PRETTY GOOD PSYCHOPATHS

Pilot by

eva berlin sylvestre

BerlinSylvestre@gmail.com
404.723.1284
INT. MOTORCYCLE SHOP - DAY

An observant woman watches a MAN (40s, Caucasian, bad teeth)

clandestinely from over the bike she’s working on.

This is KENNA SAWYER. She’s 32, mocha-skinned, and edgy - a

razorblade in female form.

The man saunters into the shop like some “Billy Badass” with
his sleeveless Confederate flag shirt and work-stained jeans.

This is CLAY, and Kenna hates his 5-foot-6 fat ass already.

She stands, takes the rag slung over her shoulder and wipes
her grease-laden hands. Her voice is cold.

KENNA
You look lost.

The man, startled, spins in her direction. When he sees her,

he sneers, gets a “tone” of his own.

CLAY
Lost, huh? Funny comin’ from you.

She doesn’t need/care for an explanation.

KENNA
You need help or what?

CLAY
Yeah. I need to find a man-

KENNA
They’re all straight here.

Angry beat.

CLAY
...to fix my goddamn Harley - I
ain’t into that faggot shit.

A staredown. Without taking her eyes off him:

KENNA
Patrick!

From a small office, a fit young man comes out with a stack
of invoices he’s been working down.

PATRICK CHAMBLEE is 22, tatted, and sporting a tight black

tee and bulge-hugging Dickeys.
 2.

PATRICK
(to Kenna)
What’s up?

KENNA
“Bubba” here needs a man.

Patrick looks at Clay, confusion on his face. Clay takes a

step toward Kenna, not cool with that “Bubba”/gay business.

Kenna puts her hands into her jeans pocket and threads them
effortlessly into some brass knuckles she keeps in there,
pulls out a metal fist and leaves it at her side.

She doesn’t need to brandish - she knows he knows what’s up.

Clay stops his advance, but holds his rage face.

CLAY
Listen here, blackie-

PATRICK
(booming, sexy)
Hey! We don’t play that shit around
here, motherfucker. You understand
me?

Clay turns to Patrick.

CLAY
My brother ... I apologize. Let’s
start fresh, just me and you.

Patrick looks at Kenna. She nods “go ahead,” slips her hand
back into the pocket, pulls out a naked hand. Effortless.

CLAY (CONT’D)
I got a Harley loaded up out front
that I need some work on.

PATRICK
What’s wrong with it?

CLAY
Belt snapped and I can’t get a new
one on myself.

KENNA
The belt on your bike or the one
around your waist?

CLAY
Fuck you tryna say?

Patrick jumps in, a laugh under his next words:

 3.

PATRICK
Belts are a bitch, dude.

Clay shoots Kenna a glare. She’s smirking. Back to Patrick:

CLAY
Belts are a bitch. I read good
reviews on this shop.

PATRICK
That’s what we hear, yeah. Everyone
leaves happy and we guarantee our
work.

CLAY
Only other place with decent
reviews that’ll work on my old soft-
tail’s in NiggerTown and they can’t
get the part in ‘til next month.

PATRICK
Dude, “NiggerT--” what did I just
fuckin’ say, you piece of shit?! I
think you need to leave!

Kenna holds up a palm, gives him “calm yourself” eyes, which

he reluctantly does. His veiny arms still flex though, jaws
grind. He calms himself just enough:

PATRICK (CONT’D)
If you want to go ahead and unload
around back, we’ll take a look
first thing in the morning.

CLAY
How long you think it’ll take to
get it done?

PATRICK
Depends on if we have the belt in
stock.

KENNA
We do. It’s a Goodyear Falcon SPC,
rear-drive. Fits ‘95 to ‘99 soft-
tails.

Clay turns to her, sneers. He turns back to Patrick,

whispers:

CLAY
I know you a little hot-head for
this woman, but I’d re-check her
work, my brother.
 4.

Colored chicks tend to talk with

authority so folks like us’ll take
‘em seriously.

PATRICK
(salty)
Okay, yeah. I’ll go do that.

With narrow, angry eyes, Patrick heads to the back to pretend

he’s doing that very thing. We hear things slamming around.

Kenna walks behind the counter, grabs a socket wrench from

the counter. Clay smirks, watches her with disdain.

Patrick comes back with the belt. Without looking up from the
wrench as she checks for its size:

KENNA
Write up the quote, get him outta
here.

CLAY
“Get him outta here?” I’m a paying
customer. You don’t talk to-

She spins to him, the “razor” ready to cut.

KENNA
This is my shop, motherfucker, and
if you don’t like the way I run it,
you take your ass over to
“NiggerTown” and don’t even think
of showin’ your inbred face in my
shop again.

Beat.

KENNA (CONT’D)
“Bubba.”

Patrick cheeses hard as he crunches numbers. Another

staredown with Clay and Kenna.

CLAY
I been to prison for less than the
words you just spoke to me.

Kenna reaches her hand back in that pocket, but:

PATRICK
Okay! Great news! Seems we can have
it ready in two days at $350.
 5.

Clay peels his eyes off Kenna and turns them to Patrick,
eyebrows up in “that’s a good deal!”

CLAY
Hot damn. We got a deal, my
brother.

PATRICK
Patrick. My name is Patrick.

CLAY
And I’m Clay.

Clay makes to shake a hand, but it’s refused.

PATRICK
Sorry - germaphobe. We have a
payment upfront policy, cash only.

CLAY
Not a problem, Brother Patrick.

He pulls out an old leather wallet, swollen with cash.

Patrick’s eyes have never seen one so fat. Clay notices.

CLAY (CONT’D)
I don’t fuck with banks.

Kenna steps in front of Patrick, gently moves him aside.

KENNA
Get back to work.

Patrick heads back to the small office, resumes paperwork.

KENNA (CONT’D)
$350 even.

Clay smirks, counts out the money like a baller, showing off.
He hands it to her and she spins to get a counterfeit-money
pen.

She runs it across the three 100s and the 50 - they all come
back black - bad money. She turns back to him, sickened.

KENNA (CONT’D)
You motherfucker.

CLAY
Fuck you mean?

She shows him the black strips on the cash.

 6.

KENNA
This is counterfeit money.

CLAY
The hell it is! That’s good tender!

KENNA
No wonder you went to prison, you
dumb fuck. These aren’t even good
fakes.

Kenna grabs the phone, pretends to call 911.

KENNA (CONT’D)
Hello? Hi. My name’s Kenna Sawyer
and I own Sawyer Cycles in
Cabbagetown. I need an officer at-

CLAY
Hold on, stop stop stop! Hang up -
please! Gimme a chance to make this
right! (softly) I can’t go back to
prison, lady.

She gives him a “why should I help you?” look.

CLAY (CONT’D)
I’m serious: Lemme fix this.

KENNA
(to the phone)
I’m sorry. Everything’s fine. Just
a misunderstanding with a gentleman
whose eyes are too close together.
I’ll call back if I need you.
Thanks, Officer.

She puts the phone down. Clay’s too dumb to even notice it’s
an old phone that doesn’t have a cord hooked to the wall.

Sweating heavily and panicking, he opens his wallet, hands

her another $350.

KENNA (CONT’D)
It’s 500 now.

CLAY
500?!

Kenna reaches for the phone again.

CLAY (CONT’D)
Fine! 500!
 7.

He slams the money down. She grabs it, turns around, and
checks it with a different counterfeit pen - it comes back
yellow.

KENNA
Good thing for you, fatboy. It
checks out this time.

Clay gives his best smile, starts in on a sucking-up routine.

CLAY
Whew. That is a good thing. And
uhh, thank you for not gettin’ the
law out here. Mighty kind of ya.

A beat. She sees through him. He softens his voice.

CLAY (CONT’D)
So uhh ... can I get that $350
back?

KENNA
The counterfeit 350?! No, you
stupid-ass! If you want to know the
truth, I’m obligated to turn this
into the authorities as soon as I
discover it, along with the name of
the person I got it from. That what
you want?

CLAY
God no. I’m sorry I aske-

KENNA
You’re sorry, allright, and I’m
tried of lookin’ at you. So here’s
the deal: You’re gonna unload that
garbage-ass dinosaur of a
motorcycle around back within 10
minutes or I’m turning this fake-
ass money into the cops as Patrick
blocks your truck from leaving.
This deal is non-negotiable. Get
out of my face, or go back to
prison.

CLAY
Loud and clear, little lady. Gimme
10 minutes to unload and you won’t
hear a peep outta me ‘til it’s time
to get my bike. Scout’s honor.

He makes a Heil Hitler gesture on accident, changes it to the

three-finger Boy Scout gesture quickly. She sneers. Ugh.
 8.

KENNA
Patrick!

PATRICK
What’s up, Mama?

KENNA
Help Bubba the Felon unload his
bike and make sure his ass is gone
in 10 before I come out there and
fuck his world up.

PATRICK
On it!

Clay makes “prayer hands” at her in thanks. She gives him a

filthy look, watches him walk outta the shop with Patrick.

Once alone, she pulls off the counterfeit pen’s fake outer
casing revealing a black, washable kid’s marker.

She wipes the black strips off with a wet shop rag. All
better. (The money was real all along.)

She lays out a $100 stack.

KENNA
That’s for the “angry black woman”
comment.

Another $100 stack.

KENNA (CONT’D)
That’s for “NiggerTown,” you sister-
fucker.

Another $100 stack.

KENNA (CONT’D)
That’s for your stupid-ass shirt.

Another stack: $200

KENNA (CONT’D)
That’s for them teeth lookin’ like
they’re in a group hug.

And the rest: $350

KENNA (CONT’D)
And that’s ‘cause your family tree
doesn’t fork.
 9.

She puts it in the register, turns the OPEN sign off.

DISSOLVE TO

INT. APARTMENT - MORNING

There are PostIt notes of all colors everywhere in this super-

clean apartment. They’re on walls, doors, windows, remotes.
Everywhere.

TEDDY BRISTOW (28, boyish face and constant, sweet grin) is

carrying a watering can and giving all the houseplants a nice
drink.

TEDDY
(to an indoor palm)
There ya go, little fella. Lookin’
good this morning, I must say!

He moves to an orchid on a small table. A tiny, tiny pour.

TEDDY
Only a little for you, my gorgeous
friend. You’re a dainty thing, yes
indeed, madame.

He waters a few other plants in random spots, then spins to

take them all in.

TEDDY
Everybody good?

He “listens” to them.

TEDDY
Gooood. I was hoping you’d say
that, ‘cause now it’s my turn, and
your boy Teddy is thirsty himself.

Pep in his step, he heads to the

INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS

and stores the watering can on the top of the fridge before
reaching in and grabbing a clear-plastic container of OJ.

As he stands there drinking from the jug, he reads a few

PostIts stuck to the fridge.
 10.

One PostIt: TAKE YOUR MEDS. RIGHT NOW.

Another: DOCTOR EVERY TUESDAY

Another: YOUR GF’S NAME IS GRACE

Another: YOUR ROOMIE’S NAME IS TEDDY

Another: FEED THE CAT EVERY DAY, NO EXCEPTIONS

Teddy drinks all but a tiny bit, puts it back in the fridge.

He turns to the PostIt-covered cabinets, gets a box of

cereal, sits at the table.

The PostIt on the cereal: THIS IS MINE. Teddy reaches in,

eats it dry.

From the other side of the apartment, the sound of a bedroom

door opening. It’s the roomie, JORGE GUTIERREZ (25, Latino,
clean-cut).

He steps into the kitchen, nods hello, notices the cereal.

JORGE
Oh my God, I love Honey Oh’s! It’s
the best!

Teddy nods, boyish grin in full effect

TEDDY
Same here, my dude. I buy it every
week.

Jorge opens the fridge, grabs a protein shake with a THIS IS

MINE PostIt on it, closes the fridge, and reads the notes.

JORGE
Wait. What’s today?

TEDDY
Tuesday. You gotta doc appointment.
And you should also take your
medicine.

JORGE
You’re so right! You’ve got a great
memory. Cherish it. And thanks for
the meds reminder ...

He looks at the “ROOMIE’S NAME IS” PostIt.

JORGE
... Teddy. Thanks, Teddy.
 11.

TEDDY
You got it, my man.

JORGE
I’m gonna chug this on the way to
the doc’s. You have a good one.

Teddy smiles, crunching on Jorge’s cereal, gives him a

military salute.

As soon as Jorge’s out of the apartment, Teddy opens a drawer

full of blank PostIts.

In the all caps Jorge uses, he writes: PAY TEDDY THE $200 YOU
OWE HIM FOR ELEC. BILL. Then he slaps it on the fridge next
to the reminder of who Teddy is.

He looks into the living room at the orchid, “listens” to it.

TEDDY
Don’t judge me, woman.

Listens.

TEDDY
Of course Jorge paid the damn
electricity bill! He’s the one who
gets settlement money every month!

Listens.

TEDDY
(mockingly)
“hE hAs sHoRt-TeRm MeMoRy fRoM a
cHiLdHoOd bRaIn iNjUry!” Wow. How
awful getting paid fat cash for
having a little less brain cells.
And no: I don’t feel bad, and I
find it pretty rude of you to ask
me that, frankly.

Listens.

TEDDY
It’s not stealing if he gives it to
me freely! Y’know what, Candace?
Just be quiet. You orchids and your
high-horses, I swear.

Listens.

TEDDY
No ma’am: You take that back!
 12.

He gets up and storms to the

INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

... and stands before “Candace.” He stares at her, his POV.

She’s, of course, just a still plant.

Her POV, now, makes it seem she’s staring back, watching his
face screwing up. He’s losing a showdown. With a plant.

He puts his palms up, exasperated.

TEDDY
I can’t with you right now.

He storms into ...

INT. TEDDY’S BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS

He throws himself on the bed, grabs an open laptop, and goes

to Amazon. He types in YEEZY and a list of expensive shoes
comes up. He sorts by low to high, scrolls down until he gets
in the $200 range.

He finds a pair and clicks ADD TO LIST.

Then he goes to Monster.com to look for graphic design jobs.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. TEDDY'S BEDROOM - AFTERNOON

He awakens to the sound of the front door. The laptop is on

his chest and he’s still in PJs. A woman laughs from the
foyer.

It’s GRACE MITCHELL (24, half-Asian, Jorge’s girlfriend and

caretaker with a great instinct about people).

GRACE (O.S.)
These shoes, oh my gaaaaahd. They
kill my feet, babe.

Teddy jumps outta bed and throws on a tee and some basketball
shorts.

INT. TEDDY’S BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS

He wets his hair, chest, and armpits, steps into the

 13.

INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

TEDDY
Hey, guys!

They see him, Grace smiles wanly while Jorge smiles big,
brandishing a large takeout bag of Thai.

GRACE
Hey, Teddy. You look ... well-
sweated.

TEDDY
You know me - no excuses to skip a
gym sesh!

He comes down the hall, follows them in to the

INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

Grace is eyeing all the greenery.

GRACE
These plants look incredible. Wow.

TEDDY
Thanks, Grace. Just a little water
and sun and they somehow grow.

GRACE
(jovially)
Water and sun makes plants grow.
You should write that down, get it
published.

Teddy laughs a bit.

JORGE
I’m gonna set up the plates. I got
you some food, too.

TEDDY
Whaaaat? You didn’t have to do
that.

JORGE
Well I had a PostIt that said you
bought me dinner last night and
that I owed you.

After Grace and Jorge head into the kitchen, Teddy makes a
“ha ha” face at Candace, then joins them.
 14.

INT. KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS

Grace is gathering the plates, Jorge is laying out the boxes

on the table. Teddy gets napkins and a six-pack of Sweetwater
420.

He seats himself at the table, going through the boxes. He

finds a small one with a single basil roll in it, shoves it
in his mouth.

Grace gawks in disbelief.

GRACE
Teddy, that was mine.

TEDDY
(mouth full)
Oh shit! My bad!

Grace’s face is tempered annoyance. Coldly:

GRACE
That’s fine.

She looks over at Jorge, who looks befuddled around the

cabinets.

GRACE
Babe, what’s wrong?

JORGE
I forgot which drawer the
silverware’s in. I keep forgetting
to make PostIts for them.

She quickly makes her way to him and touches his shoulders,
guiding him to the table lovingly.

GRACE
You sit. Relax. I got this.

Jorge turns his head up for a kiss, gets one on the forehead.
He’s a giddy ball of love.

Then he looks at Teddy, who’s eating pad Thai with his

fingers and his face falls.

Grace returns with enough silverware for all of them, but

freezes when she sees Teddy stuffing noodles into his face.

GRACE
Are you serious right now? Did you
even wash your hands?
 15.

TEDDY
Of course I did!

She gives him a “bull-fucking-shit” face. Sits. Teddy takes a

fork from her and digs into the pad Thai.

GRACE
That was Jorge’s dinner, just so
you know. Not that it matters now.

TEDDY
(mouth full)
Oh shit! My bad!

He pushes the box toward Jorge, but Grace stops it mid-table.

GRACE
(deadpan)
It’s yours now, Teddy. Enjoy.

She opens some tom yum soup and a box of laab for Jorge. He
smiles down at it, taking a good sniff. As he does, Grace
shakes her head at Teddy, who’s too busy scarfing food to
notice.

JORGE
Ayyyyyy. I bet this would be
awesome with sriracha!

Grace smiles at him.

GRACE
Good call, babe. You remember where
it is?

He tries to ...

GRACE
In the lazy Susan next to the
fridge.

He hops up, heads that way and spins it, grabbing it as it

passes. Then he notices the new PostIt on the fridge.

He sits back down, hands Grace the unopened sauce first.

JORGE
Ladies first.

She gives him a loving look, begins peeling off the plastic.
As she does so, he takes out his wallet and begins to write a
check.

Grace stops, noticing.

 16.

GRACE
Whatcha doin’, hon?

JORGE
Ohhh, I owe Teddy a couple hundred
bucks. He paid the electricity bill
last month.

GRACE
Ummm ... no he didn’t. I went with
you to pay it. I even kept the
receipt - it was $137.

Teddy stops eating, pretends to choke on his food. It’s the

stupidest-looking choke session in existence.

Jorge looks unconvinced that Grace is right - Teddy is his

friend, after all. Grace looks ready for Teddy to die
choking.

JORGE
Teddy! Hey! You okay, man?!

GRACE
He’s fine.

Teddy makes an even crazier display, clutching his neck and

throwing himself onto the floor.

Jorge makes to get up, but Grace stops him with more
aggression than she’s ever shown her boyfriend. Very “SIT!”

She stares down at him.

TEDDY
Jorge! Help ... me! Can’t ...
breathe!

He inhales deeply to continue:

TEDDY
Seriously! I need you to call 911!

JORGE
Grace! We have to act!

GRACE
Jorge! People who can’t breathe
can’t talk. Much less-

Teddy inhales again.

 17.

GRACE
Fucking INHALE. His airways aren’t
blocked.

They stare at him for a beat. He thrashes and it looks so

stupid. Now Jorge sees his act for what it is.

JORGE
He was scamming me?

GRACE
It would appear so.

Teddy stops moving, closes his eyes like he may have passed
out. Grace gets up, gets the Thai bag, and throws all the
food into it, trash-style.

JORGE
Honey, what’re you doi-

GRACE
We’re leaving. You and I are going
out to eat, and if I were you
Teddy? I’d get the fuck up and pack
your shit. Taking advantage of a
handicapped man for God knows how
long is an offense I could fucking
hang you for.

JORGE
Because she’s an attorney!
(quietly, to Grace) Right?

GRACE
Goddamn right. And a good one.

Teddy still lays there, eyes closed.

JORGE
Pack your shit ...

TEDDY
(eyes still shut)
Teddy.

JORGE
Teddy. Get it gone or I’ll have ...

GRACE
Grace.

JORGE
Grace end you, ese.
 18.

GRACE
Let’s go, babe. I’ll drive.

Grace makes sure to take the bag so Teddy can’t eat anything
in it. They leave, sure to slam the door on the way out.

Once Teddy’s sure they’re not coming back, he opens his eyes.

TEDDY
SHUT THE FUCK UP, CANDACE!

FADE OUT.

FADE IN:

INT. SEVEN LAMPS RESTAURANT - MORNING

A scruffy server wipes menus clean at the hostess stand. This

is EVERETT MONTGOMERY (32, Southern as hell and ruggedly
handsome).

His face shows unhappiness at the tedium, though. But when

his boss, DAN HORTON (black, portly, early 50s) unlocks the
door and walks in, Everett puts on a brighter look.

DAN
Mornin’!

EVERETT
Hey hey.

Dan walks over, inspects the menus.

DAN
Lookin’ good.

EVERETT
I work hard to keep the place
clean, Mr. Horton.

DAN
I know it, Everett. You work damn
hard here.

Charming smile:

EVERETT
Which is why I should get that
bartender promotion, right?

Dan smiles wanly, pats Everett’s shoulder.

 19.

DAN
We’ve been over this, Everett: I
need someone with at least three
years experience.

EVERETT
I’m a quick study, I swear!

DAN
It’s just business. Anyway: I gotta
make the schedules for the week so
I’ll need some quiet time in the
back - unless someone comes in
looking to fill the position. Then
come get me.

Everett’s jaw clenches, though he maintains his smile.

EVERETT
You got it, Mr. Horton.

DAN
Everett. Stop with the Mr. Horton
shit. It’s Dan.

EVERETT
You got it, Dan.

Dan walks to the back. Everett’s smile fades. He scrubs the

SHIT outta the menus like they owe him money.

A man shows up outside Seven Lamps’ door. He makes sure he’s

at the right address, then walks in.

He’s carrying an attaché and there’s just this cocky look to

him, something in his face and walk. And the attache. Jesus.

This is JOHN WILLIS. He’s 26, blond/blue/tall. He gives the

“sup” nod to Everett. It’s not returned. Not even a smile.

EVERETT
Welcome to Seven Lamps. Just one?

The reply is said like it’s a question, the way Californians

talk - a pet peeve of our Southern boy.

JOHN
Actually, I’m looking for a
manager??

EVERETT
He’s not here. Maybe I can help.
 20.

JOHN
Maybe ... I’d like to drop off my
resume for the mixologist
position??

Everett smirks.

EVERETT
“Mixologist.” Okay ...

John gives Everett an up and down once over, paying mind to

the stubble. John rubs his clean, smooth face in a way that
says, “God, my face is so much better than yours.”

Everett gives him a face that says “Omg, you look so dumb to
me right now.”

JOHN
Anyway??

He opens his attache, pulls out a beautiful resume complete

with a headshot.

JOHN
Give this to your manager??

Everett takes it without losing eye contact.

EVERETT
I’ll be sure to do that.

There’s tension between them for a beat. John doesn’t trust

Everett, that’s evident.

JOHN
I’ll email it to management, too.
Just in case they don’t get the
physical copy.

A quiet beat.

John gives a nose-laugh and spins on his heels, leaves

dismissively. Everett folds the resume sloppily and puts it
in his server book.

FADE OUT.

FADE IN:
 21.

INT. EVERETT’S ROOM - NIGHT

Everett’s seated in his dark bedroom at a computer desk,

studying the resume. On it, he reads that John’s from San
Diego and has 5 years experience as a “mixologist.”

DAN (V.O.)
“I need someone with at least three
years experience.”

Everett zooms in on John’s smug face in the stupid-ass

headshot.

EVERETT
Cali-ass bitch.

He puts it aside, logs into Facebook, and finds John’s

account. Most of them are travel pics and selfies of himself
with hot women.

He creates a folder on his computer called ‘douche,’ then

gets back to FB, copying the images of John and putting them
into the folder.

Then, he switches to Gmail, logs out, and creates a fake

account: JohnWillis90210, password: StreakMarks69

Then he signs out of Facebook, creates a new one for “John

Willis” using the fake Gmail account.

He uploads a few of the ‘douche’ folder pics, and adds some

captions.

Under one: “This was taken right before the Straight Pride
rally! Fuck LGBT!”

Under another one, in which an old church happens to be in

the background: “REAL men love Jesus! Fuck Prop 8! God made
Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve!”

He makes the account private, so as not to call attention to

outsiders who may know John (or to alert John himself) then
sends a friend request from “John” to Everett’s personal FB.

Then he logs back into his personal Facebook account.

Our Southern boy leans back in his chair, smiles to himself,

and hits accept on “John’s” private-account request.

He looks good when he’s naughty. He FEELS good when he’s

naughty.
 22.

He pulls John’s resume out of his server book and and slips a
hand down his pants. He gets to work, staring dead into the
eyes of Cali-boy’s headshot.

It’s a grudge-jerk and he’s grins as he feverishly works one

out.

EVERETT
I got some shit for you to
‘mixology,’ Cali-boy. Shake THIS
load!

Zoom in on John’s cocky face, overlay Everett’s cum-sounds.

FADE OUT.

FADE IN:

INT. SEVEN LAMPS RESTAURANT - NIGHT

It’s the next night. Everett is cashing out in the office

with Dan. Credit-card receipts, cash, everything is being
tallied.

Dan is typing agonizingly slowly into a computer. He sucks at

anything tech. He quickly messes up some numbers.

DAN
Shit! I hate computers!

Everett slides Dan’s rolly chair back.

EVERETT
Just let me do it, damn.

Dan obliges.

EVERETT
I don’t know why you insist on
being owner and manager when you’re
so bad with technology. Hire a damn
manager, Dan.

DAN
Watch it, son.

They’re both smiling.

EVERETT
And a good bartender.
 23.

DAN
Find me one with experience and
we’ll talk.

Everett fixes the numbers, hands over his credit-card slips

and the appropriate amount of cash, then pockets his keep.

EVERETT
Wouldn’t hurt if I made what good
barkeeps do, but I won’t dwell.

DAN
Oh! Speakin’ of, I got an email
from a mixology!

EVERETT
“Mixologist.” And yeah: I found his
resume in the hostess stand, took a
look.

DAN
(amused)
You did, huh? Lemme guess: You hate
him.

EVERETT
Well, actually, I thought he seemed
fit for the gig, judging by his
experience.

Dan looks amused, surprised.

DAN
So should we bring him in for an
interview?

A beat in which Everett pretends to think hard about

something.

EVERETT
Actually ... I’m gonna let you be
the judge of that. I wanna show you
something.

Everett logs into his Facebook account on the computer and

hunts down “John Willis’ page.” The one he made, of course.

Everett pulls up the pics and captions while Dan leans in to

read the awful captions.

DAN
Adam and Steve?!

Dan clicks on another pic.

 24.

DAN
Straight Pride?! That son of a
bitch!

EVERETT
In fairness, Dan, he may have
changed his tune since then.

DAN
BULLSHIT! Either you were with us
or you were against us!

Dan is apoplectic, red, blood-pressure amped.

EVERETT
(softly)
People can change, Dan.

DAN
No! Fuck that! This guy can go
straight to hell! Get his face off
my screen!

Everett fakes sorrow at having brought it up.

EVERETT
I shouldn’t have shown you that.
I’m so sorry.

DAN
You don’t apologize for a damn
thing - you did me a favor, son.

Everett is silent, letting it all sink in. Dan wipes his

sweaty face on his shirt sleeve. He’s stewing.

EVERETT
Should we at least call him in to
ask if he’s got a different view of-

Dan’s “wtf” face cuts him off.

DAN
Everett? If I ever see that
motherfucker in my restaurant, I’m
gonna catch some charges. You hear
me?

EVERETT
Loud and clear. I’ll make sure he
never steps foot in here, Dan. You
have my word.
 25.

Dan takes a sip of the lemon water that’s been sitting in his
office. He breathes deeply, gets it together.

DAN
Thank you. I mean that. You just
saved my ass from potentially
hiring a homophobe. You’re my guy.
I know that now.

Everett stands, gives Dan a shoulder pat.

EVERETT
Breathe deep.

Dan does.

EVERETT
Good job. Keep at it. You need help
closing?

DAN
Nope. I just need you to start
training Monday.

EVERETT
For ... the bartender position?

DAN
That’s the plan, Stan. Now go home,
get some rest. You did good today.

Everett throws his arms around Dan, gets a big, loving pat.

EVERETT
You sure you don’t need help
closing?

DAN
Everett! Go!

Everett smiles big, does a cute little curtsy, leaves.

EXT. LENOX ROAD - CONTINUOUS

Everett walks tall, proud.

EVERETT
I’m a mixologist now, baby.

FADE OUT.
 26.

FADE IN:

INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT

Rifling through a closet full of long, denim skirts, ALICE

PRESCOTT (24, effortlessly pretty, a former Mennonite getting
used to life outside the faith) furrows, sighs.

ALICE
(mocking herself)
“I’m gonna get some new clothes
soon!” Great job, me.

From the next room, a man’s voice. This is a JACOB MITCHELL,

her boyfriend. He’s 24, too, and incredibly certain that he’s
always the coolest guy in every room.

Most people wonder why they’re together - but most people

don’t know what’s beneath Alice.

ALICE
(to herself)
Everything I wanna wear is dirty.

JACOB (O.S.)
What?

ALICE
Nothing! Just talking to myself.

JACOB (O.S.)
You’re becoming your mother.

ALICE
You’ve never even met my mother.

JACOB (O.S.)
I know, but old women do that.

Alice makes a “what???” face and closes the closet.

She heads to a laundry basket of dirty clothes and finds a

pair of denim shorts - same color as the skirts.

On they go. She keeps her wrinkly navy tee on. Whatever.

She walks into

INT. LIVING ROOM - CONTINUOUS

and kisses Jacob, who’s playing a video game in a tank-top

and boxers. Total “off-day” look.
 27.

ALICE
I’ll be back in a few hours. You
want Taco Bell for dinner?

He hits pause, turns to her with an angry face.

JACOB
You’re drivin’ again?

ALICE
It’s Saturday night, babe - best
time to make money.

He unpauses, presses buttons fast, fighting foes perhaps a

little too angrily.

JACOB
You love being around those drunk,
weekend perverts.

She touches his hair.

ALICE
It’s money, honey. You work at a
car wash to pay for your toys, I
drive for Lyfted to pay for mine.

JACOB
Yeah, but the folks at the car wash
don’t hit on me. You’re like a
prostitute with how much like these
jerks tryin’ to get into your
pants.

She removes her hand from his hair. She doesn’t dig that
diatribe - at all. She keeps her voice cool, though.

ALICE
(heavy sarcasm)
Lyfted drivers are prostitutes. Got
it. Anyway, I work on the weekends
to make sure rent gets paid on
time.

He smashes pause, turns to her.

JACOB
Oh, here we go again. You always
hold it against me that I fell
behind on rent a few times. Always
so cool of you, Alice. Maybe I
should prostitute like you.

He goes back to his game.

 28.

ALICE
Stop saying that, Jacob. And I’ve
never held that over your head.
You’re the one who always brings it
up.

He says nothing, presses at buttons. Fuckin’ brat.

ALICE
Kiss me goodbye. I hate leaving
with you mad at me.

She leans down. He refuses the kiss.

JACOB
Try not to fuck anyone while you’re
out. For the “money, honey!”

Her unseen face looks murderous.

ALICE
Right. I’ll do my best.

She walks out into the

INT. APARTMENT HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS

ALICE
JK. I’ll definitely be fucking
someone tonight.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. CAR - NIGHT

Alice waits in the parking lot of The Vortex (L5P). Her phone
chimes - a person is in need of a ride. It’s a woman,
KATELYNN (20, young professional with the sorority vibe goin’
strong).

She accepts the request and Katelynn wobbles up to her car.

She’s all slurs:

KATELYNN
Are you ... (looks at phone) ...
Alice?

ALICE
I am! Hop in!

Katelynn holds onto the car as she rounds it and gets into
the backseat. She’s majorly drunk.
 29.

KATELYNN
I’m so fuuuuuuucked uuuuuup, omg.

ALICE
Oh no! You feel okay? You sick?

KATELYNN
I feel like I might throw up all
those Long-Island ice-teas. I don’t
know, though.

ALICE
Listen: I’ll drive slowly and
carefully. But you can cancel if
you think you’ll be sick.

KATELYNN
No, I need to get home. I gotta
work in the morning.

ALICE
Then you just relax and let me get
you on home where a comfy bed
awaits.

Katelynn says nothing, lays her head against the window.

Alice pulls out into traffic. She checks for cops. All clear.

Then she guns it. Katelynn’s head bobbles.

GPS
In 500 feet, make a right onto
Barnett Street.

Alice guns it makes a hard, sharp right. Katelynn topples

onto her side. Her hair covers her face and she makes a sad,
drunken attempt to clear it.

KATELYNN
What the fuck, dude?

GPS
In 1000 feet, make a left onto
Virginia Avenue.

Alice checks for cops again, guns it, changing lanes

erratically for no apparent reason. Katelynn is looking
pretty green.

KATELYNN
I’m gonna ...

Her cheeks puff as Alice brakes hard at a red light. The

drunk passenger is about to blow.
 30.

Green light! Alice guns it and makes that sharp turn onto
Virginia.

GPS
Make a right onto Park Drive.

A hard right is made and Katelynn is done for. She pukes all
over the rear passenger floorboard. It’s copious.

Alice hauls ass and turns into Eats on Ponce. Katelynn is

drunk-crying.

KATELYNN
Oh my gaaaaaahhhhhd. It got in my
haairrrr!

ALICE
It got all over my car! Out! Get
out!

KATELYNN
What? No - you’re taking me home,
bitch.

EXT. PARKING LOT OF EATS - CONTINUOUS

Alice steps outta the car, opens Katelynn’s door.

ALICE
No, “bitch” - I’m ending the ride.
And I hope you like that automatic
$300 vomit charge.

Katelynn cries harder.

KATELYNN
I just wanna go home.

ALICE
Get out of my car.

A uniformed police officer, (EDDIE O’BRIEN, black, built like

a brick shithouse) is walking out of Eats with some takeout.

ALICE
Officer: I’m sorry. Are you on
duty? I need some help.

OFFICER O’BRIEN
No, but whatcha need?
 31.

ALICE
This woman won’t get out of my car.
I drive for Lyfted, by the way. She
threw up a lot of alcohol in my
backseat and I’m not even sure
she’s of legal age to drink.

KATELYNN
I’m 20, bitch!

Officer O’Brien leans in to take a look, flabbergasted at the

admission.

KATELYNN
I mean 21 ... 20-fucking-1! I have
ID, watch!

The officer puts his food on top of Alice’s car, waits for
Katelynn to drunkenly produce her license. O’Brien takes a
look.

OFFICER O’BRIEN
Riiiight. Okay, so this is fake.

Katelynn stumbles out, and belligerently sticks a finger to

his chest.

KATELYNN
NO! NNNNNO! IT’S REAL!

Alice is smiling, nodding to herself - it’s too perfect.

The officer grabs Katelynn’s wrist, turns her around.

OFFICER O’BRIEN
(to Alice)
Yeah, I’ll take care of this. You
go on ahead and get that car
cleaned.

Alice grabs his food from the top of her car.

ALICE
Where do you want this?

OFFICER O’BRIEN
Oh. Can you put it on my car?

He nods toward a black sedan with a “back the blue” sticker.

She jogs over, puts it on the hood.

Katelynn is cuffed now, screaming.

 32.

KATELYNN
HELLLP! HELP MEEE! SOMEBODY HELP
ME! THIS BLACK COP IS GRABBING MY
TITS! HE TOUCHED MY PUSSY!

A few of the homeless regulars laugh their ass off. O’Brien

says something into his walkie-talkie while they cackle.

KATELYNN
HOW DARE YOU LAUGH?! HE RAPED ME!!!

Alice returns to her car and waits for him to get off the
walkie-talkie. He’s so tired and his poor face shows it.

ALICE
You need anything? Some water?

OFFICER O’BRIEN
No, ma’am. Just try and have a
better night, okay?

She smiles at him, who’s busy sitting the wriggling, crying

drunkard onto the curb.

ALICE
Same to you, officer.

KATELYNN
FUCK YOU! SHE TOUCHED MY PUSSY TOO!

Alice laughs heartily, climbs into

INT. CAR - CONTINUOUS

and hits “End Shift” via the Lyfted app. She turns the
rearview mirror to her face, to have a one-on-one with
herself.

ALICE
Did you just make 300 bucks in less
than 15 minutes? Yeah, you did, Ms.
Prescott. You always make that
money, honey.

She fixes the mirror to its proper position.

ALICE
Ugh! What the heck’s in Long-Island
ice-tea - rocket fuel?

She rolls down the windows, then calls Jacob. Three rings:
 33.

JACOB (V.O.)
I’m battling. Talk quick.

ALICE
Someone puked in my car.

JACOB (V.O.)
Again?! Babe! Why do you keep
picking up drunk people?!

ALICE
I don’t know, Jacob, but you may be
onto something. Maybe I need to
stop.

JACOB (V.O.)
Uhhhh, yeah? You can make money
other ways ... like ... be a model
or an actress or some shit. You’re
hot as fuck.

ALICE
Please don’t swear. You know I hate
that.

JACOB (V.O.)
Get over it - that’s how I talk.
You comin’ home now?

The sounds of fevered button-pushing.

ALICE
I am. Can you ummm ...

JACOB (V.O.)
Clean the fucking puke tomorrow?

ALICE
(meekly)
Please?

JACOB (V.O.)
Jesus fucking Christ.

ALICE
JACOB! That’s the worst swear!

JACOB (V.O.)
Fine, yeah, whatever. Just bring it
into the shop and I’ll get it taken
care of.
 34.

ALICE
Awww. You’re the best. I love you
so much.

JACOB (V.O.)
Okay. Get me three soft taco
supremes - no tomatoes because-

ALICE
You’re allergic, yes I know. I’ll
be there in 20.

JACOB (V.O.)
K. I’m about to do a boss-battle so
don’t call back. Just bring the
food.

She rolls her eyes, keeps her voice cheery.

ALICE
Sure thing. Love yoooouuuu!

He hangs up.

ALICE
(to herself)
Because you wash this fuckin’ car
for free like the idiot I know you
are.

She tilts the mirror downward again.

ALICE
And did you ask for extra tomatoes,
Jakey? I feel like you did.
(bitterly) Love ya, babe.

Ugh face, then a proper mirror reposition. She drives forward

gently, carefully. Like she normally does. All with a smile.

[DP: Focus on her rear tire leaving, leave the camera on the
ground. Bullitt is about to pull up right where she left.
Focus on his tire. An almost “invisible cut,” if you will.]

EXT. PARKING LOT OF EAT’S - CONTINUOUS

A sleek motorcycle pulls into the spot Alice just left. On

it, a tall fella with big hands cuts the engine. This is SEAN
“BULLITT” FLANNERY. He’s 33 and turns heads without trying,
even though he’s usually scowling.

Not a huge fan of people, this one.

 35.

He dismounts, pulls off his helmet, and fixes his hair a bit.
Then he scans the cars in the lot. None of them match what
he’s looking for.

He walks around back, putting his bike gloves into his

messenger bag.

There it is: a black luxury sedan. In it, GA STATE REP. REID

MALLORY, 63, rotund, and as conservative as they come. His
car is still running, a quiet purr.

He’s acting paranoid though - doesn’t roll down his window in

greeting, instead looks around to see if anyone’s watching.

Bullitt stops walking toward him, makes a “you gonna be okay,

old man?” type of impatient face. Rep. Mallory quickly waves
him at his to get the fuck in.

Bullitt climbs in the passenger side, buckles his seat belt.

Rep. Mallory looks around some more.

BULLITT
Will you calm the fuck down?

REP. MALLORY
No. I won’t. The minute I let my
guard down is the minute I’m all
over the news.

BULLITT
Jesus Hussein Christ.

Rep. Mallory backs outta the spot, pulls into the newly-
revamped Clermont Hotel. Bullitt turns in his seat, stares at
the old man.

BULLITT
The Clermont? Really? You’re trying
not to be seen, but you go to the
Clermont?

They park.

REP. MALLORY
I got people here, boy. Just be
quiet.

Bullitt taps on his motorcycle helmet, trying to be quiet.

REP. MALLORY
I reserved a room under your name.
You check in, and I’ll be up in 10
minutes.
 36.

BULLITT
Fair enough.

Bullitt steps out.

BULLITT
(under his breath)
This son of a bitch, oh my god.

He enters

INT. CLERMONT LOBBY - CONTINUOUS

and pulls out his wallet. The black woman at the counter
(60s, blond wig, busty) takes his ID, types some stuff up.

This is DEBBIE JONES, but people call her BLONDIE.

BLONDIE
Okay, I got you down for room 206.
You need a credit card, though.

BULLITT
Isn’t it paid for?

BLONDIE
It’s for incidentals - in case you
drink from our mini-bar, stuff like
that.

He produces one, she types in the numbers, then hands him the
card back, along with two hotel keys.

BLONDIE
Okay, honey. Be sure to visit the
lounge.

Bullitt smiles knowingly.

BULLITT
Oh, I have. Trust.

She winks at him, shimmies her breasts a bit. He bites his

lip in “mmmph!” playing with her, then takes the stairs to
206.

INT. HOTEL - CONTINUOUS

Bullitt puts his helmet down and takes off his backpack. His
cell rings - Rep. Mallory.
 37.

BULLITT
Hey.

REP. MALLORY (V.O.)

You in yet?

BULLITT
I’m still in the lobby! I’ll call
you when I’m in the room - gah!

He hangs up on him. Then, he pulls a camera from his bag, a

digital video recorder. He hides it on the dresser, pointed
at the bed. A room-service menu disguises it well enough.

He turns it on, tests the angle - perfect. It’ll catch

everything. All set. He dials.

BULLITT
Room 206.

Click.

He uses the mirror on the dresser to make sure his hair’s

lookin’ good. Turns to the side to check his physique - he’s
gonna be on camera, after all.

A quiet knock on the door. Bullitt gets it, Rep. Mallory

slips in quickly. He tries to kiss Bullitt, but is rejected.

BULLITT
(loud, for the camera)
Damn, dude. A kiss? You know I’m
not into that.

REP. MALLORY
I pay you enough for it!

BULLITT
Do you whine like this down at the
Gold Dome? Damn.

REP. MALLORY
Whining is for liberals.

BULLITT
Whatever. Cash upfront.

Rep. Mallory reaches into the inner pocket of his black suit
jacket, gets $500 out.

BULLITT
$500 it is.
 38.

Rep. Mallory reaches for Bullitt’s belt buckle. The rep is so

sweaty, so ready for action that it’s gross. Unnerving.

BULLITT
Dude! Give me a damn minute!

REP. MALLORY
I got needs, boy!

Bullitt points to the bed.

BULLITT
Over there.

The rep takes his jacket off, pits soaked, and sits on the
edge of the bed, right in front of the camera.

Bullitt takes a condom out of his motorcycle jacket, tears it

open with his teeth.

He positions himself in front of the fat man, undoes his own

belt buckle. The rep breathes heavier than before. His eyes
are wanton, filled with lust.

BULLITT
You like what you see?

REP. MALLORY
Goddamn right.

BULLITT
That’s a bad word for a “man of
God.”

REP. MALLORY
Don’t believe everything I say on
TV - dick is Lord, and the Lord is
good.

Though we can’t see it, Bullitt’s whipped it out. We can

tell, though, by the rep’s eyes and extra-watery mouth.

He hands the rep the condom.

BULLITT
Put it on me, you gay motherfucker.

REP. MALLORY
Gladly.

And he does. Then he leans in to suck, but Bullitt pushes his

head back.
 39.

BULLITT
Stick your tongue out, you sick
fuck.

We hear it being slapped by Bullitt’s dick. Moans from the

rep, throaty, hungry for more. He reaches around, pulls
Bullitt in closer to him by the ass.

But Bullit rams it in there, chokes the guy. He gags, then

breathes hard. LOVES it.

BULLITT
Lay down, Reid Mallory.

REP. MALLORY
You know I ain’t into gettin’
fucked.

BULLITT
Too late. You’re fucked.

The rep’s face screws up in confusion.

REP. MALLORY
What’re you on about, boy?

Bullitt pulls off the condom, throws it on the rep, then does
his pants back up.

BULLITT
Gee. Where do I start? You know I’m
a photographer, right?

REP. MALLORY
I do.

The rep licks the inside of the condom mindlessly, like it’s
some kind of compulsion he can’t control.

BULLITT
And you know that I’m struggling.

REP. MALLORY
I pay you higher than the going
rate these days!

Bullitt laughs that the rep knows the going rate - and it’s
all on tape.

REP. MALLORY
What the hell are you laughin’ at,
boy?
 40.

BULLITT
I’m laughing at this.

He moves the menu, shows the camera. The rep struggles to sit
upright, rolls onto his side instead.

Bullitt readies himself for a fight.

REP. MALLORY
Is that what I think it is?!

BULLITT
If you think it’s a camera, yeah.
It is.

The much-shorter rep reaches for it. No dice. Bullitt knocks

him back with a single-handed push. On the floor, the rep
knows he’s done for unless he gets that footage cleared.

REP. MALLORY
What do you want, goddamn you?

BULLITT
That’s a tough one to answer for
me.

REP. MALLORY
Get to the point and stop fuckin’
with me!

BULLITT
I’m thinking $50,000.

REP. MALLORY
You’re outta your goddamn mind! And
you just recorded yourself tryin’
to extort me!

BULLITT
Yeah. I’ll delete that part.

The rep gets up with much trepidation and charges at Bullitt

who gives him a solid kick in the gut. Back down he does.

BULLITT
$50,000 and I destroy this footage.
It’s either that, or I destroy your
career.

REP. MALLORY
I could have you killed for this!
 41.

BULLITT
Aaaaaand that was recorded, too. I
bet that bumps the worth of this
video to ... what? $70,000? Death
threats are pretty huge.

Rep. Mallory starts crying, a strange whining sound.

BULLITT
Ooh! I bet WSB-TV would love to get
their hands on the homophobic state
representative giving a man a
blowjob. And that whole licking the
condom, goddamn. So gross. Imagine
the world seeing that!

He laughs maniacally while the rep holds his chest, heart-

attack style. The whining sound continues.

BULLITT
I thought whining was for liberals.
Huh. I also thought homophobia was
for straights, of which I am - but
I’m not homophobic.

REP. MALLORY
Please don’t do this.

BULLITT
Give you a good deal on saving your
career? Don’t do that?

REP. MALLORY
$30,000. I can come up with that by
tomorrow.

BULLITT
Yeeeeeaaaah, but I like $70,000
better.

REP. MALLORY
You know I can go to the police for
what you’re doing and ruin you.

BULLITT
I’m a nobody with nothing to lose,
and I’m young enough to start my
life over. You, though, you old
prick? You’d be toast with zero
time to eek out a new life. Plus,
everyone would know what you did
and-
 42.

REP. MALLORY
Fine!

He takes another minute to get up, still holding his heart.

REP. MALLORY
I wipe my ass with $70,000 dollars!

BULLITT
Don’t do it to mine, please and
thank you.

The rep puts his coat back on. He’s grey-faced, sweaty, not
looking good at all.

BULLITT
Tomorrow, I’m going to meet you in
the same place. If I see any cops,
I give the signal to release the
video to a friend down at WSB-TV.
He won’t be able to see it until I
use my call from jail to give him
the password to unlock the footage.

REP. MALLORY
You son of a goddamn bitch. You’ll
get your money, but I want that
footage destroyed. I wanna see it
happen!

BULLITT
Deal. Wonderful doin’ business with
you.

The rep finds the condom, gives it a final lick, mad-faced.

Then he leaves, slamming the door behind him.

Bullitt takes a look in the mirror, smiles.

BULLITT
The boy’s good, what can I say?

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. EATS BACK PARKING LOT - NIGHT

Bullitt hops into the sedan, picks up a briefcase on the

floorboard. The rep won’t even look at him.

BULLITT
You wipe your ass with this?
 43.

REP. MALLORY
Shut the fuck up and get outta my
car.

BULLITT
Awww. Don’t be so sore. I just
saved your career.

REP. MALLORY
Get the fuck out of my car! And I
swear, boy, if that tape comes out,
APD’ll have a murder-suicide on
their hands.

BULLITT
You don’t hear from me again -
unless the money’s short. Then APD
will have a standard-issue murder
on their hands.

REP. MALLORY
It’s all there! Not GET OUTTA MY
GODDAMN CA-

He clutches his chest. He can’t speak.

BULLITT
You okay there, buddy?

The rep slumps over. Straight-up heart attack.

BULLITT
Huh. Weird timing.

He takes out his cell, calls 911.

BULLITT
Hi there. I think there’s a man
having a heart attack at Eats on
Ponce. Black sedan. Can someone get
here quick?

A beat.

BULLITT
Yeah, he’s not breathing, actually.

A beat.

BULLITT
No, I’m not gettin’ a pulse. Sir!
Sir! Can you hear me?
 44.

An ambulance sounds in the distance. Bullitt gets out of the

car quietly, so as not to alert 911 that he was in it.

BULLITT
There here, ma’am! Thank you so
much!

He waves the ambulance in with the briefcase-less hand. Two

EMTs jump out.

BULLITT
(fake sadness)
I don’t know CPR. I just saw him
from the window slumped over and-

EMT 1
It’s okay. We got it from here.

EMT 2
You did good to call. Don’t beat
yourself up.

They open Reid Mallory’s door. He’s blue. As they begin

working on getting him upright, Bullitt walks to his bike.

He puts the briefcase in his bookbag and does his helmet up.

We can see a smile through the facemask.

BULLITT
I just killed that piece of shit
and made $70,000 doin’ it. Win-win.

He pats the bike’s tank.

BULLITT
Your boy’s the man, ain’t he?

He cranks it up, heads out into the night.

INT. THERAPIST'S OFFICE - DAY

KRISTIN NORSE (37, obvious Scandinavian roots, soft-spoken)

stares into the camera, nods.

KRISTIN
And you’ve noticed this behavior is
bringing trouble into your life?
That it’s possibly attracting
negativity and blocking you from
success, and it’s something you’d
like to change?
 45.

[NOTE! These answers are on diff days, but it’s a montage of

their responses.]

ALICE
Yes.

BULLITT
Yup.

KENNA
For damn sure.

EVERETT
Uh huh.

TEDDY
That’s a yes from me, dawg.

KRISTIN
And you acknowledge that this
change is going to take time and
lots of work, because of your
clinical diagnosis of psychopathy?

ALICE
I’m willing to work on this.

KENNA
I’m gonna try, Dr. Norse.

TEDDY
A psychopath. You sound like
Candace. But yeah: I’ll try.

EVERETT
I’ll do what it takes.

BULLITT
Somethin’s gotta give. Might as
well be me.

KRISTIN
(to camera)
Okay then! This has never been
tried, so there are no guarantees I
can make better humans of people
with your condition. But if you
give it your best, so will I.
Welcome to boot camp for the brain.

FADE TO BLACK.
46.