Taxi Driver Page #20

hears the SECRET SERVICE MAN's voice call out:

SECRET SERVICE MAN

Detain that man!

OVERHEAD SHOT reveals TRAVIS has the jump on his pursuers.

He is breaking free of the CROWD while they are still mired

in it.

TRAVIS, free of his pursuers, quickly makes his way down the

sidewalks. The SECRET SERVICE MEN look futilely about.

TRAVIS jumps in his cab. Sweat covers his face.

CUT TO:

The film is moving fast now; it pushes hard and straight

toward its conclusion. We're moving toward the kill.

LATE AFTERNOON. TRAVIS' taxi skids around a corner and

speeds into Manhattan.

TRAVIS checks his mail slot: the letter to IRIS has already

been picked up by the MAILMAN.

TRAVIS, stripped to the waist, walks back and forth across

his INT. APARTMENT, wiping his torso with a bath towel.

TRAVIS begins dressing:

-- He straps the Army combat knife to his calf.

-- He reflexes the metal gliders and the Colt .25 on his

right forearm.

102.

INTERCUT:
SPORT stands in his doorway on the LOWER EAST SIDE

shot with LONG DISTANCE LENS. It is EARLY EVENING.

INTERCUT:
A pudgy middle-aged white PRIVATE COP walks up to

SPORT. The two men laugh, slap each other on the back and

exchange a soul shake. They discuss a little private

business and the PRIVATE COP walks off in the direction of

IRIS' apartment.

-- TRAVIS straps on holster and fits the .38 Special into it.

INTERCUT:
PRIVATE COP walks down block.

-- TRAVIS hooks the huge Magnum into the back of his belt.

He puts on his Army jacket and walks out the door.

INTERCUT:
PRIVATE COP turns up darkened stairway to IRIS'

apartment.

NIGHT has fallen: TRAVIS' taxi careens down 10th Ave. He

speeds, honks, accelerates quickly. The glare of speeding

yellow and red lights flash through the night.

TRAVIS' P.O.V.: PEDESTRIAN attempts to flag down TRAVIS'

taxi, but quickly steps back up on the curb when he sees

TRAVIS has no intention of stopping for anything.

INTERCUT:
SPORT maintains his post in the dark doorway. He

waves to a GIRL who passes, and she waves back.

TRAVIS' taxi screeches to a stop and parks obliquely against

the curb.

CUT TO:

TRAVIS walks down the block to the doorway where SPORT

stands. CAMERA TRACKS with TRAVIS.

Without slowing, TRAVIS walks up to SPORT and puts his arm

on his shoulder in a gesture of friendliness.

TRAVIS:

Hey, Sport. How are things?

SPORT:

(shrugs)

O.K., cowboy.

TRAVIS:

(needling him)

How are things in the pimp business,

hey Sport?

103.

SPORT:

What's going on?

TRAVIS:

I'm here to see Iris.

SPORT:

Iris?

TRAVIS pushes SPORT back into the dark recesses of the

corridor.

SPORT:

Wha -- ?

TRAVIS:

Yeah, Iris. You know anybody by

that name?

SPORT:

No.

(beat)

Hillbilly, you'd better get your

wise ass outa here and quick, or

you're gonna be in trouble.

TRAVIS is being propelled by an inner force, a force which

takes him past the boundaries of reason and self-control.

TRAVIS:

(restrained anger)

You carry a gun?

SPORT looks into TRAVIS' eyes, saying nothing: he realizes

the seriousness of the situation.

TRAVIS pulls his .38 Special and holds it on SPORT, pushing

him even further back against the wall.

TRAVIS:

Get it.

SPORT:

(submissive)

Hey, mister, I don't know what's

going on here. This don't make any

sense.

TRAVIS:

(demanding)

Show it to me.

SPORT reluctantly pulls a .32 caliber pistol (a "purse gun")

from his pocket and holds it limply.

104.

TRAVIS sticks his .38 into SPORT's gut and discharges it.

There is a muffled blast, followed by a muted scream of pain.

TRAVIS:

Now suck on that.

Agony and shock cross SPORT'S face as he slumps to the floor.

TRAVIS turns and walks away before SPORT even hits.

As TRAVIS walks away, SPORT can be seen struggling in the b.g.

TRAVIS, he gun slipped into his jacket, walks quickly up the

sidewalk.

AROUND THE CORNER, TRAVIS walks into the darkened stairway

leading to IRIS' apartment.

As he walks up the stairs, TRAVIS pulls the .44 Magnum from

behind his back and transfers the .38 Special to his left

hand. He walks up the steps, a pistol dangling from each

hand.

AT THE TOP OF THE STAIRS, TRAVIS spots THE OLD MAN sitting

at the far end of the dark corridor. THE OLD MAN starts to

get up when TRAVIS discharges the mighty .44 at him. BLAAM!

The hallway reverberates with shock waves and gun powder.

THE OLD MAN staggers at the end of the corridor: his right

hand has been blown off at the forearm.

There is the sharp SOUND of a GUNSHOT behind TRAVIS: his

face grimaces in pain. A bullet has ripped through the left

side of his neck. Blood flows over his left shoulder.

TRAVIS' .44 flies into the air.

TRAVIS looks down the stairway: there SPORT lies choking in

a puddle of his own blood. He has struggled long enough to

fire one shot.

Falling, TRAVIS drills another .38 slug into SPORT's back

but SPORT is already dead.

TRAVIS slumps to his knees. Down the corridor THE OLD MAN

with a bloody stump is struggling toward him. TRAVIS turns

his .38 toward THE OLD MAN.

The door to No. 2 opens: IRIS' scream is heard in the b.g.

The bulky frame of the PRIVATE COP fills the doorway. His

blue shirt is open, in his hand hangs a .38 service revolver.

The PRIVATE COP raises his gun and shoots TRAVIS. TRAVIS,

blood gushing from his right shoulder, sinks to the floor.

His .38 clangs down the stairs.

105.

THE OLD MAN grows closer. TRAVIS smashes his right arm

against the wall, miraculously, the small Colt .25 glides

down his forearm into his palm.

TRAVIS fills the PRIVATE COP's face full of bullet holes.

The PRIVATE COP, SCREAMING, crashes back into the room.

THE OLD MAN crashes atop TRAVIS. The .25 falls from TRAVIS'

hand.

Both men are bleeding profusely as they thrash into IRIS'

room. IRIS hides behind the old red velvet sofa, her face

frozen in fright.

TRAVIS, trapped under the heavy OLD MAN, reaches down with

his right hand and pulls the combat knife from his right calf.

Just as TRAVIS draws back the knife, THE OLD MAN brings his

huge left palm crashing down on TRAVIS: THE OLD MAN's palm

is impaled on the knife.

OLD MAN SCREAMS in pain.

Police SIRENS are heard in b.g.

With great effort, TRAVIS turns over, pinning THE OLD MAN to

the floor. The bloody knife blade sticks through his

upturned hand.

TRAVIS reaches over with his right hand and picks up the

revolver of the new dead PRIVATE COP.

TRAVIS hoists himself up and sticks the revolver into the

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