Heinz 57-revised 6-11-16 by Patrick Sean Lee (desktop ebook reader .TXT) π
What the...?
Rollo is admitted, and what transpires in the following hours, days, and weeks is as brilliant as Michelangelo's masterpiece, although everything has a price.
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- Author: Patrick Sean Lee
Read book online Β«Heinz 57-revised 6-11-16 by Patrick Sean Lee (desktop ebook reader .TXT) πΒ». Author - Patrick Sean Lee
MYRON
(In a deep, booming voice)
Gentlemen! Thank you for coming out this morning. I realize many of you have more important things to attend to, so I will be brief...
INMATE IN THE CROWD
Yeah! We need to go hang the fuckin' cook!
A roar of laughter erupts. Several inmates closest to the man who spoke congratulate him roundly. The guards react by engaging their walkie-talkies. Zippo continues to dribble the ball.
MYRON
That would be our own, dear, Philip Simple, Mr. Cavanaugh. I daresay he is doing the best he can with the provisions supplied.
(Groaning and murmuring throughout the crowd)
MYRON
Perhaps at a future date we can address that subject...after we complete our first project.
FROM THE CROWD
Project?
ANOTHER
Faggot!
ANOTHER
Shut up. Let 'im talk.
MYRON
Thank you, Rolph. Now. Mr. Heinz and I, along with Mr. Budd, here...
Buddy continues to struggle, trying to climb onto the table.
MYRON (CONTINUING)
...have had a moment of clarity, an epiphany. A vision of sorts, if you will. It is my firm belief that God has touched the newest member of our community...sent a savior of sorts to instruct us...
FROM THE CROWD
Community? This is a goddam' jail, not a country club!
More derisive laughter erupts. Zippo catches the ball, a scowl on his face.
MYRON
You are correct, but even in a jail men must have hope and dignity; a direction in their lives. Our time together inside these walls might better be spent creating, rather than destroying. Violence begets violence. Hatred begets deeper hatred...
FROM THE CROWD
He's gonna start a church!
ANOTHER
Yeah, the Church of the Holy Faggots! Get outta' here!
MYRON
(Calmly, raising his arms outward)
Not at all, my friends, but I intend to start this. We will combine our talents and inspiration to lift ourselves out of self-loathing and bitterness. We shall give ourselves a reason to hope. We will remodel the jail!
Most of the gathered prisoners laugh loudly, mockingly. Many of the others, however, remain silent, looking at one another with quizzical looks on their faces. Laverne ceases his struggling and seats himself on the pavement beneath the table.
FROM THE CROWD
How? We can't even fart without the goons bangin' our heads!
MYRON
This is true, George. There are many things we can't do, but lifting ourselves and this institution by means of this endeavor is not among them. We will need painters and craftsmen...welders and carpenters and electricians. We will need to tap the vast artistic and intellectual resources of every man among us. More importantly, we will need to join hands and lay down our clubs and knives in order to succeed.
ZIPPO
(Shouting)
You'd like that you fuckin' queer!
(To the crowd)
He's gonna' get us lacy sheets, you fuckin' idiots. Pretty soon he'll have us kissin' in the showers. I'm out!
Zippo throws the ball in disgust. He saunters off toward the steel yard door, followed by his gang.
AN INMATE
(To a friend, quietly)
I wouldn't mind that so much.
ANOTHER INMATE
(out loud)
The warden'll never buy it, Myron.
ROLLO
He already has.
FADE
INT. WARDEN MARSTEN DICK'S OFFICE-CONTINIOUS
Marsten Dick is seated at his desk in his sparsely appointed office. A window to his right with potted plants beneath it overlooks the street outside. The walls paneled in Mahogany are decorated with lithos showing fighter planes in different formations. Across from his desk is a well-appointed floor to ceiling bookcase. The American flag stands on a wooden pole, anchored to a sturdy steel base next to the window. He is on the phone.
MARSTEN
Yes sir...Yes, Mayor, I understand completely.
I have taken every precau...
No sir, I quite agree, but the population has been quiet. I will definitely...I understand...Yes...I understand. Further measures will be taken.
Thank you, sir. I do wish to continue on here, and I know I can...
Marsten pauses and then holds the phone out in front of his eyes, looking at it with consternation visible on his face. He places it slowly onto the cradle on his desk. There is an urgent-sounding knock on his door.
MARSTEN
Come in.
The door swings in and a swarthy-looking uniformed guard enters. GUARD JACK walks quickly across the room to Marsten's desk. Marsten peers up at him; grabs a pencil from the container near the phone.
MARSTEN
What is it, Jack?
JACK
Sorry to bother you, Warden, but something's up.
MARSTEN
Christ.
JACK
Not exactly, sir. Maybe someone who knows Him, though.
MARSTEN
What the hell are you talking about?
JACK
The big black guy...Fleur...he called a meeting out in the yard an hour ago...
MARSTEN
A meeting? About what?
JACK
Well, I was coming to that, sir. Seems he wants to redecorate the cells in Block 1.
MARSTEN
You're joking.
JACK
No sir. And further, the new inmate, Rollo Heinz...he came in last night...said they'd already gotten the go-ahead from you. Sounded crazy to me, but there didn't appear to be any threat of a fight, so we let both of them ramble on.
MARSTEN
Get them in here right now. Jesus H. Christ.
JACK
Not sure He's with them, but...
MARSTEN
Just get out of here. Have them both in here in five minutes.
Jack leaves as quickly as he entered, not saying a word. Marsten tosses the pencil onto the desk, sits back in his chair, pondering.
MARSTEN (V.0.)
Christ Almighty. Like I don't have enough problems already...
FADE
INT. WARDEN MARSTEN DICK'S OFFICE-MORNING
An hour has elapsed since Jack left Marsten's office. There is a rap on the door. Marsten returns the phone to the cradle and then...
MARSTEN
(angrily)
Come in!
The door swings inward. Rollo enters first; clip-clopping to the warden's desk, smiling. Laverne enters next, shuffling to reach his friend's side. Then comes Myron, ducking his head as he passes under the entry jamb. Jack follows,frowning. He takes his place beside, but not close to, the prisoners.
MARSTEN
I thought I said five minutes.
JACK
(apologetically)
Sorry, sir, we couldn't find them...
MARSTEN
What the hell are you talking about? You couldn't find inmates in a goddam' jail?
MYRON
Begging your pardon, Warden, it wasn't his fault...
MARSTEN
It was his fault! And shut up till I tell you to talk.
Myron complies. Jack's mouth begins to twitter as he formulates a response. He rubs his hands nervously on his trousers.
MARSTEN
(addressing Myron)
What's going on?
LAVERNE
Heeth gonna' paint the jail!
MARSTEN
(to Jack)
Why the hell is he in here?
JACK
He's mixed up in it...
LAVERNE
It wath my idea, Warden...
MARSTEN
Be quiet, Budd.
Laverne
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