The Raw End of the Deal

A Screenplay by BelAir

About a mean game of poker . . . literally

“Out of the Darkness”

A short screenplay

BelAir

MEMORY FLASHBACK:

INT. PRISON LAUNDRY ROOM – DAY

CAMERA PANS:

Through laundry room until we reach DANIEL MERRICK as he is bending for a pile of sheets at his feet. We can see they are stained with blood and other bodily fluids just vaguely. In BG we see men bustling back and forth, hear the slush and roar of washing machines, dryers, men talking, short laughter somewhere. Outside daylight filters in through the dusty windows toward the ceiling.

MERRICK is a brawny man in his mid-thirties, dressed in the standard strips of an early prison uniform. His face is rugged and his eyes narrow. It’s the kind of face that, if we saw passing on the street, would wonder, briefly, what things it had seen and what stories it would tell.

It is not apparent what exact year it is; only from the segregated BG, striped uniforms, and privileges that the prisoners receive, do we know it could be anywhere from the forties to mid fifties.

MERRICK (V.O. thinking)

It’s like a scene in a movie, isn’t it?

Here we have our protagonist on the laundry shift, doing his share . . . keeping to

himself . . .

MERRICK is shoving sheets into large cloth bag, not breaking his process and speed by looking around.

MERRICK (cont. thinking)

Playing nonchalant to the sweating,

vulgar monkies around him, as if new

silence can make up for a life of

arrogant filth.

(pauses)

How f*****g typical.

(pauses)

Except for the man with the scar

near his temple.

(FLASH to the MAN nearby from MERRICK’s POV, emptying a bag into one of the giant washing machines)

Throwing the rest of the cast off.

BG voices begin to fade into MERRICK’s V.O. above. As he goes on, it is almost like he is screaming over them to be heard in his own mind. His thoughts are barely audible or understandable.

MERRICK (V.O. thoughts cont.)

Somebody yell cut, I can’t work—

(pauses – BG voices cont. to mumble in his thoughts)

can’t work like this

(overwhelmed – we can hear his breathing)

--without his--

VOICES STOP

We watch a blue cloth bag drop to the floor -- S.M.

MERRICK bends down to retrieve the bag, his dark eyes flicking up to the MAN. He steps forward and takes the bag from MERRICK with his right hand, as his other arm ends just above the elbow. This arm has been hidden away from us and MERRICK himself until now. The MAN is disgusted and it is clearly shown on his face.

MERRICK reaches for another bag on the floor nest to the mound of sheets. He wears no expression save for the look in his eyes that says he would prefer to be anywhere but here. There is exhaustion there, too. The bag he picks up is white. MERRICK begins picking another sheet up and pushing it inside. Stained with blood.

A BURLY HAND wraps around MERRICK’s shoulder from behind. He pauses.

GUARD

Hey, boy.

MERRICK turns around, bag in hand. The two men are facing each other.

GUARD (agitated)

Blood in the blue bags and other

in the white.

(grabs bag from his hand and empties it on the floor. Throws bag to the ground with it)

They take different cleaners . . .

Now, I won’t tell you again, ‘less

you wanna be removed. I’m sure there’s plentya other little jobs we could find

you ‘round—

MERRICK SPITS A LUGEY INTO THE SHEETS. CU ON THE LUGEY, STETTLING INTO THEM.

MERRICK turns to look at the GUARD from the sheets. His eyes have not changed; there is no school-boy-glimmer in them; nothing.

GUARD BACKHANDS MERRICK. He rocks back in place with the force, wipes his mouth where his bottom lip has just split against his teeth, watching him.

GUARD (motions down)

You want to clean up your slime there?

MERRICK GRINS. It is tired, and at the same time, hateful.

MERRICK

No – blue or white?

WE FLASH TO RANDOM MEN WATHCING THEM.

The GUARD moves forward and catches MERRICK’s fist as he tries to swing at him. MERRICK WRAPS HIS HAND AROUND THE GUARD’s wrist and pins his arm behind him and begins running toward the closest washing machine. CAMERA moves with them from behind until they come to machine. Then we are waiting at level with the washing machine for the GUARD’s head to come into frame. MERRICK gets in about six good slams, dodging the GUARD’s free hand. BLOOD smears down the front of the washer, GUARD’s face. KEEP SAME POSITION as hands of other prisoners enter the frame, pulling MERRICK off him. Struggling, he is pulled back out of the frame, as the GUARD falls to the ground and out himself.

BLACK

INT. PRISON STORAGE ROOM – SUNDOWN

FADE IN ON:

Pile of chips (black) – blurred – ECU

CAMERA pulls upward from MERRICK’s POV, and they become more visible.

MERRICK (V.O. thinking — barely audible)

. . . most guys it’s the hands . . .

We hear the shuffle of feet against a cement floor and mumbled conversation. Different objects and details of the room are revealed to us through MERRICK’s POV, panicked, OBSCURED BY DRUGS.

MEN move around the table.

MEMORY FLASHBACK:

Here we are introduced to JEFF WHITLIFF, an older inmate that has been at the prison for quite some time – 5’4, maybe, 145 lbs, thin, graying hair, weathered face.

From MERRICK’s memory we see him washing his hands at a bathroom sink. He keeps looking over to MERRICK at the other sink, grinning.

Drys his hands. Strolls over to MERRICK. Opens mouth to speak:

JEFF WHITLIFF

You’ve played—

CUT BACK TO:

A chip settled in the palm of MERRICK’s hand -- CU

An “H” is printed on one side of it in white; he touches it, examines it, as we hear a MAN, incomprehensible, speak, finishing WHITLIFF in the bathroom: 5-card draw before, right?

As if in answer WILLIAM NOLAN on his left begins screaming.

The MEN around the table are only blurred, struggling figures around us.

When NOLAN ceases, the CAMERA PANS down slowly from MERRICK’s POV to examine the objects that have been placed on the folding table in front of him. They fade in and out of the foggish haze . . . a greasy deck of cards, piles of chips . . .

CUT TO:

SMALL BONE SAWS sitting to the right of MERRICK’s

Chips – perfectly coherent. He can see it clearly enough to note the thin coat of rust covering the blade, as if it has been waiting for him, brought out of storage for this moment.

BLACK

INT. STORAGE ROOM – NIGHT

The CAMERA awaits a face in the storage’s backness.

We see a WOMAN appear.

MEMORY FLASHBACK:

A parking-lot. Falling snow.

Everything carries a blue-grey dread.

We catch a WOMAN walking toward her car. She is dark-haired, tall and slim, beautiful and profession down to the way in which she moves. She opens her car door and gets in, unstraddling her purse from the sturdy knob of her shoulder.

We see MERRICK rise from the backseat behind her own. His hands enfold her neck. The WOMAN manages to face him in the struggle. When she sees his face, something changes in her eyes – we get a sense the two have known each other a time before.

She falls from MERRICK’s hands across the front seats. She is beautiful, graceful, even in death.

MERRICK settles back in his seat, hands on knees, calm. Watching the falling snow from the windshield.

He does not move.

Doesn’t blink.

We see the scene begin to disintegrate around him to the storage room, and MERRICK, who remains during the transformation, seated at the folding table.

CUT TO:

JARRED JAMISON. He is a middle-aged man of average height and weight, thinning hair, and blazing eyes. When he smiles his teeth are perfectly concealed inside of large, square set of jaws, perfectly white.

He motions toward the table, and GUARD 1 comes into action, untying the men, who look around with dumb amazement, slow children in idle curiosity who have just been separated from their mothers.

MR. J

Boys, I heard you liked to

play cards, and I thought

you would appreciate my

generosity, allowing you

to do it during basement

duty . . . So how about

some 5-card draw? The best

kind of poker, I think.

CUT TO:

SANDS, NOLAN, AND JEFF WHITLIFF around the table –

MERRICK’s POV.

THE ROOM. We see it clearly, until we switch to MERRICK’s POV. Our perspective is cloudy, although still better than his first waking; objects and people in it are still determinable.

It is quite clearly used for storage; clutter lines walls and shelves – anything the human mind can conceive of, it seems. A short hallway on the right of the wooden staircase branches off to more smaller rooms.

MERRICK (V.O. thinking – JEFF WHITLIFF’S VOICE)

. . . you like to play poker, don’t you?

. . . most men it’s the hands . . .

Most of them come to love it, would you believe that?

We see MERRICK raise his hand in a slow wave to JEFF WHITLIFF across the table. Meanwhile, JEFF is rubbing the muscles of his legs consistently, humming. For just a moment it looks as if he sees MERRICK, recognizes him, and turns away.

MERRICK then reaches out and touches his chips, tracing the “H” on their backs.

MR.J

Pick up your cards, boys.

The MEN grab for the five cards dealt and examine the hand. We only see MERRICK’s: three queens and two threes.

A full house.

They pause, unsure how to proceed.

MR. J (irritated)

Bets, gentlemen.

He stirs in his sagging lawn chair against one splitting wall, saying this.

MARK SANDS, on MERRCIK’s right, begins to mumble as he drops four of his white chips into the middle. WILLIAM NOLAN waits another minute in order to observe the GUARDS. He raises the MEN by one chip.

MR. J

Come on, boys, he’s raising you.

Lets get in the f*****g game!

Remember how this goes?

CUT TO:

JEFF WHITLIFF, hands enfolding head as if to create a womb-like barrier no one can intercede.

WILLIAM NOLAN looking at the other players with a small, satisfactory smile.

MR. J – FROM MERRICK’s POV – his face half-hidden in the overhanging shadow of the staircase.

MR. J

Discard . . .

No folding.

Only JEFF and SANDS choose to discard, and the bets start again. MERRICK and JEFF match NOLAN with seven chips.

SANDS fingers his chips. Tosses them away as though they were a thing of disease, although his face shows no deep panic.

MR. J

Let’s see ‘em, boys.

CUT TO:

MEN’s hands as they are laid down – CU

MERRICK: a full house still

JEFF: four of a kind

SANDS reveals a pair of fives, and NOLAN, nothing.

JEFF rakes the chips to his side. He leaves one behind, unaware of it.

Is his win benefited of playing here before, under these circumstances, or something else? Something like a set-up for the first hand? It is odd that the two men would receive such good hands without discarding first, we note.

GUARD HITS MERRICK, throwing him forward.

GUARD 2

Deal.

MERRCIK fumbled blindly for the cards. His hands shake as he shuffles. Deals five to every man, give or take a card here and there; the GUARDS do not seem to mind.

MERRICK’s cards:

3, 6, 7, 3, K

MERRICK (thinking, slirred)

. . . lousythreesanddon’tfibnone

He throws a chip in, jerks up to the dark hall on the other side of the room. When we switch to MERRICK’s POV, the hall glows with an unsettling light, from where the fatherly voice is issuing.

VOICE (distant)

A fibbers only best against

another fibber, kid.

MERRICK (aloud)

Whata fiddlefuck d’you knew?

SANDS raises him by one on his bet, with one left. NOLAN AND JEFF MATCH.

MERRICK has six left. He keeps the pair of threes and discards. We see the other men discard, namely JEFF, who saves two and puts in half of his share – five chips. They were not dealt out evenly among the men beforehand, whether it matters or not.

They have no idea what the stakes are yet.

REVEAL HANDS

MERRICK sees he has won against them with his pair. Up to ten chips now. He whistles while pulling them in. The smile on his face drops when MR. J cuts him off from his left:

MR. J

Wait on the next deal.

WE FLASH TO MR.J’S FACE.

THE GUARDS’ FACES.

MERRICK realizes their eyes are on SANDS. We see SANDS himself reaching below his chair in BG as MERRICK is watching the GUARDS.

CUT TO:

SANDS’s left hand on the green folding table – CU Pull away and we see he is holding a none saw in his right. Lays it over his three middle fingers.

MERRICK (thinking)

F for finger, MR. Sandy.

(pauses)

Hands, my hands?

He snaps back to SANDS when the screaming starts.

We see half an inch of the saw blade has buried into them. The area of table in front of SANDS is flooding in his blood. We see JEFF, enclosed again, face only changed with a look of cruel excitement. The same look is there on the GUARDs’ faces, and MERRICK’s own.

A thin dust, particles of bone as the saw works deeper.

MERRICK reaches for his ears to block the screaming, and then his mouth, as the blood drowns his chips.

NOLAN next to him makes no movement.

THREE FINGERS LAY FREE IN THE BLOOD.

SANDS is starting on his smallest finger. Moving the saw faster. His head is lowered and he works savagely. This takes less effort before it is being inched toward the deck of cards in the middle.

Finally, the thumb, until nothing remains but a cruel, swollen fist. SANDS lifts it to be examined under the fluorescents and, startled, flings the stub back onto GUARD 1, smearing his blood down the man’s uniform shirt. He tries to run and only succeeds in a deformed lurch before stumbling to the floor. There, GUARD 3 stands on his right arm (snapping it) in order to pin his hand to the floor. GUARD 4 APPEARS INTO THE ROOM with a small blowtorch to stop the bleeding. By now SANDS has passed out.

When the two GUARDS finish scorching the stump, they proceed in untying him and dragging him off down the hall.

SANDS’s BLOOD IS PUSHING UNDER MERRICK’s HANDS ON THE

TABLE – CU

When MERRICK looks upward, MR. J is studying his face.

MR. J (shaking head)

. . . The very fingers he used on

the gun that murdered his wife.

See, what I do -- what we do is

logical. Justice, even.

Just evening up the cards for a fair game.

MR. J jabs the butt of the pistol into NOLAN’s temple, teeth clenched, lips gaping.

MR. J

And remember, boys, your

always welcome back. Probably

sooner or later you will come back.

MERRICK awaits his own turn.

BLACK

INT. WING E BASEMENT – NIGHT

FADE IN ON:

BATHROOM – FROM MERRICK’s POV

The room is perfectly square with a line of urinals against the wall left of the entrance, sinks to the right, towel dispensers on the next. The floor is yellow painted cement, peeling. Ceiling is marked with blooming water-stained flower-shapes. They twist over into the next room, whatever it may be. The kind of room that has seen many things, and speaks of none.

He looks around for a moment and then closes his eyes against the pain in his head. We see them open, examining the room again. They are directed to something.

Thin, greasy smears of blood leading from the door to the far opposite wall. His brows narrow.

Trying to remember.

INT. WING B CELLS – SAME NIGHT – MINUTES LATER

CUT TO:

TWO NAMELESS GUARDS waiting on either side of MERRICK’s cell. He passes them slowly, into the cell. We see they are grinning to each other in the dark.

INT. BASEMENT STORAGE ROOM – DAY

OPEN ON:

THESE WORDS – CU:

YOU ARE DRUGGED

KILL THEM NOW

MERRICK lowers the sleeve of his uniform.

Waits.

MR. J is speaking, but we hear none of what he says.

MEMORY FLASHBACK:

MERRICK is tossing on his bunk, jerking in the dark. We catch glimpses of the memories that are haunting him—a flashback within a flashback. We get a glance of the GUARDS standing above the folding table, chips . . . poker chips hitting the cement floor, not their own individual colors but a luscious red. ALL CU, SM, FROM MERRICK’s POV.

This was how he was able to uncover what happened. What went on in this room.

Then there’s MERRICK handing a wad of fifties to GUARD 1, the day before.

And MERRICK engraving the words into his upper arm with the edge of a belt buckle. His back-up plan in case a bribe doesn’t work.

Now he is back.

All of the idiot smiles around him, from ruthless f***s who think they are getting away on the job for a little game of cards.

INT. STORAGE ROOM – SUN DOWN OF THE SAME DAY

OPEN ON:

Black.

A whistle blows him toward consciousness. When MERRICK opens his eyes, from behind them we see he’s okay. Not drugged.

The other two MEN at his sides, MEN we have never seen before, look around groggily. The MAN across from him has bowed his head for thought.

CUT TO:

GUARD 4, SHOVING MERRICK, who is touching his chips, unaware of it.

GUARD 4

Not yet.

MERRICK looks downward at the crotch of his pants when the GUARD’s attention is diverted and touches there. Jerking has knocked the gun loose from his waistband, and now it lays against one thigh.

Cold, heavy metal.

CUT TO:

MEMORY FLASHBACK:

MERRICK hiding the Dillinger there and turning the corner of the hallway where the men were to meet with MR. J. He barely makes it in time, while they are leaving.

CUT TO:

MERRICK. He raises the sleeve of his shirt.

CU – the words, of course, still remain, scabbing over on his flesh.

MR. J

Okay, boys, go for it.

MERRICK picks up the five cards in front of him.

2, 3, 4, 5, 10

He slides four chips into the middle. The men match him, all but one who tries to fold, and the rules are repeated again.

MR. J points MERRICK to draw.

He discards the ten, and does. A jack.

MERRICK adds four more to the bets. They have no choice but to match him.

MERRICK (thinking)

Get rid of these fuckers.

All of them.

MERRICK lays them down, with nothing.

HIS RIGHT: a pair of 6’s

LEFT: three of a kind

ACROSS: nothing but an ace-high

NEXT HAND. He is showing a pair of queens. 5 chips into the middle, so that the man across from him has only two left. MERRICK wins, and, raking the chips in, he looks at nothing but this man’s face—it is shadowed by the natural light of the room.

MERRICK (thinking)

Best to get them distracted.

HAND THREE

It’s easy now.

He raises the starting man to two, pushing the man across the table out, who is examining the GUARDS (it’s a mistake, right?), blubbering. He is marked with the familiar D as JEFF—

CUT TO:

The MAN’s chips on the pile – ECU – MERRICK’S POV

MERRICK (thinking)

JEFF--

The man’s face, now that he is looking into the fluorescent bulbs, there is the same face he sees day after day in the basement restroom as his own shift is ending and JEFF WHITLIFF’s just beginning.

MEMORY FLASHBACK:

JEFF WHITLIFF passing the Dillinger gun into his palm in the prison cafeteria through a crowd of moving men.

CUT TO:

GUARDS 1 AND 4 DRAGGING JEFF’s CHAIR AGAINST THE WALL.

MERRICK (thinking, screaming)

Not the deal the f*****g deal guys

stick to the plan!

JEFF. He takes his penis in hand, places the saw against its base, and starts violently, tears rolling down his cheeks, but never lifting his head to break focus.

MERRICK (thinking)

. . . Grab it now, MERRICK.

Reaches for gun.

Blood begins to flood down JEFF WHITLIFF’s thighs immediately. He is screaming, wailing, of course, always screaming – whether or not they can feel it fully and what they can feel one doesn’t know. And now the penis is almost loose in his hand, pubic hair glistening in the blood, sawing until there is only a gruesome nub between his spread legs and the penis lays forgotten on the floor. GUARD 1 moves forward to slap his cheeks to keep him from slipping into unconsciousness. JEFF, in response, gropes down blindly and finds his testicles.

The saw drops from his opposite before he can finish.

Staring upward into the bulbs, eyelids fluttering, one hand still resting against his testicles, blood spread to the elbow.

MERRICK tries to stand at the table, and, at the same time, brings the gun upward to MR. J and shuts his eyes. The sound of the shot echoes in the room, and we see nothing from MERRICK’s POV until he opens his eyes – on MR. J, coming for him at the table.

CUT TO:

MERRICK’s FINGER, CLOSING OVER THE TRIGGER AGAIN.

A click.

WE SEE MR. J moving toward us, from MERRICK’s POV. Over his shoulder, GUARD 2 holsters his gun back into his waistband and begins dragging JEFF WHITLIFF’s body out of the room.

BLACK