[first lines]
Narrator:
As the 21st century began, human evolution was at a turning point. Natural selection, the process by which the strongest, the smartest, the fastest, reproduced in greater numbers than the rest, a process which had once favored the noblest traits of man, now began to favor different traits. Most science fiction of the day predicted a future that was more civilized and more intelligent. But as time went on, things seemed to be heading in the opposite direction. A dumbing down. How did this happen? Evolution does not necessarily reward intelligence. With no natural predators to thin the herd, it began to simply reward those who reproduced the most, and left the intelligent to become an endangered species.
Wilbur:
[at the science fair after Lewis puts his memory scanner on the table] [Wilbur pops out from underneath the sheet covering the memory scanner]
Wilbur:
This area is not secure, get in. [pulls Lewis under the sheet]
Wilbur:
Have you been approached a tall man in a bowler hat?
Lewis:
What?
Wilbur:
Hey, hey, I'll ask the questions here.
Lewis:
Okay... goodbye. [starts to leave but Wilbur drags him back in]
Wilbur:
Okay, I didn't want to pull rank on you but you forced my hand. Special agent Wilbur Robinson of the T.C.T.F.
Lewis:
What?
Wilbur:
Time continuum task force. I'm here to protect you. [Lewis tries to say something but Wilbur covers his mouth]
Wilbur:
Now, tall man? Bowler hat? Approached you?
Lewis:
No, why?
Wilbur:
[Wilbur sighs and shakes his head] I could lose my badge for this, he's a suspect in a robbery.
Lewis:
What did he steal?
Wilbur:
A time machine.
Lewis:
A what?
Wilbur:
I tracked him to this time and my informants say he's after you.
Lewis:
Me? Why me?
Wilbur:
The boys back at HQ haven't figured out a motive yet. [uses air quotes]
Wilbur:
And by "HQ" I mean headquarters.
Lewis:
I know what HQ means!
Wilbur:
Good, you're a smart kid, that'll keep you alive... for now. [pats Lewis's memory scanner]
Wilbur:
You just take care of your science gizmo and leave the perp to me. [leaves but instantly]
Wilbur:
[pops back under the sheet] And by perp, I mean perp...
Lewis:
I know what it means!
Wilbur:
Okay, Mr. Smartypants. [leaves the sheet]
Molly Gunn:
I'm so sorry, Mrs Schleine.
Roma Schleine:
Thank you for coming, Miss Gunn.
Molly Gunn:
Are you kidding? Nothing could keep me away at a time like this.
Roma Schleine:
[she places a check in front of Molly] Last week's pay and a month's severance.
Molly Gunn:
Severance?
Roma Schleine:
We're letting you go.
Molly Gunn:
We?
Roma Schleine:
That's right. Me and Ray. We. Goodnight, Miss Gunn.
Molly Gunn:
I'm sorry, but I'm not leaving without an explanation.
Roma Schleine:
I don't know what's been going on between you and my daughter, but she has made it clear that she never wants to see you again.
Molly Gunn:
She must be going out of her mind with grief.
Roma Schleine:
Actually, she's taking it rather well. I was at my staff meeting when I got the news about my husband. I came home to find Ray doing her homework. She's been very calm and level-headed about this whole affair.
Molly Gunn:
You call that taking it well? Do you know what etage your daughter's at in ballet? Or that she was banned from her science class for stealing a formaldehyde pig so she could give it a proper burial? The tea set you got her... it's exquisite and beautiful, but do you know how she likes to have her tea, how many lumps... one,two... cream,sugar?
Roma Schleine:
And the point of your little tirade is...
Molly Gunn:
You're right. You don't know what goes on between me and Ray because you don't know very much about your own daughter.
Roma Schleine:
I know my daughter well enough to respect her wishes.
Molly Gunn:
You don't give her respect. You give her whatever she asks for so you don't have to deal wit her. She's eight years old. She is not twenty-eight. Please remember that the next time you show her some respect. [storms out]
Mr. Smith:
There was this guy, big guy, Irish-Italian, red-faced, black-haired, jolly son of a bitch... [Gene turns away slightly]
Mr. Smith:
...wait a second: nobody could make me laugh like him. He made a science of collecting jokes. We closed more bars together than I could count. And he was a pal. I loved the crazy mick, and I'm not ashamed to say that, but he was a fuck-up. He had this image of himself, he thought he was a con man. Always trying to shave the edge. Nickel and dime. I'll always miss him. Tell me why.
Gene Watson:
Tell you why, what?
Mr. Smith:
Tell me why I miss him.
Gene Watson:
He's dead?
Mr. Smith:
That's right. He is dead, but tell me why.
Gene Watson:
How do I know? I don't ...
Mr. Smith:
Tell me why he's dead!
Gene Watson:
'Cause you killed him?
Mr. Smith:
That's right, I did. I killed him. He fucked up one too many times, so I put a bullet in his eye. Then, I put two more into him just to make sure. Now, that was somebody I loved; I loved him! But I got the call, I put him down like a sick animal. So, if you got doubts about what's gonna happen if you don't deliver, let me tell you something. I'll make gravy out of your little girl just to season that Black Irish cocksucker's meat. You do what you're supposed to do, young man. You do it now.
