Demolition Man Page #23

SPARTAN:

When a man like Phoenix has a

gun to your head, ten seconds

is nine and a half seconds longer

than you live.

COCTEAU:

(on the vid screen)

Not everyone is as eager as you

to resort to violence to solve

all the difficulties in life.

Even now I am beginning to wonder

if the fracas in the museum was

the result of Mr. Phoenix's

presence or your own.

The Beretta appears next to Cocteau's head onscreen.

CUT TO:

INT. COCTEAU'S COMPLEX - COCTEAU'S OFFICE - DAY

Cocteau is in a corner of the room in front of a private

Vidhead. Spartan stands with Beretta pointed directly

at him. Nonetheless, Cocteau remains his arrogant self.

SPARTAN:

Wonder about this, shithead. You

think you can control this guy?

Trust me... you can't.

COCTEAU:

(a beat; unfazed)

Is there something specific you plan

to do with that archaic device?

Spartan's not going to shoot him; lowers the gun.

COCTEAU:

Now, John Spartan, do you not query

yourself that this misplaced

hostility is the result of your

transference of self hatred and

personal loathing?

SPARTAN:

What??

COCTEAU:

Perhaps you blame me for my role

in the progenation of the cryo

process. That does not relieve

you of your burden of

responsibility for the commitment

of your initial crimes.

Spartan looks at him a long time.

SPARTAN:

F*** you.

Huxley visibly recoils. The morality box BRAAAPS. It

never gets any further. Spartan shoots it without a

look, dead center. His eyes never leave Cocteau.

EXT. TACO BELL/COURT OF STORES - DUSK

The scene of the Scraps' food truck attack. As, ON THE

CUT, Spartan wrenches off one of the steel planks. It

splits open with RUSH of AIR. Earle had no idea how to

stop Spartan, but he tries --

EARLE:

Please cease this madness,

enhance your calm, John Spartan.

SPARTAN:

I've had it with enhancing my

calm. I'm going to find Phoenix

and enhance his calm instead.

I'm the only one here who can

handle this situation.

GARCIA:

How will you accomplish this,

John Spartan?

SPARTAN:

I'm going to blow his f***ing

head off.

Spartan wrenches away another plank. The others back off

in fear. It's like he's opening up the mouth to hell.

HUXLEY:

John Spartan, even if Simon

Phoenix was programmed to escape,

extinguish life and steal

contraband weapons -- by forces

known or unknown -- pray tell why

are you proceeding to the depths

of Wasteland?

Spartan wrenches off another plank. Now the hole is big

enough to enter. A set of rungs can be discerned.

Stops, looks at Earle. How can they all not get it?

SPARTAN:

The reason the citywide manhunt

didn't work was because Phoenix

was down in the one place you A,

can't monitor, B, are afraid to

visit, and C don't give a sh*t

about.

EARLE:

(then; braver)

Whether Phoenix is down there or

not, you just can't drop in.

Resonate some understanding, the

Wasteland is filled with thugs

and...

SPARTAN:

Hooligans, I know. We might

never come back.

EARLE:

Yeah. You might like it down

there.

Spartan looks at him with a grin.

SPARTAN:

You made a joke. There's hope

after all.

(then)

Hey, how bad could it be...

Nobody has a clue. It could be really bad.

SPARTAN:

Look, you two don't have to do

this. I can handle Phoenix.

Huxley checks her stun baton and lights up a lightwand,

(a hand-held flashlight device) and follows him in.

HUXLEY:

(Eastwood tough)

Hey, come on, let's go blow this

guy.

SPARTAN:

That's 'blow this guy away.'

HUXLEY:

(shrugs)

Whatever.

INT. WASTELAND - OMINOUS TUNNEL - DUSK

Spartan, Lenina, and Garcia all carry lightwands and stun

batons, treading forward through a wide sewer tunnel.

WIND WHISTLES by. A beat, then Garcia nervously sings...

GARCIA:

'My dog's better than your dog.

My dog's better than yours...

My dog's better cause he...'

(to Spartan)

Sorry, when I'm nervous, I...

Sorry.

INT. WASTELAND - LENGTH OF PIPE - DUSK

The trio creeps into an ornate piece of piping. Lenina

gasps at what she sees before her... They spill out

into --

INT. WASTELAND - UNDERGROUND STREET - NIGHT

They are in the Wasteland which is surprisingly busy and

crowded. People living in tents, lean-tos, whatever

their ingenuity can provide. Think Third World refugee

camp underground, a souk. Marketplaces, food stalls...

The underbelly of the city lit from above by strand after

strand of bulbs in construction cages and other fortui-

tously salvaged lights, revealing odd tunnels of

indeterminate former usage, abandoned subway platforms,

natural caverns, a cutway of fifty years of sanitary

landfill, the striations of decades of now useful trash

being harvested. Giant belt driven ventilation fans

whirl in enormous airshafts overhead.

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