Flight of the Maybug (Script)

ACT 2

WILHELM: So Fritz-?

HARTLEY: Fritz be a brownie point, aye.

WILHELM: If you know where he is why do you need me? Go grab him yourself.

HARTLEY: Ah see well now that be the thing. The only reason we know where Fritz be is 'cos we know where all our Nazis be. And we like to know where our Nazis be. But we can't know where all our Nazis be if they get spooked like, 'cos that means they'd be all up and runnin'. And let me tell you, I is not gettin' paid enough to babysit a bunch of spooked Nazis! So, instead of bargin' through their door in the dead O night, news of which will spread faster than wildfire, we subtly suggest that perhaps there be somethin' wrong, a message from an old acquaintance, you, in this case. And 'cos of the delicate nature of their very past, it be an invitation they can't ignore. Then, like will be for your Fritz, the last time they is seen will be on their way to meet an old associate. You identify him, give us a signal, and we take him away, gone. No-one gets spooked, no-one suspects a thing. The last they heard, two Nazis met up before shortly disappearin' off the face of the planet like, which is a story anyone would buy.

Wilhelm sits quietly, doing his best to digest everything he has just heard.

HARTLEY: I appreciate it be a lot to take in.

Pause.

WILHELM: Where is he?

HARTLEY: Fritz? (Consulting his notebook) A place called Bremerhaven, so not too far. You is to be meetin' him in a little pub, we use it a lot.

Lieutenant Hartley begins tidying his desk, putting things away in their appropriate places.

HARTLEY: It be also worth mentionin' that as far as he knows, you is meetin' up to arrange transport out of Germany like. He believe that you been in contact with "Marcel" who has a boat for the both of you. I hope your actin' be good, you do this, we let you go.

Lieutenant Hartley walks over towards the room's exit.

HARTLEY: I'll be fetchin' you tonight, get you cleaned up, can't have you lookin' like that.

Halfway through the door, Lieutenant Hartley remembers something at the last moment.

HARTLEY: Oh and Willie, happy birthday.

Lieutenant Hartley exits.

The light bulb flicks off.

Blackout.

Scene 2

A cosy, rustic tavern at night, warmly lit by the soft glow of candlelight emanating from the glass centrepieces of each of the three, round, wooden tables. The place is pristine. Even the empty bar occupying the north-west corner of the room is eerily immaculate. The tables themselves, with two accompanying chairs each, have also been uniformly organised. The first table sits upstage-right, a stone's throw from the bar. The second, upstage-left next to the wooden door, beside which a small, wooden coffee table acts as a stand for an ornate gramophone, playing a melancholy Edith Piaf record. The third and final table sits downstage-centre, on top of which two, full tankards of beer have been placed either side. The tavern, despite being painstakingly amicable, is completely devoid of life.

Wilhelm, a scrap of paper in hand, limps onstage through the wooden door. After a brief, albeit curious assessment of his surroundings, the young boy sits down at the third table. Taking a sip of beer, Wilhelm turns his attention back to the scrap of paper in hand.

HARTLEY: (Voiceover) -there be beer, have one. Then, when you has positively identified the bastard, and made sure he is unarmed, that last bit be very important lad, signal us by turnin' off the record player. It probably be playin' some French shite so that'll be a blessin' for us all. Once you has done that, we'll come in. I has given you a gun with one bullet, enough to get you out of trouble, nothin' more. (Wilhelm removes a small revolver from his pocket and inspects it before tucking it away) Remember, we wants this to be quiet, no-one gettin' spooked. So I don't want your smart arse to be tryin' anythin' intelli- (the sound of scribbling out is heard) intellig- (the sound of scribbling is once again heard) clever. That's an order, or so help me God. Good luck Wilhelm. Signed, Lieutenant Hartley. (Pause) P.S. for the love of God make sure Fritz doesn't see this you useless fuck! (Pause) P.S.S. good luck again.