EXT. APARTMENT COMPLEX - NIGHT
The street sweeper is parked crookedly on the sidewalk. Cricket, Carmen, and Trey stand outside a familiar door. Cricket knocks frantically, his knuckles raw.
CRICKET
She's nice. She's a nice lady. She helped me once. Well, she gave me a napkin to wipe blood off my face. She'll know what to do.
The door opens. It's The Waitress. She is holding an open bottle of red wine and looks like she's been crying for three hours.
WAITRESS (slurring)
What? What do you want? I'm trying to drink myself into a coma before my mother calls to tell me I'm aging poorly.
CRICKET
Waitress! Look! We found a baby!
He holds it up. The Waitress stares at the three of them—filthy, smelling of diesel and garbage juice, holding a pristine infant. She blinks. Then, a slow, cruel smile spreads across her face.
WAITRESS (laughing hysterically)
Oh my god. Look at you.
CARMEN
Ma'am, we just need a phone—
WAITRESS (cackling)
You guys are doing so much worse than me! I thought I was at rock bottom because I ate ham for breakfast, but look at this! You're trash people holding a trash baby!
TREY
That's hurtful, yo. We're on a mission.
WAITRESS
Go to church! Go find Jesus! Or a shower!
She slams the door in their faces.
EXT. PAYPHONE - NIGHT
Cricket is shivering violently now, huddled under the broken hood of a payphone. He's holding a very expensive-looking smartphone with a cracked screen.
CRICKET
Okay. Okay. I swiped this off a jogger three blocks back. I'm calling the big guns.
He dials. It's a video call. The Lawyer answers. He is wearing a silk robe, sitting in front of a roaring fireplace, holding a snifter of brandy.
LAWYER (on phone screen)
Hello? Who is this? This is a stolen number. I can trace this.
CRICKET (shoving his face into the camera)
Lawyer! It's me! It's Cricket!
LAWYER(face dropping in horror)
How? How do you people keep finding me? I moved! I unlisted! I changed my name legally!
CRICKET
We have a legal question! Does "finders keepers" apply to human infants found in commercial waste management units?
Cricket pans the camera to the baby, which Trey is holding up like Simba.
LAWYER
Is that... is that a baby? Jesus fucking Christ.
CRICKET
We need representation! We think it might be an heir!
LAWYER (screaming)
NO! NO! BLEEP NOT BLEEP TODAY! CALL SOMEBODY ELSE! CALL A BLEEP PRIEST! BUT NOT BLEEP ME! DO NOT BRING THAT BIOLOGICAL LIABILITY NEAR MY HOUSE! I WILL SUE YOU INTO THE DIRT!
The Lawyer hangs up. The screen goes black.
EXT. DARK ALLEY - CONTINUOUS
CARMEN
Okay, that went poorly.
TREY (looking down the alley)
Yo, I think we got company. And it ain't Santa.
Out of the shadows step Liam and Ryan McPoyle. They are wearing matching, grease-stained bathrobes over long johns. Ryan is holding a glass of warm milk. Liam is sweating profusely despite the cold.
LIAM (licking his lips)
We heard... a cry.
RYAN
(nodding)
A pure cry. Unspoiled.
CRICKET (backing up)
Stay back, Liam! This isn't a McPoyle baby! It has a chin! It has distinct genetic markers!
LIAM(stepping closer, eyes unblinking)
The bloodline... it stagnates, Cricket. The milk runs thin. We need... fresh stock. To mix with the milk. To thicken the herd.
CARMEN (stepping forward, protective)
Over my dead body, you inbred freaks.
LIAM (screaming)
GET THEMMM!
The McPoyles lunge. Carmen reacts on instinct, grabbing a frozen turkey from a nearby trash can—a discarded holiday dinner. She swings it like a medieval mace.
THWACK.
It connects with Liam's shoulder.
CARMEN
Cricket! Run! Take the kid! Go to the church!
TREY
I got your back, yo!
Trey attempts a karate kick, but his boots slip on the slush. He flails and accidentally sweeps Ryan's legs, sending him crashing into a pile of cardboard boxes.
CRICKET
I'm going! I'm going!
Cricket tucks the baby tight and sprints away into the swirling snow.
CUT TO BLACK.