Made Page #18

Their hands are stamped several times representing the highest

level of security clearance. They file down a staircase and

into one common area where hip-hop plays and people dance.

Ruiz and Horrace touch hands with an endless stream of

ACQUAINTANCES. They pass a myriad of rooms and seating areas,

then down a narrow corridor where they encounter yet another

DOORMAN who waves them past a CLUMP of VIP hopefuls. They

trot down a short bank of stairs and into...

INT. VIP AREA - SPA - CONTINUOUS

...a series of passageways furnished like a French parlor.

Lithe MODELS sit amongst Dreadlocked white boys. After yet

another bar, the crowd vomits into a cavernous bomb shelter.

A pulsing dance floor is surrounded by a series of couches

and coffee tables, representing the private seating areas.

At the far end of the room is an elevated stage with a DJ

and a banner reading 'GRANDMASTER FLASH'. The party is greeted

by a male club PROMOTER. He hugs Ruiz. With the slightest of

nods, the party is lead to the prime table with a table tent

marked 'RESERVED.' They sit down as a beautiful MODEL/WAITRESS

brings two buckets of champagne and fluted glasses. Bobby

and Ricky try to hide how impressed they are as they look at

each other. GIRLS on the dance floor throw priceless looks

toward their table. Ricky raises a glass to one. Ruiz finally

looks at them and leans in. He's spotted someone.

RUIZ:

That's him. Now you all know the

drill, right?

BOBBY:

What drill?

RICKY:

We don't know any drill. Nobody told

us anything.

RUIZ:

Maxie told you to keep your mouth

shut while you're working, right?

BOBBY:

Yeah.

RICKY:

So we're working?

RUIZ:

What the f*** you think, I wanna

'hang' with you motherfuckers? Yeah

you're working. And put down the

champagne.

RICKY:

She poured it for --

RUIZ:

Far as she knows you're John Gotti.

Now put the sh*t down and act like

you got some ass.

Ruiz gets up and crosses to a BRITISH looking GUY across the

room. They watch.

BOBBY:

He making the drop?

HORRACE:

Nah, man. He's just making contact.

That's our man. The Welsh guy.

BOBBY:

What's his name?

HORRACE:

Ruiz don't like using names on cell

phones. He refers to him as the Red

Dragon.

BOBBY:

So, when's the drop.

HORRACE:

To be honest, man, I don't know sh*t

either. All I know is it ain't drugs

and it ain't now.

RICKY:

How do you know it's not drugs?

HORRACE:

Maxie knows I don't go near drugs. I

did a minute in Quentin for possession

with intent. And it ain't now cause

he woulda told me.

RICKY:

You strapped?

HORRACE:

(confused)

'Strapped?'

RICKY:

It means you got a gun?

HORRACE:

I know what 'strapped' means,

motherf***er. What the f*** you think

this sh*t is? '21 Jump Street?'

(notices)

Cool out, they're coming back. Just

throw up your screw face and don't

speak unless spoken to.

They settle in and Ruiz comes back with the WELSHMAN. They're

both laughing.

RUIZ:

Here, man, sit down.

WELSHMAN:

(breaking the tension)

I see you brought along the rogues

gallery.

RUIZ:

Not really. Just some friends from

out West. This is Ho, Bobby, and

Rick.

He shakes their hands, keeping it light.

WELSHMAN:

And here I thought you flew in some

out of town muscle. How's it going,

men?

RICKY:

So, you must be the Red Dragon.

This draws GLARES from Ruiz, Ho, and especially Bobby. After

an uncomfortable pause, the Welshman breaks the tension with

laughter.

WELSHMAN:

Well, that's news to me. The name's

Tom.

RICKY:

Mmmm-hmm. Where's the, uh, 'Dragon's

lair?' Where do you live?

WELSHMAN:

Edinburgh.

RICKY:

And where might that be?

WELSHMAN:

Scotland.

RICKY:

Well, word on the street is you're

Welsh.

WELSHMAN:

I am.

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