Table Read - Run Rabbit Run - Act 1

Episode Date: August 13, 2024

"Run Rabbit Run" bursts onto the scene like an audio-cinematic shotgun blast to the senses. This TABLE READ of the first act delivers a whirlwind of snappy dialogue, colorful characters, and enough twists to give you whiplash. We're thrown headfirst into a world where luck is currency and everyone's trying to beat the house. Our anti-hero Roland is a smooth-talking, lady-killing son of a gun who can't drive for shit but somehow always lands on his feet. His partner Monte? Picture a guy trying to go straight but can't shake the stink of his past. Then there's this whole mess with an urn, some psycho brothers, and enough double-crosses to make your head spin. The script crackles with the kind of razor-sharp banter that'll make you wanna 'rewind' just to catch all the zingers. It's got that perfect mix of tension and laughs, like if Guy Ritchie and the Coen Brothers had a love child raised by Lady Luck herself. Buckle up. This ain't your grandma's crime caper. It's a wild ride that'll leave you begging for Act Two faster than you can say "Run Rabbit Run."

Avrò un certo langorino Ovviamente no panino No no no Un boccone ricco di gusto Se conosco il posto giusto Siamo d'accordo su su via Tutti alla piadineria È tornata la solare con crudo e stracciatella

Aggiungi salsa mango, aglio nero o peperone Amerai ogni boccone. La piadineria, la più buona che ci sia. 1, 2, 3, Table Rini, Run Rabbit Run! Yeah! Brilliant! Yes, yes, yes! Check!

Run Rabbit Run, written by Jesse Carter and Thomas Beaudoin. Black. We hear water running in a bathtub. Rabbit Run, written by Jesse Carter and Thomas Beaudoin. Black, we hear water running in a bathtub. The faucet shuts off, someone's bathing. Super, rely on the rabbit's foot if you must, but remember, it didn't work for the rabbit. Interior, Cherry's house, bathroom, afternoon, 1969. A hazy sheen of vapor clouds the beautiful bathroom of a mid-century home. Fiona Cherry, 30, mother, natural beauty, conflicted, washes herself in a trance-like state, sliding the

sponge in long strokes along her arms. After a moment of zen, the door opens and in comes Killian Cherry, six years old, innocent shy boy. He goes to the sink and stands on his toes to wash his hands. Killian, my love, would you come over here, please? Killian turns and sees his mother. He walks over to the bathtub. Fiona takes his hand and kisses it. My sweet boy, you know how much I love you, don't you?

Killian nods. More than anything in the whole world. Can you keep't you? Killian nods. More than anything in the whole world. Can you keep a secret? Killian nods again. I love you most of all. He smiles softly. Tears run down her cheek. Why are you crying?

Those are good tears, honey. Is your father and brother home? Killian shakes his head. Do you have your knife with you? He pulls his pocket knife out of a small sleeve secured to his belt and hands it to her. Thank you, my love. Not thinking too much of it, Killian turns to leave, but she holds on to his hand. I want you to stay with me.

Killian turns back. Fiona squeezes his hand and stares into his eyes. Don't be scared. She proceeds to cut her wrist. Killian watches, confused, as the blood flows down her arm. She squeezes his hand tighter, not allowing his release. Look at me, Killian. It's okay. Everything is going to be fine from now on. I promise. They stare at one another as she slowly fades away.

I love you. I always will. Killian stands in silence, holding his unconscious mother's hand. We hear the chime of a toy jack-in-the-box cranking louder from outside the bathroom. Killian's twin brother, Jameson, six, spirited, outgoing, emerges in the doorway and sees the horror. He drops the jack-in-the-box and the metal toy clangs hard on the floor Killian's nose starts to bleed his blood drips into the bathwater mixing with his mother's blood interior police station break room day present droplets of blood red grenadine fall into a glass of 7up a hand A hand squeezes the bottle, accidentally popping the cap off, spilling the red syrup everywhere.

Mol Ray, 40-45, clumsy detective, tries to clean the counter, only making it worse. God damn, I should just kill myself. He sees his reflection in the window and deflates. Tomorrow. I'll do it tomorrow. He picks up his Shirley Temple and two coffees. We follow him through several corridors to... Mulray enters the drinks. The drink moans, squirts.

Mulray enters with the drinks. Monty, 35, roguish, nobody's fool. And Newman, 45 to 55, female, lead detective, headstrong. Turn to Mulray, who looks as though he survived a firing squad. Gosh, hope it wasn't too much trouble. If Mulray could smack him, he would. Newman flips through a folder and continues the interrogation. You're absolutely certain that was the last time you saw Roland?

Absolutely. I haven't seen him since I got out. Mulray removes the cigarette from Monty's mouth and drops it into Monty's untouched coffee. Hey now, that won't lead to a friendship. Easy, wildcat. This ain't a summer camp. We're not here to collect friends. We're here to bring down dirtbags like yourself. Monty flips up another cigarette, catching it between his lips like a smartass. You got a little something on your shirt, John Wayne. Thanks. Cleanliness is next to godliness. Isn't that what they say? Our heroes can't be sloppy. You know I'm here to help.

I need your help like I need a kidney stone. Well, I was gonna say Clint Eastwood, but he's not fat. Cork the peace stream, boys. It says here that for over ten years you drove for Rowan. like I need a kidney stone. Well, I was gonna say Clint Eastwood, but he's not fat. Cork the peace stream, boys. It says here that for over 10 years, you drove for Rowan. On occasion, so what? I also gave my grandmother a few rides to the grocery store. That doesn't make me her fucking chauffeur.

I haven't driven anything in eons. I've transferred to a whole new mode of transportation. It's called walking. You might want to look into it. Mulray fumes. Newman looks through another pile of documents. Under no circumstances should Roland ever be allowed to operate a motored vehicle if any kind or terrible things will happen. Enlighten me.

What sort of terrible things? Monty smirks at his own words as he lights his cigarette. The cracking of the tobacco turns to rumbling of a motorcycle. Fade to exterior, driveway, day, flashback. Roland, 16, black, ruggedly handsome with a scar, magnetic charisma,

a motherfucking ease to him, sits on a motorcycle. Monty, 16, stands next to him, revving the throttle. Where's the gas? Seriously? Roland smiles at him. Monty points to the throttle with a discouraging look. Are you sure you've driven one of these?

Monty gives the helmet to Roland. Roland inspects it. Relax. If it's got handles, I can handle it. How many times? Roland gives the helmet back to Monty. All the time. Roland revs the engine.

He winks at Monty and speeds off, riding out of the driveway when... Wham! He gets hit by a car, throwing him in the air. Ah, shit! Goddamn. That's a long time ago. Oh, shit. He lands on his feet with a puzzled look on his face.

Roland shrugs. Monty charges after Roland. A classic white Cadillac pulls up. Flashback, interior, car, day. Roland, 16, sits at the wheel of the white Cadillac, nervous. He inspects all the mirrors, watches for any unforeseen disaster. He notices a gorgeous woman in the car next to him.

He smiles and winks at her when, bam, a hot air balloon on fire crashes down on his car. The pilot, engulfed in flames, climbs out of the basket and runs around in a panic. Roland gets out of the car in shock. The smoke builds. Back to interior, police station, interrogation room. Monty blows a cloud of smoke with a smirk on his face.

I guess you'll just have to use your imagination. Start with terrible things. Newman slides photos of evidence across the table that links Roland to the current investigation. I have to admit, these guys are clever, like leafcutter ants. They never strip the tree bare. They harvest a little, just enough to leave them standing, allowing the wealth to grow back. Watered-down heroes, but the only pockets they've been lining are their own. They're all photos of small white rabbit figurines, with an R printed on its belly.

Tell me, how many more of these does he have left to hand out? He's already attached over a dozen robberies in California alone, nearly 67 hits worldwide, not counting the five jewelry stores in Manhattan just in 2008. hits worldwide, not counting the five jewelry stores in Manhattan just in 2008. Mulray smirks and holds up a picture of what resembles Monty in the driver's seat of a car in front of a jewelry store. And it appears, according to rumor, that if he so much as sits behind the wheel of anything, all hell breaks loose. You're a third-generation race car driver, Monty, and his lifelong friend. That's pretty convenient for a man whose kryptonite is driving. Photo montage.

Monty, nine, driving a go-kart. Monty, 16, on a dirt bike with a trophy in his arms. Monty, 16, drifting in a normal car with Roland, taking a Polaroid in the passenger seat, smiling with cop cars behind them. What's your point? Why did you quit racing? I don't need to talk about it. Did

it have anything to do with your father's death? Monty gazes at Mulray, and if he could kill him, he would. Is that why I'm here? To talk about my father? Mulray doesn't answer. You shouldn't believe everything you read. Words in the paper will never amount to the whole truth. Roland and I no longer speak. Haven't for quite some time. I don't know what else to tell you. Was he always this lucky? I'll put it this way. If a cat has nine lives, Roland borrowed the other eight. Flashback. Interior. Elementary school classroom. Day. It's Valentine's Day.

Roland, nine, same scar, is at his school desk, smiling ear to ear while classmates place lavish cards and candy in front of him. It starts to pile up. Roland grabbed Lady Luck by the tits and never let go. She took to him immediately. She rubbed her sweet paws all over him. Roland stares longingly at Amelia, Nine, Strong-willed, Cindy Crawford-Mole, sitting at her desk. One of the girls kisses Roland on the cheek. Unfazed, he continues to gaze in Amelia's direction. Monty, nine, watches it all unfold from his desk beside Roland. That's what we love and hate about him all at the same time.

Amelia catches Roland's stare and offers him the subtlest smile. A large bully aggressively jumps up from his chair, charging Roland just before he can reach our hero. A fist punches the bully across the face, sending a tooth flying. exterior elementary school entrance, continuous. Roland, holding hands with Amelia and Monty, burst out the front doors, followed by the enraged toothless bully and his gang. Monty shakes the pain from his hand.

Freeze. Roland and Amelia have a big grin. Monty is annoyed. He's always had this wonderful aura. He just can't shake off, and everyone else gets to basking. Back to Interior, Police Station, Interrogation Room, Day. Luck is about all he has left. Monty puts out a cigarette and his coffee before standing up. This has been illuminating, but I have a life I'd like to continue.

He heads for the door. We may have further questions as this progresses. As what progresses? You guys are about to get your fingers clipped dipping in the wrong cookie jar, Monty. It's only a matter of time before someone applies pressure on the lid. Roland is slick, but he's hardly special. Just lucky, that's all. I can't think of anything I'd rather be.

He opens the door. Monty. Monty stops in his tracks. I'd hate to see you measure new drapes for another six by nine. He opens the door. Monty stops in his tracks. I'd hate to see you measure new drapes for another six by nine. If you catch a rabbit once, you can catch him again. He closes the door behind him. Cut to black. Super. Run, rabbit, run.

Interior, police station lobby. Moments later. Monty exits the men's room, adjusting his belt. He passes by Amelia, 27, cutting eyes, Cindy Crawford Moll, at the reception desk. He stops and looks back, wondering why she looks so familiar. Suddenly, two women charge through the front doors, disguised with ultra-realistic Hillary Clinton and Jackie O masks, both wearing dresses.

Both are armed with guns, holding dirty bums as hostage. The police officers draw their pistols. Easy! Easy, easy now, or the bum paints the floor. No one wants a mess, especially that guy. Hillary Clinton points her gun at the janitor, who looks nervous gripping his model. Si. Okay, so let's keep it clean, boys. Guns on the floor. Now!

Don't test my patience. I lost the presidency twice. You know we can't do that. Technically, I'm not a bum. I... Shut up! The police officers hold their aim. Hillary Clinton points her gun at Monty.

You! Get over here! Me? I, uh... Hey, do you like having kneecaps? Monty instantly walks over. Jackie O releases her bum and grabs Monty, pressing the gun against his cheek. If anyone follows us, we're gonna blow up

the school bus around the corner. Both of them! Hillary Clinton gives a scolding look at Jackie O. The two of them make their way out, holding their hostages. Exterior, police station alleyway, continuous. Hillary Clinton places a large board securing the doors from the outside and then shoves Jackie O. Both of them? What the fuck? I said THE, which implies singular. Only one, not two. That's dark.

Yeah, yeah, yeah, my bad. It was in the moment and the nerves. I thought it would be more impactful. I just, I went for it. Oh, she went for it? Keep moving. Hillary Clinton hands a $20 bill to the bum. I thought I would be more impactful. I just, I went for it. Oh, she went for it? Keep moving. Hillary Clinton hands a $20 bill to the bum. Bullshit! I didn't take time out of my schedule for 20 bucks. Schedule?

You said 50. I'm a Democrat. I'll mail the rest. Yeah, sure. Just send it to my house in Tahoe. Fuck you! Does it look like I have a residence? Angered, the bum swings hard and misses,

UGH! falling to the ground. Hillary Clinton hurries away with Jackie O and Monty. What goes around comes around, motherfucker! Hell is hot and there's always room! Interior, police station video room, day. A small group of cops sit in front of a TV monitor. They watch closely a surveillance video where a man gets hit by a convertible Camaro.

Newman enters with Mulray behind, sandwich in hand. Where did you get this? It was brought in a few minutes ago. Newman watches the video again. She sees a shiny object slide across the ground. Rewind that. A rookie cop obeys. Pause it.

Right there. Zoom in. Newman points at the object on the screen. Mulray and the other cops lean in closer. Where's the fucking zap? Instantly, Gasser, 30, overweight cop, bursts in. He struggles to speak, overcome with panic. Captain, two women.

Gasser tries to collect his breath as he plops down in a chair, removing an inhaler. Well, go on and spill it, Gasser. Two women, what? Gasser holds a finger up and takes a deep pull from the inhaler. Everyone waits for him. up and takes a deep pull from the inhaler. Everyone waits for him. Two women, dressed as Hillary Clinton and some other lady just kidnapped a man. You were questioning. In the lobby, arm to the teeth. Newman, Mulray, and all the other cops scramble for the door. Gasser notices the sandwich, rolls his chair to it, and takes a bite.

He notices the monitor and moves closer to inspect the image, confused. Interior, white van, alleyway, day. Sitting at the wheel, Francois, 27, charming, doughy Frenchman, enjoys the sweet aroma of his coffee as French music plays on the radio the small things a serene Folgers moment until Jackie Oh violently swings the back door open and pushes Monty inside startled Francois spills his his coffee on his crotch. Fuck! My dick! I'm sorry, I said crouch. Not his crotch. Startled, Francois spills his coffee on his crotch.

Fuck! My dick! Go, go, go! Francois hits the gas as the white van peels away. Monty with his hands up. Ladies, listen,

time out, time out. There's some sort of mistake. You have the wrong guy. Just let me go. I haven't seen any of your faces. I couldn't possibly tell anyone anything, really. I would rather just be on my way. Anywhere is fine.

Hillary Clinton aims her gun at Monty's head. Wait, wait, whoa, whoa. You don't have to do this. For Christ's sake, tomorrow's my birthday. Hillary Clinton peels away her mask with a voice device stuck in her throat, revealing Roland, 35. I thought you were a Pisces. Roland! Roland squeezes the trigger and sprays water in Monty's face.

What? Monty punches Roland, sending him on his ass. Ow! Jackie O. struggles to remove her mask, revealing Tyler, 29, laid back stoner. Tyler kisses his lucky gold amulet before pulling Monty off of Roland. Tyler? Really? After everything? What did he promise you this time?

Shit, Monty. You gonna cover my mortgage? That's a fine way of showing gratitude, Monty. Gratitude? I was free to go, Roland. If you had just waited 30 seconds, I would have walked out the fucking door. Silence. Shit! Francois suddenly jerks the wheel and the van rolls.

Black. An a cappella Irish lament fades in. Interior, Cherry's barn, evening. The same Irish lament plays from a record player. An exquisitely detailed wooden coffin carved from a single tree sits in the center. Jamison Cherry, 50 to 60, poised, piercing eyes, lives by a strict code. Sweats profusely, whittling the coffin with a knife. A coffin dedicated to his dying father.

Blood is a bond. Make him understand. Jameson slips, cuts his hand as blood splatters. His black Great Dame looks up with concern. Jameson walks over to the counter. He grabs a rag and applies pressure as blood soaks through. He exits, followed by his dog. Interior, Cherry's house, kitchen, continuous. Jameson enters with his dog close behind, passing by wood sculptures decorating the rooms.

He goes to the kitchen to clean his injured hand in the sink as he stares at an old picture of his mother Fiona with her arms around him at five years old. A torn piece of the picture is missing. Jameson sees his own reflection in the picture and notices a few drops of blood on his face. He quickly wipes it off as blood runs into the black void of the drain, his gaze lost in thought. The doorbell rings. Jameson removes the torn piece of the picture from behind the frame and sets it where it once was, revealing his twin brother, Killian, standing on the other side of fiona interior cherry's house entrance continuous jameson opens the front door to find his twin

brother killian cherry 50 to 60 vile his piercing eyes denote a dangerous instability you're late killian looks down at jameson's injured hand you're bleeding jameson tightens the soaked up bandage on his hand. Still playing with knives? You should be more careful. You wouldn't want to trip and fall on one. How long has it been? I haven't been logging the days. Too long. They stare for a moment in silence. What do you want, Jameson? Follow me. Jameson turns and leaves Killian on the porch with the door open. Killian removes a pair of very dark sunglasses and puts them on before stepping inside. He reluctantly looks down the hall and sees the bathroom where their mother died all those years ago. You coming?

This breaks Killian from his trance. Interior, Cherry's barn. Continuous. Jameson enters, followed by Killian. Killian approaches the coffin in awe as Jameson walks past it. It's taken me nearly a year to finish it. Killian studies all the details and craftsmanship, sliding his hands slowly along the edges to inspect it closely. Is this... I wasn't sure you'd remember.

Of course I do. He loved that tree. It's what he would have wanted. Killian pulls his hand away. The brothers stare at each other with a casket between them. It's what he deserves. The doctors are saying any day now. I'm thinking hours. He wants to see you, Killian. He loves you. Out of pity. Why are you showing me this? I want you to be by my side when I put him in the ground. Together, as he wishes.

Killian goes to exit. We're all he has. Killian stops. I suppose that's my fault. Jameson approaches his brother. She was sick. She put you in a horrible situation you had nothing to do with I had everything to do with it

Jameson hugs Killian Killian allows it awkwardly a tear rolls down from behind his dark sunglasses I killed her. Avrò un certo langorino. Ovviamente no panino. No, no, no. Un boccone ricco di gusto. Si conosco il posto giusto. Siamo d'accordo su Sofia. Tutti alla piadineria.

È tornata la solare con crudo e stracciatella. Aggiungi salsa mango, aglio nero o peperone. Amerai ogni boccone. La piadineria, la più buona che ci sia. Interior, hospital room, an hour later. An IV drop. A heart monitor beeps. William Cherry, 90, crime lord, dying.

Lays unconscious in bed, eyes closed. Reveal of Killian standing by his father. After a moment, Killian leans down to gently touch forehead to forehead with his father. Feeling the touch of his long lost son, William opens his eyes. Killian sits back as they both stare at each other. After a moment, Killian discreetly pulls the plug to the respiratory machine. William slowly fades away. The heart monitor flatlines, which fades into the sound of someone heavily urinating in a toilet. Interior, Victoria's bathroom, morning. Super.

48 hours before the first wives kidnap Monty from the police station. A beautiful woman, Victoria. 30, stunningly beautiful, transsexual, pastry chef, Roland and Monty's former accomplice, stands, brushing her teeth. A distinct buzzer goes off. Oh, yum. She looks down, does a little shake, and quickly zips up.

She spits the toothpaste into the toilet, flushes and exits in a hurry. Interior, Victoria's house, continuous. Victoria makes her way through the house as the buzzer gets louder. She rushes into the kitchen and pulls out a tray of snickerdoodle cookies out of the oven. She places the cookies on a plate and pours a glass of milk before exiting with both while humming a tune. Interior, Victoria's large bedroom, continuous. Victoria enters. Roland is on the bed, attempting to knot his tie. She sets the cookies and milk on the nightstand. Roland immediately picks it up and takes a sip, holding his knot with the other hand. Next to him is Chloe, 27, sexy, wild child, painting her toenails. She sticks her foot in Roland's face.

Bruise blue, what do you think? She nearly knocks the glass away from Roland's mouth. A single drop of milk falls into the white fabric of Roland's dress shirt. Wait, can't you see I'm currently involved? Christ, you needy. He places the glass back down on the nightstand. You're tying a tie, not solving a Rubik's Cube. You know, you should be embarrassed you're still at it.

I mean, are you stupid or retarded? That's a fucked up question. Promise me you'll never say some shit like that in public, or I'll pretend I don't know you. Victoria scans the channels on the TV. Roland gets the knot right on his tie, but the length is short. Chloe air-dries her feet, making the bed shake.

Is it true dolphins and humans are the only two species that have sex for pleasure? Can you be still? Wait, is it true? Is what true? Dolphins are humans are the only two species that have sex for pleasure. Can you be still? Wait, is it true? Is what true? Dolphins are really the only animal that like to fuck just to fuck. Roland leans in close to her face. I know we're the only animal that fucks face to face.

Now would you kindly keep the fuck still? That hardly answers my question. A loud explosion from the TV causes Roland to look up and see Bugs Bunny in a precarious situation, about to meet his demise. Roland's cell phone rings. He springs up. Is it true sex has a smell? Hey, where's my phone?

If sex was a candle, I'd buy three for each room. You might want to talk to somebody about that. Roland scrambles to locate his phone. Can we focus here? Are you sitting on it? Roland rolls Chloe. Oh! Roland scrambles to locate his phone. Can we focus here? Are you sitting on it? Roland rolls Chloe, falls off the bed as he shuffles through the clothes on the floor. Where is it?

Hey, hey, look alive, ladies. The ringing device. Let's locate it, please. The girls make no attempt to help him. Oh my God. Anxious, Roland shuffles through clothes and finally finds his phone. Hey, Roland here. High noon, got it, got it, got it.

Roland listens carefully. He snatches Chloe's lipstick and scribbles an address on the bed headboard before hanging up. Which one of y'all still has a valid driver's license? Interior, 1969 Camaro, one hour later. The convertible Camaro with red interior pulls up and parks in front of a luxurious condo building. Roland is in the passenger seat, straightening his tie in the mirror.

Fuck ties, goddamn. Ties are sexy. It pulls everything together, just like a bow. She lights a joint. Have you gone mad? Relax, I rolled down the window. Roland stares at her. He grabs the joint and smashes it out in the ashtray.

Hey, that's not necessary. Hey, hey, I can't have you getting high in the parking lot. I need your wits about you. I can't emphasize how important this meeting is. I need this to go well. It's my first job in months without Monty, and I'm fucking broke. So please, just stick to the format. Will you?

Please? You didn't have to murder it. I'm in perfectly fine for later, asshole. Roland looks around for anything unusual. All right, I'll be back in 20 minutes-ish. If anyone asks you any questions, you're waiting for your boyfriend, or better yet, your fiance.

Aw. Yeah, whatever you do, don't wander off. I can't drive under any circumstances. I can't be allowed to drive. Why is that? Just terrible things. Feeling sorry for him, Chloe kisses him hard,

leaving a red print on his lips. Maybe you should take this with you. Chloe whips out a chrome desert eagle. Roland grabs the gun and quickly hides it from view. Where did you get that? From under my seat, silly. Before that.

Chloe slides over onto the driver's seat. My father, Jesus. Don't be a set of balls, Roland. I've been shooting since I was six. I don't care if you're a goddamn spy. Guns are the quickest way to spoil your luck. Roland pops out the clip and sees a full cartridge of bullets.

Especially loaded ones. Roland slides the gun under the seat. I'm begging you, no more surprises. Roland places the clip of bullets in his jacket pocket. Okay. Just keep it simple for me, all right? Like you promised. Simple as a pimple, I promise. Roland gets out of the car.

Just bring back a souvenir! You want me to take something for you? No, I want. Just bring back a souvenir! You want me to take something for you? No, I want you to steal something for me. Oh, no. But it has to be special, not something generic like a salt shaker or a TV remote. That's just too easy. It has to be something personal. Is that what does it for you?

Yeah. I need a thrill. Here, stash it in my purse. Roland puts the purse over his shoulder and turns to face the impressive building. He sees window cleaners high above. A cable snaps, tilting their platform as they struggle to keep their balance. Taking it as an omen, Roland quickly looks away, nervously walking to the entrance. Behind him, Chloe loads another clip in the gun and relights her smashed joint.

Interior, luxurious condo building lobby, continuous. Roland heads through the lobby to the elevator, where a UPS woman, 22, fit, beautiful tomboy, stands waiting. They glance at each other. Rain, hail, sleet, or fire. What's that? The mail. I believe it's snow, but yes, through the extreme. Ding! The elevator opens. Roland steps inside and holds the door for the UPS woman. Going up?

I'll get the next one. The elevator door closes shut. He notices the red lipstick in his reflection of the door. Oh. He wipes it off. Interior, luxurious building penthouse hallway, continuous. Roland exits the elevator, facing a door numbered P13. A buildup of Roland searching for PH3 from casually to a frantic run through the maze of corridors. Exasperated, Roland exits the elevator, once again staring at P13.

He notices the missing piece of the h lying on the floor he picks it up and holds it up completing the ph3 door number in disbelief when the door swings open revealing bonham 36 big south pacific man roland hands over the broken piece you might want to fix that i'm working on it bonham aggressively frisisks Roland. Roland notices a tattoo on Bonham which reads, does not play well with others. Bonham finds the clip of bullets. That belongs to my girlfriend's gun. Bonham couldn't give a shit.

I have to hide the bullets from her when we fight. She can be vicious. You know how it is. Bonham ushers Roland into the apartment. Interior, Killian's penthouse entryway, continuous. Roland walks down a hallway with rooms on each side. He's entered a modern brothel plucked right out of the red light district. Oh, shit.

Tempted? Oh, shit. Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Mm-hmm. Mm-hmm. at the counter. Wrapped around his hand is a long leather leash, attached to the back of a falconry hood, covering the eyes of Falcon Brute, 30s, Herculean in a Tom Ford suit, standing motionless, armed with brass knuckles, just waiting to be unleashed. Sensing Roland's stare, Killian picks up a book and recites from it like a Shakespearean play. Where is the lightning to lick you with its tongue?

Where is the madness with which you should be cleansed? Behold, I show you the Superman. He is this lightning. He is this madness. Killian tosses the book over the shoulder and smiles at Roland. And in the flesh. Sweet Jesus, the myth is true. You're a difficult man to find, Roland.

Well, in my line of work, I find that to be a good thing. Or a very bad thing. You're probably just looking in the wrong places. And where might the right place be? The corners. Always the corners. The view is better. And nothing can crawl up your back. Let me guess, Monty is waiting in the car.

Ooh, you're good. Killian motions to Bonham with his knife. Roland turns as Bonham sets down a chair for him. We're all friends. You have no enemies here. Please excuse my guests. It was a very last minute effort. They have a way of doing things. No judgments. Oh, I hadn't noticed. Bonham raises his eyebrow. The golden boy who never ties his shoelaces while chasing all the fun and yet manages to never fall on his ass. That's what they say about you.

Who's they? Wouldn't you like to know? All that matters is they say you're lucky. Killian tosses the cut up fruit into a blender. They say a lot, don't they? I've got nothing to complain about. I'd say that makes me lucky enough. I know you're a man who treasures his time,

so I'm going to ask you this just once before we go any further. Struder man, think long and hard before you answer. Go on. Can I trust you? Let's get something straight. You came to me. Killian tightens his grip on the leash. The sound of leather squeezing reverberates through the room.

He slowly tightens the slack on the leash, tugging the ring behind Falcon Brute's mask like a pin on a grenade. Roland senses the danger, yet maintains his composure. Killian turns on the blender as he stares at Roland. He shuts it off. Roland smirks. I had a pet snake growing up, an African boa. I was about five years old.

The only thing my dad left me, named him Marshall after him. I loved every second of it. Before I knew it, he had grown from five inches to four feet long. He'd even sleep in the bed with me. And I'd fall asleep hugging him like he was my life raft. He'd curl up under my arms and stay warm through the night. At some point, around eight years old or so, I started waking up in the middle of the night, and I couldn't find him. He was getting bigger, and so was I.

Heavier, too. I was concerned I had rolled on him without noticing and accidentally killed him. But every time I'd find Marshall stretched out on top of the covers as straight as an arrow, his tail would be at my feet and his head would be just below my chin. It went on like that for a while. I didn't know why he was acting like that, so I looked into it, read a few books.

You see, all of them, whatever the age or length, would size themselves next to their prey. You see, Marshall was sizing me up, just buying time until he could make a meal out of me. Now, I ain't taking it personal. A snake is a snake, just as a man is a man. It didn't matter how much I loved Marshall or cherished his company. He only knows how to be a snake. It wasn't malicious, but it was calculated. So is nature. I was torn, but it was only a matter of time before he turned on me. I knew that. So when I got home, I elected not to push my luck any further. I carried Marshall myself, turned

him over to the zoo, said my goodbyes, and left with a heavy heart. I trusted that snake until I didn't. I see our situation as very similar. In a lot of ways, I could be Marshall. So to answer your question, for now, I suppose the odds are better if you do. On the table, Roland places a white rabbit figurine with an R printed on its belly. In celebration, Killian throws his knife into a dartboard on the wall behind Roland, nailing the bullseye. Bonham tosses something and Roland catches it. He opens his hand and discovers a car key attached to a white rabbit's foot. Downstairs in the parking lot,

third row from the back, you will find a 68 Jaguar. Deep purple, beautiful car. But the Jaguar is of little importance to me. It's what's inside the trunk. I treasure. Flashback. Killian enters his living room,

dancing with a glass of scotch in one hand and a shiny urn in the other. I won't bore you with the details. What I can tell you is that time is of the utmost importance. Killian sets the urn on the mantle above the fireplace like a trophy. He admires it. I had a brother. Or rather, I have a brother, and it's safe to say we're built different. When our father recently passed, God rest his soul, my brother's plans didn't pan out with mine. Back to Interior, Killian's penthouse kitchen. Killian walks toward Roland, leaving Falcon Brook behind. Keep it for a couple days. That's all I ask.

Enough time for the oven to drop a few degrees so I can touch the plate? I'll come for it when the time is right. Easy breezy, nearly fuck-up proof. What, did you say brother? Roland's panic sets in as Killian's expressive story fades to silence. Hmm, sounds fishy. Why me, Wyatt? Because it's pie. And I know how much you like pie.

All you have to do is hold a package for him. That's it. You need the dough. I know a baker. He's harmless, gentle as a baby squirrel. But listen to me. No matter how much he offers you, whatever he promises or claims, No matter how much he offers you, whatever he promises or claims, don't do a god-fucking-damn thing if his brother is involved, but run. Just run. Run!

Killian laughs maniacally and slaps Roland's knee, breaking him from his daydream. Do you know what the best part of winning is, Roland? Besides winning, of course, the look on the other man's face when you take his trophy. That's what it's all about. Oh, especially in the end. Especially in the end. A man always wears defeat right here. You can't hide it. If his spirit is broken it always shows you're losing some blood Killian touches his nose used to get them as a

kid my mother hated it Killian stares at the blood lost for a moment where are my manners? Would you care for a smoothie? I have to go to the bathroom. Is that alright? Did someone plant a revolver on the toilet seat for you? Killian grabs Roland's face and kisses him hard. I know it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart. Roland is awkwardly confused, not making the Godfather connection. Of course it's all right. Right down the hall, second door on the left.

Interior, exterior, Killian's penthouse bathroom continuous. Weary by the situation, Roland leaves the door cracked open to spy on Killian as he makes a call on his cell phone. You didn't drive off, did you? Roland sees Killian kicking the air, fighting his own shadow. Jesus, thank God. Elephants are going to fly out of my ass before I take this job. This guy's a few eggs short of a carton. And by the looks of it, he checked out years ago. Ooh, goodbye marbles. I'm on my way down. Chloe's purse. Bang! Gunshots are heard from the kitchen. Terrified, Roland freezes. He scrambles to climb out of the window onto the balcony. He dusts himself off and sees Killian through the

patio door, lying on the floor, bleeding. Falcon Brute is standing next to him, motionless. He notices Bonham flat on his stomach, out cold. Roland sees the UPS woman in the living room, pulling a knife out of her shoulder. Roland and UPS woman lock eyes. Bang, bang! She fires two shots, shattering the glass, sending Roland stumbling back as he disappears off the balcony. Ugh!

Really? Exterior, luxurious condo building, continuous. Hanging tightly onto the purse caught on a flagpole a few floors below, Roland sees his cell phone fall from his pocket into a swimming pool. Shit! Louder, bigger. Shit! Okay, uh...

Shit! I like how you, like, looked at the script again to see that it's the... Roland swings side to side when UPS Woman appears on Killian's balcony above. Roland launches and makes a miraculously lucky catch onto a terrace. In disbelief, she fires at him. Roland smashes through the patio door into... Interior, Luxurious Condo building, communal area, continuous. Roland gets tangled in the curtain and falls into a hot tub occupied by a family.

Roland springs up from the water resembling a wet ghost gasping for air. Mortified, the parents grab the children and hurry away. Mommy, I'm scared! Roland runs off through door one, struggling to remove the wet curtain, just as two men in Speedos enter from door two and step into the hot tub. UPS Woman emerges from the terrace in pursuit of Roland before exiting through door two. Roland re-enters and dives headfirst back into the hot tub. He pops up with Killian's set of keys.

Unknowingly, Roland bolts out the same door as UPS Woman. Exterior parking parking lot, continuous. Roland arrives where Chloe should be waiting with a car. Chloe! Chloe! Bang! Bang! Bullets ricochet near him. Roland ducks between two vehicles.

He notices two bullet holes in his jacket. He pokes a finger through the hole. Just go home. Leave it alone. Roland spots the purple 68 Jaguar. Four. Roland kisses the white rabbit's foot attached to Killian's keys. Don't fail me now. On three. Bang!

Roland takes off running towards the Jaguar. He attempts to open the trunk but drops the keys. He quickly reaches for them as the back window of the Jaguar. He attempts to open the trunk but drops the keys. He quickly reaches for them as the back window of the Jaguar shatters. He opens the trunk and finds a shiny urn. Not sure what he's looking at, he quickly grabs the urn and bolts toward a tree line next to the parking lot as UPS woman continues to fire at him. Exterior street continuous. Roland dashes through the tree line, emerging onto a street where Chloe's Camaro screeches to a halt, sending Roland onto the hood as the urn slides across the pavement.

The same footage from the police station. With his face pressed against the windshield, Roland sees Chloe sitting in the passenger seat with an unknown man, 30, behind the wheel with a smashed joint in his mouth. Roland! Get in the back, Chloe, now. Roland hurries to grab the urn and jumps inside the car. Hit the gas.

The Camaro speeds off as UPS woman runs out from the tree line. Interior, 1969 Camaro, continuous. Who the fuck is he? So random, we just met him, we hit it off. Why are you soaking wet? Pop. A bullet shoots through the unknown man's throat, We just met it. We hit it off. Why are you soaking wet? Pop! A bullet shoots through the unknown man's throat, splattering blood across Roland and Chloe.

The car swerves as the unknown man chokes on blood. Chloe freaks out. Roland grabs the steering wheel to control the car. It stops short of smashing into a fire hydrant. Roland struggles to roll him over on the front seat. He's dead! He's fucking dead, Roland! I know he's dead. We're not going to leave him here.

Roland manages to flip the unknown man over as he disappears onto the back seat. UPS woman runs down the street towards Roland. She fires a shot. Chloe returns fire. UPS woman takes cover. Reluctant, Roland jumps in the driver's seat. The Camaro speeds off as UPS woman fires upon them.

What's happening? What the fuck is happening? That lunatic came out of nowhere. I had nothing to do with that. I'm on the balcony and everything was great. Next thing I know, I'm in a goddamn hot tub. Bang. Chloe gets a clean one more time. Bang. Chloe gets a clean shot right through her chest. In a tranquil state of shock, she quickly starts to fade out, unaware she's been shot. Hot tub.

What are you blabbing about? Roland notices her wound. Chloe acknowledges she's bleeding. I'm bleeding. Is that a nerd? I think so. Did you steal that from me? Wham! A pie hits Roland in the face, sending the car swerving onto a streetlight pole. Roland climbs out of the car, removing pie from his eyes.

He hears commotion on the balcony of a building close by. An Italian couple screams at each other as the husband throws fresh pies onto the street down below. Another man in his underwear hangs from their balcony. I gotta find Monty. Black. Super, a man often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it. End of first episode.