Table Scraps Read online

  Library e-Book : 978-1-5385-1801-4

  Trade e-Book : 978-1-5385-1802-1

  This digital document has been produced by Nord Compo.

  CHARACTERS

  ANNOUNCER

  NARRATOR

  ISAAC SALT – 30s. A DEDICATED CONSPIRACY NUT. HIGHLY STRUNG.

  NED LORRIMER – 40s. SOUTHERN, LETHARGIC, VERY SLIGHTLY SLOW-WITTED FAILED POLITICIAN.

  SAM LORRIMER – 40s. SOUTHERN, DYNAMIC, CHARISMATIC SUCCESSFUL POLITICIAN.

  MOMMA LORRIMER – VERY OLD, SOUTHERN MATRIARCH.

  ALEXA CHUN – 20s. CHINESE, BRASH BUT WARY.

  BRUNO ANDRENYI – 20s, EASTERN EUROPEAN, HAS A VICIOUS NATURE WHEN ROUSED

  SEYMOUR CICERO – 50s, HARD-HEADED SECURITY EXPERT, ALL BUSINESS.

  NON-SPEAKING ROLES:

  VICTIM 1 (FEMALE)

  VICTIM 2 (MALE)

  MUSIC:

  FANGORIA THEME

  ANNOUNCER:

  You can run but you can’t hide. It’s far too late for that. Welcome to the dark side, where the night never ends – as Fangoria presents... Dreadtime Stories. With your host, Malcolm McDowell. Tonight’s Dreadtime Story: “Table Scraps” by Matthew J. Elliott.

  SOUND:

  THRU TO THE SHORELINE AT SEAGULL ISLAND. THE WATER LAPS, BIRDS CRY.

  NARRATOR:

  Four miles off the coast of Washington lies Seagull Island, retreat of the fabulously wealthy and fabulously private Lorrimer Family. The Lorrimers made their first fortune from bootlegging in the twenties, an even larger fortune in the sixties from oil, and the largest fortune of all through control of a vast media empire. With so much responsibility, it’s no surprise that they occasionally retreat to their island in order to appreciate the simple pleasures...

  SOUND:

  THRU TO THE DINING CHAMBER.

  VICTIM 1:

  (EXTREMELY CLOSE TO MIC, SHE WANTS TO CRY OUT, BUT SHE’S GAGGED, AND CAN ONLY EMIT A SERIES OF INCOHERENT NOISES)

  SOUND:

  A WINCH AND PULLEY MECHANISM IS ACTIVATED – A SLOW CLANKING, SPEEDING UP ONLY VERY GRADUALLY.

  NARRATOR:

  Pleasant as it sounds, I’m afraid it’s invitation only...

  VICTIM 1:

  (BREATHES LOUDLY AND RAPIDLY, TRYING TO PREPARE FOR THE INEVITABLE)

  SOUND:

  THE WINCHING REACHES A HIGH SPEED, THEN TWO HALVES OF A LARGE BUT FRAGILE METALLIC OBJECT SLAM TOGETHER. DOZENS OF SHARP BLADES PIERCE HER BODY AT THE SAME TIME)

  VICTIM 1:

  (A TINY WHIMPER BEFORE DEATH)

  SOUND:

  SEVERAL STREAMS OF LIQUID BEGIN TO DRIP.

  NARRATOR:

  And if you ever receive an invitation, you might want to think twice before accepting.

  SOUND:

  THROUGH TO A BROADCAST ON SALT’S YOUTUBE CHANNEL. HIS VOICE IS COMING THROUGH A SPEAKER.

  SALT:

  Hi, this is Hugo Salt – fight the power. Just a quick update to let you all know I’ll be appearing at the Landford Community Center on Friday the 24th at 7.30. I’ll be talking about the international banking conspiracy, how the World Heath Organization is keeping a cure for cancer from us, and if you want to know how the Government faked Osama Bin Laden’s death, get there early. I’m the one they’re really afraid of, so you need to listen to what I have to say. Don’t be sheeple, think for yourselves. Follow me on Twitter.

  NARRATOR:

  It’s said that everyone’s entitled to the wrong opinion, and in the age of the world wide web, it’s all too easy to form a judgement based upon statements that have no basis in fact – Chinese Whispers in cyberspace. Most people voice these opinions in their spare time; it’s up to the special few to spread the word. Meet Isaac Salt, lecturer, self-published author and the one man in the world privileged to know what he calls “the truth”...

  SOUND:

  THRU TO A SMALL LECTURE HALL. SALT STRIDES UP AND DOWN, TALKING TO A SMALL AUDIENCE, SOME OF WHOM COUGH OR ANSWER CELLPHONES. SALT IS USING A MICROPHONE, SO THERE’S A LITTLE REVERB AND FEEDBACK.

  SALT:

  ...And these select few have ruled over us since the dawn of human civilization – ancient African tribes, the Aztecs, the Mayans... It’s incontestable that the pyramids could not have been built without the use of superior technology. Down through the ages, we see traces of this race of Aryan overlords – white skinned, fair-haired, apparently human but in reality an augmented species, bred and created by the possessors of that superior technology. I do mean aliens, yes, but not as Hollywood would have you understand them – we’ll get into that, time permitting.

  SOUND:

  SALT PRODUCES A PIECE OF PAPER.

  SALT:

  Now recently, I received this e-mail. The spelling is atrocious and the grammar is appalling – read my second book, where I explain how our public schools are deliberately failing our children in order to turn future generations into a slave race – but the writer raises one good point. He asks, how can it be that these Aryans managed to rule over these other races, without there being any archaeological evidence of the fact? Obviously, any such evidence supporting my claims has been suppressed, obliterated.

  SOUND:

  A FEMALE AUDIENCE MEMBER GIGGLES.

  SALT:

  Use your minds, people! Don’t be afraid to think for a change! We all know about archaeologists, right? We can trust them! But how many of you people here today have actually met an archaeologist? How many? Show of hands. (WITHOUT WAITING FOR A RESPONSE) Not one of you. It’s a false science, my friends; it’s being used to tell you what they want you to believe. The most famous archaeologist in the world? He doesn’t exist. His name is Indiana Jones, and he’s the product of the Hollywood machine, run by our alien masters to cloud our minds and confuse our senses. The films of Steven Spielberg and George Lucas are littered with Illuminati symbolism-

  SOUND:

  A MALE AUDIENCE MEMBER GUFFAWS.

  SALT:

  See my YouTube channel, people. Two million years of human existence, and for every minute of that time, we have been under the thumb of an elite race, made up of the most powerful families – the Rothschilds, the DeBeers, the Lorrimers, the Windsors, the Kennedys-

  SOUND:

  SOMEONE STEPS PURPOSEFULLY ONTO THE STAGE. SEVERAL MEMBERS OF THE AUDIENCE “OOH”, AS THOUGH TO SAY “BUSTED!”

  SALT:

  ’Kay, ’kay, it looks as though I’ve gone a little past my time, and they want me to get off the stage so they can have their majorette auditions, but I will not be silenced! If you think baton-twirling is more important than throwing off the bonds of-

  SOUND:

  THERE’S A BRIEF SCUFFLE. SALT DROPS HIS MIC – A HOWL OF FEEDBACK. THE AUDIENCE LOVES IT – FINALLY, SOME EXCITEMENT! SALT IS DRAGGED AWAY.

  SALT:

  (FINALLY MANAGES TO SPEAK AS HE GOES OFF-MIC) Look around you, question everything! We’re being used, all of us! Let go of me, you Nazi!

  SOUND:

  THE AUDIENCE CHEERS. THRU TO THE INTERIOR OF SALT’S MOVING CAR. SALT PUNCHES THE BUTTONS ON HIS CELLPHONE.

  SALT:

  (HUMS WHILE HE WAITS TO BE CONNECTED) Hi, Kevin?/ Yeah, I finished a few minutes ago./ Better than usual. Got it all on the webcam. Uploading it...

  SOUND:

  HE TAPS A KEYBOARD.

  SALT:

  Now./ Yeah, you can hear traffic – I’m in the car./ It is not dangerous, that’s what the Safety Nazis want you to think, I am in complete contro-

  SOUND:

  SALT SWERVES SUDDENLY. ANOTHER CAR BLASTS ITS HORN.

  SALT:

  Asswipe! You shouldn’t be on the road! (INTO THE PHONE) Kevin, you still there? There’s some crazy sons of bitches out there tonight! Now, this is important: Did you talk to the guy?/ You did? Excellent! Did you tell him whatever the Lorrimers are paying, I’ll double it?/ How much are they paying him?/ Really? Shit, haven’t these people ever heard of minimum wage?/ No, no, it’s fine. It’s going to clean me out, but it’ll be worth it. So what’s his name?/ Ying... Kit-Ma? You’re shitting me. I said someone from Eastern Europe, Kevin, how am I supposed to pass for friggin’ Chinese? (ON THE OTHER END, KEVIN IS CLEARLY GETTING UPSET) It’s OK, it’s OK. I’m sorry, Kevin./ I know./ I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I apologise. I’ll- work round it somehow. Dye my hair or something, I dunno. It’s my problem, not yours. I have to get on that island, no matter what it takes!

  SOUND:

  CAR BG OUT.

  ANNOUNCER:

  Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories will continue in a moment.

  ANNOUNCER:

  Now back to Fangoria’s Dreadtime Stories, and “Table Scraps.”

  NARRATOR:

  If Isaac Salt suspected for one instant what awaited him on the Lorrimer Family’s privately-owned island, he’d travel as far as possible, as fast as possible, in the opposite direction. Ignorance, you see, is not always bliss. And as he returns home from his latest public speaking engagement, he has no idea that a man who will shortly play a vitally important role in his life, is about to take to the stage himself... to announce his candidacy as President of the United States.

  SOUND:

  THRU TO BACKSTAGE AT A POLITICAL RALLY. ONSTAGE ACTIVITY CAN BE HEARD FAINTLY – SOMEONE MAKING A SPEECH, THE WORDS OF WHICH CANNOT BE HEARD CLEARLY, AUDIENCE REACTION, ETC. A KNOCK ON THE DOOR.

  SAM:

  Come!

  SOUND:

  THE DOOR OPENS AND NED ENTERS, CLOSING THE DOOR BEHIND HIM.

  NED:

  (CHEERY) He
re he is!

  SAM:

  Ned, good to see you! I thought you were making preparations-

  NED:

  It’s taken care of, Sam. I wasn’t gonna miss this for anything. I’m gonna have to give Momma a full report, anyhow.

  SAM:

  I just opened a bottle of red, care to join me?

  NED:

  Why the hell not?

  SOUND:

  UNDER THE FOLLOWING DIALOG, SAM POURS TWO GLASSES AND SETS DOWN THE BOTTLE.

  SAM:

  You lost weight, Ned?

  NED:

  Hell, no.

  SAM:

  Didn’t think so.

  NED:

  A Presidential candidate shouldn’t be such a tactless son of a bitch.

  SAM:

  I call ’em as I see ’em. Cheers.

  NED:

  Here’s looking up your whole family.

  SOUND:

  THEY TOUCH GLASSES, THEN DRINK.

  NED:

  Good stuff.

  SAM:

  It should be you up there, you know.

  NED:

  It was never gonna happen, little brother. Not after... you know.

  SAM:

  Yeah.

  NED:

  I didn’t even sell him the goddam drugs, but he O.D.s at my party.

  SAM:

  It could’ve been worse, Ned. If the papers knew... what you did...

  NED:

  I told the cops on the scene, I thought he was just asleep! If I’d known he was dead- Aah, what’s the use? Ancient history right?

  SOUND:

  NED SETS HIS GLASS DOWN.

  NED:

  It’s up to you now, bucko. Make us all proud.

  SAM:

  It could be over before it’s even begun, Ned. There’s that hooker in Austin. She said she had pictures...

  NED:

  You don’t have to worry about her. Car accident. Fatal. Cameraphone burned up in the wreck.

  SAM:

  When?

  NED:

  How’s next Tuesday for you?

  SAM:

  Fine, I’m being interviewed by Fox on Tuesday, I could use a laugh.

  NED:

  Then we’re all good.

  SAM:

  The party, Ned.

  NED:

  It’s fine, Sam, I swear. Everything’s taken care of.

  SAM:

  I will not have anything going wrong on Momma’s birthday, it’s too important.

  NED:

  I’m micro-managing the whole thing.

  SAM:

  Then why the Hell are you here instead of on the island?

  NED:

  (A LITTLE UNCOMFORTABLE) I’m... micro-managing from a distance.

  SAM:

  Last year the device failed. The tubing was clogged, it was embarrassing, Ned.

  NED:

  Had the whole thing cleaned out, a female volunteer tried it out yesterday, worked like a charm.

  SAM:

  And the volunteer?

  NED:

  Didn’t have any complaints. Actually, we had to gag her, so if she did have any, I didn’t hear them.

  SAM:

  Can she be traced?

  NED:

  She was nobody, Sam. Nobody.

  SAM:

  And the Help? What about them? Is there any paperwork?

  NED:

  No paperwork, trust me, everyone of ’em is a nobody. Mostly illegals, they understand enough English to know they’re going to be well-paid for waiting on some rich white folk. Hey, how about this – Cicero said we should get them all to sign Non-Disclosure Agreements.

  SAM:

  Isn’t that a little unnecessary?

  NED:

  No, no, it’s perfect. Think about it. An NDA means an important job with a big payday. This way, they know if they talk about it to anyone, they lose the money.

  SAM:

  But they won’t talk. Ever.

  NED:

  They don’t know that.

  SAM:

  I’m worried you’re making it over-complicated, Ned.

  NED:

  I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize-

  SOUND:

  A PERSISTENT BEEP.

  NED:

  What’s that?

  SAM:

  Just my alarm. It means I’m on in five.

  SOUND:

  SAM SHUTS OFF THE ALARM.

  SAM:

  (TAKES A LONG BREATH) So... This is it.

  NED:

  This is it. You can do it, little brother. We believe in you. And don’t worry about the party, OK? It’s going to be one to remember. The whole family’s going to be there.

  SAM:

  The whole family? That ought to be interesting.

  SOUND:

  THRU TO THE DECK OF A BOAT CHUGGING ACROSS THE WATER. THE “HELP” MILL ABOUT, SOME BG MUTTERING (IF ANY OF IT IS AUDIBLE, IT’S NOT IN ENGLISH)

  CICERO:

  For the last time, people, when the form reaches you, you sign your name on the line at the bottom. If you are unable to spell your name, just write an “X”. If you don’t know what an “X” looks like, get one of the other waiters or waitresses to show you. OK, are we finally done?

  SOUND:

  SALT HANDS THE PAPERWORK TO CICERO.

  SALT:

  (LOW, TRYING TO BE INCONSPICUOUS) Here you go, Mr Cicero.

  CICERO:

  Thank-you. That looks fine... Wait a second, come back here.

  SALT:

  Huh?

  CICERO:

  This is you, right? Here at the bottom? This is your name?

  SALT:

  Mm-hm.

  CICERO:

  (READS) “Ying Kit-Ma”. (DUBIOUS) You’re Chinese?

  SALT:

  (SULLEN) Eurasian. Half-breed. I’ve been a victim of prejudice all my life.

  CICERO:

  Is that right? OK, fine. Back with the others, go on. Shoo!

  SOUND:

  SALT SHUFFLES OFF INTO A GROUP, ALL CHATTING.

  ALEXA:

  Close call, huh?

  SALT:

  (STARTLED AND, OF COURSE, GUILTY) What? I, uh- no. I don’t know what you mean.

  ALEXA:

  That “Eurasian” bullshit. You might fool Cicero, but not me.

  SALT:

  I’m not trying to fool anyone.

  ALEXA:

  (SPEAKS IN CHINESE)

  SALT:

  Uh...

  ALEXA:

  Like I said, bullshit.

  SALT:

  You’re not... one of them?

  ALEXA:

  Do I look like one of them? My name’s Alexa. Alexa Chun, not Lorrimer.

  SALT:

  Right. Can I trust you?

  ALEXA:

  I don’t know. Can you?

  SALT:

  I’m not who I said I was.

  ALEXA:

  Huge surprise.

  SALT:

  My name’s Isaac Salt. I’m a writer.

  ALEXA:

  What kind of a writer?