SALT:
(FINALLY MANAGES TO SPEAK AS HE GOES OFF-MIC) Look around you, question everything! We’re being used, all of us! Let go of me, you Nazi!
SOUND:
THE AUDIENCE CHEERS. THRU TO THE INTERIOR OF SALT’S MOVING CAR. SALT PUNCHES THE BUTTONS ON HIS CELLPHONE.
SALT:
(HUMS WHILE HE WAITS TO BE CONNECTED) Hi, Kevin?/ Yeah, I finished a few minutes ago./ Better than usual. Got it all on the webcam. Uploading it...
SOUND:
HE TAPS A KEYBOARD.
SALT:
Now./ Yeah, you can hear traffic – I’m in the car./ It is not dangerous, that’s what the Safety Nazis want you to think, I am in complete contro-
SOUND:
SALT SWERVES SUDDENLY. ANOTHER CAR BLASTS ITS HORN.
SALT:
Asswipe! You shouldn’t be on the road! (INTO THE PHONE) Kevin, you still there? There’s some crazy sons of bitches out there tonight! Now, this is important: Did you talk to the guy?/ You did? Excellent! Did you tell him whatever the Lorrimers are paying, I’ll double it?/ How much are they paying him?/ Really? Shit, haven’t these people ever heard of minimum wage?/ No, no, it’s fine. It’s going to clean me out, but it’ll be worth it. So what’s his name?/ Ying... Kit-Ma? You’re shitting me. I said someone from Eastern Europe, Kevin, how am I supposed to pass for friggin’ Chinese? (ON THE OTHER END, KEVIN IS CLEARLY GETTING UPSET) It’s OK, it’s OK. I’m sorry, Kevin./ I know./ I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I apologise. I’ll- work round it somehow. Dye my hair or something, I dunno. It’s my problem, not yours. I have to get on that island, no matter what it takes!
SOUND:
CAR BG OUT.
ANNOUNCER:
Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories will continue in a moment.
ANNOUNCER:
Now back to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories, and “Table Scraps.”
NARRATOR:
If Isaac Salt suspected for one instant what awaited him on the Lorrimer Family’s privately-owned island, he’d travel as far as possible, as fast as possible, in the opposite direction. Ignorance, you see, is not always bliss. And as he returns home from his latest public speaking engagement, he has no idea that a man who will shortly play a vitally important role in his life, is about to take to the stage himself... to announce his candidacy as President of the United States.
SOUND:
THRU TO BACKSTAGE AT A POLITICAL RALLY. ONSTAGE ACTIVITY CAN BE HEARD FAINTLY – SOMEONE MAKING A SPEECH, THE WORDS OF WHICH CANNOT BE HEARD CLEARLY, AUDIENCE REACTION, ETC. A KNOCK ON THE DOOR.
SAM:
Come!
SOUND:
THE DOOR OPENS AND NED ENTERS, CLOSING THE DOOR BEHIND HIM.
NED:
(CHEERY) Here he is!
SAM:
Ned, good to see you! I thought you were making preparations-
NED:
It’s taken care of, Sam. I wasn’t gonna miss this for anything. I’m gonna have to give Momma a full report, anyhow.
SAM:
I just opened a bottle of red, care to join me?
NED:
Why the hell not?
SOUND:
UNDER THE FOLLOWING DIALOG, SAM POURS TWO GLASSES AND SETS DOWN THE BOTTLE.
SAM:
You lost weight, Ned?
NED:
Hell, no.
SAM:
Didn’t think so.
NED:
A Presidential candidate shouldn’t be such a tactless son of a bitch.
SAM:
I call ’em as I see ’em. Cheers.
NED:
Here’s looking up your whole family.
SOUND:
THEY TOUCH GLASSES, THEN DRINK.
NED:
Good stuff.
SAM:
It should be you up there, you know.
NED:
It was never gonna happen, little brother. Not after... you know.
SAM:
Yeah.
NED:
I didn’t even sell him the goddam drugs, but he O.D.s at my party.
SAM:
It could’ve been worse, Ned. If the papers knew... what you did...
NED:
I told the cops on the scene, I thought he was just asleep! If I’d known he was dead- Aah, what’s the use? Ancient history right?
SOUND:
NED SETS HIS GLASS DOWN.
NED:
It’s up to you now, bucko. Make us all proud.
SAM:
It could be over before it’s even begun, Ned. There’s that hooker in Austin. She said she had pictures...
NED:
You don’t have to worry about her. Car accident. Fatal. Cameraphone burned up in the wreck.
SAM:
When?
NED:
How’s next Tuesday for you?
SAM:
Fine, I’m being interviewed by Fox on Tuesday, I could use a laugh.
NED:
Then we’re all good.
SAM:
The party, Ned.
NED:
It’s fine, Sam, I swear. Everything’s taken care of.
SAM:
I will not have anything going wrong on Momma’s birthday, it’s too important.
NED:
I’m micro-managing the whole thing.
SAM:
Then why the Hell are you here instead of on the island?
NED:
(A LITTLE UNCOMFORTABLE) I’m... micro-managing from a distance.
SAM:
Last year the device failed. The tubing was clogged, it was embarrassing, Ned.
NED:
Had the whole thing cleaned out, a female volunteer tried it out yesterday, worked like a charm.
SAM:
And the volunteer?
NED:
Didn’t have any complaints. Actually, we had to gag her, so if she did have any, I didn’t hear them.
SAM:
Can she be traced?
NED:
She was nobody, Sam. Nobody.
SAM:
And the Help? What about them? Is there any paperwork?
NED:
No paperwork, trust me, everyone of ’em is a nobody. Mostly illegals, they understand enough English to know they’re going to be well-paid for waiting on some rich white folk. Hey, how about this – Cicero said we should get them all to sign Non-Disclosure Agreements.
SAM:
Isn’t that a little unnecessary?
NED:
No, no, it’s perfect. Think about it. An NDA means an important job with a big payday. This way, they know if they talk about it to anyone, they lose the money.
SAM:
But they won’t talk. Ever.
NED:
They don’t know that.
SAM:
I’m worried you’re making it over-complicated, Ned.
NED:
I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize-
SOUND:
A PERSISTENT BEEP.
NED:
What’s that?
SAM:
Just my alarm. It means I’m on in five.
SOUND:
SAM SHUTS OFF THE ALARM.
SAM:
(TAKES A LONG BREATH) So... This is it.
NED:
This is it. You can do it, little brother. We believe in you. And don’t worry about the party, OK? It’s going to be one to remember. The whole family’s going to be there.
SAM:
The whole family? That ought to be interesting.
SOUND:
THRU TO THE DECK OF A BOAT CHUGGING ACROSS THE WATER. THE “HELP” MILL ABOUT, SOME BG MUTTERING (IF ANY OF IT IS AUDIBLE, IT’S NOT IN ENGLISH)
CICERO:
For the last time, people, when the form reaches you, you sign your name on the line at the bottom. If you are unable to spell your name, just write an “X”. If you don’t know what an “X” looks like, get one of the other waiters or waitresses to show you. OK, are we finally done?
SOUND:
SALT HANDS THE PAPERWORK TO CICERO.
SALT:
(LOW, TRYING TO BE INCONSPICUOUS) Here you go, Mr Cicero.
CICERO:
Thank-you. That looks fine...
