THE BLACK PILL FADE IN:
INT. STONE HALLWAY
A large rat ventures into a pool of light, sniffs at the
damp stone floor.
CLANG. HEAVY FOOTSTEPS CLUMP with military precision.
The rat scurries into the shadows.
Five pairs of polished boots march past steel doors,
followed by a pair of Gucci moccasins.
Four soldiers and an NCO of indeterminate nationality,
followed by HUA-LING, a well-dressed Asian gentleman.
Two soldiers stand post on either side of a thick steel
door as the NCO unlocks it. The door swings open with a
tortured METALLIC GROAN. Two soldiers step inside.
GIOVANNI CORSINI (30), a grime-encrusted Adonis, does
push-ups with mechanical precision.
NCO
On you feet.
Giovanni ignores him as he completes his set.
GIOVANNI
Novantasei ... novantasette ...
novantotto ... novantanove ...
duecento.
Giovanni springs to his feet, examines his physique in
the light from the hallway.
NCO
Why bother? You'll never leave
alive.
Giovanni playfully shadowboxes against the NCO.
GIOVANNI
Your guards took away my video
games.
NCO
Stop your foolishness. It's time.
Giovanni shrugs, steps into the hallway, shoots a puzzled
expression at Hua-Ling.
Two Soldiers close ranks, standing between Giovanni and
Hua-Ling, watching from the shadows, detached. A soldier
prods Giovanni. They march him down the corridor.
GIOVANNI
Who's the pezzo grosso in the
Gucci moccasins?
NCO
Silence!
GIOVANNI
The big boss? Surprise inspection?
They turn down a narrow corridor.
GIOVANNI
I've never been down here.
NCO
Consider yourself lucky.
The four soldiers surround Giovanni at an open doorway.
NCO
Inside.
Giovanni hesitates. Searches six pairs of impassive eyes.
GIOVANNI
Sure, you're the boss.
Giovanni shrugs, enters a long, narrow room.
JADE (O.S.)
Walk to the far wall.
Giovanni turns. A butane flame illuminates green eyes and
ruby lips in the shadows as JADE, a tall Asian, lights a
cigarette.
Giovanni walks into shadows. CLICK. Half of the room is
flooded with light. Disoriented, he shields his eyes.
JADE
Continue walking.
He walks to the far wall, covered with thick planks,
pockmarked with small holes, spotted with dark stains. An
iron grating covers a drain in the stone floor.
Giovanni's eyes widen. Nauseated, he clutches his
stomach, rests a hand against the wall for support. His
fingers graze a tuft of blond hair caught in a splinter.
Giovanni retches. A trickle of water carries his vomit
toward the drain in the floor.
JADE
Giovanni Corsini, you have been
found guilty of smuggling
narcotics.
GIOVANNI
Vicodin. For my mother with the
cancer.
JADE
You may take a minute to pray.
Jade upends a small antique sandglass.
GIOVANNI
For her pain. I'm innocent.
Giovanni squints at a bank of floodlights. RIFLE BOLTS
CHAMBERING cartridges echo against the walls.
GIOVANNI
You can't kill me for a hundred
Vicodin.
Jade approaches. A ghostly backlit apparition.
JADE
Your life can end in a few
seconds, or I can arrange a much
more pleasant option.
Sand trickles through the sandglass.
GIOVANNI
What do you want?
JADE
I'm offering you Prometheus.
GIOVANNI
The black pill? That's just a
legend.
JADE
No, Giovanni. It's quite real.
The last grain tumbles through the neck of the sandglass.
EXT. CRIME SCENE - MORNING
A cloud of white dust scatters, revealing a fingerprint
on a dumpster. Latex-gloved hands lift the print onto a
strip of tape.
A photographer aims a camera at a CORPSE lying facedown
amongst the rubbish, naked except for a disposable
hospital gown gathered at his armpits.
A viewfinder zooms in on a partially sutured incision
under the corpse's rib cage, blinks as a strobe pops.
RUSTY McGUIRE (28), red hair and green hospital scrubs,
pulls the gown aside, revealing a gaping incision on the
victim's other side. The strobe pops.
TAHEISHA SANTAMARIA (32), ebony-skinned Amazon, Glock 20
and encrypted cell phone holstered at her waist, charges
through the phalanx of forensic investigators and
uniforms buzzing around the dumpster.
RUSTY
This one's got "creepy" written
all over it. Clean, partially
sutured incision on the left.
Total hatchet job on the right.
TAHEISHA
Somebody got in a hurry all of a
sudden.
RUSTY
My guess is he started his evening
as a kidney donor, voluntary or
otherwise, but something went
wrong.
TAHEISHA
They couldn't save him, so some
creep made the best of a bad
situation and grabbed his other
kidney as well.
RUSTY
So much for the Hippocratic oath.
EXT. ROOFTOP
Dark-skinned fingers aim a laser microphone at the crime
scene below. Cables lead to various electronic devices,
including a Blackberry cell phone.
RUSTY (V.O.)
(filtered)
Been dead eight to ten hours, but
hasn't been in the dumpster more
than four.
EXT. CITY STREET
ASHLEY WAINWRIGHT (25), strawberry blonde, generously
dusted with freckles, presses a Bluetooth microphone to
her ear, jots notes with a Mont Blanc fountain pen in a
leather-bound notebook, as she leans against the fender
of a Crown Victoria sedan with GSA plates.
RUSTY (V.O.)
(filtered)
Can't say officially until we
crack him open, but with those
incisions, it's a sure bet
somebody took the kidneys.
EXT. CRIME SCENE
Taheisha peels off her latex gloves, turns to Rusty.
TAHEISHA
I want a lock on this tighter than
a Tupperware pussy. Nothing to the
press. No background, nada.
EXT. CITY STREET
Ashley grins, slips the earpiece into her purse, reviews
her notes as Taheisha approaches the Crown Vic.
ASHLEY
Is he eating the kidneys or
selling them?
TAHEISHA
What on earth do you mean?
ASHLEY
The stiff in the dumpster. No
kidneys.
TAHEISHA
If I learn you're bribing somebody
for information, all your daddy's
Internet money won't keep you out
of jail.
ASHLEY
Is that a confirmation on the
kidneys?
TAHEISHA
We won't know anything until the
autopsy is complete, perhaps in
four to six weeks.
ASHLEY
Tough to imagine a cannibalistic
serial killer taking time to
suture his victim back together.
Taheisha presses past, inserts a key in the car door.
TAHEISHA
I assure you the FBI will
investigate all realistic
theories.
ASHLEY
Last week Customs agents seized a
human kidney at LAX. This morning
a stiff turns up in a dumpster
minus two kidneys. Be interesting
if the blood types just happened
to match.
TAHEISHA
That is nothing but idle
speculation.
ASHLEY
It may be speculation, but it's
not idle if it sells newspapers.
TAHEISHA
It takes a lot more than matching
blood types for a transplant.
Forget high school biology. There
are thirty blood groups, six
hundred antigens. Matching donors
is not easy, especially if your
skin is dark.
Ashley looks up from her notes, studies Taheisha.
ASHLEY
You?
Taheisha grimaces in resignation.
TAHEISHA
My mother.
She's a universal donor, so she
can only get a kidney from another
universal donor. And she's Duffy
negative, which is common among
blacks, but very rare among
whites.
ASHLEY
So what? She needs a black donor.
TAHEISHA
This is one area where we have not
achieved racial equality. Blacks
are four times as likely to need a
kidney transplant, but only half
as likely to sign donor cards.
ASHLEY
Why do you think that is?
TAHEISHA
Distrust of the white medical
establishment. My people still
remember things like the Tuskegee
syphilis study.
ASHLEY
Off the record, why don't you give
your mother one of your kidneys?
Taheisha purses her lips in defeat.
TAHEISHA
I did. Unfortunately, transplants
don't always last forever.
INT. HOSPITAL DIALYSIS UNIT
Blood surges into a tube connected to a dialysis machine.
ANJULIET SANTAMARIA (55) watches a diminutive NURSE
insert a large needle into her wrist. Anjuliet has the
beauty of a Nubian former fashion model and the
temperament of a feral cat.
HÉCTOR SANTAMARIA (50), a compact black man in a
spotless, starched lab coat, approaches, smiling warmly.
HÉCTOR
May the good doctor kiss the
beautiful patient?
Anjuliet flashes a cold look.
ANJULIET
The good doctor can kiss my black
ass. Hope you like snuggling with
the dog, 'cause that's where
you're sleeping 'til further
notice.
HÉCTOR
What seems to be the problem?
ANJULIET
You don't see a problem here? I'm
hooked up to this damned machine
and you give away my motherfucking
kidney!
Héctor flashes the Nurse a suspicious look.
HÉCTOR
That's not what happened.
The Nurse tapes the needle and beats a hasty retreat.
ANJULIET
Six fucking years getting poked
three times a week, watching my
life seep away. When they finally
find me a kidney, you give it to a
white boy. Were you fucking him?
Is that why?
Héctor approaches with a reassuring smile.
HÉCTOR
That wasn't the right kidney for
my precious wife. Transplant
organs need to be absolutely fresh
for the graft to take hold. The
wet ischemia ...
Anjuliet pulls out the second tube, flings it at Héctor,
spraying his lab coat with blood.
ANJULIET
If you want to kill me, plunge
your damn scalpel into my heart.
Six years! Life expectancy on
dialysis is only five!
Héctor catches the tube, a blood-spitting serpent.
HÉCTOR
Not at my hospital.
Héctor switches off the dialysis machine, unwraps a
sterile needle.
HÉCTOR
I never compromise with the health
of my patients. The latest
equipment, fresh filters and a
full six hours of dialysis.
Héctor inserts the fresh needle into Anjuliet's wrist.
INT. SEAFOOD RESTAURANT - EVENING
Soft, warm light, rich earth tones. Thick wooden tables,
antique ship fittings, seafaring memorabilia.
A WAITRESS in sailor's jersey and white hot pants carries
a bucket of steamed clams to Héctor, seated alone.
Héctor plucks out a clam, chews it thoughtfully.
HUA-LING (O.S.)
Doctor Santamaria?
Héctor looks up at Hua-Ling, the well-dressed Asian.
HÉCTOR
Do I know you?
HUA-LING
I heard you deliver a paper at the
nephrology conference last year.
Are you dining alone?
Héctor shrugs in resignation.
HÉCTOR
My wife has dialysis three nights
a week.
HUA-LING
May I buy you a drink?
Héctor shakes his head NO.
HÉCTOR
I have surgery tomorrow.
HUA-LING
Of course. Héctor Santamaria never
does anything that might endanger
his patients.
HÉCTOR
Every detail is critical. My
patients survive twice as long on
dialysis ...
Hua-Ling sits, helps himself to a clam.
HUA-LING
They also suffer twice as long,
waiting for donor organs that
never arrive.
HÉCTOR
Are you a surgeon?
Hua-Ling considers the question as he plucks out the
flesh.
HUA-LING
I import surgical supplies.
HÉCTOR
If this is a sales call ...
HUA-LING
I heard about your trouble finding
a compatible kidney for your wife.
Héctor makes a gesture of helplessness.
HÉCTOR
She's a very poor transplant
candidate. Rare blood and she
smokes.
HUA-LING
What if I could offer you a
product that could be permanently
implanted to replace her failing
kidneys?
HÉCTOR
An ambulatory artificial kidney?
HUA-LING
A human kidney from a willing,
living donor, perfectly matched to
your wife.
Hector raises his palms, refusing any involvement.
HÉCTOR
I cannot be party to trafficking.
HUA-LING
The same gift of life a few freely
make and many would gladly make,
if fairly compensated for their
sacrifices.
HÉCTOR
It's one thing to accept an
altruistic donation, it's quite
another ...
Hua-Ling slaps the table. The Waitress snaps her head.
HUA-LING
Altruism? Who sacrifices a kidney
for a total stranger?
HÉCTOR
It happens. Just last week in
Kansas ...
HUA-LING
Let me guess. Somebody heard the
voice of God and volunteered to
quit work for three months to
undergo disfiguring surgery for a
complete stranger.
HÉCTOR
Modern laparoscopic harvesting is
not disfiguring and permits
quicker recovery.
HUA-LING
Don't get me wrong, I have the
greatest respect for organ donors.
I could never do it. I'd be afraid
they might let me die to harvest
my organs and save six other
patients. Irrational, I know.
Hua-Ling helps himself to another clam.
HÉCTOR
Unfortunately, such irrational
fears are a significant obstacle.
HUA-LING
Not so irrational as the fear the
donor might one day also need a
transplant. Most living donors are
related and many kidney ailments
are hereditary.
HÉCTOR
We screen carefully and former
donors are given first priority.
HUA-LING
Even so, some die waiting for
organs they wouldn't need if they
hadn't been donors.
HÉCTOR
That's very rare. We do our best,
but the system isn't perfect.
HUA-LING
You're not ready for what I offer,
but when Anjuliet's condition
deteriorates or she becomes
frustrated staring at the backs of
tens of thousands waiting for a
donor ahead of her, I'll be here
for you.
HÉCTOR
I think not.
Hua-Ling rises to take his leave, bows curtly.
HUA-LING
Doctor.
HÉCTOR
If I did want to contact you ...
Hua-Ling smiles thinly, shakes his head NO.
HUA-LING
I'll find you. I have eyes and
ears everywhere.
Héctor reaches into the bucket, finds it empty. Looks up.
Hua-Ling is nowhere to be seen.
Persons interested to read the complete screenplay may contact me at: |
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