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jovialtorchlight · 3 months

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DUFFLEBAG--A PLAY IN ONE ACT

DUFFLEBAG

A play in one act by Jonny Bolduc

CONTENT WARNING: This play contains a depiction of suicide, as well as gunshots, murder, and implied violence against children.

CHARACTERS:

ALEX: A washed up journalist.

AJ: Demon incarnate.

DETECTIVE: Trying to piece the case together.

BETHANY: Alex’s sister.

WOMAN/WAITRESS

SCENE 1

LIGHTS come up on an empty newsroom. ALEX, an overweight middle aged man, hangs his coat up on the back of a rolling chair in front of a computer. SOUNDFX: A police scanner sputtering out a traffic stop.

ALEX:

Anyone home? Chuckles. Of course not. ALEX notices a manila envelope on his keyboard. As he sits down and boots up his computer. Wonder if those are the Seadog tickets I put my name in for yesterday.

ALEX is about to open the envelope when the phone rings. As ALEX answers, the lights fade on him and come up on the EDITOR and DETECTIVE sitting at a table downstage.

DETECTIVE:

Are there any cameras in the newsroom? Security cameras?

EDITOR:

Yeah.

DETECTIVE:

If I got a warrant to look at the footage, it would all be there, right? Everything from Saturday, March 16? No mysterious gaps?

EDITOR:

Look. I can’t speak for Alex. At this point, if he fucked with the footage, it wouldn’t suprise me. I thought…I thought I knew him. As well as anyone knew him…I never thought he would..

DETECTIVE:

Alright. As far as you know, on Saturday, what time did he get into the newsroom?

EDITOR:

3:30 p.m.

DETECTIVE:

Was anyone in the newsroom?

EDITOR:

No. He worked the skeleton hour, the time between the morning and night shift. When I first started at the journal, the cop beat came in in the morning. But staffing cuts--

DETECTIVE:

I don’t need a history lesson. I just need to know why Alex did it.

LIGHTS down on EDITOR and DETECTIVE. Lights up on Alex, speaking on the phone, typing on his computer and eating tortilla chips and salsa.

ALEX:

Thanks for talking to me on the weekend, Chief Perry. Do you know the condition of the nine year old injured in the crash? Critical? Ok, thank you. A huge glob of salsa falls onto his shirt.

Any other information? I understand. I’ll wait for the press release. Have a good weekend. Hangs up. Looks at salsa on his shirt. Shit. Raises salsa glob to his mouth and licks it clean.

Good enough. On his computer, ALEX reads aloud as he types.

“Dear Mark,

Regretfully, I am writing this letter to inform you that my last day of employment with the Twin Town Journal will on April 1st.

This dimly lit basement office, stale, moldy. Sometimes, I feel like I exist inside a slowly rotting carcass. It’s time for me to live. ”

No. I can’t.

ALEX aggressively hits the delete button. ALEX eyes the unopened manila envelope. He opens it.

Lights down on ALEX, back up on the DETECTIVE and EDITOR.

DETECTIVE:

Where did Alex sit?

EDITOR:

Alex’s desk was in the back corner of the newsroom.

DETECTIVE:

Why was he in the corner?

EDITOR:

Well, he earned it. It’s a hierarchy thing. New reporters were stationed at the front next to the copydesk, mainly so they couldn’t just Facebook all shift, look at cat pictures or pretend like they were answering emails.

DETECTIVE:

So he was a good employee?

EDITOR:

At one point. He won us seven Press Association awards, that he kept framed, and lined up on his desk, reminding us of his best work. 2012, an unreplicated year. The rest of the years were bad, full of mistakes and errors and mediocrity. But those seven awards kept him in the newsroom.

DETECTIVE:

Was there ever any problems with his behavior? Anything concerning?

EDITOR:

Every couple years he would be out for a few weeks for an unspecified “emergency.” I learned after the second one that he was admitted to the psyche ward. I don’t know the details, but I summized that he had pretty serious breakdowns every so often. But he never brought that to work.

LIGHTS HALF DOWN on EDITOR and DETECTIVE, LIGHTS UP ON ALEX. ALEX is reading the letter that was in the envelope.

ALEX:

Fuck. Fuck. Oh god. FUCK. ALEX puts his head in his hands.

ALEX vomits into the trash can beside him.

LIGHTS UP on EDITOR AND DETECTIVE.

EDITOR:

When we searched his desk, we found the note he read underneath a pile of vomit and soda cans. Tell me if you can make any sense of it.

“A.J.. favor. River behind Bethany’s, Mechanic F., 2:30 a.m., Monday.”

EDITOR:

It’s closed now, but Bethany’s was an ice cream store in Mechanic Falls. As for the rest… who AJ is…I have no idea.

Back to ALEX.

ALEX:

I think I’m having a fucking heart attack. Fuck. AJ. That crazy goddamn bastard is back. Fuck. Fuck.

Back to EDITOR. As the EDITOR speaks, the upstage is cleared.

EDITOR:

Alex didn’t do much for the rest of the night. Around 9 p.m., he went out for a three vehicle crash, out on Goff Hill.

DETECTIVE:

Yeah. I pulled the report, pieced it together. When Alex got there, police had already shut the road off, so he parked at Denny’s, waved at the cop directing traffic. Officer Moltisanti knew Alex from other scenes, and said, and I quote, “I thought we were going to have to call an ambulance. He was breathing heavy, like a panting, St. Bernard and he looked really pale. But he walked up the hill. Took some pictures of the crash. Headed back down the hill. We pulled some surveillance photos of Denny’s; he came in at 10:00 p.m., ordered a black coffee, and took out his computer to write the story.

EDITOR:

He never came back to the office.

Lights back up on Alex, drinking coffee at a counter. A waitress is setting a plate of food next to him.

WAITRESS:

Rough night, Alex?

ALEX:

Laughs. Yeah, you could say that. It’s the kind of night that makes me wish I never stopped smoking cigarettes. Do you remember when you could smoke in Denny’s?

WAITRESS:

Yeah, hon, I do. I’m pretty ancient.

ALEX:

You’re not ancient. You still got life left in you, Betty. Me, not so much.

WAITRESS:

What do you mean?

ALEX:

Nothing. Nothing. Thank you for talking to me.

WAITRESS:

Are you alright, hon?

ALEX:

Yeah. I’m ok.

I just..when I was a kid, my dad smoked. His flannels, the garage, everything had the smokey smell…and shit, I loved it. Even when I was old enough to know that the smoke was killing him. Do you know what I mean? When the thing that’s killing you gives you comfort?

WAITRESS:

Are you sure you’re ok?

ALEX:

Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Betty.

WAITRESS exits. ALEX reads as he types.

Comfort. Where does it come from? At what expense? Comfort comes from booze, food, Lexapro. Fleeting interests, the, distractions, anything to to get himself one step ahead of the chest tightening, stomach twisting, breathless, empty attacks. But still, the strange dread creeps into me. An alarm malfunctioning, blaring empty signals into my head.

But it’s real, this time. If you’re reading this, I’m dead. This is goodbye.

ALEX pays his check and leaves.

BLACKOUT.

SCENE 2

Lights up on a dream. A WOMAN appears. ALEX is with her.

ALEX:

Exactly as I remember you. You smill like dirt. Not unpleasant, more like you had been gardening. Green jeans, white tank top, humid August night…

WOMAN:

I’m drunk, stumbling. Both of us were, honey. But you were walking straight. I could smell your breath, though. And when I looked into your eyes, trying to kiss you, you were half on earth, half somewhere else.

ALEX:

Don’t get into the passenger seat.

WOMAN:

I have to. This is how it happened.

ALEX:

Fuck. I can’t…I can’t keep losing you.

WOMAN:

Alex. Remember something, when you wake up.

ALEX:

Of course.

WOMAN:

It was your fault.

LIGHTS DOWN. In the blackout, ALEX runs to his bed. LIGHTS up. ALEX wakes up violently, in a panic.

He throws the sheets off, and stumbles into the bathroom offstage. SOUNDFX of some nasty bathroom business.

He emerges.

He is talking to his dog.

Maisey. Girl. I love you. But I got to go. I hate this. I really do.

Want to come up on the bed?

ALEX lays down on the bed. BLACKOUT.

LIGHTS UP. ALEX is passing his sister, BETHANY, a collar.

ALEX:

She eats Nature’s Pride. Exclusively.

BETHANY:

I know. I’ve dogsat for you before. How long are you going to be gone, again?

ALEX:

Three days. It was kind of last minute. I’m going up to Presque Isle for a job interview.

BETHANY:

You’re leaving Twin City?

ALEX:

Yeah. Maybe moving up north.

BETHANY:

Alex? I need to…ask you something.

ALEX:

Sure.

BETHANY:

Are you ok? You seem…not ok.

ALEX:

I’m fine.

BETHANY:

I don’t believe that. Come on. If something’s wrong, I can help you.

ALEX:

I swear to god, Beth, nothing’s wrong.

BETHANY:

Alex. I love you. You’re my brother. And we’ve been through hell. I know you well enough to know when you’re going through some shit. And look, after last year, you promised you would be honest. Please, be honest.

ALEX:

Beth. Nothing is wrong.

BETHANY:

You know what my worst fear is? What keeps me up at night? I get a call saying that you’re dead, that you killed yourself, that the worst day is here. I can’t picture life without you, Alex. So please. Come on. Tell me what’s wrong.

ALEX:

A heavy pause.

I…got a letter.

BETHANY:

What did it say?

ALEX:

It was..it was from…A credit card company. I’m getting sued for like 15,000 dollars. I might lose everything

. Lights down on ALEX and BETH.

Back up on DETECTIVE and BETH.

DETECTIVE:

Before we start, I’m sorry for your loss.

BETH:

Doesn’t answer.

So. You think it was him?

DETECTIVE:

Yeah. We do. Almost cert--

BETH:

It was A.J.

DETECTIVE:

A.J? A.J Gutenski?

BETH:

Yeah.

DETECTIVE:

Huh. Look, I shouldn’t tell you this, but Bethany. Forensic confirmed that Alex fired the bullet that killed AJ.

BETH:

No. No, you don’t understand. Whatever happened, that bastard was behind it. Alex didn’t even own a fucking gun.

DETECTIVE:

He bought one the night he died.

BETH:

What? Well, come on- iIt must have been self defense.

DETECTIVE:

Ok. Look, I understand you’re grieving--

BETH:

I know what you’re going to ask me about. When I last talked to him. Look, he lied to me. I had no idea AJ was back in town. But you have to understand. If he told me AJ was back in town, I would have personally escorted Alex to the gunstore. AJ was less of a person and more a fucking demon.

DETECTIVE:

Bethany. I know you’re upset, but AJ was a veteran. A former police officer. An upstanding-

BETH:

With all due respect, detective. He’s a sociopathic fuckhead. He killed my brother.

LIGHTS UP on Alex in his apartment. It is dark. He is looking in a mirror.

ALEX:

Look at this. A fucking disgusting piece of shit. Pale skin, gross, scaby graying beard, greasy ass hair, lumpy, overstuffed disgusting. I’m such a fucking piece of shit.

Pause.

AJ. That fucking bastard.

Alex screams, guttural, and punches the mirror, shattering it. He grunts in pain. He picks glass from his knuckles and wraps his hand in a bloody papertowel.

END SCENE.

SCENE 3:

Lights up on Bethany and Detective.

Detective:

We know that early in the morning, after Alex dropped off his dog-

BETHANY:

Maisy.

DETECTIVE:

Sure, yeah, Maisey--he drove Bethany’s Ice Cream. He parked in the back lot, down where there’s a steep bank that leads to the river underneath the railroad trestle. Why would he go to Bethany’s? Did he have some sort of connection to the place?

BETHANY:

We grew up in Mechanic Falls. We used to joke that I owned the place. Mechanic Falls wasn’t like…dead back then. When Alex was a boy, this small mill town still had a mill, and it still felt like a town. He’d walk from our massive Victorian home on Main Street to a three room school that served all 25 kids in town, he’d ride his bike down the trails to the brooks and he’d rip around on his dirt bikes, up and down Main Street.

The town was his. Ours. Which is why I think the fire effected him so much.

DETECTIVE:

The mill fire? 2018?

BETHANY:

Yeah. He wrote about it. I’d read it to you, but I still haven’t been given any of his belongings.

DETECTIVE:

They’re in evidence. Why do you think the fire effected him?

BETHANY:

We watched the town go up in flames.

DETECTIVE:

Just the mill. And no one was hurt.

BETHANY:

Yeah. But he worked his first job in that mill. I think he saw it like…the past was burning down. Like the fire was destroying every good memory he ever held.

DETECTIVE:

Huh. Ok.

So. Answer this.

When did your brother become a far right extremist?

BETHANY:

What? What the fuck are you talking about?

DETECTIVE:

We found a vile journal with all kinds of shit in it. He listed all the people he wanted to hurt. He was radicalized. For christ sake, he tried to--

BETHANY:

That wasn’t him. It was AJ. It had to be AJ.

LIGHTS DOWN.

LIGHTS UP on AJ. He is standing, hands in his pockets, shivering. He is down by the river; the sound of rushing water. The sound of tires screeching. AJ is here. Car door slams shut. AJ strides onstage. He is ex-military, clad in a green tank top and cargo pants. Cleancut.

AJ:

Look. The fat bastard’s waiting. Get in my belly. Bring it in bud.

AJ grasps ALEX in a unwilling bearhug. It’s too long, too tight. ALEX wiggles in protest. ALEX is checking for a wire. When AJ lets go, he pushed ALEX, and almost sends him scrambling back.

Thought I was going to get lost in all that blubber. It’s good to see you, friend.

ALEX:

It’s…uh..good to see you too, AJ. Where have you--

AJ:

Like a flipped switch. He’s violent. He grabs ALEX by the shoulders. None of your fucking buisness where I’ve been, you fat fuck. Why do you need to know? Are you a fucking narc? You don’t ask me shit. Knees ALEX in the groin. ALEX collapses on the ground, rolling. AJ makes as if he’s going to stomp AJ in the head, but lands on the ground beside him, howling in laughter.

I forgot how easy to are to fuck with, friend. Now, look. I got a favor to ask you, once you find your balls again. As ALEX gathers himself, AJ reaches into a bag beside him and pulls out a pair of fishing waders.

You’re going to go for a little swim. Throws the waders at ALEX.

ALEX:

What?

AJ:

Sure, it ain’t going to be warm. But, you know something? The Russians, those crazy bastards, cut holes in the ice and started swimming in the winter. It’s supposed to cleanse their bodies of toxins from vodka or something. Then, some rich Norwegian socialist fucks started doing it, and it spread over to the US, and now, there are, and I shit you not, people that jump in ice cold water for fun. Fucking crazy assholes.

Look, you’re going to do have to do some physical activity. You may have a heart attack. But look. It’s real shallow under the bridge. You’re going to wade out. The current shouldn’t be too bad. About halfway, your left foot is going to nudge a cinderblock. Lift it up. There’s going to be a chain. Dig a bit. There’s going to be a duffle bag tied to a rock. I don’t want my DNA on that bag. Laughs. Grab it, bring it over here.

At least I got you some waders. Gear up, Mr. Belvedere.

ALEX clumsly puts on the waders, and hobbles offstage. AJ sparks a cigarette, leans back, and watches. He yells OS to ALEX.

“Look! A fuckin’ whale in his natural habitat! Keep going tubby! Hariet fucking Tubbyman over here.”

After a pause, ALEX screams. Splashing.

ALEX:

From OS.

MY WADERS ARE FULL OF WATER--I’M--

AJ howls with laughter. He moves to the side of the stage and pulls a soaking wet, hacking, miserable ALEX to the center of the stage. He’s clutching a dufflebag. ALEX gets on all fours and starts hacking life a halfdrowned cat.

AJ:

You’re fucking fine, you goddamn pussy.

AJ slaps ALEX on the back, three times, hard, then kicks him hard in the side. ALEX wheezes, falls over on his side, clutching himself.

Let’s get this gear off you, soilder!

AJ yanks the waders off of ALEX, but purposefully removes his pants as well, leaving him in his underwear, huddled, shivering, half drowned, and bruised on the bank.

Alright, alright. It’s ok, baby.

AJ leans down next to ALEX to cuddle him, spooning him.

Big fat baby. You chunky son of a bitch. Get up. Get up. GET UP!

AJ leaps up, and pulls ALEX to his feet.

Open the fucking dufflebag.

AJ, trembling, gets down on all fours, again, and slowly unzips the dufflebag. He peers inside. The horror of what’s inside hits him after a pause. He screams.

BLACKOUT.

LIGHTS UP on DETECTIVE and BETH.

DETECTIVE:

Did anyone tell you how he died?

BETH:

My brother? I mean, I know he took his own life.

DETECTIVE:

A single gunshot wound to the head. A pretty obvious suicide.

I have a photo for you, Bethany.

BETH:

Are you fucking serious? I don’t want to see his head--

DETECTIVE:

No. Not of his head. Of what was in the dufflebag he pulled out of the river. You need to see it. You need to see it to really understand what we’re dealing with.

BETH:

Nods. DETECTIVE slides the photos to her. She opens the envelope, looks, and dry heaves.

Fuck.

DETECTIVE:

I know you think your brother had nothing to do with this, and I wish the facts supported that. But what we have, everything we have, points to him.

BETH:

Through tears.

Fuck.

LIGHTS back up on ALEX and AJ.

AJ:

Peers over the duffle bag, doesn’t touch it.

Ha. That’s her alright. Damn. She’s looking a little…waterlogged, isn’t she.

ALEX:

Through tears.

What the fuck did you do, AJ? What the fuck did you--

AJ:

Shut up. Here’s what’s you’re going to do. You’re going to get the fuck up. You’re going to pick up the bag, put it in your car. Your going to go to your apartment. I got some hydrocloric acid. We’re going to take care of this, and tomorrow, we’re going to make some people fucking pay. Get up. Get up.

ALEX:

She was fucking innocent, AJ. She was a…a…

Gets up, stands over the duffle bag for a moment. In one motion, ALEX suckerpunches AJ hard, in the head, and AJ crumples. ALEX grabs the dufflebag, and as AJ comes alive, ALEX scrambles up the bank.

AJ:

Time for a fuckin’ hog chase! Squeal squeal, you fuck! Squeal squeal!

BLACKOUT. END SCENE

SCENE 4

ALEX is in his car, death gripping the steering wheel. The soggy dufflebag is beside him. His phone rings. He answers.

ALEX:

Hello, AJ.

AJ:

Where the fuck you think you going, lardass?

ALEX:

The police.

AJ:

Why the fuck would you do something like that?

ALEX:

Because the decomposed head of your child is in a duffle bag next to me.

AJ:

They’re going to think it was you.

ALEX:

So what? I’ll tell the truth. That’s all I can do.

AJ:

Huh. Well lookie here. I think I’m coming up behind you. Silver Subaru Impreza, 98142TW. Yup. That’s you. Here’s a little nudge, buddy.

AJ rams ALEX’s car from behind. ALEX tries to brace and steady himself. Sound FX of a car skidding. It’s not enough to go off the road.

I’ll be harder next time. And here’s a little sting.

Gunshot. A bullethole in the sidemirror.

Next time, I won’t miss.

ALEX:

Do you remember when we met, AJ?

AJ:

I sure do. I was an Oxford County Deputy. I rolled up on you, rolled over in a ditch. Your sweet--Jane, was it? Was dead. Head caved in from the door crunching around her temple. You were crying, drunk as hell. I recognized you from the paper. Took you into my cruiser, drove you home, put your drunk ass to bed, saved you from being arrested for manslaughter. Told them it was just her in the car. I saved you, you fuck. You owe me.

ALEX:

I didn’t ask you to save me, AJ. You know, when I dream about her, she tells me..it was my fault.

AJ:

That sucks. It’s true. It was your fault.

ALEX:

Yeah. It was my fault.

This is the first time I’ve said that out loud. And it didn’t even kill me. AJ. I have a question. How many others are there? How many others have you…killed?

AJ:

Lost count.

ALEX:

Children?

AJ:

We all have our vices.

ALEX:

ALEX cranks the steering wheel. Screeching tire sound. BLACKOUT, just long enough for car to clear. ALEX is outside of the car, still in his underwear, holding a gun. Car door slams shut. AJ enters from the opposite side of the stage, and stops when he sees ALEX holding the gun.

AJ:

Well look at you. When you get the balls to buy a gun? I shouldn’t be too worked up. You’re too much of a puss--

ALEX:

Shoots AJ. AJ dies. ALEX takes AJ’s phone from his pocket. Puts the phone on speaker. Kneels stage center. Answering machine.

Beth. I’m…sorry. AJ’s dead. I wish… it didn’t happen like this. I wish I was better. Take care of Maisy. I love you. Goodbye.

GUNSHOT AS BLACKOUT.. END

#jonny bolduc #playwriting #short play #one act

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