THE CHAMPAGNE SOCIALIST

(OR: CREATIVE DESTRUCTION)

By

Chuck Staples

It’s not a question of worrying or of hoping for the best,

but of finding new weapons. -- Gilles Deleuze

2021 gpbeckstead@gmail.com
801-870-3118
CONTINUED: 66.

She follows him as he strolls through the living room to the

main door of the house. Touching him by his shoulder,
venturing an attempt of affection. He spins, initially
confused, then angry.
MRS. REED
There’s more than one way to arrive
at peace and understanding,
Reed...we can fix things. Either
that, or we split up.
He gives her a SLAP, and she lets him, the glass shattering
to the floor. Holding her hand to her face she stares boldly
at him, distressed but steady.

Furious and plastered, but just enough to realize his way

around these things, Reed simply walks to the RACK at the
main door and puts on his CANVAS JACKET.
He pulls a .38 SPECIAL from the top of the BUILT-IN SHELVES
of the mudroom and leans his chin back at her.

MR. REED
I’ll either be back, or I’ll be
dead. You just wait.

INT./EXT. KYLE’S MERCEDES - NIGHT

From Kyle’s driver P.O.V., Reed is walking from his driveway
to the sidewalk. POLICE OFFICER #3 gets out of the car.

EXT. OFFICER REED’S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

The officer approaches Reed and attempts to stop him, who
initially pushes her away with his forearm and walks past.

Realizing his coarse behavior he turns back and smiles,

trying to make himself appear less drunk and irritated.
POLICE OFFICER #3
Where you heading, Reed? You need
to stay put until all this clears
up.
REED
Going for a stroll, captain. Don’t
mind me.

POLICE OFFICER #3
The chief recommends that you stay
home. Following you is beyond the
orders I received, sir.
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 67.

REED
They’ll never know. It’s not like
I’m wearing a bracelet.
POLICE OFFICER #3
Well, don’t go too far, sir. I
can’t watch you and the family at
the same time. Shit, if anything
happens you’re gonna make me lose
my job.

Reed chuckles and uses his hand to pat the officer on her
shoulder, reaching his other hand into the opposing side of
his jacket pockets.
REED
I’m not concerned, but thanks.

He walks away, reaching the corner of the block, where Kyle

peeks from behind the car door.

INT./EXT. KYLE’S MERCEDES - NIGHT

As the officer walks back to her car Kyle uses this brief
moment to leave from the driver’s side, closing the door
gently, silently.
The SECURITY FOOTAGE shows him glance left and right, then
back towards the camera, his face hidden beneath his hood in
the shadows, but his eyes flash at the lens like an animal.
Crossing to the other side of the road without any notice,
he follows Reed in the dark.

INT. KYLE’S CONDO - BEDROOM - NIGHT

Pierre seems to be running through R.E.M. sleep, his body
shaking, his eyelids quivering, and his mouth mumbling
something unrecognizable.
He opens his eyes and automatically reaches his hand to the
other side of the bed.
PIERRE
Kyle?
No response. He peers to the nearest edge, taking a long
look at the wheelchair, not a noticeable distance, but too
far for an easy grasp.

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 68.

Grabbing his phone from the NIGHTSTAND, he presses Kyle’s

name on the call list. That PHONE is ringing and flashing
from the opposite side of the bed.
He ends the call and looks through the open bedroom door to
see only emptiness.
PIERRE (CONT.)
Kyle???

INT. GRUNGY BAR - NIGHT

Reed is seated on a STOOL at the poorly-lit GRUNGY BAR,
taking another SHOT of whiskey and rinsing it down with a
BEER.

BARTENDER
How’s everything been going lately
Reed?
REED
Don’t ask.

The BARTENDER pours a new shot into his customer’s glass and
looks around, almost entirely empty aside from a dozing WINO
near the entrance.
BARTENDER
Still need a job, Reed? Like I
said, I could use another hand.
REED
I’ll let you know when I’m
desperate. Thanks pal.
Reed cracks open a PEANUT from the BOWL, sniffs at something
in the air, and throws the nut into his mouth.
REED (CONT.)
This nation’s going to hell in a
hand basket.
BARTENDER
Nothing new. Been going down the
drain for a while.

REED
Soon enough, mark my words, we’ll
be drowning in debt, killing each
other over a slice of bread. Won’t
be cops like me to protect folks
like you. "Defund the police" my
(MORE) (CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 69.

REED (cont’d)
ass. We need armory, tanks,
bazookas.

The bartender is using his HANDTOWEL to dry some GLASSES,

breathing on them to "clean" his own fingerprints off them.
BARTENDER
Preaching to the choir, Mr.
Robocop. I’m not scared though.
These new commies are flowery,
milquetoast fags, hardly gonna rise
up like the Bolsheviks.
REED
Real trouble these days are the
anti-christs, antifa whatever the
fuck they wanna call themselves.
Privileged white teenagers who
don’t know what they got, don’t
know what they want, and break shit
for fun. For pleasure. And the
libs, they think they’re cute.
BARTENDER
Children of the boomers, the new
punks who grew up to be pussies.
Now their kids hate ’em and wanna
"rebel" against the "man" by
cutting off their own dicks.
REED
You’re not wrong about that. You
know, I was a real punk once upon a
time. Saw the light.
BARTENDER
Me too. Showed my blindness to
reality, between race and culture.
That’s why your honky-ass shot the
poor little black boy, am I right?
The bartender chuckles, wanting to hear Reed’s "true story,"
raising his eyes up from the empty glass.

REED
I didn’t do shit cause he was
black. Kid had a gun. It wasn’t
his. And he ain’t dead.

BARTENDER
Handicapped. Sure. Physically or
mentally? Probably both. If I were
him I’d already be done with it.
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 70.

He slashes his neck with his pointer finger and laughs. Reed
turns back to the drink.
REED
Maybe he didn’t deserve it. Neither
did I.

BARTENDER
No need to feel guilty, bud. This
here’s what you might call a
"sanctuary space" for people like
you and me.
The bartender turns away to find some more work before he
closes, leaving Reed alone in his pool of misery.

INT. KYLE’S CONDO - BEDROOM/BATHROOM - NIGHT

Pierre, crawling on the floor, lifts himself up to the
wheelchair. A struggle, but he makes it.
He wheels himself to the door of the BATHROOM, but gets
blocked by the width of the frame, barely too thin for the
chair to fit. Trying to shove through, the wheels get
trapped in between the threshold.
Taking a long breath, looking down to his legs, then to the
toilet, Pierre uses all the strength of his arms to THROW
himself onto the tile.
Pulling himself up from the rim of the bowl and lifting
himself up once more onto his new chair.
Struggling with his underwear, he pulls it down as far as
they can go to the edge of the seat, then lets himself go, a
strong stream of piss gushing into the bowl.

EXT. GRUNGY BAR ALLEY - NIGHT

Reed walks out from the entrance of the building to the

side, stopping next to the DUMPSTER in the alley, holding a
CIGARETTE in one hand and a LIGHTER in the other.
He lights the cig, a long suck as he raises his chin to the
sky and breathes the smoke out. His other hand removes the
.38 Special from his jacket pocket.
Gazing at it for long while, he admires, almost pets it for
a long moment, then places the snub-nose barrel into his
mouth.

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 71.

Still breathing in and blowing out smoke through the corner

of his lips, his hands shaking, his commitment more unlikely
at each moment. Testing himself not for the first time, but
still a jest.

Removing the revolver from his mouth he hears a polite voice

from behind.
KYLE (O.S.)
Excuse me.

Reed turns to Kyle as a baseball bat meets his left temple

in a nasty THUMP. The pistol bounces off onto the asphalt.
Raising the bat like a slugger from his gloved hands, Kyle
is ready once more to strike, but notices the skull CRACKED
and blood SPURTING from the head.

Leaning over the body, he checks the pockets, pulling out a

ZIPPO LIGHTER labeled with the FRATERNITY ORDER OF POLICE
LOGO, some shitty packet of CIGARETTES, a FLASK OF LIQUOR,
and a worn-down WALLET, that is carrying the small amount of
CASH, the DRIVER’S LICENSE, and CREDIT CARDS.

He unzips his pants and relieves himself on what might be a

dead body...
While pissing he perceives the light that gleams from the
gun, seeming to call him by his name in Pierre’s voice.

.38 SPECIAL
Kyle? Kyle???
Kyle moves towards it, snatching it from the ground.

Bolstering up the body around its chest like a hug from

behind, his left hand placing the gun into Reed’s hand,
Kyle’s gloved finger on the trigger.
Raising Reed’s hand to the man’s temple, Kyle’s one-eye view
makes sure that its position matches the placement from the
bat.
Pulling the trigger, more blood splashes onto Kyle’s
darkened face, letting Reed drop like a rock. The GUNSHOT
echoes throughout the entire city.

Reed’s tongue is stuck out in an awkward position as Kyle

attempts to adjust the body for a more naturalistic look,
but he is interrupted by someone opening the back door from
the alley-side of the bar.

(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 72.

The bartender peaks through the crack, raising his SAWED-OFF

SHOTGUN from his hip and FIRES a BUCKSHOT at Kyle, who’s
already turned around the corner, still running with the
baseball bat in one hand.

CUT TO:

INT. KYLE’S CONDO - BATHROOM - NIGHT

Pierre has fallen asleep on the toilet, his chin crunched
uncomfortably over his chest, his body sliding slowly off
until he shakes himself awake. He stares in the dark at his
wheelchair trapped in the doorway.

EXT. OFFICER REED’S HOME - NIGHT

The female officer is still in her car, the engine running

with some radio chatter in the background.
POLICE RADIO
10-54. 10-54. Possible 999. Brett’s
Bar on Carol’s and 14th. 10-54.
She snatches the walkie from the dashboard.
POLICE OFFICER
10-4. I’m on the way.

The cop lights flare up as she accelerates into the dark,

vanishing in the distance. Kyle now crosses the road to his
Mercedes.
He takes his last look at the surrounding area, now
realizing the SURVEILLANCE CAMERA at the front door of the
home where he had parked.
Inside the car, the lights beam up with the noise of the
engine, placing it into gear and heading in the opposite
direction.

INT./EXT. KYLE’S MERCEDES/URBAN ALLEYWAY - NIGHT

Kyle drives into an URBAN ALLEYWAY between two tall
buildings, each side of the walls covered with graffiti.
Inside the car, he yanks the PLASTIC OPENING underneath the
wheel and throws it underneath the side seat. Using his
gloves he yanks out the BATTERY AND STARTER, leaving the
cables hanging to make his car look like it has been hot
wired.
(CONTINUED)
CONTINUED: 73.

Getting out he examines his exquisite automobile for what is

most likely the last time. Pulling the baseball bat from the
front seat, he throws it into the windshield, the glass
breaking and fragments falling onto the driver’s seat.
He picks the bat up and slams it against the driver’s door,
leaving deep indentation into the metal.
Continuing around the entire vehicle, he makes larger dents
every time he hits it. After a long while of beating and
thrashing, he throws the baseball bat into the rear seat and
opens the GAS CAP of his car.
He pulls out the officer’s lighter, lighting a cigarette
then pouring the flask of liquor on a torn piece of cloth
from one of the car seats, throwing the wallet and the flask
inside the car as well.
Placing the piece of cloth into the gas cap and lighting it
on fire, he finally seems to be satisfied and walks out of
the alley without any remorse.

A LARGE EXPLOSION erupts into the night.

INT. KYLE’S CONDO - BEDROOM/BATHROOM - DAWN

Entering his room, Kyle notices the wheelchair. Pulling off

his sweatshirt and his pants, he opens the lid of the
LAUNDRY BIN.
He yanks the wheelchair out of the frame, entering the
bathroom and keeping the lights off. Stopping to take a look
at Pierre, who snores, still crudely asleep on the toilet.
Seeing himself in the mirror, Kyle touches a dried splash of
BLOOD on his darkened face. Turning the SINK on, he begins
to wash the makeup off, the dark colors swirling down the
drain.
PIERRE
Kyle?
Kyle grabs the bright white HAND TOWEL off the RACK and
wipes his face clean, revealing a jubilant grin from behind
the stained rag.
PIERRE
Where were you Kyle?

He throws the stained towel into the sink and walks to his
boyfriend, lifting him from the toilet like the prince
charming, carrying his sleeping beauty back to bed.

(CONTINUED)