Copyright 1997 by Rob Perry and NorthStarr Productions
All Rights Reserved
EXT. SMITH'S APARTMENT - LATE AFTERNOON
INT. SMITH'S APARTMENT -
The referee is bouncing around the ring, trying to keep
up with the two Mexican light-weights pounding the shit
out of each other. If not for the fuzz and the silence,
the audio on the television is off, you might think
you were ringside at the Garden. It's a good fight but
PETRA isn't watching.
She's got her feet up on the couch painting her toe
nails. The room is so quiet you can almost hear the
polish. She starts on her fourth toe when a NOISE
form above STOPS HER
It sounded like a CREAKING of a FLOOR, but so quiet,
sudden and over so fast it's hard to be sure. She
stares at the ceiling a moment, then glances at
SMITH.
On the other side of the room, in his own world,
SMITH is peering into his magnifier, soldering
gossamer strands with a laser.
PETRA
Lane, my friends on the street say you are being
stalked by a Federal Marshall called Victor
Garcia.
SMITH
I know, he killed an old friend.
PETRA
What did he do?
SMITH
Nothing, Garcia killed him because he
was going to broadcast something
for me in the Pacific Northwest.
EXT. GARCIA'S CAR - FREEWAY - NIGHT
The sky is streaked with remnants of a lingering dusk.
beams of light flash over the sheen of GARCIA'S car
as he cuts off the freeway and sweeps down the off-
ramp curve.
EXT./INT. CAR - STREETS - NIGHT
Moving through the dark city streets. GARCIA turns a
corner and guns it up a long, steep hill.
EXT. STREET - GARCIA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
At the top of the hill the car pulls into a drive and
disappears into the subterranean garage of a high-rise.
INT. CORRIDOR GARCIA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
He's coming down the hall carrying a foil wrapped
plastic plate and stops in front of his door. It's
riddled with locks. He slips a small device out of
his pocket, aims it at the door and the locks unlock,
the bolts slide open. He walks in and kicks the door
shut behind him.
INT. GARCIA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
He slips on the light and crosses the front room.
GARCIA is a pack rat -- hard to tell if he just moved
in or is just moving out.
As he enters the kitchen, the SOUND of SOMEBODY BEHIND
him causes him to whirl around fast, hand snapped out
in front of him, gun already in it. MYRA almost got
shot. But she's unruffled, a little pale maybe, but
direct as ever. There's a long, chilly moment, then
she almost smiles as her eyes move to the plate on the
floor.
MYRA
Was that your dinner?
He looks down at the over-turned plate and nods.
MYRA (Cont.)
I'm sorry. I called and found out
you were on your way home. These
were already delivered to your
department but I thought you
should have copies as soon as
possible.
She's holding out a cassette the size of a cigarette
pack. But it's taking GARCIA'S adrenaline time to
recede.
MYRA
It's the LANE SMITH information you
wanted.
He takes the cassette, but a man with so many locks
must be wondering how they were gotten through so easily.
He doesn't even want to ask.
GARCIA
Thanks.
He realizes he's still got the gun aimed at her and
sticks it back in his belt and they're left staring
at each other. The situation makes awkward silence.
At least for him. She's looking at him like she's
got something to say but isn't saying it.
GARCIA
Is there anything else?
MYRA
I know you think it complicates
your work, but I'm here to help.
GARCIA
I've already got more help than
I need.
MYRA
I think you need more help than
you've got.
He doesn't, but she's not backing off.
MYRA
There's two reasons a man rejects
help. Either because he's so good
at what he does he doesn't think
he needs it, or he's so insecure
he can't admit it.
GARCIA
Sounds like I'm an ass-hole either
way, but the answer is still no.
MYRA
Two of us might be more effective
than one.
GARCIA
I work alone.
She smiles.
MYRA
No you don't.
She lets it sink in.
MYRA
You use your equipment, don't you?
GARCIA
So?
MYRA
So, I'm a piece of equipment.
Use me.
It's a strong look that passes between them -- a long
one. Maybe if he were on firmer ground he might do
something about such an offer but...
GARCIA'S eyes follow her down as MYRA bends to
the floor and starts picking the food off the rug
putting it back on the plate, he notices her magnificent
cleavage and stares for a moment.
GARCIA
That's okay, I'll get it...
He bends down to help, but she's already done it.
Their heads a few inches apart. Something in her eyes
diminishes the distance even more.
MYRA
Do I make you nervous?
GARCIA
Yeah.
MYRA
I'm sorry.
And she is. And suddenly he is too. She hands him the
plate and they stand. She's looking at the floor,
almost shy, then she looks up and he's watching her.
She says it plain and simple.
MYRA
It's strange to suddenly realize
that what you thought was the
truth on TV and in the paper, then
find out it's all a lie.
He nods. He feels it, but doesn't know what to
do about it.
GARCIA
You know about all the conspiracies he
is going to broadcast?
MYRA
The one about flight 800 is a real hoot.
GARCIA
My supervisor didn't tell me about that
one.
MYRA
In contrast to the terrorist-missile theory,
the U.S. Navy could deploy the military
hardware necessary to take out TWA 800,
did deploy assets to the area that were both
below and above TWA 800 when it was hit, and
did activate warning zones near TWA 800
for military exercises and live-firings. TWA
800 even changed course to avoid an active
Naval-warning zone moments before it was hit.
Unlike the terrorist theory, the Navy-missile
theory is overflowing with evidence.
Yet after eight months of such denials, the
Navy finally admitted that naval exercises
were taking place off Long Island at the time
of the TWA 800 accident. The Navy also
admitted that they had three submarines off
Long Island in the ocean below TWA 800.
We know that there were at least 8 military
assets in the area of the TWA 800 accident:
The ALBUQUERQUE, attack sub, The TREPANG,
attack sub, The WYOMING, ICBM sub, P-3 Orion
aircraft, THE NORMANDY, missile cruiser and
and a HC-130 aircraft. The Navy was engaged
in a large-scale exercise called "Global
Yankee '96" taking place off shore between
July 16 and 26, 1996.
GARCIA
Fuck, Lane Smith is going to be terminated
by me for trying to tell the American public
the truth, shit that sure don't make me feel
very good.
These are not some of GARCIA'S finer moments. But she
doesn't seem to notice.
MYRA
Way down deep, I hope he makes the broadcast.
GARCIA nods, waits the respectable interval and is
glad to have a reason to go to the bathroom.
In the scrambled sanctuary of his bathroom he looks
around for a place to throw-up, and he fills the toilet.
He returns and sits next to Myra.
GARCIA
So why do you think Smith stopped in
to see Chew?
He's a lot more comfortable talking shop.
MYRA
He probably wanted to find out
when the chip was made.
GARCIA
Right.
He dumps his dinner in the garbage and comes back out.
She's writing something on a card.
MYRA
I guess the date of the chip is
important if you know it will
be replaced in a year with a
better one.
No way he can keep his foot out of it. She looks up and
hands him the card.
MYRA
That's my number. If you need me.
Oh, by the way, I saw somebody
following you this morning, It
may have been Lane Smith.
She goes to the door, opens it but hesitates before
going through.
MYRA
You better get better locks --
if you want to keep Smith out.
She looks back at him and smiles -- the smile says
she's talking about all kinds of locks. GARCIA looks
like he might ask her to stay, but...
MYRA
Good night.
And she's gone.
GARCIA
Night.
He looks down at the number. It's the back side of a
snapshot. He turns it over. The picture of a man
and a woman. The little girl between them looks like
a six-year old MYRA.
INT. GARCIA'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
He's sitting in front of his console studying pictures
of Super Chips as they appear, blank-faced, hairless
and unadorned on his monitor.
The over-lay machine is transforming each image with
instant attributes, all in rapid succession, running
the gambit from ominous to beautiful.
GARCIA (V.O.)
The possibilities were infinite.
They could change their appearances
but not their future. Like she said,
it was short. Longevity was what
Smith was after. The garbage man
even wanted a past. Poor fuck.
I'd check it out but I knew she
was right. The market worked on
turn-over. Built-in obsolescence
was the name of the game.
On top of the monitor there's an open can of beans with
a spoon stuck in it. The PHONE RINGS.
GARCIA
Yeah.
HERNANDEZ
HERNANDEZ here. Regarding the
rundown you requested on Smith's
location, Esper's concluded that
the best shot is in Monterry Park.
Gary's Bar, see Gary. Gary is a
registered Child Molester, but he
is one of our best street informants
so don't rough him up!
GARCIA
I was just about to have my dinner.
HERNANDEZ
If you hurry you'll get back
before it gets cold. I'll have
a chopper on your street in five
minutes. Good luck.
GARCIA hangs up and looks at the beans. He didn't
want them anyway. He gets up and walks to the bedroom.
Looks through the pile of clothes on the floor, finds
his ankle gun and straps it on.
EXT. CITY - BIRD'S EYE VIEW - NIGHT
The Chopper skirts through the canyons of the city.
GARCIA, sitting in the contoured seat, watches the
maze of suspension bridges, platforms and catwalks
swing by below. The tops of larger buildings shimmer
with advertisements and weather announcements.
INT. CHOPPER - OVER CITY - NIGHT
GARCIA is cruising low and slow over the city listening
to Esper.
EPSER
The doomsday chip is a new prototype.
Created for in-house special operations
spooks from the Scientific Development
Regulatory Committee. Properly
installed in communications equipment a
person could broadcast world wide.
GARCIA
How soon could he use it?
ESPER
Now.
Back to business.
GARCIA
Okay, do I have a green light?
ESPER
Yes, terminate without prejudice!
GARCIA
Ok, good bye.
EXT./INT. CHOPPER - LANDING AREA - NIGHT
GARCIA taking it down. About to pull it in an already
crowded lot, but the sign flashes "FULL." GARCIA
doesn't believe in signs; is about to set it down anyway
when an Oriental in a fluorescent coat runs out and
waves him off.
GARCIA
Fuck.
Pissed, GARCIA veers away and buzzes low over and
around the roof tops, all dark and cramped -- not a
lot of room around here.
EXT. MONTERRY PARK - ALLEY - NIGHT
Finally brings it down between two buildings hardly
enough clearance, but he jockeys the machine into an
alley, touches down and runs it slowly along the surface
-- parking it by a sign that says "NO PARKING."
EXT. STREET - GARY'S BAR - NIGHT
Not many people. Wind blowing. A nest of garish
small-time clubs.
GARCIA emerges from one, goes into the next. The
pulsing neon over the entry says "GARY'S BAR."
INT. GARY'S BAR - NIGHT
Crowded in here. CHINESE MUSIC. GARCIA is at the bar
sitting next to a an old CHINAMAN who's eating noodles.
GARCIA leaves the bar and walks down a hall towards a
door at the rear.
INT. GARY'S OFFICE - NIGHT
GARY'S what's referred to in the trade as "Chester
The Molester" collector of young girls.
It must be so, there's one in the bed. Thin, pale,
about sixteen years old, eyes rolled up under her
fluttering eyelids, licking a vanilla drumstick and,
lying flat on her back in Gary's crowded little
bedroom.
Gary's a little SLEEZE in his fifties with wide hips and narrow
shoulders, wears a jet black toupee and has a face like
a seal. But at the moment he's not present.
There's a KNOCK at the DOOR, then the SOUND of a TOILET
FLUSHING. Gary comes out of the bathroom, heart
pounding under his polyester bathrobe, and approaches
the door like the guilty FUCKER he is. He looks through
the peeper.
GARCIA is out there holding up his I.D.
GARCIA
Gary Lewis?
GARY
Yes?
GARCIA
Can I come in?
There is a pause lasting the time it takes Gary not
to think of a way to say no. The door opens and GARCIA
enters. Except for the drool coming out of the corner of
her mouth, and the fluttering eye-lids, Venus doesn't
move a muscle.
GARY
Excuse my niece there... She's
studying for an exam.
GARCIA takes the pictures out of his pocket
and pushing some junk out of the way, fans them
out on the table.
GARCIA
I'd like you to take a look at
these pictures.
GARY
Of course.
Gary bends down really close, peering at the pictures
from about two inches away.
GARY
You see I lost my contacts a
couple of days ago around here
somewhere and my sight is a
little... What am I supposed
to be looking for?
GARCIA
Do you recognize this man?
He stops at and points at Smith.
GARY
This one looks familiar, but
I don't know. Naw. There's
one came in today looks a
little like this one but...
GARCIA
What did he want?
GARY
Who?
GARCIA
The guy that doesn't look
like that guy.
GARY
Nothing. He wanted to know
about electronics.
GARCIA
What electronics?
GARY
I don't remember.
GARCIA
What electronics, and I want an answer.
By the way, how old is the girl, thirteen?
GARY
Communications Electronics.
GARCIA
You send him to Chews??
Gary nods. GARCIA goes to the door and turns.
GARCIA
Did he get what he wanted from Chew?
GARCIA
Yes he did.
GARCIA
OK.
GARY
My girlfriend has taken a liking to you
do you want a little? She's really a
very good piece of ass.
It's starting to get a little gooey. GARCIA tips his
head good night and backs out of the door.
INT. THE OLD OPERA HOUSE - NIGHT
Onstage four oriental acrobats, in matching metallic
jumpsuits roll head over heels in their rendition of
a human wheel. From the P.A. system the Announcer's
voice blares through the cavernous theatre.
ANNOUNCER'S VOICE
Give it up for the Wong brothers.
Scattered APPLAUSE. Hand in hand, the Wong Brothers
bow deeply, spring up and trot offstage.
ANNOUNCER'S VOICE
Next we're gonna see a little
charmer who keeps her dancing
partner in a basket! She
comes to us all the way from
exotic Casablanca. 'VELDA.'
The old boys in the pit strike up a tinny version
of "In a Persian Market" as VELDA dances onstage.
She's a black-haired beauty in a scant belly dancer
costume, a couple of pounds overweight but all in
the right places. She kneels ceremoniously center
stage and sets the basket down before her. Carefully
removing the lid, she reaches in and lifts out a four-
foot harlequin-patterned python. Grinding her hips
to the music, she rises, holding the coiling snake out
like an offering. Sounds of approval from the audience.
The gold coins covering her breasts jingle and shimmer,
as she weaves sensuously around the floor.
INT. BACKSTAGE - NIGHT
To scattered APPLAUSE, HOOTS and WHISTLES, VELDA
flounces offstage, the snake hung around her
shoulders, looking limp, and makes her way through
the narrow corridor to her dressing room. She's about
to enter when:
GARCIA
Excuse me, Miss VELDA.
She turns. GARCIA's posture and attitude suggest
humble, sleazy persistence. He comes closer with his
shit-eating grin.
GARCIA
I'd like to have a word with you
if I could.
VELDA stands almost six feet high in her high heels
-- she looks down on him with the haughty suspicion
of a chick who knows how to handle cheap hits.
VELDA
Yeah?
GARCIA
I'm with the American Federation
of Variety Artists...
He holds up a hand as if to stop her from protesting.
GARCIA
Don't worry, I'm not here to make
you join -- that's not my department.
He glances around like a guy who's not supposed to be
there.
GARCIA
I'm an investigator for the
Confidential Committee on Moral
Abuses.
She nods, taking it a little more seriously.
GARCIA
There's been reports of management
sexually abusing the artists in
this place.
VELDA
I don't know nothing about it.
GARCIA
You haven't felt yourself to be
exploited by the management in any
way?
She's definitely puzzled.
VELDA
How do you mean 'exploited'?
GARCIA
Like to get this position. Did
you or were you asked to do anything
lewd or unsavory or otherwise
repulsive to your person?
VELDA
Are you for real?
GARCIA
Oh, yeah. You'd be surprised what
goes on around here. I'd like to check
the dressing room if I could.
VELDA
What the fuck for?
GARCIA
For holes.
This guy might be an asshole but he's funny.
VELDA
I don't believe this.
She shrugs and they go in.
INT. DRESSING ROOM - NIGHT
Musty and cramped. A portable shower, a dressing table
and not much else. VELDA takes the snake from around
her shoulders and lays it on the dressing table. GARCIA
watches it undulate into the warmth of the lights.
GARCIA
Is it hungry?
VELDA
Of course it's not hungry! You think
I'd be working with a snake of this
size if it was hungry. I feed it a large
rat the night before my performance.
GARCIA
Good idea..
VELDA
Why don't you do what you have to do
I'm in a hurry..
GARCIA nods. There's not much costume to take off but
she's doing it.
VELDA
What's wrong you've never seen a nude
woman before?
GARCIA
I'm sorry I was staring.
VELDA
Would you like to touch one of my breasts?
His hand reaches out to touch it. As his fingers make
contact she pulls back He jerks his hand back.
VELDA
Twenty dollars for a five minute feel.
GARCIA
Sorry.
VELDA
Hey! Why should I give you a freebee?
She slides behind the screen and turns on the shower.
GARCIA starts creeping around pacing around the room
like he's inspecting the walls.
GARCIA
They have their ways of doing their dirty work
without the victim knowing what's going on.
His eyes are moving over everything she's got.
GARCIA
You'd be surprised what a guy will
go through to get a glimpse of a
beautiful body.
VELDA
I bet I would. As bad as a sleeze wanting to
get a free feel on a showgirls tit!
GARCIA
Little dirty holes the bastards
drill in the wall so they can
watch a lady undress.
And to his amazement he actually spots one. It's down
low on the wall. Not a good idea to turn his back on
work but he can't resist.
VELDA
And what if somebody did try to
'exploit' me? Who do I go to?
Through the hole GARCIA is looking at a pair of fat
legs.
GARCIA
Me.
VELDA
And who do I go to about you?
He looks back. She's some out of the shower dripping
nude. She's taken off her black wig. Her hair is
short and blonde.
GARCIA recognizes her immediately from the pictures.
He stares at her a moment too long.
GARCIA
Hmmmmm?
GARCIA grins and she returns it.
She takes a towel off the table and starts to dry her
body. The snake noses through the cosmetics, tongue
flicking trying to get back to its mistress. Absently,
she reaches out to stroke the snake and suddenly laughs.
VELDA
You ever get the feeling things
aren't the way they seem?
Her hand closes around the snake's head. GARCIA sees
it coming but can't move fast enough. She strikes him
so hard it knocks him off his feet. Before he hits the
floor, she kicks him in the stomach. The snake whistles
through the air again as GARCIA rolls out of the way.
It slams down so hard it ruptures against the floor.
He goes for his gun, but she's already out the door.
INT. PASSAGEWAY - NIGHT
GARCIA bounds out of the room and sees her go through
a door at the other end of the hall. He sprints after
her, arrives at the door and flings it open. The sound
of her high heels CLATTER down the metal steps.
EXT. STREET - OPERA HOUSE - NIGHT
It's raining heavily.
The front of the Opera House is open only to foot
traffic these days. A bizarre place on a Friday
night, hawkers and whores, the rabble, the poor
and the curious mill around the randy-built
platforms and brightly lit stands. VELDA, in
just a raincoat, is not out of place in this
flea market atmosphere. Trying not to run, she
slices through the mob as quickly as she can.
GARCIA is not far behind, dodging and trying to
move against the tide of people scurrying for
shelter.
She comes to an intersection and turns out of the mall
onto a less crowded street. She glances over her
shoulder as she breaks into a run and runs right into
a couple of pedestrians. All three go down.
GARCIA comes out of the crowd in time to spot her get-
ting to her feet. She sees him and runs. The two
pedestrians are in his line of fire. He runs past them
and drops to one knee, leveling his gun.
GARCIA
Stop or you're dead!
She doesn't. The shot is heard through the air, but
she's already around the corner.
With his bottom lip between his teeth, it hurts to move
so fast, GARCIA jack-legs it into the street and jumps
in front of the first car coming. It screeches to a
stop. GARCIA scrambles for the door, but the guy
behind the wheel has other ideas. He peels out fast.
The next car slows down and swerves trying not to hit
him. GARCIA goes for the door and before the old
matron inside can lock it, GARCIA'S yanked it open and
jumps in. She screams as he pushes her into the
passenger seat and jams the car into a wrenching about
face. The lady squeals like a pig as the momentum
plasters her against the door.
GARCIA slams it around the corner and guns it down the
street. It's long and it's empty and it's going by fast.
Nothing the old lady cares to see -- she's got her hands
over her eyes, whimpering, hoping she'll faint before
she dies.
GARCIA takes the next left so hard he almost lays it
over. As the car bounces off the curb he floors it.
VELDA's a hundred yards ahead, halfway down the street,
trying to make it back into the crowded mall. She's
running fast, but the car is faster.
As he passes her, GARCIA hits the brakes and skids
broadside seventy feet. The door flies open and he
rolls out FIRING.
VELDA's ducking it with no where to go, except...
The showcase window on her left EXPLODES as she crashes
through.
It's a corner shop joined to a series of stores, fronting
the mall. GARCIA runs to the opening she's made and
pours FIRE through the tunnel of her jagged wake as
VELDA breaks through one window after another, getting
sliced, getting shot, trying to get away from GARCIA'S
volley of shots. But she doesn't.
His last shot makes a hole through the base of her
skull. It kills her but doesn't stop her. Her speed
takes what's left of her through the last two windows
and into the street where she runs into a parked car
with such force that she embeds herself in the side of
it.
Hunched over, breathing hard, GARCIA comes slowly for-
ward. The crowd starting to gather. There's something
for everybody and they're coming from all directions.
GARCIA moves through them, edging to have a look.
It's not a good thing to see. It looks like VELDA
and the car tries to eat each other. A bloody feast
of metal and flesh.
GARCIA bows his head, sick, exhausted. So much
commotion he doesn't notice three COPS closing
in from behind.
COP
Drop it!
GARCIA has his back to them. They're fanned out and
crouched, ready to fire. GARCIA drops his gun. Two
of them rush up, spin him around while the third does a
frisk.
TWO MORE COPS arrive, wary and wild-eyed, pushing the
people back -- his is not a good place for cops.
GARCIA'S ankle gun is discovered by the Cop frisking
him. With a snarl he pulls it out and hands it back to
the SERGEANT covering the action.
SERGEANT
On your belly!
GARCIA'S not in the mood for it.
GARCIA
Listen, Sergeant...
He's reaching for his ID. The Cop with the baton
hits him in the head.
One thrill after another. Somebody in the crowd YEOWLS.
The last thing GARCIA hears as he falls. The Cop
reaches inside GARCIA'S coat for the concealed weapon
they missed, but it's an ID card. He looks at it for a
moment, then looks up.
COP
Hey, SARGE, this guy's a cop.
An embarrassing situation.
SERGEANT
Clear this fucking crowd.
The Cops start pushing. And for one split second one
of the men in the crowd looks a lot like LANE SMITH.
INT. OLD OPERA HOUSE - MEN'S ROOM - NIGHT
Your standard low class crapper. HERNANDEZ is planted
firmly on the cracked tile floor next to the urinals
rubbing his face, trying not to pop the clutch in his
anger. This is a public place, he doesn't want to
yell.
HERNANDEZ
Just because it's a friend of the fugitive
it doesn't change procedure. A little known
fact can become a well-known fact and part
of our job, GARCIA, is to make sure that
doesn't happen. Now how can we do that if
you blow one away in front of a fucking
audience.
It's not the sort of question that expects an answer.
GARCIA'S washing his face in the basin hoping it'll
all go away.
HERNANDEZ
Well?
GARCIA looks up dripping, reaches for a paper towel.
HERNANDEZ slaps one in his hand.
GARCIA
She was gonna get away.
HERNANDEZ
Then let her get away. I thought
you were a pro -- you're supposed
to be a fucking tracker!
HERNANDEZ takes a couple of deep breaths.
HERNANDEZ
I'd say you got a little carried
away.
GARCIA'S voice is barely audible.
GARCIA
I didn't like her.
HERNANDEZ
You didn't like her?
He slams the handle on one of the urinals.
HERNANDEZ
You start liking or disliking criminals
and it's time to hang it up.
The PLUMBING ROARS and SUCKS and DIES. There's nothing
to do but nod. GARCIA nods. Poor bastard has had a
rough night. HERNANDEZ pulls a flask out of his coat
and hands it to him. GARCIA puts it to his mouth and
HERNANDEZ watches GARCIA'S Adam's apple like he's
counting the swallows. GARCIA hands it back empty.
HERNANDEZ caps it, puts it back in his pocket.
HERNANDEZ
Look, go home. Get some rest.
Take an aspirin.
GARCIA
Yeah.
HERNANDEZ shuffles out like an old bear.
INT. OLD OPERA HOUSE - BAR - NIGHT
Cheap whiskey and bad wine. That's the kind of place
this is. It's near closing. But still a few at the
bar. Alcoholic silhouettes.
In the background GARCIA comes down the passage from the
men's room and stops at the phone. He gets a number
out of his pocket and calls it. As he talks he leans
against the wall, his body language intimate and chummy.
Not much action at the bar other than somebody snoring
and a drunk down at the end having a conversation with
himself.
GARCIA hangs up, walks to the bar and straddles a
stool. The BARTENDER'S a big lady with tits like
bags and a voice that plays no favorites.
BARTENDER
I can't protect your drinks,
mister; while you was in the
potty, this drunk snatched it.
GARCIA glances at his stool-mate. A huge MAN, slumped
over the bar like a beached whale.
GARCIA
No problem. give me another.
The whale doesn't move, but it speaks, with a gravelly
Russian accent.
RUSSIAN
Forgive me. I thought was free
drink. I will pay.
GARCIA
Forget it.
INT. GARCIA'S APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT
He's lying in the tub with a drink, eyes half mast,
water up to his chin, bruised and beat, but looking
just a little wicked in his balmy luxury.
GARCIA (V.O.)
I knew a cop once who was involved
in a high-speed chase. They shot
out one of his tires and he went
over a cliff at hundred and fifty
miles an hour. They found him in
the morning with a broken skull,
six fractured ribs and second-
degree burns. On the way to the
hospital he made a play for the
nurse.
He takes a drink and clears his throat.
GARCIA
Hey! I thought you were supposed
to be taking care of me.
MYRA'S VOICE
What do you need?
He doesn't answer. Lies there sipping his drink.
MYRA comes in a little uncertain, a little droll,
and stands there looking down at him.
GARCIA
Don't just stand there looking at
me. It's not polite.
MYRA
What do you want me to do?
GARCIA
Sit.
She sits on the edge of the tub.
GARCIA
Give me your arm.
She's wearing a short-sleeved dress. It's a long,
delicate arm and GARCIA holds it, inspecting it
like a maestro with a Stradivarius. He looks
up at her.
GARCIA
You ever take a bath with a man
before?
MYRA
There's a lot I haven't done with
a man before.
He's got her hand in the water and had begun to soap
her arm. Starting with her wrist and running the bar
to her elbow, up and down, slow and slippery. She
watches, not quite sure of the ritual.
He pulls her closer, and runs his hand up higher,
molding and pressing, working around her flesh,
up and under her arm into the privacy of her dress.
MYRA
You're getting me wet.
Oh, yes. For a moment GARCIA stares at her like some
furry-legged satyr in rut, the fingers of his other
hand rake through her hair and into the water she comes.
INT. GARCIA'S APARTMENT - BEDROOM - MORNING
The bed looks like it was hit by a storm and GARCIA
looks like something that was washed up in it. He's
spread out flat, face creased and puffed.
His eyes squint open, but only for a moment. His
hands are more reliable. They search over the bed,
but find it bare. He edges his head over the side,
looking around for signs, but she's all gone. He
gets up in two stages, sits and then stands. Then
sits again, resting his head in his hands.
INT. GARCIA'S APARTMENT - BATHROOM - MORNING
GARCIA'S got his face in the mirror shaving it. It's
been a long night. Nothing a new tongue and a blood
transfusion wouldn't put right. He moves a couple of
inches to the left so his eyes have a view of the tub.
INT. GARCIA'S APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - MORNING
GARCIA is on the edge of the couch with the phone on
his knees, the card with MYRA'S number in his lap
and having no luck.
MYRA'S VOICE
Sorry, I am not in at the moment,
but if you'll leave your name and
number I'll return your call as
soon as I can.
That's not soon enough. GARCIA hangs up, puts the
phone on the floor and leans back on the couch.
GARCIA
Fuck you, then.
INT. GARCIA'S APARTMENT - DAY
He's sitting on the couch, glum, contemplative.
There's a SOUND. His eyes move to the door. Those
locks are opening again. MYRA comes in. Looks
surprised to see him. Him too.
MYRA
I told you I'd come back.
GARCIA
You did?
MYRA
You didn't hear me. You were
sleeping.
He likes that.
MYRA
Are you glad I'm here?
He is. She's spunky. Hasn't seen this place in the
daytime. Pleased, he watched her move around the mess.
She spots a little framed photograph. Picks it up.
It's a man with a shotgun and a girl holding up a quail.
MYRA
Who is this?
GARCIA
Me and my dad.
MYRA
Where is he?
GARCIA
Dead.
MYRA
Oh.
She puts it down and comes to him.
MYRA
How come you're not on the job?
GARCIA
I am. Part of my job is to sit
on a couch and try and figure
things out.
MYRA
How are you doing?
GARCIA
Not too good.
She sits next to him.
Pleased as hell, they both sit there staring straight
ahead. He looks at her. She looks at him.
MYRA
What do people do in the afternoon?
GARCIA
If they are smart, they take
naps.
INT. GARCIA'S BEDROOM - DAY
They're under the sheet. MYRA is on her back, looking
at the ceiling, hair sprawled like sea grass over the
pillow. GARCIA lies next to her, a man studying a
treasure.
MYRA
Do you dream?
GARCIA
Yeah. Sometimes.
MYRA
I wish I could.
His hand moves over her shoulder.
GARCIA
Wishing is a kind of dreaming.
His hand goes under the sheet.
MYRA
I mean asleep.
She feels good. He moves closer.
MYRA
Did you cry when your father
died?
GARCIA
Yeah.
MYRA
That's another thing I can't
do.
He kisses her lightly on the cheek.
MYRA
Nobody is freer than when he
dreams. (A beat) What was
that noise?
GARCIA
Rats. It wasn't very good last night,
was it?
MYRA
I don't know, I have nothing
to compare it to. I guess I
thought there was something
more to it.
GARCIA
What?
MYRA
I don't know... I think I missed
something.
GARCIA
Like?
MYRA
I'm not sure. Is there a
secret?
Her face is close. She's looking right at him. Her
lips are right there.
GARCIA
I don't know. If there is I'd
like to find it.
Slowly their lips touch and his arms slide under her
body.
INT. GARCIA'S APARTMENT BEDROOM - NIGHT
MYRA is lying across the bed in one of GARCIA'S
shirts, her chin over the edge, her eyes moving around
the room. GARCIA lies next to her. Looking like a
man who died a voluptuous death.
MYRA
When was the last time you cleaned
this place?
GARCIA
Hmmm?
MYRA
Have you ever cleaned your
apartment?
GARCIA
Don't be fooled by appearances.
MYRA
It appears to be dirty -- why don't
you get somebody?
He rolls over to admire her legs.
GARCIA
Because they would ruin the
arrangement.
He kisses the back of her thigh.
MYRA
They could clean around the
arrangement.
GARCIA
I don't like people snooping around
my stuff.
He kisses her other thigh, gets up and goes into the
bathroom.
GARCIA'S VOICE
There's a vacuum in the front room
closet if you want to give it a try.
MYRA lies there a moment, then gets up and goes into
the front room and opens the closet door. Lane Smith
is in the closet with a sawed off shotgun in his hand
and as she is startled seeing him he places his finger
on his lips. She gets ready to scream.
SMITH
(Whispering)
Oh no, don't do that.
He grabs her around the neck and walks her over to
the bedroom.
GARCIA
Myra, what's taking so long, did you
find it?
Smith barges in the room shielding himself with Myra.
Seeing this Garcia goes for his gun.
SMITH
If you touch the gun her brains will
be all over you!
GARCIA
Don't hurt her, please don't hurt her!
She stares at him like he's nuts.
GARCIA (Cont.)
I'm serious. Go ahead. Drop her and leave
a free man.
Reluctantly he makes some half-hearted movement with
his hands and arms, as if to give up.
SMITH
I'm not that stupid, the minute I leave
you will be on my trail again.
MYRA
This feels stupid, grab your gun Victor
he wont shoot!
SMITH
Smart girls keep their mouths shut.
I want you to place his handcuffs on
him, right now!
He lets her go, but keeps the shotgun trained on Garcia.
Myra takes the handcuffs off the dresser and gets ready
to place them on Garcia.
SMITH
Arms out, palms down, and let her do
it now.
GARCIA
Go ahead Myra, do as he says.
She handcuffs Garcia and sits on the edge of the bed.
GARCIA
So what now? Are you going to do kill
me like you did Marshall Drago?
SMITH
That was self defense.
Looking at Myra, and handing her Duct tape.
SMITH
Take the duct tape and place a big hunk
of it on his mouth.
He watches as the tape is placed on his mouth. When
she is finished, motions for her to come over to him
and places a pair of handcuffs on her wrists. Then
places duct tape over her mouth, and pushes her on
the bed.
SMITH
Victor Garcia, the toughest Marshall in the
Justice Department, why did you kill my
girl friend last night, oh you can't talk
gee too bad.
Lane Smith takes out a razor sharp survival knife and cuts
all her clothes off. She is completely nude and looking at
Garcia with pleading eyes.
SMITH
Watch carefully, what I'm going to do to
your Woman.
Like a skilled Surgeon, Smith slices her from end to end.
Myra is screaming under her gag, and is writhing and
thrashing bleeding heavily from her chest, he reaches
in the abdominal cavity and pulls out her intestines
cutting them and throwing them at Garcia. Myra is still
conscious when she looks down and sees her guts are
gone. Seeing them all over Garcia, Myra finally passes out.
Garcia is tossing and rolling on the bed trying to
get up and get at Smith. Garcia appears to be going
into spasms. Smith removes the tape from his mouth
and shouts.
GARCIA
You mother FUCKER, how could you
do that to her!
Smith sinks the large knife deep in Garcia's groin and
grinds it back and forth, enlarging the incision and
Garcia starts to bleed profusely. In one lunge Garcia
grabs for his gun handcuffs and all, and is able to
fire three quick shots at Smith hitting him three
times in the chest.
In one final burst of living energy Smith grabs Garcia
and slices his throat down to the spine. Blood is over
everything. Myra, what's left of her, Smith dying of his
three gunshot wounds and Garcia who is holding his head
and choking on his own blood.
The conspiracy is now safe.
GOD BLESS AMERICA
FADE OUT:
THE END
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