The Evening Run of Tom Cooper

INT. STABLES - EVENING 

Tom Cooper, (12) dressed in cobble-worn shoes, green leggings, and his father’s own shirt that billows like sails around his thin shoulders, stands at the ready at the back of a livery stable.
 
A GROOMSMAN (60) dressed in frayed hemp clothes with soiled thigh-boots rummages through a tackle box. 

GROOMSMAN: Now, Tom. Ye’ be smart, sly. A fox you are, yes?

With great care, the Groomsman pulls out a red military coat with gold pipe trimming. 

GROOMSMAN (CONT'D): A fox. Yes, Tom, my boy, a fox in a fox’s coat and tails. This will get you on your way. Now on with it. Lady Gage requires a quick fox this evenin’.

Tom slips on the red coat, its cuffs fall well below his wrists, and its tails scrape the ground.
 
GROOMSMAN (CONT’D): Now, what you say if’ n one of them lobsterbelly’s stops you? 

TOM: They won’t, sir.

GROOMSMAN: Sure’n, they won’t. That-a-boy. Now off.

Without a look back, Tom hurries out of the stable. 

GROOMSMAN (CONT’D): Like a fox be this evening!

INT. GREATHOUSE - EVENING 

The house is decorated with the most refined British imports available to a man of stature, and that man is GENERAL THOMAS GAGE (55), losing a battle with comfort yet still crisp in uniform. 

He paces on polished floorboards while his wife, LADY MARGARET KEMBLE GAGE (41), watches from her small writing desk. Her high forehead and quick eyes speak of an intelligent, sensitive beauty. 

GENERAL THOMAS GAGE: Without a doubt, Maggie, this city is a tinderbox, and these orders are flints. 

LADY MARGARET KEMBEL GAGE: Indeed, love, a few farmers are nothing to worry overmuch. 

GENERAL THOMAS GAG : My love, closeted that I keep you, your observations seem astute, but the further you venture from your tea parlors on Marlborough Street, wilder ideas hold sway. The Earl of Dartmouth requests I use my discretion to take these farmers muskets, and know this, a colonist and his gun is not easily parted. It is a bad business, and to add a company with misery, I must endeavor to capture that dandy, Hancock and his Samual Adams. 

LADY MARGARET KEMBEL GAGE: But love, one is just a braggert, and the others a brewer, neither cause worry. 

GENERAL THOMAS GAGE: The braggart's swagger reached London’s ears, but it's his voice to to the fellow colonial that needs be shut, and as for Samuel, I’ll drink his drink but not toast to the man.

SISSY (17), an awkward girl of plan
appearance wrapped in a simple maid frock, knocks at the door. 

SISSY: Excuse me, Sir, Mum. A stableboy’s 
arrived around back, calling for the mistress. 

GENERAL THOMAS GAGE: At this hour? 

LADY MARGARET KEMBEL GAGE: Now love, you know I called for him to deliver that delectable trout to the Doctor. 

GENERAL THOMAS GAGE: Yes, the Doctor. With our compliments, I’m sure. I don’t know why you charity that man. 

As Lady Gage stands, she folds a small piece of paper into her dress. 

LADY MARGARET KEMBEL GAGE: He’s droll. I’ll only be a moment, dear. 

GENERAL THOMAS GAGE: Quite.

EXT. BACK DOOR OF GREAT HOUSE - CONTINUED 

The door opens to reveal Lady Gage holding a small parcel. 

LADY MARGARET KEMBEL GAGE: Must you be Tom? 

She hands the package over to Tom and bends, so her face meets the boys. 

LADY MARGARET KEMBEL GAGE (CONT'D): Now Tom. This is the best clean trout 
caught from Concord. Doctor Warren will 
want this for his dinner. Make sure you 
deliver it to him, in-person. 

TOM: Yes, Mum. 

Lady Gage suddenly hugs the boy tight. Then she releases him with a sly smile. 

LADY MARGARET KEMBEL GAGE: Good. Now off. 

Without looking back, Tom is down the street and out of sight.

EXT. BOSTON STREETS - CONTINUOUS 

Tom navigates the busy streets of 1775 Boston. Through barrels, donkey carts, and crowds, being bumped and pushed while keeping a tight grip on his package. 

Turning a corner, he runs headlong into a company of British Soldiers. His momentum sends him deeper into the ranks while the shove of the soldiers causes his package to fall among the spit-polished boots.
 
SOLDIER 1: Oy, Step off! 

SOLDIER 2: Watch yer-self, pup! 

Tom drops to his hands and knees, looking for the package that just now gets kicked out of reach. 

BRITISH OFFICER (O.S): Company Halt! Halt! Halt, I say! What’s this? Disturbing a British Soilder in his duty, aye? 

Tom is jerked to his feet by a BRITISH OFFICER (18), all polish, no class. 

SOLDIER 3: He had this, sir. 

Solider 3 pulls out Tom’s package, now a bit worse for wear. 

BRITISH OFFICER: Well, well. What are you in such a hurry to deliver? 

Tom looks back at the British Officer, then he kicks the officer in the shin, jumps and catches the package, and pushes through the stunned and laughing soldiers. 

BRITISH OFFICER (CONT’D): What are you all standing there for? After him! 

Tom runs into an ally. He is clutching the dripping parcel to his chest. Behind him, Redcoats follow yelling orders and hooting threats. 

The ally opens up in a lumber yard—the wood wet from the last April rain. Scrambling, Tom Runs up across a pile of lumber and slides down between the rows. Flying, he slides between planks lying on his back in a puddle of rainwater. 

Soldiers hot on his heels splash by, their polished boots now muddy with the chase. After a few moments, all is quiet. The chase has moved further down the blocks. 

Sliding out from under the lumber, Tom inspects what’s left of the package. Grusom crushed trout stick to the wrappings, their juice mix in the puddle. Re-wrapping the package, Tom stands with a sigh and heads out of the yard. 

INT. TOWN HOUSE - EVENING 

This house is a more modest affair, with books making up the wealth of decore. Three men stand around a small desk. One of these men is DOCTOR JOSEPH WARREN (34); kind face and body language speak of his bedside manner. 

He looks up as Tom enters, dirty, wet, and downcast, carrying the fishy parcel. 

DOCTOR JOSEPH WARREN: Boy. Come in, come here. 

Tom slowly moves into the room as the other two men turn. One looks amused at the sight of the dirty little redcoat. The other frowns a face that speaks of determination. 

DOCTOR JOSEPH WARREN (CONT’D): Do you have the package of fish? 

Tom holds out the package and nods. 

TOM: Ruined sir. The fish. Ruined. I’m sorry. Sir. 

DOCTOR JOSEPH WARREN: William, take the fish. Paul, check the boy’s coat pocket. I told Maggie to put the note there. 

Williams’s smile fades as he inspects the soiled package. While the grim man roughly searches the boy’s coats pockets and finds the small piece of paper hidden there by Lady Gage. 

Paul flicks open the note and begins to read silently. After a moment, he turns. 

PAUL: Well, Joseph, the orders have come, the British are coming to Lexington for Hancock and Adams. Then on to Concord for our cannon. But by land or sea?

DOCTOR JOSEPH WARREN: Off with you Master Revier, Master Dawes, I’ll signal to you from the tower, one lantern if by land two if by sea, and continue delivering this boy’s message, and be quick! To horse! The British are coming!

FADE TO BLACK