Smokin' Aces Page #23

SOOT:

-- my name is Vitoli, how can I be

of service.

BEANIE:

(annoyed)

I know your name man! What's wrong

wit'chu!?

(back to Mustache)

Why you standing there fool? You

make your money watching the hall.

Get y'eyes back where they belong!

Mustache nods. Beanie slams the door on him. Soot, inside

now, scanning, making split-second evaluations -- what's-

where, who's-where, he picks up voices from the master bedroom --

CUT TO:

INT. PENTHOUSE SUITE -- MASTER BEDROOM -- DAY

Clothing everywhere. Israel's top dollar wardrobe, designer

suits, wadded up into balls and stuffed into a garment bag.

He's doing more cocaine, talking to himself, babbling the

classic addict's "don't-worry-it'll-to-be-alright" monologue.

ISRAEL:

(calling)

IVY! Why isn't Hugo at the airport!?

It's a fifteen minute trip!

Ivy, his menace gone malignant, quietly stepping out of the

shadows... Israel has no idea that he's been there all along.

ISRAEL:

(turning back to Ivy)

Well what the f***!? I got the Doc

in town, I need him here! Call Hugo,

find out where the car is!

Ivy doesn't budge, just stands there, staring hard.

IVY:

So what'd Mecklen have to say?

Israel stiffens, board-straight, the guilt goosing him. Ivy

turns the burners slow.

ISRAEL:

They're getting close. It's down to

a handful of deal points now.

IVY:

But it's all good right?

Israel almost chokes on his own smile, nodding.

SIR IVY:

So we're all traveling together,

getting sworn, giving our statements --

Israel starts zipping up some of his bags.

ISRAEL:

-- I dunno the way it's gonna play

out, but -- yeah, it'll probably go

something like that.

Ivy unbuttons his coat. A .50 Cal rides in his shoulder-rig.

Israel averts his eyes. Ivy lets the moment load up... then;

SIR IVY:

You believe in loyalty, don'tcha?

(pause, then)

'Specially the kind of loyalty where

an otherwise sensible motherf***er

puts his own best interests aside to

selflessly serve another. 'Cuz outside

a goddamn dog, that kinda loyalty,

my kinda sh*t, don't get any more

dedicated, or deep, or devout...

Israel, unnerved now -- spots a small handgun sticking out

of his bag. He covers it with the bedspread, looking up at

Ivy.

ISRAEL:

...what are you tryin' to say?

CARRUTHERS (V.O.)

What I've been saying. Get me your

head of security right now.

CUT TO:

INT. NOMAD HOTEL AND CASINO -- LOBBY -- SAME

Carruthers, bracing the same Casino Employee Acosta braced

earlier. College kid, patch-acne, panic-stricken, stammering,

struggling, a phone stuck to his hand --

CASINO EMPLOYEE:

-- I don't -- it's just -- I can't

reach him. He's not picking up the

extensio--

CARRUTHERS:

-- I know that. Which floor are they

on?

The kid's skittish gaze shifts, locking on a figure moving

through the lobby.

CASINO EMPLOYEE:

(with great relief)

Wait -- He -- there, that's one of

our guys ther--

Carruthers breaks off, moving for the man in the maroon jacket

heading toward the elevator. He reaches him, puts a hand on

his shoulder.

CARRUTHERS:

Excuse me, sir.

The man turns... His nametag reads "Bill."

BILL/ACOSTA

Yes.

Carruthers badges him.

CARRUTHERS:

Special Agent Donald Carruthers.

We've got a situation developing

here in your hotel.

Acosta has fully assumed the identity of the murdered security

supervisor. The pimply kid at counter eyeballs him, confused.

Acosta steps behind Carruthers, blocking himself from view.

BILL/ACOSTA

How can I help you?

Carruthers leads him toward an awaiting elevator.

CARRUTHERS:

I need to get to your penthouse level

immediately, I also need every other

elevator with access to that floor

evacuated and locked down.

They step into the lift.

BILL/ACOSTA

Is this an emergency?

CARRUTHERS:

Let's hope not.

The elevator doors close behind them as we...

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