But which Mike Rawlings will appear on the show? Mayor Mike? Citizen Mike? The extremely exclusive Respondent Mike? I’ll be honest: even after looking at the script, from one of the early episodes of the reboot’s second season, I’m not quite sure. Maybe you can figure it out.
EXT. BACKYARD — SOUTHFORK
A large man is lumbering around the backyard. He is alone. He is wearing a sweater. In one arm, he is cradling a bundle of sticks.
J.R. EWING watches the man from the back door. J.R. has a glass with about three fingers of whiskey. The man walks around the yard seemingly aimlessly, but with purpose. He stoops down occasionally to add another stick to his load.
J.R. walks toward him. Hearing the crunch of footsteps behind him, the man stops and turns. It’s MIKE RAWLINGS. He sets the sticks on a patio chair, next to a Pizza Hut box, and brushes off his hands.
Quite a collection you’ve got there.
Just trying to stay in shape.
He bends over and picks up another stick. He weighs it in his hands for a moment, then throws it away from the house, like a boomerang.
I don’t get much time for that, these days. But I gather you didn’t ask me out here to hear about my workout routine.
J.R. drains the rest of his glass and sets it on the chair next to the sticks.
No, Mike, I did not.
J.R. pulls a sheet of paper from inside his suit coat. It is folded into thirds.
Have a look at this.
He hands it to Mike, who unfolds it and reads it. J.R. begins throwing sticks into the yard, side arm, like he’s skipping rocks on a pond.
Now, J.R., listen, we talked about this. We talked about — listen, what you’re asking for here is, I mean … J.R., this is suicide and you know it.
J.R. stops mid-throw.
Dammit, Mike, it’s suicide for Ewing Energies if we don’t do it. Hell, boy, you know that. Now, see here, Mike — Ewing has backed you every damn step of the way. You wanted to carpet-bomb the city because a few folks got some skeeter bites, ol’ J.R. made sure Bobby kept his mouth shut. It’s damn well time I saw some payback.
J.R. grabs the piece of paper from Mike’s hands and angrily smacks it against his sweater.
This here pays off the interest. We’ll see about the principal later.
Mike picks up a stick, a big one, and taps it nervously against his leg. After a moment, he tosses it, a high throw that cartwheels the stick into the swimming pool. He reaches down to the patio chair and removes a slice of pizza from the box. It’s Meat Lover’s. He takes a bite. HeÂ takes the paper and looks at it again.
Fracking. In Main Street Garden. On the Grassy Knoll. At City Hall.
There is going to be hell to pay.
Well, I better tell Frank to put something up on Facebook, asking what people think, just so it, you know, just so it at least looks like we looked at this from every angle.
J.R. grabs his own slice. Mike takes another bite.
Now, see here — that wasn’t so hard, now, was it?
J.R. puts his hand out for a shake. Mike shakes his head. They stare at each other for a moment. Mike breaks out into a big grin.
They enthusiastically high five.