INT.

WAFFLE HOUSE - NIGHT Waffles and eggs, bacon strips, biscuits and gravy are piled on one massive plate in front of a very fat man, RANDALL LARSON. He is wearing a cheap suit. His pager rings. It's an old Motorola beeper. Larson squeezes himself out of the very small booth and walks to the phone booth in the entryway by the newspapers, turning back to the waitress. LARSON (holding up pager) Don't worry honey, I won't dine and dash. Haven't dashed anywhere in over 30 years. At the phone booth, Larson puts in a few quarters. LARSON This better be good, I was eating. Person on the other says something muffled. Larson nods. Takes out a pen and pad. LARSON That's with the County right? Pause. Scribble. LARSON Between the cemetary and the water tower? Pause. Larson slams the phone down and actually moves kind of fast back to his table. He looks sadly at his food. Leaves a ten dollar bill. Halfway out, changes mind, goes and grabs a sopping biscuit and the bacon. LARSON Thanks doll. The cashier nods, reading a copy of Cosmo. EXT. COUNTY JAIL - NIGHT The sign outside reads CONWAY COUNTY JAIL. Larson squeezes himself out of his small crappy 1980's Toyota Tercel. The springs squeak in relief, the car becomes level. He walks into the main lobby.

INT. COUNTY JAIL - NIGHT LARSON I'm here to see my client. CLERK We only brought in one tonight... The clerk ruffles some papers. CLERK Let me guess, Tasha? LARSON That's right. CLERK I thought you went to chase ambulances in LA? LARSON I'm back. It was hell on my lumbago. CLERK Huh? LARSON My back. CLERK Oh. Some noise and movement in the bullpen behind the clerk. CLERK Well, she's been booked by now. You can see her in a minute. Interview room 3. A buzzer sounds and Larson goes around. INT. INTERVIEW ROOM 3 - NIGHT A red-eyed defiant woman, Tasha, sits in a plastic chair as Larson enters. She wheels on him. TASHA Who are you supposed to be? Moby Dickhead? LARSON Randall Larson, attorney at law. At your service. Larson walks around the table, examines the small plastic chair, wisely decides to stand rather than sit. TASHA

Well lah dee fucking dah... LARSON Mrs. Adams, you have been charged with child endangerment, a very serious charge in the state of Arkansas, one that could lead... TASHA I know who you are now! You're the guy on the bus stop benches... Larimer? Longmire? Landsdown?... LARSON Larson. Tasha claps her hands together, delighted. TASHA My, but you're a big 'un. Larson looks down as if consulting some details on his notepad, which is blank except for "T. ADAMS - CH. END" LARSON Well, first things first, Mrs. Adams... I'll need you to agree to allow me to represent you before we can proceed. He takes a short form from a pocket in the notepad. Puts it in front of her. She signs without looking. TASHA You gonna post my bail now? This place is like the tomb of hell. LARSON Um... We can talk about that. EXT. COUNTY JAIL - MORNING Larson and Tasha exit the front of the jail. She sees his tiny car, classic double-take. TASHA You've got to be kidding me. LARSON No. He gets in the driver side and that side of the car lowers severely under his weight. She gets in on the other side and it doesn't affect the car at all. The car pulls out of the parking, the bumper sticker reads: "I BRAKE FOR PASTIES". Across the parking lot, a non-descript white panel van with

no windows slide out of a parking space and begins to follow the Tercel from a safe distance. INT. PANEL VAN - MORNING A man with a military style haircut and an earpiece like a secret service agent, GRAYSON CUTLER, speaks into his sleeve. CUTLER We've got movement. South from the water tower on Route 31. Cutler's passenger is a nerdy looking fifty year old man who could be an insurance adjuster, JAMES BALLARD. He is busy on a laptop. BALLARD What's the word from HQ? CUTLER Engage at mile marker 7. Ballard's face goes sheet white and he slowly closes the laptop. BALLARD En.. Engage? CUTLER That's an affirmative Doc. INT. TERCEL - MORNING TASHA I didn't really mean nothing by calling you Moby Dickhead... But Larson isn't paying attention. Instead he is looking, preoccupied, in the rearview mirror. He sees the van tailing them. LARSON Put on your seatbelt... We got company! TASHA Huh? LARSON DO IT!!!! Larson slows down a bit, the van slows down a bit. Larson speeds up a bit, the van speeds up a bit. LARSON Lady, you must have made an enemy somewhere.

She clips her seatbelt on, looking back at the van. Larson turns off onto a country road at the last possible second. The van, ten car lengths back, follows easily. The tercel is racing down the road, dust kicking up. Larson is exhilirated. He pulls the hand brake and the tercel goes into a long epic power slide. Jumps out of the tercel as it comes to a halt. EXT. COUNTRY ROAD - MORNING LARSON You! Run! He points at the bean field. LARSON RUN!!! She does. The van is fast approaching, the car blocks the road. Larson pops the trunk and pulls out a knife, puts it in his belt, a pistol he puts in the back of his waist band, a crossbow he slings over his shoulder, and a rocket launcher. The van comes to a stop. Cutler and Ballard open their doors. Fat Randall Larson, sweating on the side of a country road, dust whipping, head bowed and eyes closed, as if in prayer, a rocket launcher perched on his shoulder. Mouthing something. LARSON (barely a whisper) Hell is empty and all the devils are here. His eyes pop open, he aims, and the rocket goes flying into the van. Boom! Etc. FADE OUT