Smokin' Aces Page #6

SYKES (V.O.)

What's the name again?

INT. DINER -- NIGHT

Wyman, Sykes and Watters, back at the greasy spoon.

WYMAN:

"Soot, Lazlo Soot." Lotta folks want

this white boy clapped. Soot could

be workin' for one 'em.

EXT. STREET -- DAY

Crammed pedestrian crossing, noon hour a trio of SUITS

converse, shrouded by bodyguards.

WYMAN (V.O.)

Nobody really certain where he come

from...

The party proceeds through the crosswalk, approaching them

is a dark-suited man, expressionless, hands in his pockets.

Others move past; a woman with shopping bags, a skateboard

punk, a geriatric dog-walker and a man, full paralysis, mouth-

op wheelchair, "My Left Foot" palsy.

WYMAN:

...and when he moves on somebody,

they the last ones t'see it comin' --

The bodyguards perk up, sensing something. Dark-Suit, removing

his hands from his pockets -- cellphone... Wrong guy.

The crippled cat, throwing a quilt off his lap, contorted

face vanishing, two Uzi machine-pistols up, safeties off,

triggers pulled -- BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP!

The bodyguards get caught napping -- bullets blaze point

blank. The three suits collapse. The phony invalid empties

both guns, hops up from the wheelchair, hooks a passing truck

and flees the scene... that, was LAZLO SOOT.

DUPREE (V.O.)

So what do you think?

INT. POOL HALL -- BAR

The boys have retired to the bar for a round of dollar drafts.

ELMORE:

I think it's idiotic to continue

this conversation.

(turns, to Deeks)

We're ex-cops which means we weren't

great cops or even good ones.

DEEKS:

Paying bills with bullshit casino

jobs, sitting watch on slot machines.

ELMORE:

Which was a great gig until we we

walked in here and started drinking.

DUPREE:

The bond on Israel expires in eighteen

hours, after that, it's a jump ball.

Our window is now.

DEEKS:

Who posted his bail?

Dupree pats himself down, searching for his cigs.

DUPREE:

His law firm, same one that hired

me. Israel walked out after he made

bail and nobody's seen him since.

ELMORE:

Jack, if the rumors hold and Israel

is really the great white whale of

snitches, then the mob is looking to

put all kinds of bullets into his

ass and pour some serious psychotics

into the mix to do just that. So

what real incentive is there to track

him on something as small-time as a

skip trace, when it's putting you

and yours in the path of severe pain

and suffering and an almost certain

prelude to doom.

A beat. Dupree blows smoke, flicks ash.

DUPREE:

So I guess you're not going.

ELMORE:

Sh*t, if you're on a crazy jag, why

stop there, why not take Fort Knox

with a f***ing slingshot or go into

Hell after Hitler... I like your

chances a lot more.

Dupree, stubbing his cigarette.

DUPREE:

I know his location, we've got the

drop of a maybe half a day before

that location gets grape-vined and

the rest of the world gets hipped.

ELMORE:

That's already happened hoss. It's

naive to think otherwise.

DEEKS:

Where is he?

WYMAN (V.O.)

-- Lake Tahoe.

CUT BACK TO:

INT. DINER -- NIGHT

Watters, nodding, wiping red sauce off her fingers.

WATTERS:

Three hours t'the east. S'day trip.

Pretty this time a'year too...

Sykes sets her fork down, wipes her hands on a napkin.

SYKES:

We gotta lay something out, strategy-

wise. Somethin' tight. Y'go in there

ad-libbing, it's y'ass.

WATTERS:

What are we talkin' on the split...

WYMAN:

Forty-five apiece for you two, ten

percent finders fee for me.

SYKES:

What's the time frame?

WYMAN:

Right mafuck'n now girl. Fast as we

can get you there. We wait any longer,

someone goin' dead this fool.

MESSNER (V.O.)

...Then we lose our witness.

CUT TO:

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