A high-rise apartment building
RED SOX FAN
(RED SOX FAN enters the apartment.)
RSF: Yankees Fan! The ladies are waiting down in the lobby. Aren’t you ready yet?
(A voice responds from the bathroom, which is open.)
YF: Just about.
(RED SOX FAN walks over to find YANKEES FAN bent over the tub, drowning a litter of kittens. RED SOX FAN shakes his head with bemusement.)
RSF: You’re going to make us late. It wasn’t easy to get us this double date with the Pigeon sisters, you know.
(The last of the thrashing ceases. Satisfied, YANKEES FAN straightens up.)
YF: All set. Let’s go.
RSF: Not so fast. Your shirt’s wet. You better go change it.
(YANKEES FAN is annoyed, but complies. He looks at himself approvingly in his bedroom mirror, then steps over to the corner, where there’s a stack of cinderblocks. He hefts one, tosses it out the open window and walks out of the room. From far below come the sounds of shattering glass, shrieking tires and screams. RED SOX FAN is waiting anxiously at the apartment door.)
RSF: That’s the shirt you’re going to wear?
YF: What’s wrong with it?
(RED SOX FAN points at a faded, pinkish stain on the cuff.)
YF: No big deal. Just a little wine.
RSF: It’s blood. Last week at lunch you jabbed your salad fork into the waiter’s neck.
YF: Oh, yeah.
(YANKEES FAN rolls up both sleeves to the elbow.)
YF: Problem solved.
(RED SOX FAN shakes his head and they step out into the hallway.)
RSF: Just don’t embarrass me tonight.
YF: I was going to tell you the same thing.
(An OLD LADY and her young GRANDSON are moving toward them. RED SOX FAN nods politely and hugs the wall to give them room to pass. YANKEES FAN, however, trips the OLD LADY and tells the GRANDSON there’s no Santa Claus. RED SOX FAN rolls his eyes and presses the button for the elevator. They stand in the hall, waiting.)
YF: So who do the sisters like? Yanks or Sox?
RSF: I didn’t ask.
YF: Didn’t ask?
RSF: It didn’t seem important.
YF: Are you crazy?!
(RED SOX FAN puts his arm around YANKEES FAN’s shoulder and grins warmly.)
RSF: Sometimes I think so, buddy. Sometimes I think so.
(YANKEES FAN grumpily brushes off RED SOX FAN’s arm, pulls a pistol from out of nowhere, and plants the barrel against RED SOX FAN’s temple. The elevator door opens. RED SOX FAN steps inside while YANKEES FAN remains in the hall, still aiming his pistol. RED SOX FAN holds the door open for him.)
RSF: You coming?
(For a moment, YANKEES FAN continues to glare at him. Then a grin breaks out on his face and he puts away the gun.)
YF: I’m with you, buddy.
(YANKEES FAN takes out his cell phone, dials the Vatican and calls in a bomb threat, then steps in to join his best friend.)