Smokin' Aces Page #29

Israel readies the playing card behind his back, slips it

between his index and middle finger -- Ivy shakes his head.

SIR IVY:

All that slight a'hand you can do

and you still ain't never learned to

lie right --

-- Israel steps hard, slinging the Ace sidearm, sailing it

toward Ivy, surgical strike, right eye, blood bursting at

his browline -- Ivy goes down in a heap.

SIR IVY:

(enraged)

MOTHERFUCK! MOTHERF***ER!

Ivy, doubled over -- he drags the .50 cal from its holster

and lets fly -- FIRING. Big bore rounds rip right through

the wall, punching dinner-plate sized holes in the plaster.

Israel goes to the ground as Ivy, bleeding, blazes away --

INT. PENTHOUSE SUITE -- ANTEROOM -- SAME

-- Soot takes cover as bullets whistle by -- he tucks the

9mm away just as the doors to the suite are blitzed and the

security team stumbles in, guns drawn, grouped tight --

SECURITY TEAM:

(in unison)

DOWN! DOWN! DOWN!

They assume quasi-combat stances; six idiots, crab-crawling

their way across the room. Soot stays prone, plays scared,

realizes that his rubber appliance nose has come loose, tries

to adjust it -- can't, has to hide his face, burying it in

his sleeve, wiping more make-up off in the process --Mustache

is on point, pistol trained. He spots Soot cowering.

MUSTACHE:

(to Soot)

Are you hit?

Soot shakes his head a vigorous "no" as Mustache and his men

turn their attention to the bedroom.

MUSTACHE:

(calling out)

Mr. Israel!?

ISRAEL:

IN HERE!

MUSTACHE:

Are you hurt sir!?

ISRAEL:

Ivy's trying to kill me!

SIR IVY:

F*** YOU!

ISRAEL:

GET IN HERE GODDAMMIT!

Mustache and his men round the corner into the master bedroom.

INT. MASTER BEDROOM -- SAME

Ivy, down on one knee, depth perception shot, trying to

reload, bullets slipping through blood-slicked fingers --

Israel lies on the floor behind the bed, breathless, chest

heaving, frantically trying to pull the small automatic pistol

out of his overnight bag.

MUSTACHE:

(advancing on Ivy)

Drop-that-gun-right-now!

One of the bodyguards spots the body of Beanie, lying dead

in the remnants of the coffee table.

SECURITY MEMBER #1

Jesus, he got Beanie...

(back to Mustache)

He shot Beanie!

ISRAEL:

What?

Ivy hears this, let's the gun slide from his hand, standing,

eye swollen to a bleeding slit.

MUSTACHE:

GET ON THE GROUND!

Ivy, looking past them, seeing Beanie's lifeless body, laying

there. Israel peers out, sees the same thing.

ISRAEL:

Jesus Christ...

Two of the bodyguards rush to Beanie, bending over his body,

checking for vitals. Ivy, suspended in the doorway, stunned.

One of the security team looks back; no good... he's gone.

Just then, the phone stops ringing.

ISRAEL:

(looking up at Ivy)

...you just murdered Beanie...

Ivy, shocked, dismayed. Israel, starting to see his sweetheart

deal with the Feds go up in smoke. He immediately mobilizes.

ISRAEL:

(to Mustache)

Hey!

(pointing to Ivy)

Get him out -- muscle him if you

have to. Take him down the quietly,

use the service exit. Then get back

up here and we'll handle the rest of

this.

(off Mustache's look)

What? Is there somebody else in there?

Soot, from the other room, careful to keep his face concealed.

VITOLI:

Eees Vitoli.

Israel, a grimace... two too many people involved. Israel

nods, thinking, does a bump of coke, right out in the open.

ISRAEL:

(to security)

Avert your eyes gents, y'didn't see

that.

(beat, rolls neck)

Okay Vitoli, listen these last few

minutes make you a material witness,

do you understand what that means?

VITOLI:

...How can I be of assistance...

ISRAEL:

You do know what that means!

Tremendous, that's the attitude.

(beat, clutching chest)

Alright, Vitoli, hang tight for half

a tic, we've got a special sort of

"clean-up" we gotta do here, alright?

Soot nods.

ISRAEL:

(to Mustache)

What's he doing, is he getting this?

Mustache, glancing over at Soot, seeing him nod.

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