Point Break Page #9

Bodhi flashes a million dollar smile.

BODHI:

Chill, brah. You know who this is?

Johnny Utah. Ohio State, all-

conference.

(to Utah)

Rose Bowl three years ago. Right?

Johnny nods. Tyler looks at him -- no sh*t?

ROACH:

Johnny f***in' Utah! F***in'-A!

Yeah, I remember that game, man.

You were on-fire. They could not

stop your ass.

GROMMET:

Radical! Head-butt, dude!!

Johnny gestures "Please no".

Enthused by the concept, Grommet turns to Nathaniel.

GROMMET:

Head-butt!!!

They do. Their foreheads CRACK together. They stumble

backwards in giddy euphoria. Nathaniel laughs like Pee

Wee Herman.

BODHI:

Something happened. You got nuked

in the last quarter.

UTAH:

Yeah, my knee got folded about 90

degrees the wrong way.

BODHI:

And that's why you never went pro?

UTAH:

Two years of surgery. I missed my

window. Limped through law school

instead.

BODHI:

Mmm. A lawyer, huh?

(like it's a disease)

Too bad. But at least you're

surfing now. So your life's not

over yet, right?

UTAH:

Not yet.

CUT TO:

INT. FEDERAL BUILDING - 16TH FLOOR - DAY

Utah, in shorts and T-shirt, carries his flame-job

surfboard past surveillance cameras and portraits of Bush,

Hoover and Webster. Special Agent Cole walks by. Eyes

the board. Speaks deadpan.

COLE:

Like totally rad stick, dude.

INT. BULLPEN

Utah tries to act casual as he carries the board to his

desk on the other side of the room. He has to walk past

the entire gauntlet to get there.

SEVERAL AGENTS:

Gnarly, man... hang ten...

cowabunga... surf patrol... rip it

up!

Harp comes straight for him like a homing missile.

HARP:

How was the beach?

UTAH:

Fine.

HARP:

Surf conditions okay?

UTAH:

A little mushy.

HARP:

A little mushy! You think the

taxpayers would like it, Utah, if

they knew they were paying a federal

agent to surf and pick up girls?

UTAH:

Babes.

HARP:

What?

UTAH:

The correct term is babes, sir. Uh,

this type of undercover operation is

entirely dependent on picking up the

idiom of the speech. Otherwise

penetration is not possible, sir.

Of the social infrastructure, I

mean.

Harp inhales through his nose. A bad sign.

HARP:

Where is Pappas?

Utah points across the room. Harp turns.

PAPPAS, sitting behind his desk in his "Surf This" T-shirt

and pink shorts, lifts the purple Vuarnets like Tom Cruise

in Risky Business.

Looks directly at Harp. Smiles innocently.

INT. HARP'S OFFICE

Harp paces. Type-A suppressed rage.

Utah and Pappas endure Harp's wrath.

HARP:

Special Agent Utah, this is not some

job flippin' burgers at the drive-in.

Yes, the surfboard bothers me. Yes,

your approach to this case bothers

me. And yes, you bother me. You

two have produced squat in the last

two weeks, during which time the Ex-

Presidents have robbed two more

banks!! Do you have anything even

remotely interesting to tell me?

UTAH:

Caught my first tube this morning.

Pappas signals, unseen by Harp, for Utah to shut the f***

up.

INT. CORRIDOR TO COMPUTER ROOM

Johnny and Angelo walking.

PAPPAS:

What, you couldn't have just left

the thing in your car?

UTAH:

It sticks out, so I can't lock it.

Look, Angelo, you think I joined the

FBI to learn to surf? This was your

lame-o idea in the first place. You

gotta back me up on this.

PAPPAS:

Johnny, all I can say is we better

come up with something real soon.

Johnny c*cks an eyebrow and opens the door to the computer

room ceremonially, like a doorman at the Ritz-Carlton.

Miss Deer looks up as they enter.

INT. COMPUTER ROOM

TIGHT ON CRT as a lab report scrolls up the screen. Gas

chromatography and spectroanalysis. Columns of elements

and compounds, listed as percentage-of-sample.

MISS DEER (V.O.)

Encino Savings & Loan guard grabbed

LBJ's ponytail. We recovered one

hair.

WIDER, showing Utah and Pappas over her shoulder at the

terminal.

PAPPAS:

Yeah, yeah, I remember, last year.

Guy got his jaw broken for it.

MISS DEER:

One four centimeter strand. Color

brown. Oily. Slight wave.

PAPPAS:

Hell, what're we waiting for, let's

go pick the guy up.

UTAH:

Angelo, pay attention. There's

gonna be a test afterward. Lab is

showing traces of toxins. PCBs.

Heavy elements... selenium, titanium

and arsenic.

PAPPAS:

Guy's the Toxic Avenger.

Utah is excited as he fits the pieces together for his

partner.

UTAH:

The beaches are always being closed

because of waste spills, right? And

surfers are territorial. They stick

mostly to certain breaks. If we can

get some hair samples, and get a

match to a certain beach, we'd know

which break the Ex-Presidents surf.

You buyin' this?

PAPPAS:

No. But let's do it, anyway. It's

gonna bug the sh*t out of Harp.

CUT TO:

EXT. LATIGO - DAY

Department of Health sign reads, "Beach Temporarily

Closed." Beyond it crashes a wasted northwest swell.

Two frustrated teenage SURFERS huddle underneath a towel.

Marijuana smoke seeps upward.

A sandaled FOOT enters frame and taps their leg. Angry

heads poke up from beneath the towel, nostrils and mouths

billowing smoke.

The two wear T-shirts which read "Passion for Slashin" and

"Psycho Stick".

PAPPAS smiles, standing there in his beach wear, trying to

blend in. He doesn't.

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