Crampton (6 page)

He fans the cards face-up and lays them on the table.

BRADY

(sarcastically)

Well, I'll be. No Eight of Spades. My nephew does that trick every year at Christmas. Except he always says "Ala peanut-butter sandwiches" at the end. You stick it up your sleeve or ditch it under the table?

RICKY

It's in your partner's left hand.

Helen's hands have been in her coat pockets the whole time. She removes her left hand. In her left palm she is cupping the Sight of Spades.

HELEN

(to RICKY)

You put the card in my pocket.

RICKY

I assure you, I did not.

HELEN

Then it must have been there before.

BRADY

Yeah, that makes a lot of sense.

RICKY

This illustrates a very basic precept of human psychology--that, when faced with an illogical situation, the mind searches for the most logical explanation.

And in magic, as in everything else, the most logical explanation is almost always the right one. Because there is no such thing as magic.

Ricky pulls a folded piece of paper out of his pocket.

RICKY

This came through my mail slot a few hours ago.

He unfolds it and hands it to Helen. She reads the words, written in that now-familiar script, out loud.

HELEN

"She is holding the Eight of Spades in her left hand."

(she hands it back)

That's impossible.

RICKY

I would tend to agree.

BRADY

Any idea who sent it?

RICKY

That's a question I'm afraid I can't answer.

HELEN

Can't? Or won't?

RICKY

Bit of both, I suppose.

Brady produces the magic shop receipt.

BRADY

You could say this came through our mail slot, too. It was found on the ... man who killed Larry Johnson.

RICKY

(reading the receipt)

"If you really want to know." Where have I heard
that
before?

He hands the receipt back to Brady.

RICKY

Let me ask you both something, agents. How far do you want to take this?

HELEN

What do you mean?

RICKY

I mean I think you should forget the whole thing, Get in your car, drive to Cincinnati, get on a plane back to Washington. If you leave soon, you'll probably be home in time for "Law and Order." You can tell the Director that the lead didn't pan out, that Ricky Smith is a crackpot living like a hermit in buttfuck Ohio. There are plenty of people at the Bureau that'll be happy to hear that one. But if I help you with this, if I tell you whatever it is you think I know, then you're stuck--you have to see it through to the end. I'm giving you a chance to walk away. That's better than I ever got.

BRADY

(a little frustrated)

Ricky, we're not on a social call here. An FBI agent is dead, killed right in the middle of the J. Edgar fucking Hoover Building, and the Director has taken it a little personally. Just labeling this thing "unsolved" and letting it go ... that's not really an option for us.

RICKY

Then I'll tell you this: the address on your receipt there, 222 Main Street? It's a fix-it shop run by a guy named Fred something. It's closed most of the time, like just about everything in that shitty little town. Who knows, you might get lucky. But don't be surprised if it all turns out to be nothing. Hopefully you can still make that plane home tonight.

HELEN

I'm pretty sure us making it home tonight is low on the Director's list of priorities.

RICKY

Well, if for any reason you find yourselves stuck in town overnight, you're welcome to stay here.

Brady and Helen look at each other, then at the general squalor of the yellow house.

BRADY

Yeah, thanks.

(pulling out a notebook and pen)

Look, just in case we need to get in contact with you, what's your phone number?

RICKY

Don't have a phone number. Don't have a phone.

HELEN

You don't have a telephone?

RICKY

Nope.

Brady hands Ricky his cell phone.

BRADY

I want you to take this, then.

Ricky won't touch it. Brady sets it on the table.

BRADY

Sweeten--give him your cell phone number.

Helen writes a number on Brady's pad and tears off the sheet for Ricky.

BRADY

Call us if you remember anything you think we ought to know.

EXT. YELLOW HOUSE - DAY

Ricky standing by the door as the agents exit. Helen steps out of the house. Brady hangs back.

BRADY

Ricky, I've got to ask--what happened to you in that warehouse? What could spook a guy like you that bad?

Ricky considers this carefully.

RICKY

You don't get to ask me that. Not yet.

BRADY

Not yet? Then when?

RICKY

Hopefully never.

Ricky closes the door in Brady's face.

EXT. CRAMPTON, MAIN STREET - DAY

"Shitty little town" does not even begin to describe this desolate burg. Many of the buildings appear to be abandoned. There seems to be only three active businesses: the "Fix-It and Supply" shop, the Oasis Motel, and a diner apparently called "EAT HERE."

INT. CAR

Brady and Helen rolling slowly down Main Street, taking in the bleak little failure that is Crampton.

BRADY

(singing)

See the U.S.A. ... In your Chev-ro-lat...

HELEN

God bless the Midwest.

BRADY

And I thought Detroit was bad.

EXT. MAIN STREET

The car pulls up in front of the "Fix-It and Supply Shop." The agents get out and try the door. It's locked.

BRADY

(knocking on the door)

Hello? Hello?

HELEN

Wells ...

She points to a sign on a window--"BACK AT" and a little clock. The hands point to four o'clock. Brady checks his watch.

BRADY

We've got about a half hour before Fred's due back. Want to get something to eat or something?

HELEN

Wells, take a look at this.

In the window, next to the "BACK AT" sign, is a yellow flyer. Across the top, in big letters! "Spectacular Display of Illusion and Ventriloquism -- Three o'clock Tomorrow at the Masonic Hall." Just below that, a clown's grinning face.

BRADY

I think I've seen enough magic tricks for one trip.

HELEN

No, look at the bottom.

There it is, at the bottom of the advertisement: "Sponsored by Illusions of Empire."

BRADY

Well, shit.

HELEN

Feel like getting a sneak preview?

EXT. MASONIC HALL

From the outside, the Masonic Hall looks like every Other ruined, abandoned building along Main Street, except for the Masonic symbols adorning its face. Brady stands contemplating these.

HELEN

What?

BRADY

My Uncle Ray had a real burr up his butt about the Masons. When I was a kid, he'd go on about how there are thousands of these halls in cities all over the world, but hardly anyone knows where the Freemasons came from--originally, I mean. They were like the first big cult. I guess some people traced them all the way back to a sect of ancient Egyptians--

HELEN

--who were actually a race of aliens who used the pyramids as a device for communicating with their home world, and now the Masons are attempting to take over the modern telecommunications networks to accomplish the same goal. Right?

BRADY

It sounded a lot more convincing when Uncle Ray said it.

Helen tries the hall's main door. It is unlocked. She pushes it open and the agents look inside. Pitch black.

BRADY

Looks like a flashlight Job.

HELEN

Great.

INT. MASONIC HALL

A flashlight beam slices through the darkness. Then two.

Even by flashlight, it's obvious the Masonic Hall is a total disaster: broken chairs and debris litter the floor, dust and filth has accumulated in piles in the corners.

HELEN

What time was that show tomorrow?

BRADY

Three o'clock.

HELEN

I don't think they're going to make it.

The flashlight beams scan the vast room in different directions. They converge on the far side of the room, which is dominated by a stage. Like the rest of the hall, the stage is a wreck--wood planking rotted, buckled, or just plain missing.

HELEN

I get a really weird vibe off this place.

BRADY

(looking toward the ceiling)

Yeah--like it's going to collapse on top of us.

HELEN

No, more like ... this sounds stupid ... like we're being watched.

Brady shines his flashlight around the old building for a few seconds.

BRADY

You're right. (Beat) That is stupid.

The beam of the flashlight stops on a small door just to the right of the stage.

BRADY

What's that back there?

INT. MASONIC HALL - OFFICE

The agents enter the tiny room flashlights first. It contains what is apparently the only piece of furniture in the whole building; an old, plain desk. A heavy black rotary-style phone sits on the desk.

HELEN

Does this look familiar at all?

BRADY

The Mystery Line commercial. They must have taped it in here.

Brady goes over to the desk. He reaches for the telephone receiver cautiously, like he's about to pick up a live rattlesnake. He lifts the receiver off the cradle and starts to bring it to his ear, moving slowly, as though under some spell. He places it to his ear--

HELEN

Uh, Wells?

Brady blinks like he's just been woke up. He shines his flashlight towards Helen. She is holding up the end of the telephone cord--frayed, wires dangling, like it had been torn out of the wall long ago.

Brady, a little embarrassed, sets the receiver back in its cradle.

BRADY

I thought there might be ... I don't know what I thought.

HELEN

Let's get out of here.

INT. MASONIC HALL

FISH-EYE LOOKING DOWN - we see Brady and Helen exit the little office far below and make their way out of the Masonic Hall.

HALL - LOOKING UP - almost lost in the shadows, TWO SEVERED HEADS dangle above the stage, tied to the rafters by knotted cords. The heads of the two snitches.

EXT. MAIN STREET - EVENING

Brady and Helen exit the ruined hall, overcoats dusty, hair full of cobwebs.

BRADY

I need something to eat.

HELEN

I need a long shower. Hey, look...

Across the street, the Fix-It and Supply Shop's sign has been turned around to read "OPEN FOR BUSINESS." Inside, a figure can be seen working.

Helen begins crossing the street. Brady stands there.

BRADY

You sure we can't get some dinner first and then talk to this guy?

HELEN

Are you coming or not?

BRADY

(following)

Fine.

INT. FIX-IT AND SUPPLY SHOP

FRED, a man in his mid-sixties, is hunched over some obscure gizmo, working at it with tiny tools. He's wearing a pair of glasses, one lens of which has been fitted with a jeweler's magnifying eyepiece.

A small bell RINGS as Brady and Helen enter the Fix-It shop. Fred does not look up.

HELEN

Excuse me?

Still nothing from Fred.

HELEN

Excuse me? I'm Agent Sweeten. This is Agent Wells. (Beat) We're with the FBI.

FRED

(concentrating on his gizmo)

I'm closed.

BRADY

No, you
were
closed. Now you're open. See ...

(he points to the OPEN FOR BUSINESS sign)

... says so right here.

FRED

I guess you FBI types are way too smart for me.

Fred goes back to ignoring the agents.

HELEN

Sir, we're here on an investigation.

She holds up the receipt from Illusions of Empire.

HELEN

Maybe you could tell us how your shop's address turned up on this receipt.

With a sigh full of irritation, Fred finally gets up from his workbench to examine the receipt.

FRED

(reading slowly)

"Illusions ... of ... Empire." Magic shop? I've never been too interested in magic.

Fred squints, reading through the magnifying eyepiece.

FRED

Why, that ain't even my handwriting. I'm sorry, I don't think I can help you.

BRADY

Sir, I'm sure you're a
very
busy man, but this is kind of a serious matter.

Outside, an old van--the kind with no windows along its sides--pulls in front of the shop.

FRED

Listen, agent whoever you are, I don't belong to any militia and I ain't never done anything illegal, least not that I know of. I'm just trying to run a business here.

HELEN

Can you at least give us some idea of the kind of work you do? It might help us to piece this thing together.

FRED

I take whatever jobs come my way. Usually it's parts.

BRADY

Parts of what?

FRED

Parts of whatever. Y'know, bits and pieces.

Fred holds up his gizmo as an example. Even up close, the thing offers no clue as to what it is or what it does.

FRED

I don't typically know what the whole thing looks like, and to tell you the truth I don't much care. I just get the parts working, and let the rest sort itself out. Now, however serious it might seem, this business that brought you here ... offhand I'd say someone is having some fun at your expense.

Outside, the van's side door slides open and a FRECKLE-FACED KID pops out. Fred sees him through the window.

FRED

Excuse me, I have a
real
customer.

The kid enters and Fred waves him over to the far end of the counter, away from the agents.

HELEN

What do you think?

BRADY

I think maybe he's right. Someone's fucking with our heads.

HELEN

So, what, we give up?

BRADY

Give up
what
? There isn't anything to give up. Fred here doesn't exactly seem like a criminal mastermind.