THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS.
THERE ARE INCONSISTENCIES BECAUSE
THE LOCALE IS CHANGING FROM NEW YORK
TO LOS ANGELES. PLEASE DON'T LET THEM
DISTURB YOU TOO MUCH...
COLLATERAL
written by
Stuart Beattie
revised draft by
Frank Darabont
9/12/00
(mm revs. 7/10/03)
FADE IN:
CREDIT SEQUENCE:
Images wipe across the screen, kinetic and abstract, floating
and dreamlike in SLO-MO:
Shades of yellow. Ribbons of silver. Shimmers of chrome.
Headlights sweeping past, flaring to white. Brake lights
flashing, halating red. Reflections of overhead fluorescents
flowing like liquid along windshield glass...
SOUNDS are dreamlike and abstract as well, echoey and
discordant, bouncing off concrete walls:
Car doors OPENING and CLOSING. PISTONS firing up. Brakes
SQUEALING. A BABBLE of multi-lingual crosstalk. An ebb and
flow of DOZENS OF DIFFERENT KINDS OF MUSIC -- rap, reggae,
country, Middle Eastern rhythms, a sitar...
INT - TAXI DISPATCH - QUEENS - DAY
...and we find ourselves in a busy underground garage at change
of shift. YELLOW FORD CROWN VICTORIAS are wiping screen, a
balletic convergence of arriving and departing cars.
TWO CABS
wipe screen going in opposite directions, parting like curtains
to reveal:
MAX RILKE
sitting alone in the midst of it all, biding his time reading a
paperback, a battered old BRIEFCASE by his side.
Other CABBIES, mostly immigrants, are in boisterous groups,
swapping stories, sharing cigarettes, counting cash.
Not Max. He seems to prefer his own company.
An arriving CAB squeals to a stop. The DAYSHIFT DRIVER gets
out, tosses Max the keys...
TIMECUT:
AND IN A SERIES OF SHOTS, Max prepares for his workday:
Wiping the seats with paper towels and 409...
Repairing a tiny tear in the upholstery with DUCT TAPE...
Fitting his T.L.C. LICENSE into the small Lexan slot...
Checking his lights. Indicators. Hazards. All fine...
As CAR HORNS BLARE and CABBIES SHOUT, Max gets behind the wheel,
closes the door...
INT - CAB - DAY
...and WHAM! The noise evaporates into welcome silence. Max
takes a moment to savor it.
He starts the engine. RAP MUSIC BLARES from the radio. Max
quickly turns the volume down, scans the dial to a CLASSICAL
STATION. A soothing MOZART SONATA fills the cab.
One last thing. Max opens his briefcase, pulls out
A TATTERED POSTCARD
which depicts the whitest sand and bluest sea you can imagine.
A dream place. Limitless horizon. Sailboats dotting the blue.
It's Tobago Cays, the Grenadines, in the Caribbean.
MAX
slips the postcard under the rubber bands on the visor, where he
can see it whenever he wants to. But not now. He flips the
visor up, puts the car in gear, and pulls out as we
CUT TO:
AERIAL SHOT - CAB/QUEENSBORO BRIDGE - LATE DAY
Max travels the Queensboro Bridge into the city. The monolithic
skyline of Manhattan rises before us, magical in the light, the
SOFT CLASSICAL MUSIC lulling our senses...
INT - CAB - MIDTOWN - LATE DAY
...and the harsh, crappy reality of the job intrudes as we find
Max driving on Madison with a YOUNG PROFESSIONAL COUPLE having a
heated argument in back:
MAN
...why is everything always about
you...
WOMAN
...everything is not about me, don't
make me the villain here. That
asshole was out of line, and you
goddamn well know it...
MAN
...I'm sorry, I don't see it that
way...
WOMAN
...oh, bullshit! He was intruding on
my space, he was demeaning me
personally, he was patronizing...
MAN
...what do you want me to do, punch
him out? I have to work with him...
WOMAN
...well, last I checked, you were
sleeping with me, so unless you wanna
start fucking the guy soon, I'd
suggest an attitude shift...
WE HOLD on Max enduring it silently, invisible as a piece of
furniture. He doesn't exist as far as his passengers are
concerned...
INT - CAB - LATE DAY
...and we're back to blessed silence and soft CLASSICAL MUSIC as
Max cruises Chinatown looking for his next fare.
Up ahead, he sees a cluster of CHINESE TEENS wearing gang
colors. There's a scuffle going on. One kid's getting pounded
by two others while everybody else watches.
Max slows, wondering if he should do something. One GANG
MEMBER, sipping a bottle of beer, turns and sees Max.
GANG MEMBER
What's you lookin' at, bitch?
The kid throws the beer. Max hits the accelerator as the bottle
shatters off the rear windshield...
EXT/INT - CAB - GAS STATION - LATE DAY
...and we find Max carefully cleaning beer off the car with his
paper towels and 409. The gas pump CLICKS OFF. He hangs the
nozzle back, gets in the car...
...and slams the door. All quiet again.
He flips the visor down, staring at his postcard. Soothed by
all that blue. Hypnotized by it. Taking a mental vacation.
In this quiet moment, we realize we're seeing the most private
of Max's rituals, the one he doesn't share with anybody.
A SUDDEN KNOCK on the window pulls him out of it. He glances
over, sees an impatient BUSINESSMAN peering in.
BUSINESSMAN
Uptown?
Max nods, flips the visor up, hiding the postcard from view.
The man gets in, triggering an inane automatic recording:
JUDGE JUDY
(tinny)
This is Judge Judy! Buckle up back
there! It's the law!
Max pulls out of the gas station...
INT - CAB - WEST SIDE - LATE DAY
...and we find a MIDWESTERN FAMILY piling into the cab, the KIDS
bickering, Judge Judy yammering, MOM trying to keep some
frazzled order, DAD red-faced and fuming:
DAD
Grand Central.
(to his wife)
I'm telling you, we're never coming
back to this goddamn city.
MOM
Don't start.
DAD
Never again, Ellen, you can take that
to the friggin' bank. I don't care if
your sister lives here, she can rot in
this shithole for all I care...
Max pulls smoothly into traffic, staying Zen. Once again, he's
part of the furniture, alone and untouched...
CUT TO:
EXT - CRIMINAL COURT BUILDING - MAGIC HOUR
Sunset rims the tops of the buildings. Dusk approaching. The
civic center is swarming with PEDESTRIANS and TRAFFIC.
INT - CAB - MAGIC HOUR
Max drops off a fare, makes a careful notation in his trip
sheet. He puts the car in gear and creeps forward, waiting for
a chance to merge with the flow of traffic...
...but he pauses, seeing a commotion in front of the Criminal
Court Building. MINICAM CREWS are jostling as REPORTERS swarm
around an emerging GROUP OF CITY OFFICIALS.
Suddenly, a pretty young WOMAN breaks free of the group and
makes a beeline for the cab, hollering into a cell phone and
fending off stray reporters. The reporters don't really care;
they're too intent on the other (mostly male) officials.
The woman, ANNIE FARRELL, jumps in the cab and slams the door.
Everything about her says "serious professional" from her Armani
suit to her glossy leather briefcase. Her adrenaline's still
flying as she finishes her call:
ANNIE
...no, those subpoenas have to be
ready by seven a.m., hell or high
water, indictments go out at eight.
That's straight from the front office.
(beat)
Yeah, Spencer, I'm pulling an all-
nighter too, so save some tears for
me. Yeah, boo-hoo.
She snaps the cell phone shut, lets out a long breath, her head
still spinning. She notices Max's eyes in the rearview mirror.
Watching her.
MAX
Hi ya' doin'? Where to?
ANNIE
Park Avenue and East 2nd. Take Centre
to Canal, up the Bowery, Cooper and
Third, left on 41st, come around on
Park.
Max pulls away from the curb, starts the meter, mutters:
MAX
I'll take Sixth. It's faster.
ANNIE
What?
MAX
(louder)
Sixth is faster.
ANNIE
Sixth is a parking lot north of 23rd
this time of day.
MAX
The Bowery, you gotta deal with runoff
from two bridges.
ANNIE
Sixth, you got delivery trucks
blocking traffic at Herald Square.
Look, I make this trip all the time.
MAX
First Friday of the month? Linens.
Roll right off the trucks. They're in
and out in twenty minutes...
(checks his watch)
...which means they left fifteen
minutes ago. Traffic will be smooth.
Max catches Annie's skeptical look in the rearview mirror.
MAX (CONT'D)
But Bowery's fine, if that's what you
want.
ANNIE
We taking bets? What if you're wrong?
MAX
The ride is free.
ANNIE
You got a deal.
EXT - SIXTH AVE - HERALD SQUARE - DUSK
Max's cab maneuvers easily through light traffic.
INT - CAB - DUSK
Annie glances up from a legal brief, noticing the lack of
traffic.
ANNIE
Go ahead, say it.
MAX
No. I got lucky with the lights.
ANNIE
No. You were right, I was wrong...
(glances at his license)
...Max.
She sets the brief aside, eyes tired anyway. She notices the
MUSIC playing faintly up front. Bach's "Air on a G String."
ANNIE (CONT'D)
Hey, you mind turning this up?
Max doesn't mind at all. He tweaks the volume up. Annie leans
her head back to listen, closes her eyes.
MAX
You like Bach?
ANNIE
(nods)
I used to play this piece back in high
school.
MAX
Let me guess. Clarinet?
ANNIE
(smiles)
Violin. I never had the lungs for
wind instruments.
MAX
Could'a fooled me, the way you were
hollering into that cell phone.
ANNIE
(laughs)
Different instrument altogether.
(beat)
You know, if you'd only listened to
me, we'd be bogged down in traffic
right now, and you could have made
yourself an extra five bucks.
MAX
Keep it. Go wild. Have a party.
ANNIE
Why'd you do that?
(off his silence)
Don't tell me you're a gentleman, Max.
I thought chivalry was dead as a
necessary consequence of gender
politics...
MAX
It's no big deal.
ANNIE
No? How many cabbies get you into an
argument to save you money?
MAX
There were two of us. I had the other
guy killed. Don't need the
competition...
She laughs again, charmed by his deadpan.
ANNIE
You're an anomaly in today's world,
Max. You're good at what you do, so
you must take pride in it...?
MAX
This?
(hesitates)
Temporary. To pay the bills and save.
I got plans...
ANNIE
Like what?
MAX
Travel...and things.
An uncomfortable beat. He quickly turns the conversation back
to her:
MAX (CONT'D)
You like being a lawyer?
ANNIE
You psychic?
MAX
Sure. I'm starting an 800 hotline.
(off her look)
Caught part of your phone call. And
even if I hadn't, there's the dark
pinstripe, Armani, elegant, not too
hip, which rules out advertising, plus
a top-of-the-line briefcase that you
live out of, looks like Bottega...
ANNIE
(laughs)
Bottega.
MAX
...Bottega. Guy gets in my cab
wearing a catcher's mask, I think he's
a ballplayer. You? Definitely
Clarence Darrow.
Annie can't help laughing.
ANNIE
Not quite. He did defense. I'm a
prosecutor...
MAX
Big case?
ANNIE
Yeah.
EXT - HIGH RISE OFFICE BUILDING - EAST 42ND - DUSK
Max's cab pulls up at the curb. Still a lot of pedestrian and
car traffic, people heading home for the night.
INT - CAB - DUSK
Annie's smile fades as she gazes up at her office building, her
exhaustion and weariness all coming back.
ANNIE
Man, you got us here fast...
She pulls out her wallet, digging through it for the fare.
MAX
You never answered my question. You
like what you do?
ANNIE
(hedging)
Most of the time.
MAX
But not now?
ANNIE
(hesitates)
Like you, I'm good at it. But at this
exact moment in time...like I gotta
sumo wrestler on my shoulders until
tomorrow morning.
MAX
You need a vacation.
ANNIE
(faint smile)
Just had one.
MAX
Not in a cab... I mean a
disconnection...get your head
straight...you know, get it
together...
ANNIE
When was the last time you took one?
MAX
Soon. But I take little ones all the
time. Comoros Islands in the Indian
Ocean.
ANNIE
How often you go?
MAX
Dozen times a day.
He flips the visor down, revealing the postcard of white
beaches, clear green water. It's the first time he's shared
this with anybody:
MAX (CONT'D)
It gets heavy, I take five minutes and
go there. In my head.
On impulse, he slips the postcard free and offers it to her.
ANNIE
No, no way, I couldn't take that...
MAX
Yes, you could. I think you need it
more than I do.
(off her hesitation)
It'll help. I promise.
She accepts the postcard, surprised and touched. Her gaze
lingers on his for a moment. She holds it.
ANNIE
Thanks for everything, Max. Wow...
MAX
Sure thing.
She gets out of the cab, starts to walk away...
...but turns back, ducking to the cab's window. Looking a bit
flustered, she pulls a business card and offers it to him.
ANNIE
In case you ever, you know, wanna
argue routes, start an SEC
investigation on a Fortune 500 company
or something...
And with that, she goes. Max is left somewhat stunned, holding
her card. He glances down at it:
ANNIE FARRELL
UNITED STATES ATTORNEY'S OFFICE
ANGLE ON MAX'S CAB
from across the street. Cab idling at the curb. Annie walking
away with her briefcase...
...and ANGLE SHIFTS TIGHT TO VINCENT, gazing in their direction.
He's dressed sharply, stunning suit, elegant briefcase. Could
be a successful businessman. Or lawyer.
A break in the traffic. Vincent jaywalks across toward the
building, watching for cars. Halfway across, he glances idly
toward Annie...
...and sees her being met at the entrance by SEVERAL D.A.'s MEN
and a pair of UNIFORMED COPS. Casual greeting all around.
VINCENT
veers slightly toward Max's cab. His change of direction is so
subtle, we might not even notice it; a casual observer would
think he'd been heading for the cab all along.
INT - CAB - DUSK
Max barely notices Vincent get in -- he's still holding the
business card, quietly marveling at it. He loops up, watching
Annie chatting with her associates.
VINCENT
Hello?
MAX
(glances back)
Oh. Sorry.
Try as he might, Max can't hide his good fortune...
VINCENT
Uh, let's go to...
(Max isn't paying
attention)
Hello...?
MAX
Yeah, yeah, sorry...
Max waves the business card in one hand, not quite sure what to
do with it.
MAX (CONT'D)
Ever think your life could change
because someone gets in your cab?
Vincent is perplexed, then follows Max's gaze to Annie.
VINCENT
You're either talking about me or
you're gonna ask her out...
Vincent's read Max's mind. max hadn't thought it through that
far...but now that he does, reality's sinking in. Annie's
probably out of his league and he knows it.
She and her group disappear into the building. Max jams her
card under the rubber bands on the visor, flips the visor up.
MAX
Where to?
Vincent pulls a file from his briefcase, checks an address.
VINCENT
45 Cherry Street.
Max pulls out, starts the meter. The Judge Judy recording
blares forth:
VINCENT (CONT'D)
(checks his watch)
How long you think this'll take?
MAX
Twenty-four minutes.
VINCENT
Twenty-four? Not twenty-five? Or
twenty-three?
MAX
Two minutes to get on Broadway.
They're doing some roadwork around the
bridge. Eleven to get downtown. Four
to the Lower East Side. Six to clear
the roadwork. One minute margin for
error. My math says twenty-four.
Enjoying himself, Vincent checks his watch again.
VINCENT
Mind if I time you?
(Max shrugs)
What do I get if you're wrong? A free
ride?
MAX
An apology.
CUT TO:
EXT - BROADWAY - NIGHT
Fully dark now. Max's cab zooms down Broadway, one of thousands
just like it.
INT - CAB - NIGHT
Vincent's gazing up at all the tall buildings, fascinated.
MAX
First time in New York?
VINCENT
Third, but I still can't tell uptown
from downtown. Tell the truth,
whenever I'm here, I can't wait to
leave. Place gets to me. Too loud,
too fast...too much.
(beat)
You like it here?
MAX
It's home.
VINCENT
You share it with over three million
people every day. You know that's the
population of New Zealand? What's
Manhattan, thirteen miles long?
That's a lot of misery crammed into
thirteen miles.
(beat)
Read about this one guy. Gets on the
subway and dies. Six hours he's
riding around before anybody notices.
Think about that. Here's this corpse
doing laps around Manhattan courtesy
of the New York transit system, people
getting on and off, sitting next to
him, and still nobody catches on.
Three million. That's too damn many
people.
MAX
I see your point.
Vincent glances around the cab.
VINCENT
You know, this is the cleanest cab
I've ever been in. This your regular
ride?
MAX
Yeah. I share it with the dayshift
guy.
VINCENT
You prefer nights?
MAX
People are more relaxed. Less stress,
less traffic, better tips.
VINCENT
You on some kind of work plan?
MAX
You mean like benefits?
VINCENT
Yeah. Retirement? Paid sick leave?
MAX
It's not that kind of job.
VINCENT
You should start a union.
MAX
Me, specifically?
VINCENT
Why not?
MAX
Last thing I need is a reason to keep
hacking. This job's a fill-in.
VINCENT
Oh? How long you been doing this?
MAX
Twelve years. But I'm working on
other stuff...
VINCENT
Like what?
MAX
I don't talk about it, you know... No
offense.
VINCENT
(smiles, shrugs)
None taken. There are talkers and
doers. I like doers.
EXT - APARTMENT BUILDING - LOWER EAST SIDE - NIGHT
A largely deserted area. Max's cab pulls to the curb...
INT - CAB - NIGHT
...as Vincent closes his briefcase, checks his watch.
VINCENT
Twenty-four minutes! Man, you're
hot...
MAX
Yeah. Lucky with the lights.
VINCENT
Bullshit. You probably know the light
schedules, too.
(leans forward)
Listen, I'm in town tonight on a
closing. Five stops, one night. I
gotta catch a six a.m. flight. I got
five stops to make, see some friends,
collect some signatures. Why don't
you hang with me?
MAX
I'm not a hire car. It's against
regs?
VINCENT
Regulations? These guys don't even
give you sick leave.
(pulls his wallet)
How much you pull down on a good
night?
MAX
Two, two-fifty.
VINCENT
I'll make it an even five hundred.
Plus an extra hundred if you get me to
LAX on time.
Vincent draws FIVE CRISP HUNDRED DOLLAR BILLS, waves them
seductively in Max's direction, coaxing him:
VINCENT (CONT'D)
What's it gonna be? C'mon...I know
you want to. Take a chance.
Max succumbs, accepts the money. Vincent smiles, gives him a
firm handshake.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
We have a deal. What's your name?
MAX
Max.
VINCENT
Max? I'm Vincent.
Vincent gets out. Max calls after him:
MAX
I'll wait in the alley.
Vincent nods. Understood. He steps into the building foyer,
scanning the rows of buzzers.
Max puts the car in reverse...
EXT - ALLEY - NIGHT
...and edges the cab around the corner, backing into the alley
that flanks the apartment building.
INT - CAB - NIGHT
As Max brings the car to a stop, he notices Vincent's briefcase
lying on the back seat. A trusting soul. Max smiles.
MAX
Definitely not from around here.
He kills the engine. Silence.
There's a noticeable lack of city clamor here, just a DISTANT
GRUMBLE OF TRAFFIC from Manhattan Bridge. An occasional car
passes the mouth of the alley, but that's about it.
Max turns on the radio, tweaks the volume just loud enough to
hear it. A Beethoven Sonata. Soothing.
Max checks his watch. Dinnertime. He turns to his battered
briefcase on the passenger seat, opens it.
It's filled with carefully arranged items. NAPKINS in the
pockets. UTENSILS in the pen holders. MINI-JARS of mayo and
mustard. Bread, cheese, and cold cuts in individual baggies. A
1.5 liter PLASTIC BOTTLE of drinking water.
He sets about making his sandwich, everything applied in
methodical order, whistling softly with the music.
Sandwich is done. He pauses, glancing up at the visor. He
tilts it down, peering at Annie's business card. Wondering what
to do. Knowing he'll probably never call her.
He sits a moment, fighting a wave of sadness. Unhappy with
himself. With his life. His place in the world.
He raises the sandwich to take a bite...
...and WHAM! SOMETHING BIG lands on the hood like a hammerblow,
rocking the car to its axles! A massive SHOWER OF GLASS rains
down with the object. A HEADLIGHT EXPLODES! The windshield
CRACKS! Max bounces off the ceiling as mini-jars of mustard and
mayo do a Jackson Pollack all over the seats...
...and then abrupt, stunning silence.
Max takes a dazed beat, not even sure what hit him. He peers
through the windshield...
...and sees a dead face staring back at him. Max recoils with a
yell, scrambles from the cab, heart pounding...
EXT - ALLEY - NIGHT
...and finds a CORPSE on the hood of the car. Some fat guy in a
bathrobe. There's shards of tempered glass everywhere, haloing
the ground around the cab.
Max is stunned beyond words. He looks around, hoping somebody
else saw it. There's nobody.
He looks up to see where the body came from. A window on the
top floor has been shattered. A single white curtain billows
out, flapping gently in the breeze.
The SOUND OF RUNNING FEET. He turns as Vincent enters the alley
and stops. Beat.
Max is in total shock:
MAX
He fell on my cab!
(points)
From up th-th-there.
VINCENT
(pause)
You always stutter?
MAX
Yeah, yeah. Shit, man. Guy fell on
my motherfucking cab.
Max points again, as if Vincent might have missed it the first
time.
MAX (CONT'D)
I think he's dead.
VINCENT
No shit. Since he has two .45s double-
tapped through the sternum and fell
six floors onto his head...
Max stares at Vincent. It's finally sinking in:
MAX
You - you killed him?
VINCENT
No-no, I-I shot him. The bullets and
the fall killed him.
A frozen beat. Everything out in the open now. Max realizing
the trouble he's in. He starts backing away, glancing over his
shoulder for an escape route...
...but quick as a flash, like a magic trick, Vincent's got a
silenced SIG-SAUER 9MM AUTOMATIC in his hand, slick two-tone
chrome and black.
VINCENT
Red-light-green-light, Max? Light's
now red.
He triggers the laser sight, places a GLOWING RED DOT over Max's
heart. Max freezes.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
You can run, but you'll die tired.
Max nods. Shakily raises his hands.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
You cool, Max? Say "I'm cool."
MAX
You're cool.
VINCENT
No. You say you're cool.
MAX
I'm cool.
The laser sight clicks off, the gun smoothly vanishes back into
Vincent's coat.
VINCENT
Good. Help me out here.
MAX
With what?
VINCENT
You were going to drive me around.
Drop me at LAX. Never be the wiser.
But El Gordo missed the elevator. So
we go to Plan B. Pop the trunk.
MAX
The trunk?
VINCENT
Did I stutter? The trunk. Unless you
want him riding up front with
you...but given hygiene and his
sphincters have let go...
Max reluctantly pops the trunk, circles to the front of the car.
Vincent reaches over the hood, grabs the corpse by the bathrobe
lapels, heaves the body into a sitting position.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
I'm gonna roll him off the hood.
Always lift with your legs...
MAX
I don't think I can do this.
VINCENT
It's just a dead guy. On three,
ready? Uno. Dos. Three.
He rolls the corpse off the hood. Grimacing, Max gets a firm
grip under the arms, while Vincent gets the legs.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Got it?
MAX
Yeah.
They start shuffling toward the trunk. Suddenly, Max lets out a
YELL, almost dropping his end.
VINCENT
What?
MAX
His hand moved! His goddamn hand
twitched!
VINCENT
It's a spasm! Jesus, Max, don't be
such a girl...
ANGLE FROM INSIDE TRUNK
as they heave the body inside, pausing to catch their breath.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Fat fuck. Ever heard of a treadmill?
He slams the trunk, shutting us into DARKNESS...
EXT - CAB - NIGHT
...and we find Vincent and Max frantically trying to clean all
the blood off the hood and windshield. Max is going at it with
paper towels and 409, while Vincent is dousing the hood with
Max's 1.5 liter bottle of drinking water.
VINCENT
Six liters of blood in the average
Angeleno, he's gotta dump all his on
your car.
(a final dousing)
Okay, that's good.
Vincent heads for the car, notices Max isn't moving.
MAX
Uh, look...why don't you just take the
car...
VINCENT
...and you promise you'll never tell
anybody about this, right? Get in the
fucking car.
Vincent ducks into the back seat...
INT - CAB - NIGHT
...and Max gets in behind the wheel.
VINCENT
C'mon, let's go, let's go...
Max turns the key. The ENGINE GRINDS...but doesn't start. He
pumps the gas pedal, tries again. MORE GRINDING.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Max. May we leave the scene of the
crime now, please.
MAX
I'm trying...
He turns the ignition again and again. GRIND. GRIND.
Vincent's getting steamed:
VINCENT
Max.
MAX
It's not me.
Suddenly, the Sig-Sauer reappears in Vincent's hand, deadly
sleight-of-hand, muzzle pressed to the base of Max's skull.
VINCENT
Just because we've shared a few
laughs, don't think we've bonded.
Max keeps trying the key. GRIND. GRIND.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
You listening to me?
MAX
Yes! I'm trying, I swear!
VINCENT
Try harder. I'm gonna count to three.
One...
GRIND. GRIND.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Two...
GRIND. GRIND.
MAX
It's not me, it's the engine! A fat
guy fell on it from six floors up!
Max closes his eyes, waiting for the gunshot. Vincent heaves a
weary sigh as we
TIMECUT:
The hood's up. Max is working on the engine while Vincent paces
back and forth, looking over his shoulder.
VINCENT
(points)
What about that?
MAX
I tried it.
VINCENT
How about the thingy next to it?
MAX
The thingy next to it has nothing to
do with the starter motor...
VINCENT
I'm making you nervous. I'm the one
with a schedule.
MAX
(makes an adjustment)
Okay, try it now.
Vincent leans in the window, cranks the key. The ENGINE FIRES
UP. A look passes between them. They pile into the cab, slam
the doors as:
Max pulls out of the alley...
ANGLE FROM STREET
...and the cab accelerates up the street, disappearing around
the corner.
A long beat.
Another CAR appears. It cruises down the street and stops in
front of the apartment building.
PHIL HELLER emerges from the car. Tall, 40's, soft-spoken, but
looks like he could kick your ass if he had to. There's
something endearingly hangdog about his face.
He heads into the entry foyer of the building, rings a buzzer.
Waits a moment. Rings again. Nothing.
He sighs, pulls a thin strip of metal from the inner pocket of
his overcoat, jimmies the door lock...
INT - APARTMENT BUILDING HALLWAY - 6TH FLOOR - NIGHT
Heller comes down the hallway to apartment 607. He raises his
hand and knocks loudly...
...causing the door to swing in slightly. He glances down, sees
the door frame splintered at the lock. Like it was kicked in.
Tensing, he fades to one side, his hand going to his holster at
the back of his belt.
He listens. Draws his gun. Baretta 9mm, standard issue,
nothing fancy. He reaches out and pushes the door all the way
open...
INT - APARTMENT - NIGHT
...revealing a dark shambles. Heller enters cautiously, alert
for the slightest movement or sound.
HELLER
Ivan?
Nothing but silence. Except...
...the curtains across the room are billowing. He crosses the
room, sweeps the curtains aside, finds the floor-to-ceiling
plate glass window missing. A few jagged shards in the frame.
He leans out, peering to the alley below. A dizzying drop. A
halo of broken glass on the alley floor...in the center of which
is a big blank spot.
HELLER (CONT'D)
Fuck.
CUT TO:
INT - CAB - TRAVELING - NIGHT
Max winds his way through downtown traffic, in shock, sneaking
petrified glances at Vincent in back. Vincent's got a file from
his briefcase, studying it. The silence is thick.
Max finds his hand shaking, lifts it off the wheel, tries to
steady his fingers. From the back:
VINCENT
Try some deep breathing.
MAX
What?
VINCENT
Adrenaline's wearing off. You get
shaky after. It's not uncommon. Deep
breathing helps.
Max starts drawing in breaths, letting them out slowly.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
You better?
MAX
I think so.
They stop at a RED LIGHT. Max glances at the passenger seat.
Mustard and mayo everywhere, along with stray slices of lunch
meat. He parks the gearshift and automatically goes for the
paper towels, trying to clean up.
Vincent's eyes appear over the top of the file folder, taking
this in. Softly:
VINCENT
What are you doing?
MAX
It's a mess.
VINCENT
So?
Max keeps wiping, as if getting the seats clean might somehow
put everything right again.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Lady Macbeth, leave the seats.
Light's green. We're sitting here.
A CAR HORN HONKS behind Max. The car pulls around them to get
through the intersection.
DRIVER
Asshole!
VINCENT
You no longer have the cleanest cab in
La-La. Live with it. Focus on the
job. Drive.
Max nods. Right. He puts the car in gear and proceeds.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
(checks the file)
58th and Central. You know it?
MAX
South Central.
VINCENT
(checks his watch)
How long, you figure?
Max has to force him to concentrate:
MAX
Seventeen minutes. Why?
Silence from the back. Max glances apprehensively in the
rearview, realizing:
MAX (CONT'D)
Oh. Oh, no. You're kidding. We...
VINCENT
I told you we had other stops to make
tonight.
MAX
You said you were visiting friends!
VINCENT
They're somebody's friends...
(turns a page)
You drive a cab. I kill people. We
both do our jobs right, you might
survive the night and come out four
hundred bucks ahead.
MAX
Listen. I'm not trying to piss you
off, see? Okay? I can't drive you
around so you can murder folks.
VINCENT
Tonight it is.
MAX
You don't understand. I mean it.
Really. I'm not up for this...
Vincent looks forward, realizes Max is on the verge of panic.
VINCENT
(stows the file)
You're stressed. I understand. Keep
breathing. Stay calm.
Max starts deep-breathing again, exhaling slowly.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Are you breathing?
MAX
Yes.
VINCENT
What else calms you down? Candy?
Cigarettes? Sex? Breathe.
He does.
MAX
Music.
VINCENT
Play music.
Max turns on the radio. SOFT CLASSICAL.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Chopin prelude. Stodgy, but nice.
(Max nods)
Here's the deal. I didn't want you
involved in this. Still breathing?
But now that you are, we have to make
the best of it, Max. Improvise. Life
is that way. Adapt to your
environment. Survive. Darwin. "Shit
happens." The I Ching. Whatever.
Roll with it.
MAX
I Ching? You threw a man out a
window!
VINCENT
I didn't throw him, he fell.
MAX
What'd he do to you?
VINCENT
Nothing. I only met him the one time.
MAX
How can you kill him like that?
VINCENT
I should only kill people after I get
to know 'em?
(off Max's look)
Six billion people on the planet,
you're getting bent out of shape
'cause of one fat guy?
MAX
Who was he?
VINCENT
What do you care? Ever hear of
Rwanda?
MAX
Rwanda-Burundi. Central Africa.
VINCENT
Tens of thousands killed before
sundown. Nobody's killed that fast
since Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Did you
bat an eye, Max? Join Amnesty
International? No.
(off Max's silence)
I off one Angeleno, you throw a hissy
fit...
Max stops at another RED LIGHT.
MAX
I don't know any Rwandans.
VINCENT
You don't know the guy in the trunk,
either.
(beat)
If it makes you feel better, he was a
villain involved in a Continuing
Criminal Enterprise.
MAX
Oh, it's okay, then. 'Cause you're
just taking out the garbage...
VINCENT
Yeah, like that...
(distracted)
But, anyway, nobody gets out of this
alive. Even if we quit smoking and
cut out red meat. Everybody dies.
Suddenly -- WHOOSH! A BRILLIANT GLARE OF LIGHT stabs into the
cab. Max looks over, horrified to see --
-- an NYPD CRUISER in the lane next to them. The ROOFTOP LIGHTS
start revolving. Max sits frozen at the wheel as the spinning
colors do a hallucinatory dance throughout the cab.
TWO UNIFORMED COPS emerge from the patrol car. Faceless,
imposing silhouettes.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
(tight)
Get rid of 'em.
MAX
How?
VINCENT
You're a cabby. Like talk yourself
out of a ticket?
The cops are now circling to either side of the cab, pulling
their huge head-buster FLASHLIGHTS.
IN TIGHT, NERVE-WRACKING ANGLES:
Vincent eases the briefcase onto his lap. Pops the latches.
Max flinches at the sound. Knowing that's where the gun is.
MAX
Please. Don't do anything.
VINCENT
Then don't let me get cornered, Max.
You don't have the trunk space.
MAX
I can't believe this.
VINCENT
Believe it.
Vincent eases his hand ever so slowly into his briefcase.
MAX
I'll talk to them, I'll talk to them.
VINCENT
Good luck. You think they got
families?
A COP'S HAND descends to the driver's window, raps loudly, GOLD
WEDDING BAND catching the light as it thunks the glass.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
That one's probably married. Think of
his kids. His wife's pregnant...
MAX
I'll deal with it. I will, I will...
A FLASHLIGHT BEAM pops on at the driver's window. Cop #1
glaring light onto Max's eyes.
A SECOND FLASHLIGHT BEAM pops on, this from Cop #2 on the
passenger side. Checking out Vincent in the back. Vincent
blinks good-naturedly, keeps a bland smile on his face.
VINCENT
Okay, okay.
Max rolls his window down. COP #1 leans down, and we see his
face for the first time. A beefy-looking Irish guy.
COP #1
License and registration.
Max pulls them off the visor, hands them over. The cop examines
them by flashlight.
COP #1 (CONT'D)
This your current address?
MAX
Yes.
From the other side of the cab, COP #2 lets out a laugh. He's
dark and Italian-looking, young. He's playing his flashlight
beam across the seats. Mustard and mayo everywhere.
COP #2
Wha'd you have, a food fight in here?
Why don't you clean your seats?
Max gives Vincent an "I told you so" look in the rearview
mirror. Vincent sighs, hating to admit Max was right.
Cop #2 plays his beam across the cracked windshield and damaged
hood. Faint reddish traces in the paint. His smile fades.
COP #2 (CONT'D)
Is that blood?
MAX
Yeah. I hit a deer.
COP #1
A deer?
MAX
Comin' over Coldwater. Goddamn deer
jumps out in front of me. You believe
that?
COP #1
(indicated Vincent)
You still carrying passengers?
MAX
I was heading back to my garage. It's
on the way.
COP #1
This vehicle's not safe to drive.
We're gonna have to impound it. Get
you towed. Step away from the vehicle
and pop the trunk.
(swings flashlight beam to
Vincent)
I'm sorry, sir, you'll have to find
another cab.
VINCENT
Is that necessary, Officer? I'm just
a few streets from here.
COP #1
I'm afraid it is. Please exit the
cab.
(to Max)
You, too.
Max hears a SOFT CLICK behind him. The unmistakable sound of a
GUN HAMMER BEING COCKED inside a briefcase. He meets Vincent's
gaze in the rearview mirror. A whisper:
VINCENT
You open that trunk, they go in it.
Behind Vincent, through the rear windshield, we see Cop #2
moving to the trunk, playing his flashlight across it.
Max, mouth dry, looks up at Cop #1.
MAX
Come on, it's been a long, shitty day.
How about a break? I'll call a tow
truck myself, I swear. I won't budge
from this spot.
COP #1
Save me the grief. Step out of the
car, sir, and open the trunk.
Max tosses a last hopeless look in the rearview. Vincent's eyes
are starting at him. No mercy there.
Max steps from the car. As the cop escorts Max toward the rear,
Vincent smoothly pulls his Sig-Sauer from his briefcase and
emerges on the passenger side, gun held tight at his side, a
heartbeat away from opening fire...
...when suddenly, with a CRACKLE OF STATIC, a PANICKY VOICE
COMES OVER THE POLICE BAND:
POLICE RADIO
1013, 1013! Officers need assistance!
Suspect armed! Canal and Wooster!
Cop #2 throws an urgent look to his partner.
COP #2
Six blocks away.
COP #1
(to Max)
Know what you are? Luckiest cabbie in
LA.
COP #2
(to Vincent, on the move)
Sorry for the inconvenience!
VINCENT
That's quite all right, Officer.
The cops pile into their cruiser and floor it, ENGINE ROARING
OFF into the night.
Max and Vincent are left standing there, gazing across the cab
at each other.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Breathe.
Max starts deep-breathing as they get back in the cab...
CUT TO:
EXT - CONSTRUCTION ZONE - NIGHT
A blocks-long Gotterdammerung of razed earth, heaped rubble, and
all-night activity. GIANT BULLDOZERS are lurching and belching
smoke; huge EARTH MOVERS are shuttling debris from
here to there; CRANES are swinging steel beams skyward. WORKERS
are jackhammering, hollering, swearing. LONG SHOWERS OF WELDING
SPARKS are lighting up the night. CLOUDS OF DUST are kicking
up, carried on the wind before awesome, stories-tall WORK LIGHT
GANTRIES. All in all, a surreal setting.
LONG LENS
finds a HEAVYSET MAN IN A RUMPLED SUIT conversing with a GROUP
OF WORKERS. There's a lot of gesturing and hand-waving,
everybody shouting to be heard.
The group disperses. The HEAVYSET MAN turns, walking alone
across the construction site toward the periphery...
VINCENT
Jesus. Another fat guy.
INT - CAB - NIGHT
Max and Vincent. Watching. Vincent lowers a tiny pair of
BINOCULARS from his eyes. The NOISE here is deafening.
VINCENT
Don't these people ever exercise?
The Heavyset Man exits the construction zone through a gated
chain link fence, emerging half a block behind the cab. The man
vanishes behind some trucks parked back there...
...and Vincent shifts across to the driver's side, looking back,
trying to pick up a visual again. Max dips his head, watching
in the sideview mirror, his heart in his throat...
...and the Heavyset Man reappears, emerging from behind the
trucks through a row of Port-A-San chemical toilets. He heads
across the street to a half-completed building -- eight stories
of bare concrete frame with open floors, possible a parking
structure for this massive redevelopment.
The Heavyset Man steps onto an open steel-cage construction
elevator and hits a button. The elevator rises, climbing the
outside of the half-completed building.
The elevator stops on the fourth level. The Heavyset Man gets
off, disappearing into darkness. There's the dimmest glow of a
worklight up there. Probably a temporary office.
Max flinches as he hears the LATCHES POP on Vincent's briefcase.
He turns, almost afraid to look. Vincent has just pulled out a
chrome .357 Smith & Wesson J-frame revolver. The gun is almost
absurdly small.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
(catches Max's look)
What are you lookin' at?
Moving with that unnerving sleight-of-hand precision, Vincent
pops five rounds into the gun with a speed-loader. He pockets
another speed-loader as backup, latches the briefcase.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Hands on the wheel. Ten and two
o'clock, like they taught you in
driver's ed.
MAX
Why?
VINCENT
Because I have a gun and I say so.
Max grips the steering wheel. Vincent gets out, opens Max's
door. He grabs the roll of duct tape, glances at the mess,
gives Max a wry look...
VINCENT (CONT'D)
This cab's a disgrace. No wonder the
cops pulled you over.
...and proceeds quickly and efficiently to duct tape Max's hands
to the steering wheel, winding it tight.
No sooner is the task complete than:
DISPATCH RADIO (FILTERED)
Max? Max? You out there, you son of
a bitch?
Vincent looks to Max, blinks.
VINCENT
Who's that?
MAX
Lenny, my dispatcher.
LENNY (FILTERED)
I know you're out there! Answer the
goddamn call!
VINCENT
What happens if you don't?
MAX
He'll keep calling.
LENNY (FILTERED)
Max! Dammit! Answer!
Vincent reaches across Max, pulls the mike off the dash, holds
it up to Max's mouth.
VINCENT
Don't blow it.
Max nods. Vincent thumbs the toggle.
MAX
Uh, yeah? Lenny? It's me.
LENNY (FILTERED)
I just got off the phone with the
cops. They called to check you
brought the cab in...
Silence as Lenny waits for a reaction. Max and Vincent trade a
Vincent shrugs, thumbs the toggle. Say something.
MAX
Yeah? So?
LENNY (FILTERED)
So? Aside from I hate talking to
cops, they tell me you crashed the
shit out of it.
MAX
It got crashed! I didn't...
LENNY (FILTERED)
I give a shit whose fault it was,
you're payin'!
VINCENT
It was an accident. You're not
liable. Tell him.
MAX
It was an accident. I'm not liable.
LENNY (FILTERED)
I'm making you liable! It's all
comin' outta your goddamn pocket...
Vincent stares at at Max, expecting him to respond.
VINCENT
Don't take that. Tell him to shut the
fuck up.
MAX
I can't do that. He's the Man. He'll
fire my ass.
VINCENT
So what?
MAX
I need the job.
VINCENT
No you don't.
LENNY (FILTERED)
Max? Max? You still there? I'm
talking to you!
Vincent abruptly puts the mike to his mouth, thumbs the toggle.
VINCENT
He's not paying you one cent!
LENNY (FILTERED)
Who the hell is this?
Vincent glances up, tilts the visor down to see Annie's business
card.
VINCENT
Vincent Farrell, Assistant U.S.
Attorney. A passenger in this
taxicab, and I'm reporting you to the
DMV...
LENNY (FILTERED)
(beat)
Let's not get excited, sir.
VINCENT
How am I supposed to not get excited,
listening to you trying to extort your
employee, you sarcastic prick?
LENNY (FILTERED)
I was just tryin' to...to...
VINCENT
Tell it to Max.
(shifts the mike)
Tell him he's an asshole.
MAX
(hesitates)
Lenny? You're an asshole.
VINCENT
Tell him next time he pulls any shit,
you're gonna kick his fat ass.
MAX
Next time you pull any shit, I'm gonna
kick your fat ass.
Vincent clicks off, hangs up the mike. Looks at Max.
Beat. Max nods.
VINCENT
(smiles)
Don't wait up, hon. I gotta work
late.
He grabs the ignition keys, shuts Max's door, strolls away.
Max watches in the sideview mirror as Vincent vanishes into
darkness toward the half-completed building.
Max is left alone, trapped in his own cab.
He looks around. The cab is parked at the periphery of the
construction zone on this otherwise dark and eerily deserted
street. Some trucks nearby, a skip-loader, some more rows of
chemical toilets, pallets of sheetrock, but that's about it.
Max jerks and strains against the duct tape, trying to free his
hands. He gives up, breathing hard.
He glances in the sideview, wondering where Vincent is,
straining for a glimpse.
Nothing. Just darkness back there...
...except the construction elevator starts descending, Vincent
has pressed the call button.
Mind racing, Max looks to the construction site. There's over a
hundred guys out there, all within shouting distance.
MAX
HEY! HEY! OVER HERE! I'M IN THE
CAB! HEY! HELP!
Way too much noise for anybody to hear. Screaming now at the
top of his lungs:
MAX (CONT'D)
HELP! GODDAMN IT! THERE'S A MAN WITH
A GUN! HE'S GONNA KILL SOMEBODY!
The work continues unabated. Max glances in the sideview
again...
...and sees the construction elevator now rising, slowly
climbing floors. Vincent's on his way up.
Max thrashes wildly against the duct tape, screaming with
frustration. He starts head-butting the car-horn...
BEEEEEP! BEEP-BEEEEEEEEP! BEEEEEP! BEEP-BEEP-BEEEEEEEEEP!
He raises his head, checking the construction site. Life goes
on. Bulldozers keep chugging.
MAX (CONT'D)
Oh, fuck me.
He shifts low on the seat, getting his knee under the dashboard.
He slams his knee up, hitting the RED EMERGENCY LIGHT BUTTON
concealed there. EMERGENCY STROBES START FLASHING at the front
and rear of the car, lighting up the street...
...and still nobody notices.
MAX (CONT'D)
GODDAMN IT, I'M FLASHING LIKE STUDIO
54 OVER HERE!
He throws a look to the sideview mirror, sweaty and tense,
knowing he's out of time.
THE SIDEVIEW MIRROR
PUSHING IN SLOWLY on Max's reflected eyes. Seconds ticking
breathlessly away...
...and ANGLE SHIFTS in the mirror, leaving Max's eyes and
bringing the half-completed building into view, becoming Max's
POV of it. All the construction sounds seem to drain away,
becoming a faint background hum...
...all we really hear now is Max's breathing...
...and a MUZZLE FLASH lights up the fourth floor like a
flashbulb going off, throwing concrete columns into stark
relief. A SECOND FLASH...then nothing. Just darkness.
MAX
gazes into the sideview mirror. Stunned. Knowing he's just
witnessed another murder.
He slowly becomes aware of VOICES. He looks up and sees:
TEENAGERS. White kids. Four of them. Coming up the street,
approaching from the front of the cab, shielding their eyes
against the flashing strobes. Noticing him there.
MAX (CONT'D)
Oh. Oh, thank God, hey! Hey, guys,
hey, help me out here!
KID #1
Yo, whassup?
MAX
(fast, stumbling)
I got my, my hands taped to the
steering wheel here, there's this guy,
he taped me in the car, he's back
there somewhere.
KID #2
You all trapped in there and shit?
MAX
...yeah, he's coming back soon, get me
loose so I can call the cops...
Kid #2 whispers quickly in Kid #1's ear. Kid #1 nods...and
stuns Max by pulling a cheap .38 and pointing it at him.
KID #1
Fuck that, man, gimme your wallet.
The other kids scatter, encircling the cab to steal the hubcaps.
Utter disbelief from Max:
MAX
You're kidding me.
KID #1
I'll fuck you up, you don't hand it
over.
MAX
(beat)
My hands are taped to the fucking
steering wheel!
It takes a moment for the kid to process this. He steps to the
window, presses the grimy two-inch muzzle against Max's cheek.
It's utterly terrifying, everything happening fast:
MAX (CONT'D)
...oh God, don't shoot me...
KID #1
...show me the wallet, man, get your
ass up, up...
Max pulls himself up by the steering wheel, trying to get his
butt off the seat to give the kid access. The kid gropes for
Max's back pocket, trying to get the wallet, pressing the gun to
his face, the other kids swarming past him...
KID #3
...got the hubcaps, man, c'mon...
The other kids race on ahead, vanishing in the night. Kid #1
pulls Max's wallet, pockets it...
...and pauses, seeing Vincent's briefcase on the back seat.
The kid yanks open the back door, grabs the briefcase, and takes
off after his friends.
Max is gasping, shaken. He can't believe what just happened.
He looks in the sideview mirror...
SIDEVIEW MIRROR
...and sees the reflection of Kid #1 sauntering off, cocky as
hell, about to vanish into the night...
...when a shadow detaches from the darkness and steps forward,
arm raised. BOOOM! A MUZZLE FLASH TWO FEET LONG and a SOUND
LIKE A CANNON. It's a very large bullet coming out of a very
small gun. The kid flops to the ground like a rag doll.
Vincent moves into the light, crouches next to the kid. He
rifles the kid's pockets, retrieves the briefcase, then rises
and walks toward the cab, disappearing from the reflection in
the sideview mirror...
MAX
is frozen in utter horror. Waiting. The front passenger door
opens. Vincent gets in next to Max, hefts his briefcase into
the back seat.
Vincent sits for a long moment, staring off, not even looking at
Max. Maybe ready to kill him.
Vincent finally sighs, raises something into view. Max's
wallet. He tosses it in Max's lap. Softly:
VINCENT
Some people have no respect for other
people's property.
He reaches to his belt, pulls something else. He twirls his
hand fast, CLICK-CLACKING it open for Max to see: a BUTTERFLY
KNIFE, blade gleaming and razor-sharp...
VINCENT (CONT'D)
(quietly)
I had no idea these cabs came equipped
with emergency strobes.
(beat)
Where's the button? Under the dash?
MAX
(dry whisper)
Yeah.
Vincent leans over and slices the duct tape, freeing Max's
hands. Beat.
VINCENT
You mind turning it off?
Max doesn't move for a moment, then reaches under the dash and
turns off the strobes.
TIMECUT:
Vincent's riding in back again. Max is driving away from the
construction site. Through the back window, we see the dead kid
receding behind them.
Vincent looks drained, but Max is positively shell-shocked.
They both stare ahead, neither saying a word...until softly:
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Another collateral.
MAX
What?
VINCENT
Collateral damage.
MAX
I don't understand...
VINCENT
People in the wrong place at the wrong
time. Draws attention, which is
something you avoid in my line of
work.
(meets Max's gaze)
And for you? You attract attention,
you're gonna get people killed who
don't need to be.
A stretch of silence, then softly:
MAX
Vincent?
VINCENT
Yes, Max?
MAX
Am I collateral?
Pause. A long one.
VINCENT
I haven't decided.
Max is silent. Absorbing this. Vincent checks his watch,
trying to shake their mood off:
VINCENT (CONT'D)
But, hey, some good news. This last
one put me way ahead of schedule.
We've actually got some time to kill.
(thinks a moment)
Jazz? You like jazz?
MAX
I'm...what? Sorry?
VINCENT
Jazz. Music.
MAX
I listen to classical.
VINCENT
Friend of mine told me about this
great place in South Central. Says
it's like the birthplace of West Coast
bebop. Bird. Dexter Gordon.
Thelonious Monk. Chet Baker.
(off Max's look)
I'll buy you a drink. Expand your
horizons...
CUT TO:
EXT - ALLEY - NIGHT
A crime scene. COPS and FORENSIC TECHNICIANS. In the midst of
it all is:
Phil Heller. We had no way of knowing before, but we now
realize he's a plainclothes detective. We find him conferring
with his superior, WALT MULDOON, 50-ish, a rumpled little
Irishman also in plainclothes:
MULDOON
...this snitch of yours, what's his
name, Ivan?
HELLER
Ivan Petrov. Supposed to meet me for
dinner, never shows up. I come here,
find this.
MULDOON
You guys been holding hands?
HELLER
Months now. He's been feeding me
information on Dmitri.
MULDOON
Dmitri Gusunov? What the fuck, why?
Forget about Dimitri, Feds are all over
him. They're a heartbeat away from
taking him down. Word's gone out,
they don't want us anywhere near
him...
HELLER
Oh, we working for the Feds now?
(points up)
If my snitch flew out a window, he's
got Dmitri's handprints on his ass.
That makes it homicide, that makes it
ours.
MULDOON
(as if to a child)
What homicide? Phil. Where's a body?
Look. All we got is glass...
He spreads his hands at the alley floor in a gesture that says
"show me something besides glass."
FEMALE TECH (O.S.)
We got blood...
They turn. A FEMALE TECH is examining the alley floor with a
handheld BLACKLIGHT WAND, picking out dark, brackish swirls in
the disgusting, guttery water.
FEMALE TECH (CONT'D)
...diluted with water and gunk, but
it's blood.
MALE TECH
I got a splatter pattern over here...
SHINING FLASHLIGHTS pick out blood on the alley wall. Heller
steps to where the cab was parked, stands in the middle of the
blank spot surrounded by the glass, points down:
HELLER
There was a car here, you can see
where the glass came down all around
it. Ivan flew out the window and went
bam.
MULDOON
He could'a been depressed. It still
doesn't tell me homicide.
PLAINCLOTHES COP (O.S.)
(from above)
Phil! Catch!
They glance up. A PLAINCLOTHES COP is leaning out Ivan's broken
window, dangling a clear plastic baggy. He drops it. It comes
sailing down six floors...
...right into Heller's grasp. He glances down at it, then
dangles it in front of Muldoon's face...
TIGHT ON MULDOON
...revealing two spent 9mm cartridges in the bag.
MULDOON
(turns)
Okay, we got a homicide! Who's got
what? We been knocking on doors?
COP (O.S.)
Sir!
Heller and Muldoon turn as TWO UNIFORMED COPS approach from the
street. The first cop, black, middle-aged, has his little
notebook out. He gestures over his shoulder:
COP (CONT'D)
Old guy across the street, lives above
the deli? Says he saw a car parked
here earlier tonight. Said there were
two men working under the hood.
HELLER
Now we're getting somewhere. He
describe the car?
COP
Yes, sir. Late model Ford Crown Vic.
Yellow.
(off Heller's look)
It was a taxi cab.
Suppressing a smile, the cop tears the page from his little
notebook, hands it to Heller. We hear STIFLED LAUGHTER in the
alley...
MULDOON
A yellow cab in New York. By all
means, let's put out an APB.
...and the LAUGHTER GROWS. Instead of it bothering him, Heller
takes a thoughtful beat, walks from the alley...
STREET IN FRONT OF THE BUILDING
...and pauses at an unmarked car, staring at the small notebook
page. Muldoon comes up questioningly behind him.
HELLER
Remember that thing a few years back?
That thing with the cab?
MULDOON
What thing?
HELLER
Cabbie drove around all night. Three
people got killed.
MULDOON
Oh, right. The guy flipped out or
something? Killed some people, then
put a gun to his own head?
HELLER
(nods)
They found him dead in his own cab
down by the Port Authority.
MULDOON
So? It was a random thing.
HELLER
I never bought that.
MULDOON
Oh?
HELLER
Cabbie had no criminal record, no
history of mental illness. Suddenly,
he just wigs out and pops three
people, then himself? Plus the
victims weren't random solid citizens.
They were all lowlives. Wiseguys.
(off Muldoon's look)
I've always wondered if there was
someone else in the cab.
CUT TO:
INT - "DANIEL'S" - JAZZ CLUB - NIGHT
Dark and smoky, with history soaked into the walls. As Vincent
said, "the real deal." A BLACK MAN in his mid-50's, DANIEL, is
blowing trumpet onstage with a JAZZ COMBO.
CUSTOMERS are clustered at small tables or crammed into curved
leather booths. The walls are lined with old PLAYBILLS and
FRAMED PHOTOs of jazz greats.
At one of the booths, we find Vincent and Max. Vincent's
enjoying his whiskey sour, while Max is barely touching his.
Vincent's caught up, reveling in the music:
VINCENT
...see now, this has got a little post-
war flavor, a little Miles thing
happening. Awesome.
(looks to Max)
What do you think?
MAX
I never learned jazz.
VINCENT
God, are you always this prosaic? You
don't learn jazz, it's not something
you're taught. It's like breathing,
like life. Like us, tonight, taking
what comes and going with the flow.
MAX
That what we're doing? Flowing?
VINCENT
Damn right. Instinct, man. If you
think too much, it doesn't work.
(points to stage)
Just listen...
MAX
I'm not catching a melody.
VINCENT
That's the point. You play between
the notes, you dance around the
structure, you improvise.
(beat)
Some people know where they're going
to be ten years from now. Same job,
same neighbors, same shit over and
over. That's not living. That's
dying a little every day. Not me,
pal. It's not knowing what's around
the corner that makes like worth
living. That's jazz.
(points to Daniel)
That guy up there, he knows what I'm
talking about. Hell, it's the same
thing he's talking about, if you just
open your ears. You can hear it in
the conversation he's having with that
trumpet...
The WAITRESS arrives, a heavy black woman with a tray of drinks:
WAITRESS
'Nothing whiskey sour, hon?
VINCENT
And one for my friend.
(indicates stage)
Say, who is that guy up there?
WAITRESS
That's Daniel, baby, he's the owner.
VINCENT
He's bringing tears to my eyes.
Seriously, I gotta buy him a drink.
Invite him over after his set, would
you be so kind?
WAITRESS
Sure thing, darlin'...
Vincent gives her a radiant smile and tucks a twenty dollars bill
into her apron as she leaves...
TIMECUT:
...and we find Daniel sharing a bottle with Vincent and Max a
few hours later, the place now closed. Just the three of them.
DANIEL
...I was just a young cat back then,
about nineteen, bussin' tables in this
very place. Didn't pay but shit, but
that wasn't the point. Being around
the music, that was the thing. And I
was. Take this one night...July 22,
1964...who walks in? Mr. Louis
Armstrong.
VINCENT
You're kidding me.
DANIEL
Right through those doors. The man
himself.
VINCENT
Jesus...
DANIEL
He'd come over from Queens to do the
Ed Sullivan show. After, he decides
to come on up to Harlem and hang with
the common folk. That's how he was,
you see. Never forgot
where he came from. Money and fame
an' all that? Meant nothin', long as
he could blow that horn. So before
you it, he's up on that stage,
doin' his thing.
VINCENT
Was it great? Better than great, it
had to be...
DANIEL
Like Winton Marsalis says, it was
pure, spiritual essence. Louis was
playing. God was smiling.
VINCENT
You heard Armstrong play live. I've
never been this jealous. You get to
talk to him?
DANIEL
Did better'n that.
Vincent gives him a questioning look. Daniel smiles, raises his
hands, mimes blowing a trumpet.
VINCENT
No.
DANIEL
Oh, my, yes.
VINCENT
Get outta here! You and Louis?
DANIEL
Fella owned this place back then, Dix
Dwyer, he let slip to Louis that I
played. So Pops, he just waves me
right up. My heart about stopped.
But I got up there all the same, and
we played for nearly twenty minutes.
VINCENT
Unbelievable...
(to Max)
...you hearing this? Unbelievable.
Max is being drawn into the story in spite of himself.
MAX
How'd you do?
DANIEL
How do you think? You ain't shit when
you playing next to Louis Armstrong.
But, Dippermouth, he was kind. He
could see me trying. He carried my
ass as best he could.
VINCENT
Remember what you played?
DANIEL
Most vividly.
(ticking them off)
"St. Louis Blues," "Potato Head
Blues," "Sleepy Time Down South..."
(laughs)
...then Pops laid some "Cornet Chop
Suey" on me, and left me in the dust
like a whipped dog.
VINCENT
The crowd had to dig it.
DANIEL
(smiles, nods)
The crowd was most kind.
(beat)
I was born in 1945, but my life began
the night of July 22, 1964. That was
the moment of my conception. Right
here in this very room.
Daniel picks up the bottle to freshen up their drinks...
VINCENT
That's a great story. I'll have to
tell Dmitri that story.
...and Daniel's hand freezes just as he's about to pour. He
glances up at Vincent.
DANIEL
You know Dmitri?
VINCENT
(softly)
'Fraid so.
Max is glancing from one to the other, unsure what's going on.
Realizing it isn't good.
DANIEL
And here I was thinking you were such
a nice guy.
VINCENT
I am a nice guy, Daniel. With a job
to do. You know how it is.
There's genuine respect in Vincent's tone. Max feels his heart
pounding, but manages to keep his voice steady:
MAX
Let him go, Vincent.
VINCENT
You mind? I'm working here.
MAX
You're the one who keeps talking about
going with the flow. You like the
man, you like the way he plays. How
about a little jazz, huh?
VINCENT
Jazz? That's funny, coming from you.
(thinks about it, looks to
Daniel)
Okay, some jazz for the jazz man.
How's this? I'll ask a question.
DANIEL
What kind of question?
VINCENT
Jazz question. What other kind is
there? You get it right, we roll with
it. You disappear. Tonight. You
don't go home, you don't pack a bag,
you just leave town...and nobody, I
mean nobody, ever hears from you or
sees you again.
DANIEL
How do I know you'll keep your word?
VINCENT
I never lie. Ask Max. Max, have I
lied yet?
Daniel looks to Max. Hope, fear, and desperation in the older
man's face.
MAX
No. He hasn't lied yet.
Daniel absorbs this, looks back to Vincent.
DANIEL
I know Dmitri. I know for something
like this, he'd hire the best. Which
means you're a man who gets by on his
reputation.
(beat)
I'll take your word. And I'll give
you mine. If I walk out of here
tonight, I'd go so far away, it'd be
just like I was dead.
Vincent nods. We have a deal. He eases his J-frame out, lays
it gently on the table, fingers resting lightly near the grip.
Max eyes the gun, his heart in his throat.
DANIEL (CONT'D)
One more thing.
(beat)
If by some chance I get this
wrong...tell Dmitri I'm sorry.
VINCENT
Of course.
Daniel pours himself that drink. He lifts his shot glass, hand
trembling slightly, knocks it back. Sets the glass down.
DANIEL
Lay it on me.
VINCENT
It's simple. What was your pal Louis'
first musical instrument?
DANIEL
I know the answer. I know all there
is to know about Louis.
VINCENT
Then let's have it.
Daniel hesitates.
MAX
(blurts out)
It was a trumpet! Wasn't it? Wasn't
it a trumpet?
Daniel shakes his head.
DANIEL
Coronet. Bought it from a New Orleans
pawnshop when he was a kid. Cost him
five dollars. Got a two dollar
advance on his salary from a fine
Jewish family he worked for, saved up
the rest.
A frozen moment. An endless pause. Max not even breathing,
just staring at Vincent, waiting...
...a beat of regret from Vincent...
...and Vincent jerks the gun up so fast Max doesn't even see it
happening -- there's just an ENORMOUS MUZZLE FLASH and a SOUND
LIKE A CANNON. Daniel's head snaps back, recoiling. He goes
face-first onto the table, leaving a red mist of blood swirling
in the air.
Max is stunned beyond words or thought, half-deaf from the
concussive blast of the J-frame at such close quarters.
Silence now. Blood spreading slowly across the table. Softly:
VINCENT
It was a little tin horn. The kind
people celebrate with. It cost him a
dime. He'd ride around on the junk
wagon owned by that nice Jewish family
and play for the neighborhood. People
would come out and sell them stuff.
Rags. Bottles. Whatever.
Max sits frozen, unable to move...
CUT TO:
EXT - ALLEY BEHIND JAZZ CLUB - NIGHT
...and they exit the club. Vincent heads for the cab, turns and
sees Max just standing there. Shell-shocked, dazed.
VINCENT
Let's go.
MAX
No.
VINCENT
What you mean, no?
MAX
I'm done. Find another cab.
Max turns, walking slowly away. Vincent just blinks at him,
almost laughs.
VINCENT
Max? What are you doing?
MAX
Leave me alone.
VINCENT
Don't even think you're walking away
from me.
MAX
(shouting)
I don't wanna know you!
Vincent catches up to him, grabs the back of his collar, slams
him against the wall. Their faces inches apart.
VINCENT
Pull your head out of your ass. Get
your thinking straight. You wanna
die?
MAX
I'm collateral anyway, so just fucking
do it and stop making me a part of
this!
VINCENT
Teach him how to talk back, suddenly
he can't stop.
(low, threatening)
I'm not playing.
MAX
Sure? Like you didn't play him?
String him along?
(off Vincent's look)
If he had gotten the answer right,
would you have let him go?
The question hangs in the air. Before Vincent can answer, the
DISPATCH RADIO CRACKLES:
LENNY (FILTERED)
Max? Maaax. Pick up, dipshit.
VINCENT
Jesus, what is with this guy?
LENNY (FILTERED)
Maaaaaax!
Vincent spins Max, controls him, almost breaking his neck, as he
propels him to the cab, slams him against the fender.
Then Vincent releases him, points at him. Don't move. He
reaches into the cab, pulls out the radio mike, clicks it on.
VINCENT
You hassling my driver again?
LENNY
Who is this?
VINCENT
Same fare you talked to last time.
The U.S. Attorney...
LENNY (FILTERED)
What are you guys, taking an all-night
tour?
VINCENT
We're gay lovers, what's it to you?
LENNY (FILTERED)
Nothin'! Aside from Max's mother
driving me crazy, I'm dancin' on a
rainbow! Get him on the line, please.
VINCENT
Hang on.
(to Max)
Carefully...
Max takes the hand mike, clicks it on.
MAX
Yeah?
LENNY (FILTERED)
Where you been the last two hours?
Your mother's been calling every ten
minutes whining about how you didn't
show up.
VINCENT
(whispers)
Show up for what?
MAX
(ignoring him)
Tell her I can't see her tonight,
okay?
LENNY (FILTERED)
What am I, related to you? Tell her
yourself! I can't get calls from her
all night!
Lenny CLICKS OFF. Dead air.
VINCENT
Show up for what?
MAX
She's in the hospital.
VINCENT
You go every night?
MAX
What difference does it make?
VINCENT
Guy with a routine goes and breaks it?
Provokes attention. That's bad. And
that's not good...
MAX
There's no way I'm taking you to see
my mother!
Vincent yanks his J-frame, jams it to Max's head.
VINCENT
And since when did any of this become
a negotiation?
CUT TO:
INT - BELLEVUE HOSPITAL - ENTRANCE - NIGHT
Stark corridors, queasy fluorescent lighting, PATIENTS and STAFF
MEMBERS. A row of INJURED PEOPLE are seated along one wall,
waiting for attention.
The AUTOMATIC DOORS swing open. Max and Vincent enter, the
briefcase held at Vincent's side. They proceed up the corridor,
pausing as:
VINCENT
Flowers?
Max turns, sees a row of FLOWER BOUQUETS at the gift counter.
MAX
Waste of money. Won't mean anything
to her.
Vincent pulls an arrangement, tosses the flowers to Max, pulls
his wallet to pay.
VINCENT
She carried you in her womb for nine
months.
INT - HOSPITAL HALLWAY - NIGHT
The elevator arrives. Vincent and Max get on. Vincent presses
the button and the doors start to close...
MAN'S VOICE
Hold, please...
Vincent puts his hand out, stopping the doors. A MAN gets on
the elevator with them...
IN THE ELEVATOR
...and turns around. Detective Phil Heller.
VINCENT
Floor?
HELLER
Nine. Thanks.
Vincent hits the button. The doors close.
The three of them rise up in that awkward silence you only ever
experience with strangers in elevators. Heller barely even
takes notice of Max at the back of the elevator. He glances to
Vincent, nods.
VINCENT
Having a good night?
HELLER
Mezzo-mezzo. You?
Vincent nods. Making do. The elevator stops. Vincent and Max
get off. Heller continues riding up alone...
INT - NINTH FLOOR HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - NIGHT
...and Heller gets off the elevator, heading down the hallway
toward a reception window marked "MORGUE."
INT - HOSPITAL ROOM - LOWER FLOOR - NIGHT
Max enters with the flowers. Vincent appears behind him,
hovering in the doorway. Max moves toward the bed...
...where IDA RILKE lies hooked up to a heart monitor, a clear
plastic oxygen mask over her mouth. She opens her eyes.
MAX
Hi, Ma.
IDA
I've been calling and calling.
MAX
I got caught up at work.
IDA
You couldn't pick up a phone? I'm
lying here, wondering if something
horrible happened...
MAX
(cuts her off)
I brought you flowers.
IDA
What am I gonna do with flowers?
MAX
You're gonna cheer up.
IDA
By worrying about you spending money
on foolish things? So I can watch
them wilt?
MAX
He paid for 'em.
She looks past Max, sees Vincent standing at the door in his
nice suit. She ditches the oxygen mask, sits up straighter,
starts touching up her hair with her fingertips.
IDA
Why didn't you tell me we had company?
(to Vincent)
And what's your name?
VINCENT
No harm done, ma'am.
She takes the flowers from Max, making a fuss over them:
IDA
You paid for my flowers? They're
beautiful. Max, you gonna introduce
us?
MAX
Mom, Vincent. Vincent, my mother, Ida
Rilke.
Vincent sets his briefcase by the door, approaches the bed,
offers his hand. She takes it, all flirty and girlish.
VINCENT
Happy to meet you, Mrs. Rilke.
IDA
Oh, call me Ida. To what do we owe the
pleasure?
Vincent sits in the chair at bedside.
VINCENT
I was with Max when he got the call.
IDA
And you came all the way down here to
see me?
VINCENT
It's nothing.
IDA
Tell my son. You have to hold a gun
to his head to get him to come see me.
VINCENT
Tell me about it.
Vincent leans in to help her adjust her pillows, fluffing them
for her.
IDA
You dress nice, you speak nice. You
must be a very important client of
Max's.
That catches Vincent slightly off guard. He glances to Max.
VINCENT
Client? I like to think of myself as
more of a friend. A mentor.
IDA
Max never had many friends. So much
with the piano. Always keeping to
himself, it's unhealthy...
MAX
I'm...in...the...room, here. Don't
talk about me like I'm not in the
room.
IDA
(to Vincent)
What's he sayin'?
MAX
I'm standing right here.
IDA
Yesss, you are.
(right back to Vincent)
He's artistic.
VINCENT
I'm sure you're very proud of Max.
IDA
(directed at Max)
Of course I'm proud. You know he
started with nothing? Look at him
today. Playing concerts.
Vincent looks to Max. Intrigued. Sees him squirming.
MAX
Mom, Vincent's not interested.
VINCENT
Oh, I'm captivated.
IDA
His limousines, his company.
Max returns Vincent's stare with a quiet, pleading look.
VINCENT
Quite an achievement...
IDA
What's your name?
VINCENT
Vincent...
The moment passes. Max heads for the door.
MAX
I came to see you, you look fine. We
gotta go.
IDA
Vincent. It was nice to meet you.
Visit again?
VINCENT
I'm in town for a short time.
IDA
Try?
VINCENT
Of course!
He turns to find Max gone. He looks down, eyes widening.
So is the briefcase.
Vincent races out into...
THE HALLWAY
...and spins around, frantically trying to see where Max went.
Nothing but a FEW PATIENTS and HOSPITAL STAFF...
...and a door marked "STAIRS" swinging shut at the end of the
hallway. He runs in that direction...
HOSPITAL STAIRWELL
Vincent bursts through the door into the stairwell, hearing
RUNNING FOOTSTEPS below. He peers over the railing...
...and sees Max three flights down. Max freezes, looking up,
clutching the briefcase. A moment of eye contact...
VINCENT (CONT'D)
You take one more step, I'll kill her.
MAX
You'd do her a favor.
...and Max keeps going, vanishing from view. Vincent takes off
after him, plunging down the stairs at breakneck speed...
VINCENT
I'll tell her the truth!
MOVING WITH MAX
careening dizzily down the steps with the briefcase, hurtling
from one landing to the next, FOOTSTEPS ECHOING on concrete.
MOVING WITH VINCENT
racing down the steps like a madman, yanking his Sig-Sauer from
under his jacket...
INT - HOSPITAL LAUNDRY - NIGHT
Max comes through the stairway door, racing like crazy along a
row of HUGE ROARING INDUSTRIAL WASHERS, trying to make it to the
EXIT DOOR at the far end...
...and Vincent bursts from the stairwell in pursuit, pausing to
whip his Sig-Sauer up in a two-handed grip, activating the laser
sight, aiming down the length of the laundry room...
...just as Max vanishes through the exit room at the far end.
VINCENT
Shit!
EXT - HOSPITAL/F.D.R. DRIVE - NIGHT
Max reaches out the back of the hospital, which faces F.D.R.
Drive. Beyond that, the East River.
Max reaches the guard rail above the highway, breathing hard.
It's a fifteen foot drop down to the traffic lanes. FAST
TRAFFIC RAGING in both directions.
Max looks back, sees Vincent. Makes his decision in a
heartbeat. He vaults over the guard rail...
...and hits the pavement hard, rolling into the first lane. A
TRUCK HORN BLARES, HEADLIGHTS GLARING. Max rolls out of the
way, an instant to spare, almost crushed as the BIG-RIG blows by
him in a hurricane backwash of wind...
Max glances up, sees Vincent arrive at the guard rail. Max
dashes into the next lane as CARS SWERVE WILDLY to avoid him...
Vincent vaults the guard rail, also plummeting down into the
traffic...
VARIOUS ANGLES
...and the two men make their way across the F.D.R. in a
breathless life-and-death game of dodge-the-cars, darting this
way and that, playing chicken with the traffic, avoiding death
by inches, Vincent whipping his Sig-Sauer up, desperately trying
to pin Max with the beam, losing his aim, cars and trucks
hurtling between them, Vincent damn near getting run over, Max
making it alive to the other side and vaulting over the railing,
pressing on toward:
THE EAST RIVER
Max runs up, exhausted. The lights of Queens glitter on the
water. He swings the briefcase back, preparing to hurl it...
VINCENT
Don't!
...and a GLOWING RED LASER DOT finds Max, dances up to his ear.
Max looks back, sees Vincent in silhouette, gun aimed.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Red-light-green-light, Max.
A heartbeat. A hesitation. And then...
MAX
Bullshit.
...Max hurls the briefcase with all his might. Vincent watches
in horror as it spins lazily through the air and takes a plunge
into the icy water.
Vincent runs over to Max, just in time to see the briefcase
bobbing under, vanishing with the current.
A frozen beat. Vincent doesn't even know what to say. He
closes his eyes, desperately trying to visualize:
VINCENT
Shit, the address, what was it,
hundred east forty, no, forty east a
hundred--fuck, forty, something, shit.
Shit, shit, shit! I can see the
fucker's face! Ugly Slavic bastard,
Nikolyai something, Nikolyai, shit!
He spins to Max, pointing toward the water, screaming:
VINCENT (CONT'D)
What the fuck was that?
MAX
Jazz.
Vincent launches himself at Max and knocks him to the ground in
a blind fury. The gun comes up, the muzzle pressed to Max's
face, the hammer being cocked, a heartbeat away from...
...Vincent pauses, breathing hard. The two men staring at each
other. In a hoarse whisper, almost proud:
VINCENT
I didn't know you had it in you.
Oddly enough, this revelation seems to be giving Vincent an
idea. He eases the hammer down, draws the gun aside...
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Let's see what else you can do.
...and drags Max to his feet as we
CUT TO:
INT - HOSPITAL MORGUE - NIGHT
Heller's in the "cold room" with a MORGUE ATTENDANT.
ATTENDANT
(checking his clipboard)
We've had three come in tonight, one's
a John Doe. Maybe it's your guy.
The attendant nods at the first of three SHEET-COVERED CORPSES
lying on stainless steel tables. Heller draws the sheet back,
looks down, shakes his head.
HELLER
Not him.
The attendant makes a notation on his clipboard. Heller nods at
the next corpse.
HELLER (CONT'D)
What about that one?
ATTENDANT
Just some kid. Probably gang-related.
The attendant draws the sheet back. It's the kid who mugged Max
and took Vincent's briefcase. Heller gives the corpse a quick
glance, shrugs. Means nothing.
ATTENDANT (CONT'D)
These two...
(indicates the kid and the
third corpse)
...came in a half hour ago.
Same crime scene. Looks like the same weapon,
large caliber.
Intrigued, Heller steps to the third corpse, draws the sheet
back. It's the Heavyset Man murdered at the construction site.
Heller stares down at the dead face. Instant recognition.
INT - HOSPITAL HALLWAY - MINUTES LATER
Heller is on a pay phone, amped up, talking with Walt Muldoon.
(Muldoon's at home, perched on the edge of his bed, rubbing the
sleep from his eyes. INTERCUT as needed:)
HELLER
...yeah, I'm still at Bellevue. The
John Doe didn't pan out, but you'll
never guess who's lying up in the meat
locker.
MULDOON
Elvis?
HELLER
Joey Cicerno. Dear friend and
associate of my missing snitch, Ivan
Petrov. Both of whom were in bed with
Dmitri.
MULDOON
Jesus. Two in one night?
HELLER
Something big's going down, and I'm
betting the Feds don't know about it.
You gotta get us in there.
MULDOON
Pick me up in five minutes.
Muldoon hangs up, hauling himself off the bed as we
CUT TO:
INT - MAX'S CAB - TRAVELING - NIGHT
Max drives in semi-conscious silence, feeling Vincent's gaze on
the back of his neck.
VINCENT
Limos, huh?
MAX
Don't start.
VINCENT
Hey, I'm not the one who's been lying
to my mother.
MAX
She hears what she wants to hear,
okay?
VINCENT
Maybe so. Maybe she hears what you
tell her.
MAX
(slaps the wheel)
Fuck! Nothing's ever goddamn good
enough! It's always been that way.
VINCENT
It's cause they don't like their
lives, so they project their patterns
of negative behavior onto you...
(beat)
I had a father like that.
MAX
Yeah? What happened?
VINCENT
He hated everything I did. Hated me.
Got drunk and beat the shit out of me,
daily...
MAX
What happened?
VINCENT
I killed him. When I was 15. He was
my first.
(off Max's look)
Nah, wishful thinking. Liver cancer.
MAX
I'm sorry.
VINCENT
Don't be. I never saw him after I was
15. Went into the military early.
(beat)
So all this talk about "my job's
temporary, I got big plans," it's all
bullshit.
MAX
It's not bullshit.
VINCENT
What do you call it? Ten years
doesn't sound temporary to me. I
should have known it was bullshit,
you're too good at what you do.
MAX
I've always been good. Ever since I
started. Gave up piano. Easy money.
I'm putting a stake together, get
something started. Go figure it all
out...
VINCENT
Yeah? Like what? Limos?
MAX
I told you I don't like to talk about
it.
VINCENT
(off Max's silence)
Well, this big stake's got to be big
by now. When you leaving?
MAX
See, I've got bills. My mother's been
dying of the same disease since I was
a kid.
VINCENT
What, no insurance?
MAX
Doesn't cover everything.
VINCENT
Good excuse. How many others you got?
EXT - "LITTLE RUSSIA" POOL HALL & BAR - NIGHT
A divey-looking place on the Lower East Side. A desolate
setting. Streets mostly deserted at this time of night...
...except for TWO MEN hanging around outside the pool hall in
the shadows. Not doing much. Just hanging.
Headlights appear, cruising slowly toward us. Max's cab.
INT - CAB - NIGHT
VINCENT
Here's good.
Max parks, cuts the engine. The pool hall's across the street.
Vincent checks it out, concealing himself as much as possible in
the shadows of the back seat.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Gimme your wallet.
MAX
Why?
Vincent just snaps his fingers impatiently. Max pulls his
wallet, passes it back.
VINCENT
I'll just hold onto it for you. In
case they check.
MAX
In case who checks?
Vincent nods toward the pool hall.
VINCENT
Our friends in Little Russia. Go in
and ask for a man named Dmitri.
MAX
Dmitri?
VINCENT
The man who hired me for this
contract.
MAX
I don't get it.
VINCENT
You're gonna be me. You're gonna go
in, and you're gonna get the info on
the remaining two hits.
MAX
(appalled)
Why me? Why don't you do it?
VINCENT
No client has ever seen my face, and I
intend to keep it that way. Besides,
if he decides to put a bullet in my
head, I don't wanna be there for it.
MAX
He's gonna shoot me?
VINCENT
When he finds out you tossed his list?
I would.
MAX
No. No way. I can't do this.
VINCENT
Max. You threw my briefcase in the
river. You've got balls bigger than
Toledo.
MAX
I...I wasn't thinking. I just did it.
VINCENT
That's jazz, my friend. You said it
yourself. So don't tell me you don't
know how to play between the notes.
Pause. Softly:
MAX
Vincent. Don't make me do this.
Don't make me get people killed.
VINCENT
We've both run out of options. If it
helps, take comfort in knowing you
never had a choice.
Max draws a deep breath, lets it out slowly.
MAX
How long have you been a hit man?
VINCENT
Why?
MAX
In case he asks.
VINCENT
Fifteen years, although I prefer the
term "assassin."
MAX
You get benefits?
VINCENT
No.
MAX
Paid sick leave?
VINCENT
You tell me to start a union, I'm
blowing your head off. Quit stalling
and get out of the cab.
Max hesitates, opens the door, gets out...
EXT - STREET - NIGHT
...and starts slowly across the street. The TWO MEN in front of
the pool hall tense up, watching him approach.
HIGH WIDE ANGLE OF STREET
We see Max, a tiny figure, crossing the street below...
FED #1
So now who the fuck is this?
FED #2
Beats me.
...and we hear a STILL CAMERA CLICKING AND WHIRRING, snapping a
few shots. ANGLE PULLS BACK...
INT - TOP FLOOR OF TENEMENT - NIGHT
...to reveal FEDERAL AGENTS clustered loosely at a row of arched
windows, watching Max cross the street below. The room is
littered with SURVEILLANCE EQUIPMENT and PIZZA BOXES.
SENIOR AGENT FRANK PEDROSA stands at a pair of high-powered
BINOCULARS mounted on a tripod, tracking Max.
PEDROSA
Mark the time.
A SOFT KNOCK on the door. Heller and Muldoon are ushered in.
Pedrosa glances at them, motions "hang on a second," keeps
peering through the binoculars...
EXT - POOL HALL - NIGHT
...as Max, hiding his terror, steps up to the two men.
MAN #1
Closed.
MAX
I'm here to see Dmitri. Tell him it's
Vincent.
The two men trade a surprised look. Suddenly cautious and
respectful. They lead Max inside.
INT - TOP FLOOR OF TENEMENT - NIGHT
Pedrosa watches the group go into the pool hall, then turns to
Heller and Muldoon for quick introductions:
MULDOON
Captain Walt Muldoon, NYPD.
HELLER
Detective Sergeant Phil Heller.
PEDROSA
(shaking hands)
Federal Agent Frank Pedrosa.
MULDOON
Thanks for letting us sit in.
PEDROSA
Long as you don't get in our way.
HELLER
Something going on?
PEDROSA
Pretty quiet down there. A cab just
pulled up, aside from that...
Heller trades a surprised look with Muldoon. A cab? They rush
to the window, see the cab in the street below. Fast:
HELLER
Hood's all beat to shit.
Muldoon's fumbling his cell phone out, already dialing.
MULDOON
What's the medallion number?
Heller swivels the binoculars to the cab, pulling out his
notebook and scribbling down the number...
INT - "LITTLE RUSSIA" POOL HALL - NIGHT
...as Max is led into cavernous, multi-level pool hall. There's
an enormous bar, scattered tables and chairs, rows of pool
tables stretching into the gloom. Dangling china-hat light
fixtures throw extreme pools of light, watching a pall of cigar
smoke and deepening the shadows.
MEN are grouped loosely about, drinking and smoking, playing
pool. Hard-eyed, flinty killers. A few tired, used-up WOMEN
keeping them company.
Everybody goes silent, staring at Max.
One of the men with Max pats him down, checking for weapons.
The other one goes upstairs.
Max just stands there, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, a
trail of CIGAR ASH trickles down from above, along with a DEEP
VOICE with a Russian accent:
DMITRI
I thought you'd be taller.
Max turns, looks up to see:
DMITRI GUSUNOV, a Russian gangster built like a beer truck.
He's unshaven, sweaty, looks like he was rolled in grease. An
evil, dangerous fucker.
DMITRI (CONT'D)
Perhaps it's my perspective. Things
change when you look at them from a
different point of view, don't you
think?
He descends the stairs, slow and deliberate, inspiring dread
with every step. He comes to a stop before Max.
DMITRI (CONT'D)
No. It seems some things stay the
same from every angle. Like you.
Here. Tonight. Any way I look at it,
I see only one thing. I see only
trouble.
Dmitri pulls up a chair, sits at a table. Gestures.
DMITRI (CONT'D)
Sit.
Max sits, forces himself to meet Dmitri's gaze. A bottle of
vodka is brought, along with two shot glasses.
DMITRI (CONT'D)
So. Vincent. Why are you here? I
cannot wait...
INT - TOP FLOOR OF TENEMENT - NIGHT
DMITRI'S VOICE (FILTERED)
...to find out why you would risk your
life like this.
The reaction in the room is electric. FED #3, on headphones,
turns from the REEL-TO-REEL RECORDER with a stunned look.
FED #3
Did he say "Vincent?"
DMITRI'S VOICE (FILTERED)
You understand my surprise, yes? Long
time now, we've had an arrangement...
INT - POOL HALL - NIGHT
DMITRI
...I do not meet you. I do not see
you. I do not even speak to you.
That made good sense. But now you are
here, and I must ask, why?
For a moment it looks like Max isn't even going to get the words
out. Then:
MAX
I lost the list.
Pause. Dmitri raises his vodka, knocks it back, lays the shot
glass down.
DMITRI
I see.
(beat)
That was an important list, wouldn't
you say? The people on that list are
being subpoenaed tomorrow by a federal
judge. And you "lost" it?
MAX
I'm sorry.
DMITRI
Sorry?
Dmitri abruptly pulls a scuffed BROWNING HI-POWER 9MM HANDGUN
from the back of his belt, SLAMS IT DOWN on the table before
him. He leans forward, hand resting lightly near the grip.
Max is nearly pissing himself. Dmitri's gesture is too
reminiscent of Vincent preparing to kill Daniel.
DMITRI (CONT'D)
Tell me, Vincent. Do you believe in
Santa Claus?
MAX
(finds his voice)
Can't say that I do.
DMITRI
Neither do I. But my children, they're
still young. Do you know who they
like even more than jolly old Saint
Nicholas? His helper, Black Peter.
An old Russian fairy tale tells of how
Santa got so busy looking after all
the good kids, he had to hire a helper
to punish all the bad kids. That was
Black Peter's job. He was given the
list of all the bad children, and he
would visit them in their homes late
at night. And if he caught them not
saying their prayers, he would leave a
bundle of wooden switches outside
their door. That was a warning. If
they continued to misbehave, he would
swoop down and take the children away.
And they would never be seen again.
Dmitri picks up his gun and racks the slide, LOUDLY JACKING A
ROUND into the chamber.
DMITRI (CONT'D)
Now if I'm Santa Claus, then you are
Black Peter. And what do you think
would happen if Peter showed up in
Santa's pool hall one night and said
he'd lost his list of all the bad
children? How fucking furious do you
think jolly old Saint Nick would be?
He brings the gun up, pressing the barrel solidly to Max's
forehead.
DMITRI (CONT'D)
Tell me Vincent. Tell me what you
think.
MAX
I think...
He can't finish.
DMITRI
What?
MAX
I think...
(bracing himself)
...I think you should get this gun out
of my fucking face.
DMITRI
What? What did you say?
MAX
(low, tight)
I said. Get the gun. Out. Of my
fucking face. Before I wrap it in a
blintz and feed it to you.
Pause. Dmitri eases back, but doesn't drop his aim.
MAX (CONT'D)
I picked up a tail.
DMITRI
Federal?
MAX
You tell me. I had to toss the list
in the river. I was protecting your
sorry, long-winded ass. So why don't
you show a little courtesy?
Dmitri considers it, lays the weapon back on the table.
MAX (CONT'D)
You think I wanted to come here
tonight? You think I'm that stupid?
Sometimes shit happens, you gotta roll
with it.
DMITRI
Tell me. Has Black Peter already
crossed off a few bad children?
MAX
The fat man on Cherry Street. The
other fat man, Mr. Bulldozer. The
trumpet player. That leaves two.
DMITRI
(checks his watch)
Can you finish on schedule?
MAX
In fifteen years, I have never left a
customer unsatisfied.
Dmitri tosses a look to ARKADY behind the bar. Arkady turns to
a hidden WALL SAFE, dials the combination. As they wait in
silence, Dmitri pours vodka for himself and Max...
INT - TOP FLOOR OF TENEMENT - NIGHT
...while the Feds to apeshit, dialogue fast, tense, loud:
PEDROSA
...goddamn it, you telling me this
motherfucker's whacked three of our
witnesses tonight...
HELLER
...Petrov and Cicerno for sure...
FED #3
...shit, how'd he even find out about
the subpoenas...
PEDROSA
...doesn't fuckin' matter, just tell
me who's left so we don't lose any
more...
INT - POOL HALL - NIGHT
A stack of files identical to Vincent's are brought to the
table. Dmitri sorts them carefully.
DMITRI
I was going to destroy these as soon
as I got your call. Seems I'll have
to trust you with these two...
He pulls two, gives the remaining three back to Arkady,
muttering:
DMITRI (CONT'D)
(in Russian, subtitled)
Burn these.
Arkady nods, moves off. Dmitri hands the two files across the
table to Max. Max grabs them and pulls -- but Dmitri doesn't
let go. Their eyes meet.
DMITRI (CONT'D)
Vincent. Do not cross me.
MAX
Wouldn't dream of it.
Dmitri releases the file. Max rises.
MAX (CONT'D)
As a token of my appreciation for your
understanding in this matter, I'd like
to offer you a discount for my
services tonight. Twenty five
percent.
DMITRI
Twenty five?
MAX
Hell, make it fifty. Same goes for
any business we have in the future.
DMITRI
Very generous.
MAX
(beat)
By the way. Daniel said he was sorry.
Dmitri nods. Max turns and walks out.
The moment he's gone, Dmitri glances to his men. They're giving
him grim, questioning looks.
DMITRI
(in Russian, subtitled)
Let him get to Nikolyai's. Make sure
the job is done. And then...
Using his thumb, Dmitri makes a quick slashing gesture across
his throat. Kill him.
EXT - POOL HALL - NIGHT
Max pauses as he exits, taking in a deep breath of night air,
stunned that he's still alive...
INT - TOP FLOOR OF TENEMENT - NIGHT
...while the Feds swarm at the windows, aiming lenses and
snapping away like paparazzi, motor-winds WHIRRING AND CLICKING,
everybody talking at once:
ALL THE FEDS
(chaotic, ad-lib)
...okay, rolling video...his face,
make sure you get his face...so that's
Vincent...holy shit...unbelievable,
fucking Vincent...you getting
him?...yeah, I'm good, it's perfect...
ANGLE SHIFTS to Heller, cell phone to his ear, trying to block
out the noise as:
HELLER
...yeah, uh-huh...medium build, dark
hair...are you sure...
Heller joins the others at the window, where ANGLE FINDS Agent
Pedrosa speaking urgently into a WALKIE-TALKIE:
PEDROSA
Advance team, two men, stick to that
goddamn cab, stay in radio contact,
the rest of us follow in the van.
Nobody moves until the entire team's
in place...
HELLER
(into cell phone)
Can you fax me his picture? His
license or something? What do you
mean you don't have that there?
(to Muldoon)
Anybody else in the cab?
Muldoon can't tell. ANGLE SHIFTS OUT THE WINDOW. In the street
below, Max walks to the cab...
INT - CAB - NIGHT
...and gets in behind the wheel, feeling limp. He lets out a
slow breath, reluctantly passes the two files back to Vincent.
Vincent returns Max's wallet.
VINCENT
Damn, Max. I'm impressed. Really. I
would have bet good money you wouldn't
walk out of there.
MAX
Makes two of us.
Vincent flips open a file, scans it. Max STARTS THE ENGINE,
looks in the rearview mirror.
VINCENT
Washington and Holt. Dance club
called "Fever." Know it?
MAX
Tribeca, near the waterfront,
northeast corner. Twelve minutes.
VINCENT
You do impress me, Max. That you do.
Max puts the car in gear and pulls out...
INT - TOP FLOOR OF TENEMENT - NIGHT
...while the Feds are in a frenzy of "mounting up" and getting
ready to roll, everybody loading their ASSAULT WEAPONS, putting
on body armor, grabbing extra clips of ammo...
...and through it all, Heller and Muldoon are trying to get a
word in edgewise with Pedrosa. It's all very kinetic, mile-a-
minute, on the move:
HELLER
...got off the phone with his
dispatcher. What an asshole.
Cabbie's name is Max Rilke, been
driving that cab for ten years...
PEDROSA
So?
HELLER
...so, his description of Max the
cabdriver matches the guy who walked
out of Villa Rodeo. That guy? That
guy is a cabbie. And you're telling
me this cabbie walks into a phone
booth and emerges as a meat eater,
assassin with heavy trigger time?
What's he do, squeeze 'em in between
fares?
PEDROSA
No. Your cabbie is floating down a
storm drain or stuffed in the trunk of
a cab.
The entire team heads out the door...
HELLER
But the guy who walked out matches the
cabbie's description...
OBSERVATION POST STAIRWELL
...and coming down the steps, feet pounding, taking the landings
fast, Heller and Muldoon at their heels...
PEDROSA
Lemme tell you something. Vincent and
a few other guys like him are fucking
ghosts. Nobody even know what he
looked like until now...
HELLER
I don't know...
FED #1
We do. We see this more and more with
big money criminal enterprises...
Globalization and privatized security
working for bad guys in Colombia,
Mexico, Three Falls...ex-kGB, Mossad,
ex-Special Forces. These guys got
skill sets...trigger time...
PEDROSA
...like identity theft...like a
"cabbie"...
They hit the ground and are making for their cars...
HELLER
What are you gonna do?
PEDROSA
Take him down. Save Richard Yip, our
witness...
Pedrosa and the Feds are in the car, which pulls to the curb.
Heller is breathless...
HELLER
What if they're wrong?
MULDOON
Not our call, Phil.
HELLER
...if they're wrong?!
MULDOON
This isn't our goddamn game!
CUT TO:
IN A MOODY VISUAL SEQUENCE, WE FOLLOW VARIOUS GROUPS DRIVING
TO THE CLUB, ALL WITH THEIR VARIOUS AGENDAS: (YOU MIGHT
LISTEN TO MAZZY STAR'S "MARY OF SILENCE" TO SUGGEST TONE
HERE.)
MAX'S CAB
cruises north along the Bowery, reflected street lights flowing
up the windshield, colors kicking off the bodywork. The streets
are deserted; the city seems a haunted place...
FBI CAR
The advance vehicle. TWO AGENTS. Following the cab at a
discreet distance. The agent in the passenger seat speaking in
hushed tones into a radio mike:
AGENT
...suspect vehicle turning now on East
Houston, heading west...
FBI VAN
Pedrosa and half a dozen agents. Quietly checking their gear,
passing looks to one another, the silent neighborhoods passing
by while the VOICE drones softly from the radio...
AGENT (FILTERED) (CONT'D)
...passing Broadway now...coming up on
Avenue of the Americas...
1973 CADILLAC FLEETWOOD BROUGHAM
Stuffed with Dmitri's cold-eyed KILLERS. Six of them. Arkady,
LEV, YURI, three others. Muttering in Russian. Cigarettes
smoldering in their lips. Loading HANDGUNS, fitting clips into
UZIS, feeding shells into SAWED-OFF SHOTGUNS..
UNMARKED CAR
Phil Heller at the wheel. Tailing the FBI van at a distance,
GHOSTLY CROSSCHATTER drifting from the police band...
INT - MAX'S CAB - NIGHT
Vincent riding in pensive silence. Softly:
VINCENT
Would you have called her?
MAX
Who?
VINCENT
Your lady friend. The one who gave
you her business card.
(off Max's silence)
Think she was just being polite?
MAX
I don't know.
VINCENT
What holds you back, Max? Tell me.
Why does life scare you so much?
MAX
I only owe you a ride, Vincent.
VINCENT
It's not what you owe me. Time is so
fleeting. One day it's gone.
(beat)
You make it out of this alive, Max,
you really should call her. That's
what I think.
EXT - "FEVER" NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT
An after-hours disco, a converted warehouse for the party-till-
dawn crowd. PEOPLE coming and going at the entrance.
Max's cab cruises by, slowing, pulling around the corner into
the alleys crisscrossing this warehouse district...
POV ANGLE THROUGH WINDSHIELD OF FBI CAR
...and we see Max's cab disappearing into the alley as we travel
past. ANGLE SHIFTS to the passenger seat as:
AGENT
(into radio)
Club Fever. Nikolyai's place.
INT - FBI VAN - NIGHT
Closing on the club. Pedrosa muttering to his team:
PEDROSA
Watch your backs. Vincent looks at
you cross-eyed, drop him.
INT - MAX'S CAB/ALLEY BEHIND CLUB - NIGHT
Parked in a quiet spot. Vincent glances around as GROUPS OF
LATE-NIGHT PARTIERS drift by the cab, laughing drunkenly. Other
PEOPLE are mingling in and out of the back entrance of the club,
smoking cigarettes, sharing snorts of coke.
VINCENT
You wander more than ten feet from my
side, some random bystander takes the
first bullet. More collateral.
Clear?
Max nods. They exit the cab and head into the club through the
back entrance, Vincent giving the DOORMAN a tip...
EXT - FRONT ENTRANCE OF CLUB - NIGHT
...while the FEDS enter through the front, subduing the BOUNCER
from alerting anybody...
INT - SIDE ENTRANCE (PRIVATE ENTRANCE) - NIGHT
A VIEWING SLOT opens in the door, revealing a face outside.
It's Arkady, Dmitri's man:
ARKADY
(in Russian, subtitled)
Message for Nikolyai. Urgent.
The MAN guarding the door lets them in. Dmitri's MEN swarm
inside, shoving him to the wall with a gun at his head...
EXT/INT - REAR ENTRANCE - NIGHT
Heller flashes his badge, brushes past the doorman, proceeds up
the dark, narrow corridors which lead to:
INT - CLUB FEVER - NIGHT
Cacophonous, surreal, jammed with people and flashing lights.
COLORED LASERS jitter through layers of DANCERS. An enormous
MIRROR BALL spins overhead, twirling light. FLASHING STROBES
erupt periodically, pixilating the crowd. ABBA's "Gimme, Gimme,
Gimme" thunders from the speakers...
VINCENT
drifts through the crowd, cruising like a shark, scanning the
moving mass of people. Watchful. Seeking his target. Keeping
one eye on Max, who's careful to stay near him...
THE FEDS
are also negotiating the crowd, spreading out through the club,
seeking their target...
DMITRI'S THUGS
are doing the same, looking for Max...
HELLER
is scanning the crowd...
VINCENT
pauses, finally zeroing:
NIKOLYAI
The owner of the club. An ugly man in a trendy Milan couture
suit that's way too young, hip and loud for him. He's holding
court on a raised area at the edge of the dance floor, laughing
and carousing with an ENTOURAGE OF FLOOZIES and YES-MEN.
VINCENT
throws a look to Max, cocks his head. This way. They start
across the club, working their way through the dancers...
DMITRI'S THUGS (ARKADY, YURI, LEV)
Lev spots Max, mutters to the others:
LEV
Vincent.
NIKOLYAI'S POSITION
BODYGUARD #1, occupying the wall, suddenly spots Dmitri's men in
the crowd. He mutters to BODYGUARD #2:
BODYGUARD #1
(in Russian, subtitled)
What are Dmitri's men doing here?
Bodyguard #2 sees them, instantly suspicious:
BODYGUARD #2
(in Russian, subtitled)
Bring the others.
The man rushes off. Bodyguard #2 bends down to whisper in
Nikolyai's ear...
VINCENT
makes his way through the dancers, moving inexorably toward
Nikolyai, Max trailing at his side...
FED #3
spots Max, mutters urgently into his sleeve mike:
FED #3
I have visual on Vincent, middle of
dance floor, approaching Nikolyai...
PEDROSA
responds on his wrist mike, already on the move:
PEDROSA
Take him!
FEDERAL AGENTS
suddenly race from all points of the compass, ASSAULT WEAPONS
snapping up, patrons scattering, everybody screaming at once:
ALL THE FEDS
(chaotic, ad-lib)
FBI!...FREEZE, MOTHERFUCKER!...DON'T
MOVE, VINCENT!...FREEZE OR YOU'RE A
DEAD MAN!...HANDS IN THE AIR!
Every single FBI WEAPON HAS A LASER SIGHT, all of them now
activated, RED LASER BEAMS CONVERGING...
...on Max, stunned, GLOWING RED DOTS dancing up and down his
body from all directions, people screaming and diving for cover,
stampeding for the exits...
...while CAMERA DOES A QUEASY 360 AROUND MAX, hands quavering in
the air, suddenly the loneliest man in the room...
MAX
DON'T SHOOT ME! I'M NOT VINCENT!
...but nobody can hear him with the ABBA THUNDERING, the FEDS
SHOUTING, the CROWD PANICKING AND SCREAMING. The Feds dart this
way and that, maneuvering for position...
...as Vincent disappears into the confusion and panic...
...and Nikolyai ducks for cover below his table, bodyguards
swarming to his side...
...and Heller elbows his way through PATRONS rushing for the
exits, trying to get to Max, who's still trying to be heard...
MAX (CONT'D)
I'M JUST A CAB DRIVER! DON'T SHOOT!
DMITRI'S THUGS
ARKADY
(in Russian, subtitled)
Don't let them take Vincent alive!
Kill him! And Nikolyai!
THE FEDS
are closing in on Max, everybody amped-up and screaming...
VARIOUS FEDS
ON YOUR KNEES!...NOW, GODDAMN IT,
NOW!...FACE-DOWN, ASSHOLE!
...and it's all a lit fuse just waiting to explode, which is
exactly what happens as:
YURI
pops into frame, pistol aimed at the back of Max's head, but
somebody jostles him in the panic and the GUNSHOT GOES WILD,
barely missing Max's ear as he's getting to his knees --
-- and the BULLET SMASHES THROUGH AGENT PEDROSA'S KNEE instead,
slamming him face-first to the floor!
And then proverbial hell truly breaks loose as:
The Feds OPEN FIRE...
Dmitri's thugs OPEN FIRE...
Nikolyai's bodyguards OPEN FIRE...
...and it's an instant chaotic firefight, everybody OPENING FIRE
on everybody else, nobody knowing where it's coming from or
exactly who the enemy is, instantly transforming Club Fever into
something resembling the Ninth Circle of Dante's Hell...
IN FAST, JARRING ANGLES...
...with MUZZLE FLASHES ERUPTING, MACHINE GUNS BLAZING, SAWED-OFF
SHOTGUNS ROARING, DISCO LIGHTS FLASHING, STROBES JITTERING and
pixilating the combatants, BULLETS CHEWING UP the walls, the
bar, the bottles on the shelves...
Federal agents are being cut down. Dmitri's men are shredded.
Nikolyai's bodyguards are torn asunder...
ANGLE ON MAX
...and we find Max in the eye of the storm, hugging the floor,
confusion everywhere, debris cascading, tables overturning...
...and BRRAAAAP! Fed #2 FIRES AN ASSAULT RIFLE BURST into
Arkady, nailing him on the run. Arkady falls dying in front of
Max, his SAWED-OFF SHOTGUN BLASTING BOTH BARRELS toward the
ceiling and taking out the huge MIRROR BALL, which comes
CRASHING DOWN inches from Max in an EXPLOSION of debris...
ANGLE ON HELLER
...and Heller crawls through the shitstorm amidst overturned
tables and chairs, trying to get to Max...
ANGLE ON VINCENT
...and we find Vincent elsewhere in the maelstrom, lying on the
floor in a jumble of tables and chairs, the only calm one in the
room. His eye on the prize. His Sig-Sauer in his hand.
Watching Nikolyai's table. Waiting for his chance...
VINCENT'S POV
Nikolyai scurries from one table to the next, taking cover,
trying to get the hell out...
PUSHING TIGHT ON VINCENT
as he brings the Sig-Sauer up into frame, sighting carefully,
controlling his breathing, blocking out all distraction...
VINCENT'S POV
Nikolyai breaks from cover again, darting wildly as we track
him, dropping from view behind another table...
...and WE PAN DOWN the table to a PAIR OF LOUD CHECKED SOCKS AND
WINGTIP SHOES visible just below the table cloth where Nikolyai
crouches, ready to make his break for the door...
VINCENT
eases his finger onto the trigger...
VINCENT
(a whisper)
God, those socks.
...and BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Three rapid shots blast Nikolyai's
ankles to shreds, slamming him flat to the floor. Nikolyai's
terrified face is now visible as he writhes in agony, glancing
up for a brief moment of eye contact with Vincent...
...and BLAM! The fourth and final shot takes Nikolyai between
the eye, punching a red halo on the wall behind him.
Vincent rolls, scattering chairs from his path, trying to find a
way out of there...
WIDE ANGLE OF CLUB
MUZZLE FLASHES becoming sporadic, half the gangsters and Feds
dead or wounded, the remaining combatants still trading GUNFIRE
from under cover, screaming at each other to surrender, the club
largely emptied of party people, the disco laser lights dancing
and flashing through a heavy pall of cordite smoke...
ANGLE ON MAX
as Heller reaches him, gun aimed. Max freezes.
HELLER
Max?
MAX
Max Rilke! I'm just a damn cab
driver
Heller grabs him by the lapels, drags him off the floor...
HELLER
I know! I know! I'm Sergeant Heller!
I'm getting you out of here!
...and makes a break toward the rear exit.
STEADICAM MAX AND HELLER
as they leave the main club area behind, weaving down the dark
passageways toward the rear exit, Heller pushing Max on ahead,
covering their retreat with his Baretta poised...
MAX
Oh, man, am I happy to see you...
The open door looms ahead. Salvation. Fresh night air and
safety beyond. And just as they get out the back door...
EXT - ALLEY BEHIND CLUB - NIGHT
...Max's cab screeches to a stop before them, Vincent leveling
his Sig-Sauer from the the driver's window and FIRING THREE QUICK
SHOTS into Heller. Heller is taken right off his feet, a look of
incredible surprise on his face, dead even before his body hits
the ground. Max is horrified.
Vincent leaps from the cab as POLICE SIRENS SWELL CLOSER...
VINCENT
(ferocious)
A thousand cops comin' here! GET IN!
...and shoves Max behind the wheel, jumps in back:
VINCENT (CONT'D)
DRIVE!
Max hits the gas, peeling off in a cloud of smoke and leaving
the dead cop behind us as we
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT - AERIAL SHOT - MANHATTAN CITYSCAPE - NIGHT
CAMERA DRIFTS IN over Manhattan, floating like a dream, dizzying
us with a million lights...
...and WE ANGLE DOWN through the drifting canyons of buildings,
CLOSING ON an endless empty thoroughfare, finding no traffic at
this hour...
...except for one lone cab.
INT - MAX'S CAB - NIGHT
Stunned, Max drives in a state of shock.
In back, Vincent's quietly deep-breathing. Even he's a little
shaky.
VINCENT
What a clusterfuck. Everything but
the Polish cavalry.
(Max doesn't answer;
nothing)
You don't want to talk, tell me to fuck
off!
Indifferent, Vincent gazes out the window at the passing
buildings.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Good.
(beat)
Blood, urine and death get to you?
Try deep breathing. Or remember we
all die anyway...
MAX
You had to kill Heller?!
VINCENT
(blase)
Who's Heller?
MAX
That cop!
(beat)
Why'd you have to do that? You
couldn't wound him? The guy had a
family, maybe, parents, kids who gotta
grow up without a dad, he was probably
a good guy; and he believed me...
VINCENT
I shoulda saved him 'cause he believed
you?
MAX
No, not just that.
VINCENT
Yeah, that.
MAX
Yeah, so, what's wrong with that?
VINCENT
It's what I do for a living.
MAX
Some living.
VINCENT
Head towards Union Station.
MAX
What's at Union Station?
VINCENT
How are you at math? I was hired for
five hits. I did four.
MAX
(grim)
One more.
VINCENT
There you go...!
MAX
Whyn't you kill me and find another
cab.
VINCENT
You're too good.
(shrugs)
We're in this together. Fates
intertwined. Cosmic coincidence and
all that crap...
MAX
You're full of shit.
VINCENT
I'm full of shit?
(beat)
You're a monument of bullshit. You
even bullshitted yourself all I am, is
taking out the garbage. Bad guys
killing bad guys...
MAX
That's what you said...
VINCENT
And you believe me...?
MAX
What'd they do?
VINCENT
How do I know?
(beat)
But, they all got that "witnesses for
the prosecution" look to me. Probably
some major federal indictment against
somebody who majorly does not want to
get indicted... I dunno.
MAX
That's the reason?
VINCENT
That's the "why." That's the why?
There is no reason.
(beat)
No good reason; no bad reason. To
live or to die.
MAX
Then what are you?
VINCENT
(beat)
...indifferent.
Max hesitates...
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Get with it. Get over it.
...millions of galaxies of hundreds of
millions of stars and a speck on one
in a blink...that's us. Lost in
space. The universe doesn't care.
(beat)
The cop, you, me? Who notices?
MAX
What happened to you?
VINCENT
As in...?
(waits)
MAX
Man, if someone had a gun to your head
and said: "You gotta tell me what's
goin' on with that person over there
or I'll kill you"...they'd have to
kill you...
(beat)
'Cause you don't have a clue for...or
about...anyone...
(beat)
To be like that, I don't think you,
you have any of that for your own
life... Do you believe you're
entitled or at least expect to draw
breath in the a.m.? Open your eyes in
the morning? I don't think you do...I
don't think so...
(beat)
I think you are way low...like in your
estimation. In your estimation of
yourself. So how'd you get that
way...?
VINCENT
...all the cabbies in LA, I pull Max,
the man with X-ray vision...
MAX
Answer the question.
VINCENT
Look in the mirror.
(pause)
...piss-ant paper towels...a bottle of
409...saving up for goin' to the
Comoros. How much you got saved?
MAX
None of your business.
VINCENT
...pie in the sky? "Someday my
dream'll come..."
(beat)
But one night you'll wake up and
realize suddenly you're old. It
hasn't happened. It never will. Life
just flipped on you. Tomorrow
became yesterday. Then you'll
bullshit yourself it was never gonna
happen, anyway, and push it back in
memory...and anesthetize yourself in a
Barcalounger with daytime TV for the
rest of your life...
(beat)
Don't talk to me about murder. You're
do-in' yourself...in this yellow
prison with steel-belted radials.
Clocking in and out everyday...
The needle on the speedometer is creeping past forty...
VINCENT (CONT'D)
All it ever took was a ticket. What
the fuck are you still doing in LA?
Needle hitting the fifty mark...
MAX
'Cause I never got it straightened up;
made the push, made the moves...
VINCENT
Slow down.
MAX
(ignoring him)
I should have done that. Fixed it and
more. Get out from under what I been
under...
Needle pushing sixty...
VINCENT
You're going too fast.
MAX
But you know what? Nothing matters,
anyway. We are insignificant out here
in the big nowhere, say the badass
sociopath in my backseat. Right?
Yeah. That's one thing I've got to
thank you for, bro. And I never saw
it that way...
The cab goes blasting through an intersection on a red light. A
LOS ANGELES TIMES DELIVERY TRUCK SLAMS ON ITS BRAKES as Max
swerves, barely avoiding a collision.
VINCENT
That was a red light!
Max glances in the rearview.
MAX
...'til now.
Vincent pulls his Sig-Sauer and snaps off the safety, aiming at
Max's head. Max almost laughs.
VINCENT
Slow the hell down!
MAX
What are you gonna do, pull the
trigger? Kill us? Go ahead, man!
Shoot...my ass.
VINCENT
Slow down!
MAX
Vincent?
Their eyes meet in the rearview mirror. Vincent is stunned by a
look in Max that has never been there before. It's the look of
a man with nothing to lose.
MAX (CONT'D)
Go fuck yourself.
Max slams on the brakes and cranks the steering wheel hard...
EXT - STREET - NIGHT
...sending the cab slewing through an intersection, a few other
CARS veering wildly to avoid him...
...as the cab goes into a violent roll, flipping down the
street, SMASHING itself to pieces on the blacktop, shedding
parts, spewing glass, rolling at least a dozen times...
...and then settling upside-down, car revolving slowly to a
creaking stop, antifreeze drizzling across the pavement...
...and then everything goes silent, motionless, still.
PUSHING IN
on the wreckage. Steam billowing from the ruptured radiator.
Crumpled metal. Missing hood. Disintegrated windshield...
...and we find Max trapped upside-down in his seatbelt harness,
one side of his face streaked with blood. Alive but dazed.
He hears movement in the back. Moans. Sharp intake of breath.
Then a voice...
VINCENT
Well. That was brilliant.
MAX
Was your seatbelt fastened, honey?
Max lets out a dry laugh, starts painfully trying to unclasp his
seatbelt.
-- and a BLOODY HAND shoots from the darkness behind him,
whipping a GLEAMING BUTTERFLY KNIFE right at his face. Max jerks
his head aside and the knife misses him by inches, ramming
solidly into the headrest instead.
Max throws the buckle on his seatbelt, dropping and hitting the
ceiling of the cab, suddenly in a violent struggle for survival
as Vincent lunges forward, a dark avenging shape from the back
seat, trying to slice Max's throat, Max fighting wildly back,
trying to keep the knife at bay...
...and we hear a POLICE SIREN SWELLING. Vincent pauses, eyes
glittering like an animal sniffing the air for danger...
...and he's gone, vanishing like a shadow. Max looks out the
window...
MAX'S POV
...and catches a glimpse of Vincent's ankles running off into
the night. The J-frame is lying on the pavement ten or fifteen
yards away, where it skidded in the crash. Vincent scoops it up
on the run, SHOES CRUNCHING on broken safety glass as he
vanishes into darkness. The SIREN GROWS LOUDER.
Max crawls from the wreckage, emerging on the driver's side,
pushes painfully to his feet. Looks around.
A surreal moment. Max standing by his overturned cab, the empty
city all around him, breathing the cool night air.
Alive.
It strikes him in that moment. He's survived the night. The
blood pumping through his veins is a fact, undeniable,
intractable, blissful. It stuns him. Overwhelms him.
A sound escapes his throat, starting as a laugh, building toward
a scream. Whatever it is, it's release, blessed release, and he
howls it at the rooftops because the goddamn sirens are coming,
they're almost here, and how good is life?
An NYPD CRUISER screeches to a stop. TWO UNIFORMED COPS, a
black driver and his Hispanic partner. The Hispanic cop grabs
the mike off the dash, muttering an urgent call...
COP #2
Code 85, request ambulance, East 39th
between Fifth and Madison...
...while Cop #1 jumps out, stunned at all the wreckage:
COP #1
Holy shit, you okay?
And the mundane beauty of the question makes Max laugh even
harder, though hardly any sound is coming out now, it's more
like a hitching sob, and there are tears streaming down his
face. Cop #1 approaches Max, gentle but firm:
COP #1 (CONT'D)
Okay, my man, just relax. You've been
in an accident and you're in shock.
Help's on the way. You understand
what I'm saying?
(Max nods)
Anybody else in the cab?
Max shakes his head. The cop pulls his flashlight, briefly
checks the passenger compartment to make sure, returns his
attention to Max. Meanwhile, Cop #2 emerges from the cruiser,
circling around to inspect the wreckage...
COP #1 (CONT'D)
You dizzy? You want to sit down?
MAX
(finds his voice)
I'm...fine. Fine.
COP #1
You sure? You look pretty shaky...
Cop #2, now at the rear of the cab, suddenly freezes, his
flashlight beam finding:
COP #2
Oh, Christ. A body in the trunk.
He's been shot.
A heartbeat. Cop #1 stiffening, hand dropping to his holster,
Max glancing back, the trunk hanging open from the crash, the
corpse of Ivan Petrov in a sprawled heap.
Cop #1 steps back, drawing his handgun, shouting:
COP #1
Freeze! Hands where I can see 'em!
On your knees! Slowly!
Max does as he's told, hands in the air, getting to his knees on
the pavement, and the whole thing strikes him as so insane, so
fucking silly, that he can't help laughing again...
MAX
...arrest me, take me in, please...
...and he's on his knees, Cop #1 coming up behind him, Cop #2
hanging back and leveling his pistol, covering his partner...
PUSH IN ON MAX (SLO-MO)
Kneeling. One arm being brought down and wrenched behind his
back, handcuffs flashing as they descend...
MAX'S POV
PUSHING SLOWLY across the pavement. Debris from the wreckage.
Granules of shattered safety glass. Vincent's scattered files.
A black and white photograph of a familiar face. Nikolyai, the
guy with the bad suit and checked socks, now deceased...
TIGHTER AND TIGHTER ON MAX (SLO-MO)
as his gaze travels the debris, his expression changing, the
sardonic laugh dying in his throat...
MAX'S POV PUSHING IN
...because he sees it. The last file. There, among the
scattered pages, another photo:
Annie Farrell. U.S. Attorney's Office.
MAX (SLO-MO)
The breath goes out of him. He feels gut-punched. Cop #1 grabs
the other raised hand, wrenching it down Max's back,
seconds away from buffing both wrists...
...and Max sees one last thing:
THE SCATTERED FILES
Not far from Annie's photo, mostly concealed except for the butt
sticking out, is Vincent's Sig-Sauer.
MAX
erupts, fast, lunging forward on his knees, grabbing the Sig-
Sauer and whipping it up, coming around to his feet, jamming
the gun to the cop's neck. Max now using the cop as a shield,
his partner trying to draw down and get a clear shot:
COP #2
DROP IT! DROP THE FUCKING GUN! DROP
IT OR I'LL SHOOT!
But Max just jams the gun tighter to his hostage's throat. For
some insane reason, he's feeling clear, almost steady:
MAX
Nobody has to get hurt. I want your
gun on the ground.
COP #2
I SAID PUT THE FUCKING GUN DOWN! PUT
IT DOWN NOW! NOW!
MAX
(firm, loud)
When did we start negotiating? Lower
your weapon and put it on the fucking
ground!
A looks passes between the cops. The hostage terrified, eyes
pleading. His partner uncertain, wavering.
MAX (CONT'D)
(softly)
Nobody has to get hurt.
Cop #2 lowers his weapon. Lays it reluctantly on the ground.
Max pulls Cop #2's sidearm, shoves him toward his partner.
MAX (CONT'D)
Cuff yourselves to the door.
Cop #2 pulls his cuffs, puts his arm through the window frame of
the open squad car door, cuffs himself to his partner. They
toss their cuff keys. Trapped.
A tense silence. Max hefts the cop's gun in his left hand
almost embarrassed by it. He tosses it, bends down to the cab,
pulls Annie's card off the visor, starts backing away from the
cops...
MAX (CONT'D)
I'm sorry. I just don't have time for
you to believe me.
...and the last they see of him, he's vanishing up the street
into the darkness.
MAX
Running.
Stripped of everything now. Operating purely on instinct.
Vincent's gun in his right hand, handcuff dangling from his left
wrist...
Running.
Lungs starting to burn. The city silent around him. The only
sound his ragged breathing, his feet hitting the pavement...
Running.
TWO COP CARS rocketing through the intersection a block or so
behind him, SIRENS WAILING. Max veering for cover, not breaking
stride, pressing on...
SIRENS SWELLING all over the city now, police units responding,
Max spinning around, trying to pin the sound, what direction to
go, knowing he was only blocks away when the cab flipped...
Cutting onto Park Avenue, racing up the middle of the street
toward the Met Life Building, ducking some pre-dawn TRAFFIC...
Seeing a MAN ahead, striding along muttering into a CELL PHONE,
Max grabbing the phone right out of his hand as he sails past
him, the man spinning around to come after him:
MAN
Hey, motherfucker!
Max whips around, Sig-Sauer snapping up.
MAX
Fuck off!
The man does. Max keeps running, dialing, fumbling Annie's
business card, getting the numbers wrong, trying again...
...and he finally stops, gasping for breath, punching in the
final numbers as CAMERA CIRCLES SLOWLY AROUND HIM TO REVEAL:
ANNIE'S OFFICE BUILDING. We're on the raised roadbed of Park
Ave South, facing the building dead-on. It's flat and black,
monolithic, looming into the sky. Empty offices are lit here
and there, scattered sparsely up the face of the building.
Except...
Three floors are completely lit, 5th through 7th, pretty much at
eye level with Max. The office building and its windows create
a surreal effect, like a giant chessboard.
MAX (CONT'D)
(gripping cell phone)
C'mon, go through, go through...
Through WAVES OF CELL PHONE STATIC, we hear RINGING on the other
end...
INT - ELEVATOR - NIGHT
Vincent rides up, watching the numbers climb...
EXT - STREET - NIGHT
Max waits, heart pounding, eyes scanning the windows...
He sees a FIGURE on the uppermost fully-lit floor, 7th, crossing
an office to grab the phone. Annie.
INT - OFFICE - NIGHT
She lays down some files and grabs up the phone, bleary from
exhaustion. She wasn't kidding about pulling an all-nighter.
ANNIE
Annie Farrell.
(INTERCUT AS NEEDED between Annie and Max:)
MAX
(gasping for breath)
Annie...it's Max.
ANNIE
(uncertain)
Max...
MAX
Max, the cab driver!
ANNIE
(beat)
Max? Oh...
(glances at clock)
...it's kind of a strange time to be
calling...
MAX
Listen to me! Just listen, okay?
There's a man, Vincent, he's coming to
kill you!
ANNIE
He's...what? Say again? We're in
cell hell...
MAX
(shouting)
Kill you! He's coming to kill you!
ANNIE
(beat)
If this is a joke, it's not funny.
MAX
Dmitri hired him! He's already killed
all your witnesses, now he's coming
after you! He was stalking you when I
dropped you off. I don't know what
happened, but he diverted and got into
my cab, instead.
THE ELEVATOR DOORS
slide open onto Annie's floor. Vincent emerges, moving grimly
down the hallway...
INT - OFFICE - NIGHT
...while Annie tries to decipher what Max is saying through the
RISING AND FALLING CELL PHONE STATIC:
ANNIE
Did you say Dmitri? How do you know
about my case? I don't understand...
MAX
It doesn't matter! Just get out of
the goddamn building...
INT - HALLWAY - NIGHT
...but it's too late, Vincent's at the door marked "Annie
Farrell." He draws back and kicks the door in, smashing it off
its hinges, lunges through the doorway...
ANNIE'S OFFICE
...and finds nothing. It's not even the same office. Vincent
looks furiously around...
ANOTHER OFFICE
...while Annie finally grasps what Max is telling her:
ANNIE
...okay, Max, I believe you...I'll get
out of the building...
MAX
No, no, wait...
EXT - STREET - NIGHT
Max sees Vincent rampaging through the offices on the 5th floor,
tearing the place apart, looking for Annie...
...and CAMERA TILTS UP to reveal Annie two floors right above
Vincent. She's frozen at the desk, phone to her ear.
MAX
...he's two floors below you.
ANNIE
In my office?
MAX
Where are you, what floor?
ANNIE
Seventh, files section. What should I
do?
MAX
He doesn't know you're up there! Just
stay right where you are! Call the
police!
ANNIE
Max, I'm scared. Are you sure?
MAX
Yes! Stay put, goddamn it! Don't
move from that spot...
INT - ANNIE'S OFFICE - NIGHT
Vincent suddenly pauses. Eyes going to Annie's desk phone.
Suddenly realizing. One of the extension buttons is GLOWING.
He lunges to the desk, checks the glowing light. Right next to
it, typed on the phone's extension card is:
Files Section, 7th Fl.
Vincent looks toward the ceiling. Knowing where she is. CAMERA
TILTS UP of his look...
EXT - STREET - NIGHT
...as Max reacts, horrified, realizing Vincent knows exactly
where she is...
MAX
(into cell phone)
Annie, hang up! Get out! He knows
where you are! Get out!
INT - FILES SECTION - NIGHT
...but Annie's lost him in the CELL PHONE STATIC:
ANNIE
Hello? Max? Did you say something?
No use, he's gone. She punches a clear line, dials 911...
EXT - STREET - NIGHT
...as Max frantically hits redial. All he gets is a SHRILL FAST-
BUSY TONE. No cell service.
MAX
Shit!
Pure desperation. No time to think. Only to act. He glances
over the abutment to the road below. Fuck it. Over he goes,
falling to the pavement, hitting hard, pushing to his feet,
ankle wrenched, racing/hobbling across the street toward the
office building...
INT - FILES SECTION - NIGHT
...as Annie listens to the 911 RECORDING:
VOICE
...call will be answered in the order
received. If this is not an
emergency...
EXT - BUILDING LOBBY - NIGHT
Brightly lit inside, all-glass walls facing the street.
Max SLAMS against the glass, shaking the door, POUNDING,
hollering to be let in...but he stops, noticing:
Keys in the door lock. Dangling, just on the other side of the
glass. Night watchman's keys, an entire array.
Max scans the lobby with dread, sees:
A LONG SMEAR OF BLOOD across the white tile...
...leading to the LOBBY RECEPTION DESK. A PAIR OF FEET sticking
out. It's the NIGHT WATCHMAN, dragged there by Vincent.
INT - FILES SECTION - NIGHT
Annie finally hears a CLICK ON THE LINE as:
FEMALE VOICE (FILTERED)
Manhattan 911, what is the nature of
your problem?
ANNIE
There's a man in the building, he's
trying to kill me...
TELEPHONE MAINTENANCE ROOM/5TH FLOOR HALLWAY
...and WHACK! Vincent swings a FIRE AX, instantly severing the
building's telephone trunk line, sparks sputtering from the
bundled cables. He tosses the ax, exits into the hallway, jabs
the elevator button...
INT - FILES SECTION - NIGHT
...as Annie finds herself talking to a dead line:
ANNIE
...hello?
EXT - BUILDING LOBBY - NIGHT
Max hurls a steel trash can at the glass wall with all his
might. It just bounces off the inch-thick glass.
Max pauses, flabbergasted. That's some tough goddamn glass. He
raises Vincent's Sig-Sauer, braces himself, squeezes the
trigger. Nothing. Shit, where's the safety on this thing?
He tries again. FIRES TWO SHOTS into the glass door, causing a
big chunk to disintegrate. He reaches in, frantic, turning the
key in the lock...
INT - FILES SECTION - NIGHT
Annie, frozen with indecision. What to do? Stay or go?
She turns. In keeping with the building's design, a WALL OF
GLASS separates this area from the corridor beyond, which runs
the length of these offices. Normally, you'd be able to see
people walking the hallway out there, going to and fro.
Right now, the corridor's silent and dark. Terrifying.
Screw it. Go. She forces herself to move, across the office,
running now, out the door...
CORRIDOR
...and she barely gets ten feet before she hears:
DING. The elevator. Arriving. Down the hall. Just around the
corner.
She stands frozen. Heart pounding. Listening.
Elevator DOORS OPENING. A SOFT FOOTSTEP. Somebody getting off.
Somebody stealthy.
She backpedals, terrified, back into the office...
FILES SECTION
...where she closes the glass door, locks it, kills the overhead
lights. Nothing now but the CITY GLOW spilling faintly through
the windows. She runs across the room, drops behind:
A DESK F.G.
Annie crouches there, back pressed against the desk, trying to
still her breathing.
Over the desk, b.g., is the glass wall running the length of the
office area. The corridor beyond. Empty.
She can't hear a thing. Just her heart pounding. The silence
makes her want to scream.
A FIGURE appears in the murky darkness out there. Vincent.
Peering in through the glass.
He tries the door. Rattles it gently. The sound makes her
breath catch in her throat. Eyes wide.
Vincent stands there for what seems an eternity.
And then moves on, continuing down the hall. FOOTSTEPS receding
softly. Then quiet.
TIGHT ON ANNIE
Waiting. Not breathing. Still as a statue.
Now! Go! Rising quickly, fast-fast, across the office, get
out, get out now, unlocking the door, swinging it open, out into
the hallway toward the elevators...
CORRIDOR
...and she slams right into Vincent waiting for her in the
darkness! She SCREAMS, grappling wildly as he wrestles her back
through the door into the office...
FILES SECTION
...and he throws her violently across a desk, smashing her
through a computer, Annie hitting the floor hard, scrambling to
get away, crawling, but Vincent's coming around the desk,
grabbing her kicking ankles, dragging her back...
...but Annie lands a kick to his face, breaks free, scrambles to
her feet, racing now across the Files Section, bashing into
desks in the dark, Vincent right behind her, hurling obstacles
aside...
...and WHAM! Annie hits a desk at full run, never even saw it,
doubling over as Vincent catches her, driving her to the floor
with his weight, straddling her, snarling now as he grabs the
phone off the desk, wraps the cord around her neck, jerks it
taut with both hands.
Vincent straining. Annie on her hands and knees, strangling,
mouth opening and closing for air that isn't there, not even a
breath, fingers prying in vain at the phone cord wrapped around
her throat...
Dying. She's dying. And she knows it.
VINCENT
Teeth bared. Sweat breaking out on his forehead from the
sustained effort. Moments away from finishing the job...
...when a TINY GLOWING RED DOT suddenly appears, travels up his
arm, settling on the spot just behind his ear.
Vincent slowly turns.
A SILHOUETTE in the doorway. Aiming a gun. For a moment,
Vincent can't quite bring himself to believe:
VINCENT
Max?
MAX
Let her go.
Vincent laughs once, harsh, like a dog's bark.
VINCENT
What are you gonna do, shoot m--
BLAM! A MUZZLE FLASH. It's like Vincent just got kicked in the
head. He grows sprawling.
Max rushes to Annie. She's pulling the cord from around her
throat, gasping in great lungfuls of ragged breath.
MAX
Are you all r--
They hear a GROAN. Max goes stiff, pulls her to her feet. Both
of them backing away, maneuvering toward the door, Max with the
Sig-Sauer poised...
VINCENT
sits up, eyes glittering, hand clasped to the side of his head,
blood coursing through his fingers.
VINCENT
Jesus, Max. You shot my fuckin' ear
off.
He pulls his hand away and laughs in amazement, staring at the
sheet of blood on his palm. He looks to Max.
VINCENT (CONT'D)
Good one.
Max keeps the Sig-Sauer aimed, pulls Annie out into the
corridor. She slams the glass door, moving quick, locking it
from the outside. Vincent gives them a tight smile...
...and his hand thrusts down, yanking his J-frame from an ankle
holster, arm coming up stiff and straight, Max and Annie
running, Vincent tracking them as he RAPID-FIRES --
CORRIDOR
-- and BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! come the gunshots,
punching a ragged line of fractures in the glass, Max and Annie
barely one step ahead the bullets...
...and then they're gone, cutting around the corner toward the
elevators...
...and a moment later the GLASS WALL EXPLODES into the corridor,
Vincent CRASHING through, landing in painful sprawl, pushing
to his feet.
IN THE ELEVATOR
Max hits the ground floor button, the doors taking about a
million years to close. Just as they're sliding shut, he sees
Vincent running up the corridor, slapping fresh bullets into the
J-frame with a speed-loader, raising the gun...
Max throws himself on Annie, both to the floor as BULLETS PUNCH
through the doors. But the elevator's moving now...
7TH FLOOR HALLWAY
...leaving Vincent behind. He pounds on the doors, screaming:
VINCENT (CONT'D)
GODDAMN, MAX, GOOD FOR YOU! YOU FUCK!
He darts down the hallway for the stairs.
IN THE ELEVATOR
Max and Annie on the floor, breathing hard, staring at each
other in wordless shock. They reach the ground floor...
BUILDING LOBBY
...and Max drags her to her feet as the doors open, the two of
them racing across the open lobby for the exit.
BUILDING STAIRWELL
Vincent careens down the steps, the entire side of his head
bloody, his ear mostly gone. He SLAMS through a door into --
THE LOBBY
-- where he finds the elevator standing empty. He turns, sees
the shattered lobby door, runs out of the building --
OUTSIDE THE BUILDING
-- and pauses, hearing FOOTSTEPS RUNNING ON CONCRETE. He
catches a glimpse of Max and Annie running across East 42nd
Street toward Grand Central. He takes off after them.
MAX AND ANNIE
make it across the street, rushing into:
INT - GRAND CENTRAL STATION - NIGHT
The magnificent rotunda, quiet as a cathedral. Max and Annie
race in, FOOTSTEPS ECHOING in the silence.
Hardly a soul in sight, except for an OLD BLACK FLOWER VENDOR
setting up his cart for the morning rush. Max and Annie keep
running, knowing Vincent's not far behind, Max yelling:
MAX
CALL THE POLICE!
The old man stares at them like they're nuts. They run across
the rotunda toward the boarding ramps. Suddenly, Vincent comes
through the same entrance they did, raising his J-frame.
BOOOOOM! The J-frame's never been louder, ECHOING LIKE A CANNON
in the rotunda. The old man throws himself behind his cart as --
BOOOOOM! BOOOOOM! BOOOOOM! BOOOOOM! Vincent FIRES FOUR MORE
SHOTS as Annie and Max disappears down the boarding ramp, BULLETS
CHEWING HUGE HOLES in the wall at their backs...
Vincent goes after them, re-loading on the run, FOOTSTEPS
RINGING across the marble.
INT - BOARDING RAMPS - NIGHT
Neon-lit and eerie, tubes flickering overhead.
Max and Annie run, turning this way and that, trying to decide
which way to go.
The SOUND OF A TRAIN grows, disembodied, drawing nearer and
nearer, WHEELS SHRIEKING ON STEEL until it's deafening...
INT - SUBWAY TUNNEL - NIGHT
...and the TRAIN PULLS IN, HEADLIGHT GLARING. Max and Annie run
into the tunnel, down the platform, ducking into...
THE THIRD SUBWAY CAR
...where they collapse, catching their breath, waiting for the
doors to close and the train to pull out.
And waiting.
The train sits there for only seconds, but it seems like hours,
like fucking forever. They're riveted to the ramp entrance,
praying Vincent doesn't appear, hoping they've lost him.
The doors start to close, sliding irrevocably shut...
...and Vincent sails into the tunnel, going for the first car,
slamming his hand into the closing doors. The train starts to
move, Vincent running alongside, trying to force them open,
train picking up speed...
THIRD SUBWAY CAR
Max and Annie are at the sliding door which adjoins the cars,
peering through the window into the car ahead, not sure if
Vincent made it or not. Then, down at the far end...
[NOTE: PAGES 106 & 107 -- THE SUBWAY CHASE SCENE --
ARE MISSING FROM THE SCRIPT.]
Vincent turns his head slightly, watching Max draw cautiously
nearer. Max stares down, seeing the blood spreading across the
floor beneath Vincent. Turning into quite a pool.
Vincent tries to speak, can't quite manage. Max sits next to
him. Annie appears b.g. from the last car, watching them.
VINCENT AND MAX
just sit there, riding the train. Softly:
MAX
We're almost at the next station.
Vincent smiles faintly. He leans his head toward Max as if
conferring a secret. In a halting whisper:
VINCENT
Guy. Gets on a subway. Dies.
(off Max's look)
Think anybody'll notice?
Vincent leans back, gazing straight ahead now. Rocking gently
with the motion of the train...
...and suddenly, much to Max's amazement, Vincent starts to
laugh. It comes out as a soft, rasping wheeze, but it's laughter
all the same.
Max just stares at him. He has no idea what's so funny, but
Vincent's exhibiting a lot of mirth for a dying man. Vincent
raises his hand, points. Look.
Max follows his gaze. There, right across the car, among all
the ADVERTISEMENTS lining the wall near the ceiling, is:
AN AD
The whitest sand and bluest sea you can imagine. A dream place.
Limitless horizon. Sailboats dotting the blue. A cheerful
blurb advises us to:
Visit the Beautiful Caribbean!
MAX
gazes at the ad. It dawns on him that Vincent's no longer
laughing. In fact, Vincent's no longer doing anything. Ever.
Annie comes to Max and sits. Takes his hand. They ride the
train together, side by side, both staring up at the ad,
hypnotized by all that blue, neither saying a word. For now.
The WHEELS SHRIEK as the train pulls in to a station...
WIDE ANGLE OF SUBWAY CAR
...and Max pulls Annie to her feet. The doors open. They
silently get off.
The doors close again. The train pulls out.
WE HOLD ON Vincent for a while. Riding the train by himself,
head back as if sleeping.
Just another dead guy on the subway...
FADE OUT