PATSY

A Half-Hour Dramatic Comedy

"A Good Place"

Written by

Spenser Querry

Spensq@[Link]
765.506.1692
BLACK

Bobby Charles’ “I Must Be in a Good Place Now” plays.

FADE IN:

MONTAGE: EXT. GARY, INDIANA - VARIOUS - DAY

1. Industrial park - A few smokestacks pump thick clouds into

an already grey and overcast sky. Patches of snow and ice
mark the ground.

2. Outside an urban dilapidated building - it’s windows

smashed and boarded, it’s walls marked with graffiti - a
COUPLE walks, heavily bundled in puffy jackets, and pushing a
stroller.

3. Outside of the Genesis Convention Center stands the

“Fusion” statue - a heap of steel scrap with butterflies
flying from the top. A HOMELESS MAN walks by, bundled as
well, drinking from a bottle in a paper bag.

4. “Downtown” area - several PEOPLE go about their business,

coming in and out of small office buildings. Cars covered in
snow-slush and salt drive down the street. A FEW OLD BUSINESS
TYPES stand outside, smoking cigarettes or cigars.

END MONTAGE

EXT. LAKESHORE DUNES APARTMENTS - DAY (PRESENT DAY)

A large brick complex that sits like a giant cube on an

otherwise empty lot. It looks like a stock photo of Eastern
Europe.

INT. BEDROOM - PAT’S APARTMENT - SAME

The room is small and rather plain. Outdated. An old quilt

with muted colors covers a queen bed occupying most of the
space.

Next to it, a nightstand holds a clock radio and lamp - a

long dresser with a large vanity mirror adjacent.

In the reflection PATRICK BOLLEN, late 30’s, like an aging

relic from the 80’s with a bruised face, paunchy belly,
thinning hair, and faded jeans, hangs his laundry in the
closet.

He lets out a deep breath as he surveys the room - it’s tidy.

Immaculate even.
 2.

Pat moves to the dresser and pulls an envelope from his back
pocket, placing it on the dresser next to a geode ash tray.

Writing on the envelope says: “To my loving wife Vera and

step-son Vasily.”

Pat slides open the drawer below the letter, rifles through,
and closes it.

He stands tall, looking at himself in the mirror, now holding

a snub nosed revolver in his hand.

Pat slowly sits on the edge of the bed and pulls his phone
from his pocket. Swinging his legs onto the bed, Pat lays his
head against the wall and a stack of pillows.

He flips through his outdated “brick” phone and lands on a

picture of himself and a rather attractive WOMAN. They’re
both grinning ear to ear.

Pat’s expression slips to one of grief and agony. He crams

the phone back in his pocket and the pistol’s barrel into his
mouth.

His breathing becomes quick and panicked. But he hesitates.

Looking over, he sees VASILY, 15, a beefy and hulking Russian

boy, watching him. Vasily is totally unfazed by what is
happening.

Pat’s eyes goes wide and he gestures to stop as Vasily cocks

his head to the hallway and calls out.

VASILY
(in Russian)
Mother! Your shithead husband is
trying to kill himself.

Pat huffs and puffs in frustration and sits back on the edge
of the bed - head in hands.

VERA (O.S.)
(in Russian)
What?!

VASILY
(in English)
Should I stop him? Cause I really
fucking don’t want to.

Pat reacts with a “that’s unnecessary” look. Vasily

effortlessly pulls the pistol from Pat’s grip and flips him
off before heading to the door.
 3.

VERA, early 40’s, a feisty and fleshy Russian woman enters

with a shocked expression.

Vasily plops the pistol in her hand and leaves. Vera looks
down at it and then back to Pat.

Pat gives a sheepish grin - his sad eyes still shine through.

The pistol clutched in her fist, Vera steps forward and wails
on Pat. He doesn’t fight back, but puts his arms up to block.

PAT
Vera. Would you just--

VERA
(in Russian)
You stupid motherfucking shithead!
How could you do this? You were
just going to kill yourself like a
little bitch boy? Like a pussy man?

PAT
Baby, I can’t understand you. Baby.
Vera. Stop already!

Pat jumps up and Vera steps back, breathing heavily and

looking upset.

VERA
(broken English)
How could do this me? Huh? Pussy
man.

PAT
I-- It’s just. I’ve got problems,
baby. I’m, ya know. I’m depressed
and whatever.

VERA
I don’t believe you. So selfish.
(storming off)
Next time, do this where I won’t
have to clean up. Sonofabitch.

PAT
Vera!

Pat stands in bewilderment. He grabs the letter and puts it

back in his pocket, then stares at his weary reflection.
 4.

INT. HALLWAY - JEROME COMBS DETENTION CENTER - DAY

A short, heavyset GUARD with a goatee walks the hallway,

tapping his nightstick against the cell bars as he passes.

SUPER: THREE DAYS EARLIER

The Guard taunts the PRISONERS as he strolls past.

GUARD
If it isn’t long tall Sally. How’s
it hanging today, sweetheart?

The first INMATE SALLY, a tall, incredibly thin man with long
hair and crudely applied lipstick, strikes a seductive pose
against the bars.

INMATE SALLY
(forced falsetto)
Drop that nightstick and you’ll see
first hand.

The Guard smirks and keeps moving. In the next cell is a

CRACKHEAD, curled in a ball from withdrawal.

The Guard stops and looks around suspiciously.

GUARD
Psssst.

The Crackhead looks up, confused but hopeful.

GUARD (CONT’D)
Psst. You uhh, you want a taste?
Not a trick. Just a taste to get
you by.

The Crackhead nods his head wildly and the Guard nods to come
closer. He crawls toward him.

GUARD (CONT’D)
(rooting in his pocket)
Hang on. Hang on.

GUARD #2 quickly breezes past. The Guard straightens up and

the Crackhead tries to keep it together. He’s practically
drooling.

GUARD (CONT’D)
He’s gone. Here quick, take it.

The Guard pulls his hand from his pocket, flipping off the
Crackhead. The Guard laughs too hard for the joke.
 5.

GUARD (CONT’D)
You make me sick.

CRACKHEAD
You fucking snake. I’ll kill you.

The Guard continues on, still laughing. He looks in on the

next cell to find a massive, RIPPED INMATE, glaring back at
him.

RIPPED INMATE
If that tiny, pink, hamster’s
asshole that serves as your excuse
for a mouth even so much as farts
one shitty word in my direction,
I’ll see an extra year for
beastiality. Ya feel me?

The Guard swallows hard and nods yes.

RIPPED INMATE (CONT’D)

You chode gargling fuck-toilet.

The Guard walks on, passing another cell and continuing on in

silence.

THELONIOUS, 30’s, the laid back type with stylish hair and a
beard, giggles over the interaction.

THELONIOUS
Oooo, you hear that one? A chode
gargling fuck-toilet. Points for
originality. Damn.

He turns to reveal Pat sitting in the same cell, far off in

thought.

PAT
(snapping out of it)
I didn’t, but you’re right. That’s
creative.

Thelonious flops on his cot, letting out a bored sigh.

THELONIOUS
Man, I gotta do something. A big
change, ya know?

PAT
Yeah. I do.

THELONIOUS
I’m just not living right.
Obviously.
 6.

PAT
(epiphany moment)
Yeah. Exactly. I need to do
something different. It’s like I’m
trapped in this fucking vicious
cycle of getting screwed, NON STOP.
One year here, six months here,
community service. It just never
ends and it’s all because I’m
fucking stuck. Like my ass is just
hanging out for the world to see.
Only, it’s not just my ass. It’s my
ass with ‘FUCK ME, I DON’T MIND’
scribbled across it in permanent
marker. But it’s my own fault. I
never say when. And you let someone
do it once, they’ll just do it
again and again. And then a line
forms. And then it NEVER ENDS. Ya
know?

Thelonious stares back at Pat, blown away by the rant.

THELONIOUS
Sure, man. But I just meant, like,
a change in here. Shake it up a
bit. Maybe get myself a bitch,
right?

Pat isn’t really listening as he paces the cell.

PAT
Right. Right.

THELONIOUS
Hey! What about you? Wanna be my
bitch?

Pat snaps out of it and looks stunned.

THELONIOUS (CONT’D)
(cockeyed)
Yo, man you were the one going on
about all that. I’m just trying to
hop in that line.

PAT
Oh, no. No, no, no. Not me.

THELONIOUS
Too good to be my bitch, huh?
 7.

PAT
(placating)
Oh, god no. It’s not that. I mean,
I would. But I’m out today.

THELONIOUS
That’s cool. You’re not my type
anyway. I wonder what Sally’s doin’
for lunch.

Pat gives Thelonious a concerned glance.

INT. CAR - PARKING LOT - JEROME COMBS DETENTION CENTER - SAME

MELISSA CARVER, early 30’s, a Midwestern beauty who means

business, parks her car. She grabs a leather attaché and
rifles through.

Inside are two different ID cards, nearly identical. One is

labeled “Legal Assistant.” The other “Lawyer.”

She grabs the second tag, pins it to her shirt. Takes a few
deep breaths.

MELISSA
Scooter Davis. What a name.

She gets out and slams the door.

INT. FRONT DESK - JEROME COMBS DETENTION CENTER - SAME

A FAT GUARD, 40’s, plump and greasy sitting behind the glass
swipes through a dating app.

FAT GUARD
Nope. Nope. Uhh, gross. Nope. Hmm,
maybe.

Just then he looks up to see Melissa strutting toward him,

taking off her sunglasses.

He cracks a greasy smile and fidgets in his seat.

FAT GUARD (CONT’D)

My goodness, little lady. You in
the right place?

Melissa looks at him, hesitant.

MELISSA
I’m here to pick up an inmate
scheduled for release.
 8.

FAT GUARD
You sure you ain’t here to see me?

She rolls her eyes.

FAT GUARD (CONT’D)

Nah, of course not. I don’t get
that lucky. But you know. If you
felt so inclined to change my
stars, we could get outta here.

MELISSA
Not likely.

FAT GUARD
Good call, I’m on the clock. We
don’t have to go too far. There’s a
supply closet right back here.

MELISSA
You think it could fit both of us?
Because I have little faith.

FAT GUARD
Ooo, a sassy one huh? Act up and
maybe I’ll just have to keep ya in
there until you can play nice.

He looks up with greasy eyes in anticipation. She slaps her

lawyer badge on the counter.

MELISSA
Sexual misconduct, including
harassment, assault, sexual abuse
and conspiracy to kidnap. Should I
keep going? Because these are just
a few on the long list of charges I
could bring against you for this
egregious and disgusting attempt at
flattery, flirtation, and seduction
you just managed to spit up all
over your protective glass barrier
and several of your chins just now.
Or, are you gonna play nice?

Shaken, he looks from her badge to her stern face.

MELISSA (CONT’D)
Scooter. Davis. You have two
minutes.

The Fat Guard, still shaken and bumbling, presses an

intercom.
 9.

FAT GUARD
Uhh -- err -- Scooter Davis, for
release, please. Now!

MELISSA
Thank you, sweet cheeks.

Melissa smiles and blows him a kiss as she grabs her badge
and enters a nearby hall.

The Fat Guard looks stunned, wiping sweat from his face.

INT. JAIL CELL - JEROME COMBS DENTENTION CENTER - CONTINUOUS

Thelonious stands, holding the bars and looking out into the
hall.

THELONIOUS
Whachu even in here for? I’m in for
arson. I fuckin’ love arson. Fire,
baby. Cleansing fire. Creation
through destruction.

Thelonious stares off as if he’s in love. Pat raises a brow.

PAT
The ol’ Hobart Hustle.

THELONIOIUS
(snapping out of it)
What now? Oh what got you in here,
right. The fuck is that?

PAT
A Hobart Hustle is a con. And a
goddamn clever one if you can pull
it off.

THELONIOUS
(taking a seat)
Which you didn’t.

PAT
Oh it was a success. But I got
caught holding the bag.

THELONIOUS
Doesn’t sound like you what
“success” means, homie.

The Guard steps up to the door.

 10.

GUARD
Scooter Davis.

Pat looks up.

GUARD (CONT’D)
Let’s go. You’re out.

Pat stands and moves for the door.

PAT
It worked beautifully. I just got
caught holding the bag.

THELONIOUS
Yeah, you said that already.

Pat steps outside the bars into the hall. The Guard cuffs his
hands. Thelonious rushes to the bars just as they close.

THELONIOUS (CONT’D)
How you get caught, Scoot?

PAT
(whispering)
It was a set up. Organized crime,
Thad. Stay clear of it. Oh and by
the way, that’s not even my real
name.

Thelonious looks confused.

THELONIOUS
(whispering)
Whatchu say? What IS your name?

The Guard pulls Pat away from the bars. Thelonious stands
confused and impressed at Pat’s ability to cheat the system.

Pat winks at Thelonious as the Guard leads him to freedom.

EXT. JEROME COMBS DETENTION CENTER - MOMENTS LATER

Pat, now dressed in his usual duds, and Melissa step out. He
shields his eyes from the sun and bright patches of snow.

PAT
I need a beer. Or twelve.
(half to himself)
River House? Or maybe Eddie’s?
Olive’s is close, too. Goddamnit.

Melissa watches him argue with himself.

 11.

MELISSA
Pat, I think it’s time you found a
new career. Or brush up with some
night classes. Take the short grift
101 at Ivy Tech maybe?

Pat isn’t listening and continues arguing with himself.

PAT
Can’t go to Bar Fly, not after last
time. But who cares? They won’t
remember. I think Smitty’s might be
closest. But it’s a fuckin’ shit
hole. There’s Hangar, but--

MELISSA
Hey, take it easy, you two.

PAT
(snapping out of it)
Oh sorry, I just need--

MELISSA
It’s fine. Slim’s. On me.

Pat gives her a caring glance, letting his stress slide off
for a moment.

PAT
I love you.

Melissa cracks a smile back at Pat’s puppy dog face.

INT. MELISSA’S CAR - JEROME COMBS PARKING LOT - MOMENTS LATER

Pat and Melissa are sandwiched in the back seat of her small
car. Their winter coats filling in the available space.

They kiss wildly as they try to find a more suitable

position. They get tangled. Pat puts leans forward onto
Melissa’s hair.

MELISSA
Ow, ow, ow. My hair.

PAT
Shit, sorry.

He sits back and takes off his coat. She tries the same,
elbowing him in the face.

MELISSA
Oh oh oh, are you okay?
 12.

PAT
Yeah it’s fine.

They continue to squirm and kiss until they finally find a

position. Melissa unbuttons his pants and lifts up her skirt.

The position is awkward, but they’re making it work. They

have sex.

Through the window, a black sedan parks a few spots away. The
door swings open and outsteps--

EXT. JEROME COMBS PARKING LOT - CONTINUOUS

-- A human sausage whose slicked back hair, briefcase, and

tacky jewelry screams MOB LAWYER.

He waddles inside.

INT. JEROME COMBS DETENTION CENTER - CONTINUOUS

The Mob Lawyer toddles inside and up to the Fat Guard at

reception.

Plopping down his I.D. badge, he spits up his words.

MOB LAWYER
Mr. Davis’ legal council for
scheduled release. Mr. Scooter
Davis.

The Fat Guard is taken aback by the name and suddenly looks
very sheepish.

The Lawyer cocks an intimidating eyebrow as the Guard

pretends to search amongst his desk.

INT. SLIM’S POUR HOUSE - KANKAKEE ILLINOIS - EVENING

Typical dive bar. Only smaller and shittier.

The jukebox in the corner plays “Somebody Just Like You” by

Mack Owen.

A few PEOPLE play pool. A CRUSTY DRINKER at the bar finishes

his umpteenth beer for the afternoon.

Pat and Melissa sit at a small table. He sips from a pint of

beer as she sprinkles her napkin with salt.
 13.

PAT
I just don’t get it, Mel.
Everything went EXACTLY to plan.
How do I always get caught holding
the fucking bag? It makes no sense.

Melissa looks at him like the answer is obvious.

MELISSA
It makes perfect sense.

PAT
How do you mean? You sayin’ I’m--

MELISSA
I’ve known you for four years now.
You’re great. You’re clever, quick
witted, and faster on your feet
than most. But have you ever
considered that maybe the Ableman
syndicate drafted you as an all-
time patsy?

Pat leans back in his chair, perplexed and little offended.

PAT
What, do you? You think I wouldn’t
have picked up on that?

MELISSA
It’s the pattern, Pat. When was the
last time you pulled a successful
con? Or job? Or didn’t get framed
up for something you weren’t even
involved in?

Pat slumps his shoulders and takes a big slug from his beer.

PAT
The goddamn cycle.

MELISSA
I hate to sound like a broken
record, but you need to get out.
Sooner the better.

PAT
Not possible.

MELISSA
Of course it is.
 14.

Just the then, the door opens and washes the two in light.
Standing on either side of it are two GOONS, imposing and
balding or already there.

They simply stand in silence. Pat throws his hands up and

leans in toward Melissa.

PAT
See?

MELISSA
That’s for you?

PAT
Carlton Costa’s men. I have to go.
Thank you for everything. Again.
Really.

Melissa watches as Pat skulks toward the Goons.

PAT (CONT’D)
Well if it isn’t Tweedlefuck-face
and Roseanne Barr. BIG, big fan.

The Goons grab Pat and quickly exit. Concerned, Melissa

watches them leave.

INT. GOON’S CAR - MOVING - MOMENTS LATER

The car is a spacious, dark, four door sedan. GOON #1, the
larger of the two, sits in the back seat, staring blank faced
at Pat.

Total silence. Uncomfortably silent.

PAT
(anxiously)
So...where we headed, fellas? Ya
know, there’s a great ice cream
place up here. If you take this
next exit. The hand-dipped hard
stuff. Not that wimpy soft serve--

The car sails past the exit.

PAT (CONT’D)
Right. It’s February. Kinda cold
for ice cream. Well if we’re not
out on a Sunday drive and a tasty
treat, what are we doin?
(off the silence)
Sorry for the Roseanne comment.
(MORE)
 15.

PAT (CONT’D)
You’re clearly more of a John
Goodman type. That’s my mistake.

Goon #1 still stares and Pat, imposing on him.

PAT (CONT’D)
Your mouth is closed but I can
somehow still smell your breath.
(still staring)
Or maybe I’m just imaging its
horrendous stench based on the rest
of your sensory output and can
somehow smell, almost taste it.
Good lord.

Pat begins to look panicked. The Goon’s blank stare turns

threatening. Pat’s hand slowly slips to the door handle.

Goon #2 sees this in the rear-view mirror. Pat looks out to

the road, judging the speed. He swallows hard.

Pat pulls the door handle and the door cracks. Goon #2 pulls
and pistol and turns, pointing it directly at Pat’s head.

PAT (CONT’D)
Okay, okay, okay.
(closing the door)
Maybe try the child locks next
time.

Goon #2 turns back to the road. Goon #1 still stares.

EXT. COSTA’S ESTATE - CHICAGO SUBURB - EVENING

The car cruises up a long drive and arrives outside an almost

European looking mansion.

Curving around a large fountain, the car comes to a stop and

everyone steps out. Pat looks up in worried awe.

INT. COSTA’S ESTATE - CONTINUOUS

The Goons usher Pat through the large and opulent home filled
with eclectic decorations, including a classical style statue
of a vulgar sex scene.

PAT
Oh, I have this exact statue in my
apartment.
 16.

Pat admires it but is quickly thrown off when he walks past

an ELDERLY GYPSY WOMAN and a stylish ASIAN MAN sitting on a
couch.

The Gypsy is mumbling a foreign song while feeding him slices

of oranges.

PAT (CONT’D)
(to himself)
What the fuuuuck?

INT. OFFICE - COSTA’S ESTATE - MOMENTS LATER

Pat sits at a large desk, looking as if he’s tired of

waiting. He looks back to the Goons behind him.

PAT
Did I win a sweepstakes or
something? Like this is my new
house, but since you two are firmly
planted on the non-verbal spectrum
you just failed to mention--

COSTA (O.S.)
(yelling)
Patrick fucking Bollen!

Startled, Pat sees CARLTON COSTA, 50’s, like a shirtless,

hairy love-child of Steve Buscemi and Ron Pearlman storms in.

Pat quickly stands and extends a hand.

COSTA (CONT’D)
Sit the fuck down, this isn’t a
board meeting. Listen, I know we
haven’t formally met, but I’m aware
of you and you certainly know who I
am. So let’s cut to the chase. I
have a job for you.

PAT
Look, I JUST got out and was hoping-

COSTA
The Ableman’s have given their
blessing. So whatever it was you
were about to say, doesn’t matter.
Any questions?

Pat looks around, confused at how easily he was defeated.

 17.

PAT
Actually, yeah. What the hell is
with mother time out there suckling
oranges with...

Pat trails off when he notices Costa is fuming.

COSTA
That mother time out there, just so
happens to be MY mother.

PAT
Ohhh boyy. I’m so sorry. I didn’t
know.

Costa gets into Pat’s face. He’s livid. Pat’s terrified.

Suddenly, Costa cracks a smile and burst out in laughter.

The Goons look at each other and smile.

COSTA
I’m kidding, Pat.
(straight faced)
But if she was, I would have cut
off your head and shit down the
neck hole. Got me?

PAT
Got it. I got it.

Costa moves back around the desk and sits, motioning for the
Goons to collect Pat.

PAT (CONT’D)
In all seriousness though, I was
just released and could really use
a break. I’m sick of this fucking
run around, all this in and out. I
mean. I’ve done so much for the
Ableman’s. I didn’t even contest
that arranged marriage five years
ago.

Goon #1, now standing beside Pat, suddenly strikes him so

hard his chair falls backwards, spilling him onto the floor.

PAT (CONT’D)
Oh, Jesus.

COSTA
I’m afraid this isn’t negotiable.
You see, Mr. Bollen, you have an
awfully smart mouth.
(MORE)
 18.

COSTA (CONT'D)
Others may have sat idly by while
you yap like a puppy. Woe is me.
Yap, yap, yap. There is a
difference between six months for a
botched robbery and life. For,
say...an attempt on a congressman.
Keep yapping and the difference
will strike your snout like a
rolled up newspaper. Boys.

The Goons scoop up Pat - his nose dripping blood as they haul
him out.

EXT. GOON’S CAR - MOVING - NIGHT

The sedan sails down the highway. Slowing down only a little,
it pulls to the shoulder.

The door is flung wide and Pat is tossed from the car,
rolling along the shoulder until he comes to a stop.

He stands, his eye blackened, nose and lip bloodied. Wiping

dirt from his clothes, he looks around, collecting himself.

PAT
Could’ve at least gotten ice cream.

EXT. LAKESHOE DUNES APARTMENTS - NIGHT

Pat trudges through dirt and snow as the setting sun casts a
pink glow behind the monolithic complex, fully silhouetting
it like a house on a horror movie poster.

EXT/INT. LIVING ROOM - PAT’S APARTMENT - MOMENTS LATER

Pat stands in the hall, takes a deep breath, and unlocks his
apartment door, stepping into the living room.

Inside, all the lights are off, minus a few black lights. Pat
flips the switch - revealing Vasily on the couch.

He’s surrounded by all sorts of bagged drugs and TWO SHADY

TEENS. Vasily stares up at Pat, blank faced.

PAT
Goddamnit, Vas.

He switches the light back off. The Teens grab their drugs
and scurry out like rats.
 19.

PAT (CONT’D)
How many times have I told you? You
CANNOT. SELL. DRUGS out of our
living room.

Vasily slowly looks to the hallway.

PAT (CONT’D)
No, no, no!

VASILY
(in Russian)
Mom!--

Pat quickly jumps in, grabbing Vasily by the mouth. Vasily

turns like a snake about to strike.

PAT
(staggering back)
Sorry! Sorry, sorry.

Vasily threateningly mumbles in Russian to himself as Pat

sulks away in defeat.

“Torture” by Kris Jensen begins to play.

INT. BEDROOM - PAT'S APARTMENT - LATER

Pat lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The sound of

heavy breathing fills the room.

He looks over to see Vera in a terribly unflattering moo-moo,

batting her eyes at him.

Pat looks back up. Vera quickly rolls on top of him, grinning
down at him with an insatiable smile.

She fidgets a little as to fully mount Pat. Pat looks beyond

uncomfortable as she begins to rock back and forth - her
throaty breathing getting louder.

Vera snatches Pat’s hand and pushes it to her breast. Pat

looks like he might vomit as he stares up at her chins.

He quickly looks away as she rocks harder. The bed squeaks

and the headboard knocks against the wall, louder and louder.

INT. KITCHEN - PAT’S APARTMENT - MORNING

A cramped and outdated kitchen complete with a small dining

table, dating back to the 60’s.
 20.

A small television on the counter plays loudly as its

channels change every few seconds.

Pat enters, dressed in a mechanic’s jumpsuit. His sails

deflate further as he watches Vera and Vasily feasting on a
hardy breakfast.

There’s none left for him. By design.

PAT
Morning.

No response. Pat pours himself a bowl of cereal and finds the

milk nearly empty. He uses tap water to top off the bowl.

PAT (CONT’D)
Vas, could you turn that down a
little? Or maybe just stick with
something?

Vera and Vasily both stop smacking their lips and stare at
Pat. He shrugs it off and sits down.

As he eats, their chewing, lip smacking, and heavy breathing

begin to build.

Pat ignores it, but the channel flipping and the two of them
arguing back and forth in Russian becomes too much.

It builds and builds. Smacking. Flipping. Russian. Suddenly,

Pat shoots up and goes to the sink.

Dumping his cereal inside, the TV stops on a news program in

the back.

ON TV: A reporter talks over clips of a MIDDLE AGED MAN in

handcuffs, avoiding their cameras.

REPORTER (FROM T.V.)

David Kelly, a Marion Indiana
pastor who was once believed to be
dead, has been found alive and
living in Chicago. Having spent
nearly twelve years under the alias
of Jared Williams--

The program only just beings to grab Pat’s attention when

Vasily changes the channel.

Pat heads for the door.

PAT
I’ve got work. I’ll be back later.
 21.

VASILY
Fuck you!

Pat recoils and Vera begins to scold the boy in Russian. They
bicker and Pat leaves the kitchen, shaking his head.

INT/EXT. SHIFTER’S AUTO GARAGE - MORNING

The garage is large and fairly open with only a few cars
inside to be worked on.

Pat sweeps the floor with a large push broom. Nearby, a group
of MECHANICS 20’s-60’s, of indistinct Eastern European decent
chatter in their native tongue.

The group breaks out into laughter. Pat looks up just in time
to see them look away from him.

An OLDER MECHANIC chatters on while sticking his index finger

through his other hand in the shape of a circle and making a
cartoonish whistle.

The groups laughs again. A butch woman, MATILDA, approaches

Pat, putting her hand on his shoulder.

MATILDA
(thick accent)
Sometimes you gotta take one for
the team by being the guy that
takes them all for the team.

The group laughs again. Pat mocks their smiles.

PAT
Good one, Matilda. Ya buncha
dummies can laugh it up now, but
one of these days, when I’m running
this garage or maybe even the
family, we’ll see who’ll be “taking
it for the team.”

Pat makes a circle with his hand and aggressively strokes the
broom handle in their direction.

The sound of car doors closing grabs everyone’s attention.

Pat looks over to see the Goons standing by the sedan.

His expression says he knows it’s for him. The group look
around seriously at one another.

MATILDA
Patrick. Your boyfriends are here
for you.
 22.

The group erupts in laughter once again as Pat sulks to the

car and gets in. Goon #1 slams the door and they pull away.

OLDER MECHANIC
(Easter European language)
That stupid mother fucker. The head
of the family!

They laugh hysterically.

EXT. HUBBLE AND SIERRA LAW FIRM - CHICAGO - DAY

Light snow drizzles onto the street in front of the large,

downtown office spaces.

INT. HALLWAY - HUBBLE AND SIERRA LAW FIRM - DAY

Melissa quickly walks through the opulent space filled with

cubicles.

She notices SEAN MENEGHIN, 20’s, an arrogant prick of an

ambitious young assistant, standing by the water cooler.

Melissa buries her face in a file to avoid talking to him as

she passes his shit eating grin.

SEAN
Classic “hiding my face to avoid
the asshole who will delightedly
remind me I’m late for an important
meeting.”

MELISSA
Eat a douche, Sean.

SEAN
Lovely. By the way, you’re sooooo
late.

Melissa flips him off as she rounds the corner, opening an

office door.

INT. MEETING HALL - HUBBLE AND SIERRA LAW FIRM - CONTINUOUS

Melissa quietly opens the door and attempts to sneak inside

the large hall, complete with a long oval desk packed with
LAWYERS and JUNIOR PARTNERS.

EUGENE SIERRA (O.S.)

Miss Carver, how wonderful of you
to grace us with your presence.
 23.

Melissa looks up apologetically. EUGENE SIERRA, an ancient

woman who looks like an animated villain, stands at the head
of the table, cross-armed.

Behind her, a massive painted portrait that stretches nearly

to the ceiling mirrors her stance and attitude.

Melissa continues around the table, eyes glued to Sierra.

MELISSA
I’m so, so incredibly sorry--

She walks directly into FILLMORE HUBBLE, 60’s, a liver spot

with legs and a mouth both constantly and mysteriously full
of peanut bits to be ground up later.

Above him, another massive portrait reflects Hubble’s softer

personality.

Next to him, a large chart exhibiting details of the lawsuit,

including photos of greasy SLUMLORDS and their buildings.

She recoils and he does his best to smile, comforting her

with his mummy arms.

FILLMORE HUBBLE
It’s quite alright, my dear.

Melissa continues to an empty seat. Every pair of eyes glare

at her.

EUGENE SIERRA
Quite. We were only in the middle
of discussing an actionable suit
potentially worth tens of millions.
But now that you’re here, youthful
beauty in tow, I feel so much
better about really digging in to
the nitty gritty.

Melissa flashes an apologetic smile and settles in.

FILLMORE HUBBLE
Now, where was I? Oh that’s right.
These cocksucking slumlords. Pardon
my language. It just upsets me so.
(trailing off)
Cocksuckers. Every last one.

EUGENE SIERRA
Fillmore?
 24.

FILLMORE HUBBLE
Oh! Yes. This collection of units
in and around Chicago extends from
Elgin to the...”ghettos” of Joliet.
And as far East as that disgusting
shit-hole that is all that remains
of the once-great Gary, Indiana.

The younger associates trade perplexed glances. Melissa isn’t

listening - pouring over the material instead.

FILLMORE HUBBLE (CONT’D)

Depriving tenants of, well, tenable
conditions and perhaps even
operating as a vessel for laundered
money from organized crime
syndicates.

EUGENE SIERRA
However, Fillmore, these
connections have yet to be proven.
Any investigation so far has lead
to nothing but wasted time.

Their voices fade as Melissa devours pages of information.

Suddenly she stops. Landing on a terrible photo-scan of a

decades-old renter’s agreement, she finds the name C. Costa.

Melissa begins to collect her things. She bolts upright.

MELISSA
(heading for door)
I’m so sorry to interrupt.

EUGENE SIERRA
Oh, Christ. This is your job, Miss
Carver. Not some Cyberfeminism
class you no doubt audited at
community college.

MELISSA
Of course, but again, I’m so sorry.
I have to make an urgent call.

FILLMORE HUBBLE
But, but...

MELISSA
The cocksuckers. Yes I know. We’ll
get every last one, sir. I promise.

Melissa flings the door wide and leaves. Everyone’s shocked

gaze follows after her as the door slowly closes.
 25.

Everyone except Eugene, who wears a skeptical scowl.

INT. HALLWAY - HUBBLE AND SIERRA LAW FIRM - CONTINUOUS

Melissa pulls out her phone and calls Pat. It rings as she
paces.

MELISSA
Answer your phone, you dumb
motherfucker.
(voicemail interrupts)
Pat, call me back. I may have found
you a way out.

She hangs up and leans against the wall, lost in thought.

INT. GOON'S CAR - MOVING - SAME

Pat’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He glances ever so

slightly to his left to see Goon #1 staring back at him.

Pat slowly pulls his phone from his pocket enough to see the
voicemail from Melissa.

He slides it back into his pocket and lays his head against
the window, staring at a vast wind farm as it passes.

INT. COSTA’S ESTATE - SAME

The two Goons again usher Pat through the large home. Pat is
more nervous than before.

He winces as he turns a corner that leads to the couch. It’s

empty this time and he heaves a sigh of relief.

Pat turns back and nearly jumps out of his skin when he comes
face to face with the Gypsy woman.

PAT
Oh, hello. You gave me quite the--

The woman immediately begins to ramble in some unknown

language. Pat is so confused.

PAT (CONT’D)
(to the Goons)
I don’t...Do you know what she’s--

The Gypsy suddenly grabs him by the crotch, bends down, and
whispers to it.
 26.

PAT (CONT’D)
Oh! Oooookaaayyyy. That’s enough,
thank you.

She looks up with a smile, still mumbling under her breath.

Suddenly and with great force, she spits on his shirt near
his heart and begins to rub it in.

Pat is so uncomfortable. Finally, she smiles up at him, does

a bizarre gesture with her hands and toddles away.

PAT (CONT’D)
(to the Goons)
The unholy fuck was that?

Goon #1 cracks the faintest of smiles.

PAT (CONT’D)
Oh so that’s what gets you going,
huh? Jesus Harold Christ.

They continue on.

INT. OFFICE - COSTA'S ESTATE - MOMENTS LATER

Pat and the Goons enter the office. Costa is already standing
behind his desk, looking at an ancient and phallic statue.

PAT
I think Grandma Death just
assaulted me.

COSTA
Sit. Please.

PAT
If she were four hundred years
younger, I’d recommend we trade
feels to make it square but--

COSTA
Would you now?
(turning to Pat)
You know, if this were ancient
Egypt, she would’ve rubbed a
mixture of crow’s egg and eel gall
on your member.

Pat furrows his brow in confusion.

COSTA (CONT’D)
You do have a member, don’t you?
 27.

PAT
Well of course--

COSTA
And you’ve used it before?

PAT
Yeah, but what’s--

COSTA
Used it to bring pleasure to a
woman?

PAT
(getting defensive)
Plenty. What the fuck is this
about?

COSTA
Vera is a wonderful woman Patrick.
You’re a lucky man. I don’t ever
want to hear that you’ve left
her...unsastified. Do you
understand?

PAT
Oh, I’m sorry. I had a bit of a
rough day and wasn’t in the most
playful of moods. Fuck sakes, word
spreads faster in this family than
a hen house hair salon.

Costa becomes very serious, staring directly into Pat’s eyes.

COSTA.
Vera, I’m sure you know, is held
near and dear by the family. She
also happens to serve an integral
function in matters of business.
Do. Not. Fuck. With. That.

As Pat opens his smart mouth, the Goons close in on him.

PAT
Integral?! Integral how? Aside from
making my life a miserable,
hellacious--

Suddenly a Goon’s fist knocks Pat back in his chair again,

spilling him on the floor.

He’s quickly collected and is still facing Costa as he’s

carried out.
 28.

COSTA
This Chicago job, like your wife,
Mr. Bollen, should be taken to full
completion.

Costa grabs the phallic statue and makes crude gestures.

Pat closes his newly swollen eye.

EXT. GOON’S CAR - MOVING - MIDDAY

The car pulls to the shoulder and Pat is again tossed to the
dirt, rolling to a stop.

He stands, his black eye now re-blackened. Pat pulls his

phone and calls Melissa.

PAT
Hey. I need you to pick me up.
Yeah, uh, Highway 90. Mile marker
29. I’ll wear a purple eye so
you’ll know it’s me.

Pat hangs up and looks around. His breath visible, he

pathetically bundles up.

INT. HUSTLE & JOE’S - GARY, INDIANA - NIGHT

A classic dive. This one even smaller and shittier. A small,

muted, television, playing sports, hangs from the corner of
the bar.

Seated at the bar, Melissa sips a beer. Pat has several

empties, a tall boy, and a shot of well whisky.

MELISSA
It’s a major suit, Pat. Hundreds,
thousands of pages deep with filed
grievances, broken rental
agreements, everything we’d need to
put these slum lords away for a
long time.

PAT
(taking a huge swig)
That’s great Mel. Really, it is.
But my head’s a little preoccupied
planning my escape right now.

MELISSA
(being coy)
Oh, well, sorry to bother you.
(MORE)
 29.

MELISSA (CONT'D)
I guess you’re not interested in
hearing about the lead I stumbled
across today.

PAT
Unless it’s a direct line with Dr.
Kevorkian’s still-helpful ghost?
Not really.

MELISSA
Better. Pat, I found a direct link
to Carlton Costa. If you could stop
being a sack of mashed up asshole
for just five minutes and put that
brain to work, you’d see that this
is your way out.

Pat thinks, but still perplexed, looks to Melissa.

MELISSA (CONT’D)
Look, turn yourself in and flip.
Testify against Costa in exchange
for protective custody. If we can
prove mob ties--

Pat makes an incredibly pained face. It slowly turns into a

strange sound.

MELISSA (CONT’D)
Are you, are you alright?

The strange sound has turned into full blown laughter.

Melissa sits back, cross-armed and pissed.

MELISSA (CONT’D)
Fuck you. Fuck you Patrick. I’m
trying to give you a clear road to
freedom here and you think it’s a
fucking stand-up routine?
Wonderful. Really.

PAT
(calming down)
I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It’s
just...protective custody? FLIP on
Costa? This isn’t a line to
Kevorkian, it’s a knock on death’s
door. Melissa, Costa is just an
underboss. There are more above
him. If I flipped on Costa, I’d be
dead in a week. Protective custody
couldn’t stop what would come down.
 30.

Melissa lightens up. Pat rubs her shoulder in apology. The

game on TV has ended, the local news begins.

It’s a follow up to the report earlier about David Kelly.

PAT (CONT’D)
It’s a wonderful thought, Mel.
Truly. But it just wouldn’t work.

MELISSA
It’s an alternative at least. Give
me some more time to strengthen the
connection. If it includes Costa,
there’s a good chance the entire
Ableman family is involved and
culpable. This doesn’t just stop at
slums.

PAT
Right. I’ll consider it.

The two sit in silence for a moment. Pat knocks back his shot
and looks up to the TV.

TV REPORTER
(closed captioning)
For months, Kelly exhibited signs
of depression and attempted suicide
on more than one occasion. But this
was all a part of Kelly’s plan.

He stares for a moment. Then it clicks. His eyes go wide.

PAT
(to himself)
A Mississippi Sundial.

MELISSA
What?

PAT
(elated)
A Mississippi Sundial! I don’t know
why I didn’t think of it before.
Goddamn. Barkeep, two more of
these.

The BARTENDER pours two shots. Pat raises his to Mel.

Confused, she hardly participates and doesn’t even drink it.

MELISSA
You might be concussed. No more.
 31.

PAT
Oh my god, this is great.

MELISSA
Let’s get you home.

Melissa packs up her things as Pat happily paces in thought.

She gives him a doubting and suspicious look.

INT. BEDROOM - PAT’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Sounds of the bed knocking against the wall at rapid speed.

Heavy breathing. Moaning. Vera calling out in Russian.

On the bed, Vera rides as Pat bucks wildly underneath her.

They both groan and call out, then go still. Vera climbs down
off him, she’s breathing heavily and wearing a highly
satisfied grin.

Pat rolls over, staring up at the ceiling. A broad smile on

his face.

Suddenly, Vera’s hefty arm flops across his chest. He side-

eyes to see that she’s snuggled right up against him.

He looks back to the ceiling. The smile fades quickly.

INT. BEDROOM - PAT’S APARTMENT - MORNING (PRESENT DAY)

“I Must Be in a Good Place Now” by Bobby Charles plays over

the scene, taking precedence over the scene’s audio.

SLOW MOTION MONTAGE: Abbreviated Cold Open

Pat hangs his laundry in the closet and surveys the room.

He places the envelope addressed to Vera and Vasily on the

dresser.

Pat pulls the gun from his drawer and sits on the bed, then
lies down.

He stares at the picture of himself and Melissa, then puts

the gun’s barrel in his mouth.

Pat looks over to see Vasily, who turns and calls out.

Pat’s hair and hands wipe back and forth as he begs Vasily to
shut up.
 32.

Pat huffs and puffs in frustration and sits back on the edge
of the bed - head in hands.

Vera enters, shocked. She rushes to Pat as Vasily wrestles

the pistol from his hand.

The pistol clutched in her fist, Vera steps forward and wails
on Pat. He doesn’t fight back, but puts his arms up to block.

Pat jumps up and Vera steps back, breathing heavily and

looking upset.

Vera yells at him and storms out.

Pat stands in bewilderment. He turns to the dresser and looks

down at the letter.

He picks it up and stares at his weary reflection in the

mirror.

Pat folds up the letter and puts it back in his pocket.

Looking to the door and then back to his reflection --

-- His weary face turns to a sly and menacing grin. Pat,

doing a little shimmy, gives himself finger guns.

THE END