Def Con Shipping Boxes, Part 1

I was cleaning out my attic the other day and I came across this screen-play that my older brother must have written when he was about 12 years old.  He has always been a kind of Indiana Jones, Star Wars, 007 type nerd (no offense), and it made complete sense that he would have delved into the world of “fan fiction”.  I never understood to what depths his passions ran, and then I read this:

Scene opens on a ship yard, with rows and rows and shipping boxes.  Duke Nightwolf comes racing around the corner, holding a nine millimeter pistol and sweating.  He has a cigar hanging out of his mouth, and he is wearing a sharp black suit with a red tie.  He is very handsome.  He skids to a halt behind one of the shipping boxes and takes a drag from his cigar.  He closes his eyes and nods approvingly.

Nightwolf:  “Nothing like a Cuban.”  And then, “Crikey!” when a bullet goes ricocheting right by his head.  He tosses the cigar down, grinds it out with the heel of his expensive Italian shoe, and takes off running again.


The shipyard is like a labyrinth of shipping boxes, and the bad guys are chasing Nightwolf relentlessly.  Sometimes they are just a turn away, but Nightwolf always manages to throw them off again.  Up and down the rows they go, hour after hour.  Nightwolf occasionally stops to light up another cigar or check his cellphone.

The camera pans out from Nightwolf’s face.  He is on the phone with his girlfriend.

Nightwolf: I told you, Moonbeam, not to mess with the tiger.  It’s not house-trained yet.”  And then, “Gotta go, sugar.  I’ll be home for dinner.” Because a helicopter is flying overhead.  It’s Grimm Flintlock.  Impatient with his henchman, he had decided to take his personal helicopter to the shipyard and find Duke Nightwolf himself.

Over a loudspeaker, Flintlock shouts down from the helicopter: “If you want the job done correctly, you’ve gotta do it yourself, right Nightwolf?”  He is wearing black sunglasses and a bright yellow polo T-shirt.

Nightwolf mimes that he can’t hear Flintlock.

Flintlock: “I said, if you want the job done correctly…IF YOU WANT THE JOB DONE…”  Nightwolf is still miming that he can’t hear.

Nightwolf looks down at hand, which is holding his cellphone, which is vibrating.  The caller ID reads: Grimm Flintlock, Professional Jerk.  He answers it.

Nightwolf: Flintlock, my old friend…