| HUNTER
KILL COPY (AKA SATURDAY NIGHT SPECIAL)
ACT ONE
FADE IN:
EXT. LOS ANGELES DAILY CITIZEN - NIGHT
It's late. Deserted. A battered newspaper delivery truck
rumbles past, emblazoned with Citizen logo. We PAN past it
to establish the stone assuredness of the very landmark
itself, a few lights twinkling from its second-story windows.
INT. CITIZEN NEWSROOM - NIGHT
A major city paper that's about to go to bed for the night.
A big cluttered newsroom. Somewhere in the room, we pick up
the CLACKING of a lone typewriter.
RALPH BANKSON
the night city editor, in loosened tie and owlish glasses. He
looks like an English Lit major who's got a half-finished
novel in his bottom drawer. THERE ARE FOUR OR FIVE REPORTERS
IN THE NEWSROOM, but none near the source of the typing. The
CLACKING louder as we near the source.
ANGLE - AT SECLUDED DESK
Composing over a typewriter, we find our dedicated reporter,
but she's so unexpectedly lithe and ebony and beautiful that
we wonder at first if we can be in a newspaper office.
Everything about ISABEL FRENCH radiates this cool fire of
grace and intelligence and the brittle, polished edge of a
diamond.
BANKSON'S VOICE
Hey, Isabel --
Bankson comes into scene with a gentle smile of sympathy.
BANKSON
I were you I'd call it a night.
Don't break your heart over a
story nobody'LL read.
ISABEL
Somebody ought to, dammit. Those
people down there on Skid Row --
they're broke and they're homeless
- and they aren't just going to
go away.
BANKSON
Try to be patient. You're the new
kid on the block.
ISABEL
A new kid with a very old soul,
Ralph...
ON BANKSON
He walks on, checking things before he leaves, disappearing
from the shot. After a moment WE HEAR a phone RINGING,
shattering the silence. We are not on Bankson when we hear
it ringing.
ANGLE - ISABEL'S DESK
She picks up the phone.
ISABEL
(into receiver)
City Room...Yes, this is Isabel
French...
She listens, and the longer she listens the more frightened
she becomes.
ISABEL
Wait - hold on...Look, is this
some kind of a sick joke? You -
you killed him!? Who is this?!
OTHER REPORTERS, within earshot, look up with interest.
By now she's rising to her feet and wheeling toward the exit
in search of Bankson.
ISABEL
(yelling)
Ralph, wait! Oh my God...
BANKSON
hurrying out of the darkness.
BANKSON
Isabel? What is it? What's
wrong?
EXT. MAIN STREET, LOS ANGELES - DAY
The wind whipping up a newspaper, torturing it along the
gutter. It's cold outside. Bleary-eyed drunks, huddled
together, staring at the phalanx of official crime cars.
But the scene is devoid of media or other onlookers, save
for a single print photog.
NEW ANGLE
HUNTER and MCCALL interviewing Isabel French. In the b.g.,
beside our balding MEDICAL EXAMINER, the body of an old
white Bum, a man, stuffed into a dumpster.
ISABEL
The killer - he called me by name,
almost like he knew me. 'I'm your
biggest fan' he told me. 'I want you
to share in my glory.'
HUNTER
Can you describe his voice -
white, black, Oriental?
She just shakes her head.
MCCALL
Old? Young?
ISABEL
(shrugging)
It was weird - raspy - like he
was disguising it...I'm sorry, I
just don't know any more than that.
A UNIFORMED COP comes over with an evidence bag containing a
cheaply made handgun.
UNIFORM
Here's your murder weapon - a
Saturday-night special.
Hunter accepts it, carefully studies it through the plastic.
MCCALL
(to Uniform)
What about the victim? Any ID?
UNIFORM
All's we got is a postmark that's
ten years old and a name, Charles
Lemoyne.
Hunter turns to Isabel.
HUNTER
You know it?
ISABEL
No.
She hands Isabel a business card.
MCCALL
You hear from him again, call us
immediately, day or night - the
minute he hangs up.
ISABEL
(nods)
The last thing he said was
something like, 'This is just the
first. There'll be more.'
CUT TO
EXT. P.D. DIVISION - ESTABLISHING - DAY
LT. FINN'S VOICE
What we got? Some kind of
psychopathic nut case?
OMITTED
EXT.- SKID ROW STOREFRONT - NIGHT
At the curb, where a beat-to-shit Chevy has pulled up, a
junkie is dickering over a dime bag. His name is BILLY
NANCY and he's 26, going on a thousand. Billy is tall,
big-boned, but drug-thin and jumpy.
BILLY
Ten bucks! What you talkin' ten
bucks? This stuff looks like it's
been stepped on by an elephant.
The SELLER, still behind the wheel, about the same age. He's
only two notches above a junkie himself.
SELLER
(sourly)
You don't like it - go someplace
else.
He yanks away a small plastic bag-containing about a
tablespoon of white crystals.
BILLY
Easy, easy. I like elephants...
very nice animals.
He forks over the ten, accepts the plastic bag. When a
bright, white flashlight beam suddenly hits them.
ANOTHER ANGLE
A black-and-white screaming to a halt behind them.
BILLY
He takes one look and runs for his life as the seller starts
his car.
POLICE CAR
as it swings around in front of the Chevy and the officers
leap out. They level weapons at the seller. He raises his
hands in terror. By now Billy is gone beyond pursuit.
EXT. ALLEYWAY
Billy runs, gasping, down the alley until he reaches a fence.
He stops there and huddles deep in the shadows against the
fence to catch his breath. The rasping is part terror, part
junkie. Suddenly he HEARS a noise on the other side of the
fence. There's someone there. He tenses.
ANGLE - WANDA
She's an old white bag lady, hardly identifiable as female.
On top of her layers and layers of clothes, a faded red
sweater. Her destination is a low-slung dumpster which she
begins to poke through with the practiced eye of a scavenger.
ANGLE - WALL
Beside Wanda. A shadow looms across it.
BILLY
He looks through a two-inch crack in the fence and sees the
shadow - and the intruder who casts it, and something
about what he sees fills him with fear. He watches,
transfixed, eyes wide.
WANDA
She doesn't see the threat at all. She's discovered an old
umbrella in the dumpster. It's a real find. She holds it
up to the light to admire it. She opens it. It is torn
in one small area, but it works.
NEW ANGLE
The shadow, moving closer to her. Wanda sees it, secrets her
find behind her back. She's not afraid, but careful, strain-
ing to see the figure more closely.
BILLY
watching.
CLOSE - THE SHADOW
drawing a gun...and pulling the trigger.
WANDA
is struck full in the chest by the explosion, which ECHOES
from building to building, alley to alley. Her lifeless
body dropping to the ground, the umbrella slipping from her
hand. As she lies dead, a Saturday-night special is dropped
beside her and the shadow moves away.
BILLY
The shadow crossing his face as it disappears from the alley,
His eyes turn to follow the figure. They're filled with
shock.
EXT. ALLEY - DAY
The aftermath of the crime: the whirling gumballs of hastily
parked black-and-whites, coroner's wagon and the crush of
onlookers, and in the f.g.r Hunter and McCall. Billy Nancy
is not present.
A Uniformed Cop's LAUGHTER rises from the ring of onlookers
as he jokes with a coroner's attendant. McCall, reacting.
She doesn't like it, but she reins in her feelings, turns
back to Hunter.
MCCALL
A Saturday-night special, victim a
resident of Skid Row. Killer makes
a call to his favorite reporter,
and here we are. He sure kept his
word about "more".
HUNTER
We got a psycho on our hands for
sure.
Isabel standing by, taking notes in her role as reporter.
MCCALL
Might explain why he'D leave the
gun at the scene. Like he's
playing a game with us.
HUNTER
Then again, if he ditches the gun,
he's not going to get caught with
it, is he?
MCCALL
A smart psycho.
(to Isabel)
Your readers'LL love that.
HUNTER
Exactly what time did you get
the call?
ISABEL
It was still dark. Must have
been around 5 this morning.
HUNTER
In other words, you called us
immediately.
ISABEL
Oh yes - immediately.
She looks over at Wanda's body and turns sharply away.
HUNTER
Take a few deep breaths. You'll
be okay.
ISABEL
It's just...It's so real. And
the ugliness of it, you know?
How do you ever get used to
it?
MCCALL
We don't.
The M.E. (BARNEY) passes them in the course of his duties.
M.E.
(as he goes)
Ready for some more good news? I
can't even get a name...she was
past havin' one a long time ago.
McCALL
Not if I have anything to say about
it...
McCall steps over toward the crowd of lookers-on standing
behind the police barricade. She stares into the blank,
disinterested faces.
McCALL
Anybody here know this woman?
(waits)
Come on! Somebody has to know her
...you've seen her...a first name...
where'd she live? Where'd she
drink?
(waits again)
She's a human being, damnit! She
was alive! Somebody killed her!
There is no response and Hunter comes over, pulling McCall
away from the silent crowd.
HUNTER
You all right?
McCALL
NO.
McCall pulls away from Hunter.
McCALL
She's a harmless little woman and
she's lying in a dirty alley. The
only people who knew her won't
bother to give her name, she's got
no dignity and somebody down at the
county refrigerator's going to put
a Jane Doe on her toe. What kind
of way is that to end a life?
ANOTHER ANGLE
Hunter turns to Isabel, who is busy writing down McCall's
words.
HUNTER
We've got to stop this creep. We
need your permission to put a tap
on your line.
ISABEL
At the paper?
HUNTER
(nods)
When he calls again we'll be ready
for him.
ISABEL
The hell you will!
The violence of her response startles Hunter, as well as
McCall, who rejoins them.
ISABEL
Are you out of your minds? I've
got sources that rely on
confidentiality. People who trust
me. I'm a reporter, for God's sake!
HUNTER
One of your "sources" is a
homicidal maniac -- and that's the
only source we're interested in.
ISABEL
How do you think my other sources
will feel when they find out a
cop's breathing heavy on the other
end?
MCCALL
You gonna tell 'em? We aren't.
ISABEL
I'm sorry. I want to help you, but
no self-respecting reporter would
let the police put a tap on their
line.
She walks away as Hunter and McCall stare after her. Not
liking it, but unable to do one damn thing about it.
INT. CITYROOM - NIGHT
We're CLOSE on a sheet of white paper rolled into a type-
writer. Isabel is typing loudly at 70 words a minute. We
HEAR her voice over.
ISABEL'S VOICE
Where do they come from? The
Supreme Court of the United States
recently declared it unconstitutional
to lock up a person simply because
he or she is mentally ill...Turned
out of the institutions, many of
them flocked to the Skid Rows of
our large cities...homeless,
friendless and forgotten...others
come from the -
ANOTHER ANGLE
to include Ralph Bankson.
BANKSON
(overlapping)
Isabel...How's it coming?
He peers over her shoulder to read the copy.
BANKSON
(as he reads)
Good stuff...real punch. Don't
worry about space - we'll find it.
She nods.
HUNTER'S VOICE
Mister Bankson?
Bankson and Isabel look up.
HUNTER AND McCALL
approaching.
HUNTER
Could we talk to you in your office?
BANKSON
Sure.
Isabel wondering what it's all about but returning to her
typing.
INT. BANKSON'S OFFICE
Bankson perched on the edge of his desk, arms defensively
folded across his chest as he faces Hunter and McCall.
BANKSON
Even with my approval you can't
tap a line without a court order,
and this is a newspaper, for God's
sake - a public trust. Do you
know what people who call us would
say if they found out they were
being wiretapped by the police?
McCALL
We're talking about one line, one
reporter, the only link we have to
a killer.
HUNTER
We'll get the court order if you'll
cooperate.
BANKSON
Reporters go to jail for not
revealing their sources and you
expect me to agree to a wire tap?
HUNTER
Yes. People are being killed.
BANKSON
Can you guarantee that if we do it
your way, we'll catch this bastard?
HUNTER
No.
BANKSON
Then I can't authorize it. And
even if I did, there's no way
Isabel would go along with it.
McCALL
If it happens again, she might not
have much choice.
BANKSON
Won't she? Then you don't know
Isabel French -- which, incidentally,
isn't her real name.
Off Hunter and McCall's mildly surprised reactions,
BANKSON
Try Nella Watkins. She grew up on
the streets dreaming about winning
a Pulitzer Prize. Worked and
scratched and chased...had to quit
school at fourteen but went back
nights because she had one helluva
mind and because that's how bad she
wanted it.
(then)
That killer out there...I think he
picked the wrong lady.
OMITTED
INT. ISABEL'S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT
The place has been thoroughly searched by an intruder.
WE PAN from pictures askew on the wall, to drawers open
with spilled contents... to Isabel French, sitting in
a chair, waiting. She's wearing a coat as if she's just
come in.
A loud, urgent knock at the front door.
ISABEL
Come in...it's open.
NEW ANGLE
to include front door as Hunter and McCall ease it open.
ISABEL
I couldn't lock it. The lock's
been jimmied.
Hunter and McCall taking in the chaos of the room.
McCALL
We got your message...Did you see
who did this?
ISABEL
(headshake)
I got home about nine-thirty, and
when I opened the door and turned
on the light, here it was.
HUNTER
Anything missing?
ISABEL
I don't know...I tried to look. I
just couldn't.
Hunter and McCall, looking around with trained eyes...Isabel's
cool facade is beginning to crack.
ISABEL
It's him - isn't it? He found out
where I live and he came here and
did this. Why?
McCALL
Well, if it was the "Skid Row
Stalker" as you call him, he was
obviously looking for something.
Do you know what it could be?
ISABEL
No, it doesn't make any sense. I've
no idea what he could be looking
for.
HUNTER
Whatever it was, I don't think he
found it.
He indicates an automatic answering machine by the telephone,
HUNTER
Have you listened to your calls
tonight?
She stares at it in horror. The answer is obviously no.
Hunter rewinds the machine, punches "playback" to summon a
voice both chilling and indeterminate; a whispery, faceless
being that could be either male or female. It's been
altered by some electronic device.
VOICE (O.S.)
(from machine)
Isabel...you have not let go of the
fears of which mortality is made.
Working with the authorities you
cost me my sanity, so when dusk
comes I shall once again become
open prey to eagles. The choice is
made. Another's blood will soon
be upon my hands...
The message dies as Hunter shuts off the machine, pockets
the tape.
ISABEL
(re: tape)
What're you doing?
HUNTER
This has to be copied and analyzed.
You saying I'll have to get a
court order for it?
ISABEL
No, it's okay, take it.
HUNTER
(to McCall)
Maybe someone tipped him off that we
were up talking to the city editor.
MCCALL
(to Isabel)
Any idea who?
ISABEL
You're not suggesting someone
at the paper could be involved
in this!
HUNTER
Good question. Why don't we look
into it, McCall.
END OF ACT ONE
FADE OUT
************************************************************
ACT TWO
FADE IN:
EXT. P.C. DIVISION - ESTABLISHING - DAY
OMITTED
INT. SQUAD ROOM
Hunter and McCall have caught up to Lt. Finn here, as the
flotsam and jetsam of police life drift past: handcuffed
Hookers, Lowlifes and Bizarros accompanied by Uniformed Cops.
LT. FINN
What are you two laying on me -
her house was ransacked but
nothing's missing, right? And
she has no idea what they were
looking for!
HUNTER
Right again.
LT. FINN
She got a message on her phone
machine. But the lab can't tell
us if it's a man or a woman.
Right again?
They nod.
LT. FINN
In other words we got a lot of
nothin!
MCCALL
The tape was altered electronically.
That's big time sophisticated.
HUNTER
Which doesn't sound like a psycho
to me.
MCCALL
And the FBI fingerprints computer
told us who the latest victim is.
She consults a small notepad.
MCCALL
Geraldine de Souza. Born May 17,
1921 in Tucson, Arizona.
HUNTER
Disappeared twelve years ago
from Tucson. Her family didn't
even know where she was till now.
LT. FINN
Where does that take us?
MCCALL
To Skid Row - to find out if someone
had a good reason for killing her.
LT. FINN
Then go. What are you standing
around here for?
MCCALL
They don't trust cops on Skid
Row. One of us has to go
undercover.
HUNTER
So we'll need time and equipment.
LT. FINN
Undercover? On Skid Row? As what?
EXT. SKID ROW STREET - DAY
A colorful bag lady in fright wig is shuffling down the street,
dressed like Ali Baba meets Apple Annie. She's loudly SINGING
some weird tune.
CLOSER
She bends over a paper sack wherein dwells a quart of Jim
Beam. At least that's what it looks like, until --
"BAG LADY"
Why did I let you talk me into
this? Hunter, are you listening?
It's McCall, and along with the booze, the bag also conceals
a wireless mike. Into it, just for gleeful spite, she BLASTS.
some coloratura caterwaul.
INT. HUNTER'S CAR
He's parked nearby, out of sight, wincing as McCall's song
pours forth from a speaker.
EXT. STREET
McCall continuing along the street. She's grown quiet by now.
HER POV
Two or three female denizens of Skid Row standing around,
passing the time. Among them, an OLD WOMAN.
ANGLE - THE BUMS
as McCall approaches. She pretends worry and agitation and
speaks in an accent that reeks of Oklahoma or points south.
MCCALL
Please...Can you help me? I can't
find my friend Geraldine. She's
yay tall -
She holds her hand about five-feet-plus off the ground.
MCCALL
- 'bout fifty or sixty, wears a
lucky red sweater? I ain't seen
her in days and days.
Several headshakes of puzzlement. They'd like to help, but
they genuinely can't.
OLD WOMAN
No, dearie, can't help you. Don't
know her.
The Old Woman knocks gently on the side of her own head.
INT. HUNTER'S CAR
OLD WOMAN'S VOICE
(from speaker)
But knock on wood I hope you find
her.
EXT. DOWNTOWN STREET - LATER - DAY
McCall, shuffling along, playing her part to the hilt, when
a man staggers out of an alley - never taking his eyes off
her brown paper bag that apparently contains hooch. He
starts to follow her. McCall spots him right away, but just
keeps stumbling along at her steady pace. As she passes a
doorway, he jumps her and grabs the bag. McCall hangs onto
it for dear life.
McCall loses her footing and the two go rolling around on
the ground, grappling for the paper bag.
INT. HUNTER'S CAR
Muffled sounds of a struggle from McCall's wire. Hunter
reacting, starts the engine, which sputters and conks out.
He tries again.
BACK TO SCENE
McCall has put the bag aside to give full attention to the
drunk. She spins him around and dumps him hard on the
pavement. The drunk scrambles to his feet with a look of
total astonishment, turns and takes off as McCall picks up
the bag.
McCALL
(into the bag and
concealed mike)
Cool it, Hunter, I'm all right. He
took off. Stay where you are.
EXT. STREET - DAY
McCall has coaxed aside another derelict, this one an OLD
MAN, who's drunk as hell with a shopping cart piled high
with life's treasures.
McCALL
I bin so worried -- I ain't seen
her for days.
The old coot thoughtfully strokes his scruffy beard, thinking.
OLD MAN
Sounds to me like you're describin'
Wanda - not some Geraldine.
He holds his hand about five-feet-plus off the ground.
OLD MAN
'Bout so high, an old gal...a
treasure hunter like me...always
pokin' around. Wears a red
sweater.
MCCALL
(excited)
That sounds like her all right.
You know where I can find her?
OLD MAN
Might try over to Jack's Bar.
I seen her there before, more
than once.
MCCALL
Jack's Bar. I'll try it. Yes,
I will. Bless you.
She wanders away, singing an off-key ditty. The minute she's
safely out of earshot, she speaks directly into her paper sack
where the bottle of Jim Beam peeks out.
MCCALL
(low)
Hunter, you heard it. Get me
out of here...Olive and Alameda.
McCall looks up from talking into her paper sack to find the
Old Man staring at her.
OLD MAN
I hear you. Sometimes them
old bottles almost seem to come
alive. I didn't know better, I'd
a sworn mine was singin' the Star
Spangle Banner.
EXT. STREET - FARTHER DOWN BLOCK - DAY
Hunter magically appears in the unmarked car and McCall climbs
in and is whisked away.
ANGLE - THE OLD MAN
Watching transfixed as the car summons her away. What the
heck. He holds up his own liquor bottle and rubs it like
Aladdin's lamp.
OLD MAN
(into bottle)
Hunter, get me out of here. Olive
and Alameda.
He watches the street, waiting for his own magic chariot to
appear.
INT. HUNTER'S CAR (MOVING) - DAY
McCall has her eyes closed; she's tired. Hunter looks at her
and grins.
HUNTER
I like your new look, McCall. I
mean, it's you, it makes a very
personal statement.
MCCALL
(glares at him)
You wanta hear a really personal
Statement, Hunter?
HUNTER
(lauqhs)
I don't think so.
MCCALL
Good thinking. I'm gonna
go home, take a bath, and then
we're gonna have a drink -- at
a place called Jack's Bar.
EXT. JACK'S BAR - ESTABLISHING - DAY
A real hole-in-the-wall.
INT. JACK'S BAR
We're not talking Century City. A few tables and chairs
scattered across the linoleum floor. A bar to one side and
behind it, a huge, bullet-headed barkeep, SID.
ANGLE - FRONT DOOR
Hunter and McCall entering. She's changed her clothes
and is back to her beautiful self. Our two cops
are ignored and watched at the same time by the cheery
patrons, mostly down-and-outers but some real scarfaces,
too. At the bar, Sid eyes them suspiciously.
HUNTER
Are you Jack?
SID
Nope.
MCCALL
Can we talk to Jack?
SID
You can try, but he's been dead
so long he probably won't answer.
Hunter and McCall don't even crack a smile.
MCCALL
(re: joke)
That one of your biggies?
HUNTER
You own this place or are you
just the staff clown?
SID
I own it.
Hunter and McCall flash their badges.
MCCALL
Now what did you say your name
was?
SID
Sid. Signs cost money and drunks
don't read 'em anyway.
HUNTER
You happen to know the woman
murdered last night over on
Fifth and Hill?
SID
Nope.
MCCALL
She may call herself Wanda, kind
of a bag lady...pack rat...wore
a red sweater.
Sid just shakes his head. He couldn't be bothered. He
wipes the bar with an old rag.
MCCALL
I hear you're the eyes and ears
of the whole neighborhood.
SID
Look, I don't like cops here. It
runs the customers off. Nothin'
personal.
HUNTER
Maybe if you put some liquor in
the liquor...
SID
I especially don't like funny
cops.
MCCALL
How about spoil-sport cops, Sid?
Cops who think you've got too
many phones in your bar? Cops
who think you're running a book
in the back room?
HUNTER
Cops that talk to health inspectors.
MCCALL
Cops that sit outside your place
in patrol cars?
Sid, knowing he's beaten, stops cleaning the bar.
SID
She liked her sherry, and you're
right, her name was Wanda.
HUNTER
That's it? That's all?
SID
What else you want? Some
of these people don't smell so
good. Sometimes you don't even
wanna get close enough to pour
their booze.
MCCALL
Or take their money.
SID
Gimme a break! All I know is
whenever she'd hit it lucky, they'd
come in here and order sherry like
a coupla queens.
MCCALL
They?
SID
Yeah, her and Pockets.
HUNTER
Who's Pockets?
SID
Crazy old broad. They're always
together. Or they were - until
now.
MCCALL
Why didn't you tell us all this
before?
SID
'Cause it won't do you an ounce
of good. Pockets don't talk, not
to nobody, ever. Hangs out on
Third next to the bank - where
she won't talk either.
HUNTER
How will we know her?
SID
(laughs)
Pockets? She's kinda hard to miss
EXT. DOWNTOWN STREET CORNER - DAY
POCKETS is standing here. She's around sixty, Black and
none too clean. None of this identifies her, though. Her
distinguishing feature is the half-dozen coats that hang
over her, their scores of oversized pockets filled with
everything imaginable which has little or no value. As we
get closer, we realize that Pockets is trying to sell things
that she's found in the street, in trash cans, dumpsters, etc.
ANOTHER ANGLE
Hunter and McCall approaching to take this in. Pockets
silently urging different items on passersby. She holds up
old, ragged dolls, broken cups, bits and pieces of jewelry,
continually pulling things out of the enormous pockets,
thrusting them questioningly at people. Hunter and McCall
are her newest would-be buyers, but she doesn't say a word.
It is a silent ritual.
HUNTER
Pockets?
Pockets looks him over and frowns. Hunter and McCall
produce their badges.
MCCALL
I'm Sergeant Dee Dee McCall, and
this is Sergeant Hunter. We're
police officers.
Pockets loses no time in gathering up her wares and starting
away in double time. Almost embarrassed, Hunter and McCall
give chase after this strange, flapping creature.
MCCALL
Please, we want to ask you some
questions about Wanda...Pockets,
we won't hurt you...Please, it's
Wanda -- she's dead...
Pockets stops dead in her tracks. She didn't know. She is
stunned, as though her fears have been realized.
HUNTER
We just want to talk to you.
MCCALL
Is there someplace we can sit
down?
But Pockets abruptly changes course, zigzagging wildly,
covering her ears with her hands. Not a crazy woman, but a
human in terrible pain trying to find escape. There is none,
Eventually she finds herself trapped against a building.
Hunter and McCall hovering protectively.
MCCALL
(softly)
I'm sorry...She was your friend,
wasn't she? And she was all by
herself and somebody killed her...
and she deserved better.
Pockets still cannot speak. Her face is terribly sad.
Hunter and McCall look at each other.
HUNTER
Can you hear me? Do you understand
what Sergeant McCall is saying to
you?
There is no answer.
MCCALL
(low)
I think Sid's right. She doesn't
talk. Maybe she doesn't understand.
POCKETS
I understand more'n Sid does.
MCCALL
Then why didn't you say anything?
POCKETS
Say what? They leave you alone if
you don't say nothin'.
HUNTER
I know what you mean. Why'd you
change your mind?
POCKETS
(to McCall)
Liked what you said about Wanda
deservin' better.
MCCALL
Would you tell us about Wanda?
POCKETS
Buy a bottle of sherry for her
and me?
HUNTER
You got it.
Pockets nods her head toward the waiting street and Hunter
and McCall begin to follow her.
EXT. ALLEY - DAY
Hunter (clutching the bottle of sherry) and McCall on
Pockets' heel, making their way through the junky,
littered alley to a door that isn't visible to the casual
eye. A little uneasy, wondering what they've gotten
themselves into. Pockets swings open the door.
OMITTED
INT. BASEMENT - DAY
Pockets enters, followed by our two coos, who look around,
taken aback by what they see. It's a dingy, cluttered
rabbit warren piled high with newspapers, old bicycle
parts, a 1967 calendar, dolls, etc. It is the storehouse
of a packrat. In the corner on the floor, in a clearing,
are two pallets made of old rags and blankets. Pockets
points to one of the pallets.
POCKETS
That's where Wanda slept. Guess I
oughta get rid of it now...
(then)
You two. Turn around.
She motions harshly toward Hunter and McCall, who finally
understand that Pockets wants them to turn their backs.
More uneasiness. Finally they comply and she takes out
a loose brick from the wall.
POCKETS
No peeking, you hear me?
Into the wall, she puts some small but special treasure. She
replaces the brick.
POCKETS
Okay...now you can look...I don't
let nobody see my hidey-hole.
Pockets motions toward an old junked couch, its springs
visible in several places. Hunter and McCall perch uncom-
fortably upon it. Pockets sits in a wrecked chair. Then
she takes out three chipped jelly-jar glasses and pours
sherry carefully into each. Her guests do not drink from
theirs, but politely hold them.
POCKETS
I told Wanda, 'don't you go pokin'
in the garbage at night...' I told
her, 'poke all you want in the
daytime, but you stay here at
night.' She didn't listen to me...
always pokin' in that damn garbage
like a rat...sure enough, he got
her...
MCCALL
Who got her?
POCKETS
Who do you think? Guy who killed
her.
HUNTER
Who was it?
POCKETS
I don't know, but when I find
him, I'm gonna put one right
between his eyes for what he
done. Wanda was okay, but she
couldn't take care of herself.
I tried to. You couldn't tell
her nothin'. She'd talk to
anybody...talkin' an' pokin' in
that garbage...talkin' and pokin'...
INT. ELEVATOR - NIGHT
Isabel inside, alone. The doors open. She exits to find
two male REPORTERS waiting to get on. They are genuinely
glad to see her.
REPORTER
Hey Isabel...good stuff! Keep
it up and you're going to win
a Pulitzer, young lady.
The other reporter, nodding in agreement.
ISABEL
Right now, I'd rather find a home
for a bunch of poor people on Skid Row.
And she continues on past them.
INT. PARKING GARAGE - NIGHT
Isabel enters the cavernous multilevel structure. Only a
few cars are left in the building. We MOVE with Isabel as
she crosses the area to her vehicle, her footsteps ECHOING
on the concrete. Then the SOUND of another distant footfall,
Isabel stops and listens. The FOOTSTEPS cease. She looks
around, straining to see into the shadows.
HER POV - THE EMPTY GARAGE
No sign of life or movement.
RESUME ISABEL
She looks concerned, moves faster toward her car.
ANGLE - ISABEL'S CAR
She hurries to it, fumbles with her keys, tries to get it
unlocked.
ANOTHER ANGLE - ON ISABEL
as she gets the door open. A hand reaches INTO FRAME,
touches her shoulder. She spins around in fright.
HER POV - BILLY
the junkie, in bad need of a fix, sniffling as he shifts from
one foot to the other; but Billy, over six feet and large-fisted
still looks dangerous.
RESUME ISABEL
reacting in terror.
ISABEL
What is it?! What do you want?
THE SCENE
BILLY
I saw you.
ISABEL
What?!
BILLY
I saw you on a talk show...on TV.
ISABEL
(relieved)
Yes...I'm sorry, excuse me. I'm
in a hurry.
She tries to get in the car. He grabs the door. As he does
so we HEAR a distant engine being started.
ISABEL
Let me go or I'll yell for help!
BILLY
No you won't. Cause I seen you
before you got on TV. I seen
you in that alley.
ISABEL
Alley? What alley?
BILLY
You know what alley.
Isabel's eyes say maybe she does. The car we heard drives
by. Isabel considers running to it, but she doesn't.
Another car door in the distance opens, then closes.
BILLY
I want five thousand dollars.
Or I'm gonna go tell the cops.
ISABEL
Tell them what?!
BILLY
That there ain't no Skid Row
Stalker. You made it all up,
lady. The Stalker is you. I
seen you. I seen you kill that
old lady.
ON ISABEL
as we realize Holy Shit, she really did it.
END OF ACT TWO
FADE OUT
***********************************************************
ACT THREE
FADE IN:
EXT. P.D. DIVISION - DAY
A female PRESS INFORMATION OFFICER (plainclothes with
badge) exits the station to meet a contingent of press
and TV reporters that are waiting expectantly.
P.I.0.
Sorry to keep you waiting, but we
won't be issuing a statement until
this time tomorrow.
REPORTERS
(overlapping)
Are you saying you have no leads?
Are there any suspects?
P.I.0.
I'm sorry. That's all there is.
She reenters the building. Dejected, they get ready to
leave, when:
ANOTHER ANGLE
Isabel pulling up and parking. One of the reporters spots
her.
REPORTER
Hey! It's Isabel French!
And, spotting new prey, they descend, with flashing bulbs
and minicams.
VARIOUS REPORTERS
(overlapping)
Isabel! Isabel! Why are you here?
Any new developments? What's the
status of the case?
ISABEL
Please, I have a deadline just like
you.
A female TV Reporter, more persistent than the rest, shoves
a mike in Isabel's face as she pushes her way toward the
door of the station.
FEMALE TV REPORTER
Have you talked to the killer
again? Has he given any motive for
the murders?
ISABEL
You'll read all about it in the
Daily Citizen.
And Isabel pushes her way into the safety of the police
station.
INT. SQUAD ROOM - DAY
Hunter and McCall huddled excitedly with Isabel at Hunter's
desk. For her part, Isabel is lying convincingly through
her perfect white teeth.
ISABEL
That's what I'm trying to tell
you! He says he has eyewitness
information about the killings.
MCCALL
And the voice wasn't anything
like the killer's?
ISABEL
Nothing. It was...just normal.
And he was only interested in how
much money I was going to pay him.
HUNTER
Did he come up with a figure?
ISABEL
Five hundred dollars.
HUNTER
Did he also offer to tell you
where you could find Jimmy Hoffa?
This pisses Isabel off a little.
ISABEL
My instincts tell me he's legit.
I'm only worried about meeting
him on Skid Row in the dead of
night.
MCCALL
No problem. I'll meet him.
ISABEL
How? In black face? My picture's
been plastered all over the six
o'clock news. No, I want you
to wire me and back me up.
HUNTER
We can't let civilians take risks
like that.
ISABEL
I'm not a civilian, I'm a reporter,
and that's the deal. If you want
to know what this is all about
you'll put a hidden microphone on
me...otherwise I'll do it all on my
own.
INT. HUNTER'S CAR - NIGHT
Hunter at the wheel as McCall sits in the back seat, wiring
Isabel with a hidden microphone at the waist.
MCCALL
Remember: no heroics. No fancy
stuff. Let us do the police work.
HUNTER
Last chance to back out.
ISABEL
No thanks. Let's do it.
She gets out of the car and walks away, a purse in her left
hand.
EXT. STREET - PHONE BOOTH - NIGHT
Isabel walks a long way. Finally she makes her way to this
booth. She steps into the booth, picks up the phone book,
glances about warily, and sneaks a note out of her pocket.
This she pretends to take from the phone book.
ISABEL
(low)
It's a note...he wants me to go to
the next booth down the street...
stay back, he'll hear you if you
start that car.
She exits the booth and walks on toward another booth a
block or more away.
EXT. AT SECOND PHONE BOOTH - NIGHT
Isabel enters, takes another note from her pocket.
ISABEL
Another note.
INT. HUNTER'S CAR
ISABEL'S VOICE
(static; poor
reception)
It says, 'Go into next alley and
meet me near fence'. If he's
this close, you can stay where
you are.
OMITTED
EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT
She tries a few steps down the alley and stops, looking into
the semi-darkness.
ON BILLY NANCY
He steps into the dim light near a fence about fifty feet
on down the cluttered alley.
ON ISABEL
She reaches inside her coat and pulls the transmitter plug
out of its base.
INT. HUNTER'S CAR
Both react as the NOISE suddenly dies and the speaker is
silent.
McCALL
What happened - you think the
battery went dead?
Hunter, wagging the antennae around.
HUNTER
Crank up the squelch.
As McCall fiddles with the dial...
OM ISABEL
walking toward
BILLY
Who suddenly raises his left arm. In his hand is a blue
metal gun, pointed at Isabel's heart.
ISABEL
Now five or six feet from Billy.
ISABEL
What's the gun for? You don't
need a gun.
BILLY
You got the cash?
She takes a thick envelope from her right pocket and offers
it to Billy. (Her leather purse is in her left hand.)
BILLY
steps forward, gun still pointed, and takes the envelope.
When his right hand touches the envelope his eyes drop to
it, and:
ISABEL
swings her purse! Knocking the gun out of Billy's hand.
She steps back, jerks a Saturday-night special from her
purse, and FIRES point-blank into Billy's stomach. She
begins to SCREAM, turns and FIRES a second shot into a
metal trash can.
ON HUNTER'S CAR
He tries to start it, but it balks.
HUNTER
Come on, damn it! Move !
Then he and McCall are out in a second and running toward the
distant alley.
ISABEL
Still SCREAMING ("Help!", "Let me go!", etc.). She is wiping
the Saturday-night special clean of her prints. She kneels
and puts the gun into Billy's hand, holding it by the barrel
and a handkerchief.
Now she runs over to where Billy's gun should be. She can't
find it!
ON HUNTER AND McCALL
Running. Half-way there. We HEAR Isabel SCREAMING.
ISABEL
Frantic. Where's the gun! Suddenly she sees:
THE GUN
She hurries over, grabs it up, looks for a place to hide it.
She sees:
A PILE OF JUNK
She SCREAMS again as she runs to the junk pile and shoves the
gun into it, well out of sight. We can hear the running
footsteps of Hunter and McCall.
ISABEL
SCREAMING, runs back to Billy, holds the gun pointed away
and FIRES into the wall. She rises and runs toward the
street.
HUNTER AND MCCALL
as they run into the alley. Isabel, sobbing now, almost
collides with them.
ISABEL
(hysterically)
He tried to kill me! He tried to
kill me!
MCCALL
Quiet down! We're here!
Hunter has run on to
BILLY
as Hunter enters and kneels down to check for signs of life.
MCCALL AND ISABEL
walking toward Hunter.
HUNTER
stands, looks at Isabel.
HUNTER
He's dead. What happened?
ISABEL
(trembling)
It was him! It was the Skid Row
Stalker! The voice was like it
was before when he called me
about the murders. He got me
here to kill me!
MCCALL
And he's dead?
ISABEL
He pointed a gun at me and started
talking gibberish and I grabbed
the gun. It went off, I don't
know how many times! And suddenly
he dropped and I ran!
HUNTER
What the hell happened to
your wire?
She pretends confusion for a moment, then remembers. She
opens the blanket, then her jacket, to find the mike. It's
disconnected.
ISABEL
When he rushed me it must've
pulled loose. He came out of
the shadows and grabbed my arm.
MCCALL
Where are the notes he left in
the phone booths?
Isabel fumbles, then produces them.
MCCALL
(glancing over
them)
Printed in block letters...They
won't tell us much.
Hunter and McCall exchange looks of pure frustration.
OMITTED
INT. FINN'S OFFICE - DAY
Finn sits behind his desk, upset. Hunter and McCall stand
in front of it.
FINN
I'm not a happy, carefree person -
I worry about things. I worry
about nuclear arms. I worry about
riots. Most of all, I worry about
hot dog cops who use civilians on
decoy operations.
MCCALL
It wasn't a decoy operation. She
had the information and we didn't.
She was going, period. It was
either go along and protect her
or let her go alone.
FINN
At least she came out of it in
one piece. Case closed.
HUNTER
The case is wide open.
FINN
What do you mean by that? The
woman went into an alley, met a
killer and he ended up dead.
That's what happened, isn't it?
HUNTER
We're not sure what happened.
MCCALL
We still have a lot of questions
about what happened in that alley.
FINN
For instance?
HUNTER
For instance the bug...
MCCALL
It was working until a few seconds
before the shots were fired. We
heard walking, clothes rustling,
but no struggle, no words. It just
went dead, and that doesn't smell
right.
FINN
What else?
MCCALL
The dead man. He's a junkie. The
guy who kills people, and then calls a
reporter to talk about it, is a
psycho...when did a junkie ever
kill except to get money for
his next fix? The dead man and
the psycho...two different people.
FINN
Alright, okay, that makes sense.
What do you want this time?
HUNTER
A 24-hour surveillance on Isabel
French.
FINN
(in shock)
You mean she's now a suspect!?
What the hell is this?!
HUNTER
It's worse than that, Lieutenant.
She's our only suspect.
EXT. LOS ANGELES DAILY CITIZEN - NIGHT
We CENTER on the EXIT from the underground garage. All is
quiet. The exit is on the south side of the street.
ON HUNTER'S CAR
It is parked two blocks from the Daily Citizen building,
looking toward the exit, parked on the north side of the
street.
INT. HUNTER'S CAR
On Hunter at the wheel looking off toward:
THE EXIT - FROM HUNTER'S POV
We SEE very little detail from this distance.
ON MCCALL
She too is looking at the exit but she has an infra-red
night scope to her eyes.
THE EXIT FROM MCCALL'S POV
It is CLOSE of course and we see details of the exit, in
pink-tinted gray tones.
MCCALL
lowers the night-scope.
MCCALL
How do these things work?
HUNTER
You put 'em up to your eyes and
you look through 'em.
McCall gives him a dirty look.
MCCALL
Okay, okay, smart aleck. I'm
talking about the principle
involved. What's the technology
that makes 'em work?
HUNTER
It's very simple, McCall, it -
MCCALL
(interrupting)
Hunter, if it was "very simple"
I wouldn't have to ask.
HUNTER
It's simple, McCall. Very simple.
MCCALL
Okay, you got sixty seconds. And
keep it simple.
HUNTER
Works on the principle of infra-
red light, which --
Hunter has stopped because they have seen:
HUNTER'S POV - EXIT
We see the lights of a car as the car drives slowly out of
the garage into the street.
ON MCCALL
She has put the night-scope to her eyes.
MCCALL'S POV
We see that it is not Isabel's car.
MCCALL'S VOICE
Relax. It's not her car and
there's a man at the wheel.
ON HUNTER AND MCCALL
MCCALL
(lowers night-scope)
You can finish your 60 seconds
when our relief shows up.
Hunter looks at his watch.
HUNTER
They're ten minutes late.
(grins at McCall)
And I just told you everything I
know about that thing.
MCCALL
I figured you had.
Silence. Both watch the exit. (McCall does not use the
scope except when car-lights appear.)
MCCALL
Why do you suppose she did it?
HUNTER
Did what?
McCall's head snaps around as she stares at Hunter.
MCCALL
You putting me on?
HUNTER
Nope.
MCCALL
She suckered us. Hunter. We
walked into that scam of hers
like a pair of innocents, and
helped her wrap up her Big Story.
(gestures "headline")
Gallant Reporter Solves Skid Row
Stalker Case.
HUNTER
Only one thing wrong with that,
McCall - how'd she sucker that
junkie into the alley to get himself
killed.
McCall has also been bothered by that question. She slumps
back and shrugs her shoulders.
MCCALL
You're the know-it-all here, you
tell me.
McCall puts the night-scope to her eyes.
HUNTER
If I could do that, what would we
be doing, sitting here staring at
that stupid exit? I'm hungry and
I'm bored, and --
MCCALL
And here she comes!
POV - ISABEL'S CAR
It pulls out of the garage and turns toward them.
HUNTER
(as he ducks)
Down!
MCCALL
(has ducked at
same time Hunter did)
Good news, Hunter! - she's not
heading for home.
We HEAR Isabel's 318i roar past, and after a moment Hunter
and McCall sit up. Hunter starts the car while McCall looks
through the rear window to keep Isabel's car in sight.
The Engine TURNS OVER ONCE and DIES.
MCCALL
You said they fixed it!
The motor catches and it purrs like a baby. Hunter grins.
HUNTER
They did.
OMITTED
SERIES OF SHOTS - ISABEL'S CAR, HUNTER'S CAR
We never tie them into the same shot because Hunter is not
staying close enough for that.
INT. HUNTER'S CAR
MCCALL
Skid Row.
HUNTER
Ever hear the old saying, "The
murderer always returns to the
scene of the crime"?
MCCALL
Yeah, and I've never seen it
happen, have you?
HUNTER
No. But we're about to - she just
turned onto Euclid.
EXT. EUCLID STREET - NIGHT
The 318i pulls to a stop across the street from the alley
where she murdered Billy Nancy,
ON HUNTER'S CAR
It turns into a side street, its lights go out, it does a
U-turn and glides up to Euclid, where, lights off, it turns
and parks.
INT. HUNTER'S CAR
McCall puts the night-scope to her eyes.
OMIT
INT. CAR
McCALL
(lowers night-scope)
She went into the alley!
They get out of the car. McCall is wearing pants and
low-heeled shoes.
EXT. THE CAR
They cross the street and hurry toward Isabel's car. They
stay in deep shadow and move at a half-run, but in silence.
AT ISABEL'S CAR
Shooting toward Hunter and McCall, they are on the side of
the street across from the alley entrance. They stop.
CLOSE ON HUNTER AND MCCALL
They look across the street at the alley entrance, which is
not directly across from them.
Hunter looks up at a fire-escape platform over their heads.
He points up at it.
McCall looks up, gets the idea, and hangs the night-scope
by its cord around her neck.
Hunter boosts her up until, standing on his shoulders, she
can reach the fire escape platform.
ON MCCALL
As she pulls herself up onto the platform and gets into
position: Puts the night-scope to her eyes and looks
DOWN into the alley.
WHAT SHE SEES
Isabel, looking frantically through the junk pile where she
had hidden Billy's gun.
ON MCCALL
MCCALL
(stage whisper)
She's looking for something!
ON HUNTER
hiding in the shadows, his eyes on the dark alley. He can't
see Isabel.
ON MCCALL
still looking through her night-scope.
McCALL
She can't find it - whatever it
is.
McCALL'S POV
Isabel. Frantic. Where is it?! She looks more carefully,
always in the general area of the pile where she put the gun.
She turns and begins to search the ground. Kicks something
in frustration.
ON McCALL
McCALL
(same stage whisper)
Get me down - she's about to give
up.
She lowers the night-scope and climbs Off the fire-escape
platform.
HUNTER
(arms raised)
Okay, drop.
McCall lets go and Hunter catches her. She falls into his
arms facing him and for a brief second they grin at each
other before he puts her down and they hurry back down the
street, staying in the shadows, toward their car.
OMIT
ON HUNTER AND McCALL
as they jump into the car. They SEE
THE 318i
The lights come on, the engine starts, and she takes off
OM HUNTER AND McCALL
He tries the engine. Nothing.
McCALL
All fixed now, huh?
He tries again. It catches.
HUNTER
Good as new.
They take off, lights off, in pursuit of Isabel.
OM ISABEL'S CAR
It turns left on Main.
HUNTER
turns on his lights.
HUNTER'S CAR
turns left on Main.
INT. CAR
McCALL
There she is.
HUNTER
McCall, think about what she did,
how she went at it...Was she
looking for something small? Like
a watch or a ring?
McCALL
No. Larger. Something she could
identify just by feel.
HUNTER
And you're pretty sure she didn't
find it.
McCALL
Not unless she found it while I
was jumping off the fire escape.
HUNTER
But she could have. And if she did,
she's got it on her.
MCCALL
Let's find out. Stop her now?
Or let her take us to where she's
going?
HUNTER
Let's stay with her awhile.
A few brief run-bys, then;
OMITTED
INT. ISABEL'S HOUSE - NIGHT
Hunter and McCall, knocking on the door. Isabel opens it,
startled to see them.
ISABEL
Yes? What can I do for you?
MCCALL
Well, you could come along quietly -
you're under arrest.
ISABEL
What!?
MCCALL
You have the right to remain
silent. If you give up that
right, anything you say can
and will be used -
ISABEL
- Against me in a court of law.
Are you taking me into custody?
And if so, why?
HUNTER
You willing to answer a few
questions right here?
MCCALL
Like - what were you looking
for in that alley?
That catches Isabel way off guard, but she recovers quickly
with:
ISABEL
I lost an earring. I went to
look for it.
HUNTER
Find it?
ISABEL
No...I guess it's lost...it had
sentimental value...They were my
grandmother's.
HUNTER
Mind if we see the other one?
Isabel hands her purse to McCall.
ISABEL
Be my guest.
McCall fumbles in the purse for a few moments, then comes
up with a single earring.
MCCALL
Just one.
HUNTER
Why would you go back at night to
find it? -- you had all day.
ISABEL
I didn't realize I'd lost it until
a few hours ago and I didn't want
to wait till morning...Why am I
under arrest? Because I lost an
earring?
HUNTER
Because we want to search you and
your car.
ISABEL
You want to search my car? Here's
the keys. You want to do a strip
search? Be my guest. Only don't
be surprised if you read about it
on the front page of the Daily
Citizen.
She motions toward McCall to follow her into the other
room. Hunter starts for the door.
ISABEL
Sergeant Hunter?
He stops and turns.
ISABEL
It's a shame you can't stay -
I've got a great bod.
OMITTED
EXT. DAILY CITIZEN NEWSPAPER - ESTABLISHING - DAY
JNT. CITYROOM - ISABEL
Isabel engrossed in her latest opus on the killings. The
phone RINGS. She snatches it up, unconcerned.
ISABEL
(into receiver)
Isabel French...Yes...what do
you want?
Her face growing blank and cold. She sits listening, her
features hardening.
INTERCUT WITH:
INT. JACK'S PHONE BOOTH - DAY
Pockets is making the call. We are tight on her in the
cramped booth.
POCKETS
(into receiver)
I make my livin' findin' little
things an' selling 'em to folks.
I find 'em in the highways and
by-ways...in alleys...
Silence from Isabel.
POCKETS (Cont'd)
Yessir, I find me some interestin'
things. Special things people want.
Special things they can't find.
Things that cost a thousand
dollars sometimes.
ISABEL
What are you trying to say? Get
to the point.
POCKETS
Yes ma'am. I don't mean to take
up your time...If you was in the
mood to buy somethin', 'bout the
size of a monkey wrench, maybe...
I just thought we might do a
little business.
ISABEL
You want to meet somewhere, is
that it?
POCKETS
Somewhere crowded, lotsa people.
I don't wanna talk over this
telephone contraption. You pick
the spot. Make it a fancy place.
ISABEL
The Guardian restaurant downtown.
Three o'clock.
POCKETS
Ooooohhh...I knows where that is!
Pockets laughs and Isabel hangs up on her. Pockets, still
chuckling, replaces the receiver.
INT. GUARDIAN RESTAURANT - DAY
Sleek and chic -- clearly the place we don't expect to find
Pockets. But there Isabel is, sitting at a plush booth. She
looks up toward the doorway.
POV
A Maitre d' stopping Pockets at the front door.
POCKETS
I's with the Isabel French party.
Would you show me to her table?
The Maitre d' makes a face: the ultimate Maitre d' faced
with the ultimate undesirable.
RESUME
Isabel, half rising, motioning to the Maitre d'.
ISABEL
It's all right. She's with me.
The Maitre d' looking incredulous. But he allows Pockets
to pass.
INT. BOOTH
Isabel regarding Pockets with obvious distaste.
ISABEL
Did you bring whatever it is
you're interested in selling?
POCKETS
(laughs)
Yeah...funny how I come by this
little doodad. I was sound asleep
behind the trash, cuttin' some
zees,, an' all of a sudden, I hear
all this bang bangin'! Well I
looks up and somebody is hidin'
somethin' in a pile o' junk. I
wait 'an wait till everybody's
gone, 'an I sneak a look. There's
another little thing for me to
sell...But this little pretty
got a story, so that makes it worth
a whole lot more.
Isabel leans over the table, fed up and hissing.
ISABEL
Now listen to me, old woman. Cut
the bull and tell me what you want!
POCKETS
I want me a cool thousand.
ISABEL
Well, let me tell you something.
I think maybe you're a cop, that
you're wired, and I don't know
what you're talking about.
Pockets throws back her head and laughs.
POCKETS
(quiet again)
A cop? How many cops you know
look like me? You think I got a
machine that takes down all your
pretty little words? Then here
...wanna see?
Pockets stands up and begins peeling off coats, much to
Isabel's consternation.
ISABEL
Not here, for God's sake. My
place, all right?
POCKETS
That place of yours happen to have
a little sherry?
ISABEL
Yes.
Pockets smiles sweetly, quickly scoops up biscuits, packets
of sugar, crackers, etc. etc. etc.
INT. ISABEL'S HOUSE - DAY
Pockets is just putting on the last of her coats.
ISABEL
All right, you're not wired. So
where do we go from here?
POCKETS
You bring the money an' I'll bring
what I got. Just like that --
where we was tonight. They got
good food.
Isabel glances at her gold wristwatch.
ISABEL
You've got three hours. Now
get out.
POCKETS
Law! Ain't we somebody! You
better be nice to me. Miss Priss,
lease till you get your hands on
the goodies.
Pockets starts out the front door, then turns back and flashes
another smile.
POCKETS
You don't show up, I'll see 'bout
you. I picked that thing up real
careful. And nobody touched it since
you did.
ISABEL
All right, you'll get your money.
Just go.
POCKETS
My money. Got a nice ring, don't
it?
Pockets does a strange little dance out the door.
INT. JACK'S BAR - DAY
Pockets sitting at a booth drinking coffee. Her companions
Are none other than Hunter and McCall. Pockets pours in
enough sugar to lapse into diabetic coma.
HUNTER
You never said what it was you
found, right?
POCKETS
Called it a "thing" 'bout the size
of a monkey wrench, like you said.
HUNTER
And she never once asked what you
found?
POCKETS
She knew what I found, Mr. Good-
lookin'.
Hunter nods at her, looks at McCall.
MCCALL
What else could it be? The junkie
must've brought a gun with him and
probable tried to use it. That's
what she must've been looking for.
HUNTER
(to Pockets)
We've got to be straight on one
thing. You can't go anywhere
alone with her. You understand?
POCKETS
0l' Pockets can take care of herself.
MCCALL
No you can't - not with that woman.
POCKETS
If it didn't work, she'd just walk
away, wouldn't she? You couldn't
do nothin' about her.
HUNTER
We don't want you getting hurt.
POCKETS
Bless your heart...nobody much
worried about me for a hundred years.
MCCALL
Don't get into her car, don't even
go to the ladies room with her.
She'll kill you.
POCKETS
She didn't kill me when she had
me in her house.
MCCALL
You didn't have the gun with you --
that's all that kept you alive.
Next time she'll kill you if you
let her.
POCKETS
Like she killed Wanda. I took
Wanda's bed off the floor, put
everything away. When you ain't
got but one friend an' you lose
that one, makes you mad. I cried.
Takes a lot to make me cry, an'
I'm mad. Why'd she do that?
Wanda never hurt her.
MCCALL
It made her series on Skid Row
front page stuff. She was looking
for a Pulitzer.
(looks at Pockets)
I think she had it pretty hard
growing up.
POCKETS
Uh-uh... I don't wanna hear none
of that 'I'm poor an' I'm black
so I'll just step on somebody
else!' Uh-uh. People think
havin' it hard makes it alright
to do anything! That makes everybody
black an' everybody poor ashamed!
Makes me ashamed! Sittin' in her
fancy apartment, eatin' her supper
like nothin' happened, like Wanda
was dust on her feet. I'm tired
of that kind of stuff now...comes
a time when you got to stand up an'
give it back! Well, she's gonna get
her some, an' ol' Pockets is gonna give
it to her!
MCCALL
Hallelujah!
HUNTER
And amen...
FADE OUT
END OF ACT THREE
*************************************************************
ACT FOUR
FADE IN:
EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT
In the dark, Isabel sits in her car, waiting.
HER POV - POCKETS
striding toward the Guardian restaurant in the b.g.
Clearly a woman on a mission.
INT. HUNTER'S CAR
Hunter and McCall, listening tensely by wireless mike.
We HEAR Pockets humming and singing.
ISABEL'S CAR - NIGHT
It pulls out, turns, pulls in behind Pockets.
INT. ISABEL'S CAR - NIGHT
Isabel lightly taps her horn, gets Pocket's attention and
pulls over to the curb. She throws the passenger door open.
ISABEL
Hurry! Get in!
POCKETS
Uh-uh.
ISABEL
You want the money or not?
POCKETS
That's why I'm doing this dance.
ISABEL
Well, sweetheart, I'm not going
to hand it to you on a platter in
a restaurant, with all those witnesses.
POCKETS
And I'm not gettin' in any damn
automobile with you, Miss Uppity.
ISABEL
Fine, old lady, you just kissed
away a thousand dollars...
Isabel pulls the door shut and starts to pull away. Pockets
is unable to watch Wanda's killer get away. She begins to
half-stumble, half-run toward the slowly-moving car.
POCKETS
She's going to get away...
INT. HUNTER'S CAR
Hunter and McCall are terribly alarmed. He fires up the
engine and it dies.
HUNTER
Dammit!
Over the wireless speaker WE HEAR a car door open and ease
shut. Much rustling of cloth. Hunter and McCall dying
inside as Hunter works desperately to start the car. The
tension is terrible.
HUNTER ISABEL'S VOICE
(urging the car) (filtered)
Come on, dammit. Go! Nice to see you come to
your senses.
POCKETS'S VOICE
(filtered)
Honey, I like a thousand
bucks as bad as the next
ol' woman...
Pockets is gasping and wheezing, thoroughly winded from
her short sprint.
INT. ISABEL'S CAR (MOVING)
ISABEL
Where is it?
POCKETS
Hold your horses, missy. I got
it all right. In this box -
right here. Somewheres.
Pockets, stalling for time, pretends to search through her
voluminous coat, through a dozen pockets. She brings up
a plastic wiener whistle, a cat collar, a lucky silver
dollar among other treasurers. But no box. Isabel's
impatience is rapidly mounting.
INT. HUNTER'S CAR
Hunter, desperately trying to start the car.
ISABEL'S VOICE
Hurry up! I haven't got all night.
POCKETS'S VOICE
Hold on...
INT. ISABEL'S CAR (MOVING)
Pockets locates a box. She brings it out. Isabel makes
a grab for it. Pockets slaps her hand and yanks it out of
reach.
POCKETS
You keep them greedy hands to
yourself!
ISABEL
Just show it to me.
POCKETS
No way, Jose. First I see the
green and then you see the goodies.
Isabel squeals down a side street.
POCKETS
Oh, mercy...
ISABEL
Give me the box, now. Open it!
Pockets, breathing hard, fumbles with the catch with one
hand, stalling desperately.
POCKETS
You ain't gonna shoot me, are you
gal?
INT. HUNTER'S CAR
The sweat is running down Hunter's face as he tries to revive
the car. The engine catches, ROARS to life!
POCKETS'S VOICE
You ain't gonna shoot old Pockets.
INT. ISABEL'S CAR (MOVING)
Pockets, still stalling.
POCKETS
I oughta knowed you was too smart
for me. I ain't nothin' but talk,
anyhow. Here...you take it. Good
luck to you. Just don't you shoot
me with that big ol' number.
INT. HUNTER'S CAR (MOVING)
driving like mad after Isabel and Pockets.
POCKETS'S VOICE
(filtered)
I don't want no money. Heck,
scrapin' by's better than dyin',
ain't it? You just take it an'
let this poor ol' soul outta this
car...oh, law, don't shoot me!
ISABEL'S CAR (MOVING)
Isabel opens the box. There is a chrome-plated gun inside,
It's not Billy's. Isabel smashes the box against the
door in a rage.
ISABEL
You lying old woman! This isn't
the gun!
Pockets is terrified. Suddenly, from behind, WE HEAR:
HUNTER'S VOICE
(on bull horn)
This is the police! Stop your
car - now! Throw out the gun!
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
Pockets rolls onto the street from the moving car. Isabel
floors it. Her car, blasting down the street with the
passenger door swinging wildly until it slams shut from the
force of acceleration.
EXT. AT HUNTER'S CAR
as it slides to a stop. McCall scrambles out to join Pockets
who's on the street, the wind knocked out of her.
Hunter rockets off in pursuit of Isabel.
McCALL AND POCKETS
McCall reaches for Pockets, who is LAUGHING as McCall
hovers beside her.
McCALL
Are you all right!?
POCKETS
Never felt better in my life.
That gal messed with the wrong
ol' crazy person.
McCALL
You can say that again.
POCKETS
Ella Mae Bullock's back and she's
badder than ever.
McCALL
(half laughing,
half crying)
Ella Mae who?
Pockets looks up at her with something like wonder. At a
life regained.
POCKETS
Me. That's my name.
MCCALL
Very glad to know you, Ella Mae.
POCKETS
I bet I ain't told nobody that
for a lifetime...
OMITTED
EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT
Isabel's car squeals around a corner.
ANGLE - SEMI TRUCK
backing out. A warning TOOT-TOOT-TOOT.
INT. ISABEL'S CAR (MOVING)
Her eyes go wide.
HER POV
The truck blocks the road ahead, continuing to back across
her path.
RESUME
She whips the wheel. We hear the SQUEAL of brakes.
EXT. CITY STREET - NIGHT
Hunter's car skids across the corner.
EXT. ABANDONED BREWERY - NIGHT
A chain link fence. Isabel's car crashes through the
and into the deserted yard.
ANOTHER ANGLE
Isabel scrambles out of the disabled car, her gun in hand.
She runs into the shadows of the building.
ANGLE - HUNTER'S CAR
It skids to a stop on the street outside the brewery. He
jumps out, pulls his gun and runs over to Isabel's car.
ANGLE - BREWERY DOORWAY
Isabel smashes a windowpane with the butt end of the gun.
HUNTER
He hears the CRASH, runs in the direction, of the sound.
INT. BREWERY
Isabel reacts through the broken pane, unlocks the door and
enters. She moves down a hallway and hides behind some
equipment.
ANGLE - DOORWAY
Hunter enters and a shot RINGS past, shattering the window-
pane. He ducks and rolls. He crouches and moves down the
hallway with gun drawn toward the hiding place from which
Isabel FIRED.
HUNTER
As he swings around the equipment and levels his gun.
HIS POV
No sign of Isabel.
RESUME - HUNTER
As he prowls cautiously through the maze of abandoned equipment
SERIES OF SHOTS - HUNTER
As he moves through the building, taking cover wherever
available, listening for any sound that may betray Isabel.
There's no sign of her.
NEW ANGLE
Hunter moves away from Camera. We SEE Isabel step into the
foreground and take aim at Hunter's back...and FIRES.
REVERSE ANGLE
Hunter takes the hit in his left arm, spins around,
slams into a boiler plate and FIRES back at Isabel.
ANGLE - ISABEL
blown away by the blast from Hunter's gun. Her gun clattering
to the concrete floor. Her body crumples beside it.
HUNTER
Left arm hanging uselessly at his side, he walks over to
Isabel's body. He takes a long, hard look at it and walks
away.
FADE OUT
END OF ACT FOUR
TAG
FADE IN:
OMIT
INT. POCKETS' HOME
Hunter, his arm in a sling, and McCall look around for signs
of life.
MCCALL
Ella Mae?
Pockets appears behind them, coming from another entrance.
Her pockets are full to overflowing with new treasures. She
grins.
POCKETS
I got me about five ways to get
in or out of here -- on account
of night burglars.
MCCALL
We brought a little sherry -
POCKETS
I heard that!
(then)
I wish Wanda was here.
HUNTER
So do I.
Pockets takes out three chipped glasses, blows them for
surgical cleanliness, and carefully pours from the bottle
that Hunter hands her.
POCKETS
They showed me where Wanda's buried,
over to Potter's field. I took
some little things down there. To
put on the grave. Sure is lonesome.
MCCALL
Why don't you leave this place? We
could help you - you could find a
real home.
Pockets seems to consider it.
POCKETS
You mean leave this mangy old
hole at last?
HUNTER
Sure, there's all kinds of
assistance programs -
POCKETS
People...I got a place. It don't
look like much, but it's what I
am. It's freedom...I can come,
and I can go just like I want to.
I'm the captain of the ship here.
I'm somebody.
(then)
So, let's make a toast...
Pockets gathers herself and lifts up a glass.
POCKETS
(continued)
I got me two friends. A pretty
lady an' a big, tall, good-lookin'
fella. And we finally took good
care of Wanda...Hallelujah!
HUNTER/MCCALL
Amen.
This time, they don't hesitate. They put her funky glasses
to their lips, and together, drink a toast of celebration.
FADE OUT.
THE END
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