Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.
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INT. GARAGE - NIGHT
In the middle of this spacious garage filled with musical
instruments, GEOFFREY WADE, 18, a hard rock drummer on the
verge of making millions, kneels in a pool of his own urine.
Geoffrey whimpers and snots on his black T-shirt as we LISTEN
to footsteps circle him.
A low, muffled voice gurgles like a someone yelling into a
pillow.
MAN
You think you're ready for the big
lights? How about all those teenage
floozies bearing their budding tits,
can you handle that?
The MAN stops behind Geoffrey and taps the cymbals on
Geoffrey's twelve piece drum set. Geoffrey jumps and squeaks.
The Man cuffs Geoffrey on the back of the head.
MAN (cont'd)
Look at you; you're supposed to be a
performer. You don't deserve their
adoration, their flowers and midnight
kisses, shit, you don't even deserve
their pee-stained panties they throw
on stage.
The Man walks to the front of Geoffrey. All we see is the
pistol pointed at the musical instruments.
MAN (cont'd)
I guess you're competent in what you
do. Sure, sure you are. But you'll
make it because of you're timing,
right time, right place, right
people....
Geoffrey's whimpers grow more desperate as the Man trails off
in thought.
MAN (cont'd)
Sometimes we don't get what we
deserve.
Without warning, the Man shoves the pistol under Geoffrey's
nose and BOOM. So quick, it seems that Geoffrey's body was
even surprised by it and takes a moment for fall limply over.
EXT. HOUSE - MORNING
Toledo's South Side has a lot of nice houses in disrepair and
this two story is one of them.
GRADY MCCLURE, 38, who could be described as Tom Waits on
Valium, stands with his back to a closed front door, a
SEVERELY CHEWED PENCIL behind his ear.
Grady's got a duffel bag in one hand and a back pack over his
shoulder. Unshaven and hair disheveled, he looks like a bad
day.
White sketch paper, sheets of yellow legal pad, whole napkins
drift down all around him, blowing across the grass, getting
caught in the bushes.
Grady drops his bags, ambles into the middle of the lawn,
faces the house, and watches JANE, 33, throw the last few
sketches out of a second story window.
JANE
Marriage!
Jane slams the window closed. Grady lights a cigarette then
methodically begins collecting his life: the pencil sketches
making their way to Detroit.
INT. DOG KENNEL - MORNING
Noises: Incessant barking; water splashing off concrete; a
chain link rattling. The fence dripping with water keeps the
perturbed Rottweiler at bay while a red-faced TILLY LEWIS,
23, a pipe-bomb of a woman, hoses out a kennel.
TILLY
Shut up.
Tilly, with her bare legs speckled with water and flecks of
shit, sprays the Rottweiler on the nose, making him crazy.
TILLY (cont'd)
I didn't make this mess, Chipey boy.
The Rottweiler barks and jumps on the fence, then adds
another insult and squats to take dump.
TILLY (cont'd)
No, no, aw no. Give me a break.
Fine.
Tilly drops the running hose and struts out of the kennel.
INT. BUS - DAY
The only passenger on the bus as it hurls toward downtown
Toledo, Grady watches the scenery blur by. He glimpses a
captivating young woman waving her arms at the bus.
As it passes her by, Grady can't help but steal a double
take.
The DRIVER, a man in his fifties, shakes his head as he slows
the bus and pulls over.
BUS DRIVER
Oh hell.
The doors whoosh open, and Tilly gets on.
TILLY
How much?
The Driver points at the sign and Tilly digs through her
pockets for cash.
BUS DRIVER
This isn't a scheduled stop.
TILLY
And it just messes your whole day up,
doesn't it?
BUS DRIVER
Some people got places to be, honey.
Let's get a move on before I change my
mind.
Tilly pulls out a five and the Driver waves at the "Correct
Change" sign. Tilly yells to Grady.
TILLY
Hey! You in a hurry?
GRADY
Not particularly.
TILLY
Looks like ya' might have a little
time to make me some change.
Tilly smiles waving her money at the Driver. The Driver
wrinkles his nose in disgust.
DRIVER
What is that smell? Jesus, woman.
Forget about it - just sit in the
back.
Tilly shrugs her shoulders and makes her way down the empty
bus's belly. She slides in the seat in front of Grady with an
audible sigh of relief.
Grady looks up, glances at all the vacant seats on the bus
and back to the Tilly. He half smiles and settles back into
watching the scenery.
Tilly turns, studies Grady from head to toe, then leans over
the back of her seat like a schoolgirl.
TILLY
Nowhere to go, huh?
GRADY
I have a lot of nowhere to get to.
TILLY
Me too.
Grady attempts to ignore Tilly while she watches him.
TILLY (cont'd)
You a student?
Grady looks at her, she points to his overfilled backpack in
the seat next to him.
GRADY
Not for about 18 years.
TILLY
Me neither. Well, not 18 years.
Grady looks deadpan at Tilly; his eyes say, "no shit".
TILLY (cont'd)
One actually. Vet school. Pre-vet that
is. I would've been a helluva vet.
GRADY
If it weren't for the animals, right?
TILLY
Ah - a sense of humor? Actually, the
animals are do-able - the pay, isn't.
I found most veterinarians live,
well, moderately.
GRADY
Moderately?
TILLY
Been there, done that. You see, I'm
meant for something.
GRADY
Let me guess. A tub of water and some
soap?
TILLY
Do I stink?
Tilly smells her clothes, arm pits.
TILLY (cont'd)
I work, check that, used to work at a
dog kennel. I don't even smell it
anymore.
GRADY
I wish I could say the same thing.
Tilly opens her mouth to say something then in a huff turns
around in her seat.
EXT. GARAGE - DAY
DETECTIVE MOLIN, a striking, middle-aged man, puts his arm
around MRS. WADE, an elderly woman who seems to have a
cigarette forever burning between her pink lip-sticked lips,
and turns her away from the open garage door surrounded with
yellow police tape.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
I understand it's a difficult thing to
do. Perhaps you have a friend, a
relative...
MRS. WADE
Would you be able to clean up your own
grand-baby's blood? Don't you people
have any heart? It's bad enough with
all you runnin' around here makin'
more of a mess with yer coffee cups
and cigarette butts, but then you have
the nerve to tell me you ain't
cleanin' up THAT!
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Mrs. Wade, our job is to catch the
person who did this to your grandson.
If we spent our time....
The BUS pulls up across the street.
MRS. WADE
Detective, I have the sneaking
suspicion you'd be better in there on
your hands and knees than out there
trying to catch this freak.
INT. BUS - SAME TIME
Grady exits and Tilly looks out her window at him on the
street.
TILLY
Well, let's move.
DRIVER
You too, honey.
TILLY
What?
DRIVER
I need some fresh air. You could use
some too.
TILLY
You're kidding?!
The Driver waves bye with a big smirk on his face.
Tilly gets up and stomps off bus, then with an exaggerated
movement of arms, wafts her body stink towards driver.
EXT. GARAGE - SAME TIME
Mrs. Wade removes Detective Molin's arm from her shoulder as
the bus pulls away leaving Tilly and Grady on the street.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
I'm sorry, there's nothing...I'll be
damned.
MRS. WADE
I second that.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
If you'll excuse me, Mrs. Wade.
Detective Molin jogs toward Grady who turns on his heels and
goes in the opposite direction.
GRADY
Shit.
TILLY
Shut up already. (beat) Oh.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Grady? It is you, you ole bastard!
What are you doing on this side of
town?
GRADY
Leaving.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Well, if you're looking for work...
GRADY
I've got things.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Sure you do, but you might need some
quick cash.
Grady doesn't answer and stares past Detective Molin.
DETECTIVE MOLIN (cont'd)
You name your price.
Interested, Grady meets Detective Molin's eyes.
GRADY
You shoulda' been a used car salesman,
Molin. It fits you.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Ah, I'm the good guy here, not some
schmuck selling you something you
don't want.
Grady can't help but guffaw.
TILLY
I'll take it. I mean, if he doesn't
want it, I'll do it. Whatever it is.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Grady, why don't you introduce me to
your fine looking friend here?
Grady shrugs, pulls out his cigarettes, lights one. Tilly
steps forward with an outstretched hand.
TILLY
Tilly Lewis. Glad to make your
acquaintance.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Nice to meet you Ms. Lewis. I'm afraid
this isn't the kind of job a pretty
young thing such as yourself would
care to take on.
GRADY
Yes, Ms. Lewis, the Detective here
wouldn't be savin' ole' Grady any nice
jobs. If he's asking, no one else
wants it.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Now, Grady that's a might bitter for a
man who owes me a favor or two.
Grady looks up to meet Molin's eyes, takes a long drag on the
cigarette, then drops his duffel bag.
GRADY
What do have, Cowboy?
Detective Molin points across the street at Mrs. Wade who is
filling a bucket with water from her spigot.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
See that woman over there? Well, she
has a problem.
GRADY
Which means you have a problem.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Someone blew her grandson's head off,
and well, you know the routine, we're
finished.
TILLY
Who was it?
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Geoffrey Wade.
TILLY
The drummer?
DETECTIVE MOLIN
The one and only.
TILLY
Oh, tattoos and long hair...I would've
made a video with him that would make
Tommy Lee blush.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
You would've....
Grady, hearing enough, picks up his bag and turns to walk
away.
DETECTIVE MOLIN (cont'd)
Grady, wait a minute. Hear me out.
This poor old woman has no one to turn
to.
Grady stops. Molin meets up with him with Tilly following.
DETECTIVE MOLIN (cont'd)
Every time, it's the same thing. But
I don't get paid for that crap.
Besides, this lady's in real grief,
Grady. I mean, shit, she's in a bad
space.
TILLY
You want somebody to clean up the
crime scene?
GRADY
Oh yeah, you got empathy comin' out
your ears.
Grady looks toward a crying Mrs. Wade lugging a full and
slopping pail of soapy water towards the garage.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Isn't it bad enough she had to find
him?
TILLY
That sucks. (Beat) So what are we
talking about here? Money, I mean.
GRADY
Life deals it that way sometimes. You
know that, Molin.
Grady stubs his cigarette.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Come on Grady, one might say there is
sort of an obligation to an old friend
here.
GRADY
Oh - we're friends, are we? (long
pause) Hell, what else do I got to do.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Hot damn.
All three start across the street while Mrs. Wade slaps at
the tape.
DETECTIVE MOLIN (cont'd)
Mrs. Wade, meet Grady McClure, the man
who is going to help you with this.
He's done some work for us in the
past.
MRS. WADE
You've done this kind of thing before?
GRADY
Not exactly.
MRS. WADE
Come with your own cheerleader?
Mrs. Wade nods at a smiling and anxious Tilly.
GRADY
I can take care of this mess for you.
TILLY
For a small fee.
Grady reaches out for bucket and Mrs. Wade hands it over.
MRS. WADE
Thank Jesus. There are rags in the
garage. How much is this going to
cost me?
GRADY
Nothing.
TILLY
A very modest sum for the amount of
pain and suffering we are saving you
from.
Tilly takes Mrs. Wade's arm and guides her toward the front
door.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Thanks. She was really giving me the
red-ass. You know, if your going to be
around, I can maybe talk to the Chief
and try to get you on as a part-time
artist again.
GRADY
You're still stuck under that same ass
hole, huh?
DETECTIVE MOLIN
Least it's a regular job.
GRADY
I'm the most regular guy on the
planet, every morning at 7 I'm sitting
on the pot, but I sure don't look
forward to doing it every day. I
thought you'd be a Lieutenant or some
shit by now.
A little embarrassed and a lot pissed off, Molin cocks his
head toward Tilly.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
So, whose the lass?
GRADY
She reminds me of a young you. Big
dreams.
Grady puts his bag down and starts to roll up his sleeves.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
That's why we love the young, ain't
it?
Detective Molin eyes the duffel and all Grady's personal
belongings.
DETECTIVE MOLIN (cont'd)
So, she replacing Jane?
Grady stares into the garage and the job he's in for.
GRADY
Your amazing powers of observation
astound me.
DETECTIVE MOLIN
If you want to get a beer or
something; I mean, who knows Jane
better than us, right?
Grady shuffles into the garage astounded by the mess he has
just volunteered to clean up.
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Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.
