CBWL 033

Scene: Run-down Super 8 – Two Towns Over – Morning

The black SUV pulls into the cracked parking lot of a rundown Super 8 in a small town about 45 minutes outside of Duluth. The place looks even worse than the last motel — faded paint, busted vending machine, and a flickering “Vacancy” sign that’s been broken for years.

Tony Soprano is in the passenger seat. Butterbean is driving, a black duffel bag sitting in the backseat. As Butterbean puts the truck in park, Tony’s phone starts ringing again. He glances at it, sees Cowboy calling, and immediately ignores it.

He’s got more important shit to deal with right now.

Tony steps out of the SUV and lights a cigarette while Butterbean grabs his bag from the backseat. Neither of them says anything as they walk toward Room 112. Tony knocks twice — hard.

After a few seconds, the door cracks open. Wendy Williams is standing there, still looking rough. Her eye is swollen and dark, and she clearly hasn’t slept. She stares at Tony like she’s trying to figure out if this is real.

Tony doesn’t wait for an invitation. He pushes the door open and walks in, with Butterbean following behind him and shutting the door. Rosie O’Donnell is sitting on the edge of one of the beds, looking just as confused and beat up as Wendy.

Tony stands in the middle of the room and looks between the two of them.

Tony Soprano: (calm, low) Alright. Here’s how this is gonna go.

He points at Wendy.

Tony Soprano: You’re getting cleaned up and going to that arena tonight. You’re gonna do your job, act like everything’s normal, and keep your fucking mouth shut. That’s it.

Wendy doesn’t say anything. She just nods slowly.

Tony then turns his attention to Rosie. His expression shifts — colder, more annoyed.

Tony Soprano: You… you weren’t supposed to be here. That was a mistake.

Rosie looks up at him, still trying to process everything.

Tony Soprano: I should’ve left you at your house. Now I got two problems instead of one. And I don’t like having extra problems.

He takes a drag off his cigarette and exhales slowly.

Tony Soprano: So here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna sit in this room, you’re not gonna call anybody, and you’re not gonna do anything stupid. If you do… we’re gonna have a real fucking problem. Understand?

Rosie nods weakly.

Tony stares at her for another second, then looks over at Butterbean, who’s standing by the door with his bag, quiet as usual.

Tony Soprano: (to Butterbean) We’re gonna be here a minute. Make sure they understand the rules.

The room is tense. Tony Soprano stands in the middle of it, cigarette in hand, staring down at Rosie O’Donnell, who’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Wendy Williams is standing near the wall, quiet and clearly afraid.

Rosie, despite everything, can’t help herself.

Rosie O’Donnell: (loud, confrontational, very much herself) You know, for somebody who shows up in the middle of the night with a gun and a fuckin’ gorilla, you got a lot of nerve telling people what to do. Who the hell do you think you are?

The room goes still.

Tony’s face changes in an instant. He steps forward and screams at her, loud and ugly.

Tony Soprano: (exploding) Who the fuck do I think I am?! I’m the guy who decides whether you walk out of this room or not, you loudmouth fucking pig! You think this is a fucking joke?!

Rosie flinches but doesn’t back down completely. Wendy, on the other hand, looks like she’s about to throw up.

Tony stares at Rosie for another second, breathing hard through his nose. Then his expression shifts — colder, more calculated. He sees an opportunity.

He looks over at Butterbean, who’s standing by the door with his black duffel bag. Tony gives him a small nod.

Butterbean doesn’t say a word. He turns and walks into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Tony turns back to the two women, his voice dropping into something meaner and more deliberate.

Tony Soprano: (low, venomous) You know what your problem is? You people never know when to shut the fuck up. Always running your mouths. Always thinking somebody gives a shit what you have to say. That’s why you’re in this room right now. Because you couldn’t keep your big fucking mouths shut.

He takes a slow drag off his cigarette.

Tony Soprano: And don’t even start with that racist shit. I can’t be racist. I got a friend named Hesh. Jewish guy. We go way back. So don’t even try that angle with me.

The bathroom door opens.

Butterbean steps out wearing his old-school boxing gear — black trunks, boots, and a pair of bright red boxing gloves. At 350 pounds, he looks massive in the small motel room. He doesn’t look at Tony. He just starts moving.

Tony watches him with a sick, satisfied smile.

Tony Soprano: (almost amused) Man… I wish I had a camera right now. This is some real booking I’m doing.

Butterbean starts doing footwork — slow, heavy, but deliberate. He circles the two women, throwing light shadow punches in the air near their faces. Not touching them, but close enough that they can feel the wind off his gloves. His breathing is already labored — he’s clearly out of shape — but he keeps moving, putting on a show.

Tony’s smile grows wider as both women flinch and try to back away.

Tony Soprano: (quiet, almost gentle) See that? That’s what happens when you don’t listen. That’s what happens when you get lippy with me.

Butterbean keeps moving — slow, heavy shadow boxing, his red gloves cutting through the air inches from their faces. Every time one of them flinches, Tony’s eyes light up with genuine pleasure. He’s enjoying this. Not in a loud way — in a quiet, sick, deeply satisfied way.

Butterbean, for his part, doesn’t look like he’s thinking too hard. He just looks focused. Like this was discussed. Like this was planned.

Tony takes another drag off his cigarette, still smiling.

Tony Soprano: (softly, almost to himself) Yeah… that’s what I thought.

Tony Soprano takes a slow drag off his cigarette, eyes moving between Rosie and Wendy. He settles on Wendy, a sick little smile forming.

Tony Soprano: (casual, almost conversational) You know… for a loudmouth coon, you’re actually kinda sexy. But you should take notes right now, ‘cause this could easily be you.

Wendy’s eyes widen slightly. She doesn’t say anything.

Without any warning, Butterbean suddenly steps forward and unloads a clean 4-3 combo straight into Rosie O’Donnell’s face. The first two punches land flush, and the third and fourth drop her instantly. Her body goes limp mid-fall and she crashes backward into the cheap wooden table by the wall. The furniture snaps under her weight as all 300+ pounds of her hit the floor with a heavy, ugly thud.

Wendy lets out a short, terrified scream and backs into the corner.

Tony watches Rosie’s unconscious body on the floor for a second, then sighs like this is an inconvenience. He walks over and tries to pick her up, grabbing her under the arms. He barely gets her a third of the way off the ground before her dead weight pulls her back down. He struggles with it for a moment, breathing hard, clearly annoyed.

Tony Soprano: (grunting) Jesus Christ… fat fucking pig.

Without a word, Butterbean steps in, winds up, and throws a brutal, full-force haymaker straight into Rosie’s face. The impact is sickening. Her jaw separates with a loud, wet crack as her head snaps violently to the side.

Tony steps back and casually throws in two light, almost playful stomps to Rosie’s side and stomach, like he’s kicking a bag of laundry.

Tony Soprano: (almost amused) There we go. That’s better.

He looks over at Wendy, who is pressed against the wall, shaking and staring at Rosie’s unconscious, broken body on the floor.

Tony Soprano: (calm again) Like I said… take notes.

He flicks his cigarette onto the carpet and grinds it out with his shoe.

Tony Soprano: (to Butterbean) Clean this shit up. We’re not done here yet.

Tony Soprano stands over Rosie’s unconscious body, breathing a little heavier than usual. He looks over at Wendy Williams, who’s still pressed against the wall, visibly shaken.

He points down at Rosie.

Tony Soprano: (calm, almost casual) Do your job.

Wendy stares at him, confused and terrified.

Wendy Williams: (weakly) …What?

Tony Soprano: (nodding toward Rosie) Interview her. Go ahead. Do what you’re supposed to do tonight. Ask her some questions. Make it look real.

Wendy looks down at Rosie’s broken, unconscious body on the floor. Her jaw is clearly dislocated, blood is coming from her mouth and nose, and she’s not moving. The cheap motel furniture is shattered underneath her.

Tony Soprano: (lighting another cigarette) What’s the matter? You do this shit every week, right? Just pretend the cameras are on. Go on. Interview the bitch.

Wendy’s hands are shaking. She slowly steps forward, looking down at Rosie like she can’t believe what she’s being told to do. After a few seconds, she kneels down beside her, her voice barely above a whisper.

Wendy Williams: (shaky, trying to keep it together) …Rosie… can you… can you tell us how you’re feeling right now?

Rosie doesn’t respond. She’s completely out cold.

Tony watches from a few feet away, smoking, a small, satisfied smirk on his face.

Tony Soprano: (quietly) Keep going. You’re doing great.

He takes another drag and exhales toward the ceiling.

Tony Soprano: This is what happens when people don’t listen. Remember that.

Tony watches Wendy for a second, then speaks in that low, matter-of-fact tone he uses when he’s being cruel.

Tony Soprano: Keep going. Interview her.

Wendy looks up at him, lost.

Tony Soprano: (calm, almost bored) If you can’t get anything out of the loser, then talk to the winner. What the fuck do you think they hired you for?

Wendy stares at him. Something in her face changes — her eyes go a little distant, like her mind just slipped somewhere else. She slowly turns her head and looks at Butterbean, who’s still standing there in his boxing gear and bright red gloves.

Wendy Williams: (flat, casual, like she’s asking about the weather) …Why are you dressed like that?

Butterbean doesn’t answer.

Wendy blinks slowly, still in that detached state.

Wendy Williams: What time’s the show tonight?

Tony Soprano stands over Rosie’s body, then looks at Wendy. His tone is casual, almost conversational, but the words are ugly.

Tony Soprano: You know… for a stupid nigger, you’re actually kinda sexy. But you should take notes right now, ‘cause this could easily be you.

Wendy stares at him, frozen.

Tony takes a slow drag off his cigarette, eyes still on her.

Tony Soprano: Keep trying to interview her if you want. Or you could just accept that you’re gonna do what the fuck I tell you from now on. Your choice.

He gestures lazily toward Rosie on the floor.

Tony Soprano: Either way… this is what happens when people don’t listen.

Tony lets out a short, mean breath through his nose and grabs Wendy by the arm.

Tony Soprano: Come on. You’re coming with me.

He walks her toward the door, one hand still on her arm. As they step outside, he leans in close, his voice low and almost intimate.

Tony Soprano: You’re gonna be good for me. Do what you’re told… and we won’t have to do this again. You understand?

Wendy doesn’t really answer. She just lets him lead her to the SUV.

Back inside the room, Butterbean is still standing over Rosie’s body. He doesn’t say anything. He just waits.

He already knows what needs to be done.

Tony walks Wendy out of the room without looking back. The door clicks shut behind them.

Inside, Butterbean stands over Rosie’s unconscious body. He stares down at her for a few seconds, breathing heavily through his nose. His red gloves are still on.

He speaks quietly to himself, almost like he’s trying to convince himself of something.

Butterbean: (low, to himself) …Gotta prove I can handle this shit. Can’t keep being the guy they just bring along to stand there. Gotta show I can do the hard stuff too…

He walks over to his black duffel bag and starts pulling things out — a bottle of lighter fluid, some old rags, and a small can of something else. He moves slowly but deliberately, like he’s done this kind of thing before, or at least thought about it.

Butterbean: (still talking to himself, quiet) Tony said handle it. So I’m handling it. No half-assing. Gotta make sure it’s done right…

He starts soaking the cheap curtains and the broken wooden table with lighter fluid. He doesn’t rush. Every now and then he glances over at Rosie’s body on the floor, but he doesn’t stop what he’s doing.

Outside, Tony has Wendy in the passenger seat of the SUV. He starts the engine and slowly pulls the truck around so it’s facing the exit of the parking lot, ready to leave. He keeps the engine running and lights another cigarette while he waits.

Back inside the room, Butterbean finishes pouring the fluid. He steps back, looks at his work for a moment, then pulls out a cheap lighter. He flicks it once. Twice. On the third try, it catches.

He tosses it onto the soaked curtains.

The fire catches fast.

Butterbean doesn’t stick around to watch. He grabs his bag, walks out of the room, and closes the door behind him. He gets into the backseat of the SUV without saying a word.

Tony doesn’t ask any questions. He just puts the truck in drive and pulls out of the parking lot as smoke starts to rise from Room 112.

Neither of them looks back.