- Logline: A schizophrenic hitman babysits for the adopted daughter of an advertising agent in a pub.

- Any genre

- Any MPAA rating

- under 5 pages

Vote for the one you like best.

A

FADE IN:

INT. ROY’S APARTMENT - DAY

A rathole.  ROY, 35, unshaven, sits at a table, taps his fingers nervously.  The golden ring on his right hand knocks incessantly on the cheap wood.

WALT, 47, close-cropped gray hair, steely eyes, sits across from him.

WALT
Last time, Roy.  Last chance.  I need the money.

ROY
I keep telling you I don’t have it!  You’re gonna have to give me time to come up--

WALT
We’ve already given you too much time.  Plus, you ran.  I had to track you down here.  I hate it when I have to do that.

Walt stands up, paces around the table.

Roy rubs his stubbly chin, his eyes dance wildly.

ROY
Let me...let me just think of--

With lightning speed, Walt removes a thin cord garotte from inside his shirt sleeve.  He wraps it around Roy’s throat, squeezes.

Roy falls to the floor, pulling Walt with him.  He gags, tries desperately to pull the cord from his throat.  

Walt grits his teeth, tightens the noose.  Roy punches backwards, hitting Walt in his shoulder.  His efforts weaken, then finally stop.

Walt stands, looks down at Roy’s body, stuffs the garotte into the pocket of his jacket.

WALT
Sorry, Roy.

EXT. CITY STREET - DAY

Walt walks out of the apartment building, strides up the sidewalk.

Dozens of VOICES whisper unintelligibly.  Walt stops, looks around.  Anger, frustration registers on his face.

WALT
Damn.

He looks to his right, sees The Golden Goose Pub.  He walks in.

INT. THE GOLDEN GOOSE - DAY

The place is mostly empty.  Walt heads right for the bar, beckons the
BARTENDER.

WALT
Harp draft and a shot of Jack.

As the Bartender fills his order, Walt reaches into his pocket, pulls out a bottle of prescription medication.  He pops a pill into his mouth.

The Bartender slides the drinks in front of Walt, who quickly downs the shot.  He lays some cash on the table, then turns to observe the denizens of the pub.

He instantly notices RACHEL, 8, sitting by herself at a table.  She waves at Walt.  

Curious, Walt waves back.  He takes a sip of his beer, walks over to her.

WALT
Are you here by yourself?

RACHEL
No, I’m with my dad.  He said he’d be right back.

WALT
Well, lotta weirdos in this town.  I’ll sit with you ‘til he gets back.

Walt sits in the chair diagonal from Rachel.

WALT
What’s your name?

RACHEL
Rachel.

WALT
Nice name.  I’m Walt.

Walt glances to his left.  Sees PETER, 40s, a bearded man, staring at him from a booth.

Walt looks back to Rachel.

WALT
Like I said, lotta weirdos.

Walt glances back to Peter, who still stares at him.

WALT
Something I can do for you, man?

No response from Peter, just an intense gaze.

WALT
You know, if this kid wasn’t here, I’d--

Walt furrows his brow, looks Peter up and down.

WALT
(to himself)
Peter DeNunzio.

RACHEL
What’s the matter?

Walt looks at Rachel, back to Peter.

WALT
Uh...that man.  I think I know him.  But, it can’t be him.

RACHEL
Why not?

WALT
Because I kil...because that guy isn’t around anymore.

Walt looks away from Peter, closes his eyes tightly, rubs his forehead.

RACHEL
Are you okay?

Walt opens his eyes.  Peter still sits there, staring.  

Walt turns away, glances to the other side of the bar.  TANNER, slender, 20s, leans against the far wall, arms crossed.  He stares at Walt.

WALT
What the hell?

RACHEL
What’s wrong, Walt?

WALT
That’s Tanner Krebbs.  I stuffed that guy into a--  

Walt wipes his lips with a shaking hand.  He gazes around the pub.   RALPH, a fat, elderly man sits at a table, stares at Walt.  Walt’s eyes narrow in disbelief.

WALT
(to himself)
Ralph Azeroff.

Walt continues to scan the pub.  One patron after another stares directly at him.  A leather clad BIKER.  A young LATINO MAN.  THREE MIDDLE-AGED MEN in a booth.

Walt shakes his head, takes a long swig of beer.

WALT
No.

JOHN, 38, takes a seat at the table.

JOHN
(to Rachel)
Hi, honey.

RACHEL
Hi, Daddy.

Walt struggles to regain his composure.

WALT
I was, uh, I was just sitting here while you were away.  This is a very nice girl you have here.

JOHN
I know, Walt.

Walt leans back in his chair.

JOHN
Don’t remember us?  Well, it has been a while.  About twenty years.

Walt looks at Rachel, back to John.

JOHN
Car bomb.  Meant for me.  Got her, too.

Slowly, Walt turns to Rachel.  She stares at him.  Not angry, not judgmental, just a focused gaze.

Pale, sweating, Walt pushes his chair away from the table.  He coughs, sputters, shakes his head.  He reaches into his jacket, pulls out his bottle of pills, shakes four into his hand.

ROY (O.S.)
Your pills won’t help you, Walt.

Walt looks up, sees Roy standing above him.  Roy takes the fourth seat at the table.

Walt slams the pills into his mouth, guzzles his beer.

WALT
You’ll go away soon.  All of you.

ROY
Not this time.

Roy taps his left shoulder.  Confused, Walt slowly looks to his own shoulder, sees a tiny spot of blood.  

His eyes flash back to Roy, who balls his hand into a fist, displaying his golden ring.  With his other hand, Roy slides back the jeweled crest of the ring, revealing a tiny spike.

ROY
Gotcha.

WALT
Cyanide?

Roy nods his head once, stands.  John, Rachel and the rest of Walt’s victims stand, walk for the front door.  One by one, they step into the light.

Struggling to breathe, Walt slowly lays his head on the table.  He looks to Rachel, who waves at him, then disappears through the door.  Walt closes his eyes.

The Bartender cleans a glass, notices the man asleep at the table.  He shakes his head, helps another customer.

FADE OUT.

B

OVER BLACK:

SUPER:  If your circle stays unbroken, then you’re a lucky man, cause it never, never, never has for me.

FADE IN:

EXT. DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES – EVENING

An orange fireball sinks into the Western horizon.

Traffic sits at a standstill, while PEDESTRIANS make their way through the maze of skyscrapers.

EXT. TIMMY NOLAN’S PUB & TAVERN – CONTINUOUS

ARTHUR MIDDLETON, 50’s, well dressed, stern features, stands with his daughter, MICAH, 12, cute, innocent eyes, just outside the entrance.

Throngs of swiftly moving PEOPLE bristle by.

MICAH
Are you sure he’ll be here?

ARTHUR
He damned well better…if he knows what’s good for him.

Micah’s eyes rise to the glowing neon sign above the entrance.

MICAH
Why do we have to go into a bar?

Arthur pats her head like a dog, as he scans the moving crowd.

ARTHUR
It’s not a bar…it’s a pub, and it’ll only be for a couple hours.

Micah rolls her eyes.

NICAH
Mom would never…

ARTHUR
Your Mom’s gone, Kid.  You’re with me now…remember?  Quit bitching…I’m tired of it.

ASH, early 40’s, handsome, yet somewhat “off”, approaches.  His eyes shift constantly around him.

ARTHUR
Ash!  You’re late.

They shake hands.

ASH
Am I?  Must have been the winds.  I had to adjust my point of sail and trim, while tacking the entire time…it was quite a ride.  Thank God for the seagulls…they guided me in.

Micah looks on in bewilderment, a smile on her face.

ARTHUR
Alright, Ash…

He motions to Micah.

ARTHUR
My daughter, Micah.
(beat)
Micah, this is Ash.

Ash raises and lowers his eyebrows in rapid succession, bows, and curtseys.

ASH
God save the Queen.  Aren’t you a beautiful flower, though?

Micah blushes, smiles bashfully, and curtseys herself.

Arthur pulls Ash close.

ARTHUR
Pull it together, man.  You hear me?   Take care of her, and take care of our arrangement. There will be two of them.  They’ll be together constantly.  Father and son, Russian, the elder with a triangular scar on his right cheek.   It’s got to be quiet, with no other casualties.  I’ll be back in two hours, tops.  Money’s already been deposited in your account.

ASH
Tally ho, your Liege.

INT. TIMMY NOLAN’S PUB & TAVERN – LATER

An IRISH BAND plays, while PATRONS jig in front of them in a wild frenzy.

Ash and Micah sit in a booth in the rear of the pub.  Ash drinks a dark beer from a pint, while Micah sips a soda.

MICAH
Why do they call you Ash?

ASH
Why do they call you Micah?

She laughs.

MICAH
Cause that’s my name, Silly.

ASH
And it’s my name too…not Micah, mind you, but Ash.

MICAH
That’s a funny name.

Ash’s gaze shifts suddenly away from Micah, up to the rafters of the ceiling, then back to Micah.  He furrows his brows, puts his hands under his chin.

ASH
Is it funnier than Sinbad?  Or Ahab?

MICAH
(Laughing)
No, no, I guess not.

ASH
Well, good then.  We’re in agreement on something.

His gaze shifts back to the rafters.  He points his finger up, waves it back and forth.

ASH (CONT.)
Leave us be, damned birds!

Micah’s gaze follows his finger.

MICAH
What is it?  What’s up there?  The seagulls?

ASH
No, the seagulls stay outdoors.  It’s the damned eagles and owls.  Always have to be on the lookout for those bastards…they’ll swoop down in a moment’s notice, silently stab you in the neck…then you’re done, before you even know it.

He pulls close to Micah, looks around in all directions.

ASH (CONT.)
Most can’t see ‘em, but mark me, they’re there alright.  They’re always there.

MICAH
You’ve got a funny way about you, but I like you.  Will you protect me from them?

Ash raises his pint.

ASH
Always…and forever.

They toast.

LATER

Ash stands, swings his arms out wildly, eyes blinking madly.

Micah’s eyes widen.

MICAH
Are…you ...alright?

Ash focuses, cocks his head, looks to the ceiling again.

ASH
I’m sorry, my Princess.  They’re near.  All around us now.  You’re safe with me…that I promise.

Micah stares straight ahead.

Ash breaks out in an Irish jig. Claps his hands in rhythm to the song.

Micah laughs, claps along.

ASH
You stay here…I’ll be right back.

He walks away, still in dance-mode, past…

THE BAR

…where MIROSLAV, 60’s, a small triangular scar on his cheek, and YURIY, 30’s, sit.

MIROSLAV
(in Russian, subtitled)
God’s speed, my son.  We go now.

They both stand, adjust themselves.

INT.  TIMMY NOLAN’S PUB & TAVERN - MEN’S RESTROOM - STALL - MOMENTS LATER

Ash pulls a capped vile from his left pocket, places it carefully on the commode.  From his right pocket, he takes out a small silver box, opens it up, revealing two gold rings, each with a wicked barb extending out.

He looks up, blinks, grimaces, shakes his head from side to side.

ASH
Be with me, Lord…be with me now.  I sin again, but you know me...you know who I am.  Send the eagles and owls in all their fury.

He carefully places a ring on each thumb, barb facing in, towards his palms.  From the vile, he extends a swab, wet with a sticky glowing liquid, and covers each barb.

INT. TIMMY NOLAN’S PUB & TAVERN – MOMENTS LATER

Ash walks toward the booth, a strange glee in his step, and a wild look in his eyes.

Miroslav and Yuriy sit beside a scared and tearful Micah, smiles on their faces.

MIROSLAV
(in Russian, subtitled)
The great Ash, I presume?  You’re getting slow…careless, friend.

Ash’s eyes scan the situation, jump up to the rafters overhead, then down, into Micah’s eyes.

ASH
(in Russian, subtitled)
I may indeed be getting slower, but trust me, friend, my fury comes quickly…you have no idea.

MIROSLAV
(in Russian, subtitled)
My son, here, Sambo champion, back in Mother Land. He may not look it, but he snap her neck before you unleash any fury.

MICAH
Ash?  What’s happening?

ASH
Be still….trust me.

Ash cocks his head from side to side, blinks in rapid succession, looks up to the rafters.

Ash’s POV:

A horde of EAGLES and OWLS line the rafters above, all gazing down.

BACK TO SCENE:

ASH
(in Russian, subtitled)
She has nothing to do with this, let her walk away.  We settle this like men.

Yuriy drapes his arm around Micah, pulls her close.

MIROSLAV
(in Russian, subtitled)
I have daughter, her age.  I’m old man, now.  Too much blood has been spilled for too long.  Meddleton’s already dead.  His body sinks to the bottom of La Brea tar pits as we speak.  I pay you twice what he give you already.  You have my word as gentleman.  We all walk away…or…we end it here, and no one walk away.

Ash looks down at the deadly rings, adorning his thumbs, then back up to the rafters.

Ash’s POV:

The eagles and owls all madly flap their wings in unison, beaks opening and closing, eyes fixed in a wicked stare.

Then, they transform, one by one, into DOVES.  They take flight, and drop from the rafters downward.

BACK TO SCENE:

Ash spins wildly, bats his arms around him in defense.

Yuriy tightens his grip on Micah.  Miroslav pulls a silver revolver from his waisteband.

Micah SCREAMS, but it’s drowned out by the music.

Ash suddenly calms, raises his hands out in front of him, in a calming way.

ASH
(in Russian, subtitled)
No!  No more bloodshed.

Micah watches wide eyed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

MIROSLAV
(in Russian, subtitled)
I have people in Geneva who can help you…with your disease.  I give safe passage to you…

He looks over at Micah.

MIROSLAV
(in Russian, subtitled)
…and her.

EXT. TIMMY NOLAN’S PUB & TAVERN – NIGHT

Ash and Micah walk hand in hand.

MICAH
Was it the eagles and owls?

They stop.  Ash looks down, into her swollen eyes.

ASH
No, Flower, it was the doves.  It was the doves this time.

FADE OUT:

It's A for me!

A for me, too. Reason being that it's well focused and a more coherent story and concept; the execution needs a tightening but it was still pretty far clear of B, IMHO.

I don't know, maybe it's just me but seems like someone worked on the execution of those to make it impossible to understand who the authors are

I still know! Not going to start guessing now, only with Michael's permission.

You can start guessing 12 hrs after I posted them.

I enjoyed A's story but B gave me the feel of a schizo hit man who redeems himself.
I loved the doves from above.

G

I am having a bit of a problem. A seems very well written, and is a pretty cool story. But I am not seeing a schizo hitman. I am seeing a hitman who has been injected with a fatal drug and is having a near death experience, one that is influenced by the drug. I didn't see any evidence of being schizo before the injection.

Am I missing something? Another reader please chime in. I am not sure if A qualified. This was a complicated log, but the schizo part was essential to it, and also what makes this one tough to write.

B is very well written, a good story, and an ambitious one. A flows a little smoother, partly because it was a far simpler story, but mainly because it does not deal with the difficult part of this log, schizophrenia.

I will wait to see more responses, hopefully some explanation, before I vote.

Kevin,

You need to make up your own mind.  

I have no idea who wrote what, no money on the winner! I'm just trying to make sure I am understanding. I do see some evidence now, what you mentioned, and the one I listed. I still think anyone would be hard pressed to get schizo out of what is there if you're not already looking for it. B really wrestled with the schizo.

Would a schizo on meds go into a bar to drink? The one in B is not on meds, so I have no problem seeing in a bar.

I'm not trying to nitpick. They're both really good tales.

Absolutely Michael, I was not looking for help on the vote. I just thought this would be the place to discuss the story. The other Showdowns were easier for me, this one is close. I think when I finished the stories, I was leaning A. But then I remembered a schizo hit man was required, and wasn't sure if I found that in A.

That was why I posted. Khamana's response was very helpful. So I went and reread both. I think B had a much tougher challenge because the schizo element was really central. So I shifted toward B.

So I was kind of schizo on my voting!

I don't think Jeff wrote either of these; no blood, no sex, no penis jokes!

Both stories were cool though!

You're right, Kev. Mine came out too long, so it got axed.  Cornie put in an alternate at the last minute.  I've been sick with a stomach virus and I literally couldn't cut mine to fit in time.

Sorry...hopefully, next time, I'll jump back in.  My apologies to everyone...

So who's in? And you guys must all be hanging in the same bar; everyone's getting sick!

Okey dokey smokey! It's been a pleasure reading both of these. I've been saying that a lot lately-- because it's true.

The writing that's on display here is truly wonderful to behold.

Now I've gotta choose one...

The amazing thing about A's craft is that the hitman isn't overtly shown as having a mental illness until the end. When he finally puts his head down on the table at the end, might we assume that he's not really dead?

If this is the case, then you have truly done a remarkable job here!

B is loaded with stunning visuals that Michah winds up seeing in the end also. And it turns out that Ash doesn't do the saving, but it's a wonderful act of G-d. I loved that scene.

In my opinion B had a few problems.

The beginning Over Black with words wasn’t strong in my opinion. Visuals with Voice Over would have been better.

What is “somewhat off”? I asked myself. It's very subjective. Needs to be nailed better.

High points on the depiction of mental illness being shown in a positive light.

Just after Miroslav, the Russian is introduced, you don’t need to go into a full Slug. All you need is a sub header.

Also, I think you had Ash subtitled with Russian at one point.

I'm kindUV thinking to go with A because it was a faster read. The dialogue was really good. I felt it was highly crafted and it felt like something that I would be proud to recommend.

B's visuals combined with the good side of the hitman portrayed together with the girl allows a lot of room for the actor. And placing the girl in the position of danger gave a high tension factor.

In the end, I'm going to have to go with...

Wait. Going to have a sip of wine first.

Hey Don: It's Merlot.  

And I'm getting over the flu thank G-d.

Okeys, I'm going to go with...

This is very difficult but it's a hard choice to say a, but I have to anyway.

Congratulations to both partakers in this insanity! No losers, but only good sports!

Sandra