Hellhound 4: Johnny Shines

NIGHT--INTERIOR GARAGE

Johnson and three other black men on their knees shooting craps in a cluttered, lantern-lit garage. Two other men and the woman Johnson met on the street are watching. Robert is the shooter and the moneymaker; the girl is very pleased though most of the men clearly aren't. One of the kneeling losers is Johnny James, shorter and heavier than Johnson, more talkative and outgoing, and soon to become his good buddy and traveling companion.

JOHNNY: Damn! Don't you never lose?

ONLOOKER: Them bones doin' ever'thing for him but rear up an' walk.

WOMAN: Ohhh, daddy, bring it on home!

JOHNSON (big grin on his face): I like ta he'p y'all out, but this be it, las' shake. Git me if you can.

FIRST LOSER: I pass.

SECOND LOSER: How much?

JOHNSON: I leave it ride, whole nine an' change.

SECOND LOSER: All right, gunboats, you faded. Roll 'em. Le'ssee that devil jump up!

Johnson looks at his closed fist, touches his neck-bag, then lets fly almost casually, without any of the traditional jargon shouts. All bend down to peer at the results...

ONLOOKER: Lookee dat sebem from hebem!

JOHNNY: Jest as nach'rel as the blues...

SECOND LOSER: What the hell's heaven got to do wid it?

ANOTHER ANGLE

The second loser stands up in disgust, tears a ten from his pocket, and stomps off. Johnny is shaking his head in amazement; the girl is all over Johnson and his winnings. The first loser signals the heretofore silent onlooker with a head nod; the look they exchange bodes ill for Johnson. Johnny sees this and watches them depart but says nothing.

JOHNSON: Well, li'l gal, look like you my luck. You ready to party now?

WOMAN: All night, kin you do it.

They stroll on out together, the everpresent guitar in Johnson's hand again. Johnny and the talkative onlooker watch them go.

NIGHT--EXTERIOR ALLEY--MOVING

As Johnson and the woman move through patches of light and darkness. She clings to him, plying her wiles.

WOMAN: Come on, Robert. Lemme hold it. You said I'm your luck. I be good to you to home too...

JOHNSON (stuffing bills down her ample front): Keep 'em warm for me till I come for 'em.

He slaps her haunches and they amble on, squeezing and tickling each other, to the mouth of the alley. There under a dim light, she stops to rummage in her tiny purse, pulling out a lipstick and compact; she hands the lipstick to Johnson to hold while she powders her nose.

ANOTHER ANGLE

Suddenly, the first loser and his cohort run in from the shadows to attack Johnson. The girl doesn't scream and help him; she just flees the scene with his money. Johnson throws one man off his back, punches his other assailant with the fist still holding her lipstick tube.

MEDIUM SHOT

As th first man comes back for more, Johnson clubs him with his already battered guitar--a loud clang but it doesn't crumple. Johnson tosses it aside, just in time to be jumped from behind by the second man, who holds tight this time. The first man moves in to punch Johnson in the face and stomach.

CLOSE ON FIRST MAN

As Johnny suddenly charges in and clobbers this guy from behind. The man collapses, and Robert takes heart, twisting free from the man pinning his arms. He gives this guy a stomach-crunching fist in the belly, then whirls him around and gives him a kick in the butt that sends him flailing into the row of garbage cans at the mouth of the alley. Now Robert spins around, ready to take on whoever's left. But it's just Johnny, who raises his hands in a comic gesture of surrender as he dances back out of range.

JOHNNY: Whoa back, Buck. Keep your winnin's an' your fists in your pockets. I'm the one that freed ya--jes' like Abraham Lincoln hisself!

WIDER ANGLE

Robert relaxes and straightens his clothes. The he grins broadly.

JOHNSON: You the black president, huh? Well, you save my bacon an' I thanks you. (holds out his hand) I'm Robert Johnson.

Johnny steps forward and clasps his hand firmly. Then he gives a comical half-bow.

JOHNNY: John T. James, "Johnny" to them's I rescues. A stranger to this charmin' place. How's your gittar? You playin' 'round here?

ANOTHER ANGLE

As Johnson bends down to retrieve his flung guitar. He holds it up, inspects it, then announces the verdict.

JOHNSON: Jes' passin' through, southbound. New dent here. But them Monkey Wards folks make guitars can take a lickin', looks like.

Now he peers both directions half-heartedly for the woman who left with his cash.

JOHNSON: Which is what I'd like to give that li'l hunk o' pigmeat that's got my money.

Johnny has been examining the fellow he cold-cocked, who has begun stirring feebly.

JOHNNY: What? You mean I laid this dude out for nothin'? You let her scat wid my loot too?

Johnson grins and holds up the lipstick.

JOHNSON: She lef' me some coins, an' this, I got a gal can use. Come on, my man John, let's us go find us a bottle an' a place to drink it.

JOHNNY: Don' mine if'n I do...

And the two new comrades amble off down the street.

NIGHT--EXTERIOR WATER TOWER--ZOOM OUT

As another song starts on the track, Johnson's "Walkin' Blues," serving as the upbeat bridge through the following lighthearted scenes--beginning with Johnny and Robert perched high atop the town's old-fashioned wooden water tower; they dangle their legs over the edge and pass a whiskey bottle back and forth.

DAY--EXTERIOR TOWN

As Robert and Johnny pantomime Robert's invitation and Johnny's shrugging decision to travel on together.

DAY--EXTERIOR DIRT ROAD

As Robert and Johnny amble along, a black farmer and his horsedrawn wagonload of hay stop to give them a ride. Johnny climbs up next to the farmer and Robert settles atop the hay.

LATER--HAY WAGON

As Johnny and the farmer talk a blue streak, Robert lies asleep in the hay, his guitar tucked nearby as a kind of sunshade.

DAY--EXTERIOR OLD PICK-UP TRUCK

Robert and Johnny are jammed into the small cab of this beat-up truck along with the black driver. The rear window is broken and the cargo--chickens in baling wire cages--makes so much racket that the driver and Johnny signal their inability to hear each other. Johnson, on the door seat, is silent but amused.

DAY--EXTERIOR ROAD

This time a white farmer in a slightly newer truck stops to give the two wanderers a ride--but now in the back among the boxes and crates of vegetables.

LATER--EXTERIOR FIELDS

The farmer slows to let the two men jump off at a crossroads, with a very rural-looking town in the distance and farmlands all around. They wave their thanks as he drives off, then extract carrots and tomatoes from the nooks and crannies of guitar and clothes, nudging each other and laughing. The sun is low in the sky. "Walkin' Blues" ends at this point.

TWILIGHT--THE FIELDS--MOVING

Johnson and his friend trudge along the cotton rows, heading for the town. They are eating the vegetables they "borrowed," with the sunset golden behind them.

JOHNSON: She's the purtiest li'l thing I ever see, an' the sweetes'. Reckon we be married, soon's I get chips ahead.

JOHNNY (dryly): Uh-huh. Tha's why you lef' your winnin's wi' that gal in Forest City--she's holdin' 'em for you...

Johnson doesn't respond, briefly embarrassed. Then:

JOHNSON: Well, it be diff'ren' when my name's aroun'.

JOHNNY (gesturing with a carrot): You come from 'roun' here?

JOHNSON: Longtime back. No family lef' now, 'ceptin' Betty Mae.

Robert suddenly stops and lets fly with the tomato he's been nibbling at--it splatters on a nearby fencepost and faded sign: "LUBBELL PLANTATION."