"THE MAN WHO WASN'T THERE" BY Ethan Coen & Joel Coen Black. ED (V.O.) Yeah, I worked in a barbershop. But I never considered myself a barber... We track back from a barber's pole. ED (V.O.) ...I stumbled into it--well, married into it more precisely... We track back from a shopkeeper's bell triggered by an opening door. The pull back and tilt down show the top of the head of a customer entering in slow motion. ED (V.O.) ...I wasn't my establishment. Like the fella says, I only work here... We track along a shelf backed by a mirror and holding pomade, aftershave, hair tonic, a whisk brush. ED (V.O.) ...The dump was 200 feet square, with five chairs, or stations as we call 'em, even though there were only two of us working... We track in on a big man in a barber's smock scissoring across a lock of hair that he pulls taut between two fingers of one hand. In slow motion, he laughs and chats. ED (V.O.) ...Frank Raffo, my brother-in-law, was the principal barber. And man, could he talk... Another man in a barber's smock is running electric clippers across a child's head. A cigarette between his lips. ED (V.O.) ...Now maybe if you're eleven or twelve years old, Frank's got an interesting point of view, but sometimes it got on my nerves. Not that I'd complain, mind you. Like I said, he was the principal barber. Frank's father August--they called him Guzzi--had worked the heads up in Santa Rosa for thirty-five years until his ticker stopped in the middle of a Junior Flat Top. He left the shop to Frankie free and clear. And that seemed to satisfy all of Frank's ambitions: cutting the hair and chewing the fat. Me, I don't talk much... He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and taps its ash into a tray. ED (V.O.) ...I just cut the hair... LATE IN THE DAY The barbershop is empty of customers. Late sun slants in through the front window. The two barbers--the narrator and his brother-in-law--sit in two of the barber chairs, idly reading magazines. FRANK Says here that the Russians exploded n A-bomb and there's not a damn thing we can do about it. ED Uh-huh. FRANK How d'ya like them apples? Beat. FRANK ...Ed? ED Huh? FRANK Russians exploded an A-bomb. ED Yeah. FRANK (shaking his head) Jesus... ED (V.O.) Now, being a barber is a lot like being a barman or a soda-jerk; there's not much to it once you've learned the basic moves. For the kids there's the Butch, or the Heinie... We cut to examples of the haircuts as they are ticked off: ED (V.O.) ...the Flat Top, the Ivy, the Crew, the Vanguard, the Junior Contour and, occasionally, the Executive Contour. Adults get variations on the same, along with the Duck Butt, the Timberline... Ed trims the fringe around a balding head. ED (V.O.) ...and something we call the Alpine Rope Toss. He snips one long lonely strand of hair and carefully drapes it across a bald pate. ED (V.O.) ...I lived in a little bungalow on Napa Street. The place was OK, I guess; it had an electric ice box, gas hearth, and a garbage grinder build into the sink. You might say I had it made. We float slowly toward a white bungalow on a quiet street as a black coupe pulls into the driveway. ED (V.O.) ...Oh yeah. There was one other thing... We track in through a bedroom door to discover a woman putting on a girdle. ED (V.O.) ...Doris kept the books at Nirdlinger's, a small department store on Main Street. Unlike me, Doris liked the work, accounting; she liked knowing where everything stood. And she got a ten per cent employee discount on whatever she wanted--nylon stockings... Close on her legs as she rolls up a stocking and clips it to the garter. ED (V.O.) ...make-up, and perfume... Close on an atomiser misting her bosom with Jungle Gardenia by Tuvache. ED (V.O.) ...She wore a lot of perfume. Doris in a flouncy dress is setting coasters on a coffee table. ED (V.O.) ...Doris's boss, Big Dave Brewster, was married to Ann Nirdlinger, the department store heiress. Tonight they were coming over for dinner--as Doris said, we were 'entertaining'... Ed sits on the living-room davenport in an uncomfortable suit, smoking. ED (V.O.) ...Me, I don't like entertaining. The doorbell rings. THE DOOR Ed opens it to reveal a large man in a suit and his demure, bird-like wife. DAVE How ya doin', Ed? ED OK. Take your coat, Ann? DINNER TABLE The two couples are in the middle of the meal. DAVE Japs had us pinned down in Buna for something like six weeks. Well, I gotta tell ya, I thought *we* had it tough, but, Jesus, we had supply. *They* were eating grubs, nuts, thistles. When we finally up and bust off the beach we found Arnie Bragg, kid missing on recon; the Japs had *eaten* the sonofabitch, if you'll pardon the, uh... And this was a scrawny, pimply kid too, nothin' to write home about. I mean, I never would've, ya know, so what do I say, honey? When I don't like dinner, what do I say? Ann smiles wanly. DAVE ...I say, Jesus, honey, Arnie Bragg-- *again*?! He roars with laughter. Ed gives an acknowledging smile. DAVE ...Arnie Bragg--*again*?! He dries his eyes with the corner of a napkin. DAVE ...Were you in the service, Ed? ED No, Dave, I wasn't. DORIS Ed was 4F on account of his fallen arches. DAVE Mm, that's tough. FRONT PORCH Ed is standing alone on the porch, watching the sun go down. Crickets chirp. From inside the house we hear laughter and clattering dishes. ED (V.O.) ...Yeah... I guess Doris liked all that he-man stuff. Sometimes I had the feeling that she and Big Dave were a lot closer than they let on... He turns and looks through the screen door into the house. Across the dim living room we can see a sliver of the brightly lit kitchen. Big Dave, wearing a frilly apron, stands at the counter drying dishes. His broad back heaves with laughter while Doris, just hidden by the wall, chats away, handing dishes across. ED (V.O.) ...The signs were all there plain enough--not that I was gonna prance about it, mind you. It's a free country. Footsteps approach the front porch. With the squeak of the screen door, Big Dave emerges. DAVE Holding down the porch area? Ed gives a half-grin of wry acknowledgement. Big Dave relaxes, forearms against the porch railing, gazing out at the front lawn. DAVE ...That's quite a wife you got there. ED Mm. DAVE She's a rare one. ED How's business, Dave? DAVE Couldn't be better. These're boom times in retailing. We're opening another store, Big Dave's Annex, there on Garson. This is strictly haberdashery--casual wear, pyjamas, ladies' foundations and undergarments. Matter of fact, I'm thinking of making Doris the comptroller. How're things at the, uh, the barbershop? ED All right, I guess. DAVE ...Fine. Fine. Well, you might want to drop by the Annex when we open, update your suit--'course, you're in the smock all day. He chuckles. DAVE ...Say, where do you get those things anyway? ED Specialty store down in Sacramento. DAVE Uh-huh. There is a silence. At length, gazing out at the lawn, Big Dave clears his throat. CHURCH ED (V.O.) Doris and I went to church once a week... We are tilting down a long stained-glass window depicting the resurrection of Christ. ED (V.O.) ...Usually Tuesday night... Faintly, we hear an amplified voice: CALLER I... seven... Ed sits at a long table, staring at the window, a lit cigarette in his mouth. CALLER ...Bee... Four... ED (V.O.) Doris wasn't big on divine worship... Doris is concentrating on the six cards spread in front of her. ED (V.O.) ...and I doubt if she believed in life everlasting; she'd most likely tell you that our reward is on this earth and bingo is probably the extent of it... Still focused on her cards, Doris mutters to Ed: DORIS Watch your card, honey. CALLER I... sixteen... Ed continues to gaze off at the window, smoke pluming from his cigarette. ED (V.O.) I wasn't crazy about the game, but, I don't know, it made her happy, and I found the setting peaceful. CALLER Gee... nine... Doris sucks in her breath. DORIS Jesus, bingo--BINGO! BARBERSHOP Sun slants in through the big window at the end of the day. Ed sweeps hair trimmings, looking intently down at the floor, a cigarette dangling from his lip. Frank sits on one of the vinyl waiting chairs, talking at Ed's back. FRANK ...so you tie your own flies, Ed. I mean, if you're really serious. You tie your own flies, you do a--I know it's matickless, I know, people say, hey, you can buy flies at the store-- but you can buy your fish at the store, Ed, you see what I'm saying? ED Uh-huh. FRANK The point is there's a certain art to the process. The point is not merely to provide, and let me point out, these fish are not as dumb as you might think. ED Uh-huh. FRANK Sportsmanship! That's my point. June fly, Ed? Mosquito? Which of these? Well, what fish do you seek? ED Yeah. FRANK Sure, go to the store. Go there, describe to the man where you will be fishing, and for what, and the weather conditions, sun, no sun, whatnot, and so forth, and then you might as well have the man go ahead and sell you the goddamn FISH, Ed... We see a black-suited figure approaching through the windows at the far end of the shop. He is almost blown out by the late-day sunlight hitting the window. FRANK ...My point is, this is a man who knows nothing no matter how much you tell him, so sell him the goddamn FISH, Ed. The bell over the front door tinkles, and the swarthy middle- aged man walks in. He is well dressed--perhaps a little too snazzily for this small town--and has a sporty pencil mustache. MAN OK, boys, which of you gets the privilege? FRANK We're just closing, friend. MAN Oh, happy days! I wish I was doing well enough to turn away business! More power to ya, brother! The public be damned! FRANK Hey, what's your problem, friend? This is a business establishment with posted hours-- Ed cuts in with a jerk of the head. ED I'll take care of him, go ahead, Frank. Have a seat, mister. Frank looks sourly at the stranger. FRANK ...You sure, Eddie? ED Yeah, yeah--go home. As Frank leaves: FRANK In your ear, mister. The stranger chuckles. STRANGER Oh, those fiery Mediterraneans. Say! Not so fast there, brother-- Ed has switched on the clippers, but the stranger waves him back; he lifts off a toupee. STRANGER ...Pretty good, huh? Fools even the experts. 100 percent human hair, handcrafted by Jacques of San Francisco, and I'd hate to have to tell you what I paid for it. ED Uh-huh. STRANGER Yes, it's a nice rug. I'm paying for it down on the installment plan... Ed starts to trim the stranger's fringe. STRANGER ...A lot of folks live with the pate exposed. They say the dames think it's sexy. But for my money it's just not good grooming--and grooming, my friend, is probably the most important thing in business--after personality, of course... He twists around to offer his hand. STRANGER ...Creighton Tolliver, pleased to know ya. ED Ed Crane. What brings you to Santa Rosa? CREIGHTON A goose, friend. I was chasing a wild goose. Ed, have you ever heard of venture capital? ED Uh-- CREIGHTON Well, it's the wildest goose there is. Risk money. Very speculative. Except, Ed, in certain situations, it's not, see? I thought I had a prospect here. Well, I make the haul up and this lousy so-and-so tells me his situation has changed--all his capital's gonna be tied up in expansion plans of his own. Thank you, mother! Pop goes another bubble! It's only the biggest business opportunity since Henry Ford and I can't seem to interest a soul! ED That right. CREIGHTON It's called dry cleaning. You heard me right, brother, 'dry cleaning'-- wash without water, no suds, no tumble, no stress on the clothes. It's all done with chemicals, friend, and your garments end up crisp and fresh. And here's the capper: no shrinkage. ED Huh. CREIGHTON That's right! Dry cleaning--remember the name. It's going to revolutionize the laundry industry, and those that get in early are gonna bear the fruit away. All I need is $10,000 to open my first store, then I use its cash flow to finance another, and so on-- leap frog, bootstrap myself a whole chain. Well, me and a partner. Cleanliness, friend. There's money in it. There's a future. There's room to grow... Say, that's looking pretty good. Let's see it with the hairpiece on... BATHROOM DOORWAY It is evening. Ed leans against the bathroom doorjamb contemplatively off, hands thrust into his pockets, a cigarette between his lips pluming smoke. ED (V.O.) Dry cleaning... The reverse show Doris soaking in the tub, reading a magazine. ED (V.O.) ...Was I crazy to be thinking about it? Was he a huckster, or opportunity, the real McCoy? Ed takes the cigarette from his mouth, exhales. ED (V.O.) ...My first instinct was, no, no, the whole idea was nuts. But maybe that was the instinct that kept me locked up in the barbershop, nose against the exit, afraid to try turning the knob. What if I could get the money? DORIS Honey? ED Mm. She lifts one leg and rests the heel on the rim of the tub. DORIS Shave my legs, will ya? Ed saunters over, perches on the tub and puts the cigarette back in his mouth to free his hands. He picks up a bar of soap and starts soaping the leg. He sets down the soap and picks up a safety razor. The razor takes long slow strokes along the lather, dark bits of hair flecking the white foam. ED (V.O.) ...It was clean. No water. Chemicals. He shakes the razor in the tub. Shavings float away across the soap-slicked water. DORIS (absently, as she reads) Gimme a drag. Ed pulls the cigarette from his mouth between two fingers, uses the two fingers to flip it over, and holds it for Doris as she sucks. He brings the cigarette, now marked with lipstick, back to his own mouth. She murmurs: DORIS ...Love ya, honey. A DOOR We hear a voice, muffled through the door, breaking into laughter. A hand enters to knock. VOICE Yeah, come in. The door swings open to show Creighton in his shirtsleeves sitting on the bed, talking on the phone. A tray of room- service dishes sits near him. He is bald; his hairpiece sits on the pillow next to him. CREIGHTON (into the phone) OK... yeah. I'll see you tomorrow. He hangs up, looks quizzically at Ed. CREIGHTON ...Oh, I thought you were the porter... Can I help you? Ed stands awkwardly by the door. ED ...I'm, uh, Ed. The stranger's look does not show recognition. ED ...Ed Crane. Remember? Today? CREIGHTON Sorry, friend, I, uh, you got me at a disadvantage. ED I'm, uh, I'm--the barber. CREIGHTON Jesus! The barber! I'll be a sonofagun. Why didn't you say so? 'Course--the barber. Ed nods, his smile faint and forced. CREIGHTON ...I didn't recognize you without the smock. Did I--damn--did I leave something at the shop? ED No. I might be interested in that, uh, business proposition-- Creighton, surprised, quickly picks up his hairpiece and arranges it on his head. CREIGHTON You got the dough?! ED I can get it, yeah. CREIGHTON Come in, come in, siddown over there. Coffee? ED No. I--tell me-- CREIGHTON Sure. ED What's involved, aside from putting up the money? What're you looking for the partner to do? CREIGHTON Do? Hell, nothing. Well, you'll want to keep tabs on your investment, of course, but I'm looking for a silent partner. I've done the research, I've contacted the vendors, the deal is set. I'm just looking for venture capital, friend. Disappear if you want, check in whenever you like--I want the dough; I don't take attendance. ED And how do we share-- CREIGHTON Fifty-fifty, straight down the line. You and me. Finance and expertise. So--you've got the dough then, do ya? ED I'll have it in a week. CREIGHTON Well, I'll be damned. The barber! And I thought this trip was a bust. Well... He reaches for a bottle of bonded whiskey on the night stand and hands Ed a glass. CREIGHTON ...it just goes to show, when one door slams shut, another one opens. Here's to ya, uh... ED Ed. They both knock back the whiskey. Creighton leans back and gives Ed a heavy-lidded stare, a faint smile on his lips, his hairpiece slightly askew. Ed stares back. After a beat, without taking his eyes of Ed, Creighton reaches up and loosens his tie. An almost imperceptible wink. Ed stares. ED ...Was that a pass? CREIGHTON (hoarsely) Maybe. ED You're out of line, mister. Creighton throws up his hands apologetically. CREIGHTON No problem! ED Way out of line. CREIGHTON Right! Strictly business. ED Yeah. CLOSE ON TYPEWRITTEN NOTE It says: I KNOW ABOUT YOU AND DORIS CRANE. COOPERATE OR ED CRANE WILL KNOW. YOUR WIFE WILL KNOW. EVERYONE WILL KNOW. GATHER $10,000 AND AWAIT INSTRUCTIONS. A hand pulls the note out of a typewriter carriage. ED (V.O.) I sent it to Dave the next morning. And I waited. BARBERSHOP We are looking down at the top of an eight-year-old's crew cut as clippers buzz its perimeter. Frank reads a magazine. The youngster reads a comic as Ed works his head. ED Frank. FRANK Huh? ED This hair. FRANK Yeah. ED ...You ever wonder about it? FRANK Whuddya mean? ED I don't know... How it keeps on coming. It just keeps growing. FRANK Yeah--lucky for us, huh, pal? ED No, I mean it's growing, it's part of us. And we cut it off. And throw it away. FRANK Come on, Eddie, you're gonna scare the kid. Ed shuts off the clippers and give the apron a flap. ED OK, bud, you're through. The kid hops down, still reading his comic, and ambles out the door. Ed gives Frank a considering stare. ED ...I'm gonna take his hair and throw it out in the dirt. FRANK What the-- ED I'm gonna mingle it with common house dirt. FRANK What the hell are you talking about? Ed turns back to the counter to hang up his clippers. ED I don't know. Skip it. EXT. ED'S HOUSE It is twilight. Ed lifts the latch on the front gate and, cigarette in his mouth, heads up the walk. Music filters out from the house. INT. ED'S HOUSE Ed walks though the living room, hands in his pockets. The music emanates from a radio in the bedroom. DORIS Ed? A track forward reveals Doris sitting at a vanity, doing her hair. Her dress is half zipped at the back. DORIS ...Gimme a zip. Ed walks over behind her. ED Where you going? DORIS Me? Us! The party at Nirdlinger's--I told you last week, for the Christmas Push. ED Yeah, right. We are close on the zipper as Ed's hand takes the tab, pauses, the lowers it slightly. Her back blooms through the dark fabric of the dress. He slides the zipper up, and Doris reaches for a perfume atomizer. DORIS Come on, get ready. It's important. ED Nah, go ahead. I'm not big on parties. DORIS Oh, don't be a grump. SALES FLOOR It is festooned with streamers. Ed leans against a wall, one hand dug into a pocket, the other bringing a cigarette to his lips. Band music plays and Nirdlinger's employees whirl on the dance floor. Bobby-soxed teenagers Lindy-hop and pass palms over their knees. A thin young man in a sports coat stands next to Ed, watching, his Adam's apple bobbing. YOUNG MAN Wild, man! He goes out onto the dance floor. Ed, left by himself, gazes across the floor. His view, broken by dancers' crosses, shows Big Dave worriedly talking to Doris. Doris reacts angrily. Big Dave morosely absorbs the angry words from Doris. He glances up toward Ed and notices his gaze with consternation. He gives Doris a jerk of the head, and she too looks over. VOICE You in ladies' wear? The young man with the Adam's apple is back, looking out at the floor, snapping his fingers. ED ...Huh? YOUNG MAN Haven't I seen you up in ladies' wear? ED I don't work here. My wife does. YOUNG MAN Uh-huh. Some beat, huh? ED Yeah. YOUNG MAN Check out the rack on that broad in the angora. ED Uh-huh. A hand is laid on Ed's shoulder. It is Big Dave; he leans in to murmur: DAVE Ed. Can I talk to you? BIG DAVE'S OFFICE Music from the party drifts in only faintly. The office is built into a corner of the sales floor. It is dominated by a large desk. A large window on the far side affords a partial view of the floor. DAVE Siddown. Siddown... Ed sits in a leather chair in front of the desk. Dave fumbles nervously on top of the desk for a cigar. He trims the end of the cigar with a short double-bladed knife with a steel grip. DAVE ...Souveniered it off a Jap in New Guinea. He hands one cigar to Ed, takes one for himself, then drags up a chair to face Ed's. DAVE ...I guess you're wondering what Doris was so hot about. The office is dark, the only illumination coming from the window onto the bright sales floor behind Big Dave. Ed leans forward for Dave to light his cigar. DAVE ...These're Havanas. Romeo and Juliets. Private stock. Dave, having lit Ed's cigar, draws nervously on his own. DAVE ...Ed, I... ED What is it, Dave? Dave breaks down, weeping. He buries his face in his hands, the burning cigar in his right hand perilously close to his hair. DAVE Ed, I've been weak... His shoulders heave. DAVE ...I've, uh... I've, uh... thanks. Ed has taken Dave's cigar so that he won't burn himself. DAVE ...I've, uh... Oh, Jesus. I've been carrying on with a married woman. Uh, no one you know. And now the, uh-- what is it they say?--the--the--the chickens are coming home to roost. Ed awkwardly holds the two burning cigars. ED Uh-huh. DAVE Hell, I, I'm not proud of it. But, uh, that's not the worst of it. I got a note. A blackmail note. You know, come across or everybody knows. ED Uh-huh. DAVE Well, you know what that would do to me. ED I guess it would be pretty awkward. DAVE Awkward?! Ann'd throw me out on my keister! Hell, it's her family's store--*her* store. I serve at the indulgence of the goddamn ownership, Ed. ED Uh-huh. DAVE I only work here! And the lady's husband would know... Oh, Jesus. ED How much to they want, Dave? DAVE $10,000! I don't know what to do, Ed. I don't know what I *can* do. Even though I know who the sonofabitch is. ED ...You know... who *who* is? DAVE The sonofabitch. The blackmailer. It's, uh, it's no one you know. It's a businessman from Sacramento. A goddamn pansy, Ed. He tried to rope me into some crackpot scheme; I heard him out and then told him to go to hell. And the very next day, the very next day, Ed, I get blackmailed for the same amount. ED Would he... it sounds pretty obvious. DAVE Well, I guess he don't care that it's obvious. ED Mm. How, uh... how did he know that-- DAVE He's staying at the hotel I've gone to with, uh, with the lady in question. Must've seen us. Big Dave blows his nose, reaches to take his cigar from Ed. DAVE ...Thanks... He exhales with a long sigh. DAVE ...Oh, Jesus. ED ...Why don't you just pay him, Dave? DAVE That's my capitalization on the Annex! *My* operation, Ed! Christ almighty. That's what I was just talking to Doris about, a way of getting the money from the store that we could hide from Ann. ED Mm. DAVE Embezzling, Ed. From my own goddamn wife! He give a tearful chuckle. DAVE ...Doris, she was pretty hot about that. God bless her. She doesn't know I'm telling you this--she's mad enough already. But Jesus, Ed, you're the only one I can talk to. I'm, I'm sorry I... I better get back to the party. He rises and clears his throat as he rubs the tears from his face. DAVE ...I look all right? PULLING ED He has left the office to wander through an adjacent room lit only by spill from the party. It is the music department; pianos and spinets are arranged across the floor. ED (V.O.) In a way I felt bad for Big Dave. I knew the ten grand was going to pinch him where it hurt... Ed sits on a piano stool next to a standing ashtray. He takes out a cigarette, lights it off his cigar, stubs out the cigar. ED (V.O.) ...But Doris was two-timing me and I guess, somewhere, that pinched a little too. His attention is caught by a distant knock of wood. Someone is raising the key-guard on a piano across the room. The person can only be seen only obscurely, from three- quarters behind, through the sales floor's jumble of haphazardly arranged instruments. The person begins to play. Ed listens. The piece is slow, sweet, almost a lullaby. The player, unaware that there is an audience, plays on, and Ed listens, eyes narrowed against the smoke curling past his face. The piece ends. ED That was pretty. The player turns, surprised. It is a young woman. ED ...Did you make that up? YOUNG WOMAN Oh, no. That was written by Mr Ludwig van Beethoven. Ed nods recognition of the name. ED That was quite something. YOUNG WOMAN He wrote some beautiful piano sonatas. ED That was something. I'm Ed Crane. YOUNG WOMAN I know who you are, Mr Crane. His look shows surprise. YOUNG WOMAN ...My father used to take me with him when he got his hair cut. Walter Abundas? Ed's head tilts back in acknowledgment. YOUNG WOMAN ...I'm Rachel Abundas. Everyone calls me Birdy. ED Sorry, I just didn't remember. BIRDY Oh, that's all right. You can't be expected to remember every skinny girl who comes in with her dad. Ed give a wry smile. ED ...You don't like the music out there? BIRDY It's OK, I guess. No, I don't really. I'm not big on music, ordinarily. A woman calls sharply from offscreen: VOICE Ed. He looks. Silhouetted in the doorway to the party room is Doris, coat over her arm, purse in hand. ED'S CAR Doris and Ed are driving home. Doris draws heavily on a cigarette, looking flintily out at the road. DORIS ...What a knucklehead. ED Who? DORIS Dave. ED How's that? DORIS Ahh... She waves angrily. DORIS ...Money problems. He's thinking about canceling the Annex. ED So? DORIS *That means I don't run Nirdlinger's!* ED Mm. They ride in silence for a beat. Doris shakes her head. DORIS ...What a knucklehead. STREET As the car roars past and into the distance. ANOTHER STREET It is day. We are looking from inside a parked car toward a hotel entrance. Big Dave emerges from the hotel, gets into a Packard and drives off. ED (V.O.) Big Dave did it, though... Ed, sitting in his car, is watching. ED (V.O.) ...I sent a note telling him where to drop the money... HOTEL HALLWAY Ed emerges from a stairwell and goes to a standing ashtray by the elevator. ED (V.O.) ...and he did. He came across. Ed reaches into the trash hole in the ashtray column and pulls out a Nirdlinger's bag. He goes back to the stairwell. ANOTHER FLOOR Ed emerges from the stairwell, goes to a door and knocks. The door swings open. CREIGHTON Yeah, good, how are ya, come in... Ed follows him into the room. CREIGHTON ...You bring a check? ED Cash. CREIGHTON Cash?! He gives Ed a look. CREIGHTON ...Usually we do this kind of thing with a bank draft. But cash--that's fine--it's all the same in the end-- dough's dough, huh? ED Sure. CREIGHTON I got the paperwork here. Partnership papers here, they reflect our agreement: fifty-fifty on the net, I supply professional services, you supply the capital. I'll give you a receipt on the dough there, huh? ED Yeah. CREIGHTON Pretty straightforward, but I don't know if you wanna show this stuff to a lawyer-- ED It's OK. CREIGHTON Yeah, screw 'em, huh? Pay 'em to tangle it up and then you pay 'em to untangle it, what's the point? He perspires as he counts the money. CREIGHTON ...Just a second here, I'll give you a receipt on the, uh... Whoa, Nellie... Oh, by the way, we didn't talk about this, I, uh, I think I'm gonna call the place Tolliver's, after me, you know, I didn't think you were much interested in, uh-- ED That'll be fine. CREIGHTON Yeah, good. Lemme just, uh... He wipes his brow, finishes counting. CREIGHTON ...Yeah, that's it. As per our discussion. ED Uh-huh. Creighton hands Ed an executed agreement and a receipt. CREIGHTON Well, there it is. Writ large in legal escriture, next step is-- ED Look, uh... Creighton... He gives Creighton a level stare, smoke pluming from the cigarette planted in his mouth. ED ...You're not gonna screw me on this? CREIGHTON *Screw* you--Jesus! Take it to a lawyer! No, I insist! This is *dry* cleaning, this is not some fly-by- night thing here! I must say, I've been an entrepreneur for thirteen years and I've never-- ED All right. CREIGHTON And I've never been asked--Look, you want the dough back? You know who I am! You-- ED OK. Creighton mops his brow again. CREIGHTON So, uh... Tolliver's is OK then? CAR Ed drives with the usual cigarette in his mouth. Doris sits next to him. Rural scenery slips by in the background. ED (V.O.) The next day was Saturday. We were going to a reception for Doris' cousin Gina, who'd just married a wop vintner out near Modesto. Doris didn't much feel like going, and I didn't either, but, like she said, we had a Commitment. Doris gazes stonily out at the road. At length: DORIS ...I hate wops. Ed gives her a brief glance. Doris glares at him. DORIS ...What's so damn strange about that? ED I didn't say a word. She looks back out at the road. DORIS ...*You* didn't have to grow up with 'em. This brings nothing from Ed. Doris shakes her head. DORIS ...Family. Boy. BY A BARN Wops in Sunday clothing greet each other around tables piled with food. A small child runs up to his mother, yanks on her dress and screams: CHILD He's ridin' Garibaldi! Uncle Frankie's ridin' Garibaldi! Surrounded by cheering children, with a jug of wine slung over his shoulder, Frank is riding an enormous pig. He slaps at the pig's ass with a large straw hat. ED (V.O.) That was when she started drinking. Doris is standing by one of the tables, drinking red wine from a water glass. Ed stands nearby. A large woman hugs Doris. WOMAN How you doin', Doris, you been OK? DORIS How're you, Constanza? WOMAN Oh, you know, I got my healt'. And how you been, uh... ED Ed. WOMAN Ed. How's a business? ED OK. WOMAN (to Doris) He's a barber, right? It's a good trade. So how come you got no kids? PICNIC TABLE A group of kids pulls Frank, laughing, by the hand toward a picnic table set out with pies in a row. VOICES Uncle Frankie's gotta join! Wait for Frankie! FRANK No, come on, kids--I just ate lunch! VOICES No, no--Uncle Frankie's gotta join! An old man stands by with a stopwatch. OLD MAN Ready... He clicks the timer. OLD MAN ...Go! Frank and the line of children plunge their faces into the line of blueberry pies. The other picnickers cheer them on. ELSEWHERE Ed and Doris approach the innocent-looking young couple accepting congratulations. Doris, holding her empty glass, is not a happy drunk: DORIS 'Gratulations, Gina. It's so goddamn wonderful. ED Congratulations, Gina. DORIS Life is so goddamn wonderful, you almost won't believe it. ED Honey... DORIS It's just a goddamn bowl of cherries, I'm sure. Ed tries to lead her away. ED Honey... Doris calls back over her shoulder: DORIS Congratulations on your goddamn cherries! As Ed and Doris recede we hear her petulant: DORIS ...Leggo my goddamn elbow. ELSEWHERE In a long shot we see Frank at the crest of a hill, staggering slowly, painfully, toward a tree. In his right hand he clutches a trophy. When he reaches the tree he swings his free hand up against it, leans forward, and vomits. CAR Late afternoon, driving home. Ed drives. Doris sits in the front passenger seat, snoring lightly. Frank sits in the back seat hugging his trophy to his chest, eyes closed, murmuring: FRANK I never wanna see another blueberry pie... Silence. FRANK ...I never even wanna hear those words. Doris moans. More silence. FRANK ...Don't says those words, Ed. EXT. BUNGALOW It is twilight. Ed's coupe is parked in the driveway. He is just rounding the back of the car to open the passenger-side door. He pulls Doris from the car, half asleep, half drunk. INT. BUNGALOW The door swings open and Ed stumbles in supporting Doris, who has one arm draped around his neck. He helps her into the bedroom and eases her onto the bed. He sits on the edge of the bed and looks down at her. Shadows from branches just outside wave across her face. She is breathing through her open mouth; her face is moist with perspiration. ED (V.O.) I'd met Doris blind on a double-date with a loudmouthed buddy of mine who was seeing a friend of hers from work. We went to a movie; Doris had a flask; we killed it. She could put it away. At the end of the night she said she liked it I didn't talk much. A couple weeks later she suggested-- A harsh jangle from the telephone. Doris moans but does not wake; Ed rises and does to the living room and picks up the phone. ED Yeah. VOICE Ed, it's Big Dave. I gotta talk to you. ED What--now? DAVE Please, Ed. ED But it's... DAVE Please, Ed. Ed sighs. ED Your place? DAVE I'm at Nirdlinger's. Let yourself in. ED OK. He hangs up. He nudges Doris. ED ...Honey. She murmurs. ED ...Honey. She rolls away and burrows into a pillow. Ed opens her purse and pokes through it. NIRDLINGER'S We are looking over Ed's shoulder as he hesitantly swings open a door. It reveals Big Dave's office, quiet and rather dark. A down-facing banker's lamp on the desk illuminates Big Dave's hands on the desktop. ED ...Dave? DAVE Come on in. Ed enters, sits. An awkward silence. ED ...What's the problem, Big Dave? Another silence. DAVE ...I'm ruined. His hands writhe on the desktop. DAVE ...It ruined me. This money. No annex. I'm all shot to hell. ED So you paid the guy? Big Dave stares without speaking. After a long beat: DAVE ...What kind of man *are* you? ED ...Huh? DAVE What kind of man *are* you? ED Big Dave-- DAVE I'd understand if you'd walked in here. Socked me in the nose. Whatever. I deserved it. ED I, uh... DAVE I'm not proud of what I did. But *you*. No one talks. Big Dave sighs. DAVE ...Yeah, I paid up. As you well know. And then I went and found the pansy. He looks at Ed. DAVE ...Got nothin' to say, huh? Yeah, well, you already know the story. I didn't, I hadda beat it out of the pansy. *Your* money. No response. DAVE ...What kind of man *are* you? Big Dave rises. DAVE ...Well. He crosses around the desk and adds, sadly: DAVE ...I'm all shot to hell. Ed starts to rise, but Big Dave is already looming over him. Big Dave bear-hugs him and then spins him into a wall. Ed hits the wall and bounces off, back into Big Dave. Big Dave wallops him in the stomach. Ed doubles over. DAVE ...What kind of man *are* you? Big Dave hurls him against the desk, then slams his face against the desktop. Ed's hands scrabble at the top of the desk as Big Dave grabs him by the neck and lifts. He slams him face-first into the window between the office and the dark sales floor. Ed twists around, the back of his head now pressed against the glass. Big Dave's hands lock around his throat. Big Dave sweats and strains. A crack shoots up the pane of glass. Ed's hand sweeps up and plunges something into Big Dave's neck. Big Dave grunts and turns away, gurgling. His hands go up to his throat. Ed watches. He is holding Big Dave's cigar trimmer. Big Dave takes a couple of deliberate steps backward, his head twisted away. He falls back, tripped up by a chair, which spins him face- down onto the floor. Big Dave crawls away face-down across the floor, on his knees but with his hands still at his throat. His face and knees awkwardly support his weight as if he were pushing something across the floor with his nose. He reaches a corner but still pushes forward, wedging himself in, legs still scraping away as if to push himself through the wall. Blood is pooling out from under him. Big Dave's legs are still working. His gurgling continues. Ed watches. Big Dave's legs start to move furiously. They convulse. His whole body shakes as he goes into shock. Ed watches. Big Dave stops shaking. He remains wedged awkwardly into the corner, face-down. He is still. The room is very quiet. Ed looks down at his hands. He walks across the room, pushes the door open and walks across the darkened sales floor. EXT. STORE Ed walks to his car. He does not look about, is not particularly furtive. He gets into the car. He starts the ignition. EXT. HOUSE He pulls up, sits motionless for a beat. Gradually, something draws his attention; he cocks his head and looks up through the windshield. A branch creaks and sways in the breeze. INT. HOUSE Ed gets into bed next to Doris. He stares at the ceiling. Wind rustles outside. The shadow of a branch on the ceiling nods in time with the wind. He looks at Doris. Her face is still lightly sheened with sweat but her mouth is closed now, her breathing more peaceful. The leafy shadows play over her face. ED (V.O.) ...It was only a couple of weeks after we met that Doris suggested getting married. I said, Don't you wanna get to know me more? She said, Why, does it get better? She looked at me like I was a dope, which I've never really minded from her. And she had a point, I guess. We knew each other as well then as now... He is gazing at her. ED (V.O.) ...Anyway, well enough. Sound and image face. BARBERSHOP The next day. Ed cuts hair, a cigarette between his lips. FRANK Holy-moly, do I got a headache. Frank is giving a haircut as well. FRANK ...How you today, Ed? ED OK. FRANK You don't got a headache? ED ...Nah. FRANK Damn, I got a headache to beat the band. LATER Ed sits in his chair, hands folded in his lap, head tilted back, eyes closed. We hold on Ed as we hear a clipper buzzing and Frank talking to someone in his chair. FRANK Ya can't pump it. Did ya pump it? That'll just flood it. CUSTOMER Ya gotta pump it. Ya can't just hold it down. *That'll* flood it. FRANK You crazy? You pumped it? CUSTOMER Well, ya can't hold it down. There is the jingle of the door bell. Ed opens his eyes. Two men in fedoras are entering. Ed starts to rise. MAN 1 Ed Crane? ED Right. MAN 1 Come on outside. ED Sure. OUTSIDE The two men are staring at the sidewalk, smoking, hesitant to speak. One of them finally comes up with an icebreaker: MAN 2 ...So you're a barber, huh? ED That's right. MAN 1 I'm Officer Persky. This is Krebs. Ed nods toward their car: ED ...We goin'? KREBS Huh? No. Beat. PERSKY ...Cigarette? Ed holds up one hand with its smoking cigarette. PERSKY Right. Uh... Pete's got some news for you. His partner gives Persky a dirty look. KREBS ...Look, pal, it's a tough break, but, uh... well damnit, your wife's been pinched. PERSKY They sent us to tell ya. ED Huh? KREBS They sent us to tell ya. We pulled the detail. ED My *wife*? PERSKY Yeah, uh, they brung her to the county jail, uh... KREBS Homicide. PERSKY Well, embezzlement. And homicide. A guy named David Brewster. He's, uh... He's the decedent. ED I don't understand. KREBS He's the dead guy. Ed stares at him. PERSKY ...Yeah, it's a tough break. KREBS Visiting ends at five. Too late today. You can see her tomorrow. PERSKY Sorry, pal. They sent us to tell ya. He shakes his head. PERSKY ...Crap detail. RESIDENTIAL STREET It is evening. Ed is pulling up to a house on a tree-lined street similar to his own. He gets out of his car and goes up the walk, and a man sitting on the porch swing holds up a hand of greeting. MAN 'Lo, Ed. ED Hello, Walter. He steps up on the porch. The man is holding a tumbler of whiskey and ice that clinks as the swing moves. His skin glistens with drinker's sweat, and he has the slightly expansive manner of someone who's put at least a couple away. WALTER Have a seat. Ed glances around but the swing is the only seat. He sits next to Walter. ED Thanks. Thanks for seeing me, at home. WALTER Oh, hell. Drink? ED No thanks. WALTER Sure you don't need one? ED I'm fine. WALTER OK. Boy. Jesus! ED Yeah. What do I, uh... WALTER Well, of course, I, uh, it's out of my league, criminal stuff. I do, uh, probate, real estate, title search, uh... I'd be absolutely worthless, something like this. Absolutely worthless. He belches. WALTER 'Scuse me, just finished dinner. Um. Frankly, Doris'd be better off with the county defender. ED He a good man? WALTER Bert's OK, sure, he's a good man. I won't kid you though, Ed, nobody around here has any experience with this kind of, er... And I hear they're bringing a prosecutor up from Sacramento. Capital offense. Taking it seriously... Hmm... ED So-- WALTER Taking it seriously. ED So, who should I-- The front door opens and someone speaks through the screen: VOICE You want any coffee, Dad? Ed looks around at the voice. VOICE Oh, hello, Mr Crane. She steps out: it is Birdy Abundas. Ed rises, and they awkwardly shake hands. ED Hello, Rachel. BIRDY I'm so sorry... I was sorry to hear. ED Yeah. Thanks. WALTER Coffee, Ed? ED I'm fine. Thanks. WALTER No thanks, honey. BIRDY OK. Nice to see you, Mr Crane. They watch her go back in. WALTER Damnit! She's a good kid. Ed nods. A beat. ED ...So, uh, who should I-- WALTER Well, there's Lloyd Garroway in San Francisco. Probity--you know, no one ever said anything iffy about Lloyd Garroway. Conservative. Jury might like that. Might like that here. He takes a sip of his drink. WALTER ...Probity. ED Uh-huh. Is he the best then, for, uh... WALTER Well, the best, the money-is-no-object best, for a criminal case, any lawyer would tell you Freddy Riedenschneider. Out of Sacramento. 'Course, I don't know how you're fixed for money. ED Uh-huh. He's the, uh... WALTER Yeah, the best. He sniffs. WALTER ...Yeah, Riedenschneider. Wish I could tell you more. Hell, I wish I could handle it myself. But I'd be absolutely worthless for this kind of thing. He takes a musing sip. WALTER ...Criminal matter? Freddy Riedenschneider. He thinks. WALTER ...No question about it. ED AT A TABLE It is a long table with chairs stretching down both sides, one side for prisoners, the other for visitors. The room is empty except for a guard and an elderly woman who sits across from a younger woman at the far end of the table. The younger woman, in a prison smock, is wailing. The elderly woman is holding her hand. Ed sits across from an empty chair, clutching a flower-printed toiletries kit. There are echoing voices suggesting large spaces outside the room. He sits and waits. Approaching footsteps. The door opens. A large prison matron steps aside to let Doris enter. Doris looks lost in a prison-issue jumper that is too big for her. Her hair is uncurled and bedraggled. Not only is she not made-up, she has a couple of bruises and a cut on her lip. As Ed stands, she gives a hollow look around. ED Honey... I brought your make-up. She looks at him. DORIS Honey. ED How are you? She shrugs. DORIS I don't know what's going on. I-- ED What happened to you? She shakes her head. DORIS ...I don't know what happened to Big Dave. I know some of it. Irregularities in my books, they said. Can I explain it. ED You don't have to-- DORIS I helped him cook the books, Ed. I did do that. ED You don't have to tell them anything. We're getting you a lawyer. Doris doesn't seem to be listening. She sighs: DORIS I know all about that. But I don't know how much to tell them. ED Don't tell 'em anything. We're getting you Freddy Riedenschneider. Doris finally looks at him. DORIS Should I... should I tell you why? ED You don't have to tell me anything. Her gaze drifts away again. She notices the sobbing woman. DORIS Jesus Christ. Doris looks around and laughs. DORIS ...My books used to be perfect. Anyone could open them up, make sense of the whole goddamn store. ED Honey... DORIS I knew we'd pay for it. BARBERSHOP Ed sits in a waiting-customer chair, wearing his smock. Frank paces in front of him. He smacks a fist into his palm. FRANK This is what family is for, Ed! This is when ya come together! ED Yeah. FRANK Close ranks! Goddamnit! Those sons of bitches! ED Frank, uh, you know I'll try to contribute, but, uh--Freddy Riedenschneider-- FRANK I don't care what it costs! This is when ya come together! ED That's very generous. FRANK The hell with it, Eddie! BANK Ed and Frank sit waiting on a bench in the high-vaulted lobby. Frank looks uncomfortable in an ill-fitting suit. As they wait, he looks nervously about. In a hushed voice: FRANK They're just people like you and me, Ed. Remember that. ED Uh-huh. FRANK Just people. They gotta put up the big front so that people will trust them with their money. This is why the big lobby, Ed. But they put their pants on one leg at a time. Just like you and me. ED Uh-huh. FRANK They too use the toilet, Ed. In spite of appearances. And their money will be secured by the barbershop. A rock. A *rock*, the barbershop. I mean, how long has *this* place been here? A door opens. A conservatively dressed man of late middle age emerges. MAN Mr Raffo? Frank hops to his feet. FRANK Yes, sir. MAN Could you come with me please? FRANK Sure. Can Ed come too? The man looks dubiously at Ed. MAN Mr...? ED Crane. Ed Crane. MAN You also have an interest in the securing property? FRANK He's a barber. MAN Ah. FRANK Second chair. MAN Not an owner. FRANK No, he's family, he's my brother-in- law. MAN Ah-hah. It would be best if he waited here. He goes to the glass-paned doorway to his office, Frank trailing dejectedly behind. They enter, the door closes, and we hear their muffled voices from inside, the sense of the words lost. Ed sits and watches the two men perform their pantomime of business: Frank nervously reads documents with one hand cupped to his forehead for concentration; the banker passes successive documents across his desk with a word of explanation for each as Frank signs. Ed takes out a cigarette and lights it, watching impassively. ED (V.O.) The barbershop. Doris and Frank's father had worked thirty years to own it free and clear. Now it got signed over to the bank, and the bank signed some money over to Frank, and Frank signed the money over... TRACKING POINT OF VIEW It is midday. We are tracking along the sidewalk toward a long cream-colored Packard parked at the curb. A couple of kids have stopped to peer into the car's windows; the car is no doubt the fanciest in town. ED (V.O.) ...to Freddy Riedenschneider, who got into town two days later... Ed, coming up the sidewalk, looks up at the storefront: a restaurant with a large window with a plush red drape that obscures the interior. Gilt lettering on the window spells out "DaVinci's". ED (V.O.) ...and told me to meet him at DaVinci's for lunch. TRACKING POINT OF VIEW Inside the restaurant. We are tracking toward a table whose lone occupant sits with his back to us holding open a menu as he orders from a facing waitress: MAN ...not fried, poached. Three of 'em for two minutes. A strip steak medium rare, flapjacks, potatoes, tomato juice, and plenty of hot coffee. He flips the menu over. MAN ...Do you have prairie oysters? WAITRESS No, sir. MAN Then bring me a fruit cocktail while I wait. He looks up at Ed. MAN ...You're Ed Crane? ED Yeah-- MAN Barber, right? I'm Freddy Riedenschneider. Hungry? They tell me the chow's OK here. I made some inquiries. ED No thanks, I-- The waitress sets a fruit cocktail in front of Riedenschneider. RIEDENSCHNEIDER Look, I don't wanna waste your time so I'll eat while we talk. Ya mind? *You* don't mind. So while I'm in town I'll be staying at the Hotel Metropole, the Turandot Suite. Yeah, it's goofy, the suites're named after operas; room's OK though, I poked around. I'm having 'em hold it for me on account of I'll be back and forth. In addition to my retainer, you're paying hotel, living expenses, secretarial, private eye if we need to make inquiries, headshrinker should we go that way. We'll talk about appeals if, as and when. For right now, has she confessed? ED No. Of course not. She didn't do it. RIEDENSCHNEIDER Good! That helps. Not that she didn't do it, that she didn't confess. Of course, there's ways to deal with a confession, but that's good!--one less thing to think about. Now. Interview. I'm seeing her tomorrow. You should be there. Three o'clock. One more thing: you keep your mouth shut. I get the lay of the land, I tell *you* what to say. No talking out of school. What's out of school? Everything's out of school. I do the talking; you keep your trap shut. I'm an attorney, you're a barber; you don't know anything. Understood? ED ...OK. RIEDENSCHNEIDER Good! Any questions give me a ring-- Turandot suite; if I'm out leave a message. You sure you don't want anything? No? He points a finger at Ed. RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...You're OK, pal. You're OK, she's OK. Everything's gonna be hunky-dory. The waitress puts down a plate of steak and eggs. RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...And the flapjacks, honey. DRIVING POINT OF VIEW We are looking at pedestrians on the sidewalk through the windshield of a moving car. ED (V.O.) All going about their business. It seemed like I knew a secret--a bigger one even then what had really happened to Big Dave, something none of them knew... On Ed, driving. ED (V.O.) ...Like I had made it to the outside, somehow, and they were all still struggling, way down below. ED IN BED Arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling. On the ceiling is the moving shadow of a tree limb. A distant, muffled knock. Ed turns his head. FRONT DOOR Ed opens it as he finishes cinching a bathrobe. The woman waiting on the front porch is dressed in black: a black dress and a black veiled hat that is too big for her bird-like frame. Wind rustles in the trees behind her. She stares at Ed. ED Ann. For the first time, we hear her speak, in a low, tremulous voice: ANN Hello, Ed. ED Ann. Will you come in? She shakes her head. ANN ...No, No, it's very late. Ed nods. After an uncomfortable beat, through which she continues to stare: ED ...I'm so sorry about your loss. ANN Yes. Thank you. ED Of course, you know, Doris had nothing to do with it. Nothing at all. She lays a black-gloved hand on his arm. ANN Oh, I know. Don't worry, Ed. I came to tell you... ED Yes, Ann? ANN And you should tell Doris... She falls silent. The trees behind her rustle. She gives a wary look back. Then, confidingly, to Ed: ANN ...You know how Big Dave loved camping. And the out-of-doors. Ed is puzzled: ED Yes? ANN We went camping last summer. In Eugene, Oregon. *Outside* of Eugene, Ed. She gives him a searching look, hoping, it seems, that he will find this significant. ED ...Yes? ANN At night, there were lights--we both saw them. We never told anyone, outside of our official report. ED Ann-- ANN A spacecraft. I saw the creatures. They led Big Dave onto the craft. He never told anyone what they did, outside of his report. Of course he told *me*. No one else. ED Ann-- ANN The government knows. I cannot repeat it to you. But this thing goes deep, Ed. This was not your wife. I goes deep, and involves the government. There is a great deal of fear. You know how certain circles would find it--the knowledge--a threat. They try to limit it, and-- ED Ann, will you come in, sit down, maybe have a drink? ANN Sometimes knowledge is a curse, Ed. After this happened, things changed. Big Dave... he never touched me again. Ed says nothing. She touches his arm. ANN ...Tell Doris not to worry. I know it wasn't her. Perhaps this will bring it out, finally. Perhaps now it will all come out. She turns and heads down the walk. Her high-heeled footsteps echo on the walk, then the sidewalk, then are lost in the rustle of leaves. Ed watches her go: a small black figure, growing smaller. PRISON MEETING ROOM It is an unadorned room with a simple wooden table and chairs. One high window lets in a shaft of sunlight. Ed and Doris sit at the table; Freddy Riedenschneider stands to one side staring up at the high window, hands dug into his pockets. All three are motionless for a long beat. Finally: RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...It stinks. DORIS But it's true. RIEDENSCHNEIDER I don't care it's true, it's not true; it stinks. You say he was being blackmailed; by who? You don't know. For having an affair; with who? You don't know. Did anyone else know about it? Probably not; you don't know. ED I knew about it. Big Dave told me about it, and the spot he was putting himself in by getting the money. RIEDENSCHNEIDER Terrific. Your husband backs you up. That's terrific. He starts pacing. RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...You've gotta give me something to work with. Freddy Riedenschneider is good, but he's not a magician. He can't just wave his little wand in the air and make a plausible defense materialize. Look. Look at what the other side is gonna run at us. They got the company books, prepared by you--*cooked* by you--that's Motive. They got a murder scene *you* had access to. That's Opportunity. They got that little trimmer thing he was stabbed in the throat with--a *dame's* weapon-- ED It was Big Dave's. RIEDENSCHNEIDER --don't interrupt me--that's Means. They got a fine upstanding pillar of the business community as a victim, and then they got *you*, a disgruntled number-juggling underling who on the day in question was drunk as a skunk and whose alibi for the time in question is being passed out at home, alone. ED *I* was with her. Riedenschneider gives him a hard look. RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...Like I say, it stinks. Another long pause. ED ...I killed him. Riedenschneider eyes him. Wheels start turning. RIEDENSCHNEIDER OK, we forget the blackmail. *You* killed him. How come? ED He and Doris... were having an affair. Doris eyes him. His manner does not reveal anything. RIEDENSCHNEIDER OK, how did you know? ED I... just knew. A husband knows. Riedenschneider rolls his eyes. RIEDENSCHNEIDER Will anyone else say they knew? ED I don't know. I don't think so. RIEDENSCHNEIDER How did you get into the store? ED I took Doris's keys. RIEDENSCHNEIDER Will anyone say they saw you there? On your way there? In there? On your was back? ED ...I don't think so. RIEDENSCHNEIDER Will anyone corroborate and goddamn part of your story at all? Ed returns Riedenschneider's stare. Riedenschneider resumes pacing. RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...Come on, people. You can't help each other like that. Let's be realistic now. Let's look at our options. Well, frankly, I don't *see* any options. A nod of the head indicates Doris: RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...I cannot present Story A. Another nod indicates Ed: RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...I cannot present Story B. I could plead you for a nutcase but you look too composed. I could offer a guilty plea and in return they don't give you the juice, but I don't think you want to spend the rest of your life in Chino and I know you didn't hire Freddy Riedenschneider to hold your hand at a sentencing hearing. Hell, you could've gotten Lloyd Garroway for that. No, we're not giving up yet; you hired Freddy Riedenschneider, it means you're *not* throwing in the towel. I litigate, I don't capitulate. All right, no options, we gotta think. All right, we go back to the blackmail thing. It titillates, it's open ended... His pacing becomes more animated. RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...And it makes *him* the bad guy-- ya dig around, ya never know, something unsavory from his past, he approaches you to help with the money, it's too late, his past comes back to haunt him, who's to say... He is heading for the door. RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...Yeah. OK. Forget the jealous husband thing, that's silly; we're going with the blackmail. I'll be in touch. The door slams. HOTEL LOBBY The camera drifts in toward the reception desk. Ed talks to the clerk behind the desk, but the scene plays silently; we hear only Ed's narration. ED (V.O.) Of course, there was *one* person who could confirm Doris's story, or plenty of it: the dry-cleaning pansy... The desk clerk is shaking his head. ED (V.O.) ...But he'd left the hotel, skipped out on his bill... HALLWAY It is a rooming-house hallway. A stern middle-aged woman is on the hall telephone. This too plays silently under the narration. ED (V.O.) He'd also disappeared from the residence he gave me... ED'S LIVING ROOM We are drifting in toward Ed, who nods at the telephone and then cradles it. He stares down at the business card he holds. ED (V.O.) ...owing two month's rent. How could I have been so stupid. Handing over $10,000. For a piece of paper. And the man gone... like a ghost... PULLING BACK FROM ED In a different living room. He sits on a sofa, hands clasped behind his head, listening. For the first time, as the voice- over continues, we hear atmosphere from the scene: piano music. ED (V.O.) ...disappeared into thin air, vaporized, like the Nips at Nagasaki. Gone now. All gone. The money gone. Big Dave gone. Doris going. How could I have been so stupid? The continuing pull-back reveals Walter Abundas on a nearby chair, also listening as Birdy plays. Walter holds a drink in one hand; he is nodding; his eyelids droop. As the piano piece reaches its mournful conclusion his chin alights on his chest, his eyelids tremble closed, and he starts lightly to snore. BARBERSHOP The distinctive buzz of electric hairclippers bangs in at the cut. Ed and Frank stand behind their respective chairs, administering haircuts. The customer in Ed's chair is in white shirtsleeves that do not hide rolls of fat. He has a hot towel over his face that does not slow his speech, although it does muffle it to some extent: CUSTOMER She makes this stuff, she calls it gatto, it's got egg in there, it's got sugar, it's got--it's cake, basically, except she calls it gatto. Like if you don't call it cake maybe you won't put on any weight, like I need to eat gatto, you know what I'm saying? This stuff, if I've had a square meal, I've had my steak and potatoes, I can just have another cup of coffee afterward, I won't ask for the desert if it's not there... His voice turns into a drone under the narration. ED (V.O.) Sooner or later everyone needs a haircut... CUSTOMER Got the recipe from a magazine, woman's magazine... ED (V.O.) We were working for the bank now. We kept cutting the hair, trying to stay afloat, make the payments, tread water, day by day, day by day... CRANE DOWN Inside a courtroom we boom down toward the defendant's table, the fat customer's drone turning into the drone of the bailiff reading an indictment. Doris stands next to Freddy Riedenschneider. ED (V.O.) Most people think someone's accused of a crime, they haul 'em in and bring 'em to trial, but it's not like that, it's not that fast. The wheels of justice turn slow... BAILIFF ...did willfully and with malice aforethought take the life of one David Allen Brewster, a human being... ED (V.O.) They have an arraignment, and then the indictment, and they entertain motions to dismiss, and postpone, and change the venue, and alter this and that and the other. They empanel a jury, which brings more motions, and they set a trial date and then change the date, and then often as not they'll change it again. BAILIFF What say you to these charges? Our boom down has ended close on Doris. We hear Freddy Riedenschneider, off: RIEDENSCHNEIDER We plead not guilty, your honor. BARBERSHOP Booming down toward the fat man. ED (V.O.) And through all of it we cut the hair. CUSTOMER I say, Honey, if you're gonna make a cobbler, make a little bit of cobbler, don't put a whole pan in front of me and tell me it's not gonna be any good when it's cold... OPERA SINGERS We are panning photographic portraits of opera singers in character, wearing the wardrobe of different eras, armies, dukedoms, and boudoirs, and displaying the heights and depths of various emotions, their mouths stretched wide in song. We pan off the pictures to discover that we are in a hotel room, floating in toward a bed on which Freddy Riedenschneider, a mask over his eyes, slumbers. ED (V.O.) ...Meanwhile, Freddy Riedenschneider slept at the Metropole... RESTAURANT Tracking in toward Freddy Riedenschneider, who sits twirling spaghetti with a fork against a spoon. ED (V.O.) ...and shoveled it in at DaVinci's. LATERAL TRACK From inside a car. Pedestrians bustle along a sidewalk. Among them scurries a weedy little man who has one hand clamped to the crown of his hat to keep it in place in a stiff wind. ED (V.O.) He'd brought in a private investigator from Sacramento... LATERAL TRACK Moving the opposite way. A different day, but again a crowd moves along the sidewalk, and among them the little man scuttles in the opposite direction, hand still raised to his hat, his forearm and the tilt of his head largely obscuring his face. ED (V.O.) ...to nose around into Big Dave's past. PUSHING IN TO ED In the Abundas living room again, again listening to Birdy at the piano, but now the two of them are alone. ED (V.O.) I found myself more and more going over to the Abundas's. It was a routine we fell into, most every evening. I even went when Walter was away on his research trips. He was a genealogist, had traced back his side of the family seven generations, his late wife's, eight. It seemed like a screwy hobby. But then maybe all hobbies are. Maybe Walter found something there, in the old county courthouses, hospital file rooms, city archives, property rolls, registries, something maybe like what I found listening to Birdy play. Some kind of escape. Some kind of peace... The piano music ends in a sustain which begins to fade, but then is snapped by a sharp clang. PRISON DOOR SWINGS OPEN We are pushing into the high-windowed prison meeting room. None of its three occupants is moving. The tableau consists of Doris staring down at the table; the private investigator sitting on a straightbacked chair tipped back against a wall, his arms folded across his chest, his fedora pushed back on his head, a toothpick clamped between his teeth; and Freddy Riedenschneider, standing, hands clasped behind his back, gazing with a distant smile up into the shaft of light that slants through the high window. A warder shuts the door behind Ed. Doris and the private investigator turn to note his entrance; Riedenschneider does not. Ed pulls out a chair across from Doris, clasps his hands on top of hers. ED 'Lo, honey. She looks at his hands on top of hers. A long beat. Still gazing up into the shaft of light, Freddy Riedenschneider announces: RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...They got this guy, in Germany. Fritz something-or-other. Or is it. Maybe it's Werner. Anyway, he's got this theory, you wanna test something, you know, scientifically--how the planets go round the sun, what sunspots are made of, why the water comes out of the tap--well, you gotta look at it. But sometimes, you look at it, your looking *changes* it. Ya can't know the reality of what happened, or what *would've* happened if you hadden a stuck in your goddamn schnozz. So there *is* no 'what happened.' Not in any sense that we can grasp with our puny minds. Because our minds... out minds get in the way. Looking at something changes it. They call it the 'Uncertainty Principle.' Sure, it sounds screwy, but even Einstein says the guy's on to something. His gaze up at the window breaks. He strolls around the room, still smiling. RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...Science. Perception. Reality. Doubt... He stops to examine a bur on his fingernail. RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...Reasonable doubt. I'm sayin', sometimes, the more you look, the less you really know. It's a fact. A proved fact. In a way, it's the only fact there is. This heinie even wrote it out in numbers. He looks up at the private detective. RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...Burns? With a slight weight shift, Burns tips his chair so that its front legs slap down onto the floor. He fishes a small notebook from an inside pocket. His boredom is profound; his only concession to performance is to move the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other where, perhaps, it will less inhibit speech. BURNS Subject: David Allen Brewster. Born: Cincinnati, 1911. Father: insurance salesman; mother: homemaker. One year Case Western University on football scholarship. Flunks out. 1931: retail appliance salesman in Barnhoff's department store, Cincinnati. 1933: meets Ann Nirdlinger, married later that year, moves here. 1935: arrested on an assault complaint; complainant, an organizer for the ILGWU, has a broken nose, couple of ribs, wife's family intercedes, some kind of settlement, charges dropped. 1936: another assault beef, bar altercation-- RIEDENSCHNEIDER Yeah, yeah, couple of fistfights. Go to his service record. Burns looks at him sourly. He flips a couple of pages. BURNS ...Inducted March 15, 1942, assigned to fifth fleet US Navy, petty officer first class, serves in clerical capacity in US naval shipyards in San Diego, one fistfight broken up by MPs, no court martial, honorable discharge May 8, 1945. Since then he's been clean. Riedenschneider nods, smiling. RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...Thank you, Burns, get lost. Burns pockets his notebook, adjusts his hat, jams his hands into his pockets, and ambles out of the room. The slam of the door leaves quiet. At length: ED ...So? Riedenschneider's fixed smile now fades. RIEDENSCHNEIDER So? *So?!* This could be your dolly's ticket out of the deathhouse, so! Ed and Doris look at each other. ED ...I don't get it. RIEDENSCHNEIDER Look, chum, this is a guy, from what I understand, told everybody he was a war hero, right? Island hopping, practically liberated the Pacific all by himself with a knife in one hand and a gun in the other and twenty yards of Jap guts between his teeth. ED Yeah. RIEDENSCHNEIDER And now it turns out this dope spent the war sitting on his ass in some boatyard in San Diego. You asked for blackmail, let me give you blackmail: Mr Hale-Fellow-Well-Met, about to open his own business here, has been lying to everybody in this town for the last four years, probably including half the people sitting on that jury. Well, it finally caught up with him--these dopes, it always does; someone threatened to spill it. Somebody knew his dirty little secret, just like your wife says. They called, they demanded money... He is looking at Doris. RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...Did Big Dave mention that it was something about his war service? I don't know, I wasn't there, *you'll* have to tell *us*. Maybe he specified, maybe he didn't; I'm not putting words in your mouth; the point is that this liar, this cynical manipulator, this man who through his lies sneered and belittled the sacrifice and heroism of all our boys who *did* serve and bleed and puke and die on foreign shores, and who made a fool out of this entire town, turns to *you* to help him out of his jam. Fat-assed sonofabitch! ED So... who... who actually-- RIEDENSCHNEIDER Who? *Who?!* I don't know who! But the point is that if Mr Prosecutor over there had devoted half the time he's spent persecuting *this* woman to even the most cursory investigation of this schmoe's past, then we might *know* who! But we can't *know* what really happened! Because of Fritz, or Werner, or whatever the hell his name is! And because Me Prosecutor is *also* a lazy fat-assed sonofabitch who decided it's easier to victimize your wife! Because it's easier *not* to look! Because the more you look, the less you know! But the beauty of it is, we don't *gotta* know! We just gotta show that, goddamnit, *they* don't know. Reasonable doubt. Science. The atom. *You* explain it to me. Go ahead. Try. He chuckles as he heads for the door. RIEDENSCHNEIDER ...Yeah, Freddy Riedenschneider sees daylight. We got a real shot at this, folks. Let's not get cocky. The door shuts behind him. Doris stares down at the table, as at the head of the scene. A silent beat; a smile starts to tug at the corners of her mouth. ED Honey...? The smile twitches, and then stays. Doris starts to laugh. Ed frowns. ED ...Honey? Her laughter builds, almost to hysteria