SCENE TWO
9:00 p.m. Under the highway.
A dead end: rotting plaster and brick walls and mesh wire fences. A street lamp.
It is nightfall. They almost silhouetted groups come in from separate sides.
There is silence as they fan out on opposite sides of the cleared space. Then
King and Smyth remove their jackets, handing them to their seconds: Peel and
Fancy.
King: Ready.
Peel: Ready!
Smyth: Ready.
Fancy: Ready! Come center and shake hands.
King (impatient): What for?
Fancy (exasperated): That's the way its done, old boy.
King: Look, every one of you hates every one of us, and we hate you right back.
I don't drink with anybody I hate, I don't shake hands with anybody I hate.
Now, let's get to it.
Fancy (sneering): Surely.
King (moving toward center): Here we go.
(Smyth begins to move toward him. There are encouragements called from each
side. The "fair fight" is just beginning when there is an interruption.)
Steed (enters area and starts towards King): Hold it!
(The fighting stops.)
Fancy (excitedly): Steed, glad you decided to join us!
Steed: I didn't. (Shoves Smyth away and steps between him and King)
Fancy: Then what are you doing here?
King (smiling evilly): Maybe he has found the guts to fight his own battles.
Steed (Out of breath from running): It doesn't take guts if you have a battle,
and we haven't got one, none of us, ok Martin!
King (shoving Steed in exchange for his troubles): It's King to you!
Fancy (quiet, strong): Hold it! The deal was a fair fight between King and
Smyth. (To Steed, who has gotten up) Get with the Spies!
King (sarcastically sweet): Aw, the mother hen protecting her little chick. Well,
I'll give you a battle!
Smyth: You've already got one!
King: I'll take pretty boy as a warm up. Afraid pretty boy! Afraid chicken! Afraid
gutless!
Fancy (becoming angry): Stop that!
Steed: I don't want to fight you, King.
King: Oh, sure.
Steed: Now listen to me . . .
King: Are you chicken?
Steed (desperately): We've got nothing to fight about.
Gambit (disagreeing): Like hell we don't!
King (shoving Steed around): Come on, Chicken!
Steed: You won't understand!
Gambit: Get him, Steed.
Steed: King, don't make me mad. (Puts up dukes)
Fancy: Don't just stand there!
Gambit: Kill him!
(Steed realizes what he's doing and releases his hands from fists.)
King (triumphant): He is chicken! (King pushes him toward Smyth)
Steed: DON'T PUSH ME!
King: Come on, you yellow-bellied ch-
(He never finishes, for Fancy hauls off and hits him. Immediately the two gangs
alert, and the following action takes on the form of a dance. As King reels back
to his feet, he reaches for his back pocket. Fancy reaches for his back pocket,
and at the same instant each brings out a gleaming revolver. They jockey for
position, feinting, dueling; the two gangs shift position, now and again
temporarily obscuring the fighters. Steed tries to get in between them)
Fancy: Hold him!
(Smyth and Gambit grab Steed and hold him back. The fight continues. Fancy
loses his gun, and gets it back with help from Purdey. At last, he has King in a
good position to shoot him. Steed breaks free, and crying out, moves to stop
Fancy.)
Steed: Fancy, don't! (He stumbles into Fancy, pushing him into King's gun. King,
startled, pulls the trigger and shoots Fancy. Steed catches Fancy as he slumps to
the ground and grabs his gun, while King stares at his own weapon in a dazed
stupor. A free-for-all has broken out as Steed, Fancy's gun in hand, fires at
King's heart. The free-for-all continues a moment longer. Then there is a sharp
police whistle. Everything comes to a dead stop— dead silence. Then a distant
police siren: the men waver, run one way, another, in panic, confusion. As the
stage is cleared, Steed stands horrified over the still bodies of King and Fancy.
He bends over Fancy's body; then his rolls King's body over— and stares. Then
he drops the gun and raises his voice in an anguished cry.)
EMMA!
(Another police whistle, closer now, but he doesn't move. From the shadows,
Tara appears. She scurries to Steed and tugs at his arm. A siren, another
whistle, then a searchlight cuts across the alley. Tara's insistent tugging brings
Steed to the realization of danger. He crouches, starts to run with her to one
escape-way. She reaches it first, goes out-but the searchlight hits it just as he
would go through. He stops, runs the other way. He darts here, there, and
finally gets away as a distant clock begins to boom.)
9:00 p.m. Under the highway.
A dead end: rotting plaster and brick walls and mesh wire fences. A street lamp.
It is nightfall. They almost silhouetted groups come in from separate sides.
There is silence as they fan out on opposite sides of the cleared space. Then
King and Smyth remove their jackets, handing them to their seconds: Peel and
Fancy.
King: Ready.
Peel: Ready!
Smyth: Ready.
Fancy: Ready! Come center and shake hands.
King (impatient): What for?
Fancy (exasperated): That's the way its done, old boy.
King: Look, every one of you hates every one of us, and we hate you right back.
I don't drink with anybody I hate, I don't shake hands with anybody I hate.
Now, let's get to it.
Fancy (sneering): Surely.
King (moving toward center): Here we go.
(Smyth begins to move toward him. There are encouragements called from each
side. The "fair fight" is just beginning when there is an interruption.)
Steed (enters area and starts towards King): Hold it!
(The fighting stops.)
Fancy (excitedly): Steed, glad you decided to join us!
Steed: I didn't. (Shoves Smyth away and steps between him and King)
Fancy: Then what are you doing here?
King (smiling evilly): Maybe he has found the guts to fight his own battles.
Steed (Out of breath from running): It doesn't take guts if you have a battle,
and we haven't got one, none of us, ok Martin!
King (shoving Steed in exchange for his troubles): It's King to you!
Fancy (quiet, strong): Hold it! The deal was a fair fight between King and
Smyth. (To Steed, who has gotten up) Get with the Spies!
King (sarcastically sweet): Aw, the mother hen protecting her little chick. Well,
I'll give you a battle!
Smyth: You've already got one!
King: I'll take pretty boy as a warm up. Afraid pretty boy! Afraid chicken! Afraid
gutless!
Fancy (becoming angry): Stop that!
Steed: I don't want to fight you, King.
King: Oh, sure.
Steed: Now listen to me . . .
King: Are you chicken?
Steed (desperately): We've got nothing to fight about.
Gambit (disagreeing): Like hell we don't!
King (shoving Steed around): Come on, Chicken!
Steed: You won't understand!
Gambit: Get him, Steed.
Steed: King, don't make me mad. (Puts up dukes)
Fancy: Don't just stand there!
Gambit: Kill him!
(Steed realizes what he's doing and releases his hands from fists.)
King (triumphant): He is chicken! (King pushes him toward Smyth)
Steed: DON'T PUSH ME!
King: Come on, you yellow-bellied ch-
(He never finishes, for Fancy hauls off and hits him. Immediately the two gangs
alert, and the following action takes on the form of a dance. As King reels back
to his feet, he reaches for his back pocket. Fancy reaches for his back pocket,
and at the same instant each brings out a gleaming revolver. They jockey for
position, feinting, dueling; the two gangs shift position, now and again
temporarily obscuring the fighters. Steed tries to get in between them)
Fancy: Hold him!
(Smyth and Gambit grab Steed and hold him back. The fight continues. Fancy
loses his gun, and gets it back with help from Purdey. At last, he has King in a
good position to shoot him. Steed breaks free, and crying out, moves to stop
Fancy.)
Steed: Fancy, don't! (He stumbles into Fancy, pushing him into King's gun. King,
startled, pulls the trigger and shoots Fancy. Steed catches Fancy as he slumps to
the ground and grabs his gun, while King stares at his own weapon in a dazed
stupor. A free-for-all has broken out as Steed, Fancy's gun in hand, fires at
King's heart. The free-for-all continues a moment longer. Then there is a sharp
police whistle. Everything comes to a dead stop— dead silence. Then a distant
police siren: the men waver, run one way, another, in panic, confusion. As the
stage is cleared, Steed stands horrified over the still bodies of King and Fancy.
He bends over Fancy's body; then his rolls King's body over— and stares. Then
he drops the gun and raises his voice in an anguished cry.)
EMMA!
(Another police whistle, closer now, but he doesn't move. From the shadows,
Tara appears. She scurries to Steed and tugs at his arm. A siren, another
whistle, then a searchlight cuts across the alley. Tara's insistent tugging brings
Steed to the realization of danger. He crouches, starts to run with her to one
escape-way. She reaches it first, goes out-but the searchlight hits it just as he
would go through. He stops, runs the other way. He darts here, there, and
finally gets away as a distant clock begins to boom.)