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ASTROGNOME!

EPISODE 2: PATH OF THE RAZORBEAST

by

Michael Hill

teamastrognome.wordpress.com

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EXTERIOR - ALLEYWAY - NIGHT

It’s a dark alleyway. There are two dumpsters against one

side, with a four foot space in between. We get a sideways

view at the dumpsters, with one on the left side of the frame,

one on the right. It seems for a second to be similar to a

puppet show, as first WATTERSON and then DAVIS rise out of their

respective dumpsters.

WATTERSON’s torso thrusts out of his dumpster as if he is

being shoved into place from below, and he looks around, stiff

with wonder and excitement. He looks up and left (his left) and

up and right.

WATTERSON

(exalted and boisterous)

Earth!?

DAVIS’S head slowly rises, peering around cautiously,

stunned. It stops with his chin about level with the top of the

dumpster.

WATTERSON vaults out of his dumpster. A few pieces of

refuse come drifting down as he lands. Davis slowly sinks back

down into his dumpster, stilled.

WATTERSON

(as if a different character

who is in hearty agreement,

talking to himself, in this

case yelling)

Earth!

At this moment we cut to DAVIS’S face in his dumpster, as

he is sitting crouched inside. His face is partially

illuminated by the moon and ambient light of the city. He looks

scared and cringes at the sound of “Earth!” being yelled in the

distance by WATTERSON.

Cut back to a close-up of Watterson’s face as he emerges

out of the alley and into the sidewalk. Directly across the

street are two hookers, dressed sort of like Nancy from ‘Sid and

Nancy.’

WATTERSON

Yeeeeah! Rock and Roll!

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He’s looking at them madly, intensely. The two hookers

look at WATTERSON, then at themselves, a little concerned. One

puts her hand on the the other’s arm and ushers her away and

down the street.

WATTERSON

(under his breath, as he looks

around wide-eyed and scampers

around in a circle across the

street and sidewalk, looking up

at the brick buildings)

Ancient Earth...Ancient Earth...Ancient Earth.

Cut back to DAVIS in the dumpster, as he is sitting in a

ball with his knees in front of his torso. He is clutching his

head with both hands, shaking it a little from side to side.

Suddenly he swings an arm violently into a pile of trash beside.

When he pulls it back, a burger wrapper is stuck to his sleeve

with remnants of melted cheese. He thrashes his arm back and

forth but it won’t come off. Finally he grabs the wrapper and

pulls it off with his free hand. Then he notices writing on the

wrapper. His lament pauses for a moment as this catches his

interest.

DAVIS

(under his breath)

Advertising.......Advertising--I am king...

I am king.

As Davis says this last sentence, he looks up from the

wrapper, as if acknowledging his surroundings. He regains his

poise, his dignity.

Cut back to WATTERSON freaking out in the street.

Headlights appear in the distance. He stops in the middle of

the street and stares at them, smiling joyfully. The lights get

closer and closer, then the vehicle blows its horn. WATTERSON

kind of jolts at this like a dog would, but doesn’t stop

smiling, and doesn’t move, as he is increasingly blinded he

raises his hand to shelter his eyes. The truck is getting

closer and not stopping.

Suddenly an arm grabs WATTERSON by the sleeve of his upper

arm and yanks him out of the path of the truck and onto the

sidewalk. It’s DAVIS.

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DAVIS

Standing in the roadway will get

you crushed on any planet!

WATTERSON

Harley Davison! You’re here!

DAVIS

Eh, Harley is my stage name.

You can call me Davis.

WATTERSON

(spreading his arms out

and looking up and around

as if gesturing to the

city itself)

Rock and Roll!

DAVIS

...I’m sure they...have a place

here, somewhere, for people like

you. Goodbye.

WATTERSON

(clutches the lapels on

Davis’s jacket)

Wait! Harley! We can play our

music here with the Earthlings!

The Spirit brought us here!

DAVIS

Our music? Say, I wonder what

that is?

Davis points down the street.

A crappy white subcompact car is coming down the street and

slowing down near the corner in front of Watterson and Davis.

Awful, aggressive, horn music is blasting from the stereo with

the windows rolled down. A slobby looking, Mario-mustached

Polish man gets out and walks around to the passenger side back

seat and opens the door. A day's growth of stubble covers his

face, (beyond the mustache) and neck, and his arms have a

covering of thick dark hair. A light blue

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pin-striped cloth cap is pulled low on his head, with greasy

curls of dark brown hair spilling out of the back, hanging

thickly, but not below his neck.

He's wearing a big stained white t-shirt somewhat tightly

over a protruding gut, tucked into what looks like a pair of

striped boxer-shorts, but are simply very unfashionable shorts.

He has high socks tucked into worn, loafer looking shoes.

There's a big gold colored watch hanging loosely on his wrist.

Watterson is distracted from his conversation with Davis

and takes a few steps toward the man, gawking like a five-year-

old. The man notices Watterson out of the corner of his eye but

ignores him. The man pulls a bounded stack of freebie

newspapers out of the back seat of his car and hauls it over to

a plastic newspaper kiosk on the corner, which is chained to a

street light. Watterson watches at an uncomfortable closeness,

with a slight open-mouthed smile and enthusiastic eyes.

The Polish man grabs a small stack of old newspapers out of

the kiosk and shoves it between his arm and torso. He throws in

the new stack and cuts off the binding, pulling it off. As he

stands and turns around back toward the car, there is Watterson,

staring him straight in the face with his gaze of wonder. The

man pauses for a second, with a kind of ‘What the fuck?’ look on

his face. With Watterson standing about two feet away, the man

makes a disgusting hawking sound with his throat, turns his head

and then spits on the sidewalk. Watterson, still with a joyous

expression on his face, turns his head slightly to see the

result of this, and the joy in his expression seems to ever-so-

slightly waver into bewilderment. The Polish man then continues

toward the car, throws the old newspapers onto the backseat

floor, walks around, gets in, and speeds off, with the sound of

a manual shift sputtering up into third gear in the distance.

Watterson turns back around to where Davis had been.

WATTERSON

Harley?

Watterson looks around. Davis is gone.

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WATTERSON

Harley!

In the distance, the horizon is getting that pre-dawn glow.

EXTERIOR - PARK - EARLY MORNING

Davis is walking along the walkway through the park, at

a medium speed, thinking to himself. He comes across a man

sitting on a bench, feeding crumbs to pigeons.

DAVIS

Excuse me Sir, may I ask you a

question?

The man is something like a hobo Morgan Freeman, sitting

casually on a wooden park bench. He has a drab, olive green

jacket on, and a navy blue old style cap. He has a little

plastic bag full of crumbs. Two or three pigeons are hopping

around on the sidewalk in front of him.

(the man looks Davis up

and down.)

MAN

Why not.

DAVIS

In which direction may I find the

largest convergence of wealth

and religion?

MAN

...Why you ask that.

INTERIOR - CHURCH - SUNDAY MORNING SERVICE

Organ music blairs. We see a view of the pulpit from the

perspective of the audience. The organ stops. It's silent for

a few moments, except for the sound of people settling in the

pews. As a preacher appears from side-stage, they come to a

hush. The preacher appears to be stumbling a little. His

speech is slurred and he's clutching a tall silver aluminum can.

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PREACHER

Frens...I have just met the most

delightful young man--out doing the

lord's work, in his own way, and he

just wanted a chans to share

somethin very special with y'all.

Come on up here, Mister Davis.

Davis energetically pops on stage, carrying a shabby wooden

cane. He has cleaned up his suit the best he can, and has a

yellow flower pinned on his lapel. He steps to the podium, as

the Preacher half-collapses into a folding chair to the side.

Davis looks up at the large wooden cross with a Christ above.

It has the typical slim, muscular White Jesus.

DAVIS

(in a loud show-man voice)

Wanna be slim, like your Savior?

(he points with the cane to

Christ above)

Friends, I'm here today to share

the lord's blessing with you! What

I have here has cured me of sin and

syphilis alike. One can of Christ O'

Mighty Malted Medicine Beverage--

(holds up silver shiny

aluminum can, framing it with

motion from his cane handle)

--will sanctify your ills for eight to

twelve hours per serving. Just take

Jesus into your mouth two times a day

--your belly fat will disappear over-

night, your mood will brighten during

day, and if it's still not clear:

Friends, this holy elixir will

extinguish Satan from your body--more

specifically, from the bowels. Only Nine-Ninety-

Nine per sixty-four ounce

container. Come get it now--I will

cherish the benefits--I mean to

benefit the charity--of my choice!

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Davis slams his cane down on the pulpit, making a sharp

cracking sound. He pauses...Looks to his left toward the Organ

player. He smacks the cane again as he's looking over:

DAVIS

(annoyed and a little

winded)

Miss Timmons, we agreed this was

the signal to play-

The Organ suddenly blairs to life playing 'Hallelujah.'

Davis looks relieved and turns back toward the audience, smiling

broadly. They aren't a young bunch. More like the bingo crowd,

but well dressed. They sit, staring motionless for a moment.

Davis is still glowering at them intensely. Someone in the back

eventually gets up and starts slowly shuffling down the carpet

toward the pulpit, fishing for his wallet in his back pocket.

Then another person gets up, then another, until slowly the

whole congregation start walking toward the front and forming a

line. The preacher passes out and falls out of his chair.

Davis has a broad smile as he makes welcoming gestures with

his arms. He slowly nods his head.

DAVIS

(though a false smile, under

his breath, sing-songy)

....give me your money...give

me your money...

EXTERIOR - SIDEWALK - DAY

THUG

Give me your money.

Watterson is clutching his stomach, as he has just been

punched and is rolling around on the ground, doubled over.

WATTERSON

We...We are brothers in the age

of Rock and Roll...All I have

for you-

(gasps breath of air)

-is my love.

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THUG

(pauses)

...Dude...you be off your pills

My uncle...He the same way...

I feel bad man. Come on, I'll

help you out.

The thug leans over and clasps Watterson's arm and starts

to pull him up. Watterson smiles and nods approval.

INTERIOR - MENTAL HOSPITAL - DAY

Watterson is shoved out of a revolving door and into the

bright, white tiled mental hospital lobby. The entrance

converges with a hallway that leads inward. The thug waves

goodbye as he revolves back outside.

THUG

Peace!

Watterson smiles and nods and is kind of blindly stomping

forward toward the hallway and away from the lobby.

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SECURITY GUARD (O.S.)

Sir.

Watterson is looking back toward the front door, just

realizing that the thug has ditched him, when the security guard

comes up from the side and swings his night-stick into the back

of Watterson's knees, collapsing him to the floor. The security

guard leans down a little and looks intently into Watterson's

eyes. The guard clutches a black radio in one hand.

SECURITY GUARD

...I said Sir...How you doin' Sir?

...How you doin' today?

Watterson just stares up at the guard for a moment, then

breaks into tears and starts crying. The security guard starts

patting and clutching his shoulder.

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SECURITY GUARD

It's okay Sir. We'll take care of

ya Sir. It'll be okay.

Watterson clutches the guard's arm and continues to cry,

and smile and laugh a little as he starts to recover. The guard

nods in understanding and smiles kindly, and Watterson starts to

smile as well and appears calmed for a moment.

Suddenly two white-shirted goons come up from behind and

grab Watterson around each arm, hauling him up and dragging him

down the hall into the hospital. Watterson starts bawling, at

about 7 LBS (out of 10 on the Lucille Ball Scale). Watterson's

heels drag smoothly over the tile as two more men start

strapping him into a straight-jacket.

INTERIOR - MEN'S CLOTHING STORE - DAY

We see a full length dressing mirror. Davis steps into

view in the mirror, dressed in a sleek, modern grey business

suit. He has shaved and styled his hair, and could now pass as

a lawyer or politician.

DAVIS

Wrap it up, please.

Davis motions to a petite, shy, early-twenties looking

Asian woman who is serving him. She is wearing a knee-length

pink skirt and white blouse. Her hair is tied back by a scarlet

red ribbon that hangs down a little.

SALES GIRL

Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.

She bows gracefully and Davis smiles appreciatively.

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Cut to:

Cash register rings up $736.00. The sales girl turns the

screen toward Davis sheepishly, as he stands across the counter.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded wad of bills.

He surreptitiously counts it below the level with the counter,

then pauses a moment and looks up toward the sales girl.

DAVIS

Excuse me, young lady?

SALES GIRL

Yes?

DAVIS

Do you have a supervisor I

could speak to?

SALES GIRL

Uh-is there a problem with-

DAVIS

Noo-no. No problem whatsoever!

(shakes his head side to

side, laughing a little)

Um, if you don't mind...please,

it's nothing, really, just go

get him for me, my dear.

SALES GIRL

(smiles understandingly)

Yes Sir.

She walks away and comes back in a moment with an middle-

aged Asian man, somewhat like George Takei.

SUPERVISOR

May I help you Sir?

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DAVIS

Uh, yes...

(looks over at the

sales girl)

I don't suppose we could have

some privacy...I don't suppose?

The sales girl looks a little stunned, and looks over at

the Supervisor, who nods and motions for her to 'go over there.'

She walks away from them, into the foreground of the camera

shot. We see Davis and the Supervisor having their conversation

in the background. We can make out their general expression

and gestures, but can't hear what they're saying, just mumbling.

We hear the sales girl kind of catching her breath under her

throat, as she is near the camera, observing the conversation

nervously, pretty much from the same point of view.

Davis is speaking intently with the Supervisor, and

glancing toward the sales girl every once-in-awhile. It is

clear they are talking about her, and Davis is insinuating

something about her behavior, or some mishap or insult that

occurred. Davis starts making obscure gestures with his hands

and arms as he tells the Supervisor some story.

The Supervisor looks shocked, and looks over at the sales

girl, who instinctively clasps her hand to her mouth in fear and

distress.

Finally, it appears Davis and the Supervisor are in

agreement, and the Supervisor nods sternly and motions toward

the register. He walks around to the register and punches some

buttons. The price cha-chings down from $736 to $436. Davis

looks at it, then makes some more exclamations and bizarre

gestures to the Supervisor, and waves wildly toward the sales

girl with his arm. The Supervisor looks over at her, thinks for

a moment, gets an angry look on his face and smacks his fist on

the counter. He again nods his head in stern agreement. He

punches some more buttons and the screen cha-chings from $436 to

$36. He shakes his head in shame as he takes two twenty dollar

bills from Davis. As the Supervisor is counting change out, the

sales-girl falls to her knees in the foreground, still clutching

her hand to her mouth.

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INTERIOR - OUTSIDE DOOR TO MENTAL HOSPITAL ROOM - NIGHT

The two goons are standing guard outside of Watterson's

cell/room. We glimpse Watterson through the window in the door,

strapped into the straightjacket, with his mouth gagged. He is

trying to yell and speak, and is running around in circles in

the cell.

The 1st guard sighs at having to listen to this racket.

Watterson kicks the door with his foot, making a thumping sound.

1ST GUARD

Alright. I've had it. I'm going

to shut this guy up.

2ND GUARD

Be my guest.

The 2nd Guard gets out his keys and unlocks the door.

The 1st guard goes inside and we hear him mumbling sternly to

Watterson. We hear Watterson mumble back in agreement. Then

the guard starts going on again about something. Suddenly we

hear a swift commotion, and the slumping of a body.

The 2ND Guard jolts to action and throws open the door.

The 1st guard's body is lying there slumped on the floor, except

the head is completely missing.

Watterson is standing there with his eyes as wide as can

be, looking between the headless body on the floor and the 1st

Guard.

The 1st Guard can't even summon a scream, he is so

horrified, his voice seizes up to a raspy whisper.

1ST GUARD

Wha-wha-Where'd his head!?!?

Watterson, still gagged, is just stunned and shrugs his

shoulders "I don't know." and shakes his head "No, no, no."

Watterson looks around the room, as if trying to help, looking

for the head. He squats down and looks under the bed, the

only place it could possibly be in the barren room, as the 1st

Guard watches him, horrified and speechless, his mouth agape.

Watterson slowly

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straightens up, turns to the guard and again nods 'no' and

shrugs. The guard stays frozen a moment, then finally summons a

deafening, high pitched, woman's scream.

INTERIOR - PRISON - DAY

We see a tracking overhead shot of Watterson strapped into

a rolling dolly like Hannibal Lector. He's wearing an orange-

jumpsuit, his hands are handcuffed and there's a cage over his

mouth. The guards hold him at an angle as he is wheeled down

the hallway between the cells, so he is looking up toward the

camera. The onlooking prisoners, many of whom are big and tough

looking, are completely silent. They watch, chilled by the

thought of what the meek figure of Watterson must have done to

be secured in such a way.

The guards pull up to a cell and one unlocks it. There are

three inmates in the cell. They are hanging out casually, one

in his bunk, the other two playing cards at the far end of the

room. Their card playing table is a Monopoly board folded up

and sitting on top of a bucket. The inmates are frozen, staring

at Watterson as he is wheeled into the center of the room and

unbound, and the dolly is wheeled out of the cell. Then, like

releasing a crocodile, all of the guards exit the cell, leaving

one knot untied in Watterson's straightjacket. Watterson is

looking at his new friends with an unflinching, friendly smile

on his face. One of the guards reaches a hooked cane through

the bars and pulls the last knot,freeing Watterson from the

straight jacket, pulling it off him and out of the cell.

Watterson has not moved. He's standing about three feet

in front of the group of cellmates, gazing patiently from one

to the next. He notices a tattoo on one of the card player's

shoulders. The card player is a large, fairly muscular man in a

tank top. Watterson's eyes widen as he realizes the tattoo is

of Elvis. The inmate's eyes widen in response.

WATTERSON

(loudly, very sudden and

intense)

Alright! Let's Rock and Roll!

Watterson lurches toward the man, who suddenly spooks and

cowers crazily. The man knocks over the Monopoly board with one

flailing arm as he slumps off the little stool he was sitting

on, and onto the floor against the wall, cowering away from

Watterson. The cellmate

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is shaking violently, sputtering, terrified at what he feared

was about to happen.

Watterson pauses a moment and gets a concerned look on his

face. He slowly stoops down and picks up some of the spilled

cards.

WATTERSON

You dropped your cards, Mister.

INMATE

(crying)

L-l-leave me alone.

Watterson puts the cards softly onto the bucket,

straightens up all the way, gets a warm smile and looks around

from left to right, at all the inmates faces, nodding a little.

He turns and slowly paces toward the bars in the front end of

the cell. He does it with a sort of blank, calm expression, in

such a way that it could appear very cold or badass to someone

who misinterpreted the situation. It only serves to further

convince the inmates that Watterson is totally psychotic.

INTERIOR - CONFERENCE ROOM - PURLOIN & FILCH ADVERTISING AGENCY

- DAY

We see a view looking down a large black marble meeting

table. Sunlight is streaming in through the windows, and we can

see buildings out of the window to the side. This room is on

the thirtysomething floor of a large building.

First a middle-aged woman in business attire walks in,

pulls a chair back and sits down. She sets a large binder down

in front, and glances at her watch.

Then a slightly younger, trim, handsome man with good hair

strolls in and sits down across from her. He looks up at her

after a moment and drums his fingers on the table casually. She

returns a slight, polite smile, then looks away from him.

Finally an old man comes trundling into the room. He's

wearing a brown, older styled suit. He pulls and chair back

and plops himself down. He scoots it forward a little, leans

forward, puts his arms and elbows on the table in front of him,

and looks over at the other two.

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MISTER FILCH

(addressing the woman)

...Well?

MISS PURLOIN

...Well what?

Mister Filch and Miss Purloin look over at the younger man

questioningly. He raises his hands, defensively.

JEFF

What? What? Don't one of you-

MISTER FILCH

I don't have time for this.

(smacks his fist on the

table)

Who called this meeting!?

DAVIS (O.S.)

That would be me.

Davis's voice comes from across the room, as he walks up

smiling politely and pulls up the head chair of the table. He

is outfitted sharply in his business suit, though he has a sort

of Miami-style casualness, coolness and confidence about his

look.

Mister Filch stands up, turns toward Davis.

MISTER FILCH

Who are you!? How did you get

in here?! How dare you waste--

DAVIS

Do sit down Mister Filch. You

have a certain desperation in

your manner...Why is that?

MISTER FILCH

...Security...Jeff, call security.

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DAVIS

(smiles and laughs jauntily)

Indeed you have it Mister Filch, you

are suffering from a terrible

bout of in-security! After all, it's

you who makes the final decisions

here, you who puts the teeth into

the machine, and it's been eating you

alive.

(Filch turns back toward Davis, surprised)

How long has it been since you felt

confident in your choices, Mister Filch?

(Mister Filch looks on with a

subtle, dour sinking in his

expression)

If only someone would speak to you in

terms you understand...Like your old

partner Sydney Purloin, all would be

right around here.

But all Sydney has left for you

is his suckling spawn--

(gestures toward Miss Purloin)

--who has only just managed to drag her

way out of the womb and into her

father's shoes.

(Miss Purloin looks shocked

and outraged. Davis continues

intensely to Mister Filch)

And you wonder why things have changed

around here!

(slams both fists down on table

as he looks into Mister Filch's

eyes)

You used to take chances! Now you make

mistakes. It is not your fault Mister Filch!

It is not your fault! I can see the

burden on you. You hold the

last leg of this empire...a fact

lost on these fumbling toddlers.

(gestures toward Miss Purloin

and Jeff)

They refuse to acknowledge you, fighting

to keep the last spark of bold creation burning-

-until it's been snuffed. They know nothing of

your conquering spirit,

(slams fist down on table)

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--the strength that raised an empire out of

the swamp below.

(gestures out window to downtown

Chicago area)

This is no job to you,

(says job contemptuously)

This is life!

(stabs pointed finger down

onto table)

More and more they undercut you, not

because you have failed Mister Filch,

not because you have grown old and useless,

but because they cannot succeed!

Second-guessing your decisions has become

their only means of accomplishing anything

of note in their vapid, petty lives. Your

failure has become their obsession. They

seek all the fame and power of your position,

but know nothing of the work that created

it, that sustains it! I am not so blind.

There is proud legacy here, in this room,

and it is in you, Reginald! I called this

meeting to see if you still have the guts you

came in with...

(Mister Filch stares for

a moment, then sternly,

acknowledges with a nod)

And I can see that you do.

Davis smiles and reaches his hand out toward Mister Filch,

offering to shake. Mister Filch does so. Miss Purloin is

leaning forward, distressed. Jeff is leaning back, scooted back

in his chair a little, just watching this go down without much

clue.

MISS PURLOIN

Who are you? Get out of here!

DAVIS

My name is Davis, Madam. Before

I go, I must ask, what is the

meaning of this?

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Davis holds up a magazine folded open to an ad for Callus-X

Corn Remover. "Removes Callus's Fast" reads some stacked block

lettering of large type size with a basic illustration of three

stages of callus removal. 1) Big Callus. 2) Apply cream. 3)

Callus vanishes (results may vary)

DAVIS

How do you fail to see that

fear of calluses is fear of

sexual inadequacy?

MISS PURLOIN

Where is Security, Jeff?!

DAVIS

Observe!

Davis throws some magazine cut-outs of half naked women

onto the ad.

MISTER FILCH

...Indeed, any fool can see, my boy...

You are right.

DAVIS

Would my perspective on your affairs

here not be of value? Let me be an

advisor to you.

JEFF

With no authority, I hope.

DAVIS

It doesn't take much authority

to outrank a man wearing a

cloth diaper.

JEFF

What!?

DAVIS

Know your target, Jeff. Know

your target as I do mine.

Jeff looks uncomfortable. Davis scoots back from the

desk and sits leaning back, with his legs crossed. He reaches

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out his hand and a glass is being handed to him, a good old

fashioned glass of brandy, poured by Mister Filch. Filch then

pours the three remaining a glass and slides it over.

MISTER FILCH

Lets have a toast then to

our new Chief Advisor Davis.

All of them hold up their glass in that toast-ready

position.

DAVIS

You may call me Master Davis.

JEFF

Mister Davis?

DAVIS

Master Davis.

MISS PURLOIN

Oh, that's how he pronounces

'mister' is like that, 'mastuh'

DAVIS

As long as you call me Master,

think what you like.

JEFF

(acting kind of goofy now)

Huh, Huh, Yes, Master!

DAVIS

(annoyed)

Quiet, you.

They all awkwardly clink glasses.

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INTERIOR - PRISON - VISITING ROOM - DAY

Watterson sits at a small table across from his court appointed

lawyer. They are the only two in the 10' by 10' room, which

looks kind of like a classic interrogation room.

Watterson is in conversation with Rory, the court-appointed

lawyer.

WATTERSON

Ya see, I have this friend,

the Spirit...and I think

sometimes...It eats people?

RORY

Mm-hm, eats people, sure.

The camera starts to zoom in on Watterson as he tells this

account:

WATTERSON

(not realizing Rory's sarcasm,

looking down at hands)

Yeah, and there's not really that much

you can do about it, I mean, it's pretty

much just wherever I go he seems to follow

and somebody nearby me turns up eaten

...or maimed...lately it's been mostly

maimings.

Rory just looks at him for a few moments. He's about to

say something when he gets a cough and has to catch his throat.

He then takes a drink from a bottle of water, screws the cap

back on and sets it aside, then gestures and looks up at

Watterson as if he was just about to say something--

When "Rrfffwap--Whack!--Zat!" the Razorbeast pops into

existence right behind Rory, rears back it's arm and swipes

Rory's head off. The head goes flying to the side and into a

little portal that appears on the wall. Then the Razorbeast

blinks away in an emerald flash.

22

Watterson clutches his hand to his head and stomps his foot.

WATTERSON

Spirit! Stop it! Stop eating heads!

From what I understand of the Earth's

justice system, that man could have

helped me, and he just didn't deserve

that!

He throws his head and arms down on the table and sighs

heavily.

WATTERSON

Stop eating heads...Stop eating heads... Sto-

guard....Guard! The head is gone!

GUARD

(bangs door with night-stick)

Hey, keep it down in there!

WATTERSON

Come in here! Be a guard. Do your job!

GUARD

(muffled through door)

My what?!

WATTERSON

Your job! My lawyer's head is

gone, okay? You need to come in

here and have a fit, and get

mad at me, and yell at me, and

all that stuff, alright?

(pauses, listening...)

Guard?!....

GUARD

Hey.

WATTERSON

Yes?

23

GUARD

Don't tell me what to do.

WATTERSON

Alright, not a problem. I just wanted

you to know the lawyer is dead.

GUARD

Oh...Oh shit...That's what you're

trying to tell me? Your lawyer's

dead?!...Oh...Oh!...Hey!...Hey!

The guard scrambles to throw open the door as he calls for

back-up on his radio.

WATTERSON

Thank you! Thank you!

Watterson throws up his hands.

EXTERIOR - SIDEWALK - DAY

Davis examines a copy of the Chicago Tribune. The top

headline reads "HEAD-TAKER' CLAIMS SECOND." There is a mugshot

with Watterson smiling politely.

NEWSSTAND CLERK

You going to buy that, sonny?

DAVIS

Oh...Of course not, I'm sorry.

I understand that identical information

is freely available on your

'internet.' I'll read it there.

Good day.

(smiles and turns to leave)

The Newsstand guy has a forlorn look on his face, turns

and walks a few paces down the sidewalk, looking up at the sky,

holding out his arms a little:

NEWSSTAND GUY

...Why me lord...Why today...

24

Davis sneaks back and grabs the newspaper. The Newsstand

guy has his back turned as he is pacing down the sidewalk.

Davis tucks the paper in his pocket, then stands, watching the

Newsstand Guy go through his motions.

The Newsstand Guy lets out a particularly loud complaint

to God and raises his arms. Davis represses a snort of

laughter, and pauses as he turns to go. He takes a dollar out

of his pocket and throws it on the counter.

DAVIS

(laughing quietly to

himself)

Well worth it friend. You humans

are too easy! You--

As he walks down the street a bit he unfolds and opens the

paper to page two. Inside is a large photo of Watterson and a

drawing of a 'murder scene' with a headless form lying in the

room. A fuzzy black-and-white still from the security camera

shows just a hint of Razorbeast limb or shape.

DAVIS

(taken back a little)

...Humans...

Davis stops walking and stands, looking at the paper, lost

in thought.

NEXT EPISODE III: SUMMER OF THE RAZORBEAST

SOON TO BE FOLLOWED BY EPISODE IV: FALL OF THE RAZORBEAST