Men in Black

EXT. ROAD - TEXAS/MEXICO BORDER - NIGHT

A million stars wink in the night desert sky. Down here on

earth, an insect, one of those big, beautiful, multicolored

four-winged jobs, glides effortlessly on the breeze, wafting

along through the crisp Texas air.

The insect dips, it banks, it does loop-the-loops -- and

then SPLATS unceremoniously against the windshield of a white

van that's tearing down the road.

INT. VAN - TEXAS/MEXICO BORDER - NIGHT

The DRIVER of the van, a fifty-year-old American, turns on

the wipers, smearing the remains all over.

DRIVER:

Goddamn bugs.

He squirts some wiper fluid onto the glass, which clears it

up a bit, but now he sees something worse up ahead. It's a

grouping of headlights, eight of them, all pointed at him,

sealing off the road.

He bites his lip and calls over his shoulder, to the back of

the van. He speaks in Spanish, which is subtitled.

DRIVER:

Deja me hablar.

(Let me do the talking.)

EXT. ROAD - TEXAS/MEXICO BORDER - NIGHT

The van slows to a stop in front of the parked cars, all

government-issue four doors with "INS" stenciled on the sides.

Seven or eight INS AGENTS stand in front of the cars

imposingly. Their apparent leader steps forward and comes to

the window.

The DRIVER rolls it down. AGENT JANUS, blonde-haired, blue-

eyed, also government issue, looks at him and sighs.

AGENT JANUS:

Well. Nick the Dick. What a surprise.

Where you comin' from?

DRIVER:

I was fishing in Cuernavaca.

AGENT JANUS:

Sure you were. What do you say we

have a look at your catch?

AT THE BACK OF THE VAN,

the Agents fling open the rear doors, revealing a DOZEN

FRIGHTENED MEXICANS, hopeful immigrants without official

permission. Agent Janus looks at the Driver, who's now held

by two other Agents, and shakes his head.

AGENT JANUS:

Me, I woulda thrown 'em back.

(to the passengers,

in Spanish)

Vamanos. Fuera. Hagan una lina!

(Let's go. Out. Form

a line!)

They pile out of the van. Some are parents with small

children.

AGENT JANUS:

What do you get, Nick? Hundred bucks

a head? Two hundred? I hope you saved

it all for your lawyer, pal, 'cause

you're gonna need --

He stops in the middle of his sentence, as another car is

approaching, fast, its engine WHINING as it barrels down the

road toward them. Several Agents pull their weapons.

The new car pulls a hard right, goes off the road, spins

around the INS cars, and SQUEALS to a sideways halt,

silhouetted in front of their headlights. It's a boxy, black

1986 Ford LTD.

TWO MEN get out, dressed in plain black suits, crisp white

shirts, simple black ties, shiny black shoes. KAY, fiftyish,

is the apotheosis of world-weary; his partner, DEE, mid-

sixties, is just weary. They approach the INS agents.

KAY:

We'll take it from here.

AGENT JANUS:

Who the hell are you?

Kay and Dee flash some form of ID.

KAY:

INS Division 6.

AGENT JANUS:

Division 6? I never heard of Division

6.

KAY:

Really?

Kay and Dee move past him and approach the row of nervous

immigrants.

KAY:

What're we thinking, Dee?

DEE:

Tough call, Kay.

He walks down the row, studying the faces, greeting each one

cheerily in Spanish.

KAY:

!Oye! Que pasa, coma estas? Hey!

(What's up, how are

you?)

No se preocupe, abuela. Bienvenida a

los Estados Unidos.

(Don't worry grandma.

Welcome to the United

States.)

(next)

A donde vas? San Antonio? Buscando

trabajo, no? Buena suerta.

(Where are you going?

San Antonio? Looking

for work, aren't

you? Good luck.)

(next)

Es un placer verle aqui.

(It's a pleasure seeing

you here.)

One by one, their faces relax, reassured by Kay's calm

demeanor. When he reaches the fifth Guy, he keeps the same

cheery tone, but:

KAY:

Que dices si te rompo la cara?

(What do you say if I

break your face?)

The Guy smiles and nods. Kay stops. His own smile broadens

and he drops a hand on the Guy's shoulder.

KAY:

No hablas ni una palabra del Espanol,

verdad, amigo?

(You don't speak a

word of Spanish,

right, friend?)

Again, the Guy smiles and nods. Kay looks back at Dee.

KAY:

We got a winner.

(to the others)

Los restos estan libres a irse.

Largense!

(The rest of you are

free to go. Scram!)

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