THE DROP

by
Paul Fisher

INT. ADVERTISING DEPT. MEETING ROOM OF DR. YETSELS FACE-PEEL

Some nebulous time between 1910 and 1930.
The advertising department BIG SHOTS shuffle uneasily in
their seats around a wood table. The gaudily comb-overed C.
ARTHUR SPITZ, the boss, whose pants consume seventy-five
percent of his body HACKS phlegm.
In a suit and monocle, FRESSER WILLIPS pats his sweating,
shiny dome with a handkerchief, while DORY PFENNYWYCKE chews
on his bushy, imperial mustache.
C. ARTHUR SPITZ
You gents think theyll do it?
Silence.
C. ARTHUR SPITZ (CONTD)
Pfennywycke, pay attention!
Pfennywycke stops chewing.
DORY PFENNYWYCKE
Who could know?
Commences chewing.
FRESSER WILLIPS
Well, I think they will. They are
gentlemen of the utmost
distinction. Right proper, good
salt-of-the-earth men.
(beat)
Of course, I could be wrong.
C. ARTHUR SPITZ
Well, lets get on with this
business then.
HARUMPHS all around. He POUNDS the table.
Swicket!

C. ARTHUR SPITZ (CONTD)

REGINALD SWICKET, C. Arthurs secretary, bounds in clutching

an extremely ornery pigeon. He fights to hold on, slapping
and grabbing at the air to reign in the beast.
C. Arthur removes a fountain pen from his shirt pocket,
which, it might be restated, sits only a few inches above his
belt.

2.
He CLEARS HIS THROAT. Instantly, Swicket furnishes an ink
well, bucking fowl in tow. He submerges the stylograph,
lethargically draws ink, cranes his neck and acknowledges his
cohorts.
Taking the pen out and painstakingly scribing a miniscule
note, he then rolls it up and puts it on the leg of the
pigeon, still outstretched and flailing in Reginalds arms.
Very well.

C. ARTHUR SPITZ (CONTD)

Dory stands and distances himself from the wingd vermin.

Reginald lets it go, and it flies destructively around the
room, almost hitting Dory in the face several times.
DORY PFENNYWYCKE
Ahh! I suggest we use our brand newLets sit.

C. ARTHUR SPITZ

DORY PFENNYWYCKE
Why not communicate viaC. ARTHUR SPITZ
Sit down, Dory!
DORY PFENNYWYCKE
(mopey)
Fine.
FRESSER WILLIPS
Wouldnt someone be so kind as to
open the window?
Reginald saunters to the window and opens it. The bird takes
its cue.
INT. BOARDROOM OF THE AMERICAN GAZETTE - A FEW MINUTES LATER
A staff meeting, when the pigeon lands on the table. The
editor-in-chief, HEWLARD H. HARANGUE, a gruff, irritable
glutton with a penchant for pinstripes, stands.
HEWLARD H. HARANGUE
Morgan, take the note off its leg,
will ya?
MORGAN, a copy man, takes it off and starts to unroll it.

3.
HEWLARD H. HARANGUE (CONTD)
Did I say read it, ya dink?
Morgan hands it over.
HEWLARD H. HARANGUE (CONTD)
Hmm. Dr. Yetsels Face-Peel wants
to move their ad toward the front.
Nothing like the last minute.
MOSHER SKOLOWITZ (O.S.)
We should accommodate; theyre big
sponsors.
HEWLARD H. HARANGUE
Who the hell are you?
MOSHER SKOLOWITZ
Skolowitz, in accounting, sir.
HEWLARD H. HARANGUE
Youre fired!
SKOLOWITZ, a shlubby, chipmunk-of-a-man, picks up a pencil
and pockets it. Then another. Before pilfering the third
solitary pencil, he looks up at his peers.
MOSHER SKOLOWITZ
I dont want that one.
He leaves with a WHIMPER.
HEWLARD H. HARANGUE
Hes right, though. Ill give em
page two.
He scribbles a note, Yetsel to 2nd. He rolls it up and puts
it back on the pigeon. The animal flies away.
EXT. THE SKY - CONTINUOUS
The pigeon soars through the air effortlessly, gracefully.
Beautiful. Its a veritable poem, until THWACK: the bird
smashes into a brick wall and slides down in a messy cocktail
of blood and pigeon brains.
The message, though, floats away from the debacle, wafting
downtown upon the natural inclinations of midday gusts.

4.
EXT. LUCKY SHOE OFF-TRACK BETTING - A FEW MINUTES LATER
CHARLIE APPLES, destitute and disheveled, sits in the
alleyway between the Lucky Shoe and Glumpnicks Pharmacy. A
note lands on his lap. He unrolls it.
CHARLIE APPLES
Yetsel to 2nd?
(beat)
Is that you, God?
He stares at the note, turns it around, upside down.
The wind picks up. A trash can lid from down the alley blows
into the backside of Charlies noggin, flipping his mug in
the direction of todays betting board, which holds the names
of the ten horses slated to run in the big race:
1) The Kaisers Parade 2) Yolanda 3) Alabaster Commode
4) Smell The Begonias 5) Yetsel 6) Blatant Plagiarist
7) Dyspeptic Freddy 8) White Mans Burden 9) Weaselfoot
10) Frontal Lobotomy
INT. LUCKY SHOE OFF TRACK BETTING - A FEW MOMENTS LATER
Charlie stands at a betting window.
CHARLIE APPLES
A buck on Yetsel to place.
He tries to hand over his filthy legal-tender.
CLERK
Look, turkey, youre drunk. Thats
a hundred to one shot. A dollarll
get you a sandwich and a beer or
two over at the counter.
CHARLIE APPLES
God doesnt want a sandwich. He
wants Yetsel. To place!
(beat)
I might take the beer, though.
CLERK
Whatever you say, guy.
Taking the fistful of coins, he hesitantly slides Charlie his
betting slip.

5.
INT. LUCKY SHOE OFF TRACK BETTING - TWENTY MINUTES LATER
The room is raucous, mostly people losing their shirts on the
crazy race being broadcast over the loudspeaker.
LOUDSPEAKER (V.O.)
And Yetsel, once an afterthought,
and at one time three full lengths
out of the running, comes from
behind to take second, as Dyspeptic
Freddy takes todays purse, and
Blatant Plagiarist rounds it out in
third. Placing fourth was Alabaster
Commode and finishing fifth through
tenth was: The Kaisers Parade,
Weaselfoot...
The Loudspeaker fades into the background noise.
CHARLIE APPLES
We did it, God!
A waitress refills Charlies champagne flute. He chugs it and
leaves, a fistful of singles and tens in his sweaty mitts.
INT. PAWN SHOP - A LITTLE BIT LATER
A drunk Charlie mills about glass cases while the brutish,
overgrown, and hirsute owner, LARK THE BARGAIN SKERGE,
hovers.
LARK THE BARGAIN SKERGE
What kind of steal you looking for
today, hobo? Ive got some
silverware... Just in. From where?
Cant say.
He dumps a robust, velveteen bag full of various cutlery. A
finger tumbles out, but The Bargain quickly shoves it back
inside the sack and wipes the counter with his shirtsleeve.
CHARLIE APPLES
Tempting but no.
LARK THE BARGAIN SKERGE
I just got some new knuckle dusters
in. Guy like you, on the street,
never can be too equipped...
All manner of bladed knuckle coverings lay before him in an
upholstered box. Charlie examines the wall, when a painting
drops from one of its nails, hanging tenuously from just one.

6.
CHARLIE APPLES
Whats that?
LARK THE BARGAIN SKERGE
What? This?
He points at the fallen painting.
LARK THE BARGAIN SKERGE (CONTD)
This? This is, uh, high art.
It real?

CHARLIE APPLES

LARK THE BARGAIN SKERGE

You bet its real. What type of
clip joint you think Im running
here?
How much?

CHARLIE APPLES

LARK THE BARGAIN SKERGE

Gotta have forty bucks, at least.
CHARLIE APPLES
Can I haggle?
No.
Done.

LARK THE BARGAIN SKERGE

CHARLIE APPLES

He gives forty, takes the painting and leaves.

EXT. PAWN SHOP - CONTINUOUS
Charlie takes a few steps back toward his alley, but
BLACKSFORD HUGHES, the prosperous local purveyor of
mothballs, stops him.
BLACKSFORD HUGHES
Tramp, your picture is stunning.
How much do you want for it?
Tramp?

CHARLIE APPLES

BLACKSFORD HUGHES
This is not an amount.

7.
CHARLIE APPLES
Why, I just bought this. I wouldnt
dream of selling it. I was brought
to this painting by God, Himself!
BLACKSFORD HUGHES
Ill pay you sixty-five.
I cant.

CHARLIE APPLES

BLACKSFORD HUGHES
Ill give you seventy dollars.
CHARLIE APPLES
God says, Its a deal.
INT. AD DEPT. MEETING ROOM, DR. YS F-P - MEANWHILE
Spitz, Pfennywycke, Willips and Swicket laze at their table.
C. ARTHUR SPITZ
What the blast is taking so long?
FRESSER WILLIPS
Perhaps the bird had to take a
break for food or beverage.
DORY PFENNYWYCKE
Come now, these are professional
birds.
INT. BLACKSFORD HUGHES APARTMENT - MEANWHILE
Blacksford opens his door. His wife, LADY FICUS HUGHES,
prepares a meal.
BLACKSFORD HUGHES
Hello, my love.
The entire house is filled with pictures, nary a bare spot
for the eye to land, save for a form-fitting square in the
kitchen.
LADY FICUS HUGHES
Welcome home, darling. What have
you brought us, over there?

8.
BLACKSFORD HUGHES
Oh this? I almost forgot. I was
instantly taken by this painting
today and figured youd fall in
love with it, as well, so I bought
it from the tramp im-MEH-diately.
LADY FICUS HUGHES
What was that?
He leaves the room.
BLACKSFORD HUGHES (O.S.)
Im-MEH-diately.
He goes into the kitchen with a tack and a hammer. Lady Ficus
Hughes fiddles with the sink.
LADY FICUS HUGHES
The plumbing is being absolutely
dreadful right now, Blackie.
Hes measuring and lightly hammering, aloof.
BLACKSFORD HUGHES
Oh, darling?
She finally looks at what hes doing.
LADY FICUS HUGHES
Why hang that in here?
BLACKSFORD HUGHES
This is where I want to hang it.
LADY FICUS HUGHES
Itd look much better in the
parlor, dear. Can you give me a
hand with this sink?
She BANGS away at
bursts. The water
painting, all the
revealing a thick
utility bills.

the pipes in frustration. One finally

shoots out of the spout directly onto the
colors running instantly onto the floor,
layer of Lark The Bargain Skerges

BLACKSFORD HUGHES
Its a fake!
He takes the framed canvas and hurls it out the window.

9.
EXT. STREET - MEANWHILE
STARKLY JESTON and his seven children, SARA, LARA, LISA,
RISA, RICK, and JAKE walk down the street, abreast. The
canvas knocks ZEKE, 6, the youngest, on the end, through the
asphalt, unbeknownst to any others in line, and...
INT. SEWER - CONTINUOUS
...Into the sewer.
ZEKE
Whoa. Swell!
He splashes through a few blocks worth of tunnels, until he
comes to a giant red spigot. He looks at it and then back to
where he came from. He looks at it again. He turns the spigot
as fast as he can. Nothing happens.
ZEKE (CONTD)
What a gyp!
He runs back, splashing and LAUGHING the whole way.
EXT. STREET - CONTINUOUS
A manhole cover quakes and BLOWS off into the sky, a sublime
parabolic display.
EXT. GLUMPNICKS PHARMACY - CONTINUOUS
A DELIVERY BOY drops a box of Dr. Yetsels Face-Peel down on
the sidewalk and walks off thumbing his suspenders.
EXT. SKY - CONTINUOUS
The manhole cover starts its glorious, haphazard descent.
EXT. GLUMPNICKS PHARMACY - CONTINUOUS
The manhole cover SMASHES the box and its contents explode, a
bottle of Dr. Yetsels sent directly into the face of near
passerby, one, MR. Q.R.S. NICKELGRUBBER, oil baron,
curmudgeon, and complaint-letter writer extraordinaire.
Repugnant!

Q.R.S. NICKELGRUBBER

He picks up the bottle and examines it.

10.
Q.R.S. NICKELGRUBBER (CONTD)
Dr. Yetsels Face-Peel, is it?
Youll rue the day you struck
Q.R.S. Nickelgrubbers jowls!
INT. Q.R.S. NICKELGRUBBERS PERSONAL QUARTERS - LATER
A rich and lavish parlor, Nickelgrubber sits with his quiver
and fountain, thinking, writing.
Q.R.S. NICKELGRUBBER
By tomorrow, Dr. Yetsel, youll be
ruined! Ill purloin your shares,
tank your stocks and drive you into
the dirt, you hatchetmen and
grifters! Land a blow to
Nickelgrubbers visage, will you?
Youve earned the high hat, best
know you this much! Signed Your
Most Offended Opposition, Q.R.S.
Nickelgrubber. P.S. You shan't have
the courtesy of me dating this
correspondence, commoner.
He looks at it, sated. Then crumbles it up and burns it. He
then writes this, a tiny note: You have no chance. And on
the next line in all caps NICKELGRUBBER. He brings it over
to a cage on the other side of his room, places the note on
his pigeon and lets it go.
INT. AD DEPT. MEETING ROOM, DR. YS F-P - A LITTLE LATER
The pigeon flies through the open window.
C. ARTHUR SPITZ
Finally. Thought theyd eaten the
damn thing.
Spitz unrolls the message.
FRESSER WILLIPS
How crude... And quite delicious.
Shall we order lunch soon, men?
C. ARTHUR SPITZ
Hmm. Well, thats odd. It seems
American Gazette wont do it.
Silence, the lot of them. Even Pfennywycke is at a loss.

11.
FRESSER WILLIPS
Thats ever so strange. They were
always so nice over the phone.
A telephone?
DORY PFENNYWYCKE
Oh, right! The telephone! Thats
what I wanted to say...
Iris in on Pfennywycke.
THE END