Escape from L.A. Page #8

Cuervo crouches on the roof, hissing at Plissken.

CUERVO JONES:

Later, Snake. We finish it later.

PLISSKEN:

Lies there for several beats, then climbs to his feet.

HIS POV - THE CARAVAN

... disappears up Sunset.

PLISSKEN:

Stands alone in the deserted street. The ruins of a supermarket,

cheap motels, liquor stores - all empty, desolate.

He looks over to see the broken remains of his pocket walkie.

After a beat, he starts moving up Sunset, checking his two 9mm

handguns, slipping them into their holsters.

EXT. SUNSET AND DOHENY - NIGHT

On the border of Beverly Hills, Sunset stretches off into the

darkness beyond the intersection. A slight wind blows litter

aimlessly along. There are occasional sounds: Creaks, distant

clangs.

Plissken approaches the intersection. He carries Utopia's compass

homing device. It is silent. The small screen's blank. Then

Plissken glances at his wrist watch.

CLOSE - WRIST WATCH

Three hours gone.

Plissken stands for a moment, staring off down Sunset...

VOICE (V.O.)

Snake Plissken, right?

He spins around.

MAP TO THE STARS EDDIE

Sits in an old beach chair on the sidewalk, a map to the stars

sign in front of him. In his late 50's, he's a petty thief, con

man. He's been hustling tourists and everybody else all his life.

MAP TO THE STARS EDDIE

Wow! Snake Plissken!

Map To The Stars Eddie listens to WAYWARD WIND by Gogi Grant on a

small, metal-plated portable radio. He clicks off the radio,

rises, walks over to Plissken.

MAP TO THE STARS EDDIE

You're a star in your own right, you know

that? Hey, I'm Map To The Stars Eddie. How

you doin'?

PLISSKEN:

Where'd they go?

MAP TO THE STARS EDDIE

Man, I'd love to have your autograph,

Snake.

He searches around in his pockets, comes up with pen and paper.

MAP TO THE STARS EDDIE

I've been hearing about you ever since

that New York deal back in the 90's.

You're one smooth operator.

(offers pen and paper)

Could you sign one to Wolf, one to Death's

Head, one to Slasher Smith...?

Plissken grabs him by the throat.

PLISSKEN:

Where are they?

MAP TO THE STARS EDDIE

Who? You mean Cuervo Jones? He's the man

with the juice, Snake. Got the President's

daughter. Setting up a citywide truce. Big

doings.

Plissken draws a 9mm and points it at Map To The Stars Eddie's

forehead.

PLISSKEN:

Location.

MAP TO THE STARS EDDIE

Cuervo's got a place near Venice, where

the big birds fly. Nice digs, too. I've

been there, y'know.

Plissken releases him, as suddenly the tracer beeps. On the device

Plissken sees a small red pulsing dot. West.

MAP TO THE STARS EDDIE

Nice little gizmo you got there.

(whispers conspiratorially)

Look, Snake. I've got connections in this

town. You need something, I'm your man.

Without a word Plissken turns, walks away down Sunset Boulevard

toward Beverly Hills.

MAP TO THE STARS EDDIE

Hey - you can't go there, Snake. You can't

walk through Beverly Hills.

Plissken's figure disappears...

EXT. SUNSET - SIGN - NIGHT

The old Beverly Hills sign. It's been painted over in dripping red

letters:
"QUIET - SURGICAL ZONE - STAY OUT"

Plissken ignores the sign, keeps walking down a completely dark

Sunset Boulevard.

EXT. SUNSET BOULEVARD - BEVERLY HILLS - NIGHT

Plissken walks past the once-beautiful mansions along Sunset. Now

they are dark, ruined.

CLOSER - BEVERLY HILLS MANSION

As a twisted, mechanical hand sewn awkwardly to the flesh of the

wrist pulls aside a window curtain. The face behind the window is

in shadows, but we can just make out its pale, discolored

features. The other hand brings up a walkie-talkie...

SENTRY:

(into walkie)

Specimen moving west on Sunset.

EXT. BEVERLY HILLS HOTEL - SUNSET AND BEVERLY DRIVE - NIGHT

Plissken moves into the intersection of Sunset and Beverly Drive.

The ruins of the old Beverly Hills Hotel are ahead and to his

right. He stops, stares down Sunset...

HIS POV - A FIGURE

Emerges from the shadows. This is the gatekeeper. Strange,

mismatched body parts. A black-skinned arm attached to a pale

white body. His face is unnaturally smooth - too many face lifts.

He carries a torch.

GATEKEEPER:

Halt!

(beat)

Where are you going?

(no reply)

Are you here for the auction?

BEHIND PLISSKEN:

Figures have suddenly moved out into the street, all with

mismatched body parts - heads too large for their torsos, female

body parts mixed with male heads, all sewn together with large,

uneven stitches. Plissken is surrounded.

GATEKEEPER:

Welcome to Beverly Hills.

Plissken raises his gun, starts to move, when suddenly a figure

rises behind him out of the shadows...

A MULTI-COLORED FLESH HAND

Raises a lead pipe, brings it down hard...

ON PLISSKEN'S HEAD

THUNK! He goes out like a light.

As Plissken slumps unconscious to the street, the figures move for

him. Their arms lock around him, drag him away with amazing speed

- a pack of wolves on a deer.

CLOSEUP - PLISSKEN - NIGHT

Plissken bolts awake, to find himself tied to a cross. It's

lurching back and forth as though the ground is moving.

EXT. RODEO DRIVE - BEVERLY HILLS - NIGHT

Plissken is being carried down Rodeo Driveon the cross by a throng

of surgical failures. They carry torches. Dressed in tatters.

Their faces look only partially human sewn together raggedly.

Rodeo Drive is a bizarre marketplace of body parts. The once

beautiful storefronts of famous designers are now in shambles.

Human body parts are on display like filets of fish on ice.

Gucci now offers body pieces fashioned from spare car parts and

Armani displays more eclectic, high priced pieces sewn together

like sculptures in their windowfronts. A giant rift runs down the

street's center. Acrid smoke rises.

The throng stops at an intersection, and Plissken's cross is

anchored in the middle of the street. Surrounding the intersection

are patients of every size, age, sex.

Plissken looks over, sees another cross being carried up and

planted right next to his. A beautiful girl is tied to this cross.

This is TASLIMA, 20's, Iranian, the face of a Persian princess.

She's dressed in black leather, and basically has an IQ of around

50.

TASLIMA:

Hi, Snake. It's so great to meet you. My

name's Taslima. I'm a fan of yours.

PLISSKEN:

Are you crazy?

TASLIMA:

A little bit. But pretty soon I'm gonna be

dead. So are you, Snake.

Plissken looks across the street. Our of the ruins of the once

famous red door of Elizabeth Arden come an arm of women facialists

with acid-burned faces from one-too-many skin peelings wielding

knives, saws, horrible-looking carving instruments...

TASLIMA:

I can't believe I got caught.

(sighs)

I run with Midnight Jihad. Iranian gang.

Only they kicked me out, cause I screw up

sometimes. I forget stuff.

Plissken struggles with his bonds.

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