Lone Star Page #4

It is 1957 --

WADE:

(Grins)

This beaner fare doesn't agree

with me, but the price sure is

right.

WIDER:

Wade sits across from his young deputies, YOUNG HOLLIS (30s)

and BUDDY DEEDS (20s). A chicken-fried steak sits untouched

in front of Buddy. Hollis has the anxious look of an errand

boy, while Buddy is self-contained and quietly forceful for

his age.

BUDDY:

What's that for?

WADE:

Jimmy got a kitchen full of

wetbacks, most of 'em relatives.

People breed like chickens.

BUDDY:

So?

WADE:

I roust some muchacho on the

street, doesn't have his papers,

all he got to say is "Yo trabajo

para Jimmy Herrera."

Wade folds the money and stuffs if in his pocket--

WADE:

You got to keep the wheels greased,

son. Sheriff does his job right,

everybody makes out. Now this is

gonna be one of your pickups,

Buddy. First of the month, just

like the rent. Get the car,

Hollis.

Wade and Hollis slide out of the booth to stand.

BUDDY:

I'm not doing it.

Hollis stops a few feet away, shocked. Wade just stares

down at Buddy.

WADE:

Come again?

Buddy looks Wade in the eye, seemingly unafraid.

BUDDY:

It's your deal. You sweated it

out of him, you pick it up.

WADE:

There's gonna be some left over

for you, Buddy. I take care of

my boys

BUDDY:

That's not the point.

WADE:

You feeling bad for Jimmy? Have

him tell you the size of the

mordida they took out of his hide

when he run a place on the other

side. Those old boys in Ciudad

Leon--

BUDDY:

I'm not picking it up.

WADE:

You do whatever I say you do or

else you put it on the trail,

son.

The CUSTOMERS are all watching now, nervous.

Buddy thinks for a moment, not taking his eyes off Wade.

BUDDY:

How 'bout this--how 'bout you put

that shield on this table and

vanish before you end up dead or

in jail?

Wade rests his hand on his pistol. It is dead silent but

for the MUSIC on the box

BUDDY:

You ever shoot anybody was looking

you in the eye?

WADE:

Who said anything about shootin'

anybody?

Buddy has his gun out under the table. He slowly brings it

up and lays it flat on the table, not taking his hand off it

or his eyes off Wade.

BUDDY:

Whole different story; isn't it?

WADE:

You're fired. You're outta the

department.

BUDDY:

There's not a soul in this county

isn't sick to death of your

bullshit, Charley. You made

yourself scarce, you could make a

lot of people happy.

WADE:

You little pissant--

BUDDY:

Now or later, Charley. You won't

have any trouble finding me.

Wade feels the people around him waiting for a reaction. He

leans close to Buddy to croak in a hoarse whisper

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