ceiling of
a basement.
LIGHT, QUICK FOOTSTEPS AS ANNA CROWE moves down the stairs.
Anna is the rare combination of beauty and innocence. She stands
in the chilly basement in an elegant summer dress that outlines
her slender body. Her gentle eyes move across the empty room and
come to rest on a rack of wine bottles covering one entire wall.
She walks to the bottles. Her fingertips slide over t
ceiling of the van and makes a full rotation
of the objective lens concealed in the roof ventilator, catching
glimpses of:
A man with big forearms cutting up a mako shark with a
curved knife, hosing the big fish down with a powerful hand-
held spray.
Young men idling on a corner in front of a bar. Others
lounging in parked cars, talking. Some children playing by
a burning mattress on the sidewalk
ceiling of the hearing room. Her plaque card
reads "CHAIRPERSON -- SENATE ARMS COMMITTEE." DeHaven is a
tough-hided old Southern belle, Scarlett OHara at 60.
In her arsenal she carries conversational hand-grenades --
and shes apt to pull a pin at the slightest whim.
DEHAVEN
Would that be anything like
"typing"? "Restocking the
cupboards"? That sort of thing, Mr.
Hayes?
CHUCKLES from the packed ga
protective gloves, Jerome opens the liquid-nitrogen
cooled refrigerator. A cloud of condensed water vapor billows
out. Revealed inside the fridge are racks of labelled jars and
silicon pouches - some containing a yellowish liquid, some a
deep, red liquid.
In front of one of the jars is a handwritten shopping list -
"TRUFFLES, CIGS, VODKA". Jerome smiles to himself as he
retrieves the note