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imMobile
by JC (j_aussiedawg@yahoo.com)

Rated: R   Genre: Miscellaneous   User Review: ***1/2
What would you do if you lost your cell phone? Then called your own number? And a complete stranger answered, unwilling to give it up? What does he want? Is he checking your mails? Calling your friends...or worse? That's the predicament cocky, hotshot British publicist Darren Wilkens finds himself in one night after a wild L.A. party. His cell phone is his life, and the contents/info on that phone could destroy him. A dangerous game of cat-and-mouse ensues between Darren and the "mystery man." Will Darren survive this hellish night?


ImMobile(c)Copyright JC. All rights reserved. Screenplay by JC. Story by JC, with JH, MM, CC & JD. This unproduced screenplay is registered with the WGA. No part may be used or reproduced whatsoever without the express written permission of the author. JC grants Scriptbuddy permission to publish this written work.



IMMOBILE

FADE IN:

EXT. L.A. SKYLINE - NIGHT
                                                            
A spectacular view of DOWNTOWN at DUSK. Prominent buildings
are brightly lit.

STREET MONTAGE - NIGHT

STREAMS OF HUMAN BEINGS on cell phones. They walk up and
down sidewalks. Black. White. Others.

Their voices aren't heard. But the faces say it all. Stress.
Tension. Burdens. Life in the City of Angels is taking its
toll.

DARREN WILKENS speedwalks down one such sidewalk, MOBILE
PHONE pressed to his ear.

But not just any phone. It's the ultimate in tiny
technology. A state-of-the-art handset that is clearly top
of the line.

So is this guy -- Thirties. British. Hotshot publicist.
Immaculately dressed in brand-name suit and tie.

Everything about him seems perfect. The hair. The skin. The
walk. The smile. But his soulless eyes betray the consummate
exterior.

Attempting to keep up is his assistant PAUL MORRIS. About
ten years younger. Boyish. Bespectacled. Conservative suit.
Mild-mannered and diligent. Basically, Darren's whipping
boy.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
No worries, my friend. All taken
care of. Well, thank you. That
means a lot coming from you.
                                                            
Darren feigns gagging.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
Ok. Ok. Uh-huh. Umai Sushi. Next
monday. Twelve.
                                                            

2.

A vigorous SNAP of his fingers. Paul quickly jots down items
on a small notepad as the two swim through the mass of
humanity.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
You got it, big guy. Anything for
my favorite client. And friend.
                                                            
Darren looks skyward. He rolls his eyes.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
You stay out of trouble now, you
hear me? I'm not bloody Superman.
Good boy. Next week then. Cheers.
                                                            
Darren folds the cell phone and tucks it away.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Bloody niggers.
                                                            
The dude's a racist to boot.
                                                            
                       DARREN
I LOATHE rap artists. Why we
picked up so many is beyond me.
                                                            
Paul seems short of breath as he matches Darren stride for
stride.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Confirmo, amigo.
                                                            
                       PAUL
      (reading notepad)
Monday. Twelve. Umai Sushi. All
other minute details included.
                                                            
Paul stows the pen and pad inside Darren's leather
briefcase.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Morris, what would I do without
you?
                                                            
A pause.
                                                            
                       PAUL
You'd be screwed?
                                                            
Darren cackles. He looks off as he struts.
                                                            

3.

                       DARREN
I'm already screwed. When I'm not
mopping up some idiot client's
night of debauchery, or doing
damage control for them with the
bloody media, I'm working the
phones...hitting the
streets...getting shit planted on
the net and in the papers. At the
end of the day, what does it all
mean?
                                                            
                       PAUL
Well, it means you make more in a
day than most make in a month.
Before taxes.
                                                            
Darren doesn't appear too impressed by that little factoid.
                                                            
                       PAUL
It also means your choice of the
most luscious babes in town.
                                                            
Darren comes to. He arches an eyebrow.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Ohhhhh, yeahhhhh...
                                                            
His cell phone RINGS. He whips it open, checks the number
display.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Luscious pussy.
                                                            
A dirty smirk graces his face. He brings the phone to his
ear.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
Hello luscious, what's up?
                                                            
Paul regards his boss with obvious envy.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
Tonight? Ouch. No can do, babe.
Something VERY important on
tonight. Well, you know it has to
be big to keep you waiting.
                                                            
Darren beams as he pops a breathmint.
                                                            

4.

                       DARREN
      (in phone)
But tomorrow night would be perf.
Around ten. Your place. Hey,
invite your supermodel girlfriend
Bridget over, and we'll have a go.
A three'er, if you will. Sound
alright?
                                                            
Darren grimaces, pulls the phone away. Paul laughs and
shakes his head. My boss is a dick.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
Just teasing, pumpkin. Just
teasing.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Pumpkin?
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
Tomorrow night then. Wear the pink
see-through. Love ya all the way.
Ciao.
                                                            
He brings the phone away. The sidewalk they maneuver through
begins to thin out.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Pumpkin? You call her...Pumpkin?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Yeah. I do. Have a problem with
that?
                                                            
Paul smiles in disbelief.
                                                            
                       PAUL
You da man, Darren.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Listen and learn, my friend.
Listen and learn.
                                                            
Before he can fold up the phone --

RING!
                                                            
                       DARREN
Christ almighty...
                                                            

5.

                       PAUL
Darren Wilkens, the most popular
guy in L.A..
                                                            
                       DARREN
Bollocks.
(in phone)
Good evening, Mr. Scott. Yes sir,
I appreciate the invitation.
Really? Uh-huh. Great. Looking
forward to joining you as well.
So, on my way now. See you soon.
Cheers.
                                                            
He keeps the phone open and in hand, just in case.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Bloody hell, can't stand that old
Jew hack. So he wins an Oscar,
whoop-dee-fucking-doo.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Correct me if I'm wrong, but
shouldn't it make us proud? I
mean, Oscar-winning clients --
                                                            
                       DARREN
He's fucking rubbish! I'm sick of
scooping up the shitpiles he lays
and making them smell good. It's
nauseating.
                                                            
                       PAUL
His filthy RICH name. Remember his
connections. In
film...politics...the people
you'll be meeting
tonight...they're golden tickets
for us.
                                                            
Darren appears unconcerned.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Suppose so. Reckon I'll be meeting
those bastards as well.
(nonchalant)
Felicia Farnsworth will also be in
attendance.
                                                            
Paul's jaw drops.
                                                            

6.

                       PAUL
Felicia Farnsworth? THE Felicia
Farnsworth? Dane Farnsworth's
daughter?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Yep.
                                                            
                       PAUL
You lucky dog.
                                                            
Paul play-punches Darren in the shoulder.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Rubbish. She's miss perfect, not a
speck of dirt on her. A fucking
Doris Day compared to Paris
Hilton. If I was her publicist,
I'd purposely plant shit to spruce
up her image. You know, hook her
up with Tommy Lee or something. I
mean, she's such a tedious rich
bitch.
                                                            
                       PAUL
So? She's still gorgeous.
                                                            
Darren sighs. He reads his watch.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Bel Air, right?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Uh-huh. Founded in the 1920's,
named after a one Alphonzo E.
Bell.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Al who?
                                                            
Darren regards his mate with shock.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Now don't tell me I've finally
stumped Paul Morris, the walking
bloody know-it-all. Alphonzo E.
Bell? The scion of the pioneering
oil family. Wealthy, powerful,
handsome...and a dodgy politician
to boot. He would've made the
perfect client.
                                                            

7.

                       PAUL
Wait, wasn't he married to Marion
McCargo? The former tennis
champ-come-actress?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Huh?
                                                            
Darren doesn't seem to be listening as they pass a HOT YOUNG
THING in a miniskirt.
                                                            
                       DARREN
What're you on about?
                                                            
                       PAUL
Marion McCargo Bell! She was in
tons of TV shows back in the day.
Perry Mason, Hawaii Five-O, The
Man From U.N.C.L.E., Falcon
Crest...
                                                            
                       DARREN
Paul?
                                                            
                       PAUL
Yeah?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Get a fucking life.
                                                            
Paul deflates.

They stop in front of a shimmering, spanking new SPORTS CAR.
Darren takes out a set of keys, approaches the vehicle.
                                                            
                       DARREN
One question, and be honest: Am I
an arsehole?
                                                            
Paul thinks a moment.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Uh, yep.
                                                            
Darren scowls, albeit playfully.
                                                            
                       DARREN
NEVER say that. But good. That's
why I drive this, and you tinker
about in that god-awful, piece of
shit sedan.
                                                            

8.

Paul mulls on the insult as Darren unlocks the driver side
door.
                                                            
                       DARREN
You know what your problem is,
Paul? You're too nice. For fuck's
sake, man, grow a backbone
already. A bit of advice from a
mate, yeah? No offense.
                                                            
Paul chews on Darren's verbal invectives a bit more as he
hands his boss the briefcase.
                                                            
                       PAUL
None taken.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Cheers. Oh, and hey -- I would've
invited you to tonight's shin-dig,
but you know how it is. Maybe next
time.
                                                            
Darren tosses the briefcase into the backseat.
                                                            
                       DARREN
And, er, lose the tie.
                                                            
                       PAUL
What, you don't like it? I think
it looks...kinda cool.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Style is learned in certain
circles, my friend. Get in those
circles. Get in. Watch. Learn.
                                                            
Darren examine's Paul's suit bib one last time, with
distaste.
                                                            
                       DARREN
As for the tie -- you look like a
bloody nonce. It's killing my
eyes. Burn it. Make a bonfire with
it as far as the eye can see.
                                                            
Darren's cell rings YET AGAIN. He brazenly holds it up as if
it were an Oscar.
                                                            
                       DARREN
My bloody pride and joy! What
would I be without it?
                                                            

9.

                       PAUL
You'd be --
                                                            
                       DARREN
--Screwed. Well-screwed. I'd be
forced to use a bloody pay phone,
heaven forbid.
                                                            
Darren shudders at the thought.
                                                            
                       DARREN
By the way, how's the writing
thing coming along?
                                                            
                       PAUL
Good. I've been working on a new
screenplay.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Yeah? What's it called?
                                                            
                       PAUL
A Heroe's Welcome. It's about this
war veteran in Iraq who --
                                                            
                       DARREN
A Heroe's Welcome?
                                                            
Paul's boss crinkles his nose in disapproval.
                                                            
                       DARREN
No, no, no, here's a story -- Fed
up foreign publicist in L.A.
blackmails top clients for
millions of dollars, flees to his
homeland, lives happily ever
after. Now THAT'S a heroe's
welcome.
                                                            
Darren winks and flashes his pearly whites. The cell
continues to reverberate.
                                                            
                       PAUL
      (defensive)
Yeah, well...next I'd like to
write a tragedy. You know, a kind
of doomed romance, a la Romeo and
Juliet.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Hey, don't get me wrong, it's nice
to have a dream. But I wouldn't
give up the day job.
                                                            

10.

Darren climbs into his exorbitant toy on wheels, slams the
door shut.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Have fun at the party.
                                                            
INSIDE CAR

Darren eyes Paul in the REARVIEW MIRROR, smiling and waving.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (to Paul's
       reflection)
Wanker.
                                                            
He turns the ignition.

OUTSIDE CAR

Paul watches Darren's sports car enter traffic. His smile
quickly fades.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Asshole.
                                                            
BEHIND TRAFFIC

The entertainment capital is basked in crimson and oranges
as a gorgeous, blood-red ORB sets behind the San Gabriel
Mountains.
                                                            
 
EXT. BEL AIR - NIGHT
                                                            
BEL AIR

In all it's pretentious glory. One of Southern California's
most famous districts. And also one of it's most notorious.
                                                            
                       FEMALE REPORTER (V.O.)
"...not to mention the hundreds of
millions of dollars that will be
awarded to media magnate Dane
Farnsworth once the deal is
finalized..."
                                                            
Darren's SPORTS CAR cruises down pretzel-shaped streets
through the quiet, high-network residential NEIGHBORHOOD.

The car passes various HIDEAWAYS. Most of them nearly out of
sight behind towering front gates and heavy foliage.

The MANSION Darren pulls up to is no exception.
                                                            

11.

INSIDE CAR

Darren chews on a breathmint while his hands casually
manipulate the steering wheel.
                                                            
                       FEMALE REPORTER
      (from car radio)
"John, what are your thoughts?
Will this recent takeover confirm
Dane Farnsworth as the most
powerful and cunning media force
since Rupert Murdoch, or --"
                                                            
Darren flips OFF the radio. He reads his watch.
                                                            
EXT. SPORTS CAR / MANSION GATE
                                                            
Darren rolls down his window, rings a BELL on the side of
the gate. A MAN in black exits the gate house at once.
                                                            
                       
Good evening, sir.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Good evening.
                                                            
                       
Password, please.
                                                            
Darren clears his throat.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Indigo Digoni.
                                                            
                       
Thank you, sir.
                                                            
The gate slowly opens. Darren drives through.

OUTSIDE MANSION

Darren begins to make his way up stone steps. He reaches a
mammoth front door, where ANOTHER MAN in black greets him.
                                                            
                       DOORMAN
Good evening, sir.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Well, good evening to you.
                                                            
                       DOORMAN
Password, please.
                                                            

12.

Darren smirks.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Dimitry's big on protocol, huh?
                                                            
The doorman stands stone-faced.
                                                            
                       DOORMAN
Password, please.
                                                            
Darren winks and leans in, as if spilling a secret.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (playfully)
Indigo Digoni.
                                                            
                       DOORMAN
Very well, sir.
                                                            
The man opens the door and gestures for Darren to enter.
                                                            
                       DOORMAN
Enjoy.
                                                            
INSIDE MANSION

It is PITCH BLACK.

TWO FLASHLIGHTS hit Darren's face. He squints to see in
front of him.

Two very handsome young MEN in red robes stand before him.
They speak in unison.
                                                            
                       ROBED MEN
Password?
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (sighs)
Indigo Digoni.
                                                            
                       
Thank you, sir.
                                                            
One of the men points his flashlight down a long HALLWAY,
dimly lit with candles.

The ceilings are high. The alabaster walls completely bare.

Darren SCOFFS as he makes his way down the corridor.
                                                            

13.

                       DARREN
What the hell is this? Bloody Eyes
Wide Shut?
                                                            
He follows the FAINT SOUNDS of chants and moans.

The hall opens up into a spacious RED DEN. Darren's eyes
glisten. He enters, irresolute.

INSIDE RED DEN

Darren is accosted by the CHEERS and CAT-CALLS of numerous
MEN in suits. Some wear masks. Others don't.

These "members" chomp on cigars and clap at the sight in
front of them :

TWO GORGEOUS ASIAN WOMEN

Engaged in sex with FOUR of the middle-aged "members."

Darren hangs back, regards the act with repulsion.

A HAND grips his arm.
                                                            
                       MALE VOICE (O.S.)
Daaaarrrie, my favorite press
flack! You made it!
                                                            
The hand belongs to film director DIMITRY SCOTT, Darren's
top client.

Sixty, the guy looks forty. Deep tan. Well-manicured.
Flamboyant as hell. Decked out in a lavender robe.

Dimitry graces his guest with a gigantic hug. Darren
hesitates, then reciprocates.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Evening, Dim.
                                                            
Dimitry breaks the embrace, directs Darren's attention to
the orgy on display.
                                                            
                       DIMITRY
You like?
                                                            
Darren appears flabberghasted. Dimitry flashes a deviant
smile. He gestures ardently.
                                                            
                       DIMITRY
Ooooooooh...where are my manners?
                                                            

14.

He slides Darren a small hand mirror, complete with a WHITE
LINE.
                                                            
                       DARREN
What's this?
                                                            
                       DIMITRY
Something to make you feel
reeeeeaal good.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Er, I don't know.
                                                            
Darren's eyes dart back and forth between the group sex and
the coke line.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Not quite what I expected.
                                                            
He attempts to return the enticing drug. The host looks
offended.
                                                            
                       DIMITRY
Darrie, you disrespect me. You do
so much for me, and I would like
to return the favor. All these men
you see here tonight? It would
blow your mind if you knew who
they were, and they are going to
looooove you...
                                                            
Darren scans the "members" in the room. His jolted eyes lock
onto two distinguished MEN making out in a corner.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Not literally, I hope.
                                                            
Dimitry lets out a naughty snicker.
                                                            
                       DIMITRY
That's what I love about you.
You're such an insolent British
fuck. Welcome to my circle. You
are now officially sucked in.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (under his breath)
Goodie.
                                                            
Darren's eyes widen in SHOCK as he spots a tall blonde WOMAN
snorting a white line off another woman's breast.
                                                            

15.

                       DARREN
Isn't that Felicia Farnsworth?
                                                            
                       DIMITRY
Uh-huh.
                                                            
FELICIA FARNSWORTH giggles as she licks the drug's residue
off her female partner's bosom.

Early twenties. A Paris Hilton clone, only gossip-free. A
paparazzi bore. Prim and proper on the surface, but secretly
a veeery naughty girl. Especially on this night.
                                                            
                       DIMITRY
If only her daddy knew what his
sweet little girl was up to.
                                                            
 
INT. FARNSWORTH RESIDENCE - NIGHT
                                                            
A MAGNIFICENT STUDY ROOM

Behind a desk sits media baron DANE FARNSWORTH. Fifties and
handsome, he sports a tuxedo and a cell phone.

He turns the cell off as his WIFE enters. An older version
of her daughter, dressed eloquently in an evening gown.

Her heavy makeup and blonde beehive hairdo could rival any
Northwest Airlines flight attendant.
                                                            
                       MRS. FARNSWORTH
What's the matter, dear? You look
perplexed.
                                                            
                       MR. FARNSWORTH
Where's Felicia? I've called her a
hundred times. She should have
been here by now.
                                                            
                       MRS. FARNSWORTH
You know our daughter.
                                                            
She gives her husband a plastic, "Stepford Wife" smile.
                                                            
                       MR. FARNSWORTH
This is unlike her. She knows how
important this night is to me. She
better be there before my speech,
or there will be hell to pay.
                                                            
He stands and grimaces.
                                                            

16.

                       MRS. FARNSWORTH
Don't worry, she'll be there. She
always loves your takeover
speeches. You know how long her
manicure appointments can be.
She's probably still getting her
nails done.
                                                            
 
INT. SCOTT MANSION - NIGHT
                                                            
BACK IN RED DEN

A LONG PINK FINGERNAIL

cusps a mountain of coke, then is suddenly devoured by
Felicia's nostril. Getting her nails done indeed.

Darren looks both bemused and bewildered as Dimitry rubs his
back.
                                                            
                       DIMITRY
You share our secrets now...and
these people here tonight will
love you because of it. At night's
end, my friend, you will have one
helluva new list of top clientele.
I will personally see to it. After
all, you're the best goddamn
maintenance man in town. You're
new, fresh and full of...FLESH!
                                                            
The director guffaws at his own joke. Darren holds a caustic
expression.
                                                            
                       DARREN
A joyous night then, isn't it.
Christmas already?
                                                            
A scantily-clad Latin BABE joins them.
                                                            
                       DIMITRY
Darling Rosie here will assist
you. Rosie, this is Mr. Darren
Wilkens.
                                                            
The Spanish bombshell smiles sultrily.

Darren shakes his head "NO." Could this guy have some
rectitude after all?
                                                            

17.

                       DARREN
Er, not feeling well all of a
sudden. Reckon it's the gumbo
burrito I had for lunch. Settled
like a brick.
                                                            
Darren begins to head for the exit.

Dimitry's face morphs into OUTRAGE. He promptly pulls Darren
aside.
                                                            
                       DIMITRY
      (loud whisper)
Now listen to me. The only reason
I stick with you is because you
look and sound fabu. Hell, there
are hundreds out there better than
you, but you...you're easy to
control. Like a good cologne, you
make the odors disappear.
                                                            
Darren looks DEEP into Dimitry's sleazy, odious eyes.
                                                            
                       DIMITRY
You WILL do that line, son. You
will join us, become apart of this
festive evening...or I will
fucking bury you.
                                                            
Darren stands frozen and speechless, utterly thrown off.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Sorry?
                                                            
His client looks gravely serious.
                                                            
                       DIMITRY
I'm fucking with you, ya stupid
Brit cockroach!
                                                            
Dimitry CACKLES like a hyena as he slaps Darren HARD on the
back, almost spilling the white powder.
                                                            
                       DIMITRY
Anyhooooo...just do the line, kid.
Do the line, take off your clothes
and thank the fucking Gods you're
here.
                                                            
Dimitry departs and begins to disrobe.

Rosie takes the hand mirror, brings it up to Darren's nose.
                                                            

18.

                       ROSIE
You're so handsome, Mr. Wilkens.
                                                            
Darren pauses, gives this fiery Latina a once-over. Damn,
she's fine.

His face contemplates...the eyes swim left, then right...as
if the devil and angel were perched on each shoulder and he
was looking to them for guidance.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (to himself)
Aww, to hell with it...
                                                            
Darren finally SNORTS the powder. Rosie smiles her approval,
then starts to undress him.

DIMITRY AND FELICIA

Join the orgy. Both decked out in their birthday suits.

A naked young MAN, masked and anonymous, kisses him on the
lips. Two more "members" shed their suits and join the
lovefest as well.

Yet MORE ASIAN GIRLS appear, some perhaps no older than
sixteen.

Rosie sits a half-dressed Darren down. She unzips his
slacks.
                                                            
                       ROSIE
Do you like oral pleasure, Mr.
Wilkens?
                                                            
The drug is KICKING IN.
                                                            
He nods, a goofy grin plastered on his mug. The room SPINS.
Rosie goes down.

DARREN

Discreetly whips out his CELL PHONE.

The small device transforms into a MOVIE CAMERA. He presses
the "RECORD" button and begins to FILM EVERYTHING :

THROUGH CELL PHONE WINDOW DISPLAY

Dimitry is clearly the decadent leader of this all-out sex
den. TWO GOATS appear from nowhere. Is Darren dreaming?


19.

Dimitry takes the goats by the leash. Unspeakable acts are
about to commence.

The surreal images assault Darren's mind. He's not turned on
by them. He's TERRIFIED by them.

The insanely pornographic visuals flash by at DIZZYING
SPEEDS.

Darren's heartbeat races. Persperation rains down on the
lecherous window display.

His trembling hand tightens its grip on the phone as it
sways back and forth, capturing the abhorrent spectacle.
                                                            
                       DARREN (o.s.)
Eyes wide open, arseholes...
                                                            
EXT. MANSION FRONT DOOR - NIGHT
                                                            
A sweaty and wan Darren flees through the door like a priest
from a whore house. The doorman looks taken aback by the
guest's quick departure.
                                                            
                       DOORMAN
Leaving so soon, sir?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Er, yes. Yes I am. Hate to
gang-bang and run, but another
engagement beckons. Cheers.
                                                            
EXT. GATE

The sports car BURNS RUBBER as it careens out the gate.

EXT. L.A. FREEWAY - NIGHT

The car swerves in and out of lanes as it disobeys the speed
limit

INSIDE CAR

Darren is HIGH as a kite. He touches his crotch and cringes.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Christ, I can't believe I let a
wetback whore give me head. Note
to self : wash dick very
thoroughly upon arriving home.
Piss well.
                                                            
His red, dilated eyes attempt to focus on the lane ahead.
The exudation continues. The sniffs are constant.
                                                            

20.

                       DARREN
Kate. I need Kate.
                                                            
He dials a number on his cell.
                                                            
 
INT. APARTMENT - NIGHT
                                                            
A stylish STUDIO APARTMENT. On the coffee table sits a
RINGING cordless phone.

KATE SIMPSON picks it up. Casually dressed in sweatpants and
t-shirt. A beautiful woman in her twenties. Reading glasses
frame her flawless face.
                                                            
                       KATE
      (in phone)
Hello?
                                                            
INSIDE SPORTS CAR

Darren struggles to concentrate on the road, cell phone to
his ear.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
Kate? It's me.
                                                            
KATE'S APARTMENT

The gorgeous young woman doesn't appear too thrilled by the
voice on the other line. She sits on the sofa.
                                                            
                       KATE
What do you want?
                                                            
INTERCUT TELEPHONE CONVERSATION -- DARREN AND KATE
                                                            
                       DARREN
Nothing, nothing. I don't know,
I...I was just thinking about you,
thought I'd call, see how you're
doing.
                                                            
                       KATE
Darren Wilkens, thinking of me? Of
someone rather than himself? My
God, miracles do happen.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Katie, that's not fair. You know I
had --
                                                            

21.

                       KATE
Darren, what do you want? Why are
you calling me now? The first time
in what? Six months? In six very
long months, when you should've
been there for me the day I killed
our baby.
                                                            
Ouch.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Don't...don't say that. I took
care of you, didn't I? I paid for
everything, I --
                                                            
Kate is near tears.
                                                            
                       KATE
I loved you! I wanted to marry
you! You -- You forced me to do
it!
                                                            
                       DARREN
I --
                                                            
                       KATE
Why are you doing this to me? Now
in the middle of the night? Why
are you calling me? Why? What do
you want?
                                                            
                       DARREN
I don't know, I -- Because I
wanted to hear your voice and...I
guess I wanted to ask you
something.
                                                            
                       KATE
What? What is it?
                                                            
Darren pauses a moment.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Am I...am I a bad person?
                                                            
A bitter guffaw escapes Kate's mouth.
                                                            
                       KATE
You've got to be fucking kidding
me. Is that why you called? What
are you, high?
                                                            
Darren ruminates. Kate sighs.
                                                            

22.

                       ROSIE
No, Darren. You're not a bad
person. You're just not a very
good one.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Really? Kate, I --
                                                            
CLICK!
                                                            
                       DARREN
Kate? Katie?
                                                            
She's gone.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!
                                                            
Darren REDIALS. Kate doesn't pick up.
                                                            
                       DARREN
I still love you.
                                                            
Darren looks like a man who's just been kicked in the groin.
He moans as he brings the phone away.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Fucking bitch.
                                                            
His watery eyes look off.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Bollocks. All of it.
                                                            
He checks the phone's MOVIE CONTENT and bursts into
hysterics.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Golden tickets my arse! THIS is
the goldmine, baby! You're
screwed, Dimitry Scott. You and
your mates. Fucking well-screwed.
                                                            
The phone suddenly RINGS. Darren examines the number,
reluctantly answers.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
Heeeeeey, Mr. T.J. Walker. What's
up, bro?
                                                            
A BLACK BARITONE bellows from the other side.
                                                            

23.

                       WALKER
      (from phone)
Yo, man!
                                                            
 
INT. LIMO - NIGHT
                                                            
T.J. WALKER kicks back with a whiskey in one hand and a cell
in the other.

This guy is the epitome of a rap artist. Gold teeth. Gold
rings. Gold chains. Sunglasses. Beanie cap. NBA jersey.
Sandwiched between two silicone-enhanced GROUPIES.
                                                            
                       WALKER
      (in phone)
Listen to my CD yet?
                                                            
INTERCUT TELEPHONE CONVERSATION -- DARREN AND WALKER
                                                            
Darren opens the glove compartment, reaches inside.
                                                            
                       DARREN
I'm, uh, just listening to it
now...
                                                            
His client's RAP CD tumbles onto the car floor.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Shite!
                                                            
                       WALKER
Man, this is some bullshit. You
promised ta listen to it and get
back ta me tha next day. I've done
waited two weeks! Yo, maybe I
should change agents, dawg.
                                                            
                       DARREN
No, no, no. No need for that. I'm
on top of the game, brother.
                                                            
Darren hunkers down and seizes the CD.
                                                            
EXT. FREEWAY

The car drives PAST an exit ramp. DARREN'S EXIT RAMP.

He doesn't notice as he fumbles with the disc, popping it
into the CD player.

The bombastic 1ST TRACK rocks the inside of the vehicle.
                                                            

24.

                       WALKER
Yeah, yeah, yeah!
                                                            
Walker beams proudly.
                                                            
                       WALKER
Now THAT'S what I'm talkin' 'bout!
This one's called "Drive-by High."
Daaaaamn, ya hear that bass?
Aint'cha glad ya got me as a
client? Fer real, I'm tha bomb
right? The mutha fuckin' B.O.M.B.!
                                                            
Darren rolls his eyes.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Yes, you're the bomb. Now shut up
and let me hear the rest of it.
                                                            
ANOTHER CALL comes in.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Mr. Walker, sorry, gotta go. We'll
talk shop tomorrow.
                                                            
                       WALKER
Man, don't be playin'!
                                                            
                       DARREN
I ain't playin', dawg. Fer real.
Peace out.
                                                            
CLICK!
                                                            
Darren shuts off the player. He pulls the phone away, reads
the new caller's number. He grins from ear to ear, presses a
button.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
Mr. Scott, exquisite party. My
apologies for the early departure,
but men, goats and underage girls
aren't my cup of tea. I had to go
call my dear darling mother.
                                                            
He eyes his reflection in the rearview mirror.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Hey, guess what? I got a movie and
you're the star. What, is that
bad?
                                                            

25.

He rolls down the driver side window.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Well, what should I do with it?
It's veeery interesting. I've
captured some great stuff and boy,
let me tell you, you're one bloody
good actor. You should appear in
your own movies more often. I
mean, you're great with kids and
animals. You're a winner, Dim.
Kids and animals -- The perfect
Hollywood formula.
                                                            
Darren snickers to himself. He wipes sweat from his brow.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Shhhh. Calm down, Dim. Calm down.
ANY press is good press. You of
all people should know that. As
your publicist, it's my duty to
pique the public's curiosity and
make a good story.
                                                            
He passes a mammoth L.A. TOURIST BILLBOARD, complete with
graffiti. The urban artwork reads : "WHERE THA FUCK AM I?"
                                                            
                       DARREN
Ahhh, and then there's your
co-star, Ms. Felicia Farnsworth.
I'm sure her fans are just gonna
eat this thing up once it hits the
internet. Papa Farnsworth won't be
too thrilled, though. Oooooh, not
to mention your orgy buddies. Some
of them weren't wearing masks, you
know. They could be a bit fucked.
                                                            
Darren sneers.
                                                            
                       DARREN
NO! YOU listen to ME you
contemptible hack! I'M in control
now, and you and your mates are
fucking stitched! Let's talk cash.
Hell, you're a Hollywood gay Jew,
a financial double dose, I know
you've got lots of it. And I'm
talkin' seven figures. Don't call
me, I'll call you.
                                                            
He turns off the phone, drops it on the passenger seat.
                                                            

26.

                       DARREN
Bitch thinks he's still in
control. I'M the one that's in
control. I'M the fucking man. Fuck
him. Fuck them all.
                                                            
Darren sniffs, plays with his nose. The drug lingers in his
body like dense smog over the L.A. skyline.

EXT. FREEWAY

Darren's auto proceeds down the interstate, passing the
occasional other vehicle. His car seems to DRIVE ON FOREVER.

INSIDE CAR

Darren examines the gas meter. The line is pushing EMPTY. He
makes out an EXIT RAMP ahead. He signals and takes it.
                                                            
                       DARREN
What the...?
                                                            
Darren winces as he comes out of the exit.

OUTSIDE WINDOW

A desolate BARRIO. Dilapidated buildings line the disparaged
streets. Graffiti and litter are everywhere. LADIES of the
night strut down cracked sidewalks.

The sports car sticks out like a sore thumb. Darren promptly
rolls up the window.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Where the fuck am I?
                                                            
 
EXT. SERVICE STATION - NIGHT
                                                            
Darren pulls into the rundown STATION.

He cautiously steps out, locks all doors. Needless to say
the car alarm BEEPS ON.

The neighborhood is utterly pacific. A spooky tranquility.

Darren looks skyward. Shimmering stars greet him. Not a
cloud to be seen. A magnificent full moon hangs in the night
air.

The contrast of the beauty above and the ugly Darren's
surrounded by is quite striking.

27.


INT. SERVICE STATION

Darren enters through the filthy glass door, perplexed.

An elderly Hispanic MAN stands behind the counter. An
antiquated cash register in front of him.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Hey, you speak English?
                                                            
                       ELDERLY MAN
Si.
                                                            
                       DARREN
That's not English, that's
Spanish. You speak English, I
said?
                                                            
                       ELDERLY MAN
Si.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Bloody hell...
                                                            
Darren throws his hands in the air in disgust.
                                                            
                       DARREN

CAN-YOU-TELL-ME-WHERE-THE-FUCK-I-AM?
                                                            
                       ELDERLY MAN
L.A.
                                                            
Darren grits his teeth, tries to keep his composure.
                                                            
                       DARREN
DUH! Where?
                                                            
                       ELDERLY MAN
L.A.
                                                            
A frustrated Darren paces, slaps a FIFTY on the counter.
                                                            
                       DARREN
This is for the petrol. I'm on
number two. Understand? TWO.
                                                            
He holds up TWO FINGERS, then flips them around to display
the British "FUCK OFF" sign. Comparable to the American
middle finger.

Darren leers and exits. The old man shakes his head as he
takes the green bill.
                                                            

28.

                       ELDERLY MAN
Yes, sir. I understand.
                                                            
OUTSIDE

Darren fills the gas tank with petrol, then returns the
nozzle.
                                                            
                       WOMAN'S VOICE (o.s.)
Hey baby, wanna make love?
                                                            
Darren turns to the voice.

A voluptuous Spanish HOOKER in the miniest of mini-skirts
and tiniest of tank tops stands before him. All her feminine
parts hang onto her for dear life.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Yes, but not with you.
                                                            
                       HOOKER
C'mon, papi, it'll be fun.
                                                            
                       DARREN
No, it'll be the complete
opposite. Return to the border.
                                                            
                       HOOKER
      (in Spanish)
Fuck you then, you fucking
bastard!
                                                            
She SPITS in Darren's face.
                                                            
                       DARREN
You bitch whore!
                                                            
Darren SLAPS her hard across the face.

She tugs on his jacket as she tumbles backwards, causing
Darren's CELL PHONE to SLIP OUT of the blazer's outside
pocket.

The hooker curses him out in Spanish and flees.

DARREN'S CELL PHONE

Lays all alone in the gravel of cement.

Its owner clueless as he wipes the loogie off his face and
heads for the MEN'S ROOM DOOR.


29.

INT. MEN'S ROOM

One of the NASTIEST bathrooms you'll ever see.

Darren hunches over a sink, splashes water on his face. He
eyes his REFLECTION in the cracked mirror. The guy looks
like hell.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Christ, what have I done...
                                                            
His attention moves to a STALL DOOR. He scans the GRAFFITI
SCRIBBLES :

"MY MOM GIVES GOOD HEAD BUT HER COOKING SUCKS"

"LOCO ASS SLUTS...IN DESPERATE TIMES CALL YOURSELF"

"A LIVING MAN HAS 2 DEAL WITH HIS SOUL"

Darren scoffs at the last one. He dries his hands on his
suit pants and exits.

OUTSIDE STATION

A vintage PICKUP TRUCK pulls into the station. On the rear
of the truck is an "I LOVE JESUS" BUMPER STICKER.

INSIDE STORE

Darren stops at the register.

The elderly man has been replaced by a young, well-built
Chicano SKINHEAD. Fresh scars don his face. Tattoos run up
and down his naked, beefy arms. This dude's one scary cat.
                                                            
                       SKINHEAD
Can I help you with somethin',
ese?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Yeah, I'd like my change?
                                                            
                       SKINHEAD
Change? What'chu mean?
                                                            
                       DARREN
CHANGE. You know, change as in
money? I gave the other guy a
fifty for the gas, I was on number
two, and now I'd like my change.
                                                            
                       SKINHEAD
No change.
                                                            

30.

Darren fidgets, loosens his tie.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Sorry?
                                                            
                       SKINHEAD
I said no change, man. You gave my
papa a ten, not a fifty. As a
matter of fact, YOU still owe US.
                                                            
                       DARREN
What? That's rubbish! Now I want
my goddamn change you --
                                                            
The man comes from behind the counter, eyebrows furrowed. He
towers over Darren, who slowly retreats.
                                                            
                       SKINHEAD
My papa says you disrespected him
and our establishment. You owe
us...an apology.
                                                            
Darren stands dumbfounded. A polite gangster?
                                                            
                       DARREN
What, are you serious?
                                                            
The big man inches closer. His eyes as hard as granite.
                                                            
                       SKINHEAD
I'm dead serious, ese.
                                                            
Darren gulps. Sweat trinkles from his forehead down to his
shirt collar. He's in some deep shit.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Ok, I apologize. Could I have my
change now? Please?
                                                            
The skinhead crosses his arms, gives Darren a piano-key
smile.
                                                            
                       SKINHEAD
Have a nice evening.
                                                            
No change. A speechless Darren gets the hint, straightens
his tie and hastily exits.

EXT. SERVICE STATION

Darren rushes to his car, red-faced. Emasculated by "the
enemy."
                                                            

31.

                       DARREN
Bloody spics.
                                                            
The vintage pickup still sits quietly in the parking lot.
The SILHOUETTE of a man in the driver's seat can be seen.

Darren doesn't notice as he turns off the car alarm, gets
inside and speeds away.

EXT. L.A. FREEWAY - NIGHT

Darren's car makes its way down the deserted interstate. The
sky is BLACKER than before.

INT. CAR

Darren sits behind the steering wheel, quietly fuming. He
eyes the empty passenger seat.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Where's my phone?
                                                            
He feels the seat, then flips on the light.

NOTHING. The seat is bare.

He rummages through the glove compartment. No phone.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Where is it? Where's my fucking
phone?
                                                            
Darren searches the dashboard, feels behind the seat, goes
through the glove compartment again.

A panicked mess, he accidentally HITS the CD player.
"Drive-By High" BLASTS from the stereo.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Uhhhhhhh!
                                                            
He ejects his client's CD, rolls down the window and HURLS
it out.
                                                            
                       DARREN
You suck, dawg! Fer real!
                                                            
Darren pulls to the side of the freeway and STOPS. In a mad
state he completely ransacks the auto.

OUTSIDE CAR


32.

A frantic Darren paces, begins to come to grips with his
ultimate fear : PHONELESS.

HEADLIGHTS

Bear down on him. They belong to a dark vehicle that parks
just behind the sports car.

All doors pop open, depositing a number of young BLACK
HOODS.
                                                            
                       BLACK HOOD ONE
Yo, man. You need help?
                                                            
                       DARREN
No thanks, I'm fine.
                                                            
                       BLACK HOOD ONE
God-DAMN! It's Hugh Grant! Hey
niggas, wez gots Hugh Grant over
here!
                                                            
The thugs burst with edgy laughter.
                                                            
                       BLACK HOOD TWO
That's a nice watch you sportin',
Hugh. What is that, a Rolex?
                                                            
Darren groans as TWO of the hoods whip out GUNS.
                                                            
                       BLACK HOOD TWO
The watch 'n yer wallet, mutha
fucka!
                                                            
                       DARREN
Fellas, come on --
                                                            
THWHACK!

One of the gangster's FISTS meets Darren's cheek.
                                                            
                       DARREN
OWWWWWW!
                                                            
Darren instantly drops like a block of cement, hand clutched
to his face.
                                                            
                       BLACK HOOD TWO
Bitch, think we playin'?
                                                            
One of the hoods strips him of his watch.

A distant police siren WAILS.
                                                            

33.

                       BLACK HOOD THREE
Niggas, let's go!
                                                            
                       BLACK HOOD TWO
Wait up, tha cracka's wallet.
                                                            
The police siren gets closer.
                                                            
                       BLACK HOOD THREE
Fuck it, let's roll! NOW!
                                                            
Black Hood Two reluctantly stows his gun. The boys hop
inside their vehicle and hightail it.

A POLICE CAR zooms by as Darren jumps to his feet.
                                                            
                       DARREN
HEY! HEY! THEY STOLE MY WATCH!
HEEEEEY!
                                                            
Darren curses and kicks his car's front tire, beyond pissed.
                                                            
 
EXT. L.A. FREEWAY - NIGHT
                                                            
Darren's car races down the interstate, back the way it
came.
                                                            
EXT. EAST L.A. BARRIO - NIGHT
                                                            
The sports car returns to the SAME dingy service station.

INT. STATION STORE

Darren BURSTS THROUGH the doors, sporting a mean shiner. The
dude doesn't look pleased.

Ditto the young Chicano skinhead, who quickly comes around
the counter.
                                                            
                       SKINHEAD
You loco, ese? Thought I told yer
pendejo ass to --
                                                            
                       DARREN
Where's my phone, arsehole! I know
you or one of your loser homies
have it! Give it up!
                                                            
The man takes Darren by the jacket and HEAVES him out the
store.


34.

OUTSIDE STORE

Darren gets to his feet. He wildly attempts to tackle the
bigger man, who takes a FIREARM from his pants pocket.

The Englishman freezes in his tracks. The weapon is AIMED
SQUARELY on his chest.
                                                            
                       SKINHEAD
I ain't got yer stinkin' phone,
cabron. But I do have this. Now
I'm gonna count to three, and yer
sorry white ass better disappear.
FOREVER. Comprende?
                                                            
Darren nods unobtrusively.
                                                            
                       SKINHEAD
THREE.
                                                            
The skinhead's finger presses FIRMLY on the trigger.

Darren raises his hands and withdraws.

The young Chicano dude backs into the store, gun still
drawn. He slips a "CLOSED" sign over the door window and
locks it.

Darren huffs his way back to his auto.
                                                            
                       FEMALE VOICE (O.S.)
That's him Paco! The cobarde white
boy that beat me up!
                                                            
Darren slowly pivots.

The voice belongs to the Spanish HOOKER Darren slapped
earlier. Only now FRESH BRUISES don her arms and face.
                                                            
PACO

Quickly advances. This guy is scarier than shit. Short yet
stout. Eye patch. Ratty suit. And one mean-looking BUTTERFLY
KNIFE.
                                                            
                       PACO
Yer dead, pendejo! Nobody beats on
my girls 'CEPT ME!
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (to himself)
No...fucking...way.
                                                            
Paco charges, knife-first.
                                                            

35.

                       DARREN
FUUUCK!
                                                            
Darren break into a MAD DASH for his vehicle. But so does
Paco.

The Brit gets there first. Once inside, he immediately
secures the doors and turns the ignition.

Paco POUNDS furiously on the driver side window.
                                                            
                       PACO
Ya hear me, cabron cobarde! DEAD!
                                                            
                       DARREN
NOOOOO...
                                                            
The sports car knocks Paco to the pavement as it BOLTS
THROUGH the station and out of sight. Most definitely never
to be seen again.

INSIDE CAR

Darren is a wreck. His bottom lip quivers.
                                                            
                       DARREN
A nightmare...wake up...wake up...
                                                            
He spots a PAY PHONE on a street corner.

The car SCREECHES to a halt.

Darren warily gets out, takes a look around. Nobody. He
sighs relief and hobbles toward the phone.

He reaches it, picks up the receiver.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Awww, for Christ's sake...
                                                            
The receiver is cracked. The cord has been snipped. Wads of
old chewing gum jam the coin slot.

Wholly frustrated, he abandons the obsolete pay phone. His
desperate eyes swim around the barren neighborhood.

He finds a VACANT PHONE BOOTH three blocks down. The light
is on.
                                                            
                       DARREN
YES!
                                                            

36.

He staggers down the street toward the booth.

A MEXICAN BIKER

Arrives a split second earlier and steps inside.

The dude is obese. Long hair. Bushy beard. Decked out in
shades and black leather.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Awww, come on! COME ON!
                                                            
The biker picks up the receiver, gives the suit guy the evil
eye.
                                                            
                       BIKER
      (through booth
       window)
Got a problem?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Yes! Yes! A BIG problem. My
friend's been murdered and I need
to call the police!
                                                            
The biker shrugs.
                                                            
                       BIKER
Sorry to hear that.
                                                            
He begins to pour change into the coin slot.
                                                            
                       DARREN
HEY! Did you hear me, ZZ TOP! It's
an emergency! I'll...uh...I'll
give you a hundred bucks!
                                                            
The biker pauses. He collects his change and exits the
booth.
                                                            
                       BIKER
Cough it up, "sharp dressed man."
                                                            
Darren takes a Ben Franklin from his wallet. The biker
swipes the bill and departs.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Thank you, thank you. Go buy
yourself a...a supersonic sleeping
bag or whatever.
                                                            
Darren enters, slides the booth glass door shut. He pulls
out some change.
                                                            

37.

                       DARREN
What's my number? Shit, I don't
even know my own bloody number.
                                                            
Darren examines the contents inside his wallet :

Old receipts. An unused condom. Lots of plastic. A thick wad
of green bills. Some business cards.
                                                            
                       DARREN
C'mon, where is it...
                                                            
He leafs through the cards, finally comes to HIS BUSINESS
CARD. He elatedly holds it up, reads the number.
                                                            
                       DARREN
In desperate times...
                                                            
He slips coins into the slot and begins to press buttons.
The receiver glued to his ear.
                                                            
                       DARREN
...call yourself.
                                                            
Darren holds his breath.

The other line begins to RING. Darren's eyes
bulge...RINGING...his chest pounds...RINGING...he nervously
chews on a fingernail...RING --
                                                            
                       MALE VOICE
      (from phone)
Yello?
                                                            
A distinctive SPANISH MALE VOICE. Smooth and calculated.
Rough yet articulate.

This character will be known as THE MYSTERY MAN.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
Hey arsehole, I don't know who you
are or how you got my phone, but I
want it back. NOW! You hear me,
you fuck?
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. The language,
amigo. The laaaaanguage. Tell you
what -- Why don't you call me back
once you've cleaned up that mouth
of yours.
                                                            

38.

CLICK!
                                                            
                       DARREN
Fucker!
                                                            
Darren pops in more change, redials his number.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
      (from phone)
Yello? Ahhh, are we more
respectful now?
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
Listen to me, you spineless spic!
You have NO IDEA how important I
am --
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Impotent? Sorry to hear that. And
the racial slurs are waaaaaay too
much for me. My mama's baking a
cake, needs help in the kitchen.
Adios.
                                                            
CLICK!
                                                            
                       DARREN
Mother Fu --
                                                            
Darren forces in more coins.

He pounds on buttons, absolutely furious. The other line
rings...and rings...and rings...finally --
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
      (from phone)
Are we nice?
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
What are you man, a bloody
Christian or something?
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Catholic, actually.
                                                            
Darren rolls his eyes.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Well, bloody good for you.
                                                            

39.

                       MYSTERY MAN
The word "bloody" also offends me,
hombre. It's a derogatory British
expression, and I'd appreciate it
very much if you refrain from
using it.
                                                            
                       DARREN
OK, how about this : If you don't
return my GODDAMN phone, so help
me GOD I will BLOODY hunt you down
and kill you. As God is my
witness, I will fucking kill you!
                                                            
CLICK!
                                                            
                       DARREN
Jesus H. Christ....
                                                            
Darren takes a breather. He slips the remains of his change
inside the slot. RINGING --
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
      (from phone)
You need your phone. I've got it.
You are at my...whim. Comprende?
                                                            
Darren sighs, decides to bite the bullet.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
Yes. Comprende.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Good, Darren.
                                                            
                       DARREN
How...how do you know my name?
                                                            
The voice chuckles.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Ok, you got me. The kid's been
caught with his hand in the cookie
jar. I've been peeking at your
emails. But only a few. For
curiosity's sake. Veeery
enlightening.
                                                            
Darren groans.
                                                            

40.

                       DARREN
Look, just -- I just want my phone
back, ok? Pretty please with sugar
on top. I NEED that phone. So
let's meet somewhere, you hand me
my phone, I give you some
money...and we'll call it a night,
yeah?
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
      (offended)
Who says I need your money?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Well...that's what you want, isn't
it?
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Hermano, I don't need your dinero.
                                                            
                       DARREN
What? Then why the fuck did you --
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
      (clears throat)
Language, language, language.
                                                            
Darren sighs and takes two.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Then why did you take my phone?
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
I didn't take it. You lost it.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Bull -- You stole it!
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Nah man, you lost it. What are you
on, brother?
                                                            
Darren holds, takes a thinking pause.
                                                            
                       DARREN
C'mon, just give me a break
here...
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
I GAVE you a break, hombre.
                                                            
                       DARREN
How's that?
                                                            

41.

                       MYSTERY MAN
Chew on it for a while. When you
figure it out, give me a
ring-a-ding-ding back at, say,
what time is it now?
                                                            
                       DARREN
I don't know. I don't have a
watch.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
You don't have a watch? Geeeet
oooout. Such a bigwig player like
you? You a Rolex kinda guy. Time
is everything to a Rolex guy. Time
is money.
                                                            
Darren tightens his grip on the receiver.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (grits teeth)
My watch was stolen. Tonight. Just
like my phone.
                                                            
A long pause.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Let's see, what's the time
now...it's, uh, it's half past
eleven. Drop me a line at, say,
12:03?
                                                            
                       DARREN
What the -- Why 12:03?
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Why not? Can you count the
seconds?
                                                            
CLICK!
                                                            
                       DARREN
Unbelievable.
Un-fucking-believable. Fuuuuck!
                                                            
Darren SMASHES the receiver against the coin box numerous
times.
                                                            
 
INT. KATE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
                                                            
Kate paces her living room, a sobbing mess. She speaks into
her cordless phone.
                                                            

42.

                       KATE
      (in phone)
I don't know, ok? I...I don't know
why he called, but he did. Well,
of course I still care about him
but -- God, I'm so confused right
now...
                                                            
Tears stream down her face.
                                                            
                       KATE
What? No, don't be silly. I love
you, you know that.
(a strained smile)
Can...can I see you tonight? I
know it's late but...I-I really
need to see you. No, I'll be up.
Ok. Ok. Bye.
                                                            
She sets the phone on the coffee table, buries her beautiful
face in her hands.
                                                            
 
EXT. RESTAURANT PARKING LOT - NIGHT
                                                            
A Denny's-style L.A. FAMILY EATERY, in the decaying process.

Darren parks his sports car and exits. He approaches a white
trash COUPLE.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Excuse me, got the time?
                                                            
                       WHITE TRASH GUY
Yep. Time for you to buy a watch.
                                                            
The couple snicker as they pass the humorless Brit.

Darren blows off the juvenile remark, swings the restaurant
door open.
                                                            
INT. RESTAURANT

Moderately busy. An eager-to-please WAITRESS greets him.
                                                            
                       WAITRESS
Good evening, sir. My name is Beth
and I'll be your server tonight.
Table for one?
                                                            
                       DARREN
What time is it?
                                                            

43.

The waitress reads her watch.
                                                            
                       WAITRESS
Midnight on the dot.
                                                            
Her "bubbly American waitress" tone is unbearable, right up
there with fingernails down a chalkboard.

Darren passes her a crisp twenty dollar bill.
                                                            
                       DARREN
And change, if it's no trouble.
                                                            
                       WAITRESS
No trouble, darlin'.
                                                            
She waltzes over to the register. Darren appears ready to
punch her in the mouth.
                                                            
                       WAITRESS
Are you British?
                                                            
Darren nods discourteously. Even though this guy's looking
rough, she's obviously smitten.
                                                            
                       WAITRESS
Awesome. Well you know, my cousin
Arlene spent time in London...
                                                            
The Englishman regards her with disdain.
                                                            
                       DARREN
What are we, Beth? Fucking
girlfriends? What's wrong with you
Americans? Do I appear in the mood
to hear your shitty personal
stories? I know you for five
seconds, and you wanna tell me
your fucking life story. I don't
give a rat's ass about Cousin
Arlene, Uncle Buck, Aunt Judy or
any of your other fucked up loser
relatives. All I want is
fuuckiiing chaaange.
                                                            
The waitress stops and bites her bottom lip.
                                                            
                       WAITRESS
      (under her breath)
British are so rude.
                                                            
She coolly pops open the register.
                                                            

44.

                       WAITRESS
Ones and fives?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Actually...
                                                            
He coughs dryly, gives her a strained smile.
                                                            
                       DARREN
...quarters and dimes.
                                                            
EXT. RESTAURANT PAY PHONE - NIGHT

Darren holds the receiver to his ear. His expression one of
contempt.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
      (from phone)
Darren?
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
No. Santa Claus.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Well, Saint Nick-o-las, you're
late. It's five past. I told you
12:03. Punctuality is
consequential, amigo. Try me again
at...12:18.
                                                            
CLICK!
                                                            
Darren appears speechless.

He tepidly hangs up, then quickly retrieves the phone piece.
He pops in more change, presses buttons.
                                                            
                       MALE VOICE
      (from phone)
Hello?
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
Paul? Paul, thank God!
                                                            
Darren's voice oozes desperation.
                                                            
 

45.

INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
                                                            
Your basic BEDROOM. Clean. Tidy.

Paul sits on the edge of a bed, fully dressed.
                                                            
                       PAUL
      (in phone)
Darren? Are you...are you calling
me from a pay phone?
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (from phone)
Paul, listen --
                                                            
                       PAUL
You sound terrible. What's going
on? How was the party?
                                                            
INTERCUT TELEPHONE CONVERSATION -- DARREN AND PAUL
                                                            
                       DARREN
Paul, just shut the bloody hole
under your nose and listen! I need
your help. RIGHT NOW. Where are
you?
                                                            
                       PAUL
I'm at home. Where are YOU?
                                                            
                       DARREN
I...I don't know.
                                                            
                       PAUL
What do you mean you don't know?
                                                            
                       DARREN
I don't know, okay? I don't know.
In the bowels of the city. East, I
think.
                                                            
                       PAUL
East L.A.? Why are you -- What
happened tonight?
                                                            
Darren runs a trembling hand through his thick locks. His
paranoid eyes unfocused. The dude's beginning to unravel.
                                                            

46.

                       DARREN
What DIDN'T happen? I've had guns
and knives pulled on me, been
ripped off by wetbacks, accosted
by niggers, chased by killer pimps
named Paco, drugged up --
                                                            
                       PAUL
My God.
                                                            
                       DARREN
No shit.
                                                            
                       PAUL
You OK? What drugs are you on?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Cocaine, I think. Mixed
with...something else maybe, who
the fuck knows. It was the party,
Paul. Beyond comprehension. Skin,
asses, breasts, tongues, bites,
licks, moans, barks, toys...
                                                            
Paul's eyes glisten.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Wow. Sounds great!
                                                            
                       DARREN
...men on men, men on boys, men
and boys on goats, girls on men on
boys on Felicia on goats...
                                                            
Paul winces and retracts.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Goats?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Yeah, goats. Our dear Dimitry
Scott is one baaaaaaaad man. I'm
talking the works. Caligula
himself would've blushed.
                                                            
Paul appears baffled.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Incredible. Unbelievable. It...it
all sounds like a movie!
                                                            

47.

                       DARREN
Yeah. A movie. Write a fucking
script about it.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Exactly. I mean, this would make a
helluva film. A kind of Falling
Down-meets-Twilight Zone --
                                                            
                       DARREN
PAUL SHUT THE BLOODY HELL UP! This
isn't a joke!
                                                            
                       PAUL
Ok, ok. Sorry.
                                                            
                       DARREN
I called you earlier, but your
bloody phone's always engaged.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Sorry about that. Been talking to
my girlfriend all night.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Paul Morris getting laid? Wonders
never cease. What time is it?
                                                            
                       PAUL
12:10. Where's your watch? Where's
your phone?
                                                            
                       DARREN
They're gone. The Crips took the
watch and some...some
border-jumping arsehole stole my
phone. I called my number, he's
fucking with me, won't give it up.
                                                            
Paul stands. This bit of info oddly catches his attention.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Who is he?
                                                            
                       DARREN
I don't know.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Ok, I'll call your provider ASAP
and cancel --
                                                            

48.

                       DARREN
No, no, no, no, no, you can't do
that.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Why not? It's no biggie. We'll
just get you a new one.
                                                            
Darren winces.
                                                            
                       DARREN
No back-up.
                                                            
                       PAUL
What do you mean no back-up?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Everything, Paul, EVERYTHING is on
my phone. Every phone number,
every email, I have no back-up.
I'm fucked, understand? God knows
what he's doing with it right now.
Fucking with my clients, my
girlfriends, watching the movie...
                                                            
                       PAUL
Movie? What movie?
                                                            
Darren pauses, evaluates what to say next.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Er, let's just say I've captured
some very compromising footage of
our dear Dim. Then I got the
bloody hell out of there. Dimitry
called later, I told him what I
did. I...I think I blackmailed
him.
                                                            
                       PAUL
WHAT?!
                                                            
Paul regards all this with disbelief. Is this the same cool
and controlled boss I saw off just hours earlier?
                                                            
                       PAUL
Why would you do that?
                                                            
Darren fumbles for words, no real answer to that question.
                                                            

49.

                       DARREN
I'm in deep, Paul! I need that
phone. I need your help. What time
is it?
                                                            
                       PAUL
12:12.
                                                            
                       DARREN
I-I-I gotta go, have to call this
arsehole back in a few minutes. If
I'm late he'll just fuck with me
and hang up.
                                                            
                       PAUL
Darren, we can salvage this. But
you need to get home. Pronto. Get
home, then call me. I'll take care
of the rest.
                                                            
For the first time, Paul looks determined and confident.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Morris, what would I do without
you?
                                                            
                       PAUL
You'd be screwed.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Well-screwed.
                                                            
Darren smiles awkwardly and hangs up.
                                                            
 
EXT. L.A. FREEWAY - NIGHT
                                                            
A STATION WAGON makes its way down the near-desolate
highway.

INSIDE WAGON

A FACELESS MAN in a well-pressed black suit calmly drives
behind the steering wheel.

On the passenger seat sits a CELL PHONE and FIREARM.

The glossy handgun is definitely not the kind used for
target practice on cans. This man is ready to kill.

A baby seat and toys curiously fill the back.
                                                            

50.

EXT. RESTAURANT PAY PHONE - SAME
                                                            
Darren has the receiver to his ear.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
      (from phone)
Yello? Heeeeey Darren, just on
time. You're one diligent dude.
Thought you wouldn't make it.
                                                            
                       DARREN
      (in phone)
Enough with the games. You know my
name. What's yours?
                                                            
A beat.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Don Johnson. No, wait. Gianni
Versace. No, no, no -- Antonio
Banderas.
                                                            
The man chuckles.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Call me Antonio. But of course we
Hispanics all look the same to you
anyway, right? What difference
does a name make?
                                                            
Darren shakes his head.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Whatever. Can I have my phone back
now?
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Hey, you're a real popular guy.
Your phone just keeps ringing and
ringing and ringing...
                                                            
Blood slowly drains from Darren's face.
                                                            
                       DARREN
You...You don't pick up, do you?
Please, please, PLEASE don't
answer my phone!
                                                            
The mystery man cracks up.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Relaaaax, amigo. I don't mess up
your game. I just tell them I'm
            (MORE)

51.

                       MYSTERY MAN (cont'd)
your new assistant, you're tied up
at the moment, call back at the
office tomorrow.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Dear lord...
                                                            
Darren deflates. He peers up at the heavens for a little
help. No such luck.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
But man, some of those people are
reeeaaal nasty-like.
                                                            
                       DARREN
W-What do you mean?
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Hey, did'ja ever figure out what I
meant by break?
                                                            
                       DARREN
What?
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
A break. Remember? You said 'give
me a break' and I told you 'I have
given you a break.' Did'ja ever
figure it out?
                                                            
Darren sighs. Still no sign from the big man upstairs.
                                                            
                       DARREN
No.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
You're a slave, ese.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Sorry?
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
A slave, man. A slave to this tiny
gadget I'm speaking into now. A
man trapped in technological
bondage.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Yeah, a slave. Whatever you say.
Could I have it back now? Please?
                                                            

52.

                       MYSTERY MAN
Dude, you know what you sound
like? You sound like a crackhead
desperado in need of another fix.
You're addicted, hermano. Admit
it.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Look, just --
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Admit it.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Admit what?
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Admit that this mecanismo is your
umbilical cord. Your life. And
without it you're nothing.
                                                            
A long pause. Darren contemplates. Play the game?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Yep, I admit it. Without it I'm
nothing. Be merciful. Show pity.
                                                            
Darren's words drip with sarcasm.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Theeere ya go. See? That wasn't so
hard, was it. Now we're getting
somewhere. You know, there are two
kinds of people in this world
nowadays : the technological
'haves' and 'have-nots'. You're a
have, I'm a not. Which suits me
just fine. I'm old school.
Stress-free. Enjoying life.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Good for you. What do you want?
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
What do YOU want? Remember, you're
the one that called me. Er, you.
Man, it gets kinda confusing,
doesn't it...
                                                            
Darren PUMMELS phone against coin box. He takes a deep
breath, again raises the receiver to his face.
                                                            

53.

                       MYSTERY MAN
So what line of work you in, Mr.
Hotshot?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Publicity. You probably don't even
know what that mean.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Sure I do, amigo. Publicity is the
deliberate attempt to manage the
public's perception.
Aaaand...based on some of the
emails I've read and conversations
I've had tonight...I'd say you're
not doing a very good job.
                                                            
Darren regards the comment with derision.
                                                            
                       DARREN
How about you, Antonio? What do
you do besides being a complete
pain in the arse?
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
I fix things.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Plumber, eh?
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Nah. Mechanic. I repair cars,
fine-tune engines, make sure
everything's running properly.
                                                            
A prolonged silence.
                                                            
                       DARREN
You've got filthy hands, amigo.
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
We all do, brother. But in
different ways.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Look...can we just cut to the
chase? What is it you --
                                                            
                       MYSTERY MAN
Cut to a chase? Hey, got a call
coming in. I better take it.
Please hold.
                                                            

54.

                       DARREN
WAIT --
                                                            
CLICK!

Darren hangs up hard in frustration.
                                                            
 
EXT. RESTAURANT PARKING LOT - NIGHT
                                                            
Darren approaches his auto. A grubby HOMELESS MAN takes his
arm.
                                                            
                       HOMELESS MAN
Pardon me, young fella. But
could'ja find it in your heart to
spare an old man some change?
                                                            
Darren hesitates.

He looks into the wino's sad, booze-filled eyes with PITY. A
creepy expression for it's so out-of-character.

Darren fishes inside his pocket. He takes out a handful of
coins and shockingly gives them to the elderly bum.
                                                            
                       HOMELESS MAN
Bless you, young man. Bless you.
                                                            
EXT. L.A. STREET - NIGHT
                                                            
Darren's car is the only one on the road. The city seems
completely devoid of life.

INSIDE CAR

Darren's eyes are a blank state.

He turns on the windshield wipers, erasing the bugs and
grime that have compiled over the last few days.

BOOM!

The auto begins to SHAKE uncontrollably.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Shit!
                                                            
Darren's knuckles turn white as they grip the steering
wheel.

EXT. STREET

55.


The auto LIFTS UP on one side, still barreling as it turns
increasingly sideways.

The vehicle straightens itself and speeds forward. A FLAT
TIRE drags it sideways again, half-off and half-on the
sidewalk.

It CRASHES broadside against a newspaper machine, then
SCREECHES to a HALT.

INSIDE CAR

Darren releases the steering wheel, pale and sweaty.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Holy Christ! Holy shit! Holy
Christ shit!
                                                            
OUTSIDE CAR

Darren examines the back flat tire.

He throws his hands up at the starless black sky, then
erupts with a boisterous, spontaneous LAUGHTER.

The laughs subside as he makes out a bright NEON SIGN about
five blocks down.
                                                            
                       DARREN
Reeshard?
                                                            
His eyes suddenly dance with mirth.
                                                            
                       DARREN
I...I know where I am...
                                                            
 
EXT. LE CLUB - NIGHT
                                                            
Darren heads for the nightclub door.

The words "LE CLUB" flash off and on in putrid neon colors
just above him.

A mammoth black BOUNCER stops him from entering.
                                                            
                       BOUNCER
Can I help you with something?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Yes. I'm here to see Reeshard.
                                                            

56.

The bouncer arches an eyebrow. He examines this disheveled,
suited man from head to toe.

Darren's slick mane is now a moppy mess. His suit is
tattered. The black eye has turned a purple-blue. His pupils
still dilated from the drugs.

The big man doesn't look impressed.
                                                            
                       BOUNCER
Really. And you are?
                                                            
Darren clears his throat.
                                                            
                       DARREN
D.W.
                                                            
                       BOUNCER
D.W., huh?
                                                            
                       DARREN
Yes. Just tell him D.W. is here to
see him.
                                                            
The bouncer takes a cell from his pants pocket. He begins to
press buttons, unsure.
                                                            
                       BOUNCER
      (in phone)
Sir, there's a...'D.W.' here to
see you? No, not BMW. D-W. Yes,
sir...
                                                            
Darren fidgets with his tie, runs fingers through his hair,
attempting to appear presentable.

The black man chuckles.
                                                            
                       BOUNCER
Yes, sir. D as in dick, W as in
wad. Very well, sir.
                                                            
The bouncer stows the phone and opens the door. He gives
Darren a bleach-white smile.
                                                            
                       BOUNCER
Follow me.
                                                            
TO BE CONTINUED...
                                                            


FADE OUT.


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From Joe Andrew Date 3/15/2007 ****
Entertaining and well-paced. I'd like to see what happens to this guy at the end.

From Jonathan Hall Date 2/22/2007 ***1/2
Great Dialouge and Character development, But I have no reason to care about what happens to the lead charecter. Make your audience root for him, and your money.

From Jan Lindser Date 2/18/2007 ***1/2
Wow, dialogue, characterization and atmosphere are all tops. Some parts do feel a bit familiar. But, as it's not the entire script, I will rate based on what you have so far.

From Kyle Stone Date 2/14/2007 ****
Dude this is fantastic!!

From Jose Date 2/13/2007 **1/2
Well, dialogue is definetly your strong point. But this is waaaay too similar to Phone Booth for me to take seriously.


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