Con Air Page #4

If I don't get my shot

in the next couple of hours...

- somebody gonna be sending flowers to my mother.

- Hey, I'll go.

- I'm too old for his sh*t.

- I mean, no offense.

- I can take care of myself.

- I can see that.

Go ahead, go to the back.

Anybody else?

- Hey, right here, man. Us two.

- Great, go ahead. Go to the back.

Hey, whoa, stop. The guys

they're expecting are white.

That puts you

sh*t out of luck.

- Hey, come on, man.

- I'll tell you what. Sit down.

One of my associates will bring you a phone

book, and you call the Affirmative Action office.

- You, go ahead.

- Yeah, that's it.

- I'm gone, man. I'm dead in two hours.

- No.

I'll get off,

scream to high heaven.

This plane won't leave

Carson City.

We need another white boy

to volunteer.

- Pilot's white.

- Wait, wait, wait. The pilot?

- Who's gonna fly the plane?

- Relax, Billy. Welcome to the machine.

- You rang?

- Carson City says we got a hell of a sandstorm down there.

Perfect.

Crazy.

Vacant cell D8,

ready for inspection.

Last tenant,

Cyrus Grissom.

Got scratches on the wall.

Probably a weapon sharpening.

- What about the loose shelf screw?

- What the hell is this?

Looks like cocaine.

- What, do you got something there?

- I don't know. It's all soft.

What about the rest

of the pigs?

Be patient, now. They haven't

ceased to be useful yet.

Okay, old man.

Now you're Mr Popovitch.

Gentlemen, you'll reach the

Nevada pen in about two hours.

The tape's just a little

precaution in case any of you...

are rocked by the sudden impulse

to squeal like a pig.

Not that we don't trust you.

But let's face it, you're criminals.

- Come on, man, move your head up.

- I want to stay on.

What?

I changed my mind.

So, Cyrus, we got

a little mind-changer.

I got 15 years left, and

I know I'd just hate myself...

if I thought I blew my one shot

at a naked party freak...

and, and

an umbrella drink.

You got 15 years? Boy, a second ago

you couldn't wait to get off this plane.

I know.

Fear of freedom, I guess.

Get him up.

Get the cuffs off him.

Pick out a guard, and then put that

dead cop's prison issues on him.

- What the hell are you doin'?

- Stayin'.

They're gaggin' everybody

for the bus ride to the pen.

It'll be hours before the Feds discover

what happened. By then you'll be dead.

- So will she.

- Poe, think of your little girl.

Now, what would my daughter think of me if I

left you like this to get dishonored and die?

You keep acting like you're still

a Ranger, we're all gonna be in trouble.

You're not that guy anymore.

You're a convict.

Dear God!

- Told you I'd get that back.

- F*** you, trailer trash.

Hey, my mama lives in a trailer. Now

put those on. I just saved your life.

Okay, soldier boy.

You got a plan?

Maybe.

Chief? I got a lot

of weird sh*t down here.

- What is it?

- This looks like the drawing of a plane.

- Whose cell is that?

- The Virus.

Open up!

My daughter's picture. Where'd

you put my daughter's picture...

you sh*t-eatin'

peckerhead?

Heard you had a problem

up there.

Had to bag 'em and gag 'em.

Rough crew. Spitters and shitters.

On the bus, d*ckhead!

On the bus!

Let's go.

We're at the gate.

They took the plane. You hear that,

boys? We got the plane, man.

Shut the f*** up, curly, all

right? You gonna get us caught!

No way, Jose!

You gotta be kiddin' me.

Oh, boy.

In Spanish from Bogota, Colombia.

Looks like it's from a law firm.

Orange and black.

What's up, man?

- So, you the Swamp Thing?

- That's right.

- Flyin' the plane?

- That's right.

- It's amazing the sh*t you white trash know.

- That's right.

Sh*t! Aw, man!

What're you doin' here?

Hello.

How you doin', baby?

I'm just, uh, tryin' to get out of

the storm, you know. Grab my lunch.

- Well, this is a restricted area.

- Look, don't worry, baby.

- It's all right. I'm a- I'm a cop.

- You work for a prison or somethin'?

Yeah, the Department of Erect-

Corrections. Caught me slippin'.

Creepy.

The eyes are cut

out of their heads.

The Last Supper.

- Is that it?

- One more.

Late addition.

- Who?

- Garland Greene.

Should be interesting.

- What the f*** is that?

- That's Garland Greene, man.

Christ in a cartoon!

Sh*t, that's

Garland Greene, man.

The Marietta Mangler.

That skinny little man

butchered 30 somethin' people...

up and down

the eastern seaboard.

They say the way

he killed those people...

makes the Manson family

look like the Partridge family.

Well, he's on

the right flight.

- But you know what, you really do need to leave.

- Tina, you've got...

the prettiest eyes I've seen

in about five to ten.

"Met ca- Me-

Me. Et cetera.

Cetera. Meet. "

Me, et cetera, me arson.

Meet car. Meet cars. Meet cars.

Meet cars. Meet cars.

Meet cars. Where?

"Carson...

City. "

Oh, God. Uh, stay here.

Don't touch anything.

Hey, what're you doin'? Just leave it

alone. He told you not to touch anything.

What the hell?

You wanna have some more fun,

keep it up.

Come on.

We've got a situation here, sir.

Somebody better call the marshal's office.

Code red! Code red!

Starkey, those guards ain't guards.

- They're cons. Stall 'em.

- Christ!

- Hey, how are ya?

- Almost ready?

Won't be long now.

- You're the man, Cyrus!

- Let's go!

Do you hear somethin'

that sounds like a damn plane?

Jailbird One, you are

not cleared for takeoff.

Hey, nobody on this aircraft

gives a flyin' f***!

Get it? "Flyin' f***!"

Thank you. I'm here all week.

Hey! Hey, Cochise,

it's me!

Pinball. I'm sorry.

Hey!

Shine, sweet freedom,

shine!

Trust me, folks. This is gonna be

a day you will never forget.

Just step right on board

and find yourself a seat.

Don't they have a way

of tracking these planes?

Oh, yeah. It's called a transponder.

Every plane's got one, Cindino.

Swamp, where is

the transponder?

Where indeed?

Are, are you sure it's safe

to fly in this?

No problem. I've done this a thousand times.

We'll be through this in a few minutes.

You all right back there,

ladies?

We're following the transponder.

We know exactly where they're heading.

What the f*** happened?

What about Sims?

What happened to Sims?

Duncan,

they killed him.

They got the plane.

Tell me, Skip, what kind of a Keystone Cops

operation are you guys runnin' here, huh?

And you! You, you little sh*t.

You got my agent killed!

Hey, he brought a gun

on the plane.

If I knew the way you guys run things, I

would've told him bring a f***in' uzi on board!

No one carries on these flights!

No one!

He brought a gun on board

and he got himself killed.

And in doing so, he compromised

the safety of my men!

Your men are incompetent!

They let themselves get taken over by

a bunch of thugs in chains and cages!

- I'm not gonna stand around...

- Guys! - and listen to this sh*t!

Guys, guys.

Let's work it out.

Okay. Okay.

So, uh,

what do we do now?

What's the plan? You, uh,

you-you-you do have a plan, don't you?

We're workin' on it.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes