RICKY
This came through my mail slot a few hours ago.
He unfolds it and hands it to Helen. She reads the words, written in that now-familiar script, out loud.
HELEN
"She is holding the Eight of Spades in her left hand."
(she hands it back)
That's impossible.
RICKY
I would tend to agree.
BRADY
Any idea who sent it?
RICKY
That's a question I'm afraid I can't answer.
HELEN
Can't? Or won't?
RICKY
Bit of both, I suppose.
Brady produces the magic shop receipt.
BRADY
You could say this came through our mail slot, too. It was found on the ... man who killed Larry Johnson.
RICKY
(reading the receipt)
"If you really want to know." Where have I heard that before?
He hands the receipt back to Brady.
RICKY
Let me ask you both something, agents. How far do you want to take this?
HELEN
What do you mean?
RICKY
I mean I think you should forget the whole thing, Get in your car, drive to Cincinnati, get on a plane back to Washington. If you leave soon, you'll probably be home in time for "Law and Order." You can tell the Director that the lead didn't pan out, that Ricky Smith is a crackpot living like a hermit in buttfuck Ohio. There are plenty of people at the Bureau that'll be happy to hear that one. But if I help you with this, if I tell you whatever it is you think I know, then you're stuck--you have to see it through to the end. I'm giving you a chance to walk away. That's better than I ever got.
BRADY
(a little frustrated)
Ricky, we're not on a social call here. An FBI agent is dead, killed right in the middle of the J. Edgar fucking Hoover Building, and the Director has taken it a little personally. Just labeling this thing "unsolved" and letting it go ... that's not really an option for us.
RICKY
Then I'll tell you this: the address on your receipt there, 222 Main Street? It's a fix-it shop run by a guy named Fred something. It's closed most of the time, like just about everything in that shitty little town. Who knows, you might get lucky. But don't be surprised if it all turns out to be nothing. Hopefully you can still make that plane home tonight.
HELEN
I'm pretty sure us making it home tonight is low on the Director's list of priorities.
RICKY
Well, if for any reason you find yourselves stuck in town overnight, you're welcome to stay here.
Brady and Helen look at each other, then at the general squalor of the yellow house.
BRADY
Yeah, thanks.
(pulling out a notebook and pen)
Look, just in case we need to get in contact with you, what's your phone number?
RICKY
Don't have a phone number. Don't have a phone.
HELEN
You don't have a telephone?
RICKY
Nope.
Brady hands Ricky his cell phone.
BRADY
I want you to take this, then.
Ricky won't touch it. Brady sets it on the table.
BRADY
Sweeten--give him your cell phone number.
Helen writes a number on Brady's pad and tears off the sheet for Ricky.
BRADY
Call us if you remember anything you think we ought to know.
EXT. YELLOW HOUSE - DAY
Ricky standing by the door as the agents exit. Helen steps out of the house. Brady hangs back.
BRADY
Ricky, I've got to ask--what happened to you in that warehouse? What could spook a guy like you that bad?
Ricky considers this carefully.
RICKY
You don't get to ask me that. Not yet.
BRADY
Not yet? Then when?
RICKY
Hopefully never.
Ricky closes the door in Brady's face.
EXT. CRAMPTON, MAIN STREET - DAY
"Shitty little town" does not even begin to describe this desolate burg. Many of the buildings appear to be abandoned. There seems to be only three active businesses: the "Fix-It and Supply" shop, the Oasis Motel, and a diner apparently called "EAT HERE."
INT. CAR
Brady and Helen rolling slowly down Main Street, taking in the bleak little failure that is Crampton.
BRADY
(singing)
See the U.S.A. ... In your Chev-ro-lat...
HELEN
God bless the Midwest.
BRADY
And I thought Detroit was bad.
EXT. MAIN STREET
The car pulls up in front of the "Fix-It and Supply Shop." The agents get out and try the door. It's locked.
BRADY
(knocking on the door)
Hello? Hello?
HELEN
Wells ...
She points to a sign on a window--"BACK AT" and a little clock. The hands point to four o'clock. Brady checks his watch.
BRADY
We've got about a half hour before Fred's due back. Want to get something to eat or something?
HELEN
Wells, take a look at this.
In the window, next to the "BACK AT" sign, is a yellow flyer. Across the top, in big letters! "Spectacular Display of Illusion and Ventriloquism -- Three o'clock Tomorrow at the Masonic Hall." Just below that, a clown's grinning face.
BRADY
I think I've seen enough magic tricks for one trip.
HELEN
No, look at the bottom.
There it is, at the bottom of the advertisement: "Sponsored by Illusions of Empire."
BRADY
Well, shit.
HELEN
Feel like getting a sneak preview?
EXT. MASONIC HALL
From the outside, the Masonic Hall looks like every Other ruined, abandoned building along Main Street, except for the Masonic symbols adorning its face. Brady stands contemplating these.
HELEN
What?
BRADY
My Uncle Ray had a real burr up his butt about the Masons. When I was a kid, he'd go on about how there are thousands of these halls in cities all over the world, but hardly anyone knows where the Freemasons came from--originally, I mean. They were like the first big cult. I guess some people traced them all the way back to a sect of ancient Egyptians--
HELEN
--who were actually a race of aliens who used the pyramids as a device for communicating with their home world, and now the Masons are attempting to take over the modern telecommunications networks to accomplish the same goal. Right?
BRADY
It sounded a lot more convincing when Uncle Ray said it.
Helen tries the hall's main door. It is unlocked. She pushes it open and the agents look inside. Pitch black.
BRADY
Looks like a flashlight Job.
HELEN
Great.
INT. MASONIC HALL
A flashlight beam slices through the darkness. Then two.
Even by flashlight, it's obvious the Masonic Hall is a total disaster: broken chairs and debris litter the floor, dust and filth has accumulated in piles in the corners.
HELEN
What time was that show tomorrow?
BRADY
Three o'clock.
HELEN
I don't think they're going to make it.
The flashlight beams scan the vast room in different directions. They converge on the far side of the room, which is dominated by a stage. Like the rest of the hall, the stage is a wreck--wood planking rotted, buckled, or just plain missing.
HELEN
I get a really weird vibe off this place.
BRADY
(looking toward the ceiling)
Yeah--lik
e it's going to collapse on top of us.
HELEN
No, more like ... this sounds stupid ... like we're being watched.
Brady shines his flashlight around the old building for a few seconds.
BRADY
You're right. (Beat) That is stupid.
The beam of the flashlight stops on a small door just to the right of the stage.
BRADY
What's that back there?
INT. MASONIC HALL - OFFICE
The agents enter the tiny room flashlights first. It contains what is apparently the only piece of furniture in the whole building; an old, plain desk. A heavy black rotary-style phone sits on the desk.
HELEN
Does this look familiar at all?
BRADY
The Mystery Line commercial. They must have taped it in here.
Brady goes over to the desk. He reaches for the telephone receiver cautiously, like he's about to pick up a live rattlesnake. He lifts the receiver off the cradle and starts to bring it to his ear, moving slowly, as though under some spell. He places it to his ear--
HELEN
Uh, Wells?
Brady blinks like he's just been woke up. He shines his flashlight towards Helen. She is holding up the end of the telephone cord--frayed, wires dangling, like it had been torn out of the wall long ago.
Brady, a little embarrassed, sets the receiver back in its cradle.
BRADY
I thought there might be ... I don't know what I thought.
HELEN
Let's get out of here.
INT. MASONIC HALL
FISH-EYE LOOKING DOWN - we see Brady and Helen exit the little office far below and make their way out of the Masonic Hall.
HALL - LOOKING UP - almost lost in the shadows, TWO SEVERED HEADS dangle above the stage, tied to the rafters by knotted cords. The heads of the two snitches.
EXT. MAIN STREET - EVENING
Brady and Helen exit the ruined hall, overcoats dusty, hair full of cobwebs.
BRADY
I need something to eat.
HELEN
I need a long shower. Hey, look...
Across the street, the Fix-It and Supply Shop's sign has been turned around to read "OPEN FOR BUSINESS." Inside, a figure can be seen working.
Helen begins crossing the street. Brady stands there.
BRADY
You sure we can't get some dinner first and then talk to this guy?
HELEN
Are you coming or not?
BRADY
(following)
Fine.
INT. FIX-IT AND SUPPLY SHOP
FRED, a man in his mid-sixties, is hunched over some obscure gizmo, working at it with tiny tools. He's wearing a pair of glasses, one lens of which has been fitted with a jeweler's magnifying eyepiece.
A small bell RINGS as Brady and Helen enter the Fix-It shop. Fred does not look up.
HELEN
Excuse me?
Still nothing from Fred.
HELEN
Excuse me? I'm Agent Sweeten. This is Agent Wells. (Beat) We're with the FBI.
FRED
(concentrating on his gizmo)
I'm closed.
BRADY
No, you were closed. Now you're open. See ...
(he points to the OPEN FOR BUSINESS sign)
... says so right here.
FRED
I guess you FBI types are way too smart for me.
Fred goes back to ignoring the agents.
HELEN
Sir, we're here on an investigation.
She holds up the receipt from Illusions of Empire.
HELEN
Maybe you could tell us how your shop's address turned up on this receipt.
With a sigh full of irritation, Fred finally gets up from his workbench to examine the receipt.
FRED
(reading slowly)
"Illusions ... of ... Empire." Magic shop? I've never been too interested in magic.
Fred squints, reading through the magnifying eyepiece.
FRED
Why, that ain't even my handwriting. I'm sorry, I don't think I can help you.
BRADY
Sir, I'm sure you're a very busy man, but this is kind of a serious matter.
Outside, an old van--the kind with no windows along its sides--pulls in front of the shop.
FRED
Listen, agent whoever you are, I don't belong to any militia and I ain't never done anything illegal, least not that I know of. I'm just trying to run a business here.
HELEN
Can you at least give us some idea of the kind of work you do? It might help us to piece this thing together.
FRED
I take whatever jobs come my way. Usually it's parts.
BRADY
Parts of what?
FRED
Parts of whatever. Y'know, bits and pieces.
Fred holds up his gizmo as an example. Even up close, the thing offers no clue as to what it is or what it does.
FRED
I don't typically know what the whole thing looks like, and to tell you the truth I don't much care. I just get the parts working, and let the rest sort itself out. Now, however serious it might seem, this business that brought you here ... offhand I'd say someone is having some fun at your expense.
Outside, the van's side door slides open and a FRECKLE-FACED KID pops out. Fred sees him through the window.
FRED
Excuse me, I have a real customer.
The kid enters and Fred waves him over to the far end of the counter, away from the agents.
HELEN
What do you think?
BRADY
I think maybe he's right. Someone's fucking with our heads.
HELEN
So, what, we give up?
BRADY
Give up what? There isn't anything to give up. Fred here doesn't exactly seem like a criminal mastermind.
HELEN
Listen to the case, not the suspect. The case led us here.
Fred retrieves something from a shelf, a package of some sort wrapped in oilstained brown paper and held together with twine. Fred and the kid speak in WHISPERS so they cannot be overheard. Fred seems to be giving the kid some kind of instructions.
BRADY
But the case doesn't make any sense!
HELEN
We're government agents--we're not supposed to care about what makes sense. (Beat) You know what I mean.
The kid nods. He takes the package and exits the shop.
HELEN
(to FRED)
We'd like to ask you a couple more questions.
FRED
No. I'm closing up for the night. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.
BRADY
I'm sure it will just take a few minutes.
FRED
I'll tell you what. It's my dinner time. If you really want to talk that bad, we can talk over at the diner.
He takes a ratty coat off a hook and walks Brady and Helen to the front door.
FRED
I got to go out the back to turn the lights off. I'll meet you out front and we can walk there together.
EXT. OUTSIDE FIX-IT SHOP - EVENING
Brady and Helen exit the shop. Fred looks the door behind them and turns the sign to "CLOSED." Brady and Helen watch him carefully as he walks to the back of the shop. ALL THE LIGHTS GO OUT.
They wait a few moments. No sign of Fred.
HELEN
Oh, no.
BRADY
(walking toward the back of the shop)
Come on--how far can the old geezer have gotten?
They hustle around the corner.
EXT. BACK OF FIX-IT SHOP - EVENING
The rear of the fix-it shop is a blank brick wall, bearing a few stains and patches of crumbling mortar. There is no back door.
HELEN
That's just wonderful.
BRADY
(in disbelief)
(then shouting in frustration)
SHIT!
E
INT. "EAT HERE" DINER
Treacly MUZAK plays to empty tables. An advertisement for the "spectacular" magic show tomorrow at three is taped inside the front window.
Brady and Helen enter and wearily take seats at the counter.
BRADY
Okay, Sweeten, what do we have so far?
HELEN
So far? Nothing I'd care to bring back to Headquarters. Unless you want to haul Ricky Smith to Washington to do card tricks. (Beat) You know what's really strange?
BRADY
You mean apart from this whole fucking day?
HELEN
It's like none of this has anything to do with Larry Johnson's murder anymore. It's all changed.
BRADY
That's what I was talking about in the Fix-It shop. This investigation isn't following the regular pattern. Usually a case gets more focused with every lead you track down. But this one just keeps going and going.
HELEN
Agreed. It's like, Larry Johnson ... then the magic shop ... then Ricky ... I feel like we're on some kind of weird scavenger hunt.
Helen seems on the brink of something, but can't quite articulate it.
HELEN
It all seems so random ... but somehow deliberately random ... like this is all some kind of excuse to ... to--
COUNTERGIRL (O.S.)
Good evening, folks!
Brady and Helen look up sharply. A young COUNTERGIRL Is standing there. She is tall and very attractive, hut wearing too much makeup, giving her face a waxy appearance.
COUNTERGIRL
Would you like to try the meatloaf tonight?
BRADY
Uh ... yeah, sure.
COUNTERGIRL
And for you, ma'am?
Helen is a little out of it, still trying to hold onto her last thought ... to no avail.
HELEN
Just some coffee for me, thanks.
The countergirl walks away.
BRADY
What were you saying, Sweeten?
HELEN
I can't remember now. Probably wasn't important.
BRADY
Well, I'm going to visit the Men's. Don't eat my meatloaf.
He stands up and walks toward the back of the diner.
INT. DINER - BATHROOM
Two stalls, both with closed doors. One urinal. Lots of white tile.
Brady enters. He steps up to the urinal, starts to unzip his fly, and looks down. The urinal is cracked and broken--unusable.
BRADY
Whoops.
He turns toward the stalls. He pushes on the first door, but it's latched--someone's using it.
BRADY
Sorry, buddy.
He pushes the other door, which swings open.
INT. DINER
Helen sitting at the counter, all alone in the diner. Her CELL PHONE RINGS. She answers it.
Crampton Page 5
