(Crossfade)
LUCIUS: (To ANGEL) Long time no see, brother. How’d Cruel and Unusual Punishment treat ya?
VALDEZ: (From his post) I heard that!
LUCIUS: Wit’ all due respect, Valdez, if it’s a infraction to breathe God’s air, juss tell us now and we’ll asphyxiate ourselves.
ANGEL: Yo, doan start no shit—
LUCIUS: That man ain’t nuttin’ but a apparition! (For VALDEZ) An’ we gonna conversate about whatever strikes our damn amusement, believe that! Maybe we gonna speak on the mating habits of the Yella-Bellied Sap Suckah; maybe we’ll conduct a symposium on some Butterscotch Puddin’!
ANGEL: Yo bro—
LUCIUS: Hey, Valdez! A.C.L.U.’s a fine institution, ain’t it?
ANGEL: A.C.L.U.?
LUCIUS: (To ANGEL) You think we back out here early ‘cuz Ol’ Valdez is tender-hearted? (Miming being on the phone) Hey, Valdez! My lawyer’s on the phone, it’s for you! Ha! Want me ta tell him you in the shower soapin’ up your privates? Ah, what’s a matter, brother: Constitution got your tongue? Ha! (phone) “Now what’s that, Mr. Cooperstein? Yes, sir, I’ll be sure to tell him. No, no, quite all right. You have a nice day too, Mr. C.” Hey, Valdez! Mr. C. say to remind ya that we could talk about anything under the sun ‘cept for conspiracy and treason, and if ya got a problem wit’ dat, he say he got a cousin owns a Dairy Queen, could prolly get you a job flippin’ burgers or sweepin’ up.
VALDEZ: Fifty-four minutes!
LUCIUS: God loves ya, Valdez, ya know that, right?! He loves ya and He gonna leave the light on for ya too, always does! God love ya so much, even makes me wanna love ya, in fact, I do love ya! Angel love ya too, ain’t that right, Angel?! We love ya ’cuz God love ya. And make no mistake, soldier, God, Jesus, Jehovah, Yahweh, the Holy Ghost, they L-O-V-E-Y-O-U. Praise be! Ha!
VALDEZ: Do you believe in God, Cruz?
ANGEL: What?
VALDEZ: You heard me.
ANGEL: I … uh—yo, this ain’t got nuthin’ to do wit’ me.
LUCIUS: It okay, son, tell the man.
ANGEL: Look—
VALDEZ: It’s a simple question, Droopy Dog.
ANGEL: I ain’t fuckin’ Droopy Dog!
VALDEZ: Then answer the question! Do you believe in God?
ANGEL: Dass my business.
VALDEZ: It’s funny. Some people, they got big balls when they’re high on narcotics, brandishing weapons, killing a man, but take away the drugs and the guns, ask them a simple question, and what happens? They revert back to what they really are, ain’t that right, Droopy Dog?
LUCIUS: Someone need ta give you a hug, Valdez.
VALDEZ: If there’s a God, Superstar, you ain’t never gonna meet him! Very soon, Mr. Superstar, very soon, you gonna be Flyin’ the Friendly Skies. All your lawyers, and your notoriety, and your delusions of grandeur, they all add up to zip. You are a defect of evolution like a three-legged dog, and when you get to Florida, they gonna put you down!
LUCIUS: That makes ya happy, don’t it?
VALDEZ: Happy? Why should I be happy? They gonna feed you lobster, strap you down, put you outta your misery. What’s happy about that? No. What makes me happy is lookin’ at you right now and seeing the sheer terror in your eyes. Because that terror will haunt you every day until the State of Florida relieves it with a lethal injection! And that terror, along with whatever misery I can provide, is the only justice that the families of your victims are ever gonna get!
LUCIUS: I’m a pray for you, man.
VALDEZ: Then pray. Me? I’m feeling a bit parched; I think I need a beverage. And being a free man, I think I’ll run down to the staff cafeteria and choose from a wide assortment of refreshing drinks. Perhaps I’ll purchase a Kit-Kat and a Bear Claw, something to tide me over, till I leave here and go eat whatever I want for dinner.
LUCIUS: Hope you’re monitoring your cholesterol—
VALDEZ: What?
LUCIUS: Wouldn’t want ya ta drop dead before you’ve been saved.
VALDEZ: “Saved”? I am a good man because I choose to be! End of story! Not because I fear God. Not because I wanna go to some Holy Playground when I kick the bucket! I go to work, I pay my taxes, I observe the law. I didn’t kill eight people! I don’t need to be “saved”! Do you really believe that there’s a thing called God? Or is it that your pain is so unbearable that you force yourself to create a belief in order to medicate that pain? And if there is a God, Superstar, do you honestly believe that you are free from the burden of what you’ve done? And if there isn’t a God, then what are you really? ’Cuz in a meaningless existence, your only function was to be a source of pain and death, like cancer or a plane crash! You renounced your humanity when you claimed your first victim! Now what are you? I think you know, Superstar. I look at you, and I know that you know! And the most compassionate advice I can give you is this: When you get back to your cell, bang your head against the wall until your brains spill out, only, please, do it after six so I don’t have ta clean the shit up! Now I will be back … shortly!
(VALDEZ exits.)
ANGEL: Yo, doan listen to that mothahfuckah, he don’t know shit.
LUCIUS: I know.
ANGEL: Man’s a fuckin’ asshole.
LUCIUS: Misguided.
(Pause)
ANGEL: You think the sun’s gonna come out before our time’s up?
LUCIUS: You don’t believe in God, huh?
ANGEL: I didn’t say that.
LUCIUS: God said to Peter: “Before this night is through, you gonna deny me three times. Peter say ‘Not me, Lord, I could never deny you.’ Then dawn came, the cock done crowed, and Peter had denied his Lord three times on the night a his arrest.
ANGEL: I know that story—
LUCIUS: When Jesus died on the cross, you know who was there wit’ him? I ain’t talkin’ ’bout Roman soldiers and the blasphemin’ crowd, I’m talkin ’bout: who was there for Him? I’ll tell ya who was there. His Mother, Mary Magdalen, coupla aunts, and some street walkin’ ho’s. All women. The twelve Apostles? Hiding in fear. His pops, St. Joseph? He was at the bar talkin’ ’bout “Pour me another wine, Lazarus.” It was the women showed up for Jesus. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, them cats had time ta make up for their sins, how much time I got? Thass why I’m a speak my mind! Thass why I ain’t gonna let no mustachioed Roman soldier squelch my positive self-expression! Every day I got left, I’m a live free. I’m a open up that gift God give me each and every day, save me the wrappin’ paper so’s I could package up my gift and pass it on. Ain’t gonna live in fear no more! I’m a show up for Jesus like he showed up for me!
ANGEL: You want a cigarette, man?
LUCIUS: Them things’ll kill ya, brother. Now, how is it you ain’t a believer?
ANGEL: Look man, this ain’t a conversation you wanna have with me.
LUCIUS: Some of the greatest saints, they was nonbelievers, having the crisis of faith right up to the end.
ANGEL: I’m not havin’ a crisis.
LUCIUS: Lemme pose to you a little hypothetical, brother: What if God existed?
ANGEL: I really ain’t up for this, bro.
LUCIUS: Lemme juss kick it like this then, shortpants: If I were ta say to you, today, that God not only exists, but has a plan for ya, brother, that you are here, right here and now, because God planned for this to be, truly, the first day of the rest of your life—
ANGEL: Yo, man—
LUCIUS: Hear me out: If I said that the life you will live from this day forward will be happy, joyous, and free, and with Divine Purpose—
ANGEL: Juror number one, she likes me.
LUCIUS: What?
ANGEL: I’m sayin’: In my trial, I think that juror number one likes me.
LUCIUS: Yeah, well, so long as jurors number two through twelve like you too, then you got no problem, but in the meantime—
ANGEL: Nah, man, I mean, she likes me.
LUCIUS: Yeah, so what?
ANGEL: I’m juss’ sayi
n’ she likes me, what’s wrong wit’ dat?
LUCIUS: Don’t you take no disputatious attitude on me—
ANGEL: What’s wrong with juror number one wanting to get with me?
LUCIUS: Get with you? Well, hey now, Casanova, that’s very special, I’m happy for ya, but I’m a tell you right now, either you got your signals crossed or that female is emotionally disturbed—
ANGEL: ’Cuz she likes me?
LUCIUS: What kinda churchgoin’ woman gonna make goo-goo eyes at some criminal defendant?
ANGEL: Why she gotta be a “churchgoin’ woman”? Why can’t she juss be a woman, like, she’s a woman and I’m a man?
LUCIUS: Oh, you think you a man, huh?
ANGEL: I’m juss sayin’ she likes me.
LUCIUS: I bet she’s fat.
ANGEL: She ain’t fat, man.
LUCIUS: You seen her standing up? I rest my case.
ANGEL: Yo, juss ’cuz you ain’t got no woman—
LUCIUS: I gotta woman! And she’s called The Virgin Mary, Mother of God, and she’s a source of comfort and understanding, a solace in a sea of turpitude!
ANGEL: Yeah well, juror number one ain’t fat.
LUCIUS: She go to Jenny Craig, believe that! I seen ’em all!
ANGEL: Whatchu seen lately to be the judge a anything?
LUCIUS: I see a fool standin’ before me, tell ya that for free. I see all I need to see. Don’t ya get my dander up now, son. Don’t you danderize me! And don’t you never change the subject on me again when I’m pursuin’ a line of thought like I was subsequent to your pointless little interruption. Talkin’ about girls? Shoot. You see any girls here?
ANGEL: I’m juss sayin’—
LUCIUS: Say! Say! Say! What I’m sayin’ is, if you horny, go in the corner and whack your pee-pee, juss leave me out of it.
ANGEL: And I’m sayin’ I ain’t interested in any conversation about God.
LUCIUS: You don’t like God?
ANGEL: I didn’t say that.
LUCIUS: I’m not saying that you did. I’m asking you a question, a direct question: Do you like God?
ANGEL: I don’t know God, okay? You know him, or you think you know him—
LUCIUS: Think I know him?
ANGEL: Whatever, you know him—
LUCIUS: No, no, no, son. It’s not “whatever.” Either I know him or I don’t. What do you think? Do I know him?
ANGEL: I don’t know—
LUCIUS: “Don’t know”? Don’t try to jive me with “I don’t know.” Of course you know! You juss too feeble-hearted and trifling to lissen to what you already know to be true in your damaged heart! I look like a fool to you?
ANGEL: It ain’t like that, man—
LUCIUS: Or maybe you juss think I’m insane, “Black Plague,” “Boogie Man,” “Boo Mothahfuckah! Comin’ to eat you up!” That it? You think I’m some kinda cancerous plane crash?
ANGEL: You’re cool, man, you’re cool—
LUCIUS: Cool? You lucky they got a cage between us, talkin’ ’bout “cool”! Be anything you wanna be in this life, son, be a damn atheist, arsonist, lowlife, heretic, Antichrist, politician, cable TV installer, any kinda general miscreant tickles your T-bone, but doncha ever be cool! And doncha ever try to tell me that I’m cool, ‘cuz I juss won’t stand for it! Be blazin’ or be freezin’, but doncha ever be cool! Cool? Shit! That’s juss a waste of my time, and I care about my damn time! Do you hear me? I said, do you hear me?
ANGEL: I’m … I’m sorry—
LUCIUS: I didn’t ask you were you sorry. I take one look at you and I can tell you frankly, you one of the sorriest people I ever seen. I asked you, do you hear me?
ANGEL: I hear you.
LUCIUS: Do you hear me?
ANGEL: I ain’t the fuckin’ enemy, man.
LUCIUS: You need to inspect yourself, so you can respect yourself, little man!
ANGEL: You know what? Why don‘tchu just inspect your fuckin’ self, mothahfuckah.
LUCIUS: You need ta get straight wit’ the Lord, pancho.
ANGEL: You straight with the Lord, Lucius?
LUCIUS: August 4th, 1996, I was out there at night, dark night, black. Before I knew it, the sky filled wit’ light, some kinda meteor shower, eclipse, somethin’ out a nowhere I felt God! No rational explanation ’cept I felt Him. Felt his Light. Powerful light! And on my knees, I begged His mercy and forgiveness! And the funny thing is, I had felt it before, that feeling. A few times. But I never attributed it ta God. I always thought, when it happened, it’s the smack, or the cocaine, some kinda deja-who—wasn’t none of that! God had touched me, but I juss thought it was the wind … God forgives me for what I done, and he’ll forgive you too if ya ask him.
ANGEL: You ain’t straight wit’ shit.
LUCIUS: And you know that how?
ANGEL: Doan make me fuckin’ hurt you, man.
LUCIUS: Hurt me? How a little Chihuahua like you gonna harm me?
ANGEL: You could call me fuckin’ names, talk down to me like I’m some fuckin’ schoolkid, it don’t change the facts!
LUCIUS: Curse, curse, curse! Chirp! Chirp! Chirp! That’s what you is—a little dumb sparrow, chirpin’ in the wind!
ANGEL: Valdez was right about you.
LUCIUS: Chirp, chirp, chirp—
ANGEL: You killed eight people, man. You a damn psychopath! A fuckin’ nut job talkin’ ‘bout God, talkin’ ’bout Kingdom of Heaven; you can talk shit all you want, say your prayers twenty-four hours a day, it don’t mean shit!
LUCIUS: Doan mean shit, huh?
ANGEL: Dass right.
LUCIUS: Prayer doan mean shit?
ANGEL: You deaf, mothahfuckah, thass what I said!
LUCIUS: If prayer doan mean shit, then how come I was awoken the other night to hear a sorry little bitch stutterin’ over some prayer in between chokes ’n’ sobs ’n’ snorts from inhaling the little puddle a tears on his damp little prison pillow? If prayer doan mean shit, then what the fuck were you doing Tuesday last? Or Monday? Or lass Saturday after lunch for that matter? ’Cuz I don’t think it was Valdez I heard, and you the onlyest mothahfuckah up in here besides me. So, do prayer mean shit, or don’t it? You tell me …
Our Lady of 121st Street Page 13