The Water's Edge - Chapter Two

After being denied treatment by his insurance and unable to afford his costly medication, Steve's forced to turn back to a life of crime. He takes a job from a pair of small-time gangsters who want him to steal back a family heirloom, currently in the possession of a ruthless and reclusive tycoon. 

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Transcript

NOCTURNUM COLLECTIVE – SEASON THREE

The Water’s Edge – Chapter Two

Written by Karl White

NARRATOR (OPEN): There are constants that endure in the known world. Space, time, energy, matter. Physical and scientific laws constraining us to this existence. But there's a current below the surface. Contrary to the explainable, it's where the unknown resides, where meaning and form collide with the abstract, where shadows hold dominion…Enter the Nocturnum Collective.

(MUSIC – opening sequence)

NARRATOR: The Water's Edge, Chapter Two, written by Karl White.

(MUSIC – Spanish Guitar)

NARRATOR: Lifetimes ago, across vast unsettled waters...wanderers, men wild of heart, traversed trade winds. Sights set west, believing it their divine right to seize, pillage, and plant thy flag. One man, Juan, a highborn with a sense of adventure, first came with an exploratory expedition. His thirst for discovery and conquest kept him on foreign soil, fighting with blade in hand, searching for gold, and helping expand sovereign rule for King and Country…For his efforts, this man-at-arms was bestowed wealth, prominence, and status beyond a mere noble. What more could an aristocrat nomad want? But as the years past, Juan’s lust for the life he once sought, faded. His body ached upon waking each morning. Pain radiated from the scars of battles fought. His dark hair, greyed. He reflection showed deep lines on his face. He yearned for the way things used to be. He missed the flame that once burned so deeply in his heart. And while his travels strengthened his faith in most things, he witnessed one irrefutable fact, king or commoner alike, no one could escape growing old. Everyone’s worth being stripped away, and the inevitability of death’s icy embrace would always become a certainty…Juan would fight, cheating that inevitability by any means. As his duty to his homeland yielded more than anyone could have expected, he set out on a more personal mission. Standing on the bow of his ship, the warm wind of the Antilles driving him. The obsession for land and gold would transform, to chasing the ghost of a legend. One he’d heard through countless stories told by tribes around the firelight. They’d claim somewhere, out there, among the archipelagos, was a cure for what ailed him.

(MUSIC – tense drone)

NARRATOR: After their visit with Enzo, Steve and Jane are in bed, both staring at the ceiling. Despite being right next to one another, there’s a chasm of distance between them.

JANE: I don’t like this, having to go to your friend.

STEVE: If I had the money, it wouldn’t be an issue.

JANE: You’ve worked so hard to follow the righteous path. I don’t mind going into a little debt to help you.

STEVE: It’s my burden, not yours.

JANE: We have to depend on each other, that’s how relationships work. I don’t want you to have come this far, only for you to lose your way.

NARRATOR: Jane turns, looking at Steve in the darkness. She takes him by the hand.

JANE: Seeing you with Enzo worries me.

STEVE: What’s that mean?

JANE: I know how easy it is to be tempted by the past.

STEVE: I only went to him because I had to. 

JANE: But just hearing you two together.

STEVE: For better or worse, he’s like a brother. So I sound a little different when I talk to him. It’s for his benefit, not mine...I mean I was there needing his help.

JANE:  I guess that’s what I’m saying. I don’t want you to be indebted to a guy like that.

STEVE: If anything, he owes me...And maybe things are supposed to happen this way. Maybe it’s God showing us the way. 

NARRATOR: She pulls away, looking back at the ceiling.

JANE:  Just promise me you won’t turn back into who you used to be.

STEVE: I promise.

(SFX – construction sounds)

NARRATOR: At work Steve and another man on the construction crew, Chuy, are securing a granite countertop…Ray walks through, on his way to another room. As they get the slab set, Steve excuses himself following after Ray.

STEVE: Hey, boss, can I have a word.

RAY: Make it quick, I’ve gotta go meet with the tile guy.

STEVE: I was wondering if there was a chance for overtime. Or extra work if you have it?

RAY: I got nothing right now.

STEVE: It’s just this...medical thing--

RAY: --Yeah, I meant to ask, you gonna be needing a lot of time off? Cause we’re on a tight schedule, and I need all hands-on deck.

STEVE: No. I mean, I feel fine. I can work. I just need money for my meds. 

RAY: Sorry. If something comes up, I’ll let you know.

NARRATOR: With that, Ray hurries off.

(SFX – outdoor ambience)

NARRATOR: The construction crew is on their lunch break. The guys sit around in the driveway, fraternizing. But Steve, on the other side of the yard, keeps to himself as he eats a sandwich. Chuy casually saunters over.

CHUY: I don’t mean to get up in your biz, but I heard you talking to Ray.

STEVE: So?

CHUY: When I got out of the joint, had nothing to my name. When my kid got sick. I needed money fast.

NARRATOR: Before Steve can object to whatever he’s going to suggest, Chuy hands him a slip of paper with a number on it.

CHUY: The Balian Brother’s, they can help.

NARRATOR: But as Chuy walks away, Steve crumples the paper, throwing it on the ground...his cell phone rings.

(SFX – cell buzzes)

NARRATOR: The caller ID reads ENZO. It takes Steve a moment to remember how to answer a call. It’s not like just picking up a receiver.

STEVE: (into phone) What’s up.

ENZO: (over phone) Where you at?

STEVE: (into phone) Work. What’s it to you?

ENZO: (over phone) I got some stuff for you. 

STEVE: (into phone) I’ll be done around 5 or so.

(MUSIC – drone)

NARRATOR: After work, at Enzo’s place -- the aforementioned sits in an oversized recliner, rolling a joint, while Steve looks through a paper bag full of prescription drugs.

ENZO: They weren’t easy to come by or cheap. Might have to get creative moving forward.

NARRATOR: Steve reaches for his wallet. Enzo waves him off.

ENZO: I got you this month, consider it a welcome home present.

NARRATOR: The generosity is appreciated, but stressed, Steve leans back in his chair.

STEVE: What do I do, Enzo? I don’t wanna fucking die because I can’t afford some pills. 

ENZO: Want me to ask around about jobs?

STEVE: I don’t think anyone needs the skills of an old thief. Besides, I made a promise.

ENZO: World’s not what it used to be. If I can think of an honest way to make a buck, I’ll let you know.

STEVE: Ever heard of the Balian Brothers?

ENZO: Their pops was muscle, he worked for a few of the big families. 

NARRATOR: Enzo tokes his joint, holding it for a second, then exhaling.

ENZO: The brothers own a few strip clubs. They sling H.

STEVE: Are they your competition?

ENZO: Nah. Why you ask?

STEVE: No reason.

(MUSIC - tense)

NARRATOR: Jane’s making dinner again in the kitchen, as Steve sits at the dining room table, going through the mail. He rips open a letter from his insurance provider…Jane calls out from the kitchen.

JANE: Mind giving me a hand.

STEVE: Give me a minute.

NARRATOR: Eye scanning the letter, specific lines of the text stand out: 

“...Your condition has been determined to be pre-existing...”

“...Certain cancer treatments are not included as a covered service...”  

“...Coverage for Radiation Therapy - DENIED...”  

“...Coverage for Chemotherapy - DENIED...” 

(SFX – sting)

NARRATOR: Steve silently grits his teeth, crumpling the letter in his hand. He wants to scream but keeps his anger to himself…He stands and storms towards the bathroom…Jane looks back when he breezes past the kitchen doorway.

(SFX – water from sink)

NARRATOR: Steve locks the door and turns on the sink to mask the sound of him angrily ripping the letter into a dozen pieces. When he’s done, he throws the shreds in the trash, clenching his fists.

STEVE: (to himself) Fuckin’ asshole insurance company.

NARRATOR: Digging in his pocket, he pulls the wadded-up paper with the Balian Brother’s phone number on it. As he takes his cell phone out to dial -- he’s interrupted by a KNOCK at the door...

(SFX – door knock)

JANE: (through door) Steve? Are you alright?

STEVE: I’m, uh…

(Steve forces coughs)

STEVE: I’m not feeling well...

(Steve forces another cough)

STEVE: Just give me another minute. I’ll be right as rain.

(MUSIC – tense)

NARRATOR: Eating in silence, there’s an air of tension. Though Jane doesn’t have a clue where its coming from. Steve on the other hand can’t keep a thought straight he’s so upset.

(SFX – washing dishes)

NARRATOR: After dinner, Steve rushes to finish the dishes. He wipes down the counter and stove, giving one last look, making sure he’s done.

(SFX – TV sounds)

NARRATOR: Jane’s on the couch, engrossed in her laptop. Steve quietly puts on his jacket, hoping he can slip out without rousing suspicion. But she can feel Steve near and starts talking without looking up from her screen.

JANE: I’m reading an article about scientists who’ve been able to kill cancer cells using Brazilian wasp venom without harming healthy cells.

NARRATOR: Steve doesn’t reply, prompting Jane to glance up. She sees him heading towards the front door.

JANE: Where are you going?

STEVE: I feel like taking a walk.

JANE: Can I come? 

STEVE: I need some time to...think.

NARRATOR: Jane doesn’t want to push. Her eyes trail back down to her laptop. And without saying another word, Steve leaves.

(SFX – door opens/closes)

(SFX – city sounds)

NARRATOR: Sitting in the middle of a street lined with decaying industrial buildings is a gaudy strip club. Steve makes his way up the sidewalk, coming into the soft, warm glow of the club’s hot pink neon sign. At the entrance, a bouncer is posted. He sits on a stool playing a game on his phone. He doesn’t even look up as Steve heads inside.

(MUSIC – dance track)

NARRATOR: At one time, the club looks like it could have been a classy joint, but years of neglect have turned it into a dated dive…A few dancers gyrate on stage, each in various phases of nudeness, collecting looks and dollar bills from seedy patrons. Steve approaches the bar, a beautiful young bartender, barely 18, is scrolling her phone.

STEVE: Is Arman Balian here?

NARRATOR: Without looking up, the bartender walks over, twirling her hair with one hand, phone in the other.

BARTENDER: Hey, you wanna drink or somethin’?

STEVE: No, I’m here to see Mister Balian. I have an appointment.

NARRATOR: Still not looking up from her phone, she points to a VIP area in the back.

(MUSIC – club track)

NARRATOR: Steve sits with the Balian Brothers. Arman is brawny and intense. And his brother Hayk. He’s a few years younger, he’s skinny, but has the look of a tiger…Arman watches Steve with scrutinizing eyes.

ARMAN: (thick accent) Many men come through that door looking for work. 

NARRATOR: Hayk follows his brother’s lead, dubious with their guest.

HAYK: (thick accent) Why should we help you? 

STEVE: I have a need.

ARMAN: We called around, no one’s heard of you.

HAYK: You a cop?

STEVE: You want someone to vouch for me? Call Rikers, ‘cause that’s where I’ve been for the last thirty-five years.

NARRATOR: Arman puts up his hand, stopping Steve before he gets a head full of steam.

ARMAN: Our father’s job forced him to look men in the eyes and decide if they were being honest. Most cases, honesty meant life or death. Growing up under such an astute observer of behavior, it was impossible to get away with a lie. And he passed his knowledge to us. 

HAYK: We can detect deception. Body language, facial expressions, verbal indicators.

ARMAN: What my brother and I are trying to say is -- don’t fucking lie.

NARRATOR: Arman and Hayk lean forward, their eyes both narrow.

ARMAN: So, Mister Engler, why do you come to us looking for work?

NARRATOR: Steve takes a breath, and with a level head, gives the brother’s what they want. 

STEVE: I paid my debt to society, given my second chance, but I just found out I’m sick.

HAYK: How sick?

STEVE: Very.

NARRATOR: After a long, unblinking stare, Arman settles back in his chair, satisfied. Hayk follows suit.

ARMAN: You’re a thief?

STEVE: Best there used to be.

HAYK: And now?

STEVE: Rusty, I suppose. But there’s not a lock I can’t pick, not a safe I can’t crack. 

NARRATOR: A silent beat as Arman looks at his brother.

ARMAN: (in Armenian) The dagger.

NARRATOR: Hayk nods in agreement. Steve is in the dark.

(SFX – sting)

NARRATOR: In the back office, door locked, Arman sits at a desk. Hayk over his shoulder. Steve is across from them.

ARMAN: There’s a man, Herbert Hill. He’s a billionaire, a recluse, an asshole. Long ago, he stole something from our family.

NARRATOR: Hayk slides a photo to Steve. It’s a picture of a small dagger with a curved blade, the handle encrusted with jewels.

HAYK: A family heirloom our great-great-grandfather brought to America. 

ARMAN: Through a series of unfortunate events, it ended up in Hill’s greasy hands. 

HAYK: He’s been known to brag about having it. Says he keeps it in a safe at his house.

STEVE: So, what’s the job worth?

ARMAN: We can’t pay you, but Hill, he’s an antique dealer.

HAYK: Break-in, take the dagger and any other artifacts you can find. We’ll help you sell them on the black market.

ARMAN: We’ll take no cut, you keep all the money. All we want is what’s ours.

NARRATOR: But Steve seems uncertain. It doesn’t seem worth his time.

HAYK: We’re talking about millions of dollars’ worth of relics this motherfucker has.

ARMAN: That has to be worth more than any small job we could find for you. This is personal to us.

NARRATOR: Steve thinks to himself, what other choice does he have?

(SFX – door unlocks/opens)

NARRATOR: The muted sound of a KEY unlocking the door. Steve slips in, trying to stay quiet. It’s late...But Jane, in a nightgown, arms crossed, waits in the darkness. 

JANE: Where have you been?

STEVE: I was out.

JANE: Out where?

STEVE: Just out.

JANE: I called you a dozen times. I was worried sick.

NARRATOR: Steve pulls his phone from his pocket, looking at it.

STEVE: I’m still getting used to having this thing. I still don’t know how to work all the doodads. I didn’t know.

NARRATOR: Jane rushes over, grabbing his phone. She sees it’s on mute. She turns the volume up, angrily handing it back to him.

JANE: You smell like cigarette smoke.

STEVE: I went to a bar, watched the Knicks.

JANE: Have you been drinking?

STEVE: No.

JANE: Don’t lie to me.

STEVE: I’m not...but I’ve spent most of my life having my every move watched and picked over. I think I deserve a little freedom to get out, clear my head when I need to.

JANE: Don’t twist this around. 

STEVE: That’s not what I’m doing. I may not have a lot of time left. So, I don’t wanna spend it fighting.

JANE: I’ve been lied to before. Where were you?

NARRATOR: He calmly looks at Jane, committed to his deceit.

STEVE: I told you.

JANE: All little white lies are meant to mislead. They’re a symptom of a much bigger problem. 

STEVE: I wasn’t up to no good. I was just trying to figure some stuff out. Think, you know.

JANE: Whenever you need to talk, whatever you’re going through, I’m here.

STEVE: You wanna know what I’m going through? I’m scared as hell, and I’m doing the best I can not to fall apart.

NARRATOR: Hearing that, Jane softens. She reaches out, grabbing onto him. 

JANE: You need to realize, we have a responsibility to each other. We’re in this together…No deceptions. No lies. That’s the only way this works.

STEVE: I know. You’ll only get the truth from me. I swear.

NARRATOR: As they embrace, Steve wears an ambivalent look. He’s only doing what he’s doing, so he has a chance at a future, whatever that looks like.

(SFX – diner ambience)

NARRATOR: Joe’s Cafe, a quaint little greasy spoon, with a retro feel. Framed black & white photos of the neighborhood, line the walls…Steve is perched at the counter, obscured by a menu...he’s discreetly watching the owner of the establishment, Joe. He’s got a familiar face, albeit older...he was Steve’s getaway driver that fateful night so many years before. But Joe’s long removed from his gangster days and now looks a friendly grandfather-type. He makes his way down the line, freshening coffee, checking on his customers…Joe steps up to Steve, not quite paying attention to who he’s talking to.

JOE: Ready to order, sir?

STEVE: Sir? Who are you calling sir, gramps?

NARRATOR: The comment catches Joe by surprise.

JOE: ‘Scuse me?

NARRATOR: It takes him a second, but when he recognizes Steve, he lights up like a Christmas tree.

JOE: Steve? Holy shit!

NARRATOR: Joe puts down his coffee pot and rushes around the counter to greet Steve. They share a friendly hug and end on the gang’s handshake, just like Steve did with Enzo.

JOE: How long you been out?

STEVE: About a month. 

NARRATOR: Joe turns to the waitress, now manning the counter...

JOE: Josie, I’m taking a break. Get me two coffees and a couple of slices of pie for me and my friend.

NARRATOR: Steve and Joe grew up together. A magnetism of bad upbringings and bad luck brought them together. Both underdogs, fighting and clawing for a place in the concrete jungle. They became fast friends. Inseparable, dependent, miscreant brothers, not in blood, but in lawbreaking. But here they are, grown up. As the day ticks away, Joe and Steve sit in a booth, empty plates in front of them. Reminiscing about this and that. Catching up on a lifetime spent apart.

JOE: I’m real sorry to hear about your troubles...

NARRATOR: He points to one of the framed pictures hanging of his wife.

JOE: I lost Rosie a few years back to the same thing. She fought all the way up to the end. I wish you could’ve met her. She’s the one who got me to open this place. She saved my life.

STEVE: I got that too. Someone worth fighting for.

JOE: Hey, I never got to say this, but I always felt bad about... you know.

STEVE: I don’t blame nobody for nothing. I made my own bed. We’re boys, always will be, no matter what. 

NARRATOR: A relieved smile from Joe. That’s been weighing on his mind for some time. And knowing that things unsaid, don’t always get resolved, he abruptly springs up from the booth and hurries across the aisle to another table…He leans over a couple having lunch, snatching a framed photo off the wall.

JOE: ‘Scuse me, folks.

NARRATOR: Back to the booth, Joe hands Steve the frame. It’s an old photo of their self-titled gang, the Stone Street Mafia -- younger versions of STEVE, ENZO, and JOE, who we recognize along with Sal and Gene, the members no longer alive.

STEVE: Holy shit, this brings back memories.

JOE: Bunch of no-good punks.

STEVE: Thought we knew it all.

JOE: Thought we were gonna hit it big. 

STEVE: Yeah, become real gangsters, retire to some tropical island, with a bunch of loot, like in the movies.

JOE: Look at us now.

NARRATOR: There’s a sudden, almost awkward moment of silence between them.

STEVE: I got an ulterior motive coming here.

JOE: I figured.

STEVE: This world, the outside, it’s not what I thought it’d be. I’m holding a grenade here, and I need help from someone I trust.

JOE: Whatever it is, whatever you need. I’m in. I owe you.

NARRATOR: Steve leans in, talking in a hushed tone.

STEVE: Know where I can get a van? Something nondescript, that can blend in anywhere.

JOE: Just so happens, I got two white vans for catering, parked out back.

NARRATOR: The friends look at one another, it’s just like old times.

(MUSIC – drone)

 NARRATOR: The days are growing shorter, colder. Late one Friday night, Jane’s on the couch, blanket wrapped around her, watching TV. Steve makes his way towards the door. He wears dark pants and a jacket. He has a backpack slung over his shoulder.

STEVE: I’m heading out for a bit.

JANE: Oh, I thought we were gonna watch our show?

STEVE: There’s a cancer support group at St. Michael’s in Brooklyn. They talk about alternative medicines and stuff. 

NARRATOR: She sits up, her interest piqued.

JANE: Why didn’t you tell me?

STEVE: Just found out about it. I got a...text.

JANE: Brooklyn, huh? That’s kinda far? Want me to come with you? Maybe they’re having a mass. I can do that while you’re at the meeting.

STEVE: Let me feel it out. I don’t know if it’s really for me. If I go back next week, you can tag along.

JANE: Okay, sure...What’s the backpack for?

STEVE: Thought I’d hit the Y after, shoot some hoops. You know, Doc said I gotta exercise.

NARRATOR: But for as convincing as he thinks he is...He can see she’s not buying it. Steve breaks away from the door and walks over, pulling the bag off his shoulder. He holds it in front of her.

STEVE: You can smell my sweat socks if you don’t believe me.

NARRATOR: After a moment, Jane playfully pushes the backpack away.

JANE: I believe you, go.

NARRATOR: Steve leans down and kisses her. Then heads out of the door.

(SFX – door open/close)

NARRATOR: As he walks to the stairs. There’s a quick flash of guilt. He promised truth from here on out, but where he’s going, and what he has to do, Jane wouldn’t understand.

(SFX – sting)

NARRATOR: To be continued…

(MUSIC – Outro)

NARRATOR: For more killer content, subscribe or go to  https: www.NocturnumCollective.com