RONIN

A BLOOD RED SCREEN - A JAPANESE DRUM starts to play, softly,

but tinged with a desperate edge, growing louder, joined by

other DRUMS as a BLACK LEGEND scrolls up: In feudal Japan,

the warrior class of Samurai were sworn to protect their

liege lords with their lives. Those Samurai whose liege was

killed suffered a great shame, and they were forced to wander

the land, looking for work as hired swords or bandits. These

masterless warriors were no longer referred to as Samurai,

they were known by another name: Such men were called Ronin.

The words hang on the screen and we hold for a BEAT, and then

the DRUMS are cut off by - A SILENCED GUN SHOT: Thwpfft...

FADE IN ON:

INT. A MEDIEVAL CATHEDRAL - NIGHT

It's dark, and so it takes us a minute to realize we're

MOVING UP STONE SPIRALING STAIRS, up up up in what we now see

is a medieval cathedral. And as we continue MOVING UP

something TRICKLES DOWN INTO FRAME - BLOOD. Running thin,

then thicker, as we CONTINUE TO MOVE UP the stairs and find -

A BODY, sprawled awkwardly across the stones, arms and legs

akimbo, not so much Christ-like as victim-like. In one hand

the Body holds a GUN he never had a chance to use. In the

other - A DARK SHAPE, we can't quite tell what it is.

FOOTSTEPS sound from above and - THE KILLER walks into frame,

silenced pistol dangling at his side. We don't know him, and

it's going to be a while before we see him again, but mark

his face because we'll see him again. The Killer now picks

up the dark shape in the Body's hand, and we see it's - A

BRIEFCASE. The Killer cuffs the Briefcase to his wrist and

turns to - TWO MEN standing behind him: subordinates. The

Killer shows them the Briefcase.

KILLER:

God loves me.

THE BODY suddenly twitches -- this guy is not quite dead.

The Killer raises his silenced pistol.

KILLER:

(to his victim)

But I don't think he's too fond of you...

SLAM CUT TO:

EXT. A BACK STREET - PARIS - NIGHT

A PHONE RINGS, replacing the sound of the silenced gun shot

we expected to hear.

Rain-slicked cobblestones gleam in a twinkling of

streetlight.

EXT. A PHONE BOOTH AT THE END OF THE STREET

The source of the ringing. We start to PUSH SLOWLY IN one the

phone booth, and as we do we hear the VOICE of an UGLY

AMERICAN.

UGLY AMERICAN (V.O.)

What is this?

CUT TO:

INT. A DRIVE BAR IN PARIS - NIGHT

A SOCCER MATCH is in progress on a TV which sits above the

bar in this smokey, dim dive.

UGLY AMERICAN (O.S.)

This is not football...

And now we're PULLING BACK DOWN THE LENGTH OF THE BAR. We

see THREE MEN sitting seperately at the bar, paying no

attention to each other. One of these men watches the game

with real interest. The Ugly American talks on from off

screen.

UGLY AMERICAN (O.S.)

(continuing)

...Football is three hundred pound guys,

they run way too f***ing fast, they got

helmets made of kevlar they use to spear

the quarterback into the next life.

SLAM CUT TO:

EXT. THE STREET OUTSIDE

The phone is still ringing, louder now, and we're MOVING

TOWARDS it while looking THROUGH AN UNSEEN PAIR OF EYES, and

even as we drink this in we're back in -

INT. THE BAR

AT THE END OF THE BAR - LARRY, the Ugly American. He's got

an obvious attitude, all of it bad. But there's something

about the guy -- he's not all bluster, and he has the look of

a seasoned tough guy who knows how to get rough and tumble.

He's big, and yeah he's got a gut, but the rest of him looks

solid.

LARRY:

(talking to the air)

You wanna know what football is? It's

hitting the other guy dirty and then

spitting in his face when he's down.

Football is all things American, and

American is A-Number-One the absolute

f***ing best there is. That's what

football is...

(he points to the TV)

...And that's not football.

The one man at the bar who's been watching the gam turns

slowly and gives Larry a long look. This is VINCENT: French,

hard boiled and solid. Charming when he wants to be, which

isn't all that often. He gives Larry a long look and then

speaks -

VINCENT:

(to Larry in perfect English)

Football -- American football -- is a

game for faggots.

A BEAT. The other two men at the bar, who seem like tough

customers themselves, pretend not to watch too closely, but

they're interested: what's Larry going to say? For a moment

it seems as if he's pissed, but then suddenly a smile breaks

out on his face and he laughs heartily at Vincent's remark.

Vincent joins in, as do the others. In particular - THE

BARTENDER looks relieved -- he's tough enough to toss a bar

drunk, but these guys are in a different league. The

Bartender laughs with the others, happy to have avoided a

confrontation as we go back to -

EXT. THE STREET OUTSIDE

We're almost ON TOP OF the phone booth, the phone is still

ringing as a HAND reaches INTO FRAME and snatches the phone

from its cradle.

A WOMAN'S VOICE (V.O.)

(a touch Irish accent)

Yes?

ANOTHER ANGLE - And we see a woman named DEIRDRE on the

phone:
striking, dark-haired, Irish. She carries herself

with the same professional edge as the men inside the bar.

Deirdre listens for a moment to the voice on the other end,

and before she speaks she sense something - A SILHOUETTE

stands in the shadows of the bar, watching Deirdre. She

gives this silhouette a measure glance before speaking, her

hand creeping ever so slightly towards her coat.

DEIRDRE:

Can I help you?

The silhouette steps into a POOL OF LIGHT. This is SAM.

Tough, lean, enigmatic. Somebody you might trust, but whom

you'd never cross. Sam returns her look before he speaks.

SAM:

No...

Sam moves towards the bar, and Deirdre returns to her phone

conversation.

DEIRDRE:

I'm here...

(a beat, responding to a

question)

No, it was nothing.

INT. THE BAR - A MINUTE LATER

Sam enters and by now the men inside have all come together

at the bar, talking casually, recognizing they're somehow all

here for a reason. With Larry and Vincent we see - GREGOR, a

man from Eastern Europe. His accent is hard to pin down,

but he most definitely has one. Gregor has the air of an ex-

spook, and that's exactly what he is. Lastly we see SWEDE --

blonde, muscular, and somehow blank in the face. No, he's

not stupid -- he's a sociopath. Now - Sam looks at the

group, which grows quiet as he enters. Finally, Sam speaks.

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