THE HARD RIDER

by Pat Ryan

Mercury Rising #11, August 1995

Our old friend Pat, singer for "A Subtle Plague", sent this in. We don't think he's ever been a messenger, but he's known quite a few of us in his travels. A product of imagination more than experience, this screenplay is fun to read - ed.

Series Synopsis

An animated liquid television series.

The Hard Rider series will follow the travails of HR a synthesis of a punk rock boheme and the man with no name". (A combination character of Ian Mackaye meets Clint Eastwood circa Fistful of Dollars). By day MR is a bike messenger dealing with the urban decay of crime and alienation and by night he transforms that angst when he rocks with his band The Hard Riders in the underground clubs. Hard Rider is not your typical party hearty bike messenger but rather an embittered loner, the reluctant hero searching for some truth and hope in his morally bankrupt world. In the series we will hear HR's thoughts as he tries to cope with the disparity and squalor of his existence but his reluctance to compromise. A brooding semi-mock philosophical series that will have plenty of action (taxi/bus/car/bike crashes, cop/bike rival messenger gang chases), comedy (the business people he delivers to, slave driving boss, wasted rockers, tenants in his building), love interests and rock and roll.

THE HARD RIDER - DEBUT EPISODE

(A dark foreboding urban metropolis, industrial cum Blade Runnerish. It is dusk. We pan around the buildings, traffic congestion, screeching buses and taxi‘s, people nursing home, the sounds of yelling, police whistles/sirens, the homeless and overfilled trash cans. We pan down a dank alleyway between two giant giant skyscrapers until we are at street level. We see a rat scurry behind a garbage can then the sound of skidding rubber. A mountain bike tire skids into full frame. We slowly pan across the tire until we see a beat up sneaker on the pedal. We pan up to the sock, the ankle and the calf when the voice over starts ...)

V.O: [In exaggerated deep tones.] He rides by day and he rocks by night he". ... THE HARD RIDER.

[The camera has fully panned up by now to reveal The Hard Rider- HR- in full frame looking like a combination of Clint Eastwood, the Socialist New Man and a punk rock boheme. HR takes. out his walkie- talkie and puts it up to his ear, it’s his Boss, Monty.]

V.O. OF MONTY: One more tag left today HR and get here pronto this guys gotta get it quick.

HR: V.O. [As he’s riding through the city people are nursing home from work.] Dammit the one day I needed to get off early to relax before the show tonight and this happens.

[He arrives at the entrance of Westward Ho Messenger Service. He walks into the cavernous warehouse building most of the other messengers have already gone home. He spies giant paper wrapped architectural plans next to the dispatch cage. He walks up to the cage, and looks in at Monty; thin, gaunt with heavy eyelids smoking a cigarette and counting money.]

HR: What's the deal Monty?

MONTY: [Without looking up from counting the money] 35th floor 5th and Market pronto the tag's over there. [He gestures with his head over to the plans.] And careful there building plans

[HR looks at the giant plans and rolls his eyes in exasperation]

HR V.O: How the hell am I gonna ride and carry this at the same time? [He begins to try and maneuver the pack age and bike at the same time]

MONTY: Oh and HR take this to. It goes to the same guy [From under neath the opening of the dispatch cage he tosses him a small package HR catches it and puts it into his messenger bag.]

HR V.O.: Building plans. As if they need another one in this city. Where the hell they gonna plant it? Maybe I should just dump it in the garbage my small contribution to thwarting the swarming excess af capitalism...yeah, right.

[He arrives at a huge skyscraper. He looks straight up at it as the sun is setting and takes his bicycle in a door marked Service Entrance. A fat doorman with a cigar is reading the paper. HR goes to the elevator and presses the button.]

DOORMAN: [Without looking up from the paper.]

It's broke.

HR: Okay, where's the entrance to the regular elevator?

DOORMAN: That's only for the tenants of the building. You gotta use the stairs.

HR: [Eyes popping out of his head.] Stairs?? But this tag is on the 35th floor!!

DOORMAN: Rules kiddo, I don't make 'em, you don't break 'em.

[HR goes into the stairwell. There is an enormously fat young kid on the first stairwell platform with a coffee tray. He is bent over, panting, already out of breath.]

HR: [Recognizing fat kid.] DANO!! What's up?

DANO:[Panting] H...R .Wuzz...up?

[HR looks up the middle of the stairwell that seems to go up forever]

HR: What floor Dano?

DANO: 34. At the rate I'm going they're gonna be getting iced coffee.

HR: [Thinking a second.] Well I'm going to 35...no sense in making two trips.

[He grabs Dano's tray, but it’s obvious he can't hold the plans and the tray at the same time. He looks around and by a broom closet he spies a large roll of twine. Ha grabs it.]

Tie this tight around the tray and hope the roll is long enough or you're in for a long walk.

DANO: Thanks HR

[HR starts running up the stairs with the twine rolling around his arm. Halfway up he scares awake a sleeping cat. He comes to the 34th floor as the last strand of twine unravels. He ties it to the railing and leans over.]

HR: Dano, I'll be right back, I'm gonna drop my tag.

[The words take a while to echo all the way dawn as HR goes up to the 35th floor. He walks into the office and a wild-eyed executive, tie undone, is pacing.]

EXEC: Where the hell have you been?

[HR hands him the giant building plans and the exec practically throws them to the side.]

Where the hell is the other package?

HR: [Coldly] One at a time, Hoss.

EXEC: Don't you get sassy with me you road rat, We pay you guys good money.

[He grabs the smaller package out of HR's hand, signs for it, runs into the office and slams the door.]

HR V.O.: Who pays who good money?

[HR goes down to 34 and leans over]

HR. Alright Dano, let's haul her up.

[As the words echo down they stir the sleeping cat. Dano puts the coffee tray into the middle of the stairwell. Four coffee cups and donuts all precariously balanced an the tray.]

DANO: Start haulin HR.

[HR starts delicately hauling up the tray, a piece of twine dangles from the bottom where it's tied. The tension on the rope grows taut and the tray swings. Almost halfway up, the smell of the donuts wafts up to the cat. He pokes his head into the stair well and watches the strange package coming up. HR sees the cat.]

HR V.O.: Here kitty kitty, Be a nice kitty kitty or I swear I'll make you a dead kitty kitty.

[As the tray is hauled up, the cat's interest is peaked. He makes a tentative swipe at the string but it is just out of his reach, As the tray passes, his paw hits it knocking a lid off one of the coffee cups. The coffee tray swings dangerously. HR tries to balance it The coffee in the open cup swishes back and forth. The tray passes above the cat, it takes one last swipe at the dangling thread and one of its talons hooks onto it. The tray always, almost tipping over, but HR balances it and pulls it off the cat's talon. A couple of drops of hot coffee spill out and land on the cat's nose. It screams and scrambles down the stair's. The lid has floated down and hits Dano, quickly followed by a drop of coffee on his face. He looks up the stairwell, shocked and puzzled. HR gets the tray, wipes a drop of sweat off his brow, unties the twine and walks into the office. Two women lawyers sit at a conference table He hands them the tray.]

HR: Workin' late?

LAWYER: [Stands up to pay him.] Yeah. Wanna join us?

HR: I'll have to take a raincheck. Take care.

LAWYER: Here's for your trouble.

(She flips him a half dollar. HR catches it with one hand, is out the door and down the stairs. He gives the receipt to Dano and as he’s leaving the building on his bike, he flips him the half dollar.]

DANO: Thanks HR. When are the Hard Riders gonna play again?

HR: Tonight at the Pink Slip.

DANO: See you there.

[HR takes off. It is night and downtown has been taken over by patrol cars, homeless roving gangs, etc.. He gets to his tenement building. A four-story walkup next to an abandoned lot/garbage dump. As he walks in, the bottom apartment opens up a crack. An elderly black man Drago the landlord, peers out. His eyes light up when he sees it is HR.]

DRAGO: HR! How ya doin?

[Drago steps out of the apartment an ancient dog follows close behind him.]

HR: Pretty good Drago How you doin". An how's ole’ Duke?

[He pats the head of the nearly blind and deaf dog as it lets out a halfhearted "ruff"]

DRAGO: [Looking down at Duke] Well he made it another day... and so did I for that matter. Listen HR, got some good news and bad news. Which do you wanna hear first?

HR: Bad?

DRAGO: Rent's going up $10 next month Nothin I can do about it ...it's a new city tax.

HR: Good?

DRAGO: I fixed that heater finally. We all got hot water again.

HR: [As he's bounding up the stairs with his bicycle.] Oh happy day! I hope we don't start getting charged a luxury tax.

DRAGO: [Yelling up to him] Naww, it's on the house. Oh, HR, Charlie's been wonderin where the hell ya been.

[HR arrives at his third story landing. There is a public phone in the hallway. Although the tenement is old, it is well kept in a sort of homey, fix-it-yourself, rag tag way. As HR is opening the door to his apartment we can see another door open on the fourth floor landing. Charlie comes out. A tall Filipino with a buzz cut. He is the bass player for the Hard Riders, He leans over the railing.

CHARLIE: Hey HR! Where the hell you been? We gotta be at soundcheck!

HR: I know. I got held up by this uptight cat on my last tag.

[HR goes into his apartment. It is sparse. A simple bed on the floor, a sink, a window with a fire escape overlooking the city. There is a knock on the door. It is Charlie with his bike and bass case.]

CHARLIE: Come on man, we gotta go.

HR: Christ! So much for relaxing before the gig, I should of left my rig downstairs.

[He grabs his guitar case and bike and they both head down stairs.]

DRAGO: You fellas pluggin yourself into the wall again tonight?

CHARLIE: We gotta gig Drago

DRAGO: You're gonna drive yourself deaf playing at that volume. Jus' like ole Duke here.

HR: You gotta suffer for your art.

CHARLIE: Besides Beethoven was deaf and he did alright .

(They exit the tenement as Drago calls after them.]

DRAGO: Art? Art? Charlie Parker, now that's art. Lester Young, now that's art.

[As he calls out, he goes back into his apartment. We catch a glimpse of it filled with old jazz posters and records.]

(HR and Charlie ride through the city to the Pink Slip Saloon. A beat up wooden club, with a flashing neon sign of a girl holding a tray of drinks. They enter the club. In the first room are pinball machines, a pool table, and a long bar with bike messengers and punk rockers sitting and drinking They pass a second room where there is a small stage. Watts, their drummer, is setting up his kit. He is short and stocky with wild wispy hair that goes off in all directions.)

WATTS: Where the hell you guys been, man?

HR: No worries. We're here now.

[HR and Charlie head down a corridor and then down a long flight of stairs, two stories under ground, to a doorway that says, Pink Slip Rehearsal Rooms." There is also a sign that says, BANDS, YOU CANNOT SLEEP IN YOUR REHEARSAL ROOMS! They open the door into another corridor with several rooms. One room has "Hard Rider" on it, another room says "Stillborn. They go into the ratty rehearsal room, get their amps and haul them upstairs to the stage as Watts is soundchecking his drums. HR goes into the next room to the end of the bar. He leans over .]

HR. Weazel Aqua on the rocks.

[Weazel, gaunt and beady-eyed is at the other end of the bar. He fills a glass with ice water.]

WEAZEL: Back off, comin down.

[He slides the glass of water down the long bar as each biker and punker lift their glass to let it slide under their beer. It lands perfectly in HR's palm, shaking slightly. To the right of HR, at the end of the bar we hear ..]

DAISY: Wow! A hard drinkin man.

[Daisy has leaned over the bar. A comely punk rock vixen in a tight-fitting tattered white wedding dress. To her left is Dodo, a tall good-looking white guy in dread locks. To her left is Rocco, a beefy skinhead with scars and tattoos.]

Ya ever drink anything...harder ...Hard.. Rider?

[She says it with a cynical wry smile as she is leaning over the bar Dodo and Rocco are laughing mischievously. HR turns and gives her a hard cold stare, gulps down the water in one go and plants the glass on the bar.]

HR: On occasion.

[He turns and goes into the other room, while Daisy, Dodo and Rocco laugh.]

[Later that night the bar has filled up with people. There is a small but enthusiastic crowd in front of the Hard Riders as they rock on stage. We see Dano bobbing his head in the crowd. We pan back to the other room. At a table in the back sit Daisy Dodo and Rocco. They have a small retinue of like- dressed people hanging around them, Daisy is at the center.]

DAISY: They're pretty good. But so are a lot of bands

(Everybody nods,)

I'm getting kinda bored. I think it's time for a little party at the Proj!

[Everyone nods their head in agreement and screams, "Party at the Proj!" They gather their bikes and head out the door. Weazel, the bar tender waves goodbye. After the gig, the Hard Rider's are packing up their geer. A few stragglers remain drunk at the bar. Lefty, the owner of the Pink Slip, is an older beefy Hell's Angel with a white beard. He is smoking a cigar, counting money as he approached the bend.]

LEFTY: Her's your cut. That was pretty good guys, I'm startin to book some other clubs so maybe I might give you a call.

[He goes into the back room leaving the band member a staring at each other slackjawed.]

[Fade up Hard Rider Theme Song. Dissolve to credits.]

If you have comments or suggestions, email me at messvilleto@yahoo.com