Alien Nation Page #4

The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and

the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room,

switching off the answering machine as he goes.

Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of

the machine and tosses it into a drawer.

FADE TO:

INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY

Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about

four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with

Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk.

SYKES:

So what've you got on Tuggle's

killers?

FEDORCHUK:

Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than

ten hours. Me and Alterez are on

it, okay?

SYKES:

You don't have squat.

FEDORCHUK:

You ever try to make a case in

Slagtown? The list of Newcomer

informants is about as long as the

list of Mexican war heroes...

ALTEREZ:

Up yours.

FEDORCHUK:

... Nobody talks to nobody down

there. Half of them don't speak

English and the other half only when

it suits them. It's gonna take some

time.

SYKES:

Yeah, I know it's gonna take time.

Like until the Ice Capades opens in

Hell, with you two on it.

Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN

WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the

squad room.

WARNER:

Nobody wanders off! I got an

announcement. Get your asses back

in here.

Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into

the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner

stands holding a sheet of paper.

WARNER:

I'll make this short. This is a

directive from Chief Evaner, who is

acting on orders from the Mayor, who

is under mandate from the Federal

Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of

nine o'clock this morning, one

Newcomer uniform officer has been

promoted to the rank of Detective,

third grade.

The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This

is bullshit!", etc.

WARNER:

And we've got him, gentleman.

(more groans)

Volunteers for duty with the new

detective should see me in my

office... otherwise I will choose a

volunteer myself. That is all.

He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of

continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing

to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass-

walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an

alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the

suit is Jetson.

The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers

something.

FEDORCHUK:

Unbelievable bullshit.

ALTEREZ:

How long has this Slag been on the

force? A year, max -- right?

DETECTIVE:

I don't know about the rest of you,

but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit

still for this. I'm calling the

union, pronto.

Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided

something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk

sees this.

FEDORCHUK:

Where the hell is he going?

INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY

Sykes KNOCKS and enters.

WARNER:

Yeah, Sykes?

SYKES:

Captain. I'd like to volunteer for

duty with the new detective.

Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes.

WARNER:

... All right. Detective Sergeant

Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson.

JETSON:

We have met.

Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes,

starting to smell something fishy.

The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands.

GOLDRUP:

Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office.

Congratulations, gentlemen.

Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to.

WARNER:

(to Sykes)

You are to have nothing to do with

the investigation into Bill Tuggle's

death. You know that. Leave that

for Fedorchuk.

SYKES:

(nodding)

Departmental policy.

WARNER:

(to Jetson)

You?

JETSON:

Yes, sir.

WARNER:

Good.

SYKES:

There's another case I'd like to

take. A homicide -- a Newcomer

named Hubley.

Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something.

Sykes avoids his look.

WARNER:

Granger and Pitts are already on it.

SYKES:

Granger and Pitts have one hell of a

caseload... and I would have thought

with Jetson here being the first

Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's

body being found over in the

Newcomer community...

WARNER:

Don't tell me what to think.

GOLDRUP:

He's got a point. That's the sort

of thing we should be doing with

this early advancement program...

Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally

sighs with resignation. Sykes grins.

CUT TO:

INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY

The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next

to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks

like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all

the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during:

SYKES:

... and we work my hours. I'll do

the driving, you do the paperwork.

You gotta learn it so you might as

well do it all.

JETSON:

(after a moment)

Sergeant... I'd like to thank you

for what you're doing.

SYKES:

What's that?

(then realizing)

Look, Jetson. Get this straight in

your head. We're not pals, we're

not married, and we ain't gonna take

long moonlight walks together...

We're just partners. And don't call

me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or

Matt if you have to.

JETSON:

I am George.

Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half

steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up

cold.

SYKES:

Wait a minute. George? George

Jetson?

Jetson nods... he's used to this.

Sykes cracks up.

SYKES:

(between laughs)

Man, somebody really hung one on

you! I've heard some good ones for

you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley

Davidson. I guess the people at

immigration got a little punchy

after a while, coming up with names

for a quarter of a million of you.

You weren't at the back of the line,

were you, George?

JETSON:

My true name is Ss'tangya

T'ssorentsa'.

SYKES:

Gesundheit. You don't mind if I

stick to George, do you?

EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY

They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile.

SYKES:

Anyway, what's it matter to you if

we think it's funny, right? Whatta

you care?

JETSON:

That is exactly so.

(completely deadpan)

It is like your name... Sykes. I'm

sure it doesn't bother you at all

that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss",

two words in my language which mean

"excrement" and "cranium".

Sykes looks at him, perplexed.

JETSON:

"Sh*t... head".

Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing

there, the smirk dropping from his face.

CUT TO:

INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY

They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives.

Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat.

SYKES:

Let's talk Hubley.

JETSON:

(refers to a folder

he holds)

His body was discovered three days

ago, in an alley off of Central

Avenue, near downtown.

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