"THE CONFESSION OF LEE HARVEY OSWALD" by Shawn Stewart

"THE CONFESSION OF LEE HARVEY OSWALD"

LOGLINE: Nov. 22, 1963. What a day to play hooky. Two boys from a Dallas junior high skip school, steal cigarettes, and wind up at the Texas theater where they sneak in to catch a war flick, WAR IS HELL, promising them "Iron guts guys in action!" They get action, all right, when they sit next to Oswald, who confesses to murdering the president.

ONE-HOUR ANTHOLOGY SERIES SPECULATIVE

"The Confession of Lee Harvey Oswald"

Written by Shawn Paul Stewart

Internet-Friendly Copyright You are welcome to copy this work and share it with as many people as you like, as long as you do so for free. Please do not sell this script, make derivative works for profit, or make money from it in any way, without a signed contract between us. Other than for free, filesharing or educational use, this script remains (c) 1999 U.S. Copyright PAu-2-405-448, Shawn Paul Stewart, All Rights Reserved. Thanks.

SHAWN PAUL STEWART 7501 Errandale Drive Fort Worth, TX 76179 Home (817) 238-7771 Shawnpaulstewart@yahoo.com

ONE-HOUR ANTHOLOGY "The Confession of Lee Harvey Oswald"

CAST

CHARACTER

(NUMBER OF SPEECHES)

BILLY TWIGGS LEE HARVEY OSWALD JOE SADLOW

(80) (78) (74)

BIG BULLY OFFICER SCOTT TURNBOUGH

(16) (15)

RADIO ANNOUNCER V.O. TWYLA TWIGGS TV ANNOUNCER V.O. POLICE DISPATCH V.O.

(12) (7) (5) (4)

GROCERY STORE OWNER LADY SHOPPER THEATER USHER OFFICER MCDONALD DRIVER #1 DRIVER #2 MOVIE THEATER PATRONS: BOYFRIEND MAN IN FRONT-ROW WOMAN

BIT BIT BIT BIT BIT BIT

WALK-ONS/EXTRAS: DALLAS P.D. OFFICERS STORE PATRONS THEATER PATRONS STREET CROWDS

PART PART PART PART PART PART

(UNDER (UNDER (UNDER (UNDER (UNDER (UNDER

5) 5) 5) 5) 5) 5)

BIT PART (UNDER 5) BIT PART (UNDER 5) BIT PART (UNDER 5)

N/A N/A N/A N/A

ONE-HOUR ANTHOLOGY "The Confession of Lee Harvey Oswald"

SETS

INTERIORS MOVIE THEATER (TEXAS THEATRE) BALCONY FLOOR SEATS LOBBY PROJECTION ROOM SECOND FLOOR (LEADING TO BALCONY) STAIRS (LEADING TO BALCONY) STORE (SMALL URBAN MOM-AND-POP GROCERY)

EXTERIORS MOVIE THEATER (TEXAS THEATRE) FRONT MARQUEE AREA W/DOORS BACK ALLEY RAVINE W/EMPTY LOT SCHOOL (REAGEN ELEMENTARY) STORE (DALLAS APPLIANCES) STORE (MOM-AND-POP GROCERY W/FRONT STREET) STREET (JEFFERSON BOULEVARD)

TEASER

EXT.

SCHOOL - DAY

A bell rings. The students of Reagen Elementary can barely hear it over all the screams, shouts, whoops, and hollers. Buses growl and roar past the playground, headed back to the bus barn. Parents lay into their car horns. The cars are all vintage fifties and sixties, which tells us what decade we're in--early sixties. It's a madhouse of activity this early morning as mothers try to get their kids off to school and to get back home in time to watch Days of Our Lives. Lost amongst all this activity, one little boy with sandy-blonde hair approaches the front of the school on foot. He doesn't look too happy about coming to school today and is taking his sweet time in getting there. BILLY TWIGGS picks up a loose stick and drags it along a chain link fence separating himself from the playground. It makes a sound like a machine gun. A fat kid, we'll just call him BIG BULLY, comes up on the other side of the fence and manages to grab the stick from his hand, pulling it through the links in the fence. They continue walking along, with the bully now rattling the stick. He's found a new toy. BULLY Well, if it isn't little Billy Twiggs, the twig boy. Several of the bully's nine-year-old cronies join him, laughing.

BULLY Hey runt. I didn't think you were coming back today.

Billy tries to ignore them, walking down the fence and toward the gate. That fence is the only thing standing between him and an ass whippin'. BULLY As soon as you step inside this fence, you know what I'm gonna do. The big bully takes the stick and doubles it over his knee with a sharp crack. BULLY Snap you like a twig. The other boys laugh with their dumb dog laughs. Billy turns and looks up at him. The fat kid's face through the fence is like a giant freckled moon. BULLY Ooh, what are you going to do, sick your daddy on me. Oh, that's right. Little Billy twigs doesn't have a daddy. His daddy went away. Billy reaches an opening in the fence. One step through, and he's dog meat, an official member of the playground cleanup committee. But the only thing they'll be cleaning up are his guts from all over the swing set. BULLY Well come on, weenie roast. What're you waiting for? And that's when JOE SADLOW shows up, sauntering up to the fence with his hands in his belt loops. All alone as usual he looks like he's got all the time in the world. Though not nearly as big as Big Bully, and without so much as a word in the fat kid's direction, he immediately puts Big Bully on the defensive.

J-Joey.

BULLY What're you doing here?

JOE What's going on? BULLY None of your business. Joe digs down deep in his pockets, fondling something there. We don't know what it is yet, but we will later. Big Bully notices this gesture. JOE Maybe it is. BULLY You know this runt? JOE He does my homework for me. BULLY He does? JOE He does now. The bully looks from Joe to Billy, and then from Billy to Joe, calculating the odds: One-and-a-half against four. But with Joe Sadlow on the other side....

All right.

BULLY If he's your friend.

To Billy's amazement, the bully backs off and heads toward the playground, looking for other young victims whose lives he can utterly demolish. The tardy bell rings, and suddenly things get very quiet as most of the kids rush inside. BILLY Thanks. Billy starts inside the gate, but Joe turns and walks off in the other direction, away from the school. BILLY That was the tardy bell.

Joe waves him to follow, inviting him to play hooky. JOE Come on. You can go in there or you can go with me. It takes Billy a minute to think about this. He's a good kid, usually does what his momma says, and by the look on his innocent face has probably never played hooky before in his life. The decision doesn't come easy for him, but he finally makes it, running off across the street to join Joe Sadlow in what will turn out to be the most memorable day of his life, maybe both their lives.

EXT.

STREET - DAY

The two boys are walking along a wide sidewalk, sharing licks on a single ice cream cone, passing it back and forth between them. Not very sanitary, but necessary when you only got ten cents in milk money between you. JOE So now that I done something for you, you're gonna do something for me, right? Billy is toting his lunch sack and his book belt all with the same hand. The darn things are getting pretty heavy. He shrugs at the book strap digging into his neck.

BILLY I guess so. Like what. Joe by contrast carries nothing. Up, down, up, down, off the curb and back on again steps Joe, swinging from parking meter to parking meter. Stores along this busy urban street have their doors swung wide and are itching for business, so at least a few hours have passed since the start of school.

JOE Lift me a pack of smokes. Billy stops and looks at him. BILLY You mean steal? Joe flips the dial on one of the parking meters, then whacks it upside the head, trying to convince it to cough up some coins. JOE Of course I mean steal. ever done anything bad?

Ain't you

Billy thinks about this.

I dunno.

BILLY Maybe.

Sweating under his heavy load, Billy stops and drops his books. BILLY Wait up. Rolling his head and his eyes at the same time, Joe doubles back, grabs the books by the belt that is holding them all together, swings them around over his head a few times like a hammer thrower, and lands them in a nearby trash can. He brushes his hands together. Mission accomplished. BILLY Hey, those're my books. dad's belt.

And my

Hands on shoulders, Joe pushes the younger boy along the street, before he can mount a rescue mission to save his lost books. JOE Your first lesson in life, kid. Books can't teach you anything. Ah, don't worry about it. They got a whole warehouse full of 'em

downtown, anyway. to me.

My dad showed it

Joe points scabby finger, which is badly in need of a manicure. JOE Look at that.

EXT.

STORE - DAY

From out of an appliance store display window, a tictac-toe grid of TV sets blinks back at them. We are tight enough on the display case that the name of the store is not yet revealed. On a brash sales card next to the TVs, an RCA Electric Avista, twenty-three inch, 22,500 volt, black-and-white TV set is advertised at $575 new or $300 on trade! On Sale! Today Only! JOE Man, look at that. One day I'm gonna have a TV set in every room of my house. Black-and-white commercials flicker back at them: controlling hips panty girdles for $14.95.

Why?

BILLY They only got four channels.

REVERSE ANGLE - we are now inside the store and looking out. Rabbit ears on the old RCA Avista TV sets gives us bunny-vision, obscuring our view as Billy's face lights up and he points to a screen. BILLY I'd like to go see that parade. What's left of the chocolate ice cream cone Joe mashes against the glass. JOE Who wants to see a stupid old President anyway. Come on.

REVERSE ANGLE AGAIN - now that we're outside the store, and wide, we can see the name of this establishment: DALLAS APPLIANCES. So now we know where we are-Dallas, Texas. We only need to know when: Joe runs off and Billy is quick to follow. Lingering at the store window, the camera sees what the boys themselves were looking at: A news bulletin, a live report from KNBC Channel 5, has broken into the daily broadcast of Days of Our Lives. So much for those mothers getting home from school early. TV ANNOUNCER v.o. This is Mike Leiber, KNBC Channel 5. U.S. Air Force One has just landed at Love Field in Dallas. There are miniature cheers from an on-screen crowd; high contrast, black and white images flare-out. Every reflection of light above five footcandles burns a hot star into the old camera's on-screen pickup tube. This is live TV in the sixties. TV ANNOUNCER v.o. And here comes the President of the United States. Jackie comes down the stairs first, and the President about three steps behind her. This is an actual TV report from President Kennedy's arrival for that fateful day in Dallas, November 23, 1963. Quite a day to play hooky TV ANNOUNCER v.o. One thing about Mrs. Kennedy, there's no trouble at all spotting her. In that bright pink dress, she stands out like a beacon of light in this crowd. He is smiling, shaking hands, waving to the crowd. does not look like a man who is about to die. TV ANNOUNCER v.o. The limousine now is beginning to move. The President and Mrs.

Kennedy are riding in the back seat. They are not using the bubble, so it will be an open limousine parade, apparently, through downtown Dallas... An extreme close-up on the TV screen, as the words echo in our ears. This is all the information a killer might need. And somewhere off in this world of 1963, Oswald is listening. TV ANNOUNCER v.o. It's our understanding that the motorcade will be moving slowly enough so that everyone along the route will get a good look at the Chief Executive... FADE OUT.

END TEASER

ACT ONE

INT.

STORE - DAY

A modest, mom-and-pop grocery store, 12:23 p.m. A small bell above a door jingles as the Billy Twiggs enters the store. He's wearing Joe's windbreaker, which is about two sizes too big for him. The door closes quickly and it smacks him on the seat of his pants. He seems shaky as a newborn calf. The STORE OWNER, a large, hairy gorilla who looks like an ex-boxer/Italian/mafia-type, dressed in a bakery cap and white apron, gives him the nod of noncommittal hello, but is more intent upon hunching over his counter and twisting knobs on an old, transistor radio. There are two other LADY CUSTOMERS in the store. Billy heads toward the nearest aisle, trying to act nonchalant, trying not to let anyone see the sweat that's forming on his upper lip. The old radio finally grabs a signal: RADIO ANNOUNCER v.o. This is Bob Huffaker, 1080 A.M. News 4 Radio. Right now the crowds have completely filled all the sidewalk space here in downtown Dallas, and they are packed from the buildings to the sidewalks.... You can see anxious heads poked out of open windows in all of the downtown buildings here all the way up to the top-most floors... Billy peeks out from behind two columns of Ho-Hos. Yes, they've been poisoning kids with those things for thirty years. The manager is still humped over the counter with his ear against the radio speaker. Behind the Owner are wire shelves full of Marlboros, Kools,

Lucky Strikes, take your pick; only, take you pick when the Owner isn't looking. RADIO ANNOUNCER v.o. By the way, any fear that demonstrations may have marred the presidential motorcade here in the downtown area, at this point, however, seems useless... Billy steps around the corner aisle, so that he's at least three feet closer to the counter, and pretends to read magazines, but the Owner still hasn't left his spot by the counter. He won't leave that damn radio alone. That's when the door opens, and in saunters Joe Sadlow. Sauntering is kind of his thing. Acting cool, taking his time, and knowing how not to look guilty. He brushes by Billy and gives him a hands-up gesture, "What are you waiting for?" Billy replies with his eyes: "I'm waiting for that big monkey to get away from the counter." Joe settles for another aisle, pretending to be interested in baby formula and AllNew, Disposable Diapers! Yes you can just throw them away! (Not your kids, silly. The diapers!) RADIO ANNOUNCER v.o. Here comes the first car with Police Chief Jeff Currey and Sheriff Bill Decker... One of the Lady Shoppers comes to Billy's rescue. LADY SHOPPER Mister Coricelli, can you help me? Though he isn't happy to do so, the store Owner peels himself off the counter to help the young woman decide between two types of toiletries. Billy looks at the counter, then back at Joe. flags him on with a mad hand. RADIO ANNOUNCER v.o. And here is the President of the United States.... And what a crowd

Joe

and what a tremendous welcome he's getting now... On the radio, a woman in the crowd screams; evidently she was standing too close to the reporter's microphone and she just about blows out the four transistors on Mr. Coricelli's portable radio. Of course, this does nothing to calm Billy's nerves. Inching ever closer, he keeps trading glances between the rack of cigarette cartons and the manager, who is still engaged with the lady customer. Joe, meanwhile, is pocketing some candy bars for good measure, just in case the smoke-lift goes down. RADIO ANNOUNCER v.o. And there's Jackie! She's getting just as big a welcome. And the crowd is absolutely going wild. This is a friendly crowd in downtown Dallas... A large convex mirror shows the manager ending his discussion with the lady customer. One wayward glance is all it would take to end Billy's early career in crime. Billy has his one hand on a carton of cigarettes. RADIO ANNOUNCER v.o. The President's car is now turning on to Elm Street, and it will be only a matter of minutes before he arrives at the Trade Mart. On the radio, a horrible SOUND OF TIRES SQUEALING, and something that sounds tires being blown... three of them.

RADIO ANNOUNCER v.o. It, it appears as though something has happened on the motorcade route... Something, I repeat, has happened on the motorcade route... The Owner rounds the aisle, listening to the radio, and sees Billy red-handed with the carton of cigarettes

halfway up his sleeve. But the Owner doesn't even register this. He directs his attention, instead, directly at the radio speaker. Other customers, too, are drawn in. RADIO ANNOUNCER v.o. There's numerous people running up the hill alongside Elm Street... Stand by... Stand by... Just a moment, please.... What sounded like gunfire... just rang out across Dealey Plaza... The dazed adults in the store, including the BoxerOwner, brush right by Billy and move toward the horrible news on the radio. The first media moment. Sirens compete with white noise screaming from the tiny radio. RADIO ANNOUNCER v.o. Put me on, Phil, put me on.... The motorcade is coming by here... The presidential car coming up now.... We know it's the presidential car... I can see Mrs. Kennedy's pink suit.... There's a Secret Service man spread eagle over the top of the car.... The boys look at each other; so wide open are their mouths, that one could roll marbles around in them. RADIO ANNOUNCER v.o. We understand that Governor and Mrs. Connelly are in the car with President and Mrs. Kennedy... We can't see who has been hit, if anybody has been hit... But apparently something is wrong here, something is terribly wrong... I'm in behind the motorcade and it looks as though they're going to parkland hospital.... It appears that the President has been shot... I repeat, the president has been shot!

The big store Owner looks right down at Billy, and through him, who is standing there looking up at him with a carton of cigarettes still in his ten-year-old hands. The big, tough, boxer-looking guy looks as though he's about to cry, when-CRASH! A tremendous sound of breaking glass and wrenching metal from the street. The manager rushes to the window, looks out, mouths something we cannot hear, and rushes out. The women customers follow him quickly clacking their high heels on the high-polished linoleum. Billy is about to follow them blindly out the door when Joe stops him by the collar. They look at each other, and then at the empty store. A smile mirrors both their faces. What luck. Joe starts stuffing junk food down his own plaid shirt like they'll stop making HoHos tomorrow, and into Billy's fills his shirt and pants as well. Anywhere they can find a pocket or a sleeve or a torn lining to fill, they do it. Only then step out the door and into the sunlight.

EXT.

STORE - DAY

Two cars have locked heads in the middle of the street-a full front-on collision. They were going in opposite directions but now they're going in the same direction, nowhere. Their two front bumpers are wrapped around one another in an almost loving embrace. Radiator grills like chipped front teeth hang out and gnaw at the pavement. Both cars are venting steam. The boys, now about a hundred pounds heavier, are wading out of Coricelli's Grocery, almost waddling, unable to walk, they've got so much stuff jammed down the front of their pants. They look like miniature, over-inflated versions of tomorrow's The Michelin Man. The DRIVER of one car throws open his door, pushing and kicking it with his foot. The right front quarter panel is a mess of mingled metal. Scratching his head and throwing his arms around wildly, he stalks over to the driver's side door of the other car, ready to rip

the head off of the guy who caused this accident and piss some fire down his neck. DRIVER #1 What in sam-hell are you doing? DRIVER #2 Shhh! The second driver, obviously the one at fault, is too busy re-tuning the dial on his A.M. Radio to take any heat from the other. He was listening to a live report of the shooting when he drifted off into the other lane. Mister pissed-off driver, plus a small crowd of day-shoppers, gather in to tilt an ear. DRIVER #2 Shh, listen! He points to radio, probably the only thing that still works. From that drifts a static voice: RADIO ANNOUNCER v.o. And just now, we've received reports here at Parkland Hospital that Governor Connelly was shot in the upper left chest and the first unconfirmed reports say the President was hit in the head. That's an unconfirmed report that the President was hit in the head. A priest has been ordered and emergencies supplies of blood have been rushed to the hospital. It's a odd sight along this small side street, this accident in the middle of the road with all the these muted adults, like mourners at some funeral, standing around two wrecked cars and, rather than arguing who's at fault, listening to the radio instead. Mr. Coricelli, the store owner, too, steps off curb and joins the huddle. Billy and Joe are both surprised, to say the least, and perhaps a bit taken aback by this not-your-everyday

sight. Billy's collar is taken in a tight, pink fist as Joe Sadlow pulls on it hard. JOE Come on. Watching the crowd as they go, the boys back down the sidewalk on their heels, and walk blindly into a man coming up in the opposite direction. Joe is apologizing before he even turns around, looks up at the night-black uniform--utility belt, pistol, holster, badge, nameplate, silver P.D. collar pin--until his eyes meet the green, aviator glasses of OFFICER SCOTT TURNBOUGH, an Dallas Police patrolman. Turnbough has just left a small diner next door. He likes to eat here, where there are no radios or TVs, because he can get away from the stresses of his DAY For that reason, he has not heard any reports, police or otherwise, within the last half-hour. He squats down, turning pinstripes which run up both legs into sharp, accusing triangles; he looks at Billy right through the eyes. TURNBOUGH Billy, does your mother know where you are? Billy counts cracks in the sidewalk.

Obviously not.

TURNBOUGH And my old pal Joe Sadlow. Whenever there's trouble, you're always around. Scott sees something poking out of one of Joe's sleeves, and pulls out a candy bar slowly as if revealing a magic trick. TURNBOUGH And what's this? The store manager, almost in tears, comes stumbling over and waving back at the accident.

OWNER Officer. Officer. Come here. You've got to hear this. He pulls on Turnbough's shirt sleeve until the man begins to move. TURNBOUGH You two, stay here. Back at the car wreck, officer Turnbough hears the report on the radio for the first time, and gets caught up in it like all the others. RADIO ANNOUNCER v.o. What was a wonderful welcome in downtown Dallas, has become a scene of indescribable horror as hundreds of people crowd outside the back door of the emergency room here at Parkland Hospital. Faces are ashen white and people are wondering: is our President going to live... The two boys of course don't wait around to get busted. Joe grabs Billy's collar and they turn and run down the block, both disappearing around the far corner. Scott turns and sees them go, but he's got more important things to deal with. Or so he thinks.

FADE OUT. END ACT ONE

ACT TWO

EXT.

RAVINE - DAY

A vacant lot and empty ravine, around 12:31 p.m. Joe Sadlow runs the head of a match along the friction strip on its cover. The match takes light and he guards it against the wind, cupping his hand around it carefully. The filter tip of the cigarette dangles from his lips. He lights the tobacco, sucks on it until it's glowing red hot, and at last, blowing a small smoke cloud overhead, passes it on to Billy Twiggs. Billy inspects the strange device--orange-and-white paper, thin seam, the growing line of gray ash--before setting it against his lips and sucking hard, too hard. He almost blows the cigarette out and across the ravine from an eruption of violent coughing. Joe pops him on the back a few times, vigorous CPR, and rescues the cigarette from his shaking hands. BILLY That's awful. JOE You'll get used to it. My old man used to say two packs a day makes your balls drop, whatever that means. BILLY Where is your old man? JOE Down in Huntsville, doing five-toten for armed robbery. BILLY In prison?

JOE Mom said he went away relatives, but I seen Return address, state corrections. He left

to visit some the letters. board of me this.

Joe's hand dives down deep in his pocket. He pulls out his fist and opens up his fingers one at a time. In his palm is an ivory handled pocket knife. He unfolds the blade. It's a big, mean blade, too big and mean for a kid his size. BILLY Wow, man. Joe takes another drag. Even at the tender age of eleven, he is a professional smoker. He offers Billy another smoke, who shakes his head and digs into his lunch sack instead, pulling out a peanut butter and honey sandwich wrapped in wax paper. BILLY My dad died. JOE Yeah, I know. The older Sadlow picks up a handful of rocks and starts tossing them in the ravine. JOE How'd know you that cop? Ho-Hos have glued Billy's mouth shut. BILLY Oh, he and my mom went out a couple of times. JOE Your mom is dating a cop? didn't you tell me? BILLY You didn't ask.

Why

Tired of rock skipping, Joe finds a twig and starts whittling on it with his knife, sharpening the end into a point. BILLY Why do you suppose he killed that man? JOE What man? BILLY On the radio? JOE I dunno. Maybe just to see what it was like. I killed someone once. BILLY You did? JOE Well, a dog. BILLY What was it like? JOE I dunno. Fun at first. Then bad. After awhile, I didn't feel nothing. BILLY How'd you do it? Joe holds the knife out at arm's length, and makes a quick sweeping motion like somebody slitting a throat. JOE It ran around screaming like a girl yelling with her pigtails caught in a car door. Chasing its own tail, only its head was about half-way off so it was more like it was chasing its own head. I never heard such a sound. There was

blood all over the ground. my nails.

Under

Billy is full of junk food. BILLY I don't feel so good. Joe jumps up, and heads off towards the open street. JOE Come on. BILLY Where're we going? JOE You want to see some real killing, don't ya?

EXT.

MOVIE THEATER - DAY

Outside the theater, 1:00 p.m.. The boys are locked shoulder to shoulder looking up at a movie poster case. Behind the etched and well-weathered glass, a soldier wearing green fatigues and a flak jacket, standing in the middle of a thudding explosion, grimaces back at them. The movie, WAR IS HELL, starring Tony Russell and Baynes Baron, promises "iron-guts guys in action," just what boys like to see. BILLY But we don't have sixty-five cents. He follows the sign up the marquee: S-A-X-E-T, set in five offset stars arching upwards. Or read in the right order from top to bottom, TEXAS. This is the old (even in 1963) Texas Theater in the Oak Cliff section of Dallas. Across Jefferson Boulevard, and headed in the opposite direction, a Dallas police patrol car, number 13, turns its wheels into the gravel spread out over three unused parking spaces. The sound of rocks popping underneath its tires does not alert the boys. Too much traffic and noise fill the roadway in-between. Out through the

driver's side window, specked with bug juice and bird droppings, stares officer Turnbough. The boys are still loitering at the poster case, just left of the giant, wedge-shaped marquee, and still staring up at the movie posters dreamily. It takes no Sherlock Holmes to deduce what they're planning on doing. He pulls on the handle of the door and shoulders it open. Just as he has one foot on the ground, the radio in his car crackles to life. DISPATCH v.o. All units. All units. Officer down Tenth and Patton. The radio voice is urgent. TURNBOUGH Car 13 come back. DISPATCH v.o. Officer down 10th and Patton. Three units responding. Slipping back behind the wheel, Scott Turnbough's face tightens underneath the visor of his cap. TURNBOUGH Report, dispatch. DISPATCH v.o. Scott, it's J.D. Tippet. He slams the car into gear, checks his rear-view. TURNBOUGH Car 13. East on Jefferson. five minutes. Over.

ETA

The kids are quickly forgotten. The siren atop his old '59 Chrysler sedan starts low and then rises as he gives it the gas, wheeling out into mid-day traffic, and eating the yellow line as he rips down the block. Joe and Billy, jumpy since their last encounter with officer Turnbough, are both bitten by this sound of a siren coming to life right behind them. They one-

eighty just in time see officer Turnbough's car enter busy traffic and wail down Jefferson blvd. Joe grabs the smaller boy by the cuff of his shirt and drags him around a nearby corner. Just around the corner from where the two delicate delinquents are now hiding, a glass theater door squeaks open, and out steps the manager, an usher, and a young box office girl, all drawn by the clamor of the siren. These must be the only people working in the theater on such a slow, Friday afternoon. Joe immediately sees the opportunity. Pulled along by his collar, Billy and he sneak down the front of the theater wall, hunkering beneath the poster case as if that offers them any camouflage, and toward the slowly closing front door. On its air compressed hinge, the door takes its sweet time in clicking shut. In fact, it has still not reached the door frame as the boys reach it, pause it with their hands, and slip inside...

INT.

LOBBY - DAY

The door snaps shut just as they tumble into the lobby. Billy pushes his friend forward, almost knocking him to his knees. The lobby is completely empty. None of the theater employees, who can still be seen through the glass, entrance doors, has noticed this little maneuver. They remain on the sidewalk, copgazing, gumming their jaws, but the siren sound is dying fast. The boys dance across the lobby as if on hot coals, uncertain which way to point their sneakers. Stairs climbing up to the upper balcony catch Joe's eye. JOE Here. With a hand on each shoulder, he steers Billy towards the wide carpeted staircase on right. Two at a time, Billy races up the stairs... Alone. Joe Sadlow has stopped in the lobby to rub his chin. This kid is cool in a crisis, no doubt about it. He

looks back at the door:. The manager has now turned and is talking with his employees, his hand blindly reaching out to take one of the door handles. Joe scans the lobby quickly. He's a well-practiced thief. On the candy counter, there are several boxes of Milk Duds waiting to be stocked and a full tub of popcorn, obviously an employee's impromptu lunch . Sneakers ablur, he runs to grab both the popcorn and one of the milk duds boxes, starts back across the lobby, thinks again, doubles back to the butter machine and squirts a little butter onto the popcorn, and recrosses the lobby a third time just as the manager pulls on the door. The three employees re-enter the lobby and notice nothing unusual except perhaps one or two stray kernels of popcorn trailing out across the lobby floor. If they looked up and around the corner, however, they might see Joe dog-walking up the stairs on all fours. He has the popcorn tub pinched in his teeth and the milk duds box stuffed down the back of his pants. He is keeping low on fours and down on his hands and knees to keep his head just below the level of the railing. The manager reaches the middle of the lobby and surveys his domain. The usher returns to the counter where his popcorn-lunch awaits. USHER Hey, where'd my popcorn go? The box office girl disappears back into her cubbyhole of a work station, closing the box office door behind her. Joe and Billy at the top of the stairs peek over the railing and laugh. Still keeping low, they sneak through a curtained door, which Joe pulls aside, and admits them to the theater a sign above the door reads balcony.

EXT.

STREET - DAY

KNEE-HIGH ANGLE - close on cracks in the sidewalk as people are walking by. A woman in high heels is

pushing a baby carriage, its wheels squeaking and wobbling. She sticks her two-inch heel in one of the creases between slabs and all but does a nose dive into the pavement, stumbling, before catching herself and moving right along. Men in business slacks and dress shoes tack and wheel through the river of mid-day shoppers. One pair of legs, wearing brown shoes and tan pants, is conspicuous: even though we can only see the man from the legs down, we can tell that he is different from the other passersby. His movements are elongated, exaggerated, as if he might be running away from something. Also, he is moving in the opposite direction of most of the foot traffic on this sunny afternoon, right to left against the grain instead of most of the traffic's left to right. These are the legs of LEE HARVEY OSWALD, our first glimpse of the fugitive. He knocks into people left and right, not excusing himself, and causes one woman to drop a bag of groceries. Oranges and bread tumble out across the sidewalk behind him. At a crosswalk, the legs barely stop long enough to pick a direction before they are moving out across intersection and into traffic. Car tires scream as they grip pavement, and horns play a unwelcome tune. STOP TRACKING the legs at the intersection, letting them pass on left and out of frame. CRANE UP to reveal a street sign as a voice, the police dispatcher, crackles off-screen: DISPATCH v.o. All units, all units, suspect is wearing a light brown or grey jacket, tan pants and brown shoes, and is believed to be headed west on Jefferson in the direction of the Texas Theater. The street sign says 400 W. Jefferson.

END ACT TWO

ACT THREE

10.

INT.

MOVIE THEATER - BALCONY

Sneak previews, 1:24 p.m. Joe is hanging out over the balcony railing letting nothing but knees hold him back, just to the point where he might tumble over the rail and land in the lower seats below, twenty feet below. He stretches out his arms and, showing off for Billy, pretends to flap them like a bird. JOE Look Ma, no wings. There's a moment where he feels himself too close to the edge and knows that he's going over the balance point. He backwheels madly, and catches himself on the rail just before going over. The seat softens his weight for a crash landing. BILLY Man, you almost flew. On-screen, a Tom and Jerry cartoon is going ninety miles an hour. JOE Whoo hoo, get him, Tom! BILLY Eat that rat! JOE Oh, no! They're yelling loud enough to be heard in the lobby, but fortunately the rest of the balcony is empty. For now. JOE Here, let me have some of those. Watch.

Joe tosses one popcorn kernel after another high over his head and tries to catch them in his mouth. They land on his head, in his lap, on Billy, anywhere but in his mouth, of course. There's a little added bonus to this game, however. Each time he launches another kernel, he fires it higher and higher until, at the apex of its trajectory, it crosses into the projector's beam briefly, and sends a three foot high silhouette of popcorn chasing Tom across the screen. The cartoon ends and the image on-screen jumps as the pulldown claws chew into the splice attaching the main feature to the reel. The Columbia Pictures logo. WAR IS HELL, in bold letters, with thundering drumbeats behind it. Audie Murphy narrates... The boys clap and holler noisily, just begging to be thrown out. JOE Come here. Over the railing again, Joe points to one man who is sitting in the seats below, all alone. An open invitation if ever there was one. His bald head shines in the black-and-white light, like a target in a war campaign. Joe chews off a wad of napkin with his teeth and gums it into a BB-sized pellet. The straw is already there at his lips. He backloads the straw with his tongue, shoving the spitball into position. He sights along his nose, and blows.

Hey!

MAN Goddamn kids.

Joe and Billy slide down along the wall, laughing and sniggering, trying not to give away their position, as if that has not already been done. MAN I'm gonna call the manager! The boys look at each other, wide-eyed, and it takes them about two seconds to find their seats again. Three seconds later, and they are sitting up prim and

proper, as if they weren't up to anything bad, not doing anything in the world. JOE You ever think about running away. BILLY Maybe.

No.

I do.

JOE Every day.

BILLY Where would we go? JOE I dunno. Join a gang. circus. Or the Army.

Maybe the

ANGLE ON DOOR - The velvet curtain on the upper balcony is pushed aside, making the rings riding along the rod to snap. A bright bar of tungsten light lances out across the seats, catching the two boys off guard and making their shadows appear as ten-foot-tall silhouettes against the far-off wall of the main hall. Joe instantly hunches down in his seat until he is sitting on his neck, dragging Billy down like a drowning man along with him. JOE Get down. The man standing silhouetted in the lobby light has a death grip on the door frame and his shoulders rise and fall with every breath. The pounding of his heart can almost be heard as loud as a distant drum. His head moves from left to right in a slow pan, scanning the balcony seats, and his eyes twisting to adjust in utter darkness can almost be seen to move with it.

Hello?

OSWALD Anyone here?

Lee Harvey Oswald sees that the balcony is empty. The flat black drape after he yanks it back across the

cheap brass rod snaps to a close and darkness returns to its seats in the upper balcony. BILLY Who is it?

Shh.

JOE Manager.

If he finds us....

Joe draws a knife-nail across his windpipe. Like a blind man tapping his two, white-cane arms in any direction he wants, and everyone else had better just get the hell out of the way, Oswald feels rather than sees his way down the steps and into the second row up from the balcony railing, counting over seat backs with his fingertips. His eyes have not yet adjusted to the light or he might have noticed the tops of two doe-white heads hunkering in the seats directly in front of him as he makes his way to the middle chair. Wood and metal groan in harmony as he brings his weight down against the old theater cushion, and something in his pocket of his jacket--metal maybe--clunks loudly against the armrest. He protects it from further bumps as he slumps against the armrests, letting his weight, all one hundred and fifty nine pounds of dried potato sack, hang down over them. He looks weathered and worn... A thousand-miles tired. The boys try to hold their crouched positions for as long as they possibly can, which for ten year old boys isn't really very long at all. They know that the man is sitting right behind them, but it doesn't take long for one of them to give away their position. Billy is the first to fidget, leaning over to his pal. BILLY How long do we have to stay like this? Joe tries to shush his friend, but it's too late. A hand jumps to his Oswald's coat pocket. It's amazing how fast hands can move when they feel threatened. A flash of nails in movie-light is all that's seen. But

something in his head tells him to keep the pistol pocketed, so he does. OSWALD Who's there? Get up. Two young boyish faces rise over the movie theater seats, coming face to face with Oswald. They're scared, but not as scared as the ex-Marine. Oswald looks like he's about to throw up. OSWALD Jesus Christ! He doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry, so he balances on the edge of his seat, tottering between sanity and insanity. His hand lingers in his pocket, close to the gun. JOE Sorry, mister. BILLY We thought you were the manager. OSWALD Shut the hell up an turn around! The boys do as they are told, staring back at the characters on the movie screen. But Joe, always the curious one, is drawn to the man in the muted windbreaker. Maybe it's that large lump in the guy's pocket, or the way his hand flew to it immediately when the guy felt threatened. Joe cannot help but sneak little glances back over his shoulder. In the corner of his eye, the man is a haloed figure in the darkness, an almost unreal being, but much more real than the characters on the movie screen. He can't help himself. OSWALD What are you looking at? JOE You're the one, ain't you?

BILLY The one what? Oswald doesn't answer. JOE The one on the radio. Billy, suddenly understanding what his friend is saying, twists in his seat until he's practically doubled around backwards. BILLY The one who killed that man? OSWALD Shut up and turn around! They do as they're told again, but this slowly, more disappointed than actually all, they don't have any reason to fear yet. Typical kids, they're more curious frightened.

time a bit more scared. After this guy... than

Another few seconds of screen-time tick by. The movie, WAR IS HELL, rings in our ears. Explosions. Soldiers dying. After few moments, Joe, who's had his chin on his chest, deep in thought, speaks without turning around. JOE Did you do it, mister? BILLY Did you kill that president? The answer is long in coming--more than forty years long for the audience--but when it's finally said, Oswald breathes it with what almost sounds like a sigh of relief. OSWALD Yeah. The boys almost sprain their necks in spinning to face the killer.

BILLY How'd you do it? JOE Did you shoot him in face? OSWALD I shot him in the back of the head. BILLY I thought only cowards did that? The seat creaks as Oswald leans forward. OSWALD Don't ever call me a coward. Billy looks at Joe.

There's real venom in that voice.

OSWALD You always ask so many questions? JOE No, we go to school. BILLY Yeah, we're not allowed to ask questions there.

JOE What'd you shoot him with? BILLY That gun in your pocket? Oswald flinches visibly, is it that obvious? OSWALD A rifle, twenty-ought-thirty, at fifty yards. BILLY Wow.

JOE My dad hit a deer at two-fifty. BILLY Where'd you hide? OSWALD Sixth-floor warehouse. BILLY You want some popcorn? OSWALD No, thanks. From the waistband of his windbreaker, Oswald pulls out a small bottle of Nuyens 80-proof vodka, and unscrews the lid. He throws back a couple of swallows, drinking noisily, and winces as it burns its way down his throat. The boys watch, fascinated, as he recaps the bottle, holds it out towards them, clinks imaginary glasses, and says. OSWALD A little habit I picked up in Minsk. BILLY What's that? JOE A department store, dummy. OSWALD It's a city in Russia. BILLY You were in Russia? JOE What were you doing there? OSWALD Trying to be somebody. BILLY Who?

OSWALD Enough of the third degree, okay. Let's watch the movie? JOE Who wants to watch some killing up there. BILLY Yeah, you know about killing for real. OSWALD If you don't shut up and turn around, I'll show you some killing for real. Straight up in their seats, Joe flashes Billy the dagger eyes. JOE Way to go. Billy shrugs, What did I do? Their silence lasts about thirty whole seconds. Kids will be kids, after all. They can't help but pick on it, like a scab. They just can't leave it alone. They will pick on it until it bleeds or breaks. BILLY So where's your gang? OSWALD What gang? JOE The ones who helped you out on the shooting? OSWALD Who says I needed help? BILLY Well, the man on the radio said--

OSWALD You believe everything you hear on the radio? BILLY No. OSWALD Good, don't. JOE But you got some friends, right? OSWALD I had a dog once. His name was sunshine. This boy used to throw rocks at him over the fence. I beat that kid until he had to crawl home dragging his face. That dog's the only friend I ever had. JOE You got a hideout, or something?

OSWALD Hide from what? I haven't done anything wrong. JOE You can stay at my house. BILLY Yeah, his mom's outta town, with her boyfriend. JOE Weren't you scared, up there, all alone? OSWALD Yeah. BILLY Scared they might kill you, huh?

OSWALD More scared of living. JOE What do you mean? Oswald rolls up his sleeves. Across each wrist are two pink scars, little reminders of his suicide attempt. Billy runs his fingers over the small bumps. OSWALD You know what those are? BILLY Looks like you cut yourself. OSWALD Yeah. BILLY On accident? Oswald shakes his head, "no". JOE On purpose?

BILLY Why'd you do that? OSWALD Life is a lonely room; death is the only door out. BILLY Why don't you just turn on the light? Oswald smiles, looking almost handsome. Billy's head.

He taps

OSWALD Because the room is in your head. That's what I did for Kennedy, you see? I just let a little light in.

JOE Can we be your gang? OSWALD What's your name, kid? JOE I'm Joe, and he's Billy. OSWALD Joe and Billy. The Oswald gang. JOE We'll be the bestest of friends, and we'll rob banks and stick up old ladies and sleep out under the stars with our machine guns under our heads. BILLY Sounds pretty neat, huh? OSWALD Eyah, sounds pretty neat.

JOE Pals? OSWALD Pals. They all spit-shake hands on it, and laugh. Oswald slugs down some more vodka. The needle in the fuel tank of his eyes is pushing over from empty to full. He's starting to feel the 80-proof creeping into his veins.

END ACT THREE

ACT FOUR

11.

EXT.

MOVIE THEATER - DAY

Police sirens. You gotta love those vintage fifties police sirens. They have a wail which is quite unlike any other wail in emergency vehicle history. Tied in to the motor's re-generator, when they come to a slow stop they sound like somebody strangling a party horn. Within minutes of the phone call, lots of party horns are being strangled along Jefferson boulevard. Cop cars pull up in front of the Texas Theater. Lots of cop cars. Two of them turn up length-wise along the boulevard at roughly either side of the theater to stem the tide of afternoon traffic, setting up a makeshift perimeter. On the top of each and every car, single emergency bulbs spin and flash nervously. Others much to the dissatisfaction of some nearby shoppers double park behind a row of already parked cars and toss out their passengers--uniformed Dallas police officers--in every direction at once. Some of the officers take up flanking positions behind parked cars or shoo away curious onlookers while a small web of lead officers, their arms outstretched in an ever-tightening net of black uniformed police shirts, head directly for the front door of the theater. Most of them are carrying long, slim barreled revolvers. Pistols flash in the sunlight, as do badges and belt buckles and polished shoes. The marquee area is quickly secured. The theater manger tumbles out of the glass entrance doors to greet them, his hair all blown to hell and his gray sleeves waving wildly in the wind. He points inside the doors and mouths something inaudible to indicate the path of the fleeing suspect . One of the lead officers stops quickly to check his gun, rolls the cylinder between two fingers to make sure its loaded, and then snaps it back in place and

pushes the locking pin. Satisfied that he's ready, officer Turnbough motions to three other officers, turns on the toe of his left shoe, and enters the Texas Theater.

12.

EXT.

BACK ALLEY - DAY

At the same time: Squad cars tear into the dusty, rocky back alley-way of the theater, spitting up runners of gravel and dirt. Out of each two-door patrol car spills a never-ending river of officers, in their most serious coffee-black uniforms, rushing out to fill the spaces behind their own vehicles, nearby dumpsters, too-skinny lamp posts, anything offering the least bit of protection for their bullet-shy bodies. With eyes darkened to hollow points and pistols loaded to heavy readiness, they watch the back door of the theater and wait, twitching with adrenaline.

13.

INT.

MOVIE THEATER - FLOOR SEATS.

Patrons in the main hall of the Texas Theater, those sitting in the floor seats just below the upper balcony, are definitely giving this film a bad review. They're yawning and rubbing their tired eyes, but won't leave until they've gotten their sixty-five cents worth out of this damned war film. They sit slumped back in their chairs, barely moving, hardly breathing, sucking down cokes or counting down leftover popcorn kernels in their empty popcorn buckets. Bored. Little do they know it, but this movie is now holding them hostage. Parting the red curtains carefully, several officers enter the hall. This is an older-style theater, with two carpeted aisles reaching down either side of the auditorium, dividing the seats into three main areas:. Left, middle, and right. Turnbough points--one, two, three--and the cops fan out to search each of these areas. The movie flickers madly in the darkness, reaching some sort of silly, cinematic climax.

Turnbough scans the hall briefly, letting his eyes adjust to the dancing light, before re-tracing the theater with a more serious glance. A headcount enters his mental register: Four, five, eight, ten patrons in all. Their suspect may be one of them, but all he can see now through squinting eyes are the backs of haloed heads in shimmering light. The officers are tight, tense, alert, keeping their guns down and their eyes up. Two or three cops are making their way down each of these two main aisles very slowly and, as inconspicuously as they can, tapping folks on the shoulders and asking to see their ticket stubs. Flashlights are out and lit, but are aimed against the officer's legs and used only sparingly. Turnbough comes up behind an older couple, and rests a hand on. One of their shoulders. His voice does not rise above a whisper. TURNBOUGH Can I see your tickets, please. The man is shocked to see a cop standing over him, but digs in his pocket anyway. The woman whispers back. WOMAN What's going on? The man finds his ticket and gives it to the officer, who briefly shines a light on it. TURNBOUGH Stay in your seats.

I'll be back.

At the other side of the hall, next to the wall, another cop walks right up to TWO YOUNG LOVERS locked in a full lip embrace. They're so into each other that they don't notice him until he shines a light right in their faces. BOYFRIEND Hey, man!

The officer, young himself, points to his upholstered pistol and puts a finger to his lips, Shh. He then points to the seat and mouths silently, "stay there," before moving down the aisle and continuing on. The young lovers, completely unfazed by this, look at each other and a second later are back in the clinches again, sucking face like there's no tomorrow. Officer Scott Turnbough is nearing the front of the theater, the last few rows of seats before reaching the movie screen, from which huge figures of Tony Russell and Baynes Barron leer back at him with two-foot-high, black-and-white eyeballs. The noise down here from the war film overhead is an almost deafening, high static screech. Scott can hardly hear his own heart pounding above the drama of the Korean war. There's a man sitting all by himself towards the front of the theater about three rows up from the movie screen. He is frozen, unmoving. Officer Turnboough approaches him carefully from the back left rear. He steps into the isle just behind the row in which the man is sitting and tries to sneak up on him as carefully as he can but of course the popcorn buckets, slippery wrappers, and buttery floors all get in his way. The lone figure is intent on the movie which just makes him all the more suspicious looking. Turnbough grabs him by the shoulder and shines a light in his face. The man looks up absolutely petrified. MAN Jesus. He spills popcorn and Coke all over his lap. It's a older gentleman, gray haired, definitely not Oswald. Turnbough looks toward the upper balcony.

14.

INT.

MOVIE THEATER - BALCONY

Flashlight beams from below rake across the upper balcony, carving shadows out of the empty seats. Oswald dips down under the seat.

OSWALD Get down. The boys do as they're told, dunking themselves in the dripping shadows. As quickly as the beam arrives, it's gone. Now the assassin, as if jolted out of an electric chair, is standing on the armrest between the two boys, and is walking on the theater seats, climbing out his empty row and down and into theirs. OSWALD Get over. He wrenches Billy's arm with a soldier's grip, directing him out and over to the next seat, and then pinches himself in the middle seat between the two boys. They look like a unhappy family. BILLY What are you doing that for? OSWALD It's Showtime. Oswald fishes the revolver out of his jacket. He thumbs open the cylinder to check the bullets. Out in his palm he dumps the loaded bullets, and hands them over to Billy, who looks at the golden, gleaming cases with utter amazement. He's likely never seen real bullets before. Up in the lamp-light, he inspects them. Four of the gleaming cartridges have already been spent, leaving only their hammered casings behind. Officer's Tippet's legacy. OSWALD Boothe killed Lincoln in a balcony. Did you know that? Monarch butterflies have just begun their migration in the pit of Billy's stomach. BILLY Please mister, we won't tell anyone.

OSWALD I know you won't. A trained soldier, a one-time marine, and now a successful assassin, Oswald re-loads in the semidarkness as the boys watch his fingers move with blueeyes blazing. BILLY Why'd you do it, mister? OSWALD What? JOE Why'd you kill the president? Oswald thinks about this as he loads. OSWALD You boys ever read the papers? BILLY Just the funnies. JOE Yeah, I like Mickey Finn. Joe Sadlow makes two hands as if to hold an invisible machine gun. JOE Uh-uh-uh-uh-uh. Oswald eyes the barrel... clean. OSWALD Ever heard of a man named Castro? JOE He invented oil, right? OSWALD No, he's the President of another country. Our President wants to kill their President, Castro.

He snaps the cylinder shut and rolls clicking against his palm. Then he sights along the barrel at one of the characters in war is hell, and follows the figure on-screen with practiced patience as it moves. BILLY Why would our president want to kill their president? OSWALD Because our president is a rich sonofabitch, and he's afraid that the poor workers are gonna rise up and take all his money. JOE How do you know that? With a gun-barrel like a finger, he gestures them forward. OSWALD Because I was trained to kill Castro. BILLY You were?

Shhh.

OSWALD Yeah.

JOE What happened? OSWALD I fell in love... with Russia. they kicked me out of the spy program.

Flashlight beams are criss-crossing everywhere, making the balcony look like England during the air raids of World War II. It won't be long before one of them reaches the balcony.

Oswald cocks the gun's hammer, and points the revolver at the screen. The boys throw their fingers in their ears, expecting him to fire, but as quickly as he makes the gesture, he disarms it with his thumb and blows on the barrel. His hands are tensing up, so he's gotta keep them loose. OSWALD You boys need to read the papers. There's all kinds of hidden messages in there. Like a giant crossword puzzle. Read the words up, down, left, and right. They tell you what's really going on. Secret messages. It's all a big conspiracy. Billy has to think about this. comprehend.

It's hard for him to

BILLY So why'd you really do it? Oswald seems surprised by the repeated question, forgetting for a few minutes that he's been talking to a ten-year-old. Complex answers won't cut it. OSWALD Mutually assured destruction. JOE What's that? OSWALD It's like this.... Oswald puts the gun up to Billy's head, and puts one of the boy's hands, shaped into a play-pistol, up against his own head. OSWALD You pull the trigger, I pull the trigger. Either way, we're both dead. BILLY I don't wanna die, mister.

OSWALD It's not for you to decide The gun sinks down to Oswald's lap. Suddenly it's the weight of a Sherman tank. Thus begins Oswald's confession: OSWALD (in Russian, with subtitles) Marina, god Marina. What did you ever see in me? I thought I could come back, like a big shot. Make money, but it didn't matter; everybody hated us. They trained me how to kill; couldn't they train me how to live? JOE You okay, mister? OSWALD People in pain cause pain.

BILLY Are you in pain? OSWALD Yes. JOE Who hurt you? OSWALD Everyone I ever met. BILLY I'm sorry, mister. OSWALD Oswald, my name is Oswald. BILLY I'm sorry, mister Oswald, if I ever did anything to hurt you.

OSWALD It's too late for that. Oswald is actually crying as he searches for answers. OSWALD Did you ever burn an ant with a magnifying glass? Or kick a dog for no good reason, just because you could? It makes you feel powerful, like God, having somebody else's life in your hands. In that moment before you pull the trigger, you can end it, you can save it, it's all up to you. Billy and Joe both nod their heads.

15.

INT.

MOVIE THEATER - LOBBY

A quick cutaway: Police are herding downstairs patrons out the theater doors, through the lobby, and into the sunlight. They know where their suspect is hiding.

16.

INT.

MOVIE THEATER - BALCONY OSWALD I really didn't mean to do it. I didn't think I'd have the guts. I mean, I wasn't planning on killing him. I just wanted to see if I could.... To see if it was possible.... I figured someone would see the gun, and hit me with a face-full of bullets. I really just wanted to die, like a soldier. I stuck it out there in broad daylight for everybody to see, even the cops below. But they didn't stop me? Why didn't they stop me? I wanted them to stop me. I needed their help. But before I knew it, there he was.

17.

INT.

MOVIE THEATER - STAIRS

A quick cutaway: Black, polished shoes run up the stairs towards the balcony.

18.

INT.

MOVIE THEATER - BALCONY OSWALD There was this flash of something off the limousine. It whited out the whole scope. I was so ready to be dead that I thought that someone was shooting back at me, so I flinched and fired off the first shot. It was just a reflex. But then I knew I had to finish it.

19.

INT.

MOVIE THEATER - SECOND FLOOR

A quick cutaway: The cops fan out and form a perimeter around the upstairs balcony doors.

20.

INT.

MOVIE THEATER - BALCONY OSWALD You know, I've seen this movie before. I know how it ends. JOE Don't tell us. BILLY Yeah, we don't want to know.

Someone has killed the projector. On-screen, Baynes Barron dies a slow, agonizing death, flickering out into filmic oblivion. The Korean war dims into a forgotten memory. Without the projector light on, the theater hall and upper balcony are lost in utter darkness. A weak ring of emergency lights is the only source of illumination. BILLY Hey, who turned out the lights?

OSWALD Show's over. Oswald is so into his confession that he continues without stopping, almost invisible in the near-absolute black: OSWALD I shot him, but I couldn't tell if I hit him, so I shot him again the second time I missed. Third time I didn't miss. It went right through his fucking head like a bad memory. His whole face just exploded, like warm fruit flying everywhere out of a brain basket. The house lights creep up on dimmers, revealing Oswald by slim degrees, until he is seen in the full light for the first and only time. OSWALD It wasn't until I was walking down the street a few minutes later that it suddenly hit me, and I knew what it was, that first flash of light:. It was the sun, that goddamn Texas sunshine. Flashing off the chrome fender of that limousine. Even in November. I had just shot a man because the sun had got in my eyes. The goddamn sunshine. Oswald springs out of his chair on ejector seat coils, and moves up the aisle to the very last row of seats near the back theater wall. OSWALD Come on, it's time for you to go. He peeks through the velvet curtain and sees police pounding up the stairs in his direction. OSWALD Not that way. Here.

BILLY But I thought we were pals? OSWALD We are. BILLY A gang. OSWALD Here. Oswald grabs Billy under the arms and hefts him up the back theater wall towards one of the two, foot-square panes of glass which separate the auditorium from the projection booth. One is the window for the projector itself, and the other is the projectionist's look-see window, so he can peek out and check the film's focus. Billy is doing his best rock-wall climbing impression, scabbing his knees up the metal, acoustic wall papering and toward the look-see window. He pushes inward on the glass, expecting it to open like a door. BILLY It's stuck. OSWALD Slide it up. He does so, and the window slides up and locks into place. Billy wiggles his butt up and through. It's just wide enough for a kid his size, anybody larger, like Oswald, can forget it. Watching his friend slip through the hole just wide enough for his shoulders, Joe realizes something. Oswald is setting them free. BILLY But, I thought we would stick together. OSWALD I don't need any friends. JOE But we could be your hostages.

Oswald knows this.

It shows on his face.

OSWALD Get outta my face, will you? Tough love. Oswald grabs Joe, kicking and fighting, and shoves his body up through the opening. Live sausage through a sausage press might squeeze a little easier.

21.

INT.

MOVIE THEATER - PROJECTION ROOM

Joe falls down onto the floor next to his friend. One of the overhead bulbs is missing, so the projection room is fairly dark and looming with giant machinery. Of course, it is also empty of its occupant; no one is left to watch over the movies. The police have evacuated everyone from the theater. Joe jumps up, and calls back. JOE Mister Lee? Mister Lee? This time it is Billy who grabs him by the arm, the leader being lead. BILLY Come on.

22.

INT.

MOVIE THEATER - BALCONY

A dark uniform slips down the balcony stairs, all alone, tapping his nightstick on the back of a chair to warn Oswald of his approach. Oswald is back in his original seat, front row center, and pretends not to notice his approach. The officer should probably remain unseen--say an over-the-shoulder shot--since it is not Turnbough but another, OFFICER McDONALD. OFFICER Can I see your tickets, sir?

OSWALD Oh, yeah... Oswald reaches for his gun pocket. OSWALD I have it right here.

23.

INT.

MOVIE THEATER - PROJECTION ROOM

The boys are hiding under the splicing bench. Tails of film curl down in their faces. From here, they listen to THE STRUGGLE. They only hear SOUNDS OF OSWALD'S APPREHENSION. Seeing it is really unnecessary. OFFICER Hey! OSWALD You sonofabitch!

Help!

OFFICER Help!

The thunder of polished footsteps. Someone crashing into a wall. Seats being smashed and torn from their bolts. More bodies crashing into seats. OSWALD I didn't do it! I didn't do it! OFFICER Then what're you fighting for? OSWALD I haven't done anything wrong!

Shut up.

OFFICER Get the cuffs on him.

The buzz of handcuffs being snapped, locked. OSWALD I haven't done anything wrong! You're arresting an innocent man!

OFFICER Get him downstairs. Someone is pulled up the stairs, dragging his feet. The boys hear all of this, and their faces are quiet and still. Only their breathing remains to match the ticking of the projector as it cools down. Several seconds pass in silence. The door to the projection room swings open knocking its handle against the wall and sending a monster rectangle of light sneaking over the various machines like some shadow in a German, surrealist film. A black-shoed figure enters, and walks back and forth, looking for something. Scott Turnbough knows they're in here somewhere. He's just got a hunch. From the kid's point of view, under the table, they see his legs and arms bending and looking, lifting and searching. But it's quiet down here next to the film canisters. No one's talking except the optical soundtracks.

All right.

TURNBOUGH You can come out now.

he says to practically no one. Billy starts forward, but Joe shakes his head. "No, don't do it," he frowns. The grip of the older boy is tight, insistent. "If you do this, I'll grind you into pulp," the white knuckles imply. To emphasize this, Joe puts a finger to his lips, "Shh." Billy reaches over and very deliberately unlocks Joe's fingers from his arm. The older boy, the tough kid, is shocked. Billy slides out into the light, pushing film-tails from his eyes. Turnbough helps him up, and looks under the table for Joe. Grudgingly, Joe Sadlow slides out, too. The officer, one hand on his bullet pouch and the other on his service revolver, looks at them.

OFFICER Why am I NOT surprised?

END ACT FOUR

ACT FIVE

24.

INT.

CAR - DAY

Monday morning. What a busy weekend it's been. Billy is sitting in his mother's car in the school parking lot, ready to head off for school. TWYLA You want me to go with you? He shakes his head and lifts a belt wrapped around three or four new books. He pulls on the handle of the passenger side door. TWYLA Hey, I love you. BILLY I love you too, Mom. She gives him a slobbery kiss which he wipes off immediately before jumping out of the car. Beyond TWYLA TWIGG's driver's side window, which is open, another car pulls up very close to hers, driver's side window to driver's side window. It's a black police patrol cruiser, car number 13. TURNBOUGH How's he doing? TWYLA Good, thanks to you, Scott. you like to come for dinner tonight? TURNBOUGH Yeah, yeah. I'd like that. been a crazy weekend. TWYLA It has.

Would

It's

They both watch:

25.

EXT.

SCHOOL - DAY

Billy is walking up the sidewalk toward the same chainlink fence as in Scene One. Standing next to a break in the fence, the only doorway there is into the school grounds, is who else but Mr. Big Fat Bully himself. Like a one-hundred-and-fifty-nine pound Cerebus, he guards the gates to hell. A few of his stooges back him up. BULLY Well, look who's back?

Twiggy.

Joe Sadlow is already on the playground, and slips off the merry-go-round to watch this encounter, but doesn't move in to help as he did before. Perhaps he is still holding some grudge from the projection room incident. He leans up against the school wall, and folds his arms. Is that a smile on his lips? Billy looks the right into the big boy's eyes. BILLY Guess what I saw this weekend? BULLY Your dirty diapers? Hee-haw laughs from all the boys around him. Do these guys ever get any smarter, or do they just grow up to be-BILLY Lee Harvey Oswald in a movie theater. BULLY Yeah, right. Billy drills for oil in his pocket, the same gesture that Joe made earlier, digging down deep, touching something there. He comes up with a fistful of something, and opens his fingers one at a time, like a magic trick. It's a bullet. A single bullet. A magic

bullet. lap.

Maybe from when Oswald dumped them out in his

BULLY Holy crow. Are you serious? guy who did all the killing? how'd you get to keep this?

The So

Billy smiles and shrugs. BILLY We promised not to tell. One bullet Billy drops into the fat kid's hands. BILLY You see that guy over there... The police officer nods and waves at Billy. BILLY He's eating at my house tonight. And maybe every night after that. Big Bully stares at his hand, at the shiny, gold bullet in it. He doesn't even move as Billy brushes on by, toward the school. Then the Bully runs after him, tagging along. BULLY What did he do?

What did he say?

Billy and Joe smile and lock arms. They're buds again. It doesn't take long for kids to forgive and forget. JOE Now, about my homework.

BILLY Come over tonight. I'll help you with it. But you've got to do it yourself. JOE Fair enough.

They walk on into the school. Big Bully is running after them, pestering them with questions which they will not answer.

26.

INT.

CAR - DAY TURNBOUGH He's gonna be alright. TWYLA What about us?

Turnbough nods, understanding what she means--the city, the country, the world. TURNBOUGH As long as the Chief doesn't count my bullets, I'll be okay. Officer Turnbough throws his car into gear. TWYLA Seven, alright? TURNBOUGH Seven. The cars drive off in opposite directions. FADE OUT.

THE END

OPTION This one-hour teleplay available for option. For lowbudget or independent productions, cost is $1,000 or 1 percent of budget, whichever is higher. Budget must be specified in standard, one-year option. All rewrites by me are FREE. LOGLINE: Nov. 22, 1963. What a day to play hooky. Two boys from a Dallas junior high skip school, steal cigarettes, and wind up at the Texas theater where they sneak in to catch a war flick, WAR IS HELL, promising them "Iron guts guys in action!" They get action, all right, when they sit next to Oswald, who confesses to murdering the president. 62 pages. Confession of Lee Harvey Oswald, The U.S. Copyright PAu-2-405-448 Option will be co-signed by my attorney. Thank you for reading this teleplay and supporting my future writing projects. â&#x20AC;&#x201C; Shawn Stewart