Crossing the Double Yellow

FADE IN:

INT. GRACIE’S TRUCK STOP – BAR – NIGHT

A ham-size fist connects squarely with JEROD JONES’S face, landing him on his back, skidding down the polished floor in front of the bar, PATRON’S FEET hopping out of the way.

BIG TRUCKER

You fuckin‘ rag-head sympathizer!  Maybe you think those assholes who flew our planes into buildings should get frequent flyer miles!

Without a lick of embarrassment, Jones (late 30’s) manages a wry smile as he climbs to his feet, spewing apologies.

JONES

Sorry, Sorry.  Didn’t mean to scuff your shoes—  Did I tear your nylon, dear–  Sorry–  Nice legs.

Once standing, he rubs his jaw, then slowly looks up at his attacker.  His look, not hostile, but deeply unsettling, causes the much bigger man to flinch.

JONES (CONT’D)

It’s damn true.  I am a son-of-a-bitch.  Least most see me that way.  Be that as it may, all I’m sayin‘ is, if someone fucks with someone else long enough, there’s gonna be a reaction. You know, cause-and-effect.

BIG TRUCKER

Cause they’re fuckin‘ dick-wads, and we’re the effect of god’s hand that’s gonna stamp them assholes out.

Guffaws from some GOOD-OL-BOYS.

JONES

Well, ya see Bubba, that’s not the cause-and-effect I had in mind.  I was thinkin‘ a little closer to home. Somethin‘ like this: I give my opinion, which is a cause; then you knock me on my ass; that’s an effect. Cause and effect.

More laughs.

JONES (CONT’D)

But, stay with me, now, because this is where an effect turns into a cause.

BIG TRUCKER

What the fuck are you talking about?

JONES

Your effect; knocking me on my ass, has become my cause.

BIG TRUCKER

Cause for what, you babblin‘ dipshit?

JONES

Cause for me to help some paramedics earn their pay.

Jones’s words are quickly followed with a barrage of punches, arcing the towering trucker onto his back with a heavy thud, jumping the beer bottles on the bar. 

While most stare in awe, a FEW TRUCKER FRIENDS start to advance. Jones whisks a beer bottle off the bar.

JONES (CONT’D)

Ya know, I like beer.  I can drink this or bash it across somebody’s head.  What’s it gonna be?

The boys divert to their fallen friend to lend a hand.

BIG TRUCKER

Get the fuck off me.

The big trucker wavers on his feet, glowering at Jones.

JONES

(to room)

Well, I guess a good show like that deserves free drinks for everybody!

Everyone cheers and steps to the bar, filling in the space between combatants.  Smiles and pats on the back for Jones. 

JONES (CONT’D)

All that excitement makes a man want to pee.  Hold my place, will ya.

Jones smiles his way out of the bar, past the bathrooms, and into the parking lot.

 

EXT. GRACIE’S TRUCK STOP – PARKING LOT – NIGHT

Jones scurries to his rig, and is southbound in seconds.

 

INT. JONES’S SEMI – CAB – NIGHT

Radiant GLOW of the dashboard lights accents Jones’s smile.

JONES

Partir, cíest mourir un peu.

To leave is to die a little.  Or, in my case, it’s to live a bit longer.

 

EXT. LENNY GREY’S COUNTRYSIDE WAREHOUSE – NIGHT

Jones’s Semi turns off a country road onto a gravel drive, and pulls to a stop in front of a small prefab warehouse.

A MIDDLE-AGED MAN limps from the small house across the drive, a scurvy smile twisting his lips, suckin‘ on a pipe, and spittin‘ tobacco.  Jones climbs down from the truck.

JONES

Jesus, Lenny.  Ya gotta smoke and chaw at the same time?  Why ya rushin‘ to your maker so fast?

LENNY

You’ve seen my wife and kids.

JONES

Fuckin‘ hell.  You don’t have a wife and kids.

LENNY

And no nagging mother, neither.  In fact, the closest thing I have to a a nosey busy-body, would be you, Jones.

JONES

My god!  I do believe you gave me a compliment.

LENNY

It’s a good thing I only see your bony ass twice a month.  Back your rig inside.  We got one heavy sucker and a bunch of throw-ons.

 

INT. LENNY GREY’S COUNTRYSIDE WAREHOUSE – NIGHT

Jones’s semi is parked part way inside.  Boxes and crates are stacked about, but sitting on a forklift is a wooden crate about four feet wide by eight feet long. 

JONES

What the hell’s in there?

LENNY

How the fuck should I know.  They ain’t paying us a grand and five for 20 questions. It’s machine parts, whatdaya think?

JONES

Good thing I got a light load.  We can pile the other stuff on top.

LENNY

That’s a no-can-do, no sir.  Nothing on top.  Jam it in around, Okay?

JONES

(squinting)

You got somethin‘ live in there, Lenny.  I’m not transportin‘ any illegals or Mafia hits.  Nope. I saw that movie where the guy finds this Chinese girl in his trunk and-

LENNY

Jones, there’s no people in the crate.  Nor animals, or aliens from outer space. It’s just heavy stuff.

JONES

Oh, Okay.  Just heavy, not alive, stuff. 

 

EXT. LENNY GREY’S COUNTRYSIDE WAREHOUSE – NIGHT

Jones is at the wheel, Lenny stands by the driver’s window.

JONES

I’ll call ya at the first drop.

LENNY

Remember, this has a time-frame, Jones.  Six days.  No more. We all know you’re one of the world’s better examples of a fuck-up, but your saving grace is that you’re always on time.

JONES

We all have our talents.

LENNY

On your flip side, we’ll catch-up on lies about our past over a couple bottles of Jack.

JONES

Wouldn’t miss it.

Lenny gimps away with a wave as Jones drives off, turns onto the country road and disappears over a hill.

The INTERIOR LIGHT comes on in a sedan parked near Lenny’s driveway, illuminating TWO MEN, one on a cell phone.

AGENT BURTON

Yeah, it’s Burton.  We have an old Mack eighteen wheeler, Washington  plates, Db-669-1549.  One large crate, numerous small boxes.  Arrival NYC in six days. Yes, sir.  We’ll pop the whole illegal import ring, then.

 

EXT. JONES’S SEMI – DAY

Jones’s truck rolls down the vast American desert highway. 

 

EXT. DESERT TRUCK STOP – DAY

Jones pumps diesel, when a young MALE HITCHIKER approaches.

HITCHIKER

Hey, how’s it going?

JONES

It’s all goin‘ to hell, in my estimation.

HITCHIKER

You got that right, that’s for damn sure.  Which way you headed?

JONES

No way you’re headed.

HITCHIKER

How do you know that?

JONES

Cause I don’t give rides to nobody, that’s why.  If I’d wanted company on the road, I’d of been a cab driver.

HITCHIKER

Listen, Mister.  It’s cold as shit out here.  I’m going east.  Trying to get home for my mom’s birthday.  You going east?  What if I give you twenty bucks for your trouble.

JONES

If you have twenty bucks, you shoulda taken a bus.

HITCHIKER

Twenty bucks gets you nowhere.  When’s the last time you rode a bus, mister?

JONES

It’d be about the last time I gave a ride to a hitchiker.  Never.

HITCHIKER

What goes around, comes around… You prick.

Jones straightens.

JONES

Anger is only one letter short of danger.

As the Hitchiker backs away, Jones’s eyes draw toward a WOMAN (mid-20s), climbing down from the passenger side of a rig.  She walks with a confident gait and natural sexiness into the diner, with Jones’s stare glued to her.

JONES (CONT’D)

The pain now is part of the happiness then.

(turns away)

But, hell.  I’m always in some kind of pain.

 

EXT. JONES’S SEMI – DAY / NIGHT

BEGIN MONTAGE

Jones’s truck travels across America, through mountains, across deserts, etc.  Jones sleeps in truck’s crib.

END MONTAGE

 

EXT. IONIA, MISSOURI – TYRELL’S HOUSE – DAY

Jones rig rolls slowly down a small street of tract houses.  He stops before a small nondescript house.  He hesitates before climbing down, then walks with a purpose to the front door and rings the bell.  He fidgets badly.

The door opens to DOREEN JONES (early 30s).  Her sudden surprise quickly turns to displeasure.

DOREEN

What do you want, Jerod?

JONES

Well, that’s a hell of a greeting, Doreen.

DOREEN

Well, you’re a hell of a guy.

JONES

You’d think after three years, I could at least get a little smile.

DOREEN

You mean instead of a bullet?

JONES

­Aw, come on, Dor. You know I tried my best with Tyrel, but he just wouldn’t meet me halfway.

DOREEN

You don’t measure father-son relationships in percentages, Jerod.  Well, obviously, you do.

JONES

(averts gaze)

I was too young and stupid for married life, Dor.  The war changed me-

DOREEN

Don’t you dare use that tired excuse. Don’t dishonor your friends who didn’t come back.

JONES

I don’t-

DOREEN

Why can’t you just say it?  Why can’t you just say you fell out of love for me?

Jones’s stature shrinks in humiliation.

JONES

(low voice)

Can I see Tyrel, Doreen?

DOREEN

I don’t think it’s a good idea. 

JONES

I know, but I was passing right by and thought maybe we could talk.

DOREEN

You know he doesn’t want to see you.

JONES

What the hell’s wrong with him?  So, I’m not the perfect Dad–

Jones clamps his mouth shut, but the damage is done.

DOREEN

I think you should go, now.

JONES

I’m sorry.

DOREEN

I know you are, Jerod.  You’re always sorry.

They stand there, remorse and regret from both sides.  Doreen steps up to Jones and gently hugs him.

DOREEN (CONT’D)

I’ll talk to him, Okay?  Maybe you can stop by on the flip side.  Call me and I’ll let you know.

JONES

(tears well up)

I wish I was different, Dor.  I’m always makin‘ wrong choices.  You don’t know how I hate being me.

Tears blink from Doreen’s eyes.

DOREEN

I know, Jerod.  You know that I do.

She pulls away, wiping her eyes.  He backs up and gives a little wave.

JONES

Marty has done alright for you, Dor.  I’m glad you found a good man.

She smiles, returns a small wave.  As Jones climbs into his truck, FIFTEEN-YEAR-OLD TYREL watches from a dormer window.

 

EXT. JONES’S SEMI – DAY / NIGHT

Countryside, towns, past the St. Louis Arch, into mountains.

 

INT. JONES’S SEMI – CAB – DAY / NIGHT

Every few seconds the FM scanner changes stations.  Jones sings along whether he knows the words or not. He makes comments on most everything he hears.

FM RADIO

(Faith Hill)

I don’t need a bed of roses,  ‘Cause roses wither away.  All I really need is honesty,  From someone with a strong heart, a gentle hand, who’ll take me as I ­am.

JONES

Works both ways, Faith, baby.

FM RADIO

(news)

The insurgents have stepped up their offensive this morning by attacking a fully packed market. Two off-duty policemen were killed, along with 34 women and children.

JONES

Yep.  The lord works in mysterious ways.

FM RADIO

(Willie Nelson)

Yesterday is dead and gone –  And tomorrow’s out of sight, And it’s sad to be alone – Help me make it through the night.

JONES

Only you know the truth, Willy.

FM RADIO

(Dwight Yoakam)

What’s left of me is not worth much.  Just memories, heartaches and such. The most of which I wouldn’t trust, causewhat’s left of me is not enough.

JONES

Just stab me in the heart, there, Dwight.

 

EXT. JONES’S SEMI – OHIO MOUNTAINS – NIGHT

Jones’s semi travels a virtually empty Interstate.

 

INT. JONES’S SEMI – CAB – NIGHT

Classical music plays low while Jones taps a beat on the steering wheel. The headlights illuminate endless curves of empty road.  Jones’s eyes slide closed, thenflutter open in momentary panic.

He clicks off the CD.  It isn’t long before he’s mesmerized again by the high-contrast fantasy landscape created by the headlights and drowsy eyes.

DOREEN (V.O.)

Come to bed, now.  It’s after three.  Why don’t you sleep with me anymore?

JONES (V.O.)

I sleep with you.

DOREEN (V.O.)

You don’t make love to me.  It’s been months.

JONES (V.O.)

I’m sorry.  I don’t know what else to say.  I don’t know what’s wrong.

A pale image of Doreen appears in the blackness above the headlights. She reaches out to him.

DOREEN (V.O.)

Come to bed, now.  Here, take my hand.

Jones’s eyes slide closed.

The headlight beams swing left, crossing the double yellow line, the shoulder, and the concrete drainage ditch.  The entire truck jolts so hard, Jones’s head smashes into the roof, shocking him awake.

Crashing thuds echo in the cab as the truck careens across a rock-covered expanse.  Jones stomps the breaks, skidding into a jackknife, taking out small trees on its way to a looming cliff face.

The tractor finally stops inches from the wall, and the engine stalls. Jones stares in disbelief as the rear of the trailer continues around unabated.  The tires hit an imbedded boulder, hopping the rear end into the air, bouncing down to a stop, lightly tapping against the cliff.

Overwhelming silence.  Jones sighsrelief.  All loose articles are now in his lap and scattered about. He looks at the mess, then outside at the trailer kissing the cliff face.

JONES

Shit.

 

EXT. JONES’S SEMI – CLIFF FACE – NIGHT

He walks around the truck checking for damage.  Everything looks fine.  Jones looks to heaven.

JONES

This is as close as an agnostic gets to saying, thank you.

He makes a little salute, then unlocks the trailer doors.  Another glance skyward.

JONES (CONT’D)

Stay with me, now.

He swings the doors open, and hits the lights.

JONES (CONT’D)

Fucking hell!

The heavy wooden crate had busted its moorings and slid around the trailer like a hockey puck, smashing everything.

 

INT. JONES’S SEMI – TRAILER – CLIFF FACE – CONTINUOUS

He climbs into the trailer and begins assessing the damage.

JONES

I’m fucked.

(looks to heaven)

What’s with the Ying-Yang bullshit.  Couldn’t I just get all Yang for a change?

The big crate is further inside against a side wall.

JONES (CONT’D)

Looks like you turned out Okay, you fuckin‘ big bruiser.  No doubt, I’ll have to offer up my illicit gains from you, just to keep my job.

As he moves closer, multicolored flickering light radiates from a vertical split on a back corner of the crate.

JONES (CONT’D)

Oh, man.

He looks into the eight inch gap.  Bathed in the pulsing colored lights of a countdown timer is full-on, Russian insignia, NUCLEAR BOMB.