· · ·

That gangly sack of shit, third

from the front. He'll be the first.

HEYWOOD

Bullshit. I'll take that action.

ERNIE

Me too.

Other hands go up. Red jots the names.

HEYWOOD

You're out some smokes, son. Take

my word.

FLOYD

You're so smart, you call it.

HEYWOOD

I say that chubby fat-ass...let's

see...fifth from the front. Put me

down for a quarter deck.

RED

That's five cigarettes on Fat-Ass.

Any takers?

More hands go up. Andy and the others are paraded along, forced by their chains to take tiny baby steps, flinching under the barrage of jeers and shouts. The old-timers are shaking the fence, trying to make the newcomers shit their pants. Some of the new fish shout back, but mostly they look terrified. Especially Andy.

RED (V.O.) (CONT'D)

I must admit I didn't think much of

Andy first time I laid eyes on him.

He might'a been important on the

outside, but in here he was just a

little turd in prison grays. Looked

like a stiff breeze could blow him

over. That was my first impression

of the man.

SKEET

What say, Red?

RED

Little fella on the end.

Definitely. I stake half a pack.

Any takers?

SNOOZE

Rich bet.

RED

C'mon, boys, who's gonna prove me

wrong?

(hands go up)

Floyd, Skeet, Joe, Heywood. Four

brave souls, ten smokes apiece.

That's it, gentlemen, this window's

closed.

Red pockets his notepad. A VOICE comes over the P.A. speakers:

VOICE (AMPLIFIED)

Return to your cellblocks for

evening count.