Original Written Content Copyright 2001 P. Breen
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  We cut to Frank Savage's love shack. The doorbell rings. A white female police officer assigned to guard Savage's lady takes her gun and sticks it in her sweater pocket before answering the door. She doesn't ask 'Who Is It?' or anything - she just opens the door and comes face to face with Mac. "I have a letter for Miss Knight," the incognito maniac announces. The policewoman invites him in so she can sign for the letter. As she puts the pen to the paper, Mac clubs her in the skull with the butt of his pistol. The woman falls to the floor unconscious. Mac creeps through the house, following a persistent sound of running water.

Draped in a towel, Savage's freshly showered lady turns and gasps when she sees Mac leering in the doorway. "Hello pretty black lady! We're going to take a little ride. You give me any trouble, I might just have to mess up that pretty nigger face of yours."

Meanwhile, Savage and Creason sit with the surviving victim from the debut murder spree. "Bring the suspects on the stage please," hollers Creason. Five black men form a lineup. This is odd, because the detectives are pretty sure their man is white, but whatever. The witness cannot identify any of the men as the murderer she saw that night. An officer arrives and tells Savage that he has a phone call. Frank picks up the receiver.

"I've got seven down and seven to go. I'm halfway home."

Frank crassly replies, "You're terrific." Mac is steamed by Frank's nonchalance. "I just thought you'd like to know that. You know Savage, you really are stupid. I bet I could walk up to you on the street and ask you for a match. And you still wouldn't know who I was, would you?" Savage snarls, "Up yours you sick " Mac's demented giggling silences Frank. "Your lady said to say 'hi.' And I'll take really good care of her. Bye Frankie." *Click*

Savage hangs up the phone and dials his home number. He shuts his eyes - there's no answer. "He's got my lady!"

Frank leaves the police station and waltzes down the street for - oh, who knows what? An instrumental version of the "You My Lady" tune strikes up, indicating that he's worried about his lover. As he turns the corner, a black fellow approaches him and asks for a match. Like a wild animal, Savage hurls the man against a wall. The black man screams as Savage frisks him. Finally, when Frank realizes that the cat meant no harm, he backs off and tries to mask his over-reaction with witty banter. "I don't give things to strangers." The black man is not laughing. He screams as Frank stalks off to wherever he's going to. "I'm a Forman, we'll picket your ass! Jive nigger. Jive! Jive!"

In Mac's dilapidated shack, our lovable lunatic is applying his blackface makeup. He's also drinking heavily. Frank's lady lies helpless on the bed, bound and gagged (no big deal - she didn't have any speaking lines before she was gagged anyhow).

Mac gnashes his teeth. "Nobody ever comes here. You know that?" Frank's lady squirms against her restraints. Mac rises from his vanity mirror and walks to the bed. "I got a riddle for you. If a man does something wrong because he has to, should he feel proud or guilty? Huh? And if he doesn't want to get caught, why does it give him so much pleasure to practically tell the police who he is? Huh? And if the police can punish the wrong people, why can't this man punish the right people?" Mac moves in close to her. "And if he hates niggers - why does he get all excited inside when he thinks of raping you." She gasps heavily and appears as if she's hyperventilating.

Mac begins to pace. "I'll tell you why: because up is down. Black is white. The goddamned world won't hold still long enough to make any sense of it!" The terrified woman starts to cry. Mac, who's twitching and shaking, moves toward her again. "If you don't stop breathing like that this damn sac's gonna explode. Stop it!" He draws in a deep breath. He rights himself. Then he pulls out a switchblade and sits on the edge of the bed. "I want you to know something before I make a woman out of you. What I'd really like to do is: I'd like to skin your black ass and make a drum out of it." He pretends as if he's beating a drum with his blade. "And I'd hang your carcass up and let the flies eat it to the bone." The woman freezes. Mac continues. "I need you alive for a little while so I can find that black pig of yours. I just wanted you to know that. Because right now you're going to start earning your keep, you hear me, SLUT?" He starts twitching again and stands abruptly. He goes to the vanity table and sloppily throws on his Afro wig. He returns to the bed. "If you don't want me to do what I really want to do you just better spread 'em and take it like a good little nigger. I don't want no more kicking like before, ok?" To emphasize his point, he waves his blade in the air and laughs.

(Note: what a beautifully mean-spirited scene! Imagine being raped by a twitching homicidal manic wearing shoe polish and a cheap blow-out Afro wig. That's disturbing even without the switchblade and racist slaughterhouse speak. Pickett shines here.)

Across town, Savage and Wilson practice martial arts at a police gym. They spar - Savage kicks Marty's ass for a bit, but then Marty is called away. Savage keeps fighting other officers until his partner returns. Wilson tells Frank that police JUST found the man at the bottom of the elevator shaft. Then, in what is possibly the single worst edit of the film, we mysteriously cut to a shot of Frank in the locker room shower (though a semi-naked Austin Stoker is NOT something I mind looking at). A voiceover from Marty continues explaining that police also found the trademark Mac note next to the body.

Savage and Marty chitchat in the locker room. As he dresses, Frank remarks, "Man, am I out of shape." Marty says, "I'd give up on all this judo stuff if I had a big silver pistol like yours." He tells Savage that he responded to another call where a group of hookers were beating up their pimp. "The Big Man must really be coming down on his boys. They always get too greedy - it's part of their makeup," Frank sermonizes. (Of course, we saw the Big Man give himself up, so as I mentioned earlier, that scene was out of place.)

Creason steps into the locker room and corners Savage. "Our boy Mac just called in victim eight - an airline stewardess. He shipped her air express in a sealed trunk. They found her in Dallas. Suffocated to death." Savage slams his locker shut and barks, "I don't want to hear about it." Creason states sharply, "It's your job!" Frank grabs his jacket and walks away. "Tomorrow, OK?" He leaves Creason alone in the locker room.

Savage heads over to a local bar to drink away his sorrows. It's a happening joint, filled with all sorts of players and hot mamas. Unbeknownst to Savage, Mac is seated at a table behind him, his arms resting on a guitar case. Marty enters the club and gets Frank's attention. "Sorry to interrupt, but Mac's back. A lawyer in the American bank building was crushed to death under a bookcase." Savage grimaces. "The bastards' original." Mac hears Frank's assessment and nods proudly in agreement. Savage tells Marty that he'll be back at the station in a little while. Marty turns to leave. Mac trails after him and, within earshot of Savage, asks Wilson for a match. Savage looks over, but dismisses his paranoia. "Here keep it," Marty says blankly. "Thanks pal!" Mac beams.

Mac follows Marty out of the bar. He heads up an alley and climbs onto a pickup truck so he can reach a rooftop. He makes his way to a higher platform and squats down. Once in a good spot, Mac opens his guitar case and proceeds to assemble a rifle. He peers through the scope and waits for Savage to emerge from the bar.

He gets Frank in the crosshairs. Mac pauses though - savoring the vision of Frank in the line of fire. Savage walks down the street casually, unaware there's a gun pointed at him. Frank passes a movie theater. Mac pulls the trigger. A young woman in the ticket booth is hit in the chest (from an impossible angle). Frank snaps into a dynamic pose and draws his pistol. He dashes to the building the shot was fired from. Frank hops onto the pickup truck and climbs to the roof. There's no trace of Mac, save a spent shell. Frank picks up the shell with a pencil and groans, "Son of a bitch!"


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