Mimic Page #6

DAVIS:

Bug's almost dead anyway.

Susan holds out two five dollar bills. The boys can't

resist. Davis grabs the money-

DAVIS:

Thanks, lady.

Ricky gives a last possessive look to the shoe box, then

follows Davis out.

Siri crosses to the window and wrestles to close it.

SIRI:

Ten dollars?

Susan places all the kid's items -including the shoebox- in

a wastebasket.

SUSAN:

Alphabet City kids- there's much worse

things they could be selling.

Siri hits the window frame with a paperweight, gets it half

way down.

SIRI:

I hate this f***ing window...

EXT. ACROSS STREET FROM MUSEUM - NIGHTFALL

CRANE TO a nearby alley.

A GAUNT MAN IN AN OVERCOAT stands in the shadows, looking up

at Siri working on the window.

As a streetlamp lights up, he backs up into the shadows.

CUT TO:

INT. FLOPHOUSE. LOBBY - NIGHTFALL

Religious slogans and posters are hung everywhere in what

used to be the lobby of a men's hotel. A hand-lettered sign:

"NO LIQUOR, NO DRUGS, NO PROFANITY"

PARAMEDICS are leading a number of ill CHINESE IMMIGRANTS up

from the cellar door seen earlier. Many are brought out on

STRETCHERS. DOH staff put tags on their wrists.

Peter examines a PALE OLD MAN on a stretcher while

simultaneously talking to Josh.

PETER:

(to Josh)

There's plenty of systemic infection

already, so as soon as we get a

preliminary reading, start them on

anti-biotics. You saw this?

Peter flicks on his penlight, examines the Old Man's eyes.

One of them is completely bloodshot. Then he shows Josh

the gums. They're bleeding.

PETER:

Internal hemorrage. 2 our of 5 have

it. No definite signs of TB, but we'll

quarantine them a week just to make sure.

JOSH:

Immigration's gonna love you for that.

PETER:

Tell them to send flowers to the

usual address.

INT. SWEAT SHOP. BASEMENT

Peter pushes back a sheet hung across a doorway.

BASEMENT SHOWERS

A tiled nightmare. Concentration camp-cozy. A pile of old,

rusting sewing machines clutter the floor, spilling

oxide to a central grate.

JOSH:

Two shifts, people rotating from bed to

work. One toilet. We're in Wal-Mart

hell, here.

Josh swats a fly.

PETER:

Did they get the sleazebag who owns this

place?

JOSH:

Triad, Chinese Mafia. They bring people

from Yunan. Slave labor...

(eyes his notebook)

Reverend Harry Wong, a preacher had the

flophouse fronting for them. No sign of

him.

An overhead door is opened. Daylight streams in. Peter spots

YANG, an Asian cop, talking to a CHINESE WOMAN lying on a

stretcher which hasn't been moved yet. She is hollow-eyed,

near death. Her hand weakly hangs on to the cop as if for

dear life.

PETER:

Tell her she's going to be alright.

We'll take care of her.

Peter kneels next to her, looking at her and nodding while

Yang translates. The woman mutters again, tears of fear in

her eyes. Yang shakes his head.

YANG:

She's delirious. Keeps saying the "Dark

Angels" are coming for her. She says

they took some of her people away.

PETER:

Dark Angels?

YANG:

(Shrugs.)

Probably a gang. Chinese people, man.

They come up with some wacky stuff.

They pull the stretcher out through the open overhead door

and into an

ALLEY:

The stretcher is rolled into a waiting vehicle, its lights

flashing. Unseen by them, on a brick wall, nearly buried by

graffiti, is a crude DRAWING.

It is of the same, odd figure Peter saw drawn earlier. The

OVERCOAT MAN.

INT. LAB - NIGHT - MONTAGE

Susan and Siri, both wearing Walkman headsets, deftly mount

BUTTERFLIES and other INSECTS onto display boards for the

exhibit. Rain is blowing in through the half-open window.

Their movements are precise and lyrical, the colors and

designs of the insects are beautiful.

We understand how you can get lost in this world. Susan

works steadily, a partially-eaten PAY-DAY BAR and the

wrappers of several others are evidence of her dinner.

A PAGER goes off in Susan's lab coat.

She takes off her headset; CLASSICAL MUSIC leaks from her

headphones.

On the PAGER's LCD screen the message reads: LATE

TONIGHT. PETE.

Susan puts the pager down. Goes to close the window.

There is a loud, angry BUZZING sound.

SUSAN:

Siri?

(louder)

Siri?!

Siri pulls her headset off; HEAVY METAL MUSIC leaks from her

headphones.

The BUZZING sound again. We PAN across the various bugs and

mounting implements till we come to rest...

...on the SHOEBOX the boys gave Susan. Something rattles

wildly inside.

SIRI:

...the f***?

Susan crosses to the trash bin, picks the box out. It

vibrates on her hand, then becomes quiet, something moves

inside.

She slowly opens the lid.

The bottom of the box is littered with two inches of shredded

newspaper. Crumbs of bread and some rice-krispies can be

spotted here and there: a kid's idea of a comfy critter's

nest. She moves her free hand closer.

SUSAN:

(To Siri)

Can you...?

Suddenly and INSECT big as her hand springs out of the

shredded paper nest and tries to grab on to her! Minute

pieces of paper fly through the air!!

Susan slaps the lid back down.

SUSAN:

(a scared whisper)

Could you...help me...?

CUT TO:

LATER:

Siri comes over as Susan grabs steel tongs and a cork

dissecting board.

SUSAN:

I'm gonna pull it out and I want you to

pin it down, okay?

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