Thunderheart Page #17

OUTSIDE THE ARBOR

the agents stand. Cooch is writing into a small notebook.

SHERMAN:

Magedelana Eagle Bear. Eagle's claws

and a bear's balls.

MILES:

She keeps an AR-15 assault rifle in

her truck. And she'll use it.

As Ray watches her, someone approaches in a less hostile

manner. It is President Clear Moon, looking very upset. He

holds the hand of a LITTLE GIRL, dressed in traditional

dancing garb.

He approaches Ray.

RAY:

Mr. Clear Moon.

CLEAR MOON:

Our police are afraid of them. Please

get them out of here.

Clear Moon gestures for the little girl to run off. He leans

in close to Ray.

CLEAR MOON:

They're going to kill me next. That's

what I hear. These new Indians are

destroying everything. Our people

are a quiet people.

RAY:

They can lead us to Jimmy. Just let

them go. We're tightening the net on

him. We know he's on the reservation.

Clear Moon is looking past Ray at the Warriors. They are

approaching the agents, and Clear Moon looks at Ray with

great concern.

CLEAR MOON:

Help us.

And he slowly retreats to his lawn chair under the arbor.

Chasing Hawk, Maggie and the other Warriors strut up to the

agents. All but one who is bound to a wheelchair. We've seen

RICHARD YELLOW BIRD, the big Cheyenne who wears a Red Power

baseball cap, an earring, and thick bifocals -- in one of

the file photos. His arms are plastered with tattoos.

AGENT SHERMAN:

Where's Jimmy? We thought he'd be

dancing today.

The warriors make a show of not acknowledging the FBI

presence. They have walked over here just to walk by them.

That is there statement. But Yellow Bird stops cranking the

wheels of his chair and stop: long enough to look up at Ray.

YELLOW BIRD:

Are you the Washington Redskin?

Even the agents crack grins at this bit of Indian wit. All

but Ray who just stands there, arms folded across his chest,

considering the crippled activist.

AGENT MILES:

Say hello to Richard Yellow Bird,

Ray.

Yellow Bird sits there, staring up at him through thick

glasses But then Maggie Eagle Bear takes the handles of Yellow

Bird's wheel chair. She looks at Ray with eyes that are choke-

cherry black, eyes that look right through him. He returns

the glare. And then she pushes Yellowbird forward and leaves

the feds alone.

Ray turns to Cooch who is lighting a cigarette, and

concentrating on the movements of this group as they wander

under the arbor, visiting people. LAKOTA SINGERS start up.

COOCH:

Ray, get to Jimmy's place and keep

it tight. I'm gonna get a tail on

his Warriors.

IN THE POWWOW CENTER

the under ten year-old "fancy dance" -- TWENTY-FIVE INDIAN

CHILDREN, whirling and stomping and dancing.

JIMMY LOOKS TWICE HOUSE - NIGHT

The battered old house sits under a full moon. The upside

down flag moves slightly in the cross winds.

ACROSS THE ROAD:

several junked cars. Among them a black, rusted out VW van

with a smashed windshield. A PACK OF RES DOGS sniff at its

tires.

INT. JIMMY'S VAN

In the dim light, a boot. A black cowboy boot. Up on the

dash. Bluejeans. T-shirt. Second hand leather. And a black

cowboy hat. Ray is staking out Jimmy's house.

Across the passenger seat and console is an M-16 rifle. On

his belt, a .357 Red Hawk. He yawns. From outside, he hears

a sound.

POV:
down below the van, a small, patchy RES DOG with a

missing leg is looking up at him with his tongue long and

salivating.

RAY breaks off a piece of sandwich and drops it down to him

just as -- HEADLIGHTS catch his face. He slides down low,

watching an old pick-up truck creak onto the dirt road,

leading to Jimmy's.

POV:
the truck parks. Someone jumps out, gracefully. Indian.

Long braid. Quick steps. Front door. Inside.

RAY lifts his radio.

RAY:

X22. Read.

RADIO:

Go ahead, Ray.

RAY:

I have a pick-up truck. No plates.

Subject -- Indian -- entering

suspect's house. Over.

RADIO:

Okay, Ray. I'm coming in. If he starts

to leave the area, move in. And hold

him. Over.

Ray sets his radio down, unclips the leather guard on his

handgun. Picks up the Big Mac.

EXT. LOOKS TWICE HOUSE - NIGHT

The front door creaks open, and the subject dashes back out.

In the dark we cannot latch onto features.

Suddenly the junker van comes alive, guns onto the dirt road,

racing toward the running Indian who gets the door of the

truck open but freezes in the van's highbeams as --

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