Week Four. A story in an Hour or less

I took a lighter approach to the scenes. They are more of a vague outline of what I wanted to happen in the story. Scene 2 is kind of a sloppy mashup of the activity but  here we go.

SCENE 1

Jacob Hartnell finds himself in a bad situation. Not only has he lost, as he would put it, a shit ton of money, but put the eldest son of the most influential mob boss in the city in the hospital in critical condition. How he found himself in this situation doesn’t matter as much as the fact that he is in this situation.

Jake dashes down the slummy streets of L.A. Frantically looking for something. The problem with this something is that he doesn’t know what it looks like. He was told it was a gin joint with no signage, but called Rick’s, in the cruddy part of town. To Jake, the cruddy part of town means about all of it.

He catches himself wheezing from the exertion. “Oh god, I’m in terrible shape.” he thinks to himself. He had been running around on and off for the past three hours with no luck. How can one find a place with no location?

Another half-hour passes. Jake is hiding in an alleyway He just nearly escaped some mob enforcers who were sent after him. He looks down at his shoes and he is stepping in hobo shit.

Again more time passes, about an hour. He notices a Casablanca poster hung over some old burned-out building in the alley in which he roams. Of course! Rick’s was the name of the bar in Casablanca, this must be the place.

Sure enough, it is. He enters

SCENE 2

Rick’s is not a classy joint. Bad pop music plays through cheap speakers. The air smells of stale beer with a subtle undertone of vomit. Tacky pictures and decorations are tacked on in anyplace that they would fit. Peanut shells and cigarette butts coat the ground. In the middle of the room dances a nude woman whose years of drug abuse have clearly taken their toll. The room is full of men who pay her no attention. They all seem to have lost their souls long ago. The bartender does not fare much better. A sadness lines the heavy bags under his eyes. He looks as if he has just got over crying, even though he hasn't cried in twenty years. That’s beside the point.

Jake is looking for someone named Patch. He was told that he was easy to identify from the cobbled-together quilt-like shirt he always wore. After a moment of searching the worn and sadden crowd, he spots the mismatched shirt.  He makes his way to Patch’s spot at the bar and sits next to him. 

Patch: Whadda need kid?

Jake: Hold up, I’m 28, not a kid

P: Whadda need kiddo?

J: I need help

P: No shit, what do you want?

J: I need discrete transport to the Big Apple.

P: Listen buddy, I need details, plane, bus, truck?

J: No! No roads, I cannot be seen.

P: Interesting, you wanted?

J: Yeah.

P: Cops?

J: Mackie

Patch pauses for a moment and scratches his chin.

P: No roads eh? A toughie.

J: I was told you are good.

P: God I hate your generation, you watch some network crime drama and you think you know my work.

J: I-

P: Shut it, lemme finish up my drink, and think about it.

J: But-

P: Oh you little shit, Sam get me a bottle.

Sam Bartender: Of what

P: Something big, sum’n that’ll take a while.

S: I know just the thing.

“Hold it Sa!”. Jake looks at Patch in the eyes.  “Seven hundred a day.”

P: Oh ho? Now we talkin.

J: I need to make a boat in three weeks. No roads, no questions.

P: Payment?

J: Upfront for the first five days, every other day after that.

P: Let’s go.

J: Now?

P: Yes now, we're on a timetable now bucko.

Alright! Jake says smiling.

Hand it over. Patch reaches out his dirtied hand.

J: Huh?

P: My money.

J: Fine here.

P: Here's a hundie Sam, keep the change.

S: You’re short 20.

P: Sorry pal, see ya later.

J: What are we riding in?

P: A four by four.

J: Huh?

P: A four-wheeler Jack.

J: It’s Jake

P: It’s a figger of speech, Jack. 

They leave the Bar.

SCENE 3 (Much later in the story)

The scenic black hills of South Dakota are home to an incestuous cult-like family known as the McElroys.  They have similarities to the Manson family. 

The quiet hills are interrupted by the loud roar of four-wheelers. One containing Jake and Patch lead the pack. They are being chased by the McElroys for intruding on their land. A weak notion since they have no real claim to the land other than they illegally set up there a few generations ago, and have killed (possibly eaten) anyone who tried to get them to move. 

The family is shooting at our protagonists, with a wide variety of weaponry ranging from machine guns to civil war muskets.

“Oh, shit Patch they are gaining on us.”

“I know, I know… grab my crossbow and shoot!”

Jake does, and most miss. He gets one’s arm causing them to run into a tree, presumably killing them. Another zings right through the visor of the helmet of a McElroy killing him instantly. He falls off his four-wheeler and gets run over by another. The passenger of the first four-wheeler desperately tries to move up to reach the controls. He doesn’t get to them and the four-wheeler drives straight off a cliff. One lucky shot from a McElroy punctures the tire.

Patch looser control of their vehicle, causing the back to drift and ram into a tree. Jake loses his grip on the crossbow and drops it.

“Uhh, Patch” 

“Not now kid”

“I lost the crossbow”

Patch looks back at Jake’s empty hands. “Fuck.”