Thunderheart Page #12

COOCH:

One of the leaders of the Warriors

of All Red Nations. Militant

organization.

He hands an open file over to Ray.

CLOSE ON - FILE PHOTO: a raging fire and six long-haired,

fist-raising Indians, yelling at the camera.

COOCH (O.S.)

The progressive Indians don't like

them because they want everybody to

go back to the old Indian ways, and

the old way Indians don't like them

because they use violence to get

attention.

RAY SHUFFLES TO:

PHOTO 2 -- a big Indian in a wheel chair, holding a rifle.

He is shirtless under a vest and on his muscular right

shoulder there is a clearly defined tattoo of a circle with

an eagle feather through it.

PHOTO 3 -- a Close Up of the tattoo.

PHOTO 4 -- a propaganda flyer with the letters W.A.R.N. and

the same symbol -- perfect circle, pierced by a white eagle

feather.

RAY:

White eagle feather through the

circle. That's their symbol.

COOCH:

That's right.

Ray shuffles through more of the same with great interest.

RAY:

They obviously wanted it to be known

that they offed Leo. Some kind of

statement.

COOCH:

Jimmy Looks Twice put Leo's head

through a glass door of the tribal

offices three months ago. And

threatened him several times since.

President Clear Moon and the regional

FBI feel he made good on that threat.

Cooch takes a long, tight breath then turns around in his

seat, coming up with an M-16. Ray lifts one of his own. He

looks out the car window.

RAY:

I'd just like five minutes alone

with the motherf***er who hung that

flag upside down.

COOCH:

Easy, Cowboy. No vendettas on my

ship. Now:
remember what I told you

about Nam? Watch the grass, watch

the trees, watch the sh*t house, be

on your toes, and if we get committed,

don't hesitate to empty that sucker.

RAY:

Alright. Alright.

Cooch whacks a top clip into the M-16. Ray slams a clip in

his.

COOCH:

It's show time.

Car doors open in skillful silence.

LOOKS TWICE HOUSE - CLOSER - NIGHT

and Ray maneuver toward the house, rifles ready. Cooch gets

under the picture window, sneaks a look. Nothing. He follows

Ray around the side.

POV:

off in a backfield, lit by a hot fire, a small round hut

covered in patchwork quilts, canvas and buffalo hide. A

strange mist floats around it, and from inside, voices are

heard -- A DRUMMING AND CHANTING in LAKOTA. And EAGLE SOUNDS.

Dozens of shrill whistles. Are there birds inside this thing?

REVERSE - RAY

and Cooch, kneeling in the weeds, look dumbfounded. And more

than a little unnerved.

RAY:

(whispering)

What the hell is that?

NEAR THE INIPI LODGE

An INDIAN YOUTH DOOR TENDER with shoulder length hair falling

over a T-shirt, steps out of the dark and walks to the fire.

He prods it with a broken pitch fork.

He turns to get some more wood and walks right into an M-16,

trained chest level. Ray stares him down.

RAY:

On the ground.

The boy drops boot camp fast.

Cooch moves up on the sweat lodge, looking quizzically at

it, trying to figure out how to open it. He grabs a canvas

flap at the front and after a moment's hesitation and a look

at Ray, he tears the flap away.

A BLAST OF 200 DEGREE STEAM explodes forth and Cooch dances

back, throwing up his rifle.

VOICE (O.S.)

(inside lodge)

Mitakue Oyasin!

GRANDPA SAMUEL REACHES, a rail-thin Sioux elder, appears

through the steam like a vision. Bent in the tiny doorway,

he searches out the interruption.

Cooch aims the M-16 at the old man.

COOCH:

This is the FBI! Come on out of there

nice and slow. Let's move it! Hands

on your head!

Grandpa Reaches crawls out first, ignoring the "Hands on

your head" order from Cooch. His eyes move back and forth

between the two agents.

FIVE MORE INDIANS, from 16-45 come out, looking confused.

Cooch makes the towel-wrapped men spread out in a line. The

old man is speaking to the others in LAKOTA, and Ray steps

up to him, cuts him off.

RAY:

Hands on your head, Sir. Come on,

come on...

The archaic figure just looks through him. Starts to walk

away. Ray takes his thin arm. He locks eyes with the old

man. Slowly, he obeys, raising his hands and laying them on

his head.

From the lodge, the last man emerges. It's Crazy Horse reborn

out of the burning sage. JIMMY LOOKS TWICE is in his mid-

thirties -- big, well over two-hundred pounds. But lean. His

braids fall nearly to his hips. His face is handsome but at

the moment, twisted in a full-blood's scowl.

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