The Shoebox

FADE IN:

INT. MOTEL ROOM – NIGHT

The first thing we see is a painting of a leopard.  The frame triples the value of the artwork.

                HATCHER (V.O.)
         Six years since my old man kicked off.      He still talks to me.  His best advice,     besides ‘avoid the clap’?
                        (beat)
           Never let your conscience tell you         what to do.    

As we pan around the room from the leopard, over to a single lamp on a night table, and down to the bed, a man in a tailored suit is revealed.

He’s face down, sprawled across the queen-size mattress, with a bullet hole in his back.

We don’t linger too long on that image.  We continue to pan around the room, and down to the matted carpet.

There are photos on photos down here.  Nothing you’d want mom, dad, and the kids to see.  Not unless you wanted to explain who was doing what to who, and why.  We don’t linger too long on these images either.

We reach another man.  He’s seated on the floor, sweating, pressing his back against the wall near the door.  The bulk of the photos, along with a beaten shoebox, lay between his legs.  His left hand is inside his overcoat.  A .38-caliber revolver sits next to his right hand.  He removes the fedora from his head, and wipes his face with his sleeve.

This is DAN HATCHER.

        HATCHER (V.O.)
This is what a conscience gets you.

He shifts his weight, grimaces.

He pulls his hand from his side.

CUT TO:

HATCHER’S P.O.V.

As he pulls focus, he sees that his hand is bloodied.

CUT TO:

INT. MOTEL ROOM – NIGHT

He presses his hand against the wound again, sweat pouring down his face.

                HATCHER (V.O.)
        I knew what I should have done:             drop off the box, pick up the cash,         and walk out.  No questions, no             problems.  That was the plan.              Simple, huh?

Hatcher’s eyes graze across the photos.

                HATCHER (V.O.)
                    As soon as I opened that box, saw         what was inside, simple hit the             road.  And it left me alone with
        my morals.    
                                (beat)
        They got me shot about ten minutes         ago. 

He looks toward the door.

                HATCHER (V.O.)
                    I don’t know if I’m gonna live             through this. I just want to leave.             (beat)
        One way…

Hatcher looks back at the photos.

He lets the gun drop to the floor and reaches into his coat.

He finds a silver flask, opens it, drinks.

Then he pours the rest on the pile.

He finds a lighter in another coat pocket.

       HATCHER (V.O.)  
…or another.

He removes his bloody palm from his side and lifts one of the photos from the pile.  It’s innocent:  a young woman and a young man, smiling, happy.

Hatcher’s face is blank as he strikes the flint, and the spark grows to flame.  He allows the fire to sample, then engulf, the photo, and as it does, he drops it on the pile.

                HATCHER
        Easy money.