The Lone Rangers
A Screenplay by:
Sean Ryan
Random scene 1
Copyright 2003/2004
registered with the
Screenwriter's Guild
All Rights Reserved
Contact: seansshack@oceanfree.net
EXT. ROADSIDE - NEXT DAY - DAY
Tom is sitting on his bicycle. Looking a little sorry for
himself.
Jim cycles up on his bicycle.
JIM
Why the long face hombre?
TOM
Nothing.
JIM
How did it go last night?
TOM
It didn't.
JIM
What happened?
TOM
No show. Guess she didn't want to
go out with a skint loser like
me.
Tom drops his head in shame.
JIM
You should give a ring. My mother
was talking about problems with
her sister's husband, Vincent.
Never liked that bagger haired
bastard.
TOM
Not much point. I'm not exactly
brimming with prospects.
JIM
Plenty more fish in the sea.
TOM
That's the problem. There is no
sea. This one horse town is
getting on my tits. We need to
get out of here, move to some
place where no one knows us.
Where there are plenty of jobs
and girls.
JIM
Don't think that place exists
mate.
TOM
My cousin went to America and he
wrote me a while back. He says
it's hard work over there but you
have a great life. He's even
getting married. Christ he didn't
even have a girlfriend over here.
JIM
There is one slight little
problem with that idea. How the
feck do we get there?
Tom starts to peddle without answering and Jim follows.
The two continue cycling and come to a halt across the road
from the supermarket.
TOM
Alright then. We move in fast.
Here put this on.
Tom hands Jim a Balaclava.
JIM
Great what the feck am I supposed
to do with this?
TOM
Put it over you head. Jasus. You
sure you're ready for this?
JIM
No.
The two dismount their bikes.
Jim pulls the Balaclava over his face
JIM
(grabbing his stomach)
Not a bit fecking ready.
Tom starts to jump up and down, like a boxer before a
fight.
TOM
Right we kick in the fecking door
and act like we are waving a
Baryshnikov. Scare the shite out
of them.
JIM
Hang on, what? Baryshnikov?
TOM
Yeah. Why?
JIM
Baryshnikov?
(laughs)
Well unless you want to scare
them with a dance from swan lake,
I don't fecking think so. Don't
you mean Kalashnikov?
TOM
Kalashnikov, Baryshnikov. What's
the fecking difference? They are
all Russian shite.
JIM
Well one is a machine gun; the
other is a fecking ballet dancer.
I think there is a LITTLE
difference there.
TOM
(blushing)
Feck off, you know what I mean.
Lets go.
They barge through the door of the supermarket.
INT. SUPERMARKET - DAY
A small queue of people, line up at a single cash register.
The two come running through the door, their faces covered
by the Balaclavas.
TOM
(shouting)
Right everybody stay fecking
still and everybody won't get out
of here alive.
JIM
Don't you mean, don't move and
everyone will get out alive?
TOM
Whatever the feck he said.
Tom gestures his finger in his coat pocket, to act like a
gun.
An ELDERLY LADY, early eighties, small and dressed for her
age, walks up to them and slaps Tom on the face.
TOM
What the feck? Lady I'll blow
your motherfecking head off.
Tom gestures the coat at the woman.
The woman hits him again, harder.
TOM
Ow. Jesus.
She hits him again.
TOM
Lady, come on stop it.
Tom's head rocks back, as he grabs his red cheek.
LADY
Well stop using foul language.
Does you mother know you speak
like that?
TOM
Lady I'm robbing this shop, will
you please feck off.
The woman hits him again.
TOM
You fecking bitch. I'll blow you
away.
The woman hits him again.
LADY
With what? Your finger?
TOM
With this gun.
Tom points the coat at the woman.
LADY
If that is a gun, prove it. Show
it to me.
Tom just stands there in disbelief.
LADY
Come on, take it out.
Jim is starting to laugh, as are the rest of the people in
the shop.
JIM
(walking over to Tom)
Come on. You got your arse
kicked. Lets get the feck out of
here.
Tom stands frozen for a few seconds and finally takes he
hand out of his pocket.
LADY
See. You little shites. If I knew
who you were, I would...
The two run from the shop.
EXT. OUTSIDE SUPERMARKET - DAY
Jim and Tom remove the Balaclavas and jump on their
bicycles. They start to cycle.
JIM
(tears rolling down his
face with laughter)
Well that went well.
TOM
(rubs his bright red
cheek)
Feck off you bastard. I should
have..
JIM
(laughing)
Should have what. The poor woman
was about eighty.
TOM
Ah feck off.
The two cycle off into the distance.