U Turn

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EXT. SOMEWHERE IN THE DESERT SOUTHWEST - DAY

BEGIN TITLES OVER:

It is early morning and already hot. INSECTS drone, crackle,

and scurry for shade. PRAIRIE DOGS burrow to escape the sun.

We can see the heat shimmering off the surface of the Earth.

On a dusty highway, a pair of VULTURES dine on a dead coyote.

One of them snags an intestine and tugs a few feet of it out of

the carcass.

In the distance, where a long, dusty road meets the horizon, a

small shape appears -- a Sixty-four-and-a-half Mustang

convertible, its top down. Its candy-apple red burns like a

brilliant fireball under the sun. As the car drifts closer, we

see steam escaping from under the hood. Sammi Smith's "Please

Help Me Get Through The Night" plays on the car's radio.

INT. BOBBY COOPER'S MUSTANG - DAY

At the wheel, ignoring impending disaster, BOBBY COOPER, young,

good-looking, fiddles with the RADIO dial, annoyed only to find

country stations. He's been driving since noon yesterday and it

shows -- along with a heavily-bandaged left hand resting on the

steering wheel. He finds something by Pearl Jam or Smashing

Pumpkins and he cranks it. He pops a Percodan with his good hand

as, in the shimmering distance ahead, he sees black shapes in

the road and lays on the horn.

BOBBY:

Get off the goddamn road!

EXT. DESERT ROAD - DAY

As the MUSTANG powers by, the VULTURES move off the shoulder,

silently watching.

INT. MUSTANG - DAY

The RADIO blares as BOBBY fights to stay awake. His attention is

caught by blue and red lights flashing in the oncoming lane. He

sits up as the POLICE CAR (SHERIFF POTTER inside) closes

quickly. The SIREN starts faintly, then SCREAMS as the cruiser

roars past at speed.

BOBBY:

F*** you!

There is a loud pop from the front of the Mustang and a thick

cloud of steam now pours from the hood. The temperature gauge

now starts rising.

BOBBY:

No!...Not now!...Sh*t!

A couple of SEMIS roar past in the opposite direction,

buffetting the Mustang with their air waves.

EXT. FORK IN THE ROAD - DAY

The car rolls into a fork in the road, limping with the droop of

an animal that won't make another hundred yards.

One sign on the larger road says "GLOBE" is 29 miles away. The

other sign, on the lesser road, tells us "SUPERIOR" is only 2

miles. A third sign confirms his destiny with "Gas, Food, 1

Mile."

BOBBY seems to have no choice. He aims the car down the lesser

road towards "Superior, Arizona."

EXT. OUTSKIRTS SUPERIOR - DAY

The car rattles on its last legs, as BOBBY mutters incantations,

noticing a old, ghostlike MINING COMPANY at the base of the

mountains overlooking the TOWN. It's deserted now, no one

visible, the gates shut, but in its vast, dark bulk, we sense

the ancient richness and power of this town. Bobby moves on.

EXT. HARLIN'S GARAGE - DAY

Down the road from the MINING COMPANY, BOBBY'S CAR pulls into a

small GAS STATION, made of weather-beaten wood, its windows long

since dusted over. The pumps themselves look to have been

manufactured in the early fifties. Above the station is a sign

so faded it's barely readable: HARLIN'S.

Bobby gets out of the car and with great care, favoring his

bandaged left hand which seems to give him a great deal of pain,

he opens the hood. A plume of steam hits him in the face.

BOBBY:

Oh sh*t!

Bobby looks around for someone, anyone. After a few moments he

reaches into the car and blows the horn. He waits, then blows

it again. From out of the station walks DARRELL - a

slow-looking man in coveralls caked with grease and dirty. He

looks the part of a yokel.

BOBBY:

You Harlin?

DARRELL:

Nope. Darrell.

BOBBY:

Harlin around?

DARRELL:

He's up at the Look Out.

Darrell points a scraggly finger at a plateau in the distance.

BOBBY:

Will he be back soon?

DARRELL:

Doubt it. He's dead. The Look Out's a

cemetery.

BOBBY:

You own this place?

DARRELL:

Yep.

BOBBY:

Then why do you call it Harlin's?

DARRELL:

'Cause Harlin used to own it.

BOBBY:

But he's dead.

DARRELL:

So?

Bobby is confused, but chooses to drop the matter.

BOBBY:

You want to take a look at my car? I think

the radiator hose is--

DARRELL:

Damn. Gonna be another hot one today.

Sometimes I don't even want to get out of

bed. Course don't want to get out for the

cold one's neither. Then of course the

clouds come in...

Darrell mops his brow with a greasy rag. It doesn't so much

wipe the sweat as it does streak his forehead with dirt.

BOBBY:

Look, Harlin, I've got places to be.

DARRELL:

Darrell--

BOBBY:

OK. Darrell... Could you just take a look

at my radiator hose. It's busted.

Darrell is clearly upset at being cut off. He leans into the

car and looks at the engine.

BOBBY:

So?

DARRELL:

It's your radiator hose. It's busted.

BOBBY:

I know it's busted. What did I just tell

you?

DARRELL:

Well, you know so much why don't you just

fix it yourself?

BOBBY:

If I could do you think I'd be standing

here wasting my time. Can you fix it, or

do I have to go somewhere else?

DARRELL:

Somewhere else? Mister, somewhere else is

fifty miles from here. Only other gas

station down in town closed 3 years ago

when the mine got shut...

BOBBY:

Okay, I'm stuck. You happy? Now can you

fix it, or not?

DARRELL:

Yeah, I can fix it.

BOBBY:

Great!

DARRELL:

Gotta run over to the yard and see if I can

find a hose like this one, or close enough.

Gonna take time.

BOBBY:

How much time?

DARRELL:

Time.

BOBBY (rewinds his watch)

What time is it now?

DARRELL:

Twenty-after-ten.

BOBBY:

Jesus. Twenty-after-ten and it must be

ninety already.

DARRELL:

Ninety-two. Course half hour from now

might be seventy-two. These clouds move

around a lot.

Bobby wipes the bandaged hand across his forehead.

DARRELL:

What happened to your hand?

Self-consciously Bobby quickly drops his hand to his side.

BOBBY:

Accident.

DARRELL:

You got to be more careful. Hands is

important. Let me show you something. When

I was a kid, now I don't know if you can

still see it, but I gashed my fingers in a

lawnmower.

BOBBY:

I'm very interested in this but is there

someplace...

DARRELL:

Diner up a piece. Not much, but us simple

folk like it.

BOBBY:

I'll be back in a couple of hours. And be

careful with her, will you?

Darrell slams down the hood.

DARRELL:

Just a car.

Bobby reaches into the car, pulls out a small ugly gym bag which

he slings onto his shoulder and moves to the trunk, pops it open.

BOBBY:

It's not just a car. It's a sixty-four and

half Mustang convertible. That's the

difference between you and me, and why you

live here and I'm just passing through.

The trunk lid rises in the air, partially blocking Bobby from

Darrell, acting as a partition between them.

BOBBY:

Now do you mind? I got to get some stuff

out of the trunk.

He throws the car key to Darrell who takes the hint, spits

grotesquely into the dirt, scratches his nuts, and walks back

to the shack.

Concealed by the trunk lid, Bobby pulls out a GUN (a .9mm black

Baretta), wrapped in a t-shirt, from the top of the bag. Perhaps

we see a flash of green money, lots of it. Sports pages and

betting sheets are piled inside. With a look around, Bobby takes

the gun and stashes it underneath the rubber mat in the trunk.

Briefly we notice a towing ROPE under the mat. There is a small

travel bag, from which he peels a fresh bottle of Percodan,

quickly taking two, as well as the sports page.

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