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DECKARD: I've had people walk out on me before, but not when I was being so charming. I'm at a bar here now down in the Fourth Sector. Taffey Lewis is on the line. Why don't you come on down here and have a drink?

RACHAEL (on Vid-screen): I don't think so, Mr. Deckard. That's not my kind of place.

DECKARD: Go someplace else?

Rachael disconnects the call without saying a word.


Deckard returns to his drink. The stage show catches his attention.

ANNOUNCER: Ladies and Gentlemen. Taffy Lewis presents Miss Salomé and the snake. Watch her take the pleasures from the serpent that corrupted man.


CUT TO INT. BACKSTAGE A LITTLE LATER: Deckard has made his way to the backstage and picked a corner to wait on Zhora to return from her stage performance.


Salome starts toward the dressing room. Deckard emerges from the shadow.

DECKARD: Excuse me, Miss Salomé, can I talk to you for a minute? I'm from the American Federation of Variety Artists.

She turns. Deckard's posture and attitude suggest humble, sleazy persistence. He comes closer with his shit-eating grin. Zhora Salome stands almost six feet tall in her high heels and looks down on him with haughty suspicion... a girl who knows how to handle cheap hits.

ZHORA: Oh yeah ?


DECKARD: I'm not here to make you join. No ma'am. That's not my department. Actually, uh. I'm from the, uh, Confidential Committee on Moral Abuses.

He glances around like a guy who's not supposed to be there. She nods, taking it a little more seriously.


ZHORA: Committee of Moral Abuses?

DECKARD: Yes, ma'am. There's been some reports that the management has been taking liberties with the artists in this place.

ZHORA: I don't know nothing about it.


DECKARD: Have you felt yourself to be exploited in any way?

She's definitely puzzled.

ZHORA: How do you mean, exploited?

DECKARD: Well, like to get this job. I mean, did you do, or- or were you asked to do anything that's lewd or unsavory or otherwise, uh, repulsive to your person, huh?


ZHORA (laughs): Are you for real?

DECKARD: Oh yeah. I'd like to check your dressing room if I may.

ZHORA: For what?

DECKARD: For, uh, for holes.


ZHORA: Holes?

DECKARD: You'd be surprised what a guy'd go through to get a glimpse of a beautiful body.

ZHORA: No, I wouldn't.


Her dressing room is musty and cramped. A portable shower, a dressing table and not much else. On the dressing table lies a snake. Deckard watches it undulate into the warmth of the lights.


While Zhora is taking her shower, Deckard snoops around her dressing room. He looks in her wardrobe and sees a costume with sequins, like the same costume he saw in the photo enlarged by the ESPER machine.


DECKARD: Little, uh, dirty holes they uh, drill in the wall so they can watch a lady undress. -- Is this a real snake?


ZHORA: Of course it's not real. Do you think I'd be working in a place like this if I could afford a real snake? -- So if somebody does try to exploit me, who do I go to about it?

Deckard makes a sheepish grin.

DECKARD: Me.


ZHORA: You're a dedicated man. . . dry me.

Her smile is an invitation. She throws him a towel. He catches it and she turns her back to him.


With lightning speed, she suddenly rams her elbow into Deckard's gut, then turns around and hand chops him in the face.


Deckard crumbles to the floor while she grabs her clear plastic jacket.


She leans down to him and forcefully yanks his tie, choking him. She has a murderous look on her face. She is interrupted when another female performer enters the room. Zhora jumps up and takes off.


EXT. STREET - NIGHT: It's raining heavily. Zhora bolts out of the bar's exit at full run knocking a pedestrian down who was in the way.









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