Title: NFC CHAMPIONSHIP GAME, JANUARY 29, 2023

EXT. PARKING LOT, LINCOLN FIELD, PHILADELPHIA — EVENING

Braving the cold, six bundled up Eagles fans watch the game on a 13-inch TV, swigging Yeunglings, munching on Tastykakes.

The lone woman in the tailgate crew- KATE THOMPSON (30s), face painted green, sporting an Eagles jacket with bloodstains (we’ll get to that later)- raises her beer can.

KATE: Let’s do our toast. To pop.

They all hoist their cans. Belt out their dad’s creed:

TAILGATE CREW: Fuck the Cowboys!

Chug their brews. Kate finishes first. Spikes the empty can like a football. Snags a fresh one from the ratty cooler…

… Spies a GARDA truck park in front of the Live! Casino across the street. Two men in Covid masks- one tall and white (NICK, 50s), one short and Black (EDDIE, 30s)- climb out…

A kick ass detective for a decade, her instincts tell her something’s off. But there’s a f’ng playoff game going on. Glances at the tailgate crew. Through her drunken eyes…

Sees her dad (50s, bearded) partying with the guys, like the good ol’ days. He nods at her: ‘trust your gut, Katiekakes.’

Inspired, she marches toward the casino as raucous BOOS pour out of the stadium. The tailgate crew curses up a storm, chucking empty cans at the TV. Kate shakes her head, idiots.

INT. LIVE! CASINO

A plump, baby-faced guard (JERRY, 30s) leads Nick and Eddie through the buzzing casino, past the THUNK-THUNK-THUNK of the slots. Uneasy, Jerry slouches his head, avoiding eye contact.

But no one pays him any mind. Everyone’s watching the game, even the workers upstairs monitoring the security cameras…

… At a blackjack table, a fist fight breaks out between two Eagles and two 49ers fans. The fifth guy at the table hollers for security. All available guards rush over…

SHEILA RIDDICK (30s, Black, slender) mans the cashier cage. Streetwise and surly, she’s a hopeless romantic at heart.

Dread paints her face seeing the Garda guys… spies all the security cameras- they’re everywhere… Sheila’s trembling hand reaches for the panic button beneath the counter…

Eddie eyes her, pleading, as if to say ‘trust me.’ Taps his heart and flashes a flirty smile through the mask… Sheila sighs. Shuffles toward the back room, keycard in hand.

… The two men follow, pushing a dolly with ATM bags on it. Casino patrons CHEER an Eagles first down in the red zone…

EXT. PARKING LOT, LINCOLN FIELD

… CHEERS gush out of the stadium as Kate sprints across the lot, breathing heavy, beer can in hand. Traffic’s bumper to bumper on the street between the parking lot and casino…

… She glides across the hood of a Dodge Charger, Dukes of Hazzard style. Horns BEEP!BEEP!BEEP! rooting her on…

EXT. LIVE! CASINO

… Nick and Eddie fling the dolly with ATM bags- now flush with cash- in the back of the truck, then scramble inside. Kate rushes toward them, out of breath. Flashes her badge.

KATE: PPD! DON’T YOU FUCKING MOVE!

The truck barrels away. We notice the GARDA logo is a decal, not paint. Yep, it’s fake, all right…

… Kate reaches for her gun, but she doesn’t have one, not today. Fuck. As the truck rambles past, she glimpses the tall guy in shotgun; even with a mask on, he looks familiar…

Truck bolts out of the lot, tires SQUEALING. Kate calls it in-

DISPATCHER V.O.: Hey, Thompson! You at the game?
KATE (into phone, all business): Oh-300 in progress. Fake Garda truck, heading south on Packer… pretty sure I saw Nick.
DISPATCHER V.O.: Your old partner?

From the stadium across the street, the crowd ROARS. Touchdown! The dispatcher WHOOPS, then all serious:

DISPATCHER V.O.: Sending it out. Go Birds!

Kate gazes at the fleeing truck, pained. Crushes the beer can, venting her frustrations. To rub salt in her wounds, the real Garda truck cruises past, parks in front of the casino.

Kate stomps toward the stadium, back to the tailgate… Jerry waddles out of the casino, a guilty look on his face. Lights a cigarette with fidgety fingers. From the swirling smoke…

A scruffy, handsome young man smiles, as if posing for the cover of Life magazine. Celebrity? Perhaps. A flashbulb POPS.

INT. BOOKING ROOM, JAILHOUSE, ERIE, PA — AFTERNOON

Dank, musty. Visible pipes on the ceiling. A calendar on the cracked concrete wall shows a sexy blonde. An open window offers little relief from the scorching, late summer heat.

Stocky, mustached cop, SERGEANT KRAVITZ (30s), thumbs through paperwork, processing a prisoner. On his tidy desk, a small American flag (48 stars) and a radio airing the World Series.

Title: SEPTEMBER 1946

SERGEANT KRAVITZ:… ‘Klep.’ That one ‘p’ or two? Got it both ways here.

Across from him, slouched in a chair, the scruffy young man. He sports a baseball uniform with ‘Pontiacs’ on the front. His bloodshot eyes show his drunkenness; a wry smile, his childlike demeanor. Our disheveled hero, EDDIE KLEP (27).

EDDIE: Just call me Eddie. Or Lefty. Some a’ of the guys call me Lefty.

The sergeant shoots him a look, then glimpses Eddie’s file.

SERGEANT KRAVITZ: Quite a record you got here, Lefty.
EDDIE: 21 and 4, couldn’t touch me.
SERGEANT KRAVITZ (reading): Drunkenness. Disorderly Conduct. Adultery.
EDDIE: 2 and 0 for the Bucks. Can’t pin that last one- bases were loaded.
SERGEANT KRAVITZ: Seem a lil’ loaded yourself.

Eddie sits up, earnestly.

EDDIE: Hey, got a bottle stashed in here? Don’t worry, I won’t say nothin’.
SERGEANT KRAVITZ (ignoring him): This time it’s what… ‘burglary’ and ‘receiving stolen goods.’
EDDIE: Goods? C’mon, it was just beer.
SERGEANT KRAVITZ: 42 dollars and fifty cents worth.
EDDIE: What can I say, I was thirsty.
SERGEANT KRAVITZ: Think this is a joke? Huh? Fellas overseas, fightin’ and dyin,’ you in and outta here like a hotel?
EDDIE: Whaddya want, they said I was 4F. Uh, funny and frank and…

Losing his train of thought, he hears the game on the radio.

BROADCASTER V.O. (through static):… The young southpaw has a honey of a future ahead of him…

Gazing at the radio, the grin’s yanked off Eddie’s face.

SERGEANT KRAVITZ: Everything the same? Same address?
EDDIE: Yeah.
SERGEANT KRAVITZ: Still married?
EDDIE: Huh?
SERGEANT KRAVITZ: There a Mrs. Klep? And we’re gonna go with one ‘p,’ keep it simple.
EDDIE: What does she gotta do with it? She don’t gotta know nothin’!
SERGEANT KRAVITZ: Think she’ll find out soon enough.

Sinks back in his chair, defeated.

EDDIE: Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. Prob’ly be all over the papers.

Spies the blonde on the calendar. His lustful gaze lingers.

BROADCASTER V.O.:… Just 22 years old…
EDDIE: Could you turn that off?
SERGEANT KRAVITZ: It’s the World Series.
EDDIE: I have rights, ya know.
SERGEANT KRAVITZ: What, you don’t like baseball?

Eddie snickers.

SERGEANT KRAVITZ: Figure you did, that getup on.

Eddie springs up in his seat, his face flushed with a mixture of bewilderment and rage.

EDDIE: You don’t know who I am, do you?
SERGEANT KRAVITZ: Am I supposed to?
EDDIE (big): Yeah.

HOLD on his fiery eyes, a look we’ll get to know.

BROADCASTER V.O.: … Got him down 0-2 in the count. Crowd on their feet…

Over this, chants of ‘ED-DEE!’ ‘ED-DEE!’

Title: ONE YEAR EARLIER