VLAD
(yelling)
Ow, man, that really hurts!
FUNK
Nyet. I barely grazed 'ya.
VLAD
(yelling)
What?
FUNK
(yelling)
I said I barely grazed you!
VLAD
(yelling)
Yeah, but I part my hair on that side. That's gonna leave a scar, man. Not cool!
Funk and Vlad turn around when they hear the door creak open. Cliche stand in the doorway, visibly upset.
CLICHE
Joseph! What the fuck?!
FUNK
I found his watch in your bedroom.
CLICHE
(super-sarcastic)
Oh, no, you found the smoking gun. You're a regular Nancy Drew.
FUNK
Well, how else do you explain it?
CLICHE
(looks to Vlad)
You care to enlighten?
VLAD
(yelling)
What?
CLICHE
What were you doing in my room?
VLAD
(yelling)
I see your mouth moving, but all I hear is ringing.
FUNK
(yelling)
What were you doing in my wife's room?
VLAD
Nothin, man. Why do you guys have seperate rooms, anyway? That's just weird.
CLICHE
Nothing?! Is that why I found my TV tuned to the Playboy Channel?
VLAD
(embarrassed)
Ummm...
FUNK
Gross, dude. Show some decency.
SINA (O.S.)
Hey boss, you've got a phone call.
Cliche, Funk and Vlad all turn their heads to see Sina, a teenage boy with a coy smile that would make George Clooney jealous, and enough boyish good-looks to cause any teenage girl to tear down her Justin Bieber poster. Cliche whistfully sighs, in Sina's presence.
FUNK
Vlad, do something about your hair. It looks disgusting. And clean these fucking walls.
VLAD
Chush' sobach'ya!
Funk passes Sina, as he walks out the room.
SINA
Seriously, though, Vlad. You're embarrasing me.
Sina winks at Cliche, before following Funk out of the room. Cliche lets out a subtle giggle, under pursed lips. Cliche and Vlad remain silent, until Funk and Sina are all the way down the staircase.
VLAD
Asshole.
CLICHE
Oh, c'mon, he's just a kid.
VLAD
No, not Sina. Funk. That guy is a real pain in my asshole.
Cliche leans in close to Vlad's face, almost touching lips.
CLICHE
Well, dlevanchuk, that should just make taking his money all the more fun.
VLAD
Please stop calling me that. Only my family calls me that. Who, by the way, is not from New York.
CLICHE
What?
VLAD
Nevermind.
EXT. RURAL GAS STATION ALONGSIDE DESERT HIGHWAY -- DAY
BOY (12), attends a gas pump. ROC pulls his car in, blasting John Mayer at full-volume. ROC turns the car off.
BOY
Good afternoon, sir.
ROC
Fill 'er up. Premium.
ROC checks himself out in the mirror, adjusting his mussed hair. Boy begins pumping gas.
BOY
Where you headed to, sir?
ROC
It's not so much a to where, but to whom. I'm looking for someone who might be able to help me out.
BOY
Not many people around here, sir.
ROC
Yeah, well, this guy's kind of a big deal. I suspect he might find me.
BOY
Anything I can help with, sir?
ROC turns his intense gaze to Boy, and offers two crisp, neatly folded, $100-bills.
ROC
I'm looking for Wheat. I know you can take me to him.
Boy's eyes open a mile-wide, his jaw agape. In a flurry, he removes the gas nozzle from ROC's car, puts it back in it's place, and sprints back into the gas station, and behind closed doors. ROC steps out of the car, straightening his pants. He reaches into the back seat, grabs his suit coat, throwing it over his shoulders. ROC leans against his car, looking down to unwrap a stick of gum.
GIRL (O.S.)
You've got some major juevos, comin' around these ways.
ROC looks up to see Girl (13) standing at the front door of the gas station.
ROC
Yeah, well, I think I got somethin' Wheat wants.
ROC stands up, taking a step towards the gas station.
GIRL
One step further, and you'll be dead in your tracks!
ROC stops when he hears the sound of guns being cocked. To either side of the gas station, two teenage girls stand with automatic rifles pointed at ROC.
GIRL
Now, get back in your car, and go back to where you came from.
ROC
(chuckles)
I've got something your dad might wanna listen to.
ROC tosses his coat onto the passenger seat, and steps back into the car. He turns the ignition, and puts on a giant pair of sunglasses.
ROC
Tell Wheat he can find me at the Bates Motel. Tell him I'm gonna take down the Funk.
Smoke and dust flies, as ROC speeds off. Hidden in the shadows, WHEAT (40), steps into the light, chewing on a blade of grass.
WHEAT
Girls, let's pack up the truck. We're gonna need all the munitions we've got.