"THE RABBI WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
(ABOUT THE RAPE OF THE ANCIENT SABINE WOMEN)"
by Bryan Adrian
a 1980s East Village punk band musician meets a nefarious gangster rabbi from the Lower East Side and they both ultimately meet again on a volcano rim in Mexico....
TITLES ON A DARK SCREEN
SOUND of the motor of a moving car running smoothly.
The sun filters through
the branches of many trees lining both sides of
the road. The trees are green and seem to touch the sky.
The reflection of the
sun against the windows of the car wipes out the
interior view of the car. Nobody inside the care can be seen.
The car, a family car,
is driven rapidly but smoothly around a curve
and continues cruising on the flat and well kept road.
Suddenly, the car
zigzags and skids off the road. It drops from a
precipice making several revolutions in the open sky and crashes through
many trees. The car lies motionless afterwards, like a turtle on its back.
The sound of the crash fades away leaving the surroundings in
silence except for the spinning of one of the tires.
The creaking of a rear car door as it is opened follows.
A little boy comes
running out from the car. He is crying. He is around
6 years old and his shirt is covered with blood that is not his own.
His eyes open widely as he discovers the blood on his small hands. He
looks at them from behind his large nose with hypnotic blankness. The
stillness is broken by his scream, followed by frightened running as he
disappears from sight.
INT. ROCK CLUB
Close up of a face with
a very large nose and a head of hair matted
with sweat shouting into a microphone. The young man is about 20 years
old. His name is BRANSTEEN. He is the lead singer of a rock band.
ON THE STAGE
The band behind Bransteen is playing in a rage. The song is titled "Du
A SMALL CROWD of perhaps
fifteen people loosely assembled faces the
musicians. There are a few drunks seated at the bar. A few people are
sipping drinks at their tables. Others are chatting. A small group of
people are actually listening to the band.
IN FRONT OF THE STAGE
Three GROUPIES are dancing to the abrasive music.
Bransteen leaps to the
edge of the stage in mid-song. A large breasted
groupie at front stage grabs Bransteen's leg and wedges it into her
cleavage. Bransteen tries to free his leg but the groupie holds it firmly.
The other groupies laugh. The Guitarist watches indifferently.
The large breasted
groupie continues to clasp Bransteen's leg
covetously. Bransteen tries to free it. The girl holds it tighter. Bransteen
prods the girl with his mike stand. She resists but Bransteen is
determined to break free. Finally Bransteen frees his leg with a more forceful
prod and the girl crashes backwards onto a chair and deflects forward,
falling flat on her face. Her nose is broken and blood ejaculates from
it causing her to scream.
All the people in the
room look toward the stage. The musicians stop
playing. Some of the crowd rush the stage. The groupie's friends become
frenzied at the sight of her blood. The Guitarist approaches Bransteen.
What did you do that for?
What? Are you kidding me? She ...
VOICE 1 (OS)
The lady needs a doctor!
VOICE 2 (OS)
And a new nose!
Bransteen walks closer toward the groupie.
People are gathering
around the Groupie, some helping, others merely
watching. Large streaks of blood remain on her face.
pales at the sight of her blood and he shows
symptoms of vertigo.
The dog that doesn't bark bites
the meanest bite
Bransteen doesn't hear a word.
I think you went to far with the
Tarrantino style pulp-crap man. She has
some very nasty friends.
Bransteen retreats quickly backstage.
We'll cover for you man.
Bransteen runs for the rear exit door.
EXTERIOR, SMALL ALLEY, NIGHT
outside. He stops and vomits into a garbage can. He
then takes a deep breath of fresh air and walks toward the main avenue.
without any direction in mind. He attempts to regain
his composure with continuous deep breathing.
Bransteen is walking
and looking down at the
now. In the middle of the bridge he sees something listing against the
banisters. He runs towards it.
Hey! Don't jump! Don't
that man, please.
BRANSTEEN slows as he approaches the SOMETHING and laughs to himself
when he recognizes the identity of the silhouette.
I'm glad you didn't
jump. You might
have spoiled all your lovely long
The SOMETHING is a DOG with its two front legs raised upon the safety
railing of the bridge. Foiled by Bransteen's intrusion, the near
suicidal dog lowers its legs with dignity and class.
(the dog sits next to him)
Do you want some ...?
Bransteen offers the Dog some gum. The dog looks him over.
Whatever you like
I don't know what you're doing here,
but I've really screwed things up!
The Dog WHIMPERS in commiseration.
You too! Life in
The Dog BARKS in agreement.
I'm gonna go. Take a
Go someplace far away.
The Dog looks at him sympathetically, pauses a moment as if lost in
reflection, then BARKS admonishingly.
You know you're right!
point in running away. The past
casts a long shadow.
Bransteen places a new stick of gum into his mouth and he and the Dog
remain quiet for awhile. The Dog suddenly stands up. They look at each
other like two old friends about to say goodbye for the last time.
I don't know what to say
Blondie. Hasta luego.
The Dog leans affectionately against Bransteen's leg in an invitation
for one last pat on the head. Bransteen kindly obliges and the Dog
departs at a trot for unknown destinations.
EXTERIOR STREET, BAR
Bransteen stops to
look into the window as he passes by the bar. He
recognizes a local hang-out guy named SCHMITTY. Bransteen enters the bar.
What's up man?
Schmitty! What's up?
on the Rocks better be up soon!
The BARTENDER pours Bransteen a generous whiskey.
I heard about you and
the bashed up
babe. Bad news really travels fast,
What bad news?
That girl. She's Needle's girl.
Schmitty nods gravely.
Yeah man. Bad break for
and the girl.
(he laughs sarcastically and
then changes the subject abruptly)
Got to go. Time is money in this
gold grubbing town. I'm ten minutes
late for a recording session.
Schmitty finishes his beer quickly and leaves money on the bar counter.
(returning Schmitty's money to him)
This one's on me. Take care.
Schmitty grabs his guitar case and leaves BRANSTEEN alone with his
whiskey. The Bartender turns on the television set as anchorwoman PAULA
PURCHASE begins her newscast.
We're in front of the house
famous mobster HERMAN WOLFSHEIM,
a.k.a. "THE BERLITZYA". Reputedly,
Berlitzya has drained the life
out of scores of people.
Bransteen watches the television set with heightened interest.
HIS POV, TELEVISION
The anchorwoman, PAULA
PURCHASE, reports from the front of a high
security gate near a very large mansion in
people from the media waiting around.
Paula Purchase looks down the road.
Here he is ...
A large black limousine arrives and stops in front of the gate. Paula
and the media rush around the limousine. Some of them shout questions.
The dark windows of the limousine remain closed.
The high-security gate
doors open automatically. The Limousine splits
the crowd in two as if it were the
gate. The gate closes electronically behind the limousine.
"Berlitzya" comes home after a
five year prison sentence for illegal
dumping of chemical wastes, various
gas and oil expropriation charges, and
fraudulent trading of junk bonds, combined
with U.S. tax fraud --- combined to illegal
money transfers to Israel, and uh ....
ON SCREEN, PHOTO OF RABBI ROTMESSER
(continued) Former friend, who later turned informant,
RABBI ROTMESSER, is now on the run.
It is rumored that Wolfsheim has put out
close to a million dollar contract on his head.
The government a few years back,
according to insiders, provided
Rabbi Rotmesser with a new identity,
as part of their witness relocation program.
He was seen in
with Rabbi Kahane, founder of the JDL, and deep
insider of the Lubavitcher Movement. Our
investigative reporter was not able to learn anything
about Rotmesser's whereabouts or current appearance.
Nobody is willing to talk.
That's it for tonight. Paula Purchase,
Bransteen finishes his whiskey and heads home.
EXTERIOR STREET, NIGHT
Bransteen enters a Puerto Rican bodega.
As he is entering he
notices a boy posting a flyer onto a bulletin
board. Bransteen orders a sandwich and buys a quart of buttermilk. After he
pays he walks to the board and reads the announcement.
Would you like to cross the country,
at no cost?
Call this number.
212 666 4242
Depart in less than one month.
It's too good to be true!
Bransteen leaves the bodega in a hurry, whistling with anticipation.
Bransteen walks up the
stairway. As he ascends the stairwell beneath
his floor, he sees the light is dimmed almost to complete darkness. He
curses under his breath in exasperation.
ON HIS FLOOR
Bransteen walks like a
blind man, groping, toward his apartment door.
He tries to find the keyhole in the very faint light. As he fumbles with
his key, someone grabs him from behind, turns him around, and slugs him
in the gut.
crumples before he drops down onto the hard concrete
floor clutching at his brown bag containing his carry out sandwich and
Hulk. Put the bulb in
the socket. I wanna see
LIGHT, INTERIOR, reveals in full detail the anguish on Bransteen's
There are three men
revealed by the light. The one that screwed in the
bulb, HULK, is very skinny. A large man seated on the steps of the
stairway is named SMACK. NEEDLE is the edgy assailant. All of them wear
Orthodox Hassidic clothes and Fedora hats.
Needle throws Bransteen's brown bag from the bodega over to Smack.
Why thank you Needle. Let's begin our
'little missus' luncheon.
So you're the idiot who
slit my girl's
nose half off her face. Guess what I have
in mind for you, punk.
Smack gives a knowing
look from under his broad brimmed Fedora to Hulk,
who is already eating Bransteen's sandwich.
Here's the first token of my gratitude.
Needle kicks Bransteen in the face. Blood runs instantly from
Bransteen's mouth and nose.
Bransteen! You look a
Did I hold back a little of my thanks?
I detest stingy people.
Bransteen is mute. Needle delivers another kick to Bransteen's face
that collapses the bridge of his nose. Ruptured blood vessels splash blood
everywhere. Hulk sneers. Smack then walks over to Bransteen and douses
buttermilk onto his head from the carton. In great pain Bransteen
manages to lift his head and survey his assailants. Needle and Smack are
Needle walks over to Bransteen.
well. No more luvy duvy
for you at
a stinking small part in the Freak Show
on the friggin Boardwalk. Maybe a
good Samaritan will give you alms if you take
Gang! Let's kibbutz. We have other business
Russian dictionaries. They speak Russian
better now than Yiddish in that part of town.
Bransteen closes his
eyes in delirium. Needle slaps Bransteen several
times in rage to revive him. The gang members wait.
hey! I've been calm and
understanding and you don't even listen
politely to what I'm saying anymore.
Maybe I'm hitting on the wrong guy!
Yeah Bransteen. Tell him you didn't
Bransteen is close to
being unconscious. Needle grabs Bransteen by the
collar and jerks him violently up onto his feet. Bransteen is now dimly
cognizant of his situation. Needle throws a hefty punch to Bransteen's
face. Bransteen dodges it with his last ounce of strength. Needle's
fist slams into the wall behind Bransteen, busting several knuckles like
chestnuts. He groans louder than an injured animal and falls to the
floor in terrible pain.
Hulk and Smack pummel Bransteen with gusto, beating him to a pulp.
VOICES come from below.
They're upstairs Officer.
Surprised by the approaching sound of voices, Hulk and Smack hold
Bransteen's head by his hair and lift up his head to talk to him.
You're lucky, Bransteen, that we don't
stay and explain this to the police.
You might serve time for disfiguring
Needle's babe. If you snitch, punk,
we come back and cut off your balls. Got that!
The three Hassidic mobsters EXIT.
ENTER, A POLICEMAN AND A POLICEWOMAN
Quick! Radio a medic!
Bransteen lifts his bludgeoned face and attempts to look at his
rescuers, but after a few seconds he passes out.
INTERIOR, PLASTIC SURGEON'S OFFICE
Bransteen is seen in a
mirrored hallway wearing expensive sunglasses,
walking towards another corridor made of high gloss black marble leading
to the receptionist.
EXTERIOR, DAY, PLASTIC SURGEON'S OFFICE DOOR
Bransteen leaves the
office of the plastic surgeon and walks towards a
subway entrance. He is wearing a Western Ranch outfit and a large
cowboy hat, and has a very petite Gentile nose now.
EXTERIOR, NIGHT, 106TH STREET & AMSTERDAM, UPTOWN
Bransteen buys a
little cocaine for personal use from a well known
Dominican Jewish street corner gang just south of
Schmitty is also there, making his weekly score.
What are you doing here? I can't believe it!
You're such a Goy.
Look at your new cute little sniffer. You won't
even get enough coke into that small thing.
Maybe that's better for
me. I shouldn't
even be doing this little bit of blow.
It's always a treat to
see you guy.
Next time we'll talk. I've got to
make it in 5 minutes to a jam session
at the recording studio. Later.
EXTERIOR, FRONT OF WOLFSHEIM'S MANSION
The gates to the mansion are unmanned and still.
An attractive blonde
WOMAN, in her early twenties, with Swedish
features and snow-white skin tone, crosses a large and opulent room. Her name
is JENNY. She is the adopted daughter of Wolfsheim. Following her is a
30-something man with a minister's collar. His name is GABRIEL. They
disappear around a corner.
They walk down the
STAIRS together, holding hands. Gabriel stops her
half way down for a kiss. They then descend to the SUNKEN LIVING ROOM.
Her father Wolfsheim is on a conference call with Tel Aviv. He is
working a computer very adroitly with one hand and holding the cellular
phone with his other hand.
Yeah yeah yeah. Very funny.
You know more American slang over in
than our own kids know here. Guess you guys
put those big bucks we send you
into education. Using tax money for
education is called communism
here in the
slip those billions into our own pockets!
No accountability here in government funding!!
How are things in
(after a pause and a look of decision)
Look. Let's cut the small talk.
Just transfer the money to the
account right away.
more dough, Gingrich too, the whole stinking lot
of them. The Christian fundamentalists are
bellyaching so much, even Our Lobby can't
predict or control what happens,
like they use to.
I wouldn't know what
we'd do without
our guys. Very very useful stooges!
Yeah. Sure! They always help with a favor.
Jenny puts her arms
around her father in a hug from behind as Gabriel
stands alone uncomfortably.
Wolfsheim hangs up the telephone with a look of pride and triumph.
What did you find out for me Gabriel?
Gabriel fidgets with his Presbyterian minister's collar.
I came up with absolutely nothing.
He didn't leave a trace.
Five months on this and
you tell me
he vanished into thin air?
(looking at Gabriel menacingly)
Nobody just disappears
they're dead or Jesus Christ or
Che Guevara. Even the dead sometimes
turn up, it seems nowadays.
People can't be mistaken,
or can they??
Papa. I assisted
I wasn't much help either!
When Jenny's mother was
still alive, I swore I would kill
any man that laid a hand on her.
One of those golf types, a Yale
grad, took her down to his boat
house and tagged her. Doggie style.
You wanta know how I killed him?
I cut him up with slashes of a razor
and then threw him to my 20 best
crocodiles, but not before I covered him
with vinegar. Jenny's mother
tried to stop me and she tripped
and fell into the lagoon with the crocodiles.
I adopted Jenny shortly after that.
Yes ... I've heard it several times.
I don't want you to
forget how much
I want to see Rotmesser devoured.
Let's see ... I said something about the
Washington Post, didn't I?. What was I getting at?
Oh yeah. It's useful to own lawyers and
government officials and to have intelligence
agents do your bidding. Anyway ...
Get that Rabbi Rotmesser!
He gave me to the Feds on a platter and now
he gonna pay. I'll let you have half
EXTERIOR, FRONT OF BAR
Bransteen looks inside through a large plate glass window.
Needle is at the BAR
Bransteen sees Schmitty and many of his friends drinking in a party
atmosphere. Bransteen pulls down the brim of his cowboy hat to hide his
face. He crosses the street quickly and disappears into a crowd.
Bransteen enters a COFFEE SHOP
INTERIOR, COFFEE SHOP, NIGHT
Very few people are
inside. Bransteen sits at a table where someone
before him had recently left a newspaper. He orders a cup of coffee.
Scanning the last page of the metropolitan section, two items catch his
interest. BRANSTEEN shows excitement and arousal.
CLOSE UP OF OPENED
NEWSPAPER ON A TABLE. LEFT PAGE IS PHOTO OF PRETTY
YOUNG LADY. RIGHT PAGE IS A CLASSIFIED ADVERTISING SECTION.
Hurriedly Bransteen walks towards a pay phone near the TOILETS.
CAMERA CUTS TO NEWSPAPER AGAIN
There is a caption under the PHOTO of the attractive young lady.
Help Vicki Get Her Dog
Please call 212 733 8982
if you have information
PAGE RIGHT, CLASSIFIEDS
Wanted. Driver/Guy Friday.
Call 212 666 2731
TELEPHONES, NEAR PUBLIC TOILETS
Bransteen is seen speaking into the telephone.
Hello. I'm calling about
the driver's job.
My name? Bransteen. Yes.
Meet you in the news
shop of the
hotel. Okay, Mort Feind, is it?
Alright, see you soon.
Bransteen returns to the table, collects the newspaper, drinks quickly
his cup of coffee on his feet and leaves only a dollar on the table.
A WAITRESS thanks him
for his business with the restaurant and then
turns to another waitress as Bransteen EXITS
class Scouse accent)
It's always the same with these young writers.
Thrifty as an old
EXTERIOR, FRONT OF A CHEAP HOTEL
A Dog is seen running
out of the revolving doors. It looks a lot like
Bransteen enters the
hotel lobby a few seconds later and looks around
for the newsstand. Rabbi Rotmesser is disguised in a NYNEX telephone
repairman's uniform and is looking over the latest issue of PENTHOUSE
magazine. Rabbi Rotmesser's sixth sense tells him the kid is alright. He
quickly returns unseen to the elevator and ascends quickly to his floor.
Immediately upon return to his room he phones the desk clerk.
ROTMESSER'S ROOM, INTERIOR
Page Bransteen please. Put him on the house
phone. Yes. I believe he's
waiting in the lobby.
(on PA system)
Bransteen, paging Bransteen.
Bransteen reports to the deskclerk and is handed the phone.
BRANSTEEN, SPEAKING ON HOTEL PHONE
Right Morphy. Take the elevator to 10F. I'll be right up.
Bransteen leaves the front desk and heads for the elevator.
Bransteen surveys many
doors before he finds number 10 F. As he
approaches the door, SOUNDS of movement within the hotel room become audible.
INTERIOR, HOTEL ROOM
Rabbi Rotmesser is getting out of his NYNEX uniform quickly and
on some bluejeans.
Bransteen continues to knock and is mildly agitated at the wait.
Bransteen enters the ROOM.
INTERIOR OF A HOTEL ROOM
The room is dimly lit,
run down, and sparsely furnished. The television
is playing without volume. A closed large black leather satchel lays
upon an unmade bed. A plain wooden chair is positioned near the window,
partially concealed by a heavy dirty curtain.
Please sit down.
Bransteen is somewhat
puzzled by the shabby surroundings and appears
startled when ROTMESSER pulls the chair away from the window and offers
him a seat. Bransteen sits and studies Rotmesser as he walks across the
room towards a second hand refrigerator.
Beer or Soda?
Give me a beer.
Rotmesser tosses a
beer across the room to Bransteen, who manages to
catch it artfully and conceal his alarm.
I need a young man to
drive me out West and who can follow directions
I'm a good driver. When can we leave?
What are you running from? You're really in a hurry.
Not really. I've been reminded
lately that maybe a trip out of town is
just the thing for my health.
(scratching the back of his head) Can you pack in one night?
Bransteen nods affirmatively.
I'll pay for everything.
You'll never worry about dough again. I've got
plenty of cash.
Bransteen looks around the room as Rotmesser is speaking.
Emphasizing what plenty
of cash looks like, Rotmesser pulls a thick
roll of one hundred dollar bills from his jean's pocket and peels off ten
$100s for Bransteen.
Here's a grand for
getting my car out of the garage for me. It's over
Rotmesser gives him a slip of paper.
Get some sleep tonight
and bring the tuned car around here manana, ...
at noon. I'll tell you what to do further tomorrow. Be prepared to leave town as
soon as you return with the car.
Rotmesser opens the
door for Bransteen and places his hand upon
Should I bring a gun?
Do you have one?
Get outta here!
INTERIOR, ROTMESSER'S ROOM
Rotmesser sits alone
smoking one of the expensive Cuban cigars he got
through his Venezuelan Castro connections . His chair is back by the
window, between the parted dirty curtains. He watches the street below.
Bransteen walks away
from the hotel entrance, evidently quite pleased
Rotmesser pensively puffs on a Castro cigar.
INTERIOR, HERMAN WOLFSHEIM'S SUNKEN LIVING ROOM
Wolfsheim is sitting
alone in a high back leather chair. A DISTANT
SOUND of laughter comes from the far end of the living room. Wolfsheim
looks over in the direction of the laughter as the volume of a conversation
becomes louder and louder.
dreamlike forms are sitting in a dark corner. They
are drinking and laughing, and for all appearances seem to be having a
abruptly for a thick tax audit and hurls it at the
dark corner in anger. The sound of the laughter and conversation quickly
fades away. Wolfsheim EXITS the living room in a very troubled state of
INTERIOR, UPSTAIRS, WOLFSHEIM'S MAIN ROOM, NIGHT
Jenny and Gabriel are
drinking a nightcap and exchanging pleasantries.
Wolfsheim ENTERS unannounced and unexpectedly.
Gabriel! Get the word
out! Half a million dollars to anyone, I said
ANYONE, who kills that son of a bitch, Rabbi Rotmesser.
In his own troubled
world, Wolfsheim leaves the room just as quickly as
he had entered it. Jenny looks at Gabriel with anxiety as Gabriel dials
long distance on the telephone.
Who this time ... the Fatwah Sisters?
Gabriel adjusts his
clergyman's collar and motions yes with a nervous
This is Gabriel. I have a job for you two. Yes. Enough. Half a million.
Gabriel hangs up the
phone and signals confidently to Jenny that all is
A taxi pulls up in front
of the garage. Bransteen gets out. He walks
into the garage.
Bransteen sees a man working on a car and approaches him.
Excuse me. I'm looking for Bug Eye.
What can I do for you?
Mort Feind sent me for his car.
BUG EYE extends his hand
and waits for a courteous handshake in return.
They silently acknowledge that they are co conspirators.
They walk together into
another part of the garage where the limo is
parked. The limo is in great shape, externally and internally. They stand
and admire the machine in silence a moment.
Nice Machine. American made?
Yeah. One of the few. It'll be ready in an hour. You're a bit early.
No problem. See you in an hour. About 11:00?
A little after 11:00 and she's ready for anything.
The FATWA SISTERS,
twins, are sitting around the television set in
their panties, bare breasted, watching the news. Their home is furnished in
Middle Eastern decor, with many middle class creature comforts. One of
the twins, ARA, picks up a black veil. She holds it up for her sister,
FATT, to see. Both of the women are remarkably beautiful.
Do you like this veil, or ... this one?
I prefer the Syrian model, to the Jordanian.
They both giggle and
begin to dress in their traditional wealthy
merchant family attire of the ancient trading capital of
Bejesus! Look at the
TV! It's that stinking Rabbi Rotmesser. He's
wearing a NYNEX uniform. He's in some cheap hotel lobby in
There's that lost dog that's been on every newscast. Praise be to god!
They're giving the name of the hotel in the report.
Fatt is seen reaching for a pencil and paper.
Quick. Bring me that! They're giving the name of the hotel now!
INTERIOR GARAGE, SHORTLY AFTER 11:00 AM
Bransteen and Bug Eye
are drinking a beer together and talking about
the marvels of the limo. Bug Eye is a proud master mechanic. They get
along well together. Bransteen says he doesn't have much time and stays
only for a short while. He gives Bug Eye a hundred dollar tip.
It's been real and it's been fun Bug Eye, but it hasn't been real fun.
Bransteen takes the hundred dollar bill quickly out of Bug Eye's hand.
I'll just put my name
and voice mail number on here and we'll stay in
touch. One day I'll need a master mechanic. Deep discounts, you know the
(taking the hundred back)
Sure man. Hip.
EXTERIOR, STREET, NEAR THE GARAGE
The Fatwa Sisters are
cruising by on their high speed motorcycles. They
see Bransteen emerging from the garage in the black limo. He stops to
ask a pedestrian, an old man, directions to Rotmesser's hotel. The man
is almost deaf and Bransteen must ask loudly a second time.
The Fatwa Sisters
overhear and give each other a knowing look. Get away
car ... paid driver ... same Hotel name as the Rotmesser's .... Praise
be to god! It must be the Rabbi's driver! They put two and two
INTERIOR GARAGE, MINUTES AFTER BRANSTEEN HAS LEFT
Bug Eye is working under
a car when he notices the main door close
loudly and hears steps drawing nearer and nearer. Someone throws the light
switch off and all is dark. He hears unfamiliar FEMALE VOICES in the
Hey! What's going on here?
There is no reply. An
echo of boots approaching makes Bug Eye very
BRIGHT LIGHT is
everywhere as all switches are thrown on. Bug Eye comes
out from under the car. He barely gets a glancing look at Fatt before
she puts all her weight behind a baseball bat and hits a home run
against his head. Somehow he is still conscious as he lay bleeding on the
Can you hear me?
Fatt grabs Bug
Eye's scrotum with a twist from her bony hand. He
regains full consciousness and lets out a piercing shriek.
Where's Rotmesser headed with that big black limo?
Fatt relaxes her
grasp of his balls and Bug Eye is almost on the verge
of telling everything he knows.
I ... don't know no Rotmesser. Ain't that a South African wine?
Ara boots him in
the face with the toe point of her steel reinforced
boots. Blood spews from his face and he passes out.
Bug Eye regains
consciousness. One eye is damaged beyond repair. He
opens his good eye and sees the garage from an upside down perspective.
Ara looks him in the face from only a few feet away.
Get me out of this! Let me down!
Bug Eye is tied up like
a fish at the end of a fishing pole. He is face
down and suspended by his ankles from a motorized ceiling pulley.
Cough it out Lungfish! What's the Rabbi's plan?
Bug Eye squirms
violently and tries to curl up towards the ceiling and
grab something to hold on to. He can't move even half a foot upwards,
much less turn himself upright or untie his feet. Ara has her hand
positioned on the controls of the motorized hoist She shows considerable
impatience with this process.
(looking at Ara)
Last chance to get off the hook.
Bug Eye is passing out.
What's the Rotmesser up to?
Bug Eye makes a last
feeble attempt to aim himself in such a way so
that his body suffers as little damage as possible when he hits the
concrete floor. Ara hits the control lever and Bug Eye plunges to the earth.
His head bursts like a watermelon upon impact. A car is splattered with
blood and brain matter.
The Fatwa Sisters
approach the headless corpse. They rifle through his
pockets, tip toeing so as to avoid dirtying their
the thick pool of blood. They are still wearing their veils, along with
heavy duty combat boots.
Look Sis. A
hundred dollar bill with a name and a telephone number on
it. Must be the driver's!
EXTERIOR, STREET, MINUTES BEFORE NOON
Bransteen is proudly
driving around town at in the newly tuned black
limousine. He couldn't resist a little joy ride during the minutes
remaining before his noon rendezvous with Rotmesser.
Bransteen is changing
a compact laser disc on the beautifully inlaid
console of the limo's stereo. He slows for a group of pedestrians.
Needle and his Hassidic
strongmen are waiting to cross the street at
the corner, laughing and joking among themselves. Bransteen licks his
lips maliciously. He depresses the accelerator and speeds the car towards
the gang. As his limo drives dangerously close he blasts his horn.
Smack spins around and
sees the limo racing toward him. He dives out of
the way, colliding with Hulk, who in turn topples into Needle, and the
three of them fall down like a series of dominos.
hysterically as he accelerates away from the
humiliating spectacle of Needle and his fellow Hassidic henchmen in prostration.
Smack is the first to
get back onto his feet. He hurls his nearly full
40 ounce malt liquor bottle at the distant limo in vain, as it speeds
away. The bottle breaks against a parking meter and sends malt liquor
spray and foam into the air.
Bransteen, nearly out
of sight now, flips them the bird out of the limo
ON THE SIDEWALK
Needle is sitting on the
curb and gingerly toying with his gnarled and
twisted fingers (from the knuckles that were permanently disfigured
when he threw a punch at Bransteen in an earlier scene and instead smashed
his fist into the wall).
Bransteen is singing
triumphantly to the beat of pounding rock and roll
reverberating throughout the limo, banging his fists against the
steering wheel in rhythm to the music.
EXTERIOR, FRONT OF ROTMESSER'S HOTEL
Bransteen pulls in
front of the hotel and puts the car in park. He
cautiously scans both sides of the street. He then puts a disc in the laser
briefly in the doorway carrying a large black leather
satchel. He flits bee like to the corner. Bransteen edges towards him
and Rotmesser climbs quickly into the slow moving limo.
Quick. Let's get out
of here. I have a funny feeling something is
wrong. How'd it go with Bug Eye?
Great. Bloody great. He's world class. Where we headed?
Thousands of miles from this creepy hotel. Head for
Bransteen and Rotmesser can be seen laughing as the limo blurs through
A sign on the turnpike indicates out of state destinations
CLOSE UP, SIGN "
Let's get a move on and
gamble with other people's money. Not with our
rapidly and the old rock tune "CC RIDER" is
playing on the compact disc console.
The limo drives by
farmhouses and farmland at dawn. They are making
good time on the rural highway.
I'm ready for some jumbo
country eggs, fresh salted bacon, and chicory
coffee. You too?
I could eat a horse.
INTERIOR, COUNTRY RESTAURANT
Bransteen and Rotmesser are seated at a table, wolfing down their food.
The large black leather satchel is conspicuously present on the
What's in the giant black bag?
Rotmesser puts his hand on it protectively.
It's all the money I
have. Yours is in here too. And there's a chunk of
insurance laying at the bottom of the bag. No monthly payments.
But don't you worry.
You'll get paid and get to see plenty of the
Western States, maybe even
Always wanted to play with it ... you know, with a senorita.
We don't have much time
for senoritas now, but you'll get your chance
You ever been married? Got family?
No wife. Not yet. Lost my family as a boy.
An accident. We can talk about that later too, ... after business.
Rotmesser gives him a
long reflective look, with a barely perceptible
trace of suspicion etched on his face.
INTERIOR, VOICE MAIL
The Fatwa Sisters are
questioning the assistant manager of Bransteen's
voicemail company. The assistant manager is a Mid- Westerner in his mid
thirties. He appears gay and is wearing a "Baptist Revival" tee shirt.
The company is located in a sleek midtown
Penn Station. He appears to be nervous in the awkward position into which
the Fatwa Sisters have placed him.
Please. I'd rather not.
Our policy is never to divulge the confidential
information of our clients.
But perhaps you don't
understand. My brother sometimes runs away from
the very orderly life his psychiatrist has set up for him. He really
hasn't been himself lately.
He's very unpredictable
and has hurt himself in the past when he takes
flight like this. All we have to go on is his voice mail service. If
you could just listen in on his messages and tell us ...
Sorry, sorry, sorry ladies.
He looks over their
strange Levantine attire and begins to speculate to
himself that these two women are not related to Bransteen.
Your names are Ara and Fatt Fatwa. How is it
that your brother came to
be named Bransteen.
Are you' all born into
Canadian dynasties? You know, . . Seagrams,
Tropicana, DuPont .. . or Dow Chemicals?? They all have a huge presence in
was it Bolsheviks, hold sway up there! I own some stock in
corporate real estate and pension funds. It hasn't helped me. Somebody is
benefiting, but not me. I might as well be a Mongolian!
THE FATWA SISTERS
Oh no! We don't wish mongolianism on anyone! In answer to your
question, we don't like the frigidity of
baby brother. We gave him the name Bransteen as a family idiosyncrasy
to ... to aspire towards universal harmony ... and acceptance, in our
adopted community. Also, it helps us to get around in
with such a name in the family. Bran is ancient Irish, and Steen, well,
considerable numbers of Jewish family names have Stein at the end, so
we figured we'd .. . .
ASSISTANT MANAGER (skeptically)
You're quite convincing,
but I believe it's against federal law to give
out such information. There must be many eavesdropping, invasion of
privacy, and communications violations in such an action.
I'm not above the law
girls. Why don't you try MOSSAD, the Israeli
intelligence spy network. They have agents now everywhere in
I'm sure they could get around the law and give you what you need. Look
in the Yellow Pages.
The Fatwa Sisters smile sardonically at the Assistant Manager.
Mossad won't help us. We have very few Israeli friends.
I'm sorry to hear that,
but I must really get back to work now. Have a
nice day, Ladies.
SCENES of BRANSTEEN and ROTMESSER speeding through mountain ranges
EXTERIOR, DESERT, FLAT
Bransteen is getting
sleepy at the wheel on a long flat stretch of a
superhighway that cuts right through the desert. His eyelids are very
heavy. Rotmesser is sleeping in the back seat. Bransteen, his eyes barely
on the road, suddenly sits bolt upright.
recreational vehicle lurches from a side entrance onto the
superhighway. Bransteen thinks quickly and stands on the brakes,
freezing the tires in place and skidding the limo dangerously to and fro. The
limo stops just inches from the RV. Bransteen exhales a sigh of relief
and is not yet aware that Rotmesser has been thrown onto the floor of
(his head reappearing in the rear view mirror)
Are you crazy Bransteen?
(turning his head back towards Rotmesser)
That recreational vehicle nearly rammed into us!
The RV is stranded on
the shoulder of the road with the main doors
ROTMESSER digs his hand
quickly into his large black leather satchel
and draws out an enormous revolver, more like a hand held cannon, affixed
with a behemoth silencer. He conceals it between his legs and looks
cautiously towards the trailer.
TIPPI FLOSS, a voluptuous
woman in her mid forties, with a very wide
mouth, is seen first in close up. She walks toward their limo.
Rotmesser's fingers lightly caress the trigger very gently. Bransteen rolls down
his window. The woman's face is nearly inside his window.
(speaking with a breezy familiarity)
Sorry gentlemen. I
didn't execute that turn very well at the entrance
She can see that the two
men are extremely tense and she begins to
wonder why Rotmesser is in the back seat alone.
Can you read our sign from here?
They both let up their guards a moment and look out the windshield.
A large sign reads:
LOVE ON WHEELS. STATE
WIDE DELIVERY. EVERYTHING
WE DO IS LEGAL HERE IN
Tippi senses their
skepticism and whistles in true cowgirl fashion
towards the trailer.
The doors of the trailer
swing wide open. Jimi Hendrix's STAR SPANGLED
BANNER is playing loudly enough to wake the dead. Ten gorgeous and
oversexed women leap and land in unison onto the roadside, immediately
beginning a dance number. One of the women, the youngest, wears only red
white and blue body paint. The cleavage between her breasts is as large
Rotmesser salivates as he watches the performance.
She watches Rotmesser while he is distracted and recalls his face from
some other time in her life, but she can't come up with his name or
where and why they met. She then adeptly conceals her recognition.
"home" you all can find plenty of booze, waterbeds, food ...
and well of course, old fashioned grind and bump entertainment.
The girls dance
provocatively and Rotmesser is stirred by his
How much for the whole bunch of them?
One grand each tender vittle.
One thousand! Are you kidding?
I can tell an
experienced slave trader when I see one! Check out their
teeth. Their tits. Everything. Do more than talk with them. It's your
She motions generously over towards the spectacle.
Rotmesser bolts out of
the car and sprints his way single mindedly
towards two large breasty women with full buttocks. He wraps his sturdy
arms around each one and carries them both into the trailer like giant
sacks of rice, one hanging from the hollow of each arm.
Bransteen opens Rotmesser's large black satchel and even though
surprised, acts non chalant as he shows several million dollars in cash to
Tippi. Not visible to Tippi, but glaringly present in Bransteen's view, is
the huge canon size revolver, and some miscellaneous items he doesn't
have time to identify.
A book, The TALMUD, a
few grenades, and several rounds of ammunition
are also in the large satchel with the MONEY.
Why don't you lock that
in the trunk and come with me for a walk. Have
you ever seen a cactus flower?
EXTERIOR, SAND DUNES, BLOOD RED SUNSET
Bransteen follows Tippi to a sand dune comfortable enough for sitting.
They make a seat for themselves and sit quietly looking at the awe
inspiring sunset for a long meditative time.
What's a young man like
you doing on this lonely stretch of road? Won't
your boss ... what's his name?
Err .. won't he let you have one of my girls for yourself?
Bransteen pauses for a
while, sensing that a weakness for women will
lose him his job.
Oh yeah, sure! But now
he needs me to watch his money. I'd say he's
enjoying himself so much now that he's forgotten all about his cash.
Tippi gives a congratulatory pat on her own back and looks pleased.
What's your boss's name, really?
Mort Feind. He's a religious scholar
and an author. He was a young boy
under Rabin's command when Rabin was in the Palmach, the Jewish Defense
Forces commando unit ousting the Palestinians out of
Some of the Semitic raced peoples say Rabin was a cold blooded murderer
then, especially the evicted people of greater
(stifling a yawn)
However, all profits
Mort makes from his books he gives to the settlers
use and for their swimming pools and their settlements. The United
Nations declared this illegal, but Rabbi Feind says that God's will is higher
than the UN's.
Goldstein? He was one of Rabbi Feind's best friends
and machine gunned all those Islamics down on their knees praying with
their backs to the guns.
I see your license tags
(Bransteen nods yes)
I used to live there
too. It's great if you like to spend all the money
Say! Your boss must have made out pretty well in the City.
Yeah. He's on good terms
with them lawyers at Hirsch Weinig Inc. and
with their tough looking rabbi associates out in
all rolling in money.
They never stop talking
about what a schlemiel Victor Ostrovsky is and
what they will do to him if he discloses any more Mossad dirty laundry
to the press, or exposing Israeli agents through his books about rabbis
in the Israeli government making trips to Colombia and Switzerland for
cartels and banking.
I had a boss like that
once. He was from Punjab, or
forgotten now since being self- employed. He's the one who got me into
this business. I owe all my fortunes and misfortunes to him! It's much
better being on my own now.
My boss doesn't confide
in me much, he mostly boasts and brags. That's
how I learn most of what I know about him. Don't know what I'll do when
the rabbi's finished with me in
Can you tell me
something? Do the Aztecs still make human sacrifices to
I don't know but I myself could always use a decent young man like you!
(quite surprised and pleased)
As they say in
back and look for me. I'll give you da job!
What kind of job?
Any kind you want. You know why they call me cactus flower?
(Bransteen shakes his head to indicate he hasn't the slightest hunch)
Because I'm just an old
bristle in Bed at my age, but my mouth blossoms
like a cactus flower when it's at work.
somewhat uncomfortable with the suggestiveness of
Tippi's come on, although he feels himself surrendering to the tug of his
That's the kind of job you're gonna give me?
Tippi massages Bransteen's crotch and tongues his ear. He leans back
against a solid sand dune.
Just for now because
you're so irresistible. But if you return I'll
give you a job with rules, responsibilities, and a generous weekly
paycheck. I'll be your top dog later too. Now and only now you're in control.
PANORAMIC VIEW OF THE DESERT, WITH MANY CACTUSES IN FULL BLOOM. CLOSE
UP OF ECSTATIC JOY ON BRANSTEEN'S FACE.
I once heard ...
(Bransteen slows down because he is out of breath)
I can't seem to
concentrate. I'll try again. I once heard, it's from
modern Jewish folklore, that when Yitzhak Shamir was a young terrorist,
way back in 1948 with the Stern Gang, and they assassinated the Swedish
Count Folke Bernadette, who was there on a peace mission ...
(again Bransteen pauses to catch his breath)
similar compromised position.
A long silence follows
and then camera cuts to a look of explosive
release on Bransteen's face. It is hard to tell if he has been murdered or
if he is overpowered by his own orgasm.
(speaking as she lifts her head)
I've heard all about it.
My mother was with Count Bernadette around
that time. She worshiped Shamir and did whatever she was told.
(she brushes sand out of her hair)
There were so many
violent and radical Zionist youth and commando units
around at that time that I can never remember all the names!
Tell me if I'm wrong.
Ben Zvi and the ha Shomer in
1908. In 1915 the
Hehalutz pioneer movement in the
1938, the Haganah military movement of 1947. Did I leave too many out?
(Bransteen nods no)
No wonder so much money
poured from wealthy and influential Jews in the
homeland wasn't in
today we wouldn't have this stinking irreconcilable feud between uprooted
Palestinians and Zionist settlers. Maybe we can thank the British for
such a diplomatic blunder!
Bransteen quickly zips up his pants.
chit chat. But you
did forget to mention the Hasamba, the
secret organization of Israeli children trained every year since 1950
to spy for
mysterious death of James B. Forrestal, Defense Secretary of the
Hey! No more chit chat.
I've got to work! Rabbi Feind must be looking
(muttering in an inaudible voice to Bransteen)
There are plenty of
people ... looking ... for Rabbi Feind. You got it
What's that? What d'ya say?
Don't make your boss mad
at ya! Get your gorgeous body back to the limo
quickly, or you may never see your share of the Rabbi's cash!
INTERIOR CAR, DAY
Bransteen is driving
and looking at Rabbi Rotmesser through the rear
Rotmesser is holding
two different colored satin panties and sniffing
them in a grandiose manner.
Tippi picks up a car phone and dials.
Hey! I spotted your man.
Yeah ... Sure he was with the kid. The one
that knows more about Jewish history than Marlon Brando. Yeah ... he's the
one. I don't think the kid even knows what he's getting into. They took
Route 66 West. The kid's driving him ... a black limo.
Alright alright alright. Just don't forget my money.
The ADL ... did you say
the Anti Defamation League? Oh! The ACLU. Yeah
yeah. The American Civil Liberties
So it's the ACLU that will transfer the money.
Not the ADL. Did I
you right? From their
No. Who's sending it then? Okay. Gotcha!
(speaking into a cellular phone)
Route 66 West ... in
forget the money.
Ara gives the
thumbs up to Fatt, and they accelerate to very high
speeds on their motorcycles on the highway.
EXTERIOR, PARKING LOT OF A SUPERMARKET, AFTERNOON
Bransteen is waiting
in the car. Rotmesser is inside a large
supermarket browsing in the liquor department. His large bulk is framed by the
huge plate glass windows of the supermarket. Rotmesser makes a selection,
purchases it at the cashier's station, and then returns to the limo
carrying his large black leather satchel-suitcase.
(as he enters the car, sarcastically)
Deacon Bransteen. You're a lot like Dorothy Parker, and Harrison
aren't you? Half Catholic, half Jewish. As a rabbi I feel I can -- in
all justification -- call you a bunch of hybrids!
(pointing to the tequila bottle)
You want to bless this water, hinnie, before I swill it?
Put on a Neville
Brothers cassette ... I want to hear some Jewish soul
Man, those brothers made
it big! They got more riches than Solomon!
They learned everything from their cantor.
Bransteen controls his
anger after the Rabbi's provocative statements,
remains silent, and turns on the ignition key in a rapid twist. He
drives the limo recklessly fast on the broad avenues of a typical mid-sized
southwestern town, seeking an entrance ramp for the freeway further
INTERIOR CAR, LATE AFTERNOON
Bransteen is at the
wheel, gazing at the road as it passes under the
hood. Rotmesser is drunk and asleep on the back seat. An empty bottle
rolls on the floor behind Bransteen. He is annoyed by the SOUND and tries
to grab for the bottle, but can't reach it. In an effort to muffle the
irritating sound, he plunges a compact disk into the player. Bransteen
beats the tune out on the steering wheel as he drives.
The road is seen gliding
beneath the car. Rotmesser becomes
uncomfortable in his stretched out sleeping position on the back seat. The music
begins to stir him from his sleep.
Would you turn down that damned noise!
stretched out in agitated meditation. The music still
plays loudly. Rotmesser swings his heavy body toward the dashboard and
punches the stop control of the compact disk player. Bransteen is quite
(sitting himself comfortably in the back seat again)
You can't drive safely with so much brain interference in the air.
What you call brain
interference ain't half as bad as that lousy
bourbon you're drinking. That's stinking brain-acid!
Let's sing a song
together that ain't no brain-acid or brain
Rotmesser begins to
sing the first few bars of Halvah Nagila and
Bransteen feels the infectiousness of the song penetrate his heart. He joins
him and they both sing the complete story, over and over again.
EXTERIOR ROAD, DUSK
Their limo speeds deeper
into the dusk. The car fades out, as do their
voices, still engaged passionately in the Hebrew song.
INTERIOR CAR, NIGHT
Rotmesser now sits
alongside Bransteen in the front seat. He is
drinking down long slow swallows from a fresh bourbon bottle when suddenly
something grabs his attention.
Stop the car!
Bransteen drives over to the shoulder of the road and stops.
Rotmesser gets out of
the car and walks toward a ditch. He pukes his
When we're in
Nothing better than a large Mexican sombrero to keep the sun off your head
and also the puke out of the car.
Camera shows Bransteen convulsing with laughter first, then the two of
them laughing themselves into stitches.
You can't drive, you're drunk!
Drunk? You must be kidding.
Rotmesser reenters the
limo from the driver's door and shoves Bransteen
away from the steering wheel with the weight of his body. Bransteen
offers slight resistance and moves reluctantly. Without warning, Rotmesser
accelerates rapidly and lurches the car back onto the freeway.
The white line in the
middle of the road is lit by the limo's
headlights. The line seems to be snaking left and right as the car swerves at
high speed to and fro. Rotmesser is looking for a compact disk in a
frenzy, looting through all the compact disks on the dashboard. The car
continues zigzagging. Bransteen is slouched very low in his seat and takes
occasional peeps at the road with fearful circumspection.
Rabbi. Let me drive! You're going to kill us!
No way punk.
P-l-e-a-s-e, Mort. Stop running, Rabbi!
Rabbi Rotmesser finds the compact disk he had been seeking. He
the old tune One Scotch, One Beer, One Bourbon by George Thoroughgood.
He turns up the volume to an unbearable range of decibals.
(pleased with himself)
That's a good damned bourbon tune!
Suddenly, Rotmesser's and Bransteen's faces
are brightened by
HEADLIGHTS of what seems to be a quickly approaching car. Then two motorcycles
whiz by going north.
Ara and Fatt are seen signaling to each other, with wildly waving
indicating that Bransteen and Rotmesser are going in the opposite
direction. They slow just enough to make a skillful and quick U-turn. They
go at alarmingly high speeds to catch up with their prey.
Rotmesser is driving
and wears a worried look on his face. The whiskey
has given him courage, but taken away some of his better judgment.
Bransteen is now hiding on the floor, fearing the worst. He looks up and
sees that Rotmesser appears completely sobered.
A sign indicates the
approach of a dirt road to the left. The exit
appears as soon as they have read the blur of the sign at such high speed.
Rotmesser swings the car onto the dirt road without slowing. Dust
billows in giant clouds.
Sisters next enter the road, following the dust swirls like
a yellow brick road.
BRANSTEEN'S POV, LOOKING AT ROTMESSER DRIVING
(screaming from the floor)
Don't drive a straight line until we lose them!
Rotmesser begins to zigzag on the dirt road.
ARA'S POV, LOOKING AT FATT, FIFTY YARDS BEHIND THE SPEEDING LIMO
Juice 'em now! We might not get another chance. They could get away.
Ara and Fatt pull out their Uzis from motorcycle sidebags. The dust is
incredibly thick and their vision is nearly entirely blocked. They make
slicing motions in the air in front of their faces to clear dust clouds
away from their eyes.
They both take aim with
their Uzis and fire in a fusillade of bullets
towards the limo. It is not possible to tell if they are hitting their
A few bullets pierce through the back right rear of the limo.
Get completely off the road!
(pointing towards the left)
Look left! I think we
can drive on that stretch of land there! Their
bikes will never stand up on that surface at this speed. Go go go!!
follows Bransteen's directive. The car weaves and
seems to be out of control, but realigns itself and travels wonderfully
on the dirt surface.
ARA and FATT ON BIKES
Ara and Fatt are seen losing control and throwing their weapons off
the side so as to use both hands to steer. It is not helpful, they spin
out of control and make spills, regardless. They slide across the earth
and ball up for safety as they roll chaotically on the earth.
Ara gets up
first. She is not injured but badly shaken and scratched.
She runs over to Fatt. Fatt is unconscious. After ministering to her
sister for some time, Fatt finally regains consciousness and opens her
eyes. Ara cries out dramatically in relief as tears flood her eyes and
drip down her face leaving huge streaks.
Rotmesser is very
worried and eats up more and more of the road at
ultra high speeds to put plenty of distance between them and their
vampire-like huntresses. Bransteen, still on the floor, looks up and
sees that Rotmesser is swallowed up by fear.
Can I come up now?
Stay down a little
longer. I'm not certain, but I think they both went
down. Thanks for thinking clearly. You may of saved both of our lives when you told me to cut off the
Rotmesser looks into the rear view mirror and squints his eyes.
You're a real plumber Bransteen!
(pausing for emphasis)
In Israeli intelligence
operations school, we were taught to not be
poets when the job requires a plumber. Welcome to the plumbers club!
Bransteen looks somewhat puzzled by this lingo.
(picking up the litre of bourbon from the floor)
Yeah. But can I get up now? My legs are asleep. They're killing me!
Sure idiot. Get your ass up here.
Rotmesser sees the
bottle of bourbon and grabs it out of Bransteen's
hand. He takes a giant swill from it and then passes it to Bransteen.
Here. Drink your fill. You deserve a good drunk after that close call!
Bransteen takes the
bottle and imitates Rabbi Rotmesser's drinking
style. They both continue in this manner for several sizable gulps.
(wiping whiskey from his chin)
Who were those maniacs?
I think they were what the police call "desert pirates".
Yeah. You never heard of desert highway bandits?
No. Never before.
Then you don't read Penthouse.
Sorry. Haven't needed to yet.
Well. I'm not talking
about the girlie pics. Penthouse gives you
insider scoops on such things. It was Penthouse that first hinted,
indirectly, and before the event, that somebody like Vinnie Voster could be
murdered by intelligence agents working within the military-cocaine cartel.
Vinnie Voster, I believe it was stated in that Penthouse article --
that exposed the main players involved -- even before Voster's'death, knew
that U.S. military transports were being used on American soil to carry
big shipments of drugs to inner cities. He got in the way, as we say in
the trade. He had tried unsuccessfully to block it!
And Penthouse also wrote
up the first stories on desert highway
bandits. Was that the same issue with Dershowitz's spin doctoring? I can't
recall ... Dershowitz performs so often for Penthouse, they must certainly
pay him well for his articulate contributions.
What do you read anyway, Readers Digest ... or perhaps Catholic Worker?
No. I read USA Today. It
has more readers than Wall Street Journal or
New York Times. And it's enough Jewish owned for me, so they're okay by
me. Oh! And I read Vanity Fair magazine. Is that kosher enough by your
Rotmesser is seen
smirking and then begins laughing out loud at
Bransteen's naivete. Bransteen gets testy at this outburst.
Mort. Doesn't your
name mean Death? How'd you get that name? It looked
like Tippi back there almost recognized you as someone else!
Rotmesser glares at Bransteen.
What you don't know won't hurt you.
VIEW OF THE
The high beams of the
limo slice through the sky, showing various
deserted landscapes with massive rocks and numerous sand dunes etched
against the night sky. They are both still drinking the bourbon and getting
something distant caught in the range of the lights
of the highbeam and points toward it. Rabbi Rotmesser begins to drive
surreptitiously toward the SOMETHING.
A young and quite attractive
cowgirl is seen riding atop her horse. She
is bare back and bare-breasted. She wears only cut off dungarees a la
hotpants mode, a broad brimmed cowboy hat, cowboy boots, and a large
Bowie knife attached to her belt at her side. She is pulling two loaded
pack mules behind her. She gives a quick kick to the horse and moves out
of the parameters of the carlights.
Bransteen and Rotmesser cry out their amazement simultaneously.
RABBI AND BRANSTEEN
Mother of mothers!!
They stop the car and
get out for a better view. It is too late. The
cowgirl is gone and out of sight.
We can follow her tracks
in the morning. Come on ... let's finish this
Rotmesser guzzles on the bourbon bottle for another endless drink.
I'm tired. Let's sleep
and figure out how to get a new car in the
Out here they say shut-eye. Don't you read Westerns?
Bransteen throws the empty bottle into the vast expanse of night.
Quit pissing up my back ... wise guy.
Rotmesser plops face sideways onto the back seat and
Bransteen goes off a
few feet from the car in order to piss. As he is
pissing he sees the distant glow of a campfire.
HIS POV, CAMPFIRE IN THE DISTANCE
Bransteen sees what appears to be several men and the cowgirl
around a campfire. He has had as much bourbon as he can handle, the most
he ever drank in his life in one sitting. He is not exactly inebriated,
but his faculties are slightly impaired.
Bransteen begins to
walk through the dark expanse of sand toward the
glow in the distance.
is a few dozen yards from the entourage, he can see much
Close to ten men are
naked and dancing around the campfire. They have
erections and this can be seen by the shadows cast from the campfire
onto the ground. They are passing peyote pellets to each other, and dried
mushrooms. The cowgirl is holding a huge pipe and smoking from it. She
passes it ceremoniously around the circle of men, who in turn take
puffs from it.
Bransteen walks amiably toward her and no one is startled.
This is much more
exciting than the nightclub scene in
Camera caresses COWGIRL.
She is beautiful, with blonde hair and olive
Her eyes are green. She
smiles and seems completely unperturbed. Her
attire is unchanged. Bare breasted with cut-off dungaree hotpants.
Other fiction by Bryan Adrian:
Assorted fiction long and short
Jumping Ship in Batumi
Married to my Spyderco Knife
TWO”, a short story about independent movie making in the East Village of NYC
AISLING" QUARTERLY, "New World Order" by Bryan Adrian
Anatomy of a Freebaser
Nature’s Beauty, in City Writers NYC
PIG HEADED IN BRASIL, a short story by Bryan Adrian
TWISTED WHISPERS, a short story about an unusual pharmacist
short stories by bryan adrian
Vampire in my Dreamspace
best paintings of bryan + assorted fiction
Old Druid Irish Journal, ARRAN, Bryan Adrian
If I Had a Pussy [cat],
poem by Bryan Adrian
Readout on Manhattan’s Upper West Side--
WEEK, NYC, 2002, Bryan Adrian's TAKE TWO short story
MINDSTORM interview with rising new starlet in an East European film on remote viewing
Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut
Lay lady lay performed in China