Wisdom Tooth
by B. Clifton Burke
Scene I:
-Twyla McGibbons sits at a desk in a small office upstairs from McGibbon’s, her family’s blue-collar bar. She’s trying to get a handle on the accounting.
TWYLA (distressed, but calm):
Damn, Frank. This tab is out of control.
(She looks at a post it note on the office’s bulletin board with a phone number scrawled onto it.)
TWYLA:
I don’t wanna do this. But I don’t want to cut him off without warning him first. I shouldn’t let him get away with so much, but I kinda feel sorry for the guy. Even though he’s always ramblin’ on about being the tooth fairy, he’s just another lonely, drunk.
(She looks back at the ledger book and focuses her eye on the number in red ink.)
TWYLA:
That’s a lotta debt though.
(She picks up the phone and dials. The call goes straight to voice mail. This relieves Twyla.)
FRANK’S VOICEMAIL:
Frank Little, Tooth Fairy.
Beep.
TWYLA:
Frank, this is Twyla from the bar. I want to make it perfectly clear that I am only calling you to remind you of the large tab you’ve managed to run up. Don’t think for a second that I’m calling you because I want to. Now, unless you can come up with four hundred dollars, you aren’t getting served here anymore. And I mean US currency too, Frank. You can go ahead and keep your Italian Lira, and your Rubles and even your damn Canadian coins. I’m not interested in trading for any of your teeth either. You’re the only person in this world who thinks they’re worth anything. Everybody knows you have plenty of money, Frank. How else are the kids around the world getting cash for their teeth? (Laughs). Now seriously, I don’t wanna get in the way of doing your job, whatever that might actually be, but if you don’t pay up soon, I’ll be forced to contact some kind of authority. That most likely would end up being a couple of bigger gentleman who might see it fit to take one of your fairy wings as collateral. Neither of us wants that, Frank.
And while I sort of have you on the phone, I wanna warn you about your drunkenness. When you first started coming in here, I tolerated your cheesy come-ons and foul language. But recently, you’ve become downright nasty and crude. I wanna make it clear, Frank, that I am your bartender only. I’m not interested in being your girlfriend, or your mom. If I sense you aren’t getting that, you won’t be allowed back. And if you throw any glass objects around the bar again, there will be no more second chances.
Oh yeah, one more thing. You need to leave Nigel alone. Just because you have issue with the British doesn’t give you license to bully him all the time. You know he’s sensitive and paranoid, and I can’t bear watching you prey on him every time you two drink together.
Remember, Frank, four hundred dollars, or you don’t get served. I’m not going to buy another bottle of Bushmill’s until I see the money. Nobody else in this place ever touches that stuff anyway. I don’t wanna lose you as a customer, Frank, but I’m not putting up with it anymore. This is a business.
(Twyla hangs up the phone and reaches for her cigarettes. There aren’t any left. She tosses her lighter onto the desk, frustrated.)
Scene II:
It’s a rainy night at McGibbon’s as Frank Little, Nigel Rabbit and Lawrence Frye sit on their bar stools drinking and complaining about their jobs.
FRANK:
This round on you, Frye?
LAWRENCE:
Screw you, Frank. Your drink costs more than mine and Nigel’s combined. You can afford your own fancy scotch.
NIGEL:
True indeed (raises his glass). Besides, I bought the last round and the one before that.
LAWRENCE:
I don’t get it, Frank. You can buy the world’s teeth but can’t buy your own booze? I’ve noticed how much of a tight ass you are with your money.
FRANK:
Stop noticing my tight ass, fruitcake.
LAWRENCE:
It’s like, whenever you fail to swindle other people into buying your drinks, you tell Twyla to ‘put it on your tab’. Whatever that means.
NIGEL:
A tab, Lawrence, is an agreed upon verbal contract between the patron and bartender which promises that-
LAWRENCE:
– Thank you, Nigel. I know what a tab is, I just don’t think Frank makes good on his promise to pay it. And if he did, I betcha he doesn’t tip her. (snickers)
FRANK:
I wouldn’t tip you.
LAWRENCE:
I wouldn’t deliver to you, Frank.
FRANK:
Of course not, Frye. I don’t have enough money.
LAWRENCE:
What’s that supposed to mean?
FRANK:
It means, you hate poor people, and that you’re a classist bigot.
(Nigel shifts in his seat, anticipating an argument.)
LAWRENCE:
I don’t hate poor people, you holier-than-thou-sad sack of a tooth fairy. I stay out of the bad parts of town because it isn’t safe. We’ve been over this before.
FRANK:
That’s bullshit and you know it, Frye.
LAWRENCE:
What about you, Frank? We don’t even know what you do for a living. The tooth fairy? (Laughs). I don’t see the toothless kids in the ghetto showing off their new shiny quarters to all of their friends.
FRANK:
A quarter my ass. A good tooth is worth no less than seventy-five cents these days, and I usually leave a buck, thank you very much. If I left a quarter for a crappy tooth, the kid would just go buy more candy with it and ruin the next tooth he loses.
NIGEL:
He or she loses.
FRANK:
Please, Rabbit, stay outta this. Fact is, Larry, you don’t wanna be associated with the poor, even though your tax bracket is right down here with the rest of us. You play Santa at the ritziest malls in town and you refuse to deliver pizza to the hood. I bet you ignore orders based on area codes.
LAWRENCE:
(Chokes on drink) That’s ludicrous and impossible to prove. Ever since I was accosted by that insane elderly woman, my administration and I have decided the risk isn’t worth it. I’ve told you that before.
FRANK:
Your administration? You mean your pops and the two Latino guys in the pizza kitchen? That’s friggin’ hilarious. What, your dad is the secretary and Juan and Carlos handle the IT department? You’re such a pretentious shithead.
LAWRENCE:
What good is a dead Santa to the world, Frank? What if I’m shot delivering pizza to the projects by some deranged crack addict? Would it still be worth it to keep driving down there with a wallet full of cash and a car full of pizza?
FRANK:
I suppose the rough neighborhoods don’t deserve their mail or medical deliveries either then?
LAWRENCE:
If there was only one mailman...
NIGEL:
Letter carrier.
LAWRENCE:
Huh?
NIGEL:
Call them letter carriers. That way, they could be male or female.
LAWRENCE:
...Letter carrier (clears his throat), or only one doctor in town, than no, it wouldn’t be worth the risk of it all.
FRANK:
You might be the only pizza man dressed as Santa, but-
NIGEL:
Delivery person.
FRANK:
Shut up, Rabbit This isn’t a damn press conference. We don’t have to be so fucking PC all the time, got it?
NIGEL:
(sheepishly) It’s worth pointing out, nonetheless.
LAWRENCE:
You act like such a champion of the little guy, Frank, yet you spend less time in financially distressed areas than I do. I try to include neighborhoods that are poor yet still fairly safe. Look at all those quaint little industrial townships just across the river I deliver to. They don’t have money. But they do have the best vintage clothing stores, believe it or not.
FRANK:
A good tooth is a good tooth, no matter where it comes from. That’s something I pride myself on. If I heard about a quality incisor in the middle of Bagdad, I’d go buy it. I don’t care. But thanks to lazy parenting and the rising cost of decent toothpaste and floss, most poor kids have a mouthful of crap teeth. Point is, I don’t discriminate like you do.
LAWRENCE:
It isn’t discrimination, Frank, it’s just unsafe.
FRANK:
Then a carry a gun.
LAWRENCE:
Great idea, Frank. I can see the headline now, SANTA SHOOTS POOR PERSON, CLAIMS SELF DEFENSE. That doesn’t sound worth it either. Where’s your gun, tough guy?
FRANK:
(pulls out a small pistol) Right here... tough guy.
NIGEL:
Jesus, Frank You carry a gun? ...Can I see it?
LAWRENCE:
Stop it Nigel, Don’t encourage him. Frank, that is repulsive that you climb into children’s bedrooms with a gun in your pants.
FRANK:
It eliminates the excuses, Frye. I know the ghetto can be rough. I’ve spent a lot of time in the inner city. It’s bad enough you don’t even like kids, but it’s worse that you hate the poor kids more.
NIGEL:
What about me, Frank? I hate all kids.
FRANK:
That’s because you’re scared of them, Rabbit. So is this clown, but your fear is more of some fucked up phobia or something. Frye’s just an asshole. Why are you even in this line of work, Santa?
LAWRENCE:
So I can pay for my own drink once in a while, you penny-pinching drunk. Someday we’ll find out how you can buy thousands, even millions of teeth, but can’t come up with the cash for your Bushmill’s. I only occasionally buy your round to keep you from bullying Nigel about it all the time.
FRANK:
Well, why don’t you make this one of those occasions.
LAWRENCE:
What if I refuse, Frank? Gonna shoot me?
(Frank realizes he’s still holding the gun, and returns it to his pants)
FRANK:
Twyla, a round for my friends and me, if you’d please.
NIGEL:
(astonished) Why, cheers, Frank.
LAWRENCE:
Wow. (Drinks appear) Here’s to Frank’s stubborn nature. Buying us beers to prove his generosity. I never thought I’d see the day.
FRANK:
Never is a long time, Frye. Just don’t get used to it.
(Twyla wipes down the bar and catches Frank’s attention. Lawrence and Nigel begin to talk lightly about their drinks.)
TWYLA:
Are we still on for tomorrow night?
FRANK:
(a bit flummoxed) Uh..yeah. Eight o’clock right?
TWYLA:
I’m looking forward to it, Frank. Don’t let me down.
FRANK:
(chuckles nervously) Never. Me? C’mon (gives a wave of his hand).
(Nigel and Lawrence are still making small talk about their drinks but are clearly observing the exchange of Frank and Twyla)
TWYLA:
See ya at eight tomorrow then.
(Frank smiles at her and turns to other two men. Twyla walks to the other end of the bar and begins to read a magazine)
NIGEL:
(nudges Frank’s elbow and smiles strangely) Well, well old boy. Looks as if Twyla has finally warmed up to you.
LAWRENCE:
I’m shocked by that, honestly. But it seems your feeble passes at her must have struck a chord somehow. It’s sad really.
FRANK:
(red-faced and embarrassed) Jealous, Frye?
LAWRENCE:
Wrong team, Frank.
NIGEL:
Where are you taking her?
FRANK:
(shifts in his seat and looks around the room) Um..dunno yet. Where would you go, Rabbit?
NIGEL:
Hmm. Well, I normally would never risk the health hazards associated with public dining, but if I must, I’d say that the cafeteria of the Walnut Acres Retirement Home seems like a sensible option. They advertise on the radio about the constant sterilization of everything on the premises.
FRANK:
(distracted) Yeah. Maybe.
LAWRENCE:
Jesus, Frank, have you ever known any women? Nigel, no one goes to a retirement home on a date. What planet are you from?
NIGEL:
(feebly) The U.K.
LAWRENCE:
I assume you’d rather not spend a lot of money on this date, am I right?
(Twyla looks over from across the bar but is still outside of earshot. Frank notices her, noticing them.)
FRANK:
Uh, listen guys, let me worry about the details. I mean, (laughs) it’s not like I’ve never taken a woman out, right?
LAWRENCE:
(rolls his eyes) Sure, Frank. You da man.
(Frank slams his drink and pulls his old brown leather jacket on. He coughs a bit as he stands. The other men are visibly confused by his abrupt departure.)
FRANK:
Gotta run, fellas.
NIGEL:
(Calls out) Thanks for the drink, Frank.
LAWRENCE:
Yeah, sorry I called you a tight ass.
(Frank waves without turning as he walks out. Twyla watches him leave. The other two drink silently a moment, taking it all in.)
LAWRENCE:
Wow. Tough ol’ Frank’s got a soft spot after all. Did you see how embarrassed he got?
NIGEL:
It made me feel embarrassed.
LAWRENCE:
I would’ve guessed he’d gloat more. He’s rather shameless with his drunken come-ons to Twyla. Why hide it when it seems to have worked? In his moment of victory?
NIGEL:
Maybe we don’t give him enough credit. Maybe there’s more than meets the eye.
LAWRENCE:
Jesus, Nigel, you really need to stop watching conspiracy documentaries from the library.
Scene III:
Frank shows up at McGibbon’s the next night at 8pm. There are a few people at the tavern, sitting at tables and talking quietly. Twyla stands behind an empty bar and is drying pint glasses with a bar towel.
FRANK:
(Removing his brown leather jacket and hanging it on the back of the bar stool) Kinda dead in here for a Saturday night.
TWYLA:
It’s early still. I think the cold keeps some of the customers away.
FRANK:
Never too cold for a drink. (Frank sits down, pulls out a cigarette and coughs painfully. Water fills his eyes. He collects himself and lights his smoke)
TWYLA: Not for you, Frank. You got the money?
FRANK:
I have most of it.
TWYLA:
How much?
FRANK:
Three hundred and eighteen bucks. (He hands a large wad of cash to her).
TWYLA:
Dammit, Frank. What did I say? Four hundred or you don’t get served.
FRANK:
I can only get so much from the ATM at one time. I’ll get the rest tomorrow.
(Twyla surveys him shrewdly. Frank launches into another coughing fit)
TWYLA:
(pouring Frank a glass of scotch) Alright, Frank, but you’d better level with me. I don’t usually care how my customers pay me, just as long as I get the money, but this doesn’t look right. How many ATMs you know givin’ out crinkled up singles?
FRANK:
(takes a swig and doesn’t look up when he speaks) Well, it’s kind of a long story, actually. Doubt you’d be interested in much of it. But that money’s clean, honest.
TWYLA: I got nothin’ else going on here. Enlighten me.
FRANK:
(coughs, lighter this time) Ok, ok. But this stays with us, got it? (Twyla nods and lights her own cigarette) Let’s just say you won’t have to worry about me racking up a debt like this again.
TWYLA:
Well, that’s good.
FRANK:
Because I’ll likely be dead before I can.
TWYLA:
That’s not so good.
FRANK:
No, it sure aint. Ya see, I’ve been a real bastard on my liver and it’s decided that it isn’t gonna take it anymore. Psoriasis is what the doc called it I think.
TWYLA:
Cirrhosis
FRANK:
What’s that ya say?
TWYLA:
Cirrhosis of the liver. Not psoriasis. Psoriasis is a skin disorder.
FRANK:
Well, look at the smarty-pants servin’ drinks. Shoulda been a doctor, McGibbon.
TWYLA:
I went to nursing school for four years, Frank. I only work at this dump because my uncle’s too sick to manage the place or else I’d actually be a nurse somewhere.
FRANK:
How’s Carl holding up anyway?
TWYLA:
He’s not good. He won’t take his heart medication and he’s given up.
FRANK:
I know the feeling.
TWYLA:
(Eyes him momentarily) So, you’re dying, huh? How long did they say you got?
FRANK:
The doc didn’t want to give me a time frame, but said it doesn’t look good.
TWYLA:
(quietly) Jesus, Frank. I’m sorry to hear it.
FRANK: Only a matter of time. Always is, I guess, I just sped things up a little.
TWYLA:
So about this money (she waves the wad of cash).
FRANK:
That money’s good, I told ya. Woulda gone to the kids for their teeth. Shoulda gone to the kids.
TWYLA:
Well, I don’t wanna take money from kids. (She tries handing it back to him. He won’t take it).
FRANK:
There’s plenty more where that came from and you will have the rest tomorrow.
TWYLA:
(stops wiping down the bar and looks at him) What do you really do, Frank? Is this from a government check or something?
FRANK:
If the government knew about my line of work, they’d lock me up for tax evasion.
TWYLA:
(sarcastic) So you’re really the tooth fairy?
FRANK:
That’s right.
TWYLA:
Where does the money come from then?
FRANK:
That’s kind of a secret.
TWYLA:
I bet it is. One that conveniently no one else knows about I’m sure.
FRANK:
No. But someone should know.
TWYLA:
Who should?
FRANK: My apprentice should.
TWYLA:
(sounding more interested) You have an apprentice?
FRANK:
(sighs) Nope. S’posed to though.
TWYLA:
What happened?
FRANK:
(raises his glass) this happened.
TWYLA:
(turning away, unconvinced) That’s what I thought. The only excuse for a drunk.
FRANK:
(talks into his drink) What’s the point? Nobody cares if I’m out there working or not. Kids these days think they just got lucky when they find a buck under their pillow.
TWYLA:
You’re actually breaking into kids’ bedrooms to do this? That’s fucked up, Frank. If I saw you in my house, I would definitely shoot you.
FRANK:
Wouldn’t be the first, Annie Oakley. (Takes a swig)
TWYLA:
Stop playing, Frank. You’re really acting as some kind of tooth fairy.
FRANK:
It aint acting.
TWYLA:
What about the cops?
FRANK:
Always been a problem. I understand where they’re coming from. They’re just trying to do their job. And I’m just trying to do mine.
TWYLA:
(looking at him skeptically) You’re weird, Frank. I’ve heard of some shit, but this is too much. You go around at night, sneaking dollar bills under the heads of sleeping children, do I have that right?
FRANK:
Pretty much.
TWYLA:
And now you’re going to teach someone else to do this because you’re dying?
FRANK:
(Deep sigh) That’s the idea.
TWYLA:
But you’ve given up?
(Frank says nothing and looks at the bar)
TWYLA:
You gotta boss or something? Are you gonna get in trouble if you don’t find somebody?
FRANK:
(Laughs) Trouble. Nah, nobody’s gonna come looking for me.
TWYLA:
Then what are you gonna do?
FRANK:
Nothin. I just told ya.
TWYLA:
C’mon, Frank. You’re not dead yet. There’s gotta be someone out there. Can’t you just find somebody?
FRANK:
Sure, I could just find somebody, but the goal is find somebody with the right instincts. The right set of skills. They gotta know what to look for, ya know?
TWYLA:
No, Frank. I don’t know. What do you have to look for?
FRANK:
Unless, you’re that person, I can ‘t tell you that.
TWYLA:
Am I that person, Frank?
(Frank looks her over for a moment.)
FRANK:
Nah. (Finishes his scotch)
Scene IV
Frank Little occupies McGibbon’s with only the bar tender, Twyla. They’re sitting in silence, Twyla reading her magazine and Frank staring at his drink.
Nigel Rabbit, short and round, limps into the bar red-faced and winded. He runs a chubby hand through the light wisp of remaining hair and leans on the bar as he tries to catch his breath.
NIGEL:
A kid ran me over with his bike just now. I think someone hired him to break my leg. It really hurts
FRANK:
Bet you got a conspiracy all cooked up, huh Rabbit?
NIGEL:
C’mon, Frank, you know I have enemies.
FRANK:
Don’t start, Nigel, please. (Takes a big swig of scotch)
NIGEL:
Enemies, Frank. Scary ones who track my every move via satellite.
FRANK:
Fear and paranoia are your only enemies, candy man.
NIGEL:
(breath finally under control) Good one. I don’t why I bother with you.
FRANK:
Hell, Nigel, who else ya gonna talk to?
NIGEL:
I’m serious, Frank. This kid rode right up onto the sidewalk and crashed into me. Look at my ankle. Look how swollen it already is. I think it’s broken.
FRANK:
(without looking) Just look at that. You’ll be dead in a week.
NIGEL:
Kids don’t just go around running people over on their bikes, Frank. He was paid to do it, I know it.
FRANK:
Let it go, Rabbit. You’re not important enough for all of that conspiracy shit. What does a guy who makes jellybeans have to worry about? Most people could hurt or intimidate you on their own. No one’s gonna pay a kid to break your damn ankle.
NIGEL:
Most people don’t have reason to, Frank. But a select group of international bankers have plenty of reason to shut me up. I know too many things.
FRANK:
Nigel, today’s been a tough day already, ok? I don’t need all this illuminati bullshit you keep...Wait a minute. Did the kid look like that kid talking to the cops outside? No Don’t turnaround.
NIGEL:
Oh my god They’re coming for me. Help, Frank.
FRANK:
(returning to his drink, smiling.) Please. I am not getting involved in this.
NIGEL:
Quick, man. There coming.
FRANK:
Run, Nigel. (Frank giggles) Run quick like a bunny.
NIGEL:
Shit. Where should I run, Frank?
FRANK:
Try Belize. I hear the coral reef is really something down there.
NIGEL:
(Nigel is panicked) Unbelievable. You’re joking around while I’m on the verge of being taken by the police.
FRANK:
Valparaiso, Indiana was once a famous hide out spot for criminals in the early 1900's. You could go there. Met my predecessor in Valparaiso matter of fact.
NIGEL:
What good does this do me now, Frank?
FRANK:
X-rated movie theaters and pawn shops are about all you’ll find there now. I was in that area last week. Some good teeth in Indiana. (Frank finishes his scotch and notices Nigel still freaking out). Relax, Rabbit. There’s no cops outside.
NIGEL:
(relieved and finally removing his coat) You’re a real bastard, Frank. Do you ever think about anyone else in this world other than yourself?
FRANK:
Zip it, Rabbit. I do this world a great service by paying for its teeth. (Frank gets annoyed) What do you do? Work at the candy factory, making your chocolate fucking eggs and all your jellybeans and chewy shit.
NIGEL:
(exsasperated) Here we go again. (Twyla pours Nigel a pint of Guinness) Cheers, Twyla.
FRANK:
You know how much you lower the quality and value of the teeth I collect. I’m talking about you personally.
NIGEL:
(pleading) Frank it’s my job, remember? You have your, um... job, and I have mine.
FRANK:
All of the kids out there, shoveling sugar in their mouths so their baby teeth can rot away before they have a chance to naturally dislodge. It’s disgusting, and it’s making the children in this country fat. You do that to them, Nigel.
NIGEL:
Um..right. Speaking of jobs, why are you here at noon on a Tuesday, Frank?
FRANK:
Same as you, Rabbit. Avoiding work.
NIGEL:
Well, yes. But I’m on my lunch break. I drink a Guinness on my break everyday. I’ve read somewhere that it’s actually good for me. Or maybe I just tell myself that.
(Nigel laughs, Frank doesn’t)
NIGEL:
This ankle is really smarting. Damn that little brat. I hope he’s smashed by a rubbish truck while he’s riding that hellish bicycle of his. Anyway, I can see by the row of empties that you’ve been here a while. Everything ok, Frank? You look a little worse than usual. The teeth business a bit slow these days?
FRANK:
You could say that. Grinding to a halt, in fact.
NIGEL:
Were you fired or something?
FRANK:
(Laughs) Fired. Rabbit, think of me as an independent contractor. I make my own hours, and I blow off work when I want to. I come here, slouch on this old, worn out bar stool and watch ice cubes melt into my drink.
NIGEL:
(leans closer and speaks softly) Are you a hit man, Frank? I’ve given this a lot of thought and I’ve settled on a hit man. Is that it? Is that what you do?
FRANK:
(a bit hurt) I’m the goddamn tooth fairy. I shouldn’t have told anybody in the first place, but I did. So now at least pretend that’s what I do if you don’t wanna buy it.
NIGEL:
Ok, ok. I’m sorry. You’re...the tooth fairy then. Why is work slow? (Chuckles) Surely children aren’t losing less teeth, are they?
FRANK:
Dammit, Rabbit. I tried, ok? I went out and did my job. I spent my years sneaking around, running from people, getting shot. And for what? No one cares. The world’s gonna carry on without the tooth fairy all the same, you watch. It doesn’t make sense anymore to keep at it. I’m tired, Nigel...real tired.
NIGEL:
Ok, then. Where will you retire to?
FRANK:
(holds up his bottle) Here’s as good a place as any, I reckon. (Takes a swig straight from the bottle).
NIGEL:
Well then, (raising his glass) here’s to your replacement.
FRANK:
(stands and grabs Nigel’s shirt collar) What do you know about that?
NIGEL:
Frank
Twyla runs over to the action.
TWYLA:
Frank, stop it
FRANK:
How do you know about the replacement ?
NIGEL:
I don’t know anything, Frank. It was a bad joke. I thought you were a hit man, remember? It was just an off-handed remark.
FRANK:
(Releases Nigel and turns to Twyla) What else did you tell him? Who else have you told?
TWYLA:
I didn’t tell anybody anything, Frank. Now just cool out or you’re gonna have to leave.
FRANK:
(Finishes his bottle) I’m leavin’.
(Frank leaves.)
NIGEL:
What was that?
TWYLA:
He’s just going through some things, I guess.
NIGEL:
That one’s a real piece of work alright. It wasn’t 15 minutes ago that he had me convinced the police were after me. Scared the hell out of me, you saw it. Then I make an innocent comment about Frank’s work and he flips out. What set him off like that? Replacement? Why replacement?
TWYLA:
I dunno. Frank takes the whole tooth fairy thing too far, I think.
NIGEL: I agree. Do you think he’s crazy?
TWYLA: Nah.
NIGEL: I don’t either, strangely enough. Think he’s a hit man?
Twyla is back in her office upstairs from the bar. She’s on the phone.
FRANK’S VOICEMAIL:
Frank Little, tooth fairy.
Beep
TWYLA:
Frank, it’s Twyla from the bar. You haven’t been here in over a week and after what you told me about your liver, I’m a little worried about you. I know you’re probably still mad at me, but I promise I didn’t tell anybody what you told me. I hope you’re out there working and finding what you were looking for.
But if you haven’t, I know someone. He’s my nephew, Marvin, and he needs a job...bad. I have to warn you that he’s had issues keeping down a job in the past, but he does know a thing or two about sneaking into people’s houses. I figured he might have some of those special skills you talked about. If you give Marvin a chance, I’ll let you slide on your debt. Let me know what you think. Hope you’re alright. Bye.
Scene V
Twyla arrives at the bar one morning to find Frank waiting for her. He looks worse than last time she saw him. He’s huddled near the locked entrance holding himself for warmth and smoking a cigarette.
TWYLA:
Wow, Frank. Starting early today aint ya? 9 a.m. Musta been a hard week.
FRANK:
Coulda been better, that’s for sure. Got your message. Wanted to talk it over if you got time.
(The two walk in the bar and Twyla turns on the lights. Frank sits on his favorite bar stool and watches Twyla walk around the bar, straightening. Neither talk immediately.)
TWYLA:
Go on vacation or something?
FRANK:
Nah, work stuff.
TWYLA:
Guess you didn’t find anybody or else you wouldn’t be here, huh?
FRANK:
That’s not true. I’m an alcoholic. I woulda come back eventually. Kinda have to at this point. But, no, I didn’t find anybody. Actually talked with a few folks though. Most I’ve done in months.
TWYLA:
And you want to talk to Marvin, I take it.
FRANK:
Yeah, what the hell. Thought I’d see what the kid’s made of.
TWYLA:
He aint exactly a kid. He’s forty-two.
FRANK:
(winces) Kinda on the old side for being a trainee. But, if you got it, ya got it. And B&E is definitely part of the job, so I’d like to see him in action.
TWYLA:
Here’s his number.
FRANK:
Uh, why don’t you call him and tell him someone wants to meet him?
TWYLA:
Me? Why me? I don’t wanna get involved. Besides, how am I supposed to tell him about a job I know nothing about?
FRANK:
Think about it. I can’t just call and say, ‘Congratulations, Marvin, you’ve been hand selected to become the next tooth fairy.’ He’s not gonna buy it.
TWYLA:
So what should I tell him?
FRANK:
Well that depends.
TWYLA:
On what, Frank? I’m not in the mood to play games with you this morning.
FRANK:
Just tell him he’s got a shot at a well paying job that is technically legal, but still requires a bit of finesse to get in and out of buildings undetected.
TWYLA:
Cool. Sounds like Spider Man.
FRANK:
Hey, that’s not bad. Tell him it’s like a Spider Man job if you think it’ll help. But be absolutely sure to not mention the words ‘tooth fairy’. Got it?
TWYLA:
But if that’s what you call it, why can’t I?
FRANK:
Because maybe Marvin isn’t the right guy for the job. Maybe he doesn’t wanna do the job. Maybe he lacks self-confidence and doesn’t wanna refer to himself as a fairy. It doesn’t matter why. We’re doing this my way, and you both will have to trust that I know what I’m doing.
TWYLA:
Wanna drink?
FRANK:
I’d better, since I’m here.
TWYLA:
When should I call him?
FRANK:
Call him now, I don’t care. The sooner the better. Don’t have all year, ya know.
(Frank tries to laugh but coughs harshly instead.)
FRANK:
And we’ll be square after that, right?
TWYLA:
(moment of silence) Sure, Frank.
FRANK:
I know what you’re thinking. What’s it matter to him, right? The guy’s gonna die soon anyway. There’s no way he’s ever gonna pay me my money. Surely he’s not doing this to settle a debt, right?
(Twyla shrugs)
FRANK:
Well, you’re partially right. It isn’t the only reason I’m giving your Marvin a shot though. I don’t think it’s right to die with debt on your hands – unless of course you owe the IRS or somebody like that, fuck those guys. So I do wanna square that off before I go. But I got a debt to this job too.
TWYLA:
Are saying you owe your employers money?
FRANK:
Dammit. There’s only me. I wish people could understand that. There’s no supervisor, no committee, no shareholders or board of elections. If I fuck up, it goes unnoticed. If I do a good job it goes unnoticed. So if I let this thing die off with me, no one will know and that’ll be that.
TWYLA:
So why do it?
FRANK:
Because I owe it to all the ones before me. Even if I find a successor and that person blows it, I’ll have done what was expected of me.
TWYLA:
Wow. You make it sound so important.
FRANK:
Well, I’m just remembering that it is important. I dunno when I forgot that but I’m ashamed that I did. A man, even a tooth fairy, can only take so much neglect, ya know?
Scene VI
Marvin and Frank are in Frank’s car on their way to “a job”
MARVIN:
So now can you tell me where we’re going? Twyla told me the job was pretty secretive, but I think at some point you’re going to have to tell me about something.
Frank pulls out a bottle from under his seat and takes a swig of the scotch inside.
FRANK:
Let’s get a couple of things straight. First off, I don’t have to tell you shit. You’ll be provided information on a need-to-know basis only. Secondly, whatever you are told is not to go beyond the two of us, got it? Not even Twyla.
MARVIN:
Well, I dunno if I want a job that I don’t know shit about. I just got outta jail. I ain’t trying to go back. You either tell me where we’re going, or I’m not taking this job.
(Car comes to a screeching halt. Both men look at each other without speaking.)
FRANK:
Well? Whad’ya waiting for, get the hell outta the car.
MARVIN:
(laughs nervously) C’mon, man. I was just talking. We’re cool, right? I just don’t wanna go to jail is all.
FRANK:
What we’re doing, the reason we’re doing what we’re doing, ain’t illegal. But the way we go about it, technically…is.
MARVIN:
Alright, man. You got one last chance to tell me what I’m getting myself in for, or else I really am getting out of this car. I don’t care if I am in the middle of nowhere, I am not going back to jail.
Frank takes another drink, and lights a cigarette. He coughs and collects himself.
FRANK:
Screw it. Marvin, what I’m going to tell will not seem real. It will seem like I’m lying to you, but I’m not. You’re probably going to laugh, but I am not joking around, ok?
(Marvin nods, wide-eyed.)
FRANK:
We’re going to a house in Adams County where a little girl and her parents live. She lost a very quality canine tooth today and I plan on buying it. Now, the tooth is under her pillow which means it’s fair game to purchase.
Frank pauses but Marvin says nothing, staring blankly at Frank.
FRANK:
Now the trick is, we gotta get under that pillow to get that tooth and put a buck there in its place, without waking her up, or tipping off her parents that we were there. If anything goes wrong, if you blow it, the police could be involved.
MARVIN:
The muthafuckin’ tooth fairy? You crazy?
FRANK:
Now I told ya you’d –
MARVIN:
Ooohhhh, I get it. You talking in code. What they call that? Plausible deniability or some shit? Yeah, I;ve seen this shit on law and order. The less I know, the less trouble I can get in, right? I get it. I don’t know if I like it or not, but I get it.
FRANK:
I’m serious here, dammit. It ain’t no plausible reliability, or whatever the fuck.
MARVIN:
Um…I think it’s time to talk about some wages, Frank. You’re starting to get all weird on me, talking about creeping into some little girl’s room and shit. This sounds real fucked up to me. How much we talking 'bout?
FRANK:
If you’re lucky enough to become the fulltime guy, you would have access to an expense account. The money is there, believe me. I’ve been living off of it for years, and even I don’t know how much is there. But that’s only if you’re the guy.
MARVIN:
What if I ain’t the guy?
FRANK:
Than it’s like any other job, Marvin, you don’t get shit.
(Frank stops the car near the house. He caps his bottle and returns it to under his seat.)
FRANK:
Now, you don’t have to do anything this time, just watch. But watch closely. Pay attention to the details. Everything I do, I’m doing for a reason, so take note of all of it, got it? All of it.
MARVIN:
What’s the code word if something goes wrong?
FRANK:
Code word?
MARVIN:
Yeah, ya know. When something goes wrong we should have a code word that means to abort the mission and meet back at the car.
(Frank looks at him for a moment.)
FRANK:
You think this is some kinda kid’s game, Marvin. This isn’t a television show. I bet that’s the kinda dumb shit that got you popped the first time ‘round. Nothing’s going wrong, kid. If you’re gonna do this job, the number one thing you gotta remember is to keep the lowest profile possible. When we’re up there, we’re not gonna be talking, remember? We gotta be very, very quiet, remember? Now, if you can’t even get that much, than the interview’s over and you can wait right here in the car. A fuckin’ code word, are you serious? I swear to god, kid, you say one fuckin’ word up there and I’ll shoot you myself.
Frank pulls his gun out of his trunk and tucks it into his belt, then pulls out two pair of house slippers.
FRANK:
Put these on.
MARVIN:
These ain’t my size.
FRANK:
Make ‘em work.
Scene VII
Twyla is closing up the bar for the night, as Frank walks in.
TWYLA:
(without looking up) We’re closed for the night.
FRANK:
Yeah, me too.
TWYLA:
Oh, hey Frank. How’d it go with Marvin?
FRANK:
Your cousin is no tooth fairy, I’m afraid.
TWYLA:
Shit. Why? What happened?
FRANK:
Well, first off, the guy’s allergic to cats and scared of dogs. I shoulda asked these kinds of questions before we went out, really. He actually sneezed as we we’re climbing out of the house. Sneezed Damn near woke the kid up. We ended up with a gorgeous tooth though. Damn fine canine.
TWYLA:
I really thought he could do something like this. He's gotta do something, anything. Those kids of his need some help.
FRANK:
Kids?
TWYLA:
Yeah, Marvin has a knack at impregnating chicken heads around town. He has four babies with three different baby-mamas. I only recommended the bastard for the kids’ sake. Wanna drink?
FRANK:
I’d better. Well, the guy is naturally sneaky. He moves well for the job, but he lacks focus. We had to go over what kind of teeth to look for three or four times and he still didn’t have it down pat when I dropped him off. I didn’t get the sense that he was very motivated.
TWYLA:
Did you two talk about money?
FRANK:
What do you mean?
TWYLA:
Pay, Frank. I’m sure he isn’t going to take the job seriously if he doesn’t think he’ll get paid.
FRANK:
I mentioned it a bit, but I didn’t want to say too much since he ain’t the right guy for the job.
TWYLA:
What did you tell him?
FRANK:
Just that there was an expense account that comes with the job.
TWYLA:
What kind of expense account? How much is it?
FRANK:
I don’t even know how much is there. I told him that too. I’ve never run out though.
TWYLA:
So why do you let your tab get so out of control? Do you have any idea how that kind of thing hurts a little bar like us? That’s really shitty of you, Frank.
FRANK:
You're not supposed to use the card on booze. The card is for living expenses and that don't include scotch. I pay for my drinks with the cash I earn on the side.
TWYLA:
Let me guess, you're a hitman.
FRANK:
No, jesus. What's the matter with everybody thinking I kill people. I'm not a goddamn hitman. I bet on the ponies. Been at it for years, kind of grew up around a race track.
TWYLA:
Ah ha, that explains everything.
FRANK:
What does that explain?
TWYLA:
Your whole life, Frank, your whole damn life.
FRANK:
What do you know?
TWYLA:
I know that times must be tough at the track, cause you're back in the red. Even after I let you slide the first time for helping Marvin, you still racked up a tab again. You’re unbelievable, Frank.
FRANK:
Well, no worries there. Big race coming up in a few days and I got a sure thing lined up. A real guarantee. Big ass horse named Roman Holiday. I know the trainer and I know the competition, and everyody's in on this one. A sure thing if there ever was one. I'll even add a fat tip for ya after this one.
TWYLA:
I'm not gonna hold my breath waiting on horse racing money. What if I talk to Marvin about the job?
FRANK:
I am not bringing Marvin to the track. Inside jobs are supposed to stay inside.
TWYLA:
I'm not talking about the track, Frank, I'm talking about the tooth...job. I think I can speak to Marvin.
FRANK:
I spoke to him. I didn't tell him more than he needed to know, but I damn sure spoke to the guy. I'm not a complete asshole. I'm not gonna ride in a car for an hour with somebody and not talk to them.
TWYLA:
I mean, I think I can get across the message a little more...effectively than mybe you can. I can relate to him better and maybe I can motivate his broke-ass better.
FRANK:
I dunno, that'd mean I'd have to train you too, and I'm only doing that for serious applicants.
TWYLA::
Are you saying that a woman is incapable of doing this job, Frank? Huh?
FRANK:
No. I didn't say that at all, Twyla. Women have done this job plenty throughout the ages, I'm sure. A lady trained me, matter fact. Sweet old lady, Helen Rensford. What I said was that I'm only taking serious applicants out to train. If Marvin had really showed me something tonight, I might give something like that a little bit more consideration, but I'd call him... average at best.
TWYLA:
Think about the kids, Frank. What'll it hurt? One night out with you just to show me the ropes.
FRANK:
As we've already talked about, I don't have a lot of time to make this happen. No offense, Twyla, but I can't waste time training someboy who ain't gonna do the job themselves.
TWYLA:
That's exactly my point, Frank. You don't have a lot of time left. What happens if you died right there on that barstool tonight? Even Marvin is at least somebody you trained. You said yourself that's all you really have to do before you...move on. Better him than nobody.
FRANK:
Movin' on sure is a nice way of puttin' it. Alright then. Let's go. Grab your coat, it's damn cold out there.
TWYLA:
Now? You wanna go now? I don't know, Frank. I'm tired and I just closed up.
FRANK:
It's now or never, Twyla. Think of the kids.
Scene VIII
Frank pulls the car up to the bar, and the two sit in the car silently for a moment.
FRANK:
Just think it over, Twyla. That’s all I’m sayin’, just give it a day or two, then decide.
TWYLA:
I don’t need a day or two, Frank. I’m not doin’ it. My uncle needs me to run the bar, I’ve told you all this already.
FRANK:
But you’re perfect for it, Twyla. You’re damn near better than me, and tonight was your first night
TWYLA:
It isn’t that hard, Frank.
FRANK:
You see? It comes naturally to you. I’ve never seen anyone move as effortlessly as you. I’m jealous if you really want to know the truth about it. Really I am. You should think it over for a day or two at least.
TWYLA:
Is this just another come-on, Frank?
FRANK:
No. I mean it. You’re a tooth fairy. You’ve got everything it takes. I know talent when I see it and you got plenty of it.
TWYLA:
Well, I’m not going to do my uncle like that. He doesn’t have anybody else to run that place for him.
FRANK:
I could look over it while you’re gone. At least ‘til I ...move on.
TWYLA:
C’mon, Frank. You would either drink yourself to death -- well, faster than you have already – or drink the place out of business. Either way, it doesn’t sound like a good idea.
FRANK:
Yeah, well, you don’t know what you’re missin’. You and your uncle could get by on the expense account. I’m sure of it.
TWYLA:
You’re sure of it? How would I go about accessing this account, if I were the person.
FRANK:
Well, you’d have to agree to the job to find that out.
TWYLA:
No, Frank. That isn’t how it’s gonna work. I don’t want the job, remember? It makes no difference if you tell me or not. But if it seems believable, it may help me consider the whole thing more seriously.
FRANK:
I shouldn’t tell you this, dammit. It’s an ATM card that works anywhere and the pin is whatever year it is.
TWYLA:
Let me see it.
FRANK:
No way. I may be desperate but I ain’t stupid. But...it’s yours if you want the job. You’re perfect for it, Twyla, the best I ever seen.
TWYLA:
I’ll talk to Marvin, and tell him to call you. Give him another shot, Frank. He’ll be more ready this time, I promise.
FRANK:
I don’t want Marvin, I want you.
TWYLA:
Too bad, Frank. Oh, and that racehorse of yours had better come through, mister.
Scene IX
Nigel and Lawrence are sitting at the bar drinking. Twyla is doing dishes.
LAWRENCE:
But how do we know he’s dead?
NIGEL:
It’s been over two weeks, and we all know he was getting sicker everyday. Now can you just toast the man, before my Guinness goes flat?
LAWRENCE:
I don’t know if a sad-sack like that gets a cheers from me. Especially if he isn’t dead.
TWYLA:
He’s dead, Lawrence, now drink.
LAWRENCE:
You’re positive of that?
TWYLA:
Yes.
LAWRENCE:
How?
TWYLA:
Because he paid his tab.
NIGEL:
To Frank. (Raises his glass)
Scene X
Twyla and Marvin are crouched under a window. They appear as burglars.
MARVIN:
How do we know this is the right house?
TWYLA:
The racing program said this is the house, tonight, 3 a.m., one quality incisor.
MARVIN:
I still don’t understand how the race track knows anything about what we’re doing.
TWYLA:
I don’t either, but it’s the way Frank did it, so it’s how we’re going to do it. The woman from the track said it will start to make more sense the more we do it so that’s how it’s going to go down.
MARVIN:
You tried the card out? It works? I’m not freezing my ass off for nothing, right?
TWYLA:
Yes, it works. Now focus on the matter at hand. You don’t have to do anything this time, just watch. But watch closely, because everything I do is important, so take note of –
MARVIN:
– Everything, I know. I heard this speech already. I learned this shit before you did. How come you training me?
TWYLA:
Because I’m a natural, and you’re ... average at best.
The End
