Central Park Walk

This is an adaptation of a produced short film screenplay. It involves a small-time criminal who attempts to rob a wealthy looking man at gunpoint – a man who is already considering suicide.

Manhattan's Central Park is refreshingly tranquil. A surprisingly large and attractively landscaped green space where New Yorker’s can stroll in an almost rural setting, during the day... after dark, it is somewhere else entirely. Hector is a New Yorker and he really should know better. The night is not only dark but foggy and his lanky loose-limbed figure is barely visible beneath the boughs of a giant ancient oak. His expensive looking trench coat is buttoned up against the cold and his equally expensive looking scarf is tucked neatly into the upturned collar. The beginnings of middle age show in his slicked-back salt and pepper hair while his handmade shoes are obscured by the dense grey mist that rises from a damp winter mulch of rotting leaves. The gloom of the trees is slightly lifted by the pale light from a nearby picturesque lamppost. Other more distant lamps dot the fog and combine with the hum of faraway traffic as evidence that this is indeed a city park and not some rural woodland.

Hands in pockets and shoulders hunched, the stockbroker stares into the shadows, his face creased in concentration he turns from side to side straining to separate nearby sounds from those of the distant streets. Then SNAP! A twig breaks under someone’s foot and Hector’s shoulders relax, the tension ebbs away and a thin smile crosses his face. He stands still staring into the darkness while sensing the shadowy figure that sneaks around him. The figure suddenly looms up, wearing dark clothes with face hidden by a sweatshirt hood and a thick scarf. A hand gripping a heavily chromed automatic pistol confirms that he is mugger. A command is barked but the words are lost - muffled by his disguise.

Hector doesn’t understand and shrugs helplessly, “What? I didn’t catch that...”

The mugger makes louder unintelligible noises but Hector simply looks confused. In exasperation the armed man pulls his scarf clear of his mouth, “I said, throw your wallet down and walk away”. He waves the gun for emphasis, “DO IT! Or I’ll blow your goddamn head off...”

“Oh good...” says Hector with a sour smile.

“What do you mean, good?” the voice is halting and cautious.

“Good. You’re gunna ‘blow my goddamn head off.’”

Now the mugger thinks he isn’t hearing properly. He sweeps the hood back revealing the grubby and prematurely careworn face of a young man in his twenties. He likes to be called Zedd but he and Hector aren’t going to be making polite introductions. Zedd’s face creases in confusion, “What did you just say?”

Hector starts to explain, “I’m afraid...”

Zedd smirks with grim satisfaction, “So you should be.”

The stockbroker starts again “No. ‘I’m afraid’ I’m not going to give you anything.” He pauses, and then in a cheerful tone adds, “But I am carrying an unusually large amount of cash.”

“Jackpot! I knew it. Hand it over.”

But Hector appears to have lost interest; he inexplicably turns away and stares out through the trees across the park. The young mugger annoyed that this isn’t going smoothly growls “Stop looking around while I’m threatening you. There’s no one coming to help. There are no guardian angels.”

“Well if you’re quite sure of that...” Hector says as he turns back, “Why don’t you shoot me?”

“You wanna die..?” asks Zedd incredulously.

Hector spreads his hands at the revelation, “At last! Yes. I want to die.”

“Nobody wants to die.”

Now it is Hector is exasperated, “Well I do. D’you want it in writing? Or do you have trouble with writing..?”

“Hey, I can read. I read lottsa stuff...” Then Zedd is hit by a thought, “Hell, I geddit - you got something terminal, something catching. Is it catching..?” He steps backwards, away from Hector.

Shaking his head Hector tries to sound patient, “No. Nothing terminal. I just want this... existence to stop. Simple as that.”

“But someone else has to do the dirty work?” Zedd manages to look disgusted, “I don’t like it.”

Hector takes the logical approach, “What’s not to like? You pull the trigger and go through my pockets...”

The mugger laughs, “Are you kidding? Shoot someone during a robbery and I could wind up spending the rest of my life in prison. You wanna die by your own hand... do it with your own hand.”

“You said you’d do it” Hector rages, “You said you’d blow my goddamn head off.”

The mugger is also getting angry, “I said. I said...”

Hector shouts “SHOOT ME!”

Zedd shouts back “THE GUN ISN’T LOADED!”

Hector claps his hand to his brow, he stands speechless while struggling for a response, “You are a fraud! It’s... dishonest to attempt armed robbery with an unloaded gun.”

Zedd takes the logical approach, “You have any idea what ammo costs? I need your money to pay for it.”

Hector looks at the gun, “So what are going to do with that? Batter me to death?” Zedd is appalled by the idea; he glances about awkwardly for around for something to do with the gun then jams it into his pocket. Hector continues, “You’re really not cut out for this, are you? Why don’t you move along and leave me to get robbed by someone a little better prepared?”

“I will not. You go. Go on, go home.”

“I don’t have a home.”

Zedd’s face turns heavenward, “Oh, my God, a homeless guy.”

The stockbroker is incensed, “I’m not homeless. I gave up my apartment...”

Zedd gives Hector a shrewd look before exclaiming, “You planned this.”

Again the sour smile, “Better than you have...”

Unable to deny his poor planning, Zedd asks, “How long have you been thinking about...” his voice trails off as he draws his forefinger across his throat.

The stockbroker shrugs, “Suicide? About two weeks.”

“Oh, I thought it’d be more sudden-like. While you’re drunk or something. Like getting a tattoo.” The youngster is struck by the idea, “You’ve never thought of a tattoo?”

“You mean instead of suicide? Look, I appreciate the neighbourly interest but it would be more helpful if you’d leave me alone.”

“No. You go.”

“I was here first - and this is an ideal spot to get robbed.”

Zedd is adamant, “I know - that’s why I’m here”

Deadlock. The stockbroker smiles, the mugger glares and the silent fog swirls about them. Zedd eventually breaks the awkward silence, “Please, just go. A bar, a movie, anywhere. Go... talk to your friends...”

Hector’s head shakes slowly, “There are no friends.”

Zedd is incredulous, “You’re kidding me? No friends at all?”

Hector looks thoughtful for a moment, “Maybe... maybe just Jackie.”

“There see, Jackie...” Zedd grins broadly, “Attractive I expect, huh? What is she tall? Nice figure..? Blond..?”

“Jackie was a greyhound...”

The young muggers face creases in bafflement, “A bus?”

The stockbroker retorts angrily, “A dog. A greyhound dog... you cretin.”

Zedd sighs heavily, “So - you gotta dog...”

Hector is sadly reflective for a moment. He takes a deep breath, “Had. Had a dog. She was hit by a fire truck.”

“Ah, that’s bad.” Zedd turns this over in his mind and then, “Was it a big fire?”

Hector is apoplectic. He rolls his eyes in frustration, he is unable to answer. Then after more deep breathing he abandons any attempt to frame a response and instead asks in a level tone, “Are all the thieves in this park stupid or have I just been unlucky?”

Zedd is genuinely offended, “Don’t call me stupid. If the gun was loaded I’d shoot you in a second.”

Hope springs into Hector’s face, “If I gave you money for ammunition would you come back.”

“Where am I gonna find an ammo store open at this time of night?”

“Don’t ask me. You must have connections... other criminals?”

Truly embarrassed the mugger admits, “I don’t know any criminals, I’m kinda new to all this...”

The stockbroker is outraged, “NEW?” He shouts pointing an accusing finger, “You’ve never done this before have you?”

Zedd is defensive, “Don’t you shout at me.”

Hector is deliberately provocative, “Look at you, shaking with fear.”

Zedd is trembling but tries to shake it off, “I’m goddamn freezing.”

Hector is disgusted, “We’re led to expect a certain standard of crime in this city - and what do I get? An inexperienced, under-equipped novice. This is another of those many twists of fate that drive a man to suicide.”

Zedd now sulky “If you’d thrown down your wallet I’d have bought bullets for next time.”

“Very enterprising. But you can hardly spend all of your life lurking about in the park with a gun.”

Zedd appalled, “Hey I ain’t lurking. I've seen guys lurking and I don’t even wanna know what they’re up to...”

“Oh no, you, of course, have such noble aims...”

“I dunno what you’re getting on your high horse about - a man with nothing to live for ain’t got nothing to be proud of...”

“And you have something to be proud of?”

“Yeah.” Zedd stalls, not sure how much to reveal of himself, “My kid.”

The stockbroker is amused, “You ARE a kid. What kind of kid can you have?”

“The usual kind. And watch your mouth...” Zedd is plainly very proud of his child and turns venomously on Hector, “I don’t need a lecture from someone about to throw in the towel, someone looking for an easy way out... you’re a coward.”

“And you’re not? A man so scared of civilised society that he skulks in the dark trying to steal others hard earned cash rather than face the prospect of fighting for a job.”

“Hey, whatever. It ain’t me thinking of killing myself.”

Hector’s eyes narrow, he studies his assailant for a moment, “Maybe you SHOULD think about it. How’d you think this career is going to turn out? You ambush people till you get caught, then you go to prison. You might as well finish it here and now - go on as you are and you’ve no more future than I have.”

“That ain’t gonna happen.”

“And how’s this kid your so proud of going to grow up without a father?” asks Hector triumphantly.

Meekly, “I grew up without a father.”

The stockbroker now has the upper hand and confidently presses his advantage, “And became a guy who threatens people in the park with an empty gun - you can’t turn that into a family business.”

“I’m doing what I have to.”

Hector exclaims dramatically, “You don’t have to. You haven’t actually committed a crime. Yet.” He pauses to let his words sink in, “Don’t you want little Leo to have someone to look up to?”

The youngster snorts, “No one has no one to look up to any more.”

“So give him something unique.”

Zedd’s brow suddenly furrows, “How’d you know we call the kid Leo?”

“You said...”

Zedd’s fleeting confusion is soon replaced by his usual confidence, “Well, it doesn’t matter cos I definitely ain’t getting caught.”

“How can you be sure?” Hector asks slyly.

The youngster takes the gun from his pocket. He looks at it for a second then throws it as hard as he can. The gun spins off into the gloom clunking into various tree trunks until it is lost in the darkness. Zedd turns to Hector in something approaching triumph, “There. And you got no cause to feel all righteous and smug cos that was entirely my own decision. Arrived at after a deal of thought - on my own...”

Hector nods. ‘Now go home.’ He says, not unkindly.

Zedd steps forward, “Ah no. Not yet. First I gotta make sure you ain’t gonna kill yourself.” He jabs a forefinger at Hector’s chest, this sends the stockbroker swinging backwards, then pendulum-like he swings foreword toward Zedd who pushes him roughly away. Hector swings backwards with greater momentum, he is suspended by a rope noose that was previously hidden by his collar, the scarf and the darkness.

Hector grins maniacally, "Too late for me. I’VE ALREADY DONE IT!” As the handmade shoes clear the mist Zedd realises that Hector’s feet have been dangling off the ground throughout their entire conversation. Having reached the extent of his backward arc Hector swings forward again, “Forty years ago I died. Hanging here from this tree. By God, it was freezing cold that night too...”

Zedd cowers terrified, “You’re dead? Like a ghost?”

“Sort of...” The suspended stockbroker concedes, “But don’t go. I enjoy talking to people who’re about to ruin their lives. We must do it again, next time you’re prowling the park at night...”

Zedd is desperate to escape but too scared to turn away, he stumbles backwards, “There ain’t gonna be no next time. You ain’t gonna be seeing me again...” He turns and bolts into the darkness.

Hector smiles in grim satisfaction, then his expression freezes, his eyes glaze and his body sags. He becomes increasingly transparent until he eventually blends with the swirling fog and is gone...

THE END

© 2019 Allen George Duck

Author's Note

This is an adaptation of a produced short film screenplay

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barleygirl

This is a top-notch compelling funny believable slice of high imagination! I'm usually skeptical of these kinds of pieces & I was looking for ways I could poke holes, but I couldn't find any. This is a really tight piece of writing. Your characters are well-developed thru striking dialogue & their actions are believable becuz you present a chain of events where one thing follows another logically, even when things get a bit tweaked to the side of crazy-a*s imagination toward the end (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie