TINNY:
She would kill me if I told.
OZ:
I’ll kill you if you don’t.
TINNY nods, as if agreeing—then suddenly launches a frenzied attack on OZ. The two grapple with each other in the burning barbershop, with OZ flickering in and out of human and wolf shapes. Finally he subdues TINNY, his claws closing in on the man’s throat.
OZ:
Tell me!
TINNY gurgles.
TINNY:
Club Wicked! Look for her at Club Wicked.
TINNY:
If the monkeys don’t get you first.
OZ’s hands press on TINNY’s throat, and press. The man shudders. Then, gradually, he falls still.
Summer is filled with days that seem to never end, a heat that lies over fields and town, filled with daydreams and unfulfilled desires. Oz is working hard—he had abandoned the paper round for working at the local garage, fixing motorcycles, and walks around in grease-stained overalls. He likes the job. You know where you are with machine parts, the way they fit together, the way they can be cleaned and polished and made good again. But Dorothy won’t see him and it’s breaking his heart. Sometimes he sees her, going with this boy or that one, in their cars, at night. She’s wild and she’s never been so beautiful to him. He confronts her one night, and she laughs at him. From her dress, she pulls out a roll of notes. ‘This is what it takes to get me to the city,’ she said. ‘You do your part, and don’t worry about mine.’
Under full summer moons he haunts the fields, his blood aflame. He comes to the place where the cars park at night, where the couples make out. It’s just another bit of flat land, with nothing to distinguish it. He howls at the moon and the people inside the cars shudder and lock the doors. He sniffs for her but doesn’t find her.
They make up again at the end of summer, and he holds her in his arms and almost cries and she promises she is his and only his, and it was just the summer breeze.
They plot and plan, pooling together their money. Just enough to buy two tickets on the bus going out of town. Just enough to get them to the coast, hire a cheap apartment for a few months. A few months is all it would take, before they make it, make it big in dream town, before they make it big in Emeraldland.
“I love you” he says.
“I love you too.”
They kiss, and she runs her hands through his fur.
“I’m going to be a star,” she says.
EXT. STREET—NIGHT
OZ stands outside CLUB WICKED. The sign, in neon, flashes on and off, next to the image of a girl entwined around a pole. He walks to the doors, where a giant bouncer stands. He has a pumpkin for a head.
BOUNCER:
Sorry, pal. You can’t go in.
OZ:
Says who, friend?
BOUNCER:
Don’t make it hard on yourself, wolf-boy.
OZ takes out a roll of cash, licks his thumb, starts counting.
OZ:
For your trouble.
BOUNCER:
Guess you’re on the list after all.
OZ smiles. The smile on the BOUNCER’s face is, of course, carved in. Money changes hands and the BOUNCER opens the door for OZ. He steps through into the club.
It’s the full moon and his senses are inflamed. He runs through the fields. It is time for them to leave, to go, to abandon this nowhere town behind them, and the plains, and corn fields and tobacco plants. He scents blood, on the wind.
He hears her cry, but softly.
His heart beats fast. He runs, faster than he had ever run.
He finds her in the barn. The barn is locked. The smell of blood drives him insane.
“Go away,” she says—whispers—he can smell her fear. Driven mad, he runs at the doors, again and again, until they fall down. The commotion must be terrible. The farmhouse lights come on.
“You have to leave! Quickly!”
He finds her in the hay, half-naked, bruised. She has a black eye, bruised ribs, angry red marks on her back, as if made there by a belt, used as a whip. He howls, in anger and disgust. She hugs him.
‘They found out,” she said. “They took all the money. Run, before he comes. He has a gun.”
But Oz is no longer human, no longer listening. A wolf stalks out of the barn, a giant silver wolf with sour breath and great big teeth and bloodlust.
A man, a short bald man in an old-fashioned dirty-white nightdress, stands framed in the door of the farmhouse. The light is behind him. In his hands he holds a pump action shotgun.
“Get away from here! Filth! Wild animal!”
Oz growls. There is the distinctive sound of the gun being pumped, a bullet being chambered. “Get off my property!”
Oz charges. The figure in the doorway hesitates, then takes aim. There is the sound of a gun shot.
INT. CLUB WICKED—NIGHT
The club is dark—it is hard to see. there are girls on stage. They are naked. Patrons sit around, drinking. They are mostly winkies, but also some munchkins, humans and weres. OZ stands still, a little disoriented—which is when the MONKEYS catch him.
There are three monkeys, winged, mean, scarred, and grinning. Two grab hold of him while the third lifts a truncheon high in the air. OZ tries to shape-shift but the truncheon comes down, hard, and connects with the back of his head.
FADE TO BLACK.
The gunshot takes him in the chest and he drops to the ground. He rolls, howling with the pain as his extracts the foreign object, spits it out and begins sealing the wound. His opponent recharges the gun.
“You like that?” he shouts, in a voice where fear and glee mix uneasily. “You want some more of that? You want some
But lead won’t cut it, not with a full-grown werewolf, and an angry one to boot. Oz rolls over and stands up on all fours. Growling. Grinning with teeth as large as blades. Yes, he wants some more of that.
Slowly, he advances on the man.
INT. CLUB WICKED—NIGHT
OZ opens his eyes. The winged monkeys stand above him, grinning and jabbering in their own, incomprehensible flying monkey tongue. OZ tries to sit and finds that he is trussed up. His eyes focus and he sees a small, elderly woman sitting hunched on a huge throne, her hair in pigtails, an eye-patch over her left eye. In her hands she holds an umbrella.
OZ:
Westerna.
