Conspiracy Theory Page #10

LIZA:

No. Not yet.

Something catches Liza's eye. She steps to the

nightstand.

A word is scratched into the side by the bed. Geronimo.

Lowry picks a fork off the floor. Just the right size.

LOWRY:

Geronimo? What's that?

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. HOSPITAL - EARLY EVENING

Liza exits, starts for the street. A long day. She

fishes a small tape recorder from her briefcase, switches

it on.

LIZA:

Jerry Fletcher. Apparently, a

major desperado. Subject of a

multi-jurisdictional task force

manhunt... I don't buy it. He

might be nuts, but there's

something... good about him.

Liza suddenly reacts in shock to something ahead.

LIZA:

No!

Liza dashes forward. We see her car at the curb -- a BMW

sedan. A traffic control officer has just finished

shoving a ticket under the wiper. Liza arrives shouting,

as they roll away. Liza grabs the ticket, pissed,

frustrated. But after a moment, she gets in the car.

INT. BMW - STREET - EARLY EVENING

She gets in grumbling, STARTS the ENGINE. As six fanned-

out parking tickets rise from the back seat behind her,

she spots them in the rearview. Liza jumps, her grip on

the steering wheel the only thing keeping her from

hitting her head on the roof.

JERRY (O.S.)

They've been coming all day.

Nothing I could do about it.

As she recovers...

LIZA:

How'd you know this was my car?

JERRY:

He lies across the back seat, staring up.

JERRY:

Lucky guess... Um, I'd feel a lot

less naked if we could get outta

here.

LIZA (O.S.)

Don't tell me you're naked back

there.

JERRY:

Figure of speech. Could we go?

BMW:

Liza takes the tickets. Deciding, she hits the gas,

starts through the intersection.

JERRY:

What took so long? You were in

there all day.

LIZA:

That's how long it takes to turn a

hospital inside out. A lot of

people are after you, Jerry.

JERRY:

Dead or alive, they'll stick me in

there with Oswald. Another

lunatic acting alone,

LIZA:

Oswald was an assassin. You're

not an assassin, are you, Jerry?

JERRY:

If you're worried about the

President, call and warn him about

the Space Shuttle.

LIZA:

Right. Sit up so I can see you.

JERRY:

Uh uh, don't want them to see me.

LIZA:

Them who?

JERRY:

Change lanes. Then watch your

rearview.

Liza does so. Looking in the mirror, a set of

headlights, maybe three cars back, move as well. Liza

frowns, turns left, eyes on the mirror. A beat and the

car follows her.

JERRY:

Flat, wraparound headlights?

LIZA:

Yeah.

JERRY:

Crown Victoria. F.B.I. car. A

legitimate tail.

LIZA:

As opposed to?

JERRY:

People more serious about their

work.

You know how to drive this thing

or do you just like looking good

in it?

LIZA:

You mean I should speed up and try

and lose them?

JERRY:

Yes.

LIZA:

That's how a man would do it. I'm

not a man.

JERRY:

I noticed.

Liza stops in the middle of the street. Jerry stays low.

JERRY:

What are you doing?

STREET:

The Crown Victoria has slowed considerably. Liza sticks

her arm out of the window of the BMW, motions it forward.

CROWN VICTORIA:

Lowry at the wheel. Knows he's been made. No use trying

to get out of it now. Shaking his head, he rolls

forward.

STREET:

Lowry pulls up alongside Liza. Can't see Jerry in back.

LIZA:

Agent Lowry.

LOWRY:

(shrugs; sheepish)

Wasn't my idea.

LIZA:

Jonas?

LOWRY:

It's his show for now. Look, you

want to get some dinner? Inter-

Agency cooperation and all?

JERRY:

in the back. He doesn't like the sound of that.

INT./EXT. BMW/CROWN VICTORIA

Liza smiles, but isn't biting.

LIZA:

When I'm ready to compare notes,

I'll let you know.

LOWRY:

Your call. Have a good night.

Lowry puts it in gear and takes off. Relieved, Jerry

sits up, watches the taillights fade away.

LIZA:

See? Wasn't that a lot easier

than squealing tires and knocking

over trash cans?

JERRY:

Nothing is easy.

LIZA:

How long have we known each other,

Jerry?

JERRY:

Six months. Eleven days.

LIZA:

Till today, I haven't believed a

word. Now, I'm curious. Six

months, eleven days. I'm going to

give you one more hour to impress

me. Where to?

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