Five Television Plays (David Mamet) by David Mamet Page A

follows H ILL and J ABLONSKI into the cabin which is sumptuously furnished with plush rugs, electronic equipment, heads of game. The men stand looking at it for a moment. )
    J ABLONSKI: Well, we're just going to have to take the Bitter with the Better. Let's get unpacked.
    H ILL: Stan, does this mean no chopping wood . . . ?
    (R ENKO settles down into a leather sofa. )
    R ENKO: Man, I may not go hunting tomorrow. I may just stay here and order up a deer.
    (J ABLONSKI closes the front door. )
    J ABLONSKI: Well, break out the cards and let's get into this "weekend" !
    INTERIOR: HILL STREET STATION. GOLDBLUME'S OFFICE.
    He is tidying up some last minute papers. Hurrying into his hunting jacket. B ELKER accosts him as he leaves.
    B ELKER: Lieutenant.
    G OLDBLUME : I am not here. I am going hunting . . .
    B ELKER: I was just going to wish you Good Shooting.
    G OLDBLUME: Thank you.
    ( Camera follows him out of his office and through the squad room as he mutters to himself. )
    G OLDBLUME ( sotto ): Eight hundred Boy Scouts . . . girl whose boyfriend won't make love to her . . . overtime . . .
    (B UNTZ calls to him across the squad room. )
    B UNTZ: You shoot ’em, Lieutenant, cause they'd do the same to you!!!
    (G OLDBLUME waves. He passes the front desk. Leaves some papers on the desk. As he goes out, the Y OUNG W OMAN whose boyfriend would not make love to her enters. She points at G OLDBLUME. )
    Y OUNG W OMAN: That's the man. That's the man that raped me.
    ( Beat. G OLDBLUME sighs. Starts for the door. )
    He raped me in his office. I came here for help. I. . . is no one listening to me? I want to file a report!!!
    ( The action in the squad room stops. Everyone turns to look at G OLDBLUME. Beat. G OLDBLUME starts taking off his hunting jacket. Comes back into the squad room. )
    INTERIOR: SUMPTUOUS HUNTING CABIN. EVENING.
    Classical soft music on the stereo. A fire in the huge fields tone fireplace. J ABLONSKI, H ILL, and R ENKO playing poker at a huge, oak-slab table.
    J ABLONSKI: Two cards.
    H ILL ( dealing ): Two cards . . .
    R ENKO: Similarly . . .
    H ILL: T WO cards for the man, and the dealer takes one . . .
    R ENKO: . . . frontin’ off as usual.
    H ILL: And time will tell. And, Stan, I believe that it is your bet.
    ( Sound of a key in the lock. All heads turn. )
    ( Angle point of view: The front door of the cabin opening. A man and a woman come in, necking furiously. Hold on the necking. )
    ( Angle: The men at the poker table, looking on. )
    ( Angle: The necking couple maneuvering themselves, entwined, toward the couch and the men at the table looking on for a long time. Finally R ENKO clears his throat. He clears his throat again. )
    R ENKO ( to J ABLONSKI ) : Is that your guy???
    (J ABLONSKI shakes his head. )
    J ABLONSKI: Sir . . . ?
    ( The necking man looks up. Beat. He jumps back away from the disheveled, half-clothed woman. He starts dressing himself. )
    G UY: What are, you, who are, what you doing here . . . ?
    ( The G UY starts trying to get a hunting rifle off of its moorings on the wall. The cops stand. )
    H ILL: It's, it's, hold on, we're police officers ...!!! HOLD IT!!! HOLD IT!!!
    (J ABLONSKI and H ILL are fumbling out their badges. The G UY continues to try to get the rifle off the wall. R ENKO takes out his revolver and holds it up. )
    R ENKO: I said hold it, for God's sake:
    ( Beat. The G UY puts down the rifle. )
    Now, who are you?
    G UY: Who are you?
    J ABLONSKI: We're friends of John Swoboda.
    ( Beat. )
    G UY: And who is John Swoboda?
    ( Beat. )
    H ILL: Uh, is this John Swoboda's cabin?
    G UY: No , it is not. It's my cabin.
    H ILL: And you are . . . ?
    G UY: Who I am, it's none of your business who I am. You're in my home . . . what did, you're police officers . . . ???
    R ENKO: Yessir.
    G UY: Well, then I think that you'd better give me your names and badge numbers.
    J ABLONSKI: Um, urn, sir, could I talk to you a moment . . . could I talk with you a moment, please?
    (J ABLONSKI goes off to the corner,