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"I know I can do it", Todd Downey said, helping himself to another ear of corn from the steaming bowl. "I'm sure that in time, every bit of her will be gone, and her death will be a mystery... even to me."
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John Shooter: You stole my story.
Mort Rainey: I'm sorry... I don't believe I know you.
John Shooter: I know that. That doesn't matter. I know you, Mr. Rainey; that's what matters. You stole my story.
Mort Rainey: You're mistaken. I don't read manuscr-
John Shooter: You read this one already. You stole it.
Mort Rainey: I can assure you that-
John Shooter: I know you can; I know that. I don't wanna be assured.
Mort Rainey: If you want to talk to someone about some grievance you may have, you can call my literary agent.
John Shooter: This is between you and me. We don't need any outsiders, Mr. Rainey; it is strictly between you and me.
Mort Rainey: All right. Look, Mr. Whoever-You-Are. I don't like being accused of plagiarism, if that is in fact what you're accusing me of. Chico, inside!
John Shooter: I don't blame you for not likin' it, but you did it.
Mort Rainey: You're gonna have to leave; I have nothing more to say.
John Shooter: Yeah, I'll go. We'll talk more later.
[Shooter holds out his rolled-up manuscript.]
Mort Rainey: I'm not taking that.
John Shooter: Won't do you any good to play games, Mister Rainey. This has got to be settled.
Mort Rainey: So far as I'm concerned, it is.
Mort Rainey: I'm sorry... I don't believe I know you.
John Shooter: I know that. That doesn't matter. I know you, Mr. Rainey; that's what matters. You stole my story.
Mort Rainey: You're mistaken. I don't read manuscr-
John Shooter: You read this one already. You stole it.
Mort Rainey: I can assure you that-
John Shooter: I know you can; I know that. I don't wanna be assured.
Mort Rainey: If you want to talk to someone about some grievance you may have, you can call my literary agent.
John Shooter: This is between you and me. We don't need any outsiders, Mr. Rainey; it is strictly between you and me.
Mort Rainey: All right. Look, Mr. Whoever-You-Are. I don't like being accused of plagiarism, if that is in fact what you're accusing me of. Chico, inside!
John Shooter: I don't blame you for not likin' it, but you did it.
Mort Rainey: You're gonna have to leave; I have nothing more to say.
John Shooter: Yeah, I'll go. We'll talk more later.
[Shooter holds out his rolled-up manuscript.]
Mort Rainey: I'm not taking that.
John Shooter: Won't do you any good to play games, Mister Rainey. This has got to be settled.
Mort Rainey: So far as I'm concerned, it is.
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Mort Rainey: Glad you're here, I could use the break. I've been working lunch. I'm on a roll.
Sheriff Dave Newsome: Yeah. Listen, both you and I know what you did.
Mort Rainey: Oh.
Sheriff Dave Newsome: Maybe we don't have enough to put you away right now, but eventually... we're gonna find those bodies, we're gonna tie you to them. And you're goin' away. In the meantime I'd appreciate it if you didn't come into town anymore. Makes people uncomfortable. You can do your shopping in New London. [Mort is calm and unconcerned, giving no response] Did you hear what I said?
Mort Rainey: Sure. No problem. [Sheriff Newsome starts to leave] You know, the only thing that matters is the ending. That's the most important part of the story, the ending. And this one... this one's very good. This one's perfect.
Sheriff Dave Newsome: Yeah. Listen, both you and I know what you did.
Mort Rainey: Oh.
Sheriff Dave Newsome: Maybe we don't have enough to put you away right now, but eventually... we're gonna find those bodies, we're gonna tie you to them. And you're goin' away. In the meantime I'd appreciate it if you didn't come into town anymore. Makes people uncomfortable. You can do your shopping in New London. [Mort is calm and unconcerned, giving no response] Did you hear what I said?
Mort Rainey: Sure. No problem. [Sheriff Newsome starts to leave] You know, the only thing that matters is the ending. That's the most important part of the story, the ending. And this one... this one's very good. This one's perfect.
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Mort Rainey: What is happening to me?
John Shooter: Oh, I think you know. I think you have a real good idea.
Mort Rainey: You don't exist.
John Shooter: Me? I exist, Mr. Rainey. I exist because... you made me. You thought me up. Gave me my name. Told me everything you wanted me to do. I did them things so you didn't have to. [Flashbacks show Mort killing Ken Karsch and Tom Greenleaf and setting fire to his ex-wife's house, wearing Shooter's hat] Didn't have the stomach to do it yourself, but you knew I did. Are we done yet? We got things all cleaned up around here? What's the real reason I come for?
Mort Rainey: Fix the story.
John Shooter: That's right.
Mort Rainey: Fix the ending. Got to fix the ending.
John Shooter: And how exactly do you suppose we ought to do that? [Shooter places his hat in Mort's hands as Amy's car pulls into the driveway]
John Shooter: Oh, I think you know. I think you have a real good idea.
Mort Rainey: You don't exist.
John Shooter: Me? I exist, Mr. Rainey. I exist because... you made me. You thought me up. Gave me my name. Told me everything you wanted me to do. I did them things so you didn't have to. [Flashbacks show Mort killing Ken Karsch and Tom Greenleaf and setting fire to his ex-wife's house, wearing Shooter's hat] Didn't have the stomach to do it yourself, but you knew I did. Are we done yet? We got things all cleaned up around here? What's the real reason I come for?
Mort Rainey: Fix the story.
John Shooter: That's right.
Mort Rainey: Fix the ending. Got to fix the ending.
John Shooter: And how exactly do you suppose we ought to do that? [Shooter places his hat in Mort's hands as Amy's car pulls into the driveway]
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How'd you get it? That's what I really wanna know. How the hell did a big, money-scribblin' asshole like you get down to a little shitsplat town in Mississippi and steal my goddamn story?
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I suppose so. I suppose that's why I came all the way up here from Mississ'ippi.
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What do you think it means, you ignorant hick? I'm in the middle of a divorce. D-I-V-O-R-C-E. Deee-vorce!
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What happened? You finally nail one of your groupies at a book signing? The Omaha Barnes and Noble? [Irritated, Mort reaches forward and shuts off Ken's session timer; Ken pauses] That was a dick thing to say, you know? Rotten profession. I apologize.
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Won't do you any good to play games with me, Mr. Rainey. This has got to be settled.
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You strike me as the type of guy who's lookin' for a head he can knock off with a shovel. But what you don't understand is that if we do start to fight... this ain't gonna end, until the other one of us is dead.
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[Reading Shooter's note] "You have three days. I'm not joking. No police." Anytime somebody sits down and writes "No police"... That's exactly the time that a fella should get himself over to the police.