True Romance Page #13

CLARENCE:

Yeah.

ELVIS:

You wanna get unhaunted?

CLARENCE:

Yeah.

ELVIS:

Then shoot 'em. Shoot 'em in the face. And feed that boy to the dogs.

CLARENCE:

I can't believe what you're tellin' me.

ELVIS:

I ain't tellin' ya nothin'. I'm just sayin' what I'd do.

CLARENCE:

You'd really do that?

ELVIS:

He don't got no right to live.

CLARENCE:

Look, Elvis, he is hauntin' me. He doesn't deserve to live. And I do want

to kill him. But I don't wanna go to jail for the rest of my life.

ELVIS:

I don't blame you.

CLARENCE:

If I thought I could get away with it -

ELVIS:

Killin' 'em's the hard part. Gettin' away with it's the easy part. Whaddaya

think the cops do when a pimp's killed? Burn the midnight oil tryin' to

find who done it? They couldn't give a flyin' f*** if all the pimps in the

whole wide world took two in the back of the f***in' head. If you don't get

caught at the scene with the smokin' gun in your hand, you got away with

it.

Clarence looks at Elvis.

ELVIS:

Clarence, I like ya. Always have, always will.

INT. CLARENCE'S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - NIGHT

CLOSEUP - A snub-nosed .38, which Clarence loads and sticks down his heavy athletic sock.

INT. CALRENCE'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Clarence returns.

CLARENCE:

Sweetheart, write down your former address.

ALABAMA:

What?

CLARENCE:

Write down Drexl's address.

ALABAMA:

Why?

CLARENCE:

So I can go over there and pick up your things.

ALABAMA:

(really scared)

No, Clarence. Just forget it, babe. I just wanna disappear from there.

He kneels down before her and holds her hand.

CLARENCE:

Look, sweetheart, he scares you. But I'm not scared of that motherf***er.

He can't touch you now. You're completely out of his reach. He poses

absolutely no threat to us. So, if he doesn't matter, which he doesn't, it

would be stupid to lose your things, now wouldn't it?

ALABAMA:

You don't know him -

CLARENCE:

You don't know me. Not when it comes to sh*t like this. I have to do this.

I need for you to know you can count on me to protect you. Now write down

the address.

TITLE CARD:
"CASS QUARTER, HEART OF DETROIT"

EXT. DOWNTOWN DETROIT STREET - NIGHT

It's pretty late at night. Clarence steps out of his red Mustang. He's right smack dab in the middle of a bad place to be in daytime. He checks the pulse on his neck; it's beating like a race horse. To pump himself up he does a quick Elvis Presley gyration.

CLARENCE:

(in Elvis voice)

Yeah... Yeah...

He makes a beeline for the front door of a large, dark apartment building.

INT. DARK BUILDING - NIGHT

He's inside. His heart's really racing now. He has the TV guide that Alabama wrote the address on in his hand. He climbs a flight of stairs and makes his way down a dark hallway to apartment 22, the residence of Drexl Spivey. Clarence knock on the door.

A Young Black Man, about twenty years old, answers the door. He has really big biceps and is wearing a black and white fishnet football jersey.

YOUNG BLACK MAN:

You want somethin'?

CLARENCE:

Drexl?

YOUNG BLACK MAN:

Naw, man, I'm Marty. Watcha want?

CLARENCE:

I gotta talk to Drexl.

MARTY:

Well, what the f*** you wanna tell him?

CLARENCE:

It's about Alabama.

A figure jumps in the doorway wearing a yellow Farah Fawcett T-shirt. It's our friend, Drexl Spivey.

DREXL:

Where the f*** is that b*tch?

CLARENCE:

She's with me.

DREXL:

Who the f*** are you?

CLARENCE:

I'm her husband.

DREXL:

Well. That makes us practically related. Bring your ass on in.

INT. DREXL'S LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

Drexl and Marty about-face and walk into the room, continuing a conversation they were having and leaving Clarence standing in the doorway. This is not the confrontation Clarence expected. He trails in behind Drexl and Marty.

DREXL:

(to Marty)

What was I sayin'?

MARTY:

Rock whores.

DREXL:

You ain't seen nothin' like these rock whores. They ass be young man. They

got that fine young p*ssy. B*tches want the rock they be a freak for you.

They give you hips, lips, and fingertips.

Drexl looks over his shoulder at Clarence.

DREXL:

(to Clarence)

You know what I'm talkin' about.

Drexl gestures to one of the three stoned Hookers lounging about the apartment.

DREXL:

(to Marty)

These b*tches over here ain't sh*t. You stomp them b*tches to death to get

the kind of p*ssy I'm talkin' about.

Drexl sits down at a couch with a card table in front of it, scattered with take-out boxes of Chinese food. A black exploitation movie is playing on TV.

DREXL:

Looky here, you want the b*tches to really fly high, make your rocks with

Cherry Seven-Up.

MARTY:

P*ssy love pink rocks.

This is not how Clarence expected to confront Drexl, but this is exactly what he expected Drexl to be like. He positions himself in front of the food table, demanding Drexl's attention.

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