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

wariness tinged with shock on his face. Another inmate sidles excitedly into the cell. LAVERNE "BUDDY" BUDD stops abruptly beside Rollo. He is not much over four feet tall, dressed in a white tee-shirt rolled up at the cuffs, and blue jeans, rolled up at the cuffs. His jail-issued tennies fit. He speaks when he stops in a terribly brutalized lisp of a voice.

 

                    LAVERNE "BUDDY" BUDD

          Ith good ta' thee ya' 'gain, Rollo! Wha'd ya' do thith time?

 

Rollo answers without looking down at Laverne, extending his hand cautiously to Myron.

 

                    ROLLO

          Hi...Buddy. Same old...

 

                  (to Myron)

Jesus Christ. You're the biggest son-of-a bitch I've ever laid eyes on!

 

                    LAVERNE

          Heeth a tall one, huh?

     (Laverne turns his head to Myron)

          Watuthi, right Myron?

 

                    MYRON

          Close, my little friend. Tutsi, from the larger tribe of Watusi somewhere in my ancestral past.

 

                    LAVERNE

                   (to Myron)

          You coulda' thopped that lath fight...

                   (to Rollo)

         Thereth no one metheth with Myron, Rollo. Heeth juth too big. But he coulda' thopped it 'cuth Thippo is thared to death of him...

 

Rollo accepts Myron's hand, which wraps around his like a beach towel around a golf ball as Laverne continues to chatter. Myron smiles broadly as he grips Rollo's hand. Rollo winces as though he has slipped his hand into a vise.

 

                    LAVERNE

          ...I with you wath gonna' be here longer, Myron. Thippo ith gonna' thove a thiv in me the minute you leave. He thaid he wath.

 

                    MYRON

(motioning for Rollo to be seated at the end of the lower bunk)

          I shall speak to him, Laverne. Remain strong.

  (to Rollo as Myron takes a seat again beside him)

          No doubt word has reached your ears, Mr. Heinz...

 

                    ROLLO

          Rollo, please. No ancestral relation to the catsup manufacturer, either.

 

                    MYRON

         Yes, of course...Rollo. You've heard of the troubles our fair institution has been suffering through of late, I was going to say.

 

Laverne hustles to the battered desk chair across from the bed. He glances furtively outside the cell as he straddles it with difficulty, preparing to converse.

 

INT. ZIPPO GONZALEZ' CELL-NIGHT

 

ZIPPO is seated on the lower bunk, surrounded by several inmates who by their actions and demeanor seem to regard him highly. All of the men have shaved heads, and tattoos adorning their exposed arms and necks.

 

                    ZIPPO

       I'll crack the little fucker's head wide open if he says 'please thippo, contwol ya' anger' one more goddam' time!

 

                    INMATE 1

                    (jokingly)

          You angry, Zip?

 

                    ZIPPO

      You angry, Zip? Hell no! I ain't angry. Why would I be? I just don't like midgets, queers, and niggers...don't like bein' locked up with 'em. Guards, and the rotten fuckin' food, no women...

                (he pauses)

          An' I don't like you!

 

Zippo jumps to his feet suddenly. Pushes the inmate backward into the lap of another prisoner sitting on the desk chair behind him. He grins maliciously as he steps quickly forward, placing his hands on the inmate's chest. Another inmate eases his head outside, scans the tier for guards. Silence reigns for a long moment as Zippo surveys the stunned man, and then Zippo smiles and slaps him playfully on the cheek.

 

                    ZIPPO

          Just kiddin'.

 

He steps backward, halting for a fraction of a second to leer threateningly at another inmate standing at the end of the bunk. He taps the inmates cheek and laughs. Relieved laughter breaks out.

 

                    ZIPPO

(addressing the inmate he tapped)

          Who's that new guy bunkin' with the queer nigger, West?

 

                    WEST

          I dunno'. Never saw 'im before.

 

                    ZIPPO

          Find out.

 

                    INMATE 1

          Name's Rollo. He's a fag, too. Saw 'im in here 'bout a year ago.

 

                    ZIPPO

          That right?

 

The initial sense of "all's well" pervades the cell once again as the congregated prisoners parry and thrust with one another.

 

INT. CELL 57-CONTINUOUS

 

Laverne sits facing Rollo and Myron, his arms crossed on the backrest of the chair; chin on his hands. His feet do not touch the floor. Rollo rests comfortably against the metal end post, half-facing Myron. One leg dangles off the mattress. Myron sits at the other end, but with his endless leg stretched out along the concrete floor. He has his hands clasped together around the knee of the leg on the mattress.

 

                    MYRON

          It doesn't take much to get them all riled up and ready for war in here.

 

                    ROLLO

          What would you suggest we do then? Petition the warden to move Gonzalez and his gang?

 

                    MYRON

          That will never happen. The jail is overcrowded as it is. Where would they move him? Further, there is no proof beyond rumor that he is the instigator of all the trouble. Those who know will not talk. He has them gagged with threats and fear.

 

                    LAVERNE

          The thnake.

 

                    ROLLO

          Well then, we've gotta' confront him ourselves. Threaten him with a more powerful force.

 

                    LAVERNE

          Thath what I thay, Myron.

 

                    MYRON

        And then the monthly riots become daily wars. More bloodshed. I will suffer the indignities of their insults, but I will not sink to their level.

 

                    LAVERNE

          He neeth a pill ta' make him peethful.

 

Rollo is struck by Laverne's remark. He shoots him an 'aha!' look.

 

                    LAVERNE

          What?

 

Rollo is quiet for a moment. He closes his eyes.

 

VISION-ROLLO'S SOLUTION

 

Rollo stands in the center of Cellblock 1 with Myron and Laverne. Behind them are several hundred inmates holding brushes and palettes. To Rollo's left is an easel with a half-finished painting-the Creator reaching out to a blank, white nothingness. Zippo stands thirty feet away in the company of his gang, all of whom are holding knives, chains, and clubs. Rollo smiles and lifts his right hand that is holding a fine artist's brush toward Zippo.

 

BACK TO SCENE

 

                    ROLLO

          He needs a pill.

 

Myron and Laverne stare at Rollo, question marks on their faces.

 

                    ROLLO

          We begin with the dregs...those who lean toward peace and can be instructed.

 

                    MYRON

             ...In?

 

                    ROLLO

          In fine art. No. Grand art!

 

Rollo stands abruptly and gazes around the cell.

 

                    ROLLO

          We paint the walls!

 

                    LAVERNE

          Thath grand art?

 

                    ROLLO

          Not white or yellow or green, but vistas of color. Art!

 

                    MYRON

          You cannot be serious.

 

                    ROLLO

           (with great excitement)

         Oh but I am. Think of it fellas...inmates pouring themselves into copying masterpieces...or creating their own. I saw the glorious end of it tonight in the intake room.

 

                    MYRON

          The warden would laugh at it.

 

                    ROLLO

          Maybe. But what do we have to lose? What does he have to lose? I tell you, I saw it...and Zippo's name was on it!

 

                    LAVERNE

          You wath drunk.

 

                    MYRON

          So then, what do you propose exactly?

 

                    ROLLO

          We call a meeting...tomorrow after breakfast, out in the yard.

 

                    LAVERNE

          Ath-er breakfath ith a bad time. They'll be in a thour mood. Thath no good.

 

                    ROLLO

          What do you say, Myron.

 

                    MYRON

                  (dreamily)

          Interior decor is my profession...painting jails? I don't know...

 

                    ROLLO

          You can talk to them. You speak well and have a commanding presence. Tell them what we plan!

 

                    MYRON

          We?

 

                    ROLLO

          Yes, we. Michelangelo, Picasso, and what's that little artist's name? Talouse-Lautrec! Are you guys with me?

 

                    LAVERNE

          Yeth! Do I get to be Picatho?

 

                    MYRON

          I don't know...I...

 

                    ROLLO

          This is what you'll tell them...

 

                                                                                                                                            FADE

 

EXT. EXERCISE YARD-MORNING

 

The sun is shining brightly, casting long shadows across the long, narrow space between the three story jail wall and the tall, razor wire topped fence twenty feet away. Two basketball hoops are visible at