Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back Page #9

SISSY:

That was always the plan, Justice! They take the heat off of is long enough until we can

get out of town!

Chrissy attaches the metal box to the side of the van.

CHRISSY:

Kaboom, you little stoner fucks.

The girls pull up in the convertible and Chrissy jumps into the car with them.

CHRISSY:

It's set. Let's roll.

The convertible screeches away, leaving the can sitting there. The metal has magnetically

attached to the side is counting down from two minutes.

INT. PROVASIK TESTING LAB--NIGHT

Jay and Bob carry a large canvas bag between them. Something seems to move inside it.

The head for the exit, but Silent bob hesitates, offering a sad look to the animals in all the

cages. Jay hits him.

JAY:

What the f*** are you looking at? There ain't no snacks here, man! Now we got what we

came for, so let's get the f*** out!

Silent Bob half-gestures to the cages, forlorn. Jay shakes his head frustrated.

JAY:

Yeah, it's sad! But what the f*** are we supposed to do about it?

Silent bob offers Jay a look.

EXT. PROVASIK MEDICAL LABS--NIGHT

The front doors burst open, spilling out Jay, Silent Bob (carrying their bag),and

HUNDREDS OF ANIMALS--cats, dogs, birds, rabbits. All race off into the night.

Jay and Bob race toward the van. Jay screams at it.

JUSTICE:

JUSTICE! OPEN THE DOORS!

Suddenly, Jay and Bob stop dead in their tracks.

JAY:

Oh sh*t--

Three COP CARS screech up, the van between them and Jay and Bob. The COPS leap

out of their cruisers, guns drawn. Jay looks to Bob, pissed

COP:

DROP THE BAG! BEFORE THIS THING TURNS EXPLOSIVE!

The counter on the device attached to the van hits "0," and the van BLOWS UP. Jay and

Bob get thrown backwards in one direction, the Cops in the other.

On all fours, Jay looks at the burning shell of the van, a tear forming in his eye.

JAY:

Justice--

We crane up from him as he bellows--

JAY:

JUUUSSSTTTTIIIICCCCEEEE!!!!!!

Silent Bob grabs Jay and drags him out of frame, still carrying the bag.

EXT. FEDERAL WILDLIFE MARSHAL'S OFFICE--DAY

We start on a sign on the door that reads: Federal

Wildlife Marshal, Colorado Field Office, then pull back to see a DEPUTY opening the

door and heading inside.

INT. FEDERAL WILDLIFE MARSHAL'S OFFICE--DAY

The Deputy enters just as a FAX is coming through at an operations board. He rips it off,

reading it. His eyes go wide.

DEPUTY:

Oh, fudge . . . . .

(calling off)

Marshal Willenholly!

INT.BATHROOM--SAME

MARSHAL WILLENHOLLY sits on the bowl, staring at Four Legged Law-Man

magazine, eyeing it lustily. Below frame, he jerks off.

WILLENHOLLY:

Yeah, you chug that ass-cock baby--It takes two hands to hold doesn't it--? Uhhh--

As he climaxes, a ganging at the door disrupts him.

WILLENHOLLY:

WHAT?! WHAT?! I'M READING!

DEPUTY (O.C.)

Sir, we got a report of a break-in at Provasik Pharmaceuticals' testing lab.

Willenholly emerges from the bathroom, holding the magazine. There's a massive wet

spot on the front of his pants.

WILLENHOLLY:

Have you read this article on the mule-suckers in Tijuana? Good God, I wish that was in

our jurisdiction--I's shut down every last one of those ass-cock chuggers, personally.

The Deputy looks at the stain on Willenholly's pants, then at Willenholly.

WILLENHOLLY:

What? "Ass" means "donkey."

DEPUTY:

Yes, sir.

(hands him a fax)

WILLENHOLLY:

(looks at fax)

Boulder, hunh? Well, gas up the jet.

DEPUTY:

We don't have a jet, sir. And Boulder's only ten minutes away.

WILLENHOLLY:

Then gas up the next best thing.

EXT. PROVASIK MEDICAL LABS--DAY

There are FIRE TRUCKS all over the place now. The burned out van is being poured

over by Cops. Just then, Willenholly pulls up on a MOPED. He parks it and surveys the

wreckage.

WILLENHOLLY:

My, oh my, oh my. Who let the cats out?

(thinks)

Wait--is that right?

COP 1 (O.C.)

Excuse me--who the hell are you?

Willenholly rips down the Velcro patch on his jacket, revealing a badge.

WILLENHOLLY:

Federal Wildlife Marshal. This investigation is now under my jurisdiction.

COP 1

Oh really? And why is that?

WILLENHOLLY:

Because someone let a whole mess of animals out of their cages, sir.

COP 1

Well, we believe that was just a diversionary tactic used to call attention away from the

real heist over here at the Diamond Exchange.

WILLENHOLLY:

Yeah, right. That's a believable scenario. It sounds more like something out of a bad

movie.

Willenholly and the Cop look at the camera. Then, another COP joins them.

COP 2

Sir, the Provasik people say they've rounded all their animals up, except for one: an

orangutan.

WILLENHOLLY:

Listen up, ladies and gentlemen! Our fugitive has been on the run for 6 hours! Average

simian foot speed over uneven ground--barring injuries or preoccupation with tire tubes,

mites or bananas--is four miles an hour. That gives us a radius of twenty miles.

COP 3

(calling out from crowd)

Twenty-four, sir!

WILLENHOLLY:

What?

COP 3

Six hours times four miles an hour is twenty-four.

WILLENHOLLY:

(doing the math in his head)

Yes. Yes, you're right. My bad. Twenty-four miles. Now what I want out of all of you is

a hard target search.

COP 4

Excuse me, sir?

WILLENHOLLY:

Yeah?

COP 4

What does that mean, exactly--a "hard target search"? What's a "hard target"?

WILLENHOLLY:

Well. It's--a target--that's--hard. Anyway--

COP 4

So are you referring to the search's level of difficulty? Or is the hard target the monkey?

COP 3

Or the people who stole the monkey?

The COPS now chatter amongst themselves, to the effect of "Yeah--It could mean that

too--He's got a point--,"etc. Willenholly rubs his temples.

WILLENHOLLY:

Okay, how about this? What I want out of all of you is a thorough search of every gas

station, residence, warehouse, farmhouse, henhouse, outhouse, and doghouse in that area!

Checkpoints go up at fifteen miles!

COP 1

Wouldn't it make sense to put them up at every twenty-four miles--seeing as that's how

far they'd have gotten in the last six hours?

They begin chattering amongst themselves again. Willenholly looks at them all, defeated.

He starts to cry.

WILLENHOLLY:

This is so frustrating. It's just so hard sometimes--

(yelling)

YOUR FUGITIVE'S NAME IS SUZANNE! GO FIND HER!

Another COP joins Willenholly, carrying a large, fat envelope.

COP 5

Sir, this was just delivered to the station.

WILLENHOLLY:

What is it?

COP 5

It's a tape from the terrorists who're claiming credit for the break-in.

WILLENHOLLY:

Is it VHS or Beta? You know what--never mind. Do you have a VCR?

INT. OFFICE--DAY

Willenholly and the Cops stare at the O.C. TV, shocked, as the video ends.

WILLENHOLLY:

Oh my God--

(without looking up)

Have the jet gassed up and ready to go at a moment's notice.

COP:

Sir, we don't have a jet; just a helicopter.

WILLENHOLLY:

(dialing his cell phone)

Doesn't anybody have a jet anymore?

(into cell phone)

Plafsky? It is Willenholly. You gotta get me on the national news, pronto. Why?!

Because we may very well be dealing with the two most dangerous men on the planet!

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