Thunderheart Page #3

FENCE MAN:

What ya got there, seventy-five

thousand?

CARL:

A hundred and ten. Count it.

LOUIS (BLACK MAN)

Have the girl count it, we can't sit

around here countin' bonds, we got

things to do here.

The fence man pushes an intercom button and yells into a

speaker.

FENCE MAN:

SALLLLY!

Carl's eyes flit to Ray. Ray's eyes flit to Carl.

Louis crushes his newspaper down and lifts a big Colt Python

from his lap just as --

A section of sheetrock kicks open and THREE FEDERAL OFFICERS

bust out, each clutching a handgun, SHOUTING inaudibly.

LOUIS:

F.B.I.! Get your face on the f***in'

floor! MOVE!

Carl startled, does an almost effeminate dip down to one

knee, but that knee is swept out from under him, slapping

him flat onto plywood where he is instantly frisked down by

the fence man who is wielding a 9 mm handgun. But the white

collar criminal is more stunned by the fact that --

Ray is walking across the floor with his hands in his pockets

over to the Mr. Coffee. He pours one, and adds some milk.

Turns and watches the bust while opening a packet of Sweet

n'Low.

RAY:

Slam dunk.

LOUIS:

Beauty. Beauty...

Ray rests his weight against the coffee station, takes a

careful sip. Carl is yanked to his feet by the fence man and

he stands there, looking at Ray, baffled. Completely shocked.

CARL:

Jesus Christ, Larry, what the fu--

Larry. That's not even your name, is

it? What's your real name, you f***ing

scumbag?

RAY:

Don't have one, Carl. I have a number,

man. Just like the numbers on those

treasury checks. You stole from your

own country, Carl. Shame on you.

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