REINDEER GAMES

REINDEER GAMES  

by Ehren Kruger

FADE IN:

A FIGURE IN A SANTA CLAUS SUIT

lies face-down in a nighttime expanse of snow. One of the body's
red-sleeved arms is twisted at a sickening angle. The white snow
beneath the figure is spreading with red.

REVEAL EXT. SNOWY ROAD - NIGHT

The figure in the suit lies motionless. Snowflakes drift.

INT. HALLWAY - NIGHT

Dark, rustic wood, an office with broken windows and whistling
winter beyond. A second BODY in a Santa Claus suit lies dead in
the doorway.

It's a man with a large build. The suit is riddled with holes. His
face is missing.

EXT. PARKING LOT - NIGHT

More snow falling. A handful of cars in the lot. A third BODY
in the same red-and-white outfit lies atop the hood of an old
Pontiac. His head is not visible, having smashed through the
windshield. His suit is charred and blackened.

A halo of broken glass outlines him. His black boots hang off the
front bumper. The parking lot is silent.

INT. ROOM - NIGHT

A floor scattered with shiny silver quarters. Reflections of neon.
There's a fourth SANTA here, face-down in a red pool. The suit is
far too big for him. Not that it matters now.

EXT. SNOW-FILLED RAVINE - NIGHT

where the fifth and final Santa lies at the edge of a ravine,
which plummets a hundred feet down. The man rests precariously
atop the slope, upside-down, eyes closed.

His burned suit is smoldering. He has a sly but tired face, late-
20's, sandy hair, cold and scarred. This is RUDY DUNCAN.

He opens his eyes.

                        RUDY (v.o.)
           I never was much for the holidays.

                                                       CUT TO BLACK.

THE SOUND OF A WINTER WIND

rises, as a TITLE appears: "SEVEN DAYS BEFORE..."

And then, to complete the sentence: "... XMAS."

FADE IN:

EXT. IRON MOUNTAIN STATE PRISON - DAY

Snow drifts down onto the stone walls and wire fences of the Iron
Mountain, Michigan S.I.C. Winter's been here awhile.

INT. PRISON CELL - DAY

Rudy Duncan lies in his top bunk, staring at his ceiling -- where a
handful of paper-cut snowflakes have been pasted.

The sounds of YELLING INMATES and GATES slamming shut echo through
the fortress. Rudy watches a spider scurry across the paper snow.
It's his excitement for the day.

He turns to the wall, where there's a photo of his teenage self
with some co-workers at an auto body shop. And a family photo,
cheery Midwesterners, with Rudy a scowling Artful Dodger.

A WALL CALENDAR

Shows the dates have been crossed off up to December 18th.
December 22nd is circled again and again.

Rudy muses at the calendar, then hops out of his bunk. Drops to
the floor, crosses to a desk, finds a chewed-on pen. Turning back
to the beds we reveal--

THE LOWER BUNK

where Rudy's cellmate, NICK MASON (32), rugged, mustached and
well-built, sleeps soundly. In contrast, his bed-wall is a COLLAGE OF
PHOTOGRAPHS, twenty, maybe thirty of them. Almost a mural.

All of them photos of A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG GIRL, mid-twenties,
smiling out from beaches, parties and snowy scenes. Gorgeous brown
hair, heartbreaking smile. Effortlessly sexy.

RUDY

stares at the pictures for a moment, wistful. Nick snores, turns
over. Rudy climbs atop his bunk again, with the pen this time. And
crosses December 18th off the calendar.

                                                           CUT TO:

EXT. PRISON YARD - DAY

The two of them, Nick and Rudy, shivering by the fence. Nick -
absently whistles some "Silver Bells," then digs for a smoke.

                        NICK
           What's the first thing, man? What's
           the first thing you're gonna do?

                        RUDY
           Haven't thought about it.

                        NICK
           Hell you haven't.

                        RUDY
           Get to thinking about it, it
           won't happen.

                        NICK
           We walk outta here, we hit that
           road, what's the first thing you're
           gonna do.

                        RUDY
           Ain't there yet.

                        NICK
           Three days, man.

                        RUDY
           Not yet.

                        NICK
           Fuckin' Christmas, man. Fuckin,
           Christmas on the outs.

Dozens of uniformed INMATES wander the yard, stamping feet, hands
tucked away, breath frosting. Nick tries to light his cig, but the
wind plays havoc. Nick curses, tosses it.

                        RUDY
           Hot chocolate.

                        NICK
           What?

                        RUDY
           Get a hot mug of chocolate.
                 (nods)
           First thing I'm gonna do.

                        NICK
                 (smiles)
           And a slice of pecan pie, right?

                        RUDY
           And some pecan pie.

Nick laughs, stares through the fence at the gates of the prison's
entrance road. Longingly.

                        NICK
           She's gonna be out there, man.
           Right there. Right there waiting.

                        RUDY
           Yeah.

                        NICK
           Gonna walk out of this
           shitstorm and right into her
           arms.

                        RUDY
           Yeah.

                        NICK
           Got us a motel out Highway 5,
           bringing her own damn sheets, you
           read that part? Silk damn sheets.
           Lock ourselves in the whole week,
           drinking wine, taking baths, man,
           see if they got those room service
           steaks ... anything I want to do.
           Remember when she wrote that?
           Anything I want ...

                        RUDY
           Yeah. Fuckin' Christmas.

Nick grins. They stand there, shivering. It's freezing, but the
time they get outside is too precious to give up.

                        RUDY
           All those pictures she's sent...
           y'know ... you sure they're all
           of her, Nick? You hear sometimes
           they don't send their real
           pictures. Could be her cousin or
           something.

Nick studies him.

                        NICK
           Why you gotta say a thing like that.

                        RUDY
           I'm just saying.

                        NICK
           Why you gotta. We were gonna give
           you a ride someplace, man. Now I
           just don't know.

                        RUDY
           I'm just talking.

                        NICK
           Fuck your hot chocolate, Rudy.

They trail off in silence. Nick looks out at the prison road
again. A snowy wasteland.

                        NICK
           I'm gonna marry this girl.

INT. PRISON CELL - DAY

Rudy lies in his bunk, staring at the same paper snowflakes.

                        NICK (o.s.)
           Hey, hey, listen here. "I've made
           my list and I've checked it twice,
           and as long as you're naughty, it's
           gonna be nice. These cold winter
           weeks have been killing me, Nick,
           as I lie here alone. It's not
           enough to have your warmth in my
           heart anymore; I need your warmth
           next to me. Work at Penney's has
           been busy because it's Christmas
           and that's when we do almost half
           of our business for the whole year--",
           okay, whatever, whatever--
                 (skipping on)
           "--my manager's still mad at me for
           asking for the whole week off," whatever,
           whatever-(smiles) Here we go. "And all
           that gets me through the day is to
           close my eyes and imagine holding you,
           and kissing you, and touching you,
           and tasting you everywhere because I
           know at that moment, I'll feel I've
           found the reason for my whole entire
           life."

Rudy still stares at the stone ceiling.

                        RUDY
           For twenty-five, she sounds pretty mature.

                        NICK
           Yeah. You grow up in Detroit, you get
           matured real quick.

Nick's doing pushups on the floor below, smoking a cig, reading
sheets of pink stationery. With a new photo: of the same GIRL, in
a bikini by a lake. Vamping a childish pose.

                        NICK
           Sure as hell don't make me miss Millie
           Bobek. Guess I owe Millie, though. If
           I hadn't been rollin, her, I woulda
           never ended up here. And I woulda
           never met Ashley.
                 (studies photo)
           That's the world for ya.

Nick climbs off the floor, paces back to the bunks, marvelling at
the latest letter.

                        RUDY
           What if she sees you, man, sees what
           you look like ... and it's not there.
           You just don't do it for her.

                        NICK
           Me and her got a connection.
                 (hands page to him)
           Read this part. Read the part
           about stuffing her stocking.

Nick drops the page on his stomach. Rudy sighs, picks it up,
brings it to his nose.

                        RUDY
           She's using a new perfume.

                        NICK
           No, I think that's just oranges.
           She writes here she's eating
           oranges.

                        RUDY
           Oh.

                        NICK
           Shoulda written to that magazine,
           Rudy. I'm gonna walk outta here,
           walk right into a relationship. Not
           some one-nighter, man ... a
           relationship. You? You're gonna walk
           outta here with bus fare. Searching
           for the drunkest skirt in the room.

                        RUDY
           Mornin', gorgeous. More egg nog?

                        NICK
           Shoulda written, Rudy...

Nick drops'back to his bunk, pasting the new lakeside photo among
his collage of pictures. Admiring his pen pal:

                        NICK
           Shoulda got yourself a girl.

Above, Rudy peruses the page Nick gave him. Some lipstick marks
pressed to the paper. He passes it back, closes his eyes.

                        RUDY
           All I want ... is to make it to
           Sidnaw, and sit down for Christmas
           dinner. Watch some ball with my
           old man, sleep in my old bed, and
           have leftovers for bout six months.

                        NICK
           Thought you hated Sidnaw.

                        RUDY
           Just taste that Christmas turkey.

                        NICK
           Thought you hate your old man.

                        RUDY
           Five years, Nicky. Five years.
                 (shrugs)
           I just want to go home.

There's the echo of CRASHING metal gates. Prisoners YELLING. Nick
smiles, still staring at his girl.

                        NICK
           Well, man. Me and Ashley. We'll be
           thinking about you.

INT. MAIN PRISON FLOOR - DAY

GUARDS monitor PRISONERS as they file out of their cells for the
afternoon meal. Rudy and Nick are motioned out by a MEAN GUARD,
his bitter world etched in his face. They join the line.

                        RUDY
           Shit. Alamo's back.

Across Broadway, a parallel line is forming. A tall, tattooed
Native American, THE ALAMO, steps out of his cell. His hands are
the size of a man's skull.

                        NICK
           Don't look like he missed the
           sunlight.

                        RUDY
           Pinscher told me Alamo thinks I'm
           the one ratted on him beating up
           Cree. Since I was there, I saw it,
           he thinks I got him sent to solitary.

                        NICK
           Aw, Rudy.

At that moment, Alamo glances over. Finds Rudy's eyes. Rudy
swiftly looks away--

                        RUDY
           Count me outta mealtime--

He slaps Nick an the back, heads back for their cell--

                        MEAN GUARD
           GET BACK IN LINE!

                        RUDY
           I'm not hungry, I'm gonna--

                        MEAN GUARD
           SHOULDA STAYED IN YOUR HOLE!
           GET BACK IN FUCKING LINE!

The mean guard pulls his blackjack. Another guard's ready behind
him. They want Rudy to give them trouble.

Rudy stops. Slides back into the line of prisoners. Looks across
Broadway. The Alamo's walked on up ahead. Rudy swallows, heads
toward the mess hall.

INT. MESS HALL - DAY

A GLOOPY SPOON of CHUNKY RED AND GREEN JELLO gets splooshed on
Rudy's plate. Same with Nick. It's the cafeteria line.

                        NICK
           What the fuck is this?

                        UGLY STAFFER
           Holiday jello.

                        NICK
           What's this shit in it?

                        UGLY STAFFER
           Swallow and see.

The ugly staffer grins from under his plastic hairnet. Nick looks
to Rudy, then turns back to the help:

                        NICK
           Just so you know, this man and
           I are outta here in two days. So
           while we're inhaling London broil
           and lobster bisque, you're gonna
           still be standing here smelling up the
           mystery creamfuck.
                 (nods)
           Who's in prison now?