SC3. INT. RAMSEY’S LOFT (near Atwater market) - DAY

Michael Ramsey is asleep in his bed. Shirtless. The soft first light of an autumn morning creeps around the edges of the blackout blinds. The sound of an electric drill begins to whine. At his front door is a locksmith with two armed sheriffs and a bank official. They don’t knock, they just start to drill out his locks. The door opens. SHERIFF #1 Mr. Michael Ramsey? Are you awake Mr. Ramsey? You need to vacate the premises Mr. Ramsey. This is a court order. Your unit has been repossessed. What? What the fuck are you talking about? Rising to his feet, Ramsey intimidates the two Sheriffs. They look at each other. SHERIFF #2 We are just doing our job sir. You are three months behind on your mortgage. You need to leave the premises. There is a number on the bottom of the page that you can call. Ok, ok, let me get some of my things. SHERIFF #1 No Mr. Ramsey. I’m sorry but the court order includes all contents. You can get dressed, but we cannot allow you to remove any other property until the matter is resolved. Are you fucking kidding me? While getting dressed, street smart Ramsey puts on two of everything. He slips his wallet and phone into the back pocket of his jeans. Making his way to the door, he palms his car keys from the kitchen counter, and scoops his laptop in the same hand as his jacket. The clerk from the bank scowls but says nothing. Two large bikers walk through the unlocked front door. They are from the Brossard chapter of the TRIDENT motorcycle club. Both adorned with black leather jackets and a full patch, complete with devils head and crossed tridents. Taken by surprise, they clearly did not expect to find armed lawmen in Ramsey’s apartment. SHERIFF #1 Can I help you? No, but he can (pointing at Ramsey). Ramsey remains quiet. Perhaps it is a stroke of luck that the Sheriffs are here. Sherriff #1 places his hand on his sidearm and unclips the holster latch. SHERIFF #1 That is not our concern. This property is now in our possession. I am going to have to ask you to leave. We don’t want trouble with you but I will call for backup if you leave me no other choice. Having a bad day? When you’re finished this little party with your new friends, I need to hear from you. Bikers slowly back out the door, muttering and swearing as they go. You boys come in handy maybe you aren’t totally useless after all.