Smokin' Aces Page #11

Nobody knows what to make of Reed, as he giggles, nods,

smokes, nods, drinks -- he looks at all of them, a sudden

unexpected wave of enthusiasm seizing him.

REED:

Yeah-yeah-yeah. F***ing hell, this

feels GREAT! YEAH!? DOESN'T IT!

Reed begins laughing like a complete f***ing loon, like he's

just lost it completely. It's paralyzingly uncomfortable.

Then, just like that, he stops, grabs an envelope.

REED:

(hands envelope over)

Okay, we had a retainer, for services

to be rendered... Fifty thousand

dollars.

Reed hands the envelope to a smiling Dupree.

ISRAEL (V.O.)

FIFTY-F***ING GRAND!

CUT TO:

INT. PENTHOUSE SUITE -- DAY

Israel, furious, screaming at an immense black man standing

in front of him:
SIR IVY, his steadfast second-in-command:

The presence of a Pimp, the mien of a Mack.

SIR IVY:

Calm down.

Israel gets up in Ivy's grill. A phone begins to ring.

ISRAEL:

Don't tell me to "calm down" Ivy! I

hate that!

(re; the phone)

HUGO GRAB THAT! I JUST PAGED GILL!

Hugo rushes for the phone.

SIR IVY:

Look at the attention we're getting.

It's all bad...

Hugo, hand cupped over the phone, butting in.

HUGO:

Hey -- It's him, it's Gill.

SIR IVY:

(gesturing to hookers)

...We got these tricks going in and

out, we're partying like the sh*t

might go stale, what did you think

was gonna happen?

Israel, walks toward Hugo.

ISRAEL:

Fifty grand gouge. South shore

hayseeds, this is why I never play

Tahoe, or redneck Reno...

SIR IVY:

We're hot, and they're losing a whole

floor's worth of business saying

it's "under construction."

ISRAEL:

Alright, bag it, I'm not shelling

out that kinda bread for this

shithole, this is a junior suite in

Vegas. Call Mecklen right now, he

should have his cell on, I need an

update.

(to Hugo)

Get the Russian up here, have him

clean this place, floor to ceiling

and get us packed.

(points to hookers)

...And send out for some new skeeze,

the sun's up, these ones are starting

to stink...

Hug hands the phone to Israel, pulling his own cell, dialing.

Ivy looks around at the collapsed hookers, strewn about the

place, his face registering the appropriate disgust. Then:

SIR IVY:

BEANIE!

Some of the girls start at the sound of Ivy's big Barry White

baritone. They rise, groggy, burping up last night's

debauchery. Mascara-smeared, hangover-hindered the girls

rise as BERNARD "BEANIE" ALFONSE, protector #2, pops in; A

sumo-sized brother with a diamond-studded smile.

BEANIE:

(addressing the girls)

Alright ya'll, that's the call, we

had our fun, pack it in, pro-ceed to

the front. Les' go, les' go --

Beanie starts herding hookers, Ivy positions himself at the

door, pulls a flashroll, fingers hundred dollar bills.

Israel, phone to his ear, retires to the bedroom for privacy.

INT. PENTHOUSE BEDROOM -- CONTINUOUS

Israel throws the lock.

ISRAEL:

Are you on a land line?

DR. GILL

Yeah, why.

Israel checks the wall clock.

ISRAEL:

Just checking... what's up? What's

wrong with your voice?

INTERCUT:

INT. PRIVATE PRACTICE -- DAY

DR. GREGORY GILL, 30's, Israel's private physician,

walking/sprinting up a hallway, holding a medical report.

DR. GILL

I've got concerns.

ISRAEL:

...About what?

DR. GILL

About cocaine... and the amount you're

doing.

ISRAEL:

I'm not doing cocaine.

DR. GILL

Buddy, I'm not an ethics professor,

I'm a physician, be honest, or be

dead within a day... s'your choice.

Israel, grave. Guilt in his silence.

DR. GILL

...I just got the cardiology work-up

back and sent it to two of my

colleagues, both heart specialists.

They concluded, as I have, that you

are showing signs of severe cardiac

distress... so much so, that a massive

coronary may be imminent.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes