Flight Page #16

WHIP’s had enough. He starts to walk away. HUGH stops him.

HUGH (CONT’D)

You can’t drink. You’re under the

microscope. You can’t be out

buying liquor. No bars, no drugs.

WHIP:

I’ll stop. I can stop.

(Hugh stays quiet)

I told you I can stop. I won’t

drink.

HUGH:

10 O’clock tomorrow morning with

Mr. Carr, the owner of the airline.

INT. CARR’S OFFICE - ATLANTA BASEBALL STADIUM -- DAY

A huge office with a glass wall that looks out over the

diamond. We are high above the outfield; if GOD was a

baseball fan, this would be his office. We now meet AVINGTON

CARR, a very righteous and self-satisfied, wealthy, southern

gentlemen.

MR. CARR

I never wanted that f***in’

airline. Neither did my brother.

86.

CARR scans the room, reading faces, holding court.

MR. CARR (CONT’D)

It was my father that wanted it. I

like baseball.

Ornate, wood furniture helps to announce the political feel

of MR. CARR’s world. Presidential photos and commendations

pepper the walls. It’s quiet...

HUGH LANG:

I like baseball.

Everyone looks to HUGH as it gets oddly silent... We get our

first look at LEN CALDWELL, the president of the pilots’

union. LEN tries to wrest some control and exude some

confidence.

LEN CALDWELL:

Everyone in Georgia likes baseball.

MR. CARR

Yeah...so what’s the deal Lenny?

Is your union gonna survive this

one? More importantly? How big a

check you think I’m gonna have to

write?

LEN CALDWELL:

There were 6 fatalities on the

plane-

HUGH LANG:

The 2 crew members don’t get

settlements like the passengers.

That’s a workman’s comp claim, part

of the union contract -- they do a

dangerous job and they know it.

MR. CARR

You’re the lawyer for the pilots’

union?

LEN CALDWELL:

No, this is Hugh Lang, the attorney

we brought in to handle the

criminal side of Captain Whitaker’s

situation.

MR. CARR

Yes, and what is Mr. Whitaker’s

situation? NTSB is up my ass with

a flashlight. We had to give them

access to everything.

87.

(shakes his head)

And everyone is curious about

Captain Whitaker.

Through a glass wall we see...

WHIP SITS ON A COUCH READING A MAGAZINE IN A RECEPTION AREA.

CHARLIE:

I flew with him. He’s a great

pilot.

MR. CARR

Is he a drunk?

CHARLIE:

He’s a heavy drinker. Should I

bring him in?

Everyone steals glances at WHIP as CARR continues to

dominate.

MR. CARR

In a minute. Alright, so let’s get

down to it, Lenny. What does the

union plan to do about this blood

test that says Whitaker was high on

booze and coke? This guy’s a real

peach.

HUGH:

I’m gonna kill the toxicology

report.

(feels eyes of disbelief)

It was done incompetently. The

last time the toxicology equipment

they used was calibrated was in

June of 2009, which is 18 months

past code. Their log that should

clearly state who labeled the blood

vials and when, is very incomplete.

And they aren’t sure who stored

them. They used a preservative in

the vials that has in some cases

caused blood to ferment and

register higher in an alcohol test.

That’s what I’ve done so far. I

can handle this.

MR. CARR

I like this guy Lenny. He makes me

wanna go out and sniff a few lines

and fly a jet.

88.

LEN CALDWELL:

Mr. Carr, we’re gonna fight to push

all the fault on Jackson

Ridgefield, the manufacturer.

MR. CARR

Oh and you think they’re gonna just

open their check book and buy us

all lunch? Good f***ing luck.

What’s my exposure Jim?

CARR’S BUSINESS GUY

The awards to the families could

kill the airline.

MR. CARR

F*** the airline. The insurance

companies can have the goddamm

airline. I just don’t want them to

come sniffing in my other pockets.

LEN CALDWELL:

Speaking for the pilots’ union? We

don’t want your airline to go away.

We enjoy your contract with us and

we will protect Captain Whitaker

and in turn protect your airline.

MR. CARR

That’s sweet Mr. Caldwell, but if

the NTSB leaks that toxicology

report showing my pilot was flying

that plane drunk? We’re all

f***ed.

CHARLIE:

So far we’ve been lucky.

MR. CARR

Lucky?! Are you that goddammed

dumb?! You think they’re waiting

for a light news day to splash the

headline, “Drunk, coke-addled pilot

crashes a plane?!”

EVERYONE goes quiet as CARR’s anger commands silence.

MR. CARR (CONT’D)

My brother’s in DC on his knees at

the foot of the throne begging for

forgiveness. And so far it’s

working.

89.

They’ve got their boot on the neck

of this girl Ellen Block runnin’

the show for the NTSB and she is

pissed. Can you handle that?

HUGH can’t stifle a laugh. They look to him.

HUGH LANG:

Trust me, I’m gonna kill the

toxicology report. That’s my job.

CARR looks to his lawyer who nods...

CARR’S ATTORNEY

I wish you luck, but we’re still

sorting out the best way to go

forward legally. We might split

from you and go it alone.

CARR stands to signal the end of the meeting. HUGH stands to

stop him.

HUGH LANG:

To go it alone? Without us? That

would be what the French call “a

big f***ing mistake.”

MR. CARR

Does Whitaker know he’s going to

jail?

HUGH LANG:

I haven’t had a client go to jail

yet.

MR. CARR

He’s going to jail. He belongs in

jail. You bet your ass he’s going

to jail, the question is...is he

gonna die in jail?

HUGH LANG:

You’re wrong, Mr. Carr.

CARR’S ATTORNEY

Last time I checked, 6 counts of

manslaughter is life in prison.

MR. CARR

Life in prison, what we in Georgia

call “all day long.”

It goes quiet as everyone reflects on that reality.

90.

INT. CARR’S OFFICE -- WAITING ROOM -- DAY

WHIP stands up as the meeting spills into the waiting room.

Handshakes are exchanged as CARR walks to WHIP and offers his

hand to shake.

MR. CARR

They tell me you’re some kind of

pilot.

86

CARR nods, sizing WHIP up. WHIP returns the nod as HUGH 86

quickly puts a hand on WHIP’s back and leads him away like a

heavyweight being returned to his corner after pre-fight

instructions.

THE TELEVISION IN WHIP’S LIVING ROOM - NIGHT

We are now in WHIP’s living room watching HOME MOVIES...

WHIP’S VOICE

Get up! What? You can’t get up?!

(Whip is laughing...)

C’mon, Knuckles Whitaker drags

himself up and goes long...go.

We watch an 8 year-old WILL WHITAKER run long as the ball

flies to him. He catches it and on-screen WHIP hollers.

WHIP’S VOICE (CONT'D)

Touchdown Whitaker! Atta boy!

C’mon back. What? Come back and

do it again. Tired? Junior, you

don’t know tired. I’m not going

out. You go out. Keep running.

We pull away from the screen to find WHIP who sits on the

couch. A large bottle of vodka appears empty amidst many

dead beers and an ashtray that overflows.

WHIP moves in drunken slow motion as he attempts to free a

cigarette from the pack and light it. He freezes at one

point and places his hands straight out in front of himself,

a strange, involuntary, drunken reset. His stare is a 1000

miles offshore; he is anywhere but on this planet. Oblivion.

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