Heinz 57-revised 6-11-16 by Patrick Sean Lee (desktop ebook reader .TXT) 📕

Heinz 57

                                        HEINZ 57

                                             by

                                  PATRICK SEAN LEE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FADE IN:

 

EXT. A YACHT-NIGHT

 

In the lower deck of a forty-five foot luxury yacht anchored at harbor, the bum of a man is visible. He holds a penlight and is dressed entirely in black with a matching stocking cap covering his head. The man rummages through a storage compartment, consumed with his work. At his feet lay a leather bag, a small crowbar, and the remains of a broken lock. As he hums a popular song and scratches through the variety of items in the interior, a sudden beam of light strikes him.

 

                   HARBOR POLICEMAN

          Freeze!

 

ROLLO HEINZ obeys the order, drops the penlight into the interior of the compartment. He twists his head slightly to see who it is, and then back.

 

                   HARBOR POLICEMAN

               (Emphasizing every word)

Very carefully. Bring your hands out and put them on the surface above your head.

 

Rollo does exactly as instructed.

 

                    HARBOR POLICEMAN

          Now, stand up slowly and spread your legs.

 

Rollo complies again.

 

                    HARBOR POLICEMAN

           Wider.

           Don't turn around. Keep your head forward.

 

                    ROLLO

          This isn't what it looks like, officer.

 

                    HARBOR POLICEMAN

          I'll bet it isn't.

 

The cop frisks Rollo, but finds no weapon or identification.A few seconds pass, and then the cold steel of a pair of handcuffs snap on one, and then the other of his wrists as the cop brings them down.

 

                    HARBOR POLICEMAN

          What's your name?

 

                    ROLLO

          James Anthony Smith.

 

                    HARBOR POLICEMAN

          What're you doing here?

 

                    ROLLO

        I own the boat. Just came back to fetch my reading glasses.

 

                    HARBOR POLICEMAN

          Dressed in black, with a crowbar?

 

The cop flashes his light downward to the crowbar at Rollo's feet, then back again quickly to the back of the thief's head.

 

                    ROLLO

          I forgot my keys.

 

                    HARBOR POLICEMAN

          Right. And my name is Benjamin Franklin. You're under arrest, Mr. Smith. You have the right...

 

                                                                                                                                                Cut

 

INT. COUNTY JAIL-NIGHT

 

Rollo sits alone, handcuffed, on a stark bench in the intake room. He glances down at the sneakers issued to him. Queen Mary-sized. He sighs.

 

                    ROLLO (V.0.)

          Assholes.

 

The atmosphere in the room begins to suddenly shimmer like the surface of a sunlit lake. Rollo looks to the left, the right, up, and then at the concrete wall across from him. A painting begins to materialize, a portion of Michelangelo's masterpiece, "The Creation of Adam" on the Sistine Chapel ceiling.

Rollo shakes his head, blinks, and then stands and clip-clops across the floor. He takes a knee in front of the painting. On the bottom of the gilded frame a small brass nameplate is visible. He reads the engraved words.

 

INSERT-THE NAMEPLATE, which reads:

 

"The Creation of Adam". Executed in January, 2012, by Laverne "Buddy" Budd, Rollo Heinz, Antonio "Zippo" Gonzalez"

 

BACK TO SCENE

 

Rollo stands and gazes at the marvelous painting, confusion and wonderment apparent on his face.

 

                    ROLLO HEINZ (V.0.)

          Me? What the hell...

 

He blinks several times once again.

 

                    ROLLO HEINZ (V.0.)

                  (Scanning the canvas)

          Jesus...wonder which part I painted...painted?

 

He steps back, looks around the room. The shimmering cloud evaporates as quickly as it formed. The painting disappears. He moves his eyes to the ceiling, turns slowly several times, and then clip-clops unsteadily back to his bench.

The steel entrance door opens and a uniformed male officer enters. He is short, muscular, dour-looking until he sees Rollo. He glances quickly at the clipboard of paperwork he carries.

 

                    OFFICER MAX

                    (half-jokingly)

          Let's go, Heinz. Get your ass up or I'll kick a lung outta' ya'. Welcome home.

 

Rollo doesn't seem to hear him. He stares blankly ahead at the empty wall, his mouth agape.

 

                    OFFICER MAX

(stepping forward, poking him with the clipboard)

          C'mon, get up, Heinz. I ain't got all night.

 

Rollo comes to the party, glances quickly up at the officer standing beside him. He rises, cuffed hands behind his back.

                    ROLLO

         Oh...Hiya' Maxxie. How've you been? It's been a while, ain't it?

 

                    OFFICER MAX

(motioning Rollo to turn around, smiling)

          Not long enough. You must be gettin' sloppy.

 

Max draws the ring of keys from his utility belt and unlocks the cuffs.

 

                    OFFICER MAX

                     (continuing)

          What'd ya' do this time?

 

Rollo brings his hands to the front and rubs his wrists.

 

                    ROLLO

          I was framed again, Maxxie. Just lookin' at that boat this time.

 

Max cuts him off as he takes hold of Rollo's arm at the elbow and ushers him toward the hallway at the far end of the room.

 

                    OFFICER MAX

          Yeah, yeah. You and boats. I don't believe a fuckin' word you say, Rollo, and neither will the judge...

 

INT. HALLWAY-CONTINUOUS

 

The hallway leading to Cellblock 1, 30 feet away, is brightly lit. The two walk side by side. Max glances down at Rollo's feet every other step they take. Rollo looks over his shoulder intermittently.

 

                    OFFICER MAX

         (half-chuckling as he speaks)

          ...who the hell gave ya' those gunboats?

 

                    ROLLO

        (jerking his head back)

          Huh? Oh. 'S'all they had left...I guess.

 

Rollo looks back again. Max, focusing on the clip-clopping, shakes his head and laughs out loud.

 

                    ROLLO

          Who...did you see that painting?

 

                    OFFICER MAX

          What painting?

 

                    ROLLO

      (points, glances back again)

          The one back there.

 

Max follows his eyes and hand but does not break stride.

 

                    OFFICER MAX

                     (amused)

          The one of the concrete wall?

 

                    ROLLO

           No. On it.

 

                    OFFICER MAX

                    (eyes Rollo)

          You okay?

 

                    ROLLO

          You didn't see it?

 

They approach the steel door with a single, small bullet proof window in it. Max peers quickly through the glass as he pulls the ring of keys from his belt and inserts one into the lock.

 

                    OFFICER MAX

          Nope.

          Watch your ass, man. The guys've been throwing knives instead of sand lately.

 

He unlocks the door. Bursts of profanities issue forth. Max swings it open fully and lets Rollo step forward into the opening.

 

                    OFFICER MAX

          You're in 57. Take care.

 

INT. CELLBLOCK 1-CONTINUOUS

 

Rollo walks forward into the long, narrow room.The main aisle runs one hundred-five and one half feet in length. The second and third floor tiers jut out like continuous tenement balconies, covering the cells and the inmates loitering about on the main floor. High above him, violent-looking inmates mill about on the tier walkways, gazing down, smoking cigarettes, cursing. Occasional laughter breaks out. Someone spits down, barely missing him.

 

                    INMATE (O.S.)

          Got any dope?

 

                    ANOTHER INMATE (O.S.)

          Hey Pussy, you can bunk with me.

 

                    STILL ANOTHER INMATE (O.S.)

          Get a load o' them shoes!

 

More laughter and cat-calls erupt as Rollo silently makes his way toward a cell near the far end. He raises his eyes when someone above him rakes something metal across cell bars. He stops at cell number 57, turns, and walks in through the open, barred door.

 

INT. CELL 57-CONTINUOUS

 

A coal-black inmate sits in the dimly lit interior on the edge of the lower bunk. He is engrossed in a book lying open on his knees. The most striking thing about him is his size. He does not notice Rollo's entrance. A single wire-caged bulb is attached to the ceiling. On Rollo's right across from the bunk is a commode, a small sink, and near the front, an abbreviated worn wooden desk and chair. Chunks of the backrest and legs have been carved or beaten out of both; the desk as well.

 

Music (rising slowly): Mendelssohn, "A Midsummer Night's Dream" Op. 61, Nocturne.

 

                    ROLLO

          Heya'.

 

The inmate looks up.

 

                   "BEAUTIFUL" MYRON FLEUR

          Good evening.

 

                    ROLLO

          'Name's Rollo. Guess I'll be bunkin' with ya'.

 

                    "BEAUTIFUL" MYRON FLEUR

          A pleasure to meet you...Myron. Myron Fleur.

 

Myron closes the book and stands. He is close to six foot-eight, handsome, and lean. He takes a step toward Rollo, extending his huge but delicate hand. Rollo steps back, a look of