Escape from L.A. Page #2

Now the salesman stirs the glasses. The poison is clear. The blood

is milky-green. The heart and liver are red. He places the glasses

on the table between the two men.

The two men stare at each other, motionless. The crowd continues

placing bets at a fevered pitch. A titanium white tube floats

above the center of the table. A laser beam of light shines from

one end.

The salesman leans over and flicks on side with his finger,

sending the tube spinning on its axis like a bottle, the light

circling the room before stopping on the fat man's forehead.

The fat man reaches slowly toward the glasses. His hand shakes

slightly. He hesitates. Finally he takes the glass with the red

liquid (the heart and liver), lifts it to his lips, pauses, then

gulps it down.

The crowd explodes. More bets.

The salesman leans over and spins the light tube again, this time

it lands on something black, an eye-patch. Pull back to reveal a

man with an eye-patch.

The man with the eye-patch reaches forward, his hand paused

between the remaining two glasses. He takes the one filled with

milky-green blood and downs it fast. The crowd roars.

One glass left. The two men stare at it intently.

The salesman spins the light tube with more force than before. It

circles again and again, slowing down, speeding up, finally

stopping on the fat man.

The salesman begins yelling over the din of the crowd, shouting at

the fat man. The fat man reaches for the glass of clear poison.

His trembling fingers hover above it. Then he quickly withdraws

his hand.

The crowd reacts, boos, as...

The man with the eye-patch smiles. A slightly, cynical smile. And

without hesitation, he reaches out, grabs the glass of poison, and

drinks it down. The crowd surges forward, but the salesman stops

them with a sweep of his arm. All bets are off.

The two men stand from the table. Take several steps away toward

the end of the alley. Stand facing each other. Two gunfighters.

Flashes of the two men. A piece of a black military boot. A hand

positioned over a six-shooter. Mirrored sunglasses. A sweaty,

trembling lip. And the eye-patched man's one good eye, blue and

clear, staring - hard and calm as a sunny day...

The draw. It happens in an instant. The alley thunders with

gunfire. The guns buck and flash. Then silence. The two men stand

there for a beat, until one of them, the fat man, slumps, falls

face first into the alley, dead.

The crowd goes completely ape sh*t as SNAKE PLISSKEN emerges from

the shadows of the alley, holsters his guns, grabs his take of the

money...

SNAKE PLISSKEN. Long hair. A black eye-patch. A tight-lipped

grimace. The impression of coiled aggression and intense cynicism.

The toughest, most dangerous man on planet earth. A legend.

PLISSKEN strolls out of the alley into the crowd. He counts his

money, pockets it, as a cigarette girl approaches him. PLISSKEN

stops her, pays for a pack of cigs. As she eyes him...

CLOSEUP OF PLISSKEN'S ARM

... the cigarette girl touches him, pricks his skin with her

fingernail. A drop of blood appears.

PLISSKEN turns, stares after her, as the sound of helicopters

rises from above in the night sky. The crowd suddenly starts to

disperse.

Helicopter searchlights blast down on the street. PLISSKEN is

suddenly caught in the glare. He starts to move away...

KACLANG!

Out of the blackness above a huge steel net drops out of nowhere.

The net slams down on top of PLISSKEN, trapping him, driving him

down to the pavement with its weight... PLISSKEN struggles inside

the net as black figures - United States Police Force Officers -

rush toward him, grab the net, tightening it. More cops move for

him as we SLOWLY FADE TO BLACK...

SUPERIMPOSE:
"L.A. FRIDAY 1900 HOURS"

EXT. CONTAINMENT WALL - FIREBASE SEVEN - L.A. - NIGHT

Searchlights sweep down across a column of policemen marching past

a concrete wall. Camera begins to crane up the wall. Sound of

roaring turbines. The howl of the Santa Ana wind.

Camera reaches the top of the wall. Armed police troops stand on

the battlements. Across what looks like an ocean is L.A. The view

is from the Newhall Pass.

Hidden by the Santa Monica Mountains, L.A. glows in the distance

with a hundred fires. Smoke surges from the jagged horizon. Above,

the sky is an angry orange.

ANOTHER ANGLE - TOP OF THE WALL

Res sensor lights glow in evenly spaced intervals. Searchlights

sweep into the darkness. Cannons are in place every 200 feet,

manned by police guards.

EXT. SAN FERNANDO SEA - NIGHT

Water stretches into blackness. This was once the San Fernando

Valley, but now it's all underwater. Pieces of debris - tops of

buildings, the tail of an airplane, a radio tower - stick up above

the surface. We can make out the letters of an old, half-sunken

sign:
"SAN FERNANDO VALLEY MALL"

EXT. THE WALL - NIGHT

The wall stretches to the northwest up to the Santa Susanna Pass.

Portions of the 118 Freeway arch up out of the water.

EXT. FIREBASE SEVEN - BEHIND THE WALL - NIGHT

Firebase Seven is a fortified base camp in the San Gabriel

Mountains. It is a sprawling police complex with low concrete

bunkers, gun emplacements, satellite communications, vehicles,

troops, the works. ON A LARGE ASPHALT FIELD, opposite the main

complex is Rotor City - row after row of black, multi-bladed,

totally evil police battle helicopters parked like giant bugs on

the ground.

A throng of policemen gather at the edge of Rotor City yelling and

cheering, their fists in the air. Cops with camcorders videotape

the event. A police anchor reports...

POLICE ANCHOR:

He's been the Force's Most Wanted Man for

10 years. Convicted of 27 moral crimes. I

can tell you, the excitement around here

is...

(a great roaring skyward)

Here he comes!

A MASSIVE 7-ROTORED, 40-BLADED HELICOPTER TRANSPORT comes slamming

down out of the black sky and lands. The growing crowd of cheering

cops goes nuts like fans at a football game. They slap hands,

dance wildly.

INT. COMMAND HQ - MAIN CONTROL ROOM - NIGHT

A mammoth room filled with high-tech instrumentation. A glowing

holographic map of L.A. fills one wall. Most of the control

personnel have left their work stations and gather around TV sets

all showing the Police Channel: a view of the helicopter transport

sitting on the asphalt and the cheering crowds at the edge of

Rotor City.

A tall, steel-faced officer sits at his desk. This is Firebase

Commander MAC "BIG DOG" MALLOY. Hard, battle weary features.

BRAZEN, a section Lieutenant, comes up.

BRAZEN:

Commander Malloy. They're bringing him

out, sir.

Malloy rises from his chair, steps to a nearby TV set, watches the

scene from the Police Channel.

MALLOY:

So we finally got him.

EXT. ROTOR CITY - NIGHT

The crowd of cops is growing to a frenzy of wild anticipation.

POLICE ANCHOR:

Hold one! The door is opening!

The door of the helicopter transport slowly lowers like a

drawbridge. Out of its black belly comes...

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