anything that tries

to fight it, dead.

(BABBLING)

Bring forth the fowl.

(CLUCKING)

(BABBLING)

(CHANTING)

(PAPA NEBO SPITTING)

(BABBLING LOUDLY)

(LAUGHS)

(BABBLES)

She says that no fowl on Earth

could challenge this

cockerel and survive.

Great.

How's she off for curses?

MOBURG:
Pretty good.

Let's have a curse

on Sanderson.

Make his dick fall off.

And that f***er

at the bank, Green.

Mr. Green.

(PAPA NEBO BABBLING)

(GAGGING)

Jesus!

MOBURG:
Curse active!

(CHICKEN CLUCKING)

(CROWD CHEERING)

(ANNOUNCER SPEAKING SPANISH

ON PA)

Okay, come on.

(CROWD WHISTLING)

(SQUAWKS)

(CROWD CHEERING)

(ANNOUNCER SPEAKING SPANISH)

(CHEERING)

One down, two to go.

Okay. I'm gonna

call Moburg.

Okay.

(LINE RINGING)

Come on. Come on.

He isn't there.

He has to be.

He isn't there.

(DISTANT PHONE RINGING)

(RINGING)

KEMP:
Where have you been?

Sorry.

I never heard the phone.

How's it going?

Winning, man.

We're winning.

Ls everyone there?

Ls everyone there?

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes