Back to Part 3



ELEVEN: IN WHICH Elizabeth -- in an act of unparalleled present day prestidigitation-- causes to be conjured up -- before the eyes of millions -- the one and only: TIllie Torlini Sykes ...

(a feat of magic -- swift and bold)

 FADE IN:

EXT. MOTEL - MORNING

Aames -- the "associate" that Elizabeth sent off to track down the complete history of Sykes - is inside a phone booth near the entrance to a large, isolated motel. He has a thick note-pad in his hands and is flipping through its hundreds of hand written pages while speaking over the phone to Elizabeth:



AAMES
I got a couple hundred pages here, Elizabet' . .. I could write a novel about your God-damned "Sucker-Sykes" ... And that's just what it'd be -- fiction ... rumors, lies, stories, bullshit...
(a beat; listening)
Does he have a what? ... A mother? No, Elizabet', he don't have no mother ... At least not one that could prove it...
(another beat)
Yeah, sure I'm sure ...
(flips the notebook closed)
Okay, look, I got one or two more leads ta check out, then I'm wrappin' it up ... What? ... No, Elizabet', none of' em involves no mothers ...

He hangs up and steps outside the booth. We can see now, as he moves, that the motel he was calling from is situated at the base of a very familiar mountain in Montana.

A roar of engines approaches rapidly, sweeps by overhead. Aames looks up, sees the sleek, custom designed helicopter of P.P. Peoria cruising by, heading toward the top of the mountain.

Aames stares after it for a moment, then frowns and starts off toward his car.


INT. ELIZABETH'S BEDROOM - MORNING

A huge, high contrast photograph of Sykes, grinning as he talks, covers one entire wall of Elizabeth's bedroom. Elizabeth is lying in silk and satin, smiling quietly to herself. A MAID enters, takes the telephone that is lying on the bed beside Elizabeth and sets it on its table, then crosses to the windows and opens the curtains, flooding the room with yellow morning light.

Elizabeth looks at the photo mural of Sykes for a long moment, then lets her head drop back luxuriously into her pillows, closes her eyes and speaks -- as if revealing a wonderful and perfect vision:

ELIZABETH
I had a dream last night... that my Sucker- Sykes had a long-lost Mamma ... And that she died ... And that she left a note by her side -- telling the whole world so ...


EXT. BUNGALOW COURT - DAY

The bright, noon day sun shines down on a heavy-set LADY in her late fifties, wearing a kerchief over her thinning hair, a faded house dress, and slippers. She is standing in front of a small bungalow court somewhere in a forgotten comer of Azusa. An aging chihuahua is running around in tiny frantic circles near her feet, barking angrily.

In the background, an ambulance is visible, pulled up into the driveway alongside the small cottages. The lady is speaking directly to camera, and is being photographed in the casual, hand-held style of on-the-spot news coverage:


LADY
I've been livin' here in this same court next door ta Tillie since I moved here from Shreeveport, Louisianna in 1947, and I never knew that she had no child 'till I heard Old Chipper barkin' and causin' a ruckus this momin' and mosied over next door ta see what the matter was ... and found old Tillie dead ...

Little Chipper's barking becomes louder and the lady begins to cry. A man speaks from just off-screen, and the CAMERA HASTILY PANS OVER to show a REPORTER, in his early thirties, trying futilely to shield his microphone from the dog's noise. He looks a little bored, as if he really isn't sure why his editor sent him to cover this story.

REPORTER
Ma'am ... And what else did you find, Ma'am...?

The lady holds up a note.

LADY
This note ...
(still tearful)
... this note was by her death-bed side ...

REPORTER
Can you read it. ..

But Chipper's barking and the lady's crying are growing out of control. She shakes her head and hands the note to the reporter.

LADY
You ... (sob, sob) ... read it ...

The reporter scans the note, then suddenly his eyes light up with an uncontainable excitement. He drops the note and screams out -- almost jumping into the air:


REPORTER
OH MY GOD!! THIS IS NEWS!! THIS IS REAL NEWS!!!
(as unable to control himself
as the reporter describing
the crash of the Hindenburg)
Why didn't someone tell me this ... ?? This is incredible! It could make my career!!

He runs frantically toward the ambulance, into which a stretcher is now being put, screams at the body in the stretcher:


REPORTER
Ma'am!! Ma'am!! Is it true?? Is it really true?? Is there really a real Diamond Jim Sykes??


The doors to the ambulance slam shut, and as the reporter calls out a last, confused "Ma'am?" it begins to drive away. The reporter looks back toward the camera, suddenly aware that he's still being filmed. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words don't come.

After a brief and awkward, moment, the cameraman PANS back to the lady. She is holding the note again, and after a short, dagger-like glance toward Chipper -- which immediately silences him - she begins to read aloud.

LADY
(reading slowly and carefully)
"To whom it may concern... I, Tillie Torlini Sykes, am proud to confess to the world on my death-bed that I am the true, long-lost mamma of Diamond Jim Sykes ... And as my last request on this earth, I request that my son, Diamond Jim, be standin' by his mamma's side as she's bein' laid to rest. .. I love that boy of mine and even if he did do wrong and you got him locked up in Anaconda State Prison and everything I'm sure that it weren't his fault and I knowed that you done him wrong ... With a good-bye to the world and ever-lasting love to my Diamond Jim, I say: So long ... Tillie Torlini Sykes ... P.S. That boy you got imitatin' and pretendin' that he's my son sure ain't near as good-lookin' as the real Diamond Jim that he's pretendin' to be ... "



TWELVE>:IN WHICH, while thousands cheer, Elizabeth achieves her fondest wish but finds the taste of victory less than sweet ... AND IN WHICH we learn that, while Sykes has languished and Elizabeth plotted, other forces -- strange and wonderful - have also been at work ...

(a symphony of sensuality and surprise)


EXT. PRISON YARD - DAWN

A pale pre-dawn light filters into the prison yard, barely outlines the massive concrete cell-blocks. A small funeral caravan is drawn up in the center of the yard -- a hearse, a long, cut-away hearse, and a single Rolls-Royce limousine. The cars' engines, idling quietly, send a white, fog-like haze drifting across the otherwise empty yard.

Appearing through the haze, marching toward us down a long, tunnel-like corridor, like an army moving into battle, we see dozens of guards carrying rifles and shotguns. And in their midst, gliding forward on a large electric, moving dolly, is a cage the size of a man, made of two inch thick steel bars. Inside the cage is Sykes. His hands and feet are chained and hand-cuffed. He is staring blankly, expressionlessly ahead.

The procession is met, near the center of the yard, by the warden. He speaks briefly, inaudibly, to the leader of the platoon of guards, then watches, silently, as the guards open Sykes' cage, drag Sykes out of it, and carry him to the limousine.


INT. LIMOUSINE - DAWN

The door of the limousine opens and Sykes is forced inside, into the back seat, where heavy steel manacles have been specially installed. The guards remove Sykes' shackles, pass the thick chains through the manacles in the car, then snap the locks shut again -- chaining Sykes securely, all but immovably, to his seat.

The guards leave; the car door slams shut. Sykes continues to stare straight ahead. Nor does he turn or look when the opposite side door opens briefly and a figure slips inside, into the shadows, into the seat next to Sykes.

The door closes quietly and the limousine begins to move. It moves only a short distance; then a gigantic searchlight is turned on, illuminating a building just inside the walls of the prison: a house in the early stages of construction.

The light also spills inside the car, fills the shadows, reveals Elizabeth seated beside Sykes. She is wearing a full-length mink coat, and is looking now, past Sykes at the partially built house.


ELIZABETH
I'm having a house built here -- within these walls -- so we can be together ...
(a beat)
It'll have every conceivable luxury -- and it'll be ours to share ...

She pushes a button set into the armrest. Mirrors glide up, covering all the windows, darkening the interior of the limousine, leaving only faint images of Sykes and Elizabeth, floating in an infmity of reflections.

ELIZABETH
We're in limbo, now - Just you and I -- suspended in space ...

She opens her hand -- a million Elizabeths open their hands -- displaying a key -- a million keys. Then simply, wordlessly, she reaches over and unlocks the chains, the handcuffs, that imprison Sykes. The chains, sliding through the steel manacles, make a marvelously decadent sound.

Sykes remains staring straight ahead, does not acknowledge in any way that he's been set free. Elizabeth reaches up gently, turns Sykes' head to face her.

ELIZABETH
(softly)
Look at me ...

Sykes doesn't turn away, but his eyes seem to stare right through Elizabeth, to stare past her expressionlessly.

Elizabeth's mink coat is open now, and beneath it we can see she is wearing a thin silk dress, a tiny, light summer dress -- a "butterfly" dress... She takes one of Sykes' hands.


ELIZABETH
Touch it ...

She runs his hand slowly, seductively, over the butterflies.

ELIZABETH
It's light as a feather -- Just the way you like it -- As soft as can be ...

Sykes makes no move to retract his hand. Elizabeth slides forward, kisses him gently on the forehead; her fingertips stroke his hair .

ELIZABETH
This is happening to you, my sweet Sucker-Sykes -- so don't you pretend that it isn't...

Her lips brush along his face, to his mouth; she kisses him, gently.


ELIZABETH
(very softly)
How shall we do it. .. ? Should I leave my dress on or take it off ... ? And my coat. .. Isn't it glorious ...?

She touches a sleeve of her coat to the side of his face; then she kisses him again, just as softly. Her eyes stay fixed on his as she reaches down -- obviously to unbutton his fly -- to release its pnsoner ...

ELIZABETH
Listen to me, my Sucker-Sykes -- Listen ... We'll have silk sheets -- and mink blankets in our little bungalow -- And rare wines -- And Nubian slaves to bathe us -- And lace -- I'll wear lace and have my hair curled just right -- And in summer we'll lie nude on our veranda in the hot noon-time sun and bake - Our eyes will be closed -- And I'll listen to your breath -- And listen to it -- 'Till it says -- the time is right for me to roll over and sit on top of you -- And we'll stay that way forever, it'll seem like -- On into the night -- And the air will turn chilly -- but we won't feel it. .. And I'll start counting backward from ten -- nine -- eight -- seven -- six ...

She moves on top of Sykes.

ELIZABETH
Five -- four -- three -- I hope you don't mind -- Two -- one ...

She is sitting on top of Sykes now; he's inside her. Her face is relaxed -- angelic; she smiles ...


ELIZABETH
How long has it been for you, my Sucker- Sykes ... ?
(almost to herself;
feeling him inside her)
Oh my God ...

Her eyes close. Sykes continues to stare past her -- through her.

She barely moves. The movement of the car on the road provides the needed motion. And the sound of the air, rushing by outside, is -- for a long moment -- the only sound.


EXT. HIGHWAY - DAY

The sun is up now -- low on the horizon. The limousine is racing along a broad highway, entering the outskirts of a vast city sprawl. Buildings and houses are reflected off the smooth, black panels that still cover the car's windows. The wind rushes by, faster and louder ...

The CAMERA BEGINS TO PULL BACK now ... slowly ... steadily ... We see first one, then several, then a dozen policemen on motorcycles surrounding the car, racing forward alongside it in a tight, precise, military formation ...

The CAMERA CONTINUES TO MOVE -- TO PULL BACK ... Ahead of the limousine, leading the caravan, we can see the hearse now ... And behind the limousine, Sykes' cage, empty, rides in the long, open, cut-away hearse ...

We are in the city now. Small knots of people are lining the avenue, shouting or waving as the caravan rushes past ... At each intersection, police are holding back traffic, keeping the broad avenue clear ...

And the sounds -- throughout this sequence -- build in intensity as the scene widens in scope ...



A roaring of engines swells now, as a squadron of bikers appears, racing along the boulevard, catching up to the caravan, fanning out to engulf it, to surround the police escort with a giant flying wedge of cycles and choppers. Polished chrome gleams in early morning sun. The bikers are all dressed identically -- in clothes that are a stylized version of prisoners' uniforms.

The police eye the bikers nervously, and the bikers grin back at them, and diamonds flash and sparkle in their smiles ...

The CAMERA IS RISING now, looking down at the swelling procession, at the mass of cycles, at the cheering crowd also dotted with the flash of diamonds ...

The CAMERA CONTINUES TO RISE ... an aerial shot now, soaring along above the caravan... And as the sounds of the cycles' engines fade now, with perspective, another engine becomes steadily louder instead...

A bi-plane sweeps into the foreground, flying low, scarcely higher than rooftop level, crusing directly over the caravan... It trails behind it a long canvas streamer -- a banner that proclaims in huge letters: L.M. Bubble-Gum Says, "Hi, Diamond Jim!"

Then suddenly, all at once, all the sounds of the engines FADE OUT -- are replaced by the sharp, close-up sound of chains pulling through metal loops, pulling closed and locking shut...


INT. LIMOUSINE - DAY

Elizabeth snaps the last lock shut. The chains again bind Sykes in place. The mirrored panels are still closed -- still create their limbo of infinite, faint, reflected images ... And inside the car, inside the dark, closed space, the sounds of the engines and the shouts of the crowd are all but inaudible.

Elizabeth leans back into her seat.

ELIZABETH
There ... Now you're all locked back up... for me to have and to keep and to keep .. Because I know that if I let you go -- you'd just fly away ...

A long beat. .. Tears begin to swell in Elizabeth's eyes; she speaks softly, barely loud enough for us to hear:

ELIZABETH
It takes time for people to get used to one another -- doesn't it, my Sucker-Sykes ... Even under the best of circumstances -- it takes time ...
(a beat)
But I did excite you ...
(she smiles; as if to reassure herself)
I had to have ...

Then suddenly she slaps Sykes, once, hard, and screams:

ELIZABETH
Talk to me!!

She stares at him, intense, electric, for a long moment, waiting ... Sykes makes no movement, no response ...

Again, Elizabeth smiles to herself, then reaches over to the armrest, pushes a button.

The mirrored panels slide away, and outside the thick glass windows the full scope of the procession is now visible. And the cyclists, and the crowds, seeing Sykes now, smile and cheer, and the sun darts a thousand tiny sparkles from their diamonds into the car, across the faces of Elizabeth and Sykes ...

Elizabeth waits a long moment -- as if to give Sykes time to comprehend the spectacle. When she speaks, at last, there is no hint in her voice of anything but confidence and calm control:

ELIZABETH
Yep -- They're all here because you're here ... They're on their way to your mother's funeral -- the same as you are ... You're their hero, now ...

Elizabeth watches the spectacle for another moment.

ELIZABETH
But don't let what you see fool you, my Sucker-Sykes -- because we're all the same in one respect -- the world will go on with us -- or without us ...
(a beat)
We're all victims in one way or the other, my Sucker-Sykes -- It's just that some of us have been given a more developed capacity for exploiting life -- And for those of us who have -- it seems a pity to suppress it ...

Sykes is still silent, motionless; he has given no hint that he is even aware of the incredible sight outside the car -- no hint that he has even heard Elizabeth's words ...

ELIZABETH
Actually -- at this point -- what's the difference -- whether you talk -- or you never talk again -- It's news either way.



EXT. FUNERAL PROCESSION - DAY

In AN EXTREME LONG-LENS SHOT, WITH TV SCAN-LINES like a close-up of a television screen -- we see the limousine slow to a stop, along with the entire caravan surrounding it.

As the bikers and the crowd lining the boulevard watch in growing excitement, the police cyclists dismount, draw their guns, and form a tight blockade around the car.

The chief of the prison guards gets out of the passenger seat of the hearse, hurries to the limousine, then opens the rear door and begins to unlock Sykes' chains. The other guards unbolt the door to the empty cage, preparing to receive Sykes -- to execute this unexpected transfer of their prisoner as quickly as possible.

As Sykes is dragged out of the limousine and the crowds shout and try to press forward, a voice begins to speak -- in an intense whisper, breathless with excitement -- like a sportscaster describing a crucial putt on the eighteenth green. It is the same Howard Cossell-like voice that we heard earlier, narrating the film that Elizabeth showed to Sykes, describing the world's reaction to the young actor (now seemingly forgotten) who plays Sykes on television.


NEWSCASTER'S VOICE
And there he is.Ladies and Gentlemen, for the first time ever -- a live-action photograph of the real -- and I repeat -- the real Diamond Jim Sykes--

Our CAMERA DRAWS BACK now, sees that this image is being transmitted over a television monitor. Weare now high above the large, elegant cemetery -- the destination of the still-growing funeral procession. Perched atop one of the tall, metal towers surrounding the open grave that awaits Sykes' "mother," we see the NEWSCASTER, watching the monitor and whispering frantically into his microphone.

The image on the large television screen shows Sykes now, being locked into his cage.


NEWSCASTER
Look at him, Ladies and Gentlemen, look how tall and proud he stands -- in his specially designed travel-all - Look how bold and defiant and sad he looks -- And he's not talking, either! It's been said that he has not uttered a single sound since he heard the news of his poor mamma's death and caused that severe commotion at Anaconda State Prison just three short days ago --

The procession begins to get under way again. The camera that is photographing it PANS WITH ITS EXTREMELY LONG LENS, gives a nervously bumpy full-shot of Sykes in his cage floating past the cheering crowds. The nervous excitement and rapid-fire whisper of the newscaster augments perfectly the rough, catch-as-catch-can quality of the scene:

NEWSCASTER
It's hard to fathom, Ladies and Gentlemen a rough-and-tumble cookie like Diamond Jim -- reacting to his mother's death so severely -- taking it so hard -- But it's true -- It's been confirmed -- checked and double-checked and it's a fact that it's true -- Oh yes he is -- Oh yes -- Oh yes -- He's the strong and silent type -- holding it all in within himself until he bursts rather than saddle anyone else with his heartfelt grief -- Oh yes -- That's a man we see before us, Ladies and Gentlemen -- A real man -- A shut-up and button-up-lip type of man -- A man like we'd all like to be like --

In the background -- in the extreme distance -- the actual procession that the TV camera's telephoto lens is showing us is visible now, approaching the cemetery -- although still a great distance away. The crowd below the newscaster's tower catches a glimpse of the distant caravan and a cheer goes up. The newscaster's voice rises also -- almost out of control with excitement:

NEWSCASTER
(louder; impassioned)
And I say -- Mercy -- Mercy - Mercy for the man who loves his mamma -- kind and gentle mamma -- And this reporter maintains that if we were at war -- instead of at peace -- the government would gladly commute this gentle and compassionate soul's sentence - and he would be made into a handsome young lieutenant in the suicide brigade -- and he would survive as survivors do -- and return home a hero! -- And be freed -- and be free to walk the streets just like you and I!!

Suddenly realizing that he is out of control, he stops, drops his voice back to an impassioned whisper, and reads from a slip of paper:

NEWSCASTER
(reading; in an emotion-charged whisper)
"We all have or have had mammas at one time or another in our lives - So certainly the world will understand my leniency in this situation." And that, Ladies and Gentlemen, was a direct quote from the warden -- Clancy Burkholst -- Warden of Anaconda State Penitentiary -- and at the present time the keeper of our Diamond Jim -- and the man responsible -- more than any other man -- for what you see before you today!

But as the newscaster was reading his quotation, the television CAMERA has PANNED from Sykes in his cage to the limousine -- so that as the newscaster speaks his last words, the image we see on the monitor is not the warden, but Elizabeth -- seated serenely in the back of her car -- gliding past the swelling crowd -- her eyes alive and proud.


EXT. HILLSIDE - DAY

A small glass tube in the shape of an arrow FILLS THE FRAME. It appears to be floating in space. Then a man's hand ENTERS SHOT, touches the arrow, gives it a spin. Like the needle of a compass, the arrow swings in a lazy circle, then quivers and comes to rest still pointing in its original direction.

Aames -- Elizabeth's "associate" -- stares at the arrow, frowns, puzzled, then shrugs and trudges on up the steep, overgrown trail, following the arrow "North"

Just ahead of him now, the underbrush parts, reveals a clearing at the top of the mountain. Dust is beginning to rise - to chum and swirl silently all around him. Aames looks up, sees P. P. Peoria's helicopter, hovering in complete and eerie silence just over the clearing ahead. Aames squints and pulls his snap-brim hat lower over his eyes to shield him from the dust, then steps forward into the clearing.

The old and weathered hexagon-shaped building still stands as we saw it before -- but a trifle older and more weathered. And standing in front of it, shaking his fist up at the helicopter, is Lastie MoJoe. He is still dressed in his thread-bare tuxedo and -- unlike the building -- seems not to have aged at all in the last eight years.

Aames approaches Lastie and shouts out an uncomfortable and unnecessarily loud "Hello there!" But Lastie merely turns away and, without even a glance in Aames' direction, goes back into his laboratory. Aames frowns again, casts a quick glance up at the strangely silent helicopter, then squares his shoulders and follows Lastie inside.


INT. LASTIE'S LABORATORY - DAY

Lastie is pacing back and forth behind his work bench, seemingly lost in thought. Aames tries another awkward "Hello!" then, deciding that the old man must be deaf, walks around the work bench and places himself directly in Lastie's path.

Lastie, however, continues pacing and walks straight through Aames.

Aames whirls, stares at the figure, then watches, slack-jawed, as it turns and paces back and straight through him a second time. Aames takes a nervous step to the side now, to get out of the figure's line of march, to avoid a third encounter. He looks around him at the laboratory.

All of Lastie's apparatus -- his tools and machines and experiments are covered with dust and cobwebs. The entire lab is as though it had been deserted or abandoned for years.

As Aames watches, the pacing image of Lastie strides back outside and -- framed in the doorway -- raises his fist again and begins shaking it at the silently hovering presence of P.P. Peoria.

Aames goes back to the work table, scans it quickly. Racks of test tubes and other apparatus appear to have been brushed aside in haste to clear a working space in the center of the table; and in that space is a litter of paper. Aames picks up one of the sheets of paper, blows the dust off it.

It -- and all the other papers -- is covered with what appear to be sketches - designs for a kind of logo or symbol. The drawing on top -- the most finished in appearance -- shows the head of a Mohawk Indian inside a circle and superimposed over a bold and jagged streak of lightning.

MATCH CUT TO:


EXT. BI-PLANE - CEMETERY - DAY

The Indian-and-lightning-flash logo again FILLS THE FRAME -- but in color now: red and gold. The CAMERA DRAWS BACK, sees that the design is painted onto the side of the bi-plane we saw cruising over the funeral procession, trailing its long canvas banner: L.M. Bubble-Gum Says, "Hi, Diamond Jim!"

Below us now, we can see the glittering crowd swarming over the cemetery, and the procession coming to a stop near the open grave. The PILOT of the bi-plane is a small and wiry old man wearing goggles and a leather aviator's cap.

He pulls a cord now, and the long canvas banner is cut loose, floats in a graceful serpentine toward the ground.

Then the pilot guns his engine, drops into a steep, fast dive and aims his plane directly toward the group of cars around the grave -- toward the cage in which Diamond Iim is held prisoner.

A long, black rope unreels with a huge grappling hook at its end.



The pilot cuts his engine. In a swooping rush of air, the plane plummets toward the crowd - toward the guards who, looking up, begin to dive for cover -- toward Sykes' cage itself.

Then, at the last possible moment, the pilot restarts his engine and pulls up sharply. The hook swings in a wide arc, grabs Sykes' cage perfectly, and begins to pull it up, into the sky and away from the guards, the police, who raise their guns now, recovering, ready to fire.

But the bi-plane -- like a crop duster making his run -- releases a huge cloud of fog or smoke. It engulfs the crowd, and the cemetery, and the guards with their guns, and Elizabeth -- who stands now, perfectly still, amid the shouts and gunfire and chaos, staring up into the swirling white cloud.

Sykes is gone.


Part 5