| "THEY RIDE HARD AS HELL" BY CALLUM HOUSTON |
THE DEVIL'S SEVEN
[The Rogers Communications Inc. ident logo reconfigured hip and retro to resemble the Warner
Communications ident logo circa the early '70s appears on screen. A white Rogers “R” symbol on
a black background shoots directly at the viewer with the words “Rogers Communications Inc.”
underneath. Inside is a small Rogers red R symbol on a white background following synchronized
behind it. The first one becomes so huge it disappears. The next Rogers symbol, Rogers red on a
white background, fills up the screen and the words “Rogers Communications Inc.” appear under
the R symbol. The image holds on the screen for a few seconds. Or perhaps the Rogers
identification is mocked-up to resemble the United Artists logo or the Avco Embassy logo, either
one circa the late '70s. Then the logo disappears. The screen goes completely black. A message
emerges in white lettering.]
THIS PICTURE IS DEDICATED TO THE BIKERS AND THOSE OTHERS UNFAIRLY PERSECUTED,
HARASSED AND JAILED BY OPPRESSIVE GOVERNMENTS EVERYWHERE -- THOSE OUTSIDERS
MARGINALIZED FROM THE MAINSTREAM WHO ARE ATTACKED SIMPLY BECAUSE THEY ARE
DIFFERENT FROM OTHERS AND CHOOSE TO GO THEIR OWN WAY.
[The message fades out.]
[Sequence Director: Quentin Tarantino. This is your pre-credits sequence. Fade in from black to
a sunny daytime city street scene. The approach is Tarantino's rockabilly-cool style à la Stuntman
Mike and Arlene talking on the Texas Chili Parlor porch in “Death Proof.” Audio: City sounds -
traffic, pedestrians, crows squawking, etc. No music.]
They loiter in the downtown parking lot like a gang of vagrant werewolves. They loosen their
leather jackets and pull off their helmets and light up joints. It's a hot, sunny Sunday summer
afternoon and traffic's light. A drunk traffic cop blitzed on Mexican tequila drives slowly down the
street clocking them. He points his index finger directly at them as he drives by, making them
aware their presence has been noted. Sizemore spits violently on the pavement and gives the cop
the finger. The rear brake lights come on. The cop stops his patrol car. Then he moves forward
and disappears down the street. They laugh aloud at the chickenshit cop and walk over to the strip
mall.
Three of them go into Jimmy's Market and the other two go into the Booze Emporium next door.
A delightfully delicate olive-skinned Persian lovely is at the checkout counter at Jimmy's Market.
Hank “Boogie” Anderson leans on the counter, toothpick in his mouth, and checks her out. He
looks for her name tag. The tag's covered by her long dark silky black hair. In her hand is a worn
paperback novel she's almost through called The Wages of Fear and on the counter is a raspberry
soda pop not quite finished to the top of the label with a paper straw in it. Anderson picks up her
soda pop and takes a taste through the straw. This doesn't push her boundaries. To her it's the
most natural thing in the world. The customer is flirting with her. She's never seen this particular
customer before and since Jimmy's Market is the only place in town to buy your groceries she's
seen every face in Aspiration, BC. Nice to see a new face in here for a change, not the same-old
day after day small town losers. He's a moderately good-looking cuddly wuddly over-the-hill biker
dude. Looks like he's in his late fifties. It would never occur to a woman he could do her harm.
She's aroused and eager to have someone new to flirt with.
“You look like dessert, honey. I'll take a pack of Marlboro's and one of you to go.” Anderson puts
the soda pop bottle down. He nods at her book and asks, “Any good?”
“It's alright.”
“They made a couple of movies from it.”
“Did they?”
“Yup. One in the fifties and one in the seventies. The second one was called Sorcerer. Scheider
was in it.”
“That's supersick. Why'd they call it Sorcerer?”
“Supposedly Sorcerer was the name of that truck they loaded up with all the nitro.” Anderson
reaches across the counter and brushes her hair from her name tag above her left tit. Teri Jones.
“They run you off your feet in here, Teri?”
“In this town? Are you kidding? You're in Snoozeville. The only time we see more than one
customer in here at a time is on welfare Wednesday.”
“What does a person do for fun in this town?”
“You need money to have fun in Aspiration. You use that money to get out of Aspiration.”
“You getting out?”
“Of course I am. I want to be a actress. Won't be discovered by a casting agent working here at
Jimmy's Market though. You got to move to the city to make something of yourself.”
“When you leaving?”
“In a month.”
“You headin' to Hollywood?”
“Eventually. First I'm moving to Amsterdam.”
“Amsterdam? You speak Dutch?”
“I'm taking lessons.”
“How do you say this is a stickup hand over the cash?”
“Um, you say it like this: Dit is een diefstal, geff je geld.”
“Impressive.”
“What denominations would you prefer,” Teri says slyly, “hundreds or thousands?”
“I'll take it in cigarettes.”
“Turn around. I want to see the back of your jacket.” Anderson turns and Teri studies the colorful
Devil's Seven patch emblazoned onto the pack of his leather jacket. It's a crimson face of the devil,
grinning and smoking a doobie, with an inferno of orange flames made to look like phoenix wings
blazing behind him “That's the name of your gang? The Devil's Seven?”
Anderson nods. “Yeah.”
“Well, I'm confused. You call yourselves the Devil's Seven. But I saw you when you came in on
your hogs and I counted only five choppers. How come you're called the Devil's Seven if there's
only five of you? Shouldn't you be, like, the Devil's Five?”
“This place's called Jimmy's Market, right? Well let's say Jimmy shows up right now and sees you
talking to me and he gets jealous and fires you on the spot. Now there's one less pretty employee
working the front line at Jimmy's. But it's still called Jimmy's Market. It's the same with the
Devil's Seven. That's our name. The name doesn't change no matter how many guys are riding.
There's a lot of history and myth behind the name. You could replace every one of us and it'd still
be the Devil's Seven.”
Teri pulls a pack of Marlboro's for Anderson from the rack behind her. Next door in the Booze
Emporium there's total explosive mayhem breaking out. Two rotten apple hooligans, a couple of
natural born losers, Nice-Guy Norm and Street Chupacabra are doing what they love to do, getting
their kicks terrorizing people like problem children.
A disabled man screams while Street Chupacabra tilts his wheelchair up on its back tires and forces
him to take a zoom zoom leg dangling wheelie ride around the aisles. Street Choop loses interest in
the cripple and pushes the wheelchair off. He runs down the aisle and topples a row of California
wine bottles smashing to the floor. He picks up a case of cold beer for himself and pulls the tab off
a can. He stuffs bags of potato chips in his pockets and takes a gulp of beer.
He notices an attractive woman in a skirt cowering at the end of an aisle. She's been hiding there
quietly, silently waiting for the commotion to pass, praying to god neither of these leathered lunatics
notice her. No such luck. She's been noticed by the one filthy hairy animal a woman never wants
to have notice her--Street Chupacabra.
The Choop salaciously fixates on her large, busty boobs and her hot legs. He locks onto her image
mentally, his feeble mind entering a sex-psychosis. A desirable woman hits Street Chupacabra's
libido so hard it's like a knife in his body. His sex drive is always in the red zone, his hormones are
perpetually raging. Must have her, his mind tells him, must take her now. He approaches his sex-
target. The Street Choop isn't known for his self-control and when it comes to chicks he's known
for his lack of it. He's a walking hard-on who'll fuck just about anything with a pulse, anytime,
anywhere he wants to. In Mexico the chupacabra is an urban myth, a legendary creature known
for attacking goats and small children. This chupacabra attacks sexy women. He's infamous. The
world's most prolific rapist. He's violated so many women he's got illegitimate little Street
Chupacabra's running around right across the continent, infants and some as old as seventeen.
Street Chupacabra lasciviously grabs hold of the frightened woman and runs his hand across her
cheek, grabbing at her, kissing her hard on her lips and her neck, his whiskers like sandpaper tearing
her tender skin. He roughly fondles her breasts and butt. He puts his dripping mouth on her mouth
and sloppily French kiss's her, lip to lip, saliva on saliva, tongue on tongue. The Street Chupacabra
has transformed into the Sex Chupacabra.
At the checkout counter Nice-Guy Norm's got his CZ 2075 Rami double action 9mm pistol shoved
in the clerk's face. The cash register's open and the frightened clerk's doling over the cash.
“The coin too,” Nice-Guy Norm instructs.
“Your friend shouldn't do that to a disabled person in a wheelchair.”
“Don't you worry about him. Under the coin tray there. What're you hiding under the coin tray?”
The Booze Emporium employee lifts the tray and hands the hidden bills over. Nice-Guy Norm
stuffs them in his pocket.
“My niece is disabled,” says the clerk. “It's a civil rights viol--”
BLAM! Nice-Guy Norm shoots a hole in the clerk's head. The clerk's head is a spewing geyser of
blood and brains. Chunks of brain tissue are splattered all over the wall. Nice-Guy Norm pulls out
his gloves and puts them on.
“Choop, time to go!” Nice-Guy Norm shouts over his shoulder.
“Busy here, Nice-Guy,” the Choop yells from somewhere in the Booze Emporium.
“CHOOP, PULL UP YOUR PANTS AND LET'S MOTOR! TIME TO FUCKIN' GO!!!”
Teri Jones the Jimmy's Market counter clerk in the town of Aspiration, British Columbia says to
Anderson, “Well since you're called the Devil's Seven you must have had seven members in your
gang at one point in time. What happened to the other two?”
“They're in the slam.”
“What for? Did they murder someone?”
“Put it this way, they got caught. Still got that old triple X movie theater here?”
“Shut down years ago. It's a church now.”
Calderon abruptly appears at Anderson's side. Sizemore is standing solid at the store exit. Calderon
says, “Boogie, we should boogie. The brats caused some commotion.”
Anderson shakes his head and hands Teri a twenty for the cigs. “See ya in the movies,” he says.
Sizemore and him and Calderon walk out to the parking lot. Nice-Guy Norm and Street
Chupacabra are already there, kickstarting their chops. The Devil's Seven ride out onto the street
and around the corner and up the hill of thirsty cactus's and endless sand to the on-ramp to the
Coca-Hola Cocaine Highway.
[The Rogers Communications Inc. ident logo reconfigured hip and retro to resemble the Warner
Communications ident logo circa the early '70s appears on screen. A white Rogers “R” symbol on
a black background shoots directly at the viewer with the words “Rogers Communications Inc.”
underneath. Inside is a small Rogers red R symbol on a white background following synchronized
behind it. The first one becomes so huge it disappears. The next Rogers symbol, Rogers red on a
white background, fills up the screen and the words “Rogers Communications Inc.” appear under
the R symbol. The image holds on the screen for a few seconds. Or perhaps the Rogers
identification is mocked-up to resemble the United Artists logo or the Avco Embassy logo, either
one circa the late '70s. Then the logo disappears. The screen goes completely black. A message
emerges in white lettering.]
THIS PICTURE IS DEDICATED TO THE BIKERS AND THOSE OTHERS UNFAIRLY PERSECUTED,
HARASSED AND JAILED BY OPPRESSIVE GOVERNMENTS EVERYWHERE -- THOSE OUTSIDERS
MARGINALIZED FROM THE MAINSTREAM WHO ARE ATTACKED SIMPLY BECAUSE THEY ARE
DIFFERENT FROM OTHERS AND CHOOSE TO GO THEIR OWN WAY.
[The message fades out.]
[Sequence Director: Quentin Tarantino. This is your pre-credits sequence. Fade in from black to
a sunny daytime city street scene. The approach is Tarantino's rockabilly-cool style à la Stuntman
Mike and Arlene talking on the Texas Chili Parlor porch in “Death Proof.” Audio: City sounds -
traffic, pedestrians, crows squawking, etc. No music.]
They loiter in the downtown parking lot like a gang of vagrant werewolves. They loosen their
leather jackets and pull off their helmets and light up joints. It's a hot, sunny Sunday summer
afternoon and traffic's light. A drunk traffic cop blitzed on Mexican tequila drives slowly down the
street clocking them. He points his index finger directly at them as he drives by, making them
aware their presence has been noted. Sizemore spits violently on the pavement and gives the cop
the finger. The rear brake lights come on. The cop stops his patrol car. Then he moves forward
and disappears down the street. They laugh aloud at the chickenshit cop and walk over to the strip
mall.
Three of them go into Jimmy's Market and the other two go into the Booze Emporium next door.
A delightfully delicate olive-skinned Persian lovely is at the checkout counter at Jimmy's Market.
Hank “Boogie” Anderson leans on the counter, toothpick in his mouth, and checks her out. He
looks for her name tag. The tag's covered by her long dark silky black hair. In her hand is a worn
paperback novel she's almost through called The Wages of Fear and on the counter is a raspberry
soda pop not quite finished to the top of the label with a paper straw in it. Anderson picks up her
soda pop and takes a taste through the straw. This doesn't push her boundaries. To her it's the
most natural thing in the world. The customer is flirting with her. She's never seen this particular
customer before and since Jimmy's Market is the only place in town to buy your groceries she's
seen every face in Aspiration, BC. Nice to see a new face in here for a change, not the same-old
day after day small town losers. He's a moderately good-looking cuddly wuddly over-the-hill biker
dude. Looks like he's in his late fifties. It would never occur to a woman he could do her harm.
She's aroused and eager to have someone new to flirt with.
“You look like dessert, honey. I'll take a pack of Marlboro's and one of you to go.” Anderson puts
the soda pop bottle down. He nods at her book and asks, “Any good?”
“It's alright.”
“They made a couple of movies from it.”
“Did they?”
“Yup. One in the fifties and one in the seventies. The second one was called Sorcerer. Scheider
was in it.”
“That's supersick. Why'd they call it Sorcerer?”
“Supposedly Sorcerer was the name of that truck they loaded up with all the nitro.” Anderson
reaches across the counter and brushes her hair from her name tag above her left tit. Teri Jones.
“They run you off your feet in here, Teri?”
“In this town? Are you kidding? You're in Snoozeville. The only time we see more than one
customer in here at a time is on welfare Wednesday.”
“What does a person do for fun in this town?”
“You need money to have fun in Aspiration. You use that money to get out of Aspiration.”
“You getting out?”
“Of course I am. I want to be a actress. Won't be discovered by a casting agent working here at
Jimmy's Market though. You got to move to the city to make something of yourself.”
“When you leaving?”
“In a month.”
“You headin' to Hollywood?”
“Eventually. First I'm moving to Amsterdam.”
“Amsterdam? You speak Dutch?”
“I'm taking lessons.”
“How do you say this is a stickup hand over the cash?”
“Um, you say it like this: Dit is een diefstal, geff je geld.”
“Impressive.”
“What denominations would you prefer,” Teri says slyly, “hundreds or thousands?”
“I'll take it in cigarettes.”
“Turn around. I want to see the back of your jacket.” Anderson turns and Teri studies the colorful
Devil's Seven patch emblazoned onto the pack of his leather jacket. It's a crimson face of the devil,
grinning and smoking a doobie, with an inferno of orange flames made to look like phoenix wings
blazing behind him “That's the name of your gang? The Devil's Seven?”
Anderson nods. “Yeah.”
“Well, I'm confused. You call yourselves the Devil's Seven. But I saw you when you came in on
your hogs and I counted only five choppers. How come you're called the Devil's Seven if there's
only five of you? Shouldn't you be, like, the Devil's Five?”
“This place's called Jimmy's Market, right? Well let's say Jimmy shows up right now and sees you
talking to me and he gets jealous and fires you on the spot. Now there's one less pretty employee
working the front line at Jimmy's. But it's still called Jimmy's Market. It's the same with the
Devil's Seven. That's our name. The name doesn't change no matter how many guys are riding.
There's a lot of history and myth behind the name. You could replace every one of us and it'd still
be the Devil's Seven.”
Teri pulls a pack of Marlboro's for Anderson from the rack behind her. Next door in the Booze
Emporium there's total explosive mayhem breaking out. Two rotten apple hooligans, a couple of
natural born losers, Nice-Guy Norm and Street Chupacabra are doing what they love to do, getting
their kicks terrorizing people like problem children.
A disabled man screams while Street Chupacabra tilts his wheelchair up on its back tires and forces
him to take a zoom zoom leg dangling wheelie ride around the aisles. Street Choop loses interest in
the cripple and pushes the wheelchair off. He runs down the aisle and topples a row of California
wine bottles smashing to the floor. He picks up a case of cold beer for himself and pulls the tab off
a can. He stuffs bags of potato chips in his pockets and takes a gulp of beer.
He notices an attractive woman in a skirt cowering at the end of an aisle. She's been hiding there
quietly, silently waiting for the commotion to pass, praying to god neither of these leathered lunatics
notice her. No such luck. She's been noticed by the one filthy hairy animal a woman never wants
to have notice her--Street Chupacabra.
The Choop salaciously fixates on her large, busty boobs and her hot legs. He locks onto her image
mentally, his feeble mind entering a sex-psychosis. A desirable woman hits Street Chupacabra's
libido so hard it's like a knife in his body. His sex drive is always in the red zone, his hormones are
perpetually raging. Must have her, his mind tells him, must take her now. He approaches his sex-
target. The Street Choop isn't known for his self-control and when it comes to chicks he's known
for his lack of it. He's a walking hard-on who'll fuck just about anything with a pulse, anytime,
anywhere he wants to. In Mexico the chupacabra is an urban myth, a legendary creature known
for attacking goats and small children. This chupacabra attacks sexy women. He's infamous. The
world's most prolific rapist. He's violated so many women he's got illegitimate little Street
Chupacabra's running around right across the continent, infants and some as old as seventeen.
Street Chupacabra lasciviously grabs hold of the frightened woman and runs his hand across her
cheek, grabbing at her, kissing her hard on her lips and her neck, his whiskers like sandpaper tearing
her tender skin. He roughly fondles her breasts and butt. He puts his dripping mouth on her mouth
and sloppily French kiss's her, lip to lip, saliva on saliva, tongue on tongue. The Street Chupacabra
has transformed into the Sex Chupacabra.
At the checkout counter Nice-Guy Norm's got his CZ 2075 Rami double action 9mm pistol shoved
in the clerk's face. The cash register's open and the frightened clerk's doling over the cash.
“The coin too,” Nice-Guy Norm instructs.
“Your friend shouldn't do that to a disabled person in a wheelchair.”
“Don't you worry about him. Under the coin tray there. What're you hiding under the coin tray?”
The Booze Emporium employee lifts the tray and hands the hidden bills over. Nice-Guy Norm
stuffs them in his pocket.
“My niece is disabled,” says the clerk. “It's a civil rights viol--”
BLAM! Nice-Guy Norm shoots a hole in the clerk's head. The clerk's head is a spewing geyser of
blood and brains. Chunks of brain tissue are splattered all over the wall. Nice-Guy Norm pulls out
his gloves and puts them on.
“Choop, time to go!” Nice-Guy Norm shouts over his shoulder.
“Busy here, Nice-Guy,” the Choop yells from somewhere in the Booze Emporium.
“CHOOP, PULL UP YOUR PANTS AND LET'S MOTOR! TIME TO FUCKIN' GO!!!”
Teri Jones the Jimmy's Market counter clerk in the town of Aspiration, British Columbia says to
Anderson, “Well since you're called the Devil's Seven you must have had seven members in your
gang at one point in time. What happened to the other two?”
“They're in the slam.”
“What for? Did they murder someone?”
“Put it this way, they got caught. Still got that old triple X movie theater here?”
“Shut down years ago. It's a church now.”
Calderon abruptly appears at Anderson's side. Sizemore is standing solid at the store exit. Calderon
says, “Boogie, we should boogie. The brats caused some commotion.”
Anderson shakes his head and hands Teri a twenty for the cigs. “See ya in the movies,” he says.
Sizemore and him and Calderon walk out to the parking lot. Nice-Guy Norm and Street
Chupacabra are already there, kickstarting their chops. The Devil's Seven ride out onto the street
and around the corner and up the hill of thirsty cactus's and endless sand to the on-ramp to the
Coca-Hola Cocaine Highway.
