Get Carter

INT. UPPER EAST SIDE APARTMENT -EARLY MORNING

A huge, tome-filled bookshelf looms in the b.g. of a

large, contemporary Mediterranean-style living room.

The large panoramic view shows a beautiful vantage of

Central Park below.

ON TRACK:

An ALARM CLOCK BEEPS.

INT. DARK MASTER BEDROOM -DIGITAL CLOCK

It reads six A.M. A man’s hand reaches over to stop it.

INT. PLUSH HOME GYMNASIUM

The MAN sprints on the treadmill. The time on it reads

47:
40. The distance to the left --7.2 miles.

The PHONE RINGS in the b.g. but the Man can’t hear it.

INT. SPACIOUS STEAM/SHOWER

He sits on the bench, takes a steam, and shaves.

INT. BEDROOM -DRESSER

A money roll of hundreds. A cell phone. A Rolex

Presidente on top of a list of betting codes (i.e. K-41,

M-63, etc.), dollar amounts, and random sports cities.

The Man systematically puts everything in its proper

place and exits the bedroom.

INT. GIANT KITCHEN -LOUD BLENDER

The Man turns it off, pours his protein shake into a

glass, and takes a giant sip. A pot and pan holder

hovers above the marble island countertop.

2.

HIS POV:

The sports caption on the New York Times reads "THIS

WEEKEND --BREEDER’S CUP AT HOLLYWOOD PARK: A PREVIEW"

with a picture of a horse winning a race below. The

article reads "Sweet Di Eyes Triple Crown."

BACK TO SCENE:

A red light flashes on the MESSAGE RECORDER to his left.

He reaches over, pushes a button, and it BEEPS.

MALE (V.O.)

Hey, Jack. It’s Frank. Sorry to

be calling you so late. It’s...

Christ, three-forty, six-forty

your time.

The despondent male voice quickly comes to tears.

MALE (V.O.)

I’m sorry, Jackie. About

everything. But I really need to

talk to you. Call me... please.

The man hangs up and the RECORDER BEEPS.

TIGHT ON JACK CARTER

Hair slicked back, crisp blue suit, Windsor knot, and a

long leather "stand the f*** back" coat. You can’t tell

if the hard look in his eyes is sudden or permanent.

Jack stares at the cordless but doesn’t pick it up.

Tears of frustration almost formulate, he washes the rest

of the shake down the drain, and he exits. END CREDITS.

CUT TO:

EXT. BEAUTIFUL APARTMENT COMPLEX -MORNING

The doorman opens the glass door. Jack’s exit exudes

power and charisma.

EXT. CENTRAL PARK WEST -SAME TIME

Jack crosses the street illegally in front of a police

car. The passenger cop yells at him, they lock eyes, and

Jack heads downstairs to the subway.

3.

INT. SUBWAY STATION -CASHIER

Jack spots 25-year-old DEXTER MARTIN in sweats, gold

chains, untied high tops, and a NY Giants jacket. The

hard, young black man munches an Egg McMuffin.

JACK:

You got an extra subway token on

you?

Dexter turns and casually hands one to him.

DEXTER:

Sorry you have to deal with this

f***ing bullshit, Jack.

JACK:

Just watch the language, huh, Dex?

The two go through the turnstile.

INT. SPEEDING SUBWAY CAR -JACK AND DEX

They sit away from the Wall Street suits and Brooklyn

degenerates.

DEXTER:

Eighty-seven grand and he’s

blowing me off like some

kindergartner.

JACK’S POV

A 4x6 photo of David Wheeler. In a NYSE trading jacket,

the large 34-year-old drags a cigarette.

BACK TO SCENE:

DEXTER:

Name’s Davis Wheeler. Son of

Douglas Wheeler. C.E.O. of -

JACK:

Wheeler Securities. Why didn’t

you call me on this right away?

DEXTER:

I thought I could handle him.

Anyway, Sunday he took Dallas, the

Jets and Miami. Ten grand each...

none of ’em cover.

(CONTINUED)

4.

CONTINUED:

JACK:

(astonished)

Miami was in Green Bay.

DEXTER:

I’m telling you! Homeboy doesn’t

care. Four Super Bowls, he picks

Buffalo.

The subway comes to a halt at Canal Street.

DEXTER:

You remember him from that one

scam.

JACK:

Refresh my memory.

DEXTER:

He called the 800 number, used his

code, K-25, put five grand on the

49ers, lost, and claimed that it

wasn’t his voice on the recorder.

JACK:

Meaning someone stole his code.

Dexter nods as the subway takes off again.

DEXTER:

You strapped, Jack?

Dexter opens his jacket and shows Jack his gun. Jack

stares at him, knowing the kid will be dead in a year.

DEXTER:

He’s got the serious heater, man.

Nickel-plated .45 in his

briefcase. Motherfuckin’ punk,

this guy.

Jack palms Dexter’s forehead and cracks the back of his

head against the subway map. Dexter grabs his head.

DEXTER:

Goddamn, man!

JACK:

I told you to watch your language.

I don’t want to hear it.

DEXTER:

I’m sorry, man. Jesus. I just

know he’s scared, okay? Goddamn.

(CONTINUED)

5.

CONTINUED:

Jack moves to the doors as the subway slows to a stop.

JACK:

You’re going to be flooded with

action on Sweet Di. Take as much

as you can.

DEXTER:

You got it, man. Jesus.

SMASH CUT TO:

INT. SUBWAY

The doors slam open. Wall Street exit. A familiar face

exits and pauses to spark up a cigarette.

PULL BACK to reveal the 4x6 photo of DAVIS WHEELER. A

perfect match. Davis heads up the stairs.

An awaiting Jack surreptitiously follows him.

EXT. WALL STREET -JACK’S POV

Davis heads down the street and enters a small diner just

off Maiden and Broadway.

INT. DINER

Clock reads eight A.M. Organized chaos. Waiters with

deep NY accents yelling egg orders at the cook without

writing anything down. Financial analysts trying to pay

for their coffee.

Jack hangs up his coat and looks to the back. Davis sits

alone in a two-person booth, engrossed in the Journal.

DAVIS’S POV

He looks up from his paper, sensing something. In his

booth, right in front of him, is Jack.

BACK TO SCENE:

DAVIS:

What the f***?

(CONTINUED)

6.

CONTINUED:

JACK:

It’s time to give up on pro ball,

Davis. Doesn’t assimilate with

Daddy’s portfolio.

Davis meets Jack’s gaze for three seconds and knows.

DAVIS:

Dexter, you f***ing peasant.

The older WAITER appears and breaks Jack’s glare.

JACK:

Do you have egg beaters?

WAITER:

What are you, kiddin’ me?

JACK:

A glass of water then. Thank you.

The Waiter looks at Davis and suddenly he’s not hungry.

The Waiter shakes his head and tends to his other

patrons. Davis pulls out a cigarette.

JACK:

Don’t spark up in here. People

are trying to enjoy their

breakfast.

DAVIS:

What do you want?

JACK:

What do I want? Shut your mouth

and listen. That’s what I want.

(as Davis is silent)

All you Wall Street schmucks. You

analyze numbers ’til you’re blue

in the face, but when it comes

down to betting, a.k.a. thinking

with your money, your common sense

is as scarce as your ethics.

DAVIS:

And what you do is ethical?

JACK:

If you’d ever hit one you’d think

I was ethical.

The Waiter drops off a water. Jack smiles in thanks.

(CONTINUED)

7.

CONTINUED:

JACK:

There are two reasons why you

should never bet on team sports.

The players aren’t interested in

the spread and they’re not using

their money. It’s that simple.

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