Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.
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INT. FALLON'S APARTMENT - DAY
In this cluttered efficiency, books are stacked in every
available space. The bare walls exhibit peeling paint. Close
to the only window is a card table sporting a half full bottle
of Wild Turkey, a sheet of aluminum foil, and a book.
Sitting at the table, FALLON, 29, broods over a letter she's
writing.
Fallon smooths a ten dollar bill out and places it on the
sheet of foil. She stops, centers it on the foil like it's the
most important thing she'll ever do.
Folding the bill in the foil, pressing each crease like a
child would a paper airplane, Fallon takes a break to sip
whiskey.
Fallon slams a book down to the floor shattering the room's
silence. She writes...
FALLON
Emily, no matter what anyone says, God
isn't dead, he's just sleeping real
heavy.
Under the weight of the tome on the floor, a rat twitches in
death throes.
EXT. NEW ORLEANS, CAFE - MORNING
House sparrows pick through the trash in the streets as the
first rays of sun break.
DANA, a 22 year old neophyte whose been awake for 36 hours,
meditates over her Cafe du Monde coffee.
She smokes a Kool cigarette while studying DOC, a bony 40
something year-old whose sweat soaks his clothes.
Around Dana, scurrying Asian women prepare for the tourists.
The Cathedral bell rings and Doc double-checks his watch.
Dana's eyes wander from his Bourbon Street T-shirt to his
expensive slacks.
Doc drains his coffee and fingers the black leather bag
sitting next to him, and stands to get himself a refill.
Dana inhales, taps her ash, and their eyes lock.
DOC
Hi.
Doc gives Dana a faint smile, she exhales a puff of smoke in
his direction.
Doc moves past then crash.
Looking over her shoulder, Dana sees Doc bowing an apology to
some young girl and the tray of silverware overturned on the
ground.
Dana's got the bag in her hand, hops over the small fence, and
is sprinting toward Jackson Square. Glancing up, Doc sees the
bag swinging from Dana's hand and he sprints after her.
EXT. NEW ORLEANS, JACKSON SQUARE - MORNING
Running past the statue, Dana SLAMS into JUNIOR, a massive man
who dresses smart and is always has the stub of a cigar in his
mouth. Of course, she is knocked to the ground.
JUNIOR
Whoa there little sister.
DANA
Fuck off.
Dana scrambles up and is back to full speed. Junior can't
help but smile.
Junior dusts off his blue suit, slides on his shades, and
takes one last glance in the direction Dana had gone before
someone else jostles his massive frame.
DOC
Did you see....
Wheezing, Doc stops mid-sentence and he stares into the cool
dark reflection of himself in the black shades.
JUNIOR
Destiny is a bitch.
Doc straightens up. A stutter-step back isn't enough, and
Junior wraps his huge paw around Doc's neck and holds him up.
DOC
This could save the world.
Junior's thick fingers release Doc's sweaty neck. Doc crumples
to the ground.
Doc's hand goes to his neck, and looks at the dash of blood
left on his palm.
Doc spies Junior spinning a small, gold ring on his finger and
a tiny needle sliding back into its hiding place, submerged in
gold.
JUNIOR
The question is: what can save you? You
have 90 seconds before your heart turns
on you.
Silent now, Doc eyes dart from here to there looking for
something, someone to save him.
Junior's detached demeanor resembles a scientist observing a
rat die in a medical experiment.
DOC
You're all monsters.
Breathing heavier, Doc clutches at his chest.
JUNIOR
60 seconds.
Tears start to roll down Doc's cheeks as his eyes turn toward
the image of the church steeple just 70 yards away.
JUNIOR (cont'd)
Yes, He may forgive you, in time, but
only I can show you mercy. Where is it?
Junior takes out a white handkerchief, steps to Doc's
contorting body, kneels down next to him, and wipes his brow.
Between shallow breathes, Doc whispers a word.
Junior stands up, puts his wet handkerchief back into his
pocket, and walks way. He doesn't look back.
EXT. NEW ORLEANS, DANA'S HOUSE - MORNING
Dana stubs her cigarette before swinging opening the security
door to this run-down shotgun house and walking in.
INT. NEW ORLEANS, DANA'S HOUSE - MORNING
EPHE, a strapping man of 23, has a temper like fire in an oil
field. He sports a thin muscle T-shirt and a dozen tattoos.
Ephe doesn't look up from the couch when Dana comes in, plops
down in a lawn chair across from him, and opens up the bag.
DANA
Let's see what the good doctor
prescribed.
Dana smiles at Ephe and that's when she sees the blunt in his
fingers, and his blood-shot, glazed-over eyes. Disgusted, she
pulls out a shirt, a tie, some socks and glasses.
DANA (cont'd)
Aw shit..
She turns the bag upside down and shakes all the contents out.
She sweeps her hands through the contents and then whips the
bag across the room.
When the bag hits the wall, there's a sound, a chink of
something metal and the bag lands open, and there, in the side
of the bag's inner lining, a small, cylindrical METAL CASE.
Dana's thin fingers wrap up the case and pull it from its
hiding space. She's shaking.
Kneeling there on the dirty wood floor, she open the case, and
her eyes widen.
EXT. CALIFORNIA, ERIN'S HOUSE - AFTERNOON
A very nice, proper home on a proper street. The bushes are
trimmed, the annuals lining the driveway are in all their
passion, and the small birdbath gurgles with tiny feathered
creatures.
And then a 1973 Gremlin, in all its clanking splendor, veers
through the flower bed, ruts of the grass, and touches the
birdbath. The door opens, tipping it over.
A sandaled foot with a yin/yang tatoo emerges, and then the
other foot, and a Styrofoam cup drops between them in the
grass.
INT. ERIN'S BEDROOM - AFTERNOON
Spacious. Beautiful. Perfect. The Mahogany bed, made. The
diploma from MIT, framed. Hundreds of DVD's in cases lining
the walls, alphabetized.
Tapping at the keyboard of her laptop is ERIN, a 25 year old
computer genius or geek depending on who you talked to, who
doesn't even turn around when the door bursts open.
ERIN
You'll never guess what I just....
Erin finishes her typing with a triumphant tap on the
keyboard, looks over at Fallon in the threshold of the door,
and her mouth falls open.
FALLON
The bastards want me. Oh they want my
low cut shirt, fuck me lips and shop-vac
lungs. They want my sultry, yet innocent
voice, to plead, now, baby, now. I feel
sorry for the male species. It's just
too easy.
Fallon has a blender up almost over her head scooping out the
last dribbles of what seems to a smoothie while at the same
time her arms press against her breasts making them huge in
the tight leather top.
ERIN
Fal!
Fallon drops the blender, wipes her mouth on her arm, and lays
a sinister smile on Erin.
FALLON
So I drank your high powered ephedrine-
ginko boba-brain boost. I need the fuel.
Erin makes her way to Fallon, studying her body the whole
time.
ERIN
You have boobs.
Fallon grins.
FALLON
You just noticed?
ERIN
I mean, you have boobs. Did you?
FALLON
Come on!
Erin reaches out to touch one and Fallon slaps her hand away.
ERIN
They're real?
FALLON
Don't get weird on me, Erin. We have a
mission.
Fallon swirls and bounds down the stairs toward the open front
door.
Erin picks up the blender, grabs her bag, puts her laptop
under her arm, and she's off.
EXT. ERIN'S HOUSE - AFTERNOON
Fallon revs the engine heaving wet-black smoke into the air
and splotches of oil on the grass. When Erin comes she rights
the birdbath.
ERIN
I'm officially banning you from my house,
Fal. I'm serious this time.
Erin looks at the flowers and the tire ruts in the oil stained
grass then back to Fallon.
ERIN (cont'd)
No, you're banned from my block.
Fallon lights a cigarette and pulls away making Erin jump in
the passenger seat.
FALLON
I need to stop trying to quit smoking; it
makes me crazy.
ERIN
Yeah, the surgeon general's warning
clearly says may cause madness in crazy
bitches who are trying to quit.
Fallon responds with an evil grin.
INT. GREMLIN - AFTERNOON
Large plastic bugs litter the soda stained dash, tragic hard
core alternative music blasts from blown speakers, and the
speedometer levels out at thirty miles per hour.
A hand covered with a spider web tatoo dangles a cigarette out
an open window as a puff of white smoke wafts out into the
air.
EXT. MIDDLE CLASS NEIGHBORHOOD - AFTERNOON
Chugging through a typical middle class neighborhood in Palo
Alto, California, this rust-red 1973 AMC Gremlin stands out.
A GIRL, about eight years old and weighted down by a backpack
that looks bigger than she is, walks a little ahead of a group
of talking children.
Halfway across the street, she straightens up under the weight
of her bag and listens.
First there is a moment of recognition, then utter terror as
she tries to run, looking more like a loaded combat GI than a
third grader.
INT. GREMLIN - AFTERNOON
A sandaled foot slams on the gas peddle. The speedometer
peaks at thirty five and holds steady.
EXT. MIDDLE CLASS NEIGHBORHOOD - AFTERNOON
Children shed their bags, their books, their lunches and shove
the Girl in front of them to the safety of the grass where
they pile in behind her.
The Gremlin's engine races, but the car does not pick up
speed, instead it belches smoke into the kids' tearing faces
turning backpacks into sludge covered messes and lunch boxes
into oil slicked pieces of recyclable aluminum.
FALLON
Filthy cretins!
A burning cigarette flies out the window toward the herd, and
lands next to the Girl. The Girl picks up the burning butt,
and takes a slow, meditative drag.
EXT. CALIFORNIA, HOTEL - NIGHT
The hotel is exquisite in its classic decor. Outside, a line
of extravagant vehicles wait for the valet.
The men and women who exit vehicles are in black dresses and
fitted tuxedos. Pearls and gold and diamonds are sported with
pomp and authority.
On seeing a a full bodied woman, Fal smiles and points.
FALLON
Oh praise be to saline cleavage, you who
give us much out of so little.
ERIN
Amen.
On the side of the hotel by the employee entrance, a Mexican
man, ROLLANDO, dressed in his employee's uniform smokes a
cigarette and watches the action out front.
When Rollando notices the girls coming toward him, he stomps
out the cigarette, props the door open and smiles an unnerving
smile.
ROLLANDO
Hola.
Erin blushes and shields her laptop as Fallon pushes her past
Rollando and into the hallway.
INT. HOTEL HALLWAY - NIGHT
Fallon leads the charge as if she is the one who works here.
She takes one hallway, then the next, ignoring the eyes Erin
makes at the man following them.
ERIN
Is he your Latin lover?
FALLON
All yours, my sister.
ERIN
Yummy.
Laughing, Fallon takes the laptop from Erin's hand and storms
into a small room, becoming all business.
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Script created with Final Draft by Final Draft, Inc.
