White Sands

Hey, Ray. Jeez, did your wife get you that hat?

- Something wrong with it? - Nothing that pissing on it won't cure.

Maybe we all ought to just form a circle right here now and do it.

Hi. Hi.

We were flying over the gorge, and Cas spotted him down here.

I got 20/15 vision.

Pilot called in on his radio and told the authority.

He's an Indian.

I'm Harold Kleinman.

What were you doing way out here, Harold?

Oh, me and the Cas, we're amateur archeologists.

We left the wives back in Santa Fe this morning

and headed out in this direction,

hoping to find this ancient "Anastazi" battlefield...

Anasazi.

I guess you don't find many bodies out here, huh?

No, we sure don't.

- What do you think, Bert? - He's dead.

Why would anyone come all the way out here to kill himself?

Well, maybe his wife bought him a new hat and made him wear it.

Of course, I won't be positive till I do an autopsy.

Hi. How you doing? You bring these tourists out here?

Just trying to keep them from finding any arrowheads.

- Ray Dolezal. - Delmar Blackwater.

- Hey. Don't touch the car. Okay. Sorry.

- Navajo? Oh. - Mescalero Apache.

Blood-thirstiest, red-bastard savages this side of the rio Brazos.

- I was kind of hoping for that scalp. - (CHUCKLES)

Yeah, we ought to get this bad boy out of here, Ray.

He's starting to smell ripe.

- Yeah. - (FLIES BUZZING)

Hey, uh, if you need any more pens like that,

you just let me know, Sheriff.

I sell a whole line of novelty pens just like that,

imprinted with the message of your choice.

Holy shit!

Ray, you're not actually gonna tag that and report it as evidence, are you? Ray?

- What stopped that bike, Ben? - (CHUCKLING) I don't know. Gravity?

Is that real money?

- Uh, yeah. - Gee, that's a lot.

There's got to be a thousand dollars there, Dad.

What you looking at?

Look, Ace, why don't you go home and tell Mom I'll be home real soon?

- I got some more work to do. - Okay. See you later, Dad.

Okay.

This is Deputy Sheriff Ray Dolezal, Torrance County 4-3-niner-2-7-7.

I'd like a trace and status on a '90 T-Bird,

VIN number, 2-6-Charles-Henry-Charles

3-niner-Nora-1-John- 1-2-1-2-2-niner-2.

I can be reached at 412-5607.

I'd appreciate it if you could expedite this.

Thanks.

Maybe the federales will be able to make an ID

and get him out of here by the end of the week.

Maybe I won't even have to cut him open.

That briefcase could be $20,000 lighter, Ray.

Nobody'd know we didn't find it that way.

Think it was a self-inflicted wound?

There's no reward for being so damn black-and-white ethical, Raymond.

Was it a self-inflicted wound, Bert?

Rug fuzz. Here. Take a look.

- Ugly rug. - Butt-ugly rug.

Longhorn Ranch Motel.

Paid cash up front for the first night.

Had this big old wad of bills. God damn it.

I think that's what must have fooled me is that big wad of cash he had.

I figured he could stand good for the balance.

That's a $63 mistake, isn't it?

How'd you know it was my rug, anyway?

Did you see him leave?

Didn't see him at all after he checked in.

I'm not the nosy type, you understand.

Did this Mr. Spencer make any calls?

Well, if he did, he, uh... He didn't make them from the room here.

We got this special deal.

For four dollars, you can make unlimited local calls,

- but, uh, he passed on it. - Did he have a car?

He said he did. I never seen it.

You know, we, uh... We usually clean these rooms up almost every day,

but, uh, Mr. Spencer,

he put that "Do Not Disturb" sign there on the door.

You probably saw it when we come in.

If a customer wants privacy, we're gonna give it to him.

Decorate these rooms yourself, Mr. Peterson?

No.

No, I brought me this fairy over from Albuquerque.

He did it. I couldn't do this. I'm... I'm color-blind.

Looks like there's been a fire in there.

What?

- Don't touch anything. - No, sir.

Jesus Christ, what the hell's he been doing in here?

My Lord.

This look like teeth marks to you?

Well, maybe.

Teeth marks? Huh. Yeah, I think so.

You got a hell of an imagination, Raymond. Let's go.

Got this John Doe up your butt now, don't you?

Gonna drive us all crazy trying to figure it out.

Ruin my Saturday afternoon in front of the TV.

Guy's in trouble, holed up in a motel room with half a million bucks,

scared, writing on everything, making desperation calls.

Now he has to cover his trail. He burns his clothes.

He swallows that piece of paper.

Let's say that, that happens in the morning, and he's dead by noon.

Maybe that piece of paper wasn't digested.

Intestinal gases.

Oh, the ever-loving death fart of a warthog.

All we got are two names. "Goodman"

and a date written on one of those fast food wrappers,

kind of looks like an appointment.

"Noreen." Who the hell is Noreen?

Oh, ease off. You're as persistent as a dog with two dicks.

Ugh.

Yeah, you're gonna owe me for this one. Promise you that.

Ah-ha!

Looks like a radish. They in season?

Oh, cut it out, Bert.

And here's a carrot.

Garbanzo bean.

This may be putrefied lettuce.

Must've been a salad bar or one of those deals.

There's a sorrowful last act for a desperate man.

Hey, maybe Noreen was with him. Maybe she had a big burger with fries.

Maybe Mr. Goodman was there and he had apple pie.

Yeah, yeah, it's all starting to make sense now.

We'll call it "The Big Lunch."

Wait, what...

God damn. This looks like paper.

It's that kind of waxy paper they wrap hamburgers in.

It's got about a 200-year half-life.

Something's definitely written on this one.

- What's it say? - Uh, it's smeared.

Numbers?

- Numbers. - Son of a bitch.

Now, just 'cause there's seven digits

does not necessarily mean it's a telephone number.

We're sorry. The number you have reached is not in service.

Maybe it's in Utah.

Motel didn't have a record of long-distance.

Probably used a credit card or billed to another number.

We're sorry...

- What's the area code in Texas? - They got about five.

You are one tenacious SOB.

You gonna call all 50 states on my phone?

Maybe that's not a six, maybe it's a zero.

Holy unrelenting bastard.

Hello. - Hi. Who's this?

This is 803-1424.

- And who's this? - Mr. Spencer.

- Ooh, just a minute. - (WHISPERS) Who is it?

- Ray, who is it? Spencer?

- That's right. Who's this? - Goodman, Spencer.

- Where the hell have you been? - (MOUTHING)

- You were supposed to call. - Oh, Goodman.

Uh, I, uh, ran into a problem, but everything's taken care of now.

You're four days late.

Yeah, I know, but everything's fine now. I...

It was a personal thing.

Yeah? Well, we figured you changed your mind.

- Why would I change my mind? - Don't get cute, Spencer.

You're four days late. We're ready to cut you loose

and forget about the whole thing.

No! Look, I'm sorry about the delay.

There's a hotel in Taos called the Kachina Lodge.

Be there tomorrow at 8:00 p.m. A room will be reserved in your name.

Kachina Lodge. 8:00 p.m. Fine.

Bring the money.

- Of course. - (LINE DISCONNECTS)

Well?

Dad, stop! Stop! Look out for my bike!

- Did you bring your gun? - Yep.

See you probably tomorrow.

- Bye. - Bye, honey.

- Be careful. - I will.

Bye!

- Bye, Ray! - (CAR HONKS)

I don't think he's a base-stealing threat.

I think he's capable of stealing a base...

Come on. Throw it over.

- Yeah? - Good afternoon, sir.

We're trying to locate, uh, the Deputy Sheriff, Ray, uh...

- Dolezal. - Ray Dolezal.

Would you know where he is?

Something wrong?

Don't guess you find many bodies out here, huh?

Why would anyone come all the way out here to kill himself?

Think it was a self-inflicted wound?

Did Mr. Spencer make any calls?

Noreen. Who the hell is she?

Spencer, where the hell have you been?

You were supposed to call. You're four days late.