Deep Rising Page #2

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Light from the laser imagers plays across Finnegan's face. The face of

a man in his element, on the edge, in control. He barks commands into

his RADIO HEADSET.

FINNEGAN:

How we doing out there?

THROUGH THE WINDSHEILD we see LEILA, a muscular Filipina clambering

over the foredeck. She's dripping wet. Tough as nails. She turns to

Finnegan and "mouths" something into her headset. Finnegan flashes her

his most charming smile.

FINNEGAN:

Yes, I'm very warm and dry in here,

thank you for your concern.

His HEADSET comes alive withe the SOUND of LEILA bitching in an

unitelligible foreign tounge.

FINNEGAN:

A raise? I already pay you two bucks

a day.

He watches as Leila fights the WIND and SEASPRAY and dogs-tight a

series of hatch-latches across the foredeck.

FINNEGAN:

Missed one darling.

Leila turns and gives him a "jerking-off" sign with her hand.

FINNEGAN:

I love you too.

The Radar Imager suddenly blinks, and goes to black. Dead. Finnegan

taps on the screen. Nothing. Taps on the console. Still nothing.

Simutaneously two more imagers shut down. His mouth screws tight.

CUT TO:

16INT. ENGINE ROOM - NIGHT

Crammed wall to wall with enough horsepower to fly a 747. Pumped out

of two thumping engines. The domain of a scruffy, shifty-eyed,

likeable little weasle of a mechanical genius...JOEY PANTUCCI. Wearing

a mechanic's toolbelt, slung sideways across the hips like a

gunslinger, singing the theme to "Gilligan's Island" over the engine's

roar. Way off-key. His hands crammed deep in a tangle of wires. On the

walls are a few pictures: Of a few major league engines. Of a few

major league pinups, and a few of Pantucci and Finnegan...together in

the U.S. Navy...in front of the Saipan in shinier days.

PANTUCCI:

(singing)

" -- if not for the courage of the

fearless crew -- "

He tugs at the wires.

PANTUCCI:

" -- the Minnow would be lost, the

Minowwww would be lost."

Finnegan's voice explodes through his headset...

FINNEGAN (V.O.)

(radio filtered)

PANTUCCI!!

Unperturbed, Pantucci works at the wires.

PANTUCCI:

(into radio)

Can we use our indoor voice

please...

FINNEGAN (V.O.)

(radio filtered)

I'm flying blind here God damn it!

Pantucci pulls two wires from the tangle.

PANTUCCI:

You trying to make me feel guilty?

He begins to strip the wires with his teeth.

CUT TO:

17INT. PILOT HOUSE - SUNSET

Finnegan peers out of the windscreen, trying to see ahead of himself.

FINNEGAN:

Guilty will be the least of what you

feel when I run my rig into one of

these god damn no name islands! Get

me well here!

CUT TO:

18INT. ENGINE ROOM

Pantucci twists one wire around another.

PANTUCCI:

All better...

19INT. PILOT HOUSE - SUNSET

The console lights up. The screens come back on line. Finnegan is

pleased.

PANTUCCI (V.O.)

Now tell me again...

CUT TO:

20INT. ENGINE ROOM

Pantucci works his wrench around an engine mount. And his nervous eyes

around six men, big, bad men, standing on the far side of the engines

out in a narrow passage. A Maori(VIVO). Two Assies(MASON and

MULLIGAN). A Samoan(MAMOOLI). A Chinese(CHIN). And an Aborigine

(BILLY). Tattooed, armed to the teeth, packed in Kevlar body armor.

Mercenaries. Who would as soon wring your neck as shake your hand. And

a sixth man. HANOVER. The obvious leader. Smoother than the rest, but

still showing the edge of a man risen from their ranks. He consults

his watch with a growing concern.

PANTUCCI:

...why we took this job?

CUT TO:

21INT. PILOT HOUSE - SUNSET

Finnegan hits a button on his console. The Stones are replaced by the

first chords of LAYLA.

FINNEGAN:

If I told you once...I told you a

thousand times...

CUT TO:

22INT. ENGINE ROOM

PANTUCCI:

(rote)

I know...I know...if the cash is

there we don't care...

(nervous)

Finnegan this is as mean a pile of

sh*t as we ever carried...

Pantucci notices Hanover impatiently looking at his watch again, and

nods for a mas of Assie mean and muscle named MASON to follow him up a

ladder.

PANTUCCI:

...and some of it's coming your way.

He quickly pulls out a wrench, slaps it over a bolt and tightens it

down. The leak stops. He blows on the WRENCH like it's a six-shooter,

then spins it at the speed of light and holsters it into his toolbelt.

CUT TO:

23INT. PILOT HOUSE - SUNSET

As Finnegan is watching the sea ahead, swathed in the shrieking

Clapton guitar solos, the hatch opens. Hanover enters, followed by

Mason, who leaves the hatch door ajar. Finnegan's eyes remain fixed on

the sea. His ears on the Clapton. Hanover and Mason hold onto any

available rail as the boat slams over the waves.

HANOVER:

You remember the first time we met

Finnegan? I think you were just

starting out...smuggling gold off

Sumatra for those two Chinese...what

did we use to call them?

FINNEGAN:

Fok Yu and Fok Yu Two...are we

strolling down memory lane for any

particular reason?

HANOVER:

No, it just struck me as odd...I

don't see you for all these years

and you've still got the same tape

stuck in the box.

FINNEGAN:

You know what they say...the

classics are eternal.

Hanover looks at the Topo Imager. Holding onto the rail to keep his

balance as the boat slams over the choppy sea.

HANOVER:

So where are we?

Finnegan points to a spot in the middle of the map.

FINNEGAN:

Right here...middle of nowhere...

HANOVER:

And where is our point of arrival?

Finnegan points to another spot on the map.

FINNEGAN:

Right here...middle of nowhere...and

the answer to your question is yes.

HANOVER:

Which question is that?

FINNEGAN:

The one you came up to ask...are we

on schedule?

HANOVER:

(to Mason)

Take note Mr. Mason...this is why

you hire a professional...No

whining. No excuses.

MASON:

(attitude)

I've heard a lot of stories about

you mate...

FINNEGAN:

All of them flattering I'm sure.

MASON:

They were...but they musta been

talking about another Finnegan...

because the one I heard about was as

rough as they came...the one I'm

looking at is, well, about as

current as the music.

HANOVER:

Don't mind him Finnegan...you

remember 25...balls of steel...

splashing around in a sea of

testosterone.

FINNEGAN:

I don't mind him...but I do think

it's time for him to get back down

below with the rest of the

playgroup.

MASON:

And who's gonna make me?

Finnegan looks at Mason...at the open hatchway just behind him...

FINNEGAN:

The Finnegan you heard about.

...and jams the steering sticks full speed ahead. The force of

acceleration tumbles Hanover into the console. Mason tumbles out the

open hatchway, down the stairs behind him.

As he rises, Hanover regards Finnegan for a moment. A smile flits

across his face.

HANOVER:

That's why we're sill around

Finnegan...you and me... Nothing

gets the feathers up. Business is

business. Eh?

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