Get Shorty Page #3

FAY:

I trust you, Chili. I think you're a decent type of man,

even if you are a crook.

CHILI:

Thank you Fay.

She finally looks at Chili . . .

FAY:

I wish he really was dead, the son of a b*tch.

EXT. LAS VEGAS -- NIGHT

The strip. Mesas Casino.

CUT TO:

CLOSE UP OF PHOTOGRAPH

Leo Devoe. Standing with Fay at Epcot Center.

DICK (V.O.)

That's him all right.

PULL BACK TO REVEAL INT. DICK ALLEN'S OFFICE -- NIGHT

A sign on the door reads "DICK ALLEN, CUSTOMER RELATIONS." A

bank of video monitors show the floor of the casino. Chili

sits across the desk from DICK ALLEN -- lots of jewelry, a

giant NEON COWGIRL out the window behind him.

DICK:

Called himself Larry DeMille. Hit on every showgirl in town.

Would tell 'em he was the 'Martinizing King of Miami'. What

a moron.

He returns the snapshot to Chili.

DICK:

Anyway, you want this guy, he's in L.A. We put him on a

flight after he spanked one a my cocktail girls in the Keno

room.

CHILI:

Leo spanked a waitress?

DICK:

Apparently, way it went, he invited her to come to Santa

Anita to play the ponies with him. She told him what to do

with that and he gave her one on the tush. My guess, he's by

his lonesome at the track right now.

Chili nods.

DICK:

Hey, Chil? Since you're goin' out to L.A. anyway.

CHILI:

What've you got?

DICK:

Guy owes us a hundred and fifty grand, sixty days over; a

movie producer.

CHILI:

Movie producer? Yeah, why not.

As Dick Allen reaches for a pad of paper, we hear THE SOUND

OF AN AIRPLANE OVER. . . .

EXT. LAX RENTAL CAR LOT -- NIGHT

It's raining as we TILT DOWN from a LANDING AIRPLANE to a

National Car Rental BUS arriving next to a tan MINIVAN.

Chili eyes the car a moment, then turns to the driver.

CHILI:

What is this?

ATTENDANT:

An Oldsmobile Silhouette.

CHILI:

I reserved a Cadillac.

ATTENDANT:

Yeah, well, this one's the Cadillac of minivans.

CHILI:

You're kidding me, right?

ATTENDANT:

Hey, you want La Tierra Rent-A-Car just over there, but I

think all they got are Rabbit convertibles.

Chili gives the driver a look then gets out of the bus,

standing there in the rain, his seat getting wet, nowhere to

go. He turns and stares at the minivan . . .

EXT. KAREN FLORES' HOUSE -- NIGHT

All the lights are out, save the BLUE GLOW of a television

coming from one of the downstairs rooms . . .

WOMAN'S VOICE

(loud whisper)

Harry?

INT. KAREN FLORES' BEDROOM -- NIGHT

As KAREN FLORES, pretty, endowed, sits up in bed wearing a

Lakers T-shirt, nothing else. She looks at the big shape

lying under the covers beside her.

KAREN:

Harry.

The shape deesn't move. She shakes it.

KAREN:

Harry, God damn it, somebody's downstairs.

The shape stirs, rolls over, and we see HARRY ZIMM, balding,

overweight; a movie producer. He sits up.

HARRY:

What's wrong?

KAREN:

Be quiet and listen.

HARRY:

I don't hear anything.

We hear VOICES downstairs.

KAREN:

Shhh -- there.

And now LAUGHTER . . .

HARRY:

Sounds like the television.

She looks at him . . .

KAREN:

When I came upstairs, you stayed to finish your drink. I

told you to turn off the TV when you were through.

(an afterthought)

Come to think of it, I also told you you could sleep in the

maid's room.

HARRY:

Yeah, well I turned off the set. I used the remote control

thing and laid it on the floor. You know what could've

happened? The dog came in and stepped on it, turned the TV

back on.

KAREN:

I don't have a dog.

HARRY:

You don't? What happened to Muff?

KAREN:

Harry, are you going down, or you want me to?

He grunts, gets out of bed. Starts looking around the room

for his clothes. Harry looks out the window . . .

HARRY:

Anyone skim the pool? It needs it.

KAREN:

Harry --

HARRY:

I'm going.

INT. HALLWAY -- SAME TIME

The MONOTONE VOICES become louder and more distinct as Harry

moves down the curved staircase in his shirt and boxer

shorts. One of the voices is familiar . . .

We can see this is a nice place as Harry crosses the entry

hall to a doorway, the FLICKERING LIGHT of the television

emitting from inside the room.

Harry listens at the door. Yeah, it's David Letterman.

INT. KAREN'S STUDY -- SAME TIME

Harry moves into the glow of the big Sony, the rest of the

room dark. On the tube, Dave is interviewing actor Martin

Weir when suddenly the screen goes black and the desk lamp

comes on. Harry jumps . . .

HARRY:

Jesus Christ!

Chili leans into the light, keeps his tone quiet,

controlled.

CHILI:

Harry Zimm, how you doing? I'm Chili Palmer.

Harry presses a hand against his chest.

HARRY:

Jesus, if I have a heart attack, I hope you know what to do.

CHILI:

Where you been, Harry?

Harry lets his hand slide down over his belly, taking his

time, wanting to show that he has it together now.

HARRY:

Have we met? I don't recall.

CHILI:

We just did. I told you my name's Chili Palmer.

Harry stares back, trying to figure out who this guy is.

HARRY:

You're in pictures, right?

Chili smiles. Doesn't say anything.

HARRY:

Did you stop to think what if I had a heart attack?

CHILI:

You look okay to me, Harry. Come over here and sit down.

Tell me what you been up to.

Harry takes one of the canvas director's chairs by the desk.

He looks at a bottle of Dewars sitting there, runs a hand

through his hair, thinks about a drink . . .

CHILI:

Harry, look at me.

Harry brings his hand down.

HARRY:

I'm looking at you.

CHILI:

I want you to keep looking right here, okay?

HARRY:

That's what I'm doing.

CHILI:

You know Dick Allen, Mesa's Casino?

HARRY:

Dick Allen's a very dear friend of mine. How far you want to

go with this?

CHILI:

We're there, Harry. You signed markers for a hundred and a

half, you're over sixty days past due and you haven't told

anybody what the problem is.

Harry looks at Chili.

HARRY:

Jesus Christ, what're you, a collector for a f***ing casino?

You come in here, walk in the house in the middle of the

f***ing night? I thought you were an actor, auditioning, for

Christ's sake.

Chili nods, almost smiles . . .

CHILI:

Is that right? That's interesting. You thought I was acting,

huh?

Harry pushes out of the chair, looks down at Chili.

HARRY:

We'll see about this . . .

Harry grabs the phone, punches the 'O'.

HARRY:

Operator, how do I get Las Vegas Information?

CHILI:

Harry, lemme give you some advice.

Chili leans forward, hangs up the phone with his index

finger, casually reaches for the rereiver . . .

CHILI:

You don't want to act like a hard-on, you're standing there

in your undies. You know what I'm saying? What you want to

do is sit down and talk to me.

Harry sits down. Chili hangs up the phone.

CHILI:

A marker's like a check, Harry.

HARRY:

I know what a marker is.

CHILI:

They don't want to deposit yours and have it bounce. That

annoys them. So your dear friend Dick Allen's been calling,

leaving messages on your machine, but you never get back to

him. I happen to be in Vegas on another matter, and Dick

asks me as a favor would I look you up. I follow you over

here, see you in the window with this woman, looks a lot

like that actress Karen Flores, was in Grotesque, except

she's not blond anymore . . .

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