Alien Nation Page #5

SYKES:

With two BRI Sabot slugs in the

chest.

JETSON:

(gently correcting

him)

Through the chest. Rupturing both

the primary and secondary hearts.

SYKES:

(out the window)

Nice signal, dickwad!

Jetson is momentarily thrown by this outburst from Sykes.

Then...

JETSON:

He was employed at the Northwest

Petroleum Refinery in Torrance. He

was manager of the Methane Facility.

He was also a principle partner in a

real estate venture to develop low-

cost housing for Newcomers.

Sykes grimaces at the mention of "Newcomer housing".

SYKES:

Terrific. A real pillar of the

community.

(beat)

Was Hubley missing anything when

they found him? Was he ripped off?

JETSON:

(checks file)

There was no wallet... but he was

still wearing a watch and two rings.

SYKES:

The guys at the mini-mart last night

made a half-assed stab at the money

in the till -- but I don't think

that's what they were there for. I

think we got us a couple'a

executions on our hands, George...

JETSON:

The murder at the mini-mart is not

our case. The Captain said--

Sykes looks over at Jetson, pissed.

SYKES:

Look, you want to fit in here,

right? You want to learn how to get

along?

JETSON:

Yes.

SYKES:

Well, there's a thing about

partners, about being somebody's

partner. You do for each other.

And other people's rules don't mean

sh*t. It's the rules set up between

the two of you, that's all that

counts. Understand?

(Jetson nods)

Okay. Well, my friend and partner

was shot last night and I'm after

the shitbag that did it. As my

partner, I'm asking you to respect

me and help me find him.

Jetson considers this several moments, then--

JETSON:

And as my partner, I ask you to

respect me and my desire not to

break with procedure.

Sykes stares at him, exasperated. Without warning, he

slams the car to a stop right in the middle of heavy

traffic, puts it in "Park." Jetson, who is already a

little too close to the dashboard, bangs up against it.

HORNS instantly go crazy behind them.

JETSON:

What is wrong?

SYKES:

(very calm)

Nothing's wrong. I just want to get

something straight. You agree that

there's a good chance these two

shootings are somehow related,

right?

YELLING joins the HORNS outside. Jetson is visibly

unsettled by the chaos.

JETSON:

Well... yes, quite possibly.

SYKES:

Possibly. Good. Well, would you be

willing to accept the theory,

George, that... possibly... by

examining the evidence from one case

we might shed some small ray of

light on the other? Does that sound

unreasonable to you?

JETSON:

Yes... no, it is not unreasonable.

Although I--

SYKES:

Great.

(a relieved sigh)

Well, I'm sure glad that's settled,

aren't you?

And with that he puts the car in gear and pulls rapidly

out.

SYKES:

I think we're really starting to

click now, George -- hmmm?

Jetson doesn't know what to think -- he just holds on.

CUT TO:

INT. HALLWAY - L.A. COUNTY MORGUE - DAY

WINTER, a deputy Medical Examiner (human), is leading

Sykes and Jetson along the hall. He reads on the fly from

a case file in his hand.

WINTER:

You know I've been over all this

with Fedorchuk and Alterez this

morning...

SYKES:

Come on. You got nothin' better to

do, cushy county job like yours.

INT. AUTOPSY ROOM - DAY

They enter briskly through a swinging door. They move

among the tables (some occupied, some not) during:

WINTER:

Yeah, right. Don't push your luck.

Anyway, according to the sheet, the

guy you nailed outside by the car--

SYKES:

The human?

WINTER:

Yeah... he was one Martin Helder.

White male, twenty-seven. Let's

see... wrap sheet shows one armed

robbery conviction, a couple for

sale of a controlled substance.

Oh yeah, and he was wired on coke

when you stopped his clock.

They have reached a table holding a covered body. Winter

unceremoniously throws back the cover. There lies the

pale naked body of the Raincoat alien.

JETSON:

Have you identified this one?

WINTER:

So far he's a John Doe. Or a Sam

Slag, if you like.

Jetson smiles slightly out of politeness.

WINTER:

No I.D. on him and -- well, you

know, no fingerprints -- so it could

be tough. Your buddies this morning

went through the mug book but

couldn't make a facial match.

SYKES:

Fedorchuk couldn't find his ass with

his hands in his back pockets.

Jetson nonchalantly looks over the alien body while Winter

and Sykes continue talking off to one side.

WINTER:

(referring to

Raincoat alien)

You took this gut out, too, didn't

you?

SYKES:

Yeah.

WINTER:

Lucky for you, you got him in both

of his... well, what we loosely

refer to as... hearts.

SYKES:

Lucky nothing. I had to empty my

damn gun into him.

WINTER:

That's the way these people are.

You don't hit both pumps you just

piss them off.

During this, Jetson has turned the dead alien's hand over

-- sees something that brings a frown of curiosity to his

face. He leans closer, examining the palm carefully.

Then he peels back the alien's upper lip.

Jetson frowns anew, with concern this time. He looks

around, spots a Newcomer lab assistant nearby -- BENTNER.

Jetson motions him over. Jetson begins questioning him

using the alien language. Sykes and Winter nearby, remain

oblivious.

WINTER:

Oh, here's an extra headshot if you

need one.

(hands Sykes a

polariod of dead

alien's face)

We're just about to start cutting

in. You're welcome to stick around

if you want. It's really

fascinating stuff.

SYKES:

Yeah, I'll bet.

Sykes looks over, now noticing Jetson and Bentner in

earnest conversation. He only catches snatches of the

alien language. Bentner appears very unsettled by what

Jetson is telling him. In response to Jetson's final

statement, Bentner nods -- as if agreeing to do something

Jetson has requested. Sykes goes over to Jetson.

SYKES:

What's this? What's going on?

JETSON:

Nothing.

SYKES:

(really suspicious

now)

Nothing?

JETSON:

(looking away)

Shouldn't we examine their personal

effects?

Jetson moves off, leaving Sykes there wondering.

CUT TO:

INT. PROPERTY ROOM - COUNTY MORGUE - DAY

Two large plastic packets are dumped of their contents

onto a formica counter. Sykes looks through the dead

alien's effects while Jetson goes through the human's.

ORTIZ, the college girl working the property counter, sits

nearby doing homework.

Jetson holds up a little foil packet with a puzzled frown.

JETSON:

What is this?

SYKES:

(looks, then)

A rubber. A condom. You know...

Coney Island whitefish?

(Jetson doesn't know

what one is)

Men, human men, put them on their,

uh -- penises -- to protect against

having babies.

(Jetson still doesn't

get it; Sykes turns

to Ortiz)

You need this for anything?

ORTIZ:

Nope, got my own. Anything you guys

don't use gets stuffed away in

storage.

Sykes tears open the packet, unrolls the condom, dangles

it before Jetson.

SYKES:

Get the picture?

JETSON:

(frowning)

And that fits?

SYKES:

Well... Yeah, it's rubber. It

stretches.

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