Rudy Ramos

The Detective: Now, about last night... oh, I forgot.

[chuckles]

The Detective: Your memory's not too good about last night.

The Driver: I remember everything.

The Detective: Alone in your room.

The Driver: Yeah.

The Detective: You can do better than that.

The Driver: I don't have to.

[the Detective dumps a full cup of hot coffee in The Driver's lap; reacting to the pain, he jumps up into a fighting stance]

The Detective: Go ahead, throw it! It'll cost ya two years.

[Goads The Driver by offering his chin]

The Detective: You wanna throw it, go on! Go on! *Go on.* Now, you know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna catch the cowboy that's never been caught - cowboy desperado. Now get outta here.

The Detective: [reacting sarcastically to her sullen response as she opened the door] I guess that means I can come in.

[enters, looks around]

The Detective: Nice place.

[walks toward picture window]

The Detective: Terrific view. Hah.

The Player: You didn't come here to tell me that.

The Detective: [getting to the point] You saw the man who was driving the car, and you saw the man up against the brick wall, and you know it is the same man, yet you didn't identify him. Are you afraid of him?

The Player: No.

The Detective: Are you afraid of me?

The Player: [slowly turns around] No.

[looks at him disdainfully]

The Player: I just don't like you.

The Detective: Hmm. You had a reason?

[the Driver, hiding in next room, overhears]

The Detective: [deeply pensive, mocking] Must be because I'm such a good cop. How old are you?

[she doesn't respond]

The Detective: Twenty-two. I did a little checking.

The Player: [inwardly wincing] What else did you check?

The Detective: Well, a young girl like yourself, you sure have been around the tracks a few times, honey. Gmph! Led a real active life.

The Player: [had been keeping herself in check for a long time] Get out!

The Detective: No. We're gonna do a little business, you and I.

[retrieves a photograph of The Driver from inside jacket pocket, tapping it menacingly as he waves it at her]

The Detective: Look at it!

[she turns her head slowly]

The Detective: You sure that is not him?

The Player: It's not him.

The Detective: Really? Maybe you ought to be afraid of me.

[stuffs photo back in pocket, then leans forward confidentially, grinning]

The Detective: I ran a make on you. You're clean, no problem.

[circles her]

The Detective: Course there was that one little scrape. You remember? That kinda nasty one?

[very coldly]

The Detective: The one that got swept under the rug?

[letting that sink in]

The Detective: Now, when your memory improves, honey, give me a call.

[walks out, as she gives a cold sardonic smile to herself]