Crampton (4 page)

INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS - RECORDS CENTER

Brady and Helen stand at a counter that looks like a library reference desk, waiting.

A RECORDS AGENT walks up to the other side of the counter, a computer printout in his hand.

RECORDS AGENT

Smith, Richard J., Federal Bureau of Investigation 1976 to 1996.

BRADY

That's our man.

RECORDS AGENT

I know this is part of the whole Larry Johnson business, but I have to tell you, I can't give you full access to the guy's file without authorization.

HELEN

We don't need the whole file. We just need to know his current address.

RECORDS AGENT

Oh, that's no problem. We keep pretty good tabs on former agents. You know, just in case.

BRADY

In case what?

RECORDS AGENT

In case they've developed some kind of a grudge against their former employer and decide one day to buy a van and a bunch of fertilizer,

(he flips through the printout)

Criminal Division ... voluntary dismissal, 1996 ... principal residence ... uh-oh.

HELEN

What?

RECORDS AGENT

We've got his address as being in Georgetown, only he hasn't lived there in two years.

BRADY

He moved?

RECORDS AGENT

Nope--"unexplained abandonment."

BRADY

What does that mean?

RECORDS AGENT

It means one day he just stopped showing up.

(he flips through the printout some more)

All his utilities--electricity, gas, phone--he stopped paying on them in the same month.

BRADY

Maybe he moved away and didn't give a forwarding address.

RECORDS AGENT

Trust me, we'd know. That's what we do. These things may just look like a bunch of numbers to you, but there's patterns in there. Little clues. I can look at one of these and tell you if a guy changed his name to avoid paying his ex-wife alimony, hit the road to become a drum tech for Cheap Trick, shaved his head and Joined a cult, whatever. When a person's vitals just peter out like this--

(he holds up the printout)

--it usually means one thing.

HELEN

He's dead.

RECORDS AGENT

Bingo.

INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS - HALLWAY.

Helen and Brady step tiredly out of the Records Room door.

BRADY

This doesn't make sense. A guy like Ricky Smith doesn't just fall off the face of the earth. I mean, you should see his reports. They're like a fucking card catalog, all cross-referenced and shit. This isn't the kind of guy who just stops paying his bills one day.

HELEN

Maybe it's like the records guy said. Maybe Ricky Smith's dead.

BRADY

I don't know ... I don't know.

HELEN

(looking at her watch)

Well, as first days on the job go, this has definitely been my weirdest. I'm going to go home and crash.

BRADY

Yeah, okay. I'll see you tomorrow.

Helen walks away slowly. Brady stays put, thinking.

CUT TO:

EXT. JOEY'S GAME ROOM - NIGHT

The streets are quiet. The two snitches exit the bar in a good mood, each counting a wad of bills. Evidently the poker game went well for them.

BRADY (O.S.)

How did you know?

The snitches nearly jump. Brady steps out of shadows.

BIG SNITCH

Christ, Wells, what the fuck are you doing hiding in the fucking shadows?

BRADY

Larry Johnson. How did you know?

BIG SNITCH

I didn't, not exactly. It just sounded familiar. There used to be an old joke among magicians, or at least some of us, that the ultimate trick would be so convincing it could actually kill someone. Tricked to death, you could say. Sounds like your terrorist figured out how to pull it off.

Both snitches look around, like they think they're being watched.

BIG SNITCH

Fuck, we shouldn't even be talking.

BRADY

Why? We talk all the time.

BIG SNITCH

This is different. Let me ask you ... how deep in this shit are you?

BRADY

About to my neck.

BIG SNITCH

Any chance you could hang back on this one? Let someone else handle it?

BRADY

Can't and won't.

BIG SNITCH

(looking around again)

Look, Wells, you're not the brightest guy I ever met, but you seem pretty okay for a Fed, so let me ask you something. If I was one of those old-time sailors who had spent all his life at sea, one of those crusty old barnacles who could read the water like it was the morning news, and I told you there was a storm coming, you'd get your boat out of the water, wouldn't you?

BRADY

I guess.

BIG SNITCH

We've been doing
this
all our lives. There's a storm coming. Get your boat the fuck out of the water.

The turn their backs to Brady and walk away.

CUT TO:

EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT

A typical middle-income apartment building in the D.C. area.

INT. BRADY'S BEDROOM

Brady, shirtless, sleeping in a tangle of bedsheets. Hands twitching, face a scowl, eyes darting under closed lids. The room is bathed in the blue-gray glow from a television.

The sound of the television is slowly drowned out by a ROARING SOUND like an approaching tornado. As it gets louder, Brady gets more and more agitated.

Suddenly Brady SITS BOLT UPRIGHT in bed, face slick with sweat. At the same moment the ROARING STOPS. It takes a few moments for Brady to catch his breath.

CUT TO:

INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS - MORNING

Helen is sitting at a desk, looking pissed off. Brady walks up holding two coffees and a wax paper bag.

HELEN

At my orientation they told me that violation of core time was a dismissable offense.

BRADY

"Violation of core time?" Is that what they're calling it now? When I started they just said don't be late.

(handing Helen a coffee)

Here. I hope black is okay--they only had powdered creamer.

HELEN

Thank you, black is fine.

BRADY

(reaching into the paper bag)

And I got you one of these.

He hands Helen a muffin, then pulls out another one for himself. Helen eyes the muffin suspiciously.

HELEN

What's that?

BRADY

It's a bran muffin.

(Helen just looks at him)

What? I have one of these with my coffee every morning.

HELEN

So does that mean we'll need to stop off in an hour so you can take a dump?

BRADY

More like ninety minutes. What do you mean "stop off?"

HELEN

We've got orders to hit the road. Our flight leaves in two hours.

BRADY

No shit? Where to?

HELEN

(standing up)

Arizona.

She walks away.

BRADY

Arizona?

CUT TO:

EXT. DULLES INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT - DAY

One of the nation's busiest airports, in full swing.

INT. AIRPLANE

A full flight--every seat is taken. The plane is starting to push away from the gate, and the flight attendants are beginning their safety spiel.

Helen and Brady are seated one row apart. Brady has to lean forward over the seat to talk to her.

BRADY

Cheap-asses at the Bureau. Couldn't even seat us next to each other. I guess we should be glad they put us on the same flight, at least.

HELEN

I know I'm glad.

FLIGHT ATTENDANT

(to BRADY)

Sir, you're going to have to sit back.

BRADY

Sorry.

He sits back. A few seconds later he's leaning over the seat again.

BRADY

Let me see it.

HELEN

What?

BRADY

The thing.

HELEN

Why?

BRADY

Because I want to. Jeez, what are you, my mom?

A heavy sigh from Helen. She takes a small briefcase out of the storage area at her feet, opens it, removes a plastic bag, kind of like a Ziploc but with a red band and the word "Evidence." She hands the bag over her shoulder.

HELEN

Don't mess it up.

BRADY

I'm a federal agent too, you know. I think I can handle evidence without messing it up.

He inspects the bag. Inside is a receipt slip, the old kind that uses a sheet of carbon paper to make a merchant's copy.

CU ON RECEIPT - On it, printed in block letters, is the name of the merchant and a receipt number. Apart from the name and address of the merchant, the receipt is blank.

BRADY

"Illusions of Empire." Does anyone know what kind of place this is?

HELEN

I think that's the whole reason they're sending us out there.

BRADY

But there's nothing on here.

HELEN

Check out the back.

Brady turns the receipt over. On the back, in a neat but somehow antiquated hand, is a map showing a few nameless roads. Along one road is a box labeled "Yellow House."

Brady leans forward again.

BRADY

"Yellow House"? What the hell does that mean?

HELEN

How do I know?

BRADY

If you ask me, this is a pretty weak clue.

HELEN

It's a pretty weak case.

BRADY

Waste of our fucking time.

HELEN

I hate to break this to you, Wells, but I don't think we're the Bureau's starting line on this one. The real case is back in Washington. We're just tying up the loose threads.

FLIGHT ATTENDANT

(to BRADY)

Sir, the pilot can't begin takeoff until you sit back in your seat.

Brady drops dejectedly into his seat.

BRADY

(to himself)

This case sucks.

CUT TO:

EXT. EMPIRE, ARIZONA - DAY

A nasty and desolate section of desert. Though there are mountains on the horizon, this area is flat and brown.

Two highways, bleached and cracked, intersect here under a flashing yellow traffic light. At one corner is a gas station. Across from it is a building that obviously used to be a gas station, but has been transformed into Illusions of Empire. The sunblistered exterior is decorated with gaudy astrological symbols.

A nondescript rental car pulls into the parking lot, making it the only car there.

INT. ILLUSIONS OF EMPIRE MAGIC SHOP

The place looks like an old basement. Shelves bow under the weight of boxes. One wall is devoted entirely to ventriloquist dummies.

A small bell RINGS pathetically as Brady and Helen enter. Brady looks around and grins.

BRADY

Wow--there was a place just like this near where I grew up.

He takes down one of the dummies--the label reads "My name is Laffo!"--and clumsily manipulates the mouth.

BRADY

(mumbling through clenched teeth)

Hi there, kids! My name's Laffo!

DUMMY'S POV - FISH-EYE on Brady, his comic smile. Helen is looking at Brady the way a mother looks at a misbehaving child.

SHOPKEEP (O.S.)

That one and Reggie McRascal are on sale ...

Illusion of Empire's SHOPKEEP is standing behind the counter. He looks like some small-time hustler out of an old gangster movie: greasy hair, thin mustache, smoking an unfiltered cigarette with another one behind his ear.

SHOPKEEP

... 'cept Reggie's broken. The one eye don't open all the way. How can I help you folks today?

Brady puts "Laffo" back on his shelf and flashes his FBI ID.

BRADY

We'd like to ask you about a purchase that was made here.

SHOPKEEP

Sure thing, officer.

Helen hands him the receipt.

HELEN

Can you tell us who made this purchase and what they bought?

The shopkeep looks at the blank receipt, then back up at the agents with a suspicious smile.

SHOPKEEP

You're kidding, right? There ain't nothing on this. Don't look like they bought anything.

HELEN

All the same...

SHOPKEEP

Well, I guess I could check the back. I keep copies of my receipts for taxes. Don't want to get in trouble with the Feds, right?

The shopkeep winks, jots down the receipt number and disappears through a tattered curtain into the back.

While they're waiting, Helen checks out some of the magic trick kits on display: "Glass Box Penetration," "Smashed Watch Gimmick," "Nest o' Balls," "Bloody Needle Gag."

Brady is goofing around with a miniature guillotine. He sticks his index finger through the slicing hole and SLAMS the plunger down. The small but razor-sharp blade appears to pass right through his finger. Brady wiggles his finger and smiles.

The shopkeep emerges from the back with another slip of paper.

SHOPKEEP

This must be your lucky day. I found your receipt. I'd say it's about four years old.

He shows the merchant's copy of the receipt to the agents.

SHOPKEEP

Looks like they bought a gag gun. You know, the kind where you pull the trigger and a little flag pops out, "Bang!"

Brady takes the receipt. On it, above the words "Gag Gun, one," in the same oddly ancient handwriting as the map, is an address--222 Main Street, Crampton, Ohio.

HELEN

Why didn't this address show up on our receipt?

SHOPKEEP

Did you try this?

He takes the original receipt from Helen. Producing a lighter from his shirt pocket, the shopkeep places its flame near the paper. Brown lettering fades into view: the address ... the words "Gag Gun, one" ... and, at the bottom, "If you really want to know."

SHOPKEEP

Invisible ink. Hokey as it gets.

HELEN

That doesn't make sense. Forensics tested the paper for chemicals. They would have found traces of the ink.

The shopkeep lights another cigarette.

SHOPKEEP

That's why they call it magic, toots.

The shopkeep starts to hand the original receipt back to the agents, then notices the map on the back, with the words "Yellow House." A cunning smile splits his face.

SHOPKEEP