INT. HIGH-RISE HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT
A MAN and CO-ED have sex. The bed thumps the wall. MOANS of ecstacy. Someone pounds the wall in the next room.
Keep it down, in there!
The couple just get louder -- then finish. Whoosh...
Oh, Stasi...baby...that was good. That was great.
It always is...
Shit, if my wife could...
Keep her out of this.
First girl I ever met who didn’t give a shit I’m married.
You fuck around with other girls!?
No, no, that’s not what I meant.
She gets out of bed. Goes to the balcony. He follows. Caresses her.
Stasi, baby, I haven’t fucked with anybody but you since I met you.
Not even your wife?
I wouldn’t call that fucking. More like using her pussy to masturbate. But you -- you got muscles where I didn’t know girls had muscles.
That’s your job, bitch. And you could teach fags a thing or two about it.
She grabs his hair and pulls him half over the balcony railing.
What the fuck? You been comparison shopping?
Never gonna -- .
SCHWICK! A KNIFE IS SLAMMED INTO HIS HEART! He gasps. Collapses.
The Co-ed screams an instant before a tall, cruel WOMAN shoves her over the railing. She falls 20 stories, shrieking.
INT. ROADSIDE BAR - NIGHT
A CUE BALL DOES A PERFECT BREAK!
A gorgeous WOMAN in red hair, big breasts and tight jeans rounds the pool table, looking for her next shot. She plays alone.
She’s in a typical desert roadside bar, a chunky BARTENDER and its few PATRONS the only things cheaper than it. Crap music plays on the box.
She leans in for another shot. An ugly bearded dude, SPIT, drunkenly swaggers up and pushes his crotch against her butt, giggling.
Got more o’ that, sweetcheeks.
He’s just your style, honey.
Another holds up her pinkie.
Real big, yeah, really.
The woman’s fingers twist in his beard. Draw him close.
Touch me, again, and I’ll rip off those peanuts you call balls and shove up your nose, you piece of shit. And don’t think I can’t...
She hisses sharp red nails at him.
He snarls. She jams her cue on his instep. He yelps and falls on his ass. Beer spills everywhere. The whole bar laughs. He skulks off.
GRADY BARNES, a linebacker gone to biker trash, tattoos covering one beefy arm, leans on the other end of pool table. Crooked fingers grip a beer in one hand and a joint in the other.
Now you done got Spit all pissed.
Friend of yours?
Just know him.
His name fits.
What do you call you?
She looks him over, like a jackal eyes its meat.
Okay, so what do you call me?
What -- no movie?
How ‘bout a game, instead?
He holds up his hands.
I’m not so good with pool.
I’ll spot you a couple balls.
Grady picks out a cue and sets his beer beside hers.
Stripes or solids?
You tell me.
He looks the table over. She’s dropped two of each.
He drops the five and six but misses the three. She drops the nine and motions for him to go, again.
Not if I don’t want it.
He drops the two and three, but misses the eight.
Thought you wanted to play pool.
I like watching you play.
O-KAY...Grady sinks the eight.
I’m gone. You sticking around?
She finishes her beer, puts away the cue. Grady follows her across the bar. The second she’s out the door, he casts two exhilarated thumbs up to the patrons and exits.
EXT. DESERT — NIGHT
A sleek, new Mercedes slips down the road. Grady rides a Harley. Plays tag with it. When he gets close to the driver’s door, she caresses his thigh. He laughs and shoots ahead.
She turns onto a gravel road.
He spins around and chases after her.
The Mercedes’ headlights glow through the billowing dust...then vanish into the night.