True Romance Page #20

Clarence and the Customer laugh.

INT. HOLLYWOOD HOLIDAY INN - CLARENCE'S ROOM - DAY

Alabama's pretty beat up. She has a fat lip and her face is black and blue. She's crawling around on the floor. Virgil is tearing the place apart looking for the cocaine. He's also carrying on a running commentary.

VIRGIL:

Now the first guy you kill is always the hardest. I don't care if you're

the Boston Strangler or Wyatt Earp. You can bet that Texas boy, Charles

Whitman, the fella who shot all them guys from that tower, I'll bet you

green money that that first little black dot that he took a bead on, was

the b*tch of the bunch. No foolin' the first one's a tough row to hoe. Now,

the second one, while it ain't no Mardi Gras, it ain't half as tough row to

hoe. You still feel somethin' but it's just so deluted this time around.

Then you completely level off on the third one. The third one's easy. It's

gotten to the point now I'll do it just to watch their expressions change.

He's tearing the motel room up in general. Then he flips the matress up off the bed, and the black suitcase is right there.

Alabama's crawling, unnoticed to where her purse is lying. Virgil flips open the black case and almost goes snow blind.

VIRGIL:

Well, well, well, looky here. I guess I just reached journey's end. Great.

One less thing I gotta worry about.

Virgil closes the case. Alabama sifts through her purse.

She pulls out her Swiss army knife, opens it up. Virgil turns toward her.

VIRGIL:

OK, Sugarpop, we've come to what I like to call the moment of truth -

Alabama slowly rises clutching the thrust-out knife in both hands. Mr. Karate-man smiles.

VIRGIL:

Kid, you got a lotta heart.

He moves toward her.

Alabama's hands are shaking.

VIRGIL:

Tell you what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna give you a free swing. Now, I only do

that for people I like.

He moves close.

Alabama's eyes study him. He grabs the front of his shirt and rips it open. Buttons fly everywhere.

VIRGIL:

Go ahead, girl, take a stab at it.

(giggling)

You don't have anything to lose.

CLOSEUP - Alabama's face. Virgil's right, she doesn't have anything to lose. Virgil's also right about his being the moment of truth. The ferocity in women that comes out at certain times, and is just here under the surface in many women all of the time, is unleashed. The absolute feeling of helplessness she felt only a moment ago has taken a one hundred and eighty degree turn into "I'll take this motherf***er with me if it's the last thing I do" seething hatred.

Letting out a bloodcurling yell, she raises the knfe high above her head, then drops to her knees and plunges it deep into Virgil's right foot.

CLOSEUP - VIRGIL'S FACE

Talk about bloodcurling yells.

Virgil bends down and carefully pulls the knife from his foot, tears running down his face.

While Virgil's bent down, Alabama smashes an Elvis Presley whiskey decanter that Clarence bought her in Oklahoma over his head. It's only made of plaster, so it doesn't kill him.

Virgil's moving toward Alabama, limping on his bad foot.

VIRGIL:

OK, no more Mr. Nice-guy.

Alabama picks up the hotel TV and tosses it to him. He instinctively catches it and, with his arms full of television, Alabama cold-c*cks him with her fist in the nose, breaking it.

Her eyes go straight to the door, then to the sawed-off shotgun by it. She runs to it, bends over the chair for the gun. Virgil's left foot kicks her in the back, sending her flying over the chair and smashing into the door.

Virgil furiously throws the chair out of the way and stands over Alabama. Alabama's lying on the ground laughing. Virgil has killed a lot of people, but not one of them has ever laughed before he did it.

VIRGIL:

What's so f***in' funny?!!

ALABAMA:

(laughing)

You look so ridiculous.

She laughs louder. Virgil's insane. He picks her off the floor, then lifts her off the ground and throws her through the glass shower door in the bathroom.

VIRGIL:

Laugh it up, c*nt. You were in hysterics a minute ago. Why ain't you

laughing now?

Alabama, lying in the bathtub, grabs a small bottle of hotel shampoo and squeezes it out in her hand.

Virgil reaches in the shower and grabs hold of her hair.

Alabama rubs the shampoo in his face. He lets go of her and his hands go to his eyes.

VIRGIL:

Oh Jesus!

She grabs hold of a hefty piece of broken glass and plunges it into his face.

VIRGIL:

Oh Mary, help me!

The battered and bruised and bloody Alabama emerges from the shower. She's clutching a big, bloody piece of broken glass. She's vaguely reminiscent of a Tasmanian devil. Poor Virgil can't see very well, but he sees her figure coming toward him. He lets out a wild haymaker that catches her in the jaw and knocks her into the toilet.

He recovers almost immediately and takes the porcelain lid off the back of the toilet tank.

Virgil whips out a .45 automatic from his shoulder holster, just as Alabama brings the lid down on his head. He's pressed up against the wall with this toilet lid hitting him. He can't get a good shot in this tight environment, but he fires anyway, hitting the floor, the all, the toilet, and the sink.

The toilet lid finally shatters against Virgil's head. He falls to the ground.

Alabama goes to the medicine cabinet and whips out a big can of Final Net hairspray. She pulls a Bic lighter out of her pocket, and, just as Virgil raises his gun at her, she flicks the Bic and sends a stream of hairspray through the flame, which results in a big ball of fire that hits Virgil right in the face.

He fires off two shots. One hits the wall, another hits the sink pipe, sending water spraying.

Upon getting his face fried Virgil screams and jumps up, knocking Alabama down, and runs out of the bathroom.

Virgil collapses on the floor of the living room. Then, he sees the sawed-off laying on the ground. He crawls toward it.

Alabama, in the bathroom, sees where he's heading. She picks up the .45 automatic and fires at him. It's empty. She's on her feet and into the room.

He reaches the shotgun, his hands grasp it.

Alabama spots and picks up the bloody Swiss army knife. She takes a knife-first-running-dive at Virgil's back. She hits him.

He arches up, firing the sawed-off into the ceiling, dropping the gun, and sending a cloud of plaster and stucco all over the room.

Rate this script:3.8 / 5 votes