LUCIUS: He ain’t talkin’ ’bout how much time you got. He talkin’ ’bout how long I got before they escort my ass to the van downstairs.
ANGEL: You goin’ ta court?
LUCIUS: Florida.
ANGEL: Florida? Today?
LUCIUS: Why? Was you plannin’ ta bake me a cake?
ANGEL: Yo … nah, juss, you know … I’m juss sayin’ …
LUCIUS: Sayin’ what? “Sorry”? People don’t appreciate no human life! I’m tryin’ ta stay alive, make a contribution, everybody outraged: “How dare he wanna live!” Now, I’m a go die; you think it’s gonna make one bit a difference? People still gonna be pissed off: “Why he got a bed?” “Why can’t we torture him more?” “Why he eatin’ a damn cheeseburger?” Fuck ’em.
ANGEL: I’m … You can’t appeal dat shit?
LUCIUS: I accept God’s will.
ANGEL: But what if dat ain’t God’s will?
LUCIUS: A lesser man might raise dat question.
ANGEL: I ain’t lesser.
VALDEZ: Six minutes!
LUCIUS: Nah, you perfect. You gonna go home, smoke a joint, everything gonna be okeydokey.
ANGEL: Dass right.
LUCIUS: Wake up in the mornin’, eatin’ your Fruity Pebbles, talkin’ ’bout “Gee, Mommy! What a scary dream I had.”
ANGEL: Doan see why not—
LUCIUS: “I didn’t really kill no man.” “I don’t really have ta take no responsibility.” “God gonna work out a special payment plan for me.”
ANGEL: Yup.
LUCIUS: See, I wasn’t aware God took the damn Discover card! But I guess if you’re “Angel Cruz,” well, it’s just different, huh? Everybody else pay cash, but “Angel”? He juss walk right out the store and God’ll juss put it on his tab, ain’t that right?
ANGEL: You juss jealous I’m gettin’ out—
LUCIUS: What I got ta be jealous for? You got Beelzebub doin’ your thinkin’ for ya; meanwhile I got the Voice a God sounding sweetly in my ear tellin’ me, “Ya done good, Lucius, now come on home.”
ANGEL: “Ya done good”? Lucius, what the fuck “good” you ever done ta make God say some bullshit like that?
LUCIUS: Why doan you ask Him yourself if you’re so innerested?
ANGEL: I’m askin’ you.
LUCIUS: And I’m tellin’ you: I ain’t no long-distance phone operator! You gotta question for The Man, you need ta dial direct, jack!
ANGEL: What’s so “good” ‘bout killin’ eight people?!
LUCIUS: “Eight people,” “Eight people,” dass all anyone ever wanna say!
ANGEL: Dass ’cuz—
LUCIUS: Y’all love ta get all up in Lucius business, doncha? Makes y’all feel cozy and safe! “Lucius killed eight people, he bad! We ain’t killed no eight people, we must be good”! Shoot, dass some humorous knee-slapper y’all perpetratin’ on yourselves—and dass my word right there!
VALDEZ: Five minutes!
LUCIUS: Every night, kid, every night, without fail, on the cement ground, knees bruised, ligaments twitchin’ an tortin’, neck achin’, I prayed for you. Asked God, “Make Angel who he is, not how he actin’.” I cried.
ANGEL: Yeah, well—
LUCIUS: Somethin’ wrong wit’ dat?
ANGEL: You could do whatchu want—
LUCIUS: That ain’t what I asked ya—
ANGEL: I’m sayin’—
LUCIUS: Son: me prayin’ for ya, is there somethin’ wrong wit’ dat?
ANGEL: It ain’t wrong—
LUCIUS: Is it “bad”?!
ANGEL: I didn’t say that—
LUCIUS: Is it “bad”?!
ANGEL: Nah.
LUCIUS: Is it “good”?
ANGEL: Dat don’t mean—
LUCIUS: Don’t mean, don’t mean! Did it ever occur to you once … ever in all these days ’n’ nights we spent together: Did it ever occur to you, Angel, ever, ever … to pray for me?
(Pause)
VALDEZ: Four minutes!
(Pause)
LUCIUS: See? Dass what I thought …
ANGEL: Lucius—
LUCIUS: Doncha “Lucius” me now! Shoulda “Lucius”-ed me then!
ANGEL: God don’t hear me.
LUCIUS: God hear you and you hear God! You doan like what he sayin’, dass the real story!
ANGEL: I don’t know what He’s sayin’!
LUCIUS: Get on your knees right now, ask the Lord’s forgiveness, I dare ya!
ANGEL: Yo—
LUCIUS: Do it!
ANGEL: And then what? I get on my knees; “Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me”; and then what?!
LUCIUS: You know what!
ANGEL: Ain’t gonna change nuttin’!
LUCIUS: Coward!
ANGEL: I ain’t no coward!
LUCIUS: Then prove it!
ANGEL: I ain’t gots ta prove shit.
LUCIUS: God say—
ANGEL: You don’t know nuthin’ ’bout God—
LUCIUS: I know everything about God! It’s people like you, cryin’ in the darkness, waitin’ on the lightning, meanwhile you got the flashlight in your own damn lap; you’re the ones don’t know shit about God! God say, “Come to Me and Be Free”! How much more red carpet rollin’ y‘all need?! People wait on faith like it’s some kinda gift! Ain’t nuttin’ like that! Faith is like a little blade a grass, fights it way through the concrete tryin’ a get his-self a little drink a water! Faith ain’t no Puerto Rican Finger Puppet waggin’ my head like a fool! I am my own man! I am a Soldier of Christ, and the light a God shines on me and in me in perpetuity, jack!
ANGEL: You killed eight people—
LUCIUS: So what I killed eight people? They juss people!
ANGEL: What?!
LUCIUS: If God didn’t mean for them people to be killed, how would I have the ability to kill them?
ANGEL: Them people never did nothin’ wrong.
LUCIUS: Never said they did.
ANGEL: You did that shit on your own.
LUCIUS: Yes I did.
ANGEL: Not God, you.
LUCIUS: Dass right.
ANGEL: Your own free will.
LUCIUS: Hold up now! Was it my free will to be molested and sodomized, abused and violated from the age a five? Was it my free will to turn ta drugs and alcohol as a result a that shit? Was it my free will to be a undiagnosed manic-depressive paranoid schizophrenic?! Nah, people doan wanna hear ’bout none a that! All people wanna do is cry for the victims! What about my victimization?
ANGEL: That ain’t—
LUCIUS: They put some faggot-ass rock star on VH-1 talkin’ ’bout his battle wit’ addiction, everybody cry! Some movie actress, she got incested once or twice, she so “brave” to come forward! But me? I’m juss a Black Plague! Ain’t no “disease a addiction” for me, it’s “free will.” Ain’t no “brave comin’ forward” for Lucius, it’s Florida and Death fuckin’ Row!
ANGEL: You crazy, man—
VALDEZ: Three minutes!
LUCIUS: Jesus’ last words was “Forgive them, Father, they know not what they do.” Now I’m tryin’ ta take the Jesus perspective on this whole deal, forgive the people, but it’s hard. Everybody act like they down wit’ God, but didn’t God say killing’s wrong?
ANGEL: Killing’s wrong for everyone else, but it’s okay for you?
LUCIUS: I killed a little boy, chopped his pee-pee off and fed it to him. Beat him to death with his own baseball bat, he was screamin’, “Mommy, Mommy.” It didn’t feel wrong. It felt good!
ANGEL: That’s ’cuz you fucked in the head, man!
LUCIUS: If that’s true, then, what’s your excuse?
ANGEL: I ain’t makin’ excuses—
LUCIUS: How’d it feel when you killed that Reverend Kim? Was it good for you too?
ANGEL: How you gonna enjoy killin’ a little kid and think God could ever wanna shine a light on you?
VALDEZ: Two minutes!
LUCIUS: God loves me.
ANGEL:
He loves you more than he loves an innocent boy?
LUCIUS: Do God love you more than he loved dat Reverend Kim? Huh? Answer my damn question!
ANGEL: Maybe he does—
LUCIUS: “Maybe”? “Maybe”? That ain’t no answer! Mothahfuckah, get up on that witness stand tomorrow, tell the judge, “maybe” I shot that Reverend—see what he gonna tell ya! Maybe Time is over, this is Grown Man Time right here! You shot and killed an unarmed, defenseless sixty-five-year-old man. Period. The End. You know it, I know it, God know it! And, you did it in a church! You could dance the Lambada ’round it all night, string a forest full a Christmas trees with all the “maybe‘s” you could pull out your turned-out, lyin’ ass—and it will never be different from how I just said it! Shit! (To God) Try ta offer a dyin’ fool in the desert a drink a water, Lord, and all he could say is “maybe”!
ANGEL: I’m goin’ home, Lucius—home—and I’m gonna have my life, ya fuckin’ lunatic!
LUCIUS: Bitch, you are home! And the life you have is miserable and worthless and done! And I’m a tell you somethin’ else: Proud! Hateful! Selfish! False! Cowardly! Slippery! Vengeful! Weak willed! Without remorse! Neither fish nor fowl: Evil—mothahruckah—
ANGEL: Thass … Nah! Fuck dat! Nah!
LUCIUS: The Evil took ya, Angel—took ya so good, you don’t even know you gone!
ANGEL: I ain’t gone nowhere!
LUCIUS: Oh, you gone, all right. Gone! Bon voyage, Baby Capone—enjoy the chicken wings!
ANGEL: You don’t know me! You don’t know nuthin’!
LUCIUS: Okay.
ANGEL: You don’t know my heart! I’m all heart!
LUCIUS: Was.
ANGEL: All your words! All your bullshit! All this time! All this time, I thought you maybe knew sumpthin’—
LUCIUS: I know you killed a man.
ANGEL: Yeah! Yeah, dass right! Yeah! I killed a man. One man!
LUCIUS: One’s better than eight?
ANGEL: It’s different.
LUCIUS: How?
ANGEL: I ain’t like you!
LUCIUS: You juss like me!
ANGEL: I know who I am! I’m good!
LUCIUS: You ain’t good!
ANGEL: Mothahfuckah, I don’t feed little children their dicks, then say it felt good! I don’t say shooting the Reverend Kim felt good! I know what I did! I know how I feel—
LUCIUS: I “know” how the Reverend Kim “feels”—motherfucker feels dead!
ANGEL: I’m goin’ home!
LUCIUS: You ain’t nuthin’ but a pigeon-hearted little bitch—thass your nature, thass your character, thass who you are!
ANGEL: You don’t know me!
LUCIUS: Yeah, you might be lookin’ at me, but you talkin’ ’bout your own self, ain’tcha?!
ANGEL: I ain’t, I won’t, wouldn’t …
LUCIUS: “Won’t, wouldn’t” what? What?
ANGEL: (To VALDEZ) Valdez!
LUCIUS: Valdez can’t save ya!
ANGEL: (To VALDEZ) Valdez, take me outta here!
LUCIUS: You ain’t no man! You ain’t shit, you don’t stand for shit, and your life is a wasteful embarrassment!
ANGEL: Valdez!
LUCIUS: Oldest juvenile delinquent I ever seen! Still squirt dog water, doncha?
ANGEL: Fuck you.
LUCIUS: Got no vocabulary neither! Unrepentant no-class sinner!
ANGEL: Yo, Valdez!
LUCIUS: Run back ta the darkness, ya blind bat!
ANGEL: I ain’t nuthin’ like you!
LUCIUS: Proud, proud, proud!
ANGEL: Never was, never will be!
LUCIUS: Chirp Chirp Chirp!
ANGEL: Valdez!
VALDEZ: One minute!
ANGEL: C’mon, Valdez!
VALDEZ: One minute!
ANGEL: Valdez! Please!
VALDEZ: One minute!
Scene 5
MARY JANE: When I used to be a lawyer, I would wake up cranky as hell every morning at five a.m. and I would fantasize about sleeping in, calling in sick, having a “me” day. I was resentful about the demands of the job, the lack of recognition, the lack of a life, the fact that it was “hard.” Once I got disbarred, I suddenly had all the time in the world, and I didn’t want it … I didn’t want it at all. Angel’s redirect had been masterfully constructed, and he was masterful. He was wiping away tears, looking the jury right in the eye, and most of all, he looked and sounded completely sympathetic and believable. I got emotional. I tried not to show it, but it just spilled out. I was proud of him. I was prouder of myself. And why not? It was my defining moment and … I held on to it a split second too long. Angel started sobbing, and I was vaguely thinking, “Okay, get him off the stand,” but before I could react, because the truth is I really was getting off on how emotionally involved the jury was getting over all this, before I knew what was happening, Angel started talking. He told the judge not to blame me, that I was just trying to help. I tried to cut him off; I said, “No more questions,” but Angel kept on talking …
ANGEL: “Hail Mary—
MARY JANE: And talking …
ANGEL: “Hail Mary—
MARY JANE: Angel will be eligible for parole in 2038 …
ANGEL: “Hail Mary, you’re a lady, talk to your fuckin’ Son.” I doan, I doan mean that … I juss … I juss wanna be good … I wanna be, I wanna be a good man, Mary, I wanna be a man … Saint Anthony? Saint Anthony! “Saint Anthony, Saint Anthony, please come around, somethin’ is lost and … I juss … it’s ’cuz … I stole John Hameric’s jacket, God. I know you know that, but I stole it, and I didn’t mean it, even though I did mean it ’cuz I was jealous that he had that jacket and I didn’t—and he cried and cried, and I threw that shit in the Hudson and I never toal him ‘cuz I blamed Sidney Betincourt and then Sidney Betincourt kicked John’s ass and I never said shit and I am so fuckin’ sorry! I am so fuckin’ sorry, God, and please, do somethin’ good for John Hameric wherever he is, make somethin’ good happen to him, please, let him hit the number or find some money or get a new jacket, God! Somethin! Make him have a good life ’cuz he loved that fuckin’ jacket, God, that fuckin’ stupid Spiderman jacket. I can’t believe … I wish … I’m so sorry. I am.
Our Lady of 121st Street Page 16