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Umptieth
Site
1. Prologue
2. Vincent Vega & Marsellus Wallace's Wife
3. The Gold Watch
4. Jules, Vincent, Jimmie & The Wolf
5. Epilogue
Title card:
"The Gold Watch"
We hear over the black and title:
Sportscaster #1(os): -- well Dan, that had to be the bloodiest and, hands-down, the most brutal fight this city has ever seen.
The sound of chaos in the b.g.
Fade in:
A taxi is parked in a dark alley next to an auditorium. The sky is pissin' down rain. We slowly dolly toward the parked car. The sound of the car radio can be heard coming from inside.
Sportscaster #1(os): ...Coolidge was out of there faster than I've ever seen a victorious boxer vacate the ring. Do you think he knew Willis was dead?
Sportscaster #2(os): My guess would be yes, Richard. I could see from my position here, the frenzy in his eyes give way to the realization of what he was doing. I think any man would've left the ring that fast.
Dissolve to:
Inside the taxi, behind the wheel, is a female cabbie named
Esmarelda Villalobos. A young woman, with Spanish looks, sits
parked, drinking a steaming hot cup of coffee out of a white
styrofoam cup.
The Sportscasters continue their coverage.
Sportscaster #1(os): Do you feel this ring death tragedy will have an effect on the world of boxing?
Sportscaster #2(os): Oh Dan, a tragedy like this can't help but shake the world of boxing to its very foundation. But it's of paramount importance that during the sad weeks ahead, the eyes of the W.B.A. remain firmly fixed on the -- Click --
Esmarelda shuts off the radio.
She takes a sip of coffee, then hears a noise behind her in
the alley. She sticks her head out of the car door to see:
Esmeralda's reaction takes in the strangeness of this sight.
Gym bag in hand, Butch climbs out of the dumpster and runs to the taxi. Before he climbs in, he takes off his robe and throws it to the ground.
Butch, soaking wet, naked except for trunks, shoes and gloves,
hops in the backseat, slamming the door.
Esmarelda, staring straight ahead, talks to Butch through the
rearview mirror:
Esmarelda: (Spanish accent) Are you the man I was supposed to pick up?
Butch: If you're the cab I called, I'm the guy you're supposed to pick up.
Esmarelda: Where to?
Butch: Outta here.
The ignition key is twisted. The engine roars to life.
The meter is flipped on.
Esmarelda's bare foot stomps on the gas pedal.
The cab whips out of the alley, fish-tailing on the wet pavement in front of the auditorium at a rapid pace.
Locker room door opens, English Dave fights his way through
the pandemonium which is going on outside in the hall,
shutting the door on the madness. Once inside, English Dave
takes time to adjust his suit and tie.
In the room, black boxer Floyd Ray Willis lies on a table --
dead. His face looks like he went dunking for bees. His
Trainer is on his knees, head on Floyd's chest, crying over
the body.
The huge figure that is Marsellus Wallace stands at the table,
hand on the Trainer's shoulder, lending emotional support. We
still do not see Marsellus clearly, only that he is big.
Mia sits in a chair at the far end of the room.
Marsellus looks up, sees English Dave and walks over to him.
Marsellus(os): What'cha got?
English Dave: He booked.
Marsellus(os): I'm prepared to scour the earth for this motherfucker. If Butch goes to Indo China, I want a nigger hidin' in a bowl of rice, ready to pop a cap in his ass.
English Dave: I'll take care of it.
Butch gets one of his boxing gloves off.
Esmarelda watches in the rearview mirror.
He tries to roll down one of the backseat windows, but can't
find the roll bar.
Butch: Hey, how do I open the window back here?
Esmarelda: I have to do it.
She presses a button and the back window moves down. Butch tosses his boxing glove out the window, then starts untying the other one. Esmarelda can't keep quiet anymore.
Esmarelda: Hey, mister?
Butch: (still working on the glove) What?
Esmarelda: You were in that fight? The fight on the radio -- you're the fighter?
As he tosses his other glove out the window.
Butch: Whatever gave you that idea?
Esmarelda: No c'mon, you're him, I know you're him, tell me you're him.
Butch: (drying himself with a gym towel) I'm him.
Esmarelda: You killed the other boxing man.
Butch: He's dead?
Esmarelda: The radio said he was dead.
He finished wiping himself down.
Butch: (to himself) Sorry 'bout that, Floyd.
He tosses the towel out the window.
Silence, as Butch digs in his bag for a tee-shirt.
Esmarelda: What does it feel like?
Butch: (finds his shirt) What does what feel like?
Esmarelda: Killing a man. Beating another man to death with your bare hands.
Butch pulls on his tee-shirt.
Butch: Are you some kinda weirdo?
Esmarelda: No, it's a subject I have much interest in. You are the first person I ever met who has killed somebody. So, what was it like to kill a man?
Butch: Tell ya what, you give me one of them cigarettes, I'll give you an answer.
Esmarelda bounces in her seat with excitment.
Esmarelda: Deal!
Butch leans forward. Esmarelda, keeping her eyes on the road,
passes a cigarette back to him. He takes it. Then, still not
looking behind her, she brings up her hand, a lit match in it.
Butch lights his smoke, then blows out the match.
He takes a long drag.
Butch: So....
He looks at her license
Butch: ...Esmarelda Villalobos -- is that Mexican?
Esmarelda: The name is Spanish, but I'm Columbian.
Butch: It's a very pretty name.
Esmarelda: It mean "Esmarelda of the wolves."
Butch: That's one hell of a name you got there, sister.
Esmarelda: Thank you. And what is your name?
Butch: Butch: .
Esmarelda: Butch: . What does it mean?
Butch: I'm an American, our names don't mean shit. Anyway, moving right along, what is it you wanna know, Esmarelda?
Esmarelda: I want to know what it feels like to kill a man --
Butch: -- I couldn't tell ya. I didn't know he was dead 'til you told me he was dead. Now I know he's dead, do you wanna know how I feel about it?
Esmarelda nods her head: "yes."
Butch: I don't feel the least little bit bad. You wanna know why, Esmarelda?
Esmarelda nods her head: "yes."
Butch: 'Cause I'm a boxer. And after you've said that, you've said pretty much all there is to say about me. Now maybe that son-of-a- bitch tonight was once at one time a boxer. If he was, then he was dead before his ass ever stepped in the ring. I just put the poor bastard outta his misery. And if he never was a boxer -- (Butch takes a drag) That's what he gets for fuckin' up my sport.
We dolly around a phone booth as Butch talks inside.
Butch: (into phone) What's I tell ya, soon as the word got out a fix was in, the odds would be outta control. Hey, if he was a better fighter he's be alive. If he never laced up his gloves in the first place, which he never shoulda done, he'd be alive. Enough about the poor unfortunate Mr. Floyd, let's talk about the rich and prosperous Mr. Butch. How many bookies you spread it around with? (pause) Eight? How long to collect? (pause) So by tomorrow evening, you'll have it all? (pause) Good news Scotty, real good news -- I understand a few stragglers aside. Me an' Fabian're gonna leave in the morning. It should take us a couple days to get into Knoxville. Next time we see each other, it'll be on Tennessee time.
Butch hangs up the phone. He looks at the cab waiting to take him wherever he wants to go.
Butch: (to himself in French with English subtitles) Fabian my love, our adventure begins.
Cut to:
Esmarelda's tax pulled into the motel parking lot. The rain has stopped, but the night is still soaked. Butch gets out, now fully dressed in tee-shirt, jeans and high school athletic jacket. He leans in the driver's side window.
Esmarelda: Forty-five sixty.
Handing her the money.
Butch: Merci beaucoup. And here's a little something for the effort.
Butch holds up a hundred dollar bill.
Esmarelda's eyes light up. She goes to take it. Butch holds
it out of reach.
Butch: Now if anybody should ask you about who your fare was tonight, what're you gonna tell 'em?
Esmarelda: The truth. Three well-dressed, slightly toasted, Mexicans.
He gives her the bill.
Butch: Bon soir, Esmarelda.
Esmarelda: (in Spanish) Sleep well, Butch.
He tweaks her nose, she smiles, and he turns and walks away. She drives off.
Butch enters and turns on the light.
Lying curled up on the bed, fully dressed, with her back to us
is Butch's French girlfriend, Fabian.
Fabian: Keep the light off.
Butch flicks the switch back, making the room dark again.
Butch: Is that better, sugar pop?
Fabian: Oui. Hard day at the office?
Butch: Pretty hard. I got into a fight.
Fabian: Poor baby. Can we make spoons?
Butch climbs into bed, spooning Fabian from behind.
When Butch and Fabian speak to each other, they speak in baby-
talk.
Fabian: I was looking at myself in the mirror.
Butch: Uh-huh?
Fabian: I wish I had a pot.
Butch: You were lookin' in the mirror and you wish you had some pot?
Fabian: A pot. A pot belly. Pot bellies are sexy.
Butch: Well you should be happy, 'cause you do.
Fabian: Shut up, Fatso! I don't have a pot! I have a bit of a tummy, like Madonna when she did "Lucky Star," it's not the same thing.
Butch: I didn't realize there was a difference between a tummy and a pot belly.
Fabian: The difference is huge.
Butch: You want me to have a pot?
Fabian: No. Pot bellies make a man look either oafish, or like a gorilla. But on a woman, a pot belly is very sexy. The rest of you is normal. Normal face, normal legs, normal hips, normal ass, but with a big, perfectly round pot belly. If I had one, I'd wear a tee-shirt two sizes too small to accentuate it.
Butch: You think guys would find that attractive?
Fabian: I don't give a damn what men find attractive. It's unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same.
Butch: If I had a pot belly, I'd punch you in it.
Fabian: You'd punch me in my belly?
Butch: Right in the belly.
Fabian: I'd smother you. I'd drop it on your right on your face 'til you couldn't breathe.
Butch: You'd do that to me?
Fabian: Yes!
Butch: Did you get everything, sugar pop?
Fabian: Yes, I did.
Butch: Good job.
Fabian: Did everything go as planned?
Butch: You didn't listen to the radio?
Fabian: I never listen to your fights. Were you the winner?
Butch: I won alright.
Fabian: Are you still retiring?
Butch: Sure am.
Fabian: What about the man you fought?
Butch: Floyd retired too.
Fabian: (smiling) Really?! He won't be fighting no more?!
Butch: Not no more.
Fabian: So it all worked out in the finish?
Butch: We ain't at the finish, baby.
Fabian rolls over and Butch gets on top of her. They kiss.
Fabian: We're in a lot of danger, aren't we?
Butch nods his head: "yes."
Fabian: If they find us, they'll kill us, won't they?
Butch nods his head: "yes."
Fabian: But they won't find us, will they?
Butch nods his head: "yes."
Fabian: Do you still want me to go with you?
Butch nods his head: "yes."
Fabian: I don't want to be a burden or a nuisance --
Butch's hand goes out of frame and starts massaging her
crotch.
Fabian reacts.
Fabian: Say it!
Butch: Fabian, I want you to be with me.
Fabian: Forever?
Butch: ...and ever.
Fabian lies her head back.
Butch continues to massage her crotch.
Fabian: Do you love me?
Butch: Oui.
Fabian: Butch? Will you give me oral pleasure?
Butch kisses her on the mouth.
Butch: Will you kiss it?
She nods her head: "yes."
Fabian: But you first.
Butch's head goes down out of frame to carry out the oral pleasure. Fabian's face is alone in the frame.
Fabian: (in French, with English subtitles) Butch my love, the adventure begins
Fade to black
Fade up:
Same motel room, except empty. We hear the shower running in the bathroom. The camera moves to the bathroom doorway. We see Fabian in a white terry cloth robe that seems to swallow her up. She's drying her head with a towel. Butch is inside the shower washing up. We see the outline of his naked body through the smoky glass of the shower door. Steam fills the bathroom. Butch turns the shower off and opens the door, popping his head out.
Butch: I think I cracked a rib.
Fabian: Giving me oral pleasure?
Butch: No retard, from the fight.
Fabian: Don't call me retard.
Butch: (in a Mongoloid voice) My name is Fabby! My name is Fabby!
Fabian: Shut up fuck head! I hate that Mongoloid voice.
Butch: Okay, sorry, sorry, sorry, I take it back! Can I have a towel please, Miss Beautiful Tulip.
Fabian: Oh I like that, I like being called a tulip. Tulip is much better than Mongoloid.
She finishes drying her hair and wraps the towel like a turban on her head.
Butch: I didn't call you a Mongoloid, I called you a retard, but I took it back.
She hands him a towel.
Butch: Merci beaucoup.
Fabian: Butch?
Butch: (drying his head) Yes, lemon pie.
Fabian: Where are we going to go?
Butch: I'm not sure yet. Wherever you want. We're gonna get a lot of money from this. But it ain't gonna be so much, we can live like hogs in the fat house forever. I was thinking we could go somewhere in the South Pacific. The kinda money we'll have'll carry us a long way down there.
Fabian: So if we wanted, we could live in Bora Bora?
Butch: You betcha. And if after awhile you don't dig Bora Bora, then we can move over to Tahiti or Mexico. Fabian: But I do not speak Spanish.
Butch: You don't speak Bora Boran either. Besides, Mexican is easy: Donde esta el zapataria?
Fabian: What does that mean?
Butch: Where's the shoe store?
Fabian: Donde esta el zapataria?
Butch: Excellent pronunciation. You'll be my little mama ceta in no time.
Butch exits the bathroom. We stay on FAbian as she brushes
her teeth.
Butch keeps on from the other room.
Butch(os): Que hora es?
Fabian: Que hora es?
Butch(os): What time is it?
Fabian: What time is it?
Butch(os): Time for bed. Sweet dream, jellybean.
Fabian brushes her teeth. We watch her for a moment or two, then she remember something.
Fabian: Butch: .
She walks out of the bathroom to ask Butch a question, only to
find him sound asleep in bed.
She looks at him for a moment.
Fabian: Forget it.
She exits frame, going back in the bathroom. We stay on the
wide shot of the unconscious Butch in bed.
Fade to black
Fade up:
Same shot as before, the next morning. We find Butch still
asleep in bed.
Fabian brushes her teeth half in and half out of the bathroom
so she can watch TV at the same time. She still wears the
terry cloth robe from the night before.
On TV: William Smith and a bunch of Hell's Angels are taking
on the entire Vietnamese army in the film "The Losers."
Butch wakes from his sleep, as if a scary monster was chasing
him. His start startles Fabian.
Fabian: Merde! You startled me. Did you have a bad dream?
Butch squints down the front of the bed at her, trying to focus.
Butch: ...yeah...are you still brushing your teeth?
Fabian: This is me. I brush my teeth all night long and into the early morning. Do you think I have a problem?
Fabian goes back into the bathroom to spit.
If that was supposed to be sarcasm, it was lost on Butch at
this early hour.
Butch, still trying to chase the cobwebs away, sees on TV
Hell's Angels tear-assin' through a Vietnamese prison camp.
Butch: What are you watching?
Fabian: A motorcycle movie, I'm not sure the name.
Butch: Are you watchin' it?
Fabian enters the room.
Fabian: In a way. Why? Would you like for me to switch it off?
Butch: Would you please?
She reaches over and turns off the TV.
Butch: It's a little too early in the morning for explosions and war.
Fabian: What was it about?
Butch: How should I know, you were the one watchin' it.
Fabian laughs.
Fabian: No, imbecile, what was your dream about?
Butch: Oh, I...don't remember. It's really rare I remember a dream.
Fabian: You just woke up from it.
Butch: Fabian, I'm not lying to you, I don't remember.
Fabian: Well, let's look at the grumpy man in the morning. I didn't say you were lying, it's just odd you don't remember your dreams. I always remember mine. Did you know you talk in your sleep?
Butch: I don't talk in my sleep, do I talk in my sleep?
Fabian: You did last night.
Butch: What did I say?
Laying on top of him.
Fabian: I don't know. I couldn't understand you.
She kisses Butch.
Fabian: Why don't you get up and we'll get some breakfast at that breakfast place with the pancakes.
Butch: One more kiss and I'll get up.
Fabian gives Butch a sweet long kiss.
Fabian: Satisfied?
Butch: Yep.
Fabian: Then get up, lazy bones.
Butch climbs out of bed and starts pulling clothes out of the suitcase that Fabian brought.
Butch: What time is it?
Fabian: Almost nine in the morning. What time does our train arrive?
Butch: Eleven.
Seeing him looking at a pair of pants.
Fabian: Those pants are very nice. Can you wear those with that nice blue shirt you have?
He pulls a blue shirt of the suitcase.
Butch: This one?
Fabian: That's the one. That matches.
Butch: Okay.
He puts the cloths on.
Fabian: I'm gonna order a big plate of blueberry pancakes with maple syrup, eggs over easy, and five sausages.
Butch: (surprised at her potential appetite) Anything to drink with that?
Butch is finished dressing.
Fabian: (referring to his clothes) Oh yes, that looks nice. To drink, a tall glass or orange juice and a black cup of coffee. After that, I'm going to have a slice of pie.
As he goes through the suitcase.
Butch: Pie for breakfast?
Fabian: Any time of the day is a good time for pie. Blueberry pie to go with the pancakes. And on top, a thin slice of melted cheese --
Butch: -- where's my watch?
Fabian: It's there.
Butch: No, it's not. It's not here.
Fabian: Have you looked?
By now, Butch is frantically rummaging through the suitcase.
Butch: Yes I've fuckin' looked!!
He's now throwing clothes.
Butch: What the fuck do you think I'm doing?! Are you sure you got it?
Fabian can hardly speak, she's never seen Butch this way.
Fabian: Uhhh...yes...beside the table drawer --
Butch: -- on the little kangaroo.
Fabian: Yes, it was on your little kangaroo.
Butch: Well it's not here!
Fabian: (on the verge of tears) Well it should be!
Butch: Oh it most definitely should be here, but it's not. So where is it?
Fabian is crying and scared.
Butch lowers his voice, which only serves to make him more
menacing.
Butch: Fabian, that was my father's fuckin' watch. You know what my father went through to git me that watch?...I don't wanna get into it right now...but he went through a lot. Now all this other shit, you coulda set on fire, but I specifically reminded you not to forget my father's watch. Now think, did you get it?
Fabian: I believe so....
Butch: You believe so? You either did, or you didn't, now which one is it?
Fabian: Then I did.
Butch: Are you sure?
Fabian: (shaking) No.
Butch freaks out, he punches the air.
Fabian screams and backs into a corner,
Butch picks up the motel TV and throws it against the wall.
Fabian screams in horror.
Butch looks toward her, suddenly calm.
Butch: (to Fabian) No! It's not your fault. (he approached her) You left it at the apartment.
He bends down in front of the woman who has sunk to the floor.
He touches her hand, she flinches.
Butch: If you did leave it at the apartment, it's not your fault. I had you bring a bunch of stuff. I reminded you about it, but I didn't illustrate how personal the watch was to me. If all I gave a fuck about was my watch, I should've told you. You ain't a mind reader.
He kisses her hand. Then rises.
Fabian is still sniffling.
Butch goes to the closet.
Fabian: I'm sorry.
Butch puts on his high school jacket.
Butch: Don't be. It just means I won't be able to eat breakfast with you.
Fabian: Why does it mean that?
Butch: Because I'm going back to my apartment to get my watch.
Fabian: Won't the gangsters be looking for you there?
Butch: That's what I'm gonna find out. If they are, and I don't think I can handle it, I'll split.
Rising from the floor.
Fabian: My darling, I don't want you to be murdered over a silly watch.
Butch: One, it's not a silly watch. Two, I'm not gonna be murdered. And three, don't be scared. I won't let anything get in the way of us living a happy life together.
Butch brings her close and puts his hands on her face.
Butch: Don't feel bad, sugar pop. Nothing you could ever do would make me permanently angry at you. (pause) I love you, remember? (he digs some money out of his wallet) Now here's some money, order those pancakes and have a great breakfast.
Fabian: Don't go.
Butch: I'll be back before you can say, blueberry pie.
Fabian: Blueberry pie.
Butch: Well maybe not that fast, but fast. Okay? Okay?
Fabian: Okay.
He kisses her once more and heads for the door.
Butch: Bye-bye, sugar pop.
Fabian: Bye.
Butch: I'm gonna take your Honda.
Fabian: Okay.
And with that, he's out the door.
Fabian sits on the bed and looks at the money he gave her.
Butch is beating the steering wheel and the dash with his fists as he drives down the street.
Butch: Of all the fuckin' things she coulda forgot, she forgets my father's watch. I specifically reminded her not to forget it. "Bedside table -- on the kangaroo." I said the words: "Don't forget my father's watch."
The little Honda races toward its destination as fast as its little engine will take it.
Butch continues:
Butch: What the fuck am I doin'? Have I taken one too many hits to the head? That's gotta be it. Brain damage is the only excuse for this dumb a move. Stop the car, Butch. (he keeps on driving) Stop the car, Butch. (he pays no attention to himself) Butch, I'm talkin' to you. Put- your-foot-on-the-break!
Butch's foot slams down hard on the break.
The little Honda skids to a stop in the middle of the street.
Butch hops out of the car like it was on fire.
Butch begins pacing back and forth, talking to himself,
oblivious to Passersby and traffic.
Butch: I ain't gonna do this. This is a punchy move and I ain't punchy! Daddy would totally fuckin' understand. If he was here right now, he'd say, "Butch, git a grip. It's a fuckin' watch, man. You lose one, ya git another. This is your life you're fuckin' around with, which you shouldn't be doin' 'cause you only got one.
Butch continues to pace, but now he's silent. Then....
Butch: This is my war. You see, Butch, what you're forgettin' is this watch isn't just a device that enables you to keep track of time. This watch is a symbol. It's a symbol of how your father, and his father before him, and his father before him, distinguished themselves in war. And when I took Marsellus Wallace's money, I started a war. This is my World War Two. That apartment in North Hollywood, that's my Wake Island. In fact, if you look at it that way, it's almost kismet that Fabian left it behind. And using that perspective, going back for it isn't stupid. It may be dangerous, but it's not stupid. Because there are certain things in this world that are worth going back for.
That's it, Butch has talked himself into it again. He hops in
the car, starts it up and takes off.
Cut to:
A parking meter red flag rises up, then out, leaving the arrow
pointing at one hour.
Butch isn't completely reckless. He has parked his car a couple of blocks from his apartment to check things out before he goes boppin' through the front door.
Butch walks down the alley until he gets to another street, then he discreetly glances out.
Everything seems normal. More or less the right number of
cars in the street. None of the parked cars appear out of
place. None of them have a couple of goons sitting inside.
Basically, it looks like normal morning activity in front of
Butch's home.
Butch peers around a wall, taking in the vital information.
Butch: (to himself) Everything looks hunky dorie. Looks can be deceiving, but this time I don't think they are. Why waste the manpower to stake out my place. I'd have to be a fuckin' idiot to come back here. That's how you're gonna beat 'em Butch, they keep underestimating you.
Butch walks out of the alley and is ready for anything. He
crosses the street and enters his apartment courtyard.
Across the street from Butch's building, on the corner, is a
combination donut shop and Japanese restaurant. A big sign
sticks up in the air, with the name "Teriyaki Donut" and a
graphic of a donut sticking out of a bowl of rice.
Butch is in the courtyard of his North Hollywood apartment
building. Once again, everything appears normal -- the
laundry room, the pool, his apartment door -- nothing appears
disturbed.
Butch climbs the stairs leading to his apartment, number 12.
He steps outside the door and listens inside. Nothing.
Butch slowly inserts the key into the door, quietly opening
it.
His apartment hasn't been touched.
He cautiously steps inside, shuts the door and takes a quick
look around. Obviously, no one is there.
Butch walks into his modest kitchen, and opens the
refrigerator. He takes out a carton of milk and drinks from
it.
With carton in hard, Butch surveys the apartment. Then he
goes to the bedroom.
His bedroom is like the rest of the apartment -- neat, clean
and anonymous. The only things personal in his room are a few
boxing trophies, an Olympic silver medal, a framed issue of
"Ring Magazine" with Butch on the cover, and a poster of Jerry
Quarry and one of George Chuvalo.
Sure enough, there's the watch just like he said it was: on
the bedside table, hanging on his little kangaroo statue.
He walks through the apartment and back into the kitchen. He
opens a cupboard and takes out a box of Pop Tarts. Putting
down the milk, he opens the box, takes out two Pop Tarts and
puts them in the toaster.
Butch glances to his right, his eyes fall on something.
What he sees is a small compact Czech M61 submachine gun with
a huge silencer on it, lying on his kitchen counter.
Butch: (softly) Holy shit.
He picks up the intimidating peace of weaponary and examines
it.
Then...a toilet flushes.
Butch looks up to the bathroom door, which is parallel to the
kitchen. There is someone behind it.
Like a rabbit caught in a radish patch, Butch freezes, not
knowing what to do.
The bathroom door opens and Vincent Vega steps out of the
bathroom, tightening his belt. In his hand is the book
"Modesty Blaise" by Peter O'Donnell.
Vincent and Butch lock eyes.
Vincent freezes.
Butch doesn't move, except to point the M61 in Vincent's
direction.
Neither man opens his mouth.
Then...the toaster Loudly kicks up the Pop Tarts.
That's all the situation needed.
Butch's finger hits the trigger.
Muffled fire shoots out of the end of the gun.
Vincent is seemingly wtacked with twenty bullets
simultaneously -- lifting him off his feet, propelling him
through the air and crashing through the glass shower door at
the end of the bathroom.
By the time Butch removes his finger from the trigger, Vincent
is annihilated.
Butch stands frozen, amazed at what just happened. His look
goes from the grease spot in the bathroom that was once
Vincent, down to the powerful piece of artillery in his grip.
With the respect it deserves, Butch carefully places the M61
back on the kitchen counter.
Then he exits the apartment, quickly.
Butch, not running, but walking very rapidly, crosses the
courtyard....
...comes out of the apartment building, crosses the street....
...goes through the alley....
...and into his car in one steadycam shot.
Butch cranks the car into gear and drives away. The big wide smile of a survivor breaks across his face.
The Honda turns down the alley and slowly cruises by his apartment building.
Butch looks out the window at his former home.
Butch: That's how you're gonna beat 'em, Butch. They keep underestimatin' ya.
This makes the boxer laugh out loud. As he laughs, he flips a
tape in the cassette player. When the music starts, he sings
along with it.
He drives by the apartment, but is stopped at the light on the
corner across from Teriyaki Donut.
Butch is still chuckling, singing along with the song, as we
see:
Through the windsheeld
Laughing boy stops when he sees the big man directly in front
of him.
When Marsellus is in front of Butch's car, he casually glances
to his left, sees Butch, continues walking...then stops!
Double-take:: "Am I really seeing what I'm seeing?"
Butch doesn't wait for the big man to answer his own question.
He stomps on the gas pedal.
The little Honda slams into Marsellus, sending him, the donuts
and the coffee hitting the pavement at thirty miles an hour.
Butch cuts into cross traffic and is broad sided by a gold
Camaro Z-28, breaking all the windows in the Honda and sending
it up on the sidewalk.
Butch sits dazed and confused in the crumpled mess of what at
one time was Fabian's Honda. Blood flows from his nostrils.
The still-functional tape player continues to play. A
Pedestrian pokes his head inside.
the big man himself, Marsellus Wallace, exit Teriyaki Donut,
carrying a box of a dozen donuts and two large styrofoam cups
of coffee. He steps off the curb, crossing the street in
front of Butch's car. This is the first time we see Marsellus
clearly.
Pedestrian: Jesus, are you okay?
Butch look at him, spaced-out.
Butch: I guess.
Marsellus Wallace lies sprawled out in the street. Gawkers gather around the body.
Gawker #1: (to the others) He's dead! He's dead!
This jerk's yelling makes Marsellus come to.
Two Pedestrians help the shaken Butch out of the wreckage.
The woozy Marsellus gets to his feet.
Gawker #2: If you need a witness in court, I'll be glad to help. He was a drunken maniac. He hit you and crashed into that car.
Marsellus: (still incoherent) Who?
Gawker #2: (pointing at Butch) Him.
Marsellus follows the Gawker's finger and sees Butch Coolidge down the street, looking a shambles.
Marsellus: Well, I'll be damned.
The big man takes out a .45 Automatic and the Gawkers back
away. Marsellus starts moving toward Butch.
Butch sees the fierce figure making a wobbly bee-line toward
him.
Butch: Sacre bleu.
Marsellus brings up his weapon and FIRES, but he's so hurt,
shaky and dazed that his arm goes wild.
He hits a Looky-loo Woman in the hip. She falls to the
ground, screaming.
Looky-loo Woman: Oh my God, I've been shot!
That's all Butch needs to see. He's outta here.
Marsellus runs after him.
The Crowd looks agape.
Butch is in a mad, limping run.
The big man's hot on his ass with a cockeyed wobbly run.
Butch cuts across traffic and dashes into a business with a
sign that reads "Mason-Dixie Pawnshop."
Maynard, a hillbilly-lookin' boy, stands behind the counter of his pawnshop when, all of a sudden, chaos in the form of Butch races into his world.
Maynard: Can I help you wit' somethin'?
Butch: Shut up!
Butch quickly takes measure of the situation, than stands next to the door.
Maynard: Now you just wait one goddamn minute --
Before Maynard can finish his threat, Marsellus charges in.
He doesn't get past the doorway because Butch lands his fist
in Marsellus' face.
The gangster's feet go out from under him and the big man
falls flat on his back.
Outside, two police cars with their sirens blaring race by.
Butch pounces on the fallen body, punching him twice more in
the face.
Butch takes the gun out of Marsellus' hand, than grabs ahold
of his middle finger.
Butch: So you like chasing people, huh?
He breaks the finger. Marsellus lets out a pain sound. Butch then places the barrel of the .45 between his eyes, pulls back the hammer and places his open hand behind the gun to shield the splatter.
Butch: Well guess what, big man, you caught me --
Maynard(os): -- hold it right there, godammit!
Butch and Marsellus look up at Maynard, who's brandishing a pump-action shotgun, aimed at the two men.
Butch: Look mister, this ain't any of your business --
Maynard: -- I'm makin' it my business! Now toss that gun!
Butch does.
Maynard: Now you on top, stand up and come to the counter.
Butch slowly gets up and moves to the counter. As soon as he
gets there, Maynard hauls off, hitting him hard in the face
with the butt of the shotgun, knocking Butch down and out.
After Butch goes down, Maynard calmly lays the shotgun on the
counter and moves to the telephone.
Marsellus Wallace, from his position on the floor, groggily
watches the pawnshop owner dial a number. Maynard waits on
the line while the other end rings. Then it picks up.
Maynard: Zed? It's Maynard. The spider just caught a coupl'a flies.
Marsellus passes out.
Fade to black
Fade up:
Two shot - Butch and Marsellus
are tied up in two separate chairs. In their mouths are two
S&M-style ball gags (a belt goes around their heads and a
little red ball sticks in their mouths). Both men are
unconscious. Maynard steps in with a fire extinguisher and
sprays both guys until they're wide awake and wet as otters.
The two prisoners look up at their captors.
Maynard stands in front of them, fire extinguisher in one
hand, shotgun in the other, and Marsellus' .45 sticking in his
belt.
Maynard: Nobody kills anybody in my place of business except me or Zed.
A buzzer buzzes.
Maynard: That' Zed.
Without saying another word, Maynard climbs up the stairs that
lead to red curtains and goes through them.
We hear, on the other side of the curtains, Maynard let Zed
inside the store.
Butch and Marsellus look around the room. The basement of the
pawnshop has been converted into a dungeon. After taking in
their predicament, Butch and Marsellus look at each other, all
traces of hostility gone, replaced by a terror they both share
at what they've gotten themselves into.
Maynard and Zed come through the curtains. Zed is an even
more intense version of Maynard, if such a thing is possible.
The two hillbillys are obviously brothers. Where Maynard is a
vicious pitbull, Zed is a deadly cobra. Zed walks in and
stands in front of the two captives. He inspects them for a
long time, then says:
Zed: (to Maynard) You said you waited for me?
Maynard: I did.
Zed: Then how come they're all beat up?
Maynard: They did that to each other. They was fightin' when they came in. This one was gonna shoot that one.
Zed: (to Butch) You were gonna shoot him?
Butch makes no reply.
Zed: Hey, is Grace gonna be okay in front of this place?
Maynard: Yeah, it ain't Tuesday is it?
Zed: No, it's Thursday.
Maynard: Then she'll be fine.
Zed: Bring out The Gimp.
Maynard: I think The Gimp's asleep.
Zed: Well, I guess you'll just wake 'em up then, won't you?
Maynard opens a trap door in the floor.
Maynard: (yelling in the hole) Wake up!
Maynard reaches into the hole and comes back holding onto a
leash. He gives it a rough yank and, from below the floor,
rises The Gimp.
The Gimp is a man they keep dressed from head to toe in black
leather bondage gear. There are zippers, buckles and studs
here and there on the body. On his head is a black leather
mask with two eye holes and a zipper (closed) for a mouth.
They keep him in a hole in the floor big enough for a large
dog.
Zed takes the chair, sits it in front of the two prisoners,
then lowers into it. Maynard hands The Gimp's leash to Zed,
then backs away.
Maynard:
(to The Gimp)
Down!
The Gimp gets on its knees.
Maynard hangs back while Zed appraises the two men.
Maynard: Who's first?
Zed: I ain't fer sure yet.
Then with his little finger, Zed does a silent "Eenie, meany,
miney, moe..." just his mouth mouthing the words and his
finger going back and forth between the two.
Butch are Marsellus are terrified.
Maynard looks back and forth at the victims.
The Gimps's eyes go from one to the other inside the mask.
Zed continues his silent sing-song with his finger moving left
to right, then it stops.
Two shot - Butch and Marsellus
after a beat, the camera moves to the right, zeroing in on
Marsellus.
Zed stands up.
Zed: Wanna do it here?
Maynard: Naw, drag big boy to Russell's old room.
Zed grabs Marsellus' chair and drags him into Russell's old
room. Russell, no doubt, was some other poor bastard that has
the misfortune of stumbling into the Mason-Dixie pawnshop.
Whatever happened to Russell is known only to Maynard and Zed
because his old room, a back room in the back of the back
room, is empty.
As Marsellus is dragged away, he locks eyes with Butch before
he disappears behind the door of Russell's old room.
Maynard: (to The Gimp) Up!
The Gimp rises. Maynard ties The Gimp's leash to a hook on the ceiling.
Maynard: Keep an eye on this one.
The Gimp bows its head: "yes." Maynard disappears into
Russell's old room. There must be a stereo in there because
suddenly The Judds, singing in harmony, fills the air.
Butch looks at The Gimp. The Gimp giggles from underneath the
mask as if this were the funniest moment in the history of
comedy.
From behind the door we hear country music, struggling, and:
Maynard(os): Whoa, this boy's got a bit of fight in 'em!
We the hear Maynard and Zed beat on Marsellus.
Zed(os): You wanna fight? You wanna fight? Good, I like to fight!
Butch pauses, listens to the voices. Then, in a panic,
hurriedly struggles to get free.
The Gimp is laughing wildly.
The ropes are on too tight and Butch can't break free.
The Gimp slaps his knee laughing
In the back room, we hear:
Maynard(os): That's it...that's it boy, you're goin' fine. Oooooooh, just like that...that's good. (grunting faster) Stay still...stay still goddamn ya! Zed goddammit, git over here and hold 'em!
Butch stops struggling and lifts up on his arms. Then, quite
easily, the padded chair back slides up and off as if it were
never connected by a bolt.
The Gimp sees this and its eyes widen.
The Gimp: Huhng?
The Gimp flails wildly, trying to get the leash off the hook.
He tries to yell, but all that comes out are excited gurgles
and grunts.
Butch is out of his chair, quickly dispensing three boxer's
punches to its face. The punches knock The Gimp out, making
him fall to his knees, this hanging himself by the leash
attached to the hook,
Butch removes the ball gag, then silently makes his way
through the red curtains.
Butch sneaks to the door.
On the counter is a big set of keys with a large Z connected
to the ring. Grabbing them, he's about to go out when he
stops and listens to the hillbilly psychopaths having their
way with Marsellus.
Butch decides for the life of him, he can't leave anybody in a
situation like that. Se he begins rooting around the pawnshop
for a weapon to bash those hillbillies' heads in with.
He picks up a big destructive-looking hammer, then discards
it: not destructive enough. He picks up a chainsaw, thinks
about it for a moment, then puts it back. Next, a large
Louisville slugger he tries on for size. But then he spots
what he's been looking for:
A Samurai sword.
It hangs in its hand-carved wood sheath from a nail on the
wall, next to a neon "Dad's Old-fashioned Root Beer" sign.
Butch takes the sword off the wall, removing it from its
sheath. It's a magnificent piece of steel. It seems to
glisten in the low-wattage light of the pawnshop. Butch
touches his thumb to the blade to see if the sword is just for
show. Not on your life. It's as sharp as it gets. This
weapon seems made to order for the Brothers Grimm downstairs.
Holding the sword pointed downward, Takakura Ken-style, he
disappears through the red curtains to take care of business.
Butch quietly sneaks down the stairs leading to the dungeon. Sodomy and the Judds can still be heard going string behind the closed door that leads to Russell's old room.
Butch's hand comes into frame, pushing the door open. It
swings open silently, revealing the rapists, who have switched
positions. Zed is now bent over Marsellus, who is bent over a
wooden horse. Maynard watches. Both have their backs to
Butch.
Maynard faces the camera, grinning, while Butch comes up
behind him with the sword.
Miserable, violated, and looking like a rag doll, Marsellus,
red ball gag still in mouth, opens his watery eyes to see
Butch coming up behind Maynard. His eyes widen.
Butch: Hey hillbilly.
Maynard turns and sees Butch holding the sword.
Butch screams...with one mighty swing, slashes Maynard across
the front, moving past him, eyes and blade now locked on Zed.
Maynard stands trembling, his front sliced open, in shock.
Butch, while never taking his eyes off Zed, thrusts the sword
behind him, skewering Maynard, then extracts it, pointing the
blade toward Zed. Maynard collapses.
Zed disengages from Marsellus in a hurry and his eyes go from
the tip of Butch's sword to Marsellus' .45 Automatic, which
lies within reach.
Butch's eyes follow Zed's.
Butch: You want that gun, Zed? Pick it up.
Zed's hand inches toward the weapon.
Butch grips the sword tighter.
Zed studies Butch,
Butch looks hard at Zed.
Then a voice says:
Marsellus(os): Step aside, Butch.
Butch steps aside, revealing Marsellus standing behind him,
holding Maynard's pump-action shotgun.
KABOOM!!!!
Zed is blasted in the groin. Down he goes, screaming in
agony.
Marsellus, looking down at his whimpering rapist, ejects the
used shotgun shell.
Butch lowers the sword and hangs back. Not a word, until:
Butch: You okay?
Marsellus: Naw man. I'm pretty fuckin' far from okay!
Long pause.
Butch: What now?
Marsellus: What now? Well let me tell you what now. I'm gonna call a couple pipe-hittin' niggers, who'll go to work on homes here with a pair of pliers and a blow torch. (to Zed) Hear me talkin' hillbilly boy?! I ain't through with you by a damn sight. I'm gonna git Medieval on your ass.
Butch: I meant what now, between me and you?
Marsellus: Oh, that what now? Well, let me tell ya what now between me an' you. There is no me an' you. Not no more.
Butch: So we're cool?
Marsellus: Yeah man, we're cool. One thing I ask -- two things I ask: don't tell nobody about this. This shit's between me and you and the soon-to-be-livin'-the-rest-of-his- short-ass-life-in-agonizing-pain, Mr. Rapist here. It ain't nobody else's business. Two: leave town. Tonight. Right now. And when you're gone, stay gone. You've lost your Los Angeles privileges. Deal?
Butch: Deal.
The two men shake hands, then hug one another.
Marsellus: Go on now, get your ass outta here.
Butch leaves Russell's old room through the red curtains. Marsellus walks over to a phone, dialing a number.
Marsellus: (into the phone) Hello Mr. Wolf, it's Marsellus. Gotta bit of a situation.
Butch, still shaking in his boots, exits the pawnshop. He looks ahead and sees, parked in front of the establishment, Zed's Big Chrome Chopper with a teardrop gas tank that has the name "Grace" on it. He climbs aboard, takes out the keys with the big Z on them and starts up the huge hog. It rumbles to life, making sounds like a rocket fighting for orbit. Butch twists the accelerator handle and speeds off.
We cut back and forth between...
Fabian stands in front of a mirror wearing a "Frankie says, Relax" tee-shirt, singing along with music coming from a boom box.
Butch drives down the street, humping a hot dog names "Grace."
He checks his father's watch. It says: 10:30.
The song in the motel room plays over this.
Butch rides up on Grace. He hops off and runs inside the motel room, while we stay outside with the bike.
Fabian(os): Butch, I was so worried!
Butch: Honey, grab your radio and your purse and let's go!
Fabian(os): But what about all our bags?
Butch: Fuck the bags. We'll miss our train if we don't split now.
Fabian(os): Is everything well? Are we in danger?
Butch: We're cool. In fact, we're super- cool. But we gots to go. I'll wait for you outside.
Butch runs out and hops back on the bike. Fabian exits the motel room with the boom box and a large purse. When she sees Butch on the chopper, she stops dead.
Fabian: Where did you get this motorcycle?
Butch: (he kick-starts it) It's a chopper, baby, hop on.
Fabian slowly approaches the two-wheel demon.
Fabian: What happened to my Honda?
Butch: Sorry baby, I crashed the Honda.
Fabian: You're hurt?
Butch: I might've broke my nose, no biggie. Hop on.
She doesn't move.
Butch looks at her.
Butch: Honey, we gotta hit the fuckin' road!
Fabian starts to cry.
Butch realizes that this is not the way to get her on the
bike. He turns off the engine and reaches out, taking her
hand.
Butch: I'm sorry, baby-love.
Fabian: (crying) You were gone so long, I started to think dreadful thoughts.
Butch: I'm sorry I worried you, sweetie. Everything's fine. Hey, how was breakfast?
Fabian: (waterworks drying a little) It was good --
Butch: -- did you get the blueberry pancakes?
Fabian: No, they didn't have blueberry pancakes, I had to get buttermilk -- are you sure you're okay?
Butch: Baby-love, from the moment I left you, this has been without a doubt the single weirdest day of my entire life. Climb on an' I'll tell ya about it.
Fabian does climb on. Butch STARTS her up.
Fabian: Butch, whose motorcycle is this?
Butch: It's a chopper.
Fabian: Whose chopper is this?
Butch: Zed's.
Fabian: Who's Zed?
Butch: Zed's dead, baby, Zed's dead.
And with that, the two lovebirds peel away on Grace, as the
song on the boom box rises.
Fade to black
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The Umptieth Site |
The Script.
1. Prologue |