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yellow house?
    HELEN
    I don't know. Get the receipt out of my briefcase.
    Brady pulls the briefcase out of the back seat and takes out the receipt, still in the plastic baggie. He examines the hand-drawn map on the back.
    HELEN
    (also looking at the map)
    Is it the same house?
    BRADY
    I don't know. There aren't any landmarks or anything on this, but I suppose it could be the same one. Maybe our luck is changing after--
    HELEN
    Shouldn't we be getting closer?
    Brady looks up. Though heat waves coming off the asphalt distort the view, the house appears to be in exactly the same place, several miles farther down Route 7. They don't seem to have closed the gap at all.
    BRADY
    (squinting)
    Aren't we?
    HELEN
    (also squinting)
    I don't think so.
    BRADY
    Speed up or something.
    HELEN
    I'm already doing ten over. We should be at least halfway there.
    BRADY
    Maybe ... maybe it's an optical illusion. You know, like when concrete gets hot and it looks like there's water on the road?
    Their car passes through a copse of trees--a rarity in this barren area--and for a moment, the house is out of their view.
    HELEN
    That's got to be the dumbest--
    They emerge from behind the trees. The yellow house is right in front of them .
    Helen STOMPS on the brakes. Brady is slammed against his seat belt. Everything from the back seat is thrown into the front seat. The car comes to a SKIDDING stop in front of the yellow house.
    For a few seconds, Brady and Helen sit silently, catching their breath, looking at the yellow house.
    BRADY
    I guess we'd better check it out. (Beat) Right?
    He looks at Helen, his eyes saying "say no."
    HELEN
    Right.
    BRADY
    (resigned)
    Right.
    EXT. YELLOW HOUSE - DAY
    The yellow house is small, but from the outside appears well maintained. The front porch is painted white, with flowery accents. Under the front door is a fancy welcome mat.
    Brady and Helen climb the steps cautiously. They KNOCK on the door. No answer. Brady tries the doorknob--unlocked.
    BRADY
    One of those neighborhoods.
    INT. YELLOW HOUSE
    They enter. The inside of the yellow house is as uninviting as the exterior is welcoming: dark, musty, and overwhelmingly claustrophobic. It looks more like a nest than a home.
    BRADY
    Hello?
    Brady nearly trips over a bunch of tin cans that are stacked near the front door, knocking them all over. He holds a can up for Helen to Bee. Its label reads, "POTTED MEAT."
    HELEN
    Yummy.
    From OFFSCREEN comes the unmistakable sound of a SHOTGUN RACKING. Brady and Helen spin to face the sound, their guns drawn.
    BRADY AND HELEN
    FBI!
    Standing in the narrow hallway, mostly hidden in shadow, is a LARGE-BODIED MAN with a bushy, unkempt beard and wild, feral eyes, shaky hands gripping a sawed-off shotgun. He has the crazed look of someone who hasn't slept in a long, long time.
    HELEN
    Drop it!
    He complies, though whether out of obedience or fatigue it's impossible to tell. A second after the shotgun hits the floor Brady has him face-down, arms pinned.
    BEARDED MAN
    Officer Wells, right?
    BRADY
    Huh?
    BEARDED MAN
    Sorry, I guess it's Agent Wells, now.
    Brady turns the man over a little to get a better look at his face. With a look of shock, he recognizes him.
    BRADY
    Ricky Smith?
    RICKY nods. Brady lets him up. Wasted and apparently exhausted, Ricky bears little resemblance to the son of a bitch from the crime-scene video.
    BRADY
    Holy shit.
    HELEN
    What happened to you?
    RICKY
    You don't really want to know.
    He drops into a chair.
    RICKY
    What brings the FBI out here, to the middle of nowhere?
    HELEN
    It's Larry Johnson. He's dead.
    Ricky smiles wryly.
    RICKY
    Lucky bastard.
    CUT TO:

    INT. YELLOW HOUSE - KITCHEN
    Another squalid little room in this squalid little house, decor courtesy of K-Mart, circa 1956.
    Brady and Helen have brought Ricky up to date on their investigation of Johnson's murder, and are now hitting him with a barrage of questions. Ricky's head ping-pongs between them as they interrogate him.
    BRADY
    Are you sure