15 minutes, 8/31

(two men are in an old pick-up truck driving down a south Texas highway in the haze of the afternoon heat. Big Buck wears old jeans, beat-up brown and black cowboy boots, a worn out cowboy hat, and a red pearl-snap shirt. Dave wears a black t-shirt, khaki shorts, a green poker visor, old white Vans canvas shoes, high-top socks, and big aviator shades. Buck has a week's stubble and is heavy set, but not overweight. Dave is clean shaven, skinny, and smoking a cigar. Buck is driving.)

So tell me Buck, in lou of having no radio in this tank, how long have you lived in the myriad heat of this listless desert?

Whole life. I like it. It's nice.

Nice? There is nothing here to trust! Just sand and sparse weeds. It's wild man, and I don't know how you stand it.

I do alright. It calms you down. Where did you say you were from, anyway?

Me? Oh, Buck. You know, it's funny you should ask. I'm from a beautiful place with trees and grass. Plenty to trust up there, and the strangest part is where I'm from, we actually have seasons!

Alright, where is it?

Missouri! Cheers.

(Dave grabs under his seat, pulls out a fifth of wild turkey and takes a swig before putting it back.)

Missouri is my home, the land that I love, and what not. Now, don't get me wrong, Texas is dandy and fine. Fine and dandy. An alright vibe for a visit or quick job like so...

Right.

...but it is no place for weirdness. Not my type of weirdness There really are no safety nets out here, man. A man like me, I need as many nets as I can get. You never know what trouble will follow you, stalk you, or hunt you down. Especially when you're flirting with trouble. You need nets. Buck, as I hope you can tell, I am not in the circus. I will impress no one performing without nets. Do you sort of get what I'm saying?

I suppose. I would guess you're just a little high-strung though.

What do you mean, good sir?

Well, down here, trouble ain't no different then it would be in, say, a place like Missouri. It's just the setting is different. There are different rules to how you have to handle yourself.

What do you mean by different rules?

I mean, you...well, it's like this: You seem worried. And seeing as how on this particular errand we're running we're saddled up as partners, that's grating on my nerves a bit.

Look man, I'm cool. I didn't mean I'm not cool. I'm fine for what we're doing here.

Ok, but listen. You're jumpy. That's no good. You might be able to be jumpy and, shit, what do the Jews call it...neurotic? You might be able to pull off neurotic up in Missouri with those St. Louey gang bangers. But down here, it's not like that.

How is it down here, Buck?

It's Hell. The Mexicans don't give two shits either way. The cops are in on everything and hate everyone. It's hotter than the devil's nut sack which drives all the outsiders batshit, no offense...

None taken.

...but everyone tries to stay cool. If the Mexicans are cool, which I would say they got a natural, tough coolness to them anyway, then the cops can stay cool, and if the cops are cool, and the Mexicans are cool, well then we gotta be cool or someone's gonna want us real dead real quick just for not being cool. So you're either cool because you love Texas, or you're cool because you don't want to get shot in the face.

I don't want to get shot in the face, Buck.

(Buck pulls a .357 magnum from under his chair)

Then please cool the hell out, stop your weird shit-talking, and listen to the sounds of the road because you're grating on my nerves, alight fella?

Yeah, sure, yeah, that is...uh, yes, not a problem.

Alright then. No offense.

None taken.

(He keeps the gun on Dave for a moment then puts it back)

Where the hell did Boss Acuna find you anyway. I usually run with a tough looking mean Mexican sum bitch who doesn't know English and can't piss me off for talking anyway.

Well, I met him in Houston, I think he...

I didn't mean that to have an answer.

Oh rhetorical, ok I get it. Sorry.

(Dave is obviously nervous and complacent. He stares out the window still smoking his cigar)

We need gas. The next station I gotta top off. I don't know how many more we're gonna see. Hopefully there's one around here.

(Dave looks up to see if Buck was talking to him, Bucks eyes are on the road. Dave keeps his eyes out his window.)

(time passes. they continue on.)

(Eventually they pull up to an old gas station)

Hey there spaceman, wake up. I'm gonna go pay for this and take a piss. You pump it. You want something from inside.

No, I believe I'll be fine.

Suit yourself.

(Buck walks into the station where there in an attendant at the register. He is an elderly, but alter man.)

Howdy there, how can I help you?

Howdy. I'm just getting some gas on, looks like pump three. Do y'all have a pisser?

Yessir, right around back.

Cool beans. Say, real quick, you seen any trucks come through here lately? Any big rigs, I mean, for that chain of Aucna Mexican restaurants?

Naw, can't say I see any stop by. Maybe one's passed by, but I don't recall. Mind me asking why?

Nothing important, I'm just following one a bit. A friend of mine is driving. Anyway, pisser?

Right back yonder.

Thank you kindly.

(back outside Dave is filling the tank and leaning against the door of the truck. he is thinking aloud.)

Yep. Yep. Time to get weird.

(Dave opens the door of the truck and pulls out a long bag and an expensive suit case. He sets the suitcase down with care just behind the truck and starts riffling through the long bag)

(Buck exits the bathroom, pays the attendant and starts to head back outside)

What the hell are you doing.

(Dave pops out from behind the truck with a shotgun)

Rocking

(BANG.)

And Rolling.

(BANG.)

(Buck is dead. Dave casual walks into the station holding the gun open like bird hunter walking with gun safety in mind.)

Excuse, old timer, open the register, please.

What the hell is this?

Wrong answer.

(He lifts the gun. BANG.)

Time to build a net.

(Dave takes his time messing with the register but fails to open hit. BANG. The shot opens the register.)

Bingo was his name-o.

(Dave fills his pockets with a surprising amount of cash and then spends time choosing a bag of chips and a tall can of beer, which he bags himself. He casually walks out of the station and sets his snacks in the truck. He loads the long bag into the truck and then the expensive suit case. He pats his pockets, missing something thing)

Keys.

(Dave takes the keys off of Buck and heads back down the highway in the opposite direction singing "On The Road Again" at the top of his lungs.)

(the gas station is still and bloody.)