"Poisonville"

Excerpt
                              Poisonville

FADE IN:

INT. RENTAL CAR - DAY

Driving the desert on a nondescript road.  Maybe getting close to a town.  
Driving is:

SHAW THOMPSON.  Thirties.  Something says he's seen a lot in a short time. On
his cellphone:

                              SHAW
              I'm just getting into town...
              Ten's fine.  What's the address...
              Okay.

Pulling over into a turnout to write it down.  Then, getting out to stretch his
legs.  Sign reads:  Piersonville.

                              SHAW (V.O.)
              I'd heard a lot of people call it
              Poisonville.  Never thought much
              of it.

Down below, a western mining town.  Grey, dirty, plain.  Dull and dangerous.

                              SHAW (V.O.)
              Maybe I should have.

His expression is blank - but the hairs on his arm are standing straight up.

                                              CUT TO

EXT. MIDDLE CLASS NEIGHBORHOOD - NIGHT

Row of older but nice two-stories, lit cheerily.  The restored part of town.  
Shaw's rental in the driveway.

At the front door - Shaw, having knocked.  And the door opening to reveal a
black MAID.  She just stares.

                              SHAW
              Is Mr. Hollingsworth in?

                              MAID
              No, he not.

                              SHAW
              I'm Shaw Thompson.  We had an appointment
              at ten.

                              MAID
              Well, he gone.

That would seem to be it.  Until we HEAR a WOMAN:

                              RITA (O.S.)
              Orie, who is it?

Sounds tipsy.  The inner door yanks open, wider.

MRS. RITA HOLLINGSWORTH.  Blonde bombshell.  Almost looped.  Trouble in green
crepe, sure as hell.  And that smile.

Her eyes run up and down Shaw.  A slow smile, then...

                              RITA
               I'm sorry, my husband isn't in.

But the smile lingers.  And so does she.

                              SHAW
              It sounded urgent on the phone.

Her eyes haven't moved - nor her mouth.  Just her hips.

                              RITA
              Then I guess you better come in.

Ignoring her maid and turning for the stairs.  Retrieving her drink from the
newel with a practiced hand.

                              RITA
              Very rude of him though, don't you think?

Not looking back as she starts up the stairs.  The sway.  Shaw appreciating it
- then seeing the Maid.  Her glare.

INT. UPSTAIRS LIBRARY

Really an office.  Rita settling into highback leather.  Indicating with her
drink for Shaw to take a seat.

                              RITA
              Are you in mining, Mr. Shaw?

                              SHAW
              Thompson.  No.

                              RITA
              Publishing?

He shakes no.  She sips her drink.  The sly Inquisitor.

                              RITA
              In Piersonville long?

                              SHAW
              First time.

                              RITA
              Drugs?  Murder for hire?  XTC?

He looks a bit baffled.  She breaks out in laughter.  Kind of a cruel laugh, at
someone's expense who isn't here.  Shaw is not easily ruffled.

                              SHAW
              You mean to say what exactly?

                              RITA
              Oh, very good!

A facetious toast, and finishing her drink.  And now...

A PHONE RINGING which she intentionally ignores.  That stony smile.  And the
maid coming in, still with the look for Shaw.

                              MAID
              Ma'am, for you.

Rita sets her empty glass aside and stands - new smile which says she'll be
right back after tending to house business.

Shaw taking in the room.  Messy.  News awards.  Plaques.  Just a glimpse of
Rita in the hallway - suddenly excited:

                              RITA
              What?  When?  Now?!

And slamming the phone down.  Disappearing down the hall.  Sophisticated
clicking heels becoming hard running.

Shaw listening to house noises.  SHUFFLING.  KEYS.  A DOOR SLAMMING.  He
stands.  Goes...

To the rear window.  Looking out and down where--

Rita, in a coat, runs to the rear garage.  A car starts and her classic 280SL
tears away.  Down the alley and gone.

Shaw watching.  Turns.  The Maid, staring.

                                              CUT TO


INT. HOLLINGSWORTH'S LIBRARY/OFFICE - NEW ANGLE

Clock says it's now 10:40.  Shaw perusing news clippings, awards.  All say:  
Donald Hollingsworth.  Headlines like:

"Mayor Accused of Accepting Bribes" and "Dark Side of Piersonville Exposed."  
Finally:  "Poison-ville?"

HEAR a SHORT TIRE SQUEAL.  DOOR CLOSE.  RUSHING FEET.

Shaw turns.  We HEAR:  DOOR SLAM.  KEYS.  COAT.  RUSHING FEET ON THE STAIRS.  
UP THE HALL.  And...

Mrs. Rita Hollingsworth in the door.  Eyes a little wide.  Breath a little
fast.  That cool composure faltering now.

                              RITA
              My husband won't be returning, tonight.  
              Thank you for coming.

That moment.  Shaw meeting it.  Then, fixing his gaze on:

Her mint green pumps.  One toe bathed in red.

And Rita seeing him seeing it.  The ice coming over her, now.  And turning
away.  Down the hall, her DOOR SLAMMING.

Shaw never moving.  Just his eyes, to the floor and...

The smear of blood she left behind.