Takers Toll

Logline: "When a sports fanatic suspects his girlfriend and an agoraphobic apartment manager of stealing expensive memorabilia, jealousies and selfishness take their toll."

I wrote this story at the request of a young San Francisco filmmaker. He requested something intense, emotional, and ultimately touching. I put my own emphasis on intense. Enjoy.

Note: Adult language.

FADE IN:
INT. SHABBY APARTMENT - DAY
A dingy, claustrophobic living room cluttered with sports memorabilia: posters, trophies, helmets, jerseys.
ANTON (20s), skeletal, angular, sideways in an armchair, long bony legs dangle, wears a baggy wool sweater. He holds an autographed football to his eyes, examines it languidly.
Anton sniffs the football. Inhales.
Closes his eyes, as if in ecstasy.
He rubs his face against the armchair, feels the texture.
He jumps up from the chair, crosses to a glass trophy case. He presses his nose against the glass, eyes closed, feels the smooth slickness against his face, up and down.
The football bumps against the glass.
Anton looks down, remembers the ball is there. He runs his fingers across the bumpy leather, caresses it.
He pretends to throw the ball. He doesn't have an athletic muscle in his body.
He jogs across the room, awkward, holds the ball up, makes a wooshing sound as he imagines the ball flying.
He pretends to catch the ball in the kitchen.
He nods to an imaginary crowd.
Anton sniffs the ball. Hugs it, fondles it.
He lies on the floor, squirts a dollop of ketchup onto the football, examines it in shafts of dusty sunlight.
Anton licks the ketchup off the ball. Savors it, enraptured.
The front door opens to reveal...
JAKE (30s), beer belly of a former quarterback, a paper sack of groceries in his arm.
JAKE
Who the hell are you?
Anton shoots to his feet, ram-rod stiff. His eyes roll up, stare straight to the ceiling.
Anton sways, the forgotten football clenched in sweaty palms.
Jake is not one for patience.
JAKE
I said, who the hell are you?
Anton's mouth opens, nothing comes out.
LUCIANA (20s), softhearted, merciful enough to leave the living room sports shrine untouched, pushes in past Jake. She lets her grocery bags fall to the counter.
Gently, Luciana pries the football from Anton's hands.
Anton sways, lets her have it.
Luciana tosses the ball to Jake.
Jake sees the red smear on the ball.
JAKE
Is this blood?
LUCIANA
No, this is Anton. I told you.
Anton gulps. His hands make little circles in the air.
Luciana pushes Anton softly in the back.
LUCIANA
Okay, Anton, time to go home.
Anton shuffles past a gaping Jake. Luciana closes the door.
JAKE
This stuff is money!
LUCIANA
I know.
Luciana puts away the groceries.
Jake inspects his collection.
JAKE
That moron better not have busted anything.
LUCIANA
He's not a moron, Jake.
Jake scoffs.
JAKE
He knows how to break in.
LUCIANA
I gave him a key.
Jake freezes. Turns so slowly towards her. If looks could...
Luciana pretends to ignore him, puts away the milk.
JAKE
You gave him a key. Of course you gave him a key. Who else wants a key? Manson? Dahmer? Sure, guys, come on in whenever you want and just feel free to TRASH MY STUFF!
Luciana bites her lip.
LUCIANA
He needs to learn how to--
JAKE
He needs? I need!
Jake stalks to the front door, whips it open.
JAKE
Out.
Luciana looks up, startled.
Jake grabs her by the arm, shoves her into the hallway.
He slams the door, locks it.
INT. ANTON'S APARTMENT - DAY
The door opens. Anton shuffles in, chest plastered to the door as if clutching a life preserver, still stares upwards.
He closes the door, immediately slumps into a comfortable posture, a normal human being again.
The rooms are immaculate, furnished with exquisite modern taste, glass and steel and white fabrics.
He throws himself onto a white leather couch.
He idly plays with an exquisite white fringed afghan blanket.
Flicks on a TV, watches a nature program.
TV NARRATOR
...this poor thing had been left outside in this cage for several days and nights without food. The only water he drank was from a passing rainstorm. When the owners were finally apprehended--
A knock at the door.
Anton flicks off the TV. Sits as still as can. His eyes flick towards the door, all other muscles rigid as rope.
LUCIANA (O.S.)
Anton? Anton? Are you in there?
Anton sits, still as a statue.
Another knock.
LUCIANA (O.S.)
Anton, please. Where am I going to go?
The knocking stops.
Anton exhales, long, slow breath out.
He smiles.
The TV turns on again.
TV NARRATOR
...no one has the right to mistreat a defenseless animal.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT
Luciana sits on the steps up to the building.
Alone.
She pulls her coat tighter against the cold night.
Rain falls.
She stands, presses an apartment intercom button.
JAKE (O.S.)
(filtered)
Yeah?
LUCIANA
Jake, please, I don't have any--
JAKE (O.S.)
Go away.
LUCIANA
Jake, please, it's just for the night. It's cold. I didn't mean... Jake?
No answer.
Luciana huddles against the front step, miserable.
A first floor curtain moves slightly.
INT. ANTON'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Anton peeks through the curtains at Luciana.
His hands work up and down in the curtain fabric, absorbed in the sensation.
His face relaxes. He smiles. A plan!
He bounds to the door, opens it.
Immediately he reverts to his wooden-legged self, eyes shoot to the ceiling.
It's a struggle for him to close the door. Ever... so... slowly... There, it's closed.
He skips into the bedroom.
He reemerges with a blanket.
He opens the window.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT
A blanket flies through a first-floor window, lands on wet grass.
The window closes with a crash.
Luciana gets up, retrieves the blanket. It's soaked.
She snuggles under the blanket, wipes her nose.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT
Luciana shudders under the blanket.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT
Luciana, feverish.
INT./EXT. POLICE CAR/STREETS - NIGHT
PROSPERO (30s) drives, trolls the wet streets with shrewd, vigilant eyes. BOB (20s), the eager recruit, always a smile and a hand on his sidearm.
BOB
Every night, busting the same hookers. How do you meet nice women like Kathy on this job, anyway?
PROSPERO
I met Kathy in college.
CAR RADIO (V.O.)
Car one five niner. Sixty-two bee at five-two-two-one Becker, number two oh six.
Bob flips the radio to his mouth, jaunty.
BOB
Copy that.
Bob flicks the radio off.
PROSPERO
Quick quiz: sixty-two bee?
BOB
Easy, a simple burglary. That's the same one, same place as yesterday.
PROSPERO
No imagination.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT
The police car crunches to a halt. Lights off, no siren.
Prospero and Bob hop out into the rain, dash up the steps. Prospero almost trips over a pale Luciana.
Prospero nudges her with his foot.
PROSPERO
Go on, now.
Luciana coughs, rolls over.
Bob leans over her.
BOB
She's sick.
Bob hoists Luciana, carries her down the steps, his face averted from her constant coughing.
Prospero enters the building.
INT. ANTON'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Empty living room.
A hard knock.
No answer, of course.
Another thumping knock.
Nope.
A sigh from outside. Stumping footsteps recede.
Anton's head pokes around a bedroom door. He smiles.
INT. SHABBY APARTMENT - NIGHT
A hard knock.
Jake, watching a loud sports game on TV, shouts over the noise without turning in his armchair.
JAKE
I told you to go away!
PROSPERO (O.S.)
This is the police, responding to a call.
Jake hops out of his chair, opens the door. The TV blares into the hallway.
PROSPERO
You reported a burglary?
JAKE
Hell, yeah.
Jake juts out his chin, waits.
PROSPERO
I suppose you want to let me in.
JAKE
Oh, yeah.
INT. ANTON'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Anton sits at his kitchen table, plunks down a large binder, opens it: chock full of pink slips of paper.
The pink slips are maintenance requests from building occupants: toilet blockages, creaky floors, stuck faucets.
All are signed "Anton Lossa".
He rubs the thin, crinkly paper between his fingers, gazes at them one by one, each one a memory.
INT. SHABBY APARTMENT - NIGHT
Jake sits in his armchair. Prospero stands between Jake and the TV.
Jake peeks around Prospero, watches the game.
JAKE
So yeah, it's rare, you know, right off his back.
PROSPERO
It was in this case here?
JAKE
Yeah.
PROSPERO
Do you mind turning that down?
JAKE
What?
PROSPERO
Down.
Jake presses a button on the remote. Now the announcer cacophony is only a dull roar.
PROSPERO
Do you have any idea who might want it?
JAKE
Hell, anyone. It's autographed, too. I coulda sold it years ago for eight hundred.
PROSPERO
Why didn't you?
JAKE
Huh?
PROSPERO
Is it insured?
JAKE
Huh?
PROSPERO
Is anything else missing?
JAKE
No.
PROSPERO
So it's not a break-in?
JAKE
That's your job.
Jake shrugs.
PROSPERO
Was anyone left alone with the jersey?
JAKE
Yeah, there was-- oh, man, check out the replay. Right there, right there. Yeah!
Prospero takes a deep breath, relaxes. Very polite, turns off the TV.
JAKE
Hey, man!
PROSPERO
If you don't want help, I can go.
JAKE
Dick.
PROSPERO
Anyone left alone--
JAKE
I heard you. Yeah. Luciana was my girlfriend.
PROSPERO
Did you two break up?
JAKE
Not much of a detective, are you?
PROSPERO
Do you think she wanted revenge?
JAKE
Probably.
PROSPERO
When did you break up?
JAKE
Dinner.
PROSPERO
Today?
JAKE
Yeah.
PROSPERO
Does she live around here?
JAKE
I don't know.
PROSPERO
You don't know?
JAKE
She lived here.
PROSPERO
She-- describe her.
JAKE
So tall, dark hair, 24...
PROSPERO
And soaking wet. Uh-huh.
JAKE
Huh?
Prospero pulls his radio to his mouth.
INT. POLICE CAR - NIGHT
Luciana lies in the back seat, covered in thick wool blankets. She looks terrible, pale, sick.
Bob crouches next to her, squeezed behind the drivers seat. Solicitous, helpful, dries her face with a towel.
His radio crackles.
PROSPERO (V.O.)
(filtered)
Bob, are you with the girl?
Bob contorts his body, reaches for his radio.
BOB
Yup.
PROSPERO (V.O.)
Is her name Luciana?
Luciana nods weakly.
BOB
Yup.
PROSPERO (V.O.)
Bring her up to two oh six.
BOB
I don't think we should move her.
PROSPERO (V.O.)
She's accused of burglary.
Luciana coughs.
INT. ANTON'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Anton fingers the curtain, looks out.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - ANTON'S POV - NIGHT
Bob helps a swaddled Luciana out of the car.
Bob hustles Luciana through the rain, inside.
INT. SHABBY APARTMENT - NIGHT
The door opens, Bob sits Luciana down on a couch.
JAKE
Hey, she'll get it wet.
Bob wants to punch Jake.
Prospero puts a hand on Bob's shoulder.
PROSPERO
(to Luciana)
Jake here claims you stole a valuable football jersey.
Luciana shakes her head.
JAKE
Oh, come on. You always want money.
BOB
Back off, she's sick.
JAKE
You her mother?
PROSPERO
Did she have an opportunity to steal the item today?
JAKE
Not today... but, oh, yeah, she gave Anton a key!
PROSPERO
Who's Anton?
INT. ANTON'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Anton's left hand fingers play in his hair.
He pours Cheerios out on his immaculate kitchen counter, swirls them around with his right hand, feels the circles under his fingertips.
He eats the Cheerios one at a time.
A knock at the door.
Anton freezes stock-still. Eyes up.
Another knock.
JAKE (O.S.)
(muffled)
He's there. The moron never leaves.
PROSPERO (O.S.)
I don't have a warrant.
JAKE (O.S.)
See if it's unlocked.
PROSPERO
I don't--
The door opens. Jake at the handle.
Anton is frozen in place. His hands flit in circles.
Jake scoffs, tosses the couch cushions away, searches.
Prospero dives at Jake, holds him still.
PROSPERO
We don't have a warrant.
JAKE
I'm not a policeman.
Prospero wrestles Jake into the hall, slams the door.
Prospero turns to Anton, sighs.
PROSPERO
Sorry. May we come in?
Anton doesn't move a muscle.
PROSPERO
May we? We need to talk to you.
Not a muscle.
PROSPERO
Silence means yes.
Prospero looks at the ceiling, wonders if it's interesting enough to absorb Anton. The ceiling looks normal.
PROSPERO
I'm reporting implied consent.
Prospero opens the door.
Bob leads Luciana in, lays her down on the couch.
Jake comes in, bounces like a boxer, ready for a fight.
JAKE
I figured it. They're lovers.
LUCIANA
Jake.
PROSPERO
We've had a recent rash of burglaries out of this building. If anyone here is responsible, let's get it all cleared up now.
Luciana is racked with coughing.
BOB
My money's on the statue.
All eyes turn to Anton, who doesn't even appear to be breathing.
JAKE
Sure, this is a stupid act.
LUCIANA
But he didn't know where you keep the case key.
PROSPERO
Where do you?
JAKE
In my silk boxers.
PROSPERO
That's too obvious. Anyone would look in an underwear drawer.
JAKE
That's why they're not in my underwear drawer.
BOB
This isn't a guessing game.
JAKE
The drawer under the oven.
BOB
Under the--
JAKE
You didn't look there.
PROSPERO
Is the key still there?
Jake shrugs, goes out.
LUCIANA
Anton wouldn't.
PROSPERO
That's hardly conclusive.
LUCIANA
You know he can't leave. Why would he risk his job and apartment?
BOB
You know what you're saying?
LUCIANA
I'm saying he can't do it.
BOB
You're saying you did.
Luciana shakes her head, coughs, looks miserable.
Anton hasn't moved.
Jake dashes in.
JAKE
My boxers are gone.
Prospero sighs, pulls out a pair of handcuffs.
PROSPERO
Who is it going to be?
LUCIANA
Not him... Jake...
Prospero puts the handcuffs on Luciana, loose.
PROSPERO
(to Jake)
We'll book her on your surety, but without evidence, we'll probably have to let her go.
JAKE
You find my stuff.
LUCIANA
I loved you, Jake.
JAKE
Come on.
Luciana reaches deep under the blankets, searches for something. She winces with the effort.
PROSPERO
Hold on, there.
Bob lifts the blankets, brings her hands back into view.
LUCIANA
In my pocket.
Bob reaches into her pocket, pulls out a pregnancy strip test.
He hands the pregnancy strip to Luciana.
Luciana shakes her head, looks at Jake.
Bob gives the strip to Jake.
Jake looks at it.
It's positive.
Jake scoffs.
Bob picks up Luciana's frail, pale figure, carries her out.
Prospero, disgusted, pushes Jake outside, follows him.
The door closes.
Quiet.
Anton relaxes, his eyes roll down from the ceiling.
He tip-toes to the window.
He looks out, his fingers wrapped in the curtains.
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING - ANTON'S POV - NIGHT
Luciana, inside the police car, leans against the window, lifeless eyes.
She's crying.
Prospero and Bob get in the front seats.
The police car pulls away.
INT. SHABBY APARTMENT - NIGHT
Jake stands with arms on hips, conquering hero, surrounded by his memorabilia.
A proud smile.
INT. ANTON'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
Anton rubs the curtain against his cheek, enjoys the feel.
A bead of sweat on his forehead.
He crosses to the kitchen, gets a drink of water.
Wipes his forehead with his sweater.
Takes his sweater off.
He's wearing a football jersey.
The jersey is autographed.
He rubs the jersey against his stomach, luxuriates in texture heaven.
He walks, still rubbing, into...
INT. ANTON'S BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS
Anton strips off the jersey.
He lays the jersey lovingly on the bed, smooths out wrinkles and creases, runs his fingers across the bumps and holes.
He runs his hands across other items, also laid out in rows on a white comforter:
A cashmere sweater.
A ribbed buttonhook corset.
A linen handkerchief.
A toupee.
A bridal veil.
Shiny gray silk boxers.
Anton lays down on the bed, his naked torso touches all the different textures.
Anton sleeps.
FADE OUT.
THE END