You’re okay, I say. You’re okay.
But I have no idea. I have no idea what I’m talking about.
Molly comes around pretty quick. She sits up and her eyes dart this way and that. Bright blue, with pupils like needles. I hold up three fingers and she says three in a cold, faraway voice. Her voice is angry and I think I understand. I have had seizures, blackouts and whenever I come out of one I am angry and paranoid. I can’t remember anything and I don’t know who has been watching me. I carry her inside and the girl named Daphne brings over a glass of water. Molly says thank you and Daphne smiles and perhaps I’m imagining it, but a look seems to pass between them and I wonder if they know each other.
I called an ambulance, Daphne says.
No, says Molly. I don’t want to go to the hospital.
Daphne shrugs. I don’t care what you do. Just don’t die in here.
Milk, says Molly. Will you bring me a glass of milk.
Whole or nonfat? Says Daphne.
What the fuck kind of question is that? I say.
Daphne glares at me. This is a coffee shop.
Whole milk, says Molly.
Anything for you?
No, I say. Thank you.
I take Molly’s hand. Her skin is a little warm but not unusually so. I find her pulse and glance at the clock on the wall. Thirty seconds crawl by. Her heart beats thirty-three times.
You sure you’re okay? I say.
I’m fine, she says. Fine.
Molly is slouched low in her chair, staring at me mournfully.
I don’t quite believe you.
I’m sorry.
What was the other thing you were going to tell me?
Molly smiles, a thin bright smile. That I have seizures, sometimes.
Molly drinks her milk slowly and the color returns to her face. It seems unwise for her to get back on the motorcycle anytime soon and she shrugs when I say so. But she doesn’t resist when I take her outside. Molly stands beside me, silent and docile and possibly embarrassed. I tell her not to worry but she just stares at me, forgotten helmet in hand. I hail a cab and help her into it. Molly recites the address and the driver shrugs, says it might be twenty bucks. I give him forty and tell him to make sure she gets there. The cab disappears into slow, maddening traffic. I get on the bike and just sit there a moment. Molly never answered my question. The film is more complicated than Miller gave us to believe. What the hell does that mean. I cruise around Berkley in low gear until I come to a sporting goods store. I go inside and purchase a set of compact, high-powered binoculars, then head for the hills.
I approach the house of Miller from above. I leave the bike on the road and walk until I come to a reasonable vantage point, creep into the neighbor’s yard and climb his tree. If trespassing is the only law I break today then it’s a good day. I am not directly above Miller’s house, but at such an angle that affords me a view of eleven windows. I am less than a hundred yards away. I scan the windows for signs of life and nothing is doing. It occurs to me that Miller might very well be performing animal sacrifice in one of the rooms I can’t see, but I tell myself that that which I cannot see does not concern me. It doesn’t exist. I settle into the crooked arms of the tree and light a cigarette. I contemplate a nap. I don’t sleep, however. I don’t care to wake up with a broken neck. Twenty minutes pass, slowly. I am bored silly and my ass is sore. I would give my left arm for a pint of whiskey. I smoke cigarettes and watch the house.
The yellow cab rolls up and deposits Molly in the driveway and it does seem like she should have gotten home long before now. She carries a package wrapped in plain brown paper, entering through the kitchen doors. Miller appears and they talk for a minute. Their conversation is relatively subdued, their body language wary. They appear to disagree for a moment. Miller tries to kiss her, but she withdraws. Molly moves into a part of the house that I can’t see. Miller goes into the living room and flops down on the couch. He puts one foot up on the coffee table and does not move again.
A black Range Rover arrives with a U-Haul trailer in tow and I bring the binoculars up. The first to get out is Jude. She wears jeans and boots and a white leather jacket. Her hair is loose and she wears no sunglasses. Now the other doors are thrown open. Two men and a woman get out. One of the men is Jeremy. He wears black jeans and a black T-shirt under a black vest. The other man I have not seen before. He is large, slow and burly, with a red beard and a wild head of red hair. He wears brown coveralls and boots. The woman looks tiny beside him. She wears black sweats that hang loose from narrow hips and a red tank top. There is a camera bag slung over her left shoulder. Now she turns slowly in my direction, as if regarding the sky. Daphne, from the café. She no longer wears the baseball cap and it hits me. I know where I’ve seen her before. Two nights ago, her name was Veronica. She gave me a grim blow job for ninety bucks. She stares in my direction for another minute, then bends to remove a video camera from her bag.
This is getting interesting.
Jeremy and his burly pal begin to unload equipment from the trailer. I watch them for a moment, glad I am not home. That shit looks heavy. I check the windows of the house and see that Miller has not moved, but now he is wearing a straw hat. He looks like a coke dealer. I find Molly in one of the bedrooms. She wears a black leotard and appears to be practicing yoga. One long white leg is perpendicular to the floor. This is very sexy but I don’t have time for casual peeping. I return to the scene out front. Jude is standing at the back of the truck. The hatch is open and I can’t see her face but I get the feeling she is talking to someone.
Jude leans into the truck and helps a small boy climb out.
He is five or six years old, with a shock of blond hair. He wears green pants and a green T-shirt with a big yellow Nike swoosh across the front. The boy is shivering and so am I. I’ve seen him before. His mouth is covered in duct tape and he is blindfolded but I recognize him straight away. He’s the kid from the videotape, the kid from the baseball game. He is the first-born son of MacDonald Cody.
Jude is gentle with the boy but he looks fucking terrified.
Legs cramped and bright with needles. I stumble, running for the bike.
twenty-two.
FADE IN.
Exterior, house of Miller. Day.
Wide angle of yard. Long shadows stretch across a gravel driveway. Two white men, fat and thin, struggle under the weight of a large, black metal case. The thin man is Jeremy, 22, recently employed as a doorman at the King James Hotel in downtown San Francisco. Jeremy is an aspiring filmmaker born in Mississippi. He has lived in San Francisco for seven years, surviving alternately as a bike messenger, meth dealer, male prostitute and busboy. The fat man is Huck, 29, originally from Los Angeles. Huck is a guitar player who supplements his income by running lights and sound for small-budget films, primarily in pornography.
Huck- Get your end up. Get the whore up.
Jeremy- Fuck you. I’ve got my end.
Huck- Just hang on to it. I’d hate to lose a toe.
Jeremy- Take it easy. This is the last one.
The roar of a motorcycle as a rider in black helmet comes down the hill, too fast. The bike spins out of control and the rider lays it down on its side. The rider yanks off his helmet and tosses it to the ground, where it twirls for a moment before coming to rest. The rider is Phineas Poe, white male, 39. Disgraced and severely disturbed ex-cop, with a history of drug and alcohol problems. He is prone to petit mal seizures accompanied by apocalyptic visions. He wears a brown leather coat, jeans, and black shirt unbuttoned at the throat. He approaches Jeremy and Huck, his face pale with anger. He stops just short of Jeremy and puts one hand on the metal case.
Poe- What the hell is going on, Jeremy?
Jeremy- You need to talk to your girl. She’s in charge.
Poe- Were you with her when she grabbed that kid?
Jeremy- I don’t know anything about the kid. He was in the truck when she picked me up.
Huck- Hey, man
. This box is heavy. You mind getting the fuck out the way.
Poe- The box is heavy?
Poe shoves Jeremy and the box falls to the ground, spilling open.
Huck- Motherfucker. That is some expensive gear in there.
Poe- Do you think I give a shit?
Huck- Jeremy, who is this asshole?
Poe- I’m Joe Blow. Who the fuck are you?
Huck- The name is Huck. I’m running sound and lights on this picture.
Poe- I hope somebody is paying you well.
Huck- None of your business but yeah, they are.
Poe- You’re an accomplice to kidnapping already.
Jeremy- Listen, brother. We’re on the clock, okay. Why don’t you let us do our job and you can take this up with Jude directly.
Poe turns his head to the right and looks directly at the camera. Now he glances back at Jeremy.
Poe- If you call me brother again, I will eat your fucking heart.
Huck- Oh, man. This is gonna be fun.
Poe approaches the camera. In the background, Jeremy and Huck can be seen picking up the box and carrying it to the house. Poe comes closer now and his face fills the frame.
Poe- What’s your name? Daphne or Veronica.
He puts his hand over the lens. Dark, with slivers of light. The sound of breathing.
Poe- Put it down. Put the fucking camera down.
Daphne- Miller wants everything on tape. Everything.
Poe knocks the camera to the ground and there is a prolonged, blurry shot of dust and green leaves.
Poe- What is your name?
Daphne- My real name is Jennifer. But you can call me Daphne.
Poe- What about the other night?
Daphne- That was like…an audition.
Poe- Jesus…
The crunch of gravel as Poe walks away. The camera is picked up and now there is a shot of his back as he approaches the house. The camera follows him inside.
Interior, the house of Miller. Day.
The living room. The camera swings around Poe as he enters, then slowly pans room. The room is bright with sunlight. High ceilings and massive windows. The window frames splinter the room with shadows in the shape of crosses. The décor is gloomy, futuristic. Bright blue sofa, kidney shaped. Metallic chairs without arms. A chrome loveseat and a coffee table of bubbled volcanic glass. There are a number of kitchen appliances scattered about, broken or taken apart. There is a puddle of red paint on the hardwood floor beneath a bay window. The small, uneven footprints of a child lead away from the puddle and stop near the center of the room, where a number of broken toys lie.
John Ransom Miller reclines on the sofa. White male, 42, dead or sleeping. He wears white linen pants and a straw hat and nothing else. Miller is a homicidal Zen Buddhist with a degree in criminal law, originally from Florida.
Enter Molly Jones. White female, 27. Miller’s girlfriend. She came to California from Tennessee six years ago, hoping to become an actress, and is currently a student at Berkeley studying theater. Molly is epileptic. She wears a white cotton sundress and brown cowboy boots. Her blond hair is pulled into a ponytail. She glances at Poe, who stands in the doorway, then averts her eyes. Molly sits down on the edge of the coffee table before Miller.
Zoom slow on Poe. He scratches his head, scowls at the camera.
Poe- What’s happening, Molly?
Molly- Phineas…you’re here. Thank god.
Poe- What?
Molly- It’s begun.
Poe- I can see that. Where the hell is Jude?
Enter Jude, white female, 35. Last name and place of birth unknown. Estranged girlfriend of Phineas Poe. Jude is a professional killer, formerly of the Army’s special forces, who honed her skills with an Israeli death squad. She has a long white scar on the left side of her face. Black hair, unkempt. Jude wears red velvet jeans and a white tank top, black motorcycle boots and no jewelry. She crosses the room and sits down on the sofa beside Miller.
Poe- What’s going on, Jude?
Jude- I just heard the funniest joke. I almost died.
Poe- You brought a kid in here, just now. I saw you.
Jude- Are you sure about that?
Molly- There’s a kid in the house?
Poe- A little boy.
Molly- I don’t understand. Where did he come from?
Poe- They snatched him, apparently.
Molly- They?
Poe- My girlfriend, there. And your husband.
Molly- He’s not my husband.
Poe- Whatever. Hey, Miller. Wake up.
Jude- Do you want to hear it?
Poe- What?
Jude- The joke.
Poe- (glaring at Miller) What the hell is wrong with him?
Molly- I know. He looks dead.
Jude- He’s depressed, maybe. He’s afraid you don’t like him.
Poe- I don’t. I don’t like him.
Molly- He looks dead.
Poe- Are you high?
Jude- He’s not dead.
Molly- But he’s not breathing.
Jude- It’s a Buddhist thing.
Poe- That would explain the funny hat.
Jude- Anyway, the joke concerns Billy the Kid…
Poe- Enough of this shit. Where is the boy?
Jude- Do you want to hear this joke, or not?
Poe- Please. Tell us a fucking joke.
Jude- Billy the Kid was in a shootout with his pal Charlie. Billy shot Charlie in the throat, but didn’t kill him. Charlie fell in the dirt and started rolling around like he was drowning in yellow dust. He was taking forever to die. While he was thrashing, a chicken waddled over to Charlie where he lay and grabbed hold of this exposed vein in his neck, grabbed it up in his beak and just yanked it out like a purple rope, then tugged and tugged until it was like ten feet long. And what do you think Charlie said?
Molly- I don’t…I don’t know.
Jude- Get away from me yer stupid chicken.
Molly- That’s not a joke.
Jude- No. It’s kind of a poem, by Michael Ondaatje. He wrote the English Patient.
Poe and Molly exchange glances.
Jude- Come on. You can’t tell me that’s not funny.
Molly- I hated that movie.
Jude- Don’t even think of fucking with me, honey.
Molly- Yeah, well. I just kept wishing the English guy would die, already.
Poe- Where is the boy, Jude?
Jude- I can’t tell you.
Jude begins to laugh. Molly chews a thumbnail, worried. As Poe exits the room, Miller opens his eyes and draws a finger across his throat.
Cut to black-and-white overhead surveillance cameras and follow Poe as he searches the house. He moves from one room to the next but finds nothing. In the basement, he comes upon Jeremy and Huck, who are surrounded by an array of sound and video equipment. The three of them stare at one another.
Huck- You. You fucked up my boom mike.
Poe- Unreal. This is unreal.
He stalks around the room and comes upon a large box marked props. He throws open the box and methodically digs through it, tossing aside cell phones and wristwatches and eyeglasses and a prosthetic arm until he finds what he’s looking for: A small snub-nosed pistol, a .32.
Jeremy- You’re wasting your time, man. Blanks in it.
Poe- I don’t want to kill anyone, yet.
He glances up, suddenly aware of the tiny camera in the corner. He gets up and stares into the lens, then wearily smashes it with the pistol. The picture goes to snow for a moment.
Fade to interior, living room. Day.
Miller sits on the sofa with Jude. Their heads are bent together, as if sharing a secret. Jude smokes a cigarette, reading from a page of the script. Miller has a red pencil in his mouth. There are more pages of script on coffee table and floor. Molly paces around the room, turning now and then to glare at the camera.
Molly- Does the camera have to be on for this?
Miller- The making of the film and t
he film itself will overlap and become one.
Molly- It’s self-indulgence. It’s bullshit.
Miller- Maybe. But I think the making of the film might ultimately be more interesting than the film itself. And more frightening.
Jude- What’s with this scene between me and Poe?
Miller- Which scene?
Jude- This sex scene on page 36. It says here that I make his nose bleed without touching him.
M i l l e r -
Yeah. I’m thinking you have telekinetic powers, or something. I haven’t sorted that out, yet.
Molly- What sex scene?
Jude- Don’t tell me you’re jealous.
Enter Poe, holding the gun. He looks at Molly, then down at the child’s footprints. He bends to touch the paint and his finger comes away red. He shakes his head, disgusted. He kicks the glass coffee table sideways with his boot. The loose pages of script fly into the air. Poe points the gun at Miller.
Miller- Improv. I love it.
Poe- This is going to hurt, I’m afraid.
Miller- Please…you must be joking.
Poe- Where is the boy?
Miller- The boy?
Poe- Don’t do that. Don’t fucking echo me.
Miller- The script does mention a boy. But I haven’t decided what to do with him. Child actors can be such a nightmare.
Poe- I saw Jude bring the boy in here.
Jude- He’s imagining things.
Molly- What about these footprints?
Poe stares directly at the camera again.
Miller- I wish you wouldn’t do that. I hate it when actors address the camera.
Poe- What are you afraid of?
Miller doesn’t answer and without warning, Poe swings around and fires the gun at him. The shot is loud, deafening. Everyone jumps.
Miller- Missed. He missed me, by god.
Poe- I missed on purpose. For effect.
Hell's Half Acre Page 17