A man named Frank Pesceula walks into a bar. He means business. He spots the man he’s looking for, Dale Jones, at the bar. Frank taps him on the shoulder and Dale turns around.
FRANK : Hi’ya Dale.
DALE (nervous): Oh, hi’ya Frank! Nice to see ya!
FRANK: Don’t be a wise guy. You know what happens to wise guys.
DALE: Yeah, yeah, sure I do Frank. So how was the joint this time of year?
Frank looks him him with a death glare.
DALE (CONt’d): No! I was just being friendly.
FRANK: Sounded a little too fresh for my taste. Hey bartender! What’s a guy gotta do for a drink around here?
BARTENDER: Sorry Mr. Pescuela. Mr. Jones was distracting me with his big mouth.
FRANK: Yeah, he does sort of a big mouth doesn’t he?
DALE: Now look Frank believe it or not, I’m glad you’re out. I think whatever bad blood we had in the past should just be forgotten.
FRANK: You’d like that wouldn’t you?
DALE: Oh very much.
FRANK: Sorta bury the hatchet?
DALE: Exactly. Whatt’ya say?
FRANK: You know you cost me a lot, Dale. Six years in the State pen is hard to just bury.
DALE: Yeah, I can imagine. But you know it wasn’t my fault. Pitts McGraw took your girl, remember? He was the double crosser. He left you with nothing and instead of just bumping you off in peace he turned you over the cops to rot in that trap for the rest of your life. It was Pitts McGraw, now I’m on the level.
FRANK: I wish you was on the level, Dale. You was my best friend. You took me in and showed me the ropes. There was only one problem- you did the same for Pitts.
He gets up and stands over Dale.
FRANK (CONT’D): And when you saw the real dough was in his rum running and there was no use for me you just let him ruin me. YOU LET HIM!
DALE: No! I swear Frank. What he was doing I didn’t know about!
Frank pulls out a gun.
FRANK: There’s more to bury than that hatchet, Dale. There’s the knife in my back and your dirty carcass.
Frank shoots Dale violently, pays for his drink, and exits.