ThreeFates
[
bottom
]
THREE FATES OF A MOBSTER
Written By
Andrew Atkins
--------------------------------------------------------------
FADE IN:
INT. OFFICE - MORNING
In a small cluttered office lies a desk and two comfortable,
leather chairs resting at opposite ends of the desk. The
walls are filled to the brim with notes and pictures, shit
like that.
Sitting at the chair behind the desk is a middle-aged man in
his mid-forties, Cage. He has slick black hair, clean-shaven
and wears an expensive tuxedo assumed to be well educated.
There's also a man sitting in the chair in front of the desk -
the complete opposite of the man previously described, Stan.
He is a relatively young man, early twenties with shaggy
brown hair and stubble for a beard. He is wearing a "What
Would Jesus Do?" T-shirt and a pair of jeans. We are able to
identify him by the "Hello my name is Stan" sticker he is
wearing just above his heart.
The conversation between these two is very casual and fast
paste, like these two strangers have known each other since
childhood.
CAGE
You're late.
Stan pointing to his watch.
STAN
Six minutes early.
CAGE
(Sarcastically)
Did you bring your resume?
STAN
(playing along)
I didn't know you needed a resume
for this kind of deal.
CAGE
Fair enough, but you know it's
always good to have one handy just
incase.
STAN
I'll keep that in mind.
There's a pause; both men take in what's been said. Cage
sits up straight in his chair, getting down to business.
CAGE
I guess you know why you're here.
STAN
I think so - I did well on the
test, right?
CAGE
Not only that, you also fit our
criteria.
STAN
And what are your criteria?
CAGE
Smart, logical, resourceful and
someone that doesn't give a fuck.
(Making an indirect statement about
the clothes Stan is wearing)
STAN
Am I supposed to take that as a
compliment?
CAGE
Take that however you want, you
don't care, remember? Moving on, I
was looking over your profile, and -
how should I say this - you're one
smart motherfucker.
STAN
Thanks.
CAGE
But may I ask? A man with your
intellect -- I mean - shouldn't you
know choosing a life of crime isn't
exactly - well, the right career
choice.
STAN
I am aware of that.
CAGE
However...
STAN
However... nobody's perfect.
CAGE
Perfect, there's a word for you.
Let me tell you something about the
word perfect -- it doesn't exist.
STAN
What do you mean?
CAGE
I mean, perfection is the
imperfections of life, is it not?
Perfect by my definition is
something that's complete in its
nature. It is human nature to
always fuck up; meaning... isn't
everyone in his or her own nature
perfect?
STAN
(Confused)
Perfect - Something that is
flawless?
CAGE
That's the bullshit definition,
whoever came up with that
definition is a dreamer, a fucking
optimist, everything has flaws if
you put it that way.
STAN
Optimism is for pussies.
CAGE
Care to explain?
STAN
Sure. They're only two reasons why
people are optimistic. One,
they're unable or don't want to see
the truth, so they allow their
optimism to blind them from it.
And two, they use it as
justification.
CAGE
(Confused)
Justification?
STAN
Yeah, they try to justify their
actions whether they are bad, for a
greater good.
CAGE
Does this mean you're not
optimistic about your career
choice?
STAN
No. I never said that - in fact
I'm quite optimistic about this
career choice.
CAGE
(As a statement)
So you're a pussy?
STAN
(Impersonating Butch, from
Pulp Fiction)
It certainly appears so.
CAGE
You better not be, the last thing I
need is some dickless piece of shit
running around, with mommy's
nipples still between their teeth,
you understand?
STAN
(Confidently)
Yeah. Don't worry.
CAGE
Good. Cause if you are we'll find
out real fucking fast.
CAGE (CONT'D)
(Direct - getting the
point across)
Now -- they're three fates of a
mobster and only three, so remember
'em good. One, you get a bullet
through the head.
CUT TO:
A quick glance of Stan in an expensive tuxedo, the same one
Cage is wearing getting shot
in the head during a bank robbery by a police officer. We
make a hard zoom to the exact point on Stan's head, where the
bullet inevitably enters his skull. The entire sequence is
of the bullet's point of view, though we never actually see
the bullet.
BACK TO:
CAGE (CONT'D)
Two, You're tortured for days -
each minute begging for death.
CUT TO:
A quick shot of Stan with most of his hair ripped out strand
by strand, bleeding insane amounts of blood from the scalp.
He is sitting down, tied up in a chair on a rooftop. We see
the backs of three figures of men standing in front of him,
one of them, Cage.
BACK TO:
CAGE (CONT'D)
And three, you serve about 160
years in the penitentiary, which
results in
uh suicide, if you
know what I mean. We can't take
any chances. It's not that I doubt
you or anything - it's just when
men are under extreme pressure -
you know - they might let something
slip.
CUT TO:
A quick shot of Stan hanging with a rope tied tightly around
his neck, hanging from the ceiling in a jail cell. His face
is pitch blue due to the lack of oxygen to his brain and his
eyes bulging out, all bloodshot. The camera angle is
directly under his feet, looking up at the dead corpse.
FADE TO BLACK.
CUT TO:
TITLE SEQUENCE
ROLL CREDITS
INT. RESTAURANT - AFTERNOON
Two men are sitting down at a local restaurant having lunch
in the middle of the afternoon. They're both wearing the
same tuxedos we previously saw Cage and Stan wearing.
They're each having a plate full of fries and a hamburger
with a huge mug of beer.
Porter is a 30 year old male with blonde hair and blue eyes
and is in great shape. The typical "pretty boy" look; except
for the blonde mustache he's sporting. Gordon looks
identical to Porter, with the exception he's about 150 pounds
over weight.
GORDON
Hey Porter.
PORTER
Yeah?
GORDON
You gonna finish that burger?
PORTER
Jesus Christ man, yes.
Porter takes the burger off his plate and takes a big juicy
bite. He is eyeballing Gordon as if it's the tastiest burger
he has ever had the privilege of eating.
PORTER (CONT'D)
I thought you were on a diet?
GORDON
Does it look like I'm on a diet?
PORTER
You need more than a fuckin' diet,
my friend -- you need some
motivation first.
GORDON
Motivation... For what?
PORTER
To drop a few pounds, fatty. At
least to a reasonable size, so you
can at least be fuckable.
GORDON
(Second guessing himself)
I'm fuckable.
Porter whistles a waitress over, she's the hottest fucking
waitress Gordon has ever seen. She's wearing a hot white
tank top, a short black skirt and a smile.
WAITRESS
Can I get you fellas anything?
PORTER
Tell ya' what, if you give us your
honest opinion, I'll give you one
motherfuckin' generous tip.
WAITRESS
(worried)
About what?
PORTER
Do you think this hefty fella over
here is fuckable?
WAITRESS
Fuckable...
PORTER
Yes. Fuckable.
WAITRESS
(Shy and embarrassed to be
taking part in this
conversation)
No - well I have standards -- I
mean I don't have a thing for big
guys - you know.
PORTER
Yeah I know. Thank you, you've
been most helpful.
WAITRESS
Ok - well, if you guys need
anything else, just let me know.
She nods and gracefully walks away.
GORDON
Yeah, fuck you.
PORTER
Only trying to help, man. Tell me
something Gordy, when's the last
time been laid?
GORDON
I've gotten laid before.
PORTER
I said the last time.
GORDON
Not too long ago.
PORTER
When?
GORDON
(mumbles)
sev-seven years.
PORTER
(laughing hysterically)
SEVEN FUCKING YEARS?
GORDON
Shut the fuck up.
PORTER
(loud enough so the entire
restaurant could hear)
YOU HAVEN'T GOTTEN LAID IN SEVEN
LONG-FUCKING-YEARS?!
GORDON
I said shut the fuck up.
PORTER
If that isn't a reason for
motivation, I don't know what is...
In a desperate attempt to change the topic of conversation,
Gordon brings up Stan.
GORDON
Did you hear about what happened to
Stan?
His desperate attempt has succeeded.
PORTER
Hear? I was fuckin' there man.
There's a short pause, Porter is replaying the incident again
in his head.
PORTER (CONT'D)
(Disbelief)
Fuck man - have you ever seen
anyone go through so much shit
before he took his last breath?
GORDON
That was fucked up, what a waste of
talent.
PORTER
You almost hafta feel sorry for the
guy - you know? He was one of the
best - atleast one of the best I've
ever had the pleasure to work with.
Gordon holds up his mug of beer with a gesture to a toast.
GORDON
To Stan.
PORTER
To Stan.
Porter reaches into his wallet, pulls out a wad of cash just
enough for the meal, and puts it on the table.
PORTER (CONT'D)
It's on me.
GORDON
What about that motherfuckin'
generous tip?
PORTER
You wanna give her the tip? The
women that said you were the most
disgusting piece of shit that ever
walked the earth.
GORDON
She never said that.
PORTER
Yes or no.
GORDON
No.
PORTER
Then shut up, and let's go.
The two get up and walk out of the restaurant. As they're
leaving they stand out like a red-head in a room full of
brunettes. They're obviously overdressed with their pimping
tuxedos, compared to the people around them.
EXT. RESTAURANT - AFTERNOON
The two mobsters are in the restaurant's parking lot walking
towards their car. Porter, casually swinging the car keys
off the tip of his index finger, whistling "The Song That
Never Ends." Gordon is a few steps behind completely winded,
struggling to keep up.
It's a beautiful sunny day, blue sky, birds chirping, the
sound of a busy street in the background. Everything is
perfect.
GORDON
(winded)
Porter...
PORTER
Yo.
GORDON
You think Cage knows...
PORTER
About - uh, your lovemaking...
difficulties?
GORDON
No asshole, about Stan.
PORTER
Yeah - unfortunately, I was the one
who told him.
GORDON
Haha - you poor bastard. How did
he take the news?
PORTER
How do you think? He was super
fuckin-pissed.
The men finally reach the car. The car is a black 1995 Neon,
practically made of plastic. Porter opens the door and gets
in the driver seat, Gordon, the passenger.
Once in the car, Gordon practically collapses in his seat,
causing the entire car to shake like it was a goddamn roller
coaster.
PORTER (CONT'D)
Whoa! - what the fuck man, you
nearly bent this shit in half!
GORDON
I did not almost snap the car in
half.
PORTER
Be careful man, this is a cheap
fuckin' car.
GORDON
Yeah, yeah, so tell me what
happened?
FADE TO BLACK:
CUT TO:
A quick glance of Stan in an expensive tuxedo, the same one
Cage is wearing getting shot in the head during a bank
robbery by a police officer. We make a hard zoom to the
exact point on Stan's head, where the bullet inevitably
enters his skull. The entire sequence is of the bullet's
point of view, though we never actually see the bullet (The
exact same sequence we saw earlier).
FADE TO BLACK:
"Exactly forty-five minutes earlier." Appears over the black
screen.
FADE OUT:
SFX: The distorted chatter going on in a bank meshed with
employee's going to work on their keyboards at a hundred
miles per hour.
FADE IN:
INT. BANK - MORNING
The bank is crowded and full of impatient white-collar
workers anxiously waiting to cash their check on a Saturday
morning. Behind one of the tellers stands an employee of the
bank, Stan. He is dressed in his expensive tuxedo
outdressing anyone in the bank, including his fellow
coworkers and his manager.
It's a different Stan then we've seen before. He has gotten
a haircut and shaved, he looks good.
STAN
(yelling)
Can I help the next person in line?
The next person in line is a thirty-three year old MILF.
She's dressed in a black suit with a blouse underneath, the
jacket, and black shades resting on her nose. She has long
blonde hair, a nice pair of tits, and high heels. She is
also carrying a black purse, to go with her business outfit,
and a check in her hand.
STAN (CONT'D)
Can I hel...
He's cut off
LADY
Here.
She slams the check on the counter, she's in a huge rush.
STAN
Bank card?
She starts scrambling through her purse looking for her bank
card. Ah! She finds it at last.
LADY
Here.
STAN
(Casually)
You workin' on a Saturday?
He starts processing her check, as she stands impatiently.
LADY
Nice tux.
STAN
(flattered)
Aw, thanks. I dress to impress.
Stan takes a moment and thinks about how untrue that
statement is.
[
top
]