Con Air Page #5

Contingency plans for something

like this don't exist.

- The situation's never been contemplated.

- Well, you better start contemplating...

'cause this is a situation that

needs to get unfucked right now!

I want a chopper. Make that a few

of 'em. They need to be armed.

I don't care if it's National

Guard, Air Force, whatever.

Just get 'em here,

and get 'em here now.

- What do you want to do with him?

- I don't know.

But this is no way to treat

a national treasure. Let him out.

- You sure?

- Love your work.

They're headed southeast

toward Arizona.

- Pinball didn't make it.

- No?

That's too bad.

I liked Pinball.

- What do you want?

- I wanna know what the plan is.

Why you care?

I got just as much ridin' on this

as you. We're all convicts here.

Cyrus Grissom,

do you copy?

Yes, I copy.

Identify yourself.

This is United States Marshal Vince

Larkin and Duncan Malloy of the DEA.

Oh, Agent Malloy. I'm so sorry

about your associate.

Nothing is quite as sad as seeing

a grown man pissing his pants.

Listen, Grissom,

you puny, f***ing animal!

When I get through with you, you'll be

beggin' 'em for the electric chair.

Hey, I don't like him.

If he speaks again, this

conversation is terminated.

He doesn't want to talk again. Really. He's

done talking. He's leaving the building, okay?

Good, then I'll talk to you.

Here are the rules.

First I ask a question,

then you ask a question.

Okay.

What's your question?

In Carson City, your bulls

were onto us. How?

- One of the guards-

- One of the guards-

One of the guards faked a heart attack

and we had to remove his restraints.

All right?

I see.

And what's your question?

Where you goin'

with my plane, Cyrus?

- We're going to Disneyland.

- You're lying, Cyrus.

So are you, Vince.

Oh, nothin'

Makes me sadder than the agent

lost his bladder in the

Airplane

Lerner Airfield, Poe. Middle of nowhere.

That's our rendezvous point.

Forty-nine minutes from anything

resembling authority.

So, now you know.

Your attention, please.

Flight 475-

You excited? Yeah?

Sure look pretty.

- Mrs. Poe?

- That's right.

My name's Grant,

U.S. Marshal Service.

There's been a slight problem on your

husband's flight. Your presence is requested.

I have a jet

standing by.

Yee-ha!

What's on your mind, hillbilly?

What was I thinking about?

Oh, yeah. Yee-ha.

That's right.

I was just wonderin' what a black

militant, uh, that would be you...

was doin' takin' orders from

a white boy on a power trip.

- Don't you think that's strange?

- It's a means to an end, my white friend.

A means to an end.

See...

I's can play house n*gger till's

we get to where we're goin'.

And then,

the day of the dog begins.

So what was that

all about?

Oh, nothin',

except they somehow managed...

to get every creep and freak

in the universe onto this one plane...

and then somehow managed

to let them take it over...

and then somehow managed to stick us

right smack in the middle.

Hi, Garland.

Here's the jacket on Cameron Poe.

His wife's on the way here now.

U.S. Ranger,

highly decorated.

Did a little hell-raising when

he was a kid, but nothing serious.

Explain to me

why any of this matters.

Fact one. We got a plane up there filled

with killers, rapists and thieves...

and we got this guy Cameron Poe,

in on an involuntary manslaughter beef.

Non-gang affiliated. He's

a parolee hitchin' a ride home.

Fact two. Poe has a chance

to get off the plane.

Doesn't do it. Why?

Fact three. Our guard, Falzon,

said a convict named Cameron Poe...

planted Sims's

tape recorder on him.

These are interesting facts. You do the math

on this, and we got an ally on that plane.

Ally? This guy is a criminal.

A murderer.

Read the file. Got in a drunken brawl

defending his wife and he killed a guy.

Could have happened to any one

of us, including you and me.

I am not one

of these animals.

Oh, that's original! When exactly

did they all become animals?

When they stopped giving a damn

about the law, about civilization.

"The degree of civilization in a society

can be judged by observing its prisoners. "

Dostoevsky said that

after doing a little time.

"F*** you!" Cyrus Grissom said that after

putting a bullet in my agent's head. Okay?

The issue here is how the plane

is brought down.

Shoot it down.

Yeah. When exactly did this

become a DEA jurisdiction?

The second the DEA agent

was murdered.

I am authorized to bring Agent Sims's

killers to justice using...

and I quote,

"All necessary means. "

- That does not include shooting down my plane.

- Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't.

Is that right? Tell me you're

not seriously entertaining this.

Vince, this is

a drastic situation we got.

- Those are our men up there! - All of whom

signed a no-hostage clause. They know the score.

Who are you to decide the value of a man's

life? There are innocent people up there!

About time.

- For what? About time for what?

- Attack choppers. We're going after 'em.

Goddamn it!

Skip, don't do this!

This man is in an irrational state

of mind! His head isn't on straight.

F*** off, Marshal Larkin.

Your job's finished. This flight's full.

Gentlemen, in roughly five hours, we

will be flying over the shores of Mexico.

But first we have

to change aircraft.

Thank you, and have

a pleasant flight.

- What's the ETA, Swamp Thing?

- At 228 miles an hour, about 71 minutes.

The only problem is, we're not doing

We're draggin', baby. The landing gear

ain't all the way up. We're gonna be late.

- No, no, no. Cyrus, that's unacceptable.

- Check out the gear.

- What the hell do I know about landing gear?

- Learn.

Hillbilly!

Poe.

- Yeah?

- Cyrus wants you to check out the landing gear.

Then I'll get to see some nice

scenery whippin' by down there.

Trees and stuff.

Goddamn! So that's

what happened to Pinball.

Cut him loose. He's slowin'

us down. Dead weight.

Not exactly

a proper burial.

Look at our sh*t

over there.

Hurry up.

Hillbilly.

Gotcha.

Hurry up, man.

Bye, Pinball.

Oh, boy! You see that?

You see?

Every time we get her waxed, I get ten feet

from the car wash and then, pow, bird sh*t.

Well, it's supposed to be

good luck.

- Light's changed.

- Oh, damn.

- You were in the "Q," right?

- Yeah.

And I heard you say

you had 15 years.

That's right.

But then that would put you

on north block. Right?

Yeah.

Yeah. Funny thing.

I was on north block.

I don't know you.

Well, you know what,

uh, pal?

What do you think that means?

Nothin'. Not diddly sh*t.

You see, there were 160 cats

on north block...

and I didn't want to know 159

of them, which included you.

What do you think

about that?

Yeah.

of misplaced rage.

Name your cliche. Mother held

him too much, or not enough.

Last picked at kick ball,

late-night sneaky uncle. Whatever.

Now he's so angry, moments of

levity actually cause him pain.

Gives him headaches.

Happiness, for

that gentleman, hurts.

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