Storm of the Century (12 page)

You have a fairy saddle!

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(smiling, delighted)

That’s what my daddy calls it!

(returns the smile)

You bet! And speaking of Daddy-He sets RALPHIE down, but for a moment he’s leaning so close that RALPHIE is still, in effect, his hostage. RALPHIE sees the handcuffs.

Why’re you wearing those?

Because I choose to. Go on. See your dad.

He turns RALPHIE around and gives him a light swat on the butt. RALPHIE sees his father and lights up in a smile. Before he can take more than a step or two, MIKE grabs him and pulls the boy into his arms. RALPHIE sees the pistol.

Daddy, why have you got-

Ralphie!

She sprints for him, brushing past HATCH and knocking a bunch of canned goods to the floor. The
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cans roll everywhere. She pulls RALPHIE out of MIKE’S arms and hugs him frantically. MIKE, flustered and rocky (who wouldn’t be?), returns his focus to the faintly smiling LINOGE, who has now had about nine billion chances to get away.

Why’s Daddy pointing a gun at that man?

Moll, get him out of here.

What are you-

Get him out of here!

She FLINCHES at the unaccustomed shout and begins to retreat with RALPHIE in her arms, toward the other people clustering timidly at the foot of the aisle. She steps on a can and it rolls out from under her. Before she can fall, KIRK FREEMAN catches and steadies her. RALPHIE, looking over her shoulder at his daddy, is finally upset.

Don’t shoot him, Daddy, he knows about the fairy saddle.

(more to LINOGE than RALPHIE)

I’m not going to shoot him. Not if he goes where he’s supposed to.

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He looks toward the end of the aisle. LINOGE smiles and nods, as if to say, “Of course, since you insist,” and starts that way, hands in front of him again. HATCH catches up to MIKE.

What are we going to--?

Lock him up! What else?

He’s terrified, ashamed, relieved . . . you name it, MIKE is feeling it. HATCH sees enough of MIKE’S

emotions to be abashed and retires a bit into the background as MIKE shadows LINOGE to the upper end of the aisle.

132 INTERIOR: ANGLE ON MEAT COUNTER AND CONSTABLE’S OFFICE DOOR.

As LINOGE and MIKE get to the head of the aisle, LINOGE turns left, toward the constable’s office, as if he knows where it is. HATCH follows after. And then, from Aisle 1, comes BILLY SOAMES. He’s too angry to be scared, and before MIKE can stop him, he grabs LINOGE and THROWS HIM

against the meat counter.

What do you know about Katrina? And how do you know it?

MIKE has had enough. He grabs BILLY by the back of his shirt and HEAVES HIM against a rack of powdered herbs and fish fixin’s. BILLY hits it hard and goes spawling.

What are you, crazy? This guy’s a killer! Stay out of his way! And stay out of mine, Billy Soames!

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Also, clean yourself up.

We glimpse that STRANGE, BLACKISH WAVERING in his eyes again.

133 INTERIOR: BILLY, CLOSE-UP.

At first he sits there where he landed, looking question marks at LINOGE. Then his nose GUSHES

BLOOD. He feels it, reaches up to catch the flow, and looks unbelievingly at the blood on his palms.

CAT runs up Aisle 1 to where he is and kneels beside him. She wants to help him; she wants to do anything, really, that will take away the awful look of surprise and hurt anger on his face. But BILLY is having none of it. He shoves her back.

Leave me alone!

He lurches to his feet.

134 INTERIOR: BY THE MEAT COUNTER, WIDER.

Before he gets too self-righteous, Katrina, ask him how well he knows Jenna Freeman.

BILLY flinches, stunned.

135 INTERIOR: KIRK FREEMAN, IN AISLE 2.

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What do you know about my sister?

136 INTERIOR: RESUME MEAT COUNTER.

That horses aren’t all she enjoys riding when the weather’s hot. Right, Billy?

CAT looks at BILLY, stricken. He wipes at his BLEEDING NOSE with the back of his hand and looks anywhere but at her. His self-righteous, wounded anger has dissolved into a kind of slinking furtiveness. His face says, “lemme outta here.” MIKE still looks like he can’t believe how screwed up this whole thing has gotten.

Move away from this man, Cat. You too, Billy.

She doesn’t move. Perhaps doesn’t hear. There are tears on her cheeks. HATCH uses one hand to push her gently away from the door marked CONSTABLE’S OFFICE. He inadvertently pushes her in BILLY’S direction, and they both shrink back.

(kindly)

Got to get out of his grabbin’ range, darlin’.

This time she goes blundering past BILLY (who makes no move to stop her) toward the front of the store. MIKE, meanwhile, steps forward and picks a package of plastic bags--the kind you use to save leftovers--off a display. Then he puts the muzzle of his gun between LINOGE’S shoulder blades.

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Come on. Move.

137 INTERIOR: THE CONSTABLE’S OFFICE.

The WIND is VERY LOUD, SCARY--shrieking like a train whistle. We can hear SHINGLES

CLAPPING and BOARDS CREAKING.

The door opens. LINOGE conies in, followed by MIKE and HATCH. LINOGE moves toward the cell, then stops as a PARTICULARLY HARD GUST OF WIND strikes the building and makes it shudder. Snow puffs in under the loading dock door.

I don’t like the sound of that.

Move, Mr. Linoge.

As they pass the desk, MIKE puts down the box of plastic bags and picks up a large combination padlock. From his pocket he takes his key ring, looking ruefully at the busted-off loading door key for a second. He hands the keys and the combination lock to HATCH. He also swaps weapons, giving HATCH his pistol and taking the shotgun. As they reach the cell:

Put your hands up and grab a couple of bars.

(LINOGE does)

Now spread your legs.

(LINOGE does)

Wider.

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(LINOGE does)

I’m going to pat you down, and if you move, my good friend Alton Hatcher is going to save us all a lot of wear and tear.

HATCH gulps, but points the pistol. MIKE sets the shotgun aside.

Don’t even twitch, Mr. Linoge. You had your filthy hands on my son, so don’t you so much as twitch.

MIKE reaches into the pockets of LINOGE’S pea coat and brings out the YELLOW GLOVES. They are BLOTCHED AND STAINED with MARTHA’S blood. MIKE grimaces with distaste and tosses them onto the desk. He rummages in the jacket pockets some more and finds nothing. He reaches into the front pockets of LINOGE’S jeans and pulls them inside out. They’re empty. Checks the back pockets. Nothing but a few lint balls. He takes off LINOGE’S watch cap and looks inside it. Nothing. He tosses it on the desk with the gloves.

Where’s your wallet?

(nothing from LINOGE)

Where’s your wallet, huh?

MIKE slaps LINOGE twice on the shoulder, first time sorta friendly, second time sorta hard. Still no response.

Huh?

(uneasy)

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Mike, take it easy.

Guy had his hands on my son, had his face right down in my son’s face; guy kissed my son’s nose--don’t tell me to take it easy. Where’s your wallet, sir?

MIKE shoves LINOGE, hard. LINOGE crashes into the bars of the cell, but keeps his high grip on the home-welded bars and his legs spread.

Where’s your wallet? Where’s your bank card? Where’s your blood-donor card? Where’s your discount card from ValuMart? What sewer did you crawl through to get here? Huh? Answer me!

All his frustration, anger, fear, and humiliation are on the verge of coming out. He grabs LINOGE by the hair and SLAMS HIS FACE INTO THE BARS.

Where’s your wallet?

Mike-MIKE SLAMS LINOGE’S FACE INTO THE BARS AGAIN. He’d do it again, too, but HATCH

reaches out and grabs his arm.

Mike, stop it!

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MIKE stops, takes a deep breath, and somehow gets hold of himself. Outside the WIND GUSTS, and we hear the FAINT SOUND OF CRASHING WAVES.

(he’s breathing hard)

Take off your boots.

I’ll have to let go of the bars to do that. They lace up.

MIKE kneels. He grabs the shotgun. He props the stock against the floor and plants the barrels dead center in the seat of LINOGE’S jeans.

If you move, sir, you’ll never have to worry about constipation again.

HATCH looks more and more scared. This is a side of MIKE he’s never seen (and could have done without). MIKE, meanwhile, unties LINOGE’S boots and loosens the laces. Then he stands up, takes the shotgun, and stands back.

Kick them off.

LINOGE kicks them off. MIKE nods to HATCH, who bends down (keeping a skittery eye on LINOGE as he does) and picks them up. HATCH feels inside them, then shakes them.

Nothing.

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Toss them over by the desk.

HATCH does.

Step into the cell, Mr. Linoge. Move slowly and keep your hands where I can see them.

LINOGE opens the door of the cell and swings it back and forth a time or two before going in. The door SQUEAKS, and doesn’t hang quite true when it’s all the way open. LINOGE touches a couple of the home welds with the ball of one finger, and smiles.

You think it won’t hold you? It’ll hold you.

Yet MIKE doesn’t look entirely sure, and HATCH looks even more doubtful. LINOGE steps in, crosses the cell, and sits down facing the door. He draws his legs up so that the heels of his stocking feet (white athletic socks) are on the edge of the cot and he is looking at us from between his bent knees. We will see him in this same posture for some little time, now. His hands dangle limply. He wears a trace of a smile. If we saw a guy looking at us this way, we’d probably run. It’s that caged-tiger look--very still and watchful, but full of pent-up violence.

MIKE closes the cell door, and HATCH uses a key from the ring to lock it. With that done, he shakes the door. It’s locked, but he and MIKE share an unhappy glance, just the same. That door is as rattly the last tooth in an old man’s jaw. The cell is for the likes of SONNY BRAUTIGAN, who has a nasty habit of getting drunk and breaking the windows in his ex-wife’s house with stones . . . not for a stranger with no ID who beat an old widow to death.

MIKE crosses to the loading dock door, looks at the dead bolt, then tries the knob. The door opens easily, letting in a FRIGID GASP OF WIND and a SWIRL OF SNOW. HATCH’S mouth drops open.
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Mike, I swear it wouldn’t budge.

MIKE closes the door. As he finishes doing that, ROBBIE BEALS comes in. He crosses to the desk and reaches for one of the gloves.

Don’t touch that!

(draws his hand back)

Does he have any ID on him?

I want you out of here.

ROBBIE picks up the joke sign and shakes it at MIKE.

I want to tell you something, Anderson: your sense of humor is entirely-HATCH, who actually put that sign around the dummy’s neck, looks embarrassed. Neither of the other men notice. MIKE snatches the damned thing out of ROBBIE’S hand and dumps it in the wastebasket.

I don’t have the time or the patience for this. Get out or I’ll throw you out.
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ROBBIE looks at him and sees that MIKE absolutely means it. ROBBIE backs toward the door.

Come town meeting, there’s maybe going to be a change in law enforcement on Little Tall.

Town meeting’s in March. This is February. Now get the hell out.

ROBBIE leaves. MIKE and HATCH hold their positions for a moment, and then MIKE lets out his breath in a long WHOOSH. HATCH looks relieved.

I think I handled that pretty well, don’t you?

Like a diplomat.

MIKE takes another long, steadying breath. He opens the sandwich bags. As he and HATCH finish talking, he puts the bloody gloves in two bags, and the cap in a third.

I have to go out and-

You’re going to leave me alone with him?

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Try to raise the state police barracks in Machias. And stay away from him.

I should say you can count on that.