Foster (Tentative By Eric Parsons

Original Work

Eric Parsons 2012

INT. NORTHBOUND AMTRAK TRAIN INTO CHICAGO - DAWN The reflection of passing trees and power lines. FRANKIE FOSTER slowly awakens, slumped against the window of his train. He yawns and sits up slightly, adjusting his eyes to the sun rising above the suburban landscape to the East. FRANKIE is an unshaven mess, his eyes are bloodshot and his clothes are wrinkled from not changing for a number of days. Foster is a stern but soft talker, his sentences seeming to end with a sharp point. He sounds street but refined and quick with his delivery. From where he came, nobody knows but him. His self-imposed exile three years ago came after a hostile takeover of his burgeoning criminal empire by his friend CHANDLER. For the past three years, FOSTER assumed several UNKNOWN IDENTIES and worked odd jobs. Some legal. Most illegal. He has been living fairly utilitarian and without frills. This is a life he has grown to appreciate. The train begins to cut through the south side of Chicago, heading to Union station, his destination. When he arrives, he stands and reaches into the overhead compartment where he pulls out a half empty gym bag. INT. UNION STATION - CHICAGO FOSTER ambles through the dense crowd of early to risers and commuters. He maneuvers around people heading the opposite direction, sometimes even shouldering into others. He goes up the escalator and it takes him to the ground level on Adams street. He looks up and exits the doors that takes him to the Riverwalk along the Chicago River. EXT. CHICAGO - RIVERSIDE As soon as he walks outside he admires the buildings stretching into the morning sky. Its a bit gray but its not raining. He smiles slightly and walks to a line of TAXIS that are waiting at the curb. He walks over to an unoccupied car and pauses. TAXI DRIVER Hey, man. You gettin in or what? Foster digs one of his hands in his pockets and pulls out a small wad of money. He only has several balled up ones and some pocket change. Not even a quarter. He holds a hand up and waves the driver off.

(CONTINUED)

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2.

FOSTER You know what? Nevermind. He looks back down at his near empty hand then stuffs the sad pile of money back into his pocket. FOSTER I need to get some money. Foster slowly begins to walk across the Adams street bridge with a handful of money to his name and a half full gym bag. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a crushed cigarette soft pack. He shakes it and sees a single cigarette fall into view in the pack. He scoffs and puts the pack back into his jacket pocket as he walks. Morning commuters pass by him, scurrying to their offices so they can be desk drones for the next nine hours. Blue collar workers in their drab grey and blue uniforms hustle to their work areas. Cars are stalled on the bridge and buses stand for what seems hours while the lights change at half the speed than they are supposed to. Foster reaches a corner and a homeless man sits with a cup in between his legs. His dirty hair is matted on his head and he looks as if he hadnt bathed in this current mayoral term. A handful of change knocks and jingles in the plastic cup. Foster looks down at him and sees a sign reading "Please help. God Bless." He stops walking and approaches him. HOMELESS MAN Hey, brother. Im hungry and would like a sandwich and maybe a cup of coffee. You got anything for me? FOSTER Well... Foster sighs and looks both ways before reaching in his pocket. FOSTER Heres all I got in my pocket. The grateful man smiles as he sees Foster take that handful of cash he had left in his pocket. He outstretches his hand and Foster places the wads of cash inside. HOMELESS MAN Sir! Youre a blessed man and may God bless you much more.

(CONTINUED)

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3.

FOSTER Save the blessings for someone that needs one. You know where I can find a damned phone booth in this city anymore? HOMELESS MAN You can check the library. Down on State and Congress. FOSTER I know where it is. Hey. Gimme fifty cents. The mans eyes widen. HOMELESS MAN You just gave me this money, sir. You cant just ask for it back. FOSTER Look Im only asking for cents. That was the last change I had on me and I get somewhere. Gimme the cents. HOMELESS MAN But I-Foster reaches down and grabs a handful of change out of the cup and drops all but two quarters back into the cup. The homeless man tries to come to his feet but Foster pushes him back down by the shoulder. FOSTER You stay down there. Youre just fine right there. Get up youll be begging me to put you down. The man relents and settles back down. FOSTER Thank you. You have a nice day. HOMELESS MAN Asshole. Foster continues down the street. fifty pocket need to fifty

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INT. HAROLD WASHINGTON LIBRARY Foster walks through the tall gilded doors into the classically designed library. Students are sitting on nearby benches while small groups of children loudly pass him. Foster finds a small bank of payphones in a small hallway and puts the two quarters in the phone. He dials a number by memory and waits for a ring. The phone picks up. FOSTER (into the phone) Hey, Dickie. Dickie. DICKIE (V.O) Yeah, whos askin? FOSTER Its an old friend. DICKIE pauses before responding. DICKIE (V.O.) I got very few friends left. FOSTER Then I shouldnt have to narrow it down. DICKIE (V.O.) Look man. If I owe you money, Im sure Ill get it to ya as soon as I get some but Im gonna have to know who I owe. FOSTER Still betting on shit horses? DICKIE (V.O.) Everybody knows I bet on shit horses. Its what I do. FOSTER Hey look. Im not gonna shit you. The only reason why I dont stop by unannounced is because I dont know who you keep around. If youre alone, Ill stop by. If not, I can wait.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED: DICKIE (V.O.) I got no time to fuck around, whoever you are.

5.

Dickie hangs up on Foster. He looks at his watch at the time. Its past 8am. Usually when new in town, Foster would pickpocket a few mopes for some walking around money. These days, executives dont walk around with 20s and 50s in cash. They keep plastic; traceable. The second a hedge fund manager finds out his wallet is gone, hes on the phone with his bank, freezing everything and having a new card sent to his four bedroom house in the north suburbs or his 3 million dollar condo in the Gold Coast. He cant take that chance so hed rather foot it to Dickies. INT. DICKIES HOUSE Dickie is a rat face of a man. Hes perpetually sweaty and wears a dingy fedora to cover up his bald spot. He has bushy eyebrows that move when he talks in his high pitch. After hanging up on Foster, he reached in between his mattresses and pulled out a snub nose revolver for his protection. He fits the pistol in his pants at the belt and nudges a woman asleep in the bed next to him. She rolls over and touches his arm. Her name is SHARON and is one of his "female companions". Shes a thirty year old woman that looks twice her age. Her black hair is frizzy on top of her head from last nights tryst and is naked except for a pair of dirty ankle socks. SHARON Leave me the fuck alone Dickie. Let me sleep. DICKIE You gotta go, hun. I might have company. SHARON Then dont bring em in here. I aint fall asleep last night until a few hours ago. DICKIE Seriously, you gotta get the fuck outta here. Sharon rolls over and looks at Dickie. Her face is puffy from her sleep. Shes wearing no makeup except for some smudged eyeliner. She sits up, letting her breasts fall from under the covers. (CONTINUED)

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6.

SHARON Where am I supposed to go? I cant go home. DICKIE You dont have to go home. You just gotta get the fuck outta here. I got some company coming. SHARON Who is it? DICKIE I dont know. When they get here, I dont want you here. SHARON I swear, Dickie. I dont need one of your bitches coming over here starting no drama. DICKIE Its no bitches coming over here to start no dra-Dickie notices her nude body. DICKIE Can you please put on some fucking clothes and make yourself into vapor? Sharon looks blankly. DICKIE Vapor. Sharon continues a vapid look. DICKIE Disa-fuckin-pear. Vapor. You cant see it! Thats what you should be right now!