Smokin' Aces Page #30

MUSTACHE:

Yeah, he's nodding.

ISRAEL:

Good. Now Move.

Mustache and his men brace Ivy, taking advantage of his

disorientation and dismay and swiftly escorting him out.

EXT. PENTHOUSE HALLWAY -- SAME

They amass around the elevator, taking care to double handcuff

Ivy now. Mustache pushes the call button. It fails to light.

CUT TO:

INT. ELEVATOR CAR -- SAME

Choked with generator and road flare smoke, lit like hell

itself. The Tremors stand at arms, shrouded in a miasmic

mung of horribly toxic fumes, filling their lungs with it.

CUT BACK TO:

INT. HALLWAY -- SAME

Mustache hits the call button again, still nothing. Yet one

of the lifts appears to be ascending

SECURITY TEAM:

Wait... one of 'em looks like it's

on its way up...

MUSTACHE:

What about the other four? Are they

out?

He keeps hitting the call button, but it won't light.

MUSTACHE:

The hell is going on...

WATTERS (V.O.)

...Forget it, it's dead.

CUT TO:

INT. HALLWAY -- FOURTEENTH FLOOR -- SAME

Sykes, trying to pry the elevator doors open.

SYKES:

It ain't dead! Quit saying that sh*t!

INTERCUT WITH:

INT. HORIZON HOTEL -- TOP FLOOR -- SAME

Watters pours herself a glass of Chablis from the mini-bar.

WATTERS:

Girl, I just saw muzzle flashes comin'

out that suite. S'probably where you

heard that shootin' earlier, somebody

jus' downed Israel. He dead, our

play is dead.

Sykes, getting some separation on the elevator doors, pulling

her 9mm, using it like a crowbar.

SYKES:

I'm not givin' it up jus' yet...

WATTERS:

C'mon, I say we bounce now, kick it

for a lil' bit, play some craps.

(beat, probing)

...Maybe spend the night?

Sykes, struggling, when the doors suddenly retract on their

own... She's staggered by what she sees in the elevator,

tripping back, heels catching, dumping her on her ass --

SYKES:

(just above whisper)

...oh... damn...

She sits up, stupefied... cordite and pistol smoke drift out

of the open elevator doors like a funeral dirge. The sound

of a bone-saw emanates from within.

INT. ELEVATOR CAR

Carruthers and Acosta... war-torn, shot to hell, post-battle

standoff, just staring, weapons emptied, bodies bullet-

punctured, leaking life... both are breathing, but just

barely.

WATTERS (OVER HEADSET)

What is it...?

Filament and glass dust cover everything. Blood streams in

steaming fissures, floating spent shell casings and

fluorescent shards cover the floor of the car.

Acosta, clinging to life itself, clutching the whirring bone

saw, trying in vain to reach Carruthers. Sykes wades forward,

wary, Glock vise-gripped.

SYKES:

...Shhhhhhit... girl, there's these

two dudes, just sittin' here in this

elevator, all shot up...

WATTERS:

What?

SYKES:

(beat, looking around)

They musta been beefin' big time

with one another, cuz this sh*t, got

way past words, whatever it was.

WATTERS:

...What are they doin' right now...?

Sykes, glancing from Carruthers to Acosta. A beat.

SYKES:

Right now?

(beat)

...Dying.

CUT TO:

INT. "LAKEY'S SOUVENIR SHOPPE" -- KITCHENETTE -- DAY

Elmore, seated, wrapped in quilts and heated blankets,

shivering horribly, lips blackened, flexing brittle fingers

on his good hand, trying to restore feeling, teeth clattering

like ten thousand tea cups. Margie Turlock enters, arms loaded

down, grandson Warren hot on her heels, a set of Nunchukas

under his arm...

...Elmore, palpable hatred, pure bile for the boy.

Margie sets the assortment of goods down on the table in

front of Elmore; tourist-themed hats & sweatsuits from the

shop, a pair of thermals, a collection of pill bottles and

what appears to be an old Vietnam-era ammo box.

MARGIE:

So them fellas were your friends

then? The ones that was shot and

tossed into the lake? Were they police

officers too?

Elmore nods, rifling the pile in front of him, going for the

pills. Margie pulls a pot of coffee off the stove, pours a

mug. Sets it down in front of him.

MARGIE:

(motioning to pills)

Them was left over from my

hysterectomy, so they're a few years

old, might be outta date.

Elmore eyes the labels; Vicodin, Vioxx... morphine-based.

Nice... Just numb it all.

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