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　　MARGE
　　…… I guess that was your
　　accomplice in the wood chipper.
　　
　　Grimsrud’’s head bobs with bumps on the road; otherwise he is
　　motionless， reactionless， scowling and gazing out.
　　
　　MARGE
　　…… And those three people in
　　Brainerd.
　　
　　No response.
　　
　　Marge， gazing forward， seems to be talking to herself.
　　
　　MARGE
　　…… And for what？ For a little
　　bit of money.
　　
　　We hear distant sirens.
　　
　　MARGE
　　…… There’’s more to life than money，
　　you know.
　　
　　She glances up in the rear-view mirror.
　　
　　MARGE
　　…… Don’’t you know that？…… And
　　here ya are， and it’’s a beautiful
　　day……
　　
　　Grimsrud’’s hollow eyes stare out.
　　
　　The sirens are getting louder. Marge pulls over.
　　
　　MARGE
　　…… Well……
　　
　　She leans forward to the dash to give two short signalling
　　WHOOPS on her siren.
　　
　　She turns on her flashers.
　　
　　She leans back with a creak and jangle of utilities.
　　
　　She stares forward， shakes her head. We hear the dull click
　　of her flashers.
　　
　　MARGE
　　…… I just don’’t unnerstand it.
　　
　　Outside it is snowing. The sky， the earth， the road - all
　　white.
　　
　　A squad car， gumballs spinning， punches through the white.
　　It approaches in slow motion.
　　
　　An ambulance punches through after it.
　　
　　Another squad car.
　　
　　FADE OUT:
　　
　　FADE IN:
　　
　　HIGH AND WIDE ON A SHABBY MOTEL
　　
　　It stands next to a highway on a snowy， windslept plain.
　　One or two cars dot the parking lot along with an idling
　　police cruiser.
　　
　　MOTEL ROOM DOORWAY
　　
　　We are looking over the shoulders of two uniformed policemen
　　who stand on either side of the door， their hands resting
　　lightly on their holstered sidearms. One of them raps at
　　the door.
　　
　　COP ONE
　　Mr. Anderson……
　　
　　A title fades in: OUTSIDE OF BISMARK， NORTH DAKOTA
　　
　　After a pause， muffled through the door:
　　
　　VOICE
　　…… Who？……
　　
　　COP ONE
　　Mr. Anderson， is this your burgundy
　　88 out here？
　　
　　VOICE
　　…… Just a sec.
　　
　　COP ONE
　　Could you open the door， please？
　　
　　VOICE
　　…… Yah. Yah， just a sec.
　　
　　We hear a clatter from inside.
　　
　　VOICE
　　…… Just a sec……
　　
　　One of the policemen unholsters his gun and nods to someone
　　whose back enters - a superintendent holding a ring of keys.
　　This man turns a key in the door and then stands away.
　　
　　The two policemen， guns at the ready， bang into the motel
　　room.
　　
　　The rough hand-held camera rushes in behind them as the two
　　men give the room a two-handed sweep with their guns.
　　
　　The room is empty.
　　
　　Cop one indicates the open bathroom door.
　　
　　COP ONE
　　Dale!
　　
　　The two men charge the bathroom， belts jingling， guns at the
　　ready， jittery camera behind them rushing to keep pace.
　　
　　A man in boxer shorts is halfway out the bathroom window.
　　
　　The policemen holster their guns and charge the window， and
　　drag Jerry Lundegaard back into the room.
　　
　　His flesh quivers as he thrashes and keens in short，
　　piercing screams.
　　
　　The cops wrestle him to the floor but his palsied thrashing
　　continues. The policemen struggle to restrain him.
　　
　　COP ONE
　　Call an ambulance!
　　
　　COP TWO
　　You got him okay？
　　
　　Cop One pinions Jerry’’s arms to the floor and Jerry bursts
　　into uncontrolled sobbing.
　　
　　COP ONE
　　Yah， yah， call an ambulance.