Get Shorty
“He was dressed casual today, white linen jacket over French blue India cotton, sitting in Ronnie’s chair in Ronnie’s office waiting for the Bear to come in and report, Marcella’s radio playing Top 40 hits in the other office. There was no reason for her to come in here; Marcella was the kind you said hi to and bye to, you didn’t chat with her.
The audience would like it: see Lovejoy open this old trunk of his, take out a big revolver and load it. Be dramatic, that part, except this was movies and the kind of good guy Lovejoy was couldn’t just go out and shoot the bad guy—like you drive past a man’s house was edging into your business and shoot him off his front steps. Or another time the man was sitting in his car, pull up next to him, bam. The way it was done in real life. The way soon as Yayo threatened him, bye-bye, Yayo, the mean little Colombian now two feet under the desert somewhere off U.S. 10. The Bear had said, “Never again. I don’t clean up after, become an accessory.”
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