Lethal Weapon Page #3

TRISH:

Whatever.

(beat)

Honey?

(as he stops)

How come I never heard of Dick

Lloyd?

MURTAUGH:

I never talked about him.

TRISH:

Oh.

(beat)

Vietnam buddy?

MURTAUGH:

Yeah. Vietnam buddy.

He exits the kitchen, crosses the entrance hall. Stops,

noticing Rickles the cat, who is happily munching on the

remains of Roger's birthday cake.

MURTAUGH:

Hey.

He swats it aside. Pauses, his gaze lingering on the

silent message which gnaws at his guts.

THE BIG 50 ...

He comes out the front door. Flicks off the Christmas

lights, crosses to the car. Looks up, and sees --his

oldest daughter Rianne. Jogging past. She wears an

adorable pair of dolphin shorts. Walkman headphones.

She waves.

RIANNE:

'Bye, Daddy.

He waves.

MURTAUGH:

(shakes his head)

Goddamn heartbreaker. She's a

heartbreaker.

CUT TO:

13 SERIES OF SHOTS - RIGGS GETTING DRESSED 13

Riggs enters the living room, naked. Scars on his back,

the kind you get from knives. Runs a hand through limp

hair. Turns on the lamp. As he does --the TELEVISION

also springs to life; hooked to the same circuit. Pops

three aspirin from a bottle. Chews thein.

Opens a bag of peanuts, throws it to the big Lab, who

gobbles them down.

Eats a sandwich, standing in the middle of his apartment.

'Looking at the floor. What a lonely f***ing guy ...

Straps on his gun. .9 millimeter Beretta, if it matters.

Throws on a jacket. Downs a shot of whiskey. Pauses,

looking at a photograph on the wall. Riggs, much younger,

along with a pretty and vivacious woman in a wedding gown:

his wife. Stares at the photograph. His fingers twirl

the whiskey glass with completely unconscious skill.

Tense. Tense ... twirling the glass ... RICHARD DAWSON

DRONES from the TV (our survey says -- !). Riggs slings

the shotglass. Dead center, SHATTERING the TV SCREEN.

CUT TO:

14 INT. POLICE FIRING PANGE - MORNING 14

Targets:
Human silhouettes with kill zones numbered.

Murtaugh enters. Sheds his coat, unholsters the .38.

Steps to the red line. Shifts. Stretches. Cracks his

neck. This is a ritual for him. He stops to examine his

right hand, holding it steady before his eyes. Except

there is a slight tremble. Tiny, but it's there. He

frowns. Braces himself: Cross-draws with lightning

swiftness. -- BAM! -- The sound is DEAFENING in the

closed room. A neat round hole appears in the target.

Perfect shot:
a neat third eye. Murtaugh smiles.

Holsters his gun. Puts on his coat -- and sings softly

to himself:

MURTAUGH:

Happy birthday to me ...

CUT TO:

15 INT. CAR - DAY 15

Sergeant Martin Riggs is driving. He looks like he

hasn't slept. He certainly hasn't shaved. The DISPATCH

RADIO SQUAWKS. He turns down the MUSIC from the car

radio and hears:

DISPATCHER (V.0.)

All units in the vicinity and

Fourteen X-ray thirty-one,

shooting in progress at Venice

Beach, Washington and Navy.

Three victims down, PA en route

Fourteen X-ray thirty-one, handle

code three.

Riggs hits the gas pedal and PEELS OUT.

CUT TO:

16 EXT. CENTURY CITY PARKING LOT -MORNING 16

The sky threatens rain.

awakens.

Cars buzz by as the city

A section of the parking lot is cordoned off by yellow

streamers which read: POLICE LINE - DO NOT CROSS, and

as we watch, a black and white patrol car pulls up,

admitting two beat COPS and a young hooker. Her name

is DIXIE, and she is not happy.

DIXIE:

Can I stay in the car?

No.

COP #1

DIXIE:

Aw, cut me a break. I

already:
she came out

balcony -told

youon the

COP #1

(points)

That balcony ... ?

DIXIE:

-- No, the Chandler f***ing

Pavillion, of course that f***ing

balcony, and then slie jumped, and

then I puked in a trash can. Can

I go now?

COP #1

Not 'til you talk to the Sarge.

Terrific.

DIXIEWhere the hell is he?

17 INT. MURTAUGH'S CAR 17

The sarge drives up and gets out. A BEAT COP Toes by.

BEAT COP:

Happy 50th, Rog.

F*** you.

MURTAUGH:

He crosses to the two Cops and Dixie.

Hey,

COP #2Sarge.

MURTAUGH:

'Morning, Phil. Get some rain,

looks like.

(beat)

Hey, Dixie. Nice threads.

DIXIE:

Hey, Murtaugh. Tell these bozos

to lay Off.

MURTAUGH:

You. Bozos. Lay off.

COP #1

Had a jumper last night, Sarge.

Dixie here was walking by, saw

the whole thing.

MURTAUGH:

You got a statement? Send her

home.

DIXIE:

Thanks, Rog. I'm beat, you know

how it is.

MURTAUGH:

Sure.

(points to her

outfit)

All dressed up and no one to blow.

DIXIE:

You're hilarious.

She exits. Cop #2 escorts Murtaugh across the parking

lot.

COP #2

Nice wholesome girl. She got a

new job, you know.

MURTAUGH:

What's that?

COP #2

County ceiling inspector.

(beat)

So. Fifty years old, huh?

MURTAUGH:

Eat me.

They stop next to the Porsche. Murtaugh grimaces.

COP #2

Name is Amanda Lloyd, age twentytwo,

prostitute, one arrest, no

convictions. Born Tennessee,

parents -MURTAUGH

What was the name?

COP #2.

Lloyd. Amanda Lloyd.

her ... ?

You know

Murtaugh looks stunned. He speaks very slowly:

MURTAUGH:

I knew her dad.

COP #2

Jesus.

(an awkward pause)

Vehicle is registered to her. She

landed right on top of her own car.

MURTAUGH:

Find out who bought it for her.

Her sugar daddy.

COP #2

Take some looking into.

So look.

MURTAUGH:

CUT TO:

18 OMITTED

19 INT. AMANDA LLOYD'S APARTMENT - DAY 19

Murtaugh stares at the photograph we saw earlier. The

two soldiers. One, we can assume, is Dick Lloyd. The

other is Murtaugh. Younger, trimmer. He speaks into

the phone.

MURTAUGH:

Hello, honey ... ? Give me the

number for Dick Lloyd. What ... ?

Yes, the man who called me this

morning. His daughter just took

a dive out a window.

19A EXT. CHRISTMAS TREE LOT -DAY 19A

Martin Riggs and three lot employees are gathered around

the liftgate of a truck bearing a load of Christmas trees.

The truck shields them from the view of customers picking

out trees in the lot.

The lot employees are actually DRUG DEALERS. They look

around nervously in all directions as Riggs tastes a

sample of their wares.

RIGGS:

Good stuff.

DRUG DEALER ONE:

You better f***in' believe it.

RIGGS:

Okay. Let's do it. How much?

DRUG DEALER TWO:

How much for how much?

RIGGS:

For all of it.

DRUG DEALER THREE

You want it all?

RIGGS:

Yeah.

(glances at

the trees)

And maybe a nice big six-footer

to put it under.

DRUG DEALER ONE:

The tree you can have for nuthin'.

But the sh*t is gonna run you a

hundred.

Riggs lets out a soft whistle at the amount.

RIGGS:

That much, huh?

(digs into

his pocket)

Okay. Let's see what I got.

He pulls out a roll of money and begins to count it out

in twenties and small bills.

RIGGS:

Twenty, forty, sixty -

The Drug Dealers exchange dumbfounded expressions.

DRUG DEALER ONE:

Hey, man. Hey!

RIGGS:

Wait, wait ... shutup. I'm

losin count. Where was I? Oh,

yeah...

(continues to

peel off the

bills)

... Eight, ninety, ninety-five,

ninety-six, ninety-seven...

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