Die Hard Page #27

LITTLE JOHNSON:

(to Big Johnson)

Sounds like a standard A-7 scenario.

Big Johnson nods in agreement, turns to Robinson.

BIG JOHNSON:

Thank you. We'll handle it from

here. When we need to commandeer

your men, we'll try and let you know.

He starts to move away with his partner.

POWELL:

(angry)

Aren't you forgetting something?

Johnson and Johnson turn. Robinson wants Powell to shut up.

BIG JOHNSON:

Such as...?

POWELL:

(pointing to the building)

John McClane! He's the man who gave

us all the information we've got!

He's the reason you're facing seven

terrorists instead of twelve.

LITTLE JOHNSON:

He's inside? Who is he?

ROBINSON:

(nodding)

He may be a cop...we're checking

on that --

BIG JOHNSON:

One of yours?

ROBINSON:

(too quickly)

No, sir.

BIG JOHNSON:

(after a moment)

If he's not a terrorist, and he's

not a hostage...he's just not part

of the equation.

They start to walk away.

POWELL:

(indignant)

T...that's the same Goddamn thing

the terrorists said!

LITTLE JOHNSON:

(interested)

Really?

(to Big Johnson)

That's one good thing. Sound like

we're dealing with pros.

They leave.

CUT TO:

262 THE COMPUTER FLOOR 262

McClane and Hans walk together. Hans is still a "nervous wreck."

HANS:

(nodding)

There was a party -- celebration --

all of a sudden they were there --

shooting -- threatening us --

263 CLOSER SHOT 263

McClane looks at this poor civilian, on the edge of going to

pieces. He puts his hand on his shoulder.

MCCLANE:

Relax, man...you smoke?

Hans nods, still "frightened". McClane takes out his spoils

of war, the Marlboros. Two left. He sighs, takes one, offers

the other one with an expression like a little boy forced to

share a cookie. McClane takes out a lighter, does his and

Hans'. Hans nods, grateful...then peers at McClane.

HANS:

You...you don't work for Nakatomi...

and if you're not one of them...

MCCLANE:

I'm a cop from New York.

HANS:

(puzzled)

New York...

MCCLANE:

(explaining)

They invited me to the Xmas party.

Who knew?

Hans' eyes take in his bare feet.

MCCLANE:

Better than being caught with your

pants down, right?

(extending his hand)

John McClane.

HANS:

(shaking hands)

William Clay.

(smiling)

Call me Bill.

McClane nods, friendly like, and his eyes glance casually over

at:

264 THE WALL - A ROSTER OF NAKATOMI EMPLOYEES 264

In alphabetical order. CAMERA MOVES OVER the "c's": CAMPBELL,

S.:
CLAY, WM.: CRAWFORD, L...PANS BACK TO CLAY.

265 BACK TO SCENE 265

MCCLANE:

Bill, you know how to use a handgun?

HANS:

(hesitant)

One weekend I went to a combat ranch...

(apologetic)

You know, that game with the, the guns

that shoot red paint? Must sound

pretty silly to you...

MCCLANE:

Sounds better than nothing.

McClane takes out his Baretta, pops out the magazine, jams in

a fresh one and hands it to him.

MCCLANE:

Time for the real thing.

McClane turns, moves on...we STAY ON him until he REACTS to a

CLICK. He slowly turns:

265-A NEW ANGLE 265-A

Hans is...well, Hans again, from expression to posture. He

holds the pistol aimed at McClane's face and talks calmly into

his radio in German.

HANS:

Karl! Franco! I'm on 33. Come

quickly.

(to McClane)

Put down your gun and give me my

detonators.

McClane just looks at him.

MCCLANE:

Hans. Your Hans.

HANS:

(nods, indicating McClane's

gun again)

Put it down now.

MCCLANE:

That was tricky, with the accent.

I bet you do a great Ed Sullivan.

Why do you need the detonators, Hans?

I already used the explosives.

HANS:

I'm going to count to three...

MCCLANE:

(cold)

Yeah. Like you did with Takagi.

McClane raises his machine gun, aims at Hans. Hans PULLS THE

TRIGGER.

Click. Astonishment. Click-click-click. McClane steps in

carefully, reclaims his pistol.

MCCLANE:

You think I'm a shmuch, Hans.

Rate this script:5.0 / 3 votes