Smokin' Aces Page #21

WATTERS:

...So you heard from Keith? He still

f***in' with that 'lil light-skinned

girl?

SYKES:

I ain't tryin' to break a sweat for

that sorry ass nigga.

WATTERS:

He a dog babydoll. He a great dane.

I tried to tell y'after ya'll first

date. He hit that ass one time, his

interest in a b*tch start t'landslide.

SYKES:

You know I burned all his sh*t. All

that vinyl. Chalamar, Funkadelic, I

burned his turntables too. They was

like three-thousand brand new.

WATTERS:

F*** that nigga. Let him go woof on

some other scrub. We got one another,

s'all the love we're ever goin' need.

Sykes says nothing for a moment, Watters just watches her

through the crosshairs, her finger idly flicking the trigger

in a strangely perverse gesture. Finally:

SYKES:

Girl, lemme ask you somethin' and I

want you t'tell me straight up, since

I got my suspicions and y'know I

ain't one t'talk circles... you gay?

WATTERS:

What!?

SYKES:

Ain't nuthin' wrong wit' it.

WATTERS:

Damn! Why you trippin' like that?

SYKES:

-- I don't know, I feel like you

always pushin' up on me, gettin'

close and I love you baby, in every

way you can love a b*tch, 'cept that

one.

WATTERS:

I ain't even goin' dignify that.

You my road dog. We threw up sets.

(beat, lets it sit)

Plus you stank.

SYKES:

(laughing now)

F*** you.

Watters spots something outside, grabs a pair of binoculars,

looks down... BINOCULARS P.O.V.: Four obvious CALL GIRLS

disembarking a taxi, mylar-colored micro-minis, f***-me heels,

cheap shoulder bags. They smoke, laugh, chit-chat.

WATTERS:

Alright girl, the ho train has

arrived. Four of 'em.

Sykes, grabbing her bag, dropping spare clips inside and

starting for the door.

SYKES:

...I'm on my way out, I'm just gonna

hang in the hallway until they start

up in the elevators.

Watters loads a red-tipped round into the breach of the Fifty.

WATTERS:

Just get in there and do your thing

baby... mamma gots you.

SNAP ZOOM ON BULLET as she slams the action forward, loading

the round WE SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

...Dial tones over black. A phone rings. A voice answers.

FADE UP ON:

A reel-to-reel machine activates, begins to record -- A

sticker on the pick-up spool reads: "PROPERTY OF THE F.B.I."

CUT TO:

MONTAGE:

The players take their places. Over these images WE HEAR:

SERNA (V.O.)

Buzzy... Buzz...?

PADICHE (V.O.)

Yeah... Sid?

SERNA (V.O.)

Right, you got clicks, anything?

PADICHE (V.O.)

Nah, nuthin' on my end --

Vitoli, aka Lazlo Soot: arriving at the Penthouse level,

exchanging nods with the security team, pushing his service

cart out of the elevator and down the hall, through a metal

detector, which goes off. Vitoli/Soot shrugs, gestures to

his stainless steel cart. The security team wave him through.

SERNA (V.O.)

So how we lookin'?

PADICHE (V.O.)

Good. This thing's on track, looks

like it's gonna get done.

SERNA (V.O.)

F***in' thrilled t'hear it. So the

scout, the sitdown, y'musta felt it

from 'em then huh?

PADICHE (V.O.)

Cold blood Sid, dead eyes, y'know?

Pasquale Acosta:
Now wearing the nametag of "Bill" the

recently deceased Security Supervisor. He buttons his red

blazer, hanging the penthouse pass key around his neck as he

moves through the lobby, carrying a small briefcase.

SERNA (V.O.)

That's what we're countin' on. What'd

they say when you went for specifics?

The Tremor Brothers: Duffel bags straining with the horrible,

sh*t inside. They move toward a service elevator, swapping

pill bottles, downing overdose amounts, repeating "Mein Kampf"

recitations as they push the elevator's call button.

PADICHE (V.O.)

Lil' cagey, y'know, don't like t'share

trade secrets, that type'a thing.

SERNA (V.O.)

Okay -- yeah, I can, I respect that.

PADICHE (V.O.)

How are we on time...?

Hollis Elmore:
Frantically ringing the alley delivery doorbell

of a local Souvenir Shop -- naked, frozen, delirious, near-

death, he has dragged himself there.

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