John Q Page #9

GRIMES:

Alright. I hear you loud and clear. Rebecca Payne, right? I'm writing it down. Lot of cops out here, John. Are you sure you want to go through with this?

J.Q.

I'm sure.

GRIMES:

Alright. Sit tight. You're in a tough spot, John. A lot of trouble. But if you work with me, if you're reasonable, we'll figure a way out of this. We have to have a little faith in one another.

J.Q.

Why?

GRIMES:

Why? Because that's what faith's all about. Believing when you don't want to believe. Besides, what else are you going to do?

J.Q.

Just tell Payne. Donor list. She'll understand. EXT. HOPE MEMORIAL HOSPITAL - COMMAND POST - DAY

The line goes dead.

GRIMES:

Alright, what the hell is a donor list?

INT. EMERGENCY ROOM - DAY

J.Q. paces the floor. It's slower now. Everyone just sitting around, waiting to see what will happen. Debby has pulled herself together for the time being. She calls out to John.

DEBBY:

Mr. Q? Would you really do it?

J.Q.

What?

DEBBY:

What you said about the bloodbath? Would you really shoot us?

J.Q.

I'll do what I have to do to help my kid.

MITCH:

Aw, bullshit. He can't shoot us all. There's only eight bullets in that weapon.

J.Q.

First one's got your name on it, Mitch.

Mitch mumbles and kicks his feet up, sparking a cigarette. J.Q. keeps pacing back and forth, and Steve is still picking them fingernails.

J.Q. (CONT'D)

First child?

STEVE:

Yes, sir. You know how it is, kind of nervous.

J.Q. nods, understands.

J.Q.

What are you hoping for? Boy or girl?

STEVE:

Miriam wants a baby girl. Doesn't matter to me, as long as the baby's healthy.

Steve stops short. Realizing his faux pas.

STEVE (CONT'D)

I'm sorry. I didn't meant --

J.Q. shakes it off: "Not to worry." John notices Julie, her arm now in a sling, not broken.

J.Q.

Who was driving?

(off Julie's look)

The car.

MITCH:

I was. What's that got to do with it?

J.Q.

How come she got all banged up and you didn't?

MITCH:

What do you call this?

Mitch pulls back his hair, shows off his wounds. Surface scratches on his arms and around his neck and face.

LESTER:

Somebody get this man a band-aid.

MITCH:

Shut up, smart ass. It hurts.

JULIE:

His airbag went off. Mine didn't.

J.Q.

What kind of car do you drive there, hot shot?

MITCH:

Mercedes 500.

J.Q.

A Benz, huh?

MITCH:

Sixteen valve. One point six liter. It does about a hundred and eighty in reverse.

J.Q.

Wow. Pretty snazzy. What year?

MITCH:

1986. It's a classic.

The other hostages study J.Q. Where is he going with this?

J.Q.

Yeah, well, I've got news for you, Mitch. Mercedes didn't install passenger airbags until 1988.

A long uncomfortable silence ensues as the group looks at Mitch, realizing the obvious. Busted.

MITCH:

I was drunk. Alright?

Tears stream down Julie's proud face, for the first time, Mitch is speechless. He looks like a car that won't start. Finally, he gets up and walks away.

LESTER:

Well, well, well. My man, Mitch. Mister girlfriend beater. What do you got to say now, b*tch?

Maguire and Turner enter. Maguire's got a big smile on his face.

J.Q.

How's Stawitzky?

DR. TURNER

He's going to make it.

J.Q.

How's it feel, Doc? Saving a life? Feels pretty good, doesn't it?

INT. MIKE'S ICU ROOM - DAY

CLOSE ON:

Monitor. Plink. Mike's blood pressure drops from 75 to 74. Mike is resting, eyes closed. Denise stands vigilantly by Mike's bedside. Reggie enters. Carrying an armload of medicine. He replaces the IV bag and starts to administer the meds. One after the other, Reggie injects them into the IV line, and Mike stirs.

DENISE:

What's that?

REGGIE:

Lasix. It's a diuretic to help get rid of some of the fluid build-up. But it's potassium sparing, so he needs this one to supplement.

DENISE:

And those?

REGGIE:

Dopamine. For his blood pressure. Dig for his heart. Primacor.

DENISE:

Gosh, it seems like so much.

REGGIE:

Yeah, it's a lot. This is antibiotic.

DENISE:

What for?

REGGIE:

It's prophylactic. Just in case. These two, I don't really know what they're for. Pain, maybe.

DENISE:

Pain?

REGGIE:

I don't know, Mrs. Archibald. I just do what they tell me.

Mike groans. He feels queasy and his mouth is bone dry.

MIKE:

I don't feel good.

REGGIE:

This is going to make you feel yucky for a few minutes, buddy. But I'm going to get you some of those crunchy ice chips to chew on. How does that sound?

Mike forces a smile, dips his head slightly. "Sounds good." Reggie leaves the room. Something catches Denise's eye. Down the Pediatric ICU, she sees the hospital chaplain again. There is a commotion. The parents are crying. And a sheet is pulled over her face of the now dead child. The chaplain tries to console the devastated mother, who screams as her child is wheeled out of the room.

MIKE:

Mom? Is Dad coming?

DENISE:

Yeah. He's coming.

MIKE:

Where is he?

Denise steals a final look at the parents overcome with grief.

DENISE:

I don't know, sweetheart. I don't know.

INT. EMERGENCY ROOM - TREATMENT AREA - DAY

Mitch is snooping around one of the treatment rooms, always careful to keep an eye on J.Q. He nearly jumps out of his skin when he sees the security guard standing next to him.

SECURITY GUARD:

What are you up to?

MITCH:

Never mind me. You're worthless. You know that? Some security guard. You should have zapped the bastard.

SECURITY GUARD:

With what? Besides, I'm not putting my neck on the line. Not for eight-fifty an hour.

Mitch reaches, pulls a cas cart closer. He carefully slides open a drawer, steals a sharp-edged scalpel, slips it into his pocket. Next he spots a spray top cannister marked Ethychloride.

SECURITY GUARD (CONT'D)

What the hell are you doing?

MITCH:

Looking out for number one.

SECURITY GUARD:

You want to stay alive? Sit tight and wait for the cavalry to get here.

MITCH:

Wake up, fat boy. The cops are coming in shooting. They don't give a sh*t about his kid. And as soon as he realizes that, we're history.

SECURITY GUARD:

Yeah? He finds out you got a scalpel, you're the one that's history, a**hole.

MITCH:

Really? He doesn't look so bad to me.

SECURITY GUARD:

Listen.

MITCH:

No, listen to me, you stupid rent-a-cop. I'm not a slob. I've got a life, and it means something to me. I'm not dying in this shithole.

INT. EMERGENCY ROOM - DAY

The vending machines have been jimmied open and a huge pile of candy bars and soda cans sit on the waiting room table. Everybody is chowing down.

J.Q.

The thing I don't understand is why no one caught it before. Mike had check ups every year since the day he was born. Why didn't his doctors pick it up?

DR. TURNER

Was he ever diagnosed with a murmur?

J.Q.

Yeah, he was. About a week after he was born. But his doctor said that was normal. That it happens all the time.

DR. TURNER

He might not have been tested thoroughly enough.

J.Q.

Why not?

MAGUIRE:

You got an HMO, right? There's your answer. HMO's pay their doctors not to test. Their way of keeping costs down. Let's say Mike needed additional testing, insurance says they won't cover them. The doctor keeps his mouth shut and no one's the wiser. Little Mike falls through the cracks, and come Christmas, the HMO sends the doc a big, fat bonus check. J.Q. looks at Turner.

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