Page 1

                (SPLASH) MED C/U: TRIUMPH, SNARLING, HIS HAND IN FORCED PERSPECTIVE, FIRING AN ENERGY BOLT. TRIUMPH's FACE DOUBLE-LIT BY LIGHT FROM ENERGY BURST. TRIUMPH's HAIR IS BLOWN BY FIERCE WIND. WE'RE IN TOO CLOSE TO TELL, BUT HE'S IN FLIGHT. THE STRAP FROM AN OVERSIZED DUFFEL BAG IS SLUNG OVER HIS SHOULDER. WE DON'T HAVE TO SEE THE BAG YET, YOU JUST NEED TO KNOW IT'S THERE.

TITLE 1:                         SQUISH

^[1]WILMA CAPTION 2:        Triumph.

TRIUMPH 3:        (Thot) Damn him.

TRIUMPH 4:        (Thot) Damn that guy...

WILMA CAP 5:        Triumph.

TRIUMPH 6:        Yeah, yeah, Wilma. I've got you.

WILMA CAP 7:        Lost you for a moment. I'd better run a diagnostic on our comm system.

TRIUMPH 8:        Good idea...

TRIUMPH 9:        (Thot) Better than admitting I'm dangerously distracted by that guy.

TRIUMPH 10:        (Thot) He screws up-- and I'm the bad guy...

TRIUMPH 11:        (Thot) ...the little creep...

CREDITS 12:        <Insert credits>

CREDITS 13:        Triumph created by Mark Waid, Howard Porter, and Christopher Priest

 

 

Page 2

1              (TOP 1/2) UP SHOT: A LEAR JET (PLEASE USE REF) STREAKS ACROSS THE SKY, TRIUMPH FLYING BENEATH IT, PRESUMABLY OUT OF SIGHT OF THE PLANE'S PASSENGERS. IT'S DAYLIGHT, TRIUMPH IN THE SHADOW OF THE JET'S UNDERSIDE (I SUGGEST A STIPPLE ZIP OR SOME SUCH). THERE'S A RIP IN THE UNDERBELLY OF THE PLANE AND JET FUEL IS STREAMING OUT (KEEP TRIUMPH OUT OF THE WAY OF THE SPILLING FUEL).

 

                TRIUMPH HAD A LARGE DUFFEL BAG HUNG FROM A STRAP SLUNG AROUND HIS SHOULDER.

TRIUMPH 1:        (Thot) C'mon, MacIntyre... focus. Screw Eddie X.

TRIUMPH 2:        (Thot) Damn kid...

WILMA CAP 3:        Getting a little energy bleed on the channel, Triumph. Could be the  electronics on the jet.

WILMA CAP 4:        Hell, it could be HBO. I wouldn't sweat it--

TRIUMPH 5:        Wilma--  where's my mark?

WILMA CAPTION 6:        Eight minutes, Triumph. At present air speed.

WILMA CAP 7:        Hope Ricky brought clean bloomers.

 

2                FLASHBACK: ANGLE: EDDIE X, FANG NEXT TO HIM. EDDIE'S EYES BUGGING WIDE. TRIUMPH'S GLOVED HAND IN IMMEDIATE F/G, POINTING AT EDDIE.

TRIUMPH 8        (Burst) YOU'RE FIRED!

EDDIE X 9:        Wha--? You loco, Holmes--?

TRIUMPH 10:        Maybe, but you're still fired.

 

3                FLASHBACK: WILMA CROWDS BETWEEN EDDIE X AND TRIUMPH, THE OTHERS FLANK EDDIE X.

WILMA 11:        I think maybe we should talk about this...

TRIUMPH 12:        The guy's a liability. This wasn't the first time Eddie X's "improvisations" jammed things up.

EDDIE X 13:        Yo, you want a piece of this, man? That it?

 

4              RETURN: MED C/U: TRIUMPH FLYING DETERMINEDLY TOWARDS US, TRYING TO CONCENTRATE.

TRIUMPH 14:        (Thot) C'mon, MacIntyre... blink it out. You've got a job to do...

TRIUMPH 15:        Where is everybody?

WILMA CAP 16:        I'm at the apartment. Father Rocko is in jail, Fang's in the garbage--

WILMA CAP 17:        --and Eddie X is still fired...

 

5                FLASHBACK:  DRAMATIC ANGLE: TRIUMPH VIOLENTLY SLAMS EDDIE X AGAINST A WALL, THE PLASTER CRACKING IN SPIDERY VEINS.

TRIUMPH 18:        You're a wash, Eddie X. Fuse too short, head too empty.

TRIUMPH 19:        It's all some stupid game to you. You don't respect the work.

TRIUMPH 20:        I'm tired of carrying you. Catch a bus.

FANG 21:        (Off) Wait, Triumph--!

 

6                FLASHBACK:  THREE SHOT: FANG, FATHER ROCKO, WILMA.

FANG 22:        --when you found us, we four were already a team... a family, bound together by common tragedies--

FATHER ROCKO 23:        You can't just break us apart like that, boss-- sure the kid's got some kinks... they'll work out.

WILMA 24:        We're with you, Triumph-- but we're here together.

WILMA 25:        He goes... we go with him.

 

 

 

Page 3

                THIS PAGE  IS A FLASHBACK:

1              MED C/U: STOIC TRIUMPH, THINKING IT OVER.

TRIUMPH 1:        Man...

TRIUMPH 2:        ...that sucks...

 

2              SAME, TRIUMPH NOW CHEERY, GETTING ON WITH BUSINESS.

TRIUMPH 3:        ...oh, well!

TRIUMPH 4:        Look, it's been really nice working with you guys--

TRIUMPH 5:        --but I won't be dictated to.

 

3              THE FOUR: FANG, FATHER ROCKO, WILMA, EDDIE X. STUNNED. EDDIE X LIGHTS A CIGARETTE.

FANG 6:        Well...

FANG 7:        ...I guess it's good to know where we stand...

EDDIE X 8:        Hold it.

 

4              WIDE: TRIUMPH AND EDDIE X: EDDIE X BLOWING SMOKE IN TRIUMPH'S FACE.

EDDIE X 9:        He's right.

EDDIE X 10:        I am a screwup.

EDDIE X 11:        I love you guys too much to see you walk out on the best gig you've ever had. You need this.

 

5              WIDE: FANG, FATHER ROCKO, WILMA HUG EDDIE X. TRIUMPH NOTICEABLY UNCOMFORTABLE.

EDDIE X 12:        I need you.

EDDIE X 13:        You're all I got left.

EDDIE X 14:        Mi familia--

 

6              CLOSE UP: GRIM TRIUMPH.

EDDIE X 15:        (Off) --my family.

 

 

Page 4

1              C/U: GRIM TRIUMPH (IN COSTUME), FLYING TOWARDS US, A FIST IN EXTREME F/G FORCED PERSPECTIVE.

TRIUMPH 1:        (Thot) Will MacIntyre: Goat Boy.

TRIUMPH 2:        (Thot) They're so blinded by misplaced loyalty...

TRIUMPH 3:        Irvington PD get that warrant?

WILMA CAP 4:        Yeah. Wally went on the air with it seven minutes ago. MSP* and FBI are on the lake.

TRIUMPH 5:        Alert SOMAC** they're about to get a mayday call.

WILMA CAP 6:        Way ahead of you.

TRIUMPH 7:        Patch me through to Ricky.

FOOTNOTE 8:        *Minnesota State Police  **Southwest Minnesota Air Traffic Control —Anagram Augustyn

 

4              DETAIL: A PUDGY WOMAN'S HAND, A DIAMOND TENNIS BRACELET AROUND THE WRIST AND OTHER LIBERACE-STYLE RINGS ON HER FINGERS, PICKS UP A TRIMLINE PHONE HANDSET.

SFX:                                BLEEP! BLEEP--*

 

5              MED C/U: RICKY IS A FAT WOMAN. A VERY, VERY FAT WOMAN. SHE'S 35-ISH BUT LOOKS MUCH OLDER BECAUSE OF THE WEIGHT. SHE WEARS TOO MUCH DAMNED MAKEUP AND HAS BIG HAIR. SHE'S WEARING A BLACK LEATHER JACKET AND A BUTTON-DOWN BLACK BLOUSE OPEN WAY DOWN HER CHEST. LOST OF CLEAVAGE SPILLING FORTH. RICKY SMOKES THOSE LONG, THIN CIGARETTES AND WEARS SUNGLASSES EVEN THOUGH SHE'S INDOORS.

TRIUMPH 9:        (Electric, from phone) Hiya Ricky.

RICKY 10:        Who the hell is this?

TRIUMPH 11:        (Same) Santa Claus.

TRIUMPH 12:        (Same) Got a present for you, Ricky.

RICKY 13:        That so?

 

6              (WIDE) PULL BACK: EST. SHOT: INT/LEAR JET: THESE THINGS ARE PRETTY TIGHT. THERE IS A CIRCULAR SOFA AROUND A COCKTAIL TABLE. A TRIO OF HOODS IN SHIRTSLEEVES, THEIR TIES UNDONE OR LOOSENED, PLAY POKER WITH THE BOSS. RICKY, THE BOSS, HAS HER MASS ARRANGED IN A COMFY CHAIR ACROSS THE TABLE FROM THE BOYS. THE MEN ARE OBLIVIOUS TO RICKY'S CONVERSATION.

 

                LIKE LAST ISSUE'S TRAIN, THIS ISSUE'S LEAR JET IS GLORIOUSLY APPOINTED. TV MONITORS ANGLE FROM A COUPLE CORNERS OF THE ROOM, AND STEREO EQUIPMENT IS BUILT INTO ONE OF THE WALLS. A WET BAR SOMEWHERE IN HERE.

TRIUMPH 14:        (Electric, tailless) Yup. Hear you've been a bad girl, Ricky. Turning out little kids to pimp dope to their friends.

TRIUMPH 15:        (Same) Santa's very disappointed in you, Ricky. Normally, I'd hand out a lump of coal--

TRIUMPH 16:        (Same) --but for you, I thought up something special.

RICKY 17:        Look, bozo-- I don't know how you got this number--

RICKY 18:        --but you obviously don't know who you're effing

                                        with--!

TRIUMPH 19:        (Same) Ricky-- pay attention--

 

 

Page 4

1              MEDIUM: TRIUMPH'S GLOVED HAND HOLDS A KILO OF COCAINE. A PLASTIC BAG A LITTLE BIGGER THAN A BRICK FILLED WITH WHITE POWDER. HE'S PULLED IT OUT OF THE NOW-OPEN DUFFEL.

TRIUMPH 1:        This is drugs.

 

2                DRAMATIC ANGLE: TRIUMPH THROWS THE KILO.

 

3              ANGLE:  ONE OF THE JET'S ENGINES (IT HAS TWO): THE KILO ZIPS THROUGH IT, A CLOUD OF SMOKE ERUPTS FROM THE FRONT AND BACK END OF THE ENGINE. SPEED LINES FROM THE THROWN BRICK EXTEND OFF PANEL.

TRIUMPH 2:        (Off) This is your plane on drugs.

SFX:                                FRWOOOOMMM!!!

TRIUMPH 3:        (Off) Any questions?

 

4              WIDE: FULL FIGURE TRIUMPH SOARS OVER THE JET, THE JET FILLING THE PANEL AS IT BANKS AWAY FROM US AND SINKS DRAMATICALLY. THE JET APPEARS CRIPPLED.

TRIUMPH 4:        Y'know, Ricky, I don't think jet engines do well with a kilo of coke shoved through them.

TRIUMPH 5:        Who knew.

TRIUMPH 6:        What's that... fifty... seventy grand of cola clogging your Lear jet's intakes--?

 

5              INT/JET: RICKY YELLS INTO THE PHONE WHILE SLAMMING HER PUDGY FIST DOWN ON THE ARMREST, RATTLING HER DRINK OR WHAT HAVE YOU.

TRIUMPH 7:        (Electric) That's your dope, sister. Part of that three million-dollar shipment I helped the feds seize on my way up here.

RICKY 4:        (Burst) You're dead, mister!! Dead!!

 

 

Page 5

1              DOWN ANGLE, TILT THE HORIZON FOR DIZZY TOP GUN AERIAL SHOT: THE JET BANKS TOWARDS US NOW, BUT IS SINKING LIKE A STONE, THE TAIL SINKING, THE NOSE ANGLED UP. SPEED LINES EXTEND FROM THE TOP OF THE PLANE AND ALONG IT'S LENGTH, INDICATING IT'S NOT MOVING FORWARD SO MUCH AS IT'S RAPIDLY SINKING. SMOKE TRAILS FROM THE DAMAGED ENGINE, FUEL CONTINUES TRAILING FROM THE UNDERSIDE. TRIUMPH MAJESTICALLY SOARS IN GRAND SPIRALS AROUND IT.

TRIUMPH 1:        Of course, screwing you over  wouldn't be half as much fun if I wasn't also putting out of business.

TRIUMPH 2:        We got your bank over on Hudson... and we're gonna pick up Meagan any second now.

TRIUMPH 3:        We locked up the beach house.

TRIUMPH 4:        We towed the cars.

TRIUMPH 5:        I've got a half-dozen federal prosecutors helping me take your world apart. Y'see, Ricky--

 

2              MED: TRIUMPH SNARLS AS HE THROWS THE ENTIRE BAG.

TRIUMPH 2:        Adrian Pascal died trying to take a gun away from Tony

                                        -- one of your kiddie mules.

TRIUMPH 3:        Now I've got this twelve year-old with a murder tattoo* and a nice old guy who is dead.

FOOTNOTE 5:        *criminal record.

 

                2 PANEL SEQUENCE:

3              DETAIL: THE BAG ABOUT TO GO INTO THE ENGINE.

TRIUMPH 6:        (Off) Mind you, this isn't personal-- I hate all crooks.

 

4              SAME: THE BAG'S IN THE ENGINE NOW, HUGE SMOKE PLUME.

TRIUMPH 7:        (Off) Soon as I get to it, I'll take 'em all out. And here's why--

 

5                DRAMATIC ANGLE: TRIUMPH FIRES AN ENERGY BURST.

TRIUMPH 8:        --because it's just so easy.

SFX:                                ZZZZZMMMMMM!!

TRIUMPH 9:        No, really. Taking out slobs like you is light work. Godzilla versus Bambi.

 

 

Page 6

1              DETAIL: THE OTHER ENGINE, MOUNTED UNDER THE OTHER WING. TRIUMPH'S ENERGY RUNS THROUGH IT, DEBRIS AND SMOKE EXPLODE OUT THE OTHER END.

TRIUMPH 1:        (Off) An eyeblink after the square-off and Squish! The deer is roadkill.

TRIUMPH 2:        (Same) Just like this plane-- a little coke here-- a little electromagnetic force bolt there--

 

2              UP ANGLE: THE CRIPPLED JET LOOKS LIKE IT'S GOING TO CRASH RIGHT IN THE CENTER OF THE CITY. TINY TRIUMPH ZOOMS AROUND THE PLANE.

TRIUMPH 3:        --voilá! A fifteen million-dollar glider! See what I mean, Jimmy?

WILMA CAP 4:        Ricky.

TRIUMPH 5:        Wilma?

WILMA CAP 6:        You called her Jimmy. That's the next one, Triumph.

WILMA CAP 7:        You with me on this?

 

3              MED C/U: TRIUMPH FLYING, A HAND RUNNING THROUGH HIS HAIR, HIS FACE CONTORTED WITH ANNOYANCE.

TRIUMPH 8:        (Thot) Damn.

TRIUMPH 9:        Yeah, Wilma. I'm cool.

RICKY 10:        (Tailless burst) Who the @#$%! is Wilma?!?

TRIUMPH 11:        Fred's wife. Look here-- uh--

WILMA CAP 12:        Ricky.

TRIUMPH 13:        --Ricky. Let's wrap this up.

 

4                INT/PLANE: EVERYBODY'S TRYING TO HOLD ONTO SOMETHING. RICKY YELLS INTO THE PHONE.

TRIUMPH 14:        (electric, tailless) Hold on tight, now.  Your fat ass is going to jail-- FRZZZZZZZ--!!

RICKY 15:        Hey-- hey!!

 

5              RICKY DIALS THE PHONE FRANTICALLY.

RICKY 16:        Gone.

RICKY 17:        Geez-- gotta warn Meagan--!

 

6              NEW ANGLE: TRIUMPH FLYING.

TRIUMPH 18:        Is she dialing?

WILMA CAP 19:        She's dialing.

TRIUMPH 20:        Where's my mark?

WILMA CAP 21:        Thirty seconds, Triumph.

TRIUMPH 22:        Plenty of time.

WILMA CAP 23:        Y'know, Triumph--

 

 

Page 7

1                INT/APARTMENT: WILMA IN JEANS, SWEATSHIRT, SNEAKERS, AT KITCHENETTE TABLE WHERE ALL HIS GEAR IS SET UP (SEE LAST ISH FOR SPECS ON WILMA's GEAR), WILMA TYPING AT HIS MACINTOSH. THIS APARTMENT IS MODESTLY FURNISHED. LARGE WINDOWS IN SHOT, AND WILMA's GOT A VIDEO CAMERA WITH A TELESCOPIC LENS MOUNTED ON A TRIPOD AND AIMED THROUGH A WINDOW, POINTED ACROSS THE STREET. WILMA's UNIFORM IS STREWN OVER A SOFA OR CHAIR (HE NEVER WEARS THE DAMNED THING).

WILMA 1:        --this is mean.

TRIUMPH 2:        (Electric, tailless) No, Wilma-- this is war. Is it ringing?

WILMA 3:        It's ringing.

 

2                ^[2]VIEWFINDER VIEW: MEAGAN IS A 30-ISH WOMAN WITH A MAN's HAIRCUT. SHE'S NERVOUSLY CHAIN-SMOKING WHILE TALKING ON A PHONE. WE'RE SEEING HER THROUGH A LARGE WINDOW, VIEWFINDER CROSSHAIRS OR SOME SUCH OVER THE IMAGE.

^[3]TIME STAMP 4:        31 NOV 94 1342.29

MEAGAN 5:        Wha-- Ricky--? I thought you were on your way to--

RICKY 6:        (Electric) Meagan-- shut up and listen. Get out. The cops are on their way.

MEAGAN 7:        What?!

 

3              INT/APT: WILMA LOOKS THROUGH THE VIEWFINDER, BOTH HIS HANDS OCCUPIED WITH A SMALL CARTON OF SESAME NOODLES (A CHINESE DISH); HE'S HOLDING THE CARTON WITH ONE HAND, A PAIR OF CHOPSTICKS WITH THE OTHER, THE NOODLES TWISTED AROUND THE CHOPSTICKS.

 

                WILMA's DISCARDED BATTLE SUIT IN F/G (IT'S TOSSED OVER A SOFA OR CHAIR OR WHAT HAVE YOU).

TRIUMPH 8:        (Electric, tailless) What's the move?

WILMA 9:        Meagan's panicking.

WILMA 10:        Meagan's grabbing her keys and running out.

WILMA 11:        I think you've upset her, Triumph.

TRIUMPH 12:        (Electric, tailless) I give up. Patch me through to Ricky's pilot.

 

4              NEW ANGLE: TRIUMPH FLIES RIGHT TOWARDS US, THE LEAR JET RIGHT BEHIND HIM. ONE OF TRIUMPH'S FISTS EXTENDED TOWARDS US, HIS OTHER HAND FIRING A FORCE BOLT BEHIND HIM AT THE PLANE.

TRIUMPH 13:        Okay, guys, if you wanna make it, just lay into it and follow my lead.

WILMA CAP 14:        Twelve seconds.

TRIUMPH 15:        Wilma, kill the channel.

WILMA CAP 16:        Done.

TRIUMPH 17:        Get me Fang.

WILMA CAP 18:        You're a go.

TRIUMPH 19:        Hey kid, how's it going?

FANG 20:        (Tailless electric burst) Screw you.

WILMA CAP 21:        Nine seconds.

 

5              EST. SHOT: A TIGHT ALLEY IN A METROPOLITAN AREA. THERE'S A DUMPSTER IN THE ALLEY.

TRIUMPH 22:        (Tailless electric burst) Hey, Fang, you're the one who wanted to do field work.

FANG 23:        (From dumpster) Research is field work. Gun fights are field work. Triumph--

WILMA CAP 24:        Five seconds.

 

6              DOWN: LOOKING INTO THE DUMPSTER: FANG DISGUSTEDLY SEARCHES THROUGH SLIMY PLASTIC BAGS. FANG WEARS A BLAND COVERALL OVER HER BATTLE SUIT.

FANG 25:        --this is bull. And sexist bull.

FANG 26:        You dumped me in the trash just to teach me a--

TRIUMPH 27:        (Tailless electric burst) Keep your eyes peeled for any memos or letters about a James MacIntyre--

FANG 28:        --thanks for listening--

TRIUMPH 29:        --or an Onassis Sklar.

WILMA CAP 30:        Two... one--

 

 

Page 8

1              (TOP 2/3 PAGE) WIDE: LAKE MINNETONKA (NO, REALLY) IS A HUGE, COLD LAKE IN MINNESOTA. THE LEAR JET, "PULLED" BY TRIUMPH'S ENERGY, BELLY FLOPS DRAMATICALLY ONTO THE LAKE. ON THE WATER ARE SEVERAL POLICE BOATS, MAYBE ONE OR TWO MARKED "PARK SERVICES" OR SOME SUCH. LOTS OF COPS IN VARIOUS UNIFORM CONFIGURATIONS. THEY'VE OBVIOUSLY BEEN EXPECTING THIS.

WILMA CAP 1:        --mark!

TRIUMPH 2:        Patch me through.

WILMA CAP 3:        You're a go.

TRIUMPH 4:        Attention, all units! This is--

TRIUMPH 5:        <insert logo>

TRIUMPH 6:        Secure the perimeter and hold your fire. Boarding parties on my mark.

TRIUMPH 7:        Let me get in first and disarm the suspects-- since I'm the only guy on the lake who can walk away from a shot in the face.

WILMA CAP 8:        That's a lie. You just fake invulnerability with an electromagnetic field.

WILMA CAP 9:        The same way you fake flight and super-strength by pushing that field across the earth's magnetic lines of force.

TRIUMPH 10:        Thank you, Mr. Wizard. Can I have my channel back, please?

WILMA CAP 11:        If you insist.

TRIUMPH 12:        You guys understand--? I don't want anybody getting hurt-- good guys or bad guys.

ELECTRIC BURST 13:        Roger, Triumph. This is a DEA* op, and we're following your lead.

ELECTRIC BURST 14:        Everybody gets to go home tonight.

FOOTNOTE 15:                *Drug Enforcement Agency.

SFX:                                SSSSSPPPLLAAAAASSSSSSHHHH!!

 

                THREE ACROSS THE BOTTOM TIER:

2              FULL FIGURE: TRIUMPH, HOVERING, RIPS THE DOOR OFF ITS HINGES.

TRIUMPH 16:        Great.

TRIUMPH 17:        This should only take a minute.

 

3              SAME: TRIUMPH CATCHES A HAIL OF AUTOMATIC WEAPONS FIRE.

SFX:                                BRATTATTATTATTATTATATAT!!

 

4              SAME: TRIUMPH LOOKS BACK OVER HIS SHOULDER, SMILING WRYLY.

TRIUMPH 18:        Maybe two.

 

 

Page 9

1                INT/WILMA's APT: WILMA FINISHES HIS LUNCH, ONE LEG UP ON HIS DESK, HIS COMPUTER'S KEYBOARD IN HIS LAP. WILMA WEARS KHAKIS AND SNEAKERS.

WILMA 1:        --and Meagan ran straight to Ricky's secret stash-- providing the fuzz with the probable cause they needed to do all that stuff you told Ricky they'd already done.

WILMA 2:        Heckle and Jeckyl-- those two vice stiffs-- nabbed her and Ricky's stash.  Somebody downtown's pinning a medal on 'em right about now.

TRIUMPH 3:        (Tailless electric burst) Call the client, tell her we've bagged Ricky--

WILMA 4:        --and collect the $235 the Pascal family could afford to pay us. I'm on it.

WILMA 5:        So what was that up there? That Jimmy thing?

 

2              STAT IN FLASHBACK PANEL: ISSUE #1 PAGE 23:

                INT/COURTROOM: JIMMY, IN HANDCUFFS, WEARING PRISON JUMPSUIT, GLARES AT KID WILL WHO STANDS BEFORE HIM, EMOTIONLESS. A BAILIFF'S GOT JIMMY'S ARM. LEADING HIM AWAY.

JIMMY 9:        Don't ever be like me, Billy Mac.

 

3              STAT IN FLASHBACK PANEL:  ISSUE #1 PAGE 21:

                STILL IN GROUP HUG: C/U TRIUMPH, GLARING OVER THE SHOULDER(S) OF THOSE HUGGING HIM; HE'S SPOTTED SOMETHING.

 

4              STAT IN FLASHBACK PANEL:  ISSUE #1 PAGE 21:

                REVERSE TO: LONG SHOT: TRIUMPH POV: AMONG THE MOURNERS IS DR. COBALT.

 

5              STAT IN FLASHBACK PANEL:  ISSUE #1 PAGE 21: 

                SAME AS (3) ONLY ZOOM IN FOR AN ECU: TRIUMPH'S GLARING EYES.

 

6              STAT IN FLASHBACK PANEL: ISSUE #1 PAGE 23:

                MED C/U: KID WILL. STOIC. STARING OUT INTO SPACE.

JIMMY 3:        (Off) Ever.

 

 

Page 10

1              AERIAL VIEW: THE LAKE, THE PLANE, RICKY BEING HELPED ONTO A PARK RANGER BOAT. TRIUMPH FLIES UP TOWARDS US.

TRIUMPH 1:        Caffeine rush, Wilma. Just getting ahead of myself.

TRIUMPH 2:        I am in a hurry to pinch that MacIntyre guy-- I took the case as a favor-- it's throwing our schedule off.

TRIUMPH 3:        Sooner we bag him, the better.

WILMA CAP 4:        We're getting there.

TRIUMPH 5:        What time's my flight?

 

2              UP ANGLE: FROM THE SIGHT OF THE DOWNED JET, TINY TRIUMPH FLIES OFF INTO THE DISTANCE.

WILMA CAP 6:        4:30. Mine's at 5. Father Rocko and Fang will make a seven o'clock briefing.

TRIUMPH 7:        Get me Father Rocko.

WILMA CAP 8:        You're on.

TRIUMPH 9:        What's the haps, Father?

FATHER ROCKO 10:        (Tailless electric burst) I am working. I will be with you in a while.

 

3              WIDE: EST. SHOT: INT/INTERROGATION ROOM. THIS IS A PRISON. THE GLASS ON THE WINDOWS AND THE DOOR HAS METAL NETTING IN IT. THIS IS A DARK, DRAB FRANK MILLER ROOM, AN OLD STEEL TABLE AND A FEW WOBBLY, BROKEN CHAIRS. SAMMY WILSON, A TOO-THIN, WEASILLY BLACK MAN WEARING PRISON GRAYS, ENTERS THE ROOM.

 

                FATHER ROCKO, DRESSED IN TRADITIONAL PRIEST SUIT AND ECUMENICAL COLLAR, SLOUCHES LIKE A GANGSTER AT ONE END OF THE TABLE.  FATHER ROCKO NURSES A CUP OF COFFEE. A BIBLE ON THE TABLE.

TRIUMPH 11:        (Tailless electric burst) Understood.

SAMMY 12:        They told me my priest was here to see me.

SAMMY 13:        I told them I ain't got no damned priest.

SAMMY 14:        I'm a Baptist.

FATHER ROCKO 15:        Shut up.

 

4              MED C/U: FATHER ROCKO SIPS FROM THE PAPER CUP. MAKE THIS A SLIGHT DOWN ANGLE, ROCKO's DEAD EYES GLARING UP AT US.

FATHER ROCKO 16:        I'm Father Rocko. I work for somebody.

FATHER ROCKO 17:        You bunked with Jimmy MacIntyre for five years.

SAMMY 18:        (Off) So? What about it?

FATHER ROCKO 19:        I'm looking for him.

 

5                REVERSE: SAMMY HANGS A LEG OVER THE TABLE EDGE, GLARES CONTEMPTUOUSLY.

SAMMY 20:        So is half the friggin' state, Sherlock. MacIntyre's a ghost, man.

SAMMY 21:        Busted out almost a year ago. You'll never find him.

SAMMY 22:        Go sweat somebody else.

FATHER ROCKO 23:        (Off) Sammy, let me put it this way--

 

 

Page 11

1              WIDE: FATHER ROCKO VIOLENTLY SHOVES THE TABLE BACK, KNOCKING SAMMY ON HIS ASS.

SFX:                                SSSSSHHHHOOOOOMMM!!

SAMMY 1:        (Burst) AAACCKKK--!!

 

2              EXTREME UP ANGLE: FATHER ROCKO SNARLS DOWN AT US, THE CUP OF COFFEE IN HIS HAND.

ROCKO 2:        I am not the cops. I am not the screws. I am not the nut-bag crisis intervention jerks.

ROCKO 3:        Your neck snaps in two and I sleep good tonight.

 

3              DOWN SHOT: FATHER ROCKO's FOOT ON SAMMY's NECK, SAMMY GRIMACING IN PAIN.

ROCKO 4:        Them guards on the other side of that door? I own them.

ROCKO 5:        I could set the place on fire, they don't come in here.

 

4              NEW ANGLE: FATHER ROCKO DOWN ON ONE KNEE, A FISTFUL OF SAMMY's SHIRT IN HIS HAND, YANKING THE SCRAWNY MAN TOWARDS HIM.

ROCKO 6:        Jimmy Mac busted out of here and turned to mist. My boss-- the guy-- wants to find him.

ROCKO 7:        Now, Sammy, you're gonna tell me every detail you remember about MacIntyre--

ROCKO 8:        --unless, of course, you need further persuasion--?

 

5              THE ALLEY, THE DUMPSTER.  FANG TOSSES A GARBAGE-FILLED PLASTIC BAG OVER THE SIDE ONTO THE ALLEY FLOOR, WHERE SEVERAL OTHERS ARE PILED (SHE'S SORTING THROUGH THEM).

BURST 9:        Yo, Fang. This is me.

FANG 10:        Go, Father Rocko.

BURST 11:        I'm getting smoke from Sammy up in Statesville. What you got?

 

 

Page 12

1              MED C/U: FANG WIPING HER BROW. EVEN COVERED IN GARBAGE, SHE'S SO FINE.

FANG 1:        I "got" 13 semi-empty Chinese food cartons, a moldy tuna sub, and a variety of soiled facial tissue. No doubt about it, this Trevor Sklar is a real scary guy.

FANG 2:        I hate not knowing what I'm looking for, Father Rocko.

FANG 3:        Sklar's a lawyer. He obviously shreds and recycles all his paper. Triumph probably knew that before he sent me here.

 

2              INT/TAXI: FATHER ROCKO IN THE BACKSEAT, WRITING ON A NEWTON PDA^[4] WHILE APPARENTLY TALKING TO HIMSELF. FATHER ROCKO NOW DRESSED IN HIS BATTLE SUIT, AN OVERCOAT OVER IT. IN HIS FREE HAND, THE PERPETUAL PAPER CUP OF COFFEE.

FANG 4:        (Electric, tailless) The man's patronizing me-- giving me this nothing job.

FANG 5:        (Same) He won't even connect Sklar with MacIntyre for me. It's like he's keeping me in suspense for some stupid reason--

 

3                INT/AIRPORT: TRIUMPH SITS IN THE FIRST-CLASS LOUNGE. HE'S BENT OVER, HIS ELBOWS RESTING ON HIS THIGHS, BOTH HANDS IN HIS HAIR, CLEARLY STRESSED. A SMALL TRAVEL SHOULDER TOTE RESTS IN THE CHAIR NEXT TO HIM. THERE ARE VERY FEW PEOPLE IN THE ROOM, ALL PASSENGERS. OF THESE PEOPLE MAYBE ONE OR TWO BLACKS AT THE MOST.^[5]

 

                TRIUMPH IS IN CIVVIES: JEANS, SNEAKERS, A TOO-LONG TEE SHIRT (WITH THE SLOGAN OF YOUR CHOICE; MAYBE THE LATE SHOW WITH DAVID LETTERMAN), AND A SPORTS TEAM JACKET (LOS ANGELES RAIDERS IS A CLASSIC, POPULAR LOOK). THINK EDDIE MURPHY'S GET-UP FOR THE BEVERLY HILLS COP MOVIES. TRIUMPH WEARS BLACK ARMY-STYLE BOOTS, HIS STRAIGHT-LEG JEANS OVER THEM.^[6] REMEMBER, TRIUMPH/WILL IS ONLY 21 OR SO; HE'D DRESS LIKE A KID. A KID WITH BIG MUSCLES.

FANG 6:        (Electric, tailless)  And where'd this case come from? He just inserts this MacIntyre thing on the schedule-- with our caseload?!

FANG 7:        (Electric, tailless)  Father Rocko-- he's treating us like dopes.

WILMA CAP 8:        Sorry Triumph.

TRIUMPH 9:        Yeah, Wilma. Me too.

TRIUMPH 10:        Wilma-- go private.

 

4              INT/ THE APARTMENT: OVER WILMA's SHOULDER AT THE COMPUTER SCREEN: THERE'S A US. MAP THAT HAS THREE RED "BLIPS" ON IT, REPRESENTING TRIUMPH, FANG, AND ROCKO. THEY ARE IN THREE SEPARATE STATES, THE SPECIFIC STATES T/K (I'LL SEND A MAP), BUT THEY'RE DEFINITELY IN THE MIDWEST SOMEWHERE. THE PRISON ROCKO VISITED WAS NOT IN MINNESOTA, WHERE TRIUMPH DOWNED THE PLANE, OR IN INDIANAPOLIS (MAYBE) WHERE FANG'S RIFLING THROUGH SKLAR's GARBAGE.

 

                OF COURSE IT'S CONFUSING. IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE A LITTLE COMPLEX.

 

                A WINDOW^[7] OVER THE MAP IS WILMA's COMLINK CONTROL PANEL. THE POINTER/ARROW IS PRESSING A RADIO BUTTON MARKED "CHANNEL 2/PRIVATE."

NAMES OVER MAP BLIPS 11:        Rocko

                                                                                Triumph

                                                                                Fang

WINDOW (WITH MAP) HEADER 12:        TACTICAL

WINDOW (WITH COMLINK CONTROLS) HEADER 13:   COMLINK

WINDOW (WITH COMLINK CONTROLS) INTERIOR 14:

                                        Normal

                                        Channel 2/Private

WILMA 15:        Go ahead, Will.

TRIUMPH 16:        (Tailless electric burst) She hates me, huh?

WILMA 17:        My guess would be quite the opposite.

 

5              INT/ AIRPORT LOUNGE: MED C/U: TRIUMPH, HIS HEAD STILL IN HIS HANDS.

TRIUMPH 18:        I have such a headache.

^[8]WILMA PRIVATE CAP 19:        Fang probably has a thing for you, Will. I mean, she was just a girl when we first started working together.

WILMA PRIVATE 20:        She practically grew up with Rocko and me--

TRIUMPH 21:        --and Eddie X.

WILMA PRIVATE 22:        I wasn't going to say it.

 

 

Page 13

1              FROM ACROSS THE ROOM: A FEW MILLING PEOPLE NOTICING TRIUMPH TALKING TO HIMSELF.

WILMA PRIVATE 1:        A few months ago, when you bought out our little revenge squad, you became the focus of Fang's post-adolescent oedipal dysfunction.

WILMA PRIVATE 2:        She hasn't decided whether to kill you or kiss you. She probably wants to do both.

TRIUMPH 3:        And what about you, Wilma--?

 

2              WILMA AT THE CONSOLE, LEANING BACK NOW, ONE SNEAKER BRACED AGAINST THE EDGE OF THE DESK.

WILMA 4:        Me?

WILMA 5:        Will, I'll give you awhile to settle in before I make any rash decisions. I will tell you this, however--

 

3                INT/LOUNGE: TRIUMPH'S WALKING NOW, HIS BAG SLUNG OVER HIS SHOULDER, FOLLOWING OTHER PASSENGERS TOWARDS THE GATE.

WILMA PRIVATE 6:        --there will be no kissing involved.

TRIUMPH 7:        Plane's boarding.

WILMA PRIVATE 8:        Oh-- Father Rocko's about to fax his report in. I'll send it over to your PDA* once you're above the hard deck,** along with a photo of Sklar.

FOOTNOTE 9:        *Personal Digital Assistant. **10,000 feet, below which most airlines disallow the use of electronic devices —Techno Brian

 

4              OVER WILMA's SHOULDER: THE COMPUTER SCREEN. A FOURTH BLIP ON THE SCREEN NOW, NEAR FANG'S BLIP.

TRIUMPH 10:        (Tailless electric burst) Great. It'll be good to see what that creep looks like.

WILMA 11:        Alleged creep, Will. Sklar's father was a crook--

 

5              WILMA: FROM BEHIND THE MONITOR. HIS EYES NARROWING: HE'S SPOTTED THE NEW BLIP.

^[9]TRIUMPH 12:        (Same) --and the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. Call me later-- click!

WILMA 13:        Eh--? A fourth blip--?

 

6              DETAIL: THE MAP. THE NEW BLIP SO CLOSE IT'S TOUCHING FANG'S BLIP.

NAMES OVER BLIPS  14:        Fang

                                                                Eddie X

WILMA 15:        (Off) Damn.

WILMA 16:        (Same) Triumph will go nuts, but I've got to warn Fang--

 

 

Page 14

1                ISOLATION SHOT: WILMA AT COMPUTER AS A K/O.

WILMA 1:        --what? The comm's down-- that energy bleed again!

WILMA 2:        Better re-run the diagnostics--

FATHER ROCKO 3:        (Electric, tailless) --I dunno, Fang--

 

 

2              DETAIL: FATHER ROCKO's HAND AND PEN:^[10] WE'RE GETTING A GOOD LOOK AT THE PDA SCREEN, FATHER ROCKO PRESSING THE "SEND FAX" COMMAND ON THE MENU.

PDA SCREEN 4:        My Talk With Sammy

                                                MacIntyre Case

                                                File #AC 903

                                                Father Rocko

FATHER ROCKO 5:        (Off) --I think you got a problem with the kid-- with Triumph. I dunno, it's like anything he says just makes you nuts.

BURST 6:        And what's that supposed to mean?

FATHER ROCKO 7:        (Off) Means what it means.

 

 

3              INT/TAXI: FATHER ROCKO's POV: THE TAXI DRIVER ADJUSTING HIS REARVIEW TO LOOK AT US. THE DRIVER IS A THIN, DARK-HAIRED MAN WITH A MUSTACHE, AGE 35 OR SO. NOT SPINDLY OR WEAK-LOOKING, BUT NOT BEEFCAKE EITHER. HE'S GOT THAT EVIL BAD GUY GLARE. HE'S DRESSED IN TYPICALLY CABBIE CLOTHES. PLEASE DO NOT GIVE THIS GUY A HAT.

FATHER ROCKO 8:        (Off)  See you at the meeting.

BURST 9:        Count on it. Click!

FATHER ROCKO 10:        (Off) So what's your story?

CABBIE 11:        Who-- me?

 

4                CUTAWAY VIEW: THE CAB: FATHER ROCKO LEANS FORWARD, SNARLING AT THE DRIVER, THE DRIVER LOOKING AT ROCKO IN THE REARVIEW.

FATHER ROCKO 12:        Yeah. You want a date or what?

FATHER ROCKO 13:        The airport's that way.

CABBIE 14:        Yes, Father Rocko, I know--

 

5              WIDE: EXT/CAB: THE REAR WINDSHIELD VIOLENTLY BLOWS OUT AS GUNFIRE TEARS THROUGH THE BACK OF THE CAB. PAY THIS OFF BIG.

CABBIE 15:        (From front seat of car) --not that it matters to you anymore.

SFX:                                BLAM! BLAMM! BLAAAMMM!!

 

 

Page 15

1              DOWN: THE DUMPSTER. FANG ANGRILY THROWS MORE GARBAGE OVER THE SIDE.

FANG 1:        (Burst) THAT DOES IT!!

FANG 2:        I am a board certified dentist!! I am a combat-qualified pilot!

FANG 3:        What the hell am I doing rifling through garbage?!?

FANG 4:        I will not be the victim of Triumph's sophomoric, testosterone-driven pranks--

 

2              MED C/U: FANG WHIRLS ABOUT, LOOKING OVER HER SHOULDER. THE SHADOW OF THE HINGED GARBAGE BIN LID FALLS ACROSS HER FACE (SOMEONE IS CLOSING THE LID).

FANG 5:        --wha--?!

 

3              MED C/U: FANG'S POV: THE SAME GUY WHO WAS DRIVING ROCKO's CAB, NOW DRESSED IN SANITATION WORKER'S CLOTHING, SLAMS THE DUMPSTER LID ON US.

FANG 6:        (Off) --Hey--!!

 

4              INT/BIN: FANG'S KNOCKED ONTO HER BACK, NOW SLIDING AROUND IN THE SHITTY GARBAGE.

SFX:                                SLAAAMMMM!!

FANG 7:        What-- what the hell--?!

 

5                INT/ALLEY: THE BIN SLAMS HARD AGAINST AN ALLEY WALL, SPEED LINES LEADING OFF IT INDICATE IT'S BEEN THROWN HARD AGAINST THE WALL.

SFX:                                KERRRAAAMMMM!!

 

6              SIMILAR TO (2), ONLY NOW FANG'S TWISTED AWKWARDLY AND TOTALLY INVOLVED WITH THE GARBAGE.

FANG 8:        --dammit--

FANG 9:        --got to-- to get--

 

7              WIDE: THE DUMPSTER, IN MID-AIR, COMES SAILING OUT OF THE ALLEY, HEADING FOR A BUSY CITY STREET. SPEED LINES GIVE IT LIFT AND MOMENTUM, IT'S REALLY BEEN CHUCKED OUT THERE. DEBRIS AND SHIT TRAIL IN THE BACKWASH.

 

 

Page 16

1              THE DUMPSTER IMPACTS ON ONE OF IT'S CORNERS, ON THE STREET AND IMMEDIATELY IN THE PATH OF A CITY BUS.^[11]

SFX:                                WHAAAAAAAMMMM!!!

 

2              (BIG SHOT) THE BUS SLAMS INTO THE DUMPSTER, SHATTERING THE BUS'S WINDSHIELD, THE DRIVER FLINCHING FROM THE EXPLODING GLASS. THE DUMPSTER's ON ITS SIDE NOW, THE HINGED LIDS FLYING OPEN, FANG AND THE GARBAGE LITERALLY CATAPULTING OUT OF THE DUMPSTER, AS THOUGH THERE WERE A SPRING LOAD IN THE BOTTOM.

 

                DENSE TRAFFIC (TAXIS, CARS, TRUCKS, WHATEVER YOU CAN THINK OF) GOES INTO TAILSPINS AS EVERYONE HITS THEIR BRAKES.

SFX:                                KERRRRAAAAASSSSSSHH!!

 

3              FANG, BALLED UP, SLAMS INTO THE REAR WINDSHIELD OF A CAR OR TAXI, SHATTERING IT, HER MOMENTUM REBOUNDING HER OFF THE WINDSHIELD, HER BODY TWISTING UNCONTROLLABLY AS SHE DOES. THIS CAN BE DONE WITH AFTER-IMAGES OR NOT, WHICHEVER WAY IS THE CLEAREST.

SFX:                                KERR--AAAAACCKKK!!

 

4              FANG LANDS AWKWARDLY ON THE PAVEMENT, GRIMACING FROM THE IMPACT.

FANG 1:        --Jesus--

 

5              MED C/U: PISSED-OFF FANG, HER EYES NARROWED, TRYING TO GET A GOOD LOOK—

FANG 2:        --wha--

FANG 3:        --Eddie--

 

 

 

Page 17

1              LONG SHOT: FANG'S POV:  EDDIE X, IN THE BATTLE SUIT, ACROSS THE STREET. STANDING IN SOME COOL JAMES DEAN POSE, A CIGARETTE OUT OF THE CORNER OF HIS CLOSED MOUTH..

FANG 1:        (Off) --Eddie X--?

 

2              SAME AS PAGE 16 PANEL 5:  FANG STARTING TO BLACK OUT NOW.

FANG 2:        (Weak) Eddie X--

 

3              SAME AS PANEL (1): EDDIE X IS GONE.

 

4              STAT FLASHBACK PANELS: ISSUE #1 PAGE 7:

                FULL FIGURE: A LITTLE BOY, AGE EIGHT, HIS BACK TO US, STANDS IN THE MIDDLE OF A DIRT ROAD. THIS ROAD WINDS THROUGH THE CLIFFSIDE TRAILER PARK, A DISMAL PLACE OF POOR WHITE TRASH. THE BOY WEARS COVERALLS, ONE STRAP OF WHICH IS UNDONE AND A CORNER OF THE CHEST PIECE FLAPS BACKWARD. A GENTLE BREEZE BLOWS THE BOY'S CURLY BLOND HAIR. IT'S DUSK.

WILMA PRIVATE CAPTION 3:        Will.

 

5              SAME: ONLY NOW IT'S MUCH DARKER. THE BOY IS LIT BY LIGHTS FROM THE PARK.

WILMA PRIVATE 4:        Will.

 

6              SAME: ONLY NOW IT'S RAINING. THE BOY IS SOAKED, HIS HAIR A STRAIGHT, TANGLED MESS.

WILMA PRIVATE 5:        Will!!

 

 

Page 18

1                INT/PLANE: TRIUMPH SITS IN FIRST CLASS. HE'S WEARING HIS ABOVE-DESCRIBED CIVVIES. NOT THAT WE CAN SEE IT, BUT TRIUMPH IS CARRYING A SMALL SHOULDER BAG, WHICH IS ON THE FLOOR BETWEEN HIS LEGS, OR IN HIS LAP.       

 

                WILL WAS DOZING AND IS SLOWLY COMING AROUND.

 

                THE SAME GUY WHO ATTACKED ROCKO AND FANG SITS IN THE SEAT NEXT TO TRIUMPH. A THIN, DARK-HAIRED MAN, 35-ISH, IN WHITE SHIRT, CLASSIC TIE, AND SUIT PANTS, READING A PAPER.^[12]

 

TRIUMPH 1:        Y--yeah, Wilma. I got you.

WILMA PRIVATE 2:        Pick up the phone.

 

2              MED C/U: WILL ON THE PHONE,^[13] WIPING SLEEP AWAY WITH HIS FREE HAND.

WILMA PRIVATE 3:        This way, you won't look like you're talking to yourself.

TRIUMPH 4:        You ready on that fax?

WILMA PRIVATE 5:        Yeah, it's in your PDA now.

WILMA PRIVATE 6:        Will, we got troubles.

 

3              DETAIL: WILL'S HAND ON THE NEWTON, WE SEE THE SCREEN.

PDA SCREEN 7:        My Talk With Sammy

                                                MacIntyre Case

                                                File #AC 903

                                                Father Rocko

WILMA PRIVATE 8:        The comm's got some serious bugs in it.

TRIUMPH 9:        (Off) Wilma-- I was asleep.

WILMA PRIVATE 10:        I can't raise Fang or Father Rocko.

 

4              SIMILAR TO (2), ONLY NOW WE SEE MORE OF THE MAN SITTING NEXT TO TRIUMPH, TRIUMPH "TALKING ON THE PHONE" WHILE FIDGETING WITH THE PDA.

TRIUMPH 11:        They're probably still ticked over that Eddie X business, that's all.

WILMA PRIVATE 12:        Ticked at you, Will, not me.

WILMA PRIVATE 13:        We have a bond, Will-- we always answer each other. Something's wrong.

TRIUMPH 14:        That photo of Sklar in here--?

 

5              SAME AS (5), ONLY NOW A PICTURE OF A MAN's FACE ON THE PDA: IT'S THE GUY SITTING NEXT TO HIM.

WILMA PRIVATE 15:        Yeah-- next screen. Look, Will, there's something else--

TRIUMPH 16:        (Off) I'll call you back.

WILMA PRIVATE 17:        Will, it's important-- it's--

 

 

Page 19

1              WIDE: MEDIUM: TRIUMPH GLARES AT SKLAR, THE MAN SITTING NEXT TO HIM. SKLAR SMILES, ANGLING HIS HEAD SOMEWHAT, LOOKING DOWN AT THE PDA WITH HIS FACE ON IT, WHICH IS CLEARLY IN SHOT (TRIUMPH'S HOLDING IT IN HIS HAND, HANGING UP THE PHONE WITH THE OTHER).

TRIUMPH 1:        I'll call you back.

SKLAR 2:        Terrible likeness, don't you think-- Will?

SKLAR 3:        Or, should I call you Billy?

 

2              SAME: CAMERA IN A LITTLE CLOSER. SKLAR SMILING EVILLY AT TRIUMPH WHO GLARES AT SKLAR.

TRIUMPH 4:        Maybe you shouldn't call me at all, Sklar.

SKLAR 5:        When you logged onto the Statesville computer, looking for Jimmy,* I was alerted. At first I thought, just some guy in tights trying to make my life miserable.

SKLAR 6:        Then, something funny happened--

FOOTNOTE 7:        *see issue #1 —Brian

 

3              AND, IN A LITTLE CLOSER STILL.

SKLAR 8:        --I managed to crack your code... tune into your comm frequency. It took me awhile to put it all together--

SKLAR 9:        --you're Jimmy Mac's kid. I knew he had one-- read it in my dad's journal.

SKLAR 10:        Truth is, I've always wondered about you. I mean, after all--

 

4              AND IN CLOSER. SKLAR's SNARLING NOW.

SKLAR 11:        --my dad owned yours.

SKLAR 12:        Since my dad's death, everything which was his is now rightfully mine.

SKLAR 13:        That includes Jimmy Mac, Billy. I got dibs.

SKLAR 14:        I sprung him. I invested the time and the money.

 

5              AND, IN CLOSER STILL.

SKLAR 15:        So I don't appreciate you sending your goofball priest to shake down Sammy, or the idiot bimbo rifling through my garbage.

SKLAR 16:        Your secrets-- your machine-- it's all a joke, Billy boy.

SKLAR 17:        Hardly worth the effort it took to destroy it.

 

 

Page 20

1              ECU: TRIUMPH AND SKLAR's EYES: SKLAR's WHISPERING IN TRIUMPH'S EAR.

SKLAR 1:        What was that you said to Ricky-- about it being so easy?

SKLAR 2:        An eyeblink after the square-off and-- what was it--

SKLAR 3:        --Squish--?!

 

                FOUR HORIZONTAL PANELS:

2              WIDE: THE JET, IT'S A 727 OR EQUIVALENT, PROFILE VIEW, THE PLANE MOVING TO THE LEFT (THIS IS IMPORTANT!). THE COCKPIT EXPLODES IN A HUGE FIREBALL, SHARDS OF DEBRIS ARCING IN ALL DIRECTIONS.

 

3              SAME: THE FIREBALL RIPS THROUGH THE CABIN, THE FIREBALL MOVING FROM LEFT TO RIGHT, EXPLODING OUT OF THE TAIL OF THE PLANE. ALL OF THE WINDOWS IN THE JET EXPLODE OUT IN SHOWERS OF PIXELATED GLASS. THE TAIL FIN SHATTERS, CRACKS SPIDER-WEBBING ACROSS IT. THE FUSELAGE STARTING TO BREAK UP NOW.

 

4              SAME: THE FUSELAGE SKIN NOW DISINTEGRATING; THE COCKPIT IS COMPLETELY DESTROYED AND THE FORWARD PART OF THE CABIN CAN BE SEEN THROUGH THE SKELETAL UNDERFRAME. WHAT WE CAN SEE OF THE CABIN IS GRUESOME, MOSTLY SMOKE AND FLAME, BUT DEFINITE HUMAN SHAPES MOVING ABOUT, MAYBE SOME PASSENGERS BEING SUCKED OUT OF THE WRECK.

 

                NOTE: THE PLANE'S ALTITUDE HAS NOT BEGUN TO DECAY YET, THIS IS HAPPENING REALLY FAST.

 

5              SAME AS (4), ONLY NOW MORE THAN HALF OF THE "SKIN" HAS DISINTEGRATED. THINK OF THIS AS A REALLY FAST-BURNING CIGARETTE.

 

 

Page 21

                FIVE HORIZONTAL PANELS:

1              IN THE MOLTEN STORM: A MAN STRAPPED IN HIS CHAIR, CONSUMED BY FLAME. OTHER CHAIRS AND/OR PASSENGERS AND/OR DEBRIS  FLYING PAST HIM. THE CHAIR NO LONGER BOLTED TO ANYTHING. THE CHAIR AND MAN INVERTED SOMEWHAT, AT SOME ANGLE TO INDICATED FREE-FALL CHAOS. THE MAN STRUGGLES WITH HIS SEAT BELT.

WILMA PRIVATE CAPTION 1:        Will--?

 

2              MCU: THE MAN: IT'S TRIUMPH, GRIMACING WHILE STRUGGLING WITH HIS SEAT BELT. HE APPEARS TO BE ON FIRE. HE'S CAUGHT UP IN THE MAELSTROM, EVERYTHING'S A LITTLE SURREAL. EVERYTHING'S MOLTEN AND AFLAME. IT'S HORRIBLE.

WILMA PRIVATE 2:        Will!

 

3              MEDIUM: A BURNING CORPSE SLAMS AGAINST TRIUMPH.

WILMA PRIVATE 4:        Will!

 

4              FULL FIGURE: TRIUMPH SHOVES THE CORPSE OFF OF HIM WHILE GRIMACING, HIS FREE HAND STRUGGLING WITH THE SEATBELT.

WILMA PRIVATE 5:        Will!!

 

5                (PAYOFF) TRIUMPH, IN FREE FALL, HIS CIVVIES BURNING OFF HIM, REVEALING HIS UNIFORM BENEATH, STRAPPED TO A BURNING/MELTING/DISINTEGRATING SEAT.

WILMA PRIVATE 6:        WILL!!

NEXT ISH BLURB 7:        NEXT:  THE ORIGIN OF TRIUMPH

 

— 30—