ABRIDGED THOUGHT

Written by fivepagesaday

fivepagesaday@gmail.com 01.12.2014

INT. BAR - NIGHT POOL BALLS CRACK - then roll. The break sinks the blue 3 and purple-striped 12.! ALAN BERMAN, (45), white, dressed in a loose-fitting navy suit with subtle pinstripes chalks his cue, waiting.! ALAN Stripes or solids? JACK WHITMAN, (35), white, his dark gray suit hugging his frame, sizes up the table. He walks to take an obverse view. ALAN(CONT'D) Come on, it's not life or death.! Jack decides as he lines up his next shot, calling out the far corner pocket. Solids.! JACK

The 6 hits its target. JACK(CONT'D) Sometimes it's the little decisions. Jack lines up the next shot. CUT TO: EXT. STREET - NIGHT SUPER: PORT CHARLOTTE, FLORIDA SUPER: January 8th, 2014 Jack and Alan walk down an empty sidewalk each with a six-pack to go. They tote laptop cases. Half-drunk and fully weary, the men meander down the road toward a Sheraton in the distance. Alan's phone BUZZES in his jacket pocket. He reaches in and looks at it. Fuck. ALAN

2.

What?

JACK

ALAN Did you see this? See what? JACK

Alan holds the phone to Jack, who stops walking and grabs Alan's hand to hold the phone steady. INSERT - SCREENSHOT OF CNN.COM - "EMAILS REVEAL CRUCIAL ROLE OF CHRISTIE AIDE IN GWB SNARLING" with a picture of CHRIS CHRISTIE below the headline. Jack gives Alan a concerned look. CUT TO: INT. SHERATON HOTEL - NIGHT Alan opens the door adjoining his room to Jack's, his thrown laptop and suit jacket visible on the bed behind him. ALAN We're in deep fucking shit here. JACK We've got nothing to do with this, what the fuck are you talking about? ALAN Are you kidding me?! (beat) How could you think we're in the clear? You worked with the woman Jack. For six years you worked for her. Jack looks disappointedly at the TV where the story runs on CNN. JACK That doesn't matter.! (beat) We're doing a fucking house election here. This hsa nothing to do with our race, nothing to do with our tactics.

3.

Really?

ALAN

Alan walks across the room slowly, arms folded against his chest. ALAN(CONTD) So youre telling me she never did anything like this in the past? (beat) Because if she did, or even got the idea from a mutual acquaintance of yours, any reporter worth his fucking weight will find it, and tie it to you.! Jack takes a long swig from his beer. JACK You expect me to call her and ask her if shes done this shit before? ALAN I expect about fifty microphones to be in front of her at a grand jury hearing in two weeks asking her the same thing. (beat) So yeah, Id like to think knowing the answer before they all do is important. (beat) Were fucked. Jack interrupts another sip with a revelation. JACK The fucking polling places. Alan nods, and moves his arms from his across his chest to behind his head, hands clasped nervously. Jack stands up and rubs his temples. He downs another swig of beer. JACK(CONTD) Theres no fucking way. (beat) They wont be able to put it together.

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Jack starts ticking off reasons on his finger. JACK(CONTD) We filed early. (beat) We included all necessary forms. (beat) We included community surveys. ALAN Forged community surveys. Jack shoots daggers. JACK Theyre in there. Alan replays his last thought. He THROWS his beer bottle into the trashcan, where it SMASHES on impact. ALAN This whole thing was your idea. Just move the polling places. (beat) We only need a few points in a few areas. Alan points at Jack. ALAN(CONTD) Youre the one that got us into this mess. JACK Theres no mess. No ones called. No emails. Youre losing your shit for no reason. ALAN So well withdraw the polling place relocation requests tomorrow. Jack shakes his head. JACK No. Cant bring any attention to it. Whats done is already out there, in process. Jack rests his free hand on his hip, trying to work through his logic calmly, silently.

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ALAN So then what, roll the dice, both of our careers on the line? (beat) Wait for CNN to call up and start asking questions? Jack finishes his beer. Alan sits on Jacks bed, nervously playing with his hands. We PAN OVER the stacks of documents splayed out on the small hotel desk, CASCADING onto the floor, covered in RED INK and HIGHLIGHTER, stopping on a cell phone. SLOW ZOOM IN on cell phone. The room filled with nervous silence. CLOSER, the screen still blank. The room still silent. Just as the PHONE RINGS with UNKNOWN calling we CUT TO BLACK