Very Bad Things Page #30

FISHER:

What?

LIZ:

If you don't tie up all the lose

ends it'll never be over.

FISHER:

(horrified)

No...

LIZ:

You put him down or don't bother

coming back.

FISHER:

But...

LIZ:

Do you love me? DO YOU LOVE ME?!

OFF Fisher...

EXT. HIGHWAY - NIGHT

Fisher's car blasts past a road sign reading, "Las Vegas,

358 miles."

INT. FISHER'S CAR

Fisher drives, Moore's in the passenger seat. They're still

in their tuxedos. Extreme silence. Fisher, almost in a trance.

MOORE:

You alright?

FISHER:

Yeah. I'm thinking about Michael's

Franco Harris fixation. You know how

Michael was always harping "Immaculate

Reception?" I've seen that play. A

lot of times... and I have to say

this... Franco was lucky. Flat out,

right place, right time. That's it.

He was where the ball bounced. You

get me?

MOORE:

I guess.

FISHER:

I'm saying it's luck. All luck. You

work your entire life, all the

training, focus, all the dedication,

all irrelevant. Where does the ball

bounce? My father spent his whole

life trying to start a company,

practiced every day, worked like a

dog, finally got enough money. He's

paid the dues, he's ready, does all

the market research, picks his shot --

"Pup Corn."

MOORE:

Pup corn?

FISHER:

That's right, "Pup Corn." Doggie

treats. Little snacks for dogs. He's

figured it out. There is a hole in

the market and he's going to fill

it. Spends all out money, works

himself into not two but three heart

attacks getting this sh*t up. After

fifteen months, the big day arrives,

the first box of "Pup Corn" pops off

the belt. He comes running home with

that box, pulls us out of school. We

all pile into the living room, must

be fifty of us, and in comes

"Shelmer," our 8 year old mutt. "Here

Shelmer," my dad cries. He's got

that little f***ing pup corn in his

hand, "Here girl." This dog will eat

anything, she eats rocks, anything.

She walk's up to my dad's hand, looks

down at the little pellet, licks it

once, turns around, walks out of the

room. Shelmer rejected the "Pup Corn."

Fifteen months of my dad's life,

right there. Not one dog ate Pup

Corn. Not one. Three months later,

"Pup Corn" shuts down. Chapter Eleven.

My father never got over it. Never.

SILENCE hangs again.

EXT. DESERT - LATER

Fisher and Moore search for the graves of Tina and Ralph

with flashlights and shovels.

FISHER:

I think it was over here.

They move into a new area and start poking around. Nothing.

MOORE:

It was over by those rocks.

Again they search, prodding into earth with their shovels.

Nothing.

Fisher stops digging, tired, he pauses, shines his light

around until...

FISHER:

There.

MOORE:

Where?

Fisher moves to a new spot.

FISHER:

There. This rock is where I stood

when I said the prayer.

He starts digging in front of the rock. The earth is soft.

FISHER:

Bingo.

Moore and Fisher quickly start to dig, until, finally, Moore's

shovel makes contact.

MOORE:

Got it.

And they dig some more.

DISSOLVE:

MOORE:

in the hole, passing the suitcases up to Fisher.

DISSOLVE:

FISHER:

loads the cases into the car.

EXT. NEW BURIAL SITE

The suitcases are unloaded. Fisher and Moore dig a new grave.

Moore's back is to Fisher as he digs.

MOORE:

I've been thinking about what you

said that day. The prayer. About

using this whole mess to bring out

the good in me...

Fisher is directly above Moore, holding the shovel, looking

down at the back of Moore's head.

FISHER:

Yeah?

MOORE:

I think there's a lot of truth in

that. I'm gonna pursue some options.

I want to join that Big Brother thing.

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