Storm of the Century (19 page)

Can’t hear you very well, Urse--you’re breakin’ up. I’ll try you again in a little while. This is Island Services, 10-60 by.

He hangs up the mike with an expression of guilty relief, sees KIRK looking at him, and gives KIRK a little shrug.

Hell, I don’t know what to tell ‘em! Let Mike do that part--it’s what they pay him for.

Yeah--grocery money, with a few bucks left over for lottery tickets.

48 INTERIOR: MIKE AND LINOGE, IN THE CONSTABLE’S OFFICE--NIGHT.

MIKE is sitting in the chair he dragged over. LINOGE is sitting on his bunk with his back to the wall and his knees apart. They look at each other through the bars. In the background, by the desk, JACK

CARVER stands watching them.

Where’s your cane?

(no response from LINOGE)

You had a cane--I know you did--where is it?

(no response from LINOGE)

Sir, how did you get to Little Tall Island?

(no response)

MIKE holds up the Polaroid that shows the message over MARTHA’S living room door.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

“Give me what I want and I’ll go away.” Did you write that? You did, didn’t you?

(no response)

Just what is it you want, sir?

No response . . . but the prisoner’s eyes gleam. The tips of his teeth show in that creepy little smile. MIKE gives him time, but there is no more.

Andre Linoge. I take it you’re French. There are a lot of people of French descent on the island. We’ve got St. Pierres . . . Robichauxes . . . Bissonettes . . .

(no response)

What happened to Peter Godsoe? Did you have something to do with that?

(no response)

How did you happen to know he was running pot out of his warehouse? Always assuming that he was?

I know a lot. Constable. I know, for instance, that when you were at the University of Maine, and in danger of losing your scholarship over a D in chemistry during your sophomore year, you cheated on the midterm exam. Not even your wife knows that, does she?

MIKE is rocked. He doesn’t want LINOGE to see it, but he can’t help it.

I don’t know where you get your information, but you’re wrong on that one. I was going to--I had a crib
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

sheet, Mr. Linoge, and every intention of using it--but I threw it away at the last minute.

I’m sure that over the years, you’ve convinced yourself that’s the truth . . . but right now we both know better. You ought to tell Ralphie sometime. It would make a nice bedtime story, I think. “How Daddy Got Through College.”

(shifts his attention to JACK)

You never cheated on an exam in college, did you? Never went to college, and nobody bothers you for pulling D’s in high school.

JACK is staring, wide-eyed.

They still put you in jail for assault, though ... if you get caught. You were lucky last year, weren’t you?

You and Lucien Fournier and Alex Haber. Lucky boys.

Shut up!

That fella just rubbed you guys the wrong way, didn’t he? Had kind of a lisp . . . and that blond hair, curly like a girl’s hair . . . not to mention the way he walked . . . Still, three against one . . . and pool cues

. . . well . . . hardly sporting-LINOGE makes a tsk-tsk sound. JACK takes a step toward the desk, and his Ests CLENCH.

I’m warning you, mister!

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

(smiling)

The kid lost an eye--how about that, huh? You could go and see for yourself. He lives in Lewiston. He wears a paisley eye-patch his sister made him. He can’t cry out of that eye--the tear duct is toast. He lies in bed late at night and listens to the cars on Lisbon Street and the live bands from the bottle clubs, the ones that can play anything as long as it’s “Louie Louie” or “Hang On Sloopy,” and he prays to St. Andrew to bring back the sight in his left eye. He can’t drive anymore; he lost his depth perception. That happens when you lose an eye. He can’t even read for long, because it gives him headaches. Still, he had that swishy way of walking . . . and that lisp . . . and you guys kind of liked the way his hair looked, all around his face like it was, although you’d never say that to each other, would you? Kind of turned you on. Kind of wondered what it would feel like to run your hands through it-JACK grabs the gun off the desk and points it at the cell.

Shut up or I’ll shut you up! I swear!

Jack, put that down!

LINOGE never moves, but his face has taken on a kind of DARK GLOW. No special contact lenses or special-effects tricks here; it’s all in his face--goading . . . hateful . . . powerful.

There’s another bedtime story for a stormy night. I can see you in bed with your arm around your little boy’s shoulders. “Buster, Daddy wants to tell you how he put the nasty queer man’s eye out with the end of a pool cue, ‘cause--”

JACK pulls the trigger of the pistol. MIKE falls off the chair he’s been sitting in. He utters a CRY OF

PAIN. LINOGE never budges from his place on the bunk, but now MIKE is on the floor, face down.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

FADE TO BLACK. THIS ENDS ACT 1.

Act 2

49 EXTERIOR: THE ISLAND MARKET--NIGHT.

The storm is HOWLING, the snow falling so thick and fast the store looks like a ghost.

SOUND: A RENDING, SPLINTERING CRACK. A tree falls, missing GODSOE’S truck but mashing the front end of MOLLY’S little car and pulverizing one end of the porch rail.

JACK (voice-over)

Mike! Mike, are you all right?

50 INTERIOR: THE CONSTABLE’S OFFICE.

MIKE is getting to his knees. His right hand is clapped to his left biceps, and a little blood is trickling through his fingers. JACK is overwhelmed with remorse and terror at what he’s done ... or almost done. He drops the gun back on the desk and rushes forward. MIKE, meanwhile, is getting to his feet.

(babbling)

Mike, I’m sorry ... I didn’t mean . . . are you all r-MIKE pushes him violently backward.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Keep a safe distance from him--didn’t I tell you that?

But that’s not why MIKE pushed him; MIKE pushed him for being an asshole, and JACK knows it. He stands between the cell and the desk, his mouth quivering and his eyes wet. MIKE takes his hand away from his arm to examine the damage. His shirt is torn, and blood is oozing out of the rip.

SOUND: ENGINES. The four-wheel drive and the Sno-Cat, approaching.

Barely clipped the skin. Lucky.

(relief from JACK)

But six inches to the left, I’m dead and he’s laughing.

MIKE turns and looks at the cell. One of the bars has a scar of fresh, gleaming metal. MIKE reaches out and touches this with the tip of one finger, his expression wondering.

Where-

Here.

He holds out one hand, curled into a fist. Like a man in a dream, MIKE puts his arm through the bars, his hand open and palm up.

Mike, no!

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

MIKE pays no attention. LINOGE’S curled hand hovers over his palm, then opens. Something small and black drops. MIKE withdraws his hand. JACK comes forward a step or two. MIKE tweezes the tiny object between his fingers and holds it up so they can both see it. It’s the slug from the bullet JACK

fired.

SOUND OF ENGINES IS LOUDER.

(to LINOGE)

You caught this? You did, didn’t you?

LINOGE only looks at him, smiling, saying nothing.

51 EXTERIOR: THE MARKET--NIGHT.

The Island Services four-wheel drive pulls into the parking area, and the Sno-Cat pulls in next to it. The four men get out and look at the downed tree that’s mashed the car and the porch.

Will his insurance cover that, Robbie?

(don’t bother me with trivialities)

Come on. Let’s get out of this.

They start up the porch steps.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

52 INTERIOR: THE CONSTABLE’S OFFICE.

MIKE’S shirtsleeve is rolled up, showing a shallow gash across his biceps. There’s an open first-aid kit on the desk beside the handgun. JACK puts a folded-over gauze pad on the wound, then anchors it with a Band-Aid.

Mike, I’m really sorry.

MIKE takes a deep breath, holds it, lets it out, and stops being mad. It takes an effort, but he manages.

The market’s main door opens. The bell above it TINKLES; there’s the CLOMP OF BOOTS and the MURMUR OF APPROACHING VOICES.

That’s Hatch!

About the stuff that guy said . . .

JACK turns a hateful, bewildered look on LINOGE, who looks back at him calmly. MIKE holds up a hand to quiet JACK. The door opens. HATCH comes in, followed by HENRY BRIGHT and KIRK

FREEMAN. Last of all is ROBBIE BEALS, looking both truculent and scared. Not a good combination.

All right, what’s going on here?

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Robbie, I wish I knew.

53 EXTERIOR: THE INTERSECTION OF MAIN AND ATLANTIC--NIGHT.

The storm HOWLS. The drifts are deeper than ever now.

54 EXTERIOR: THE STORE WINDOW OF THE ISLAND DRUGSTORE--NIGHT.

There’s a mural showing winter scenes: folks sledding, skiing, and skating. Hanging in front of it on threads are bottles of vitamins. KEEP YOUR WINTER RESISTANCE UP WITH NU-U GLOW

VITAMINS! the legend at the top of the mural says. Standing by the wall to the left is a pendulum clock reading 8:30.

SOUND: Another of those RENDING, SPLINTERING crashes. A HUGE BRANCH crashes through the show window, SHATTERING IT and pulling down the mural. Snow goes flying into the drugstore.

55 EXTERIOR: THE TOWN HALL--NIGHT.

We can barely see it for the thickly falling snow.

56 INTERIOR: A CORNER OF THE TOWN HALL BASEMENT.

This is kid country. PIPPA HATCHER, HARRY ROBICHAUX, HEIDI ST. PIERRE, and FRANK

BRIGHT are already asleep. MOLLY is sitting on the side of RALPHIE’S bed. RALPHIE is pretty sleepy.

Outside, THE WIND GUSTS NOISILY. The building, although brick, CREAKS. MOLLY looks up.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

We won’t blow away, will we? Like the house of straw and the house of twigs?

No, because the town hall’s made of bricks, just like the third little pig’s house. The storm can huff and puff all night long, and we’ll still be safe.

(sleepy)

Is Daddy safe?

Yes. Safe as can be.

She kisses the fairy-saddle birthmark on the bridge of his nose.

He won’t let the bad man get out and hurt us, will he?

Nope. I promise.

(angry, yelling voice)

Put me down! Stop it! Leave me alone!

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

MOLLY turns toward:

57 INTERIOR: THE STAIRS TO THE BASEMENT--NIGHT.

SANDRA BEALS is trudging down them, carrying a kicking, squealing DON in her arms. The expression on her face suggests that she is used to such tantrums . . . too used to them, perhaps.

As she reaches the foot of the stairs, MOLLY comes hurrying to help, and DON finally succeeds in squirming free of his mother’s grasp. He’s tired and furious, exhibiting the sort of behavior that causes young marrieds to resolve never to have children.

Need some help?

(with a tired smile)

No . . . he’s just a little scratchy . . .

My daddy puts me to bed, not you!

Donnie, honey . . .

He kicks her. It’s a child’s kick, delivered by a sneaker, but it hurts.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

DON

(spits it)

My daddy! Not you!

For a moment we see real loathing for this child on MOLLY’S face. She reaches out--DON cringes away from her a little, eyes narrowing-

Molly, no!

--but MOLLY only turns him around and gives him a swat on the fanny.

(pleasant as pie)

Go upstairs. Wait for your daddy.

DON BEALS, charming to the end, BLOWS A RASPBERRY at MOLLY, showering her with droplets of spittle. Then he scampers upstairs. The two women watch him go, SANDRA embarrassed over her son’s behavior, MOLLY pulling herself back together. We should see that, good mom and day-care teacher or no, it at least crossed her mind to slap the little snothead’s face for him, instead of swatting him lightly on the butt.

I’m sorry, Moll. I thought he might be ready. He’s . . . he’s used to having his dad tuck him in at night.

Better let him stay up--I think Buster’s still running around up there, too. They’ll play tag for a while and then fall asleep in a corner somewhere.

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

During this, they walk back into the kiddie area, lowering their voices as they go.