Lowell Bennett
Writer, Editorial Consultant, Photographer - China / International
Content / Strategies for Publications and Enterprise
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Lowell Bennett |
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This original screenplay,
set primarily in San Francisco, was conceived as a commercial vehicle with low to
mid production values. Plot elements try for feasible action, revenge, irony
and humor with emphasis on character and dialogue. The opening sequence suggests
former Soviet territory, but could be filmed near the Sierra foothills. The
major antagonists are interchangeable with whatever terrorists may be in fashion.
Likewise, the catalyst objective (a McGuffin),
though inspired by an actual incident, could be changed out.
Elementary logline:
A three-man partnership of ex-Marine crook restaurant owners go up against terrorists
when drawn into intrigue and violence surrounding nuclear material gone missing
in San Francisco.
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TransAction by Lowell Bennett (Web version in non-standard format with some conversion irregularities.) Copyright © / WGA / US Copyright Office |
FADE IN:
EXT. THE SKY -- NIGHT
Up here, the jet stream moves in a soft howl.
Far away and below, through moonlight and darkness,
snowcapped mountains form the horizon.
On the level Earth, a few lights glimmer through the
distortion of atmosphere and distance.
For an eerie moment, the only sound, the only movement, is
the air around.
Phwoooooosh! A dark mass flashes past.
Tracking and closing distance from behind, the shape of a
sky surfer separates from darkness.
Crouched for speed, the black figure is not falling. He
crosses the night sky as if traveling the jet stream toward
the horizon.
He is strapped into a black chute pack and other gear is
holstered to his torso and thighs. A High Altitude Low
Opening rig includes a compact oxygen mask and full helmet.
He sees through a tinted visor shield. An amber LED within
is a changing heads-up display of altitude, direction and
signal from the Global Positioning System.
Through the oxygen mask, the man's respiration is deep and
constant.
Tucked-in, the sky surfer shoots off toward the mountainous
horizon. As if sucked into the darkness, he becomes a
shadow, a speck... he disappears...
EXT. RURAL ROADSIDE
The moon is the only light.
Two men in black are working with something at the base of a
utility pole. Their features are in shadow.
One man slings a climbing harness around the pole, jams his
boot spikes into the wood and propels to the top.
The GROUND MAN watches his partner go up, then pulls a watch
cover back and looks to his wrist. It is 01:46.
On the pole, the TOP MAN is packing plastique into an
electrical junction box.
2.
An engine breaks the silence and headlights illuminate the
trees and shrubs at the corner of the road.
The Top Man hugs close to the utility pole and goes still.
The Ground Man melts into the darkness edging the forest.
A battered military-style jeep rounds the corner, engine
whining, the bad shocks creaking in complaint of the rutted
road. It roars past and seems to be gone when the brakes
lock and it skids to a stop.
Gears grind and the vehicle backs to the pole.
Two men in rough fatigues swing from the vehicle, AK-47's at
the ready.
MILITIA MAN-1
(Slavic)
You! What are you doing?!
In the shadows, a thumb clicks on a switch, a pin is pulled.
The Top Man turns away, as if to look off down the road.
MILITIA MAN-1
Speak up!
A gray bulb lands at the men's feet. They look down in
reflex... Poomp! A blinding flash sends the scene to
phosphorus white. The men scream, reach to their eyes and
drop.
The butt of a submachine gun slams hard into the base of a
skull and a man goes still. The other man tries to rise.
The weapon swings, smashes into his head.
It is suddenly quiet.
EXT. THE SKY
The sky surfer is closer to the ground. In the distance, he
makes out a specific, lone cluster of illumination.
He reaches to his oxygen mask and tears it away. His right
hand drops to his ankles. He pulls a cable and the board is
stripped away in the rushing currents.
At 10,000 feet, the AIR MAN brings his arms to his side and
angles his body. He is a cruise missile descending,
targeting the cluster of lights.
EXT. CAMP CHECKPOINT
Two GUARDS stand among trees 50 feet from a high chain link
fence topped with razor wire.
3.
A small light glows red at the top of the fence.
A covered truck barrels up the dirt road to the gate. The
truck stops. Its headlights go dark.
GUARD-1 raises a hand light, flashes it twice. The truck
lights flash twice and the horn sounds once.
GUARD-2 approaches the gate at port arms. He shines a hand
light into the idling truck. He turns, nods to Guard-1.
Guard-1 reaches to a large switch mounted on the nearest
tree, throws it. The red gate light goes out.
Guard-2 unlocks a heavy bolt and swings the gate open. The
truck revs, crosses the checkpoint and drives on.
Guard-2 locks the gate and returns to his partner.
Guard-1 throws the switch and the light glows red.
GUARD-2
(Russian)
Pig-fuckers.
GUARD-1
(Russian)
Mmmm. But they have dollars.
The guards light cigarettes as 100-feet up and behind, a
shadow separates from the night sky.
A black parachutist glides silently past, penetrating the
compound.
EXT. CAMP INTERIOR
Here it is bright. High-power floods light up a clearing
which surrounds a concrete, bunker-like structure.
In ragged Russian Army uniforms, a dozen men with AK-47's
face the lights of the truck as it slows, halts.
A man exits the bunker, strides past the guards to stand
about 30 feet in front of the truck.
He wears what was the uniform of a COLONEL in the Russian
Army. He is 50, gaunt, with a two-day growth of beard.
Paratrooper wings shine on his tired jacket.
The truck's passenger door swings open. An Arab man with a
close-cropped beard drops to the ground.
4.
From the rear of the truck, a dozen armed Arabs file out.
They position behind the LEAD ARAB facing the Russians.
COLONEL
(rough English)
One--big--happy--family.
LEAD ARAB
(rough English)
No bull-sheet. Get it.
There's a pause as the armed men tense.
COLONEL
You first.
LEAD ARAB
No! You!
COLONEL
Ahhhhhh. More negotiation.
The Colonel reaches into his jacket, brings out a half-spent
cigar and lights it. He takes a few puffs. Then, using the
cigar, he casually points first to one end of the Arab line,
then the other.
From concealed positions at either side and at the top of
the bunker, there's a flash and...
Pow-Pow! An Arab at each side of the line is shot dead and
the Russians snap up their weapons.
COLONEL
Halt!
The Russians have the jump on the Arabs. All is still.
COLONEL
Now, let us not shit around anymore.
I do not want to keep what you want.
I just want what you have. Show me
the dollars.
The Lead Arab hesitates only for a few seconds. He signals
to the DRIVER in the truck's dark cab.
The Driver opens the truck door and drops to the ground.
From the rear, with a billed hat pulled low and in dark
fatigues the Driver looks like a jockey; small, nimble.
The Driver carries a fat briefcase forward, hands it to the
Lead Arab and drops back to the left side of the truck.
5.
The Lead Arab opens the case and displays bound stacks of
new U.S. hundreds.
The Colonel nods and signals to two soldiers.
The two men break formation, double-time to the bunker.
COLONEL
Now, we will get the business done,
my friend. No worries.
The Lead Arab looks to each of his fallen men.
LEAD ARAB
No. No worries.
INT. BUNKER
It is pitch black.
A bolt slams back and a heavy door swings open. The cell is
empty except for one object.
On the floor, in the center of the concrete-walled room,
sits a dark gray metal case measuring 2l"x2l"x3l".
The two soldiers sling weapons as they enter the room. They
reach for the heavy handles at either side of the container.
EXT. BUNKER
The Russians still aim their weapons at the Arabs.
The two soldiers return with the case and hustle to a spot
between the Colonel and the Lead Arab. Gently, they set the
case down and return to formation.
COLONEL
There you are. Now you can take
that poisonous shit away from our
happy home.
LEAD ARAB
No.
COLONEL
What?
LEAD ARAB
I want it checked.
6.
COLONEL
Are you insane?! Are you going to
inspect it?! No. You will take it
and be gone! If it were not
genuine, I would just kill you all
now!
(softer tone)
Believe me, my friend, I value my
sleep too much to cheat a Persian.
The Lead Arab thinks. He nods agreement.
EXT. RURAL ROADSIDE
At the top of the utility pole, there's an electronic chirp.
The junction box blows.
EXT. BUNKER
The lights go out.
The men raise their weapons and crouch.
A streak of light peels from the shrubs and slams into the
Arab's truck... Wa-woomp... Ba-boom!
Flames and shredded metal fly from the right side of the
truck, men scream and are thrown to the ground.
The Driver, on the left side of the truck, is propelled back
twenty feet.
DRIVER
(female)
UHHHHHH!
The Driver lands on her back, the cap comes off and red hair
spills out. RED HAIR, late 20's, is stunned, gasping.
The Russians farthest from the blast recoil and start
falling back for the bunker. Some Arabs follow.
From the wooded cover, a single weapon fires in staccato
bursts. Russians and Arabs are dropping. Some return fire
as they run for the bunker.
EXT. CAMP CHECKPOINT
The two guards stand in shock. They look down the dirt road
toward the camp. Through the trees, the burning truck glows
and the sound of weapon fire filters out.
A big engine sounds in high rev. The guards swivel heads to
look down the road outside.
7.
A vehicle, lights off, is roaring toward the checkpoint.
A hundred feet from the gate, a ribbon of fire... hisssses
from the truck. The guards hit the dirt. A small missile
slams into the gate, explodes, partially shears the closure.
The vehicle is closing fast when another missile fires,
strikes, detonates and the gate's lock is blown apart.
The guards get to their feet and open fire.
The rounds... plunk-plunk-plunk... into the rough armor of
what looks like a converted civilian dump truck.
From the truck bed, a fifty-caliber opens up and the guards
are cut down.
The assault vehicle slams through what is left of the gate
and continues down the road toward the bunker.
EXT. WOODS AROUND BUNKER
The Air Man is moving fast through the darkness. Under a
black watch cap and lightweight night vision goggles, his
face is camo blackened, indistinguishable.
Beyond this cover, in the clearing, the Arab's truck burns.
The melting mass casts a red glow over the field and bunker.
The two cases remain on the ground.
The Air Man takes cover, fires, another man screams and falls.
The Air Man pivots, runs to a new position.
The Air Man fires, turns, sprints, hurdles a fallen tree,
lands running...
Booomph! He collides.
Red Hair is sprawled on the ground, looking up at the
shadowy, Darth Vader-like visage.
He raises his weapon.
Even through the vision gear, she is lovely, helpless.
The assault truck roars into the clearing with the fifty
caliber sounding its... clack-clack-clack!
The Air Man turns, sprints.
Red Hair gulps a breath, jumps to her feet, gets away.
8.
The clearing is quieting down. The assault truck is facing,
squared-off with, the bunker.
INT. BUNKER
Two wounded men are on the floor, groaning in pain. Eight
other men, Arabs and Russians, are positioned at gun slits.
The Colonel is looking out a slit at the assault truck. He
turns back, irritated by the two dying men.
The Colonel takes a nine-mm from its holster, racks it. He
walks to one wounded man, puts the gun to his head... pow!
Then the other... pow!
The other men observe the execution. It is very quiet.
COLONEL
Now, I can think.
He returns to the slit and peers out at the assault vehicle.
It's motor growls at idle--no other sound, no movement. The
money and the other case sit in the clearing between the
bunker and the dark shape of the truck.
COLONEL
Now, I can think.
(Russian)
Launcher!
A SOLDIER scrambles from the room.
He returns with the four-foot tube showing Russian markings.
The Soldier kneels at the reinforced door, releases the
launcher's aiming mechanisms.
The Colonel grabs the door bolt and looks to the Soldier.
The Soldier activates the weapon, looks to the Colonel, nods
and readies his eye at the sight. The Colonel braces, then
flings the door back wide.
The Soldier's eyes go wide ... his mouth shapes a scream...
fire peels from the truck coming for him... his hand jerks
back on the launcher... firing...
EXT. BUNKER
Ba-boooom!!
Flames blast from the bunker door, pinwheel red from the
gun-slits and the Soldier's missile streaks out over the
trees like a skyrocket... Boom!
9.
It's quiet as the truck rolls forward.
The Air Man trots from the trees, pivoting with his weapon,
checking for survivors. He slings the submachine gun,
hoists the two cases to the truck bed and leaps aboard.
The truck reverses and withdraws from the smoldering scene
of shadow and fire.
CREDIT SEQUENCE:
TransAction
EXT. CARGO SHIP DECK -- NIGHT
Sheets of fog wash over a barren deck.
Two heavily clothed seamen exit a hatch. They carry a foot
locker-sized satchel to the rail. A ring is pulled, a tube
inflates, they heave...
EXT. THE WATER
A rubber duffel bag attached to a three-foot tether sails
over the ship's rail, drops, splashes into the dark water.
A blinking green buoy and inflated tube bobs to the surface.
The ship steams on.
A high-revving outboard motor screams. A black Zodiac
rubber boat gets air as it leaps the ship's huge wake.
The craft speeds up to the flashing buoy and idles down.
One of the two men aboard reaches for the buoy, hauls up the
case and pulls it aboard.
The engine revs and the boat tears away. It disappears into
the mist heading for... The Golden Gate Bridge.
Beyond, through the fog, the skyline of The City glows.
INT. COFFEE HOUSE -- MORNING
The cafe is rich in woods and marble. A big coffee roaster
turns out steaming, darkened beans. Classical music and
hushed conversation fill the place.
At a long counter, a lone black man sits. He wears a wool
overcoat which drapes over the back of his stool.
He is about 40, hard features. He sips an espresso, smokes
a thin cigar and reads the New York Times.
NASH finishes the coffee, folds the paper, heads out.
10.
He is otherwise dressed in jeans, thick T-shirt and black
leather boots--could be Doc Martins or Army Boots.
EXT. COLUMBUS STREET, NORTH BEACH, SAN FRANCISCO
Nash exits the coffee house into a misty morning.
There is a BUM working the pedestrians. He is a bearded
black man, mid-40's, with aviator-style sunglasses and an
old U.S. Army cap.
Nash gets a few steps out of the coffee house before the Bum
hits him up.
BUM
Hey! Bro! Gots some change for a
vet?
Nash pauses. He looks hard at the man, into his eyes.
He hands off a bill already in his hand, keeps walking.
The Bum looks in his palm.
BUM
My man!
The Bum watches Nash briefly. He turns and is slammed,
shouldered out of the way by a JOCK-type, muscular, late-
20's, leather jacket, jeans.
BUM
Hey maaaan! What's your problem?!
The Jock pivots and gets in the Bum's face. His blond hair
is trimmed tight on the sides. He looks mean, but his face
is round, sort of soft. He looks like a high school bully
all grown up.
BUM
Okay, man. Be cool. Ax-dents do
happin'.
The Jock looks off down the sidewalk in the direction of
Nash. He gives the Bum one more hard look, like he would
like to hit him, and stalks off in Nash's direction.
Intently, the Bum watches him leave.
INT. THE MANGROVE CLUB -- NIGHT
This is a big, open, elegant and active supper club.
11.
The customers are distinctly San Franciscan; stylish,
multiethnic. The expansive dining room is full.
The large cocktail lounge is set apart from, and a few steps
above, the dining area. The long bar is full at the stools
with people standing behind.
There are two bartenders in white aprons, button down shirts
and ties. They are hustling. One works up and down the
main bar.
Nash is at the far end of the bar away from the front door.
He is fast making a lot of drinks at the service bar. Nash
listens as servers fire off orders and in no time the drinks
are made. He's a machine.
While he works, Nash converses quietly with the two men
standing nearest him across the bar. The men's attire is
stylish, but casual. They are in good shape.
LUKE, about 40, wears expensive wire frame glasses and
appears almost scholarly.
EDDIE, mid-twenties, looks like a surfer. Eddie's hair is
messed up and he is glassy-eyed. He looks drunk.
LUKE
Get a read on the guy?
NASH
Not really. Doesn't move like a
local cop. Could be a fed, but he
looks kind of dumb.
LUKE
Active, you think?
NASH
Could be.
LUKE
Anglo?
NASH
Yeah... Just like you.
LUKE
(mock serious)
Tell me, how did he smell?
NASH
Like a white guy with a gun.
12.
LUKE
(smiles)
Well, that can't be good.
Over the bustle and noise, a hostile male voice...
LOUD MOUTH
(Brooklyn)
Hey! Ya' fuckin' deaf?!
The area goes quiet and attention goes to three men at the
end of the bar, near the front door.
Standing, posing in over-styled suits, they look like John
Gotti-wannabes. The stockiest of the three leans to the bar
and pushes a drink back to the bartender.
The bartender speaks quietly to the man, takes the glass and
begins mixing another drink. The noise level and activity
returns to normal.
NASH
Guess he's not a native.
Luke and Eddie turn back to Nash.
LUKE
What do you want to do with this
whitey stalker?
NASH
Nothing. For now.
EDDIE
(too loud)
Ah, come on. Let's take em. Put
out his lights.
Nash and Luke give Eddie a look.
NASH
Maybe you should keep it down.
Through his buzz, Eddie seems to understand. He nods.
EDDIE
Yeah.
(BEAT)
Hey, I think I'll hit the head--
check on the ladies.
Eddie leaves. Nash and Luke exchange looks.
13.
LUKE
He's hitting the sauce pretty hard.
NASH
Yeah, I know. I'll talk to him.
He's just bored.
LUKE
If the timing's wrong, that could
be a problem.
NASH
He'll snap out of it.
Two women come up behind Luke. One, in her thirties,
attractive, moves to Luke.
The other, CHRIS, in her twenties looks around.
CHRIS
Where's Eddie gone to?
LUKE
Wash his hands.
CHRIS
Oh.
Eddie shoulders through the crowd and pulls Chris to him.
EDDIE
Hey! Lookin' for someone?
Chris waves a hand in front of her nose.
CHRIS
Whew! You smell like a distillery.
EDDIE
Yeah? Got a match?
CHRIS
Stop.
Eddie pulls her closer.
EDDIE
Come on, baby... light my fire.
CHRIS
Stop.
Eddie sees she's serious, catches the looks from the other
three and goes quiet.
14.
CHRIS
Come on, let's go home.
The LOUD MOUTH sounds off again.
LOUD MOUTH
Ya' fuckin' jerk! What da' I look
like, stupid? Yer fuckin' with me!
Nash is looking at the Loud Mouth.
NASH
(to foursome)
Excuse me.
Nash walks to the other end of the bar and speaks quietly to
the other bartender. Loud Mouth and his two friends give
Nash a look.
NASH
Peter, what's the problem?
PETER
The gentleman was unhappy with his
drink. He thought it was weak. I
poured him another, a double, and
he said that it was well booze, not
his call.
NASH
Oh? What's the call?
PETER
(distaste)
Remy and Coke.
NASH
Remy Martin and Coke?
PETER
Yep.
NASH
Okay, catch the service bar.
Peter nods and heads to the other end of the bar.
Nash grabs a bottle of Remy. He places two glasses in front
of Loud Mouth, fills one with Coke and ice and the other
with two ounces of cognac.
NASH
That do it?
15.
LOUD MOUTH
Hey. Now that's a drink. Thanks,
boy.
Nash looks at the guy.
LOUD MOUTH
Oh, excuse me, sir! slip of the
tongue. Forgot. I's in California-
not Alabama.
NASH
Yeah. Well I think you and your
buddies should finish your drinks
and head out.
LOUD MOUTH
Oh, yesss, sir!
Nash turns to other business.
Loud Mouth reaches out and with the side of his hand topples
the Remy glass. Loud Mouth's CRONIES snicker.
LOUD MOUTH
Ooops! I spilled my drink.
Nash is stoic. He reaches for a rag, swabs the spill.
LOUD MOUTH
How about another?
Nash leans forward.
NASH
You had your drinks.
Loud Mouth leans over.
LOUD MOUTH
(quiet)
Listen, thing is--just between you
and me--I don't take no fuckin'
orders from no jig glass washers,
ya know?
Nash is stone. He looks just behind Loud Mouth. Luke and
Eddie are moving to the side of and behind Loud Mouth and
his buddies. They stand nonchalant, part of the crowd.
Just beyond the bar crowd, the hostess, ANGIE, is at her
station near the front door. She is watching the scene.
She and Nash meet eyes.
16.
Nash nods slightly. Angie reaches for the phone.
Nash turns and walks away to the other end of the bar.
LOUD MOUTH
(calling after Nash)
Heyyy! Where's my drink?
Loud Mouth yucks it up with his buddies.
LOUD MOUTH
A guy can't get a fuckin' drink
around here!
Eddie, smiling sort of drunkenly, starts for Loud Mouth, but
Luke puts a light grip on his arm and shakes his head.
Behind the bar, Nash eases past Peter as he removes his
apron. Like the rest of the staff, Nash wears a tie and
white button down shirt.
But after he ducks under the bar and comes up on the other
side, he reaches for a coat which hangs on a hook.
Nash comes around the bar into the customer area buttoning
the suit coat of a $3,000 Armani.
He makes his way through the crowd toward Loud Mouth. Loud
Mouth turns and sees Nash.
LOUD MOUTH
Whoooa! Look at this! What're you
now, the chauffeur?
Nash brushes by the Cronies and gets in close to Loud Mouth.
He speaks quietly with no emotion.
NASH
Listen, dumb fuck, because I ain't
gonna waste my breath on you. You
act like you're connected, but my
guess is you sell washing machines
in New Jersey. Either way, why
don't you haul your stupid wop ass
out of here. Save yourself some
trouble.
Loud Mouth is blank, like he can't believe it. Then his
eyes go wide and his face reddens.
By now, like this is a well-dressed school yard, the crowd
has begun to clear around the men.
17.
LOUD MOUTH
You fuckin' nig...
Loud Mouth takes a swing. Nash moves his head and Loud
Mouth goes off balance with the miss. He recovers and
swings again. Nash moves and Loud Mouth misses again. Loud
Mouth swings again and Nash deflects it like he's swatting a
gnat.
Loud Mouth throws a jab. Nash pivots, takes the man's
wrist, leads him by and spins him like they're dance partners.
Loud Mouth is flushed and getting madder. One of his
Cronies moves forward to jump in.
Behind this guy, Eddie smoothly moves from the crowd and
steps hard on the guy's heal.
The shoe comes off and the Crony stumbles. He turns, picks
up his loafer and fumbles getting it back on. Red faced, he
loses his balance, almost falls over.
CRONY
Who the fuck did dat?!
There is just a bar crowd standing and watching. Eddie
looks particularly innocent.
Near the front door, the crowd makes way for somebody.
Loud Mouth now tries to kick Nash. Nash pivots, Loud Mouth
is kicking at air.
Two young uniformed cops, one white, one black, are moving
casually through the crowd.
The Crony is still angrily demanding an answer.
CRONY
Which one ya' fucks did it?! I'll
kick ya' fuckin' ass!
A San Francisco bar crowd stares back, some grinning.
The cops move from the crowd, stand next to Luke. The Crony
cools it and turns back to Loud Mouth's action.
Loud Mouth is breaking a sweat. He swings again, misses and
almost tumbles forward into the crowd. Nash catches him by
the jacket and straightens him up. Loud Mouth pulls free.
LOUD MOUTH
You motherfucker! Get your nigger
hands offa' me.
18.
The BLACK COP turns to Luke.
BLACK COP
What's all this then?
Luke and the Black Cop watch Loud Mouth go for a kick.
Nash pivots and catches the man's extended ankle, holds it,
tugs, twists gently, Loud Mouth lands on his ass.
Luke turns to the cop.
LUKE
Tourist.
BLACK COP
Oooh. That's bad.
The Crony who has done nothing grabs the other Crony by the
arm and they beat it through the crowd to the door.
The cops move forward to Loud Mouth who is slowly getting
off the floor. Sweating and red faced, he seems close to
crying.
BLACK COP
Sir. You are under arrest for...
(to Nash)
Nash, what's this citizen under
arrest for? You pressing charges?
NASH
I don't know. The guy is pretty
stupid. How about public nuisance?
That'd give him an overnight in the
brig, right?
BLACK COP
Yeah. It's a slow night, anyway.
LOUD MOUTH
Hey! I'm gonna miss my plane!
The Black Cop cuffs Loud Mouth, guides him to his partner.
BLACK COP
Ray, could you please read this
citizen his rights before you throw
his I-talian ass in the car?
RAY
Yeah, sure.
19.
Ray hauls Loud Mouth off. The crowd, already socializing
again, resumes normality.
NASH
(to COP)
You guys got here fast, Dave.
DAVE
Right around the corner grabbing a
burger.
NASH
Sounds like I owe you and your
partner dinner.
DAVE
Don't worry about it.
(BEAT)
But if you insist.
Nash grins and places a hand on Dave's shoulder.
NASH
Just let Angie know what night and
time. Bring dates. They'll be a
bottle a Dom with your name on it.
DAVE
Thanks, man.
Dave turns to leave as Luke and Eddie ease up. He smiles
and nods. They smile back, nod.
Eddie leans in close to Nash.
EDDIE
Didn't you just want to kill him?
There's a long pause. All cordiality is gone from Nash's
face. He is stone. Dead serious.
NASH
Yeah.
Nash turns back to the bar.
INT. COFFEE HOUSE -- MORNING
Nash is finishing his coffee. He leaves a bill, folds up
his paper and exits.
20.
EXT. COFFEE HOUSE
The Bum is there again. He's panhandling at half-speed,
looking down the street at something. He's watching the
Jock lean against a light post.
Nash exits the coffee house. The Bum looks at him. Nash
looks at the Bum.
BUM
Hey, my man!
Nash walks a few steps to the Bum, palms him a bill. The
Bum holds Nash's hand and pulls him closer.
BUM
Ya know, my man...
The Bum leans a little closer.
BUM
(no jive)
I believe you're being followed.
NASH
Yeah. Thanks.
The Bum releases Nash's hand.
BUM
All right! My Man! You are gooood!
Nash is a few paces away when the Bum calls out.
BUM
Take 'em Bro! You can take that
white boy!
Nash stops for an instant and looks at the Bum. Then he
nods and keeps going.
The Bum puts more enthusiasm into his work.
The Jock hustles up and past the Bum. The Bum watches the
Jock head off.
EXT. COLUMBUS STREET
Nash, still carrying the paper, angles off the sidewalk,
trots quickly across the street, enters Vesuvio's Bar.
The Jock takes up post across the street from Vesuvio's and
waits... and waits... and waits...
21.
EXT. COLUMBUS STREET -- AFTERNOON
The Jock is now sitting on the door stoop of a vacant store.
He looks at his watch, shakes his head and stands. He
starts across the street for Vesuvio's.
INT. VESUVIO'S
This historic bohemian hangout has a good noon crowd.
Nash, at the bar, watches the Jock start to cross the street.
He takes his paper, rolls it up tight and walks to the rear
of the bar.
The Jock enters. He blinks to adjust his eyes to the dim
room. He scans the bar. Not seeing Nash, he heads for the
red exit sign in the rear of the place.
EXT. ALLEY BEHIND VESUVIO'S
Vesuvio's rear door opens. The Jock exits the dark bar into
bright sunlight. He shields his eyes... Whop!
A rolled up newspaper smashes into the side of his face. He
grunts, stumbles back into some boxes and... Whop! Nash
slugs him again, this time on the bridge of the nose and the
Jock falls.
Nash looks down at the Jock holding his bleeding nose.
NASH
Got a question for you...
The Jock sweeps a leg and Nash's feet go out. He falls, but
tumbles back and is on his feet when the Jock comes at him.
The man has had training and the kicks and jabs are coming
fast and hard. Nash is retreating fast.
Nash is using the tightly rolled newspaper as a baton to
deflect strikes. He evades most blows, but takes several
solid hits in his chest and side. He is working hard to
keep the younger man off him.
Nash is not going down, but he's not giving anything back.
The Jock has backed Nash about 30 feet down the alley before
there is an opening.
Nash stabs out hard with the paper and lands the solid end
squarely in the man's eye socket... boomp! The Jock
stumbles, stunned, and drops his guard. Nash nails the
other eye... boomp! The Jock pivots and drops.
Like a dirty street fighter, Nash kicks at a kidney.
22.
The Jock screams and lies flat, gasping. Both eyes are
already swelling, closing, oozing, turning a deep blue.
Nash throws the paper aside. He goes into the man's leather
jacket and comes out with a wallet and a nine-millimeter.
He opens the wallet and is looking at a Defense Intelligence
Agency I.D. card. The Jock's name is Edward J. Michaels.
NASH
(not good)
Outstanding.
Nash throws the wallet on MICHAELS' chest, stuffs the pistol
under his own belt and sprints downs the alley.
INT. A FINANCIAL DISTRICT BAR -- EVENING
This financial district saloon is loud with music and after-
work professional types.
Nash, dressed in overcoat and jeans, enters and scans the
room. He sees a spot at the bar near a WOMAN, around 30,
attractive, in a sharp business suit.
A 30-ish BROKER-type is at her left, leaning, angling in.
She seems more interested in her cocktail.
Nash shoulders up to the bar at the Woman's right. She
gives him a look, maybe a smile.
BROKER
Where's your practice located?
WOMAN
(flat)
100 First.
BROKER
Yeah? I did some leasing in that
building. Nice floor plans. Heard
of Kawra Software?
WOMAN
No.
BROKER
They're my clients. I put 'em in
3,000 feet on the fifth floor.
WOMAN
No kidding.
23.
BROKER
Yeah. Sweet deal. Commish was
five bucks a foot. I cleared
fifteen-K.
WOMAN
Hey, that's great.
BROKER
Yeah, not bad. So... you attached?
As if cued, Nash leans in close to the Woman.
NASH
Yo, foxy mama. You ever been with
a black man? 'cause, listen here,
you get some black, you never go back.
The Broker's jaw drops. The Woman smiles. She pauses,
turns to Nash.
WOMAN
Yeah? Sounds good.
BROKER
Jesus!
The Broker heads off. The bartender approaches Nash.
NASH
Bourbon soda and another for the
lady, please.
The Woman, TERRY, watches the bartender start the drinks.
TERRY
Yo-foxy mama?
NASH
Yeah. What's the matter, you don't
dig jive talk?
TERRY
I'm not sure, but I think that was
jive talk about 20 years ago.
NASH
You mean I'm dating myself?
TERRY
(smiles)
If you were, you'd have a lot fewer
headaches.
24.
NASH
(grimaces)
What's the latest?
TERRY
Her attorney has graciously agreed
to settle for 75-thousand.
NASH
(BEAT)
What'd you tell him?
TERRY
I told him, I thought he was
dreaming and his client was a
little schemer, but I would run it
by you.
NASH
Consider me run by.
The bartender delivers the drinks. Nash takes out his cash,
peels a bill, hands it over.
TERRY
What were you thinking, anyway?
Didn't the Corps teach you not to
fraternize with subordinates?
NASH
Affirmative. I fucked up.
(drinks)
What do you recommend?
TERRY
Will your staff testify that she
was a pain in the--a detriment to
your business?
NASH
I imagine. But I'm not real gung-
ho about hauling them in for the
boss's sexual harassment trial.
TERRY
Then you have to settle. You
fucked her and fired her. No
dispute there. Her lawyer is
smelling a quick 30-40 grand
contingency.
25.
NASH
Lots of victims these days. Don't
suppose he sees she had free choice
in this?
TERRY
Seeing your side doesn't pay his rent.
The two are quiet a moment, working it over.
NASH
Offer 25 go to 30. That's about
10-grand for each month that I had
the honor... and that'll pretty
much tap me out.
TERRY
Okay. Want me to counter?
NASH
Sure, yeah. Counter-sue for costs,
the big pain in the ass, my life-
long cynicism and while your at it,
blame my childhood environment and
the lack of a suitable father
figure. Shit, I might as well jump
on the victim bandwagon.
Terry smiles. Nash signals the bartender for a round.
NASH
What else?
TERRY
I've got Art filing an appeal with
the Franchise Tax Board, Monday.
NASH
Okay. What do you think?
TERRY
Best case? It might buy you a
couple of months, but it'll be
turned down.
NASH
Outstanding. Business taxes,
workman's comp, liability insurance,
HMO plan... The price of those dumb
little potatoes we use is hitting
the roof... We're taking heavy damage.
26.
TERRY
And the IRS should serve papers any
day now. You picked a great
business to retire into. If you
got a job as a cop or a security
guard, you'd be way ahead.
NASH
(shakes head)
The place pulls over five mill a
year and we're broke. Explain that.
TERRY
You got bad advice and you fired
that accountant a year too late.
NASH
Well you were with the D.A. then,
my last attorney was a slack-ass
and I figured Herb would handle it.
TERRY
Why? Because you had an ex-Marine
accountant?
NASH
Maybe.
TERRY
Not all Marines are hard-
charges, Sergeant
NASH
Affirmative.
(raises glass to Terry)
Good thing some are, though.
Terry smiles, receives the toast. They drink.
NASH
What's the total liability? The
IRS, the state, the suit, the back
insurance...
TERRY
About 215 grand.
NASH
(looks at her)
How long do I have, Doctor?
27.
TERRY
About 90 days.
NASH
Then what?
TERRY
They'll lien you, close you down,
sell off assets. IRS will take the
first chunk... You ever think about
cashing it in; liquidating and
bailing?
NASH
Close it down? What happens to the
63 people that work there? Half of
'em have families. My dishwashers
alone probably have 15 kids between
'em.
Terry gives Nash a long, sort of wide-eyed look.
TERRY
Doesn't sound like a hard-ass
Marine. Five years a civilian make
you soft?
NASH
Negative, Captain. In battle,
never leave a man behind. First rule.
TERRY
(smiles)
Yeah. Right. How do Luke and Eddie feel about it?
NASH
Got it squared-away.
She nods and they sip their drinks.
NASH
I'm screwed, huh?
TERRY
Affirmative.
They drink.
TERRY
Hey, there's a party this Saturday--
kinda' high-society. Might cheer
you up. Want to go?
28.
NASH
Don't think I'd fit in.
TERRY
Might surprise yourself.
NASH
What about the artist?
TERRY
It's done. Turned out to be more
starving than artist.
NASH
That the only reason, her starving?
TERRY
Someday I'll fill you in... How
about it? Party's at eight. At
the Beckworth Mansion. Impressive
place.
Nash pauses, now seems to give it consideration.
NASH
Sure. I could use a Saturday
drinking someone else's booze.
She smiles. They drink.
TERRY
Why did you guys buy the club
anyway? You three don't seem cut-
out for the hospitality industry.
NASH
A guy owed us, was out of dollars,
had to leave the country... fast.
TERRY
How the hell could he have owed you
that kind of cash?
Nash gives Terry a long hard look.
TERRY
Forget it.
EXT. NASH'S APARTMENT BUILDING -- NIGHT
Nash wheels an older Porsche 911 into the garage.
29.
INT. HALLWAY, NASH'S BUILDING
Nash exits the elevator walks to his door, opens it...
INT. NASH'S APARTMENT
He stops.
The lights are off, but down the short hall in the living
room, the TV radiates a changing hue.
Nash eases down the hall, peers to the living room. The
sliding glass doors to the deck are open. The drawn drapes
drift with the breeze.
A man, about 50, wearing a marginal business suit, sits on
the couch channel surfing the TV at low volume.
NASH
What are you doing here?
The man looks up and continues changing channels.
TV MAN
You know, every time I come back to
this country, there's 20 more
channels of ka-ka on the box.
NASH
What do you want?
TV MAN
Gee, Gunny, don't you want to
catch up on old times?
NASH
Baker, you got a reason I shouldn't
call the cops or kick your ass?
Baker gives Nash a long look.
BAKER
Yeah, maybe. Hold on.
BAKER
(to deck)
Lieutenant!
From the deck, the Jock walks in. He has two black eyes,
his nose is bandaged, he wants to kill Nash.
30.
BAKER
Okay, Lieutenant Michaels, ask the
nice man for your gun back.
Things are still. Nash watches Michaels.
MICHAELS
(almost a whisper)
The gun. You got it?
BAKER
No, no, no. Lieutenant, ask the
sergeant for your gun the right
way, the Marine way. Go ahead,
just like you're back in OCS
Now Michaels looks to Baker, pissed.
Baker leaps from his seat and plants himself in front of
Michaels. Baker jams his face in, drill sergeant-style, an
inch from Michaels's face.
BAKER
Do it, fuck-up!! You let him take
your weapon!! You pussy!! Do it
or you're fuckin' off the job!!
Michaels looks like he might explode, but obeys.
MICHAELS
Gunnery Sergeant...
BAKER Lock it up, fuck head!!
Michaels snaps to attention.
MICHAELS
Gunnery Sergeant! This officer
requests that you return his
weapon, Gunnery Sergeant!
Nash is a blank.
He turns, walks to the adjacent kitchen, opens the freezer,
reaches in and brings out the 9-mm. Through the pass-
through, he throws it to Michaels. Michaels catches the
pistol, checks it, holsters it.
BAKER
All right. Real good. At ease,
Lieutenant. Why don't you fall
back. I'll see you at the vehicle.
31.
Michaels grudgingly exits.
Baker waits until the door closes behind Michaels, then
turns to Nash.
BAKER
Junior officers. What're you gonna
do.
Nash looks at Baker.
NASH
You next.
Nash reaches to a cabinet, ices a glass, pours only himself
a bourbon.
Baker sits again, reaches to the coffee table and raises a
half-full glass for Nash to see.
BAKER No thanks. I'm good.
Nash loosens his tie as he returns to the living room. He
drops wearily into a chair.
NASH
Listen, get to it. This isn't the
Corps, you're not my superior officer.
BAKER
Yeah. It ain't Baghdad.
Nash takes a swallow of his drink.
NASH
What would you know about it?
Baker takes a pull from his own drink.
BAKER
Two weeks ago we were monitoring a
hot-spot incident in Georgia.
NASH
Watching the cotton grow?
BAKER (BEAT)
Tbilisi. Abandoned reactor. When
the Rusky engineers hauled ass,
they left behind fifteen pounds of
highly enriched uranium and six
pounds of spent reactor fuel.
(MORE)
32.
BAKER (BEAT; CONT'D)
Six weeks ago, a neglected Russian
airborne unit was foraging,
happened on the stuff, secured it
and decided to make a buck... That
kind of thing can happen when you
don't pay or feed your troops for a
year or so.
NASH
Who bought it?
BAKER
Who tried to buy it? Arabs. We
think Iranian. We couldn't get
authorization to move in. Russians
were still hot about NATO and Boris
was in the tank. So we just got to
watch.
NASH
What do you mean, tried to buy it?
BAKER
Out of nowhere, some cowboys rip
in, blow hell out of the buy site.
They bag the material and the buy-
money--we think about a quarter-
mill, U.S.. When the shit hit the
fan, State got off their ass and we
got okay to insert a SEAL team. At
least one of the hit men was air-
dropped. They found his gear,
including a state of the art G.P.S.
rig. But we never spotted aircraft.
Baker takes a long drink.
BAKER
Looks like this point man air-
traversed in from at least 75 miles.
Like Batman ridin' the jet stream.
NASH
You check with the S.A.S.?
BAKER
Yeah. First thing we figured it
was the Brits.
(BEAT)
Big negative. We thought MI-6
might even be smoking us, but then
intelligence popped that it was here.
33.
Nash gives Baker a look.
NASH
Where? In the States?
BAKER
Here.
NASH
What?
BAKER
In San Francisco. Now.
Nash looks at the man.
BAKER
We knew the stuff would be moved
over land or by water, and the
Russians finally got a lead.
Anyway, long story short, after
Special Ops beat the crap out of a
couple of Greek seaman, we learned
it went in the drink 10 days ago,
just inside the Gate.
(drinks)
If the KGB was still working worth a shit, we would've been
able to intercept. The dumb fucks have no network, anymore.
NASH
Why would it be here?
BAKER
Beats us. We have to assume the
worst; that the target is domestic.
Maybe the perps figure it would be
tough getting a fully- assembled
nuclear bomb by customs.
Personally, I think it could be done.
NASH
So, what's it to me?
BAKER
Hey Gunny, it's your city. Some
sand nigger could catch cocktail
hour, hang the bomb on the Golden
Gate Bridge, grab a plane and be
humpin' his camel by the time
things go boom. Wouldn't be much
good for the local restaurant
business, would it?
34.
NASH
You got agencies loaded with boy
scouts. What do you want with me?
BAKER
Hey! Now you're gettin' to it.
Because Gunny, you're a fuckin
desperado and we can blackmail your
ass.
(reaches for remote)
Watch this.
Baker points the remote control to the VCR/TV set-up. Nash
looks to the TV as a tape starts. The black and white image
is a bank's closed circuit security video.
On the screen, three masked figures with Heckler & Koch MP5-
N submachine guns move systematically through a bank,
covering, disarming the guard... Another bank video--Two
men in security guard uniforms exit with bags, another man
covers... Inside an armored truck--Men in gas masks remove
bags...
A video from a night club--At the end of a long bar filled
with costumed partiers, a man dressed like Death raises the
barrel of an HK to a bartender's nose.
Baker pauses on this image.
BAKER
Look familiar?
Nash turns from the video to face Baker.
BAKER
Got this from the Bureau about a
month ago. They're circulating it
because they figure these guys are
ex-military--because of the high-
end weaponry and the way they take
care of business. The MP5's and
the room clearing moves caught my
eye. Kinda' signature.
NASH
So what?
35.
BAKER
Ya' know, this is a great country,
ain't it. Where else could a
Marine gunnery sergeant discharge
and a few years later own a high-
class restaurant in a city where I,
a commissioned officer, couldn't
afford a one bedroom dump.
NASH
I have partners.
BAKER
Oh yeah. I know. The restaurant
is owned by Triad Investments, Inc.
I checked. You're president, your
old platoon sergeant, Ed Powalski
is secretary, and this other
fucking guy, Avery--near as I can
tell he was homeless six years
ago--he's treasurer. Quite a
partnership.
Nash takes a swallow of his drink.
NASH
Get to it.
BAKER
I think Triad Investments has some
unusual revenue producing tactics.
I think if I dropped this tape and
your file on the FBI, Triad
Investments would fast be in a
world of hurt.
Nash drinks. Thinks a moment. Says nothing.
BAKER We need to find the shit. Cops, feds, even spooks
would be dangerous. If it got out that nuclear material was
kicking around San Francisco... shit man, think of the
economics.
(BEAT)
Thing is, We need somebody out of the loop--way out. Maybe
even part of the underworld--excuse the expression.
Nash is giving Baker a long hard look.
NASH
You know, I think you're full of shit.
Baker stares back at Nash.
36.
BAKER
Why do you say that?
NASH
Something doesn't figure. All of
Recon knew you were out for
yourself. I can't see you pulling
this assignment.
A look flashes across Baker's face and he gets serious.
BAKER
I don't care much what you think.
You just have to know that I'll
give you up if you don't get on it.
There's a pause and Baker goes genial again.
BAKER
Hey, if it makes you feel better,
just think of yourself as a patriot.
NASH
Right.
BAKER
You still sore about Baghdad?
Listen, I was for an extraction.
It was the New World Order that
left your ass there.
(BEAT)
You made it back. That's what counts.
NASH
Four of us made it back.
BAKER
Yeah. It was a bitch.
(BEAT)
And now for something completely
different.
Nash thinks, takes a drink.
NASH
What do you got?
Baker reaches to his side, tosses an envelope to Nash.
37.
BAKER
Not much. The Feds have files on
known Russian Mafia in San
Francisco. They got files, can't
do shit, but they got files.
(drinks)
Anyway, we think the Georgia mob
got wind of the transaction,
contracted with some ex-KGB
troopers for a hit, then handed off
to the branch here for final sale.
That's the best guess.
Nash opens the file and thumbs through a few papers.
NASH
You know, Baker...
BAKER
Yeah?
NASH
(serious)
If this turns out to be as bullshit
as it sounds, it'll be you paying
back for Baghdad.
Baker takes in Nash's stare. He raises his glass.
BAKER
Ooooh-rah.
EXT. NORTH BEACH SMOKE SHOP -- DAY
The facade of this small establishment is rich wood, brass
and beveled plate glass. Pedestrian traffic is moderate.
Nash pulls up and parks in the loading zone. He heads to
the store.
INT. SMOKE SHOP
Nash's car and the sidewalk are visible behind as he enters
the store. The door chime sounds.
A young, hip-looking guy turns from stocking a shelf behind
the counter.
HIPSTER
Morning Nash.
NASH
Hey Don. I'm parked in your yellow
zone. That okay for a few minutes?
38.
DON
Yeah, sure. You looking for Luke?
NASH
Yeah. He around?
DON
He said you'd be by. He just
ducked out for coffee.
Don stoops slightly to peer out the window.
DON
There's the man now.
Nash turns to see Luke moving fast across the street. Like
some sort of athletic waiter, at full trot he adroitly
balances a cardboard tray topped with four coffee cups.
Nash opens the door and Luke dashes in.
LUKE
(ignoring Nash)
Hey, Don! Call parking enforcement. Some sporty wise ass
is in my loading zone!
Don smiles.
NASH
That your loading zone? I thought
it went with the locksmith that
used to own this place. What the
hell does a cigar store need a
loading zone for, anyway?
LUKE
(smiles)
Because it's there, Gunny. Because it's there.
NASH
You don't think this city could use
another parking space?
LUKE
I think this city could use another
couple thousand parking spaces.
Then it would use a couple thousand
more... I'll tell you what, I'll
give up my loading zone if you give
up your passenger zone.
39.
NASH
Hey, it's your passenger zone, too,
pal.
LUKE
Oh, yeah. I guess I would be
cutting off my nose and spiting my
face.
Luke reaches to the tray and holds out a cup.
LUKE
How 'bout you just take this
cappuccino, officer, and we forget
the whole thing?
Nash doesn't reach for the cup.
NASH
Not de-caf?
LUKE
What do you think?
NASH
(takes cup)
Done.
Luke takes a cup and places the tray on the counter
LUKE
Don, your cup has a 'D' on it. The
'D's for double. Don't let it go
to your head.
DON
Hey, thanks boss.
LUKE
The one with 'A' is for asshole.
Where is he?
NASH
He'll be here.
LUKE
Yeah, well... while we're waiting
for young partner Edward, I' ve got
some Macanudos you may want to
check out. Small batch.
Luke and Nash take their coffees and head to the humidor
room at the front right side of the store.
40.
INT. HUMIDOR ROOM
A different angle of the sidewalk and street is visible from
the tinted windows of this room. Nash and Luke enter and
the door closes.
Their mood is more serious. They look over a few cigars.
Luke hands a few to Nash as if to examine.
LUKE
What's the deal?
NASH
Baker wants us to do his heavy work.
It's bullshit. I'm not sure what
the angle is, though.
LUKE
What's your best guess?
NASH
Interference, diversionary
tactics... buy time.
LUKE
You don't think that he's a little
confused himself.
NASH
Oh yeah. That I'm sure of.
From outside, there is the howl of a big, down-shifting
motorcycle. In front, a big red Japanese bike roars up.
The helmeted rider locks up his rear wheel and screeches to
a halt.
A cop cruiser pulls up behind, lights flashing.
LUKE
Uh oh.
The rider pops the kick-stand, swings off and pulls his
helmet off. It's Eddie.
The cop is already in Eddie's face. His muffled shouting
can be heard through the thick plate glass. Luke and Nash
head out.
EXT. SMOKE SHOP
The cop is irate, reading Eddie the riot act.
Eddie is red-eyed, rough. He looks like he could care less
or might take a shot at the cop if he keeps it up.
41.
COP
You dumb motherfucker! I've been
flashing you for six blocks! What
the fuck you think this is, your
own goddamn private race track!
Eddie stares back.
COP
Hey, scumbag! I asked you a
question! You get responsive quick
or you're gonna' have a fuckin'
accident right here and now!
Luke separates from Nash, walks a few steps to stand by the
cruiser and calls out to the cop.
LUKE
Hey, Harry!
HARRY
(jerks head up)
Huh! What is it?!
(recognition)
Luke. Busy with this shithead--I...
LUKE
Yeah. I know this shithead.
HARRY
This punk?!
LUKE
Yeah. What did he do?
HARRY
The son-of-a-bitch hit a hundred
and thirty through the Broadway
Tunnel!
(BEAT)
Seeing as you know him, I may not
beat the shit out of him before I
haul his ass to jail.
LUKE
You think I could talk to you a
minute?
42.
HARRY
Okay, but I'm telling you, the
guy's gettin' booked.
(to Eddie)
Pull the bike in facing the curb, dumb ass!
Eddie hesitates, he starts into a stance... about to swing...
NASH
Sergeant!
Both Eddie and the cop snap heads toward Nash on the curb.
NASH
You heard the man!
Eddie gets on the bike and drifts it to the curb. Walking
toward Luke, Harry gives Nash the once over.
HARRY
Sergeant? That punk was in the
service?
LUKE
Yeah. Recon Marine.
HARRY
You're putting me on!
LUKE
No. He's a good guy. A little wild
lately. Got gassed in the Gulf.
Bum deal.
Harry is clearly softening.
HARRY
Yeah... well shit.
LUKE
Hey, how about I lay a batch of
Cohibas on you and we'll put it on
the kid's tab? Throwing him in
jail overnight won't faze 'im.
Maybe his cash in my pocket will.
Harry seems to be thinking it over.
LUKE
What do you think?
43.
HARRY
Okay. Deal. But you or the drill
sergeant over there better set him
straight.
LUKE
Got it.
The two shake hands and the cop heads back to his car. Harry
calls back just before he ducks in.
HARRY
Be by after my shift.
LUKE
Great, Harry. If I'm not here, Don
will fix you up.
Harry pulls into traffic as Luke walks to Nash and Eddie.
LUKE
You know, Ed, we can't afford this
silly shit right now.
Eddie looks a little embarrassed.
EDDIE
I was in the tunnel, man. There
aren't any pedestrians. No one was
around.
LUKE
No. No one was around. Just the
SFPD. That's all.
Nash is keeping his mouth shut, watching Eddie.
Eddie glances up and catches Nash's stare. This seems to
bother him more than Luke's reprimand. He swallows, looks
off. It's almost as if he were in pain.
LUKE
You've got to get a grip. It's not
even noon and you're in the bag.
This is not a good time to get
half-assed.
Luke looks hard at Eddie, like he's trying to get a read,
then he turns to Nash.
LUKE
You take a shot. He's been your
partner longer than mine.
44.
Luke starts for his shop, then turns back.
LUKE
But let me tell you--present
situation, this partnership isn't
exactly inspiring my confidence.
Luke turns and enters his shop. Eddie looks to, then away
from, Nash.
INT. THE MANGROVE CLUB -- NIGHT
The place is busy; bustling and noisy.
Nash crosses the dining room maneuvering through tables,
service people and diners.
Two men sit opposite each other in a high-backed booth.
Their table is against one of several small plate glass
windows which face the street.
As Nash nears, the smaller man to the right raises a hand.
Nash walks to the table. He looks the men over.
NASH
Can I help you, gentlemen?
CLEARY
(Irish)
You might, sir, you might. You're Mr. Nash, are you not?
NASH
I am. What can I do for you?
The man sitting to the left is a big brute in a too-tight
suit. His meat-hook hands rest on the table. He is
eyeballing Nash, sizing him up.
CLEARY
My name is Cleary. This is Mr.
McConnell. Wonder if we might have
a word?
There is a slight stiffening in Nash's posture.
NASH
Little busy. Can you tell me what
it's about?
MCCONNELL
(Irish)
45.
Sit down, black boy.
Nash slowly turns to face McConnell.
NASH
What?
CLEARY
Mr. Nash.
Cleary draws back his jacket to show a semiautomatic pistol
in a shoulder holster.
Cleary
You wouldn't want to mess your fine establishment, would you?
NASH
Am I supposed to believe you would
use that?
CLEARY
Is there a reason you would wish to
take a chance?
Nash pauses, then sits stiffly in the booth next to
McConnell. Now visually enclosed front and back by the
booth, Nash scans the immediate area, fixes on Cleary.
CLEARY
You have something that belongs to us.
Nash just stares for moment.
NASH
What could I have that belongs to you?
CLEARY
A case. A 20-pound case.
Nash gives the man a 'you asshole' look.
NASH
Instead of talking in riddles, man,
why don't you get to it.
Cleary's look of nonchalance is gone. He places his hand on
the grip of his weapon and nods at McConnell.
McConnell's right hand drops from the table to the seat and
clamps down on Nash's left wrist. Under the table,
McConnell now has Nash's hand and wrist in a hold, reversing
back at a hard angle.
46.
Nash grimaces.
CLEARY
I'm not going to fuck around with
you nigger. Money was paid for an
item not delivered, and you know
where it is.
NASH
(pain)
I don't know what you're talking
about.
McConnell twists Nash's wrist to an impossible angle. Sweat
breaks from Nash's forehead and it's all he can do not to
scream.
CLEARY
Your mate, that fucker Baker,
double-crossed my people. We know
you work for him. You tell us what
we want to know, the pain will stop.
NASH
I-don't know--where--it is.
CLEARY
You dumb fuckin' baboon. This time
we'll break your am, next time...
Under the table, suddenly the hands have reversed position.
McConnell is shocked to find Nash's free hand clamping on
his mouth...
Crack! McConnell's wrist is broken... Nash's right leg
cocks back, his foot shoots forward under the table, slams
into Cleary's knee cap... Pop!
Just as Cleary is realizing that pain, Nash's leg cocks
again, shoots out and jams into Cleary's solar plexus.
McConnell is screaming into Nash's hand. The wind is out
of Cleary--he's heaving against a collapsed lung.
Nash's free left hand reaches into McConnell's jacket and
relieves him of his pistol. He thumbs back the hammer and
jams it into McConnell's ribs.
NASH
Shut up. I shoot you now, it's
attempted robbery and self defense.
It's your weapon.
47.
McConnell stifles his scream. Nash reaches across the table
and takes Cleary's gun.
NASH
I don't think we need your business.
Head out. The drinks are on me.
Nash wraps the two pistols into a napkin, gets up from the
table and heads off to the kitchen.
Cleary and McConnell struggle to their feet and hobble
quickly through the crowd to the door.
EXT. THE MANGROVE CLUB -- NIGHT
In pain, Cleary and McConnell exit the club. Cleary limps,
McConnell holds his broken wrist.
Cleary looks down the street and gestures. A black van
starts, the lights come on and the vehicle races up.
The two men walk quickly to the back of the van. Cleary
pounds twice on the door and it swings open. Inside the
van, sitting on opposing benches, are six men with Uzis at
port arms.
MCCONNELL
(mad dog)
Do 'im now! Do 'im now!
CLEARY
Shut up you dumb bastard! Since
when do you give orders?
(to man inside van)
Get him in.
Cleary pushes as a man pulls McConnell into the van.
Cleary slams the door, hobbles to the front passenger side,
gets in and turns to the driver.
CLEARY
Go! Bloody go! Hospital.
The driver, looking to the side view mirror, turns to the
front... It is Red Hair.
She gives a quick roll of her eyes, slams the van into drive
and hits the gas.
48.
EXT. THE MANGROVE CLUB -- EARLY EVENING
A setting sun ignites the skyline of San Francisco.
Luke pulls his old jeep into the passenger zone behind
Nash's Porsche. The one valet on duty opens the driver's
door. Luke gets out. He looks sharp, in a double breasted,
Seville Row piece.
LUKE
(to valet)
I'll be closing the place tonight, Jim. Bury it.
JIM
Got it. Giving Nash the night off?
LUKE
Yeah. Saturday night, no less.
The bum.
They exchange grins as Jim jumps in, pops the clutch.
INT. THE MANGROVE CLUB
It's early and the place has only a few customers.
Luke enters, smiles at Angie, the hostess, and scans the room.
Nash, dressed in a tux with no tie, is near the rear of the
place talking with the chef. Nash spots Luke. They walk to
meet each other.
NASH
Hey, nice suit.
LUKE
Hey, nice tux. Bond isn't it?
James Bond?
NASH
Shaft. John Shaft.
LUKE
Oh yeah.
They walk closer to the bar, away from the servers who are
setting up the empty restaurant.
LUKE
How's Eddie?
49.
NASH
Not sure. Told him to come in
later to relieve you.
LUKE
Relieve me? I won't need to be
relieved.
NASH
(sarcastic)
No kidding? Gee, I guess his
Saturday night operations may be
prematurely terminated.
LUKE
I see. He figures you got me baby
sitting him, he'll hit the friggin'
roof.
NASH
Yeah. I wouldn't want to be around
for that.
Nash smiles and starts for the door.
LUKE
Thanks... Heading straight for the
party?
NASH
No. Forgot my tie. Have to drop by
the place.
LUKE
Don't hurt yourself.
NASH
You too. Phone will be on.
They give each other a casual salute and Nash is gone.
EXT. NASH'S APARTMENT BUILDING -- NIGHT
Nash's car is parked in the passenger zone in front of his
building. He exits the lobby door fiddling with a half-tied
bow tie.
Michaels is suddenly behind Nash and a gun is jammed into
his back.
MICHAELS
Keep moving-keep moving.
A sedan pulls to the curb behind Nash's car.
50.
Michaels pushes Nash to the rear driver's side door.
MICHAELS
Get in.
Nash opens the rear passenger door and gets in. Michaels
slams the door and steps back into the shadows of the building.
INT. BAKER'S SEDAN, PARKED
Baker, in the driver's seat and turned to the rear, is
holding a pistol on Nash. He looks rough, ragged, like he
hasn't slept in days.
BAKER
Well Sergeant, how about a progress
report?
Nash looks Baker over.
NASH
Man, you look awful. Maybe public
service doesn't suit you, after all.
BAKER Don't fucking smart ass me!! You got an assignment--
four days, you haven't done shit!!
(BEAT)
We watch you! You get the paper-go for coffee-you pick up
dry cleaning-you go to the gym-you go to your restaurant...
(motions with pistol)
And what is this shit?! You going to a fucking party?!
NASH
Yeah.
Baker runs a hand across his face, through his dirty hair.
He looks like he's losing it.
BAKER
You think this is a game?! Do you
think I'm fucking kidding around
with you?!
NASH
(calm)
No. I just think you're full of shit.
BAKER
What?
51.
NASH
Your IRA buddies came by.
Baker is quiet for a moment, trying to think.
BAKER
Listen, this operation is on a need
to know. I'm under deep cover.
You just need to know that if you
don't get off your ass, I'm rolling
you to the Feds.
NASH
Yeah. Your in deep cover all right.
I'd say right about now it's up to
your earlobes.
BAKER
Fuck you! Fuck you!
NASH
No. I think you're the one fucked
here. Put the piece away. You're
not going to use it. Unless you got
something real to say, I've got to go.
Baker looks crazed. Nash opens the door. Baker pulls back
the hammer. Nash starts to get out. Baker folds and drops
the weapon to the seat.
BAKER
All right! All right!
(to himself)
Goddamn-fuck me.
Nash settles back in and closes the door. Baker sighs,
turns away to the front. Behind him Nash is impassive.
BAKER
You know, I gave it 26 years. A
quarter fucking century. I didn't
even make colonel. I was taking
orders from pricks who were still
in high school when I was getting
my ass shot up.
Baker turns back to Nash.
BAKER
You know what I'm talkin' about?
Nash gives the man a look.
52.
NASH
I'm knowing you better get to the
point.
Baker turns again to the front.
BAKER The point is, I said fuck it. We had intelligence
that a band of Russian deserters had stumbled onto nuclear
material and were shopping it. We couldn't do anything,
couldn't get authorization to move. So I figured, the stuff
will go to some terrorist motherfuckers anyway, maybe I
could make a quick buck.
NASH
You sold to the IRA?
BAKER
Brokered the deal. Tapped DOD
data, made a call, sent some e-
mail, provided intelligence. The
mics pulled some Iranian black-
marketers in and the crazy fuckers
went in together--can you believe it?
NASH
You get your cash?
BAKER
50,000. Fifty in advance, another
50 was coming. But some
motherfuckers screwed the pooch on me.
NASH
You ever think about the consequences?
BAKER
Yeah. I thought I would cross
Buckingham Palace off my tour list
for a few years. Hey, you're a
fuckin' bank robber, you gonna get
self-righteous?
(LONG PAUSE)
It's a drop in the bucket.
NASH
What?
BAKER
Come on, dumb ass. We got nuclear
waste coming out of our ears. The
gonzo Soviet Union is one big
radioactive flea market.
(MORE)
53.
BAKER (CONT'D)
We're trucking hundreds of tons of
the shit across our freeways. I
make a bill... big fucking deal.
NASH
So why mess with me?
Baker runs his hand across his face.
BAKER
I'm desperate, playing without a
net. I figured you might come
through.
(BEAT)
What I didn't figure, the mics know
it's here too and they're all over
my ass. I think every shooter they
could get in-country is here.
Somehow they got the same
intelligence I did. Somebody in
their organization is connected--
really connected.
NASH
How do they feel about you?
BAKER
What do you think?! They figure I
either sold them out or I'm just a
big fuck-up. Either way, I'm dead.
Nash seems to give it some thought.
NASH
And you lay 'em off on me?
BAKER
Not exactly. They're hoping I'll
lead them to the stuff. Must've
followed me to you, checked your
background, figured you did the
snatch job or are moving the stuff
for me.
NASH
(BEAT)
So lose 'em. Get 'em out of here.
Take the cash they gave you and
start running.
BAKER (SHAKES HEAD)
I'm out of money.
54.
NASH
Already?
BAKER
Yeah. Pissed it away. Thought the
other 50 was on the way. How far
can I get on my pension, Duluth?
Nash looks at the man a moment.
NASH
Got any no-bullshit ideas about
where the stuff is?
BAKER
(BEAT)
The best I could come up with was
the Russian mob theory. I was
hopin' you'd kick ass and take names.
NASH
You were dreamin'. You pulled me
in to your mess for nothing.
Thanks. Appreciate it.
BAKER (BEAT)
Listen, I need help--take the other
50 grand--cover my ass, help find
the shit. They'll kill me, Gunny.
Nash's expression is disgust, or ambivalence.
NASH
You're blowin' smoke. You know
these guerrillas aren't going to
hand over another dime. You got
nothing to offer me.
(BEAT)
Tell the feds everything you know
and hope for a friendly cell mate.
Nash opens the car door.
BAKER
Maybe I should tell 'em about you
while I'm at it.
Nash gets out, slams the car door and leans down as Baker
lowers his window.
NASH
Knock yourself out.
55.
As Nash heads to his car, Michaels emerges from the shadows
and approaches the sedan. Nash drives away. Michaels leans
down to Baker in the car.
MICHAELS
Well?
Baker runs a hand across his face and gives Michaels an
angry look.
BAKER
Well?! Well? Well what?! Get in
the fucking car.
But Michaels doesn't move. His face is still in the window,
a blank.
BAKER
What the hell is wrong with you?
Get in the car.
Michaels face doesn't change. A drop of blood rolls from
the corner of his mouth.
BAKER
Shit!
Frantically Baker reaches for the ignition and pushes at
Michaels' body.
A long silencer appears an inch from his forehead.
MALE VOICE
(Irish)
Turn that key and you're a dead man, you fuck.
EXT. BECKWORTH MANSION -- NIGHT
In Pacific Heights, valets are handling a rush of expensive
autos. The arriving guests are decked out in black tie,
gowns and various stylish evening wear.
Terry pulls up in a BMW. She gets out, taking a ticket from
the valet. In a chic, simple cocktail dress and evening
make-up, Terry looks more model than lawyer.
She hesitates at the curb and scans the line of cars at the
valet station. She gives up, turns for the entry.
A Porsche down-shifts hard. Terry turns back to the street.
Nash pulls past the cars lined at the valet.
56.
Just then a car vacates a space across the street.
Nash pops the clutch and executes a fast u-turn beating a
valet to the parallel space.
In no time, he is parked and hustling across the street
fiddling with his tie. He looks good.
Terry smiles.
TERRY
You don't like valets?
NASH
I like 'em fine. I just don't like
people in my stuff.
TERRY
I see.
They are walking together toward the entrance. At the front
door, several beefy guys in tuxes with hand-held metal
detectors and headsets are monitoring traffic.
NASH
Sorry I couldn't pick you up.
TERRY
No sweat. It's not like this is a
real date, or anything.
She smiles. He smiles back. They near the entrance.
INT. BECKWORTH MANSION
A string quartet plays.
White jacketed servers move among well-dressed San Francisco
society. Maybe a few in the crowd give passing interest to
a good looking, mixed-race couple.
From a server, Nash takes three martinis, hands one to
Terry, downs one, returns the glass to the server.
NASH
Thank you.
The server nods, smiles and heads off.
Terry gives Nash a look.
TERRY
Thirsty?
57.
NASH
A little.
They stroll, check out the scene.
NASH
Am I the only black guy here?
TERRY
No... The mayor's here.
Nash nods and they stand a moment.
NASH
Nice place. Who's is it?
TERRY
I told you. Beckworth.
NASH
You said the Beckworth Mansion.
That a real guy?
TERRY
Yeah.
(like he should know)
Brian Beckworth.
(BEAT)
CEO Able Integrated Processes.
(BEAT)
A.I.P.
None of this seems to be registering
with Nash.
TERRY
One of the top three software
outfits. Guy's worth billions.
They just walk for a moment.
NASH
I wonder if he wants to get into
the restaurant business.
They stroll into the crowd.
58.
INT. BECKWORTH MANSION MEZZANINE LEVEL
Nash is politely listening to a 25-ish DEBUTANTE as she
gives her read on the plight of the under classes.
Nash is drinking a whiskey. Terry is not around.
DEB
It's just really hard, you know. I
mean, I see these people all the
time, you know, like, with the
signs and stuff, and you know they
were, like, in Vietnam or come from
a bad family, but it's not, like,
you know, their fault.
Nash takes a big pull at his drink.
NASH
You must have good instincts.
DEB
Thanks. Yeah, I mean, you don't
spend five years at Berkeley
without gaining some insight, you
know. I mean, like, have you ever
walked down Shattuck Avenue. God.
Nash takes another pull at his drink. The Deb gives Nash a
look of appraisal.
DEB
So, you a musician?
This seems to go by Nash.
NASH
I run a restaurant.
DEB
Wow! In San Fran? Which?
NASH
Called the Mangrove Club.
DEB
No waaaay!! That is cool! That's
my favorite place! Really chic! I
love it!
NASH
Yeah? How have I missed you?.
59.
DEB
Well--I've only been once. The
guys I dated before couldn't, like,
afford it. And the guy I'm... sort
of just hanging with, well he likes
to stay in and have his personal
chef cook.
Nash drains his drink.
NASH
That's nice.
Deb leans in as if to share something confidential.
DEB
Well, really, to tell you the
truth, it's, like, real boring. I
guess that's what I get, dating a
guy almost 40.
The Deb laughs and catches herself.
DEB
Oh! Wait a minute. How old are you?
NASH
Forty-two and gettin' older every
second.
DEB
Oh!
(laughs)
Yeah, but, you're in great shape. Really, you should see
Rod in the buff. It's scary. Little gut and a Kinda'
flabby tush.
(BEAT)
I bet naked you look like a running back.
Nash begins to look around the room. Terry appears from the
crowd and, smiling, she walks to his side.
TERRY
Hi.
The Deb steps back, putting space between her and Nash.
NASH
Hey. Terry this is...
60.
DEB
Rhonda... Ronnie. Nice to meet you.
Ronnie thrusts out her hand. Terry receives the handshake.
TERRY
Same here, Rhonda-Ronnie.
Ronnie begins her pivot.
RONNIE
Well, better find Rod. Nice
talking to you, nice meeting you.
She's gone. Nash and Terry move to the mezzanine rail.
Below, the party goes on.
TERRY
Making new friends?
NASH
You bet. And I'm sure Rod caught
the whole thing.
TERRY
Well, I'm sure she'll the big rod
tonight.
They both smile.
Nash absently observes the party for a moment. Then a
figure below catches his eye. A man in a business suit
stands out. He is moving purposely through the crowd...
limping. Nash stiffens.
Cleary stops near a distinguished looking guy, about 50.
The man excuses himself from a small audience and drops back
to speak privately with the Irishman.
Nash gives it a moment, then casually turns to Terry.
NASH
Hey, who's that guy?
TERRY
Where?
NASH
Over by the wall.
Terry follows his gaze.
61.
TERRY
You mean the guy in the Brooks
Brothers suit?
NASH
No. The other guy.
TERRY
That, my dear, is your host.
NASH
That's Beckworth?
TERRY
Yep.
NASH
Oh.
TERRY
Why? Why did you focus in on him?
NASH
(BEAT)
Just looked like a big shot.
Wondered who he was.
TERRY
(skeptical)
Uh-huh.
Below, Beckworth keeps his face neutral, but talks rapidly,
forcefully to Cleary. Cleary nods.
NASH
Guy born rich?
TERRY
Beckworth? I don't think so. His
big hit was A.I.P.. He put up the
venture capital about fifteen years
ago. Then when the market got hot
and their programs were catching,
he leveraged out the founders, took
it public.
NASH
How did he get his start?
62.
TERRY
Good question. There were rumors.
But once a guy hits the richest men
list, inquiries kind of peter out,
you know.
NASH
Hmmm.
TERRY
The world loves winners. In the
end, doesn't really matter how they
won.
Nash seems to consider this a moment.
NASH
That a Brit name, Beckworth?
TERRY
Sounds it, doesn't it--that or
Scottish. But no, the guy's a
full-blown mic. Belfast lad makes
good.
Downstairs, the meeting is over; Cleary is dismissed. A
debutante sidles up to Beckworth.
Cleary heads through the crowd toward the back of the home
where French doors lead to a veranda.
Nash is keeping an eye on Cleary's movements. As he exits
the doors, Cleary reaches into his jacket and withdraws a
cell phone.
INT. THE MANGROVE CLUB
The place is medium busy, not hectic, not packed.
Luke stands at the bar chatting amiably with a stylish
couple. At the reception podium, a phone rings and Angie
answers. She signals to Luke. He excuses himself and walks
over to Angie. She has a hand over the phone.
ANGIE
It's a man named Dublin for Nash.
He says it's urgent. Should I give
him Nash's cell phone number?
Luke pauses, looks concerned, as if making a decision.
LUKE
Yeah. Go ahead.
63.
ANGIE
(to phone)
Sir? That number is 415, 909, 7788. Yes sir.
She hangs up.
LUKE
The guy have an Irish accent?
ANGIE
Yep.
LUKE
Angie, do me a favor, speed dial
Nash quick and put him through to
the office.
She reaches for the phone as Luke walks quickly to the rear
of the restaurant.
INT. BECKWORTH MANSION
Nash is alone on a balcony overlooking the veranda.
Beyond is San Francisco Bay, the Golden Gate Bridge. Below,
in a spacious garden area, a few people wander.
Off to the side by himself, Cleary is fiddling with his cell
phone. Above, in the shadows, Nash is watching.
Nash's cell phone rings softly and he reaches for his coat
pocket. Cleary still punches numbers.
INTERCUT:
NASH
Yeah.
Luke is standing in the club office on a cordless phone.
LUKE
You're about to get a call.
NASH
Yeah, I think I see it coming.
LUKE
What?
NASH
Irish?
64.
LUKE
Yeah. How the hell did you know?
NASH
You won't believe it.
Down below, Cleary now has his phone to his ear. Nash's
phone emits a call waiting signal.
NASH
That's it. I'll patch you.
Nash pushes buttons and brings the phone up.
NASH
Hello.
CLEARY
Okay, black boy. Time to cooperate,
I think.
Nash watches Cleary from above.
NASH
Can't help you.
CLEARY
You know mate, I'm happy you said
that. I'm going to have a long
chat with Baker. As for you,
you're about to find out who you're
fucking with. The next time we
speak, you better have what I want.
Cleary pockets his phone, turns and exits the veranda
through a side door.
NASH
You get that?
LUKE
Yeah. Didn't much like it.
END INTERCUT.
EXT. THE MANGROVE CLUB
The black van pulls up across from the club. Red Hair is at
the wheel.
INTERCUT:
Luke is still in the office on the phone with Nash.
65.
LUKE
Yeah. He should be in shortly...
Yeah...
In the van, a pager sounds. Red Hair takes it from the
visor, checks it, throws it down. She looks in the side and
rear view mirrors, otherwise scans the area. Then she turns
to the rear of the van.
The six men sit on the opposing benches.
RED HAIR
Go.
Red Hair drops from the driver's side to the street. She's
holding an Uzi with silencer.
The rear doors of the van fly open. The six gunmen file out.
They form a line facing the club's array of small windows.
Uzis with silencers are at their side.
A returning valet trots back to the front of the restaurant
and begins to make out the scene.
For a moment, the valet stares at the six menacing men and
Red Hair. They stare calmly back.
Then Red Hair smiles nicely, casually raises her weapon
and... phut-phut-phut-phut! She puts a short burst into the
valet and he is flung back against the wall of the restaurant.
Red Hair nods to the watching gunmen.
In the club's office, Luke has his feet on the desk, still
on the cordless phone with Nash.
LUKE
Yeah... When are you going to bring
'em up to date?
The sound of shattering glass and screams reach the back
office. Luke bolts upright and freezes.
LUKE
Oh no.
He runs from the office holding the cordless phone.
Outside, the gunmen, in a synchronized firing line, are
emptying their weapons into the windows of the club.
Luke runs into the dining room, has to dive for cover.
66.
There is a lack of audible gunfire, but bullets are tearing
through, shredding the place. People are screaming in shock
and pain.
The cordless phone lands spinning on the tile floor, it's
flip mike still open.
END INTERCUT.
INT. BECKWORTH MANSION
On the phone, Nash is listening to disembodied destruction.
His face registers shock and what could be anger. He
sprints through the partying crowd.
EXT. THE MANGROVE CLUB
The Bum is in the shadows watching the assault.
In his aviator sunglasses, the firing line's muzzle flashes
are like fireflies.
The shooters empty their magazines and hustle into the back
of the van. Red Hair gets into the driver's seat.
The van screeches off, turns right, is gone into the night.
The Bum steps from the shadows.
INT. THE MANGROVE CLUB
Luke rises from the floor and looks over the shattered room.
There is moaning and crying. Dazed people are getting off
the floor.
At the bar, Peter is on the phone.
PETER
There's been a shooting! A
shooting! People are hurt! Send
ambulances...
Luke hears a sort of gasping, like a person drowning.
He turns, looks down and sees a female server on the floor.
Blood is flowing from her neck. Luke rips a cloth from a
table, dishes sail to the floor.
He drops to the woman's side and holds the cloth to her neck.
Her pretty brown eyes are wide as she lies in shock, dying.
Luke's face expresses anguish, maybe guilt.
67.
EXT. THE MANGROVE CLUB -- NIGHT
Police cars jam the street and the scene is strobed by their
flashing lights. An ambulance, the last, leaves the scene
slowly, lights flashing but no siren.
Terry, still in her party clothes, is ending a conversation
with a female officer. She makes her way past other cops to
get to the club. She nears the open front door.
INT. THE MANGROVE CLUB
There is broken glass, upset furniture, blood splattered
over white linens. Food and drink still sits on tables.
Cops and examiners work and mill around.
Nash is still in the tux, the tie hanging loose from his
neck. Two detectives seem to be in his face.
DETECTIVE
(hard--skeptical)
So, you got no idea what this was about.
NASH
No.
DETECTIVE
None.
NASH
No.
DETECTIVE
This was just random.
NASH
You tell me.
DETECTIVE
You're not being very responsive, sir.
NASH
No?
DETECTIVE
No. I think you know something.
NASH
That about all you think?
The Detective gives Nash a hard look.
68.
DETECTIVE
You know, this is a nice restaurant.
I couldn't afford to eat in a place
like this.
(BEAT)
Tell me something, where did a guy
like you come up with the cash to
open this place?
NASH
A guy like me?
DETECTIVE
(disdainful)
Yeah. A-guy-like-you.
Nash's hand suddenly clamps on the detectives lapels rocking
him back. The other detective draws back, hand going to his
weapon.
Terry shoulders hard between the men, breaking Nash's grip.
She squares off with the detective, in his face.
TERRY
Excuse me Detective, but are you
here to interrogate my client?
DETECTIVE
(flustered and pissed)
What? Your client... I'll tell you what I'm doin', I'm
about to arrest your client for assaulting a police officer!
TERRY
Oh, I see. For the record, let's
get this straight. My client's
restaurant is attacked by drive-by
shooters. Two of his staff are
killed. Three of his customers are
in critical condition. You
interrogate him as if he's
responsible, without benefit of
counsel or advising him of his
rights... And your wrinkled lapels
constitute an assault charge.
The Detective stews, looks to his partner, who shrugs.
69.
TERRY
McCovoy, isn't it? You are
Detective McCovoy? I remember you
from when I was with the DA.
MCCOVOY
Yeah. That's right.
TERRY
Well, how do you think such an
arrest would play with District
Attorney Williams. He dines here
occasionally, doesn't he?
MCCOVOY
I fuckin' don't know where the D.A.
eats.
TERRY
No? I fuckin' do.
McCovoy stews and thinks a moment.
MCCOVOY
Listen, this wasn't any goddamn
drive-by. These assholes laid-in
with over 200 rounds. Concentrated
fire from fully-automatic nine-
millimeter weapons--we think
fuckin' Uzis. No one heard a thing.
That means they used silencers.
These aren't gang bangers and your
client knows something about it.
And, by the way, who the hell are
those guys?
McCovoy is pointing across the dining room to the bar.
Luke and Eddie are standing, waiting, looking a little
dangerous.
TERRY
Those are my client's partners,
Detective. They own the place.
Under these circumstances, do you
think it's unusual they are here?
MCCOVOY
(scoffing)
Partners, huh? Yeah. They look it. I want to talk to them.
70.
TERRY
Not tonight.
MCCOVOY
What?
TERRY
Unless you plan on arresting them
or hauling them in as material
witnesses, you won't be talking to
them.
MCCOVOY
What? They your clients, too?
TERRY
Matter of fact.
McCovoy pauses, gives Terry a hard look.
MCCOVOY
You're close to hindering, Counselor.
TERRY
Yeah. I am close.
McCovoy seems to be reappraising Terry.
MCCOVOY
I remember you now. You came to
the D.A. from the service. You
were the Marine... A JAG.
McCovoy looks to Nash.
MCCOVOY
And I just bet you were a Marine.
(shakes head)
Goddamn jar-heads.
McCovoy motions to his partner that they are leaving.
MCCOVOY
This ain't fuckin' Beirut,
Counselor. This thing is a hot
potato. If I find out your client
held back, I'll have his ass.
McCovoy turns to leave, stops and turns back.
71.
MCCOVOY
Oh yeah, for the record, if you
know something and aren't
disclosing, connections or not, you
better watch your own ass.
TERRY
Good night, Detective. You can
advise me if you wish to question
my client again.
MCCOVOY
Yeah.
McCovoy and his partner exit. Terry turns to Nash.
TERRY
He's right. This is going to be at
the top of everybody's list.
They'll look at you guys... hard.
Nash is silent for a moment.
NASH
Thanks for breaking that up. You
earned your retainer.
TERRY
Don't thank me yet. McCovoy is
going to be all over your ass. If
he wraps this thing, he's hero of
the beach. If not, he's the dog.
NASH
Yeah.
TERRY
Listen up, Sergeant. I know you
three were into something and I
don't want to know more than I have
to. But if this starts to go the
wrong way, you might want to
consider cutting a deal. I can get
a direct line to the DA.
Nash might be thinking about this, might not.
NASH
Thanks.
Terry looks at Nash, tries to read him. He breaks off.
NASH
I'll let you know.
72.
TERRY
Yeah. Do that.
Terry watches as Nash moves off to the bar where Eddie and
Luke stand.
A bottle of cognac and three glasses sit on the bar.
EXT. CHRIS'S APARTMENT BUILDING -- MORNING
Eddie pulls up in a late-model pick-up truck with Chris. He
looks rough. For a moment, they sit in silence and stare
out at the bay in the distance. Chris looks upset.
CHRIS
You going to be okay?
EDDIE
Yeah. Sure.
CHRIS
Listen. I don't know what's going
on. But you know you can talk to me.
EDDIE
Yeah. I would. Everything's cool.
There's a long pause.
Chris wipes a tear from her eye and stifle a sob.
CHRIS
Gee. Why don't I believe that.
Eddie says nothing.
CHRIS
You know... I really care for you,
Eddie.
(BEAT)
Damn! I think I love you. But I
can't take this much longer.
(stifles sob)
Something has got to change. You're hurting yourself.
(BEAT)
And you're hurting me.
Chris looks to Eddie's face. He swallows, looks as if he
will say something... but doesn't.
73.
CHRIS
I'll see you.
She gets out of the truck, carrying a small overnight bag,
and heads to the stairs of her building.
INT. CHRIS'S BUILDING LOBBY
Chris, looking preoccupied, unlocks and enters the lobby.
Before the door swings closed, it is caught.
Red Hair is entering. She looks young and pretty; just
another city girl.
Before the door closes, while Chris checks her mail box, Red
Hair slips a small square of duct tape across the door jam.
The locking bolt is blocked.
Red Hair strikes a perky tone when she speaks to Chris,
sounding very American.
RED HAIR
Hi.
CHRIS
(absently)
Hi. How ya' doin'?)
RED HAIR
Oh, I've been better.
CHRIS
Yeah?
RED HAIR
Uh huh. Listen, this is pretty
stupid, but my boyfriend just drove
off with my apartment keys.
(BEAT)
Could I ask a really big favor?
Could I use your phone to call him?
I might still be able to catch him
in the car.
For the first time, Chris examines Red Hair, a pleasant,
wholesome type.
CHRIS
Okay, sure.
74.
INT. ELEVATOR, CLIMBING
CHRIS
I haven't seen you around.
RED HAIR
Yeah. I just moved in.
CHRIS
Really? Where from?
RED HAIR
Chicago.
CHRIS
How do you like San Francisco?
RED HAIR
Exciting.
(BEAT)
Pretty cold, though.
CHRIS
Yeah. Welcome to sunny California.
Chris offers her hand to shake.
CHRIS
I'm Christine--Chris.
Red Hair, smiling sweetly, accepts the handshake.
RED HAIR
I'm Adrian. Nice to meet you, Chris.
Chris turns away to the front as the elevator arrives at her
floor. Red Hair's pleasant smile vanishes.
INT. CHRIS'S APARTMENT
Chris enters followed by Red Hair. Chris drops her bag on
the floor and begins to move toward the bathroom. She
gestures toward the kitchen.
CHRIS
You can use the phone in the
kitchen. Be right back.
Red Hair reaches into her coat, follows Chris a step.
RED HAIR
Thanks. Oh, one thing...
Chris turns back.
75.
Red Hair slams a fist into Chris's face. Chris grunts and
falls back hard against the wall, her face bloodied.
Before she knows what is happening, Red Hair hits her again,
and again. Red Hair is wearing brass knuckles.
There is a soft knock at the door. Red Hair opens it. A
big man quickly enters, shuts and bolts the door.
Chris tries to rise from the floor, her face is a mess.
Red Hair grabs her in a rough head lock, clamps down and
begins to pull her towards the bedroom.
RED HAIR
(heavy Belfast accent)
Did the little bitch get her pretty little face messed? Oh,
toooo bad. She doesn't have a pretty face anymore.
Chris is struggling, blood drips from her broken nose. She
sounds as if she is about to vomit as Red Hair throws her
face down on the bed.
Red Hair pins Chris with a knee in her back, pulls a roll of
duct tape from her jacket and binds Chris's mouth hard. She
hands the tape to the man.
He straps Chris' hands behind her back. The two begin to
tear at Chris' jeans.
RED HAIR
(breathing heavily)
Remember to thank your boyfriend for this, cunt.
INT. HOSPITAL -- NIGHT
Eddie, a blank look on his face, leans against the doorway
to a room.
Inside, Chris lies on the bed, unconscious. Her face is
stitched, bruised, battered, swollen, misshapen.
Nash and Luke walk up behind Eddie, look into the room.
LUKE
She going to be okay?
There is a long pause as Eddie looks to Chris.
76.
EDDIE
What's okay?
For a long moment, the three continue to look into the room.
Their faces show compassion, anger and guilt.
NASH
That's enough.
EDDIE
Yeah. Enough.
INT. THE MANGROVE CLUB -- DAY
Nash and a WORKMAN are moving a table against a wall where
other furniture is stacked. Chairs are on tables. The
dining room is cleared.
Nash reaches into his pocket and speaks to the Workman.
NASH
Okay Al. That's it.
He takes out a wad, peels off a few bills.
NASH
Thanks for coming in on short notice.
Al accepts the cash.
AL
Sure. Glad to. Thanks.
Nash surveys the desolate dining room. Other workman are
draping drop cloths over the bar and liquor stock.
There is a flash and Nash wheels around. A man in a drab
business suit stands by the kitchen with a camera.
He is focusing on the bar area as Nash walks to him.
NASH
What are you doing?
The man snaps a shot of the bar.
CAMERA MAN
Are you Mr. Nash?
NASH
Yeah. Who are you?
The man hands Nash a card, focuses another shot.
77.
CAMERA MAN
Agent Hilton with the Internal
Revenue Service.
Nash doesn't look at the card. Instead, he stuffs it back
into Hilton's jacket pocket. Hilton brings his eye away
from the camera, gives Nash a disdainful look, then returns
to the camera.
HILTON
Mr. Nash, I'm sure your attorney
has advised you of the action
pending against your partnership.
You know your business is about to
be encumbered and most likely its
assets liquidated to satisfy a
federal tax lien.
Nash says nothing.
HILTON
The IRS wouldn't want you to use
your recent misfortune as a
pretense for removing items from
the premises. I am hereby advising
you that if you do remove any
items, that shall be considered an
effort to hide assets and evasion,
and you will be prosecuted
accordingly.
NASH
We're closed. You got a warrant?
HILTON
Sir, I don't need a warrant. I'm a
federal officer in a public place.
NASH
Wrong. This is a public place when
it's open. Then we serve who we
want. And dickhead, if I can help
it, I don't serve the IRS.
HILTON
(taken aback)
I don't think you know...
Nash calmly reaches, grabs the camera, gives a quick jerk,
the strap snaps off Hilton's neck.
78.
HILTON
Sir! You have just assaulted a
federal officer! Do you have any
idea...
Nash holds the camera out.
NASH
Leave. Now.
Hilton takes the camera, hesitates, heads for the door.
EXT. THE MANGROVE CLUB
McCovoy is watching from his car as Nash posts a "CLOSED FOR
RENOVATION" notice on the doors of the restaurant. He gets
out and approaches Nash.
MCCOVOY
How long you closing?
Nash turns to McCovoy, then back to the notice. He puts the
last strip of tape on before turning again to McCovoy.
NASH
Long enough.
MCCOVOY
Taking a vacation?
NASH
Listen, you want to start up again,
call my attorney.
MCCOVOY
Well, this ain't quite official ...
I was pushing buttons the other
night. It's my job.
NASH
You think I give a shit?
MCCOVOY
(BEAT)
Shame, your partner's girl.
NASH
Yeah.
MCCOVOY
Wish we knew more. She wasn't able
to tell much, so far. A man and
woman. Woman had an Irish accent.
79.
Nash doesn't respond.
MCCOVOY
Kind of weird... man and woman
assailants.
Nash doesn't respond.
MCCOVOY
And the way it was set up. More
deliberate than most of those types
of incidents.
Nash doesn't respond.
MCCOVOY
Real coincidence--your place
getting shot up, now this.
NASH
See you later.
Nash turns, McCovoy steps in front. Nash glares.
MCCOVOY
Listen, buddy, I don't know yet
what kind of business you guys are
in, but I doubt your waitress, your
valet or your partner's girlfriend
are in on it.
NASH
You got a warrant? If you don't,
talk to my attorney.
MCCOVOY
You're fucked you know that, man!
What did you, have a drug deal go
bad, get into a loan shark? For
that you're letting this shit happen?
Nash steps around McCovoy and starts away.
MCCOVOY
Hey! Asshole!
McCovoy grabs Nash by the shoulder but Nash takes McCovoy's
hand, reverses the wrist and propels the man screaming back
into the wall.
With his free right hand, McCovoy makes a grab for his
shoulder holster, but is surprised to see that Nash already
has the pistol... a few inches from McCovoy's nose. Nash
holds the barrel pointed away from McCovoy.
80.
MCCOVOY
Now you fucked up. I'm gonna lock
your ass up.
NASH
In front of witnesses, my attorney
told you not to Contact me directly.
You got no warrant, so I think
we're talking harassment, maybe
racially motivated... "a guy like
me." I was wearing a tux, you dumb
shit. Want that in your file--in
this city?
McCovoy is thinking about this.
Nash turns the pistol and smoothly slides it back into
McCovoy's holster.
NASH
Keep away from me. Until you talk
a judge into issuing a warrant,
stay out of my business.
Nash releases the cop. McCovoy watches Nash walk away.
EXT. CITY STREET, NORTH BEACH -- DAY
Nash exits a corner store carrying a grocery bag. The Bum
steps out of a stoop and hustles up to him.
BUM
My man! What ya' got, bro!
Nash keeps walking. The Bum follows.
BUM
Hey Bro! Come on, don't be like
that. Ya' gonna help me out? Come
on, you know what I need!
Nash stops and whirls around, a knife-like hand an inch from
the Bum's face.
NASH
If I want to give you somthin' I'll
give it to you! Now keep the fuck
away from me!
Nash turns and stalks off. The Bum watches him.
81.
INT. NASH'S APARTMENT -- NIGHT
Nash is cooking. Luke is at the dining table going over a
road map. There is a handgun on the counter near Nash and
another on the table near Luke.
On the deck, Eddie, in dark clothes, sits behind a couple of
bushy plants. His eyes are clear, his hair back and neat.
He turns to look through night vision binoculars to the
street below.
Through the binoculars, Eddie is focused on a sedan about a
half-block away. |