BADWATER

Written by

Chuck Greaves

One-Hour Pilot:

"Scalps"

Story by Chuck Greaves and Felix Alcala

 TEASER

EXT. A HAY FIELD - EARLY MORNING

Low sunlight sends long shadows over a vast and verdant

expanse. Cubical hay bales dot the field at intervals, like
pieces on a giant game board.

A FARMER in overalls drives his truck while his YOUNG SONS,

maybe 12 and 14, struggle to buck the 40-pound bales onto a
flat trailer.

The younger boy staggers and falls under the weight of a

bale. The farmer stops the truck and steps down from the
cab.

The boy rises, dusting his pants. The farmer, hands on hips,
turns a circle that takes in the field, the sky, and a line
of trees across the road beyond his fence line.

He shades his eyes for a better look at the trees.

ANGLE ON the trees, where a white vehicle, small in the

distance, sits obscured by the surrounding pine forest.

Behind the farmer’s back, the older boy nudges his brother.
He makes a circle with thumb and forefinger, and with his
other thrusting finger simulates sex.

EXT. THE WHITE VEHICLE - SAME TIME

CLOSE ON the passenger window. We hear muffled MUSIC and see

that the vehicle is rocking with the rhythmic action within.

This continues for an uncomfortably long while until,

suddenly, a head SMASHES against the window, leaving a bloody
streak on the glass.

EXT. THE HAY FIELD - CONTINUOUS

The farmer is back in his cab with the boys seated on hay
bales on the trailer.

The truck and trailer depart. From the open driver’s window,
the farmer cranes his neck to look back at the vehicle in the
trees.
 2.

EXT. THE WHITE VEHICLE - CONTINUOUS

CLOSE ON the passenger window, still streaked with blood.

The rocking has stopped. After a moment the music swells,
then quiets again as the driver’s door opens and closes.

Boots crunch on pine straw. When the passenger door swings

open, the music swells again and a GIRL’s limp body flops
sideways, her dark hair spilling, nearly reaching the ground.

LOW ANGLE on jeans and cowboy boots as the unseen KILLER

drags the girl’s body from the vehicle, her legs bare, her
cheap Keds sneakers leaving furrows in the pine straw.

EXT. A RIVER GORGE - CONTINUOUS

From across the gorge we see two TINY FIGURES: It is the

killer dragging the girl’s body to the edge of the precipice
and laying it down.

He scans the gorge, upstream and down.

EXT. THE HAY FIELD - CONTINUOUS

The same low sunlight, the same grid of waiting bales, but
the truck and trailer are gone.

EXT. THE WHITE VEHICLE - CONTINUOUS

LOW ANGLE on the open passenger door. The music still plays,
and now the booted feet return.

With a knee on the passenger seat, the killer reaches inside

and retrieves a nearly-empty bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

The killer, still unseen, kicks the passenger door shut and
drinks the bottle dry, then flings it into the trees.

CLOSE ON the bloody window as the killer again circles the

vehicle. The music swells and quiets as the driver’s door
opens and closes.

LOW ANGLE on the vehicle’s tires as the engine stutters and

ROARS and the tires spin and the vehicle backs out of frame
leaving deep gouges in the pine straw.

EXT. THE HAY FIELD - SAME TIME

The farmer is back at the job, alone now, both driving and
bucking the hay.
 3.

He steps down from his idling cab and bends to lift a bale.
Then, with a twisting heave he tosses it onto the trailer.

Mopping his brow, the farmer again looks to the sky, then to
the road beyond his fence line where we see several SCHOOL
CHILDREN, both Native and Anglo, trooping toward an unseen
bus stop.

One of the children, a young NATIVE BOY, smiles and waves,

and the farmer waves back.

He returns to his cab. Beyond the road, in the line of

distant trees, we see the white vehicle back almost into
view.

END OF TEASER
 4.

ACT ONE

INT. BRISCOE HOME - KITCHEN - DAY

Dominguez County Sheriff LUCAS BRISCOE, late 50s and

grizzled, performs quotidian domestic chores: Making and
wrapping a sandwich, pouring coffee into a mug, stirring
oatmeal on the stove, then spooning it into a bowl on the
kitchen table.

What makes the scene unusual is that he wears a frilly

woman’s apron over his uniform.

INT. BRISCOE HOME - A BEDROOM - CONTINUOUS

Morning sunlight streams through parted curtains onto

MARGARET BRISCOE, late 50s and frail, where she lays in bed
with an oxygen tube under her nose.

A KNOCK, then the bedroom door opens and Briscoe, sans apron,
rolls an empty wheelchair into the room and parks it next to
the bed.

BRISCOE
Rise and shine, gorgeous.

With forced cheer and practiced movements, Briscoe pulls

aside the bedding and gently removes the oxygen tube. He
lifts his pajama-clad wife in both arms, transferring her
from her sickbed into her wheelchair.

BRISCOE (CONT’D)
We got us a new probation officer
starting this week so I shouldn’t
be late. She’s from Chicago.
Don’t want her to think we work
city hours around here.

As Briscoe turns to leave, Margaret grabs hold of his arm.

MARGARET
Don’t be a hero, Lucas.

He pats her hand, then kisses the top of her head.

BRISCOE
Never my style, Momma.
 5.

EXT. BRISCOE HOME - DAY

A modest house on a small country lot. The front door opens

and Briscoe walks to his patrol unit parked in the driveway.

As he reaches his unit, he pauses and turns. The sign on his

weedy lawn, “BRISCOE FOR SHERIFF,” has been defaced by the
word SUCKS after his name.

He scans the road, then yanks the sign and tosses it into his
trunk.

INT. AN APARTMENT - DAY

Bare white walls and a cottage-cheese ceiling. A colorful

framed poster of Dr. King -- Shepard Fairey’s “DREAM” --
leans against stacked cardboard boxes, one of them open with
clothes spilling out.

Coffee mug in hand, TAMARA JACKSON, Black, late 20s, half-

turns, studying herself in a mirror. New clothes, new job,
new dream. When the wall clock catches her eye, she nearly
spills her drink.

TAMARA
Oh, shit!

EXT. GOODWATER MAIN STREET - DAY

An All-American small town awakens. Flags hang from tidy

storefronts. A SHOPKEEPER sweeps his sidewalk, waving to
Briscoe’s patrol unit as it passes.

In the storefront windows we catch fleeting glimpses of other

campaign posters:

“STEVE NANTZ for

County Commissioner”

“Re-Elect
JIM BOB LEWIS
County Commissioner”

EXT. CITY HALL - DAY

Briscoe’s patrol unit pulls to the curb before a municipal

building. The sign out front reads:
 6.

“GOODWATER CITY HALL

COUNTY OFFICES
COURTHOUSE
SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT”

INT. CITY HALL - LOBBY

As Briscoe enters the building he spies RUFUS MEDICINE CROW,

late 50s, the local Native-rights firebrand, haranguing
FELICIA MACHADO, the young assistant D.A.

Briscoe’s deputy ZAK CONCANON -- diamond-hard, with a Ft.

Benning buzz-cut -- watches them argue with folded arms.

But Briscoe has no time for any of this, because:

INT. CITY HALL - OUTSIDE BRISCOE’S OFFICE

Briscoe’s secretary DOTTIE MERCER, 40s, her desk positioned

like an East German checkpoint, pecks away at a keyboard.

As the sheriff approaches, Dottie sets his coffee mug on the

edge of the desk and rotates it handle-out so that Briscoe
can grab it in passing.

DOTTIE
Morning, Sheriff. You got two-
thirds of the county commission in
your office. Said they had an
appointment.

INT. CITY HALL - BRISCOE’S OFFICE

County commissioners JIM BOB LEWIS and STEVE NANTZ greet

Briscoe’s arrival. They are standing, examining an oversized
blueprint spread across Briscoe’s desk.

Lewis, we will learn, owns the local Ford dealership, while

Nantz sells real estate. If enthusiasm were brains, both men
would be Einsteins.

LEWIS
Here’s the man of the hour! Or
should I say, lord of the manor?

Briscoe sets down his coffee mug and joins them. We see that
the blueprint is a schematic of a massive golf
course/retirement village development called “FAR VIEW
ESTATES.”
 7.

BRISCOE
Christ, it gets bigger every day.

LEWIS
You know what they say, Sheriff.
No balls, no blue chips!

BRISCOE
Construction phase alone’ll double
the town’s population.

NANTZ
That’s what we call the secondary
stimulus effect. Hotels, motels,
restaurants -- the whole county
will benefit. A rising tide that
lifts all boats.

Briscoe’s heard it before. Circling to his chair, he

unbuckles his gun belt and hangs it on the coat rack.

BRISCOE
Meaning your boats’ll float to the
top. You’ll make, what, a six
percent commission on every sale?
Plus I’m guessing Jim Bob’ll be in
the golf cart business soon enough.

NANTZ
We’ve been over this already,
Lucas.

BRISCOE
That’s right. And I draw the short
straw every damn time.

Nantz selects a yellow highlighter from the mug of pens on

Briscoe’s desk.

NANTZ
I wouldn’t call pick of the litter
getting the short straw.

Briscoe frowns. He accepts the highlighter and leans over

the blueprint.

BRISCOE
Any lot I want?

LEWIS
Custom-built to your
specifications, Sheriff.
 8.

BRISCOE
Wheelchair access and a therapy
pool?

NANTZ
A goddamn elevator if you want one.

Briscoe studies the blueprint, then points.

BRISCOE
This here is the eighteenth
fairway?

LEWIS
Excellent choice, Sheriff. Easy
access to the clubhouse and
restaurant. Both will be ADA
compliant, of course.

Just as Briscoe is about to mark his lot, the door flies

opens and his secretary barrels in.

DOTTIE
You got a situation in the lobby,
Sheriff!

INT. CITY HALL - LOBBY

A scuffle is just ending. Deputy Zak Concanon has Rufus

Medicine Crow face-down and in handcuffs, a knee pressed hard
in his back. A small crowd of bystanders, Felicia Machado
among them, looks on in horror.

Tamara Jackson, arriving late to her first day of work, pulls

up short in the doorway. Heeding some urban instinct, she
whips out her cell phone and starts filming the
confrontation.

Briscoe arrives on scene trailing Nantz and Lewis behind him,

the latter carrying the rolled-up blueprint.

ZAK
Disturbing the peace and resisting
arrest, Sheriff.

RUFUS
(still face-down)
That you, Lucas? I see you got
yourself a new deputy.

Rufus twists his neck to take in Nantz and Lewis.

 9.

RUFUS (CONT’D)
Hello, boys. Hope I’m not
interrupting anything important.

INT. CITY HALL - BRISCOE’S OFFICE

Briscoe sits at his desk while Rufus, coffee mug in hand,

stands at the window massaging his neck.

BRISCOE
Teenage girls go missing every day.

RUFUS
Yes they do. Especially on the
Rez.

BRISCOE
So what makes this one any
different?

Rufus turns to face him.

RUFUS
Naomi Redfeather’s a straight-A
student. Fifteen years old, pretty
and popular. JV cheerleader. Her
mother works at the casino. Not
exactly the profile of a runaway.

BRISCOE
Let me guess. You’re banging the
mother.

RUFUS
This isn’t a joke, Lucas, and it’s
not about you and me. The girl
left home this morning at around
six-thirty. It’s a two-mile walk
to where the school bus stops on
County Road 12. She missed the
bus, and she never made it to
class.

He’s getting Briscoe’s attention.

BRISCOE
What time does the bus normally
stop?

RUFUS
Seven-ten or thereabouts.
 10.

BRISCOE
(reads his watch)
So then the school called her
mother, and her mother called you?
Why not me? Or why not the tribal
police?

RUFUS
The school’s outside tribal
jurisdiction. So is the bus stop,
and so is most of Road 12. As for
you, well, I think you know the
answer to that.

BRISCOE
What I know is we got a policy on
missing persons. Fill out a
report, and once forty-eight hours
go by, we look into it.

Rufus angrily advances on Briscoe’s desk.

RUFUS
You got a policy? Are you shitting
me? What’s your policy on white
girls that go missing?

Briscoe stands to meet him, leaning, his fists pressed into

the desk.

BRISCOE
One policy, Rufus -- the same for
everyone. Even the half of the
county that doesn’t pay taxes.

EXT. GOODWATER HIGH SCHOOL - PARKING LOT - DAY

Crowded with cars at this midday hour, but devoid of people.

A white Ford pickup, dinged and dirty, screeches into a space
and VIRGIL ROANHORSE, 17, Goodwater High’s star quarterback,
steps down in his letter jacket, jeans, and cowboy boots.

He’s late for class and hustling.

EXT. GOODWATER HIGH SCHOOL - FRONT ENTRANCE - CONTINUOUS

With classes already in progress, the front entrance is

deserted. Only Virgil, jogging now, mounts the wide front
steps.
 11.

EXT. GOODWATER ELKS LODGE - DAY

In contrast to the High School, lunchtime foot and vehicle

traffic animates this building entrance.

INT. GOODWATER ELKS LODGE - DINING ROOM

Nantz and Lewis are schmoozing a fat-cat rancher, DELMORE

CARTER, over lunch. Carter wears a Western jacket and bolo
tie, and he stirs his Scotch-on-the-rocks with a stubby
finger.

CARTER
Sounds to me like you boys got out
over your skis on this deal.

LEWIS
Progress entails a certain element
of risk, Mr. Carter. Risk and
vision. All we ask from the
ranching community is a little
cooperation.

CARTER
Let’s cut the bullshit. What you
need from the ranching community is
water, and you know I hold senior
rights in this valley.

NANTZ
We were hoping to appeal to your
community spirit. Dominguez County
relies on oil and gas for over half
its tax base, and we both know
that’s not sustainable. If we
don’t find a way to diversify,
we’ll all be in Dutch come the next
downturn.

CARTER
You mean hawking cars and real
estate’ll be in Dutch. Folks’ll
still be wantin a good cut of meat.

As if on cue, the waitress arrives bearing three bloody prime

rib platters.

CARTER (CONT’D)
This here is what I’m talkin about.
My granddaddy’s granddaddy dug the
first irrigation ditch in this
county with his own two hands.
(MORE)
 12.
CARTER (CONT’D)
Now you know I’d like to help you
boys, but unless my cattle can
graze on your golf course, I’m
afraid my water’s all spoken for.

Nantz and Lewis share a look. Time for Plan B.

LEWIS
Reservation water’s got an even
higher priority than yours, Mr.
Carter. What if I told you that
every acre-foot you sell to Far
View Estates will be replaced by
Rez water delivered right to your
headgate at no cost to you?

CARTER
I’d say it wouldn’t be legal is
what I’d say.

Lewis nods to an adjoining table where MARJORIE COTTON, early

60s, a Buick in pearls, holds her own lunchtime meeting. She
is the lone judge of the District Court of Dominguez County.

LEWIS
Last I checked, Judge Cotton’s the
one who decides what’s legal in
this county.

EXT. COUNTY ROAD 12 - DAY

Zak’s patrol unit crawls down a deserted country road, past a

sign that reads: “CR 12.” Zak, his head on a swivel, leans
out the driver’s window.

As he passes the same hay field from the Teaser and sees the
farmer still bucking bales, Zak pulls over and parks,
snugging his cowboy hat into place.

EXT. THE HAY FIELD - CONTINUOUS

Zak hops the farmer’s fence and crosses the field. Most of
the bales are gone now, and the trailer is stacked to the
sky.

Eyeing Zak’s approach, the farmer kills his engine and steps
down from his cab, mopping his face with a kerchief.

ZAK
Afternoon. You look like a man
could maybe use a break.
 13.

FARMER
(alarmed)
What is it? Is something the
matter?

ZAK
No sir, nothing like that. It’s
just that we had a report of a
missing person, a Native girl,
maybe fifteen or so. She was last
seen this morning, walking this way
toward the school bus.

FARMER
(shaking head)
I see a dozen kids walking this
road in the mornings. I reckon a
few would match that description.

Both survey the road, empty now but for Zak’s patrol unit.

ZAK
Nothing unusual this morning?
Nothing that might’ve caught your
attention?

FARMER
Well, there was the one thing.
(pointing)
You see that sort of a clearing?
There’s an overlook down to the
river, and some kids park there of
a night and drink and do whatever.
Kind of a lovers’ lane you might
say.

ZAK
Okay, I see it.

FARMER
I don’t usually see cars there in
the morning, but we did today. Me
and my boys. They ride that same
school bus.

Zak digs out a note pad and pen.

ZAK
What time was this?

FARMER
Oh, right around seven or just
after. Never did see when it left.
 14.

ZAK
Can you describe the vehicle, sir?

FARMER
Not the make or model, but the
color was white. That much I
noticed. I figured maybe some
lovebirds fell asleep there last
night.

EXT. LOVERS’ LANE - DAY

In the shaded clearing, Zak is circling, reading sign. He

squats, then straightens, then squats again. Then with his
cell phone he begins taking pictures of the tire tracks in
the pine straw.

As he finally turns to leave, something catches his eye among

the trees. It is the Jack Daniel’s bottle, which he lifts
carefully using his pen and a handkerchief.

He sniffs at the bottleneck.

END OF ACT ONE

 15.

ACT TWO

EXT. A WINDSWEPT KNOLL - DAY

Briscoe, alone and contemplative, stands overlooking a

pristine valley -- his future homesite. He’s imagining the
better tomorrows he’s been promised, both for his town and
for his invalid wife. Until:

His rover SQUAWKS, interrupting his reverie.

DISPATCHER (V.O.)
Sheriff, we got a problem
developing here at City Hall. I
think you’d better come on in.

Racing off, Briscoe’s patrol unit passes a sign:

“FAR VIEW NATURE PRESERVE

Ancestral Puebloan Cliff Dwellings
Public Parking”

EXT. CITY HALL - DAY

A ragtag band of Native protesters march and chant, some with

signs that read “MISSING” and bear the yearbook-photo image
of 15-year-old Naomi Redfeather.

Rufus and CURTIS WHITE ELK, a tribal elder who’s the third
county commissioner, stand in the bed of a pickup taking
turns with a bullhorn, exhorting the protesters.

RUFUS
No justice, no peace! No justice,
no peace! That’s it! Come on!

The protesters take up the chant as Rufus passes the bullhorn

to White Elk.

WHITE ELK
Alcatraz! Pine Ridge! Wounded
Knee! Standing Rock! And now
Gooodwater! Let our voices be
heard! This is what it takes to
get the white man’s attention!

The chanting intensifies. Then, as Briscoe’s patrol unit

arrives on scene, he’s met by reporter TRAVIS SIMMONS, early
30s, local muckraker, with his tape recorder extended.
 16.

SIMMONS
Any progress on the missing girl,
Sheriff? Any leads yet?

BRISCOE
(brushing past)
No comment.

SIMMONS
Think you’d be trying a little
harder if she was a white girl?

Briscoe stops. Then without turning he detours toward the

pickup where Rufus and White Elk are standing.

EXT. CARTER RANCH HOUSE - DAY

Returning home from his lunch, rancher Delmore Carter parks

his black, late-model pickup alongside its white sibling.
Both vehicles front a rural McMansion that suggests more
money than taste.

Carter alights to find an unfinished job in progress -- some

pipe, a shovel, and a dirt pile, but nobody working.

CARTER
Shit and shinola.

He marches, searching, from the trucks to the pasture fence

to the horse barn beyond.

CARTER (CONT’D)
Robby? Robby!

Circling to the rear of the house he finds his son ROBBY

CARTER, early 30s, shirtless in jeans and cowboy boots,
napping in a hammock, a cowboy hat shading his eyes.

Disgusted, Carter upends the hammock, dumping Robby onto the

ground.

INT. POLICE DEPARTMENT - DAY

Zak is at his desk, laser-focused, lifting prints off the

Jack Daniel’s bottle he’d recovered from the lovers’ lane.

EXT. GOODWATER HIGH SCHOOL - PARKING LOT - DAY

Mostly empty now, with classes already over. Briscoe’s

patrol unit arrives and parks.
 17.

The sheriff pops his trunk and removes a crowbar.

INT. GOODWATER HIGH SCHOOL - PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE - DAY

From behind her cluttered desk, the high school PRINCIPAL,

mid-40s, no makeup and no nonsense, addresses Briscoe where
he sits with a notepad and the crowbar in his lap.

PRINCIPAL
I trust you recognize this as a
matter requiring some delicacy,
Sheriff.

BRISCOE
Meaning what, exactly?

PRINCIPAL
How should I say this? While not
the best student, Virgil Roanhorse
is the captain of our football
team, and that accords him a
position of some prominence. Not
only among his schoolmates, but on
the Reservation as well. Indeed,
in the community at large.

BRISCOE
So?

PRINCIPAL
So? So we can’t be perceived as
singling out our Native students
for scrutiny in matters of this
nature.

Briscoe consults his notes to avoid rolling his eyes.

BRISCOE
You say Roanhorse and the
Redfeather girl had a breakup. How
would you even know about that?

PRINCIPAL
Now it’s I who’s not following.

BRISCOE
You have, what, over five hundred
students? Do you keep tabs on all
their love lives?

PRINCIPAL
I most certainly do not.
 18.

BRISCOE
And isn’t it unusual for a senior
to be dating a sophomore in the
first place?

PRINCIPAL
What exactly are you suggesting?

BRISCOE
I’m simply asking why you seem to
be aware of this particular
relationship. I’m also wondering
why you called the girl’s mother so
quickly when she failed to show up
for class.

A sigh of resignation. She has underestimated her visitor.

PRINCIPAL
Virgil Roanhorse has what you might
call a reputation, Sheriff, when it
comes to the girls in this school.
In our day we’d have probably
called him a ladies’ man.

BRISCOE
And this was a problem?

PRINCIPAL
There were some scenes, yes. Some
histrionics, a few parental
complaints. Let’s just say we were
keeping an eye on the situation.

BRISCOE
We?

PRINCIPAL
Coach Thompson and I. Informally,
of course, but now . . . Oh, dear.

INT. GOODWATER HIGH SCHOOL - A HALLWAY

Briscoe and the principal walk an empty after-school

corridor. They stop at a particular locker.

PRINCIPAL
And this one is Virgil’s locker.

Before the principal can object, Briscoe snaps the padlock

with his crowbar.
 19.

ANGLE ON the open locker, where we see textbooks and

notebooks and assorted school supplies.

PRINCIPAL (CONT’D)
I can’t imagine what you’re hoping
to find.

Parting the books, Briscoe reaches inside and comes out with
a small baggie of PILLS that he holds up for the principal’s
inspection.

PRINCIPAL (CONT’D)
What is it?

BRISCOE
(examining)
I had to guess, I’d say MDMA.
Molly. Ecstasy. It’s a party
drug.

PRINCIPAL
Oh my goodness.

Briscoe again reaches inside. Only this time he comes out

with a pair of white cotton PANTIES.

INT. COURTHOUSE - JUDGE’S CHAMBERS - DAY

Judge Cotton, seated at her desk, pours bourbon into four

crystal glasses as Nantz, Lewis, and MARTIN HIGHTOWER, the
District Attorney of Dominguez County, look on.

COTTON
Changing a water right of that size
from agricultural to municipal
means having the state engineer up
your skirt with a flashlight.

LEWIS
I know that, and he knows that. We
gave him the old community-spirit
pitch, but you’d think we were
asking for blood. We had no choice
but to dangle the carrot.

COTTON
And?

LEWIS
(shrugs)
He’s skeptical, but he might be
persuadable.
 20.

COTTON
He’d better be, or we’re sitting on
a thousand acres of sagebrush and
prairie dog. Cheers, gentlemen.

All lift their glasses.

NANTZ
So how do we handle it with New
York?

HIGHTOWER
City folks don’t know prior
appropriation from chile relleno.
They think water comes out of the
tap when you turn a handle.

COTTON
I wouldn’t count on it. A man puts
up seventy-five million, he dots
his Is and crosses his Ts. Or he
hires someone to do it for him.

NANTZ
There’s always the gas play. Even
at a dollar-fifty wellhead, we’d be
looking at ten grand a month in
royalties.

COTTON
That’s nickels and dimes. Besides,
I wanted to smell methane every
morning, I’d have stayed in west
Texas.

LEWIS
Then it comes back to Delmore
Carter. Any suggestions?

HIGHTOWER
He and Briscoe speak the same
language. I say we let the sheriff
handle it. That’s why the hell
we’re paying him.

COTTON
You talk to him, Martin. And while
you’re at it, remind him that an
Indian uprising is the last goddamn
thing we need right now.
 21.

EXT. THE RESERVATION - DUSK

Barren and desolate. Briscoe’s patrol unit bumps its way

down a dusty dirt road. It passes a faded campaign sign:

“CURTIS WHITE ELK

for County Commissioner”

EXT. A SINGLEWIDE TRAILER - DUSK

Scrawny dogs surround Briscoe’s patrol unit as he parks it

alongside Virgil Roanhorse’s dented white pickup.

Ignoring the dogs, the sheriff steps down and eyeballs his
surroundings with a mixture of empathy and distaste. Then he
cop-knocks on the door of the sagging mobile home.

The door creaks open to reveal EMILY ROANHORSE, late 30s,

handsome but haggard, drying her hands on a dish towel.

EMILY ROANHORSE
Yes? Is something the matter?

BRISCOE
Mrs. Roanhorse? Is your son Virgil
at home?

Virgil appears behind his mother, looking every bit the

physical specimen Briscoe was expecting.

BRISCOE (CONT’D)
Virgil Roanhorse?

VIRGIL
Yeah?

BRISCOE
I need you to come with me to
answer some questions, son.

EMILY ROANHORSE
Why? What kind of questions?

VIRGIL
Don’t you need, like, a warrant or
something?

BRISCOE
(dangles baggie of pills)
Or something.

Virgil withdraws inside. His mother looks after him, then to

the sheriff.
 22.

EMILY ROANHORSE
I don’t understand. What do you
want with my son? Did he do
something wrong?

But then the rear door SLAMS, and the chase is on.

EXT. THE RESERVATION - CONTINUOUS

Virgil is running, legs churning, through sagebrush and scrub

in the purple desert twilight.

The only lights on the horizon are those of the next mobile
home, maybe half a mile distant. That is until Briscoe’s
patrol unit lights Virgil up from behind.

INT. BRISCOE’S UNIT - SAME TIME

Teeth-rattling, bone-jarring pursuit with emergency lights

blazing. Up ahead is Virgil, aglow in the bouncing
headlights, still running while occasionally looking back
over his shoulder.

BRISCOE
That’s right, son. Wear yourself
out.

EXT. THE RESERVATION - CONTINUOUS

As Briscoe’s unit closes the gap, Virgil stumbles onto a

welcome tableau: his neighbors, two NATIVE MEN with rifles,
out rabbit hunting.

Virgil doubles over, winded, as Briscoe’s unit skids to a

halt. When the sheriff steps out, the armed men face him
with hostile intent. All are bathed in the blue-and-red
strobes of the light-bar.

BRISCOE
Easy, gentlemen. Nice and easy. I
just need a word with Mr. Roanhorse
here.

VIRGIL
(pointing)
He’s trying to frame me. Plant
drugs on me and bust me.

The men step forward. Briscoe, reading the situation,

chooses the better part of valor and raises his hands in
surrender.
 23.

BRISCOE
Tell you what, son. Maybe we can
have that discussion some other
time.

Briscoe backs to his unit and climbs in. He kills the

emergency lights and wheels off in a cloud of dust.

EXT. THE SINGLEWIDE TRAILER - LATER

In the gloaming darkness, Virgil trudges back to his mother.

But as he approaches the rear of their mobile home, he stops.

A waiting FIGURE rises from the rear steps. It is Briscoe,

wielding handcuffs in one hand and his gun in the other.

BRISCOE
How about now, Virgil? Would now
be a good time to chat?

END OF ACT TWO

 24.

ACT THREE

EXT. CITY HALL - NIGHT

Briscoe parks in the adjacent lot, next to an empty space

with a sign:

“RESERVED FOR DISTRICT ATTORNEY”

He removes a handcuffed Virgil Roanhorse from the back of his

unit and marches him into a side-door of the building.

INT. DISTRICT ATTORNEY’S OFFICE - FELICIA’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Briscoe lays it out for Felicia Machado, the assistant D.A.

The pills and the panties, both now in clear plastic evidence
bags, rest on the desk between them.

BRISCOE
Roanhorse is a senior, big football
stud with more brawn than brains.
The Redfeather girl was just a
sophomore.

FELICIA
Was?

BRISCOE
Is a sophomore. They were
sweethearts, but had a nasty
breakup. Part of a pattern with
Roanhorse, according to the
principal. He was late to school
this morning -- didn’t arrive until
noon. We opened his locker and
found those.

FELICIA
Opened his locker?

BRISCOE
Opened the school’s locker. The
county’s locker for that matter.
With the principal present.

Felicia lifts and examines the bagged panties.

FELICIA
And then you went and arrested him
on the Reservation. Knowing you
were outside your jurisdiction.
 25.

BRISCOE
(losing patience)
Look, I go to the tribal council or
the FBI and we’re talking weeks,
maybe longer. By then the ACLU is
here and the boy is gone and all we
have are the goddamn protesters.
In an election year. You want to
explain that to your boss?

Felicia doesn’t like it, but that’s how it is.

FELICIA
Okay. We’ll arraign the boy on the
drug charge, then we’ll see where
the other thing leads. Tomorrow
morning at nine.

Briscoe stands to leave.

FELICIA (CONT’D)
Oh, and Sheriff? He’ll have a
public defender, so I’d recommend
you work on your answer to the
jurisdiction question.

INT. BRISCOE’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Briscoe, dog-tired, enters to find Zak patiently waiting.

BRISCOE
Go home, Zak. Whatever it is can
wait until morning.

The Jack Daniel’s bottle, now in an evidence bag, sits on the

sheriff’s desk.

ZAK
(nods)
I pulled two sets of latents off
that bottle, Sheriff, but there’s
no match for either in the system.

Briscoe flops into his chair and regards the bottle.

BRISCOE
That’s nice work, son. That’s real
nice. We’ll fingerprint the boy in
the morning, and with any luck
we’ll have this wrapped up before
lunch.
 26.

ZAK
What’s he saying? About the girl?

BRISCOE
He ain’t saying shit, except that
he wants a lawyer. Typical Indian
deal. They all demand their
rights, as long as someone else is
footing the bill.

INT. A RESTAURANT/BAR - NIGHT

Empty at this late hour except for one table in back where
Rufus and Travis Simmons confer, the latter taking notes.

SIMMONS
Did either man actually see the
drugs?

RUFUS
No, but Virgil’s mother did.
Briscoe held a baggie right up to
her face.

SIMMONS
(writing)
Unbelievable.

RUFUS
You understand tribal sovereignty,
right? The sheriff had no business
even being there.

SIMMONS
And no warrant from the court.

RUFUS
And that’s not all. This morning?
When I first went to report the
girl missing? I think I
interrupted some sort of a meeting
between Briscoe, Nantz, and Lewis.

SIMMONS
(looks up)
What meeting?

RUFUS
I don’t know, but Lewis had what
looked like a blueprint under his
arm.
 27.

SIMMONS
Blueprint for what? There’s been
nothing on the Building and
Planning calendar for months.

RUFUS
You’re the hot-shot reporter,
Travis. I was hoping you could
tell me.

INT. COURTHOUSE - A COURTROOM - NEXT MORNING

The arraignment hearing is in progress. Judge Cotton is on

the bench, Sheriff Briscoe is on the stand, and Virgil
Roanhorse, now in an orange jail jumpsuit, sits at counsel
table.

Virgil’s PUBLIC DEFENDER, long of hair and short of hope,

stands beside his client with a hand resting on Virgil’s
shoulder. Hightower and Felicia, the prosecution team, sit
at the table opposite.

Spectators, like wedding guests, choose their sides: Zak and

Tamara sit on the prosecution side of the aisle, while Rufus,
White Elk, and reporter Simmons all surround the distraught
Emily Roanhorse.

PUBLIC DEFENDER
And when you went to obtain a
warrant for Mr. Roanhorse’s private
locker, what happened then?

BRISCOE
As county sheriff, I didn’t feel I
needed a warrant to search county
property.

PUBLIC DEFENDER
I see. And so, without a warrant,
you opened the locker how?

BRISCOE
I brought a tool.

PUBLIC DEFENDER
Meaning you broke the lock.

BRISCOE
That’s right.

The public defender looks to Cotton but gets nothing.

 28.

PUBLIC DEFENDER
All right. And as the Sheriff of
Dominguez County, you understand
that you have no jurisdiction to
make arrests on the Reservation, do
you not?

HIGHTOWER
Objection. Question of law.
Incomplete hypothetical.

COTTON
Sustained.

PUBLIC DEFENDER
You understand that the Reservation
is sovereign territory, do you not?

BRISCOE
So they claim. When it suits their
interests.

PUBLIC DEFENDER
What is your understanding,
Sheriff, of the circumstances under
which you can enter the Reservation
to arrest a tribal member?

BRISCOE
These were my circumstances. I had
a girl gone missing who’s a tribal
member. I had a tribal member
assault one of my deputies for not
hopping to it. Then I had a bunch
of tribal members come out to
picket my office. So when I
finally do what they’re all begging
me to do, now they’re complaining?
Is that what’s happening here?

COTTON
I think you’ve made your point,
counsel. Anything further from the
defense?

PUBLIC DEFENDER
No, your Honor.

COTTON
Is the matter submitted?

PUBLIC DEFENDER
It is, your Honor.
 29.

COTTON
All right, then. The motion to
suppress is denied. The court
accepts the defendant’s plea of not
guilty and sets bail at fifty
thousand dollars.

PUBLIC DEFENDER
But your Honor . . .

COTTON
The matter was submitted, counsel.
You got a problem, you can file a
motion.
(raps gavel)
The court will stand in recess.

INT. FORD DEALERSHIP - SMALL CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY

Cars and customers are visible through the plate glass walls.
Lewis and Nantz address a speakerphone on the table.

VOICE (V.O.)
Nobody said anything about pulling
out. But you can understand our
concern.

LEWIS
It’s a non-issue as far as we’re
concerned.

VOICE (V.O.)
But you do acknowledge that tribal
members make up over half the
county’s voting-age population.
Fifty-three percent, to be exact.

LEWIS
Strictly speaking, that’s true.
Historically, however, they vote at
a much lower rate than the general
population.

VOICE (V.O.)
They are the general population,
Mr. Lewis. And they have the
numbers to vote you both out of
office.

Neither Lewis nor Nantz likes where this is heading.

 30.

NANTZ
You need to understand something.
Half these people don’t drive.
Some don’t even speak English.
Most don’t have a mailing address,
let alone a photo I.D.

VOICE (V.O.)
That’s not our concern. Our
concern is what happens if they
should ever elect an all-Native
county commission.

LEWIS
But they can’t, not with the
districts as presently drawn. They
control only one seat.

VOICE (V.O.)
Mr. White Elk’s seat.

LEWIS
That’s right.

VOICE (V.O.)
And should they elect even a second
commissioner, then you’ll be unable
to perform your end of the bargain.

NANTZ
That only underscores our point.
Time is of the essence here. Once
the final contracts are signed, the
county’ll be bound no matter who’s
in charge.

VOICE (V.O.)
And that brings us to our second
concern, which is water . . .

EXT. CARTER RANCH HOUSE - DAY

Zak parks his patrol unit between Briscoe’s unit and the two
Carter pickup trucks. As he steps down he hears nearby
GUNSHOTS. Drawing his weapon, he circles the house in a
crouch.

In the backyard he finds Briscoe and Delmore Carter in

headphones, target shooting with handguns. Zak holsters his
weapon and signals to Briscoe, who exposes an ear.

ZAK
A word, sir, in private?
 31.

Briscoe excuses himself, and they confer out of earshot.

ZAK (CONT’D)
The prints on the bottle aren’t
Virgil Roanhorse’s.

BRISCOE
Well, shit.
(weighs the ramifications)
Who else knows about this?

ZAK
Nobody. That’s why I drove out
here in person.

BRISCOE
Okay. You keep that under your hat
for now, you hear?
(to Carter)
Hey, Del! You wanna see a boy can
shoot a handgun?

Briscoe escorts Zak to the makeshift firing line.

BRISCOE (CONT’D)
Zak here was an Army Ranger before
we hired him. Go ahead and show us
what you got, son.

Zak, reluctant, draws his weapon and takes a stance. With

deadly efficiency, he squeezes off five perfect bulls-eyes.

CARTER
Whooeee! That’s tighter than a
mule’s ass in a sandstorm!

BRISCOE
(claps Zak’s shoulder)
Thanks for dropping by, son. We’ll
talk about that other thing later.

Returning to his unit out front, Zak does a walking double-

take, focusing on Robby Carter’s white pickup.

Using his cell phone, he photographs the tire treads.

INT. A BUSY CAFE - DAY

Felicia and Tamara share a get-acquainted lunch at a table by

the window. A WAITRESS tops off their iced tea glasses and
departs.
 32.

FELICIA
So. I had witness protection
program in the office pool.

TAMARA
(fluffs her hair)
Are you saying I don’t blend?

FELICIA
(smiles)
I’m suggesting you’re a long way
from Northwestern.

TAMARA
Yeah, well who knew Chicago was
overrun with psychiatric social
workers? LinkedIn called,
Goodwater answered, and here I am.
What about you?

FELICIA
UNM Law School. And a weakness for
cowboys.

TAMARA
Like a certain deputy Zak Concanon?

FELICIA
My God. Am I really that obvious?

Tamara punches up her call phone video of Rufus’ altercation

with Zak, turning the screen to Felicia.

TAMARA
I thought to myself, so here’s what
cops do in a town where there’s no
brothers to kneel on.

FELICIA
(squints)
Okay, maybe not his finest hour.

The waitress returns with their lunch salads, and Tamara

pockets her phone.

TAMARA
So what about that reporter dude?

FELICIA
What about him?

TAMARA
He’s kinda cute. All things being
relative.
 33.

FELICIA
Travis Simmons got canned by the
Denver Post and decided to move
here and dedicate himself to making
the sheriff’s life miserable. He
and Rufus Medicine Crow.

TAMARA
Yeah, what’s up with that? I
couldn’t tell if Rufus and the
sheriff were old friends or old
enemies.

FELICIA
I think they’re a little of both.
I don’t know all the details, but
I’ve heard it has something to do
with the sheriff’s family.
Something --

TAMARA
What?

Felicia nods toward the window, and Tamara twists in her

chair.

FELICIA
Speak of the devil.

In the street outside, a caravan of vehicles -- pickups and

lowriders, horns blaring -- rolls toward City Hall.

END OF ACT THREE

 34.

ACT FOUR

EXT. CITY HALL - DAY

Native protesters swarm City Hall, drumming and chanting,

their signs reading “FREE VIRGIL ROANHORSE.” Rufus and White
Elk are again orchestrating the demonstration from the bed of
a pickup, with Rufus now at the bullhorn.

RUFUS
. . . Violating tribal sovereignty!
Ignoring tribal authority!
Disrespecting out people! Planting
drugs on one of our warriors!

Briscoe’s patrol unit pulls to the curb. The sheriff is

booed and pelted as he pushes his way through the crowd to
the building entrance.

INT. COURTHOUSE - JUDGE’S CHAMBERS - SAME TIME

Judge Cotton and District Attorney Hightower stand at the

window watching the scene unfold.

COTTON
They want to be a sovereign nation?
How about we fence off the
Reservation and require visas for
ingress and egress? Post armed
guards at the border. See how they
feel about that.

HIGHTOWER
Now there’s a campaign platform.

COTTON
(pensive)
You really think the Roanhorse
boy’s good for it? For the girl, I
mean.

HIGHTOWER
I don’t know.

COTTON
He throws for two hundred yards
against Lincoln on Friday, then he
kidnaps a girl on Monday? And why?
A boy like that must get more ass
than the driver’s seat.
 35.

HIGHTOWER
Plus teenage girls go missing all
the time.

COTTON
That they do. Especially on the
Reservation.

HIGHTOWER
Yeah. Especially on the
Reservation . . .

INT. POLICE DEPARTMENT - INTERROGATION ROOM - DAY

A furious Briscoe, standing, faces a handcuffed Virgil

Roanhorse seated across the table.

BRISCOE
That girl’s got a family, damn you!
I’ll bet her mother’s right now
sittin by the phone crying her eyes
out.

VIRGIL
I want my lawyer.

BRISCOE
Ain’t a lawyer in this state can
help you now, son. Not with the
girl’s panties in your damn locker.
So how about you cut the bullshit
and tell me what happened?

Virgil remains silent.

BRISCOE (CONT’D)
Football’s over, Virgil. You need
to get your head right. You need
to make peace with your God, son.

VIRGIL
Fuck you. You don’t know what
you’re talking about.

BRISCOE
Bet I know what happened. I’ll bet
you couldn’t get it up, and she was
all, ‘Come on, Virgil. I thought
you were a big football stud.’ Is
that it? Huh? And you got mad,
because you couldn’t get it up?

Virgil turns his face to the wall.

 36.

BRISCOE (CONT’D)
You think you’re tough, son, but I
got news for you. They treat boys
like you real special in the state
penitentiary. Boys that rape
little girls. You’ll find that out
soon enough.

INT. CITY HALL - LEWIS’ OFFICE - DAY

Lewis and Nantz stand at a different window, watching the

same protest outside.

LEWIS
Christ, can you imagine if these
people ever do get a second seat on
the commission?

NANTZ
We need to secure that water, and
pronto.

LEWIS
Has anyone talked to Briscoe yet?

NANTZ
He says he’s handling it.

LEWIS
Like he’s handling this?

NANTZ
Don’t forget, we’ll need his
endorsement come November.

LEWIS
What we need is another sit-down
with Delmore Carter. Including
Briscoe this time. Maybe the judge
as well.

NANTZ
The judge won’t like that.

LEWIS
Oh, yeah? She’ll like retiring on
her county pension even less.

INT. DISTRICT ATTORNEY’S OFFICE - FELICIA’S OFFICE - DAY

Felicia and Tamara sit with a distraught Emily Roanhorse.

 37.

FELICIA
Miss Jackson here is our new county
probation officer. If Virgil
should be found guilty, she’ll be
the one who prepares what’s called
a pre-sentencing report for the
judge to consider.

EMILY ROANHORSE
Guilty? Virgil is a good boy.
Those drugs were planted on him by
the sheriff. There were witnesses
who heard him say so.

TAMARA
I know this is difficult, Mrs.
Roanhorse, but the school principal
was right there when the drugs were
recovered from Virgil’s locker.

EMILY ROANHORSE
(shaking her head)
I don’t believe it.

FELICIA
A drug charge like this is serious,
but Virgil is a minor, and a first-
time offender. I’m sure we can
reach a deal to avoid jail time.
But we’ll need his cooperation in
connection with the missing girl.

EMILY ROANHORSE
What about her?

TAMARA
A girl’s undergarments were found
in Virgil’s locker. We think they
might be Naomi Redfeather’s.

EMILY ROANHORSE
But . . . you said she went missing
yesterday, in the morning.

That’s right.

EMILY ROANHORSE
Well Virgil was with me yesterday
morning. He drove me to that
clinic over in Castle Rock. To see
Dr. Kumar.

Tamara and Felicia share a look.

 38.

FELICIA
Is there any record of that? Any
other eyewitnesses?

EMILY ROANHORSE
(face in hands)
I don’t know. I don’t know!

INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICE - DAY

The shambolic home of the Goodwater Free Press is cramped and

cluttered, with a copy machine and an old-fashioned letter
press crowding the space.

Travis Simmons sits with binoculars at an upstairs window,

watching City Hall from across the street. As the
demonstration winds down he sees Felicia emerge from the
building and shake hands with Emily Roanhorse.

Seeing his chance, Simmons stands and bolts for the door.

EXT. CITY HALL - DUSK

Briscoe walks through the trash left behind by the

demonstration. As he approaches his patrol unit, an ursine
figure -- Goodwater football coach BUCK THOMPSON, 60s --
steps from out of the shadows.

COACH THOMPSON
Evening, Sheriff.

BRISCOE
Coach. Guess I been expecting to
hear from you.

COACH THOMPSON
That’s it? That’s all you got to
say for yourself?

BRISCOE
What do you want me to say? That
it didn’t happen? That your boy’s
some kind of a victim in this deal?

COACH THOMPSON
It’s just that I recall you raisin
your share of hell back in the day.
Chasin skirts. Maybe smokin a
little grass with your pal Rufus.
 39.

BRISCOE
I won’t deny it, seeing as how the
statute’s run.

COACH THOMPSON
Cut him some slack, Lucas. That’s
all I’m askin. For God’s sake,
that boy’s got a world of talent.
Already had looks from CSU and
Boulder. He gets a record and
he’ll be flippin burgers the rest
of his life.

BRISCOE
Maybe you should’ve kept a closer
eye on him, you’re so concerned for
his future. Maybe rode him with a
shorter rein. You ever thought
about that?

COACH THOMPSON
It ain’t just me and the team and
the town. Folks on the Rez take a
lot of pride in that boy.

BRISCOE
Folks on the Rez should be more
concerned about the missing girl,
you want my opinion.

Both men regroup, scuffing at the ground with their boots.

COACH THOMPSON
I seen her picture, that Redfeather
girl. I know exactly what it’s got
you to thinkin about.

BRISCOE
You just out-kicked your coverage,
Buck. Leave psychology to the
experts.

COACH THOMPSON
(shaking head)
Goddamn teenagers. They think
they’re indestructible. You can
only tell ‘em so much before they
just quit listenin.

BRISCOE
At least that much hasn’t changed.

COACH THOMPSON
Nope. Not a goddamn bit.
 40.

EXT. BRISCOE HOME - NIGHT

The sheriff’s patrol unit is in the driveway, and a new

campaign sign is in the yard.

INT. BRISCOE HOME - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

The room is bathed in a bluish glow from the television.

Briscoe enters with a TV dinner on a plate. He sets it on
the tray before Margaret in her wheelchair and kisses the top
of her head.

MARGARET
(watching TV)
I don’t suppose you’d care to talk
about it?

BRISCOE
How’s that?

MARGARET
Talk. About whatever it is that’s
got you all balled up.

BRISCOE
Oh, it’s nothing. Just work stuff.

She uses the remote to mute the television.

MARGARET
You might try me.

He hesitates before perching on the edge of a chair.

BRISCOE
Scalps.

MARGARET
I beg your pardon?

BRISCOE
Scalps. You know, like Indians in
them old Westerns. As in, why
you’d bother to take one, and what
you planned do with it once you
did.

MARGARET
I’m not sure I follow.

BRISCOE
A scalp would be evidence, I
suppose.
(MORE)
 41.
BRISCOE (CONT'D)
To show off to your friends. Prove
to them what a big man you are.

MARGARET
Okay . . .

BRISCOE
But what’s the point of taking a
scalp if nobody ever sees it? If
you can’t show it off to your
friends without getting yourself in
trouble?

MARGARET
I suppose it serves me right for
asking.

BRISCOE
No, I’m glad you did.

He slaps his thighs and stands, un-muting the television.

BRISCOE (CONT’D)
Sometimes it helps to talk things
out like this.

INT. A HONKY-TONK BAR - NIGHT

The jukebox THUNDERS as cowboy-types shoot pool in a crowded

barroom. One of those cowboys is Robby Carter, drunk and
disorderly.

ROBBY
Eight ball, side.

He makes the shot and swigs his beer. Circling, he chalks

his cue as he taunts his opponent.

ROBBY (CONT’D)
He sees it coming, folks, but
there’s nothing he can do to stop
it. Nine ball, corner.

Robby sinks the shot, then turns a circle, hoisting his cue
overhead in triumph.

ROBBY (CONT’D)
Somebody come and help this boy!
He can’t tell if he’s found a rope
or lost a horse. And whoever’s
next can rack ‘em up.
 42.

Robby heads for the bathroom, leaving his cue and his beer
bottle behind on the table.

As he passes the row of hunched drinkers we see Zak in plain

clothes rise from his bar stool and head in the other
direction.

Zak sticks a finger in Robby’s beer bottle and walks it out

the door.

END OF ACT FOUR

 43.

ACT FIVE

EXT. THE RESERVATION - MORNING

Vast and empty. A late-model Ford pulls a dust cloud over a

bumpy dirt road.

EXT. INDIAN HEALTH CLINIC - DAY

Tamara, waiting, leans against Felicia’s dusty Ford. She

straightens when Felicia emerges from the building.

TAMARA
Anything?

FELICIA
(shakes head)
Whoever drove her never came
inside.

TAMARA
But somebody drove her. That’s
something at least.

FELICIA
I suppose.

TAMARA
What about closed-circuit cameras?

FELICIA
Are you kidding? Half these homes
don’t even have running water.

TAMARA
(scanning horizon)
How is that even possible in a
twenty-first century democracy?

FELICIA
You know what they say about
democracy. You get exactly the
kind of government you deserve.

INT. BRISCOE’S OFFICE - DAY

The sheriff is doing paperwork when Zak knocks and enters.

He lays a fingerprint report on Briscoe’s desk.
 44.

ZAK
Robby Carter. Delmore Carter’s
son.

BRISCOE
What about him?

ZAK
Those are his prints on the Jack
bottle.

Briscoe sits up and studies the report, comparing the prints.

BRISCOE
This doesn’t mean shit.

ZAK
It does if the other prints are
Naomi Redfeather’s.

INT. DISTRICT ATTORNEY’S OFFICE - FELICIA’S OFFICE - DAY

Tamara escorts Zak to Felicia’s open door. Behind Zak’s

back, before closing Felicia’s door to leave them alone,
Tamara makes an ‘Oh-my-God’ face that only Felicia can see.

FELICIA
(suppressing a smile)
Deputy. To what do I owe the
pleasure?

Zak hands her the fingerprint report and sits.

ZAK
I recovered a liquor bottle from a
make-out spot right around where
the Redfeather girl went missing.
A farmer I talked to says he saw a
white vehicle parked there that
morning.

FELICIA
And Virgil Roanhorse drives a white
pickup.

ZAK
That’s what I thought. But then I
lifted two sets of prints off the
bottle, and one of them matches to
a Goodwater resident named Robby
Carter, who also drives a white
pickup.
 45.

Like Briscoe before her, Felicia studies the report,

comparing the prints.

FELICIA
What do we know about Carter?

ZAK
Father’s a big-shot rancher. The
son works for him when he’s not out
drinking himself stupid.

FELICIA
I’d say you’ve got enough to bring
him in for questioning at least.

ZAK
Yeah, but there’s a complication.
The father is a friend of the
sheriff’s. At least they were
target shooting together the other
day.

FELICIA
And the sheriff knows about this?

ZAK
He said the prints don’t mean shit.
And he’s right, unless we can match
the other set to the Redfeather
girl.

FELICIA
I see.

ZAK
So you’re the lawyer. How do we
get a set of the girl’s prints for
comparison?

Report in hand, Felicia swivels in her chair, considering.

Despite his best efforts, Zak can’t avoid noticing her legs.

FELICIA
What we don’t want is to create any
admissibility issues.

ZAK
Exactly.

FELICIA
I suppose that means making a
formal application to the tribal
police. We can ask them to
fingerprint the girl’s bedroom.
 46.

ZAK
If they’ll even cooperate.

FELICIA
(nods)
Does it also mean working behind
the sheriff’s back?

Their eyes meet and hold.

FELICIA (CONT’D)
Right. Maybe it’s best if our
office handles it.

INT. ZAK’S PATROL UNIT - DAY

As Zak pulls away from City Hall, his radio SQUAWKS.

BRISCOE (V.O.)
Zak? Wherever you are, get your
ass down to Pine Landing. I’ll
meet you there in ten.

EXT. A RIVERBANK - DAY

Amid jumbled rocks and flowing water, a river raft has pulled
to the bank and four RAFTERS in life vests anxiously wait,
all standing in a semi-circle.

As Briscoe and Zak approach from down-river, high-stepping

over the rocks, the rafters part.

Naomi Redfeather’s broken BODY, half-submerged in the water,

has turned a bluish-white.

BRISCOE
Jesus Christ on a cracker.

EXT. THE SAME RIVERBANK - LATER

A helicopter circles overhead. Search-and-rescue VOLUNTEERS

squat and lift a stretcher with a blanket covering the body.
As they move out of frame, one of the body’s BAGGED HANDS
flops and dangles from under the blanket.

The rafters have already left, leaving Zak and Briscoe alone.

BRISCOE
(off Zak’s ashen face)
You all right? You must’ve seen
worse in Afghanistan.
 47.

ZAK
It’s not that. I fucked up.

BRISCOE
What do you mean?

Zak points upward, to the overlook above.

ZAK
I should’ve searched down here on
Monday. I just didn’t think of it.

BRISCOE
(looking up)
Yeah, well I wouldn’t be too hard
on yourself. It’s not like two
days made much of a difference.

ZAK
I’ll bet to the girl’s mother they
did.

INT. DISTRICT ATTORNEY’S OFFICE - HIGHTOWER’S OFFICE - DAY

Briscoe, Zak, Hightower, and Felicia confer. All are somber,

all stand with their heads slightly bowed.

BRISCOE
Doc says we’ll have toxicology by
Friday, and a full autopsy report
by Monday.

HIGHTOWER
All right, excellent.

BRISCOE
(after a beat)
She had no panties.

They all share a look.

HIGHTOWER
I suppose that’s a silver lining.

FELICIA
What?

HIGHTOWER
For the case I mean. We’ll also
want a DNA match on the, uh,
garment recovered from the
Roanhorse boy’s locker.
 48.

BRISCOE
Anything else?

HIGHTOWER
I suppose someone needs to notify
the girl’s mother.

FELICIA
I’ll do it. But if it’s all right
with you, I’ll leave out the silver
lining part.

HIGHTOWER
Reports, people. From everyone.
And Sheriff, might I have a word
with you in private?

Zak and Felicia depart, leaving Briscoe and the District

Attorney alone.

HIGHTOWER (CONT’D)
What’s this I’m hearing about the
Carter boy’s fingerprints?

BRISCOE
On a bottle. My deputy found it on
the overlook above where the girl’s
body was recovered.

HIGHTOWER
Some sort of assignation spot,
right? A lovers’ lane? Lots of
kids park there?

BRISCOE
That’s my understanding.

HIGHTOWER
Then that explains it.
(off Briscoe’s look)
Will this be a problem, Lucas?
Don’t forget, we have dinner
tonight with the boy’s father.

BRISCOE
I don’t expect there to be a
problem.

Hightower returns to his desk and settles into his chair. He

fixes Briscoe with an appraising look.

HIGHTOWER
We’ve come too far to turn back on
this thing.
(MORE)
 49.
HIGHTOWER (CONT'D)
I hope you realize that. And
Carter’s the key to making it
happen.

BRISCOE
You mean you’ve come too far. You
and Nantz and Lewis and the judge.

HIGHTOWER
I mean we hang together or we hang
separately. All of us. If nothing
else, think of your pension,
Sheriff.

BRISCOE
Are you threatening me?

HIGHTOWER
Don’t be ridiculous. I know better
than that, and so do you.
(unctuous smile)
So tell me, how is Margaret? Is
she showing any improvement?

Briscoe turns on his heel, slamming the door behind him.

Hightower’s phony smile evaporates.

EXT. A RAMSHACKLE HOME - DUSK

On the Reservation. The door to the home is open, and SARAH

REDFEATHER, Naomi’s mother, stands framed in silhouette,
listening as Felicia and Tamara deliver the news.

She collapses into a heap.

INT. BRISCOE’S OFFICE - NIGHT

Briscoe broods at his desk. He is studying the Jack Daniel’s

bottle, still in its evidence bag. It is after-hours, and a
vacuum cleaner WHIRS in the background.

Briscoe’s focus shifts from the bottle to a framed PHOTO of

he and Margaret, all smiles, the photo capturing them in
their younger and happier days.

BRISCOE
Never my style, Momma.

He unbags the bottle and lays it on its side.

 50.

INT. POLICE DEPARTMENT - CONTINUOUS

Briscoe departs for the dinner. As he passes the Native

CLEANING WOMAN with her vacuum, he tells her something we
can’t hear because:

PRE-LAP: Bonnie Raitt has begun singing “Angel From

Montgomery,” all soulful and bluesy.

INT. BRISCOE HOME - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

The radio plays as Margaret, in her wheelchair, studies a

DIFFERENT PHOTO, also older, this one of she and Briscoe and
a dark-haired teenage girl who looks remarkably like Naomi
Redfeather.

A wistful smile as she sets it back in its place.

INT. NEWSPAPER OFFICE - NIGHT

The bluesy music continues (and will continue, all the way
through the credits.)

Travis Simmons stands by his printer. As the pages disgorge,

overlapping, we see the same banner headline, repeating over
and over:

“VIRGIL ROANHORSE: FELON OR FALL-GUY?”

INT. COUNTY JAIL - A CELLBLOCK - NIGHT

A uniformed GUARD strolls past the cells, bed-checking the

inmates. When he comes to Virgil’s cell, he halts.

Virgil’s limp body, his neck wrapped in a bedsheet, hangs

from the bars of his cell.

The guard, staring, fumbles for his radio.

EXT. THE WINDSWEPT KNOLL - NIGHT

Briscoe stands in the beams of his headlights looking out

over the darkened valley, the starry sky. He squats and
lifts a handful of dirt and lets it run through his fingers.

INT. THE HONKY-TONK BAR - NIGHT

CLOSE ON Robby Carter swigging a beer and staring, leering,

at something or someone we cannot see.
 51.

INT. GOODWATER ELKS LODGE - DINING ROOM - NIGHT

The dinner is already in progress when Briscoe arrives. All

present -- Hightower, Lewis, Nantz, Cotton, and Delmore
Carter -- stand to welcome him.

INT. TAMARA’S APARTMENT - NIGHT

Tamara, her boxes finally unpacked, is nailing a hook to the

wall. Reaching down, she lifts another framed image --
Shepard Fairey’s colorful “HOPE” poster of Barack Obama -- to
hang.

INT. A RESTAURANT/BAR - NIGHT

At a corner table, Felicia stands to greet Simmons and Rufus

when they arrive. All share hugs before settling in to
commiserate over the death of Naomi Redfeather.

Over the heads of her companions, Felicia spots Zak at the

bar, drinking. Their eyes meet and hold.

Zak tips his cowboy hat. Then he rises unsteadily and heads
for the exit.

EXT. BRISCOE HOME - NIGHT

In darkness, a backlit FIGURE squats in the glare of

headlights. As he stands and turns we see that it’s Zak, and
that he’s holding a can of spray paint.

As his truck door slams we see the “BRISCOE FOR SHERIFF” sign
on the sheriff’s lawn freshly altered with the word SUCKS.

SMASH TO BLACK.

END OF EPISODE