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Movies You Will Never See/Coney Island Bluefish/Part 11

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to April 4.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder”, “Fort Apache, The Bronx”, “Boys From Brazil” and “Cocktail.”

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH

By Heywood Gould

ACT FOUR (CONT)

A FOOTBALL

flies across the field. Burke runs under it and sprints for the goal line, but Billy Lyons comes out of nowhere, knocks him down and grabs his flag.It’s the big game, NYPD versus NYFD and the field is packed. On the Fireman side the crowd cheers wildly.

ON THE POLICE SIDELINE

Putts screams for a penalty.

        PUTTS
Personal foul. This is flag
football, you can’t grab the
man.

        BILLY
Next thing you’re gonna be
sayin’ we gotta wear leotards.

The fire rooters screams derisively. Putts calls a time-out.

IN A RICKETY GRANDSTAND

Keats and Nieves are watching.

        NIEVES
Good job holding onto the
ball.

        KEATS
I told you, Jerry’s a tough
kid. He stepped up big time
on that cocaine bust.

        NIEVES
That was bizarre. Precinct
cops nail a guy the feds
couldn’t get. Did you guys
get somethin’ off an
informant?

        KEATS
No, it was an accident. They
were in there on that assault
case. Zazulich, the Russian
girl, sussed it out and played
it by ear. Unbelievable, huh?

        NIEVES
Unbelievable as in I don’t
believe it.

ON THE SIDELINE

Lena and Olga watch the game and gossip about the cops.

        OLGA
Jerry’s waiting for his
divorce to be final, then
we’re gonna move in.

        LENA
Derek is very graceful.

        OLGA
He’s a sweetie. I think he
likes you.

        LENA
And Third doesn’t socialize?

        OLGA
Third is very married. Three
kids and wife who watches
him like a hawk.

        LENA
(casual)
And the Lieutenant.

        OLGA
Keats? Sad story. His wife
died a coupla years ago. The
kids blamed him for not
retiring and taking her away
somewhere. They don’t talk to
him. He’s alone.

Lena looks at Keats with great sympathy

        LENA
He has a beautiful expression.
Full of suffering, but very
beautiful.

ON THE FIELD

Bagels repels the pass rush again as Derek completes a pass to Third. Then he turns and pleads to Putts.

        BAGELS
I’m dyin’ here. Give me a
blow.

        PUTTS
You’re stayin’ in until we
score

.
Putts turns to Vulvani who hasn’t clue what he’s talking about.

        PUTTS (cont’d)
Y’see that’s what I mean by
evaluating talent. This man
never lifted anything heavier
than a knish in his life, but
I spotted him right away.

Vulvani has a handful of BLUE JERSEYS with CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH emblazoned on the back and a large BLUE FISH fish with shark like teeth on the front. He approaches Daniella and Josephine, who are cheering “Go Dad. Go Bluefish..”

        VULVANI
Here girls, take. Don’t worry
I’m the sponsor. I am the
best booster. Next week…
caps.

IN THE HUDDLE

Bagels is throwing up. The men push him out of the huddle.

        CONTI
Gimme the ball, Lemme do
somethin’ heroic for my
girls.

        DEREK
Alright, let’s run the hook
and ladder.

        SLOAN
He can’t run, he took a
bullet in his leg.

        CONTI
Just clear these smoke eaters
out, I’ll make it.

ON THE SIDELINE

Olga teaches Lena and the Conti girls a quick cheer.

        OLGA
Hit ‘em high/Hit ‘em low/
Rock ‘em Bluefish/ Go go
go…

THE HUDDLE

breaks. Sloan and Conti bicker as they line up.

        SLOAN
Why does everything have to
revolve around you?

        CONTI
I’m goin’ through a difficult
divorce. I have self esteem
issues, loyalty, commitment.
You think my best friend
would want to help…

        SLOAN
Of course, somehow this
becomes my fault.

        DEREK
Hike!

A charging FIREMAN knocks Sloan down, but he gets up and sprints downfield, Conti laboring behind him.

        DEREK (cont’d)
Donnie!

Sloan turns just in time for the ball to thump into his chest. A FIREMAN comes in hot pursuit, but Third levels him with a vicious block. Then Conti, runs up.

        CONTI
Donnie, here!

Sloan laterals the ball to Conti and is knocked face first into the mud by Billy Lyons, who then takes off after Conti. Everybody stands and urges Conti on as Billy gains on him. Sloan staggers downfield, screaming:

        SLOAN
Run…

Conti’s knee buckles, but he makes it into the end zone with a broad smile as Sloan comes up behind him, shouting

        SLOAN (cont’d)
Touchdown!

The two hi five, victoriously.

FREEZE ON SLOAN AND CONTI

THE END

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH By Heywood Gould

I pitched a show about how cops deal with the new ethnically diverse New York.

The executives looked up from their blackberries…

Thought Coney Island–home to refugees from the former Soviet Empire a burgeoning Mexican population, Indians, Pakistanis, Hasidim, not to mention retired garment workers, Mafia holdouts, yuppies, hipsters and health nuts who want to be by the sea–would be a good arena.

The executives leaned forward in their chairs—a good sign.

Police precincts field sports teams that play other city departments and go to a state championship every year.

The executives had never heard of that.
“Great hook,” someone said.

I wrote the script. Joy was unconfined. We were on our way.

Then it was bounced down from the “upstairs.”

The verdict:
“Is he kidding?”

Enjoy
Best,
Heywood

Our first script was EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development was a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

Click on EMPRIES OF CRIME link below for the entire script.

EMPIRES OF CRIME

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

Movies You Will Never See/Coney Island Bluefish/Part 10

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to April 4.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder”, “Fort Apache, The Bronx”, “Boys From Brazil” and “Cocktail.”

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH

By Heywood Gould

ACT FOUR (CONT)

INT. SILHOUETTE CLUB. NIGHT. (CROSSCUT TO DETECTIVE CAR)

Burke is in a dark corner on a cell phone. Across the room he can see Lupo and PATRICK, his partner, talking to Lena. He waves to Lupo. Lupo waves back.

        BURKE
He’s got this guy Patrick
with him. Coupla other guys.

AT THE BAR

Lupo is flirting with Lena, while Patrick and other HOODS loom behind.

        LUPO
How do you know Sammy?

        LENA
My husband is on the same
cell block. They play soccer
football every day.

        LUPO
Sammy loves to play soccer.
What’s his name your husband,
Misha?

        LENA
Marty. He’s American.

        LUPO
Sammy never talked about a
Marty. I’ll have to talk to
Sammy first, you know,
before we do business. You
understand?

        LENA
Sure, but I have to score
tonight, so I’ll go to
someone else. Catch you
next time.

        LUPO
You’re in a big hurry, huh?

        LENA
I have to take care of people
upstate. Nobody wants to wait,
you know how it is.

        LUPO
Got the money?

        LENA
I brought for two keys.
Twenty eight Sammy said.

        LUPO
Twenty eight’s for steady
customers. Forty for new
business.

        LENA
I can do that.

Opens her bag. Shows him the money.

INT. DETECTIVE CAR. NIGHT.

Sloan and Conti are putting on KEVLAR BULLETPROOF VESTS. Sloan is on the cell phone on a conference call.

        SLOAN
Jerry says he’s got a
little office. Probably
take her in there.

INT. VAN. NIGHT.(CROSS CUT DETECTIVE CAR)

Derek and Third are checking their “nines…”

        DEREK
Once she gets out of our
sight we give it five
minutes and then go in.

        SLOAN
We don’t know what’s goin’
on behind closed doors.
Maybe he’s just talkin’.

        DEREK
Maybe he’s killin’ her.

        SLOAN
Only takes a second to kill
somebody, Derek, We gotta
trust her like she said.

INT. DETECTIVE CAR.(CROSS CUT INT. SILHOUETTE AND OTHER CARS)

Conti’s cell rings. It’s Burke.

        BURKE
They’re movin’. He took her
out the back way. He’s got a
black Range Rover.

        CONTI
Derek, go down Aveue X.
We’ll slide over and drive
past him and tell you which
way he’s headin’. Then you
pick up the tail.

        PUTTS
Hang with him awhile, then
hand him off to us.

THE DETECTIVE CAR

makes a sharp left onto a narrow street.

IN THE CAR

Conti spots them.

        CONTI
There they are.

The RANGE ROVER pulls out of an alley in front of them. Their headlights pick up Lena in the front seat. Sloan cuts his lights and pulls to the curb, as if parking. Conti talks into his phone.

        CONTI (CONT’D)
They’re headin’ west onto
Avenue X.

EXT. VAN. NIGHT.

Third sees the Rover pulling out ahead.

        THIRD
We got ‘em.

IN THE SEDAN

Bagels turns onto a broad thoroughfare.

        PUTTS
We’re goin’ west on Avenue
V.

EXT. STREET. NIGHT.

The Rover turns onto a narrow side street.

IN THE VAN (CROSSCUT WITH OTHER CARS)
Derek gets on the phone.

        DEREK
They’re goin’ up West Fourth,
toward the ocean.

        SLOAN
We’ll get them on Neptune.

EXT. NEPTUNE AVE. NIGHT.

The Detective Car drives up just as the Range Rover turns onto the street.

IN THE DETECTIVE CAR

        SLOAN
Got ‘em…

EXT. TWO FAMILY HOUSE. NIGHT.

The Rover parks in front. Lena, Kenny, Patrick and another HOOD get out. The Detective Car drives past.

IN THE DETECTIVE CAR

        CONTI
We all on the same page?

        DEREK
Here.

        PUTTS
I see ‘em.

        CONTI
Jerry, can you cover the
back?

INT. BURKE’S CAR. NIGHT.(CROSSCUT WITH OTHER CARS)

Olga slips into jeans and sneakers as she drives. Burke is on the cell phone.

        BURKE
Got it.

LIGHTS go on in the second floor of the house.

EXT. BACK YARD. NIGHT.

Burke and Olga climb over a wall.They drop into a pool of light from the second story window, then dart quickly into the shadows. Olga checks her WATCH. It’s 10:51.

IN BLACK…11;42;06..

Conti whispering…”No, baby, I did not push you into the closet…

INT. DETECTIVE CAR. NIGHT.

Conti on the cell phone.

        CONTI
I asked you to step in as a
personal favor to me.

        SLOAN
Doin’ it in the closet now?

        CONTI
I’m on the job right now.
You don’t believe me, ask
Donnie. Tell her.

And hands Sloan the phone.

        SLOAN
Boy, could I screw you up…
(into the phone)
Hi, Betty, Donnie. We are on
a stakeout. We’re lookin’ to
lock somebody up. No, nobody
you know… Thanks, you’re
sweet.
(disconnects)
She says you can call her
until one. She also says how
come all the good guys are
married.

Conti’s PHONE BEEPS.

        CONTI
Maybe this is Sandra…Oh,
Derek…

INT. VAN. NIGHT.(CROSSCUT WITH OTHER CARS)

        DEREK
It’s been a half hour. What
do we do?

        CONTI
We wait. Can’t break down
the door. We’ll just be
endangering her.

        DEREK
I suppose she’s not in
danger now.

        PUTTS
You guys wanna take your
heads outta your butts and
look outside the house…

LENA AND LUPO

are walking out of the house, laughing.

IN THE DETECTIVE CAR

Sloan grabs Conti, gleefully.

        SLOAN
She did it! Let’s get him.

Sloan starts the car and they drive up as Lupo is opening his door. Conti rolls down the window.

        CONTI
Hey Kenny…
(shows him the gun)
See this?
(and the badge)
And this?

        LUPO
What’s this all about?

        CONTI
Put your hands on top of the
car.

Sloan hustles out.

        SLOAN
Hiya doin’ Kenny. Wanna
spread your legs a little
bit for me?

        LUPO
You guys are embarrassing me
in front of my girlfriend.

        LENA
(holds up a shopping bag)
Don’t worry about me. Kenny.
The cocaine will console me.

        LUPO
(understands and snarls at
Lena)
Are you a cop you scurvy
little bitch?

Sloan slams his head against the door.

        SLOAN
Hey, watch your language, I
got a picture of my mother
in my pocket.

Lupo is subdued; a crafty look comes into his eye as the other cops run up.

        LUPO
I got good friends in this
precinct, you know what I
mean. Ask Jerry Burke, he’ll
vouch for me…

Sloan slams Lupo’s head into the car again.

        SLOAN
This is fun. One of you guys
wanna take a turn?

Conti tightens the cuffs on Lupo. And drags him up the walk to the house.

        CONTI
You wanna do yourself some
good, Kenny? Walk us into
the house, nice and easy,
so we can meet your friends.

        LUPO
Okay, I can do that. It’s
their stash, you know. I’m
just along for the ride.

        CONTI
Yeah I know, you thought you
were sellin’ grated cheese.
You got a secret code or
knock that gets you in?

        LUPO
Nah, I just ring the bell.

Derek rings the bell. A VOICE GROWLS over the SPEAKER.

        LUPO (cont’d)
It’s me Kenny. Let me in…

The cops hear a curse on the SPEAKER. Suddenly, the lights go out. Conti smacks Lupo.

        CONTI
Cute Kenny. Just bought
yourself five more years.
(shoves him at Lena)
Watch him…Call Emergency
Service to help us bust
into the house.

Third runs at the door, kicking it in. The cops step over the shattered frame into a two family house. They rush up the narrow stairs. Putts bangs on the door.

        PUTTS
Police! Open up!

IN THE BACK YARD

CELLOPHANE PACKAGES sail out of the second floor window. Olga runs to catch them as a MAN jumps out, followed by another. Burke kicks one man’s legs out from under him and slams the other with the butt of his gun.

INT. STAIRWAY. NIGHT.

The cops stand, impatiently outside the door.

        CONTI
Can’t wait, they’re flushin’
the evidence.

Derek throws a kick at the door. Then, Bagels lowers his shoulder and breaks it in. Conti and Sloan rush into the LIVING ROOM where a WOMAN and TWO MEN rise hands up, shouting “Don’t shoot, we give up.” Derek and Third run into a BATHROOM where Patrick is flushing cellophane bags of white powder down the toilet. They pull him up by the collar and drag him into the living room where Conti is cuffing the others and Sloan is looking into two SUITCASES full of cellophane bags.

        SLOAN
We got a major cocaine
seizure here.

EXT. HOUSE. NIGHT.

Lupo is lying face down, hands cuffed. Lena stands over him.

        LUPO
Sammy Capelli gave me up,
didn’t he? The one guy in
the world I trusted.

        LENA
Oh Kenny, darling, what a
pretty boy. All the girls
are going to miss you. But
you just wear that nice
cologne you’ll make a lot
of new friends in jail…


ACT FOUR (CONT)

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH By Heywood Gould

I pitched a show about how cops deal with the new ethnically diverse New York.

The executives looked up from their blackberries…

Thought Coney Island–home to refugees from the former Soviet Empire a burgeoning Mexican population, Indians, Pakistanis, Hasidim, not to mention retired garment workers, Mafia holdouts, yuppies, hipsters and health nuts who want to be by the sea–would be a good arena.

The executives leaned forward in their chairs—a good sign.

Police precincts field sports teams that play other city departments and go to a state championship every year.

The executives had never heard of that.
“Great hook,” someone said.

I wrote the script. Joy was unconfined. We were on our way.

Then it was bounced down from the “upstairs.”

The verdict:
“Is he kidding?”

Enjoy
Best,
Heywood

Our first script was EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development was a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

Click on EMPRIES OF CRIME link below for the entire script.

EMPIRES OF CRIME

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

Movies You Will Never See/Coney Island Bluefish/Part 9

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to April 4.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder,”Fort Apache, The Bronx,”Boys From Brazil”and “Cocktail.”

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH

By Heywood Gould

ACT FOUR


IN BLACK…10;16.O8…HITLER’S VOICE declaiming…A hundred thousand people at Nuremberg cry “Sig Heil…”

INT. BRIAN’S BEDROOM. NIGHT.

Brian is hunched ecstatically in front of the computer. On screen, an AV biography of Hitler. Sloan and Corinne sit on the bed, watching in astonishment.

        SLOAN
Is this why I traipsed
around Brooklyn on my
lunch hour? So you can
watch Nazi propaganda?

        BRIAN
This site gives you
information the Government
doesn’t want you to have..

        CORINNE
Like what?

        BRIAN
Like in twenty years the
white race is going to be in
the minority in this country.

        SLOAN
I don’t know if that’s true,
but even if it is it’s not
the end of the world.

        BRIAN
C’mon Dad, you’re a cop. You
know what happens when the
criminal element is in the
majority. The influx of
illegal aliens has raises
the crime rate, increases
the welfare rolls…

        CORINNE
I wouldn’t call them a
criminal element.

        BRIAN
Undesirable then? You’re
selling real estate up here,
Mom. We know you have code
words for minorities…

        SLOAN
Who’s we, Brian?

        ASHLEY
( mockingly,in the doorway)
We is his nerdy Nazi friends.

        BRIAN
Better than your phony Goths
with their stick on tattoos
and clip on nose rings.

        CORINNE
Ashley come in and sit down.

        BRIAN
Not here. This room’s off
limits for her.

        ASHLEY
I don’t want come into this
pimple palace anyway. Don’t
worry about Adolph, dad. You
guys aren’t around a lot and
it’s just his way of getting
your attention.

        BRIAN
Yeah and what’s your way?
Givin’ head to to your
boarder boyfriend?

        ASHLEY
You little bitch!

She jumps at him, nails out. He swings wild, hitting Sloan. The two fight fiercely as their parents try to break them up.

IN BLACK…DINER SOUNDS..WEDNESDAY, 7:01:49.

INT. VICTOR’S. DAY.

RADIOS squawking calls on the counter and on the tables as COPS take their meal periods. Putts sits at a table, surrounded by COPS, diagramming plays on graph paper.

        PUTTS
This team is media ready,
baby. We win the city and
the state. We get write ups.
The PD’s gotta fly us to
New Orleans for the
nationals. We win those,
baby, we’re doin’ Letterman.
We get an agent. We’re up
for commercials…We just
gotta get by them firemen…

AT THE REGISTER
Conti and Sloan pay their checks.

        SLOAN
It seems like yesterday he
was a little kid cryin’
because the Little League
Coach kept putting him in
right field.

        CONTI
And now he’s gonna take over
the world and put all them
jocks against the wall.

        SLOAN
(defensive)
Wait a minute. It’s not that
bad.

They walk out and head for their cars.

        CONTI
Admit it, you’re in suburban
hell. You got a house you
can’t afford. Your son’s a
loose cannon. Your daughter’s
into sexual experimentation.

        SLOAN
Excuse me. I suppose there’s
no sexual experimentation
goin’ on in Brooklyn. I
suppose your little Josephine
isn’t doing a little lap
work…

        CONTI
Excuse me, but would you like
to get your ass kicked?

        SLOAN
(opens his door)
I deserve it for confiding
in you.

        CONTI
(opens his door)
I could blow you off with
some feelgood line of crap.
But because I’m your friend,
I hit you between the eyes
with the unvarnished truth…

        SLOAN
(getting into his car)
At least I’m tryin’ to do the
best for my family. Not like
Mr. Unvarnished Truth over
here, who cuts everybody
loose so he can chase women…

        CONTI
(getting into his car)
I got a problem, alright. If
it was drinking or gambling
or even drugs everybody would
feel sorry for me…

They slam their doors and gun their motors. Then jam on the brakes to avoid a collision.

INT. KEATS’S OFFICE. DAY.

Keats stares at Sloan in disbelief, a coffee cup poised in his hand. A moment of strained silence. Sloan fidgets.

        KEATS
This is a scam, right?

        SLOAN
I would call it innovative
police work.

        KEATS
You’re gonna send this
Russian girl into the bar
to get him on a cocaine
sale.

        SLOAN
That’s the plan.

        KEATS
DEA and FBI struck out with
this guy. What makes you
think you can get him?

        SLOAN
We’ve got an ice breaker, a
name we can use to get his
trust. Look, if we arrest
Lupo for rape, she won’t
testify against him anyway.
And if her brothers find out,
she’ll be punished, beaten,
maybe worse, and we’ll have
another crime to investigate.
We got a special situation in
this precinct. We do things a
little differently, but we
get the bad guys.

        KEATS
Multicultural policing.

        SLOAN
Beg your pardon…

        KEATS
You promise this won’t blow
up in my face.

        SLOAN
Operationally and
procedurally we’ve got all
our bases covered.

        KEATS
I think I’ll go home early
tonight.

        SLOAN
Good idea. You look a little
tired.

        KEATS
You know that Russian girl
gave me some good exercises
for my back.

        SLOAN
Don’t worry. We’ll take care
of her.

INT.SQUAD.NIGHT.

The cops discuss the “move.” with Lena.

        SLOAN
Order a drink and wait until
he hits on you.

        LENA
No, I ask for him right away.
I am there to buy drugs. Why
would I wait?

        SLOAN
Because he’ll get suspicious
if you come on strong…

        LENA
He’ll get suspicious if I
don’t. I’ve done many times
this before. If you don’t
trust me to do it right call
it off.

        PUTTS
Anybody know this Silhouette
Club?

        DEREK
I took a guy outta there when
I was in uniform…

        BURKE
(blurts)
I been in there a coupla
times. I know Kenny Lupo.

They look at him. This is a damaging admission.

        CONTI
You could go in and spot
him for us.

        SLOAN
If Lupo sees a cop he might
freeze up.

        CONTI
He might also relax and think
nothin’ was up.

        OLGA
I’ll go in with you. Make it
look more natural.

        THIRD
Do we have back up? What if
Lupo’s got ten guys in there?
Do we have a Plan B?

        CONTI
You know what makes most plans
fail? Too much planning.

        SLOAN
Thank you, partner. That
about sums it up.

IN BLACK…10:15;57. STREET SOUNDS. RADIO CALLS

        DEREK
God, did you ever see
anything like this in your
life?

EXT. SILHOUETTE CLUB. NIGHT.

Lena chic in a short skirt and spiked heels walk past a CHUNKY BOUNCER under a NEON SILHOUETTE of a COUPLE embracing.

PAN TO a VAN across the street where Derek and Third are watching. Third grabs the radio.

        THIRD
She’s in.

His CELL PHONE chirps.

A FEW BLOCKS AWAY

Sloan and Conti sit in a DETECTIVE CAR, the Silhouette sign blinking in the distance. Sloan talks on his cell phone.

        SLOAN
Jerry says turn off the
radios, they got a satellite
scanner in the bar.

INT SILHOUETTE CLUB. NIGHT.

Dark, DISCO blasting. JUNIOR WISEGUYS in knock off Armanis, bragging and flashing jewelry..
Olga, in short skirt and low cut top walks through the smoke, drawing looks and propositions. She passes the bar where Lena, holding a shot of vodka, is talking to the BARTENDER.

        LENA
Tell Kenny Sammy Capelli
told me to come.

At the end of the bar Burke is nursing a beer.

        BURKE
You made a lot of friends.

        OLGA
Yeah. If I ever want to be
fed cheap booze and raped
under the boardwalk, I know
where to go.

INT. SEDAN. NIGHT.

The radio is on to a sports talk show. Putts and Bagels cruise past a sedan where Conti and Sloan are on cell phones.

INT. DETECTIVE CAR. NIGHT.

Sloan is talking to his wife. Conti to the Golden Gate. Both have changed out of their suits into windbreakers and slacks.

        CONTI
She’s a brunette, nice body,
on the zaftig side.

        SLOAN
I’ll talk to Brian tomorrow
morning. I won’t get home in
time, Corinne, I’m on a
stakeout.

        CONTI
Did anybody leave a message
for me?

        SLOAN
Hold on a second…
(to Conti)
Face facts, the lady’s got
too much class to hang around
that dump waitin’for you.

        CONTI
(grabs Sloan’s phone)\
Corinne, how do you put up
with this guy?… A drink?
Any time. I’ve been secretly
in love with you for years…

        SLOAN
(shoves him)
Turn off the charm…

Conti’s phone beeps. He answers…

        CONTI
Yeah, Jerry.
(to Sloan)
Lupo showed. Is he alone,
Jerry?


END ACT THREE

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH By Heywood Gould

I pitched a show about how cops deal with the new ethnically diverse New York.

The executives looked up from their blackberries…

Thought Coney Island–home to refugees from the former Soviet Empire a burgeoning Mexican population, Indians, Pakistanis, Hasidim, not to mention retired garment workers, Mafia holdouts, yuppies, hipsters and health nuts who want to be by the sea–would be a good arena.

The executives leaned forward in their chairs—a good sign.

Police precincts field sports teams that play other city departments and go to a state championship every year.

The executives had never heard of that.
“Great hook,” someone said.

I wrote the script. Joy was unconfined. We were on our way.

Then it was bounced down from the “upstairs.”

The verdict:
“Is he kidding?”

Enjoy
Best,
Heywood

Our first script was EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development was a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

Click on EMPRIES OF CRIME link below for the entire script.

EMPIRES OF CRIME

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

Movies You Will Never See/Coney Island Bluefish/Part 8

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to April 4.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder,”Fort Apache, The Bronx,”Boys From Brazil”and “Cocktail.”

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH

By Heywood Gould

ACT THREE

 

IN BLACK… SQUAD ROOM…ANGRY VOICES. RADIO CALLS.

IN THE SQUAD ROOM

The radio is on Bagel’s desk next to the spreads. Putts is typing a report. TWO COPS are trying to get a PRISONER down the stairs, but he is resisting, holding onto a bannister. Bagels lifts the Prisoner high over his head, holding him over the landing. Across the room: Conti is crooning into the phone, while Sloan watches in disgust.

        CONTI
I gotta see you right away.
Make sure it wasn’t all a
dream.

INT. DENTIST’S OFFICE. DAY. (CROSS CUT)

Sandra, in her uniform, is on the phone.

        SANDRA
I can’t, I’m at work.

        CONTI
So I’ll come in for a
cleaning. I need one after
last night.

        SLOAN
You are truly a disgusting
human being.

        CONTI
(bangs the phone against the
desk)
Hear that? That’s the sound
of me knockin’one of my teeth
out. Now you’ll have to see
me.

        SANDRA
(laughing)
I don’t know if I can make
it.

        CONTI
Okay, no pressure. I’ll drop
into the Golden Gate tomorrow
about eight. If you’re there,
you’re there. If not I drown
myself. Bye, Sandra.

Hangs up with a dreamy look.

        SLOAN
You are a degenerate bastard.

        CONTI
I’m a Romantic. A hundred
years ago I woulda been a Don
Juan, a Casanova. They woulda
written poems about me.
Instead, I gotta put up with
mutts like you callin’ me
names.

INT. INTERROGATION ROOM. DAY

Lena and Olga are trying to coax a story out of Ismailia.

        OLGA
You don’t remember anything
that happened after you left
your house.

        ISMAILIA
I remember nothing. I told
you…

Lena turns to Ismailia and whispers urgently in Russian. Ismailia is surprised at first, but then replies in a tearful outburst. Lena translates.

        LENA
She’s afraid of the dishonor
to her family.

        OLGA
Look, I’m a cop. But I’m also
a woman and I know what
you’ve been through. I swear
on my mother’s grave I’m not
gonna make it worse for you.

        ISMAILIA
My brothers could not marry
if their sister was known as
a whore. They would have to
send me away, maybe kill me,
to save the family reputation.
This is the way in our
country.

        OLGA
Here, too Ismailia, I hate to
tell you. A woman gets raped
people say she asked for it.
You wear a nice dress, maybe
you smile at a guy, that’s
askin’ for it. Your family,
even other women who oughta
know better, they think it.

        ISMAILIA
You know.

        OLGA
Yeah, I know. But you gotta
be brave. ‘Cause it’s not
just for you. It’s for some
girl who might take a walk on
the boardwalk with this guy
and never come back. If that
happens you’ll never forgive
yourself.

        ISMAILIA
(thinks it over)
If I tell you who it was,
will you promise, will you
swear to keep me out?

        OLGA
I don’t know how we could do
that. This crime was committed
against you.

        ISMAILIA
If you don’t promise, I
can’t tell.

Olga and Lena look at each other, doubtfully.

        LENA
At least we’ll know who it
was.

        OLGA
Okay, I promise.

Ismailia looks hard at the two of them. Then, satisfied, she turns the pages of the mug book.

        ISMAILIA
It is him.

INSERT..A MUG SHOT…The man on the beach.

        OLGA
Kenneth Lupo. Where’d you meet
him?

        ISMAILIA
At the Silhouette Club. My
friends from work, Sonia and
Naomi. All the time they go
there. Dancing, handsome men,
they said. Get out in the
world. So I went. And I met
him, this Kenny. He is
Russian, too, but here for a
long time. He was beautiful.
Silk shirts, gold chain, eyes
shining. Always laughing,
white teeth. The cologne, the
beautiful smell.

        OLGA
I know that smell.

        ISMAILIA
He knows my brothers from
some football club. He laughs.
Oh they’ll kill you if they
know you’re here. Later, a few
drinks and he says ‘come I’ll
take you home before it gets
too late…’
(bitter)
Then…You know. He knows I
can’t tell. He knows what
will happen.

INT. VICTOR’S. DAY.

A strategy session. Over coffee, Sloan reads from Lupo’s rap sheet.

        SLOAN
Kenny Lupo, a.k.a. Arkady
Lupovich. Born Odessa, 1967.
Known coke dealer. One
possession with intent. One
assault with a deadly weapon.
One rape. Pleaded to assault.
Did a deuce at Greenhaven…

        CONTI
Anybody workin’ on him?

        SLOAN
He’s on the DEA computer.
They had a tap on him. He
don’t talk on the phone. FBI
tried to put undercovers in.
No luck.

        CONTI
We can make a collar based on
the victim’s ID.

        LENA
The girl will never testify.

        CONTI
We may not need her to if we
have you ladies corroborating
her ID.

        LENA
I won’t testify. I gave my
word.

        OLGA
Me too.

        SLOAN
Where you workin’ next week?

        OLGA
I was an exotic dancer for
three years. I can go back to
that.

        CONTI
I’m sure you can. Where’d you
work?

        SLOAN
Don’t get him started.

        OLGA
Look Bobby, I didn’t come on
this job to ruin people’s
lives. If I give this girl up
her family will excommunicate
her.

        CONTI
If you don’t a mutt gets away
with rape. I don’t go for
that. I got two daughters
living in this neighborhood.

There is a strained, stubborn silence. No one will give in.

        SLOAN
Why don’t we buy cocaine off
this guy? It’s a bigger
collar. He’ll get twenty
years.

        LENA
You get me a name to open the
door. I’ll get him to sell me
the cocaine…

        SLOAN
Bobby…

Conti glares at Sloan, but then looks through the office window into the squad room where Ismailia is coming out to meet her father. Shamil rises wearily from his chair and hugs her. Her shoulders shake as if she is crying. He pats her gently on the back with his work gnarled hand.

Conti turns back to Sloan.

        CONTI
I’ll get you a name.

EXT.SCAROLA’S.DAY.

An Italian restaurant on a quiet side street. A BURLY LOOKOUT steps aside, as Conti enters, asking for “Mr. Varese…”

INT. SCAROLA’S. DAY.

Empty accept for a boisterous round table at the back where EDDIE VARESE, mid sixties, flushed with wine is holding court with his “crew,” seven or eight thick, prosperous middle aged men. Someone spots him and they all quiet down. With a few “hi Bobby’s,” they rise and melt away.

        CONTI
What do I got, the plague?

        VARESE
It’s the badge. Gives ‘em
agita.
(they hug)
You never come see me no
more.

        CONTI
I don’t want my picture taken
by every federal agency in
the country

        VARESE
Ah, who cares about a small
time bookie like me? Sit down.
You want a coffee?

        CONTI
(looking at the dirty dishes)
Now I know why I never went
into the rackets. I could
never eat like you guys.Too
bad about Barry Weiner, huh.

        VARESE
This man booked bets for
thirty years in the
neighborhood. Always paid off
to the penny. Always carried
the losers. This man was
loved.

         CONTI
How about Peter Cortina?

         VARESE
Everybody knows that guy was
a funeral waitin’ to happen.
Nobody cares.

         CONTI
My boss does. You start
toastin’ wiseguys next thing
you know you got TV crews and
Task Forces. Most guys like
publicity, but he don’t, he’s
funny that way. Now he’s
tellin’ me he wants to close
you down. The card room on
the Boardwalk and the numbers
drops and the after hours.

        VARESE
Why’s he mad at me?

        CONTI
Barry gets clipped. Coupla
hours later they find Cortina.
Everybody knows he’s been
tryin’ to move in on Coney
Island. Everybody knows that
you and Tony Scaduto in
Bensonhurst don’t see eye to
eye.

        VARESE
What everybody knows won’t
stand up in court.

        CONTI
We’re not talkin’ court,
Uncle Eddie. We’re talkin’
givin’ you grief. My boss
don’t like mob guys, he’s
funny that way, too. He plugs
you in as a suspect you’re
in a fishbowl. You’re a
headline waitin’ to happen.

        VARESE
(beginning to understand)
This a shakedown, Bobby?

        CONTI
You know a guy named Kenny
Lupo?

        VARESE
Yeah, he’s a piece of garbage.
Got nothin’ to do with me.

        CONTI
I need a magic name to drop
with this guy. So I get his
confidence in a hurry.

        VARESE
I don’t like the guy, but I
don’t give people up.

        CONTI
Kenny Lupo raped a little
Russian girl, and beat her up
pretty bad. He’s goin’ down
whether you chip in or not.

        VARESE
(thinks it over)
Sammy Capelli, Him and
Kenny were partners in the
dope business. He went away
for killin’ a guy. Kenny
sends him money, takes care
of his mother, so you know
Sammy’s got a hammer on him.

        CONTI
Sammy Capelli. Got a nice
ring to it. Oh yeah, one
more thing, I’m gonna need a
little interest free loan…
Forty grand,

        VARESE
Forty G’s, what do I look
like?

        CONTI
It’s coffee and cake money
for you.

        VARESE
(pinches Conti’s cheek)
My baby sister’s favorite
son, I can’t say no to you.
Gimme a hug.

As they hug, Varese feels around his back. Conti pulls away.

        CONTI
Don’t worry, your baby
sister’s favorite son
ain’t wearin’ a wire.


END ACT THREE

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH By Heywood Gould

I pitched a show about how cops deal with the new ethnically diverse New York.

The executives looked up from their blackberries…

Thought Coney Island–home to refugees from the former Soviet Empire a burgeoning Mexican population, Indians, Pakistanis, Hasidim, not to mention retired garment workers, Mafia holdouts, yuppies, hipsters and health nuts who want to be by the sea–would be a good arena.

The executives leaned forward in their chairs—a good sign.

Police precincts field sports teams that play other city departments and go to a state championship every year.

The executives had never heard of that.
“Great hook,” someone said.

I wrote the script. Joy was unconfined. We were on our way.

Then it was bounced down from the “upstairs.”

The verdict:
“Is he kidding?”

Enjoy
Best,
Heywood

Our first script was EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development was a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

Click on EMPRIES OF CRIME link below for the entire script.

EMPIRES OF CRIME

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

Movies You Will Never See/Coney Island Bluefish/Part 7

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to April 4.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder,”Fort Apache, The Bronx,”Boys From Brazil”and “Cocktail.”

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH

By Heywood Gould

ACT THREE

IN BLACK…BEDROOM SOUNDS…Tuesday 6:23 :02

        CONTI
My father owned a restaurant
in Bath Beach. My Uncle Eddie,
the hood, was the silent
partner. His boys ate there…

INT. CONTI’S BEDROOM.DAY

Conti and Sandra are in an afterglow embrace.

        CONTI
And so did the cops from the
local precinct. Even as a kid
I noticed the wiseguys were
always mad or worried about
something, but the cops were
always laughin’ and havin’ a
good time. So when my uncle
told me to drive a truck full
of stolen suits to Newark, I
said ‘ no thanks,’ and took
the Police Exam instead.

        SANDRA
No regrets.

        CONTI
I like the job. I feel I’m
makin’ up for some of my
reprehensible habits.

        SANDRA
Well, a guilty cheater. Don’t
feel too bad. Can’t cheat by
yourself.

        CONTI
Don’t I know it. But then you
meet somebody and you wish
they would take you seriously.

        SANDRA
(rolling out of bed)
This is where I came in.

        CONTI
Am I makin’ you nervous?

        SANDRA
It’s not you. The Velvet
Hammers just wore off and all
of a sudden I can smell some
other woman’s perfume. And
I’m feeling just a little
cheap.

        CONTI
You did all this to get back
at your husband, didn’t you?

        SANDRA
Not really. My husband’s at
his new girlfriend’s house.
He’ll never know.

        CONTI
So maybe it had a little
something to do with me.

        SANDRA
Fishing for compliments? You
weren’t that great.

        CONTI
C’mere. Give me another
chance.

Sandra gets back into bed with Conti. As they kiss the PHONE RINGS.

        CONTI (CONT’D)
It’s just my partner stuck in
traffic.

They kiss as the VOICE MAIL comes on and:

        SLOAN
Pick up, you rat bastard, I
know you’re there.

IN BLACK…PRECINCT SOUNDS. 9:15:04

        RADIO
…Pick up Ismailia Akmhatov
from Coney Island General…

INT.SQUAD.DAY.

Hectic. PRISONERS, FEDS. Lena who is briefing some FEDS. watches Sloan and Conti escort Ismailia into an office

        LENA
My act was so good he thought
I was a thief. He thought he
could kill me.

She looks across the aisle in amusement at:

BAGELS

who is plying Vulvani, the Indian appliance store owner with bagels, while Putts hovers over him, putter in hand.

        VULVANI
You don’t believe I was
robbed?

        PUTTS
The insurance company
requires us to check the ID
numbers against recorded
purchases. If one matches
they got you on insurance
fraud, tax evasion…

        VULVANI
But they broke down my wall.

        PUTTS
We saw your wall. We’re gonna
have to say that the plaster
was on the outside like the
wall had been busted in from
the inside. When you make a
cop do his job you always
have a problem.

        BAGELS
Have a nice, hot poppyseed
bagel, fresh from the oven.
We got hazelnut coffee…

        PUTTS
You guys play field hockey,
don’t you? That’s a girl’s
game in America.

SLOAN walks by carrying a mug book.

        BASHIR
Detective Sloan.

Bashir and Adan cross the room to him. Shamil hangs back, intimidated by the official bustle.

        BASHIR (cont’d)
We went to the hospital to
pick my sister up and they
said you brought her here.
What’s up with that?

Shamil nods, meekly as Sloan speaks to him. .

        SLOAN
We’d just like her to check
some photos. In a few days,
when she feels better, we
would like to talk to her
again.

        ADAN
There’s nothing to talk about.

        SHAMIL
(halting)
She said she didn’t see the
man. She was walking on the
boardwalk and he came behind
her. Then, when the people
shouted, he ran away.

        SLOAN
Maybe she’ll remember a
little detail.

        SHAMIL
Why make her remember? Let
her forget.

        SLOAN
We need her to help us catch
this man. To stop him from
hurting another woman.

        SHAMIL
I understand…

INT INTERROGATION ROOM. DAY

Ismailia is shaking her head vehemently under Conti’s gentle questioning as Sloan enters.

        CONTI
Do you remember seeing maybe
a ring or a watch? A bracelet…?

        ISMAILIA
I don’t…Nothing.

        CONTI
When he put his hand over
your mouth did you smell any
kind of cologne? Did he have
an accent? Did he say anything?

        ISMAILIA
(shaking her head)
No.

        SLOAN
Don’t be frightened, Miss
Akmhatov, we’ll protect you….

        ISMAILIA
(tearfully vehement)
I told you: He said nothing,
I saw nothing. Why do you
question me?

IN THE SQUAD ROOM

Lena is filling out a form for the feds. She eavesdrops as Shamil and his sons have an animated conversation in Uzbek a few desks away. Then watches as Sloan whispers to Olga and leads her into the interrogation room. Then sees Keats trying to do stretching exercises in his office. She rises and crosses the room to Keats’ office, smiling at Derek, who watches her, smitten. Keats has his leg up on the desk as she enters.

        LENA
This stretch is not good for
a bad back.

        KEATS
The doctor says it strengthens
the hamstrings.

        LENA
Only if you can do it like
this.

She puts her leg up on the desk and stretches all the way until her forehead touches her ankle.

        LENA (cont’d)
First thing for you is
flexibility of the spine. Get
on the floor. On your back.

Astonished, Keats obeys, lying down in front of his desk.

        LENA (cont’d)
Raise your knees.

Again, Keats obeys. Lena stands over him, bends his legs and pushes his knees into his chest. He groans…in pleasure.

        KEATS
Oh, that’s good.

        LENA
That Uzbek girl won’t tell
you anything.

        KEATS
Afraid of the man who did it?

        LENA
Afraid of her own family, I
heard her brothers talking.
In their culture the woman’s
chastity must be protected.
If she has sex before
marriage she is considered a
whore.

        KEATS
Even if she’s raped?

        LENA
They’ll say she provoked it.
Why wasn’t her face covered?
Why did she go out alone?
They can drive her away. Or
kill her.

        KEATS
Maybe in their country.

        LENA
These are immigrants,
Lieutenant. They bring their
country with them.
(moves around behind him)
Sit up. Put your hands behind
your head…

She pushes his head down into his chest.

        KEATS
(gasping)
What’s your name, Officer?

        LENA
Lena Zazulich.

        KEATS
How do you know so much about
stretching, Miss Zazulich?

        LENA
I was a little ballerina in
Russia. Kirov ballet, you’ve
heard of it?

        KEATS
No.

        LENA
Good. I’m in the right place.
They take you away from your
family when you’re five years.
Train you, slave drive you
seven days a week so you can
go on tour and earn foreign
currency.

        KEATS
How’d you become a cop?

        LENA
We were privileged little
girls. They let us watch
American TV. I watched
Cagney and Lacey, you know
this show?

        KEATS
Yeah, sure.

        LENA
Strong, independent women,
not little dancing puppets.
So when I came here and they
said go to City Ballet, I
said no I’m going to the
Police Academy.

        KEATS
Ever hear of multicultural
police work?

        LENA
No.

        KEATS
You’re in the right place.
Get that girl to give you a
name, a description.

        LENA
She’ll never tell.

        KEATS
She’ll have to. If not, we’ll
force her to have an
examination and we’ll reveal
the results to the family.

Lena drops Keats’s head and steps away.

        LENA
This is cruel. It’s a betrayal.

        KEATS
(rises slowly)
People don’t get away with
rape in my precinct, Officer
Zazulich. Cagney and Lacey
would agree, don’t you think?
(stretches)
Ooh…A little sore, but I
feel a lot looser already.

END: ACT THREE (CONT)

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH By Heywood Gould

I pitched a show about how cops deal with the new ethnically diverse New York.

The executives looked up from their blackberries…

Thought Coney Island–home to refugees from the former Soviet Empire a burgeoning Mexican population, Indians, Pakistanis, Hasidim, not to mention retired garment workers, Mafia holdouts, yuppies, hipsters and health nuts who want to be by the sea–would be a good arena.

The executives leaned forward in their chairs—a good sign.

Police precincts field sports teams that play other city departments and go to a state championship every year.

The executives had never heard of that.
“Great hook,” someone said.

I wrote the script. Joy was unconfined. We were on our way.

Then it was bounced down from the “upstairs.”

The verdict:
“Is he kidding?”

Enjoy
Best,
Heywood

Our first script was EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development was a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

Click on EMPRIES OF CRIME link below for the entire script.

EMPIRES OF CRIME

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

Movies You Will Never See/Coney Island Bluefish/Part 6

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to April 4.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder,”Fort Apache, The Bronx,”Boys From Brazil”and “Cocktail.”

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH

By Heywood Gould

ACT TWO

IN BLACK…11:21:54…JETS LANDING…PA ANNOUNCEMENTS.

        RADIO
Anti crime units 1 and 2
respond to La Guardia,
Terminal 7…

INT.AIRPORT TERMINAL.NIGHT.

SURVEILLANCE PHOTO. A YOUNG BLONDE WOMAN standing by a car.

        OLGA
(o.s.)
This is the undercover.

TILT UP to a bench where Olga and Burke dressed as tourists with backpacks and boomboxes are looking at the photo.

        BURKE
Cute…

        OLGA
(with a little slap)
Keep your mind on the job.

She snuggles up, but Burke slides away.

        BURKE
Cool it. Everybody’s lookin’…

He points across at Third and Derek, business suits, laptops, sitting across from them, smirking.

        OLGA
So what? We’re playin’ young
lovers on a world tour.

        BURKE
Let’s play lovers havin’ a
fight

ACROSS THE AISLE

Third and Derek check out the FBI contingent.

        DEREK
We’re just around in case of
World War III, right?

        THIRD
Plan is she’s takes ‘the guy
into the bar. She passes the
money, he gives her the
diamonds. Then, the FBI moves
in…

WEARY PASSENGERS trickle out of the gate. Then comes LENA, a tall, striking blonde in a black dress carrying an attache case.

        DEREK
Oh, this is a star.

        THIRD
Don’t get drippy on me again.
Don’t burn where you earn.

Lena is met by a HEAVYSET MAN in a black suit.They shake hands and she turns toward the bar. But the Heavyset man takes her arm again and pulls her in the opposite direction.

        DEREK
Change of plans.

THREE MEN and a WOMAN emerge from the bar and surround her. They walk her toward the exit. Third puts headphones in his ears and walks by the group..There is a TINY MICROPHONE on his laptop case. As they pass he hears:

        HEAVYSET MAN
(thick accent in headphones)
Too many people here, too
crowded. We have a quiet
place in the parking lot.

        LENA
(Russian accent)
I have to catch a plane back
to Phoenix.

        HEAVYSET MAN
We always change the routine.
Don’t worry…But don’t make
a problem.

Following the group Third sees the Heavyset Man produce a GUN. Signaling to Derek, he makes the shape of a gun with his hand. Then he turns his hands as if on a steering wheel. Derek jumps up, and heads for the exit.

OLGA AND BURKE

walk parallel to the group, while Third follows them out, signaling to the FBI men to keep their distance.

EXT. PARKING LOT, NIGHT.

Derek peels off into the darkness as the group goes to a quiet corner where the SMUGGLER, a sour middle aged man in a leather jacket waits by a car.

OLGA AND BURKE

cross the street and move down a row of cars.

THIRD

drops down under a car, points his laptop and turns up the gain as Lena faces the Smuggler. He hears:

        SMUGGLER
Give me your shoes.

        LENA
(slipping out of her shoes)
This is not the deal we made.

        SMUGGLER
(looking in the shoes)
We have to be careful.
(to the Woman)
Search her.

        LENA
But this was all arranged in
Phoenix.

        WOMAN
Pull up your skirt.

Lena complies. The Woman checks her for a mike.

        WOMAN (cont’d)
Your bra.

        LENA
No bra.

        WOMAN
She’s clean.

        SMUGGLER
So you are not police.

        LENA
I told you.

        SMUGGLER
Just a thief. No one will
miss you.

Points the remote toward a SEVILLE. The trunk pops open. The Heavyset Man grabs Lena. She jabs him in the eye, tries to run, but the Smuggler steps out and punches her in the face.

THIRD

turns on his radio and waves to Olga and Third.

        THIRD
I’m goin’…

He jumps up, gun out and runs toward the group.

                     THIRD (CONT’D)
Freeze! Police!

THE SMUGGLER

looks up and sees Third running toward him. Olga and Burke weaving through cars. He jams the gun against Lena’s head. She talks fast.

        LENA
Shoot me. They’ll shoot you…
Give up now, a good lawyer
gets you five years. Think
fast.

The Smuggler thinks fast. Sees the cops running towards him. The feds rushing out of the terminal. Drops his gun.

THE HEAVYSET MAN

tries to slip away in the confusion. Weaving through the cars into the darkness he is suddenly confronted by Derek moves in.

        DEREK
No exit, pal.

The Heavyset Man reaches into his belt, but Derek grabs his wrist and smacks him hard on the side of a head with a “slapper” (blackjack). Then throws him over the hood.

AT THE SCENE

Confusion. LIGHTS and SIRENS. Third, Olga and Jerry are holding the PRISONERS as the feds run up. Lena has her head tilted back to stop the bleeding from her nose. She turns as

Derek hustles the handcuffed Heavyset Man back to the scene. Takes the blackjack out of his hand.

        LENA
May I?

        DEREK
Be my guest.

Lena walks over to where the Feds are searching the Smuggler. Without warning she smacks him in the face with the “slapper.” The Smuggler’s knees buckle and the feds jump at Lena in alarm. “What do you think you’re doing…?” Lena hands the “slapper” back to Derek.

        LENA
Thank you…

And walks away. Derek watches her go, then turns to Third.

        DEREK
I think I’m falling in love.

END ACT TWO

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH By Heywood Gould

I pitched a show about how cops deal with the new ethnically diverse New York.

The executives looked up from their blackberries…

Thought Coney Island–home to refugees from the former Soviet Empire a burgeoning Mexican population, Indians, Pakistanis, Hasidim, not to mention retired garment workers, Mafia holdouts, yuppies, hipsters and health nuts who want to be by the sea–would be a good arena.

The executives leaned forward in their chairs—a good sign.

Police precincts field sports teams that play other city departments and go to a state championship every year.

The executives had never heard of that.
“Great hook,” someone said.

I wrote the script. Joy was unconfined. We were on our way.

Then it was bounced down from the “upstairs.”

The verdict:
“Is he kidding?”

Enjoy
Best,
Heywood

Our first script was EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development was a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

Click on EMPRIES OF CRIME link below for the entire script.

EMPIRES OF CRIME

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

Movies You Will Never See/ Coney Island Bluefish/Part 5

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to April 4.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder,”Fort Apache, The Bronx,”Boys From Brazil”and “Cocktail.”

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH

By Heywood Gould

ACT TWO

IN BLACK…5;50.13 SHOUTS, CURSES, FLOPS.

        RADIO
Units AC 1 and AC 2 report to
squad at 19:30 for special
assignment.

EXT. PLAYING FIELD. DAY.

Twilight on the muddy, rutted field. RADIOS squawk in jacket pockets and backpacks on the sideline. Cops run back and forth, checking the calls then running back onto the field where Putts is trying to get a practice in before nightfall. Third and Derek and other burly COPS practice patterns. Sloan, huffing and puffing, tries to keep up as Derek runs out of the back field. He staggers off the field, gasping toward Putts, who is yelling instructions to BAGELS on the line.

        PUTTS
Gotta get off the line faster
than that, big guy.
(sees Sloan)
Gimme twenty for comin’ off
the field without permission.

        SLOAN
Wait up, Jeff I just wanted
to ask you: Still runnin’
that T group for hate crime
kids?.

        PUTTS
Every Sunday at Clearview
Baptist. It’s the kids who
vandalized cemeteries or
attacked minorities. It’s
part of their probation. You
got somebody you wanna put in?

        SLOAN
My son.

        PUTTS
It’s mostly black and
Hispanic. I don’t know how
a white kid would go in that
mix. What’d he do?

        SLOAN
Nothin’ yet. He’s subscribing
to all these hate groups on
the Internet. Chat rooms,
weird ideas…

        PUTTS
Does he have any contact with
minority kids?

        SLOAN
There might be thirty or
forty in his school. But
they’re mostly on the teams
and they hang together. It’s
that Internet…

        PUTTS
Internet’s just a tool. I’ll
go online tonight and find
you a great counseling group
right in your neck of the
woods. But I gotta tell you,
Donnie, it comes from you.

        SLOAN
How can you say that?

        PUTTS
Not every one of those thirty
or forty minority kids is on
the basketball team. And they
don’t all stick together. But
that’s your assumption and
that’s what he picks up.

        SLOAN
You know me, Jim…

        PUTTS
And I love you like a brother.
But it’s comin’ off you just
like them cigarettes you try
to hide. Kids smell it on you.
And then they run with it.
Take it places you don’t want
it to go.

        SLOAN
So what do I do?

        PUTTS
You gotta spend some quality
time with this boy. Let him
know the way you and Corinne
really feel about things.
Then, we’ll find him a group…
Now give me forty you racist
pig…

Sloan starts to protest, but sees Putts’s point. He drops in the mud and starts doing push ups…

INT.KEAT’S OFFICE.NIGHT

Keats is hanging upside down from a gravity belt. Conti enters.

        CONTI
Made some calls. Looks like
Barry Weiner got caught in a
little mob war.

        KEATS
Wiseguys! They can’t go a
month without killin’ each
other.

        CONTI
This morning they found a
Bensonhurst shy named Peter
Cortina in a burning Catera
upstate in Brewster. The
whisper was that he was part
of the Scaduto crew tryin’
to move in on Coney Island.

        KEATS
So Cortina killed Weiner and
Varese got him back right
away. Eddie Varese got this
neighborhood from Gambino
himself. He’ll dump bodies
all over before he gives it
up.

        CONTI
So they wipe each other out?
Who cares?

        KEATS
Me. For one thing I got a
bunch of homicides I can’t
clear. Screws up my stats.
And another: some little kids
on their way to school see a
stiff in a burning car? Not
in my precinct.

        CONTI
(helping him down)
You wanna fix your back up?
Get yourself a nice lady.
Nice massage. Nice…

        KEATS
Hey Doctor Feelgood. you’re
wanted in the diarrhea ward…
I feel like bustin’ chops on
this Weiner thing.

        CONTI
Let’s bust ‘em.

INT.LOCKER ROOM. NIGHT.

Burke comes out of the shower wrapped in a towel. Sloan is getting dressed. He speaks in a casual undertone.

        SLOAN
A word to the not so wise,
Jerry. IAD’S got film on you
and a fellow officer. And
there’s some talk about some
other extra curricular
activities…

        BURKE
(stunned but controlled)
How do you know about it?

        SLOAN
A friend of mine who’s also a
friend of your’s asked me to
pass it on.

        BURKE
You ain’t spyin’ on me,
Donnie.

        SLOAN
Yeah. And then tellin’ you all
about it. With all due respect,
you’re not too cool. But
you’re a tough kid and people
like you. You’re gettin’ a
play this time. Next time
you’re on your own. Say a
hundred Hail Marys and sin
no more.

Slams his locker shut and moves away.

INT.GOLDEN GATE LOUNGE. NIGHT.

SALSA blasts and COUPLES WHIRL on a strobed dance floor. The rest of the joint is dark as a cave. Conti finds his way to the bar where Sandra is waiting. He notices the low cut cocktail dress.

        CONTI
Didn’t think you’d make it.

        SANDRA
My friend Mimi brought me.
She’s a regular.

        CONTI
You changed into something
less comfortable.

        SANDRA
I got a closet full of
dresses I haven’t worn in
years.

        CONTI
Where’s your friend?

Sandra points to a WOMAN in jeans and a halter top doing a wicked mambo on the dance floor.

        SANDRA
She’s in a bad marriage. Her
husband beats her up.

        CONTI
Maybe he’s pissed because she
hangs out here. In this joint
people meet to cheat.

        SANDRA
And you wear your ring so
they’ll think you’re still
married.

        CONTI
Some people only get off when
they’re gettin’ over. Why
spoil their fun? Not a
drinker, huh?

        SANDRA
Hate the taste.

        CONTI
Have a Velvet Hammer. Creme
de cocoa, Cointreau and heavy
cream, tastes like a smoothie.

        SANDRA
God,the drinks, the line.
You’ve got this down to a
science.

        CONTI
More like a ritual. But with
you it’s a little different.

        SANDRA
Yeah, right

        CONTI
Really. There’s this paradox.
I was happy to see you, but
surprised you came. I want to
seduce you, but I want it to
mean something. Don’t believe
me, do you?

        SANDRA
Does it matter?
(to the bartender)
I’ll have a Velvet Hammer.

Next: Act 2 Con’t

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH By Heywood Gould

I pitched a show about how cops deal with the new ethnically diverse New York.

The executives looked up from their blackberries…

Thought Coney Island–home to refugees from the former Soviet Empire a burgeoning Mexican population, Indians, Pakistanis, Hasidim, not to mention retired garment workers, Mafia holdouts, yuppies, hipsters and health nuts who want to be by the sea–would be a good arena.

The executives leaned forward in their chairs—a good sign.

Police precincts field sports teams that play other city departments and go to a state championship every year.

The executives had never heard of that.
“Great hook,” someone said.

I wrote the script. Joy was unconfined. We were on our way.

Then it was bounced down from the “upstairs.”

The verdict:
“Is he kidding?”

Enjoy
Best,
Heywood

Our first script was EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development was a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

Click on EMPRIES OF CRIME link below for the entire script.

EMPIRES OF CRIME

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

Movie You Will Never See/Coney Island Bluefish/Part 4

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to April 4.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder,”Fort Apache, The Bronx,”Boys From Brazil”and “Cocktail.”

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH

By Heywood Gould

ACT TWO

IN BLACK..9:12:43…SIRENS, VOICES…

RADIO

Paramedics on the scene, Victim will be D.O.A. at Coney Island General…

EXT.PROJECTS.DAY.

PARAMEDICS wheel a body bag on a gurney past Sloan and Conti. Another PARAMEDIC hands them the victim’s personal effects. First, a gold chain which Sloan, wearing latex gloves, drops into a ZIPLOC BAG. Then, a wallet containing FAMILY PHOTOS.

        SLOAN
This is Barry’s. Remember he
showed us the pictures of his
grandkids when we locked him
up?

The Paramedic hands Conti a GOLD MONEY CLIP jammed with charred bills.

        CONTI
It wasn’t robbery. Got a
cause of death?

The Paramedic drops two NINE MILLIMETER SHELLS into his hand.

        SLOAN
We gotta tell his wife.

        CONTI
(walking away)
You gotta tell her. You
bucked for this.

        SLOAN
I said I knew the guy…

Arguing, they walk past FIREMEN hosing down the burnt hulk of the car. Past Putts and Bagels canvassing the neighborhood PEOPLE. Putts sees a young, muscular fireman, winding a hose.

        PUTTS
You’re Billy Lyons, Gene’s
boy.

        BILLY
That’s me.

        PUTTS
Hey Donnie… Remember Gene
Lyons?

        SLOAN
(with an awkward look)
Sure…Yeah…

        PUTTS
We worked with your dad in
Brooklyn Vice, You played for
Christ the King, right?

        BILLY
Yeah.

        PUTTS
All City tailback. Scholar-
ship to Notre Dame. Then your
ACL blew out.

        BILLY
How do you know all this?

        PUTTS
I remember everything. I’m a
walkin’ sports computer.
Still ballin’?

        BILLY
For fun. We got a pretty good
team at the firehouse..

        PUTTS
You wanna talk football, we
got it working at the
precinct. Coney Island
Bluefish.

        BILLY
We’re playin’ you next week.

        PUTTS
Yeah, we’ll go half speed on
you. You know Derek Lawkes?

        BILLY
I’ve heard of him.

        PUTTS
Ninety five plus on the
cutter. Made it to Pawtucket,
but threw his arm out. He’s
our quarterback. Third Markham?

        BILLY
He played for Xavier.

        PUTTS
He’s our linebacker. Ain’t
nobody runnin’ by him. Or
over him. Donnie here’s the
safety. Fastest white man in
captivity.

        SLOAN
Can I talk to you for a
second, Putts.

        PUTTS
I’m coachin’ and I gotta say,
in all modesty, I can prepare
this team to play against
anybody. Now if we had a
runner like you we could go
to the nationals. .

        BILLY
You gotta be a cop, right?
I’m a fireman.

        PUTTS
That’s what I don’t
understand. I mean why you
doin’ this sissy gig?.

        BILLY
I’m not into gunplay and
beatin’ on people.

        PUTTS
Ninety five per cent of this
job is community relations,
right Donnie?

        SLOAN
It can get hairy now and then.

        PUTTS
I ain’t pulled my gun in such
a long time I got spider webs
in my holster. Anyway, I would
think you’d wanna be a cop.
Follow the family tradition…

        BILLY
What tradition? My old man
got kicked off the job for
shakin’ down hookers.
(walks away)
Input that into your computer…
Coach.

 Putts watches thunderstruck as Sloan shakes his head.

        SLOAN
That’s what I wanted to tell
you.

IN BLACK…10:58:02

        RADIO
…Pick up Sandra Lightner,
Barry Weiner’s niece at 1600
Seagate Avenue and bring her
to Coney Island General for
a positive identification.

 INT. HOSPITAL WAITING ROOM. DAY.

An overworked, overcrowded city hospital. Conti and Sloan sip institutional coffee. Sloan looks over a crumpled list.

        SLOAN
My family gives me a shopping
list every morning before I
leave. Mozzarella from
Fanelli’s Salumeria because
Corinne won’t make eggplant
parmigian’ with the
supermarket cheese.

        CONTI
You can take the girl outta
Brooklyn.

        SLOAN
But you can’t take the
Brooklyn outta the girl, I
know. I gotta go to
Beckstein’s Hardware because
no store in Tarrytown has a
number eleven gill nut.
Ashley needs a blouse, they
call a hoochie top. Brian
wants a Hamsen high speed
modem. Don’t have it in the
mall, so I gotta go to
Bazarov the computer maven

        CONTI
All his stuff is swag.

        SLOAN
At least he knows what to
steal. Why’d I move to the
suburbs in the first place?

        CONTI
Fresh air, green grass and
good schools you said. But
you know why you really did
it? You got a martyr complex.
You’re not happy unless
you’re miserable.

        SLOAN
Please. I don’t need the king
of the psychos, analyzing me.

        CONTI
Hey I may be dysfunctional
but I walk to work. And I got
the best mozarell’ in the
world right around the
corner… This Ms. Lightner?

SANDRA LIGHTNER

early thirties, a voluptuous, vulnerable brunette is walking in with two PATROLMEN.

CONTI jumps up.

        CONTI (cont’d)
I’ll take her. You deal with
the Uzbekis.

        SLOAN
Thanks, pal..

        CONTI
It’s your geographical
specialty.

And approaches Sandra, waving the cops away.

        CONTI (cont’d)
Ms. Lightner? I’m Detective
Conti. You don’t have to put
yourself through this. Your
aunt has already identified
Mr. Weiner’s effects.

        SANDRA
I can handle it, I’m a dental
hygienist.

        CONTI
With all due respect, you
won’t see this in a dentist’s
chair. This way.

He walks her across the room past:

SLOAN who is consulting with a DOCTOR.

        DOCTOR
She’s got a pretty bad
concussion. Broken nose,
bruises on upper torso and
legs. Ring marks…She’s
under sedation…

        SLOAN
Was she raped?

        DOCTOR
She wouldn’t let us examine
her. Her father and brothers
are goin’ crazy like we’re
performing experiments on
her.

        SLOAN
I’ll talk to them.

He walks across the room toward Shamil who is sitting head in hands, while his sons ADAN and BASHIR pace impatiently.

        SLOAN (CONT’D)
Mr.Akhmadov, I’m Detective
Sloan…

        ADAN
(jumps at him)
Why won’t they tell us about
my sister?

        BASHIR
We have to know what
happened.

        SLOAN
We have no medical
information.

        BASHIR
You are police. Find out.

        SLOAN
We will. Right now I need you
to sit down, calm down and
answer some questions.

The boys glare. Shamil mutters a command. They sit.

INT. MORGUE.DAY.

SHROUDED BODIES on stretchers. Sandra shivers. Conti looks over appreciatively.

        CONTI
Separated, huh?

        SANDRA
Why do you say that?

        CONTI
Your ring finger. Got a
little white spot where the
wedding band was.

        SANDRA
Good deduction. But wrong. I
threw the ring in my
husband’s face last night.
(points to his finger)
You’re still married.

        CONTI
Separated.

        SANDRA
Why do you wear the ring, to
keep the women away?

        CONTI
The opposite. Something about
married men. Forbidden fruit.
Attracts women.

        SANDRA
Only sluts and homewreckers.

        CONTI
Well, there’s plenty of them
around to keep me occupied.
Although I do like nice,
normal women. Wanna go for a
drink tonight?

The Attendant enters wheeling a stretcher.

        SANDRA
You’re flirting in a morgue?

        CONTI
Just tryin’ to connect. Here
we are.

Conti removes the white sheet. Sandra recoils at the sight.

        SANDRA
My Uncle Barry, the bookie.
I guess if you break the law
you have to expect this.

        CONTI
Happens to honest people,
too. Can happen to anybody.

        SANDRA
That’s a comforting thought.

Next: Act 2 Con’t

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH By Heywood Gould

I pitched a show about how cops deal with the new ethnically diverse New York.

The executives looked up from their blackberries…

Thought Coney Island–home to refugees from the former Soviet Empire a burgeoning Mexican population, Indians, Pakistanis, Hasidim, not to mention retired garment workers, Mafia holdouts, yuppies, hipsters and health nuts who want to be by the sea–would be a good arena.

The executives leaned forward in their chairs—a good sign.

Police precincts field sports teams that play other city departments and go to a state championship every year.

The executives had never heard of that.
“Great hook,” someone said.

I wrote the script. Joy was unconfined. We were on our way.

Then it was bounced down from the “upstairs.”

The verdict:
“Is he kidding?”

Enjoy
Best,
Heywood

Our first script was EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development was a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

Click on EMPRIES OF CRIME link below for the entire script.

EMPIRES OF CRIME

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

Movies You Will Never See/Coney Island Bluefish/Part 3

Hi all,
After weeks of updating, switching servers, hosts, moving data bases, we are back with Coney Island Bluefish.
Enjoy.
Best,
Heywood

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to April 4.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder,”Fort Apache, The Bronx,”Boys From Brazil”and “Cocktail.”

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH

By Heywood Gould

ACT ONE (Con’t)

INT.SQUAD.DAY.

A SESAME BAGEL pops out of a toaster on the desk of DETECTIVE SEYMOUR (BAGELS) EICHORN, thick neck, thick arms, late thirties. He passes a half to a young, black SUSPECT, who has one hand cuffed to the chair. .

        BAGELS
You see the sesame seeds
keep you regular, they
lower your blood pressure.

        SUSPECT
I like this smoked salmon
spread.

Next to him his partner JERRY (PUTTS) CORBETT, black, wiry, mid forties—the senior man—is putting a golf ball into an electric putting machine.

        PUTTS
Problem with sesame is
that it can replicate the
chemical profile of marijuana.

        SUSPECT
You mean if you gave me a
urine test I could come
up positive for grass?

        BAGELS
Add another charge to the
list, babe.

        SUSPECT
Yo, what’s your name,
brother?

        PUTTS
Putts, man. They call me
Putts ‘cause I’m always
practicin’. See I’m not
gonna spend the prime of
my life poppin’ mutts
you. I’m goin’ on the
PGA tour…

        SUSPECT
Just like Tiger Woods.

        PUTTS
No, man he’s a Johnny come
lately. I’m talkin’ about
Charley Sifford, Lee Elder.
They were the real
trailblazers, but you never
heard of them, did you?
(menaces the Suspect with
his putter)
You got no sense of history…

ACROSS THE ROOM

Conti and Sloan sit at facing desks.

        SLOAN
(on the phone)
It’s your son’s decision.
Every day he remains a
fugitive is another day
that’ll be held against him.

        CONTI
(whispers)
The sister in North Carolina.

        SLOAN
And if he’s hidin’ with his
sister she’s gonna be charged
with harboring a fugitive.
Your little grandbabies will
be in foster care while their
mama’s in jail…I’ll be
waitin’. Thank you…
(hangs up)
Poor woman. Scrubs floors
to take care of this kid
and he rips her off to buy
a load. You break your ass
for these kids and this is
how they thank you.
(as Keats walks in)
Hey Loo, how’s your back.

        KEATS
Achin’. This all I got
today, four guys?

        CONTI
Squires and Foster are
in court all day. Battle,
Kress and Novak had to
escort those two Crips
out to Corona…

        KEATS
‘Cause some new cases came
in during the night.
(calling)
Putts…Bagel…

Putts sinks a putt.. Bagels takes the bagel gently away from the suspect’ and cuffs his hands behind his back.

        BAGELS
Sorry pal, brunch is over.

IN BLACK…FIRE ENGINES, POLICE SIRENS…

        RADIO
Forty-one to Central…We’re
at the vehicle fire scene…

EXT. PROJECTS. DAY.

FIRE APPARATUS, AMBULANCE, RADIO CARS have responded. On the street ADULTS are taking the fascinated children away. A COP on a radio squints into the flames and sees the BODY of a MAN behind the wheel.

INT. KEAT’S OFFICE. DAY.

Keats and the four detectives going over the day’s work.

        KEATS
Vulvani TV was hit again last
night.

        PUTTS
It’s a scam.This Indian guy
who owns the store sells the
stuff, then bangs a hole in
his wall and says he was
ripped off.

        KEATS
Bring him in. Give him a
bagel.

        BAGELS
They got a great curry cream
cheese spread. He’ll love it.

        KEATS
I need a sensitive guy for
this one.

Everybody points to Sloan.

        SLOAN
Very funny.

        KEATS
This is a family matter.
IAD’s got film on Jerry
Burke and a fellow officer.

        CONTI
Male or female?

        KEATS
It’s a violation either way.
I need somebody to talk sense
to this kid. Unofficially.
Tell him the snitches are on
his case and he’s gotta
behave.

        CONTI
Who’s the girl?

        KEATS
I’m gonna protect her
identity. No need to smear
her name all over the place.

        SLOAN
I’ll talk to Jerry. He’s a
stand up kid.

        KEATS
Okay Sloan. Tell him to cover
his butt in more ways than
one. Who’s up?
(looks through the reports)
Female attacked, under the
boardwalk last night. Russian
girl, comes from Uzbekistan.

        SLOAN
Uzbekis aren’t ethnic Russian.
They’re predominantly Muslim.

        KEATS
Since you’re so up on your
geography. Mr. Sloan, you
take the case.

Conti glares at Sloan as Keats shuffles papers.

        KEATS (cont’d)
They found a black Lincoln
Navigator burning in front
of the projects. Body of a
man inside. .

        SLOAN
Barry Weiner has a black
Navigator,Bobby.

        CONTI
There’s a thousand black
Navigators around here.

        KEATS
Who’s Barry Weiner?
SLOAN
He’s got a fabric store on
Brighton First. Books bets
in the back. Right Bobby?

        CONTI
There’s a million Barry
Weiners in Brooklyn.

        KEATS
You know the guy,you got a
leg up on the case…

Conti rises glaring at Sloan.

CONTI
You’re Mr.Know-it-all today

        SLOAN
What’s the matter with you?

Conti walks out without answering. And Sloan turns to the others, who can barely conceal their laughter.

        SLOAN (cont’d)
What’s the matter with him?

END ACT ONE
12pt;”>Next: Act 1 (cont):

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH By Heywood Gould

I pitched a show about how cops deal with the new ethnically diverse New York.

The executives looked up from their blackberries…

Thought Coney Island–home to refugees from the former Soviet Empire a burgeoning Mexican population, Indians, Pakistanis, Hasidim, not to mention retired garment workers, Mafia holdouts, yuppies, hipsters and health nuts who want to be by the sea–would be a good arena.

The executives leaned forward in their chairs—a good sign.

Police precincts field sports teams that play other city departments and go to a state championship every year.

The executives had never heard of that.
“Great hook,” someone said.

I wrote the script. Joy was unconfined. We were on our way.

Then it was bounced down from the “upstairs.”

The verdict:
“Is he kidding?”

Enjoy
Best,
Heywood

Our first script was EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development was a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

Click on EMPRIES OF CRIME link below for the entire script.

EMPIRES OF CRIME

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

Movies You Will Never See/Coney Island Bluefish/Part 2

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to April 4.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder,”Fort Apache, The Bronx,”Boys From Brazil”and “Cocktail.”

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH

By Heywood Gould

ACT ONE (Con’t)

INT. SLOAN’S BEDROOM.

Sloan moves carefully through the dark. His GOLD SHIELD glitters on the dresser. He bends to kiss Corinne.

        SLOAN
Tonight’s the night.

        CORINNE
(hugs him)
Ah, you tell that to all
the girls.

Sloan steps out of the room, blows a kiss an eases the door shut. He stops outside his son BRIAN’S room. The BLUE LIGHT of the COMPUTER is on. BRIAN, fourteen, is slumped in a chair. Sloan pries his fingers off the mouse and shakes him gently.

        SLOAN
Brian, go to sleep.

Brian stirs, reaches sleepily for Sloan’s hand.

        BRIAN
‘Night, dad.

And stumbles into bed.

Sloan goes to shut off his Computer. ON THE SCREEN IS a WEB PAGE put out by the ARYAN DEFENDERS. MILITIA PHOTOS, racist manifestos… Troubled, Sloan turns off the computer. As he walks down the stairs he hears FRANTIC WHISPERS.

ASHLEY

his seventeen year old daughter, is on the couch, rubbing her eyes, feigning drowsiness.

        ASHLEY
Hi Dad. Guess I must have
fallen asleep…

        SLOAN
Gimme a break. Come outta
there…

He reaches behind the couch and comes up with TYLER, Ashley’s bleached blond boyfriend. Tyler tries to laugh it off.

        TYLER
Hey, Mr. Sloan, how’d you
know I was here?

        SLOAN
Good detective work. Let’s
go, Tyler.

        ASHLEY
We weren’t doin’ anything,
Dad. You always think the
worst.

        TYLER
My parents like it when I
come here. They know I’m
safe.

        SLOAN
Not from me.
(holds the door for Tyler)
Out.

        ASHLEY
I’m not a little girl
anymore, Dad.

        SLOAN
As long as you’re living
under your mother’s roof
you’ll behave like one…

And closes the door.

INT. GARAGE. NIGHT.

Sloan kneels at the front wheel of his ‘93 Cutlass. He takes off the hubcap. His gun is taped to the inside of the wheel. Looking around furtively, he pries a loose slab off the garage floor and removes a forbidden PACK OF CIGARETTES. Lights one and breathes a sigh of contentment.

IN BLACK…6:28.09..DINER SOUNDS…OLGA on the radio.

        OLGA
(v.o., radio)
AC 1 to Central…We’re on
meal…

INT. VICTOR’S DINER. DAY.

Breakfast rush at a cop hangout. Olga and Burke sit in a booth, eating eggs.

        OLGA (CONT’D)
Of course she won’t talk.
You wouldn’t tell nobody
if you got raped.

        BURKE
It’s different for a guy.
A guy gets raped he’s
marked punk for life.

VICTOR, the mustachioed proprietor in grease spattered apron, slides a piece of chocolate cake in front of Olga

        VICTOR
For you, Olga. On the house.

        OLGA
You know we can’t take
freebies, Victor.

        VICTOR
This is not to a cop. It’s
man to woman. Me to you.
You need a little flesh.
Something to hold onto.

        OLGA
(shoves the cake at him)
Hold onto this.

        VICTOR
(retreating)
Can’t I express my feelings,
Olga?

        OLGA
Go shampoo your mustache.
(to Burke)
Look who thinks he’s a
lover.
(disgusted)
You men…

INT. SLOAN’S CAR. DAY.

A home away from home. A portable COFFEE MAKER under the glove compartment. A LAP TOP  open on the seat, giving the closing prices of the Nikkei. A TINY TV tuned to NY 1 for traffic news. Sloan sits in gridlock on the phone.

        SLOAN
You up?

INT. CONTI’S BEDROOM.DAY (CROSSCUT)

A CROSS over the bed, FAMILY PHOTOS on the wall. BOBBY CONTI, late thirties, dark, muscular, is on the phone. His girlfriend, BETTY, Latina, early twenties looks up, sleepily.

        CONTI
No, I’m talkin’ in my sleep.

        SLOAN
There’s more action in my
house than on Surf Avenue.

        CONTI
I told you not to move to
the boonies.

There is noise outside Conti’s bedroom. He jumps up in alarm as the DOORBELL RINGS and he hears “Daddy, open up…”

        CONTI (Con’t)
Oh jeeze my kids are here…

        SLOAN
(sentimental)
Danielle, Josephine, my
little nieces…

At the end of a long hallway Conti sees the door open on the chain. Sees his daughters clamoring “Daddy, let us in…” He runs back into the bedroom and grabs Betty.

        CONTI
C’mon baby, get up. My kids
are here.

        BETTY
So we ain’t doin’ nothin’
wrong.

        CONTI
You’re sleepin’ in their
mother’s bed.

        BETTY
Their mother don’t live
here no more, Bobby.  It’s
okay.

        SLOAN
You got somebody in there
with you?

        CONTI
Shut up, Donnie.
(disconnects and turns to Betty)
Please baby, just hide in
the closet, what’s the big
deal?

        BETTY
Why are you actin’ guilty?
You’re separated.

        CONTI
(pushing her into the closet)
I know, but I feel like I’m
doin’ somethin’ wrong, I
can’t help it.

He closes the door, slips into a pair of jogging pants and runs down the hall to open the door for:

DANIELLA AND JOSEPHINE

Ages fourteen and sixteen. Daniella, the younger sister, still in Catholic school middy skirt and blouse, Josephine, very chic in slacks and a backwards Yankee cap.

        DANIELLA
Daddy, what took you so long?

        CONTI
I was in the bathroom, honey.

        JOSEPHINE
We came to make you breakfast.

        CONTI
Your mother know about this?

        JOSEPHINE
Yeah. She said we’d better
come or you’d starve to
death.

        CONTI
Oh yeah, I can take care of
myself.

        DANIELLA
We just miss makin’ you
breakfast. We miss you.

        CONTI
(moved)
Aw honey…
(hugs them both)
You only live a coupla blocks
away.

        DANIELLA
I know, but we never see you
any more…

        CONTI
Hey, I got an idea. Let’s go
to Victor’s for breakfast.

        DANIELLA
Great. Like Sunday after
church.

        CONTI
Lemme just get dressed…

        JOSEPHINE
I’m drinkin’ coffee now, Dad,
so don’t go crazy.

He goes into the bedroom and opens the closet door where Betty stands fuming, pats her cheek and takes out a suit.

        CONTI
Hey, you’re a big girl, you
do what you want…

And closes the door.

IN BLACK…7:16:46. FIRE, the beating and hissing of FLAMES.

        RADIO
Report of car on fire 2330 Neptune…

EXT. PROJECTS. DAY.

FIRE fills the screen. A group of BLACK FIRST GRADERS with BACKPACKS watching as flames engulf a car parked at the curb.

EXT. SIX ONE. DAY.

The 61st. precinct. Green lights and gray stone, a weathered sign over the doorway. Hasn’t changed in fifty years. At seven thirty the tours are changing. OFF DUTY cops hurry out, ON DUTY COPS saunter in.

LIEUTENANT JOHN KEATS

early fifties,lean, gray and grimacing from back pain, enters the building as he has for twenty three years. Inside, a Babel of conflicting tongues. RUSSIANS screaming at each other, while a cop tries to keep them apart, a Hispanic cop translating the complaint of an elderly MEXICAN WOMAN for an impatient DESK SERGEANT. CHINESE, PAKISTANIS, all with a story to tell.  A few heads turn, a few cops greet him: “Mornin’ Loo…” “Hiya doin’ Loo?” His boss CAPTAIN NIEVES, trim and energetic and twenty years younger, calls…

        NIEVES
Get some popcorn, Keats.

        KEATS
(groans)
Oh no, not again.

He follows Nieves across the precinct into his office where CHANEY and FALK from the Internal Affairs Unit are waiting.

        KEATS  (cont’d)
Look who’s here, Lucas and
Spielberg.

        CHANEY
Just doin’ our job,
Lieutenant.

They kill the lights and focus a VIDEO PROJECTOR against the wall. There is a date, a time and then a VIDEO SURVEILLANCE shot of Olga and Burke making out in the squad car.

        FALK
Subjects were observed
consuming wine coolers
during their meal period.
They then proceeded to
this secluded spot where
they partially disrobed…

        KEATS
Did they turn their radio
off? Did they miss any
jobs?

        CHANEY
That’s not the point and you
know it. They were drinkin’
and screwin’ on the job. ..

        NIEVES
If you gentlemen will excuse
us.

Nieves motions to the men and they step to the door.

        KEATS
I got some pictures of you
two guys disrobin’ in the
back seat.

Falk steps forward, angrily.

        FALK
I don’t have to take this
crap from you.

        NIEVES
Goodbye.
(waits until the door is closed)
This goes right over my head
to Borough Command, Johnny.
I can’t squash it.

        KEATS
Can you smooth it? Put any
man in a car with Olga
Narvaez twelve hours a day
and somethin’s gonna happen.

        NIEVES
The woman pays the dues, so
it’s up to the woman to keep
everything on the up and up.

        KEATS
All the virgins are on
statues, boss. The girl is
gold. I’d rather have her
watchin’ my back than any
man in the precinct.

        NIEVES
Look we’ve been gettin’
whispers about Burke hangin’
with the drug dealers at the
Silhouette Club…

        KEATS
Jerry Burke is a tough kid,
Captain. He broke up a bank
heist last year…

        NIEVES
Tough kid ain’t enough
anymore, Johnny. This
precinct’s under a
microscope.
(points the street grid on the wall)
We got the largest percentage
of foreign born in the
country. And the most diverse.
Russians, Ukrainians,
Moldavians, Uzbekis, from
every part of the Soviet
Union. We got an influx of
Mexicans, Salvadorans.
Asian, Indian…We got the
blacks,the Jews the wiseguys,
who still run the neighborhood,
not to mention those damm
yuppies who call the cops
every time their toilets break…

        KEATS
You don’t have to tell me…

        NIEVES
In the next year we’re
gonna have every federal
agency you can think of,
takin’ pictures, interviews,
stats, measurin’ people’s
skulls, who knows what,
just to find out what makes
this area tick. We’re gonna
have to get into mulitcultural
policing. One rotten apple
like Jerry Burke and we’re
all out eatin’ pizza in
Staten Island.

        KEATS
Sounds like fun.

        NIEVES
Not for me, Johnny. I wanna
be the first Puerto Rican
Police Commissioner.

        KEATS
Scandal in your precinct
won’t help.

        NIEVES
We’ll let this sit for a
day. We’re gonna need
manpower tonight. Task
Force is busting a diamond
smuggler at the airport and
we gotta provide back up.

        KEATS
See, we’re shorthanded. We
can’t be dumpin’ people for
coppin’ a little nooky in
the back seat. Lemme just
break them up. Put a woman
in the car with Olga.

        NIEVES
What if she goes both ways?

        KEATS
We’ll sell tickets.

Next: Act 1 (cont):

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH By Heywood Gould

I pitched a show about how cops deal with the new ethnically diverse New York.

The executives looked up from their blackberries…

Thought Coney Island–home to refugees from the former Soviet Empire a burgeoning Mexican population, Indians, Pakistanis, Hasidim, not to mention retired garment workers, Mafia holdouts, yuppies, hipsters and health nuts who want to be by the sea–would be a good arena.

The executives leaned forward in their chairs—a good sign.

Police precincts field sports teams that play other city departments and go to a state championship every year.

The executives had never heard of that.
“Great hook,” someone said.

I wrote the script. Joy was unconfined. We were on our way.

Then it was bounced down from the “upstairs.”

The verdict:
“Is he kidding?”

Enjoy
Best,
Heywood

Our first script was EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development was a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

Click on EMPRIES OF CRIME link below for the entire script.

EMPIRES OF CRIME

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

 

Movies You Will Never See/Coney Island Bluefish/Part 1

*For Introduction with submission guidelines go to April 4.

*Heywood Gould is the author of 9 screenplays including “Rolling Thunder,”Fort Apache, The Bronx,”Boys From Brazil”and “Cocktail.”

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH

By Heywood Gould

ACT ONE

TITLES

IN BLACK…A DIGITAL READOUT: Monday 2;40.O1…O2…

AN OCEAN PRESENCE—wind whistling, waves breaking.

A FRIGHTENED WOMAN, sobbing breaths, stumbling footsteps.

A PURSUER..angrily overtaking her…

FADE UP

THE BEACH…

Coney Island. THE MOON GLITTERS on the OCEAN. The FERRIS WHEEL, CYCLONE, PARACHUTE JUMP gleam in the night. We see the lights of the restaurants and arcades along the boardwalk. The woman, ISMAILIA AKMHATOV, nineteen, dress torn, dark hair disheveled, struggles in high heels through the thick sand.Her pursuer KENNY LUPO, a short, black bearded, angry eyed, hood, gold chain glittering, twists her arm.

        LUPO
Little bitch,you think you
tease me for some drinks and
walk away?

        ISMAILIA
(Russian accent)
Let me go, I’m not what you
think.

        LUPO
You will be.


She tries to pull away and he smacks her hard in the face.

        LUPO (cont’d)
You want me to rip your
clothes and make you run home
naked to Papa? You want
Papasha and your brothers to
know where you were tonight?

Ismailia’s shoulders sag in despair.

UNDER THE BOARDWALK

in the glow of a trash can fire, HOMELESS PEOPLE watch as Lupo drags Ismailia into the darkness. CAMERA PUSHES IN…

IN BLACK…3:17.24..A POLICE RADIO sputters out a call…”Units AC 1 and 2.

POLICE RADIO

in the pocket of a pair of jeans on the floor of the back seat of an unmarked POLICE SEDAN

        RADIO
AC 1…You copy?

TILT UP past a PISTOL a SILVER SHIELD and a pair of black panties to back seat where OLGA NARVAEZ, dark, fiery, late twenties and JERRY BURKE, chunky, blonde, young, are doing the wild thing in a tight space. Burke curses. Olga rolls away and reaches for the radio.

        OLGA
AC 1, K….

EXT. NATHAN’S FAMOUS. NIGHT.

The RADIO is held to the ear of DEREK LAWKES, wiry, late ‘20’s. With the other hand he chomps on a HOT DOG and walks to the battered unmarked sedan where his partner, LESTER MARKHAM the Third, better known as THIRD, a black bodybuilder is eating a VANILLA CUSTARD CONE and listening to his radio.

        RADIO
…Witnesses report possible
sexual assault. Perpetrator
ran east on the beach…

        DEREK
Down for a little jog, Third.

        THIRD
Hate to eat and run…

The two pick their way through the boisterous WEEKEND CROWD on the boardwalk and jump over the rail onto the beach where they spot a GARBAGE TRUCK picking up trash cans.

        THIRD (cont’d)
Yo Derek, flag that limo
down.

They jump on the truck, shouting and roar down the beach.

EXT. UNDER THE BOARDWALK. NIGHT.

Olga kneels by Ismailia, who is lying in the fetal position on the sand.

        OLGA
Can’t help you if you
don’t talk to me.

ON THE BEACH

The homeless people scatter at the arrival of the cops, but Burke runs some of them down. He collars a YOUNG MAN.

        YOUNG MAN
(twisting away)
Leave me alone, I didn’t see
nothin’,

        BURKE
So who called the cops?

        RUSSIAN
(o.s.)
I did.

Burke sees a stocky RUSSIAN leaning over the boardwalk rail.

        RUSSIAN (cont’d)
I have the ice cream store
on the boardwalk. These
people came running and said
a man was beating a woman…

THE GARBAGE TRUCK

comes roaring up. Derek and Third leap off and join Olga who is calling for an ambulance.

        OLGA
Victim is bloody, bruised,
delirious. Possible sexual
assault…Hey Derek…

Burke runs up.

        BURKE
Nobody saw nothin’.

        DEREK
He must have run the other
way to Bay Four. Get anything
from the victim?

Olga shakes her head. The cops go under the boardwalk where she is lying, legs drawn up, head in the sand. Olga kneels by her.Takes her hand.

        OLGA
You’re safe now. We’re going
to take you to the hospital.

Ismailia raises her head with a look of inconsolable grief.

        ISMAILIA
No. Leave me here. Let me
die.

AN AMBULANCE pulls up on the beach, it’s FLASHING LIGHTS glaring into the lens, it’s BEEPING SIREN getting louder…

DISSOLVE TO

LIGHTS FLASHING, BEEPS BLASTING

PAN TO DONNIE SLOAN struggling through a nightmare, the lights and beeps are part of an alarm clock on his bed table… An ARM whips past his face and slams the clock. Now all is quiet. In the darkness, his wife CORINNE, raises up on an elbow and looks into his placidly sleeping face.

        CORINNE
Donnie…It’s 4 a.m.

Sloan awakens. He’s wiry, fair haired, late thirties…

        SLOAN
This alarm gives me
nightmares, but it don’t
wake me up.

Sloan rolls painfully out of bed and into the bathroom.

        CORINNE
They got a new one where a
jet of cold water is sprayed
on your face.

        SLOAN
So instead of a nightmare I
pee in my pants? No thanks.

Puts on the harsh BATHROOM LIGHT and grimaces at his reflection in the mirror.

        SLOAN (cont’d)
Gotta change these bulbs, I
look like I been dead for
three days.

And shuts off the light.IN BLACK…4:22.O6…..

        RADIO
(struggling with the
pronunciation)
Caller gives his name as
Shamil Abhakadanov. Says his
daughter is missing.

EXT, EMMONS AVENUE. NIGHT.

Under the harsh light of a streetlamp, SHAMIL ABHAKANDOV, in the sheepskin coat and embroidered cap of his native Uzbekistan, waits as the unmarked car rolls up. Derek and Third get out to meet him.

        RADIO (cont’d)
He’ll be waiting outside 111
Emmons Avenue…

Next: Act 1 (cont):

In a new department the Daily Event will reoffer some of these scripts. Read them and decide: would you like to have seen this movie?

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH By Heywood Gould

I pitched a show about how cops deal with the new ethnically diverse New York.

The executives looked up from their blackberries…

Thought Coney Island–home to refugees from the former Soviet Empire a burgeoning Mexican population, Indians, Pakistanis, Hasidim, not to mention retired garment workers, Mafia holdouts, yuppies, hipsters and health nuts who want to be by the sea–would be a good arena.

The executives leaned forward in their chairs—a good sign.

Police precincts field sports teams that play other city departments and go to a state championship every year.

The executives had never heard of that.
“Great hook,” someone said.

I wrote the script. Joy was unconfined. We were on our way.

Then it was bounced down from the “upstairs.”

The verdict:
“Is he kidding?”

Enjoy
Best,
Heywood

Our first script was EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development was a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

Click on EMPRIES OF CRIME link below for the entire script.

EMPIRES OF CRIME

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

 

Movies You Will Never See/Coney Island Bluefish/Introduction

 CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH By Heywood Gould

For every movie that is released there are hundreds of scripts that were commissioned, “developed”, written, restructured—and rewritten; reconceived, redeveloped—and rewritten; restored to their original state and—rewritten; Acquired in “turnaround” by another production entity which redeveloped, reconceived, rewrote, rejected, rescued, restored and finally—shelved them.

In a new department the Daily Event will reoffer some of these scripts. Read them and decide: would you like to have seen this movie?

CONEY ISLAND BLUEFISH By Heywood Gould

I pitched a show about how cops deal with the new ethnically diverse New York.

The executives looked up from their blackberries…

Thought Coney Island–home to refugees from the former Soviet Empire a burgeoning Mexican population, Indians, Pakistanis, Hasidim, not to mention retired garment workers, Mafia holdouts, yuppies, hipsters and health nuts who want to be by the sea–would be a good arena.

The executives leaned forward in their chairs—a good sign.

Police precincts field sports teams that play other city departments and go to a state championship every year.

The executives had never heard of that.
“Great hook,” someone said.

I wrote the script. Joy was unconfined. We were on our way.

Then it was bounced down from the “upstairs.”

The verdict:
“Is he kidding?”

Enjoy
Best,
Heywood

Our first script was EMPIRES OF CRIME. Seven years in development was a six part mini-series commissioned by a broadcast network and later reacquired by a cable station.

Click on EMPRIES OF CRIME link below for the entire script.

EMPIRES OF CRIME

The story is about the founders of Organized Crime, Meyer Lansky, and “Lucky” Luciano, their fifty year partnership and the empire they created. Their friendships and families, lives and loves. It is also about their implacable enemy Thomas Dewey, a young Republican attorney who built a political career prosecuting the Mob that propelled him to the NY Governor’s Mansion and almost to the White House.

Readers are free to submit their own shelved scripts for publication.

With two conditions:

1. The scripts must have been commissioned or acquired by a producing entity.

2. The  writer must have full rights to the script.
The Daily Event legal department (non-existent) does not want a young Business Affairs attorney to pause the Coeds in Bondage video he is watching for the seventy-third time to write us a threatening letter.
Decisions of the judges will be final. Until, of course, they are reconceived, reconsidered, reexamined and—repeated.

DRAFTED/Part Three

 

THE PHYSICAL
Part 3

It’s 1962 and Morris Krieger’s dire warning is ringing in my ears.

“World War III is coming.”

I’m taking my Army physical with several hundred other kids in Selective Service Headquarters off Wall Street in downtown Manhattan. A red faced Sergeant, crewcut bristling, hash marks covering his khaki sleeve, sharply creased blue trousers with a red stripe strides along our line, shouting:

“Strip to your shorts and shoes. Guard your belongings. If you lose your pants you will go home to your mothers bareass naked…”

Krieger, the last anarchist orator of Union Square, greeted JFK’s election with a prediction:

“Camelot will have its war…”

I kept myself awake all night smoking Gauloises to increase my heart rate; chugging Coke to turn my urine brown. Now I’m lightheaded. I stumble into the kid in front of me. He turns with a snarl: “What the fuck’s the matter with you?”

After the Bay of Pigs, Krieger became more strident.

“No one will remember the poor fools left to die on the beach…Millions more will be led to their death…”

I’ve been in high school locker rooms, but have never seen such a grotesque profusion of male flesh. Fat and woebegone, buff and arrogant, slight and timid…Red pustules on white flab, acne clusters, pimples, sores, weird Rorschach bruises. Gray jockeys, bulky boxers with stripes and flowers. The undersized sneak covert looks. The muscled strut and sneer…I try to place myself along this continuum. I am tall, but slouched and narrow-shouldered. I always made the team, but was never a star. I can do sit ups and push ups, but strain at pullups and chins. I’ve fought to defend myself, but have never attacked anyone in anger…

The Russians move their missiles out of Cuba. Krieger scoffs at claims of victory.

“Russians don’t blink. They merely look for another battlefield.

They give us a form to fill out.

“Print clearly,” an older man in a doctor’s white coat says in a German accent. “If we can’t read it you’ll do it again.”

I curse my good health. There’s an endless column of diseases, but I’ve never had one.

The mental disorders are more promising. Bed-wetting, problems in school, visits to a psychiatrist, arrests, convictions, feelings of persecution, sudden eruptions of rage, homosexual attraction…

I’ve been advised I’ll arouse suspicion if I check them all. Just pick one aberration I can defend.

I check “use alcohol and illegal drugs…”

” Word War II was just a sideshow,” Krieger says. “The Tsar and the Robber Baron tried so hard to get Adolph on their side. Henry Ford, Charles Lindbergh, Mosley, Chamberlain, Joe Kennedy, JFK’s dad. If only he wouldn’t be so stubborn about the Jews. Even Uncle Joe Stalin wanted to make a deal. From one mass murderer to another. You keep your camps I’ll keep mine. But Adolph wouldn’t share. So they formed an uneasy alliance to silence his Wagnerian oompah band. And when it was over they couldn’t wait to return to the eternal debate on what is the best way to control a subject population–Communist regimentation or Capitalist exploitation…”

We form a single line and shuffle into a large room, the size of a gymnasium where doctors in white coats are waiting. They are elderly, probably retired, and bored. Stethoscopes are pressed to our chests. “Deep breath…Breathe out.” Lights are shined in our eyes, noses and ears…A tongue depressor is thrust so deep in our mouths we gag. “Say Ahhh…”

Some kids are taken out of the line and sent to smaller examination rooms. They’re the lucky ones, but they walk with heads down as if they’ve been found wanting.

A doctor with a hammer gestures impatiently to a chair. “Well, sit down…” He taps our knees lightly. The kid ahead of me shudders and his knee shoots up. Mine hardly moves. “You waiting for the second feature?” he snaps. “Get up.”

Krieger spots me carrying Camus and Hesse.

“Alienation and mysticism,” he thunders. “The cheap thrills of the bourgeois state. Meant to distract the intelligentsia from its oppression.”

It’s pointless to explain that I use the books to start conversations with girls in coffee shops.

“Drop your drawers,” a doctor shouts. A kid walks up to him. He thrusts his hand under his right testicle and orders:

“Cough.”

Then moves the left.

“Cough.”

And does this a hundred times.

At the end of the room a doctor commands:

“Lean over and press the wall with both hands. Now reach back and spread the cheeks of your ass…Spread ‘em!”

He walks up and down the line looking up every one’s ass.

“Did he lose somethin’?” some kid whispers and we all get hysterical laughing.

We walk into a room with rusty sinks, faucets sputtering, along all four walls. A man in a white coat hands out plastic vials.

“Piss in the vial and bring it to the desk,” he orders.

Another moment of truth as we check out the line of pissing penises. Dark ropes, purple veined monstrosities, fragile pink wands; it’s amazing that they are all the same organ. I am abashed by the larger ones, but not encouraged by the smaller.

After all that Coke my urine rust brown.

The man at the desk hands me a tiny dipstick.

“Stick it in your specimen,” he says. “Show it to me.” He hardly looks. “Dump it in the sink…”

We’re done. Our journey through the rooms has taken us back to the entry hall. A man in a white shirt covered with medals checks my form. Suddenly, I am sorry that I checked off drug use.

“Down the hall to the left,” he says.

A line of kids is waiting outside four offices. We hear snatches of conversation.

“How many times a week?”

“Was there a police report?”

“Don’t give me the letter. Send it to the Draft Board.”

I am steered into an office. An old man with two brown moles, each sprouting a hair, on his bald head looks down at my form.

“Drugs?” he asks.

I nod.

” Heroin? Opium? Hashish?”

“Marijuana,” I say.

He writes in a blank space on my form.

“Drinking?”

“Wine…”

“Sweet wine, dry wine? Beaujolais, Chablis?”

“Italian Swiss Colony,” I say. “Whiskey, too?”

“Rye, vodka, gin…?”

“Scotch,” I blurt.

“What kind?”

I panic. Try to remember the weird-shaped bottle in the sideboard that my father sneaks shots out of while my mother is in the kitchen.

“Haig and Haig…”

He looks up with a smile. “Haig and Haig. Can’t afford that on a private’s salary…”

JFK is sending 16 thousand “advisors” to help the South Vietnamese repel the Communist invaders from the north.

“The Tsar cannot take his army away from oppressing his own people,” Krieger says. “He will use the Vietnamese as proxies. The Robber Baron will send his own young men to keep them from making trouble in the Civil Rights movement and Organized Labor…”

Krieger’s wife comes to keep him company. A wiry old lady with sun-leathered skin, she knits while he rants. Unwraps salami sandwiches and pours coffee from a thermos.

“Were you in the Army?” I ask.

“It was important to defeat the Nazis,” he says. “But I did not support the oppressive military system…”

“He was a good soldier,” his wife says, placidly knitting.

Krieger twitches in irritation.

“I was not,” he says.

Three weeks later I get a letter from the Selective Service System. I have been classified “1Y”, which means I am deferred for a year.

It’s what I wanted. Still, I feel rejected and vaguely ashamed.

NEXT: A VERY SHORT REPRIEVE

 

MY CAREER AS A PETTY THIEF/PART NINE/Part One

I STEAL MY FIRST BOOK
Part One

It’s 1961 and the Godless Communists are on the move. Russian Cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin becomes the first man in space. “Now the Antichrist can rain death down on us from the heavens,” evangelist Nelson Bell warns. “America is in the gravest danger in its history.”

I’ve gotten a second notice for my Army physical. This one is mildly threatening. “You are ordered to report on…Failure to do so may result in fine and imprisonment…”

The Castro regime beats back a US proxy invasion at the Bay of Pigs. The East Germans build a wall. New president JFK advises all “prudent” families to get a bomb shelter. “Won’t be long now,” my philosophy prof says. “Your generation will have its war…”

I put the notice in a drawer under my socks.

I was always a reader, but now I’m am an addict. A book is the first thing I reach for in the morning. I can’t get out of bed without finishing a chapter and often doze with the clock radio blasting rock and roll in my ear, only to awake in a panic and stumble late into class, disheveled and blurting lame excuses.

I can’t eat without a book or a newspaper propped against a glass. Friday night dinner at my parents’ house is a torment because reading at the table is strictly forbidden. I hide a magazine on my lap and drape the tablecloth over it. My mother whisks it away with a worried look. “This isn’t healthy,” she says.

I can’t go to the toilet without something–anything– to look at. I scramble for reading matter, coming perilously close to crapping my pants.

Can’t go to bed without a book, but can’t sleep until I finish a chapter. I blink like an owl when I begin to nod, bite down on my lip and pull the hairs out of my chest. Then, the lamp is glaring in my face and the book is on the floor and I realize I’ve been asleep. So I find my place and begin reading again. When I finally decide to call it a night I have confused my brain with so many false starts that I lie in ragged exhaustion until the night turns gray and I drop off. An hour or a minute later I awake, haggard and unrested and begin to read again.

Ernest Hemingway, my instructor in male honor and courage, blows his brains out with a shotgun. Captured Nazi Adolph Eichmann claims he was only “the transmitter” of the Fuhrer’s orders, but he admits he did say: “I will jump gleefully into my grave knowing I have killed five million of my nation’s enemies…”

I’m living in a sub basement ($53 a month) on Barrow Street in Greenwich Village. It’s gloomy and the pipes sweat and the mice resent sharing the makeshift shower with me. I can barely see the street from my window. A sliver of sun tells me it’s daytime. I’m safe. Not even Adolph Eichmann could find me here.

I come home at dawn with a meatball hero and a Pepsi that I paid a buck seventy-five for at Whitey’s Pizzeria. I light up the joint I got for a dollar outside the subway on Sheridan Square and open the paperback I picked up for a quarter from an old guy with a book pushcart on Seventh Avenue. I read fiction, voraciously and uncritically. Irving Wallace, Franz Kafka, Jim Thompson—it’s all the same to me.

The 19th. century– Dostoevsky, Dickens, Balzac, etc.–is the best “reefer read.” Marijuana helps keep track of the characters and navigate the narrative switchbacks.

Dexedrine gets me into the rhythms of the moderns, especially Joyce and Faulkner. I finish the USA TRILOGY in a weekend.

In deference to all the alcoholic writers I am discovering I get drunk. But when I try to read I get the spins.

President Kennedy creates the Peace Corps and thousands of idealistic young people volunteer to help the natives of the Third World shed their ancient ways and become middle-class Americans. My mother urges me to join. “You could really find yourself in a program like this.”

Instead, I find a folk singer named Maxine who is willing to come home with me. It’s okay to smoke a cigarette, but reading in afterglow is a flagrant violation of post-coital protocol. When I open a book Maxine jumps up in revulsion. “God, I feel like I’m in bed with my dad.”

Vice President Johnson calls Vietnamese Premier Diem, “the Churchill of Asia,” and vows to defend his regime with American power. JFK increases “military assistance” to Vietnam, sending 16,000 “advisors.”

Maxine is throwing a party. Potato chips, gallons of Gallo California wine and somebody passing a joint in the kitchen. An older crowd. Workshirts and beards. Black tights, poorboy sweaters and Rapunzel hair. Maxine strums and sings Sloop John B, serenading a guy in a corduroy sports jacket, complete with patches, wavy graying locks and the smug look of every English professor who ever gave me a C-. I browse her paperback shelf and find a book by an author I never heard of— Miss Lonelyhearts by Nathaniel West.

After three pages I’m hooked. I barely hear the snatches of conversation around me. Maxine segues into Rock Island Line, then Cotton Fields Back Home. There’s another West book on the shelf–Day of the Locust.

I’m lost for hours. Then I sense movement. The party is breaking up. Maxine and the corduroy guy are in a clinch on the couch. He is whispering urgently, patting her on the shoulder like her dog just died.

I have to finish this book. And read the other one. I grab the two slim paperbacks. Can’t take them out. Someone might see me. I go into the bathroom and shove them down the back of my pants. Maxine bursts in, teary and distraught.

“What are you doing here?” she demands

“Just going to the bathroom,” I say.

“You can stay if you want.”

“What about your friend…?”

“Do you want to stay or don’t you?” she says and slams the door.

I know if I take my clothes off, Maxine will see the books. I slip them into the hamper and go out. The apartment is pitch black. Maxine is already in bed.

The first thing I think of in the morning is those books. I’m a good stealth dresser. In minutes I’m in the bathroom searching in the hamper. The books must have sunk to the bottom.

There’s a knock and a giggle.

“What are you doing in there?”

“Uh, just taking a shower…

Maxine comes in…”I’ll scrub your back…”

I jump back, but not fast enough. She sees the hamper cover on the floor and grabs my arm.

“What are you doing?”

A pair of black panties is hanging from my wrist.

Maxine is outraged. “You disgusting pervert. Are you stealing my underwear?”

“Well, I just wanted something to remind me…”

“Take anything you want,” she cries, running out. “Just get the fuck outta here…”

I find the paperbacks. Wrap them in a pair of black panties. Then, in another pair to be on the safe side. Maxine’s bedroom door is closed and probably locked. She won’t come out until I’m gone so I have time to check out her book shelf.

I find The Rosy Crucifixion, Sexus, Nexus and Plexus by Henry Miller and tiptoe out the door.

NEXT: I STEAL A BOOK FROM JAMES BALDWIN