twenty-two.

FADE IN.

Exterior, house of Miller. Day.

Wide angle of yard. Long shadows stretch across a gravel driveway. Two white men, fat and thin, struggle under the weight of a large, black metal case. The thin man is Jeremy, 22, recently employed as a doorman at the King James Hotel in downtown San Francisco. Jeremy is an aspiring filmmaker born in Mississippi. He has lived in San Francisco for seven years, surviving alternately as a bike messenger, meth dealer, male prostitute and busboy. The fat man is Huck, 29, originally from Los Angeles. Huck is a guitar player who supplements his income by running lights and sound for small-budget films, primarily in pornography.

Huck- Get your end up. Get the whore up.

Jeremy- Fuck you. I’ve got my end.

Huck- Just hang on to it. I’d hate to lose a toe.

Jeremy- Take it easy. This is the last one.

The roar of a motorcycle as a rider in black helmet comes down the hill, too fast. The bike spins out of control and the rider lays it down on its side. The rider yanks off his helmet and tosses it to the ground, where it twirls for a moment before coming to rest. The rider is Phineas Poe, white male, 39. Disgraced and severely disturbed ex-cop, with a history of drug and alcohol problems. He is prone to petit mal seizures accompanied by apocalyptic visions. He wears a brown leather coat, jeans, and black shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He approaches Jeremy and Huck, his face pale with anger. He stops just short of Jeremy and puts one hand on the metal case.

Poe- What the hell is going on, Jeremy?

Jeremy- You need to talk to your girl. She’s in charge.

Poe- Were you with her when she grabbed that kid?

Jeremy- I don’t know anything about the kid. He was in the truck when she picked me up.

Huck- Hey, man. This box is heavy. You mind getting the fuck out the way.

Poe- The box is heavy?

Poe shoves Jeremy and the box falls to the ground, spilling open.

Huck- Motherfucker. That is some expensive gear in there.

Poe- Do you think I give a shit?

Huck- Jeremy, who is this asshole?

Poe- I’m Joe Blow. Who the fuck are you?

Huck- The name is Huck. I’m running sound and lights on this picture.

Poe- I hope somebody is paying you well.

Huck- None of your business but yeah, they are.

Poe- You’re an accomplice to kidnapping already.

Jeremy- Listen, brother. We’re on the clock, okay. Why don’t you let us do our job and you can take this up with Jude directly.

Poe turns his head to the right and looks directly at the camera. Now he glances back at Jeremy.

Poe- If you call me brother again, I will eat your fucking heart.

Huck- Oh, man. This is gonna be fun.

Poe approaches the camera. In the background, Jeremy and Huck can be seen picking up the box and carrying it to the house. Poe comes closer now and his face fills the frame.

Poe- What’s your name? Daphne or Veronica.

He puts his hand over the lens. Dark, with slivers of light. The sound of breathing.

Poe- Put it down. Put the fucking camera down.

Daphne- Miller wants everything on tape. Everything.

Poe knocks the camera to the ground and there is a prolonged, blurry shot of dust and green leaves.

Poe- What is your name?

Daphne- My real name is Jennifer. But you can call me Daphne.

Poe- What about the other night?

Daphne- That was like…an audition.

Poe- Jesus…

The crunch of gravel as Poe walks away. The camera is picked up and now there is a shot of his back as he approaches the house. The camera follows him inside.

Interior, the house of Miller. Day.

The living room. The camera swings around Poe as he enters, then slowly pans room. The room is bright with sunlight. High ceilings and massive windows. The window frames splinter the room with shadows in the shape of crosses. The décor is gloomy, futuristic. Bright blue sofa, kidney shaped. Metallic chairs without arms. A chrome loveseat and a coffee table of bubbled volcanic glass. There are a number of kitchen appliances scattered about, broken or taken apart. There is a puddle of red paint on the hardwood floor beneath a bay window. The small, uneven footprints of a child lead away from the puddle and stop near the center of the room, where a number of broken toys lie.

John Ransom Miller reclines on the sofa. White male, 42, dead or sleeping. He wears white linen pants and a straw hat and nothing else. Miller is a homicidal Zen Buddhist with a degree in criminal law, originally from Florida.

Enter Molly Jones. White female, 27. Miller’s girlfriend. She came to California from Tennessee six years ago, hoping to become an actress, and is currently a student at Berkeley studying theater. Molly is epileptic. She wears a white cotton sundress and brown cowboy boots. Her blond hair is pulled into a ponytail. She glances at Poe, who stands in the doorway, then averts her eyes. Molly sits down on the edge of the coffee table before Miller.

Zoom slow on Poe. He scratches his head, scowls at the camera.

Poe- What’s happening, Molly?

Molly- Phineas…you’re here. Thank god.

Poe- What?

Molly- It’s begun.

Poe- I can see that. Where the hell is Jude?

Enter Jude, white female, 35. Last name and place of birth unknown. Estranged girlfriend of Phineas Poe. Jude is a professional killer, formerly of the Army’s special forces, who honed her skills with an Israeli death squad. She has a long white scar on the left side of her face. Black hair, unkempt. Jude wears red velvet jeans and a white tank top, black motorcycle boots and no jewelry. She crosses the room and sits down on the sofa beside Miller.

Poe- What’s going on, Jude?

Jude- I just heard the funniest joke. I almost died.

Poe- You brought a kid in here, just now. I saw you.

Jude- Are you sure about that?

Molly- There’s a kid in the house?

Poe- A little boy.

Molly- I don’t understand. Where did he come from?

Poe- They snatched him, apparently.

Molly- They?

Poe- My girlfriend, there. And your husband.

Molly- He’s not my husband.

Poe- Whatever. Hey, Miller. Wake up.

Jude- Do you want to hear it?

Poe- What?

Jude- The joke.

Poe- (glaring at Miller) What the hell is wrong with him?

Molly- I know. He looks dead.

Jude- He’s depressed, maybe. He’s afraid you don’t like him.

Poe- I don’t. I don’t like him.

Molly- He looks dead.

Poe- Are you high?

Jude- He’s not dead.

Molly- But he’s not breathing.

Jude- It’s a Buddhist thing.

Poe- That would explain the funny hat.

Jude- Anyway, the joke concerns Billy the Kid…

Poe- Enough of this shit. Where is the boy?

Jude- Do you want to hear this joke, or not?

Poe- Please. Tell us a fucking joke.

Jude- Billy the Kid was in a shootout with his pal Charlie. Billy shot Charlie in the throat, but didn’t kill him. Charlie fell in the dirt and started rolling around like he was drowning in yellow dust. He was taking forever to die. While he was thrashing, a chicken waddled over to Charlie where he lay and grabbed hold of this exposed vein in his neck, grabbed it up in his beak and just yanked it out like a purple rope, then tugged and tugged until it was like ten feet long. And what do you think Charlie said?

Molly- I don’t…I don’t know.

Jude- Get away from me yer stupid chicken.

Molly- That’s not a joke.

Jude- No. It’s kind of a poem, by Michael Ondaatje. He wrote the English Patient.

Poe and Molly exchange glances.

Jude- Come on. You can’t tell me that’s not funny.

Molly- I hated that movie.

Jude- Don’t even think of fucking with me, honey.

Molly- Yeah, well. I just kept wishing the English guy would die, already.