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“Life is treacherous--we’re all sentenced to death,
living on borrowed time.”--Erik Pevernagie.
1(medium close-up) Buck: When they come, you
might need my gun.
2(one-shot) Hop: You got a bad habit of killing
people. I hand you a weapon and I loose control of
the situation again. Nope, no gun.
3(two-shot) over Hop’s shoulder, Buck: Joe, there
are bought gunsels out there that will be glad to kill
you while trying to get to me. Johnny’s right, you can’t
reason with a rattler. Thor pulled on me while I was
still palavering. They want blood, and only lead will
get their attention.
Over Buck’s shoulder, Hop: You know Cash Bronson
real well, huh.
Buck: I know him well enough. He’s the one-eyed
jack in this town. I know I’m going to kill him if Johnny
doesn’t make it.
Hop: Christ--you’ve got killing on the brain. You just
calm down and let the law earn its pay. You won’t be
killing anybody. I sent for the U.S. Marshall last week.
He ought to be here any day now. With him here, I
doubt that Bronson will pull any shit.
Buck: In the dictionary, does the word “optimist” have
your picture under it?
4(sound cue) Three large raps came through the over-
5(close-up) Buck’s face, wracked with alacrity.
6(sound cue) Two more knocks on the door.
6(close-up) Hop’s face, calm and stoic, as he lit a
7(sound cue) It’s Billy over castanets.
8(cut to the big door) which opened slowly and Deputy
Billy stepped into the room.
9(two shot) Hop, his feet up on the corner of the desk:
How are things?
Billy: Things are quiet, maybe too quiet, peering out
from under the rim of his hat, looking for Buck.
Hop: He’s in back, puffing on his thin yellow
cigarette, squinting through the blue smoke.
Billy: The Doc’s got patients all over the place,
a fucking madhouse. His wife and daughter are
10(sound cue) Voice-over, Buck: How’s Johnny?
11(medium close-up) the Deputy flinched, startled
by Buck’s inquiry. He’s alive, but in rough shape,
in a coma. Doc says it’s a mild coma, and if he
regains consciousness, he’ll probably pull through.
12 (close-up) Buck: What are his chances?
Billy: Kind of slim. We should know more tomorrow.
Hop: How are we fixed for vittles?
Billy: We got the necessaries, a little bit of everything;
at least enough grub for a week. His bony thumbs were
stuck into his pant’s belt, his shirt sleeve rolled up over
his forearm wound, sporting a new bandage, rocking
back and forth on his worn boot heels
Billy: Do you want me to rustle up something?
Hop: Hell, no.
Billy: You want some coffee?
Hop: Tell you what...how about you trotting over to
the BRONSON HOUSE and getting us some hot
chuck; three plates should do it. When you get back,
we’ll button up this place. We’ll just fort up for a
couple of days.
Billy: Til the Marshal gets here?
Hop nodded. The deputy started for the door, then
stopped, a puzzled look on his face.
Hop: What’s the matter, forget something?
Billy: Uh--maybe, pointing to the gun rack, I might
should take a scattergun.
Hop: Uh-huh, sure.
Billy crossed to the gun rack. Hop tossed him a key
ring. He unlocked the padlock that fastened a chain
through all the triggers. He chose a deeply blued
pump shotgun. He opened a drawer below the guns
and pulled out a box of shells. He fed six shells into
the gun. He started for the door again.
Deputy: What? His voice cracked a little. His forehead
Hop: How you gonna carry three hot plates of food?
13(sound cue) coronet and snare drums.
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