Grosse Pointe Blank Page #25

DEBI:

(stunned)

Get the f*** outta here.

MARTIN:

Seriously, when I left, I joined the

Army and took the service exam. They

found my psych results fit a certain

profile. A certain "Moral flexibility"

would be the best way to describe

it... I was loaned out to a CIA-

sponsored program. It's called

"mechanical operations." We sort of

found each other...

DEBI:

You're a government spook?

Martin says nothing.

MARTIN:

I was, but no... yes... I was before,

but now I'm not. It's irrelevant,

really. The idea of governments,

nations, it's mostly a public

relations theory at this point,

anyway. But I'll tell you something,

until about five months ago, I really

enjoyed my work.

DEBI:

Jesus Christ!

MARTIN:

Then I started losing my taste for

it. Which usually means your time is

up. But then I realized it was

something entirely different... I

started getting the sneaking, dark

suspicion that maybe there was...

meaning to life.

DEBI:

Okay. Great, Martin, that's just

great. Meaning to life... Mmm....

MARTIN:

Like, that there's a point? An organic

connection between all living things.

DEBI:

Let me help you along, Martin. You're

a sociopath!

MARTIN:

(defensive)

A sociopath kills for no reason. I

kill for money.

DEBI:

You never could have kept this from

me.

MARTIN:

I was leaving.

DEBI:

That's probably a good idea.

MARTIN:

Will you come with me?

DEBI:

I'm staying here.

MARTIN:

What if I come back?

DEBI:

I'll hide.

She goes for the door.

MARTIN:

Don't go.

She stops at the door. Slowly, she turns.

DEBI:

You don't get to have me. You are a

monster, I'm a human being. We're

not going to mate.

MARTIN:

You don't understand...

DEBI:

That's because I speak human, and

you speak monster.

Debi bolts out of the room. Martin is left alone.

Martin looks over at his gear on the bed. After a beat, he

walks slowly over and surveys his tools. He picks up a

cleaning rag and begins to go over the weapons, absently

singing to himself...

MARTIN:

"What's up Doc? What's cookin'? What's

up Doc, are you lookin'...?

INT. MARTIN'S SUITE - DAWN

Morning light comes through the slit in the curtains, picking

up four or five exquisitely clean guns are laid out on the

bed, almost geometrically spaced. Martin lifts one at a time,

checking their bores and actions...

INT. COUNTRY SQUIRE - MORNING

Lardner and McCullers gear up. They each finish loading the

last of many clips...

EXT. MICHIGAN HIGHWAY - MORNING

Grocer and Company, not in a Ford Passenger Van, veer off

onto an exit ramp. Grocer has assembled a team of about nine.

They draw different guns from their kit bags and begin

loading...

INT. COUNTRY SQUIRE - SAME

Lardner and McCullers jam clips into their service autos and

knock the slides...

INT. MARTIN'S SUITE - SAME

Martin finished loading his guns, and puts them in his case.

He shuts it and moves for the door. On the way out he stops

and looks himself in the mirror before exiting.

EXT. THREE DIFFERENT ROADS - INTERCUT

Each car whooshes by camera, on its way to the inevitable...

INT. EASTWEST HOLDING COMPANY - INTERCUT

Marcella has a cordless tucked between her shoulder and ear,

and holds a two-gallon gas can. She moves from room to room

pouring gasoline onto the computers, desks, and piles of

paper stacked on the floor. She adds a splash to her copy of

"Women Who Run With the Wolves."

MARCELLA:

I'm bringing down the office now.

She picks up her hard drive and smashes it on the floor.

It's cathartic.

INTERCUT WITH MARTIN IN THE TOWN CAR -

MARTIN:

I'll put things right. Then I'll

find you.

Silence on the line.

MARCELLA:

(apprehensive)

Uh... why?

Martin finishes his weapons check, and pulls out the dossier.

MARTIN:

Don't worry. I left you a little

something under your desk.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes