Cellular Page #3

THEO:

I would appreciate a little space.

Thank you.

The driver in the next lane backs up. Now Theo can squeeze

his Chrysler through. By jumping the curb he can drive

across the sidewalk and into the parking lot of a small

corner mall with its donut shop and Chinese laundry. He

takes the exit which leads onto a residential side street.

THEO:

(into phone)

Fine, no tunnel. Are you still

with me? Hello?

LENORE:

I hear them coming upstairs. I

won't be able to talk for awhile.

I have to lay the phone down and

pretend to be asleep. So don't

talk. Don't say a word or they'll

hear it.

THEO:

I can't stay on this line. I'm

picking people up. I'm already

overdue.

(no response)

Hello?

(no answer but the

line remains open;

Theo listens)

Theo quickly puts the convertible top up and rolls up the

windows so he can hear more clearly.

There are indeterminate sounds coming over the open phone

line. It could be someone walking on a wood floor. Theo

keeps listening as he drives. He's not paying a lot of

attention to the road. A large trailer truck honks at him

nearly blowing him out of his seat. He quickly covers the

earpiece of the phone. But the kidnappers may have already

heard the sound and have been alerted by it. He waves at

the truck driver to hold it down. The truck driver laughs

at him. Honks again.

Theo pulls around onto the main boulevard again. He's

bypassed the overpass but not the traffic. He keeps driving

and listening. Maybe she's gone. Gone for good.

Minutes ago he wanted her gone. Now he's oddly concerned.

He listens harder. Still nothing. Alongside him a black

kid in a Honda has his rap music blaring. Theo continues to

keep the mouthpiece of the cellular pressed tightly to his

chest to muffle all noise. But he has to lift the receiver

to his ear now and then to listen. Still nothing.

THEO'S POV - THE INTERNATIONAL HOUSE OF PANCAKES on the

corner ahead. His two partners are waiting to climb in when

Theo pulls up.

KLINGER is about sixty. Once a ladies' man he has watched

his looks fade. He tries to hide his years with the aid of

Clairol, badly applied and a few shades too dark.

CAITLIN CARUSO has the look of a young woman who works out

five or six times a week. She's completely buffed. She

compensates by dressing in ultra-feminine attire -- pinks

with lace cuffs and an abundance of makeup.

KLINGER:

You took your sweet time.

Theo still keeps the phone buried in his chest.

THEO:

Just get in and keep still.

Klinger climbs in the back seat. Caitlin piles in beside

Theo and gives him a fleeting kiss.

CAITLIN:

Who's on the phone?

THEO:

I'll explain later. I'm sort of

on hold.

Theo pulls away into traffic.

KLINGER:

You switched license plates?

THEO:

It's taken care of.

KLINGER:

We have never worked a gig

together but I am a firm believer

in preparation. So let's go over

this again step by step.

THEO:

Not this minute.

CAITLIN:

He's screwing with us. There's

nobody on that phone.

Caitlin tries to take the phone. Theo slaps her hand away

hard -- and keeps the mouthpiece tightly covered.

CAITLIN:

What was that for?

THEO:

You could've made me lose my call.

CAITLIN:

So what? What could be important

enough to put your hands on me?

THEO:

I didn't hurt you.

CAITLIN:

You couldn't hurt me. But it's

the principle.

KLINGER:

That was definitely out of line

and totally unprovoked. I heard

you were a hitter.

THEO:

Bullshit.

KLINGER:

That's your "rep."

THEO:

Wait! I hear her breathing now.

There, she just picked it up

again.

CAITLIN:

It's some chick you've got on

there? With heavy breathing, for

Christ sake?

He listens anxiously as he drives.

THEO:

Say something ...

CAITLIN:

Me, he won't stay on the phone

with for five f***ing minutes

without bitching.

THEO:

I'm trying to help somebody.

Okay?

CAITLIN:

He's at it again. Like that night

at the Emerald. This piece of

Euro-trash is slapping sh*t out of

his little wife in a back booth --

so Mr. Good Deed here has got to

step in and pound the f***er's

head into the wall. Meantime

"Wifey" recovers enough to pull

off her high heel and nearly take

our hero's eye out. It took six

stitches.

THEO:

How was I in the wrong?

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