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1.
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The following text fades in over black:
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This is a true story. The events depicted in this film took
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place in Minnesota in 1987. At the request of the
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survivors, the names have been changed. Out of respect for
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the dead, the rest has been told exactly as it occurred.
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FLARE TO WHITE
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FADE IN FROM WHITE
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Slowly the white becomes a barely perceptible image: white
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particles wave over a white background. A snowfall.
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A car bursts through the curtain of snow.
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The car is equipped with a hitch and is towing another car,
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a brand-new light brown Cutlass Ciera with the pink sales
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sticker showing in its rear window.
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As the car roars past, leaving snow swirling in their dirt,
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the title of the film fades in.
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FARGO
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Green highway signs point the way to MOOREHEAD,
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MINNESOTA/FARGO, NORTH DAKOTA. The roads for the two cities
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diverge. A sign says WELCOME TO NORTH DAKOTA and another
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just after says NOW ENTERING FARGO, ND, POP. 44,412.
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The car pulls into a Rodeway Inn.
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1 INT. HOTEL LOBBY 1
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A man in his early forties, balding and starting to paunch,
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goes to the reception desk. The clerk is an older woman.
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CLERK
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And how are you today, sir?
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MAN
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Real good now. I'm checking in -
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Mr. Anderson.
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The man prints "Jerry Lundega" onto a registration card,
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then hastily crosses out the last name and starts to print
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"Anderson."
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As she types into a computer:
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2.
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CLERK
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Okay, Mr. Anderson, and you're
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still planning on staying with us
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just the night, then?
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ANDERSON
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You bet.
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2 INT. HOTEL ROOM 2
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The man turns on the TV, which shows the local evening
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news.
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NEWS ANCHOR
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- whether they will go to summer
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camp at all. Katie Jensen has more.
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KATIE
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It was supposed to be a project
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funded by the city council; it was
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supposed to benefit those Fargo-
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Moorehead children who would
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otherwise not be able to afford to
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attend a lakeshore summer camp. But
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nobody consulted city controller
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Stu Jacobson...
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3 INT. CHAIN RESTAURANT 3
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Anderson sits alone at a table finishing dinner. Muzak
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plays. A middle-aged waitress approaches holding a pot of
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regular coffee in one hand and decaf in the other.
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WAITRESS
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Can I warm that up for ya there?
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ANDERSON
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You bet.
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The man looks at his watch.
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THROUGH A WINDSHIELD
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We are pulling into the snowswept parking lot of a one-
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story brick building. Broken neon at the top of the
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building identifies it as the Jolly Troll Tavern. A troll,
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also in neon, holds a champagne glass aloft.
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INSIDE
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3.
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The bar is downscale even for this town. Country music
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plays on the jukebox.
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Two men are seated in a booth at the back. One is short,
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slight, youngish. The other man is somewhat older, and
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dour. The table in front of them is littered with empty
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long-neck beer bottles. The ashtray is full.
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Anderson approaches.
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ANDERSON
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I'm, uh, Jerry Lundegaard -
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YOUNGER MAN
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You're Jerry Lundegaard?
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JERRY
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Yah, Shep Proudfoot said -
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YOUNGER MAN
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Shep said you'd be here at 7:30.
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What gives, man?
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JERRY
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Shep said 8:30.
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YOUNGER MAN
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We been sitting here an hour. I've
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peed three times already.
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JERRY
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I'm sure sorry. I - Shep told me
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8:30. It was a mix-up, I guess.
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YOUNGER MAN
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Ya got the car?
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JERRY
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Yah, you bet. It's in the lot
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there. Brand-new burnt umber Ciera.
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YOUNGER MAN
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Yeah, okay. Well, siddown then. I'm
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Carl Showalter and this is my
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associate Gaear Grimsrud.
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JERRY
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Yah, how ya doin'. So, uh, we all
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set on this thing, then?
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YOUNGER MAN
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Sure, Jerry, we're all set. Why
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wouldn't we be?
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4.
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JERRY
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Yah, no, I'm sure you are. Shep
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vouched for you and all. I got
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every confidence in you fellas.
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They stare at him. An awkward beat.
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JERRY
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... So I guess that's it, then.
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Here's the keys -
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CARL
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No, that's not it, Jerry.
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JERRY
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Huh?
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CARL
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The new vehicle, plus forty
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thousand dollars.
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JERRY
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Yah, but the deal was, the car
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first, see, then the forty
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thousand, like as if it was the
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ransom. I thought Shep told you -
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CARL
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Shep didn't tell us much, Jerry.
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JERRY
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Well, okay, it's -
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CARL
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Except that you were gonna be here
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at 7:30.
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JERRY
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Yah, well, that was a mix-up, then.
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CARL
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Yeah, you already said that.
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JERRY
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Yah. But it's not a whole pay-in-
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advance deal. I give you a brand-
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new vehicle in advance and -
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CARL
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I'm not gonna debate you, Jerry.
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JERRY
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Okay.
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5.
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CARL
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I'm not gonna sit here and debate.
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I will say this though: what Shep
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told us didn't make a whole lot of
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sense.
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JERRY
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Oh, no, it's real sound. It's all
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worked out.
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CARL
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You want your own wife kidnapped?
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JERRY
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Yah.
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Carl Stares. Jerry looks blankly back.
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CARL
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... You - my point is, you pay the
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ransom - what eighty thousand
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bucks? - I mean, you give us half
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the ransom, forty thousand, you
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keep half. It's like robbing Peter
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to play Paul, it doesn't make any -
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JERRY
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Okay, it's - see, it's not me
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payin' the ransom. The thing is, my
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wife, she's wealthy - her dad, he's
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real well off. Now, I'm in a bit of
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trouble -
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CARL
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What kind of trouble are you in,
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Jerry?
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JERRY
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Well, that's, that's, I'm not go
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inta, inta - see, I just need
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money. Now, her dad's real wealthy
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-
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CARL
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So why don't you just ask him for
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the money?
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Grimsrud, the dour man who has not yet spoken, now softly
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puts in with a Swedish-accented voice:
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GRIMSRUD
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Or your fucking wife, you know.
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6.
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CARL
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Or your fucking wife, Jerry.
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JERRY
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Well, it's all just part of this -
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they don't know I need it, see.
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Okay, so there's that. And even if
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they did, I wouldn't get it. So
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there's that on top, then. See,
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these're personal matters.
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CARL
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Personal matters.
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JERRY
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Yah. Personal matters that needn't,
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uh -
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CARL
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Okay, Jerry. You're tasking us to
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perform this mission, but you, you
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won't, uh, you won't - aw, fuck it,
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let's take a look at that Ciera.
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4 INT. MINNEAPOLIS SUBURBAN HOUSE 4
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Jerry enters through the kitchen door, in a parka and a red
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plaid Elmer Fudd hat. He stamps snow off his feet. He is
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carrying a bag of groceries which he deposits on the
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kitchen counter.
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JERRY
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Hon? Got the growshries.
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VOICE
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Thank you, hon. How's Fargo?
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JERRY
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Yah, real good.
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VOICE
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Dad's here.
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DEN
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Jerry enters, pulling off his plaid cap.
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JERRY
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How ya doin', Wade?
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Wade Gustafson is mid-sixtyish, vigorous, with a full head
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of gray hair. His eyes remain fixed on the TV.
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7.
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WADE
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Yah, pretty good.
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JERRY
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Whatcha watchin' there?
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WADE
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Norstars.
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JERRY
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... Who they playin'?
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WADE
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OOOoooh!
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His reaction synchronizes with a reaction from the crowd.
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5 INT. KITCHEN 5
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Jerry walks back in, taking off his coat. His wife is
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putting on an apron. Jerry nods toward the living room.
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JERRY
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Is he stayin' for supper, then?
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WIFE
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Yah, I think so... Dad, are you
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stayin' for supper?
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WADE
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(off)
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Yah.
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6 INT. DINING ROOM 6
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Jerry, his wife, Wade and Scotty, twelve years old, sit
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eating.
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SCOTTY
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May I be excused?
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JERRY
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Sure, ya done there?
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SCOTTY
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Uh-huh. Goin' out.
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WIFE
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Where are you going?
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8.
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SCOTTY
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Just out. Just McDonald's.
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JERRY
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Back at 9:30.
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SCOTTY
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Okay.
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WADE
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He just ate. And he didn't finish.
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He's going to McDonald's instead of
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finishing here?
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WIFE
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He sees his friends there. It's
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okay.
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WADE
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It's okay? McDonald's? What do you
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think they do there? They don't
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drink milkshakes, I assure you!
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WIFE
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It's okay, Dad.
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JERRY
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Wade, have ya had a chance to think
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about, uh, that deal I was talkin'
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about, those forty acres there on
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Wayzata?
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WADE
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You told me about it.
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JERRY
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Yah, you said you'd have a think
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about it. I understand it's a lot
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of money -
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WADE
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A heck of a lot. What'd you say you
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were gonna put there?
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JERRY
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A lot. It's a limited -
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WADE
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I know it's a lot.
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JERRY
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I mean a parking lot.
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9.
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WADE
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Yah, well, seven hundred and fifty
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thousand dollars is a lot - ha ha
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ha!
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JERRY
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Yah, well, it's a chunk, but -
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WADE
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I thought you were gonna show it to
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Stan Grossman. He passes on this
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stuff before it gets kicked up to
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me.
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JERRY
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Well, you know Stan'll say no dice.
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That's why you pay him. I'm asking
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you here, Wade. This could work out
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real good for me and Jean and
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Scotty -
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WADE
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Jean and Scotty never have to
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worry.
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WHITE
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A black like curls through the white. Twisting perspective
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shows that it is an aerial shot of a two-lane highway,
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bordered by snowfields. The highway carries one moving car.
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7 INT. CAR 7
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Carl Showalter is driving. Gaear Grimsrud stares blankly
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out.
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After a long beat:
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GRIMSRUD
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Where is Pancakes Hause?
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CARL
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What?
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GRIMSRUD
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We stop at Pancakes Hause.
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CARL
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10.
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What're you, nuts? We had pancakes
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for breakfast. I gotta go somewhere
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I can get a shot and a beer - and a
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steak maybe. Not more fuckin'
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pancakes. Come on.
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Grimsrud gives him a sour look.
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CARL
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... Come on, man. Okay, here's an
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idea. We'll stop outside of
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Brainerd. I know a place there we
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can get laid. Wuddya think?
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GRIMSRUD
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I'm fuckin' hungry now, you know.
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CARL
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Yeah, yeah, Jesus - I'm sayin',
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we'll stop for pancakes, then we'll
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get laid. Wuddya think?
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8 INT. GUSTAFSON OLDS GARAGE 8
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Jerry is sitting in his glassed-in salesman's cubicle just
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off the showroom floor. On the other side of his desk sit
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an irate customer and his wife.
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CUSTOMER
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We sat here right in this room and
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went over this and over this!
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JERRY
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Yah, but that TruCoat -
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CUSTOMER
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I sat right here and said I didn't
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want no TruCoat!
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JERRY
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Yah, but I'm sayin', that TruCoat,
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you don't get it and you get
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oxidization problems. It'll cost
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you a heck of lot more'n five
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hunnert -
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CUSTOMER
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You're sittin' here, you're talkin'
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in circles! You're talkin' like we
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didn't go over this already!
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JERRY
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11.
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Yah, but this TruCoat -
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CUSTOMER
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We had us a deal here for nine-
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teen-five. You sat there and darned
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if you didn't tell me you'd get
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this car, these options, WITHOUT
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THE SEALANT, for nine-teen-five!
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JERRY
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Okay, I'm not sayin' I didn't -
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CUSTOMER
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You called me twenty minutes ago
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and said you had it! Ready to make
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delivery, ya says! Come on down and
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get it! And here ya are and you're
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wastin' my time and you're wastin'
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my wife's time and I'm payin'
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nineteen-five for this vehicle
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here!
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JERRY
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Well, okay, I'll talk to my boss...
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He rises, and, as he leaves:
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JERRY
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... See, they install that TruCoat
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at the factory, there's nothin' we
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can do, but I'll talk to my boss.
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The couple watch him go to a nearby cubicle.
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CUSTOMER
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These guys here - these guys! It's
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always the same! It's always more!
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He's a liar!
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WIFE
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Please, dear.
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CUSTOMER
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We went over this and over this -
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9 INT. NEARBY CUBICLE 9
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Jerry sits perched on the desk of another salesman who is
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eating lunch as he watches a hockey game on a small
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portable TV.
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JERRY
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12.
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So you're goin' to the Gophers on
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Sunday?
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SALESMAN
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You bet.
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JERRY
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You wouldn't have an extra ticket
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there?
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SALESMAN
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They're playin' the Buckeyes!
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JERRY
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Yah.
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SALESMAN
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Ya kiddin'!
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10 INT. JERRY'S CUBICLE 10
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Jerry re-enters.
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JERRY
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Well, he never done this before,
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but seein' as it's special
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circumstances and all, he says I
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can knock one hunnert off that
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TruCoat.
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CUSTOMER
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One hundred! You lied to me, Mr.
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Lundegaard. You're a bald-faced
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liar!
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Jerry sits staring at his lap.
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CUSTOMER
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... A fucking liar -
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WIFE
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Bucky, please!
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Jerry mumbles into his lap:
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JERRY
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One hunnert's the best we can do
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here.
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CUSTOMER
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13.
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Oh, for Christ's sake, where's my
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goddamn checkbook. Let's get this
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over with.
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WIDE EXTERIOR: TRUCK STOP
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There is a restaurant with many big rigs parked nearby, and
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|
a motel with an outsize Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox
|
|
flanking its sign: BLUE OX MOTEL.
|
|
|
|
|
|
11 INT. MOTEL ROOM 11
|
|
|
|
Carl Showalter and Gaear Grimsrud are in the twin beds
|
|
having sex with two truck-stop hookers.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Oh, Jesus, yeah.
|
|
|
|
HIS HOOKER
|
|
There ya go, sugar.
|
|
|
|
GRIMSRUD
|
|
Nnph.
|
|
|
|
HIS HOOKER
|
|
Yeah. Yeah. Oh, yeah.
|
|
|
|
LATER
|
|
|
|
The couples like in their respective beds, gazing at the
|
|
offscreen TV.
|
|
|
|
ED MCMAHON
|
|
- Johnny's guests tonight will be
|
|
Lee Majors, George Wendt, and Steve
|
|
Boutsikaros from the San Diego Zoo,
|
|
so keep that dial -
|
|
|
|
|
|
12 INT. LUNDEGAARD KITCHEN 12
|
|
|
|
We hear a morning show on television. Jean Lundegaard is
|
|
making coffee in the kitchen as Scott eats cereal at the
|
|
table.
|
|
|
|
JEAN
|
|
I'm talkin' about your potential.
|
|
|
|
SCOTT
|
|
(absently)
|
|
Uh-huh.
|
|
14.
|
|
|
|
|
|
JEAN
|
|
You're not a C student.
|
|
|
|
SCOTT
|
|
Uhn.
|
|
|
|
JEAN
|
|
And yet you're gettin' C grades.
|
|
It's this disparity there that
|
|
concerns your dad and me.
|
|
|
|
SCOTT
|
|
Uh-huh.
|
|
|
|
JEAN
|
|
You know what a disparity is?
|
|
|
|
SCOTT
|
|
(testily)
|
|
Yeah!
|
|
|
|
JEAN
|
|
Okay. Well, that's why we don't
|
|
want ya goin' out fer hockey.
|
|
|
|
SCOTT
|
|
Oh, man!
|
|
|
|
The phone rings.
|
|
|
|
SCOTT
|
|
... What's the big deal? It's an
|
|
hour -
|
|
|
|
JEAN
|
|
Hold on.
|
|
|
|
She picks up the phone.
|
|
|
|
JEAN
|
|
... Hello?
|
|
|
|
PHONE VOICE
|
|
Yah, hiya, hon.
|
|
|
|
JEAN
|
|
Oh, hiya, Dad.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Jerry around?
|
|
|
|
JEAN
|
|
15.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Yah, he's still here - I'll catch
|
|
him for ya.
|
|
|
|
She holds the phone away and calls:
|
|
|
|
JEAN
|
|
... Hon?
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
JEAN
|
|
It's Dad.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Yah...
|
|
|
|
Jerry enters in shirtsleeves and tie.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... Yah, okay...
|
|
|
|
SCOTT
|
|
Look, Dad, there is no fucking way
|
|
-
|
|
|
|
JEAN
|
|
Scott!
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Say, let's watch the language -
|
|
|
|
He takes the phone.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
How ya doin', Wade?
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
What's goin' on there?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Oh, nothing, Wade. How ya doin'
|
|
there?
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Stan Grossman looked at your
|
|
proposal. Says it's pretty sweet.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
No kiddin'?
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
16.
|
|
|
|
|
|
We might be innarested.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
No kiddin'! I'd need the cash
|
|
pretty quick there. In order to
|
|
close the deal.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Come by at 2:30 and we'll talk
|
|
about it. If your numbers are
|
|
right, Stan says its pretty sweet.
|
|
Stan Grossman.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
2:30.
|
|
|
|
Click. Dial tone.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, okay.
|
|
|
|
|
|
13 INT. GUSTAFSON OLD GARAGE 13
|
|
|
|
Jerry wanders through the service area where cars are being
|
|
worked on. He stops by an Indian in blue jeans who is
|
|
|
|
looking at the underside of a car that sits on a hydraulic
|
|
lift with a cage light hanging off its innards.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Say, Shep, how ya doin' there?
|
|
|
|
SHEP
|
|
Mm.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Say, ya know those two fellas ya
|
|
put me in touch with, up there in
|
|
Fargo?
|
|
|
|
SHEP
|
|
Put you in touch with Grimsrud.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Well, yah, but he had a buddy
|
|
there. He, uh -
|
|
|
|
SHEP
|
|
Well, I don't vouch for him.
|
|
17.
|
|
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Well, that's okay, I just -
|
|
|
|
SHEP
|
|
I vouch for Grimsrud. Who's his
|
|
buddy?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Carl somethin'?
|
|
|
|
SHEP
|
|
Never heard of him. Don't vouch for
|
|
him.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Well, that's okay, he's a buddy of
|
|
the guy ya vouched for, so I'm not
|
|
worryin'. I just, I was wonderin',
|
|
see, I gotta get in touch with 'em
|
|
for, I might not need it anymore,
|
|
sumpn's happenin', see -
|
|
|
|
SHEP
|
|
Call 'em up.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, well, see, I did that, and I
|
|
haven't been able to get 'em, so I
|
|
thought you maybe'd know an
|
|
alternate number or what have ya.
|
|
|
|
SHEP
|
|
Nope.
|
|
|
|
Jerry slaps his fist into his open palm and snaps his
|
|
fingers.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Okay, well, real good, then.
|
|
|
|
CAR
|
|
|
|
Carl is driving. Grimsrud stares out front.
|
|
|
|
After a beat:
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Look at that. Twin Cities. IDS
|
|
Building, the big glass one.
|
|
Tallest skyscraper in the Midwest.
|
|
After the Sears, uh, Chicago... You
|
|
never been to Minneapolis?
|
|
18.
|
|
|
|
|
|
GRIMSRUD
|
|
No.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Would it kill you to say
|
|
something?
|
|
|
|
GRIMSRUD
|
|
I did.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
"No." First thing you've said in
|
|
the last four hours. That's a,
|
|
that's a fountain of conversation,
|
|
man. That's a geyser. I mean, whoa,
|
|
daddy, stand back, man. Shit, I'm
|
|
sittin' here driving, man, doin'
|
|
all the driving, whole fuckin' way
|
|
from Brainerd, drivin', tryin' to,
|
|
you know, tryin' to chat, keep our
|
|
spirits up, fight the boredom of
|
|
the road, and you can't say one
|
|
fucking thing just in the way of
|
|
conversation.
|
|
|
|
Grimsurd smokes, gazing out the window.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Well, fuck it, I don't have to
|
|
talk either, man. See how you like
|
|
it...
|
|
|
|
He drives.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Total silence...
|
|
|
|
|
|
14 INT. JERRY'S CUBICLE 14
|
|
|
|
He is on the phone.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, real good. How you doin'?
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Pretty good, Mr. Lundegaard. You're
|
|
damned hard to get on the phone.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, it's pretty darned busy here,
|
|
but that's the way we like it.
|
|
19.
|
|
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
That's for sure. Now, I just need,
|
|
on these last, these financing
|
|
documents you sent us, I can't read
|
|
the serial numbers of the vehicles
|
|
on here, so I -
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
But I already got the, it's okay,
|
|
the loans are in place, I already
|
|
got the, the what, the -
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Yeah, the three hundred and twenty
|
|
thousand dollars, you got the money
|
|
last month.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, so we're all set.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Yeah, but the vehicles you were
|
|
borrowing on, I just can't read the
|
|
serial numbers on your applicaton.
|
|
Maybe if you could just read them
|
|
to me -
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
But the deal's already done, I
|
|
already got the money -
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Yeah, but we have an audit here, I
|
|
just have to know that these
|
|
vehicles you're financing with this
|
|
money, that they really exist.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, well, they exist all right.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
I'm sure they do - ha ha! But I
|
|
can't read their serial numbers
|
|
here. So if you could read me -
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Well, but see, I don't have 'em in
|
|
front a me - why don't I just fax
|
|
you over a copy -
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
20.
|
|
|
|
|
|
No, fax is no good, that's what I
|
|
have and I can't read the darn
|
|
thing -
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, okay, I'll have my girl send
|
|
you over a copy, then.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Okay, because if I can't correlate
|
|
this note with the specific
|
|
vehicles, then I gotta call back
|
|
that money -
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, how much money was that?
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Three hundred and twenty thousand
|
|
dollars. See, I gotta correlate
|
|
that money with the cars it's being
|
|
lent on.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, no problem, I'll just fax that
|
|
over to ya, then.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
No, no, fax is -
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
I mean send it over. I'll shoot it
|
|
right over to ya.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Okay.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Okay, real good, then.
|
|
|
|
CLOSE ON TELEVISION
|
|
|
|
A morning-show host in an apron stands behind a counter on
|
|
a kitchen set.
|
|
|
|
HOST
|
|
So I seperate the - how the heck do
|
|
I get the egg out of the shell
|
|
without breaking it?
|
|
|
|
Jean Lundegaard is curled up on the couch with a cup of
|
|
coffee, watching the television.
|
|
21.
|
|
|
|
|
|
HOSTESS
|
|
You just prick a little hole in the
|
|
end and blow!
|
|
|
|
Jean smiles as we hear laughter and applause from the
|
|
studio audience. She hears something else - a faint
|
|
scraping sound - and looks up.
|
|
|
|
HOST
|
|
Okay, here goes nothing.
|
|
|
|
The scraping sound persists. Jean sets down her coffee cup
|
|
and rises.
|
|
|
|
From the studio audience:
|
|
|
|
AUDIENCE
|
|
Awoooo!
|
|
|
|
|
|
15 INT. KITCHEN 15
|
|
|
|
We track toward the back door. A curtain is stretched tight
|
|
across its window.
|
|
|
|
Jean pulls the curtain back. Bright sunlight amplified by
|
|
snow floods in.
|
|
|
|
A man in an orange ski mask looks up from the lock.
|
|
|
|
Jean gasps, drops the curtain, runs and runs into -
|
|
|
|
- a taller man, also in a ski mask, already in the house.
|
|
|
|
We hear the crack of the back-door window being smashed.
|
|
|
|
The tall man - Gaear Grimsrud - grabs Jean's wrist.
|
|
|
|
She screams, staring at her own imprisoned wrist, then
|
|
wraps her gaping mouth around Grimsrud's gloved thumb and
|
|
bites down hard.
|
|
|
|
He drops her wrist. As Carl enters, she races up the
|
|
stairs.
|
|
|
|
GRIMSRUD
|
|
Unguent.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Huh?
|
|
|
|
Grimsurd looks at his thumb.
|
|
22.
|
|
|
|
|
|
GRIMSRUD
|
|
I need ... unguent.
|
|
|
|
|
|
16 INT. UPSTAIRS BEDROOM 16
|
|
|
|
As the two men enter, a door at the far side is slamming
|
|
shut. A cord snakes in under the door.
|
|
|
|
|
|
17 INT. MASTER BATHROOM 17
|
|
|
|
Jean, sobbing, frantically pushes at buttons on the
|
|
princess phone.
|
|
|
|
The phone pops out of her hands, jangles across the tile
|
|
floor, smashes against the door and then bounces away, its
|
|
cord ripped free.
|
|
|
|
With a groaning sound, the door shifts in its frame.
|
|
|
|
|
|
18 INT. BEDROOM 18
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud has a crowbar jammed in between the bathroom door
|
|
and frame, and is working it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
19 INT. BATHROOM 19
|
|
|
|
Jean crosses to a high window above the toilet and throws
|
|
it open. Snow that had drifted against the window sifts
|
|
lightly in. Jean steps up onto the toilet.
|
|
|
|
The door creaks, moving as one piece in its frame.
|
|
|
|
Jean glances back as she steps up from the toilet seat to
|
|
the tank.
|
|
|
|
The groaning of the door ends with the wood around its knob
|
|
splintering and the knob itself falling out onto the floor.
|
|
|
|
The door swings open.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud and Carl enter.
|
|
|
|
THEIR POV
|
|
|
|
Room empty, window open.
|
|
|
|
Carl strides to the window and hoists himself out.
|
|
23.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud opens the medicine cabinet and delicately taps
|
|
aside various bottles and tubes, seeking the proper
|
|
unguent.
|
|
|
|
He finds a salve but after a moment sets it down, noticing
|
|
something in the mirror.
|
|
|
|
The shower curtain is drawn around the tub.
|
|
|
|
He steps toward it.
|
|
|
|
As he reaches for the curtain, it explodes outward,
|
|
animated by thrashing limbs.
|
|
|
|
Jean, screaming, tangled in the curtain, rips it off its
|
|
rings and stumbles out into the bedroom. Grimsrud follows.
|
|
|
|
|
|
20 INT. BEDROOM 20
|
|
|
|
Jean rushes toward the door, cloaked by the shower curtain
|
|
but awkwardly trying to push it off.
|
|
|
|
UPSTAIRS LANDING
|
|
|
|
Still thrashing, Jean crashes against the upstairs railing,
|
|
trips on the curtain and falls, thumping crazily down the
|
|
stairs.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud trots down after her.
|
|
|
|
A PLAQUE: WADE GUSTAFSON INCORPORTATED
|
|
|
|
|
|
21 INT. WADE'S OFFICE 21
|
|
|
|
Wade sits behind his desk; another man rises as Jerry
|
|
enters.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
How ya doin' there, Stan? How are
|
|
ya, Wade?
|
|
|
|
Stan Grossman shakes his hand.
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
Good to see ya again, Jerry. If
|
|
these numbers are right, this looks
|
|
pretty sweet.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
24.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Oh, those numbers are all right,
|
|
bleemee.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
This is do-able.
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
Congratulations, Jerry.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, thanks, Stan, it's a pretty -
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
What kind of finder's fee were you
|
|
looking for?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... Huh?
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
The financials are pretty thorough,
|
|
so the only thing we don't know is
|
|
your fee.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... My fee? Wade, what the heck're
|
|
you talkin' about?
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Stan and I're okay.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
We're good to loan in.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
But we never talked about your fee
|
|
for bringin' it to us.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
No, but, Wade, see, I was bringin'
|
|
you this deal for you to loan me
|
|
the money to put in. It's my deal
|
|
here, see?
|
|
|
|
Wade scowls, looks at Stan.
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
25.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jerry - we thought you were
|
|
bringin' us an investment.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, right -
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
You're sayin' - what're you sayin'?
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
You're sayin' that we put in all
|
|
the money and you collect when it
|
|
pays off?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
No, no. I - I'd, I'd - pay you back
|
|
the principal, and interest - heck,
|
|
I'd go - one over prime -
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
We're not a bank, Jerry.
|
|
|
|
Wade is angry.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
What the heck, Jerry, if I wanted
|
|
bank interest on seven hunnert'n
|
|
fifty thousand I'd go to Midwest
|
|
Federal. Talk to Bill Diehl.
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
He's at Norstar.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
He's at -
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
No, see, I don't need a finder's
|
|
fee, I need - finder's fee's, what,
|
|
ten percent, heck that's not gonna
|
|
do it for me. I need the principal.
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
Jerry, we're not just going to give
|
|
you seven hundred and fifty
|
|
thousand dollars.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
What the heck were you thinkin'?
|
|
Heck, if I'm only gettin' bank
|
|
interest, I'd look for complete
|
|
security. Heck, FDIC. I don't see
|
|
nothin' like that here.
|
|
26.
|
|
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, but I - okay, I would, I'd
|
|
guarantee ya your money back.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
I'm not talkin' about your damn
|
|
word, Jerry. Geez, what the heck're
|
|
you?... Well, look, I don't want to
|
|
cut you out of the loop, but his
|
|
here's a good deal. I assume, if
|
|
you're not innarested, you won't
|
|
mind if we move on it
|
|
independently.
|
|
|
|
|
|
22 INT. PARKING LOT 22
|
|
|
|
We are high and wide on the office building's parking lot.
|
|
|
|
Jerry emerges wrapped in a parka, his arms sticking stiffly
|
|
out at his sides, his breath vaporizing. He goes to his
|
|
car, opens its front door, pulls out a red plastic scraper
|
|
and starts methodically scraping off the thin crust of ice
|
|
that has developed on his windshield.
|
|
|
|
The scrape-scrape-scrape sound carries in the frigid air.
|
|
|
|
Jerry goes into a frenzy, banging the scraper against the
|
|
windshield and the hood of his car.
|
|
|
|
The tantrum passes. Jerry stands pantin, staring at nothing
|
|
in particular.
|
|
|
|
Scrape-scrape-scrape - he goes back to work on the
|
|
windshield.
|
|
|
|
FRONT DOOR
|
|
|
|
A beat, silent but for a key scraping at the lock.
|
|
|
|
The door swings open and Jerry edges in, looking about,
|
|
holding a sack of groceries.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Hon?
|
|
|
|
He shuts the door.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... Got the growshries...
|
|
|
|
He has already seen the shower curtain on the floor. He
|
|
frowns, pokes at it with his foot.
|
|
27.
|
|
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... Hon?
|
|
|
|
|
|
23 INT. UPSTAIRS BATHROOM 23
|
|
|
|
Jerry walks in. He sets the groceries down on the toilet
|
|
tank.
|
|
|
|
He looks at the open window, through which snow still sifts
|
|
in. He shuts it.
|
|
|
|
He picks up the small tube of unguent that sits on the
|
|
sink, frowns at it, puts it back in the medicine chest.
|
|
|
|
He looks at the shower curtain rod holding empty rings.
|
|
|
|
|
|
24 INT. FOYER 24
|
|
|
|
Once again we are looking at the rumpled shower curtain.
|
|
|
|
From another room:
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, Wade, I - it's Jerry, I.
|
|
|
|
Then, slightly more agitated.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... Yah, Wade, it's, I, it's
|
|
Jerry...
|
|
|
|
Beat.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... Wade, it's Jerry, I - we gotta
|
|
talk, Wade, it's terrible...
|
|
|
|
Beat.
|
|
|
|
|
|
25 INT. LIVING ROOM 25
|
|
|
|
Jerry stands in wide shot, hands on hips, looking down at a
|
|
telephone.
|
|
|
|
After a motionless beat he picks up the phone and punches
|
|
in a number.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... Yah, Wade Gustafson, please.
|
|
28.
|
|
|
|
|
|
BLACK
|
|
|
|
Hold in black.
|
|
|
|
A slow tilt down from night sky brings the head of a large
|
|
paper-mache figure into frame. It is a flannel-shirt
|
|
woodsman carrying a double-edged ax over one shoulder. As
|
|
we hear the rumble of an approaching car, the continuing
|
|
tilt and boom down brings us down the woodsman's body to a
|
|
pedestal.
|
|
|
|
A sweep of headlights illuminates a sign on the pedestal:
|
|
WELCOME TO BRAINDERD - HOME OF PAUL BUNYAN.
|
|
|
|
The headlights sweep off and a car hums past and on into
|
|
the background. The two-lane highway is otherwise empty.
|
|
|
|
|
|
26 INT. CAR 26
|
|
|
|
Carl drives. Grimsrud smokes and gazes out the window.
|
|
|
|
From the back seat we hear whimpering.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud turns to look.
|
|
|
|
Jean lies bound and curled on the back seat underneath a
|
|
tarpaulin.
|
|
|
|
GRIMSRUD
|
|
Shut the fuck up or I'll throw you
|
|
back in the trunk, you know.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Geez. That's more'n I've heard you
|
|
say all week.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud stares at him, then turns back to the window.
|
|
|
|
At a loud WHOOP Carl starts and looks back out the rear
|
|
window. Fifty yards behind a state trooper has turned on
|
|
his gumballs.
|
|
|
|
Carl eases the car onto the shoulder.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Ah, shit, the tags...
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud looks at him.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
29.
|
|
|
|
|
|
... It's just the tags. I never put
|
|
my tags on the car. Don't worry,
|
|
I'll take care of this.
|
|
|
|
He looks into the back seat as the car bounces and slows on
|
|
the gravel shoulder.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Let's keep still back there,
|
|
lady, or we're gonna have to, ya
|
|
know, to shoot ya.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud stares at Carl.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Hey! I'll take care of this!
|
|
|
|
Both cars have stopped. Carl looks up at the rear-view
|
|
mirror.
|
|
|
|
The trooper is stopped on the shoulder just behind them,
|
|
writing in his citation book.
|
|
|
|
Carl watches.
|
|
|
|
We hear the trooper's door open.
|
|
|
|
The trooper walks up the shoulder, one hand resting lightly
|
|
on top of his holster, his breath steaming in the cold
|
|
night air.
|
|
|
|
Carl opens his window as the trooper draws up.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
How can I help you, officer?
|
|
|
|
The trooper scans the inside of the car, taking his time.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud smokes and gazes calmly out his window.
|
|
|
|
Finally:
|
|
|
|
TROOPER
|
|
This is a new car, then, sir?
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
It certainly is, officer. Still got
|
|
that smell!
|
|
|
|
TROOPER
|
|
30.
|
|
|
|
|
|
You're required to display
|
|
temporary tags, either in the plate
|
|
area or taped inside the back
|
|
window.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Certainly -
|
|
|
|
TROOPER
|
|
Can I see your license and
|
|
registration please?
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Certainly.
|
|
|
|
He reaches for his wallet.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... I was gonna tape up the
|
|
temporary tag, ya know, to be in
|
|
full compliance, but it, uh, it, uh
|
|
... must a slipped my mind...
|
|
|
|
He extends his wallet toward the trooper, a folded fifty-
|
|
dollar bill protruding from it.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... So maybe the best thing would
|
|
be to take care of that, right here
|
|
in Brainerd.
|
|
|
|
TROOPER
|
|
What's this, sir?
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
That's my license and regis-
|
|
tration. I wanna be in compliance.
|
|
|
|
He forces a laugh.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... I was just thinking I could
|
|
take care of it right here. In
|
|
Brainerd.
|
|
|
|
The policeman thoughtfully pats the fifty into the billfold
|
|
and hands the billfold back into the car.
|
|
|
|
TROOPER
|
|
Put that back in your pocket,
|
|
please.
|
|
|
|
Carl's nervous smile fades.
|
|
31.
|
|
|
|
|
|
TROOPER
|
|
... And step out of the car,
|
|
please, sir.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud, smiling thinly, shakes his head.
|
|
|
|
There is a whimpering sound.
|
|
|
|
The policeman hesitates.
|
|
|
|
Another sound.
|
|
|
|
The policeman leans forward into the car, listening.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud reaches across Carl, grabs the trooper by the hair
|
|
and slams his head down onto the car door.
|
|
|
|
The policeman grunts, digs awkwardly for footing outside
|
|
and throws an arm for balance against the outside of the
|
|
car.
|
|
|
|
With his free hand, Grimsrud pops the glove compartment. He
|
|
brings a gun out and reaches across Carl and shoots - BANG
|
|
- into the back of the trooper's head.
|
|
|
|
Jean screams.
|
|
|
|
GRIMSRUD
|
|
Shut up.
|
|
|
|
He releases the policeman.
|
|
|
|
The policeman's head slides out the window and his body
|
|
flops back onto the street.
|
|
|
|
Carl looks out at the cop in the road.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
(softly)
|
|
Whoa... Whoa, Daddy.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud takes the trooper's hat off of Carl's lap and
|
|
sails it out the open window.
|
|
|
|
GRIMSRUD
|
|
You'll take care of it. Boy, you
|
|
are smooth smooth, you know.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Whoa, Daddy.
|
|
|
|
Jean, for some reason, screams again. Then stops.
|
|
32.
|
|
|
|
|
|
GRIMSRUD
|
|
Clear him off the road.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Yeah.
|
|
|
|
He gets out.
|
|
|
|
|
|
27 EXT. ROAD 27
|
|
|
|
Carl leans down to hoist up the body.
|
|
|
|
Headlights appear: an oncoming car.
|
|
|
|
|
|
28 INT. CIERA 28
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud notices.
|
|
|
|
|
|
29 EXT. ROAD 29
|
|
|
|
The car approaches, slowing.
|
|
|
|
Carl, with the trooper's body hoisted halfway up, is frozen
|
|
in the headlights.
|
|
|
|
The car accelerates and roars past and away. We just make
|
|
out the silhouettes of two occupants in front.
|
|
|
|
|
|
30 INT. CIERA 30
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud slides into the driver's seat. He squeals into a
|
|
U-turn, the driver's door slamming shut with his spin.
|
|
|
|
Small red tail lights fishtail up ahead. The pursued car
|
|
churns up fine snow.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud takes the cigarette from his mouth and stubs it in
|
|
his ashtray. We hear the churning of the car wheels and the
|
|
pinging of snow clods and salt on the car's underside.
|
|
|
|
In the back seat, Jean starts screaming.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud is not gaining on the tail lights.
|
|
|
|
He fights with the wheel as his car swims on the road face.
|
|
|
|
The red tail lights ahead start to turn. With a distant
|
|
crunching sound, they disappear.
|
|
33.
|
|
|
|
|
|
The headlights now show only empty road, starting to turn.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud frowns and slows.
|
|
|
|
His headlights show the car up ahead off the road, crumpled
|
|
around a telephone pole, having failed to hold a turn.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud brakes.
|
|
|
|
Jean slides off the back seat and thumps into the legwell.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud sweeps his gun off the front seat, throws open his
|
|
door and gets out.
|
|
|
|
|
|
31 EXT. ROAD 31
|
|
|
|
The wrecked car's headlights shine off into a snowfield
|
|
abutting the highway. A young man in a down parka is
|
|
limping across the snowfield, away from the wrecked car.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud strides calmly out after the injured boy. He
|
|
raises his gun and fires.
|
|
|
|
With a poof of feathers, a hole opens up in the boy's back
|
|
and he pitches into the snow.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud walks up to the wreck and peers in its half-open
|
|
door.
|
|
|
|
A young woman is trapped inside the twisted wreckage,
|
|
injured.
|
|
|
|
Snow swirls in the headlights of the wreck.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud raises his gun and fires.
|
|
|
|
AN OIL PAINTING
|
|
|
|
A blue-winged teal in flight over a swampy marshland. The
|
|
room in which it hangs is dark. We hear off-screen snoring.
|
|
|
|
We track off to reveal an easel upon which we see a half-
|
|
completed oil of a grey mallard.
|
|
|
|
The continuing track reveals a couple in bed, sleeping. The
|
|
man, fortyish, pajama-clad, is big, and big-bellied. His
|
|
mouth is agape. He snores. His arms are flung over a woman
|
|
in her thirties, wearing a nightie, mouth also open, not
|
|
snoring.
|
|
34.
|
|
|
|
|
|
We hold for a long beat on their regular breathing and
|
|
snoring.
|
|
|
|
The phone rings.
|
|
|
|
The woman stirs.
|
|
|
|
WOMAN
|
|
Oh, geez...
|
|
|
|
She reaches for the phone.
|
|
|
|
WOMAN
|
|
... Hi, it's Marge...
|
|
|
|
The man stirs and clears his throat with a long deep
|
|
rumble.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Oh, my. Where?... Yah... Oh,
|
|
geez...
|
|
|
|
The man sits up, gazes stupidly about.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Okay. There in a jif... Real
|
|
good, then.
|
|
|
|
She hangs up.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... You can sleep, hon. It's early
|
|
yet.
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
Gotta go?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
The man swings his legs out.
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
I'll fix ya some eggs.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
That's okay, hon. I gotta run.
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
Gotta eat a breakfast, Marge. I'll
|
|
fix ya some eggs.
|
|
35.
|
|
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Aw, you can sleep, hon.
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
Ya gotta eat a breakfast...
|
|
|
|
He clears his throat with another deep rumble.
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
... I'll fix ya some eggs.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Aw, Norm.
|
|
|
|
PLATE
|
|
|
|
Leavings of a huge plate of eggs, ham, toast.
|
|
|
|
Wider, we see Marge now wearing a beige police uniform. A
|
|
patch on one arm says BRAINERD POLICE DEPARTMENT. She wears
|
|
a heavy belt holding a revolver, walkie-talkie and various
|
|
other jangling police impedimenta. Norm is in a dressing
|
|
gown.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Thanks, hon. Time to shove off.
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Love ya, Margie.
|
|
|
|
As she struggles into a parka:
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Love ya, hon.
|
|
|
|
He is exiting back to the bedroom; she exits out the front
|
|
door.
|
|
|
|
|
|
32 EXT. GUNDERSON HOUSE 32
|
|
|
|
Dawn. Marge is making her way down the icy front stoop to
|
|
her prowler.
|
|
|
|
|
|
33 INT. GUNDERSON HOUSE 33
|
|
|
|
Norm sits back onto the bed, shrugging off his robe. Off-
|
|
screen we hear the front door open.
|
|
|
|
FRONT DOOR
|
|
36.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Marge stamps the snow off her shoes.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Hon?
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
(off)
|
|
Yah?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Prowler needs a jump.
|
|
|
|
HIGHWAY
|
|
|
|
Two police cars and an ambulance sit idling at the side of
|
|
the road, a pair of men inside each car.
|
|
|
|
The first car's driver door opens and a figure in a parka
|
|
emerges, holding two styrofoam cups. His partner leans
|
|
across the seat to close the door after him.
|
|
|
|
The reverse shows Marge approaching from her own squad car.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Hiya, Lou.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Margie. Thought you might need a
|
|
little warm-up.
|
|
|
|
He hands her one of the cups of coffee.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah, thanks a bunch. So what's the
|
|
deal, now? Gary says triple
|
|
homicide?
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Yah, looks pretty bad. Two of'm're
|
|
over here.
|
|
|
|
Marge looks around as they start walking.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Where is everybody?
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Well - it's cold, Margie.
|
|
|
|
BY THE WRECK
|
|
37.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Laid out in the early morning light is the wrecked car, a
|
|
pair of footprints leading out to a man in a bright orange
|
|
parka face down in the bloodstained snow, and one pair of
|
|
footsteps leading back to the road.
|
|
|
|
Marge is peering into the car.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Ah, geez. So... Aw, geez. Here's
|
|
the second one... It's in the head
|
|
and the ... hand there, I guess
|
|
that's a defensive wound. Okay.
|
|
|
|
Marge looks up from the car.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Where's the state trooper?
|
|
|
|
Lou, up on the shoulder, jerks his thumb.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Back there a good piece. In the
|
|
ditch next to his prowler.
|
|
|
|
Marge looks around at the road.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Okay, so we got a state trooper
|
|
pulls someone over, we got a
|
|
shooting, and these folks drive by,
|
|
and we got a high-speed pursuit,
|
|
ends here, and this execution-type
|
|
deal.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
I'd be very surprised if our
|
|
suspect was from Brainerd.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
Marge is studying the ground.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah. And I'll tell you what, from
|
|
his footprints he looks like a big
|
|
fella -
|
|
|
|
Marge suddenly doubles over, putting her head between her
|
|
knees down near the snow.
|
|
38.
|
|
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Ya see something down there, Chief?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Uh - I just, I think I'm gonna
|
|
barf.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Geez, you okay, Margie?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
I'm fine - it's just morning
|
|
sickness.
|
|
|
|
She gets up, sweeping snow from her knees.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Well, that passed.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Yah?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah. Now I'm hungry again.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
You had breakfast yet, Margie?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh, yah. Norm made some eggs.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Yah? Well, what now, d'ya think?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Let's go take a look at that
|
|
trooper.
|
|
|
|
BY THE STATE TROOPER'S CAR
|
|
|
|
Marge's prowler is parked nearby.
|
|
|
|
Marge is on her hands and knees by a body down in the
|
|
ditch, again looking at footprints in the snow. She calls
|
|
up to the road:
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
There's two of 'em, Lou!
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Yah?
|
|
39.
|
|
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah, this guy's smaller than his
|
|
buddy.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Oh, yah?
|
|
|
|
DOWN IN THE DITCH
|
|
|
|
In the foreground is the head of the state trooper, facing
|
|
us. Peering at it from behind, still on her hands and
|
|
knees, is Marge.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
For Pete's sake.
|
|
|
|
She gets up, clapping the snow off her hands, and climbs
|
|
out of the ditch.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
How's it look, Marge?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Well, he's got his gun on his hip
|
|
there, and he looks like a nice
|
|
enough guy. It's a real shame.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
You haven't monkeyed with his car
|
|
there, have ya?
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
No way.
|
|
|
|
She is looking at the prowler, which still idles on the
|
|
shoulder.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Somebody shut his lights. I guess
|
|
the little guy sat in there,
|
|
waitin' for his buddy t'come back.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Yah, woulda been cold out here.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Heck, yah. Ya think, is Dave open
|
|
yet?
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
40.
|
|
|
|
|
|
You don't think he's mixed up in -
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
No, no, I just wanna get Norm some
|
|
night crawlers.
|
|
|
|
|
|
34 INT. PROWLER 34
|
|
|
|
Marge is driving; Lou sits next to her.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
You look in his citation book?
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Yah...
|
|
|
|
He looks at his notebook.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
... Last vehicle he wrote in was a
|
|
tan Ciera at 2:18 a.m. Under the
|
|
plate number he put DLR - I figure
|
|
they stopped him or shot him before
|
|
he could finish fillin' out the tag
|
|
number.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Uh-huh.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
So I got the state lookin' for a
|
|
Ciera with a tag startin' DLR. They
|
|
don't got no match yet.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
I'm not sure I agree with you a
|
|
hunnert percent on your policework,
|
|
there, Lou.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Yah?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah, I think that vehicle there
|
|
probly had dealer plates. DLR?
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Oh...
|
|
|
|
Lou gazes out the window, thinking.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
41.
|
|
|
|
|
|
... Geez.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah. Say, Lou, ya hear the one
|
|
about the guy who couldn't afford
|
|
personalized plates, so he went and
|
|
changed his name to J2L 4685?
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Yah, that's a good one.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
THE ROAD
|
|
|
|
The police car enters with a whoosh and hums down a
|
|
straight-ruled empty highway, cutting a landscape of flat
|
|
and perfect white.
|
|
|
|
EMBERS FAMILY RESTAURANT
|
|
|
|
Jerry, Wade, and Stan Grossman sit in a booth, sipping
|
|
coffee. Outside the window, snow falls from a gunmetal sky.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
- All's I know is, ya got a
|
|
problem, ya call a professional!
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
No! They said no cops! They were
|
|
darned clear on that, Wade! They
|
|
said you call the cops and we -
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Well, a course they're gonna say
|
|
that! But where's my protection?
|
|
They got Jean here! I give these
|
|
sons a bitches a million dollars,
|
|
where's my guarantee they're gonna
|
|
let her go.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Well, they -
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
A million dollars is a lot a damn
|
|
money! And there they are, they got
|
|
my daughter!
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
42.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Yah, but think this thing through
|
|
here, Wade. Ya give 'em what they
|
|
want, why wont' they let her go?
|
|
You gotta listen to me on this one,
|
|
Wade.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Heck, you don't know! You're just
|
|
whistlin' Dixie here! I'm sayin',
|
|
the cops, they can advise us on
|
|
this! I'm sayin' call a
|
|
professional!
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
No! No cops! That's final! This is
|
|
my deal here, Wade! Jean is my wife
|
|
here!
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
I gotta tell ya, Wade, I'm leanin'
|
|
to Jerry's viewpoint here.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Well -
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
We gotta protect Jean. These -
|
|
we're not holdin' any cards here,
|
|
Wade, they got all of 'em. So they
|
|
call the shots.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
You're darned tootin'!
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Ah, dammit!
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
I'm tellin' ya.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Well... Why don't we...
|
|
|
|
He saws a finger under his nose.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
... Stan, I'm thinkin' we should
|
|
offer 'em half a million.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Now come on here, no way, Wade! No
|
|
way!
|
|
43.
|
|
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
We're not horse-trading here, Wade,
|
|
we just gotta bite the bullet on
|
|
this thing.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah!
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
What's the next step here, Jerry?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
They're gonna call, give me
|
|
instructions for a drop. I'm
|
|
supposed to have the money ready
|
|
tomorrow.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Dammit!
|
|
|
|
THE CASHIER
|
|
|
|
She rings up two dollars forty.
|
|
|
|
CASHIER
|
|
How was everything today?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, real good now.
|
|
|
|
|
|
35 EXT. PARKING LOT 35
|
|
|
|
Snow continues to fall. Jerry and Stan stand bundled in
|
|
their parkas and galoshes near a row of beached vehicles.
|
|
|
|
Wade sits behind the wheel of an idling Lincoln, waiting
|
|
for Stan.
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
Okay. We'll get the money together.
|
|
Don't worry about it, Jerry. Now,
|
|
d'you want anyone at home, with
|
|
you, until they call?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
No, I - they don't want - they're
|
|
just s'posed to be dealin' with me,
|
|
they were real clear.
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
Yah.
|
|
44.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jerry pounds his mittened hands together against the cold.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Ya know, they said no one listenin'
|
|
in, they'll be watchin', ya know.
|
|
Maybe it's all bull, but like you
|
|
said, Stan, they're callin' the
|
|
shots.
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
Okay. And Scotty, is he gonna be
|
|
all right?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, geez, Scotty. I'll go talk to
|
|
him.
|
|
|
|
There is a tap at the horn from Wade, and Stan gets into
|
|
the Lincoln.
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
We'll call.
|
|
|
|
The Lincoln spits snow as it grinds out of the lot and
|
|
fishtails out onto the boulevard.
|
|
|
|
|
|
36 INT. SCOTTY'S BEDROOM 36
|
|
|
|
Scotty lies on the bed, weeping. Jerry enters and perches
|
|
uncomfortably on the edge of his bed.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... How ya doin' there, Scotty?
|
|
|
|
SCOTT
|
|
Dad! What're they doing? Wuddya
|
|
think they're doin' with Mom?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
It's okay, Scotty. They're not
|
|
gonna want to hurt her any. These
|
|
men, they just want money, see.
|
|
|
|
SCOTT
|
|
What if - what if sumpn goes wrong?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
No, no, nothin's goin' wrong here.
|
|
Grandad and I, we're - we're makin'
|
|
sure this gets handled right.
|
|
|
|
Scott snorfles and sits up.
|
|
45.
|
|
|
|
|
|
SCOTT
|
|
Dad, I really think we should call
|
|
the cops.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
No! We can't let anyone know about
|
|
this thing! We gotta play ball with
|
|
these guys - you ask Stan Grossman,
|
|
he'll tell ya the same thing!
|
|
|
|
SCOTT
|
|
Yeah, but -
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
We're gonna get Mom back for ya,
|
|
but we gotta play ball. Ya know,
|
|
that's the deal. Now if Lorraine
|
|
calls, or Sylvia, you just say that
|
|
Mom is in Florida with Pearl and
|
|
Marty...
|
|
|
|
Scotty starts to weep again. Jerry stares down at his lap.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... That's the best we can do here.
|
|
|
|
|
|
37 EXT. CABIN 37
|
|
|
|
It is a lakeside cabin surrounded by white. A brown Ciera
|
|
with dealer plates is pulling into the drive.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud climbs out of the passenger seat as Carl climbs
|
|
out of the driver's. Grimsrud opens the back door and, with
|
|
an arm on her elbow, helps Jean out. She has her hands tied
|
|
behind her and a black hood over her head.
|
|
|
|
With a cry, she swings her elbow out of Grimsrud's grasp
|
|
and lurches away across the front lawn. Grimsrud moves to
|
|
retrieve her but Carl, grinning, lays a hand on his
|
|
shoulder.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Hold it.
|
|
|
|
They both look out at the front lawn, Grimsrud
|
|
expressionless, Carl smiling.
|
|
|
|
With muffled cries, the hooded woman lurches across the
|
|
unbroken snow, staggering this way and that, stumbling on
|
|
the uneven terrain.
|
|
|
|
She stops, stands still, her hooded head swaying.
|
|
46.
|
|
|
|
|
|
She lurches out in an arbitrary direction. Going downhill,
|
|
she reels, staggers, and falls face-first into the snow,
|
|
weeping.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Jesus!
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud, still expressionless, breaks away from Carl's
|
|
restraining hand to retrieve her.
|
|
|
|
|
|
38 INT. BRAINERD POLICE HEADQUARTERS 38
|
|
|
|
We track behind Marge as she makes her way across the
|
|
floor, greeting various officers. She holds a small half-
|
|
full paper sack.
|
|
|
|
Beyond her we see a small glassed-in cubicle. Norm sits at
|
|
the desk inside with a box lunch spread out in front of
|
|
him.
|
|
|
|
There is lettering on the cubicle's glass door: BRAINERD
|
|
PD. CHIEF GUNDERSON.
|
|
|
|
Marge enters and sits behind the desk, detaching her
|
|
walkie-talkie from her utility belt to accommodate the
|
|
seat.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Hiya, hon.
|
|
|
|
She slides the paper sack toward him.
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Brought ya some lunch, Margie.
|
|
What're those, night crawlers?
|
|
|
|
He looks inside.
|
|
|
|
The bottom of the sack is full of fat, crawling earthworms.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Thanks, hon.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
You bet. Thanks for lunch. What do
|
|
we got here, Arbie's?
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Uh-huh.
|
|
47.
|
|
|
|
|
|
She starts eating.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... How's the paintin' goin'?
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Pretty good. Found out the Hautmans
|
|
are entering a painting this year.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Aw, hon, you're better'n them.
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
They're real good.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
They're good, Norm, but you're
|
|
better'n them.
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Yah, ya think?
|
|
|
|
He leans over and kisses her.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Ah, ya got Arbie's all o'er me.
|
|
|
|
Lou enters.
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
Hiya, Norm, how's the paintin'
|
|
goin'?
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Not too bad. You know.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
How we doin' on that vehicle?
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
No motels registered any tan Ciera
|
|
last night. But the night before,
|
|
two men checked into the Blue Ox
|
|
registering a Ciera and leavin' the
|
|
tag space blank.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Geez, that's a good lead. The Blue
|
|
Ox, that's that trucker's joint out
|
|
there on I-35?
|
|
|
|
LOU
|
|
48.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Yah. Owner was on the desk then,
|
|
said these two guys had company.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh, yah?
|
|
|
|
|
|
39 EXT. STRIPPER CLUB 39
|
|
|
|
Marge's prowler is parked in an otherwise empty lot. Snow
|
|
drifts down.
|
|
|
|
|
|
40 INT. STRIPPER CLUB 40
|
|
|
|
Marge sits talking with two young women at one end of an
|
|
elevated dance platform. The club, not yet open for
|
|
business, is deserted.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Where you girls from?
|
|
|
|
HOOKER ONE
|
|
Chaska.
|
|
|
|
HOOKER TWO
|
|
LeSeure. But I went to high school
|
|
in White Bear Lake.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Okay, I want you to tell me what
|
|
these fellas looked like.
|
|
|
|
HOOKER ONE
|
|
Well, the little guy, he was kinda
|
|
funny-looking.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
In what way?
|
|
|
|
HOOKER ONE
|
|
I dunno. Just funny-looking.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Can you be any more specific?
|
|
|
|
HOOKER ONE
|
|
I couldn't really say. He wasn't
|
|
circumcised.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Was he funny-looking apart from
|
|
that?
|
|
49.
|
|
|
|
|
|
HOOKER ONE
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
So you were having sex with the
|
|
little fella, then?
|
|
|
|
HOOKER ONE
|
|
Uh-huh.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Is there anything else you can tell
|
|
me about him?
|
|
|
|
HOOKER ONE
|
|
No. Like I say, he was funny-
|
|
looking. More'n most people even.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
And what about the other fella?
|
|
|
|
HOOKER TWO
|
|
He was a little older. Looked like
|
|
the Marlboro man.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah?
|
|
|
|
HOOKER TWO
|
|
Yah. Maybe I'm sayin' that cause he
|
|
smoked Marlboros.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Uh-huh.
|
|
|
|
HOOKER TWO
|
|
A subconscious-type thing.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah, that can happen.
|
|
|
|
HOOKER TWO
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
HOOKER ONE
|
|
They said they were goin' to the
|
|
Twin Cities?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh, yah?
|
|
|
|
HOOKER TWO
|
|
Yah.
|
|
50.
|
|
|
|
|
|
HOOKER ONE
|
|
Yah. Is that useful to ya?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh, you bet, yah.
|
|
|
|
|
|
41 EXT. LAKESIDE CABIN 41
|
|
|
|
It is now dusk. The brown Ciera with dealer plates still
|
|
sits in the drive.
|
|
|
|
|
|
42 INT. CABIN 42
|
|
|
|
We track in on Jean Lundegaard, who sits tied in a chair
|
|
with the black hood still over her head. As we track in, we
|
|
hear inarticulate cursing, intermittent banging and loud
|
|
static.
|
|
|
|
We track in on Gaear Grimsrud, who sits smoking a cigarette
|
|
and expressionlessly gazing offscreen.
|
|
|
|
We track in on Carl Showalter, who stands over an old
|
|
black-and-white television. It plays nothing but snow. Carl
|
|
is banging on it as he mutters:
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
...days ... be here for days with a
|
|
- DAMMIT! - a goddamn mute ...
|
|
nothin' to do ... and the fucking -
|
|
DAMMIT!...
|
|
|
|
Each "dammit" brings a pound of his fist on the TV.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... TV doesn't even ... plug me in,
|
|
man... Gimmee a - DAMMIT! -
|
|
signal... Plug me into the ozone,
|
|
baby... Plug me into the ozone -
|
|
FUCK!...
|
|
|
|
With one last bang we cut:
|
|
|
|
BACK TO THE TELEVISION SET
|
|
|
|
In extreme close-up an insect is lugging a worm.
|
|
|
|
TV VOICE-OVER
|
|
The bark beetle carries the worm to
|
|
the nest ... where it will feed its
|
|
young for up to six weeks...
|
|
51.
|
|
|
|
|
|
A pull back from the screen reveals that we are in Marge's
|
|
house.
|
|
|
|
Marge and Norm are watching television in bed. From the TV
|
|
we hear insects chirring.
|
|
|
|
After a long beat, silence except for the TV, Marge
|
|
murmurs, still looking at the set:
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Well, I'm turnin' in, Norm.
|
|
|
|
Also looking at the TV:
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
... Oh, yah?
|
|
|
|
Marge rolls over and Norm continues to watch.
|
|
|
|
We hold.
|
|
|
|
BLACK
|
|
|
|
Hold.
|
|
|
|
A snowflake drops through the black.
|
|
|
|
Another flake.
|
|
|
|
It starts snowing.
|
|
|
|
|
|
43 EXT. BRAINERD MAIN STREET 43
|
|
|
|
The lone traffic light blinks slowly, steadily, red. Snow
|
|
sifts down. There is no other movement.
|
|
|
|
PAUL BUNYAN
|
|
|
|
We are looking up at the bottom-lit statue. Snow falls.
|
|
|
|
HIGH SHOT OF MARGE'S HOUSE
|
|
|
|
Snow drops away.
|
|
|
|
HIGH SHOT IN MARGE'S BEDROOM
|
|
|
|
The bedroom is dark. Norm is snoring.
|
|
|
|
The phone rings.
|
|
|
|
Marge gropes in the dark.
|
|
52.
|
|
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Hello?
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Yah, is this Marge?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah?
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Margie Olmstead?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Well, yah. Who's this?
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
This is Mike Yanagita. Ya know -
|
|
Mike Yanagita. Remember me?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Mike Yanagita!
|
|
|
|
MIKE
|
|
Yah!
|
|
|
|
Marge props herself up next to the still-sleeping Norm.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah, yah, course I remember. How
|
|
are ya? What time is it?
|
|
|
|
MIKE
|
|
Oh, geez. It's quarter to eleven. I
|
|
hope I dint wake you.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
No, that's okay.
|
|
|
|
MIKE
|
|
Yah, I'm down in the Twin Cities
|
|
and I was just watching on TV about
|
|
these shootings up in Brainderd,
|
|
and I saw you on the news there.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
MIKE
|
|
I thought, geez, is that Margie
|
|
Olmstead? I can't believe it!
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah, that's me.
|
|
53.
|
|
|
|
|
|
MIKE
|
|
Well, how the heck are ya?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Okay, ya know. Okay.
|
|
|
|
MIKE
|
|
Yah?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah - how are you doon?
|
|
|
|
MIKE
|
|
Oh, pretty good.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Heck, it's been such a long time,
|
|
Mike. It's great to hear from ya.
|
|
|
|
MIKE
|
|
Yah... Yah, yah. Geeze, Margie!
|
|
|
|
|
|
44 INT. GUSTAFSON OLDS GARAGE 44
|
|
|
|
Jerry is on the sales floor, showing a customer a vehicle.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, ya got yer, this loaded here,
|
|
this has yer independent, uh, yer
|
|
slipped differential, uh, yer rack-
|
|
and-pinion steering, yer alarm and
|
|
radar, and I can give it to ya with
|
|
a heck of a sealant, this TruCoat
|
|
stuff, it'll keep the salt off -
|
|
|
|
CUSTOMER
|
|
Yah, I don't need no sealant
|
|
though.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, you don't need that. Now were
|
|
you thinking of financing here? You
|
|
oughta be aware a this GMAC plan
|
|
they have now, it's really super -
|
|
|
|
ANOTHER SALESMAN
|
|
Jerry, ya got a call here.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, okay.
|
|
54.
|
|
|
|
|
|
45 INT. JERRY'S CUBICLE 45
|
|
|
|
He sits in and picks up his phone.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Jerry Lundegaard.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
All right, Jerry, you got this
|
|
phone to yourself?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Well ... yah.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Know who this is?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Well, yah, I got an idea. How's
|
|
that Ciera workin' out for ya?
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Circumstances have changed, Jerry.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Well, what do ya mean?
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Things have changed. Circumstances,
|
|
Jerry. Beyond the, uh ... acts of
|
|
God, force majeure...
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
What the - how's Jean?
|
|
|
|
A beat.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Who's Jean?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
My wife! What the - how's -
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Oh, Jean's okay. But there's three
|
|
people up in Brainerd who aren't so
|
|
okay, I'll tell ya that.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
What the heck're you talkin' about?
|
|
Let's just finish up this deal here
|
|
-
|
|
55.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Blood has been shed, Jerry.
|
|
|
|
Jerry sits dumbly. The voice solemnly repeats:
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Blood has been shed.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
What the heck d'ya mean?
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Three people. In Brainerd.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Oh, geez.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
That's right. And we need more
|
|
money.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
The heck d'ya mean? What a you guys
|
|
got yourself mixed up in?
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
We need more -
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
This was s'posed to be a no-rough -
|
|
stuff-type deal -
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
DON'T EVER INTERRUPT ME, JERRY!
|
|
JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Well, I'm sorry, but I just - I -
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Look. I'm not gonna debate you,
|
|
Jerry. The price is now the whole
|
|
amount. We want the entire eighty
|
|
thousand.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Oh, for Chrissakes here -
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Blood has been shed. We've incurred
|
|
risks, Jerry. I'm coming into town
|
|
tomorrow. Have the money ready.
|
|
56.
|
|
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Now we had a deal here! A deal's a
|
|
deal!
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
IS IT, JERRY? You ask those three
|
|
pour souls up in Brainerd if a
|
|
deal's a deal! Go ahead, ask 'em!
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... The heck d'ya mean?
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
I'll see you tomorrow.
|
|
|
|
Click.
|
|
|
|
Jerry slams down the phone, which immediately rings. He
|
|
angrily snatches it up.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah!
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Jerome Lundegaard?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah!
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
This is Reilly Deifenbach at GMAC.
|
|
Sir, I have not yet recieved those
|
|
vehicle IDs you promised me.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah! I ... those are in the mail.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Mr. Lundegaard, that very well may
|
|
be. I must inform you, however,
|
|
that absent the reciept of those
|
|
numbers by tomorrow afternoon, I
|
|
will have to refer this matter to
|
|
our legal department.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
My patience is at an end.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah.
|
|
57.
|
|
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Good day, sir.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... Yah.
|
|
|
|
WIDE ON THE CUBICLE
|
|
|
|
We are looking at Jerry's cubicle from across the showroom.
|
|
|
|
Noise muted by distance, we watch Jerry slam down the
|
|
reciever, rise to his feet, fling the phone to the floor,
|
|
raise his desk blotter high over his head with pens and
|
|
pencils rolling off it and slam it onto his desktop.
|
|
|
|
He stands for a moment, hands on hips, glaring.
|
|
|
|
He stoops and picks up the phone, places it back on the
|
|
desktop, starts picking up the pens and pencils.
|
|
|
|
TRACK
|
|
|
|
On steam-table bins of food, each identified by a plaque:
|
|
BEEF STROGANOFF, SWEDISH MEATBALLS, BROILED TORSK, CHICKEN
|
|
FLORENTINE.
|
|
|
|
A complementary track shows two rays being pushed along a
|
|
buffet line, piled high with many foods.
|
|
|
|
MARGE AND NORM AT A TABLE
|
|
|
|
They sit next to each other at a long cafeteria-style
|
|
Formica table, silently eating.
|
|
|
|
A hip with a hissing walkie-talkie enters frame.
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
Hiya, Norm. How ya doin', Margie?
|
|
How's the fricassee?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Pretty darn good, ya want some?
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
No, I gotta - hey, Norm, I thought
|
|
you were goin' fishin' up at Mile
|
|
Lacs?
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Yah, after lunch.
|
|
|
|
He goes back to his food.
|
|
58.
|
|
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Whatcha got there?
|
|
|
|
Gary hands her a flimsy. Marge takes it with one hand and
|
|
looks, her other hand frozen with a forkful of food.
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
The numbers y'asked for, calls made
|
|
from the lobby pay phone at the
|
|
Blue Ox. Two to Minneapolis that
|
|
night.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Mm.
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
First one's a trucking company,
|
|
second one's a private residence. A
|
|
Shep Proudfoot.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Uh-huh... A what?
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
Shep Proudfoot. That's a name.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Uh-huh.
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Yah, okay, I think I'll drive
|
|
down there, then.
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
Oh, yah? Twin Cities?
|
|
|
|
Norm, who has been eating steadily throughout, looks over
|
|
at Marge with mild interest. He stares for a beat as he
|
|
finishes chewing, and them swallows and says:
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
... Oh, yah?
|
|
|
|
|
|
46 INT. KITCHEN OF LUNDEGAARD HOUSE 46
|
|
|
|
Jerry, Wade, and Stan Grossman sit around the kitchen
|
|
table.
|
|
59.
|
|
|
|
|
|
It is night. The scene is harshly top lit by a hanging
|
|
fixture. On the table are the remains of coffee and a
|
|
cinnamon filbert ring.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Dammit! I wanna be a part a this
|
|
thing!
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
No, Wade! They were real clear!
|
|
They said they'd call tomorrow,
|
|
with instructions, and it's gonna
|
|
be delivered by me alone!
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
It's my money, I'll deliver it -
|
|
what do they care?
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
Wade's got a point there. I'll
|
|
handle the call if you want, Jerry.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
No, no. See - they, no, see, they
|
|
only deal with me. Ya feel this,
|
|
this nervousness on the phone
|
|
there, they're very - these guys're
|
|
dangerous -
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
All the more reason! I don't want
|
|
you - with all due respect, Jerry -
|
|
I don't want you mucking this up.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
The heck d'ya mean?
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
They want my money, they can deal
|
|
with me. Otherwise I'm goin' to a
|
|
professional.
|
|
|
|
He points at a briefcase.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
... There's a million dollars here!
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
No, see -
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
60.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Look, Jerry, you're not sellin' me
|
|
a damn car. It's my show here.
|
|
That's that.
|
|
|
|
STAN
|
|
It's the way we prefer to handle
|
|
it, Jerry.
|
|
|
|
|
|
47 INT. THE DOWNTOWN RADISSON HOTEL 47
|
|
|
|
Marge is at the reception desk.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
How ya doin'?
|
|
|
|
CLERK
|
|
Real good. How're you today, ma'am?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Real good. I'm Mrs. Gunderson, I
|
|
have a reservation.
|
|
|
|
The clerk types into a computer console.
|
|
|
|
CLERK
|
|
You sure do, Mrs. Gunderson.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Is there a phone down here, ya
|
|
think?
|
|
|
|
|
|
48 INT. LOBBY CORNER 48
|
|
|
|
Marge is on a public phone.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Detective Sibert? Yah, this is
|
|
Marge Gunderson from up Brainerd,
|
|
we spoke - Yah. Well, actually I'm
|
|
in town here. I had to do a few
|
|
things in the Twin Cities, so I
|
|
thought I'd check in with ya about
|
|
that USIF search on Shep
|
|
Proudfoot... Oh, yah?... Well,
|
|
maybe I'll go visit with him if I
|
|
have the... No, I can find that...
|
|
Well, thanks a bunch. Say, d'ya
|
|
happen to know a good place for
|
|
lunch in the downtown area?... Yah,
|
|
the Radisson... Oh, yah? Is it
|
|
reasonable?
|
|
61.
|
|
|
|
|
|
A GREEN FREEWAY SIGN
|
|
|
|
Through a windshield we see a sign for the MINNEAPOLIS
|
|
INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT.
|
|
|
|
|
|
49 EXT. ROOFTOP PARKING LOT 49
|
|
|
|
The brown Ciera enters and drives lazy S-curves around the
|
|
few snow-covered cars parked on the roof of the lot.
|
|
|
|
It stops by one car and Carl emerges. He quickly scans the
|
|
lot, then kneels in the snow at the back of the parked car
|
|
and starts unscrewing its license plate.
|
|
|
|
|
|
50 EXT. BOOTH 50
|
|
|
|
Carl pulls up and hands the attendant his ticket.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Yeah, I decided not to park here.
|
|
|
|
The attendant frowns uncomprehendingly at the ticket.
|
|
|
|
ATTENDANT
|
|
... What do you mean, you decided
|
|
not to park here?
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Yeah, I just came in. I decided not
|
|
to park here.
|
|
|
|
The attendant is still puzzled.
|
|
|
|
ATTENDANT
|
|
You, uh... I'm sorry, sir, but -
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
I decided not to - I'm, uh, not
|
|
taking the trip as it turns out.
|
|
|
|
ATTENDANT
|
|
I'm sorry, sir, we do have to
|
|
charge you the four dollars.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
I just pulled in here. I just
|
|
fucking pulled in here!
|
|
|
|
ATTENDANT
|
|
62.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Well, see, there's a minimum charge
|
|
of four dollars. Long-term parking
|
|
charges by the day.
|
|
|
|
A car behind beeps. Carl glances back, starts digging for
|
|
money.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
I guess you think, ya know, you're
|
|
an authority figure. With that
|
|
stupid fucking uniform. Huh, buddy?
|
|
|
|
The attendant doesn't say anything.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... King Clip-on Tie here. Big
|
|
fucking man.
|
|
|
|
He is peeling off one dollar bills.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... You know, these are the limits
|
|
of your life, man. Ruler of your
|
|
little fucking gate here. There's
|
|
your four dollars. You pathetic
|
|
piece of shit.
|
|
|
|
|
|
51 INT. GUSTAFSON OLDS GARAGE 51
|
|
|
|
Jerry is staring up, mouth agape, at the underside of a car
|
|
on a hydraulic lift. Bewildered, he looks about, then asks
|
|
a mechanic passing by, his voice raised over the din of the
|
|
shop.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Where's Shep?
|
|
|
|
The mechanic points.
|
|
|
|
MECHANIC
|
|
Talkin' to a cop.
|
|
|
|
Jerry looks.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... Cop?
|
|
|
|
Marge and Shep face each other at the other end of the
|
|
floor in a grimy and cluttered glassed-in cubicle.
|
|
|
|
MECHANIC
|
|
Said she was a policewoman.
|
|
63.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Marge and Shep silently talk.
|
|
|
|
Jerry stares, swallows.
|
|
|
|
INSIDE THE CUBICLE
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MARGE
|
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- Wednesday night?
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Shep is shaking his head.
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SHEP
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Nope.
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MARGE
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Well, you do reside their at 1425
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Fremont Terrace?
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SHEP
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Yep.
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MARGE
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Anyone else residing there?
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SHEP
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Nope.
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MARGE
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Well, Mr. Proudfoot, this call came
|
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in past three in the morning. It's
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just hard for me to believe you
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can't remember anyone calling.
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Shep says nothing.
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MARGE
|
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... Now, I know you've had some
|
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problems, struggling with the
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narcotics, some other
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entanglements, currently on parole
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-
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SHEP
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So?
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MARGE
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Well, associating with criminals,
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if you're the one they talked to,
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that right there would be a
|
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violation of your parole and would
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end with you back in Stillwater.
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SHEP
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64.
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Uh-huh.
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MARGE
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Now, I saw some rough stuff on your
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priors, but nothing in the nature
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of a homicide...
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Shep stares at her.
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MARGE
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... I know you don't want to be an
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accessory to something like that.
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SHEP
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Nope.
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MARGE
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So you think you might remember who
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those folks were who called ya?
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52 INT. JERRY'S OFFICE 52
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Jerry is worriedly pacing behind his desk. At a noise he
|
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looks up.
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Marge has stuck her head in the door.
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MARGE
|
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Mr. Lundegaard?
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JERRY
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Huh? Yah?
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MARGE
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I wonder if I could take just a
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minute of your time here -
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JERRY
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What... What is it all about?
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MARGE
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Huh? Do you mind if I sit down -
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I'm carrying quite a load here.
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Marge plops into the chair opposite him.
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MARGE
|
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... You're the owner here, Mr.
|
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Lundegaard?
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JERRY
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Naw, I... Executive Sales Manager.
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65.
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MARGE
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Well, you can help me. My name's
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Marge Gunderson -
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JERRY
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My father-in-law, he's the owner.
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MARGE
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Uh-huh. Well, I'm a police officer
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from up Brainerd investigating some
|
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malfeasance and I was just
|
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wondering if you've had any new
|
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vehicles stolen off the lot in the
|
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past couple of weeks - specifically
|
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a tan Cutlass Ciera?
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Jerry stares at her, his mouth open.
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MARGE
|
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... Mr. Lundegaard?
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JERRY
|
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... Brainerd?
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MARGE
|
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Yah. Yah. Home a Paul Bunyan and
|
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Babe the Blue Ox.
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JERRY
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... Babe the Blue Ox?
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MARGE
|
|
Yah, ya know we've got the big
|
|
statue there. So you haven't had
|
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any vehicles go missing, then?
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JERRY
|
|
No. No, ma'am.
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MARGE
|
|
Okey-dokey, thanks a bunch. I'll
|
|
let you get back to your paperwork,
|
|
then.
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|
|
As Marge rises, Jerry looks blankly down at the papers on
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the desk in front of him.
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JERRY
|
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... Yah, okay.
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He looks up at Marge's retreating back. He looks back down
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at the papers. He looks over at the phone.
|
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66.
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|
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he picks up the phone and dials four digits.
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JERRY
|
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... Yah, gimmee Shep... The heck
|
|
d'ya mean?... Well, where'd he go?
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It's only... No, I don't need a
|
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mechanic - oh, geez - I gotta talk
|
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to a friend of his, so, uh ... have
|
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him, uh ... oh, geez...
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53 INT. HOTEL BAR 53
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|
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Marge enters. She looks around the bar, a rather
|
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characterless, lowlit meeting place for business people.
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|
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VOICE
|
|
Marge?
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|
|
It is a bald, paunching man of about Marge's age, rising
|
|
from a booth halfway back. His features are broad,
|
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friendly, Asian-American.
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|
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MARGE
|
|
Mike!
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|
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He approaches somewhat carefully, as if on his second
|
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drink.
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|
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They hug and head back toward the booth.
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MIKE
|
|
Geez! You look great!
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MARGE
|
|
Yah - easy there - you do too! I'm
|
|
expecting, ya know.
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MIKE
|
|
I see that! That's great!
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|
|
A waitress meets them at the table.
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MIKE
|
|
... What can I get ya?
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MARGE
|
|
Just a Diet Coke.
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|
|
Again she glances about.
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MARGE
|
|
... This is a nice place.
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67.
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MIKE
|
|
Yah, ya know it's the Radisson, so
|
|
it's pretty good.
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MARGE
|
|
You're livin' in Edina, then?
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MIKE
|
|
Oh, yah, couple years now. It's
|
|
actually Eden Prarie - that school
|
|
district. So Chief Gunderson, then!
|
|
So ya went and married Norm Son-of-
|
|
a-Gunderson!
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MARGE
|
|
Oh, yah, a long time ago.
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MIKE
|
|
Great. What brings ya down - are ya
|
|
down here on that homicide - if
|
|
you're allowed, ya know, to discuss
|
|
that?
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|
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MARGE
|
|
Oh, yah, but there's not a heckuva
|
|
lot to discuss. What about you,
|
|
Mike? Are you married - you have
|
|
kids?
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|
|
MIKE
|
|
Well, yah, I was married. I was
|
|
married to - You mind if I sit over
|
|
here?
|
|
|
|
He is sliding out of his side of the booth and easing in
|
|
next to Marge.
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|
|
MIKE
|
|
... I was married to Linda Cooksey
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|
-
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MARGE
|
|
No, I - Mike - wyncha sit over
|
|
there, I'd prefer that.
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|
MIKE
|
|
Huh? Oh, okay, I'm sorry.
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|
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MARGE
|
|
No, just so I can see ya, ya know.
|
|
Don't have to turn my neck.
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|
|
MIKE
|
|
68.
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|
|
Oh, sure, I understand, I didn't
|
|
mean to -
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MARGE
|
|
No, no, that's fine.
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|
|
MIKE
|
|
Yah, sorry, so I was married to
|
|
Linda Cooksey - ya remember Linda?
|
|
She was a year behind us.
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|
|
MARGE
|
|
I think I remember Linda, yah. She
|
|
was - yah. So things didn't work
|
|
out, huh?
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|
|
MIKE
|
|
And then I, and then I been workin'
|
|
for Honeywell for a few years now.
|
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|
|
MARGE
|
|
Well, they're a good outfit.
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|
|
|
MIKE
|
|
Yah, if you're an engineer, yah,
|
|
you could do a lot worse. Of
|
|
course, it's not, uh, it's nothin'
|
|
like your achievement.
|
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|
|
MARGE
|
|
It sounds like you're doin' really
|
|
super.
|
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|
|
MIKE
|
|
Yah, well, I, uh ... it's not that
|
|
it didn't work out - Linda passed
|
|
away. She, uh...
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|
|
MARGE
|
|
I'm sorry.
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|
MIKE
|
|
Yah, I, uh... She had leukemia, you
|
|
know...
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MARGE
|
|
No, I didn't...
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|
|
MIKE
|
|
It was a tough, uh ... it was a
|
|
long - She fought real hard,
|
|
Marge...
|
|
69.
|
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MARGE
|
|
I'm sorry, Mike.
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MIKE
|
|
Oh, ya know, that's, uh - what can
|
|
I say?...
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|
|
He holds up his drink.
|
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|
|
MIKE
|
|
... Better times, huh?
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|
|
Marge clinks it.
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|
|
MARGE
|
|
Better times.
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|
|
|
MIKE
|
|
I was so... I been so ... and then
|
|
I saw you on TV, and I remembered,
|
|
ya know... I always liked you...
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|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Well, I always liked you, Mike.
|
|
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|
MIKE
|
|
I always liked ya so much...
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|
|
MARGE
|
|
It's okay, Mike - Should we get
|
|
together another time, ya think?
|
|
|
|
MIKE
|
|
No - I'm sorry! It's just - I been
|
|
so lonely - then I saw you, and...
|
|
|
|
He is weeping.
|
|
|
|
MIKE
|
|
... I'm sorry... I shouldn't a done
|
|
this... I thought we'd have a
|
|
really terrific time, and now
|
|
I've...
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
It's okay...
|
|
|
|
MIKE
|
|
You were such a super lady ... and
|
|
then I... I been so lonely...
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
It's okay, Mike...
|
|
70.
|
|
|
|
|
|
54 INT. CARLTON CELEBRITY ROOM 54
|
|
|
|
Carl Showalter is sitting at a small table with a tarty-
|
|
looking blonde in a low-cut gown. Each holds a drink.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Just in town on business. Just in
|
|
and out. Ha ha! A little of the old
|
|
in-and-out!
|
|
|
|
WOMAN
|
|
Wuddya do?
|
|
|
|
Carl looks around.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Have ya been to the Celebrity Room
|
|
before? With other, uh, clients?
|
|
|
|
WOMAN
|
|
I don't think so. It's nice.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Yeah, well, it depends on the
|
|
artist. You know, Jose Feliciano,
|
|
ya got no complaints. Waiter!
|
|
|
|
The reverse shows a disappearing waiter and the backs of
|
|
many, many people sitting at tables between us and the very
|
|
distant stage. Jose Feliciano, very small, performs on a
|
|
spotlight stool. The acoustics are poor.
|
|
|
|
Carl grimaces.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... What is he, deaf?... So, uh,
|
|
how long have you been with the
|
|
escort service?
|
|
|
|
WOMAN
|
|
I don't know. Few munce.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Ya find the work interesting, do
|
|
ya?
|
|
|
|
WOMAN
|
|
... What're you talking about?
|
|
|
|
|
|
55 INT. A DIRTY BEDROOM 55
|
|
|
|
Carl is humping the escort.
|
|
71.
|
|
|
|
|
|
We hear the door burst open.
|
|
|
|
The escort is grabbed and flung out of bed.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Shep! What the hell are you doing?
|
|
I'm banging that girl! Shep! Jesus
|
|
Ch -
|
|
|
|
Shep slaps him hard, forehand, backhand.
|
|
|
|
SHEP
|
|
Fuck out of my house!
|
|
|
|
He hauls him up -
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Shep! Don't you dare fucking hit
|
|
me, man! Don't you -
|
|
|
|
- punches him and flings him away.
|
|
|
|
Carl hits a sofa and we see his bare legs disappear as he
|
|
flips back over it.
|
|
|
|
Shep enters frame to circle the sofa and kick at Carl
|
|
behind it.
|
|
|
|
SHEP
|
|
Fuck outta here. Put me back in
|
|
Stillwater. Little fucking shit.
|
|
|
|
There is a knock at the door.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Hey! Come on in there!
|
|
|
|
Shep strides to the door, flings it open.
|
|
|
|
A man in boxer shorts stands in the doorway.
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
C'mon, brother, it's late - Unghh!
|
|
|
|
Shep hits him twice, then grabs both of his ears and starts
|
|
banging his head against the wall.
|
|
|
|
The hooker runs by, clutching her clothes, and Shep kicks
|
|
her in the ass as she passes.
|
|
|
|
He spins and goes back into the apartment.
|
|
72.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Carl is hopping desperately into his pants.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Stay away from me, man! Hey! Smoke
|
|
a fuckin' peace pipe, man! Don't
|
|
you dare fuckin' - Unghh!
|
|
|
|
After hitting him several times, Shep yanks Carl's belt out
|
|
of his dangling pants and strangles him with it. Carl
|
|
gurgles. Shep knees Carl repeatedly, then dumps him onto
|
|
the floor and starts whipping him with the buckle end of
|
|
the belt.
|
|
|
|
|
|
56 INT. CHAIN RESTAURANT PHONE BOOTH 56
|
|
|
|
Carl listens to the phone ring at the other end. His face
|
|
is deeply bruised and cut.
|
|
|
|
Finally, through the phone...
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
... Yah?
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
All right, Jerry, I'm through
|
|
fucking around. You got the fucking
|
|
money?
|
|
|
|
|
|
57 INT. JERRY'S KITCHEN 57
|
|
|
|
Jerry is at the kitchen phone. Through the door to the
|
|
dining room we see Wade picking up an extension.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, I got the money, but, uh -
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Don't you fucking but me, Jerry. I
|
|
want you with this money on the
|
|
Dayton-Radisson parking ramp, top
|
|
level, thirty minutes, and we'll
|
|
wrap this up.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, okay, but, uh -
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
73.
|
|
|
|
|
|
You're there in thirty minutes or I
|
|
find you, Jerry, and I shoot you,
|
|
and I shoot your fucking wife, and
|
|
I shoot all your little fucking
|
|
children, and I shoot 'em all in
|
|
the back of their little fucking
|
|
heads. Got it?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... Yah, well, you stay away from
|
|
Scotty now -
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
GOT IT?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Okay, real good, then.
|
|
|
|
The line goes dead.
|
|
|
|
A door slams offscreen.
|
|
|
|
|
|
58 EXT. HOUSE 58
|
|
|
|
Wade, briefcase in hand, gets into his Cadillac, slams the
|
|
door and peels out.
|
|
|
|
|
|
59 INT. CAR 59
|
|
|
|
Wade's jaw works as he glares out at traffic. He mumbles to
|
|
himself as he drives.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Okay ... here's your damn money,
|
|
now where's my daughter?... Goddamn
|
|
punk ... where's my damn
|
|
daughter...
|
|
|
|
He pulls out a gun, cracks the barrel, peers in.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
... You little punk.
|
|
|
|
|
|
60 INT. JERRY'S HOUSE 60
|
|
|
|
Jerry sits in the foyer, trying to pull on pair of
|
|
galoshes.
|
|
|
|
Scotty's voice comes from upstairs:
|
|
74.
|
|
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
... Dad?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
It's okay, Scotty.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Where're you going?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Be back in a minute. If Stan calls
|
|
you, just tell him I went to
|
|
Embers. Oh, geez -
|
|
|
|
Thunk! - his first boot goes on.
|
|
|
|
RADISSON
|
|
|
|
Marge sits on the bed in her hotel room, shoes off,
|
|
massaging her feet. The phone is pressed to her ear, and
|
|
through it, we hear ringing.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
... Hello?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Norm?
|
|
|
|
|
|
61 EXT. MILLE LACS LAKE 61
|
|
|
|
It is late evening, blowing storm. A leisurely pan across
|
|
the bleak gray expanse finds a little hut in the middle of
|
|
the frozen lake with a pickup truck parked next to it.
|
|
|
|
MARGE'S VOICE
|
|
They bitin'?
|
|
|
|
|
|
62 INT. HUT 62
|
|
|
|
Norm has a cellular phone to his ear. His feet are
|
|
stretched out to an electric heater. The interior is bathed
|
|
in soft orange light.
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Yah, okay. How's the hotel?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh, pretty good. They bitin'?
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
75.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Yeah, couple a muskies. No pike
|
|
yet. How d'you feel?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh, fine.
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Not on your feet too much?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
No, no.
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
You shouldn't be on your feet too
|
|
much, you got weight you're not
|
|
used too. How's the food down
|
|
there?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Had dinner at a place called the
|
|
King's Table. Buffet style. It was
|
|
pretty darn good.
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Was it reasonable?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah, not too bad. So it's nice up
|
|
there?
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Yah, it's good. No pike yet, but
|
|
it's good.
|
|
|
|
|
|
63 INT. DAYTON-RADISSON RAMP 63
|
|
|
|
The top, open, level. Snow blows. A car sits idling.
|
|
|
|
Another car pulls onto the roof. It creeps over to the
|
|
parked car and stops. It continues to idle as its door
|
|
opens and Wade steps out, carrying the briefcase.
|
|
|
|
The door of the other car bangs open and Carl bounces out.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck
|
|
are you?
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
I got your goddamn money, you
|
|
little punk. Now where's my
|
|
daughter?
|
|
76.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
I am through fucking around! Drop
|
|
that fucking briefcase!
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Where's my daughter?
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Fuck you, man! Where's Jerry? I
|
|
gave SIMPLE FUCKING INSTRUCTIONS -
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Where's my damn daughter? No Jean,
|
|
no money!
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Drop that fucking money!
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
No Jean, no money!
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Is this a fucking joke here?
|
|
|
|
He pulls out a gun and fires into Wade's gut.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Is this a fucking joke?
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Unghh ... oh, geez...
|
|
|
|
He is on the pavement, clutching at his gut. Snow swirls.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
You fucking imbeciles!
|
|
|
|
He bends down next to Wade to pick up the briefcase.
|
|
|
|
WADE
|
|
Oh, for Christ ... oh, geez...
|
|
|
|
Wade brings out his gun and fires at Carl's head, close by.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Oh!
|
|
|
|
Carl stumbles and falls back, and then stands up again. His
|
|
jaw is gouting blood.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Owwmm...
|
|
77.
|
|
|
|
|
|
One hand pressed to his jaw, he fires down at Wade several
|
|
times. Blood streams through the hand pressed to his jaw.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Mmmmmphnck! He fnkem shop me...
|
|
|
|
He pockets the gun, picks up the briefcase one-handed,
|
|
flings it into his car, gets in, peels out.
|
|
|
|
|
|
64 INT. DOWN RAMP 64
|
|
|
|
Carl screams down the ramp. He takes a corner at high speed
|
|
and swerves, just missing Jerry in his Olds on his way to
|
|
the top.
|
|
|
|
|
|
65 INT. JERRY'S CAR 65
|
|
|
|
Jerry recovers from the near miss and continues up.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Oh, geez!
|
|
|
|
EXIT BOOTH
|
|
|
|
Carl squeals to a halt at the gate, still pressing his hand
|
|
to his bleeding jaw.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Ophhem ma fuchem gaphe!
|
|
|
|
ATTENDANT
|
|
May I have your ticket, please?
|
|
|
|
RAMP ROOF
|
|
|
|
Jerry pulls to a halt next to Wade's idling Cadillac. He
|
|
gets out and walks slowly to Wade's body, prostrate in the
|
|
swirling snow.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Oh! Oh, geez!
|
|
|
|
He bends down, picks Wade up by the armpits and drags him
|
|
over to the back of the Cadillac. He drops Wade's body,
|
|
walks to the driver's side of the car, pulls the keys and
|
|
walks back to pop the trunk. He wrestles Wade's body into
|
|
the trunk, slams it shut and walks back to the scene of the
|
|
shooting.
|
|
|
|
He kicks at the snow with his galoshed feet, trying to hide
|
|
the fresh bloodstains.
|
|
78.
|
|
|
|
|
|
66 EXT. BOOTH 66
|
|
|
|
Jerry approaches in the Cadillac.
|
|
|
|
The wooden gate barring the exit has been broken away. The
|
|
booth is empty.
|
|
|
|
Jerry eases toward the street, looking over at the booth as
|
|
he passes.
|
|
|
|
Inside the booth we see the awkwardly angled leg of a
|
|
prostrate body.
|
|
|
|
|
|
67 EXT. JERRY'S HOUSE 67
|
|
|
|
The car pulls into the driveway.
|
|
|
|
|
|
68 INT. FOYER 68
|
|
|
|
Jerry enters and sits on the foyer chair to take off his
|
|
galoshes.
|
|
|
|
SCOTT'S VOICE
|
|
... Dad?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
SCOTT'S VOICE
|
|
Stan Grossman called.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, okay.
|
|
|
|
SCOTT'S VOICE
|
|
Twice.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Okay.
|
|
|
|
SCOTT'S VOICE
|
|
... Is everything okay?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
Thoonk - the first boot comes off.
|
|
|
|
SCOTT'S VOICE
|
|
Are you calling Stan?
|
|
79.
|
|
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Well... I'm goin' ta bed now.
|
|
|
|
|
|
69 INT. CARL'S CAR 69
|
|
|
|
Carl mumbles as he drives, underlit by the dim dash lights,
|
|
one hand now holding a piece of rag to his shredded jaw.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Fnnkn ashlzh... Fnk...
|
|
|
|
ROAD
|
|
|
|
Carl's car roars into frame, violently swirling the snow.
|
|
|
|
Its red tail lights fishtail away.
|
|
|
|
FADE OUT
|
|
|
|
HOLD IN BLACK
|
|
|
|
HARD CUT TO: BRIGHT - LOOKING THROUGH A WINDSHIELD
|
|
|
|
It is a starky sunny day. We are cruising down a street of
|
|
humble lookalike houses.
|
|
|
|
We pan right as we draw toward one house in particular. In
|
|
its driveway a man in a hooded parka shovels snow. He
|
|
notices the approaching car and gives its driver a wave.
|
|
|
|
The driver is Gary, the Brainderd police officer. He gives
|
|
a finger-to-the-head salute and pulls over.
|
|
|
|
|
|
70 EXT. OUTSIDE 70
|
|
|
|
Gary slams his door shut and the other man plants his
|
|
shovel in the snow.
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
How ya doin'?
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
Mr. Mohra?
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
Officer Olson.
|
|
80.
|
|
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
Yah, right-o.
|
|
|
|
The two men caucus the driveway without shaking hands and
|
|
without standing particularly close. They stand stiffly,
|
|
arms down at their sides and breath streaming out of their
|
|
parka hoods. Each has an awkward leaning-away posture, head
|
|
|
|
drawn slightly back and chin tucked in, to keep his face
|
|
from protruding into the cold.
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
... So, I'm tendin' bar there at
|
|
Ecklund && Swedlin's last Tuesday
|
|
and this little guy's drinkin' and
|
|
he says, 'So where can a guy find
|
|
some action - I'm goin' crazy down
|
|
there at the lake.' And I says,
|
|
'What kinda action?' and he says,
|
|
'Woman action, what do I look
|
|
like,' And I says 'Well, what do I
|
|
look like, I don't arrange that
|
|
kinda thing,' and he says, 'I'm
|
|
goin' crazy out there at the lake'
|
|
and I says, 'Well, this ain't that
|
|
kinda place.'
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
Uh-huh.
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
So he says, 'So I get it, so you
|
|
think I'm some kinda jerk for
|
|
askin',' only he doesn't use the
|
|
word jerk.
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
I unnerstand.
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
And then he calls me a jerk and
|
|
says the last guy who thought he
|
|
was a jerk was dead now. So I don't
|
|
say nothin' and he says, 'What do
|
|
ya think about that?' So I says,
|
|
'Well, that don't sound like too
|
|
good a deal for him then.'
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
Ya got that right.
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
81.
|
|
|
|
|
|
And he says, 'Yah, that guy's dead
|
|
and I don't mean a old age.' And
|
|
then he says, 'Geez, I'm goin'
|
|
crazy out there at the lake.'
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
White Bear Lake?
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
Well, Ecklund && Swedlin's, that's
|
|
closer ta Moose Lake, so I made
|
|
that assumption.
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
Oh sure.
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
So, ya know, he's drinkin', so I
|
|
don't think a whole great deal of
|
|
it, but Mrs. Mohra heard about the
|
|
homicides out here and she thought
|
|
I should call it in, so I called it
|
|
in. End a story.
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
What'd this guy look like anyways?
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
Oh, he was a little guy, kinda
|
|
funny-lookin'.
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
Uh-huh - in what way?
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
Just a general way.
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
Okay, well, thanks a bunch, Mr.
|
|
Mohra. You're right, it's probably
|
|
nothin', but thanks for callin' her
|
|
in.
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
Oh sure. They say she's gonna turn
|
|
cold tomorrow.
|
|
|
|
GARY
|
|
Yah, got a front movin' in.
|
|
|
|
MAN
|
|
Ya got that right.
|
|
82.
|
|
|
|
|
|
CLOSE ON CARL SHOWALTER
|
|
|
|
In his car, now parked, one hand holding the rag pressed to
|
|
his mangled jaw. He is staring down at something in the
|
|
front seat next to him.
|
|
|
|
His other hand holds open the briefcase. It has money
|
|
inside - a lot of money.
|
|
|
|
Carl unfreezes, takes out one of the bank-wrapped wads and
|
|
looks at it.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Mmmnphh.
|
|
|
|
He paws through the money in the briefcase to get a feeling
|
|
for the amount.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Jeshush Shrist... Jeshush
|
|
fuchem Shrist!
|
|
|
|
Excited, he counts out a bundle of bills and tosses it onto
|
|
the back seat.
|
|
|
|
He starts to take the rag away from his chin but the layer
|
|
pressed against his face sticks, its loose weave bound to
|
|
his skin by clotted blood.
|
|
|
|
He pulls very gently and winces as blood starts to flow
|
|
again.
|
|
|
|
He carefully tears the rag in half so that only a bit of it
|
|
remains adhering to his jaw.
|
|
|
|
|
|
71 EXT. CAR 71
|
|
|
|
It is pulled over to the side of an untraveled road. THe
|
|
door opens and Carl emerges with the briefcase.
|
|
|
|
He slogs through the snow, down a gulley and up the
|
|
embankment to a barbed-wire fence. He kneels at one of the
|
|
fence posts and frantically digs into the snow with his
|
|
bare hands, throws in the briefcase and covers it back up.
|
|
|
|
He stands and tries to beat the circulation back into his
|
|
red, frozen hands.
|
|
|
|
He looks to the right.
|
|
|
|
A regular line of identical fence posts stretches away
|
|
against unblemished white.
|
|
83.
|
|
|
|
|
|
He looks to the left.
|
|
|
|
A regular line of identical fence posts stretches away
|
|
against unblemished white.
|
|
|
|
He looks at the fence post in front of him.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Mmmphh...
|
|
|
|
He looks about the snowy vastness for a marker. Finding
|
|
none, he kicks the fence post a couple of times, failing to
|
|
scar or tilt it, then hurriedly plants a couple of sicks up
|
|
against the post.
|
|
|
|
He bends down, scoops up a handful of snow, presses it
|
|
against his wounded jaw, and lopes back to the idling car.
|
|
|
|
|
|
72 INT. HOTEL ROOM 72
|
|
|
|
Marge has a packed overnight back sitting on the unmade
|
|
bed.
|
|
|
|
She is ready to leave, already wearing her parka, but is on
|
|
the phone.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
No, I'm leavin' this mornin', back
|
|
up to Brainerd.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Well, I'm sorry I won't see ya.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Mm. But ya think he's all right? I
|
|
saw him last night and he's -
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
What'd he say?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Well, it was nothin' specific he
|
|
said, it just seemd like it all hit
|
|
him really hard, his wife dyin' -
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
His wife?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Linda.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
84.
|
|
|
|
|
|
No.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Linda Cooksey?
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
No. No. No. They weren't - he, uh,
|
|
he was bothering Linda for about,
|
|
oh, for a good year. Really
|
|
pestering her, wouldn't leave her
|
|
alone.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
So ... they didn't...
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
No. No. They never married. Mike's
|
|
had psychiatric problems.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh. Oh, my.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Yah, he - he's been struggling.
|
|
He's living with his parents now.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh. Geez.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Yah, Linda's fine. You should call
|
|
her.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Geez. Well - geez. That's a
|
|
suprise.
|
|
|
|
|
|
73 INT. MARGE'S CAR 73
|
|
|
|
Marge drives, gazing out at the road.
|
|
|
|
MARGE AT A DRIVE-THROUGH
|
|
|
|
She leans out of her open window and yells at the order
|
|
panel:
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Hello?
|
|
|
|
MARGE AT THE GUSTAFSON OLDS GARAGE
|
|
|
|
She sits in the lot, eating a breakfast sandwich.
|
|
85.
|
|
|
|
|
|
74 INT. JERRY LUNDEGAARD'S OFFICE 74
|
|
|
|
Jerry is at his desk using a blunt pencil to enter numbers
|
|
onto a form. Beneath the form is a piece of carbon paper
|
|
and beneath that another form copy, which Jerry
|
|
periodically checks. The carbon-copy form shows thick
|
|
smudgy, illegible entries.
|
|
|
|
Jerry hums nervously.
|
|
|
|
Glass rattles as someone taps at his door.
|
|
|
|
Jerry looks up and freezes, mouth hanging open, brow knit
|
|
with worry.
|
|
|
|
Marge sticks her head in the door.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Mr. Lundegaard? Sorry to bother you
|
|
again. Can I come in?
|
|
|
|
She starts to enter.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, no, I'm kinda - I'm kinda busy
|
|
-
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
I unnerstand. I'll keep it real
|
|
short, then. I'm on my way out of
|
|
town, but I was just - Do you mind
|
|
if I sit down? I'm carrying a bit
|
|
of a load here.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
No, I -
|
|
|
|
But she is already sitting into the chair opposite with a
|
|
sigh of relieved weight.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah, it's this vehicle I asked you
|
|
about yesterday. I was just
|
|
wondering -
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, like I told ya, we haven't had
|
|
any vehicles go missing.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
86.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Okay, are you sure, cause, I mean,
|
|
how do you know? Because, see, the
|
|
crime I'm investigating, the
|
|
perpetrators were driving a car
|
|
with dealer plates. And they called
|
|
someone who works here, so it'd be
|
|
quite a coincidence if they
|
|
weren't, ya know, connected.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Yah, I see.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
So how do you - have you done any
|
|
kind of inventory recently?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
The car's not from our lot, ma'am.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
but do you know that for sure
|
|
without -
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Well, I would know. I'm the
|
|
Executive Sales Manager.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah, but -
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
We run a pretty tight ship here.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
I know, but - well, how do you
|
|
establish that, sir? Are the cars,
|
|
uh, counted daily or what kind of -
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Ma'am, I answered your question.
|
|
|
|
There is a silent beat.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... I'm sorry, sir?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Ma'am, I answered your question. I
|
|
answered the darn - I'm cooperating
|
|
here, and I...
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
87.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Sir, you have no call to get snippy
|
|
with me. I'm just doin' my job
|
|
here.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
I'm not, uh, I'm not arguin' here.
|
|
I'm cooperating... There's no, uh -
|
|
we're doin' all we can...
|
|
|
|
He trails off into silence.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Sir, could I talk to Mr. Gustafson?
|
|
|
|
Jerry stares at her.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Mr. Lundegaard?
|
|
|
|
Jerry explodes:
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Well, heck, if you wanna, if you
|
|
wanna play games here! I'm workin'
|
|
with ya on this thing, but I...
|
|
|
|
He is getting angrily off his feet.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Okay, I'll do a damned lot count!
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Sir? Right now?
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Sure right now! You're darned
|
|
tootin'!
|
|
|
|
He is yanking his parka from a hook behind the opened door
|
|
and grabbing a pair of galoshes.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
... If it's so damned imporant to
|
|
ya!
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
I'm sorry, sir, I -
|
|
|
|
Jerry has the parka slung over one arm and the galoshes
|
|
pinched in his hand.
|
|
|
|
JERRY
|
|
Aw, what the Christ!
|
|
88.
|
|
|
|
|
|
He stamps out the door.
|
|
|
|
Marge stares.
|
|
|
|
After a long moment her stare breaks. She glances idly
|
|
around the office.
|
|
|
|
There is a framed picture facing away from her on the
|
|
desktop. She turns it to face her. It is Scotty, holding an
|
|
accordion. There is another picture of Jean.
|
|
|
|
Marge looks at it, looks around, for some reason, at the
|
|
ceiling.
|
|
|
|
She looks at a trophy shelf on the wall behind her.
|
|
|
|
She fiddles idly with a pencil. She pulls a clipboard
|
|
toward her. It holds a form from the General Motors Finance
|
|
Corporation.
|
|
|
|
She looks idly around. Her look abruptly locks.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Oh, for Pete's sake.
|
|
|
|
Jerry is easing his car around the near corner of the
|
|
building.
|
|
|
|
Marge's voice is flat with dismay:
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Oh, for Pete's sake...
|
|
|
|
She grabs the phone and punches in a number.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... For Pete's s- he's fleein' the
|
|
interview. He's feelin' the
|
|
interview...
|
|
|
|
Jerry makes a left turn into traffic.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Detective Sibert, please...
|
|
|
|
POLICE OFFICER
|
|
|
|
We are looking across a steam table at a man in blue. He
|
|
moves slowly to the right, pushing his tray along a
|
|
cafeteria line. Behind him, in the depth of the room, is an
|
|
eating area of long Formica tables at which sit a mix of
|
|
uniformed and civilian-clothed police and staff.
|
|
89.
|
|
|
|
|
|
We are listening to an offscreen woman's voice.
|
|
|
|
WOMAN
|
|
Well, so far we're just saying he's
|
|
wanted for questioning in
|
|
connection with a triple homicide.
|
|
Nobody at the dealship there's been
|
|
much help guessing where he might
|
|
go...
|
|
|
|
The woman is entering frame sliding a tray. Marge enters
|
|
behind her, sliding her own. We move laterally with them as
|
|
they slowly make their way along the line.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Uh-huh.
|
|
|
|
WOMAN
|
|
We called his house; his little boy
|
|
said he hadn't been there.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
And his wife?
|
|
|
|
WOMAN
|
|
She's visiting relatives in
|
|
Florida. Now his boss, this guy
|
|
Gustafson, he's also disappeared.
|
|
Nobody at his office knows where he
|
|
is.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Geez. Looks like this thing goes
|
|
higher than we thought. You call
|
|
his home?
|
|
|
|
WOMAN
|
|
His wife's in the hospital, has
|
|
been for a couple months. The big
|
|
C.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh, my.
|
|
|
|
WOMAN
|
|
And this Shep Proudfoot character,
|
|
he's a little darling. He's now
|
|
wanted for assault and parole
|
|
violation. He clobbered a neighbor
|
|
of his last night and another
|
|
person who could be one of your
|
|
perps, and he's at large.
|
|
90.
|
|
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Boy, this thing is really ... geez.
|
|
|
|
WOMAN
|
|
Well, they're all out on the wire.
|
|
Well, you know...
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah. Well, I just can't thank you
|
|
enough, Detective Sibert, this
|
|
cooperation has been outstanding.
|
|
|
|
DETECTIVE SIBERT
|
|
Ah, well, we haven't had to run
|
|
around like you. When're you due?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
End a April.
|
|
|
|
DETECTIVE SIBERT
|
|
Any others?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
This'll be our first. We've been
|
|
waiting a long time.
|
|
|
|
DETECTIVE SIBERT
|
|
That's wonderful. Mm-mm. It'll
|
|
change your life, a course.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh, yah, I know that!
|
|
|
|
DETECTIVE SIBERT
|
|
They can really take over, that's
|
|
for sure.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
You have children?
|
|
|
|
Detective Sibert pulls an accordion of plastic picture
|
|
sleeves from her purse to show Marge.
|
|
|
|
DETECTIVE SIBERT
|
|
I thought you'd never ask. The
|
|
older one is Janet, she's nine, and
|
|
the younger one is Morgan.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh, now he's adorable.
|
|
|
|
DETECTIVE SIBERT
|
|
91.
|
|
|
|
|
|
He's three now. Course, not in that
|
|
picture.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh, he's adorable.
|
|
|
|
DETECTIVE SIBERT
|
|
Yah, he -
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Where'd you get him that parka?
|
|
|
|
They have reached the end of the cafeteria line. With a nod
|
|
to the cashier, Detective Sibert indicates hers and Marge's
|
|
trays.
|
|
|
|
DETECTIVE SIBERT
|
|
Both of these.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh, no, I can't let you do that.
|
|
|
|
DETECTIVE SIBERT
|
|
Oh, don't be silly.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Well, okay - thank you, Detective.
|
|
|
|
DETECTIVE SIBERT
|
|
Oh, don't be silly.
|
|
|
|
GAEAR GRIMSRUD
|
|
|
|
He sits eating a Swanson's TV dinner from a TV tray he has
|
|
set up in front of an easy chair.
|
|
|
|
He watches the old black-and-white TV set whose image - it
|
|
might be a game show - is still heavily ghosting and
|
|
diffused by snow. The audio crackles with interference.
|
|
|
|
Despite the impenetrability of its image, it holds
|
|
Grimsrud's complete attention.
|
|
|
|
At the sound of the front door opening, Grimsrud looks up.
|
|
|
|
Carl enters, his face suppurating and raw.
|
|
|
|
He reacts to Grimsrud's wordless look with a grotesque
|
|
laugh.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
You should she zhe uzher guy!
|
|
92.
|
|
|
|
|
|
He glances around.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... The fuck happen a her?
|
|
|
|
Jean sits slumped in a straight-backed chair facing the
|
|
wall. Her hooded head, resting on her chin, is motionless.
|
|
|
|
There is blood on the facing wall.
|
|
|
|
GRIMSRUD
|
|
She started shrieking, you know.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
Jezhush.
|
|
|
|
He shakes his head.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Well, I gotta muddy.
|
|
|
|
He is plunking down eight bank-wrapped bundles on the
|
|
table.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... All of it. All eighty gran.
|
|
Forty for you...
|
|
|
|
He makes one pile, pockets the rest.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Forty for me. Sho thishuzh it.
|
|
Adiosh.
|
|
|
|
He slaps keys down on the table.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... You c'n'ave my truck. I'm
|
|
takin' a Shiera.
|
|
|
|
GRIMSRUD
|
|
We split that.
|
|
|
|
Carl looks at him.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
HOW THE FUCK DO WE SHPLITTA FUCKIN'
|
|
CAR? Ya dummy! Widda fuckin'
|
|
chainshaw?
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud looks sourly up. There is a beat. Finally:
|
|
93.
|
|
|
|
|
|
GRIMSRUD
|
|
One of us pays the other for half.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
HOLD ON! NO FUCKIN' WAY! YOU
|
|
FUCKIN' NOTISH ISH? I GOT FUCKIN'
|
|
SHOT INNA FAISH! I WENT'N GOTTA
|
|
FUCKIN' MONEY! I GET SHOT FUCKIN'
|
|
PICKIN' IT UP! I BEEN UP FOR
|
|
THIRTY-SHIKSH FUCKIN' HOURZH! I'M
|
|
TAKIN' THAT FUCKIN' CAR! THAT
|
|
FUCKERZH MINE!
|
|
|
|
Carl waits for an argument, but only gets the steady sour
|
|
look.
|
|
|
|
Carl pulls out a gun.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... YOU FUCKIN' ASH-HOLE! I LISHEN
|
|
A YOUR BULLSHIT FOR A WHOLE FUCKIN'
|
|
WEEK!
|
|
|
|
A beat. Carl returns Grimsrud's stare.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Are we shquare?
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud says nothing.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... ARE WE SHQUARE?
|
|
|
|
A beat.
|
|
|
|
Disgusted, Carl pockets the gun and heads for the door.
|
|
|
|
CARL
|
|
... Fuckin' ash-hole. And if you
|
|
shee your friend Shep Proudpfut,
|
|
tell him I'm gonna NAIL hizh
|
|
fuckin' ash.
|
|
|
|
|
|
75 EXT. OUTSIDE 75
|
|
|
|
We are pulling Carl as he walks toward the car. Behind him
|
|
we see the cabin door opening. Carl turns, reacting to the
|
|
sound.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud is bounding out wearing mittens and a red hunter's
|
|
cap, but no overcoat. He is holding an ax.
|
|
94.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Carl fumbles in his pocket for his gun.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud swings overhand, burying the ax in Carl's neck.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
|
|
In her cruiser, on her two-way. Through it we hear Lou's
|
|
voice, heavily filtered:
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
His wife. This guy says she was
|
|
kidnapped last Wednesday.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
The day of our homicides.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
Marge is peering to one side as she drives, looking through
|
|
the bare trees that border the road on a declivity that
|
|
runs down to a large frozen lake.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
And this guy is...
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Lundegaard's father-in-law's
|
|
accountant.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Gustafson's accountant.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
But we still haven't found
|
|
Gustafson.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
(crackle)
|
|
- looking.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Sorry - didn't copy.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Still missing. We're looking.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Copy. And Lundegaard too.
|
|
95.
|
|
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Yah. Where are ya, Margie?
|
|
|
|
We hear, distant but growing louder, harsh engine noise, as
|
|
of a chainsaw or lawnmower.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh, I'm almost back - I'm driving
|
|
around Moose Lake.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Oh. Gary's loudmouth.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah, the loudmouth. So the whole
|
|
state has it, Lundegaard and
|
|
Gustafson?
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Yah, it's over the wire, it's
|
|
everywhere, they'll find 'em.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Copy.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
We've got a -
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
There's the car! There's the car!
|
|
|
|
We are slowing as we approach a short driveway leading down
|
|
to a cabin. Parked in front is the brown Cutlass Ciera.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Whose car?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
My car! My car! Tan Ciera!
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
Don't go in! Wait for back-up!
|
|
|
|
Marge is straining to look. The power-tool noise is louder
|
|
here but still muffled, its source not yet visible.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
... Chief Gunderson?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Copy. Yah, send me back-up!
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
96.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Yes, ma'am. Are we the closest PD?
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Yah, Menominie only has Chief
|
|
Perpich and he takes February off
|
|
to go to Boundary Waters.
|
|
|
|
|
|
76 EXT. ROAD EXTERIOR 76
|
|
|
|
Marge pulls her prowler over some distance past the cabin.
|
|
|
|
She gets out, zips up her khaki parka and pulls up its fur-
|
|
lined hood.
|
|
|
|
For a moment, she stands listening to the muffled roar of
|
|
the power tool. Then, with one curved arm half pressing
|
|
against, half supporting her belly, she takes slow,
|
|
gingerly steps down the slope, through the deep snow,
|
|
through the trees angling toward the cabin and the source
|
|
of the grinding noise.
|
|
|
|
She slogs from tree to tree, letting each one support her
|
|
downhill-leaning weight for a moment before slogging to the
|
|
next.
|
|
|
|
The roar grows louder. Marge stands panting by one tree,
|
|
her breath vaporizing out of her snorkel hood. She squints
|
|
down toward the cabin's back lot.
|
|
|
|
A tall man with his back to us, wearing a red plaid quilted
|
|
jacket and a hunting cap with earflaps, is laboring over a
|
|
large power tool which his body blocks from view.
|
|
|
|
Marge advances.
|
|
|
|
The man is forcing downward something which engages the
|
|
roaring power tool and makes harsh spluttering noises.
|
|
|
|
The man is Grimsrud, his nose red and eyes watering from
|
|
the cold, hatflaps pulled down over his ears. His breath
|
|
steams as he sourly goes about his work, both hands
|
|
pressing down a shod foot, as it if were the shaft of a
|
|
butter churn.
|
|
|
|
The roar is very loud.
|
|
|
|
Marge slogs down to the next tree, panting, looking.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud forces more of the leg into the machine, which we
|
|
can now see sprays small wet chunks out the bottom.
|
|
|
|
Marge's eyes shift.
|
|
97.
|
|
|
|
|
|
A large dark form lies in the snow next to Grimsrud.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud works on, eyes watering. With a grunt he bends
|
|
down out of frame and then re-enters holding a thick log.
|
|
|
|
He uses it to force the leg deeper into the machine.
|
|
|
|
Marge is advancing. She holds a gun extended toward
|
|
Grimsrud, who is still turned away.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud rubs his nose with the back of his hand.
|
|
|
|
Marge closes in, grimacing.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud's back strains as he puts his weight into the log
|
|
that pushes down into the machine.
|
|
|
|
The dark shape in the snow next to his side is the rest of
|
|
Carl Showalter's body.
|
|
|
|
Marge has drawn to within twenty yards. When she bellows it
|
|
sounds hollow and distant, her voice all but eaten up by
|
|
the roar of the power tool.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Stop! Police! Turn around and hands
|
|
up!
|
|
|
|
Startled, Grimsrud scowls. He turns to face her.
|
|
|
|
He stares.
|
|
|
|
Marge bellows again:
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Hands up!
|
|
|
|
Conscious of the noise, she shows with a twist of her
|
|
shoulder the armpatch insignia.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Police!
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud stares.
|
|
|
|
With a quick twist, he reaches back for the log, hurls it
|
|
at Marge and then starts running away.
|
|
|
|
Marge twists her body sideways, shielding herself.
|
|
|
|
No need - the heavy log travels perhaps ten yards and lands
|
|
in the snow several feet short of her.
|
|
98.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud pants up the hill - slow going through the deep
|
|
snow.
|
|
|
|
Behind him:
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Halt!
|
|
|
|
She fires in the air.
|
|
|
|
She lowers the gun and carefully sighs.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Halt!
|
|
|
|
She fires.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud still slogs up the hill - a miss.
|
|
|
|
Marge sights again.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Halt!
|
|
|
|
She fires again.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud pitches forward. He mutters in Swedish as he
|
|
reaches down to clutch at his wounded leg.
|
|
|
|
Marge walks toward him, gun trained on him as her other
|
|
hand reaches under her parka and gropes around her waist.
|
|
|
|
It comes out with a pair of handcuffs, which she opens with
|
|
a snap of the wrist.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... All right, buddy. On your belly
|
|
and your hands clasped behind you.
|
|
|
|
THE CRUISER
|
|
|
|
Marge drives. Grimsrud sits in the back seat, hands cuffed
|
|
behind him.
|
|
|
|
For a long moment there, he is quiet - only engine hum and
|
|
the periodic clomp of wheels on pavement seams - as Marge
|
|
grimly shakes her head.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... So that was Mrs. Lundegaard in
|
|
there?
|
|
99.
|
|
|
|
|
|
She glances up in the rear-view mirror.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud, cheeks sunk, eyes hollow, looks sourly out at the
|
|
road.
|
|
|
|
Marge shakes her head.
|
|
|
|
At length:
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... I guess that was your
|
|
accomplice in the wood chipper.
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud's head bobs with bumps on the road; otherwise he
|
|
is motionless, reactionless, scowling and gazing out.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... And those three people in
|
|
Brainerd.
|
|
|
|
No response.
|
|
|
|
Marge, gazing forward, seems to be talking to herself.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... And for what? For a little bit
|
|
of money.
|
|
|
|
We hear distant sirens.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... There's more to life than
|
|
money, you know.
|
|
|
|
She glances up in the rear-view mirror.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Don't you know that?... And
|
|
here ya are, and it's a beautiful
|
|
day...
|
|
|
|
Grimsrud's hollow eyes stare out.
|
|
|
|
The sirens are getting louder. Marge pulls over.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... Well...
|
|
|
|
She leans forward to the dash to give two short signalling
|
|
WHOOPS on her siren.
|
|
|
|
She turns on her flashers.
|
|
100.
|
|
|
|
|
|
She leans back with a creak and jangle of utilities.
|
|
|
|
She stares forward, shakes her head. We hear the dull click
|
|
of her flashers.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... I just don't unnerstand it.
|
|
|
|
Outside it is snowing. The sky, the earth, the road - all
|
|
white.
|
|
|
|
A squad car, gumballs spinning, punches through the white.
|
|
|
|
It approaches in slow motion.
|
|
|
|
An ambulance punches through after it.
|
|
|
|
Another squad car.
|
|
|
|
FADE OUT:
|
|
|
|
FADE IN:
|
|
|
|
HIGH AND WIDE ON A SHABBY MOTEL
|
|
|
|
It stands next to a highway on a snowy, windslept plain.
|
|
|
|
One or two cars dot the parking lot along with an idling
|
|
police cruiser.
|
|
|
|
|
|
77 INT. MOTEL ROOM DOORWAY 77
|
|
|
|
We are looking over the shoulders of two uniformed
|
|
policemen who stand on either side of the door, their hands
|
|
resting lightly on their holstered sidearms. One of them
|
|
raps at the door.
|
|
|
|
COP ONE
|
|
Mr. Anderson...
|
|
|
|
A title fades in: OUTSIDE OF BISMARK, NORTH DAKOTA
|
|
|
|
After a pause, muffled through the door:
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
... Who?...
|
|
|
|
COP ONE
|
|
Mr. Anderson, is this your burgundy
|
|
88 out here?
|
|
101.
|
|
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
... Just a sec.
|
|
|
|
COP ONE
|
|
Could you open the door, please?
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
... Yah. Yah, just a sec.
|
|
|
|
We hear a clatter from inside.
|
|
|
|
VOICE
|
|
... Just a sec...
|
|
|
|
One of the policemen unholsters his gun and nods to someone
|
|
whose back enters - a superintendent holding a ring of
|
|
keys.
|
|
|
|
This man turns a key in the door and then stands away.
|
|
|
|
The two policemen, guns at the ready, bang into the motel
|
|
room.
|
|
|
|
The rough hand-held camera rushes in behind them as the two
|
|
men give the room a two-handed sweep with their guns.
|
|
|
|
The room is empty.
|
|
|
|
Cop one indicates the open bathroom door.
|
|
|
|
COP ONE
|
|
Dale!
|
|
|
|
The two men charge the bathroom, belts jingling, guns at
|
|
the ready, jittery camera behind them rushing to keep pace.
|
|
|
|
A man in boxer shorts is halfway out the bathroom window.
|
|
|
|
The policemen holster their guns and charge the window, and
|
|
drag Jerry Lundegaard back into the room.
|
|
|
|
His flesh quivers as he thrashes and keens in short,
|
|
piercing screams.
|
|
|
|
The cops wrestle him to the floor but his palsied thrashing
|
|
continues. The policemen struggle to restrain him.
|
|
|
|
COP ONE
|
|
Call an ambulance!
|
|
|
|
COP TWO
|
|
You got him okay?
|
|
102.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Cop One pinions Jerry's arms to the floor and Jerry bursts
|
|
into uncontrolled sobbing.
|
|
|
|
COP ONE
|
|
Yah, yah, call an ambulance.
|
|
|
|
Jerry sobs and screams.
|
|
|
|
|
|
78 INT. A BEDROOM 78
|
|
|
|
We are square on Norm, who sits in bed watching television.
|
|
|
|
After a long beat, Marge enters frame in a nightie and
|
|
climbs into bed, with some effort.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oooph!
|
|
|
|
Norm reaches for her hand as both watch the television.
|
|
|
|
At length Norm speaks, but keeps his eyes on the TV.
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
They announced it.
|
|
|
|
Marge looks at him.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
They announced it?
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
Marge looks at him, waiting for more, but Norm's eyes stay
|
|
fixed on the television.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... So?
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Three-cent stamp.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Your mallard?
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Norm, that's terrific!
|
|
103.
|
|
|
|
|
|
Norm tries to suppress a smile of pleasure.
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
It's just the three cent.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
It's terrific!
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Hautman's blue-winged teal got the
|
|
twenty-nine cent. People don't much
|
|
use the three-cent.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Oh, for Pete's - a course they do!
|
|
Every time they raise the darned
|
|
postage, people need the little
|
|
stamps!
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Yah.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
When they're stuck with a bunch a
|
|
the old ones!
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
Yah, I guess.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
That's terrific.
|
|
|
|
Her eyes go back to the TV.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
... I'm so proud a you, Norm.
|
|
|
|
Norm murmurs:
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
I love you, Margie.
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
I love you, Norm.
|
|
|
|
Both of them are watching the TV as Norm reaches out to
|
|
rest a hand on top of her stomach.
|
|
|
|
NORM
|
|
... Two more months.
|
|
|
|
Marge absently rests her own hand on top of his.
|
|
104.
|
|
|
|
|
|
MARGE
|
|
Two more months.
|
|
|
|
Hold.
|
|
|
|
FADE OUT:
|
|
|