Point Break Page #4

PAPPAS:

Cole and Munoz? I been on this case

for two years.

HARP:

(zeroing in on

Pappas)

That's the point, isn't it?

PAPPAS:

Yeah, I get it. Time to play let's

dick the old guys, huh, Harp?

HARP:

Supervising Special Agent, Harp.

Now I want you to go work the drop

car, okay, Angelo? Okay?

The Greek rises like a proud bull.

PAPPAS:

Sure. No problem. How about your

office? Your office need vacuuming?

We could do that too.

Pappas and Utah move toward the door. It's a tight

squeeze as they pass Cole and Munoz. Especially Pappas.

PAPPAS:

Excuse me.

Read as f*** you.

EXT. MULHOLLAND SCENIC TURNOUT - NIGHT

The diamond field of LA glitters below. The small parking

area off Mulholland is filled with squad cars. Red and

blue disco.

A flock of UNIFORMS milling about a non-descript CHEVY.

INT. SEDAN FRONT SEAT

FLASHLIGHT BEAM prowls the interior, stopping on a small

printed card, folded like a pup tent, left upon the bench

seat. It reads "Sanitized For Your Protection."

PAPPAS:

Cute huh? They love to f*** with

us.

UTAH & PAPPAS pull their heads out of the sedan. Forensic

expert, HALSEY, stands behind them.

PAPPAS:

Don't tell me, let me guess. The

switch-car was stolen this morning...

(Halsey is nodding

his head)

They vacuumed and 409'd the

interior, did the windows, emptied

the ashtrays...

HALSEY:

Yeah, the usual drill.

Utah pulls on a rubber glove and lifts the card off the

seat. Studies it. Talks to Halsey like Halsey's the one

that just out of Quantico, not Utah.

UTAH:

Could've taken their gloves off

before setting that card. Laser it

for prints. Maybe held it to his

teeth -- check the edges for saliva.

(a beat)

Today was a scorcher. This Chevy

doesn't have air conditioning...

HALSEY:

Sweat secretions in the seatbacks?

PAPPAS:

You through, Mr. Wizard? Let me

know if you find Jimmy Hoffa under

the seat while you're at it.

(looks at his watch)

Hell, it's only 7:30. The night's

still young... you can solve this

case and start on another one.

UTAH:

Well, what're your ideas on these

guys?

PAPPAS:

Forget about it, kid. They're

ghosts. Let the goddamn yuppie

Mormon affirmative action a**holes

handle it. See I'm almost 55... so

I must be senile, right? They

better get me out before I start

pissing myself in public. Drooling.

It would look bad for the Bureau,

right?

UTAH:

So you're gonna coast to retirement,

when you could nail these guys and

go out with come dignity.

PAPPAS:

You watch your f***ing mouth!

(pounds his chest)

Mr. Hoover himself pinned the Seal

of Honor right here!

The two men glare at each other. Utah looks away.

UTAH:

Sorry.

PAPPAS:

Yeah. That was thirty years ago

anyway.

(stares out at the

bright horizon)

L.A.'s changed a lot since then.

The air got dirty and the sex got

clean.

(after a beat)

So you want to nail the Ex-

Presidents? Be a big hero?

UTAH:

Yeah. What's your theory?

PAPPAS:

The f***ing punks are surfers.

CUT TO:

GRAINY BLACK & WHITE VIDEO WITH TIME CODE

Ex-Presidents charge into bank, raise shotguns.

Image STOPS, then FAST-FORWARDS to the end.

WE ARE IN--

INT. FEDERAL BUILDING - BULLPEN - NIGHT

Dark, lit by the TV at the far end of the bullpen. PAPPAS

and UTAH sit in front of the flickering Sony in the big

empty room. Angelo punches a button on the VCR.

ON THE SCREEN--

LBJ turns his back to the fish-eye lens, drops trousers

and moons the camera. Thank you.

Angelo FREEZES on LBJ'S butt.

PAPPAS:

I'm tellin' ya, kid, it's in our

face. Lookit the tan on this guy.

The young agent looks forward.

Stares at the white inscribed butt bracketed by deep

bronze tan lines.

UTAH:

Oh well he must be a surfer.

PAPPAS:

Shutup, you might learn somethin'

you're not careful... So last year

Nixon scuffs a counter going over.

There was a soil sample. Non-

specific mud traces of asphalt,

oils, blah, blah... sand and...

carnuba wax. So I became a wax

expert. There's 80 some uses for

this stuff, something like five

hundred products.

He tosses Utah a ream of computer printout. Utah scans

lists of brand names.

UTAH:

Candle wax. Car wax. Mustache wax?

Could be anything. Guy's waxing his

mustache at the beach. Gets sand in

it. Wipes it off with a shoe. Shoe

scuffs the counter.

PAPPAS:

The lab made three possible matches,

this was one of 'em.

Pappas opens his desk drawer, takes something out and

throws it to Johnny. A pastel blue hockey puck wrapped in

cellophane.

A block of "Mr. Zog's Sex Wax".

UTAH:

(reading)

Sex wax? You're not into kinky

sh*t, are you Angelo?

PAPPAS:

Surfers use it on their boards.

They rub sand into it for traction.

UTAH:

Thanks for the tip. I needed this

knowledge.

Pappas shoves a thick file folder toward Utah.

PAPPAS:

Now lookit the dates on the

robberies. This is strictly a

summer job for these guys.

Johnny leafs through it.

UTAH:

... Four months. June to October.

Mmmm...same the year before.

PAPPAS:

Another month and we don't see 'em

again 'til next summer.

Utah stares at Angelo as it dawns. Grins suddenly.

UTAH:

They're traveling the rest of the

year on the money, going where the

waves are...

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