THE RABBI WHO KNEW TOO MUCH

"THE RABBI WHO KNEW TOO MUCH
(ABOUT THE RAPE OF THE ANCIENT SABINE WOMEN)"

[copyrighted 1986]

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....

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TITLES ON A DARK SCREEN

SOUND of the motor of a moving car running smoothly.

EXT. COUNTRY ROAD, AFTERNOON

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 total 
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 
kannst Mich mal". Three GUITARISTS play next to Bransteen.

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.

THE GUITARIST

What did you do that for?

BRANSTEEN

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.

HIS POV

People are gathering around the Groupie, some helping, others merely 
watching. Large streaks of blood remain on her face.

Bransteen's complexion pales at the sight of her blood and he shows 
symptoms of vertigo.

THE GUITARIST

(to other band members)
The dog that doesn't bark bites 
the meanest bite

Bransteen doesn't hear a word.

THE GUITARIST

(continuing)
I think you went to far with the
Tarrantino style pulp-crap man. She has 
some very nasty friends.

Bransteen retreats quickly backstage.

GUITARIST

We'll cover for you man.
Bransteen runs for the rear exit door.

EXTERIOR, SMALL ALLEY, NIGHT

Bransteen staggers outside. He stops and vomits into a garbage can. He 
then takes a deep breath of fresh air and walks toward the main avenue.

EXTERIOR STREET

Bransteen walks without any direction in mind. He attempts to regain 
his composure with continuous deep breathing.

ON THE WILLIAMSBURGH BRIDGE

Bransteen is walking and looking down at the East River. He is calm 
now. In the middle of the bridge he sees something listing against the 
banisters. He runs towards it.

BRANSTEEN

Hey! Don't jump! Don't do
that man, please.

BRANSTEEN slows as he approaches the SOMETHING and laughs to himself 
when he recognizes the identity of the silhouette.

BRANSTEEN

I'm glad you didn't jump. You might 
have spoiled all your lovely long 
golden hair.

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.

BRANSTEEN

That's better.
(the dog sits next to him)
Do you want some ...?

Bransteen offers the Dog some gum. The dog looks him over.

BRANSTEEN

Whatever you like Goldie. 
I don't know what you're doing here, 
but I've really screwed things up!

The Dog WHIMPERS in commiseration.

BRANSTEEN

You too! Life in New York is no
afternoon picnic.

The Dog BARKS in agreement.

BRANSTEEN

I'm gonna go. Take a long holiday.
Go someplace far away.

The Dog looks at him sympathetically, pauses a moment as if lost in 
reflection, then BARKS admonishingly.

BRANSTEEN

You know you're right! There's no 
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.

BRANSTEEN

I don't know what to say to you 
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.

INTERIOR BAR

SCHMITTY

What's up man?

BRANSTEEN

Schmitty! What's up? A Scotch 
on the Rocks better be up soon!

The BARTENDER pours Bransteen a generous whiskey.

SCHMITTY

I heard about you and the bashed up 
babe. Bad news really travels fast,
don't it.

BRANSTEEN

What bad news?

SCHMITTY

That girl. She's Needle's girl.

BRANSTEEN

Needle?

Schmitty nods gravely.

BRANSTEEN

Bloody Christ!!

SCHMITTY

Yeah man. Bad break for you ...
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.

BRANSTEEN

(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.

PAULA PURCHASE

We're in front of the house of the
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 New Jersey. There are other 
people from the media waiting around.

Paula Purchase looks down the road.

PAULA PURCHASE

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 Red Sea as it passes through the 
gate. The gate closes electronically behind the limousine.

PAULA PURCHASE

"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 Israel some years back
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, 
Channel 9.

Bransteen finishes his whiskey and heads home.

EXTERIOR STREET, NIGHT

Bransteen enters a Puerto Rican bodega.

INTERIOR 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.

ANNOUNCEMENT

 
Would you like to cross the country,
at no cost?
Call this number.
212 666 4242
Depart in less than one month.

BRANSTEEN

It's too good to be true!

Bransteen leaves the bodega in a hurry, whistling with anticipation.

INTERIOR BUILDING

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.

Bransteen's face crumples before he drops down onto the hard concrete 
floor clutching at his brown bag containing his carry out sandwich and 
buttermilk.

NEEDLE

Hulk. Put the bulb in the socket. I wanna see
him squirm.

LIGHT, INTERIOR, reveals in full detail the anguish on Bransteen's 
face.

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.

SMACK

(derisively)
Why thank you Needle. Let's begin our 
'little missus' luncheon.

NEEDLE

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.

NEEDLE

(continuing)
Here's the first token of my gratitude.
Needle kicks Bransteen in the face. Blood runs instantly from 
Bransteen's mouth and nose.

NEEDLE

Bransteen! You look a little disappointed.
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 
laughing sinisterly.

Needle walks over to Bransteen.

NEEDLE

Well well well. No more luvy duvy afternoons
for you at Coney Island. You'd be lucky to get
a stinking small part in the Freak Show 
on the friggin Boardwalk. Maybe a
good Samaritan will give you alms if you take
up begging.

Gang! Let's kibbutz. We have other business
at Brighton Beach. We gotta buy some
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.

NEEDLE

Hey hey 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!

SMACK

Yeah Bransteen. Tell him you didn't
do nuthing.

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.

VOICES (OS)

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.

SMACK

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

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 Columbia University. 
Schmitty is also there, making his weekly score.

SCHMITTY

(to Bransteen)
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.

BRANSTEEN

Maybe that's better for me. I shouldn't
even be doing this little bit of blow.

SCHMITTY

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.

INTERIOR HOUSE

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.

SPIRAL STAIRS

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.

JENNY'S POV

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.

WOLFSHEIM

Yeah yeah yeah. Very funny. 
You know more American slang over in Israel
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 New World, so it's much easier to just
slip those billions into our own pockets!
No accountability here in government funding!!

How are things in Jerusalem? And Tel Aviv?

(after a pause and a look of decision)

Look. Let's cut the small talk. 
Just transfer the money to the 
account right away. Clinton needs
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.

JENNY

Dad?

Wolfsheim hangs up the telephone with a look of pride and triumph.

WOLFSHEIM

What did you find out for me Gabriel?

Gabriel fidgets with his Presbyterian minister's collar.

GABRIEL

I came up with absolutely nothing.

He didn't leave a trace. My contacts
are useless.

WOLFSHEIM

Five months on this and you tell me
he vanished into thin air?

(looking at Gabriel menacingly)

Nobody just disappears unless
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??

JENNY

Papa. I assisted Gabriel. 
I wasn't much help either!

WOLFSHEIM

(to Gabriel)

Get Rotmesser!! 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.

GABRIEL

Yes ... I've heard it several times.

WOLFSHEIM

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 
of Hollywood if you bring me his head.

EXTERIOR, FRONT OF BAR

Bransteen looks inside through a large plate glass window.

HIS POV

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.

ANOTHER STREET

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.

NEWSPAPER

Help Vicki Get Her Dog Back. 
Please call 212 733 8982 
if you have information

PAGE RIGHT, CLASSIFIEDS

Wanted. Driver/Guy Friday. 
Lengthy Trip. 
Call 212 666 2731

TELEPHONES, NEAR PUBLIC TOILETS

Bransteen is seen speaking into the telephone.

BRANSTEEN

Hello. I'm calling about the driver's job.
My name? Bransteen. Yes.

(a pause)

Yes.

(continuing)

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

WAITRESS

(with working class Scouse accent)
It's always the same with these young writers.
Thrifty as an old Liverpool gravedigger!

EXTERIOR, FRONT OF A CHEAP HOTEL

A Dog is seen running out of the revolving doors. It looks a lot like 
Blondie.

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

ROTMESSER

Page Bransteen please. Put him on the house phone. Yes. I believe he's 
waiting in the lobby.

HOTEL LOBBY

DESKCLERK

(on PA system)

Bransteen, paging Bransteen.

Bransteen reports to the deskclerk and is handed the phone.

BRANSTEEN, SPEAKING ON HOTEL PHONE

BRANSTEEN

Right Morphy. Take the elevator to 10F. I'll be right up.

Bransteen leaves the front desk and heads for the elevator.

INTERIOR HALLWAY

Bransteen surveys many doors before he finds number 10 F. As he 
approaches the door, SOUNDS of movement within the hotel room become audible. 
Bransteen knocks.

INTERIOR, HOTEL ROOM

Rabbi Rotmesser is getting out of his NYNEX uniform quickly and pulling 
on some bluejeans.

HALLWAY, HOTEL

Bransteen continues to knock and is mildly agitated at the wait.

ROTMESSER (OS)

Come in.

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.

ROTMESSER (OS)

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.

ROTMESSER

Beer or Soda?

BRANSTEEN

Give me a beer.

Rotmesser tosses a beer across the room to Bransteen, who manages to 
catch it artfully and conceal his alarm.

ROTMESSER

I need a young man to drive me out West and who can follow directions 
easily.

BRANSTEEN

I'm a good driver. When can we leave?

ROTMESSER

What are you running from? You're really in a hurry.

BRANSTEEN

Not really. I've been reminded lately that maybe a trip out of town is 
just the thing for my health.

ROTMESSER

(scratching the back of his head) Can you pack in one night?

Bransteen nods affirmatively.

ROTMESSER

(continuing)

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.

ROTMESSER

Here's a grand for getting my car out of the garage for me. It's over 
on Third Avenue and 57th with a mechanic named BUG EYE. Here's his 
address.

Rotmesser gives him a slip of paper.

ROTMESSER

(continuing)

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 
Bransteen's shoulder.

BRANSTEEN

(turning around)

Should I bring a gun?

ROTMESSER

Do you have one?

BRANSTEEN

 No.

ROTMESSER

(teasingly)

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.

HIS POV

Bransteen walks away from the hotel entrance, evidently quite pleased 
with himself.

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.

HIS POV

Two unrecognizable dreamlike forms are sitting in a dark corner. They 
are drinking and laughing, and for all appearances seem to be having a 
wonderful time.

Wolfsheim reaches 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 
mind.

INTERIOR, UPSTAIRS, WOLFSHEIM'S MAIN ROOM, NIGHT

Jenny and Gabriel are drinking a nightcap and exchanging pleasantries. 
Wolfsheim ENTERS unannounced and unexpectedly.

WOLFSHEIM

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.

JENNY

Who this time ... the Fatwah Sisters?

Gabriel adjusts his clergyman's collar and motions yes with a nervous 
nod.

GABRIEL

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 
well.

EXTERIOR, GARAGE ON THIRD AVENUE, NEXT DAY

A taxi pulls up in front of the garage. Bransteen gets out. He walks 
into the garage.

INTERIOR GARAGE

Bransteen sees a man working on a car and approaches him.

BRANSTEEN

Excuse me. I'm looking for Bug Eye.

BUG EYE

What can I do for you?

BRANSTEEN

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.

BUG EYE

Follow me.

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.

BRANSTEEN

Nice Machine. American made?

BUG EYE

Yeah. One of the few. It'll be ready in an hour. You're a bit early.

BRANSTEEN

No problem. See you in an hour. About 11:00?

BUG EYE

A little after 11:00 and she's ready for anything.

INTERIOR HOUSE, HARLEM, AFTERNOON

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.

ARA

Do you like this veil, or ... this one?

FATT

I prefer the Syrian model, to the Jordanian.

ARA

Me too.

They both giggle and begin to dress in their traditional wealthy 
merchant family attire of the ancient trading capital of Baghdad. Several 
copies of Hong Kong newspapers clutter the coffee table.

TELEVISION SCREEN

ARA

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 Manhattan. Look! 
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.

ARA

(continuing)

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.

BRANSTEEN

(laughing)

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.

BRANSTEEN

(continuing)

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 
deal.

BUG EYE

(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 
together.

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 
distance.

BUG EYE

Hey! What's going on here?

There is no reply. An echo of boots approaching makes Bug Eye very 
nervous.

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 
concrete floor.

ARA

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.

FATT

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.

BUG EYE

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.

DISSOLVE TO:

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.

BUG EYE

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.

FATT

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.

FATT

(looking at Ara)

Last chance to get off the hook.

Bug Eye is passing out.

(continuing)

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 Baghdad silk robes in 
the thick pool of blood. They are still wearing their veils, along with 
heavy duty combat boots.

ARA

(excitedly)

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.

INTERIOR CAR

Bransteen is changing a compact laser disc on the beautifully inlaid 
console of the limo's stereo. He slows for a group of pedestrians.

BRANSTEEN'S POV

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.

Bransteen laughs hysterically as he accelerates away from the 
humiliating spectacle of Needle and his fellow Hassidic henchmen in prostration.

EXTERIOR STREET

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 
window.

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).

INTERIOR CAR

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 
disc player.

Rotmesser appears 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.

ROTMESSER

Quick. Let's get out of here. I have a funny feeling something is 
wrong. How'd it go with Bug Eye?

BRANSTEEN

Great. Bloody great. He's world class. Where we headed?

ROTMESSER

Thousands of miles from this creepy hotel. Head for Jersey. We're going 
West.

HOLLAND TUNNEL, EXIT

INTERIOR LIMO

Bransteen and Rotmesser can be seen laughing as the limo blurs through 
the Jersey industrial landscape.

A sign on the turnpike indicates out of state destinations

CLOSE UP, SIGN "Las Vegas 2,200 miles"

ROTMESSER

Let's get a move on and gamble with other people's money. Not with our 
lives.

Bransteen accelerates rapidly and the old rock tune "CC RIDER" is 
playing on the compact disc console.

EXTERIOR, COUNTRY ROAD, EARLY MORNING

The limo drives by farmhouses and farmland at dawn. They are making 
good time on the rural highway.

INTERIOR, LIMO

ROTMESSER

I'm ready for some jumbo country eggs, fresh salted bacon, and chicory 
coffee. You too?

BRANSTEEN

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 
tabletop.

BRANSTEEN

What's in the giant black bag?

Rotmesser puts his hand on it protectively.

ROTMESSER

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 Mexico.

BRANSTEEN

Mexico. Great! I've never been. I studied Spanish in high school. 
Always wanted to play with it ... you know, with a senorita.

ROTMESSER

We don't have much time for senoritas now, but you'll get your chance 
later.

ROTMESSER

(continuing)

You ever been married? Got family?

BRANSTEEN

No wife. Not yet. Lost my family as a boy.

ROTMESSER

Yeah. How?

BRANSTEEN

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 AGENCY, MIDTOWN MANHATTAN

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 Manhattan skyscraper near 
Penn Station. He appears to be nervous in the awkward position into which 
the Fatwa Sisters have placed him.

ASSISTANT MANAGER

Please. I'd rather not. Our policy is never to divulge the confidential 
information of our clients.

ARA

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.

FATT

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 ...

ASSISTANT MANAGER

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.

ASSISTANT MANAGER

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 
Canada, don't they? I dimly recall that a lot of Middle Easterners, or 
was it Bolsheviks, hold sway up there! I own some stock in U.S. 
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

(together)

Oh no! We don't wish mongolianism on anyone! In answer to your 
question, we don't like the frigidity of Canada. Bransteen's just our helpless 
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 New York City --- 
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 America and 
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.

ARA

Mossad won't help us. We have very few Israeli friends.

ASSISTANT MANAGER

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 of 
Nevada.

EXTERIOR, DESERT, FLAT AND SANDY

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.

HIS POV

A superlarge 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 
the backseat.

ROTMESSER

(his head reappearing in the rear view mirror)

Are you crazy Bransteen?

BRANSTEEN

(turning his head back towards Rotmesser)

That recreational vehicle nearly rammed into us!

THEIR POV

The RV is stranded on the shoulder of the road with the main doors 
slightly ajar.

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.

TIPPI

(speaking with a breezy familiarity)

Sorry gentlemen. I didn't execute that turn very well at the entrance 
ramp.

She can see that the two men are extremely tense and she begins to 
wonder why Rotmesser is in the back seat alone.

(continuing)

Can you read our sign from here?

They both let up their guards a moment and look out the windshield.

THEIR POV

A large sign reads:

LOVE ON WHEELS. STATE WIDE DELIVERY. EVERYTHING WE DO IS LEGAL HERE IN 
NEVADA. TIPPI FLOSS REALLY DELIVERS! CHECK YOUR YELLOW PAGES.

Tippi senses their skepticism and whistles in true cowgirl fashion 
towards the trailer.

ROTMESSER'S POV

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 
as the Grand Canyon.

Rotmesser salivates as he watches the performance.

TIPPI'S POV

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.

TIPPI

Inside our "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 passions 
beyond control.

ROTMESSER

How much for the whole bunch of them?

TIPPI

One grand each tender vittle.

ROTMESSER

One thousand! Are you kidding?

TIPPI

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 
poison!

Go on!

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.

INTERIOR, LIMO

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.

TIPPI

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.

TIPPI

What's a young man like you doing on this lonely stretch of road? Won't 
your boss ... what's his name?

BRANSTEEN

Mort Feind.

TIPPI

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.

BRANSTEEN

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.

TIPPI

What's your boss's name, really?

BRANSTEEN

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 Palestine in 1941. 
Some of the Semitic raced peoples say Rabin was a cold blooded murderer 
then, especially the evicted people of greater Palestine.

TIPPI

(stifling a yawn)

Oh yeah.

BRANSTEEN

(continuing excitedly)

However, all profits Mort makes from his books he gives to the settlers 
in Hebron. They are draining water from Arab land for their internal 
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.

Remember Baruch Goldstein? He was one of Rabbi Feind's best friends in 
Hebron. His personal doctor too! It's too bad that Baruch went berserk 
and machine gunned all those Islamics down on their knees praying with 
their backs to the guns.

TIPPI

I see your license tags are from New York. You from the Apple?

(Bransteen nods yes)

I used to live there too. It's great if you like to spend all the money 
you earn.

Say! Your boss must have made out pretty well in the City.

BRANSTEEN

Yeah. He's on good terms with them lawyers at Hirsch Weinig Inc. and 
with their tough looking rabbi associates out in Crown Heights. They are 
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.

TIPPI

I had a boss like that once. He was from Punjab, or Transylvania, I've 
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.

BRANSTEEN

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 Mexico.

Can you tell me something? Do the Aztecs still make human sacrifices to 
Baal?

TIPPI

I don't know but I myself could always use a decent young man like you!

BRANSTEEN

(quite surprised and pleased)

How's that?

TIPPI

As they say in Brooklyn, "if dings don't work out poifecktly" ... come 
back and look for me. I'll give you da job!

BRANSTEEN

What kind of job?

TIPPI

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.

Bransteen seems somewhat uncomfortable with the suggestiveness of 
Tippi's come on, although he feels himself surrendering to the tug of his 
desires.

BRANSTEEN

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.

TIPPI

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.

BRANSTEEN

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)

 (continuing)

in Palestine, ... uh ... that Folke Bernadette died on a sand dune in a 
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.

TIPPI

(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 USA, Then the Betar movement of Begin in 
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 
USA into Palestine before even World War I. It's too bad the new 
homeland wasn't in Uganda near a huge lake, nor in the eastern forests of 
Russia near Korea, two prospective homelands other than Palestine. Then 
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.

BRANSTEEN

Well! Enough chit chat. But you did forget to mention the Hasamba, the 
secret organization of Israeli children trained every year since 1950 
to spy for Israel all over the world ... masters of espionage. Nor the 
mysterious death of James B. Forrestal, Defense Secretary of the U.S., 
in 1949.

Hey! No more chit chat. I've got to work! Rabbi Feind must be looking 
for me!

TIPPI

(muttering in an inaudible voice to Bransteen)

There are plenty of people ... looking ... for Rabbi Feind. You got it 
all backwards.

BRANSTEEN

What's that? What d'ya say?

TIPPI

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 
view mirror.

HIS POV

Rotmesser is holding two different colored satin panties and sniffing 
them in a grandiose manner.

INTERIOR TIPPI'S TRAILER, MOVING ON A ROAD, DAY

Tippi picks up a car phone and dials.

TIPPI

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.

 (continuing)

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 Union. I often confuse them.

So it's the ACLU that will transfer the money.

 Not the ADL. Did I hear 
you right? From their New York office?

No. Who's sending it then? Okay. Gotcha!

EXTERIOR, NEW MEXICO HIGHWAY, THE FATWAH SISTERS ON MOTORCYCLES

ARA

(speaking into a cellular phone)

Route 66 West ... in Nevada .. I hear you well Wolfsheim. Just don't 
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.

ROTMESSER

(as he enters the car, sarcastically)

Deacon Bransteen. You're a lot like Dorothy Parker, and Harrison Ford, 
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 
music.

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 
south.

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.

HIS POV

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.

ROTMESSER

Would you turn down that damned noise!

Rotmesser lays 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 
visibly offended.

ROTMESSER

(sitting himself comfortably in the back seat again)

You can't drive safely with so much brain interference in the air.

BRANSTEEN

(defensively)

What you call brain interference ain't half as bad as that lousy 
bourbon you're drinking. That's stinking brain-acid!

ROTMESSER

(smiling confidently)

Let's sing a song together that ain't no brain-acid or brain 
interference.

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.

ROTMESSER

Stop the car!

Bransteen drives over to the shoulder of the road and stops.

EXTERIOR ROAD

Rotmesser gets out of the car and walks toward a ditch. He pukes his 
guts out.

ROTMESSER (OS)

When we're in Mexico we won't have to make these little detours. 
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.

ROTMESSER

(suddenly)

I'll drive.

BRANSTEEN

You can't drive, you're drunk!

ROTMESSER

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.

BRANSTEEN

Rabbi. Let me drive! You're going to kill us!

ROTMESSER

No way punk.

BRANSTEEN

(pleadingly)

P-l-e-a-s-e, Mort. Stop running, Rabbi!

Rabbi Rotmesser finds the compact disk he had been seeking. He puts on 
the old tune One Scotch, One Beer, One Bourbon by George Thoroughgood. 
He turns up the volume to an unbearable range of decibals.

ROTMESSER

(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.

EXTERIOR, TWO MOTORCYCLES ON HIGHWAY, NIGHT

Ara and Fatt are seen signaling to each other, with wildly waving arms, 
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.

INTERIOR, LIMO

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.

ROTMESSER'S POV

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.

The Fatwah Sisters next enter the road, following the dust swirls like 
a yellow brick road.

BRANSTEEN'S POV, LOOKING AT ROTMESSER DRIVING

BRANSTEEN

(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

ARA

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 
targets.

EXTERIOR LIMO

A few bullets pierce through the back right rear of the limo.

BRANSTEEN

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!!

Rotmesser immediately 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 to 
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.

INTERIOR LIMO

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 Baghdad 
vampire-like huntresses. Bransteen, still on the floor, looks up and 
sees that Rotmesser is swallowed up by fear.

BRANSTEEN

Can I come up now?

ROTMESSER

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 
road.

Rotmesser looks into the rear view mirror and squints his eyes.

ROTMESSER

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.

BRANSTEEN

(picking up the litre of bourbon from the floor)

Yeah. But can I get up now? My legs are asleep. They're killing me!

ROTMESSER

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.

ROTMESSER

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.

BRANSTEEN

(wiping whiskey from his chin)

Who were those maniacs?

ROTMESSER

I think they were what the police call "desert pirates".

BRANSTEEN

Desert Pirates?

ROTMESSER

Yeah. You never heard of desert highway bandits?

BRANSTEEN

No. Never before.

ROTMESSER

Then you don't read Penthouse.

BRANSTEEN

Sorry. Haven't needed to yet.

ROTMESSER

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.

ROTMESSER

(continuing)

What do you read anyway, Readers Digest ... or perhaps Catholic Worker?

BRANSTEEN

(defensively)

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 
standards?

Rotmesser is seen smirking and then begins laughing out loud at 
Bransteen's naivete. Bransteen gets testy at this outburst.

BRANSTEEN

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.

ROTMESSER

(laughing)

What you don't know won't hurt you.

VIEW OF THE NIGHT DESERT

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 
extremely sleepy.

Bransteen notices 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.

THEIR POV

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.

ROTMESSER

We can follow her tracks in the morning. Come on ... let's finish this 
bottle.

Rotmesser guzzles on the bourbon bottle for another endless drink.

ROTMESSER