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JERRY LUNDEGAARD'S OFFICE
Jerry is at his desk using a blunt pencil to enter numbers
onto a form. Beneath the form is a piece of carbon paper
and beneath that another form copy, which Jerry periodically
checks. The carbon-copy form shows thick smudgy, illegible
entries.
Jerry hums nervously.
Glass rattles as someone taps at his door.
Jerry looks up and freezes, mouth hanging open, brow knit
with worry.
Marge sticks her head in the door.
MARGE
Mr. Lundegaard? Sorry to bother
you again. Can I come in?
She starts to enter.
JERRY
Yah, no, I'm kinda - I'm kinda
busy -
MARGE
I unnerstand. I'll keep it real
short, then. I'm on my way out
of town, but I was just - Do you
mind if I sit down? I'm carrying
a bit of a load here.
JERRY
No, I -
But she is already sitting into the chair opposite with a
sigh of relieved weight.
MARGE
Yah, it's this vehicle I asked you
about yesterday. I was just
wondering -
JERRY
Yah, like I told ya, we haven't had
any vehicles go missing.
MARGE
Okay, are you sure, cause, I mean,
how do you know? Because, see,
the crime I'm investigating, the
perpetrators were driving a car
with dealer plates. And they
called someone who works here, so
it'd be quite a coincidence if
they weren't, ya know, connected.
JERRY
Yah, I see.
MARGE
So how do you - have you done any
kind of inventory recently?
JERRY
The car's not from our lot, ma'am.
MARGE
but do you know that for sure
without -
JERRY
Well, I would know. I'm the
Executive Sales Manager.
MARGE
Yah, but -
JERRY
We run a pretty tight ship here.
MARGE
I know, but - well, how do you
establish that, sir? Are the
cars, uh, counted daily or what
kind of -
JERRY
Ma'am, I answered your question.
There is a silent beat.
MARGE
... I'm sorry, sir?
JERRY
Ma'am, I answered your question.
I answered the darn - I'm
cooperating here, and I...
MARGE
Sir, you have no call to get
snippy with me. I'm just doin'
my job here.
JERRY
I'm not, uh, I'm not arguin' here.
I'm cooperating... There's no, uh
- we're doin' all we can...
He trails off into silence.
MARGE
Sir, could I talk to Mr. Gustafson?
Jerry stares at her.
MARGE
... Mr. Lundegaard?
Jerry explodes:
JERRY
Well, heck, if you wanna, if you
wanna play games here! I'm
workin' with ya on this thing, but
I...
He is getting angrily off his feet.
JERRY
Okay, I'll do a damned lot count!
MARGE
Sir? Right now?
JERRY
Sure right now! You're darned
tootin'!
He is yanking his parka from a hook behind the opened door
and grabbing a pair of galoshes.
JERRY
... If it's so damned imporant
to ya!
MARGE
I'm sorry, sir, I -
Jerry has the parka slung over one arm and the galoshes
pinched in his hand.
JERRY
Aw, what the Christ!
He stamps out the door.
Marge stares.
After a long moment her stare breaks. She glances idly
around the office.
There is a framed picture facing away from her on the
desktop. She turns it to face her. It is Scotty, holding
an accordion. There is another picture of Jean.
Marge looks at it, looks around, for some reason, at the
ceiling.
She looks at a trophy shelf on the wall behind her.
She fiddles idly with a pencil. She pulls a clipboard
toward her. It holds a form from the General Motors Finance
Corporation.
She looks idly around. Her look abruptly locks.
MARGE
... Oh, for Pete's sake.
Jerry is easing his car around the near corner of the
building.
Marge's voice is flat with dismay:
MARGE
... Oh, for Pete's sake...
She grabs the phone and punches in a number.
MARGE
... For Pete's s- he's fleein' the
interview. He's feelin' the
interview...
Jerry makes a left turn into traffic.
MARGE
... Detective Sibert, please...