Bad Seed

“BAD SEED”
An evening of noir…

Act One:
“LOOSE ENDS”
“A REFUGE FROM CONFESSION”
“ALONG COMES MARY”
“QUICKIE”
“’TILL DEATH”

.…Intermission….

Act Two:
“THUMBS”

Written by Harry Shannon

(Based on the short story collection
“Bad Seed,” published in 2001 by Medium Rare Books.com)

Third draft 6/03

“LOOSE ENDS”
Characters: Sean Moloney
Patrick, the bartender
One drunk named Tom O’Malley
Montano, (a killer)
Woman (a killer)

An OLD TIME RADIO appears in a pin spot. Some Sinatra-style music plays.

We HEAR a voice; the bartender, Patrick…NOTE: THIS ENTIRE SECTION is presented as a ‘radio play’ with SOUND EFFECTS throughout. Effects listed are minimal and suggested only.

PATRICK (O.S.) ‘Tis a world of hurt, and I suppose that we all learn who we can trust the hard way. (Long beat) Ah, this was a bad death. It bothers me to this day I was a part of it. ((HEAR rain, thunder) I got to tell somebody about it all, while I still got the breath in me…
(Sinatra music fades) It was raining like hell, and after midnight. My bar was nearly empty. That winter was colder than a witch’s tit. Now, this was in the mid-1960s, so a lot of the regulars had crowded in to catch the Bears and the Packers play a grudge match. I had maybe two hundred and change in the till, not bad for back then, and I was feeling pretty good.

(One drunk can be heard in the background, dancing with himself and singing)

O’MALLEY: (Sings during Patrick’s next lines) When Irish eyes are smiling, sure ‘tis like a morn in spring; in the lilt of Irish laughter, you can hear the angels sing…

PATRICK: The only one left by closing time was old Tom O’Malley. I knew Tom would try to slip out the door and stiff me for the tab, the prick. But then he’d be back tomorrow night with most of the cash and an apology. That was the way things worked back then.

O’ MALLEY: (still singing) When Irish hearts are happy, all the world seems bright and gay, and when Irish eyes are smiling, sure they’ll steal your heart away…

PATRICK: Sean Moloney came blowing through the door like an evil wind. I’d known him since he was a lad. He was a good boy, Sean, quick with a grin and loved to gamble, but no one would ever have taken him for a hard case.

WE HEAR the door open...footsteps…

SEAN: Patrick, I’m freezing my balls off.

PATRICK: I’m not surprised. You’re out on a night fit for idiots. (door slams)

SEAN: Tullamore Dew straight up.

PATRICK: Already pouring, son. Already pouring.

O’Malley reaches the high notes and leaves, still dancing. HEAR the door close and he fades away…

SEAN: You’ve got to help me, Patrick. I’m in deep shit.

PATRICK: Why boy, whatever is the matter?

SEAN: I got up to my ass in markers. You know how it is. Jimmy Bones tells me I only got one way to square it up. I got to do him a favor.

PATRICK: Jesus! A favor for Jimmy Bones could land you a seven-to-ten stretch in Humboldt.

SEAN: Exactly. But what choice I got, Patrick? I’m into Bones for twenty large, and the vig is piling up. Sure, I say. Anything I can do to help out, Jimmy. I mean what else am I gonna do, right?

PATRICK: What happened?

SEAN: Bones, he hands me over to O’Leary, but Michael don’t know what to do with me. He gives my name to somebody else. I’m told I should just stay home and wait. A week goes by, I’m wondering what’s the story? Finally someone calls and tells me where there’s this pay phone. (HEAR FOOTSTEPS, TRAFFIC) Now I’m shitting bricks, you know? They say that I gotta go and stand in the fucking rain down at Chester and 45th until somebody calls that number.
(WE HEAR PHONE RING)Some guy I don’t know calls it, he’s got a real scary voice.

MONTANO: My name is Montano. Be ready to be picked up by Rainbow Liquor in maybe fifteen minutes, dipshit.

PATRICK: Uh oh.

SEAN: Yeah. I go there and wait. Car pulls up and the door opens like something out of a horror flick, right?

MONTANO: Get in.

SEAN: He says I should get in, so I do. Patrick, I’m spooked, but I keep on thinking about that twenty large and how much I appreciate having my balls still attached to my body. This guy Montano, he’s a scary mother. Real tall and thin, you know? Does his hair and nails like a broad. Nice suit, wearing on his ass what I paid in rent this month, right? But he’s got no color, like he ain’t seen the sun in a few years. I’m thinking he maybe just got out of the joint. I stick my hand out real friendly, and he ignores it.

MONTANO: Can you be the wheel man and a back up without your heart stops?

SEAN: I say sure. I done that on a couple of jobs here and there.

PATRICK: Oh, Sean me boy…

SEAN: Patrick, don’t look at me that way. It wasn’t nothing big, just a supermarket now and again. I say what’s going on, and he don’t answer. We pull up in front of this beauty parlor, just as its closing. We watch all the fags pack up their hair dryers and kiss each other and split. Then we watch these two broads talk. (WOMENS VOICES, NOISES ON STREET) One is pretty ugly, you know? Big hair, mouth full of bubble gum, see through blouse you don’t really want to see through. The other one, she’s okay. She’s a brunette. Maybe over thirty, but nice. Well dressed, good body with muscle tone. Like she hits the gym three, four times a week at least. I say are we knocking this joint off? This guys laughs at me.

MONTANO: Ain’t you cute. You think this is some kind of little pussy gig, don’t you?

SEAN: Patrick, he tells me were gonna hit somebody.

MONTANO: This is a hit, kid.

WE HEAR as Patrick pours himself a drink, downs it, pours Sean a double; he downs that too…

PATRICK: This is real bad business, boy. Go on. What happened then?

SEAN: My fucking heart is about to blow right out my chest, I’m so scared. Sweet baby Jesus, I never hit nobody and I don’t want to start now, but what am I supposed to do? Here’s one sin I won’t be confessing to Father Shayne, you know?
I’m thinking what I maybe do is, he gets out to do the dirty deed, and I drive like a fucking bat out of hell for Vegas. I just leave his ass there. Take my chances in Nevada, see if my luck changes. But I know I do that and Bones will have my guts in a sandwich. The girl who’s kind of a dog, she comes out first, starts her car and screws around with her radio. The guy starts to get out the driver’s side, then he turns back. I feel something nail me in the gut. I look down and it’s a piece, one of those big 357. Magnum fuckers. I about piss myself.

MONTANO: Here’s what’s going down. That pretty girl was out running in the park last weekend, and she ended up a witness to a hit I done. Some guy I whacked on account of Jimmy Bones.

SEAN: Maybe she’ll keep her trap shut.

MONTANO: Maybe is too risky. She ain’t done nothing wrong…yet. Ain’t gone to the cops, nothing like that. But she could identify me, she wanted to, and Jimmy Bones don’t like loose ends. So she’s toast.
You got a problem with that?

SEAN: N-n-no sir.

PATRICK: Mary and Joseph, boy. I can’t believe my ears.

WE HEAR as he pours Sean another, this time bigger. The kid drinks it, glass hits the bar…

SEAN: So he says I should understand that this is urgent business. He gives me the gun.

MONTANO: Anybody comes along to fuck with us, you take them out. And if you’re not here when I get back, maybe Jimmy has you skinned alive and sold as fish bait down by the wharf.

SEAN: I understand.

MAN’S VOIC E: Good.

SEAN: I don’t mind telling you I’m freaked by now. He takes some rope out of his pocket, like some little kids jump rope, you know? Wooden handles at both ends. Then I see the rope, it’s got wire wrapped all around it, too. And it’s just long enough to drop around her neck from behind. He shows me how it works.
He’s gonna yank once and hold on tight, and then that’s all she wrote. What am I gonna do, Patrick? I don’t want to help this asshole kill some broad, but Jimmy Bones scares me worse than God.

PATRICK: I don’t know, lad. I don’t know what I would have done.

SEAN: The ugly girl drives off. The pretty one, she locks up the beauty parlor and comes out. I’m sitting in the car shaking, man. I think I’m gonna throw up. It
hits me maybe I should honk the horn to warn her or something. I could say it was an accident, but I was just too damned chicken to do it. (FOOTSTEPS)
Montano starts walking up behind her like he’s out for a stroll. She’s not looking back, just walking along towards her car, swinging her purse. I’m dying inside, Patrick. Everything slows down, like when you get in a pile up on the interstate and something awful is gonna happen and you know it but you can’t do anything to stop it. He looks up and down the street. Nobody there.
Montano drops that rope around her neck and starts to pull on it. I close my eyes. When I open them again, they’re both gone.

PATRICK: Gone, you say?

SEAN: Gone. I get out of the car and try to decide what to do. I start over to where they were, and I see something I never want to see again in my life.

PATRICK: Saints preserve us. What did you see?

SEAN: I see this pretty women and she’s got her mouth open and her teeth clenched and her head up. It’s like she’s howling at the moon, except she’s not making a sound. (A long beat)
Patrick…She’s kneeling over him. Montano is face down on the pavement, his neck bent back and she’s pulling hard as she can, finishing him off with a knife. She cuts his throat, man. Blood starts going all over the fucking place, Patrick. I liked to puke.

PATRICK: Oh, my.

SEAN: She stares up at me, the way a mean dog stares at you. Like you’re no big deal. Like he’s just wondering if you’re even worth coming down off the porch. She looks at the car and back at me. She sees I don’t raise the gun, and kind of figures things out for herself.

PATRICK: Thank God you didn’t shoot, boy.

SEAN: I know. So, she gets up, dusts herself off and picks up her purse. I guess she ain’t packing heat, and I am. She shrugs and looks at me. She says this like I should know it anyway. She says…

WOMAN: Jimmy Bones don’t like loose ends.

SEAN: And then she gets in her car and drives away.

PATRICK: Mary, mother of God.

SEAN: (Trying to laugh, voice too high and thin) The whole thing was to set him up. She fucking hit the hit man, Patrick. Don’t that beat all?

PATRICK: (Worried) What did you do with the gun, lad?

SEAN: I threw it in the fucking river. I’m no bad ass, Patrick, you know that.

WE HEAR--Patrick pours the kid another drink and he downs it; then another. Sean is beginning to feel it and starting to slur his words.

SEAN: I’m no bad ass.

PATRICK: I know that, boy.

SEAN: I’m a little short on cash right now.

PATRICK: (WE HEAR—POURS) Take it for free. There may not be enough whiskey in Ireland to wash away this night.

SEAN: Amen to that, Patrick. You got to help me. It’s late and I got nowhere else to go. I need money. I need to get out of town. I seen too much, you know?

PATRICK: Maybe you should go, at that.

SEAN: Can you spot me a few bucks, Patrick? I need to hitchhike to somewhere like Vegas, just start over. I need to be half way across the country before the sun comes up.

PATRICK: (Lying) I didn’t have a very good night. I only cleared sixty and something.

SEAN: Whatever you can do. Anything at all.

PATRICK: It’s all yours, then.

SEAN: I knew I could count on you, Patrick.

PATRICK: Take this bottle with you, boy. It’s cold out there. Go out the back way, so nobody sees you.

Sean starts to leave. HEAR FOOTSTEPS. He stops near the back door.

SEAN: I’m owing you, Patrick. Maybe this will turn out to be a good thing. Maybe this will give me the fresh start I’ve been needing.

PATRICK: Maybe so, son. As my sainted mother used to say: May the roads rise to meet you, may the wind be always at your back and may the good Lord hold you in the palm of his hand forever.

HEAR DOOR CLOSE…

PATRICK I took my time packing up and closing down the bar. I never said a word to anyone...Although God knows I should have. (BEAT) When poor little Sean Moloney turned up dead in the East River, people said the fool had gotten too drunk for such a rainy night. That somehow he got himself mugged and killed. I didn’t say anything. Even when that shoe box with a thousand dollars in it showed up at my door one morning, I didn’t say anything. ( feeling emotion, fighting back tears) I only did what I was told. I gave the boy some money and all the liquor he asked for. That’s all. That should have been the beginning and the end of it. Because you see, nobody ever found out he’d gone and told me the whole story. If they had, I would have been in a body bag too. But I never forgot. I let that kid walk out into the night, all drunk and feeling good. I sent Sean right into the back alley, where she was waiting for him with a knife. (Beat) Jimmy Bones don’t like loose ends.

THE RADIO VANISHES as…The stage goes black…

“A REFUGE FROM CONFESSION”
Dr. Stuart Felder
Mr. Potter
Mrs. Emily Potter
Father Martin

(LIGHTS UP: Tight, small; a spare Psychiatric office: Dr. Felder is in an easy chair, holding a clipboard and taking notes. Meanwhile, his patient Mr. Potter is on the couch, hands folded. NOTE: Both men dress in black and white, the stage has an ‘old movie’ black-and-white feel to it.

FELDER: Why have you decided to resume therapy without your wife in attendance, Mr. Potter?

POTTER (long pause, a sigh) Because she wouldn’t come back. She says she wants to leave the marriage.

FELDER: I see. And how did that make you feel, Mr. Potter?

POTTER: Spoken like a true shrink. How about ‘gee, I’m sorry to hear that’, or ‘that’s awful’ instead of ‘how did that make you feel?’ Why don’t you express an emotion of your own for once?

FELDER: I am sorry to hear the news, Mr. Potter. But my own emotions are of no consequence. We are here to see if we can help you with yours. You sound very upset.

POTTER: Upset? I feel like killing myself.

FELDER: I see. You are experiencing some suicidal ideation?

POTTER: What?

FELDER: Have you visualized killing yourself, Mr. Potter?

POTTER: Does a bear shit in the woods? Is the Pope Catholic?

FELDER: Excuse me?

POTTER: I’m ashamed to admit that I have. Rather often, in fact.

FELDER: That is not as unusual as you might think.”

POTTER: It’s not?”

FELDER: No, not at all. Life is stressful. (consults notes) And you are still carrying an enormous burden of guilt. First, we have that grotesque Catholic childhood of yours and all the masturbation.

POTTER: Oh, God.

FELDER: Then, of course, there is your somewhat accurate perception that you contributed to the death of your business partner seven years ago. And of finally we also have that sordid, pathetic little affair with your young secretary.

POTTER: Yes. My guilt feels overwhelming at times. I suppose that’s why I drink so much.

FELDER: A man can only carry a certain amount of guilt, and then he must seek some form of release.

POTTER: Indeed. How true.

FELDER: Daniel Webster once said ‘there is no refuge from confession but suicide’, you know. For some reason I have never forgotten that.

POTTER: I know that suicide is considered a mortal sin, Doctor Felder. Still I wonder, hasn’t it crossed your mind? Haven’t you ever considered just…ending it all?

FELDER: Yes. I suppose we all have at one time or another, Mr. Potter. I think it was Frederick Nietzche who said that ‘suicide is a great consolation, by means of it one gets successfully through many a bad night.
(They shared a bitter laugh.)

POTTER: My, you are well read, sir.

FELDER: Indeed. Well, we’re almost out of time, Mr. Potter. May I suggest that you approach your wife in a romantic way? Perhaps offer her a second honeymoon in Hawaii? You must plead with her to work on the marriage again. Perhaps she does not know how bad you truly feel.

POTTER: As you know, Dr., I loathe experiencing her rejection. Truth be told, she terrifies me at times like this.”

FELDER: But you must try. Agreed?”
POTTER: (reluctant) Agreed.

FELDER: And now our fifty minutes are up. I shall bill you, as always.

(The lights go out. When they come back up again, the two men are in much the same position, although slight alterations suggest a different day)

FELDER: That is so sad, Mr. Potter. She responded badly to the suggestion?

POTTER: You could say that. She threw the damned flowers in my face. Then Emily said she would rather have sex with the pool man, for Chrissakes! (Moans) She wants a divorce. My church will never grant a divorce, Doctor.

FELDER: This is a vexing problem indeed.

POTTER: She no longer loves me, Dr. In fact, I do believe that Emily hates me!

FELDER: This is most disconcerting. And how are your thoughts of suicide?”

POTTER: The rejection has wounded me deeply, sir. They are…Even stronger, now.
FELDER: Perhaps it would help if you realized that these fantasies of suicide are more symbolic than real.

POTTER: What the hell do you mean?

FELDER: Most people do not really wish to die, Mr. Potter. They merely want to change, but don’t know how to go about it.

POTTER: (Unconvinced) I suppose you could be right about that. God knows I certainly need something to change.

FELDER: So let’s gently explore these dark fantasies. If you were to attempt suicide, speaking hypothetically, how would you go about it? A gun?

POTTER: This sounds ridiculous, but I would hate to leave my face a mess. I suspect I am too vain.

FELDER: Not at all, not at all Mr. Potter. That’s all quite understandable, actually. Hanging?

POTTER: The purple face, the protruding tongue. Same thing.

FELDER: Of course. Pills, then?

POTTER: That’s what I usually think of, Doctor. A few drinks and…a long and restful night.

FELDER: Ah. So you are still not sleeping very well?

POTTER: I told you about that. No.

FELDER: Then I want to prescribe something, Mr. Potter. Can I trust you with such a serious medication under these difficult…circumstances?

POTTER: I…I think so.

FELDER: I will make this prescription for only three pills, then. Just to be on the safe side. Mr. Potter, do not drink alcohol when you take them. I want to see how you feel after three nights of restful sleep. Agreed?

POTTER: Agreed. (Gets up to leave).

FELDER: Mr. Potter? I do think you should try again. Ask your wife if she would be willing to resume couples therapy with us. Will you do that this very night?

POTTER: But Dr. Felder, she is so mean to me. So hostile….”

FELDER: Enough! Do not be such a coward about things. We must try, Mr. Potter.

POTTER: I suppose you are right. But if she rejects me again, I swear I might…I will see you next Thursday, then.
“
FELDER: Next Thursday, Mr. Potter. Remember, be brave.

(Lights out. When they come up again it is yet another session)

FELDER: You seem very upset.

POTTER: (Sobbing) Emily won’t come in to see you. She thinks you are a ‘quack,’ that was her word. She has started packing her things. My wife says she actually despises me, Doctor, and she wants a divorce. She will not consider reconciliation under any circumstances. She told me so this morning. That’s why I called you on an emergency basis. I cannot take this any more.

FELDER: Did you fill the prescription I gave you?”

POTTER: Yes. They gave me a one month supply.

FELDER: That’s odd. Thirty, not three? Perhaps they misread my atypical penmanship. (Chuckles) We doctors, you know.

POTTER: Yes.

FELDER: Did you take one last night to sleep?

POTTER: No. I was afraid to. (Pause) I had been drinking again.

FELDER: And you also have those pesky suicidal thoughts, eh? I know I digress, but last night I recalled one more quote which I thought might amuse you. A gentleman named Wilfrid Sheed once wrote that ‘suicide is about life, suicide being the most sincere form of criticism life gets.’ I actually thought that one was splendid.”

POTTER: Splendid? You’re joking while I’m losing my mind! Help me, Doctor. My life is falling apart.

FELDER: The world is filled with suffering, as you know. To some of us, this suffering can actually prove quite unbearable. Well…I want to try an SSRI now.

POTTER: I beg your pardon?

FELDER: A Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitor. It is an anti-depressant. Let us try something in the Prozac family. I think Effexor. I want you to start these first thing tomorrow morning. After a good night’s sleep.

POTTER: But I…

FELDER: No arguments, Mr. Potter. Take a Halcyon tonight, and do not drink. You need some sleep. And I have one other request of you, sir.

POTTER: Yes, Doctor. At this point, I will do anything you say.

FELDER: Good. I believe this will prove therapeutic. I want you to remember that you are not the only ruthless businessman who has ever driven his partner into an early grave. In fact, you should be proud of your ambitions, and proud that you survived him.

POTTER: Do you really think so?

FELDER: He was merely weaker than you are.

POTTER: Doctor Felder, I…

FELDER: And try also to realize that your wife is not really leaving you to have sex with another man, at least not right away.
POTTER: Oh, my.

FELDER: Doubtless she will, of course. But that statement about having a fling with the young, muscular pool man was doubtless said in anger.

POTTER: Yes, she was angry.

FELDER: This seems to be a case of two people having grown apart over the years. You will be married again. In fact, many wealthy men suffer through marriage and divorce any number of times these days.

POTTER: God.

FELDER: Also the loneliness may be truly terrifying, and seem overwhelming, but there will be an end to it.

POTTER: Are you certain?

FELDER: Eventually. After a long time has passed. Please try to mull all those things over tonight. Agreed, Mr. Potter?

(Potter looks stricken. The lights go out. When they come up again Dr. Felder is seated at a table next to Mrs. Emily Potter, having drinks)

WILMA: Stuart, I don’t think we cannot meet again in public. Not for a very long time, and even then only in some other city.
FELDER: Agreed, Wilma. But remember that on the remote chance anyone has seen us, you requested we meet to discuss your poor husband over lunch. (Take her hand) I will miss you, Wilma. Perhaps you could return to me as a patient for a time. That would give us an hour or two a week alone together.

WILMA: Oh darling, we can’t risk it. Not until the estate is settled. Is the poor dear ready to…you know?

FELDER: Oh, he is ready. I wrote the prescription for three pills and then added the ‘0’ next to the three with a slightly different pen. He has plenty of Halcyon to down with a bottle of Scotch. I will finish dictating my notes this evening. They will indicate his strong suicidal ideation and set up the motivation.

WILMA: (Blows her nose) I have known him for over thirty years, Stuart. We had three children together.

FELDER: Don’t upset yourself.

WILMA: This is difficult for me.

FELDER: But of course. For me as well!

WILMA: I almost feel sorry for him.

FELDER: Don’t, Wilma. Your husband is an uncultured and spineless whiner. You and I would at least know how to enjoy the money. He would probably just drink it up or give it all away to some bleeding-heart charity. You have spent many years with him, Wilma. You deserve more than that.

WILMA: Yes. I do. And so do you, darling.

FELDER: Indeed. And so do I.
(They touch their glasses with a ping) A toast to our substantial account in the Netherlands Antilles, Wilma, and to our brand new life together.
WILMA: A toast. And I will kiss you to celebrate, the next time we meet.

FELDER: To the next time.

(Lights out. When they come back up we are in Felder’s office again. He is working late, dictating notes and chewing on the stem of a pipe. He turns his tape recorder on and speaks)

FELDER: Pursuant to my last notes on Mr. Potter. I now see severe psychopathology, buried homicidal impulses emerging via reaction-formation as suicidal ideation. I have prescribed three Halcyon for three nights of sleep, with a careful admonition not to exceed one per night, and Effexor as an anti-depressant. Providing I see no signs of akathysia, I hope to improve his condition within four weeks. (a wicked smile) Sadly, I do feel the risk of suicide is extraordinarily high at this time. I have cautioned Mrs. Emily Potter to be alert for signs of psychotic episodes and paranoia, and recommended immediate hospitalization, but patient resists. Mr. Potter appears to be confused and is most definitely unstable. I am now on record that I can no longer take responsibility for his actions while he is out of my care.
(He smiles again. Pauses the tape)

MALE VOIC E (O.S.): Is that it?

(Felder jumps. The voice has come from the shadows behind him! Felder spins around just as Potter steps into view, his arms at his sides, right hand out of sight. He’s clothes are a mess and he’s wide-eyed).

FELDER Mr. Potter, is that you? What are you doing here at this hour?

POTTER: I said, is there more?

FELDER: I don’t understand.
POTTER: Why, I want to know what else is wrong with me. You made it sound pretty serious just then. Is there more, Doctor?

FELDER: Ah. Why, no. Not really. Actually, that’s about it. (He’s spooked) Now, don’t get upset, Mr. Potter. All this may sound frightening to the layperson, but as for we physicians…well…

POTTER: I just wanted to know your true feelings. (Beat) Oh--and when exactly did you speak to my wife to inform her of my condition?

FELDER: At…At lunch today, sir. She was very concerned about you. She called me to express that. She...

POTTER (Cuts him off) It doesn’t really matter. Incidentally, do you remember what I said about not wanting to use a gun? Or hanging myself? Because of those things making my face look too ugly?

FELDER: Yes. I do…

POTTER: I was right.

FELDER: Sir?

POTTER: I just strangled my wife an hour ago. Emily’s face looks…terrible. (He raises his right hand. There is a 357 gun in his fist.) I realize that this is a mortal sin too, but now I’m curious about the effects of a hand gun.

FELDER: No! Mr. Potter, wait!

POTTER: Why, whatever for?

FELDER: We should discuss this. Let me try to help you. (Soothingly) Now, I realize you may feel a bit of hostility toward me for having sex with your wife, but please consider the consequences of your contemplated actions…

POTTER: (Turns his back to us, covering Felder) You two thought you could fool me so easily, Felder. It was child’s play having her followed and photographed with you. That sordid affair with my secretary I told you about? It never ended.

FELDER: Oh, dear.

POTTER: I have wanted to be rid of Wilma for years now, and thanks to you I have managed it. I win, Felder. Oh, I will do several months, perhaps even a couple of years in a cozy mental facility. But my secretary Barbara is young, and she will wait for me. And when I am released we will be together again.

FELDER: Mr. Potter, I am a professional. I realize my methods were a bit unorthodox, but I was only trying to help you. Please, just let me explain…

POTTER: (Laughs) You are such an idiot. Once it comes out that my wife and my therapist conspired against me the jury will be on my side. Even your esteemed colleagues will want to see me released as soon as possible, after such a terrible breach of trust by my own psychiatrist.

FELDER: I can show you how to draw up a malpractice complaint. I have the forms in my desk!

POTTER: Thanks for your help, Felder. I appreciate it more than you will ever know.

FELDER: (Drops to his knees, half in shadow) No! Don’t!

POTTER: By the way, I won’t be paying your bill. (Fires the gun. Felder falls backwards, out of sight. Potter looks down at the corpse, makes a face) Yuck. No, that is most definitely too ugly a sight. (Walks closer to body, fires again)

(Blackout. When the lights come up again, we see Father Martin, pacing and murmuring prayers to himself. Finally he stops and turns. The lights come up on the other side of the stage. The prison bars are in place. Mr. Potter is seated on a cot, wearing a drab convict’s uniform.

FATHER MARTIN: How are you feeling, my son?

POTTER: Spoken like a true priest.

FATHER MARTIN: Excuse me?

POTTER: Do you think it will hurt?

FATHER MARTIN: The electric chair? I don’t know. They claim it doesn’t.

POTTER: “They” are usually full of shit.

FATHER MARTIN: We are almost out of time, Mr. Potter. Is there anything else you want to tell me?

POTTER: About what?

FATHER MARTIN: About what happened that night seven years ago.

POTTER: (Laughs bitterly) Forget it, Father. I already told you, there’s no way you’re getting last minute conversion out of a lapsed Catholic like me. I only regret two things.

(The keys jangle, a lock opens. Both men flinch)

FATHER MARTIN: They are coming for you. What? Please tell me. What do you regret?

POTTER: Father, did you know that Daniel Webster once said that suicide was the only refuge from confession?

(Footsteps are coming down the hall, approaching slowly and with great import)

FATHER MARTIN: What do you regret?

POTTER: It’s time for me to get toasted. Put in a good word for me, okay Padre?

FATHER MARTIN: Mr. Potter, I beg of you…Please take this opportunity to unburden your soul.

POTTER: Oh? And just how can I do that, father?

FATHER MARTIN: You can talk to me. Tell me, tell God. What two things do you now regret?”

(Shadows fall over them. The footsteps stop right outside the cell. More keys in locks. A chiming is heard as midnight approaches)

POTTER: First, I regret that I let my hot little secretary Barbara co-sign on all my secret bank accounts in the Bahamas. But second, and most of all, I regret that forgot to turn off that damned tape recorder Felder was using before I shot him! (Laughs)

(Father Martin sighs and gets up. He walks downstage and the lights go out behind him. He opens his Bible again. He runs his fingers down the page, mouth moving silently. The lights flicker and we hear a BUZZ as Potter gets the electric chair)

FATHER MARTIN: Dear God, please tend to these poor souls without refuge.

BLACKOUT.

NOTE: THE REST OF THE PLAY WILL BE LIVE PERFORMANCE AS WELL, BUT BROADER AND WITH COLOR AND PRESENCE. We discover more…The stage is sparsely furnished and half in shadow. Looking around, there is a long booze bar on wheels, which will also serve as a bookshelf and then when the fake books are removed, a fireplace. We see a toilet, a sink. We also discover a coat rack, a sofa and easy chair, some wooden chairs, a tall, artificial potted plant; lamps of various kinds, a painting on the wall that will be reversed for another location, some steps and a mounted screen door. Some wooden poles, painted black, that just represented the bars of two cells on death row and soon will again. But at the moment, the set is arranged to represent a saloon. The painting on the wall is distinctly Irish. A sign reads Shamrock Bar. An old black-and-white television plays a football game in the background. When the lights come up again, we meet Patrick live. He is moving his tables and chairs around. After a few moments he looks up and addresses the audience.

PATRICK: Yes, it’s one of life’s hardest lessons, but if you live long enough you will learn that nobody is quite what they seem, and that for some folks betrayal can come as natural as breathing…

(Detective John Kramer enters and sits at the bar. He is hunched over, gloomy and sad.

PATRICK: The usual, Detective?

KRAMER: The usual.

Patrick pours. He is about to start a conversation, but quickly registers how depressed Kramer is. He knows when to mind his own business. He walks away. Kramer takes the entire bottle of Scotch and a glass and walks into the shadows. The lights shift, darken and come up again.

ALONG COMES MARY
Detective Jon Kramer
Katherine Kramer, his wife
Warden Donnelly
Doodles Martoni, a convict
A death row guard
Television announcer (O.S.)

Time: The present

Place: Kramer’s funky studio apartment, a timeless darkness for flashbacks, and a cell on death row. But we start with the apartment: Dirty laundry litters the floor; empty beer bottle, junk food bags, a television with bent rabbit ears, a photograph of Katherine Kramer and a young child. Jon Kramer is passed out on the fold-out couch, holding the bottle and glass. The telephone RINGS. He grunts. It RINGS again and he fumbles for it, answers…

KRAMER: Yeah. Kramer.

A spot hits Katherine Kramer, holding a cell phone to her ear. She is pissed.

KATHERINE: You miserable, egg-sucking, good-for-nothing, lazy son of a bitch.

KRAMER: Huh?

KATHERINE: You forgot, you piece of whale shit. What did you do, get drunk and pass out?

KRAMER: Katherine? (Confused)

KATHERINE: I can’t believe you would do this to her, Jon. I should be used to it by now, but I just can’t believe how fucking selfish you are.

We see the situation slowly dawning on him. Kramer reaches for his smokes, mind racing for an excuse.

KRAMER: What time is it? Did I oversleep, or something?

KATHERINE: Think up an excuse. I can wait.

KRAMER: Jesus, I worked late on a homicide, and I guess…

KATHERINE: (Scorn) Oh, save it, Jon. I checked with the station and they said you called in sick last night.

KRAMER: (Lights up, long beat) She’s probably really hurt, huh?

KATHERINE: Yes, Jon. Your daughter is crushed. As for me, I am royally pissed. Does that make you happy?

KRAMER: Ecstatic.

KATHERINE: You couldn’t have done a better job with the both of us if you wanted to, okay?

KRAMER: Look, I’m sorry.

KATHERINE: Sorry doesn’t cut it any more. (Hangs up)

KRAMER: Katherine? Shit.

He’s badly hung over. He stretches, shakes his head, searches for a bottle with something left inside. Finds a warm beer, makes a face and drinks it anyway. The phone RINGS again. He grabs it.

KRAMER: Katherine? (He sits up, startled. Listens) Oh. Yes, sir. Yes. (Beat) If you want me to, I suppose…

During the following monologue, he does the best he can to become presentable. Finds his tie, puts it back on, combs his hair and examines himself in an imaginary mirror while addressing the audience.

KRAMER (Cont.) It was time for Doodles to die. (Beat) The Hump, as we called Humboldt prison, was nearly two hours from me, and it was going on 9:30, but the boss said go so I went. I turned on the TV while I made a quick cup of coffee. (Walks downstage) The press was crowding around the prison spokesman, jamming their microphones in his face. Some of the demonstrators had already lost control at the edge of the parking lot. A young guy with a bloody nose was kneeling on the asphalt, kind of tilting his head back and swearing. (We HEAR a crowd chanting)
It was almost funny. Two neat rows of hostile faces chanted at one another: “an eye for an eye” on one side, and “stop the killing” on the other. All they succeeded in doing was drowning each other out. My ex-wife Katherine would have been on the “stop the killing” side, if she hadn’t already left town. I parked at the end of a long row and medium-sized American cars and walked along the sidewalk to the barred gate. I flipped his badge at the gum-chewing guard and he let me in to see the warden. I hadn’t been at Humboldt State Prison in more than a decade.
(Flips the cigarette away, steps through an imaginary door. A nervous, fussy man in a suit is waiting)

WARDEN: Are you…?

KRAMER: I’m Jon Kramer.

WARDEN: Warden Joe Donnelly. Pleased to meet you, Detective. You’re the one who took Doodles down, right? Quite a feather in your cap, I suppose.

KRAMER: Sure. A veritable feather.

WARDEN: Like I said on the phone, he wants to see you before the execution.

KRAMER: Be hard to see me after.

WARDEN: What?

KRAMER: Nothing. Do you know what he wants?

WARDEN: (Checks watch) No, but there isn’t much time. He was going to have his attorney make quite a stink if you didn’t come down here tonight.

KRAMER: Can’t have that.

WARDEN: Not in death penalty cases, that’s for sure. You been to the big show before?

KRAMER: What?

WARDEN: An execution, Detective. You see one before?

KRAMER: Twice. The last time I watched you guys dope some Hispanic boy who’d done two little old ladies. I think it’s really swell they shut you down with a needle, now. It’s so much more humane.

WARDEN: Isn’t it, though?

KRAMER: Of course, this poor bastard was an addict, so it took them twenty minutes just to find vein they could use.

WARDEN: Every job has problems. I’m sure you realize we’re doing the best we can with the money we have.

KRAMER: Oh, yeah. The kid probably felt sorry for how embarrassed you were.
WARDEN: Excuse me?

KRAMER: Now me, I figure the months and years, then hours and minutes, sitting and waiting to die probably end up feeling pretty much the same any way you’re toasted, the chair or a noose or a needle or the firing squad.

WARDEN: Well, anyway, this is a delicate situation. So thanks for showing up.

KRAMER: (Straight face) Oh, it’s my pleasure.

WARDEN: Anything he says about his stay with us, you keep to yourself, right? I mean, you’re not going to run to the National Tattler for an exclusive or something, right?

KRAMER: Anything he says about The Hump stays with me. (Beat) Can we get this over with?

WARDEN: Yes. Certainly.

They walk along the foot of the stage and back around again. We see some bars, indicating the cell Doodles is being held in pending execution. We see Doodles, a hulking dim bulb of a man who is chain smoking and tossing butts into a coffee can at his feet. His hands are cuffed in front of him. The warden stands back and vanishes; the guard lets Kramer into the cell and leaves. Kramer lights a smoke and a long beat passes. Kramer waits for the guard to leave, cocks his head.

KRAMER: You sent for me, Doodles. Why?

DOODLES: You was always fair with me, Kramer. Now I’m done for, and I got some things I need to say.

KRAMER: See a priest.

DOODLES: I got this coming, understand. I done my share of hits, and you caught me fair and square.

KRAMER: You want to get away, you should do things in private instead of the middle of a restaurant.

DOODLES: That’s what I want to talk about. Just so somebody gets it.

KRAMER: Gets what? (Pulls a metal folding chair over towards the bars, flips it around backwards, folds his arms and sits facing Doodles) Okay, I’m here anyway. Tell me.

DOODLES: Like I said, Detective, I got the needle coming. And not just for the one hit, neither.

KRAMER: We know you did a few in your day, if that’s what you needed to say. We already know that.

DOODLES: Shut up and listen, okay, Kramer? It’s my dime. It’s my fucking life. Gimme ten. (Glances up at the clock. It says eleven forty-five. In fifteen more minutes Doodles will be history)
That’s about all I got left.

KRAMER: (Nods) It’s your dime.

DOODLES: Thing is, I was always proud of one thing. I would never hit nobody didn’t have it coming. (Beat) Never.

KRAMER: Some movie I saw one time, Clint Eastwood said we all got it coming.

DOODLES: (Pissed at something) You going to listen?

KRAMER: Go on. Let’s hear it.

DOODLES: This guy walks in one time, he walks in to my place, the steak house. He’s got money. You see it because he’s in a thousand-dollar suit. He’s got an LA hair cut and he’s sporting a platinum watch. He’s looking for me. So the bartender sends him over. The guy, he slides a photo out of his wallet and lets me check it out. It’s like a quick shot of a lady walking out of a Dry Cleaners downtown. She’s a little past it, she’s maybe fifty or fifty-five. He gives me her name. But then he says that Bonnie Young is just the name she is using. Says he has known her since they were kids, and her really name is (Concentrates) Mary…something. I say yeah, and so what. And he says he has been looking for this little bitch for twenty years and he finally found her and now he wants somebody to make her to go away for real.

KRAMER: And you’re the lucky winner.

DOODLES: I just look him over first, you know? I ask him if he’s law or government and he says no. He names Joey Bananas as somebody he’s tight with. They got a business together, so the guy is mobbed up. I tell him my standard line, that I don’t hit just anybody, and so why her, and he leans in real close. His eyes go empty like that fish in Jaws and he tells me a weird story.

KRAMER: What, this gets weirder?

DOODLES: He tells me about this Mary who was his baby sitter. About how she’d bring boys home when she was supposed to be watching him and lock him in the bathroom while she screwed. How he’d listen on the other side of the door, his ear pressed against the wood while she groaned and moaned. How finally he got up the courage to threaten to tell, unless she did something with him, too.

KRAMER: Okay, that’s weirder.

DOODLES: Kramer, I’m thinking so fucking what. But then he gets to the point and tells me how she got him all jazzed up and then whipped out some scissors and put them around his little eleven year- old dick.

KRAMER: Ouch.

DOODLES: Yeah. She threatens to cut it clean off. Make him a soprano, he talks. That got my attention.

KRAMER: It gets mine, too.

DOODLES: And he says that messed with his head. So later, when he had girlfriends, he couldn’t do zip in bed. Couldn’t get it up at all. He starts crying, right there in front of me.

KRAMER: So he’s been after her all this time?

DOODLES: Who wouldn’t be?

KRAMER: You got a point.

DOODLES: He says he’s nearly caught up with her a couple of times, but she always managed to slip away. And then, he says, one day he looked up and there is this Mary, just walking out of the Dry Cleaners. She’s dyed her hair, but it’s her. So he took her picture, and called some made guys to find out about hiring me. At first I didn’t want the job.

KRAMER: But you changed your mind.

DOODLES: Well, I’m thinking that this castration threat is a pretty sick thing to do to a horny little boy. (BEAT) Besides, when he slips me twenty large, offering me forty, or twice my normal fee, that kind of won me over.

KRAMER: I guess it would.

DOODLES: We agreed to meet in a week, and that I would have the job done. That I’d bring him a Polaroid of her when it was all over, and get the other twenty thousand. He was really clear about how he wanted it done, too. He was very specific.

KRAMER: He say why he hired this out?

DOODLES: He tells me he would be doing the job himself, but the cops are all over him.

KRAMER: (Puzzled) Oh?

DOODLES: He’s got some serious legal hassles, and the IRS is in his businesses like ugly on an ape. Okay, I’m thinking, I guess that’s reasonable enough.

KRAMER: (Getting bored) Why you telling me all of this, Doodles? The fuck?

DOODLES: Shut up and listen. It’ll only take a couple more minutes. So I break into the cleaners and look up her address and start tailing this Mary. I’m thinking she must be a wrecking ball, a real man killer.

KRAMER: You’d think.

DOODLES: But she lives alone with a couple of cats. She works as a secretary and don’t go out much. Still, I knew a chick, she did pro hits and her cover was living like that. So I’m not taking any chances. I buy one of those little snap cameras the kids like, you know the kind? Take a picture and you can print it right out and stick it on something. You know those?

KRAMER: I know those. My daughter… (beat) Mandy used to like those.

DOODLES: (Acting things out, now; getting excited) So this Bonnie or Mary, she has a little too much to drink a couple of nights later. I follow her home from the bar. She gets out of the car and starts out of the garage at her apartment house, and I am waiting there in the bushes. I drop the piano wire around her neck and yank, so the windpipe goes and she can’t make noise.

KRAMER: Damn, Doodles.

DOODLES (Up and pacing): I start whispering in her ear, just like he told me to. ‘This is for the little boy you scared all those years ago, bitch. What goes around comes around, honey. It’s your turn, now.’ Stuff like that. Reminded her how she screwed men in front of a little boy and then threatened to cut off his dick. It took her a while to die.

KRAMER: Okay, okay. That’s enough.

DOODLES: No, you need to see how it went down. So then I finish it, drop her, take a quick picture and split. It went just the way I planned. In and out clean, no problem. Nobody saw a thing.

KRAMER: You must be real proud.

DOODLES: The next night I’m at the steak house and my client comes in, all excited. He heard about it on the news. I show him the little photo and I swear he about comes in his trousers, he’s so happy. We burn the picture in the ashtray, really quick, and he slides me the other twenty-five large. I say nice doing business with you, and I’m out of there.

KRAMER: Doodles, I need a drink. This story got an ending? (Looks at clock, feels guilty) Oh. Sorry.

DOODLES: (Coughs from smoking) No sweat. Yeah, it’s got an ending.

KRAMER: So go on.

DOODLES: Maybe a month later, I get this call. It’s from Mr. Moneybags. He wants to meet me again, and he’s in a real hurry.

KRAMER: Why?

DOODLES: We sit down for a steak, and he slides me another picture. He says he must have been wrong the last time, or I screwed up somehow, because he was just walking down the street again, and along comes Mary. (Beat) She’s dyed her hair and cut it different, but he knows it’s her.

KRAMER: Say what?

DOODLES: Yeah. So now he swears that some new woman is Mary.

KRAMER: Oh, Jesus.

DOODLES: Yeah.

KRAMER: And…?

DOODLES: (Upset) And I’m looking in his eyes, and they’re all excited. It gets through to me, then. I see that this guy is seriously whacked. I want to throw up. Before I know it, I pull my piece and stick it right between his eyes. Did she deserve it? I say. They all deserve it, he says.

KRAMER: Damn.

DOODLES: Yeah. He smiles at me, Kramer. He fucking smiles at me and says I should go on ahead and do it. I should blow him away.

KRAMER: So?

DOODLES: So I did.

KRAMER: So that’s why you shot Jackson Parker that day in the restaurant. That’s what you wanted to tell me.

DOODLES: That’s what.

(The warden and the guard enter. The warden motions for Kramer to leave)

WARDEN: It’s almost time.

KRAMER: Oh. Uh, okay.

WARDEN: Doodles, you sure you don’t want the priest?

DOODLES: I talked to my priest just now. (Grins wickedly) To hell with this world, you know? I mean, fuck it.

Kramer steps back and turns to go, but he can’t leave yet. He’s fascinated. The guard manacles Doodle’s hands and shackles his legs. They start to walk him to the death chamber. He laughs out loud.

DOODLES: Don’t that beat all, Kramer? I made my bones thirty, thirty-five years ago. A made man, and I get hired by a fucking nut job to do his dirty work. Don’t that beat all?

KRAMER: Yeah. That just about beats all. (Walks downstage and the lights change. He smokes and talks to the audience)
By the time I left had started to rain. The news crews had gone home, and the demonstrators seemed beat up and bored. Midnight came and went as I drove back down the interstate. I didn’t turn on the radio. I don’t know where my head was, tell you the truth. I left the highway and drove straight to my apartment. I fed the damned fish my the ex-wife and daughter left behind. I just keep thinking about what Doodles said about the world. About what the movie said about how we all got it coming. I couldn’t stay there without climbing the walls, so I went to the Shamrock.

Kramer enters the bar, and we repeat the beginning of this segment.

PATRICK: The usual?

KRAMER: The usual.

Kramer takes the bottle over to a table and sits down with his back to Patrick. The bartender picks up the remote and flips on an imaginary television set. Patrick doesn’t notice what happens to Kramer when the following is heard, he just goes on cleaning up and readying to close.

ANNOUNCER (O.S.): In other news tonight, convicted murder and former mob enforcer Doodles Dohner was put to death by lethal injection at Humboldt State Prison less than two hours ago. Dohner, who shot businessman Jackson Parker to death in broad daylight and for no apparent reason, had refused to allow attorneys to appeal his sentence. Dohner claimed that he wanted to die. Well, tonight he did, at the hands of the state. (Beat) On a lighter note, here’s Wendy Paige with the weather. Wendy, how do we look for snow tomorrow?

Bored, Patrick shuts the television off. Meanwhile, Kramer—his back still to the bar--stares blankly into space for a few moments. Then, abruptly, he reaches for his gun and badge. He takes the gun out and rolls it around in his hands. Makes sure there is a round in the chamber.

Looks over his shoulder, but Patrick isn’t paying any attention to him. Kramer takes a deep breath. Thinks some more.

He puts the gun to his temple and tries to squeeze the trigger, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

Puts the gun in his mouth and cocks it. After a moment his hands begin to shake. He can’t do it this way, either. He is in torment.

He drops the gun into his lap and begins to rock himself. After a long moment he sobs, silently. Patrick looks up at the sound, and then at the clock on the wall.

PATRICK: Detective, had enough? Last call!

Kramer struggles to collect himself.

KRAMER: Yeah, Patrick. Yeah. I’ve had enough, all right. Fuck it.

Kramer throws some money on the table and stumbles out the door. Patrick collects the cash. Lights out.

“QUICKIE”
Bobby Pepper, a redneck kid
Marge, a bored alcoholic housewife
Red, her husband’s (voice only)
The second housewife (an old woman)

Time: Today

Place: The stage is rearranged to reflect the front porch of a home and the living room area. Bobby Pepper, an innocent looking, hayseed of a young man, crosses the stage and knocks on the screen door of a home. Marge comes to the other side of the screen. She is wearing a housecoat, smoking, holding a glass of wine in one hand. She eyes the boy suspiciously.

MARGE: Good morning. Can I help you?

BOBBY: (Smiling brightly) Howdy, ma’am. I used to live in this house

MARGE: I’m busy. This is not a good time.

BOBBY: I understand. I’m sorry to have troubled you. He starts to walk away. Marge likes his butt.

MARGE: Hold on, cowboy. What was that again?

Bobby turns. They appraise one another. He likes what he sees, too. Shrugs and smiles.

BOBBY: No big deal, ma’am. Sorry if I woke you up.

MARGE: How long?

BOBBY: Huh?

MARGE: How long ago was that?

BOBBY: Since I been inside you mean?

MARGE: Yeah.

BOBBY: Well, I’m twenty-eight now. I was maybe nine or ten when I lived here. That’s how long, whatever that is, ma’am.

MARGE: And you’re just driving through?

BOBBY: That’s right, ma’am. I was just passing through, and thought I’d take a look at her and see how much she’s changed. Memories, you know?
MARGE: I see. (She is still debating)

BOBBY: Oh, laws. Where’s my manners?

He walks briskly back to the porch and up the steps, hurriedly sticks out his hand, smacking it into the screen door. They both laugh at his clumsiness.

BOBBY: My name is Pepper, Bobby Pepper. Stands there expectantly.

MARGE: (Flirting) You’re cute, Bobby. Where you live now?

BOBBY: Los Angeles. San Fernando Valley, actually. A little piece of it called Tarzana. Got named after Tarzan, actually. Because of that guy who wrote the books the movies was all based on.

MARGE (Laughs) No way!

BOBBY: True. Only in California, huh?
(Looks around yard) Used to be a swing set over there. Maybe you tore it down when you bought the place. It would have been getting pretty rusty.

MARGE: I can’t recall. May have done.

BOBBY: Me and my sister were real close. We played tag all around behind those rose bushes and the trees out back.

MARGE: Where does your sister live?

BOBBY: (Lowers his head) She died, ma’am. While ago, now.

MARGE: I’m sorry. You’re so young. What in the world happened?

BOBBY: Someone mugged her one night. Down there in Hollywood. She was coming out of a bar, just minding her own business. He took her purse and beat her with something that was made of wood, a bat maybe (As if picturing it, sadly)
She went to sleep and never woke up. Up and died maybe three days later. They never caught the prick, excuse my French.

MARGE: That’s terrible.

BOBBY: Yes, ma’am. And believe me, a part of why I wanted to stop here when I had occasion to drive through Elko again. I really miss Nevada, this small town feeling. Open country with not much on it. (Beat)Homesickness hurts something awful, you know?

MARGE: (Comes to a decision) What did you say your name was?”

BOBBY: Bobby, ma’am. Bobby Pepper.

MARGE: And you lived her twenty years ago?

BOBBY: Round about nineteen, I expect.

MARGE: Well, where’s my manners, Bobby? (Unlatches the screen door) I’m Marge Anderson. You come on in for a few minutes, then. Look around to your hearts content. Would you like a nice glass of ice tea?

BOBBY: (Hesitates on the porch) I don’t want to be no trouble, lady.

MARGE: Marge. (Opens door)

BOBBY: (Shy, awkward) Marge, then.

Bobby steps inside. Looks around. Marge leaves and returns with ice tea. He downs it in a gulp.

MARGIE: Your folks still alive, Bobby? Are they still together?

BOBBY: Hell, I mean ‘heck’ no. They split up ten, twelve years ago. My Daddy moved out to Montana. Had a heart attack in his truck one time and up and died. My Mom, she’s still alive but already in a home. (Looks down at the cigarette she is about to fire up) Smoking did her lungs in. She ain’t got long.

MARGE: (Puts smokes down) Well, then. You go on and look around.

Bobby leaves the room and starts exploring. Marge rushes to a mirror on the wall. She starts fixing her makeup and continues during dialogue.

BOBBY: (O.S.) I remember this here door. You lift this board, it goes down into a crawl space, right?

MARGE: (Finishing lipstick, gives an imaginary kiss) That’s correct, Bobby. A crawl space. It goes down under the porch or something, I believe. (Fusses with hair)

BOBBY: (O.S.) Yeah. I was playing around down there one time, where some plumbing pipes are, and I got stuck. Mom had to call the fire department to come and take me out. My Dad was really pissed off, because they cut through the porch beams to get me.

Marge straightens her robe. She lights a cigarette, takes a drag and stubs it out again. Uses a breath spray.

MARGE: This all bringing back memories, then?

BOBBY: (O.S.) Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.

Marge goes to the doorway, stares O.S. observing him. Tries out seductive poses for when he turns around.

BOBBY: (O.S.) Fireplace looks just the same to me.

MARGE: (Shakes her head) No, I think it used to have a wood panel over it. My husband tore it down and restored the bricks.

Bobby Pepper appears in another doorway. Marge steps back, flustered,

BOBBY: People are funny, huh? First something is in, so you do it, and then it’s out so you take it down. Fore you know, it’s cool again, and so the next owner puts it back up.

He puts his baseball cap on backwards, takes an ice cube out of the empty glass and sucks on it sensually. Stares at Marge a bit too long.

BOBBY: Much obliged.

MARGIE (Thinking quickly) Do you want to see the garage, then? You suppose there’d be anything out by the tool shed that might spark a memory or two?

BOBBY: No thanks. But that is indeed kind of you. I just wanted to pop in and look around, that’s all. You know what hits me the most?

He moves towards her, she steps back involuntarily.

MARGIE: What’s that?

BOBBY: How small everything looks. In your memory you’re still a little kid, you know? And everything is big, like the place was a mansion. But walking around it now, it’s…almost tiny. (Whispers) Do you feel it?

MARGE: Beg pardon, Bobby?

BOBBY: (Still softly) Do you feel it?

He moves closer and she goes weak in the knees. She can’t believe he’s read her mind.

MARGE: I…Excuse me? What?

Bobby takes her hands in his and smiles down with infinite kindness.

BOBBY: I just said the house looks small to me now. That’s all.

MARGE: Oh.

BOBBY: Oh, thank you for your hospitality, Marge. You’ve made my day.

MARGE: (Confused that he’s leaving) You’re welcome. My pleasure.

Bobby hugs her and his lips brush her forehead. A long moment passes.

BOBBY: No, the pleasure is all mine.

He sniffs her hair like an animal and she moans. He starts to kiss her. We HEAR tires squealing outside and a big truck is gunned and dies. They jump away from one another.

RED: (O.S.) This Goddamned rig!

MARGE: Oh my God. It’s my husband. He’s back way sooner than I thought he’d be. Are you parked out front?

BOBBY: Around the side.

MARGE: You’d best get out through that door, then. (Points O.S.)

BOBBY: (Disappointed) I’m sorry, Marge. I know you felt it too.

MARGE: Just go, Bobby.

A door SLAMS O.S. and footsteps approach, crunching through gravel.

RED: (O.S.) Marge? You home, damn it? You home? Wait till you hear this.

MARGE: I’m coming, Red!

Marge runs out the front, hoping to slow Red down. Bobby looks very hurt and upset. He sighs and steps off into the darkness. The lights dim.

Moments pass and then we HEAR some country music coming from a radio.

The lights come back up. An old woman is hanging laundry on a line. We watch her for a while.

Bobby Pepper appears, his back to the audience, and approaches her casually. He has his hands behind his back. There is a huge, wicked-looking knife in a sheath on his belt. He slips it out, palms it.

OLD WOMAN: Good afternoon.

BOBBY: (Smiling brightly) Howdy, ma’am. I used to live in this house.

Lights out.

When they come up again we are back in the bar and Patrick is dusting some bottles. He looks up.

PATRICK: I reckon you’re wondering where I heard that story. Well, a lady came into the bar a couple of years ago, already three sheets to the wind, and told me all about it. It seems she picked up the newspaper one day and saw the photograph of a convicted murderer. An absolutely innocent looking young man…name of Bobby Pepper.

Patrick sits, starts reading a newspaper. The lights then reveal one man, Kevin Jackson, sitting in the far corner. He’s clearly waiting for someone. Checks his watch.

“’TILL DEATH”
Joe, a hit man
Kevin Jackson, a blue collar husband
The bartender, Patrick

TIME: The present.

PLACE: Shamrock bar

PATRICK: It was after lunch on a Friday. The rain was blowing down hard and sideways, slapping waves of gray, filthy water against the building. The joint was empty, the resident alcoholics were between shifts. Mr. Joe came in, so I knew it was time to go deaf, dumb and blind.

(Joe enters, collapses an umbrella and shakes like a junkyard dog. He looks around. That one customer in the place, Kevin Jackson, tries to smile. Joe walks over, looks down)

KEVIN: You the man?

JOE: Depends. (Long silence)

KEVIN: Hey, you’re scaring me.

JOE: That’s good. I like them scared.

KEVIN: I called you, man. My name is Jackson.

Joe sits down opposite him.

JOE: Keep your hands in plain sight.

KEVIN: You want a drink? Maybe something to warm you up?

JOE: Booze clouds my judgment. You go on, you want to.

Kevin downs a shot and a beer, wipes his mouth.

KEVIN: How do we do this?

JOE: You tell me who, then why.

KEVIN: (Surprised) “Why matters to you?”

JOE: Not a lot. But knowing why can keep me from making a dumb mistake. Getting tangled up in things I didn’t expect. You can understand that, can’t you Jackson?

KEVIN: I...I guess so.

JOE: So who is it?

KEVIN: Her name is Holly.

JOE: The wife?

KEVIN: What?

JOE: It’s usually the wife is all.

KEVIN: Holly Jackson is her name. Yeah, she’s my wife.

JOE: Okay.

KEVIN (Slowly crumbles) I love her. I really love her. (Cries)

JOE: That’s none of my business
.
KEVIN (Blows his nose) What do I call you?”

JOE: Call me Joe. That’ll do. (Bored)

KEVIN: I really love her, Joe. I always have. We been together since before she went to college and got educated. I thought we were happy. Of a sudden, she starts taking long weekends away. Won’t tell me where she’s been, or why, or who she’s with. She just claims it’s for business. It starts making me crazy, Joe.

JOE: I can understand that, I guess.

KEVIN: (Urgently) So I follow her a couple of days ago and she loses me. Later I find her car parked outside a fucking motel. I tell you, this is making me sick. I can’t take it.

JOE: So now you want her to go away.

KEVIN: (Sobs) Wouldn’t you? I mean, wouldn’t you want it to stop?

JOE: (Shrugs) If I loved her, maybe.

KEVIN: Well I do love her, so this situation, it’s killing me

JOE: Till death do us part, huh?

KEVIN: (Not amused) So what about you? How I know you’re qualified to do this? All I know is a guy who’s mobbed up said I should maybe call you.

JOE: I don’t audition. You take it or you leave it.

KEVIN: Give me a break, man. I never done this before. I don’t the rules.

JOE: (Sighs) Think about being a seventeen year old LURP in the Nam. About crawling through the brush to get behind somebody and cutting his throat in total silence and crawling away again without getting caught. Think about having exactly twenty-three kills.

KEVIN: Wow.

JOE: I know it’s twenty-three, because they all visit me every night. They line up with their silent screaming and those throats gaping open, and they make me count them one by one, but I guess you didn’t need to hear that part.

KEVIN: Okay. Okay.

JOE: You care how?

KEVIN: Huh?

JOE: You care how it goes down, Jackson? You want I should hurt her?

Kevin slumps forward, The reality is finally hitting him. He thinks for a moment.

KEVIN: Please, no. Don’t hurt her more than you have to. Go easy.

JOE: You love her.

KEVIN: I do, I do.

We HEAR someone fumble with the front door. The two men stiffen.

JOE: Let’s move. In case.

They walk over to the sink and toilet. Kevin mimes taking a leak, then washing his hands, during the following…

KEVIN: Ever wonder why women always go in a bunch, Joe? Always get up and say ‘why, I have to go too’ like there was something great about peeing in a group?

JOE: Guess I never thought about that.

KEVIN: Because they’re talking about us in there, that’s all women do is talk about men. That’s all they think about. (Zips up)

JOE: Money. Let’s talk about money.”

KEVIN: How much?

JOE: Twenty five large. In advance.

KEVIN: That’s a lot of green.

JOE: It’s a big job and it carries the death penalty in this state. You got that much?

KEVIN: She does, Joe. I think he’s been giving her money for years. I brought nine grand today, and I can get the rest from one of her accounts tomorrow.

JOE: Don’t be an asshole, leaving a trail you paid somebody.

KEVIN: Okay, okay. I’ll figure out some other way, then.

Joe holds out his hand. Jackson gives him an envelope and he counts out a bunch of bills. Looks up.

KEVIN: (Swallows) When you gonna...?

JOE: When you want?

KEVIN: As soon as she gets back into town. Tomorrow night.

JOE: You want I should just get it this over with.

KEVIN: Yes. (His eyes fill) Just don’t hurt her too much.”

JOE: (Thinks for a moment) Okay, I’ll be gentle.

Joe knocks Kevin flat with a sharp right. Jackson bounces off the wall and falls to his hands and knees. He shakes his head, pissed, and starts to get up.

KEVIN: You sonofabitch…!

Joe pulls a gun. Jackson freezes and turns pale. He’s in deep shit, now.

JOE: You figure it out yet, dickhead? Somebody paid me more.

KEVIN: (Confused) How much?

JOE: Thirty large. Someone who said I should come here and take you out. What’s a small businessman to do?

KEVIN: That bitch! How the fuck she know you?

JOE: Holly? She knows me from some work I do.

KEVIN: What is this, then?

JOE: And I feel like I ought to tell you something, Jackson. She loved you, a long time ago. She just wants out now, that’s all. The man you thought she was with that night? That was probably me.

KEVIN: You?

JOE: Oh, but you can take my word for this, it was all business. We talked about how she’s been trying to leave you, but you wouldn’t let her go. Truth is, she never wanted you to get hurt. I kind of talked her into letting me pay you a visit.

KEVIN: Fucking fifty, then. I’ll double my fee.

JOE: (Amused) Say what?

KEVIN: I double my offer to fifty grand, you let me go. Just let me walk away right now.

JOE: (Considers, nods) Deal. That’s a lot of money, and like I said, I’m just a businessman.

Joe puts the gun away and steps back. Kevin Jackson gets to his feet, examines his jaw in the mirror. He’s furious.

KEVIN: One last thing.

JOE: (Shrugs) Okay. What?

KEVIN: Joe, for the fifty large you do Holly for real. And I mean do her bad. I want you to break her bones and put out her eyes and cut her up, you know? Make it last. That bitch should suffer.”

JOE: Not that it matters, but why?

KEVIN: Because she was planning on leaving me all along. You can’t trust these bitches, Joe. None of them. Not even when you slap them around and try to keep them in line. They’re all gonna turn on your sooner or later. (He turns to face Joe) Thirty thousand in cash. Do we have a deal?

JOE: Deal.

KEVIN (Puts his hand out to shake on it) So that’s it then, right?

JOE: No. Never mind. (Pulls the pistol again, shakes his head) You’re a dumb bastard, you know that? I was about to let you go. I felt really sorry for you, and I was about to let you go.

KEVIN (Backing away, palms up) Mercy.

Joe FIRES GUN and Kevin clutches his gut and drops onto the toilet, leaning forward. He bites his lip in pain, starts going into shock.
JOE: Me and Holly are Government. We have been for years. She knew you were going crazy with jealousy, but she couldn’t tell you anything. They wouldn’t let her. And when you started slapping her around, she fell out of love with you. But she never wanted you hurt, Jackson. You brought that on yourself.

KEVIN: (Weakly) I don’t fucking believe this. No!

Joe FIRES AGAIN and a squib throws blood up on the wall. Kevin’s head snaps back, he goes loose on the toilet. Joe scatters cash around the area, then gets a packet out of his coat. White powder. He scatters it around with the bills. Patrick, the bartender appears in the doorway, tries not to look at the body. He waits, listens.

JOE: Wait a few minutes and then call the cops. Some tattooed Hispanic drug dealer shot Jackson and ran away. Got it?

PATRICK: (Sick) Oh, God. Sure, Joe. I got it.

Joe walks downstage, the lights dim. He addresses the audience.

JOE: I didn’t know what we’d tell Holly Jackson. We’d probably stick to the cover story, even though she’d suspect. Holly was the soft kind; she’d never done any wet work. But that was all up to our case officer. He’d already sent Holly off to Vegas for a couple of days. We had plenty of time to work on the details. So I walked back out into the pouring rain. What a shitty day. (Beat) Me, I’m glad I never got married. It sure does complicate things.

Lights out.

INTERMISSION

BAD SEED” Act Two:

“THUMBS”
Murphy, a gambler
Moose, a hit man
Angela, a brilliant bimbo
Tony Two, a mob boss
Nerd, the dog who never moves

TIME: Today

PLACE: (A funky apartment owned by Murphy, a gambler, who lives alone with his dog. and eventually the house of Tony Two before returning. We start at Murphy’s. He is seated, talking to the dog, which is a pile of fur that never moves)

MURPHY: I’m a dead man. Hell, who would have believed the Rams could blow so many games right after winning the Super Bowl?

The dog WHINES.

MURPHY: (Continued) Sure, Nerd, but drop the first game Kurt Warner quarterbacked, coming off that injury to his thumb and his throwing hand? I mean, come on Nerd, nobody reasonable would have predicted that. I never figured those things to happen. In fact, I had bet my life they wouldn’t.

We HEAR some rustling in the bushes outside. A gate squeaks open. Footsteps. The door opens. Moose is huge, he fills the hallway. Grins.

MURPHY: Jesus, you scared me. You look like a fucking Coke machine in a raincoat.

MOOSE: Murphy, my man.

MURPHY: Good evening, Moose. How goes it? We’ve been expecting you.

MOOSE: Oh, I’ll just bet you have (He plops down in a kitchen chair). I assume you scrounged up the thirty-five large, Murph? That you weren’t just blowing numbers out your butt? That you can really pay up this time?

MURPHY: (Trying to smile) I need a couple of days. I don’t actually have it on me.

MOOSE: That’s what I thought you’d say.
(Produces a switch blade and commences cleaning under his fingernails)

MURPHY: It’s only thirty-five large. No big deal.

MOOSE: It’s more than that because you aren’t ready to pay when you’re supposed to. (Grabs Murphy by the throat and squeezes. Murphy squeaks in protest) You need a little more time, Murph?

MURPHY (Nodding, gasping) Just a few more days, maybe a week. I’ll pay up, Moose. I promise.

MOOSE: Then my boss says it goes up to $50,000.00 with the vig. And if you are one minute past midnight next Friday, I come back here and take one of your thumbs. (He lets go, and Murphy sags into a chair. Moose grabs one hand, leaves the knife hovering over it) I slice this one off, real clean, and then I burn you over the stove so it heals up fast. Then you get another twenty-four hours. No money, I come back here and I do the other hand. Have I explained myself okay so far, Murph?

MURPHY: Oh, definitely. You know something?

MOOSE: What?

MURPHY: When you had me by the throat there, I sounded like someone doing Minnie Mouse in a porn movie.

MOOSE: (Ignores him) Do you need anything…demonstrated here today, Murph?

MURPHY: No sir, Mister Moose, not a thing.

Moose stands up, looks down at Murphy with total contempt.

MOOSE: I don’t like you, Murphy. Hell, who does like you, but I mean I really don’t like you. And I never have. I think you are a waste of skin, and I hate your smelly old dog. So cutting you up would be a pleasure.

MURPHY (Warily) That’s nice, I suppose. A man should be happy in his work.

MOOSE: Fifty large in seven days (Gets up to leave, turns in the doorway) Fifty large, Murph. (Slams door)

MURPHY (To dog) Hey, I’m sorry, okay? Who would have thought the Rams could lose? Look, if I can get my hands on a little piece of it by next week, maybe Moose won’t force feed you a little piece of me.
(He turns to the audience, sighs)
Okay, so I grabbed the phone and made a plane reservation for Atlantic City, just in case. But that’s when I had a stroke of pure genius that changed my life forever. The idea was solid, or so it seemed. It also had a wonderful body, long blonde hair and bright, icy blue eyes. It was Angela Martoni, formerly known as Angela Leibowitz. (Angela, a gorgeous blonde, walks out and struts her stuff)
I had run into her at our 20 year high school reunion just a couple of weeks before. She still looked hot as Satan’s underwear. We had spent a little time slow dancing in the back seat of my Mustang in the old days, and I knew the second our eyes met that she still remembered me sliding into home base. So this night she licked her lips and we talked and danced a couple of times, and then she finally told me she was married. (The blonde leaves)
Okay, so what? That part, who cares. But Angela was married to a lawyer for the mob, a guy named Anthony Martoni, also known as Tony Two Times. That made it a different can of worms. It would be very risky to start bumping uglies with her. So we lied to each other like old friends do, about being so healthy and wealthy and wise and happily married we couldn’t hardly stand it, but I knew she was lying. She knew I was lying, too. I think she could smell that it had been a long time since any woman had touched me. A predator like Angela can sense a that. (Murphy looks at the telephone)
Now tonight the question is, do I go to such an extreme? Start messing around with the wife of a mob guy, just to save my precious thumb? Am I that fucking desperate?

The lights shift, and we see Angela doing her nails on stool. There are two beers on the bar in front of her.

MURPHY (cont.): Yeah. I am that fucking desperate. The bar was a place we’d gone into with fake ID in the old days, when we were desperate teenagers playing grab-ass. She seemed really excited to see me. I only felt a little twinge of guilt.
(Slides onto the stool next to her, kisses her)
You know I still love you.

ANGELA: Easy! Are you crazy? Somebody might see us, Murph.

MURPHY: I don’t care. I think its fate we met up again.

ANGELA: Fate, schmate. Not so fast, okay?

MURPHY: Now that you’re back in my life, I just can’t stop thinking about you, Angela.

ANGELA: Cool down. Have a drink. I want to talk for a while first. Catch up on old times.

MURPHY: Sure.

(Neither one of them can come up with anything to say)

ANGELA: Okay.

MURPHY: Okay. (Long beat) So, are you happy?

ANGELA: Sure, why not?

MURPHY: Oh. Then I’m really happy for you, I guess.

ANGELA: Are you? Happy, I mean?

MURPHY: Sure. Like you said, why not, right? Things are okay.

ANGELA: That’s good, that’s good.

MURPHY: (Feeling remorse) Look. Maybe coming here was a mistake.

ANGELA: Yeah, maybe.

(They look at one another for a long moment and then abruptly kiss…)

MURPHY: You’re not happy.

ANGELA: No. (Starts sobbing) He’s a pig, Murph. He controls everything I do. Why, I don’t even have any money of my own.

His ears perked up at that one.

MURPHY: Wow! No money?

ANGELA: (She misses it) Well, a little. I’ve been hiding it away for years now.

MURPHY: Oh. That’s a good thing.

ANGELA: I have maybe nine or ten large in a secret bank account he don’t know about. It’s all I got in the world, though.

MURPHY: So maybe run away?

ANGELA I want to.

MURPHY: You definitely should, then.

ANGELA: I will.

MURPHY: Okay. Okay.

ANGELA: And I want you to come with me, Murphy. I’ve loved you since we was kids.

MURPHY: Uh. Oh. Really?

ANGELA: Absolutely. Just you and me and then no more Tony Two.

MURPHY: Angela, come on.

ANGELA: What?

MURPHY: I’m in deep shit and truth is there’s no such thing as a place I could run to. He’d find us. (Means Moose, but she thinks her husband)

ANGELA: You’re right. Tony Two would find us. (She looks closely for the first time) You look like hell. What’s the matter?

MURPHY: I’m in trouble, Angie. I owe some money.

ANGELA: Serious money?

MURPHY: Yeah, and worse yet they’re some serious people.

ANGELA: (sadly) Look at the two of us, Murph. We’re a couple of real losers aren’t we?

MURPHY: You got that right.

ANGELA (Giggles) You know what? You want, Tony Two has five mill in life insurance on him. His car could go off a cliff on the way home, or something.(Murphy looks shocked; she giggles again) That’s the beer talking.

MURPHY: Sure is.

ANGELA: Funny, huh?

MURPHY: Yeah. Funny.

Neither one moves. Their eyes lock.

MURPHY: You weren’t really kidding, were you?

ANGELA: Oh, Murph, no! I was joking!

MURPHY: Yeah, sure. You really got me.

They laugh again, but there is something stiff about it. They get quiet. She kisses him and mock growls like a panther.

MURPHY: Maybe…

ANGELA: Maybe what?

MURPHY: No. Forget it. It would just get us both killed.”

ANGELA: (Nods vigorously) You’re right. You and me, doing Tony Two? That’s really crazy.

They kiss and grope. He pulls away, stands up and walks downstage, addresses the audience. The lights dim.

MURPHY: Twenty minutes later we were out in my car doing some heavy petting. I was thinking Murph, if you had any guts you would do it, you would just up and do it, and take both the money and the girl. From there on things get kind of hazy because I drank too much. (Walks to bed, sits) What I can tell you for sure is that somewhere around dawn I heard Nerd whining, I thought maybe like he had to go out in search of a fire hydrant. (Lies down on bed, lights go out, speaks in darkness) I tossed around, but he wouldn’t shut up so I sat up and turned on the light.
(Lights come back up. Moose is sitting under the lamp with his knife at the dog’s throat. Murphy slides out of bed and hits his knees, hands clenched)

MURPHY: Jeez, don’t, I’m begging you.

MOOSE: You made a plane reservation. You know you can’t run on me, Murphy.

MURPHY: I know that, Moose. I only thought I would borrow a few grand and go to Atlantic City and play craps until I had the money I owe you, that’s all. I just need a little bit of luck and I’ll be even again.

MOOSE: (Wiggles the knife) You silly fuck, you need more than a little.

MURPHY: Don’t hurt the dog! I was coming back, man. I swear it on J Lo’s beautiful butt.

MOOSE: Now it’s sixty large in a week. And I want ten percent within forty-eight hours, Murph. (Long beat) That’s six grand.

MURPHY: Wow, you think fast.

MOOSE: You pay or I make you watch while I kill your pet, and then cut off one of your thumbs. Am I coming through loud and clear?

MURPHY: Yes, sir.

Moose drops dog, stomps out. Lights drop to a pin spot as Murphy sighs and pours himself a drink. He dials the phone. Angela answers.

ANGELA: Hello?

MURPHY: That…thing we talked about? I’m in.

ANGELA: Oh Mr. Brown that’s so wonderful! Then I guess we need to meet to discuss your new furniture.

MURPHY: Yeah, we do. And Angela? (Beat) I really need some money.

ANGELA: Why, certainly. How much are we walking about?

MURPHY: (Lying his ass off) I need about ten large.

ANGELA: Wow, that much?

MURPHY: Yeah, and like I said these are some serious people.

ANGELA: How soon you need the down payment?

MURPHY: I need it yesterday, or I’m in deep shit.

ANGELA: Oh, my. I don’t know…

MURPHY: (Upping the ante) And I don’t pay it I probably won’t be around to help you out at all.

ANGELA: I see. Okay. We’ll work it out. Goodbye, Mr. Brown.

Murphy hangs up the phone. Lights out on Angela. He turns to the audience.

MURPHY: I know, I know. I’m a complete asshole. (Beat) So she came over to my apartment a few hours later. I had her park way around the block and come through the back yard, just to make sure she wasn’t followed. We sat at my kitchen table and talked about running away together. Nerd was out on the back porch, scratching at the glass door. Angela doesn’t much like dogs. I guess I didn’t let that bother me much, seeing as how I didn’t plan on keeping my word once I got the cash. (Gets to his feet and paces) So get this…Tony Two was giving a speech that night, some lawyer’s banquet, and he wasn’t due back at their fancy house until near midnight. Angela figured to leave the roughly ten grand she had stashed in the one safe she knew the combination to, and I’d “break in” and “force” her to open it and give me the money. When Tony Two came back home…Well, that’s where the discussion trailed off. I’m not that fond of committing homicide. It can buy you some serious time in the joint.

Lights up nearby, and Angela is standing there wearing an apron and cooking gloves. She looks pissed, hands on her hips.

ANGELA: Oh hell, Murph, if you can’t do it, I will.

MURPHY: You will?

ANGELA: I’ll shoot him with his own gun. I hate the bastard, Murph. It would be my pleasure. There’s only one problem, Murph.
(He looks concerned) I counted, and I only have about nine large and eight hundred and change.

MURPHY: (Feels like a piece of crap) That’ll do sweetheart. I’m sure it will be close enough to get those bastards off my back.(Angela turns her back and resumes cooking. Murphy sighs and faces audience again) She was so sweet I almost decided to tell her the truth.(Beat) Almost.
Angela cooked me a messy dinner, some meat loaf and scalloped potatoes and a green salad and stuff. She really screwed up the kitchen doing it, too. She said it gave me an alibi, just in case I needed one. I should say I stayed home drinking and cooking up a storm and then passed out on the couch watching a movie.

Lights up on Angela again.

ANGELA: You watched ‘The Godfather’ on TV. You know that one, don’t you?

MURPHY: Sure. Where Sonny gets nailed on the causeway. The first one.

ANGELA: That’s what you were doing while you cooked. You drank too much and you ate too much and you passed out watching the movie. So be sure and have some beers and eat when you come home.
She puts the food on the table, checks her watch. I got to go. (Kisses him passionately) I’ll be waiting for you.(She walks into darkness)

MURPHY: (To audience) I don’t mind telling you, I was really scared. It was hard not to get smashed while I was watching the clock and waiting. I couldn’t eat a bite, but I put away more than a few beers. Nerd just flopped his tail from side to side, like he could sense my anxiety. (He puts on black gloves) Nine. Ten. Ten-thirty. Midnight. At 1:15 I stood in the yard of Angela’s big fancy house, covered a piece of window above the door knob with masking tape. I used a small hammer to tap out the glass. (Walks downstage, slipping on a ski mask, turns on flashlight as the lights dim again)
The living room was dark, (flashlight searches the theater) I crossed the living room as quiet as I could, and stepped onto the staircase. (SOUND of a stair squeaking) I froze for a second before I remembered Tony Two wasn't even home yet. I heard a grandfather clock ticking. I moved on up the stairs, my heart beating a steady eight to the bar.

TONY TWO: Good evening.

MURPHY: Holy shit!

(The lights come on. Tony Two is standing there, wearing a tux. He has the tie undone casually, and smokes a cigar. He has a gun pointed at Murphy)

TONY TWO: Mr. Murphy, I presume?

MURPHY: (Nods) I think I need to change my underwear, would that be okay? (Beat) So, you’re the husband, huh?

TONY TWO: (Dripping sarcasm) How nice to meet her high school sweetheart. Unfortunately, Angela is…shall we say tied up. She cannot join us just yet. She is locked in her bathroom.

MURPHY: So this is what it feels like to be dead.

Tony Two kicks a file folder at his feet so that it skids across the floor. He nods. Murphy bends down to pick it up.

TONY TWO: Read it. I’ll wait.

Murphy thumbs through the folder of newspaper clippings and P.I. reports. He looks a little green.

TONY TWO: Four husbands. I’ve got it all memorized. Four dead men with substantial life insurance policies. One died of an apparent heart attack, one in a fire, and two by suspicious automobile accidents. After the last death, a reporter got on to her history and Loretta Taylor was suddenly wanted for murder in Kansas. She changed her name, died her brown hair back to it’s original blonde and disappeared. She ended up hitting on me under her real name

MURPHY: Angela Liebowitz.

TONTY TWO: Correct.

MURPHY: I know this makes me sound like a real genius, but I suppose you were having her followed…?

TONY TWO: I knew it was only a matter of time until she went after me. She is a black widow, Murphy. She can sure make a man do stupid things, can’t she? (Laughs) Hey, I’m preaching to the choir. You wait here. I’ll go get the love of your life. (Exits)

MURPHY: (Dazed) I should have run right then, I guess. But I was so in shock I stayed put.

Tony brings Angela in. She is wearing a teddy nightgown and acting up a storm.

ANGELA: I’m so scared, so confused. What is going on here! Who are you?

MURPHY: Oh, save it.

ANGELA: (She struggles) Kill him, Murph! He beat me into telling him the truth.

MURPHY: (Finds his voice) That’s bullshit. He’s got a file on all the poor guys you’ve wasted, and he just showed it to me.

ANGELA: It must be some pack of lies, honey.

MURPHY: No, it’s your life story. Angela, I can’t believe you’d do this to me! (He has one eye on Tony, playing for his benefit)

ANGELA: (Looks at Tony, all pretense of sobbing gone) You knew?

TONY: Of course I knew. Not only that, but I’ve taken precautions. The boys heard all about this too, and one of them checks in with me all day and night at random to see I’m okay.

ANGELA: But sweetie, I would never…

TONY: Doll, if anything happens to me, and I mean anything at all, like if I even die of natural causes, then you die too, maybe ten minutes later.

ANGELA: But..

TONY: And in a very messy way. There’s somebody whose job it is just to make sure of that from now on. You hearing me on this thing?

ANGELA: Yeah, Tony. Sure.

TONY: You see, I like us together. I like what we do in bed. And now I really own you. I can make you do anything. In fact, whatever I want, whenever I want and with anybody I want. You get the picture?

Even Angela goes a little green at that one.
Murphy starts trying to back out of the room, but one of the floorboards squeaks. Tony points the gun at him. Murphy freezes in his tracks. He smiles weakly.

MURPHY: Excuse me.

TONY: Where the fuck you think you’re waltzing off to, Romeo?

MURPHY: Oh, I just thought I’d get some air. You were sharing such a wonderful little moment, there, and I’d hate to think I’d be interrupting.

TONY: You a wise-ass or something?

MURPHY: Me? No. Certainly not, sir.

TONY: Go ahead.

MURPHY: Huh?

TONY: Run.

MURPHY: Run?

TONY: You deaf? Go on. Run for it, Murphy. Run for your thumbs. (Beat) Hey, don’t you wonder why your vig went sky high? You know who bought out your gambling debt and upped the pressure? Angela did, supposedly on behalf of the two of us.

MURPHY: (Baffled) Say what?

TONY: (Fondles Angela) Of course, now I understand that she just wanted to make sure you would be properly motivated.

MURPHY: Angela, I’m hurt. I mean, deeply hurt.

TONY: Incidentally, I am leaving Moose’s orders where they are, Murphy. Six grand by tomorrow, or your dog is dead and you can’t play the violin any more.

ANGELA: Six grand? You told me ten, you son of a bitch!

Murphy starts to back away again.

MURPHY: (Whining) Jesus, I thought you loved me, Angela.

Angela and Tony look at one another and crack up. They can’t believe this schmuck. The lights shift and follow Murphy down stage in a spot.

MURPHY: I barely remember driving home, tell the truth. I started packing things and downing scotch and running around my apartment like a crazy man. Nerd was crying, and I realized I hadn’t fed him. I tossed him one bite of Angela’s meat loaf and went into the bathroom to throw water on my face. The phone rang and my machine got it.

MOOSE (On machine) An update, asshole. Now my boss says you cough up the whole fifty large by tomorrow morning, or some bad shit goes down. (Snickers and hangs up)

MURPHY: Now, that’s actually when I started to get ticked off. I was ticked about having been worked over not once, not twice, but three times. I didn’t enjoy feeling like a goddamn joke. I considered ways to get even. But the truth is, I have always felt discretion was the better part of valor. My courage deserted me again. But when I went back into the kitchen… Nerd!

He runs to his pet. The dog that never moves is sick or maybe worse…

Lights out.

Back up on Tony Two and Angela in bed together, watching a TV screen we can’t see. We HEAR a porn movie, groaning and moaning. They have obviously kissed & made up. But then Murphy appears. He watches for a while and when he speaks it scares the hell out of them.

MURPHY: She wanted me dead too.

Angela screams, Tony fumbles for the 38.

TONY: Jesus, what the hell, Murphy?

MURPHY: (Enters the room, pissed off) I said, she wanted me dead too. There was something in the meat loaf.

TONY: Well so what? Get out of here!

MURPHY: You don’t understand. My dog ate some. He’s really sick.

Angela and Tony convulse with laughter at that one. Tony gets out of the bed and approaches Murphy, gun loosely at his side.

TONY: You’re starting to bore me. I think I’m gonna want you gone soon.
(Points the gun) Out. You’re as good as dead already, you know that?

MURPHY: I guess that’s true.

TONY: May as well let it happen somewhere else, Murphy.

MURPHY: May as well. (Starts backing out of the room)

ANGELA: (Taunting) So it was ten large, huh? You’re a lying sack of crap Murphy. I hope you die screaming, you cheap bastard. You’re nothing, you hear me? Nothing!

Tony closes the distance, shoves Murphy.

TONY: I said beat it, punk!

MURPHY: (To no one in particular) She hurt my dog.

Suddenly Murphy grabs the gun and twists it back into Tony’s belly. We HEAR the shot. Tony grunts and drops face down on the floor. Angela screams. Murphy shows her he’s still wearing gloves.

MURPHY: Remember, he said he has somebody checking in all the time. So it’s the cops or the mob, baby. That’s one tough choice.

ANGELA: You son of a bitch.

MURPHY: Personally, I think you should admit you did Tony and just do the time. (Beat) Of course, they can probably get to you in the joint, too.

ANGELA: Wait!

MURPHY: (Drops the gun as he’s leaving) Good luck. (Turns away, exits down stage into spot) And then I ran for it. I expected her to scream, or do something, because now she was pretty well screwed, but she didn’t make a sound. So at first I’m wondering, why not? If she runs, the mob tracks her down. She goes to the cops, she’ll be nailed for four, maybe five murders. Hell, there’s only one last way out, right? And she would have to have already done a romantic number on Moose, gotten him on her side. And hell, even Angela wasn’t that smart. (Kneels by sleeping dog) So now I’m sitting here in my kitchen, waiting for Nerd to wake up. I can tell he won’t die, because he is breathing okay and moving around a little. (Murphy looks up, alarmed. We HEAR movement through brush, the gate squeaking open: Somebody is in the back yard, moving quickly towards the screen door) Well I’ll be damned. Murphy’s law strikes again.
(Moose steps into the kitchen. He has a gun, of course, and points it right at Murphy’s chest)

MOOSE: You are one dumb bastard, Murphy. Took her two minutes to think things through and call me.

MURPHY: I’m a dead man.

MOOSE: (Agreeably) No shit, Sherlock. You curious about how it’s going to go down?

MURPHY: Nope.

MOOSE: (Smug) First, you and me are going back to Tony Two’s to pick up the body. Can you believe that moron thought I’d kill a squeeze like Angela, something happened to him? Jeez.

MURPHY: He didn’t know Angela, huh?

MOOSE: (Laughs) You got that right. (Moves around, sits at kitchen table, gun still on Murphy) Anyway, know what happens next?

MURPHY: (Sickly smile) Me, you and Tony go for a little ride?

MOOSE: Yup. Want to know where to?

MURPHY: Tell you what. Why don’t you just surprise me?

MOOSE: She told me to take you and Tony way up in the mountains. Then you’re gonna row all three of us out into the middle of the lake.

MURPHY: (Weakly) Gee, I’d better pass. I tend to get seasick.

MOOSE: (With obvious relish) So listen, get this. In my trunk, I got some cinder blocks and a few feet of wire. You and Tony, you’re going to get some cement shoes. Then I’m going to pop you, Murph, and toss you and Tony Two out of that fucking boat. (Beat) And I’m going to love every minute of it.

MURPHY: In fact, think I’m gonna be sick right now.

MOOSE: But hey, it’s a long drive, Murph. I’ve been up since dawn, and I ain’t had much to eat. (Sticks gun right in Murphy’s face) So why don’t you be my bitch for a minute and whip me up a bite?

MURPHY: (We can see the wheels turning) How about a nice meat loaf sandwich?

Lights out. We HEAR the faint Sinatra-style music we heard at the opening of the play. We discover the old time radio is back.

Patrick come out onto the stage in a tight spot, wiping his hands on a bar rag. He notices the audience.

PATRICK: There, you see? Like I said before, one of the toughest lessons in life is figuring out who to trust because nothing is quite what it seems. In fact, for some folks, betrayal can be as natural as breathing. (He walks closer, dancing a bit to the music) We hope you’ve enjoyed the evening. Well, a good night to you, and thanks for stopping by. Now, we hope you didn’t drink too much. Be careful driving home. (Grins wickedly) And may you be in heaven two hours before the Devil knows you’re dead! (He exits as the larger lights dim…)

A SPOT PICKS UP THE OLD-TIME RADIO. Closes in on it, reduces and finally winks out.

The music dies too.

Curtain.

NOTE: Guns with blanks are still dangerous. The gun that is fired should NOT be used as a prop for the suicide attempt.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Medium Rare Books.com released Harry Shannon’s first signed, limited edition horror and noir collection “BAD SEED” in June of 2001. His debut novel “NIGHT OF THE BEAST,” the first in a trilogy, was released in 2002 to rave reviews. The equally acclaimed “NIGHT OF THE WEREWOLF” followed in August of 2003. Shannon’s first noir novel, “MEMORIAL DAY,” will be a hardcover from Five Star Mysteries in 2004 and has received advance praise from crime novelists Bill Pronzini, Paul Bishop, Barbara Seranella and Thomas F. Monteleone.
Shannon has been an actor, a singer, an Emmy-nominated songwriter, a recording artist in Europe, a music publisher, a film studio executive and worked as a free-lance music supervisor on films such as “Basic Instinct” and “Universal Soldier.” He-is also a counselor in private practice. Although primarily a novelist, he has sold short fiction to several magazines including “Cemetery Dance,” “Horror Garage,” “City Slab,” and “Gothic.net.” Shannon contributed a 25,000 word novella to a new Cemetery Dance limited-edition collection called “Brimstone Turnpike,” as well as short fiction to several anthologies, including “The Night Has Teeth,” “Family Plots,” “The Fear Within,” and “The Decay Within.”
Readers can contact him at halsbaby2@aol.com
Or via his website, http://www.harryshannon.com or via his Message board at http://www.horrorworld.cjb.net/