Scene 7.02 - A Risky Call
EST. Prison-Island Ire, Florida Keys - December 25th, 1799 (CCY2K)
(Like I tried to do in the preface to DANK, I'll give Caesar what is Caesar's, give Shakespeare what is bawdy and keep the rest for myself for the remainder of time to mercilessly-exploit under my unyielding will and my never-ending train of endless-and-perpetual run-on thought. This is a parody/hatchet-job/tendentious rendition of writer Alexandre Dumas' famed literary classic The Count Of Monte Christo, and I make no apologies for making the poor man's bio-mass turn over in his grave. He was a brutha and a scholar, so they tell me, so as a former French-Haitian aristocrat dude, I believe he might understand the reasons for this blight upon his brightest work; considering the dire circumstances of today's world and all. Regardless, I'll know for sure in purgatory when I'm already there to burn-off the sins from other chapters and can hear about this travesty from the horse's mouth and what-not. I'll keep you posted on how it all really pans-out...)
EXT: The Atlantic Ocean, near a shore -- NIGHT.
(So, my version of this tale begins with a ghetto rowboat arriving to the shores of a small island in the Florida Keys in a time before cell phones and world-wars and all. The rowboat was formerly-ensconced aboard the patch-work Galleon "Cherry Mary" -- an impressive hemp-shipping cargo vessel returning from Canada with some seriously-potent kilobyte [KB] aboard. The rowboat is manned by first mate MONTY BIZKIT, ship steward MOE [DE]MONEY and the ship's quartermaster LARRY BLING -- all are actively rowing the boat. And there's business. Lots of it. Use slapstick wherever it can apply, to include throughout this scene. Nothing ever gets done -- to include landing a boat -- without wise-crack, slip, slap or fart being employed. The unconscious ship's captain, SHEMP GREENBACK, lies in the middle of the small dinghy, his head covered in bandages, devoid of slapstick-schtick, and is also nearly devoid of life. The TALL GUARD WITH STRANGE HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE awaits, his rifle held at port-arms.)
TALL GUARD WITH STRANGE HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE
Avast! What business have ye?
MONTY
I am first mate from the vessel yonder, our captain has taken ill, we seek a doctor, yo!
TALL GUARD WITH STRANGE HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE
This island is a prison; you're still lucky to be afloat; go back! We cannot receive visitors unannounced. Be off with ye!
LARRY
You 'eard 'im, let's head back to the ship, else Lord Bennie might have us flogged. With no storm ahead, we still might reach Havana in time.
MONTY
Not in time to save the captain! (To guard:) Please, sir, show some compassion for your fellow man! Our captain is near death!
TALL GUARD WITH STRANGE HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE
(Levels rifle:) All four of you are near death if'n you don't get back to rowing your cool-lows outta here! (Motions with it.) Move!
MOE
Come on, Monty, it's not worth dying over...
MONTY
Please, sir, have compassion for a brother from another mother!
TALL GUARD WITH STRANGE HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE
I'm a mutha from anutha brutha. Be off, I say!
MANUEL
(An Hispanic man with scars from surviving near-terminal acne approaches in military uniform. To the heavens:) Kay pah-sah, cali-bah-sa! (To the watchman:) Coh-moe ah-kee Oh-Joe Or-oh? What exactly do we have here, watchman? An invasion???
TALL GUARD WITH STRANGE HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE
No, senor. Trespassers, Cara Pina. I dare not wake the warden. (Cocks rifle's hammer.) They were just saying their farewells.
MANUEL
Call it my own golden, battle-worn eye, but even by torchlight, I can clearly see that one of those men is in a sorry, sorry state. -- What is your reason for braving these shores? This man?
MONTY
Yes! (Removes hat, bows slightly, crudely gallant. Novel; like watching five-year-olds dressed as adults, play-acting -- more like Our Gang and real life, and less like everything else that imitates that viewpoint:) Sir, I am Monty Bizkit, first mate on The Cherry Mary, a merchant's ship, anchored offshore. Our captain has taken ill and we desperately seek a doctor, for he is near death!
MANUEL
It would be inhuman to turn away a dying man to the cold clutches of the sea: Bring him. The prison infirmary is to the East. My personal physician resides there. Oh-Joe Or-oh, take them to Wallpaper. I shall awaken Ah-blow Rio for an Extreme Unction...
MS: SHIP MEN
MONTY
(Pulling craft ashore.) Cool Beans!
MOE
(Retrieving a canvas-and-wood, make-shift stretcher.) What's with you and them cool beans? You use that one way too much, Monty...
MONTY
(Lashing bow to rock with line.) All that and a bag of chips...
MS: ISLANDERS
TALL GUARD WITH STRANGE HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE
Sir, why you call the priest Hablo Rio? Why you call the doctor Wallpaper?
MANUEL
(To us:) The priest is nothing but a river of words, and the doctor, well, he's all stuck-up. See you at the infirmary, Oh-Joe Or-oh.
TALL GUARD WITH STRANGE HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE
Walk this way.
(Yes, Virginny, in case you was axe-in, they do walk in the manner of the above-mentioned guard. Camp knows no bounds.)
DISSOLVE TO:
MS: INT. Infirmary
(The priest [JYNX] with no real lines save "In nomine Patris et fillii et Spiritus Sancti -- Amen" is making the sign of the cross over the corpse of SHEMP GREENBACK. DOCTOR shakes his head and turns to the sailors while TALL GUARD WITH STRANGE HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE, THE CAPTAIN OF THE WATCH and MANUEL all soberly look on.)
MANUEL
(Cradling lame-ass resin-coated bowl, taken from the doctor.) Now that all the religious talk is over, it's time to toke up. Grah-see-oss, chick-kee-toe pah-hah-row.
DOCTOR
(Tilted head, squinty-eyed:) Why you call me chaquito pajaro?
MANUEL
(Takes to camera:) Loco Loro, "Lame-o" pa-pa-guy-yo ... (To DOCTOR:) It's not flattering; don't ask.
DOCTOR
(Tokes, passes to TALL GUARD WITH STRANGE HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE. Turns toward corpse; exhales.) I'd have to cut him open to know exactly what got him, but the signs are all there. Riddled; with gout, crotch crickets, moor mumps, French freckles and a host of parasites that made him succumb to bradypepsia, then dyspepsia, then dark apepsia, to a lientery, to a dysentery, to a dropsy to an autopsy. Yep, this man's a goner... fer-shur.
(Okay, I once played Mr. Purgon in Moliere's The Imaginary Invalid. I'm not going to cite every literary reference in this book, nor am I going to apologize for taking shots at world dictators.)
TALL GUARD WITH STRANGE HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE
(Hits meager pipe, milks it... passes, then; suddenly:) Will this take long? My shift's been over for ten minutes and I gotta a boat of my own to catch, gettin' tranferred off this rock, yo...
MANUEL
(Looks to the priest, who blesses the pipe before he tokes from it. Coolly:) Patience, Oh-Joe Or-oh...
TALL GUARD WITH STRANGE HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE
(Tilted head, squinty-eyed:) Why you call me ojo oro?
MANUEL
(I know; I should teach... To camera:) It beats the name I got for his mustache... Brah-vo Pair-oh: Key-air-eh co-mare gah-toe-
(Something like: Fierce dog wants to eat pussy. Let's just leave it at that, kids...)
JYNX
(Dumping schwag-ashes.) This bowl tastes like ass...
MOE
And you should know, eh, Padre?
MANUEL
Hey! Summer Vacation! Cool it! And you, Spring Break, gimme my pipe back; I thought beggars can't be choosers!?!
(Pause. JYNX and MOE look to one another. Who's first? Okay, age before beauty...)
JYNX
(Tilted head, eyes-squinted:) Why you call me Spring Break?
MOE
(Tiled head, eyes-squinted:) Why you call me Summer Vacation?
MANUEL
Everyone?
ALL EXCEPT JYNX AND MOE
(To Camera:) NO CLASS!
(JYNX looks to the heavens, saintly; innocent? Halo still secured in place enough.)
MOE
(Strokes his goat-tee, with flame lamp and background and the odd lighting and all, he has a devillish appearance.) Oh.
MANUEL
(Turning pinky in bowl, wraps the pipe; pockets it in his uniform's inside pocket.) Gentlemen, I'm afraid it's getting late; your captain has been dead for some time -- so it seems anyway, he's gettin'-to smellin' quite gamey...
MONTY
Dead you say?
DOCTOR
Dead as a door-mouse drilled by a doornail. (A la Groucho:) Either he's dead or my watch isn't working...
MANUEL
Welp! (Claps hands once.) Can't say we all didn't give it the college try. Sure explains why he didn't have any lines, huh?
(The corpse farts. Everyone but the doctor freezes; amazed. All proceed to react to the horrible smell as it reaches their nostrils.)
DOCTOR
(Applies weird, petroleum-jelly stuff under his nose. Doesn't share.) They do that sometimes.
MOE
That's disgusting!
MANUEL
Aye, Car-umba! (Turns head to open side door, fanning face.) Car-rah-ho!
DOCTOR
Feel fortunate. Sure beats the alternative. Sometimes there's still a-twitch-or-two lodged in their skull and when you stick 'em they sit-right-up, turn their heads and look right at you with foggy eyes and sometimes they try to grasp at you like they kinda know you're there, with them -- why, it can make a man stop sleeping under the sheets at night, I tell you...
MOE
Oh! The smell!
TALL GUARD WITH STRANGE HANDLEBAR MUSTACHE
(Aghast:) I smell that end smell. Oh, Saint Benedict, protect us!
MANUEL
Fellas: Take your smelly captain home to be buried already; we have no cemetery here, certainly no holy ground. Come, Monty, walk with me. Doctor, good night; my many thanks. Father; as always. (Gives a limp sign of the cross.) Shipmen, your first mate here will meet you at the shore-point soon... Come, Monty, I wish to speak with you...
(MONTY and MANUEL walk away from the befuddled men, men who then proceed to cart the corpse homeward.)
MANUEL
(A step from earshot:) I'm interested only in your merchant vessel's cargo; do you have any (somewhat sotto:) Moe-ta on hand?
(Sotto, nothing! Every islander in the room takes notice and subsequently, they anxiously-await confirmation.)
MONTY
Do you have any breath mints on hand?
MANUEL
(Stops.) Come again?
MONTY
See. No-sow-trowss ten-nem-moe-ss. (Sparks a blunt.) We're the prime distributor for the Western Hemisphere; it's all we carry.
{The doctor and priest look to one another knowingly; satisfied and optimistic. They know the warden is a five-star pot-head.)
REVERSE ANGLE
EXT. Infirmary
(MONTY and MANUEL cross the infirmary threshold, toking. We see the slapstick of the men hauling the body in the background, moving left to right, zig-zagging toward the shores below.)
MANUEL
Amazing. (Tokes.) Amazing. So smooth! (Arm about MONTY, leads him away from the others, hogging the blunt all-the-while.) Monty, dear boy, have you ever heard about the Tome-apartists?
(As you may have noticed, people don't share too much on this island. MANUEL only broke-out his pipe because of the Extreme Unction and only shared with the Padre and the Doctor because he had to. It was their only motivation to leave the comfort of slumber. And as for sharing with the watchman and silent guard captain; well, they DO have rifles. Hoarding the last few scrapes of a resin-coated bowl is perhaps atypical, yet it is natural to MANUEL. Perhaps it's a world-leader-prison-island thing; I dunno.)
MONTY
No sen-your, who are they?
MANUEL
Where-oh! (Leads MONTY Southward, through a garden.) Heh! A few years ago it was all people talked of -- probably stricken from the gringo history books. Queer irony. The Tome-apartists was a book-burning club I used to be a part of -- Tell me, have you read of the Gnat-zees, the Roose-keys, the Kew-oh-mihn-tang or The Little Red Book?
MONTY
(Humbled:) I cannot read, sen-your.
MANUEL
Oh? Really? Is that so? (Tokes. Passes.) Sounds like you would have been a prime candidate for my little charitable organization... if only they hadn't messed with my Comandancia in El Chorrillo- Listen, Monty, they got me all cooped-up in here for some, trumped-up, B-S coke charge that wouldn't have stuck to nothin' cut with nuthin' -- 'cept my lawyers couldn't outbid the friggin' prosecution now and they took my hacienda and played terrible Guns N' Roses and showed me terrible movies and got all those books I had stashed at the Smithsonian Tropical- ...so it follows -- totally gives the term "jury-rig" some validity, know what I mean? (Takes. Ribs him lightly, tokes.) I'm sure you know as well as I that we are now governed by a corrupt regime and though we may share enmity, I reserve myself to their own sense of self-preservation -- a mutual interest in survival -- they don't dare kill me nor bless me with overdue martyrdom; they want me forgotten, eroded from the minds and hearts of humankind; and until then, I am allowed to live; as long as I keep quiet about what I know from the books... books I ordered to be burned and all the papers that I had shredded... (Passes.) So here I am, deposed, exiled, left to my silent will -- locked away forever and a day-
MONTY
(Tokes.) Unless there's a convenient lynch-mob nearby, or an assassin within handy reach-
MANUEL
(Stops scaling the grassy slope-rise arcing the cliff's precipice... [Yes, the concise word for it IS knoll. Nevermind.]) Come again?
MONTY
(Passes.) It sounds terrible, sen-your. Terrible.
MANUEL
You don't know the half of it. They don't even let me ask about my sick mother in Haiti. Do you know about my sick mother in Haiti?
MONTY
No sir, I didn't even know you had a mother.
MANUEL
(Hand at side, near fire-arm.) Come again?
MONTY
-Living. (Struggling:) Sen-your: Yo no say if too mah-dre ess-tah... no mow-dare'-oh-
MANUEL
Vah-say me koo-low, where-oh! Use Queen's English, on the down-lo bro, you're only digging a deeper hole en Espanol; yo.
(Actor: Just spit-it all gangsta-rap, ai't? Stick to what works; it's sane. He's a Panamanian; a Latino. Perfecto Espanol? Mostly.)
MONTY
(Is aware that MANUEL'S hand rests on his pistol. Manuel's pistol.) What I mean is, you must be at a venerable age yourself, sen-your, and I had assumed...
MANUEL
(Relaxes arm, passes and clasps MONTY'S shoulder.) You assumed wrong, me chick-kee-toe neen-yo; poor-ray seat-oh -- never assume -- it makes an ass of you and me. My mother's quite alive, young man. Yet she's shaky; and as l may receive ill word about her state of health, I cannot send word back to comfort her. I have tried to help you save your sick captain, did I not?
MONTY
Yes sir, you did, and although it was too late and although the Good Lord's Angel Of Comfort had already swept poor Captain Greenback's soul away to heaven, you still tried to assist us, and for that I am eternally grateful, sir.
MANUEL
I would do so again; we deposed share an unquestionably-fixed ethic. Perhaps, in gratitude, you could do a simple task for me.
MONTY
Name it, sir! I am an honorable man.
MANUEL
I wish to send word to my mother to let her know I am well and to send her my love; should she be at her final moments of life. My liaison is a Monsieur Castro, a childhood friend, who resides in Havana; near the city's port. Would you pass this Mother's Day Card to my friend Fidel so he may deliver it to her before her eyes meet The Final Twilight?
MONTY
(Suspicious:) Mother's Day was seven months' worth of twilights ago, sen-your, and that isn't a card, it's a letter.
MANUEL
That is so, for my penmanship surpasses my artistic ability... Ah, she's senile and really won't notice any of that anyway. Written word is enough to lift her spirits. I beg of you, a son has a right to wish his mother well and to ease her heart, does he not?
MONTY
Of course he does. I would wish my mother well if'n she were still alive. Same with my father, I s'pose, although he died before I really ever knew him. (Tokes.) So who's this Monsieur Castro to you?
MANUEL
Just a family friend; we played baseball together in our youth, and regards my mother as dearly as I. He may be fully trusted.
MONTY
(Not seeing a lie within the man's eyes, for he isn't lying, he's just not... being exactly forthright with the truth?) Can't tell...
MANUEL
Come again?
MONTY
Very well.
MANUEL
Good, then you will do as I ask?
MONTY
Monsieur Castro?
MANUEL
(Slowly hands MONTY an envelope containing a letter as MONTY passes the blunt to him.) Yes, yes.
CUTAWAY: MS MOE watching the action on the hilltop
(As the men load the corpse on the rowboat, MOE looks up and sees MONTY and MANUEL atop the cliff, above; trading.)
POV: MOE
CU: MOE
CUTAWAY: MS MANUEL and MONTY
MANUEL
As I have enemies, and know of many spies who would harm my mother only to destroy my heart, I ask you to tell no one of this...
MONTY
On my word, you have been kind and forthright in my time of need, I shall not show this letter to anyone; save Monsieur Castro.
(MONTY pats his leather vest's inside pocket under a ghetto-fab, old-school, hand-me-down waistcoat. MANUEL tokes deeply.)
MANUEL
Good, good. Bon Voyage, Senor Bizkit, I doubt our paths shall ever cross again, but it was a pleasure meeting you, sir.
MONTY
And you, sen-your, you have our gratitude for your hospitality. (Hands him an unlit, captain-issue blunt, for a parting gift.) Grassy-ass. Addyou.
MANUEL
Ah! Adieu.
DISSOLVE TO:
(The men are all aboard the rowboat, making waves. Front to back: MONTY at bow, LARRY rowing, corpse, MOE at rudder.)
MOE
(To LARRY, sotto, and rising, to MONTY:) Monty and Ol' Pineapple Face sure were close to snogging up there, eh Larry?
MONTY
No we weren't! What's snogging?
LARRY
(Jeering at every oar-stroke:) Makin' out, suckin' face, neckin', feelin'-each-other up, workin' toward the bumpin' of the uglies...
MONTY
Get out... he said he was concerned about his sick mother, that's all.
LARRY
Shuh' up! (Beat.) No foolin'? That old coot's still got a mother?
MONTY
So he says...
LARRY
Well I'll be...
MOE
(Sparks a blunt.) You spoke of nothing else?
MONTY
(Not lying; spits-it right out:) No; that was it.
MOE
(Tastes it.) Nothing else?
MONTY
(Thinking nothing of it; distracted; not seeing the intensity of MOE by asking twice. Simply:) No. Nothing else, Moe.
(The corpse farts again.)
LARRY
Crimony!
MOE
(Bogarts.) The doctor said he could keep doing that for days, even if we keep jabbin' his stomach...
MONTY
We're only a night and a morning's journey from Havana. Steady as she goes.
LARRY
Damn trade winds.
(A second fart from the corpse.)
MOE
No kidding! (Passes blunt, as he now cannot enjoy the taste.) Monty, lemme switch places with Larry; I row faster.
MONTY
You just want to be upwind.
(MOE moves to get up. The crew take immediate notice as the boat careens and arcs.)
LARRY
Hey! Don't mess-up the rhythm.
MOE
Screw the rhythm, move over!
MONTY
(Laughing:) Stand down, Moe. I'm still first mate and you're still the helmsman -- steady as she goes...
(MOE reluctantly sits. A few short farts and a long squeal fart. MONTY laughs.)
MOE
(To LARRY:) Row faster, Larry. Faster!
(The slapstick accompanying the faster rowing and ad libs continue as the boat recedes from our view, toward the large silhouette of a galleon nestled in the waves of a foamy, moon-lit ocean.)
FTB