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Leprechaun in the Hood Early Script Part 1 |
Other stuff: Email - Guestbook |
Written by Douglas L. Hall for Trimark Pictures
FADE IN:
PROLOGUE: LOS ANGELES - 1973
INT. BASEMENT - NIGHT
Spooky dark. One man, MACK DADDY, a Barry White looking bear of a man trains a flashlight on his associate, SLUG, a skinny, whiny, kiss-ass flunky.
Slug removes bricks from a disintegrating wall. They are both decked out in 1970's attire (afro, platform shoes, afro picks in their hair).
Mack sits on a pile of bricks for a smoke break.
SLUG: Why I always have to do all 'da work? Every time there's a job to be done, I have to be 'da one doin' it!
MACK DADDY: That's 'cause I'm management and you is labor. It's the normal separation 'a power!
Slug returns to removing more of the bricks.
SLUG: This ain't nothin' but a dead end. I don't know why we down here anyway.
MACK DADDY: I done told yo'r skinny, scarecrow lookin', high-water wearin' ass once. When 'Ol Man Peterson retired from the aerospace company, he took a box 'a space junk with him! Said there was a piece that could transform any music into a stone cold hit!
SLUG: You mean even I could be a superstar?!
MACK DADDY: The Average White Band could be the Great White Band.
As Slug pulls back a layer of bricks he realizes he has stumbled onto something really valuable.
SLUG: God-damn, Mack Daddy! Check this shit out!
Mack is drawn to the beauty of a STONE IDOL of a LEPRECHAUN with its gold braid necklace and amethyst pendant. Next to it, a pot of gold.
The men begin hoarding the pot of gold, stuffing it into their pockets. Mack finds a huge gold ring and puts it on his ring finger. He stops to admire it.
SLUG: (cont'd) (while hoarding) I'm gonna buy me a Caddy, and a Lincoln, and a Duster, and a Camaro, and another Lincoln. Got to have some bad rides!
MACK DADDY: Keep lookin' for that flute, mutha-fucker! I'm gonna invest my shit in prime retail property, brother! A rib joint, a pool hall, a pawn shop. Gonna git me 'a chicken franchises!
Slug sees the gold necklace around the Leprechaun's neck. Mack is too busy hoarding to realize what is about to happen.
SLUG: Oh, this is solid!
Slug takes the NECKLACE from the Leprechaun's neck, unintentionally bringing the Leprechaun TO LIFE.
LEPRECHAUN: (O.S.) I say laddies, are we searchin' for treasure or pleasure?
The two men freeze. As they turn towards each other.
MACK DADDY: Who said that?!
SLUG: (hoping) You said that?
They turn slowly, horrified that the little idol is now flesh incarnate. And he's coming at them!
MACK DADDY: What the hell are you?!
LEPRECHAUN: Let me give you laddies a clue. Free at last, free at last, thank gold almighty, I'm free at last! Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
The Lep pounces on Slug, ripping the pick from his hair and thrusting it repeatedly in Slug's neck. Mack slowly backs away as Slug falls to the ground, the pick imbedded in his neck. The Lep sees Mack and advances on him.
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) I don't suppose your name is Slim, but if it is, I'd hate to be him. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
Mack turns to run and the Leprechaun jumps on his back, riding him like a bull, his bony hands around Mack's neck. Mack tries to throw him off, but the Lep will not be denied. Finally, out of breath and gasping for air, Mack falls straight backwards,
LEPRECHAUN: (cont'd) Whoa!!!!
CRUSHING the Lep with his bulk and stunning him. As Mack recovers he goes over to Slug, who still clutches the gold necklace in his hand. Mack takes it, goes to the Lep and places it around his neck. He instantly turns to stone.
Mack breathes a SIGH of relief, takes a look around and goes back to Slug, still barely alive. Mack begins to relieve him of his treasure.
SLUG: (nearly dead) Mack, help me. Don't leave me here, bro.
Mack picks up a nearby brick.
MACK DADDY: Gold melts in hell, mutha-fucker.
He SLAMS the brick into Slug's head, killing him. He goes to the remaining pot of gold, stirs the shillings around and finds . . . the magic gold flute!
MACK DADDY: (cont'd) George Jefferson ain't the only brother movin' on up! Motown here I come!
ACT ONE: SOUTH CENTRAL LA - 20 YEARS LATER
INT. AUDITORIUM - DAY
FOUR YOUNG, BLACK ADULT MALES (roughly 20 years old each) are auditioning for a rap contest. POSTMASTER (POST) P and STRAY BULLET rock the microphones while WRECK works the turntable and BUTCH controls the mix. They suck!
In the first row, another group, The WHITE FLIGHT BOYS, all white rappers dressed in white, listen along with the PROMOTER. Their leader, MILK, gives the boys the thumbs down sign.
Suddenly the mix console malfunctions, causing the tape to play very fast and very high-pitched, giving the music a "chipmunk effect". The group panics and Stray and Post jump forward onto TWO BAGS placed onstage. There is a rather large EXPLOSION as the boys are hurled from the stage, unhurt, but dis-oriented.
Wreck, an athletic, buff type, and Butch, something of a geek, run to their aid, and as the smoke clears,
PROMOTER: (coughing, gagging) What the hell's you boys doin'?! You mo'fo's done broke the goddamn stage!
BUTCH: Damn! Too much ammonia, not enough nitrogen!
Stray Bullet looks down at his SMOKING SHOES.
STRAY BULLET: Aw shit! These are my brand new Air Rodmans!
WRECK: Air Rodmans?! The shoe made from p-p-poker chips and breast implants?!
POSTMASTER P: (to the promoter) So waddup wit' the gig, home school? We on the bill?
PROMOTER: On the bill?! I gon' send you the bill!
POSTMASTER P: (pleading) Why you got to play us, 'G'? This our only shot out! We win this contest we be in the finals at the Vegas Hard Rock Cafe. We talkin' record deals!
PROMOTER: Only record you got is at the LAPD! You clean up this mess and git yo'r act straight, I might let you audition again! (pointing) White Flight is on the bill.
WRECK: White Flight!? But them mutha-fuckers is...
STRAY BULLET: Is gonna be dead if we don't make it on the bill!
Their leader, MILK, takes offense.
MILK: Hey, just a gall-darned minute, fella! We're representing for the down-trodden, dispossessed white brethern who don't drive SUVs and soccer moms!
STRAY BULLET: I'm gonna drive a S-U-V up yo'r skinny white A-S-S!
A scuffle breaks out between the two groups.
EXT./INT. PAWNSHOP - DAY
Post, Stray, Butch and Wreck are walking along a downtown sidewalk of inner-city Compton. Stray carries an electric guitar.
STRAY BULLET: Damn! If this equipment keeps breaking down we ain't ever gonna make enough money to pay off those sponsors! Know what I'm sayin'?
POSTMASTER P: See, now you're thinking with a spirit of failure. You need to hook up some Tony Robbins.
STRAY BULLET: That big, white goofy-lookin' mo'fo'?! Always talkin' 'bout "if a tree fall in the bathroom, an' take time to stop and smell the forest an'--
POSTMASTER P: (interrupting) Man, that ain't even right! See, our unconscious beliefs control our behavior. Only through daily positive affirmation can we overcome!
STRAY BULLET: (directed at Butch) And what does Tony Robbins say about gettin' yo'r ass blown to bits by the Uni-virgin?! Yo Butch, I thought you knew what you was doin' with that nitrogen . . . trimesteride.
BUTCH: Nitrogen triiodide, fool! Triiodide! It's an iodine, ammonia compound--
WRECK: (interrupting) You gonna end up in a compound!
The boys stop at the entrance to a convenience store. Close-up of a sign, something written in Vietnamese. Below that writing: "Proprietor: Chow Yung Pi."
POSTMASTER P: (cont'd) We go in here and act positive, and expect to get shit, we'll get it.
The boys enter. The store is filled with security video cameras and mirrors hanging everywhere. Surprisingly, the store's shelves are almost completely bare.
CHOW YUNG PI, the proprietor, confronts them.
CHOW: Nothing for you! You get no more credit! You go! You go now!
STRAY BULLET: Chow, you never have shit up in here! Riots are over, fool. Time to re-stock!
CHOW: You go! You too loud! You too loud!
Stray picks up one of the few items on the shelf. A jar, containing, much to his horror, a dead cat.
STRAY BULLET: Chow, you know what this is I'm holdin'?
CHOW: Twang thang. Very nice.
STRAY BULLET: Chow, this here . . . twang thang, used to belong to the Dali Lama himself. Sell it to you for five hundred bills. Cash only.
CHOW: (upset, ushering them out) Dali Lama?! Chow want Dolly Parton! You leave Chow store! Hip and hop yo'r black ass home! Make like Michael and beat it!
INT. PAWN SHOP - DAY
The boys enter Jackie Dee's Pawn Shop, looking to swap the guitar for better gear. The owner, JACKIE DEE, is immediately suspicious.
STRAY BULLET: (to Jackie) Yo, Jackie. How much you give me for this Jimi Hendrix autographed guitar?
Jackie inspects the guitar.
JACKIE DEE: Boy, who gave you this guitar?
WRECK: His uncle B-B-Benny got this guitar when Jimi played at, ah... ah...
POSTMASTER P: Psychadela-Palooza! Yeah, this is the guitar he played at Psychadela-Palooza in 1971.
STRAY BULLET: Yeah, that's right.
JACKIE DEE: Hmmmm. I never heard 'a that one.
STRAY BULLET: That's the one where Jimi set his guitar on fire an' smashed that mo'fo' up!
JACKIE DEE: Psychadela-Palooza in 1971? Didn't Jimi die in 1970?
WRECK: Th-th-that was Paul McCartney!
Jackie looks at the signature. He frowns.
JACKIE DEE: Boy, you a no sense makin', bed-wettin', rash scratchin' liar! Jimi didn't spell his last name H-E-N-D-R-I-C-K-S! And Jimi Hendrix died in 1970, you jive-ass, two-bit hustler!
STRAY BULLET: Yo, Jackie! I swear on Miss Jenkins big water-head, Saskwatch lookin' baby, that this is Jimi Hendrix's guitar!
JACKIE DEE: Yeah, and I swear on your mama's hairweave you is too stupid to spell Jimi's last name.
POSTMASTER P: Okay, okay. Hear this! When we play our next gig, we give a big shout out to Jackie Dee's Pawnshop. Now whaddup?!
JACKIE DEE: Your next gig is like Butch's next piece a' ass. Your first! Y'all need to drop those silly ass names and start playin' some real music. Some good R & B! (derisively, to Stray Bullet) Stray Bullet! Boy you ain't no gangster! (to Postmaster P) And 'Postmaster P'. Postmaster?! Boy you ain't in the military! Quit frontin'.
POSTMASTER P: Postmaster P because I deliver the positive jam. That's dope, Jackie. Look'a here, after we win that rap contest in Vegas, we be payin' off all our credit! But we need the equipment first!
JACKIE DEE: Ya'll may be foolin' yourself but you ain't foolin' me. (to Wreck) Wreck, boy what happened to you? Used to be you could throw a baseball a hundred yards on a line. Sink a basketball from anywhere. Now look at you! Dope smokin' fool. (to Butch) And Butch . . . boy, you got too much schoolin'. Better get yourself a piece a' ass before you blow your dick off messin' with them chemicals! Ya'll go on! This ain't no charity!
EXT. STREET - DAY
The boys walk along the streets, dejected about their fading futures.
A black limousine pulls ahead of the boys and stops.
STRAY BULLET: (cont'd) There's Mack Daddy O'Nasses.
WRECK: Why do they call him O'Nasses? He don't look G-G-Greek to me.
POSTMASTER P: No, boy. Mack was the quintessential pimp in the 70's before he was reppin' talent. And Mack Daddy Owned Asses! Now he got it goin' on in hip-hop.
STRAY BULLET: Bitches and ho's ain't all my man knows!
The window of the limo rolls down, revealing Mack Daddy O'Nasses, now twenty-five years later, a Suge Knight-style hip hop impressario, decked out in athletic gear and shades, and the Mr. T gold chain collection around his neck.
MACK DADDY: If it ain't the Milli Vanilli of Compton hip-hop. Is it true you boys is samplin' Chipmunk tracks?
Mack laughs.
STRAY BULLET: That wasn't no Chipmunks! The tape machine broke!
MACK DADDY: Be cool, Stray. Be cool. Ain't nothin' but a hip-hop thang.
POSTMASTER P: Yo' Mack. We got a new sound an we want you to be the first to hear it.
MACK DADDY: What's in it for me?
POSTMASTER P: We win that contest in Vegas, we gonna be the hottest act around.
Mack is curious. He thinks a moment.
MACK DADDY: Allright! Get in! Better not be a waste of my time!
He opens the door and the boys get in.
INT. MACK-DADDY'S CRIB - DAY
Mack sits behind his large desk. His two MUSCLE-BOUND BODYGUARDS surrounding him, in a show of intimidation.
His office is adorned with cheap velvet paintings which Wreck is checking out, while taking repeated hits off a joint. Gold albums line the walls as well.
Stray and Post sit in two low chairs in front of Mack's desk. Butch stands behind them.
STRAY BULLET: Okay, I want some walkin' around money! And some club money so I can entertain my bitches! And we got to dress fly! You know what I'm sayin'? I'm tired of wearin' L-A Gear!
MACK DADDY: The only L-A you got is Lay-Away. Gimme that demo.
POSTMASTER P: (producing a tape) Yeah, check this jam out. It's sweet, man. And positive! That shit is sellin' now.
The MUSIC starts, and the boys are grooving, but Mack is not impressed at all. Stray gets up and starts to look around.
STRAY BULLET: This is our signature tune, Mack. 'Hit' is written all over that mo'fo'!
MACK DADDY: Uh-huh. We'll see about that.
Stray is particularly drawn to a stone, Leprechaun idol, a gold chain around its neck, cleverly disguised with a lampshade over its head. Stray pulls the Leprechaun's shade off, thinking about nabbing his gold chain, but a bodyguard shadows him.
After a while of listening, Mack shuts off the tape.
POSTMASTER P: That's positive, Mack! We're different from all them mo'fo's rappin' about drive-bys an' ho's!
MACK DADDY: Shit sounds like everybody else. Listen to White Flight! 'Those boys are down with a new sound!
WRECK: White Flight?! White Flight?! Those mutha fuckers can't even sp-sp-spell rap!
STRAY BULLET: Yo, Mack, shouldn't this be out on your front lawn, man?
MACK DADDY: (upset, jumping up) Get away from that!! Don't ever touch my Leprechaun, goddammit! You boys ain't got no talent. Sound like everyone else, only worse!
POSTMASTER P: Yo, Mack. This is our vehicle outta the hood!
MACK DADDY: Better get yo'r ass on a bus!
BUTCH: So what are you saying?
MACK DADDY: What is you hard of hearin?! Ya'll is some sorry-ass, worthless, no talent, time wastin', losers! (to his bodyguards) Get their asses outta here.
The bodyguards man-handle the boys out.
EXT. STREET - DAY
KUNG FU JOE is practicing his martial arts in slow motion. He wears the full-on kung-fu gear, including slippers. His moped is nearby. As he practices, three hoodlums move in to tease him.
HOOD 1: Hey, boy. What is you supposed to be? A black Ninja?!
KUNG-FU JOE: I am Kung-Fu Joe Johnson. Son of Earl and Bertha Johnson. I am a spiritual man. A peaceful man.
HOOD 2: A sissy, robe wearin' man!
The hoods laugh.
KUNG-FU JOE: Perhaps you are not in touch with your spirituality.
HOOD 3: I'm about to git in touch with yo'r ma-teri-ality. Hand over your wallet, fool!
KUNG-FU JOE: That I cannot do.
Kung-Fu Joe assumes the fighting position. Hood 1 steps forward and punches him in the stomach. Joe doubles over.
KUNG-FU JOE: (cont'd) (in pain) I would not have done that if I were you.
He tries to throw a kick, but Hood 2 catches his leg and the third Hood knees him in the nuts. Kung-Fu grimaces.
HOOD 1: Anciet Chinese proverb. Man with flat nuts don't roll too well with the punches!
INT. STRAY'S CAR - DAY
The boys discuss the situation as they cruise back to Stray's place in Stray's broke-down ride.
POSTMASTER P: Can you believe that mo'fo'? It's a good thing I'm positive.
STRAY BULLET: Big, Gorilla Spice lookin' mo'fo'! Bust a cap in his fat ass...
As they pull up to Stray's, they notice Kung-Fu Joe on the ground, the hoods scavenging his body for loot. The boys jump out and the hoods take off. They run to Kung-Fu Joe and help him up.
STRAY BULLET: Kung-Fu! You okay? You okay, Joe?!
They help him inside.
INT. STRAY'S RAP STUDIO/APARTMENT - DAY
Butch is trying to fix the mixing console. He stares at a burned-out tube.
STRAY BULLET: The more I think about that shit the madder I get! Who's he callin' a loser?
WRECK: (to Butch) Whaddup with the console, Butch?
BUTCH: This shit is broker than we is. Unless someone wins the lotto we can forgit that contest.
WRECK: The lotto is hangin' around that lawn jockey's neck at M-M-Mack's.
STRAY BULLET: Now you talkin', mo'fo'!
BUTCH: We only got one channel on this mixin' board.
STRAY BULLET: I been thinkin'! Okay, hear this! Everybody know Mack take two hours to get his grub on everyday at the Golden Cue. We bust in and grab that gold necklace off that little yard jockey he got. I know for sure that piece be hot! Hot and valuable! Ain't no way he gon' report it stolen! We can pawn that shit and git some new gear!
POSTMASTER P: Fool is you trippin'?! We do that shit we ain't no better'n Mack!
WRECK: I'm d-d-down wid' it! Everybody hates that motha-fucker anyway!
Butch is noticeably silent.
POSTMASTER P: What happened to settin' a good example? What happened to doin' the right thing? What happened to positive?
STRAY BULLET: Mack ain't nothin' but a pawn a' the white man! Keepin' us down! Controllin' how many brothas get outta the hood! It's a black and white thing!
WRECK: It's a pink and green thing! Booty and money! Stray's right. We solve that wif' f-f-firepower! Uzis an' AKs!
POSTMASTER P: Guns?! (pause) Maybe its time for me to start a new group. (pause) I'll see ya'll on Judge Judy.
As he begins to walk out,
STRAY BULLET: We meet at MacKenzie Park, tomorrow. Six thirty. Yo, Post!
Post turns around to listen.
STRAY BULLET: (cont'd) We playin' the cards we dealt! Like Mack said, "ain't nothin' but a hip-hop thang." Business in the hood!
Post shakes his head and leaves.
INT. LONNIE COCHRAN'S OFFICE - DAY
LONNIE COCHRAN, attorney-to-the-hood, is staring directly into the camera. He is smartly dressed.
LONNIE COCHRAN: Were you erroneously injured in a drive-by? Has someone busted a cap in your ass? Were you unlawfully detained while driving in Beverly Hills? Then you need to call the law offices of Lonnie Cochran, attorney to the hood. That's right friends, pick up your phones and call 1-900-555-2121. And remember, you don't need a case, to win based on race. Because at Lonnie's, you're not just a friend, you're a defendant. Assalam Alaikum! (pause) Cut!
Behind the camera is MATTY, his beautiful, black receptionist.
MATTY: That was great, Lonnie.
LONNIE COCHRAN: (smiling broadly) Yeah, I was, wasn't I? Now you edit that and get it to B-E-T.
Matty looks at her watch.
LONNIE COCHRAN: (cont'd) You expectin' that little hood to show up on time? Better let me give you a ride home.
MATTY: He's not a hood, Lonnie. He's my boyfriend.
The DOOR OPENS and Postmaster P comes walking in.
POSTMASTER P: Hey, baby.
He gives Matty a kiss.
POSTMASTER P: (cont'd) Am I late?
MATTY: You're right on time, sweetheart.
She shoots a look at Lonnie.
LONNIE COCHRAN: (under his breath) Probably had someone chasin' his little ass.
MATTY: I'll see you tomorrow, Lonnie. The commercial looks great.
LONNIE COCHRAN: Wait. Tell me what you think of this. (pause) Concerned about Y2K? Then inquire about Lonnie Cochran's millenium insurance policy. If it does not boot, I will file suit!
EXT. STREET - DAY
Post and Matty are walking along.
MATTY: So how did the job search go?
POSTMASTER P: Job search? Oh, job search.
MATTY: You didn't look for a job did you?
He sighs.
POSTMASTER P: Matty . . . I ain't no nine to five brotha'. You know that.
MATTY: Nine to five? I'd settle for nine to one, Post. I'm graduating from paralegal school in two months. We had plans. Plans we can't keep if you don't contribute.
They walk along quietly.
MATTY: (cont'd) Why are we going this way?
POSTMASTER P: Ain't we goin' back to my place? I ain't seen you in two days, baby.
MATTY: Post, what are we going to do at your place? Are you forgetting your mama?
POSTMASTER P: She be fallin' asleep early. I put Nytol in her Ensure.
MATTY: Post!
INT. POST'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
The bedroom door is closed, and the room is largely bare except for some rap and sports posters on the wall, and a small dresser. Matty is checking out the posters. Post lays on his bed, which is just a mattress that sits bare on the floor.
Matty turns to him.
MATTY: So is your mom asleep?
POSTMASTER P: Yeah, I think so. Bring yo'r fine self on over here. I'm gonna put in on you real good, girl.
She turns, smiles and unbuttons her shirt, seductively slipping out of it and letting it fall to the floor. Her bra is barely able to contain her heaving breasts. Then she un-does and slips out of her jeans, revealing a beautiful ass, framed in thong panties.
Matty gets down on her hands and knees and crawls seductively to one side of the bed. She reaches the head of the bed, still on her hands and knees, and just as they are about to kiss, the door opens!
In walks Post's mom with a cold beverage in one hand and a plate, which she holds in an oven mitt, in the other. She wears shades. She is blind.
MOM: Baby, you awake? I thought I heard you talkin' to someone.
POSTMASTER P: Yeah mom, I'm up. Ah, I was just rappin' to myself.
His mother starts coming towards the side of the bed with Matty. Post motions for her to stay quiet and don't move, but his mom is moving closer.
MOM: I brought you some dinner. It ain't much, but I know it be more'n you ate today.
She comes closer and now bumps into Matty, still on her hands and knees.
MOM: (cont'd) What's 'dat, baby?
POSTMASTER P: Ah, ah, I bought a night-stand, mom. From the Salvation Army.
MOM: Oh, you coulda' had the one in my room. Let me put this food down on here.
Matty's face says it all. Post doesn't know what to do except watch his mom put the ice-cold glass on Matty's back. Matty makes faces, putting her hand over her mouth to avoid crying out.
MOM: (cont'd) This plate is a little warm so you be careful.
Now Matty's eyes are really buggin', and when the hot plate is placed on her back it is unbearable. Still covering her mouth with her hand, she nevertheless cannot help but buck the plate from her back, sending it to the floor and causing a commotion.
MOM: (cont'd) Lordy, what is goin' on here?
Postmaster P then gets up to steer his mother out, while Matty writhes on the floor from the pain.
POSTMASTER P: That table done busted already! You know you can't get quality from the Salvation Army like you used to!
Matty still writhing, hand over her mouth.
MOM: What? Baby you okay? You actin' mighty funny. You sure 'dere ain't nothin' wrong?
But he hustles her out of the room.
POSTMASTER P: It's cool, mom. It's cool. I'll clean up. You go to bed, mom. Goodnight!
He closes the door and locks it.
MATTY: Post, why didn't you do something? Like take the food from her? My God, I'm branded for life!
She jumps up and begins dressing.
POSTMASTER P: Aw baby, don't go! She'll be asleep in a few minutes.
MATTY: That's it, Post. We're finished.
As she dresses.
POSTMASTER P: Finished? We never got started.
MATTY: As a couple, Post. I can't do this anymore. You're not going anywhere. You knew this was your last chance and you didn't even try.
She finishes dressing, and walks out.
POSTMASTER P: Damn! First the group. Now Matty.
EXT. MACKENZIE PARK - DUSK
Stray, Wreck and Butch are huddled in the park.
BUTCH: You got them Uzis, Wreck?
WRECK: U-U-Uzis an' clips!
STRAY BULLET: I hope his fat ass is there! Shoot that mo'fo' like a dog. Who's that, coming up in here?
They look off to see a figure approaching.
STRAY BULLET: Mack's gonna be off at the Golden Cue. I rang that mo'fo' earlier and disguised my voice. Shhhh! See who this mo'fo' is.
It is Postmaster P, silhouetted against the setting sun.
BUTCH: Post?
He stops, and they anxiously await his decision.
POSTMASTER P: Matty left me. This group is all I got.
STRAY BULLET: We just glad to know you wid' us, Post. Part 'a the hip-hop team.
The boys hug and high-five.
EXT. MACK-DADDY'S CRIB - DAY
Stray, Wreck, Butch and Post stand outside Mack Daddy's, Uzis drawn (except for Post, no weapon) and ready to bust in. In hushed but anxious tones,
POSTMASTER P: I ain't comin' in! I'll be look-out!
STRAY BULLET: You got to come in, Post! Someone's gonna see you out here!
WRECK: (whispering) His limo is gone. He ain't here. Let's do this quick!
Wreck kicks in the door. KABOOM!!
The boys rush in. They start to go through his drawers. Wreck finds a few gold pieces.
WRECK: (cont'd) Check this! Cha-ching!
Stray finds a gold flute.
STRAY BULLET: What this mutha-fucker got with a gol' flute? Post, check Mack's desk.
BUTCH: Don't take anything they might trace.
Post reluctantly begins rummaging through Mack's desk drawers. He finds a gun. Picks it up. Suddenly,
MACK DADDY: (O.S.) What the fuck!
Startled, Post immediately turns and accidentally shoots Mack directly in the chest. Mack stumbles forward, and Post, shocked by his own actions, squeezes another round. Mack's huge girth falls to the floor.
POSTMASTER P: Shit! Shit! Oh, shit!
STRAY BULLET: You killed that mutha-fucker, Post! You killed Mack Daddy!
Post is too stunned to do anything. He just stands there horrified at his actions. He drops the gun.
WRECK: Let's take all his shit! Come on!
Stray, Butch and Wreck continue to ransack the place. Wreck finds the pot of gold in a drawer.
WRECK: Post! Grab that gold necklace off that lawn jockey!
Post takes the necklace from the statue and puts it in his pocket.
The LEP comes to life. And as the boys are about to leave with the booty,
LEPRECHAUN: (O.S.) Un-hand me gold you thieving hoods! You've got more loot than Tiger Woods!
The boys stop dead in their tracks. They turn to see the little green varmint advancing on them.
WRECK: D-D-Damn Stray, what is it?!
STRAY BULLET: Shit! It's Chuckie on crack! Shoot that mutha-fucker!
They empty their Uzis on the Leprechaun, cutting him to shreds. Pieces everywhere.
WRECK: Shit! Let's go man! Let's go!
INT. STRAY'S CAR - DAY
The boys drive along. Post is very regretful of the violence and death.
BUTCH: That stone Leprechaun... it came to life! Soon as Post took that necklace from around his neck, he came to life! You know, there's the physical, and there's the metaphysical!
WRECK: That little P-P-Pixie mutha-fucker came right at us! We had to shoot him!
POSTMASTER P: (in shock) Damn! I killed Mack Daddy! I killed Mack Daddy O'Nasses!
STRAY BULLET: Ain't nobody got to know nothin'! Not even Kung-Fu Joe. That little Leprechaun... ain't nobody be missin' his ass! You know what I'm sayin'?
POSTMASTER P: Stop the car! Stop the car!
Stray pulls over. As Post gets out,
STRAY BULLET: Post! Be cool! We gonna sort this shit out tomorrow at Jackie Dee's.
POSTMASTER P: Man, we in some fucked-up shit, now!
STRAY BULLET: Killin' Mack is the best thing to happen to this hood since the riots! And that midget mo'fo', that couldn't be helped!
WRECK: Yeah! He was on us like Mike Tyson at a beauty pageant!
Post shakes his head, and slowly begins to walk off. Stray and the boys speed away.
He stops after a moment, adjacent to a junkyard. He pulls the gold necklace from his
pocket, looks at it, and throws it into the junkyard.
