Strange Days Page #23

CUT TO:

INT. APARTMENT

On Lenny, at the table. He dabs his finger in the blood

on the ice pack and writes the number on the table top.

LENNY:

2-2-0-3. Got it. Stay on her.

MAX (V.O.)

I intend to.

Lenny punches END. Mace looks at the number written in

blood on the white formica. Her eyes ratchet up, boring

into Lenny. Not noticing, he gets up, still woozy, and

staggers to his wardrobe bag across the room.

LENNY:

Okay, we gotta get over there.

(opens the bag)

Can you borrow a dress from Cecile

or something--

MACE:

I'm not going.

LENNY:

Whatya mean? We're going! Tran's

gonna do her right there unless--

MACE:

Lenny... shutup. Just park your

mouth and listen. It's a set-up.

Think about it! Why's he been

sending you tapes? To freak you,

get you to rush in without thinking.

Then they put one in you, put one in

her, put the gun in your hand...

crime of passion. This guy's bent

enough to think of that.

Lenny nods, hearing what she is saying.

LENNY:

That sounds right.

(but it changes

nothing)

I'm going.

He reaches into his wardrobe bag... pulling out the box of

"Faith" tapes and setting it aside, then pulling out the

suit. Mace's frustration explodes as anger.

She grabs his shoebox full of tapes. Holds them up to

him.

MACE:

You gonna get yourself killed for

this? This toxic-waste b*tch!

She dumps the box of tapes on the floor. She starts

stomping on them with one heel, crunching several into

junk.

LENNY:

What the f*** are you doing?!

Lenny freaks out and scrambles to pick them up, trying to

stop her, push her away. They struggle for a pathetic,

tragic moment.

Mace snaps. She grabs him by the lapels and swings him

around, slamming him back against a wall.

MACE:

Lenny! This is your life, Lenny!

Right here. Right now. This is

realtime... not playback. Real...

time. Time to get real. Understand

what I'm saying... she doesn't love

you. Maybe she did once, I don't

know, but she doesn't now. These

are used emotions. It's time to

trade them in.

Mace's tone becomes more gentle. We see that her outburst

is, beneath it all, coming from a place of compassion.

MACE:

Lenny, memories were meant to fade.

They're designed that way for a

reason.

Lenny seems to crumple. He knows he has to let go. But

it is so painful.

LENNY:

Have you ever been in love with

somebody who didn't return that

love?

Mace gives him a look like, jeez Lenny, are you dumb

sometimes.

MACE:

Yeah. Lenny. I have.

LENNY:

It didn't stop you from loving them.

Right? Or understanding them, or

being able to forgive them...

MACE:

I guess.

LENNY:

And it didn't stop you from wanting

to protect them. Did it?

MACE:

No. It didn't.

Lenny's eyes are brimming with tears. He makes no attempt

to hide it... doesn't brush them away.

LENNY:

I worked Vice, Narcotics... Violent

Crimes... and I saw every known

depravity. I was lost, Mace. In

outer darkness. Then I busted this

strung-out little teeny-hooker.

When I met Faith she was just

another runaway giving twenty dollar

blowj*bs to buy crank. Another lost

soul.

MACE:

You never told me.

LENNY:

But she was different. There was a

light in her eyes... and she had

this voice. It was scary, all that

pain coming out of that little body.

Like she could take all the hurt and

rage of the entire world and lift it

up to heaven in one voice. I helped

her. And I promised her that I'd

always be there... to protect her.

(long pause)

See? It's not about what's in her

head. It's what's in mine. I can't

let go of the promise. It's...

like... it's all I have left.

MACE:

No, it's not.

Mace takes his face in her hands. She kisses him lightly

on the cheek, where the tear-track is.

MACE:

Come on, Lenny. Let's go to a

party.

CUT TO:

EXT. STREET AND BONAVENTURE HOTEL - NIGHT

11:
07 P.M.

IT IS THE MOTHER OF ALL PARTIES. IN AN AERIAL SHOT we see

there must be 100,000 people jamming the closed streets of

downtown L.A. Arc lights sweep the sky. There are two

outdoor bandstands, with live music pounding. There are

lasers, strobe-lights. People are literally dancing in

the streets... if they can move at all. Huge projection

video screens are set up all over the place.

LA is connected to other cities all over the world by

satellite, sharing in the celebration in different time

zones. The excitement has been building all evening as

midnight sweeps across the country toward the West Coast.

It looks like a U2 concert 10 blocks long: a multimedia

blow-out.

Madness in the streets. And Lenny and Mace are stuck in

it. The Civic can't move in the middle of this millennial

Mardi Gras. People swarm around, pounding on the Civic as

they go by, or press their faces against the glass. It

may be the party of the century, but it looks like the

middle of a third world revolution.

MACE:

That's it. Let's bail.

And she's out of the car, leaving the keys, ignoring the

protesting horns behind her. And we see that she's

wearing a short black cocktail dress. Lenny comes around

the car, through the wild crowd. He's in his other suit.

Snappy.

Mace unselfconsciously hikes up her dress and slips her

.380 auto into a holster velcroed to her leg. She pulls

the dress down and you can't see the gun, hidden between

her upper thighs.

In fact, it looks like she couldn't be concealing a

quarter anywhere on her body. The dress is cut low at the

top and high at the bottom, showing plenty of muscular

legs. High heels doing great things for her calves. Her

braids now loose and full, like a mane.

Lenny glances at Mace and does a double take. He is

caught by a sudden realization:

LENNY:

Mace... you're a girl.

MACE:

Good, Lenny. I can see why the

detective gig didn't work out. Come

on.

They push their way through the swirling mass of humanity.

Mace moving like a wedge, security training coming to the

fore. The whole street is vacuum-packed with people.

Filled with cars deserted in the general euphoria, an

unparted Red Sea of man and machine.

They will move through the various strata of society as

they work their way in to the party's inner sanctum. It

is like all of LA, from poorest to richest, compressed

into a few square blocks. There are cops everywhere.

Cops on motorcycles, cops in cars, cops in riot gear.

Lenny scopes out the security at the front entrance...

metal detectors, cops... plus you have to have a 500

dollar-a-plate ticket.

LENNY:

Got your ticket?

MACE:

No. They must have sent it to my

beach house by mistake.

Lenny motions toward the back of the hotel and Mace

follows. They pass a uniformed cop who is standing thirty

feet away, his back to them.

REVERSE ANGLE:
It is SPREG. His black eyes scan the

crowd.

CUT TO:

INT. HOTEL KITCHEN

ON LENNY AND MACE moving with purpose through the vast

steaming factory of the kitchen where a thousand dinners

are being prepared. They are ignored by the bustling

staff.

CUT TO:

INT. HOTEL BALLROOM

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