Sins Of The Father 6.3
Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.
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FADE IN:
EXT. NORTH LONDON, OUTSKIRTS - NIGHT
An illuminated 'BARNET' road sign informs travellers they are
entering the town. A POLICE CAR on patrol leisurely passes
the sign.
We follow the car as it makes its way into town in no
particular hurry.
The buildings pass one by one and soon blend together.
QUIET RESIDENTIAL STREET
The Police Car pulls up slowly to a T-junction, its head
lights illuminating a house before it.
VIVIAN'S HOME
A large semi-detached family home, surrounded by a lush green
hedge, all lovingly cared for.
A neat, well tended lawn surrounded by flourishing borders of
roses.
A vintage Volkswagen Beetle resides on the driveway, polished
and buffed to perfection.
The Police Car pulls out of the T-junction and continues on
its way. We stay with the house and focus on one of the
upstairs windows.
INT. VIVIAN'S HOME, WILL'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
The room is a stark contrast to the idyllic picture of a
happy family home. It's dull and bare, and only the used bed
and ASTON VILLA TEAM POSTER Blue-Tacked to the wall hint at
its occupation.
WILL (17) a well toned, imposing but sullen figure, just
under six feet tall, sits on the bed fully clothed. A large
cut is visible above his right eye and dried blood stains his
tee-shirt.
A small rucksack hastily stuffed with clothes lies on the bed
next to him.
He caresses a worn photograph in his hands, the focus of his
attention. We can't see the picture but we can see its worth
to Will, as he carefully folds it and places it in his
wallet.
Will takes one last look around his empty room. He picks up
his rucksack and exits.
INT. VIVIAN'S HOME, LANDING - NIGHT
Will silently stands in the doorway of his mother's bedroom
watching VIVIAN and his stepfather, DANNY, sleeping.
Danny, an ogre of a man with a rugged, unshaven face, sleeps
soundly. Vivian, slightly overweight, stirs and looks across
at Will.
Their eyes meet and hold.
Vivian finally breaks the contact and snuggles up to Danny.
Will watches for a few more moments and then turns and walks
down the stairs.
INT. VIVIAN'S HOME, VIVIAN'S BEDROOM - MOMENTS LATER
The room and the occupants are the same except the room is
now unnaturally illuminated, light dancing through the closed
curtains and across the walls.
Danny's bulky form stirs and he reluctantly opens his eyes.
Something wrong but he can't quite put his finger on it. He
checks the time and puzzled, lumbers drowsily to the curtains
in his boxers and tee-shirt. He opens the curtains a
fraction to peer out.
CUT TO:
EXT. VIVIAN'S HOME - CONTINUOUS
The idyllic family home is as before with one notable
exception...
...the lovingly cared for Volkswagen Beetle is now blazing
away happily, flames licking at it hungrily.
Danny's face, peering through the curtains, is one of
personal horror, as the flames devour his car.
INT. MOVING COACH - MORNING
The worn photograph is in Will's hand again. He stares at it
ignoring the countryside flying by his window, as the coach
journeys down the motorway.
Will reaches into his pocket fishing out a packet of Marlboro
Lights and a Zippo, extracting a cigarette.
He lights it with his free hand unconcerned by the NO SMOKING
sign on the window. Will plays with the lighter in his hand
rolling it over and over, never taking his eyes from the
photograph before him.
EXT. M1 MOTORWAY - CONTINUOUS
The coach speeds on its journey North passing a sign denoting
the miles left to Birmingham.
INT. NEW STREET BUS TERMINAL - DAY
The terminal swarms with people, Bangladeshis, Pakistanis,
West Indians, and Brummie natives all trying to get where
they are going without having to acknowledge any other living
person.
In their midst stands Will dragging on a Marlboro Light and
looking lost and out of place, as he stares bewildered at a
bus timetable information board.
EXT. OLD FAMILY HOME - DAY
It pours with rain.
A damp Will, jacket hood up, stands on the pavement looking
in through the front window of the semi-detached, pebble
dashed, family home.
Inside a YOUNG MOTHER talks on the phone while her YOUNG SON
(3) runs around playing with a toy car.
The Young Mother hangs up the phone and bends down to pick up
one of her son's toys. As she stands she catches sight of
the hooded Will. She looks him square in the eye.
Will, realising he has been staring, breaks eye contact and
ambles away.
The now concerned Young Mother walks to the window and
watches Will, as he slowly disappears down the road.
INT. COUNCIL HOUSE, LIVING ROOM - DAY
Furnished in varying styles from the fifties to the eighties,
every piece of furniture in the room, without exception,
looks well beyond its use by date. There are a few feminine
touches around the place but there have been none for quite a
while, which is evident due to the amount of dirt, grime and
dust on everything.
Life long Brummie FRED, 76, like his furniture, is well past
his use by date. He sits in his armchair, a glass of whisky
in his hand and a two-thirds empty bottle by his side.
Fred has drunk most of the bottle today and his red nose and
ruby complexion betray him as a drunk.
A rain dampened, awkward Will shifts uncomfortably on the
sofa looking around the room.
FRED
How you getting on at school?
Will stares at the drink addled Fred, as he pulls the packet
of Marlboro Lights from his jacket pocket.
WILL
I'm seventeen, Grandad.
Fred nods, not really listening.
WILL (cont'd)
Do you know where he is?
Fred finishes the last of his glass and pours himself
another. He doesn't answer Will until he has replaced the
bottle.
FRED
Best you go home, lad.
Will lights his cigarette. He holds the flame longer than
normal.
WILL
(finality)
I can't.
FRED
Well there isn't anything for you
here.
A long, awkward pause.
WILL
I just want to get in touch with him.
Fred sips on his drink, staring at Will and weighing up the
options.
FRED
Listen, lad, I'm telling you for your
own good, keep away! You go looking
for Steve and you'll get dragged down
with him.
Will doesn't understand.
FRED (cont'd)
You don't want to get involved with
that viper Archie Flanagan or any of
his kind.
WILL
Who..?
(angry)
What's that got to fucking do with
my... Just tell me where I can find
him?
FRED
Go home, go anywhere, just go.
Will doesn't move.
FRED (cont'd)
Go on, get out and leave me in peace.
INT. ARCHIE'S HOUSE, GYM - DAY
The gym of a man who has money and knows how to spend it.
Every type of fitness gadget has a home here including a
large practice mat at the far end of the room.
On this mat we meet ARCHIE FLANAGAN, a slightly over weight
Dubliner in his early forties, dressed in a tracksuit and
protective boxing gear. Facing him, and also similarly
dressed and of age, is fellow Irishman JOSEPH, and at the
side of the practice mat is the middle-aged, overweight ART.
Archie and Joseph circle each other, gloved fists raised,
exchanging jabs, slightly out of breath and sweating
profusely. Art mimics every jab, sway and duck his boss
makes silently egging him on.
Joseph lands a sweet right to the side of Archie's head,
temporarily setting him off balance.
Joseph goes in for the kill but Archie responds with a right
left combination.
They return to jabbing and circling.
Archie sees an opening and fires in a ferocious left-right
left combination to Joseph's head. Joseph's legs give way
and he drops to the floor protecting his head with his arms.
Archie continues mercilessly to pound punch after punch into
the prone Joseph who is desperately trying to defend himself
in vain.
JOSEPH
Okay, okay!
Archie stands and backs off breathing heavily. He allows
himself a wry smile, as Joseph shakes his head clear and
unsteadily gets to his feet, blood dripping from his nose.
JOSEPH (cont'd)
Fuck!
Art comes forward and starts to remove Archie's gloves.
ARCHIE
You're getting too fat and too old,
Joseph.
Joseph wipes the blood from his nose with his wrist and
stares groggily at it.
JOSEPH
(mumbling)
And you're getting meaner, Archie.
A bored looking DAMON, Archie's twenty-one year old son,
stands in the doorway watching his father. Archie looks up
and his humour dissipates, as Art removes the last glove.
ARCHIE
(to Damon)
You could do with a couple of rounds
to toughen you up too, son.
Damon saunters into the room giving the impression he didn't
hear the last statement.
DAMON
You wanted to see me?
Archie grabs the towel, offered to him by Art, and wipes the
sweat from his face.
He moves closer to his son as Art goes to help Joseph.
ARCHIE
Your free loading friends are still
hanging around the club.
Damon rolls his eyes dismissively at his father's comment.
They have had this conversation several times before.
ARCHIE (cont'd)
If your friends are taking up the
tables and drinking the profits that
fucking place is never going to make
money.
Damon won't look at his father.
DAMON
(sarcastic)
Maybe you should put Steve in charge?
ARCHIE
Steve has got more important things
to do. I gave you the job because I
thought you could do with the
responsibility.
DAMON
Then give me a proper job not this
shit.
Archie reacts incredulously to the suggestion.
ARCHIE
After the coke?
Another conversation that Damon won't hear the last of.
DAMON
I told you it was a one off.
ARCHIE
(roaring)
It had better have fucking been. The
stuff rots your brains and if I ever
catch you doing that shit again I'll
turn you in myself.
It's an empty threat and Damon knows it.
ARCHIE (cont'd)
Do you know what would have happened
if you'd been caught on the premises
with that stuff?
DAMON
(bored)
Yeah.
Archie steps in and smacks Damon around the side of his head.
Damon angrily locks eyes with Archie.
ARCHIE
At best I would have lost the fucking
licence. At worst it would give the
plods just the excuse they need to go
through my business with a fine tooth
comb. Only low life gobshites do
that stuff. Jesus knows what your Ma
would say if she found out.
Archie turns and walks to the others dismissing his scowling
son, who leaves.
ARCHIE (cont'd)
(to Joseph)
Sometimes I fucking despair of that
boy.
JOSEPH
He's just a lad, Archie. It's what
they do.
ARCHIE
Not in my family.
MONTAGE
- CAB FIRM
A drenched and confused Will stands in the office, as the
MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN behind the two-way radio shakes her head.
Will asks the same question again and the Woman just shrugs
her apology. Will exits.
- CITY STREET
Will wanders down the street ignoring the increasingly
worsening weather.
- ANOTHER CAB FIRM
The Bangladeshi Male behind the counter actually looks scared
when Will asks the question. But still he gets the same
reply.
- PUB
The rain lashes down soaking everything in sight. Will
huddles by the door talking to an OLD MAN who is impatient to
get inside out of the rotten weather.
On hearing the question the Old Man tries to push past Will
to get in the pub. Will can't get an answer and eventually
lets the Old Man retreat to the shelter of the pub.
- STREET, CASH MACHINE
Will hands a HOMELESS GUY, sheltered under a blanket in a
doorway, a few coins and asks the question. The Homeless guy
thinks about it for a moment and then points down the road
giving directions.
END MONTAGE
EXT. RAINBOW PUBLIC HOUSE - AFTERNOON
The weather has eased up, the rain turning to drizzle.
The pub has a warm traditional appearance to it, flowers grow
in the window boxes and the windows are free of the usual
posters advertising live sport.
INT. RAINBOW PUBLIC HOUSE - AFTERNOON
The bar, floor, chairs, tables and booths are all wooden and
traditional.
SEVERAL PATRONS sit in booths, or on stools at the bar,
merrily chatting away, or enjoying a quiet beer.
The BARMAN gives the surface of the bar a once over with a
cloth and empties the drip trays.
Will enters the bar removing the hood of his jacket and
shaking off the loose rain. As he does so the atmosphere
changes and he becomes the focus of hostile eyes.
Will registers the looks and makes his way cautiously to the
bar, aware of every eye in the room following him.
The Barman stands defensively before him.
BARMAN
Yeah?
Will slowly looks around noting the eyes have yet to leave
him. His attention returns to the Barman.
WILL
I'm looking for Steve Pearce.
BARMAN
Don't know him.
WILL
I'm not looking for trouble, I'm just
trying to find him.
BARMAN
I told you I don't know him.
The atmosphere turns darker, the walls closing in on Will.
WILL
I've heard he works for Archie
Flanagan, the owner?
BARMAN
A lot of people work for Mr.
Flanagan, me included.
Will's patience begins to slip. It's been a long day.
WILL
Would there be anyone in here who
might know.
The Barman shrugs.
BARMAN
You ask too many questions for
someone who hasn't ordered a drink.
Will extracts his wallet.
WILL
A pint of lager.
The Barman collects a clean glass and starts to pour a pint.
Will takes a quick look around the place. Nearly everyone
meets his stare, threateningly.
The Barman places the pint on the bar in front of him and
takes the £5 note Will is holding out.
BARMAN
So why are you looking for this
Steve. He owe you money or
something?
Will receives his change and sips the pint.
WILL
No, he's my father.
The Barman looks a little surprised.
BARMAN
I didn't think he had a son.
Will locks eyes with the Barman, challenging.
WILL
So you do know him?
The Barman looks closely at Will trying to find some
resemblance.
BARMAN
Maybe. But how do I know you're his
son.
Will reaches for his wallet again and produces the carefully
folded photograph.
The Barman takes it from him and studies it. A smile slowly
spreads over his face.
BARMAN (cont'd)
Jesus, he looks almost human. A right
pretty boy.
He hands the photo back to Will who carefully puts it away.
BARMAN (cont'd)
Sorry, blue. Have to be careful,
can't just go giving out people's
whereabouts in this part of town.
The atmosphere relaxes and the Patrons go back to their
beers. Most of the eyes do not leave Will although the looks
have changed from hostile to curious.
The Barman retrieves Will's money from the till and hands it
back.
BARMAN (cont'd)
Any son of Steve's doesn't have to
pay here.
A bemused, but grateful, Will takes the money.
INT. NEWSAGENTS - EVENING
Meet STEVE PEARCE, 43, the proverbial 'BRICK SHIT HOUSE',
raining blow after blow with a baseball bat down upon the
unfortunate SYED trying to protect himself on the floor.
Watching the beating of his grown son is an extremely
distraught AHMAD.
Steve's companion, KINNELL, stands by the magazine rack
flicking through a copy of Penthouse. He unfolds the centre
pages and lets out a low whistle.
KINNELL
(to himself)
Now would you look at that.
AHMAD
Please. Please I beg you.
Steve, momentarily distracted, stops the beating and stands
listening to the groans and whimpers coming from Syed.
STEVE
(to Kinnell)
Are you keeping an eye out or are you
just smudging that magazine?
AHMAD
Please. I beg you. May Allah strike
me down if I lie.
Kinnell walks over to Steve and shoves the Penthouse under
his nose.
KINNELL
What kind of damage do you think a
women like that could do to you?
Steve, not too impressed with the interruption to business,
has a quick look just to humour Kinnell.
STEVE
Nice tits.
Steve shoves the magazine out of his way and walks over to
Ahmad, placing the baseball bat under the quivering man's
chin.
STEVE (cont'd)
If you give evidence next week then
you had better start praying, cause
I'll be back and it may not be your
son who gets the clattering next
time.
Tears flow freely down Ahmad's cheeks.
AHMAD
I swear by almighty Allah, I do not
lie to you.
STEVE
Good. And just in case you're
harbouring any thoughts of going to
the police... don't.
AHMAD
I swear, I swear.
STEVE
For your family's sake I hope so.
Steve removes the baseball bat and Ahmad falls to the floor
shaking uncontrollably. Steve turns and walks to the door.
Kinnell shows Syed the centrefold and then pulls it away.
KINNELL
(to Syed)
Against your religion anyway. That's
the advantages of western democracy
for ya.
Kinnell follows still engrossed in the centrefold's curves.
EXT. SOLIHULL, RESIDENTIAL STREET - EVENING
The outskirts of town where the money lives. The houses are
extravagant and protected by large hedges and trees.
The weather has taken a turn for the worst, the rain pelting
down. Small rivers of water run down the gutter, the drains
struggling to cope with the ferocity of the downpour.
A wet, pathetic looking Will trudges down the street, hands
in pockets and hood done up tightly. Even this affords him
little protection from the constant onslaught.
Will scours the houses across the road as he walks. Finally
finding the one he wants he stops and faces the house. He
remains motionless heedless of the water drenching him.
He hesitantly makes his way across the road, up the driveway,
stopping before the front door.
Will stands unsure, finger poised hesitatingly over the
doorbell.
He presses the bell.
He has to wait a while before the door is finally answered by
JULIE, a 26 year old Brummie of English and West Indian
descent.
JULIE
Yes?
Will looks at the house number again, unsure.
WILL
Does Steve Pearce live here?
JULIE
Who are you?
WILL
Will, William, his son.
Julie looks sceptical.
JULIE
Was he expecting you?
WILL
Not really.
JULIE
He'll be back tonight if you want to
come back later?
Will just stares at her in silence.
Julie notices the cut above Will's eye.
JULIE (cont'd)
Or you could come in and wait for him
if you want?
Julie steps back into the hall to allow Will to enter.
INT. STEVE'S HOUSE, BATHROOM - EVENING
As with all bathrooms this one has been taken over by a
woman, in this case Julie. Every soap, moisturiser, skin and
hair care product known to man has its home here.
An uneasy Will, still in his dripping clothes, stands in the
centre of the tiled room, as Julie turns the hot tap on and
water starts to fill the large circular bath.
JULIE
(indicating)
There's a spare towel hanging up by
the radiator.
She stands and faces Will.
Julie (cont'd)
Give me your jacket and I'll hang it
up for you to dry.
She reaches out to help remove Will's coat, but he flinches
and takes a step back out of her reach. Julie smiles.
Julie (cont'd)
You're going to find it difficult to
have a bath with out taking it off.
She reaches out again. Will withdraws.
Julie shrugs.
Julie (cont'd)
Suit yourself. Just leave your wet
clothes outside the door.
Julie turns and leaves.
Will turns away from camera and slowly removes his jacket...
...and then his shirt...
... mass of bruises, welts and cuts cover his back.
EXT. PERRY BARR GREYHOUND STADIUM, TRACKSIDE - NIGHT
PUNTERS jostle and cue to place their bets with the TRACKSIDE
BOOKIES in anticipation of the next race.
INT. PERRY BARR GREYHOUND STADIUM, VIP BOXES - NIGHT
Archie, Joseph, Art and a few of ARCHIE'S MEN sit at a table
having the time of their lives, being waited on by SHELLEY, a
beautiful young waitress.
Shelley places the desired drinks in front of their owners,
as Steve and Kinnell arrive.
Steve takes his seat by Archie, who nods a welcome. Shelley
places Archie's drink in front of him and he hands her a £50
note.
SHELLEY
Your usual, Steve?
Steve nods.
Shelley smiles and leaves to ask Kinnell what he wants.
ARCHIE
I want you to drop by the warehouses
tomorrow and make sure everything is
running smoothly.
STEVE
Sure. What about the club?
ARCHIE
Kinnell can sort it. It's not
exactly taxing.
Steve notices Joseph's bruised and swollen nose and smiles.
STEVE
(to Joseph)
I see someone's improved your looks,
blue.
Joseph smiles and flips him the middle finger.
The next race gets under way and Archie's table rises as one
to cheer their selections on.
The dogs tear around the track.
Punters shout and scream encouragement.
Archie, a temple of expectancy, screaming and waving a
clenched fist in encouragement.
Number four wins and Archie breaks out in celebration,
hugging his friends and jumping up and down.
He grabs a surprised Steve in a friendly headlock and ruffles
his hair.
The announcer confirms the win over the tannoy. Archie and
his table sit down.
A couple of tables down a group of Bangladeshis, in their
twenties, didn't have the same luck.
SATTAR, their leader, looks over to Archie and rases his
glass, a salute to his win, flashing a cocky smile.
Archie's mood changes.
ARCHIE
Who does that arrogant Paki fuck
think he is?
Shelley brings two pints of Banks' placing one in front of
Kinnell and the other Steve.
STEVE
Thanks, Shelley.
Steve gulps at his drink.
ARCHIE
Buys a club and he thinks he's
fucking Peter Stringfellow.
A dejected Damon wanders up to the table from the track. He
goes straight to Archie going out of his way to ignore Steve.
DAMON
(to Archie)
Your dog wiped me out.
Archie doesn't even look at his son but just hands over a wad
of notes. Damon wanders back to the track.
Archie returns to the conversation with Steve.
ARCHIE
(indicating Sattar)
I still can't believe that gobshite
had the gall to offer to buy my pub,
my fucking pub.
STEVE
He's ambitious I'll give him that.
ARCHIE
Too ambitious. Keep a close eye on
that fuck.
Steve nods as Sattar's and his crew erupt with laughter.
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Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.