Fletch Page #2

24 FLETCH

---He shakes his head.

25 STANWYK

STANWYK:

It doesn't get any worse than that. Just

eats you up, bit by bit.

FLETCH:

---Finally regains the gift of speech.

FLETCH:

You don't look sick, Mr. Stanwyk.

27 MASTER

STANWYK:

I don't feel sick. Not yet. They tell me it'll

start getting bad in about a month. After that...

well, I'd rather not be around for it.

FLETCH:

Why don't you try suicide?

STANWYK:

My company has taken out a very large insurance

policy on me. And I have a wife. Suicide would

nullify my insurance. Murder does not.

FLETCH:

So why pick me?

STANWYK:

You're a drifter, a -- pardon the expression --

beach bum. No one would notice if you disappeared.

I've watched you for a couple weeks.

FLETCH:

Maybe I'm just on vacation.

STANWYK:

Not with the scum you hang out with. I've watched.

I've thought. Its a perfect scheme. I even have a perfect

escape plan for you.

FLETCH:

Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to kill you?

STANWYK:

I've got fifty thousand dollars says you will.

28 FLETCH

---He chews his lip.

29 STANWYK

STANWYK:

Fifty thousand and a guarantee you won't get caught.

---Stanwyk searches Fletch's face carefully for a reaction. After several beats....

FLETCH:

I'm still here.

STANWYK:

(turns and goes to the French doors)

I want it done Thursday evening, around eight PM.

My wife will be off to the club for a committee

meeting. It's the staff's night off.

(pushes doors open)

These will be open.

30 FLETCH

FLETCH:

Wouldn't they normally be locked?

31 MASTER

STANWYK:

Sometimes yes, sometimes no. The staff

usually forgets.

FLETCH:

I have the same problem with my help.

STANWYK:

(goes on, unresponsive)

I will be here in the room, waiting for you.

The safe will be open and there will be fifty

thousand dollars in it. You will be wearing

rubber gloves. Do you own rubber gloves?

FLETCH:

I rent them. Monthly lease, with an option to buy.

STANWYK:

In this drawer....

---He opens the top drawer of his desk

32 INSIDE THE DRAWER

---an enormous .357 Magnum.

33 MASTER

---Stanwyk holds up the gun.

34 FLETCH

FLETCH:

A .357.

35 MASTER

STANWYK:

Very good. My .357. Use it and no one can

trace it to you. The room will be in some disarray.

FLETCH:

So it looks like a burglary attempt. You

catch me. I get the gun, and shoot you.

STANWYK:

Precisely. Are you a good shot?

FLETCH:

(looking at the huge gun)

What's the difference? The noise'll kill you first.

STANWYK:

Get me on the first shot, if you can.

FLETCH:

I don't think you'll have to worry about that.

---A beat. Stanwyk stares at Fletch.

STANWYK:

Do you have a passport?

FLETCH:

Sure, all drifters do.

STANWYK:

Fine. After you kill me, take the Jaguar.

The keys will be in the glove compartment.

FLETCH:

Take it where?

---Stanwyk starts to write down the information on a note pad.

STANWYK:

LAX. Go to the Pan Am desk. There will

be a ticket waiting for you.

FLETCH:

Where am I going?

STANWYK:

(hands Fletch the note)

Rio. Flight 306. Departs at eleven PM.

FLETCH:

They serve dinner on the flight?

STANWYK:

It'll be a first class-ticket. I'm sure you'll

enjoy the ride. I would recommend staying down there

at least a year, Mr. Fletcher.

FLETCH:

You've certainly thought this out, haven't you?

STANWYK:

I am not someone who leaves a great deal

to chance, Mr. Fletcher.

FLETCH:

You sure those doors will be open?

STANWYK:

Yes. All you provide are the gloves, the passport,

and the aim. I'll take care of everything else.

FLETCH:

The gun, the money, the tickets, and the dying.

STANWYK:

That's right.

FLETCH:

You sure got the hard part.

STANWYK:

What do you say, Mr. Fletcher? You'll be doing

me and my family a great service.

36 FLETCH

---thinking it over.

37 STANWYK

STANWYK:

Will you kill me?

38 FLETCH

FLETCH:

Sure.

39 INT. NEWSPAPER BUILDING - DAY

Fletch pushes through the double glass doors, still dresses in a beach mufti -- the jeans and Magic Johnson shirt, Puma sneakers.

40 INT. L.A. NEWS OFFICE - DAY

Fletch is greeted ad-lib by several people as he walks through the cavernous newspaper City Room.

REPORTER:

Whoa, check out the beach boy!

SECOND REPORTER:

Looking very good, Fletch.

FLETCH:

Thank you so much

(to someone else)

Hey, Larry!

Larry, the young "morgue" researcher, hurries over and walks with Fletch. She is fun and flirty, and her feelings for Fletch fall just short of idolatry.

LARRY:

Yo!

FLETCH:

Can I steal you for a minute?

LARRY:

Only if you promise not to return me.

FLETCH:

Deal.

LARRY:

(pointing to Fletch's T-shirt)

'Magic' today, huh?

FLETCH:

Kareem's in the wash. I need a favor.

LARRY:

Shoot.

FLETCH:

Don't say shoot, okay.

They pass the office of the city editor Frank Walker, fiftyish. Hold on Walker's office. Upon noticing Fletch, he jumps from his seat, edges his way past the two reporters in his office and runs outside.

WALKER:

Fletch. Fletch!

40-A FLETCH AND LARRY

They continue their walk.

FLETCH:

Did you hear something?

LARRY:

Not me.

FLETCH:

Me neither. See what we've got on a guy

named Alan Stanwyk, okay? I need it right away.

WALKER:

(running up to them)

Fletch, I take it by your presence here that

the story is done. Tell me I'm right.

Fletch hold up a hand.

FLETCH:

W-Y-K no 'c.' I'll be down in a minute.

LARRY:

No problem, boss.

Larry peels off and Fletch now talks to Walker without breaking stride for his office.

WALKER:

Fletch.

FLETCH:

Frank, you look a little peaked. Wanna vomit?

WALKER:

No, I want an answer, Is the story done?

FLETCH:

Uh, almost.

WALKER:

'Uh, almost' is not an answer. 'Yes Frank, it's all

done':
that's an answer.

FLETCH:

(as he enters his cubicle)

And a damn fine one, I might add.

41 INT. FLETCH'S CUBICLE - DAY

A pile of mail is on his desk. On the walls are a team portrait of the Lakers, plus a couple of blow-ups of his column. Fletch writes under the name of Jane Doe. An unused word processor is on his desk, but the keyboard has been moved aside to make room for an old, much-used Royal typewriter.

He bounces some waste paper off the monitor into a strategically placed waste can. (A lot of crumpled papers lie on the floor all around the can.)

FLETCH:

Two....

WALKER:

Irwin....

FLETCH:

Oh, I hate it when he calls me that.

WALKER:

Irwin, professional journalism time, now. Go back to the

goddamn beach and finish the goddamn story!

FLETCH:

I will, Frank, I will. Something came up, okay?

WALKER:

No it's not okay. You have to have this in by tomorrow.

Did you see the ad we ran Sunday?

FLETCH:

I never read the paper.

WALKER:

...never reads the paper...

Walker goes through a pile of unread newspapers on Fletch's desk, finds the Sunday paper.

FLETCH:

What's the spread on the game tonight?

WALKER:

I don't know.

(holds up paper)

Look!

FLETCH:

Looks great.

42 INSERT - AD

A full-page ad.

NEXT WEEK:

A "JANE DOE" SPECIAL REPORT:

DRUGS ON OUR BEACHES -

SHAME OF THE CITY

43 MASTER

FLETCH:

'Shame of Our City' is so good.

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