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Niki Wurster Visit our Movie Scripts Page screenplay 451: http://www.geocities.com/~screenplay451/ Mao Guangqin 2 0 2000-01-15T04:49:00Z 2000-01-15T04:49:00Z 42 19240 109669 Pumpkin Software 913 219 134681 9.2504 21 6 磅 5.2 磅 0 0 The Us
Verbal?
VERBAL
Roger really. People say I talk too much.
HOCKNEY
Yeah, I was gonna tell you to shut up.
KEATON
We've met once or twice. Last time was in...
VERBAL
County. I was in for fraud.
KEATON
You were waiting for a line-up then, too. What
happened with that?
VERBAL
I walked. Ninety days, suspended.
HOCKNEY
So you did it?
VERBAL
To your mother's ass.
Verbal looks away from Hockney, awaiting a violent response. Everyone slowly starts to laugh. Hockney looks as if he is about to boil in his own skin.
KEATON
(to Hockney)
Let it go.
Verbal smiles at Keaton appreciatively.
McManus stands and walks to the toilet in the corner of the cell. He
starts taking a leak;
Look, we've all been put out by this, I figure we owe
it to ourselves to salvage a little dignity. Now Fenster and I got wind of a
possible job –
KEATON
Why don't you just calm down'
HOCKNEY
What do you care what he says?
MCMANUS
Yeah, I'm just talking here, and Hockney seems to want
to hear me out. I know Fenster is with me –
(to Verbal)
How about you, guy?
McManus finishes pissing.
VERBAL
I'm interested, sure.
MCMANUS
There, so you see, I'm going to exercise my right to
free assembly.
McManus taps the bars of his cell and the others LAUGH.
KEATON
I'm not kidding. Shut your mouth.
MCMANUS
You're missing the point.
KEATON
No, you're missing the point. Shut up. I don't want to
hear anything you have to say. I don't want to know about your "job".
Just don't let me hear you. I want nothing to do with any of you –
(beat)
I beg your pardon but all of you can go to hell.
MCMANUS
Dean Keaton, gone the high road. What is the world
coming to?
McManus and Keaton stare at one another for a long and tense moment. Finally McManus turns to the others.
MCMANUS (CONT'D)
Forget him then.
(whispering)
Now I can't talk about this here in any detail, but
listen up...
Everyone but Keaton gravitates toward McManus's cell as he begins to speak in low, hushed tones.
VERBAL (V.O.)
And that was how it began. The five of us brought in
on a trumped-up charge to be leaned on by half-wits. What the cops never
figured out, and what I know now, was that these men would never break, never
lie down, never bend over for anybody... anybody.
EXT. PIER – DAY – SAN PEDRO – PRESENT DAY
It is morning in the aftermath of the opening scene. Harsh sunlight shines on a line of body bags on the dock.
Police swarm everywhere, photographers are taking pictures of the
scene while a team of men in rolled up sleeves and plastic gloves pick at the
remains.
Two men on a fire boat operate a water cannon, dousing the
smoldering remains of a burned-out ships hull.
Watching this from the edge of the pier is a man in a dark suit. He
is SPECIAL AGENT JACK BAER of the FBI He is tall and fit, in his late thirties. He gazes out over
the water thoughtfully.
A UNIFORM COP trots up to him.
COP
Who are you?
Baer holds up his badge without looking at the man.
BAER
Agent Jack Baer, FBI How many dead?
Before the cop can answer, Baer turns and walks along the line of body bags.
COP
Fifteen so far. We're still pulling some bodies out of
the water.
Baer eyes the corpses on the dock, burned beyond recognition.
COP
Looking for anyone in particular?
Baer looks at the cop for the first time, unamused.
BAER
I don't want any of the bodies taken away until I've
had a chance to go over this, understood?
COP
I have to clear the scene. I've got word direct from
the Chief
Baer lights a cigarette, only half listening.
BAER
(unimpressed)
Yes, the chief. Spooky stuff. Any survivors?
COP
Two. There's a guy in county hospital, but he's in a
coma. The D.A. has the other guy – a cripple – from New York I think. Listen,
the Chief said –
BAER
Excuse me.
Baer walks away from the cop, ignoring him completely. He wanders through the carnage on the pier.
EXT. OCEAN
A half mile out from the pier.
The sea is choppy, stirred by the wind. An object floats into view a
few feet away, bobbing in the water.
It is a DEAD BODY – a man, face down, wearing a CHECKERED BATHROBE. He drifts quietly toward the open ocean.
INT. HEARING ROOM – DAY – LOS ANGELES PRESENT
Verbal Kint sits in a chair in front of a microphone attached to a
tape recorder, his brow beaded with sweat.
On the wall behind him is the seal of the STATE OF CALIFORNIA.
He is cleaner, better kept, in a well-cut suit and neatly trimmed
hair. He looks older than he did in New York – worn down.
A flurry of voices banter off screen. Verbal's eyes follow the
voices back and forth.
VOICE #1 (O.S.)
My client offers his full cooperation in these
proceedings. In exchange, his testimony is to be sealed and all matters
incriminating to himself are to be rendered inadmissible.
VOICE #2 (O.S.)
The district attorney's office will comply provided –
VOICE #1
No provisions, nothing. My clients testimony for his
immunity.
VOICE #2
May-I be frank, Counselor? I suspect your political
power as much as I respect it. I don't know why Mr. Kint has so many faceless
allies in City Hall, and I don't care. The embarrassment he helped cause the
city of New York will not happen here.
VOICE #1
Immunity.
VOICE #2
Counselor, I will prosecute your client.
VOICE #1
Then prosecute. I will be very impressed to see if the
District Attorney manages to bring in twenty-seven simultaneous counts of
murder against one man with cerebral palsy. I would think a man with your job
would agree with these alleged "faceless people in City Hall" you
mention.
VOICE #2
One would think the counsel is veiling a threat.
VOICE #1
Counsel isn't veiling anything.
VOICE #2
I'll take my chances then. I'll feel safer without a
job if a man like Mr. Kint is behind bars.
VOICE #1
Mr. Kint will plead guilty to weapons possession.
VOICE #2
You're joking.
VOICE #1
Weapons. Misdemeanor one.
VOICE #2
Counselor, you're insulting me.
VOICE #1
Counselor, you're bluffing. Shall I push for
misdemeanor two?
Voices mumble off screen. Verbal fidgets in his chair.
VOICE #2
Misdemeanor one. Fine. This is ludicrous.
A tiny smile and a genuine look of disbelief flash across Verbal's face.
VOICE #2 (CONT'D)
(clearing throat)
As for the rest of the charges grand larceny, arson...
murder – the district attorney will accept the subject's testimony in
connection with the above mentioned events and in exchange will offer complete
immunity. The transcript... The transcript of said testimony will be sealed and
all matters incriminating to Mr. Kint will be rendered inadmissible.
Verbal lets out a long-held sigh of relief.
INT. POLICE STATION – HALLWAY – DAY
David Kujan is walking quickly beside SERGEANT
RABIN, a dark and weathered looking man
in his late thirties. They move up a staircase into the heart of police
headquarters.
KUJAN
What do you mean I can't see him?
RABIN
The D.A. came down here last night ready to arraign
before they even moved him to county. Kint's lawyer comes in and five minutes
later, the D.A. comes out looking like he'd been bitch-slapped by the boogey
man. They took his statement and cut him a deal.
KUJAN
Did they charge him with anything?
RABIN
Weapons. Misdemeanor two.
KUJAN
What the fuck is that?
Rabin motions for Kujan to lower his voice. He points out that they are walking through a bullpen filled with desks where a number of other police are working within earshot.
RABIN
I give the D.A. credit for getting that much to stick.
This whole thing has turned political. The Mayor was here – the chief – the
Governor called this morning, for Christ's sake. This guy is protected – From
up on high by the prince of fucking darkness.
KUJAN
When does he post bail?
RABIN
Two hours, tops.
KUJAN
I want to see him.
Rabin comes to an office door with his name on it. He opens it and lets Kujan in before following.
INT. RABIN'S OFFICE
RABIN
Dave, please.
Rabin's office can only be described as a disaster area. The desk is cluttered with weeks, perhaps months or even years of paperwork that could never conceivably be sorted out.
Above his desk is a bulletin board. It is a breathtaking catastrophe
of papers, wanted posters, rap-sheets, memos and post-its. This is in the
neighborhood of decades. Rabin is a man with a system so cryptic, so far beyond
the comprehension of others, he himself is most likely baffled by it.
RABIN (CONT'D)
Even if I was to let you talk to him, he won't talk to
you. He's paranoid about being recorded and he knows the interrogation rooms
are wired
KUJAN
This won't be an' interrogation, just a... friendly
chat to kill time.
RABIN
(enunciating)
He won't go into the interrogation room.
KUJAN
Someplace else, then.
RABIN
Where?
Kujan looks around Rabin's messy office.
RABIN (CONT'D)
No, no, no, no, no.
KUJAN
If it was a dope deal, where's the dope, if it was a
hit, who called it in?
RABIN
And I am sure you have a host of wild theories to
answer these questions.
KUJAN
You know damn well what I think.
RABIN
That's crazy, Dave and it doesn't matter. He has total
immunity and his story checks out. He doesn't know what you want to know.
KUJAN
I don't think he does. Not exactly, but there's a lot
more to his story. I want to know why twenty-seven men died on that pier for
what looks to be ninety-one million dollars worth of dope that wasn't there.
Above all, I want to be sure that Dean Keaton is dead.
RABIN
He's dead.
KUJAN
Two hours. Just until he makes bail.
RABIN
They're all dead. No matter how tough your. say this
Keaton was, no one on that boat could've made it out alive.
INT. HOSPITAL – DAY
A door marked "INTENSIVE CARE". The door BURSTS OPEN.
SUDDENLY, the hallway is a flurry of activity. DOCTOR
LISA PLUMBER, age fifty, walks quickly
beside JACK BAER. Baer walks with all
of the determination of a battalion of Chinese infantry.
DOCTOR RIDGLY WALTERS, a young intern in his late twenties rushes
up to them.
PLUMBER
Ridgly, this is Special Agent Jack Baer from the FBI
Agent Baer, this is Doctor Ridgly Waiters.
RIDGLY
Nice to meet you.
BAER
Is he talking?
RIDGLY
He regained consciousness less than an hour ago. He
spoke – not English – then he lapsed.
BAER
Hungarian?
RIDGLY
I don't know.
BAER
It was Hungarian. Most of them were Hungarians. Any
fluent Hungarians on your staff?
RIDGLY
We have a Turkish audiologist.
Ridgly opens a door and Baer barrels through.
INT. HOSPITAL ROOM
Baer comes to an abrupt halt at the foot of a bed surrounded by a
massive tangle of medical equipment. In the center of it all is the as yet
unnamed ARKOSH KOVASH, mid-thirties. His body is nearly mummified in bandages and plaster
from waist to chin.
BOLD IS OVERLAPPED:
KOVASH
(in Hungarian)
Are you the police? I need the police. He'll find out
I'm here and he'll kill me. I need the police. I will tell them anything they
want to know. Please, I am going to be killed.
BAER
Will he die?
PLUMBER
There's a chance.
Baer walks over to Rovash and kneels down on the bed beside him.
He looks closely at his battered and scalded face. He listens to him far a moment. Kovash goes on incessantly.
KOVASH
(in Hungarian)
Find someone who understands me, you idiot, I'm going
to be killed. You'll all be killed if he has to do it. Help me, God. They're
all stupid. Get someone who understands me or we're all going to die.
Baer pulls a cellular phone out of his jacket and dials.
BAER
Call hospital security and put a man on the door until
the police get here.
KOVASH
(in Hungarian)
Why are you just standing there, you idiot? I'm not
speaking English am I? Wouldn't it make sense to find someone who could talk to
me so you could find the person that set me on fire, perhaps? He is the Devil.
You've never seen anyone like Keyser Soze in all your miserable life you idiot.
Keyser Soze. Do you at least understand that? Keyser Soze. The Devil himself.
Or are you American policemen io stupid that you haven't even heard of him.
Keyser Soze, you ridiculous man. KEYSER SOZE.
Ridgly runs out of the room. Kovash babbles louder and louder, trying to get Baer's attention. Baer sticks a finger in one ear to block him out and hear the phone.
