Alien Nation Page #7

There is laughter from the VIPs. Kipling slides into a

seat at one of the front tables. He leans over and

whispers something into the ear of the person seated to

his right. We see this CLOSE UP, and don't see who he is

whispering to yet. Whoever it is, nods.

MAYOR:

(continuing)

As Mayor of this city, it gives me

great pleasure to introduce someone

who has so readily made our city

his home... and all of us who live

here, his friends. Ladies and

gentlemen, William Harcourt.

The VIPs applaud as the spotlight sweeps over to a front

table. At first it hits Kipling, then it adjusts to

capture WILLIAM HARCOURT, seated to Kipling's right.

Harcourt is an exemplar of the successful Newcomer

entrepreneur... handsome, charming, with cool blue eyes

that glint with his piercing intellect. He rises, smiling

warmly, steps past his striking ALIEN DATE seated to his

right, to make his way to the podium. He shields his eyes

somewhat from the bright spotlight.

Once behind the podium, he slips his notes from a breast

pocket as the applause ebbs.

HARCOURT:

Thank you all for that very warm

reception.

(pauses, smiles)

I'm particularly grateful because I

actually had the gall to write that

in my notes:
"Thank you all for that

very warm reception". Imagine how

embarrassed I would've been if it

hadn't have been such a warm

reception.

The VIPs laugh. He's won them over instantly with his

charm and candor.

CUT TO:

INT. BILTMORE HOTEL - FOYER - NIGHT

Sykes, followed by a reluctant Jetson, bears down on

Harcourt, who is exiting the hotel with his Date, and

Kipling. We see Kipling recognize Sykes from their fight

two nights before... but because Kipling looks so

different, Sykes doesn't recognize him outright. Still,

during this, Sykes senses something, though he's not sure

what.

SYKES:

William Harcourt?

HARCOURT:

Yes...

SYKES:

I'm Sergeant Sykes, and this is

Detective Jetson, Los Angeles Police

Department.

HARCOURT:

(nodding greeting)

Sergeant... Detective. I wasn't

aware there were any Newcomers at

the rank of Detective yet.

JETSON:

I am the first.

HARCOURT:

Congratulations. This is my

administrative assistant, Rudyard

Kipling.

SYKES:

(throw away)

Rudyard Kipling? No sh*t?

(to Harcourt)

Listen, we just need a minute of

your time...

JETSON:

We'd like to ask you about a

business associate of your, Warren

Hubley.

HARCOURT:

Yes, I heard about poor Warren.

Tragic.

SYKES:

You were partners with him on some

Slag -- uh, Newcomer real estate

thing.

HARCOURT:

That's right. He and I, along with

seven or eight others. Listen,

gentlemen, I will be happy to assist

you in any way I can --

unfortunately, at the moment, I'm

overdue at another function.

Suddenly there's a voice from O.S.:

MAYOR (O.S.)

William...

Harcourt turns as the Mayor and his WIFE step up.

HARCOURT:

Mr. Mayor...

MAYOR:

William, I was wondering if you

wouldn't rather ride with Luisa and

me. Two limousines trying to make

it across town in all this traffic,

we're bound to be later than we

already are.

HARCOURT:

Excellent idea. Ray, I wonder if

you know two of your police

officers... Detective Jetson and

Sykes.

MAYOR:

(shaking their hands,

dismissively)

A pleasure.

(to Harcourt)

We really should be going.

The wind is knocked from Sykes' sails by the presence of

the Mayor with a very impatient expression. Harcourt

smiles.

HARCOURT:

(continuing)

Please feel free to call my office

Monday morning for an appointment.

(to Jetson)

Congratulations again on your

promotion, Detective. Remember...

you're out there setting an example

in our community. I'll be keeping

an eye on you.

Harcourt is smiling as he says this last, but his eyes are

penetrating... telegraphing a subliminal warning.

Harcourt and entourage move off... leaving Sykes steaming.

CUT TO:

EXT. BILTMORE HOTEL - HARCOURT AND KIPLING - NIGHT

Walking behind the others. They speak in very low voices;

Harcourt continuing to nod and smile to other passing VIPs

during:

KIPLING:

That cop, the human, he was the one

who killed Anderson and the driver.

HARCOURT:

This is becoming a serious breach of

security.

KIPLING:

He didn't recognize me.

HARCOURT:

It is his new partner that I'm

worried about.

CUT TO:

INT. POLICE FIRING RANGE - FRONT DESK - NIGHT

MAFFET, the stocky retired cop behind the counter, hands

Jetson a bag of reloads and some silhouette targets.

Sykes nods to Jetson, motioning him toward the firing

line.

SYKES:

Go on ahead. I'll be right in.

(to Maffet, low)

What'd you dig up for me?

Maffet slides open a drawer, takes out a paper bag

containing a massive pistol with an enormous bore. By

his manner this deal is definitely not kosher. Sykes

hefts the weapon.

MAFFET:

You said you wanted the biggest

thing I could find... Well, this is

it.

SYKES:

What is it?

MAFFET:

Casull .454 Magnum. You're talking

twice the impact energy of .44

Magnum hot loads.

SYKES:

(flips open cylinder)

Only holds five.

MAFFET:

Yeah, the shells are too big for six

in an cylinder. Hell, Matt, you

don't need but one.

SYKES:

(sighting)

No... two.

EXT. SHOOTING RANGE - FIRING LINE - NIGHT

Jetson, looking bizarre in his ear-protectors, is taking

careful aim with his .38 as Sykes walks up. Jetson slips

the protectors down.

SYKES:

Well, let's see what you got,

Cochise. Gimme six, rapid fire.

Jetson, a little nervous at this command performance,

turns, sets, and FIRES at the silhouette target. It's a

large, sloppy grouping.

SYKES:

(continuing)

How long you been shooting? That's

pitiful. Whattya gonna do if

somebody draws down on you, wave

your scores on the written exam at

'em?

Sykes starts loading the thumb-sized bullets into the

Casull.

JETSON:

Why did you do it?

SYKES:

Why'd I do what?

JETSON:

Agree to work with me? You don't

like me... you don't like any of us.

You have nothing but contempt for

us. And yet you become an outcast

from your club of detectives by

making me your partner...

SYKES:

My partner is dead! Because one of

you bastards killed him -- then

disappeared into a rathole down in

Slagtown, where he's home and dry,

'cause nobody sees nothing, nobody

says nothing...

Sykes grabs a bullet-proof vest from nearby, slaps it onto

the hanging target form. He hits the switch, running the

target down to the end of the lane.

SYKES:

(continuing)

But he didn't figure on you, George.

You're going to get me through that

wall of silence. You're going to

make them talk to me. You're going

to help me find that Slag son-of-a-

b*tch. Comprendo? And if Fedorchuk

and the boys in the bullpen don't

like it, screw them... and if the

Captain doesn't like it, screw

him... and if all the Slags down in

Slagtown don't like it... well screw

them too!

Sykes raises the Casull, fires. KA-BOOM!!! The shell

rockets clean through the bullet-proof vest on the target

form. The recoil slams Sykes back, jerks his arm up. KA-

BOOM!!! again, and another hole is drilled through the

vest. Other shooters look over. Sykes sets the gun

down... sees his hand is bleeding. Jetson absorbs all

this, as we--

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