FRANK (V.O.)
She cries to me like a
lost lover in the dead
of night.
FADE IN:
EXT. CITY STREET - DAY
A cold autumn wind blows newspapers and dead leaves down a trash-filled city street. Overhead, the sky is gorged and threatens rain.
It’s a rough neighborhood, filled with broken-down cars and overflowing trash cans. Above the rooftops we see the skyline of a major city.
FRANK (V.O.)
This city was always bad,
one hard cough away from death.
But she had one thing going
for her...she had us to
protect her.
The police siren blends into the sound of a bank alarm.
EXT. OUTSIDE BANK - FLASHBACK SEQUENCE - DAY
It is the 1960s. Four men wearing ski masks and brandishing guns race out of the bank. They hold bags of money in their hands. The four men scatter in different directions.
FRANK (V.O.)
The press called us vigilantes.
The politicians called us
criminals. The people called
us heroes.
The first robber turns. A FIST SLAMS INTO HIS JAW. The robber hits the ground. Money spills everywhere.
Standing over the robber is a HERO DRESSED IN A BLUE COSTUME. A mask covers most of his face.
FRANK (V.O.)
First there was Hank. Called
himself The Professor. He
was the brains of our outfit
--the leader. Smartest guy
on the planet, if you ask me.
Another robber turns and yells out in surprise. He raises his pistol, but A KICK sends the pistol spiraling into the air. A fist CRUNCHES into the robber’s jaw, knocking him out.
A HERO DRESSED IN A RED COSTUME STANDS OVER HIM. He has blonde hair and is ruggedly handsome. He smiles as if waiting for flashbulbs to go off.
FRANK (CONT’D) (V.O.)
Then there was Dave. The
Asteroid. Homecoming King
and All-American in football
and wrestling. I heard Dave
died in a car accident back
in ‘79.
The third robber takes off running. A BOLA flies through the air and wraps itself around the robber’s knees.
A HERO IN A GREEN COSTUME STANDS OVER THE ROBBER. He is tall and gangly. Two belts full of metal gadgets are wrapped around his torso.
FRANK (CONT’D) (V.O.)
Jimmy. The Gizmo. He was always
working on gadgets and doodads
and who knows what. Officially
retired in ‘81 and moved to
Florida. Ten years later he died
from a massive stroke.
The fourth robber drops the bag of money and takes off running. He ducks down a side alley.
EXT. ALLEYWAY - FLASHBACK SEQUENCE - CONTINUOUS
The robber sprints down the alley, looking behind him. He runs into what looks like a brick wall and falls on his ass. He looks up.
FRANK KLINE, DRESSED IN AN ALL-BLACK COSTUME, LOOKS DOWN AT HIM. Frank sports a thick mustache, looking a little like Zorro.
Frank smiles.
FRANK (CONT’D) (V.O.)
Then there was me. Frank Kline.
Called myself Siege. Didn’t have
the brains or the looks, so I
guess you could say I was the
muscle of the group.
The robber stands and punches Siege in the face. Siege smiles even wider.
FRANK (CONT’D)
I was pretty good at taking
a punch. Of course--
Siege grabs the robber’s collar with a meaty hand and pulls back a fist.
FRANK (CONT’D) (V.O.)
--I could really deliver one, too.
EXT. OUTSIDE BANK
POW! The robber flies out of the alley and into the street, unconscious.
The four heroes stand together on the sidewalk as a crowd gathers. Suddenly, we hear police sirens in the background. The four friends smile and start running down the street.
We freeze on their image. The four men are young, zealous, in the prime of their lives. All four have devil-may-care smiles on their faces.
We CLOSE UP on SIEGE and bleed back to
EXT. CITY STREET - PRESENT DAY
A modern-day Frank stands on the corner, waiting for the light to change. He is in his late 50s, slightly overweight, with a broken nose and scars around his eyes. He looks like a retired wrestler who’s twenty years past his prime.
One thing is immediately noticeable about Frank: He’s BIG.
FRANK (V.O.)
We were just kids back then,
so full of piss and vinegar
and hope. But that was a
lifetime ago.
The light changes. Frank crosses the street.
He passes an alleyway. Several shapes linger inside the shadows. Frank glances at them from underneath the brim of his hat.
A young black woman looks back at him. It is ALTHEA.
FRANK (CONT’D) (V.O.)
Now she shows me the pimps, the
whores, the junkies, the animals
that have turned her streets into
open sewers. I try to close my eyes,
but it’s no use. It puts me in a
lousy mood.
The police siren blares on. Frank continues walking.
FRANK (CONT’D) (V.O.)
Even the police are afraid. Last
week a factory on thirty-third
street caught fire. It took the
firemen forty-five minutes to get
there. They wanted to wait for a
police escort first.
Frank passes a high brick wall and walks through a gate.
A sign above the gate reads: "CALGARY CEMETERY."
EXT. CEMETERY - DAY
Frank walks down the pathway, the cold wind whipping at his trenchcoat. The siren in the distance grows louder.
Grave markers cover the pristine grounds. Thunder rolls in the distance. It starts to rain. A cold drizzle. The rain patters on the brim of Frank’s hat.
FRANK (CONT’D) (V.O.)
Goddamn rain. Good for the
grass, but bad for the soul.
Frank raises his collar and continues deeper into the cemetery. Crosses and mausoleums crowd the grass for room.
Frank leaves the path and climbs a small hill.
FRANK (CONT’D) (V.O.)
Every siren triggers a memory.
Every news report pulls at the
scab. And the city won’t let me
forget. She never lets me forget.
Frank stops at a gravestone. He studies it.
The gravestone reads: MARGARET KLINE, b.1952-d.1980. BELOVED WIFE.
Beside it lies another gravestone. It reads: FRANK KLINE, b.1948-
Frank kneels down and cleans off the debris surrounding the gravestone. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a BOUQUET OF FLOWERS.
FRANK (CONT’D) (V.O.)
She’ll never let me forget.
He places the flowers on the grave.
FRANK (CONT’D)
Happy anniversary, honey.
INT. APARTMENT BUILDING - LATER
Frank slowly climbs the stairs to his fourth-floor apartment. His body fills the stairwell. He carries a small plastic bag.
RAP MUSIC blares from behind a closed door.
FRANK (V.O.)
Called the landlord about
the mouse problem. That makes
the fifth time this week. He
promised he’d take care of it.
Before he hung up, I heard a
woman laughing in the background.
Frank reaches the landing. He starts fishing in his pocket for his keys.
FRANK (CONT’D) (V.O.)
What the hell am I paying rent
for? I should break his
goddamn skull-
Frank fits the key into the lock when THE SCREEN GOES BLACK.
Silence fills the void. Five...four...three...two...one...
And we come back to FRANK LEANING AGAINST THE WALL, disoriented, clutching his head. He LASHES OUT at an invisible opponent.
FRANK (CONT’D) (V.O.)
Oh Jesus...
Frank closes his eyes. He is obviously deeply disturbed by what just happened. He takes several deep breaths and slowly relaxes.
FRANK (CONT’D) (V.O.)
What the hell is wrong with me?
Slowly, Frank stumbles to the door and enters his apartment.
INT. FRANK’S APARTMENT
Frank turns on the lights. The apartment is very simply furnished with a brown sofa, easy chair, and coffee table. The style is straight out of the 1970s. Everything is perfectly neat.
Frank hangs his overcoat in the closet and enters the living room. He turns on the light.
The mantle is covered with PHOTOGRAPHS. Most of them are of Frank’s dead wife, MAGGIE. The pictures are from their wedding, vacations, etc. There is also a picture of a younger Frank in a boxing ring. He is posing for the camera.
Frank enters the kitchen. He opens the plastic bag and dumps several MOUSE TRAPS on the counter.
The RAP MUSIC shakes the walls.
Frank opens the fridge. The fridge is practically empty save for a gallon of milk, some eggs, and beer. He grabs a beer.
Frank stands at the kitchen window and looks down at the street.
FRANK (V.O.)
Twenty-three years and I
still expect a kiss when I
walk through that door.
We hear a police siren in the background. Franks sips his beer and closes his eyes.
INT. ROSIE’S CAFE - DAY
Frank opens his eyes. He is sitting at a booth in Rosie’s Cafe, a greasy spoon joint filled with truckers and locals.
Frank looks out the window. There is a MINI-MART across the street. He gazes sleepily at the people walking past the window.
FRANK (V.O.)
Every morning I wake up
feeling like an animal in
a cage. Restless. Angry.
Frank gazes up at the rooftop across the street.
FRANK (CONT’D) (V.O.)
The nights are the worst.
That’s when she calls to me.
Reminds me of what I used to
be. And what I’ve become.
Published by Rain Farm Press and its literary journal Paradigm.
Copyright © 2007.
