Get Shorty Page #11

KAREN:

And you think the movie business is any different?

CHILI:

Yeah well . . . I like movies. I figure if I help Harry make

one, I'll find out what you have to do outside of have an

idea and raise the money. That doesn't sound too hard. I was

in the money business and I get ideas all the time.

They stop at her car.

KAREN:

I'm talking to Martin tomorrow morning. I told Harry I'd

meet you and him at Abiquiu afterward.

(opens her door)

This might work, you never know.

He stands there, watching her drive away.

EXT. HARRY'S APARTMENT BUILDING -- NIGHT

Just above Franklin in the Hollywood Hills. A realtor might

call it Chandleresque. We call it old and cheap.

INT. HARRY'S APARTMENT -- NIGHT

Continuing on the old and cheap theme. Harry stands behind

the wet bar pouring himself a strong one. He looks at

himself in the smoke-tinted mirror squares, downs the drink

in one and pours himself another.

A KNOCK AT THE DOOR.

Harry looks at the door.

HARRY:

Who is it?

WOMAN'S VOICE

Me.

HARRY:

(lower)

F***.

WOMAN'S VOICE

I heard that.

Harry moves to the door and opens it to reveal DORIS SAFFRIN

-- fiftyish, fur coat, hair up so that we can see the nifty

necklare. She leans in the doorway . . .

HARRY:

Hello, Doris.

DORIS:

Harry Zimm. You look like a wet kiss.

And she plants one on him. Walks into the apartment. Looking

good for her age. Hell, for any age.

DORIS:

Well, aren't you gonna offer me whatever it is you taste

like?

HARRY:

Come on in.

Doris goes to the window. Harry goes to the bar, pours them

each a drink . . .

DORIS:

What a spectacular view.

HARRY:

Yeah, lovely. Last night I watched two guys carjack a Camero

down on the corner of Argyle there.

(hands her the drink)

What do you want, Doris?

She drinks, never taking her eyes off him.

DORIS:

I miss Murray, Harry.

HARRY:

Yeah, me too. He was a helluva good writer. And I would

know. I discovered him. Made him what he was.

DORIS:

What he was, was a hack, couldn't get a job writing for

anybody but you.

(off Harry)

I'm being honest. He was a lousy writer, but he was a good

husband. I just didn't know it until too late.

Harry finishes his drink, pours himself another . . .

HARRY:

Yeah, well, twenty-twenty hindsight and all that.

Harry takes a big, noisy pull off his drink as she moves to

the bar . . .

DORIS:

I hate being alone. The house is so quiet. So lonely. It

needs . . .

(studies him)

A man's touch.

And with that, she opens up the fur coat to reveal that

she's wearing nothing but a garter belt and high heels.

HARRY:

Nice garter.

She sets her drink down, moves in, wraps her arms around his

neck . . .

HARRY:

I'm not sure how I feel about this, Doris.

DORIS:

(reaching down)

You seem to feel fine about it.

HARRY:

I mean morally. Murray was my friend.

DORIS:

Murray's dead.

She kisses him . . . Harry pulls back . . .

HARRY:

So this means you've reconsidered our deal on Mr. Lovejoy?

DORIS:

No. But now that you mention it, I did talk to a handsome

executive at Paramount the other day . . . who just happened

to get his hands on the script.

HARRY:

Yeah, what'd he have to say?

DORIS:

He said if Martin's interested, I could get a half a million

for it easy. But don't worry, Harry, I'm still giving you

until Friday.

HARRY:

How honorable of you.

Now she backs away, gives him a hurt look.

DORIS:

Harry. If you want me to go, just say the word.

Harry looks at her a moment, decides . . .

HARRY:

What the hell . . .

. . . And pulls her as close as we then . . .

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. HOLLYWOOD HILLS HOME -- NIGHT

We hear laughter, rock and roll as a NUDE WOMAN dives into a

blue-lit swimming pool and swims the length . . .

We then TILT UP to a HOUSE ON STILTS above this one and see

the lone figure of Bo Catlett standing on his deck.

EXT. BO CATLETT'S HOUSE -- NIGHT

The shimmering yellow grid of the city in the b.g., Bo

Catlett, barefoot, bathrobe, leans on the rail of his deck,

watching the folks frolic twelve stories down.

YAYO (V.O.)

Listen to me, man, I don't wan' no focking key. I wan' the

money.

EXT. BO CATLETT'S DECK -- NIGHT

Bo Catlett looks inside where Yayo paces back and forth. The

Bear reclines on a chaise lounge.

BO CATLETT:

Hey, Yayo? You gonna smoke, get the hell off my

seventy-bucks-a-yard carpet.

Yayo steps out on to the deck . . .

BO CATLETT:

I told you where the money is. All you gotta do is go get

it.

YAYO:

No. I'll tell you something

BO CATLETT:

That's all you know, huh? Wait here a minute, Yayo, I be

back directly.

Yayo leans against the railing, cuts a 'now that's the way

you get things done' look at the Bear. He lights a

cigarette, looks o.s. and freezes . . .

YAYO:

The fock you doing with that?

Bo Catlett holds a big .45 out in front of him . . .

BO CATLETT:

I'm taking you out, Yahoo.

. . . and shoots Yayo in the chest, the gun going off loud,

the round knocking the little Latin man back against the

railing.

BO CATLETT:

Dead focking center, man.

Yayo, a stupid look on his face, stumbles backwards, over

the railing. The Bear reaches for him, but it's too late . .

.

EXT. HOUSE DOWN BELOW -- SAME TIME

The group down here is too stoned to notice the little

Colombian who falls from the deck high above like a sack of

dirt, then slides partway down the slope.

EXT. BO CATLETT'S DECK -- SAME TIME

The bear looks over at Bo Catlett . . . who now calmly

stares down at the motionless form of Yayo.

BO CATLETT:

Sh*t, now someone's gotta climb down there and get him.

BEAR:

You didn't have to shoot him, Bo. We coulda just beat him up

some.

BO CATLETT:

You see that? The way the man just went right over?

Bo Catlett takes a sip of his drink, looks at the railing.

BO CATLETT:

Maybe we can get Chili Palmer up here. You fix my railing to

give way like they do in the movies. Then I invite the man

out here, have a look at my view. Get him to lean over the

railing, see all the naked people down there . . . a tragic

accident, officer . . .

Bear looks at him.

BEAR:

Cat, that's the lamest idea I've ever heard.

BO CATLETT:

Yeah, well, I'm bored, Bear. I wanna make movies.

Bear looks at him.

BO CATLETT:

I mean, what's the point of living in L.A. if you're not in

the movie business?

Bo Catlett leans on the railing, looks down at Yayo again.

BO CATLETT:

And I mean high up in it.

(turns to Bear)

That's why Harry's gonna make Mr. Lovejoy with me, not Chili

Palmer.

BEAR:

Mr. Lovejoy? That's cute, Bo.

BO CATLETT:

Doesn't matter what it's called, Harry's got Martin Weir and

it's gonna be big.

BEAR:

They all sound big at the talking stage.

EXT. MARTIN WEIR'S HOUSE -- MORNING

Karen pulls into the driveway in a convertible BMW. As she

checks her make-up in the REARVIEW MIRROR, we see Chili pull

up behind her in his rented minivan. She turns aronnd,

frowns, and quickly gets out of her car.

He gets out of the van . . . holds up a Star Map . . .

CHILI:

This thing's actually accurate. I bought it for ten bucks

from a kid in a lawn chair on Sunset . . .

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