Very Bad Things Page #11

BOYD:

(calm)

Bury her out in the desert.

ADAM:

(sarcastic)

Sure, why not.

MOORE:

He's right.

BOYD:

We can take her out to Red Rock.

Find some quiet place... and put her

in the ground.

ADAM:

You don't just casually walk out of

a Vegas Casino with a dead woman.

BOYD:

We can do this. We can get her out

of here.

ADAM:

Have you completely lost your mind?

So you get her out of here. So you

get her out into the desert somehow,

without anybody seeing, so what, you

don't think at some point somebody

might notice that she's gone?

BOYD:

Nobody knows she's here. I called

her personally. Nobody knows.

FISHER:

Oh for Christsake Boyd. Somebody

must know she's here.

BOYD:

Nobody knows.

PAUSE, as the guys digest this point.

ADAM:

Her blood is all over the bathroom.

I'd say that's a bit of a DNA problem.

BOYD:

It's a marble floor, we can clean it

up.

FISHER:

Oh God. This is insane.

BOYD:

What's insane is the fact that Michael

here put a f***ing girl's head through

a toilet. That's insane.

MOORE:

They'll get us on accessory to murder.

ADAM:

Bullshit it's not accessory. I didn't

do sh*t. You call the cops, you

explain it was an accident...

BOYD:

Her f***ing head was caved in.

ADAM:

So! I didn't f***ing do it!

BOYD:

She's got bondage burns on her wrists.

There's blow all over the room, Moore

looks like he went at it with a

mountain lion. This room looks like

the Manson Family stayed here a month.

Michael goes down, we all go down.

MOORE:

I'm not going to ruin my life over a

dead whore.

ADAM:

That's a horrible ugly comment. "Dead

whore?" She's a person!

FISHER:

(falling away)

I'm getting married...

MICHAEL:

I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry...

ADAM:

I've got a wife and two boys.

Fisher shuffles to a corner, collapses, head in hands.

SILENCE.

BOYD:

(unflappably calm)

Lets take a vote. A simple vote. Two

choices; we clean up the mess. Right

now. Bury it in the desert, go home,

and never look back. Or, we can call

the police... Open those doors, roll

the dice and hope that it's only

Michael who falls. Let's take a vote.

Desert... or police?

BOYD looks around. BEAT. Raises his hand.

BOYD:

Desert.

He looks at MOORE.

MOORE:

(beat)

F***ing desert.

MICHAEL:

MICHAEL:

(to Fisher)

Fish, I'm really sorry. I just... I

owe you man.

(puts up his hand)

Desert.

All eyes on FISHER, no response.

BOYD:

Nobody knows she's here.

FISHER:

Good God... Good God...

All eyes on ADAM. He takes a while... Finally,

ADAM:

How do we get her out of here?

A reasonable question. Boyd thinks. BEAT.

BOYD:

Wrap her up in blankets. Bring the

car around to the back of the hotel,

throw her off the balcony, put her

in the car... Done.

ADAM:

(beat)

You don't think someone will have a

problem with a body being thrown off

a balcony?

BOYD:

We check out the area and wait for a

time when it's clear.

ADAM:

What about the blood?

BOYD:

Someone goes to Walmart, gets some

buckets, brushes, mops, Spic and

Span, the works.

ADAM:

Have you ever done this before?

BOYD:

The reality is, you take away the

horror of this situation, take away

the tragedy of the death, take away

the moral and ethical implications

of all the crap you have had

conditioned, beaten, into your head

since grade one. What are we left

with? What? A 115 lb. problem. 115

lbs. that must be moved from point A

to point B. Now, a straight line in

the shortest distance but we are

denied the luxury of a visible

straight line. But that line exists

and I see it. I see that line. Trust

me. Adam. Trust me... I can take

care of this.

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