'THE UNTOUCHABLES', 1962
CURTAINS
He had been bad, very bad. He had killed a man and enjoyed it, felt no qualms as he pulled the trigger ... Yeah, it had felt good, real good. A feeling of power, of having the final say. Given half a chance, he'd do it again, and it looked like that chance would not be long in coming.
He'd heard of Elliot Ness of the Untouchables squad - ruthless, a dedicated cop and good at his job, so he recognised Ness as he burst into the room. The jig was up! He turned to flee. Gun in hand, he let off a couple of rounds, but neither cop fell. Instead, Ness and another guy fired simultaneously. He felt both bullets punch into his body, throwing him backwards to the ground. His left shoulder was smashed, but. there was another pain, deep inside his chest, a hot, searing pain. He lay there, dimly hearing dialogue between the cops, feeling the blood welling from his wounds. His hand, clutching his chest, became wet and sticky. He tried to get up but couldn't; tried to speak, but couldn't. Dying ... he was dying, and nobody was caring.
His wife ... the kids ... he'd never see them again. He loved them so, he'd done it all for them, but now there was no more time - no time to say he was sorry, no time to say goodbye. It was curtains for him. So this was what it was like to die - he'd often wondered how it would be...
His lifeless hand slipped to his side.
---oo0oo---
"Okay, cut! That's it, people, it's a wrap! Thank you!" The director's voice boomed over the loudhailer. Robert Stack turned round and saw the man he'd just 'shot' still lying there, doggo.
"Hey, Nimoy, you OK? You can get up now! Come on, gimme your hand!"
The spell was broken, his actor's imagination burst like a bubble. He opened his eyes to see Robert Stack bending over him, offering his hand. He let Stack help him to his feet, pat him on the shoulder - his wounded shoulder. *No! Snap out of it - you're only playactingl* he reminded himself, smiling a little selfconsciously at the star of the show. He wondered how his performance would look on screen. Good, hey?
But still the feeling of non-reality pervaded him as he walked silently with the rest of the cast towards the dressing rooms. What if he had died then, with nobody caring?
How often in the future, and in how many different ways, would it again be 'curtains'?
---oo0oo---