Smokin' Aces Page #25

A crime scene unit already has the area cordoned off. Police

photographers circle the rental car snapping pictures as

uniformed units scribble license plate and VIN numbers.

CAMERA PANS OVER TO REVEAL:

A limo arrives, the Swede disembarks, black valise in tow.

A group of Sparazza henchmen surround him, spiriting him

toward a nearby stairwell, anxious to avoid the police.

CAM CONTINUES PAN TO REVEAL:

Doc Gill and Hugo, sitting in their car, a little leery at

the heavy police presence. Hugo takes up his cellphone.

HUGO:

Doc, I'm gonna tell 'em we're on our

way up, make sure it's cool up there.

Is there anything you need?

Gill shakes his head "no" as Hugo dials. Gill retrieves his

own phone as he climbs out, dialing, moving to the trunk.

DR. GILL

(into his phone, quiet)

I'm going up now, give me ten minutes,

that should be enough time to prep...

He clicks off, Hugo is completely unaware of the call he

just made. Gill pops the trunk, removing his medical bag

HUGO:

(still on his phone)

C'mon, somebody answer...

INT. PENTHOUSE SUITE -- SAME

The phone rings, Beanie moves to answer it, tossing his balled

up Versace shirt to Soot/Vitoli.

BEANIE:

(looking back)

That's a silk blend B, six-hundred

and change an s'got vomit and bile

and stomach contents all over it --

I ain't gonna tell'ya how t'get the

mafucka clean, jus' put it right.

Soot nods, unfurls a laundry tote, sticks the shirt inside,

hand moving within the bag --

BEANIE:

(pointing to Israel's

soiled jacket)

Check the man's calf-skin coat too,

he look like he got some cinnamon

roll an' sh*t all over it --

-- Beanie, turning, reaching down for the ringing phone when --

THWAP -- something plunks him hard from behind -- he's knocked

forward by the force of the impact -- startled --

instinctively slapping at that area -- thinking something

stung him.

BEANIE:

What the f***!?

He looks around, alarmed, head on a swivel, hand probing the

pain, not aware of the blood coursing from that spot,

streaming down his back... The phone continues to ring.

Then Beanie hears the small metallic warble of something

rolling around on the floor behind him, gradually settling.

A sensation overtakes him... and he grows very still with

it.

He looks down at his hand for the first time... sees blood

there, reaches up with that same hand and finds the tattered

hole right above the base of his spine -- small wisps of

smoke drifting up out of the wound... He turns, numb... and

sees what looks like a spent shell casing, just ejected,

coming to rest on the tile... The phone continues to ring.

His eyes track upward to Vitoli the Butler, holding a silenced

9mm -- aim still held... And that's when it dawns on Beanie...

...He's just been shot in the head.

BEANIE:

(almost to himself)

Aw hell no you ain't just do that...

Three more soundless shots from the 9mm put a humane end to

these proceedings -- blowing Beanie's body over a sofa chair.

His three-hundred plus pound frame slides to an unceremonious

halt in the remnants of the shattered coffee table.

Israel's calf-skin coat lies near Beanies dead body, a pool

of blood surrounding it, soaking through and all the while...

The phone continues to ring.

INT. BEDROOM -- SAME

Ivy and Israel, oblivious to what's gone on, fifty feet away.

SIR IVY:

What did you say to Mecklen?

Israel looks from the ringing phone -- to the gun in his bag --

no good -- Ivy will kill him before he clears the bedspread.

ISRAEL:

That's probably him now...

SIR IVY:

...See, this is one'a them rare

moments when y'ass get a chance to

be completely honest... and if I'm

asking you what you said to Mecklen,

assume the sh*t is rhetorical... so

assume I already know.

Ivy lets that .50 caliber hang like intimidation itself.

Israel looks over at the ringing phone, then back at Ivy. He

slowly withdraws the deck of cards from his robe pocket,

begins shuffling at lightspeed, firing them across his body,

left to right, right to left.

ISRAEL:

A set of skills, God-given gifts, I

close my eyes.

He does, snatching a card cold from the deck, turning it to

Ivy.

ISRAEL:

King of Clubs... You pick up this

deck, s'just playing cards, I pick

up this deck it's a living, breathing

thing. What do you see right now?

You see exactly and only, what I

choose to show you... That's illusion

Ivy. That's the lie I tell your eyes.

The manipulation of movement. Knowing

where your gaze wants to go, guiding

it there. Making the magic happen in

that moment, that split-second, but

seeing behind it, knowing it's all

bullshit... Built on sand.

(cards flying crazy)

I can show the Feds what they want

to see too. And make it as real as

this room. Make it more than smoke,

more than mirrors... and that's why

I'm valuable... and that's why you're

not.

(beat)

I never wanted it this way.

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