Militia Page #3

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The men unroll duffel bags from their lockers and pack as

much of what's in them into the bags.

Gannon steps to a set of metal blinds, puts a key into a

lock and turns. Pulls down on the chain and raises the blinds.

A line of twenty-five automatic AR-15 rifles.

Each marked with a duct tape number, '1' through '25.'

Gannon grabs '1' and puts it in a duffel. '2'.'3'. His eyes

hit the end of the gun row. He stops. We see it...

12.

'18'...

Gone.

GANNON:

One's missing.

The men freeze. Olsen looks over Gannon's shoulder and sees

the MISSING AR-15. Turns to the room.

OLSEN:

Who's got eighteen?

The militia members trade glances with one another. Frozen.

Olsen looks back at Gannon, motions to a chest next to the

weapons rack. Gannon opens it: a pile of kevlar vests...

OLSEN (CONT'D)

How many?

GANNON:

One less than we're supposed to.

OLSEN:

Grenades?

Gannon looks over the militia. Trying to find an even halfway

guilty expression on one of the men's faces.

GANNON:

Safe to assume we're several short.

All remain stone faced.

OLSEN:

One of you did it. Man the f*** up

and say you did, or I'm gonna radio

the cops and give them our location.

Gannon watches Olsen, gauging his sincerity.

MORRIS:

What the f***, Olsen?

OLSEN:

If I don't give up who did this and

the cops find us, they'll kill

everyone here. Do not think I'm

f***ing with you.

(to Morris)

Where were you?

MORRIS:

McNeil's bar. Left twenty minutes

ago.

13.

OLSEN:

Got a bill?

MORRIS:

Paid cash. Left the tip.

Morris hears how guilty he sounds. Olsen lets him. Turns to

Hubbel...

OLSEN:

Where were you?

HUBBEL:

On a hunt.

OLSEN:

Prove it.

HUBBEL:

There's a still warm eight point

buck in my truck bed.

OLSEN:

(to Keating)

Where were you? F***in' sign or

something.

Nothing. Olsen turns to Noah. Asks with his eyes.

NOAH:

I was at the range. The guy working

sold me like, a hundred rounds maybe

about thirty minutes ago. I mean,

he's probably still there.

Olsen looks out at the militia, waiting for one of them to

give any indication of guilt, when we hear...

MORRIS (O.S.)

And you?

We see Morris, talking to...Gannon.

MORRIS (CONT'D)

How do we know it's not you?

Olsen directs his attention at Gannon. Gannon watches Morris.

MORRIS (CONT'D)

How're we sure this isn't some f***ed

up 'ex-cop attacks his own' sh*t?

The militia STARES at Gannon. An ex-cop.

14.

GANNON:

I was hunting. Truck's outside.

MORRIS:

So's mine. So what?

GANNON:

I'm not gonna prove my innocence to

you-

OLSEN:

Answer the question.

Gannon peers at Olsen, having realized the suspicion on him

has gone from ridiculous to sincere. He turns back to Morris.

GANNON:

I'm assuming you've hunted once in

your life and know that kill bleeds

out in the truck bed. Go look in

mine and you'll see a pool of blood

I haven't hosed yet.

MORRIS:

Both you and Hubbel have dead game

in your truck? Little convenient?

GANNON:

It's deer season. So, no.

MORRIS:

Then what's your point? You're not a

suspect cause your car's covered in

blood?

GANNON:

'Cause the blood isn't dry.

(beat)

If I was gonna kill a bunch of cops

and then come back here, it'd probably

be 'cause I didn't want to get caught,

and if I didn't want to get caught I

wouldn't have left a bunch of blood

in my bed, and if I wanted to kill a

bunch of cops and get away with it,

why would I put a bunch of dead ones

in my truck bed?

Beat. The point lands with Olsen. Morris scrambles to keep

the spotlight on Gannon.

MORRIS:

Doesn't mean you didn't do that to

cover up

15.

Olsen bristles...

OLSEN:

Enough.--

BECKMANN:

Wait, how do we know some tweaker

didn't break in and steal the gun?

NOAH:

(sincere)

Well, it's locked.

Morris stays on it...

MORRIS:

It makes perfect sense. An ex-cop

hermit livin in the woods, snaps--

OLSEN:

--That's enough.-

MORRIS:

--And all of a sudden there's a

shooting and his bullshit cover is

he's hunting-

OLSEN:

--I said that's enough-

MORRIS:

--And we're the ones left finding a

reason to explain why the f*** we

even let him in here in the f***ing

first plac-

OLSEN:

--Because four militia's went down

in the past four f***ing years by

infiltrating U.C's, and their main

interrogator...

(re Gannon)

The only one who could smell an

undercover cop and keep us clean,

let's me not have to worry about

that. Now unless you have something

to say that's of any use, would you

mind shutting the f*** up?

Quiet. Morris backs down.

OLSEN (CONT'D)

No one's going anywhere until I find

out who did it.

16.

BECKMANN:

All right. How...are you planning on

doing that?

Olsen turns around to Gannon...

OLSEN:

You're gonna question them.

Gannon tightens up. The room looks at him in silence. Morris

stifles a laugh. Then sees the sincerity on Olsen's face.

GANNON:

What?

OLSEN:

The only option we got is proving

that we are innocent. That tonight

was a lone gunman.

GANNON:

And if I say no?

OLSEN:

Then all of us are going to war just

'cause one of us is out of his mind.

Gannon surveys the members in the room. The standing militia.

He lands on NOAH. Scrutinizing.

GANNON:

I need a baseline.

INT. OLSEN'S OFFICE - MOMENTS LATER

Gannon sits in a chair opposite Morris in a small, single

fluorescent lit office room. Just the two of them.

GANNON:

Height?

Morris sits there STARING at Gannon. Hate in his eyes.

MORRIS:

F*** you.

Gannon watches Morris's posture. His hand gestures.

GANNON:

Weight?

MORRIS:

F*** you.

17.

GANNON:

Did you do it, Morris?

Morris's POINTER FINGER FIDGETS. Barely. Gannon sees it.

MORRIS:

F***. You.

GANNON:

What state do you live in?

JUMP CUT:

HUBBEL. In the chair opposite Gannon.

HUBBEL:

Michigan.

GANNON:

How tall are you?

HUBBEL:

Five-eight.

Gannon eyeballs him. Hubbel is at least six-three.

GANNON:

When's the last time you measured

yourself?

HUBBEL:

Mrs. Wilson's class.

JUMP CUT:

KEATING now sits across from Gannon. Silent.

GANNON:

When's your birthday, Keating?

Keating remains SILENT. Gannon gets nothing from him.

GANNON (CONT'D)

Did you do it, Keating?

Keating's LEFT EYELID barely flinches...

GANNON (CONT'D)

Where were you before this?

NOAH (O.S.)

I was at the range.

JUMP CUT:

18.

NOAH. In the chair opposite Gannon. His tone, noticeably, a

little more sure of himself...

GANNON:

What time you get there?

NOAH:

I don't know, 4:
30 maybe? I didn't

look at the clock.

GANNON:

Why didn't you respond to my text?

NOAH:

I didn't have my phone, Gannon.

GANNON:

Does anyone in this militia know

you're a cop?

Noah looks up. FEAR in his eyes...

FLASHCUT:

A younger, cleaner Gannon stands with Noah. Both of them

smiling in a picture...

In police uniforms.

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