Made Page #15

BOBBY:

No. Just the cross streets.

JIMMY:

Well, this is the corner.

The limo settles on a desolate street in Harlem. There is

nothing going on.

JIMMY:

I can wait around if you want.

BOBBY:

No. That's cool, man.

They get out and the limo leaves.

EXT. STREET CORNER - HARLEM - NIGHT - CONTINUOUS

They stand outside. They look awful. They look with curiosity

as cars pass. Ricky lights a cigarette.

RICKY:

What exactly did they say?

BOBBY:

They said a hundred thirty-fifth and

Twelfth.

RICKY:

They didn't say an address?

BOBBY:

I told you what they said.

RICKY:

Nothing else.

BOBBY:

Nothing.

RICKY:

How'd they know who you were?

BOBBY:

They asked who it was.

RICKY:

So they said more than the address.

BOBBY:

No. They asked who I was, then told

me what corner.

RICKY:

This is bullshit, man.

BOBBY:

What the f*** do you...

A BROUGHAM slowly passes. They pause. It goes.

BOBBY:

What the f*** do you have to complain

about?

RICKY:

Don't even start.

BOBBY:

No. Tell me. What's so f***ing

horrible about this gig? You've been

crawling up my ass for six months to

get your name on Maxie's list, and

here we are.

RICKY:

Look, man, I never met Ruiz, okay?

I don't know what the f*** I'm picking

up, what the f*** I'm dropping off,

who the f*** I'm meeting. All I know

is Maxie's still pissed at me cause

I sold his f***ing van.

BOBBY:

You sold it? I thought they stole

it.

RICKY:

Sold it, stole it, whatever...

BOBBY:

Motherf***er...

RICKY:

Oh, give me a break. Don't tell me

you feel bad for the guy.

BOBBY:

You gotta be kidding me. I vouched

for you.

RICKY:

Relax. I'll do right by him. You

know that.

BOBBY:

You just don't f***ing get it, do

you?

RICKY:

You know he fucks all his girls,

don't you?

BOBBY:

What the f*** is that supposed --

RICKY:

I mean, that's what I heard --

BOBBY:

You got something to say --

Bobby grabs him, and is about to start another scrap, when

the distant roar of a fleet of JAPANESE SUPER BIKES draws

near. The pack screams up to the duo.

There are a dozen black men, on Ninjas, and they all wear

black Nazi-style helmets.

The two men freeze, and the bikes settle in around them.

One BIKER pulls up to Bobby.

BIKER:

They flew you all the way out here

to cook me up some f***in puttanesca?

Bobby recognizes the biker is Horrace, from LA. He is

relieved, but not pleased.

RICKY:

You know this guy?

BOBBY:

His names Horrace. Horrace, this is

Ricky Slade.

HORRACE:

What's up. You all ready to meet

Ruiz?

BOBBY:

Yeah. Where is he?

Horrace throws him a helmet.

CUT TO:

EXT. HARLEM STREETS - MANHATTAN - NIGHT

Bobby now rides b*tch behind Ho, and Ricky clutches the back

of a buff shirtless BROTHER. The bikes rip down the uptown

streets with a ferocity that scares pedestrians. An urban

drum track rattles the SOUNDTRACK.

EXT. LITTLE ITALY - MANHATTAN - NIGHT

The horde of bikers rumble under a red, white, and green

banner strung from street lamps marking the start of Italian

turf. The businesses are all closed or closing.

Looks are drawn from locals as the outsiders chug by at a

respectful trawl.

EXT. LUNA RESTAURANT - LITTLE ITALY - NIGHT

The pack pulls away leaving only Bobby, Ricky, and Horrace.

Ho leans his Ninja to rest next to a custom Buell Harley-

Davidson cafe racer.

Bobby can't help but stare at the rare piece of machinery.

They enter.

INT. LUNA RESTAURANT - LITTLE ITALY - CONTINUOUS

The restaurant is now closed, but RUIZ sits in a rear booth

on a Nokia. He is a slim, young black man with a tight round

fro. He wears a rolex, but, other than that, nothing flashy.

He's wearing dark Gucci slacks, a black pullover crew-neck

shirt, and a black, red and orange racing leather jacket. He

must have pull here, because 'Between the Sheets' is playing

over the stereo of this bare-bones, Italian eatery.

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