Strange Days Page #10

LENNY:

Come on, let me buy you a drink.

Let's drink and make up.

(Mace shakes her

head)

Alright, I'm going to see Faith.

That means you can watch me suffer.

I'll be in agony, you'll feel so

much better. Total and thorough

payback, whatdya say?

Mace smiles, shaking her head in wonder at this madman.

CUT TO:

INT. RETINAL FETISH

Mace accompanies Lenny into the pounding din of the

Retinal Fetish. The place is a fringe hangout, a

converted schmata factory transformed into a warren of

dark rooms and corridors off the main dance floor. A

thundering labyrinth. Steel cage-like partitions of

chain-link give the place a harsh, concentration-camp

atmosphere. The music is a bass tech-thump, and the

clientele are young and on the rough side. Cybergrunge.

There are many large video screens running a continuous

montage of wild graphics and images... a flurry of

disturbing videos: MTV baptized by William Burroughs.

The Fetish is a street-tech hangout, a meeting place for a

lot of digital-underground types that Lenny knows. You

can buy and sell what you want here: illicit hardware and

software, as well as chemicals for the wetware (brain).

Lenny and Mace are greeted inside by two suited guys with

metal detectors. They barely notice as they are scanned:

it's routine there days. Mace shows her gun, a Sig Saur

9mm, and her state carry-permit. The security guys check

her pistol like a coat, giving her a claim check.

Through the crowd in the lounge Lenny's eyes go

immediately to one table. It seems to be in a pool of

light all it's own; or maybe this is just in Lenny's mind.

SLOW MOTION:
Lenny watches a man at the table holding

court, with a beautiful young woman sitting next to him.

It is TRAN VO. He's a mover and shaker in the record

business:
he produces, he manages, he tries to keep

everyone in his orbit.

The woman is FAITH JUSTIN. We recognize her from playback

as Lenny's ex-girlfriend. But now her hair has been dyed

jet black and frames her face in a wild tangle. She is

wearing as expensive custom leather jacket over a sheer

silk top. She has on too much make-up, which gives her

features a feral-doll quality. Faith looks like what she

is, a rock star wannabe. But the look is red-hot.

Tran looks around the room. His eyes miss nothing. And

show nothing. His hand -- unhurried, graceful, remarkable

-- brushes past Faith's cheek, barely touching her. His

fingers pick up a strand of hair, tuck it like a treasure

behind her ear... fingers touching her head now... a

moment of suspended time.

... and she trembles. Just a little. For a second.

Tran and Faith are flanked on either side by an entourage

consisting of music types, various hangers on, and Tran's

personal security force of four: JOEY CORTO, a whippet-

thin skinhead; DUNCAN, a none-too-bright armbreaker in the

classic mold; a massively built ex-jock type called WADE

BEEMER; and a sixteen year old Asian stone fox, CINDY

MINH, aka 'VITA', possibly the most lethal of the four.

LENNY:

Who's the new side of beef in Tran's

posse?

MACE:

Guy named Wade Beemer. Used to be a

running back for the Rams in '96 and

'97.

LENNY:

Rams... that's football, right?

He can't take his eyes off Faith. Mace scowls at the

tableau and pulls Lenny toward the bar.

MACE:

Forget her.

LENNY:

She still loves me.

MACE:

She thinks you're a bucket of dog

vomit. Trust me on this.

LENNY:

She's my destiny.

MACE:

Destiny? You living in a perfume

commercial? She's a hard-climber

that dropped you like a used tampon

when she got a better ride.

LENNY:

You'll see.

Mace gives up, shakes her head and Lenny plunges into the

crowd... toward Faith. Several patrons greet him, just as

in the Coral Lounge, but uncharacteristically, Lenny

virtually ignores them.

Approaching the main table now. Ringside. Tran sees him;

no reaction. Now Faith sees him: her reaction's a little

tougher to read. Pissed off, maybe, or just tense.

Tran's security force has seen Lenny coming. But they

stay casual.

Lenny doesn't break stride. It's like a game of chicken

without cars. Beemer stands, covering Lenny with his

shadow. Vita looks up at Lenny with cobra eyes. Tran

gives him a glance; royalty amused by Lenny's presumption.

TRAN:

You come to peddle me some tapes,

Lenny? For old time's sake? Make a

couple bucks for the holidays?

LENNY:

You're not a client anymore, Tran.

I wouldn't sell you the sweat off a

dead dog's balls.

TRAN:

(glancing at Faith,

back at Lenny)

I already got everything I need from

you.

FAITH:

Cut it out, Tran.

LENNY:

Too bad about your guy Jeriko.

Tough break.

TRAN:

Show a little respect, Nero. The

man was an important artist.

LENNY:

Yeah, important for your label.

Which no doubt is why you're in

mourning. Don't worry, his

records'll sell out now he's dead.

You'll make out.

TRAN:

I always do.

LENNY:

Faith, can I talk to you a second?

FAITH:

I don't think that's a good idea,

Lenny.

LENNY:

I just got to talk to you for one

second.

TRAN:

About what?

LENNY:

That would be between me and Faith,

wouldn't it?

Tran takes one of his beautiful hands and passes it slowly

in the general area between his table and Lenny.

TRAN:

I don't feel anything between you.

See, your trouble is you assume too

much, Lenny. You assume there's

something where there's nothing.

You assume you have a life. But

you're only hustling pieces of other

lives on tape, and broken parts of

your own.

Faith glances at Tran, then cuts her eyes to Lenny.

FAITH:

(icy)

We have nothing to talk about,

Lenny.

TRAN:

Joey, make sure Mr. Nero gets safely

to his car.

Joey smirks, glances at Beemer who rises like a wall.

LENNY:

Faith, call me, okay?

FAITH:

No, Lenny.

Wade gets Lenny in a wrist-grip come along hold and starts

him moving. She looks at him -- slowly, gaze unwavering.

As Beemer ushers Lenny through the crowd, Tick greets him

coming the other way.

LENNY:

Tick, listen, I can't stop right

now. but I'll call you tomorrow

about that thing we were talking

about.

He's working the room even as he's getting dragged

outside.

TRAN:

Lenny the loser. Panhandler of

stolen dreams.

FAITH:

Leave him alone, Tran.

TRAN:

He's no concern of mine, as long as

you don't talk to him. Don't talk

to anybody. You understand? Not

with everything that's going on

right now.

FAITH:

You're too goddamned paranoid.

TRAN:

Paranoia's only reality on a finer

scale.

CUT TO:

EXT. RETINAL FETISH

Beemer deposits Lenny on the curb and goes back inside.

A SMALL CROWD of people enters the club. Lenny brushes

off his jacket, falls into step at the rear of the

entering crowd.

CUT TO:

INT. RETINAL FETISH

Lenny climbs to a landing overlooking the dance floor.

Through chain link he sees a swirl of activity below. And

one face, looking up at him. Kind of casual. Lenny

clocks the guy:
cop instincts coming out. Decides he

doesn't know him. But we do. It's Spreg. Lenny walks

on, crosses to a door, and enters...

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