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Weapon of Choice - Ep. 01: Amnesia
by Gordon Wilson (sh_maverick28@hotmail.com)

Rated: PG-13   Genre: Film Noir   User Review: ***
Jensen Harris has long dreamed of the investigation that would make him rich or famous. When a newly widowed woman comes a-knocking, he thinks he has finally found it. Gorgeous women, a detective with too much to lose, an amnesiac with smoking gun... the perfect equation for an old-fashioned Film-Noire.

This screenplay is copyrighted to its author. All rights reserved. This screenplay may not be used or reproduced without the express written permission of the author.



JENSEN HARRIS sits at his desk, in the corner office of
Harris Security and Investigations. He's shabbily dressed,
as though he hasn't slept for a few days, or maybe he's just
had one long one. His sleeves are rolled up as he types at
away some report or another.

Jensen sighs a heavy sigh before removing himself from the
desk. From out of one of his drawers, he hauls out a rocks
glass and a bottle of Rye. Jensen pours himself a stiff

The office door pops open and a woman enters. LANA, Jensen's
office assistant. She has her coat on, ready to finally go
home after a long night.
Yeah, Lana?
Do you need anything else? I'm
about to head out.
Walking around to the front of his desk, Jensen takes a sip
of his drink.
Nah, I'm fine.
      (Another sip)
I'm probably going to head out
soon myself. Have a good one.
Lana acknowledges and turns to exit.
Jensen leans against his desk.
                       JENSEN (CONT'D)
Hey --
Lana stops.
                       JENSEN (CONT'D)
-- Glass of whiskey?


She casually dismisses her boss.
Jensen draws another sip from his glass, and moves toward
the window. Opening the blinds, he looks out at the hill -
which itself, overlooks the city - in front of his office.

One more sip.
Don't drink. I'll see you
tomorrow, Jensen.
Lana exits, closing the door behind her.

Taking another long draw out of his glass, Jensen moves
toward the window. Here he opens up the blinds, and looks
out at the hill in front of his office.

One more sip.
                       JENSEN (V.O.)
The night can be a dangerous,
deadly, lonely thing. If you're
not careful, it's liable to creep
up on you and break your heart.
He goes back to his desk, slumping back in his chair. He
contemplates taking another sip, swirling it around, before
finally deciding upon placing the near empty glass down on
the desktop.
                       JENSEN (V.O.)
Luckily, loneliness isn't
something I get afflicted with.
Not when I have such great company
right here.
Now Jensen pulls a pack of cigarettes out of desk drawer. he
takes one of the little sticks out and lights it with a
lighter from his pocket.

Jensen takes a long drag.
                       JENSEN (V.O.)
A bottle o' Murdoch, and
king-sized pack o' Blues.
Sirens can be heard in the distance.


Sounds like the beginning of
another story. I should get out of
here... Another story for another
Somewhere outside the office, sirens howl. A set of flashing
lights attached to a car goes zipping by. The people on the
street don't pay them any attention. It's just another night
in Halifax.
Citadel Hill looks out over the city, and rests just over
the offices at the Halifax Tribune. A lone car rests in idol
on the side of the road, near the top of the hill. It sets a
dark done... Trunk open, lights on. Not too far away from
the vehicle, the headlights shines light on a dark scene.

A man, HARLAN BRENIER, is on his knees, topless, hands tied
behind his back.
No-No, you don't have to this.
I'll tell you, I swear I'll tell
you everything. Anything you want.
I can make you a rich man. Just
please... don't do this.
A gunshot rings through the night. Harlan falls to the
ground, not moving, not breathing... lifeless.

Footsteps, a trunk, a door. The killer drives off, leaving
Harlan behind.
In the dark of night, a masked figure is seen dragging a
body along behind them. Outside of the mask, there is
nothing much to describe. A hoodie, under an overcoat.

After a little while, the figure drops the body and without
giving the victim as much as a second glance, walks away.


As the son comes up, the man that was being dragged along
the night before starts to come to. He's very clearly
disheveled, and very clearly confused. He's wearing a nice
jacket, over his ripped jeans and wife-beater.
What the --, where the hell am I?
The man sits up, maybe a little too fast.
Woah, jesus!
He jumps to his feet, and shakes off that sick feeling. He
looks over and sees the harbor.
The fuck?!
Viewing his surroundings, he sees a gun. Almost on instinct,
the Amnesiac picks it up and tucks it behind his back waste

Looking around to get an idea of his surroundings, the man
breaks into a run.
The sun is still rising over the city, and the police have
already been on the scene for some time now when DET. JANE
GRIST pulls up in her unmarked sedan. She steps out of her
car and makes her way over to where two officers in Tyvek
are at work. Before engaging the officers, she takes a
moment to survey Harlan's body.
Single gunshot wound to the head
One of the officers turns around and nods in the
One of our guy's found the body
about an hour ago and called it
in. Guess the hill is on his route
to the precinct.
We have an I.D. on the victim?


The officer shakes his head.
Nope. No Identification, no
wallet, not even change in his
Jane moves in to get a better look at the gunshot wound. She
crouches down to get a closer look.
No Wallet, no shirt, but this was
no robbery. This was a killing
plain and simple.
My first thought as well.
Jane nods.
Shot from the victim's front...
and from a distance. Just look at
the angle of the wound. If it were
a robbery it would have been up
close, and he'd have been shot an
angle. No, he was on his knees...
and --
She stands back up and points a finger gun at the deceased.
She starts to walk backwards, continuing to point.
                       JANE (CONT'D)
-- The shot was taken from about
Jane spots tire marks from where the vehicle had spun out on
the way from the scene.
Anything distinct about the tires
that made these?
No, and even if they were... It's
a high traffic area. Those marks
are just one of many.

And I suppose it's too much to ask
for a witness?


Ding, Ding, Ding. How'd you guess?
After it was called in, we arrived
at the scene to begin processing.
Nobody has come forward thus far,
and there's no signs that there
was anybody else here.
Yeah, and it looks like our
suspect made it a point to stay on
the pavement... no footprints in
the grass, outside of the victim.

We're going to have to set
something up, maybe canvas the
area, see if we can't get a
witness to come forward.
Glad that's your job.
Jane walks back to her car.
Don't remind me.
The sun breaks through the small security office's windows
as Jensen walks in. He has a messenger bag slung around his
shoulder, and his fedora on his head. As he enters, Lana is
seen at her desk, typing away at her computer.
Morning, Lana.
He walks by on his way to his office.

Lana takes notice of her boss.
Boss, you've --
The phone rings. Lana picks the phone up with on hand, and
with the other puts a finger up.

Jensen holds up for a moment.
Jensen Harris' office, Lana


Jensen walks on by and enters his own office space.
As Jensen enters his office, he does a double take. Sitting
in the seat in front of his desk is a woman. KYLIE is a
young-20-something that quickly catches the investigator's

The woman turns when she hears Jensen enter.
Well, hello.
Kylie begins to stand up.
Don't worry yourself with
formalities here, miss --
Brenier, Kylie Brenier. Mr. Harris
Jensen takes his messenger bag off, placing it down beside
his desk.
-- Mr. nothing. just call me,
Jensen. I'm not big on all the
He sits down behind his desk and sighs.
                       JENSEN (CONT'D)
Sorry, Kylie... Long night. What
can I do you for?
It's my --
-- Glass of Rye?
Jensen's guest gives him a very confusing look.

The investigator grabs the bottle of Rye and a couple of
glasses, putting them on the desk. Without waiting for a
response, he starts to pour.
                       JENSEN (CONT'D)
Whiskey, Rye Whiskey.


It's before noon.
IT'S good.
He pushes the glass across the desk and takes a drink before
putting it down in a sigh of relief.
I'm here about --
You're here about your husband,
he takes his hat off and tosses it somewhere on the desk.
Peculiar death, the death of a
sailor. I heard on my way in this
morning. It's all they can talk
about on the radio.

That's one mystery. The other one
would be why you'd come to me. I
do surveillance and provide
Don't play coy, Mr. Harris. I know
exactly what you do.
He takes a drink.
So what exactly do I do? And what
exactly is it that you think I can
do for you?
The police are going to
investigate my husband's death. I
have no doubt they'll catch his
Jensen pushes his glass away, as if he were done with the
So, why not leave it to them? I'm
no Homicide detective, Mrs.
Brenier. I find missing kids,
cheating spouses, that kind of


                       JENSEN (cont'd)
thing. You're asking me to find
dirt? I'll find you a mountain.
But I just can't solve a --
-- I'm asking you to find
something he was hiding.
Jensen sits forward, very interested.
I believe you were about to get to
the part where you tell me what's
in it for me?
Tell me, what do you know about
what Harlan did for a living?
The sun lights up the background of the busy city streets as
the Amnesiac weaves in and out of foot traffic on a city
street. Every so often he checks over his shoulder, and
stumbles over himself. He is paranoid.

Down the road he sees the sign for a hole in the wall type
of bar. He stops for a moment, sighing, feeling the gun at
his back after forgetting it had been there.
Jensen is pondering what he had just heard as the new widow
sits as still as a statue before him.
How much are we talking?
That's just it, isn't it? All of
the on the books stuff went into
our account. Anything he brought
back in a haul, well --
-- He wanted to keep you out of
it. Listen, Kylie. I have to know.
What I'm getting into, what you're
bringing me into --


-- Yes, Jensen. It's very likely
what got Harlan killed.
Jensen sits back. He takes a moment to himself. After a
pause he refills the glass and pushes the other one toward

He takes a drink.
So where do I start?
Kylie smiles, and takes a drink from her glass, which in
turn makes Jensen happy.
His business account at the
bank... a safe deposit box. He had
the only key to it.
Yeah, of course there's a catch.
Alright, Mrs. Brenier.
Jensen removes himself from his seat and extends his hand.

Kylie stands as well, downing her drink before giving Jensen
her hand to shake.
My assistant will run down on the
financial details, and I'll be in
touch as soon as I have any
Thank you.
Kylie exits the office.
Well now.
The Amnesiac walks into the dive, and checks his corners,
notes the emergency exit, and takes a seat at the bar.

The bartender hears him sit down, but continues stocking the
beer fridge.


Excuse me?
I'll be right with you, pal.
A moment or two passes by before the fridge door closes and
the bartender returns to his post.
                       BARTENDER (CONT'D)
What's your poison?
Where am I?
A Bar in Halifax?
When? What day is it?
Thursday, and it's way to early
for this crap. Look, you want a
drink, or what? You okay?
Just give me whatever you have on
The Bartender goes off to fetch the drink.

Kylie walks into the bar with a burly man in tow. They walk
on by the Amnesiac and find themselves a table in the
corner, where they sit themselves.

Soon, the bartender returns with the drink.
Thanks, run me a tab?
You good for it?
The Amnesiac nods, followed by him taking a drinking from
his glass.

The bartender wanders away.

In the corner, Kylie laughs. Not far behind, her escort
kisses her on the cheek.


The door to Jensen's lobby swings open and the investigator
walks out, hat in hand. He places the hat on his head as he
leans into Lana's desk.
Anything for me?
A Detective Grist called, said you
were in touch about Mrs. Brenier.
She wanted you to know that she
came in for questioning.
Good, she needs to play it by the
books. Listen, Lana. I need some
On, MR. Brenier?
Anything you can find out on him
or any of his associates at the
docks. I have to pay a visit to
the bank.
Yes, boss.
The Amnesiac is still sitting in the now empty bar. The
bartender walks over to the man, putting his hands down
frustratingly on the counter.
Anything else, or are we going to
settle up?
The Amnesiac searches his pockets, realizing that he isn't
even sure if he has any money. He finds a wallet, from which
he produces the sole $20 bill.
One more, keep the change.


The bartender fetches another beer.

As he does so, the Amnesiac looks through the wallet. He
finds a strange key, a debit card, and a photo id.
                       AMNESIAC (CONT'D)
Harlan Brenier?
The bartender comes back with his beer and sweeps the $20
bill of the table, before putting the beer down. Before he
can turn away, The Amnesiac puts the id down on the bar
                       AMNESIAC (CONT'D)
You know him?
The Bartender shakes his head.
Never heard of 'im, sorry.
The Amnesiac finishes off his final beer. As he puts his
dead soldier back down on the counter, the door swings open.
Two armed officers enter, escorted by Detective Grist.
Grist's eye catches the man at the bar in a jacket.
HPD, Detective Grist. I need you
to be calm and stand up. Keep your
hands high in the sky, no sudden
movements, and everything will be
just fine.
The Amnesiac takes a deep sigh of relief before standing up
and complying with the detective's orders.
Turn around, nice and slow.
Again the man complies.
I received a tip that a man
matching your description would be
The man takes a few steps ahead.
Sweetheart, I don't even know
where here is.


FREEZE! I didn't tell you to move.
You know you're wearing a dead
man's coat?
No. but I guess that probably
makes the wallet I've got, a dead
man's wallet too, huh?
Alright, I'm moving in closer and
you're going to stay right there.
She moves in, taking a set of handcuffs out from behind her
                       JANE (CONT'D)
At this time, I'm placing you
under arrest. The charge is
suspicion in the homicide of
Harlan Brenier. You have the right
to retain, and to instruct --
-- Look, I'm not going to do
anything, but you should know that
I have a gun. I'll turn around and
you can remove it from my
Slowly. Anything faster than snail
gets a bullet. You understand?
Nodding, the Amnesiac turns around slowly.

as the detective reaches in under his coat to grab the gun,
The Amnesiac makes a quick bolt for the emergency exit.

One of the officers opens fire.
Jane takes pursuit as the man exits. she isn't too far


A partial sun casts a shadow on the alley behind the bar as
Jane Grist runs out, a gun in either hand. As she pushes
through the door, she looks around for The Amnesiac but he
catches her offguard, hitting her from behind. As she falls
to the ground, the two guns leave her hands and slide across
the ground. The man makes a run for it, but the detective
sweeps him off his feet. With both now on the ground, they
scramble. The detective scrambles to get one of the
firearms, while her prey scrambles to get to his feet.

The Amnesiac makes it to his feet first and starts off down
the alley.

a gunshot sounds off behind him.
Down on the ground, now!
The Amnesiac throws his hands in the air and freezes on the
spot as Jane gets to her feet, gun in hand.
I didn't kill anyone.
You ran.
She walks closer, with the gun trained on him.
Now, down. Hands and legs spread.
He complies once more.
You ran, you have his coat, and
admit to having his wallet. What's
that they say about ducks?
Ducks don't wake up on a board
walk, not knowing their name.
Or fire guns, but I bet if I test
this for finger prints, I'll get a
match for you.
And you... But we both know you
didn't kill the guy. Still,
circumstances put the gun in your


                       AMNESIAC (cont'd)
Well, we'll just see how this
plays out for you, huh? Hands
behind your back.
She snaps the handcuffs on the man and than works him back
to his feet.
In an interview room, we see a woman from behind as she sits
alone at a table. In the distance, a door is heard opening
up. From the window, Jane can be seen escorting The Amnesiac
down the hall. She looks in from the corner of her eye.

Just after a minute of silence or so, the door swings open
and the detective walks in. She sits down at the table,
opposite the woman.
Mrs. Brenier.
We now see the woman as she looks up at the detective. This
woman is not Kylie, but somebody of a similar build.
                       MRS. BRENIER
That man... Is --
The detective smiles, putting a hand on Mrs. Brenier's hand.
-- We have reason to believe that
he had been involved in your
husband's death, yes.
Mrs. Brenier starts to weep.
Bad fluorescent lighting flickers as we see a kitchen filled
with dirty dishes and garbage. A man can be heard
struggling, as if gagged.

On the kitchen counter, a paper mache mask of newspaper
clippings sits. The clippings are of various headlines about
marine wreckage, one on the forehead has the name of Harlan


At the other end of the room, a man sits alone at a table
covered in newspapers. At the center, he is finishing off a
new paper mache mask. This one, covered with theater
headlines. One featuring the name of Kenny Fortune.

He finishes up, and puts the mask on.

Turning to his right, he looks at the man gagged up on the
floor, a distance away.
Kenny, I need you to know that
what's about to happen... It's not
personal. It's just a run of bad
Standing up PMK gives Kenny one last, long stare.


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From SRINIVASAN R Date 7/8/2016 ***

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