From: firstname.lastname@example.org (nikolai kingsley) Newsgroups: alt.slack,talk.bizarre Subject: Killing "Bob" again Date: Mon, 1 Dec 1997 20:02:43 +1100 Organization: anarchartists/FDP Lines: 99 Message-ID: <MPG.email@example.com> Reply-To: firstname.lastname@example.org X-Newsreader: Anawave Gravity v2.00.753 Scene: the abandoned pier at Spotswood, Victoria; night-time. The end of the pier is lit by a single lamp overhead, with a conical shade. In the distance, lights wink on and off. There is a faint sound of water lapping against the pier pilings. Two men stand at the end of the pier, looking out into the darkness. GUY 2 (the one on the right) is holding a briefcase. Close-up of the two men, seen from their right. They are businessmen in dark grey suits and overcoats, hands resting by their sides. The single light from above casts stark shadows down their faces, eyes hidden in dark sockets. Neither man moves for thirty seconds (which seems like an eternity). GUY 1 shoots his right cuff, exposing his expensive watch, brings it up to where he can read the time from it, stares at it for a bit longer than you'd need to then lets his arm fall back to his side. Silence for another thirty seconds. GUY 1: He'll be here on time. GUY 2: I don't doubt it. GUY 1: He's aware of what's hanging in the balance, and I know he has a reputation for... frivolity. But he'll be here. GUY 2: I said, I don't doubt it. GUY 1 (softly): Oh, but you do. I know you better than that. Calling you anal-retentive gives anal retention a bad name. GUY 2: You say that like it's a bad thing. There is a pause, during which we can hear the water lapping against the pilings quite clearly. GUY 1: Your arse is so tight that when you fart, only dogs can hear it. GUY 2: And you aren't sure he'll be here. (pause) That's okay. Your nervous jabbering doesn't put me off. I'm used to it. GUY 1: You got the money? Close-up on GUY 2's face as he rolls his eyes in exasperation. GUY 1: I said, do you have the - GUY 2 suddenly swings the briefcase around and hits GUY 1 in the stomach. GUY 1 gasps, folds up and falls sideways into the water. GUY 2 resumes waiting while we hear GUY 1 thrash about in the water. After about thirty seconds, GUY 1 laboriously climbs out of the water and resumes his place next to GUY 2. He stands there, water dripping from his suit. Another thirty seconds passes in silence. GUY 1: Bastard. GUY 2: Shut up, okay? You don't need to - Sudden cut to a medium long shot of the pier as seen from the bank. For less than a second you can see the two men standing on the end of the pier, then a large boat - too big to be a speed boat, but smaller than a tugboat - jumps out of the darkness with no warning or anticipatory sound. It smashes into the pier end-on, demolishing it completely. We don't actually see the two men, but the implication is that they're dead. The boat wedges itself up on the pier which is splintered open in a rough V-shape and sagging, creaking as the boat settles into the wreckage, half-out of the water. Close-up: a hand poking out of the wreckage, holding the briefcase. Another hand comes into shot and gently unbends the fingers from around the handle, then takes the case. Medium shot: another man, from behind, in silhouette against the circle of light from the overhead lamp. He stands on the concrete abutment that the unbroken end of the pier is attached to; he holds the briefcase in one hand and is smoking a pipe. BOB: Well, everything comes apart, one way or another... (he gives an odd kind of laugh) eh, eh, eh! Fade to black. nikolai --- bling frunk!