Entrapment Page #10

GIN:

We go underwater?

She doesn't like that idea.

MAC:

What's with the "we", Tonto?

GIN:

We're partners.

MAC:

Precisely. I steal the Mask, you get a

finders fee. At ten percent, that should

be worth two or three million. Not too

bad.

GIN:

Look, I've got the code for the Mask

security.

MAC:

That's why you're here. Give it to me.

GIN:

No.

MAC:

Fine. It's almost been interesting

meeting you.

He starts taking down the plans, the photographs, putting

things away.

GIN:

This is a two-man job. You need a sensor

expert. Me.

MAC:

This isn't some Rocky Mountain print you

steal from a Burger King, my dear.

GIN:

I'm not your dear! You arrogant bastard!

You don't have any idea how lucky you

are!

MAC:

That's been a lifelong problem.

GIN:

No, dammit! I mean me! That

Rembrandt...that Rembrandt!

He looks up at her. She has his attention now.

GIN:

(continuing)

I stole it!

What the hell?

MAC:

Look, you're a smart girl, but you're an

amateur. Whoever stole that Rembrandt was

a professional, not some wee slip of a

girl. So let's not kid each other.

Mac sits down at the end of the table and begins to put away

some of the documents lying on it.

Furious, Gin stares at him. He is so maddening and

dismissive. Nothing she says is going to change his mind.

She takes the table cloth runner, grasps it in her hands, and

jerks it off the table! Books, papers, candlesticks fly.

Mac's eyebrow goes up. You have my attention.

She walks to the end of the room, takes the measure of the

table, then runs toward it and BOOM! BOOM! Does two front

handsprings! Coming right at him!

Then does a full twisting layout vault! Right over his head!

Lands on her feet behind him!

MAC:

(continuing)

Pretty good.

GIN:

For a wee slip of a girl.

She's won him over.

MAC:

The Rembrandt--that was very impressive.

GIN:

It was perfect.

MAC:

Perfect was it?

He gets up, makes a show of walking slowly and creakily over

to the corner.

MAC:

(continuing)

How'd you get the painting out?

GIN:

I mailed it. Down their own mail tube.

Simple. Effective. Safe.

MAC:

Very, very impressive.

He takes out a rolled-up canvas.

MAC:

(continuing)

Would you be referring to this Rembrandt?

He displays the familiar painting. Now it's her turn to be

shocked. And ours as well.

GIN:

Oh my God. No.

MAC:

Why rob the Penthouse when the mailroom

is on the ground floor?

(enjoying himself)

You're too easily impressed with

yourself. I believe I've mentioned that

before.

Gin reaches for the Rembrandt.

GIN:

Someone was expecting that.

He studies the mailing label.

MAC:

Obviously Mister Conrad Greene? But why

Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia?

GIN:

We get the mask I'll tell you why.

MAC:

A partner with secrets isn't much of a

partner.

GIN:

Without the mask it doesn't matter.

MAC:

Could it be a downpayment? On a bigger

job?

He's interested now.

GIN:

Something like that.

MAC:

What could you possibly want to steal in

Malaysia?

GIN:

Let's just see how we do.

For the first time she's caught him off-balance.

MAC:

Are you testing me now?

GIN:

Oh, I think you can do it. Probably.

She smiles sweetly at him.

EXT. SAFEHOUSE - DAY - LATER

A delivery van drives up. A TRADESMAN steps out. He's mid-

forties, black. Mac meets him at the door.

TRADESMAN:

Delivery for Robert MacDougal, Esquire.

He says it with just a bit too much deference.

MAC:

Just take it around the back, would you?

EXT. SAFEHOUSE - DAY - MOMENTS LATER

Carrying a box, the Tradesman walks into the kitchen. This is

THIBADEAUX, a Cajun who carries himself with authority. The

Tradesman veneer didn't fit him too well: he's too dangerous.

Mac is there to meet him.

THIBADEAUX:

What the hell did you do to that Jag? You

have any idea what it cost?

MAC:

Actually, I do.

Thibadeaux sets down the box.

THIBADEAUX:

You said small pneumatics, I got small

pneumatics. Got to be an elf to use

these.

Mac opens the box, picks up some flat black miniature tools,

handles them with expert ease.

THIBADEAUX:

(continuing)

They work off the O2 tank.

MAC:

And the blade det cord?

THIBADEAUX:

In the van. That is bad sh*t. You don't

want to go mixing it with nothing else.

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