Lethal Weapon Page #11

Riggs looks to Trish.

TRISH:

(across the room)

You two are so hilarious I could

bust.

Riggs leans forward.

RIGGS:

Roger.

MURTAUGH:

Yeah.

RIGGS:

That hooker who witnessed the

jump the other night. What was

her name?

MURTAUGH:

Dixie.

CARRIE:

What's a hooker?

MURTAUGH:

Shh, quiet, I'm combatting crime.

NICK:

A hooker is a ...

RIGGS:

(interrupts)

Right, and she's in Century City

witnessing Amanda Hunsaker's suicide

MURTAUGH:

or murder -

RIGGS:

right, or murder, and my question

is... what is she doing there? I

called Wilshire Vice, that's not

her usual turf.

MURTAUGH:

Wow.

(beat)

Wow. That's really reaching.

RIGGS:

Cut me a break, it's a hunch, Roger.

I'm having a hunch.

MURTAUGH:

You couldn't have it at home, you

had to come here at 7:30 A.M. and

have it.

RIGGS:

7:
35, and yes, I thought you'd be

excited.

MURTAUGH:

I'm thrilled.

(pause)

Okay.

RIGGS:

Okay, what?

MURTAUGH:

Okay, go for it. I'm listening.

CUT TO:

73 INT. OUTDOOR FIRING PANGE - DAY 73

Riggs and Murtaugh stand on line at the range. Around

them the echoing BOOM of gunshots fills the morning air.

They struggle to be heard over the tumult:

MURTAUGH:

We know someone was in bed with

Amanda Lloyd the night she died.

RIGGS:

Right. 'Til now we assumed it was

a man.

MURTAUGH:

Okay. Let's say it was Dixie.

RIGGS:

Okay. Disgusting, but okay: Let's

say Dixie slipped the drain cleaner

into the pills.

MURTAUGH:

Say someone paid her to do it.

RIGGS:

Sure. She thinks, terrific, Amanda

swallows a couple downers and boom,

she's dead. Then Dixie -

MURTAUGH:

If it was her -

RIGGS:

Right, right, then Dixie has

plenty of time to spritz the place

up, get out, whatever.

MURTAUGH:

Except Amanda jumps out the window.

RIGGS:

Or Dixie pushes her. Either way

MURTAUGH:

Either way, she's gotta make a

fast getaway, 'cause now the

body's public. She hauls ass

downstairs.

RIGGS:

People are coming out to see what

happened.

MURTAUGH:

Someone spots her. She says 'sh*t.'

RIGGS:

Right. She actually stops and

says, 'Sh*t.'

MURTAUGH:

Or, 'Damn.'

RIGGS:

Or 'Golly, I've been spotted.'

The point being -

MURTAUGH:

The point being, now she has to

cover her ass.

RIGGS:

Right. So she says, 'Officer,

officer, I saw the whole thing.'

MURTAUGH:

Right.

RIGGS:

Right.

MURTAUGH:

(sighs)

That's pretty f***ing thin.

RIGGS:

Very thin.

MURTAUGH:

(smiles)

Hell with it. Thin's my middle

name.

RIGGS:

Your wife's cooking, I'm not

surprised.

MURTAUGH:

Would you lay off the cooking?

RIGGS:

Tell her that.

Riggs steps to the line. Draws the Beretta, fires off

a full clip. Three-shot rhythms, two in the chest, one

in the head, two in the chest, one in the head.

Removes the magazines lovingly snaps in a new one.

MURTAUGH:

You sleep with that thing under

your pillow?

RIGGS:

I would if I slept.

MURTAUGH:

Here, stand back.

Murtaugh steps to the red line. Stretches. Cracks his

neck. Shifts from foot to foot. Finally steadies himself.

A moment then:
He cross-draws with lightning

swiftness. -- BANG -- ! The REPORT is DEAFENING. The

target grows a neat third eye. Perfect shot. Dead

center. Murtaugh grins, holsters his gun.

MURTAUGH:

Hey-hey. Would'ja look at that?

Pretty good for an old man.

Riggs shrugs. Draws. FIRES. He isn't even looking.

Nonetheless. -- He puts a magnum round right through

the hole made by Murtaugh's .38. The hole gets .60

inches wider. Murtaugh scowls.

MURTAUGH:

Yeah, yeah. Eat me.

He stalks away, pissed off.

74 OMITTED 74

75 EXT. WEST L.A. STREET - MORNING 75

Murtaugh's car glides up to the curb. In front of a

row of neat frame houses. Old neighborhood. Late model

cars. A LITTLE black KID playing on the sidewalk.

The two cops get out, stride toward a cottage set back

from the street. They pass the Little Kid who is playing

with a plastic bucket and a headless Star Wars figure.

RIGGS:

Hey, kid. What'cha doing?

The Kid grins, obviously pleased with himself.

LITTLE KID:

I put this on top and it fall

down.

He demonstrates. He puts it on top. It falls down. He

grins happily. Riggs shakes his head.

RIGGS:

Good thinking.

They keep walking. Toward the cottage.

MURTAUGH:

Very thin.

RIGGS:

Probably nothing.

They mount the steps to the walk. As they do -- The

HOUSE suddenly EXPLODES. It BLOWS APART concussively.

There is a flash of light, a loud, flat BANG --! And the

thing tears to pieces. Glass blows out. Wood sprays.

Flying shrapnel. A wall of flame. Riggs hits the dirt,

smothering the Little black Kid. Murtaugh dives for cover

behind a telephone pole. A piece of shrapnel imbeds itself;

right next to his head. Carnage. Noise. The

tumult slowly begins to fade. Echoes. Flames rage to

the sky. Smoke rolls. Beams collapse. The cottage is

no more. Murtaugh climbs to his feet, dazed; stares at

the rubble. Looks over toward Riggs, who is getting

up off the Kid. The Kid is shaken, but unhurt.

MURTAUGH:

Hey.

Riggs turns.

MURTAUGH:

You're on fire.

Riggs looks. The back of his coat is completely ablaze.

RIGGS:

Sh*t.

He takes it off, flings it aside.

Goes up to Murtaugh-Lights a cigarette.

RIGGS:

Probably nothing.

MURTAUGH:

Thin. Very thin.

76 EXT. BURNED-OUT COTTAGE - LATER 76

Cops prowl through the gutted remains. Charred and

black. Nothing left. A body goes by on a stretcher.

MURTAUGH stops it.

MURTAUGH:

Ho.

(he looks under

the sheet)

Jesus.

ATTENDANT:

We're hoping to find some teeth.

in there. Otherwise, could be

anybody. Black, white ... Could

be a f***in' bowl of soup, for

all we -

MURTAUGH:

Okay, okay.

The stretcher continues toward the waiting truck.

Murtaugh looks off, whispers:

MURTAUGH:

Bye-bye, Dixie.

77 ANOTHER ANGLE 77

Martin Riggs is examining a twisted hunk of metal as

Murtaugh walks up beside him.

MURTAUGH:

What'cha got?

RIGGS:

Part of the device.

(beat)

Holy cow.

MURTAUGH:

What?

RIGGS:

Artwork. This is goddamn artwork.

MURTAUGH:

Swell. I'm glad you liked it.

RIGGS:

You don't understand. This is real

pro stuff. Haven't seen this since ...

well, since the war.

MURTAUGH:

Come again?

RIGGS:

C.I.A. used to hire mercs who used

this same setup. Mercury switches.

Murtaugh frowns. A PATROL COP taps him on the shoulder.

PATROL COP:

Sir, I think you'd better come

with me.

Riggs-and Murtaugh exchange glances. They move off,

across the street.

78 EXT. STREET - BACK OF FIRE TRUCK 78

Riggs and Murtaugh stand by the rear of the truck. A

CONSTRUCTION CREW watches from behind, heavy equipment

idling softly. Next to them sits the little blackkid

from earlier, coloring with crayons. His mother

hovers ...

COP:

Okay, here it is. The little kid

says he saw someone working on

the meter this morning.

MURTAUGH:

Where?

COP:

Across the street at Dixie's. He

was playin' some kind of game,

hidin' under the stairs. Says he

saw the guy pretty good.

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