Made Page #5

Bobby settles into a bar stool, watching the action from a

distance. WENDY, a slutty Pam Anderson pre-tit-removal

wannabe, is already bouncing her ass ghetto-style in a young

agent's face. The crowd gravitates to the new meat like a

pack of ravenous dingoes. A beautiful young BARTENDER with

her hair tied back drops a cocktail napkin in front of Bobby.

She sees his bruises.

BARTENDER:

Did you get the license plate of the

truck?

BOBBY:

(unamused and

preoccupied)

Johnny Red rocks.

A BLACK MAN in his late twenties slithers up beside him.

His name is HORRACE and he seems to like gold. He puts down

his empty highball glass.

HORRACE:

Martel's and coke. One ice cube. In

a snifter this time.

BARTENDER:

Snifter are for warm drinks --

HORRACE:

Yeah, snifters are for cognac --

BARTENDER:

When served warm --

HORRACE:

What's the matter? You ain't got no

snifters in this motherf***er?

BARTENDER:

We have snifters

HORRACE:

Then put my Martel's in a snifter.

She walks away to get him his snifter.

HORRACE:

Like I'm gonna break her goddamn

snifter.

Bobby downs his drink as he watches Jess give a HORNY GUY in

a suit a lap dance. He gets a little frisky, grabbing her

ass cheeks. Bobby begins to RISE. Jess circumvents any

confrontation by smiling and twisting away his wrists. She

throws Bobby the 'Don't worry, I got it' look. He sits.

Horrace pokes his nugget encrusted fingers into his sock,

counting a stack of bills.

HORRACE:

It's already been a hell of a night.

Where you been?

BOBBY:

I had a fight up at Sportsman's.

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