The Italian Job Page #10

The sideview mirrors scraping wallpaper. Then:

The thin car is like a missile firing RIGHT DOWN STEVE'S

HALLWAY, a hair-raising fit.

CUT BACK TO:

INT. CHARLIE'S HOTEL ROOM -DAY

Her idea brings a smile to her face.

STELLA:

Jack Daniels, straight up.

CHARLIE:

Minis?

STELLA:

We could rumble right up the front steps,

bring the getaway car right to the vault,

and then straight to Union Station.

Handsome Rob likes it.

HANDSOME ROB:

We'll need three to hold the gold.

EXT. CAR RENTAL COMPANY -DAY

Parked in the lot are shimmering Supercharged Mini Coopers, a

new model that still captures the legendary Mini look and

feel.

Half-Ear climbs in one Mini. Lyle into another.

INT. CAR RENTAL COMPANY -SAME TIME

In the background, a large window overlooks the lot.

Handsome Rob fills out the paperwork on the Mini he' s renting

while flirting with a petite COUNTER BABE.

HANDSOME ROB:

I'd say you're a Maserati 250 S. Just

4-cylinders but can go 0 to 60 in 4.2.

COUNTER BABE:

As long as it's a convertible — I always

like to have my top down.

At the same time, in the background, we see Lyle and Half-

Ear' s Mini pull out of their parking spaces and BACK RIGHT

INTO EACH OTHER. Just a little bumper hit.

COUNTER BABE (CONT'D)

Do you know them?

They get out of their cars and start yelling at each other.

HANDSOME ROB:

Never seen 'em before in my life.

CUT TO:

EXT. YEVHEN'S COIN & BULLION STORE -NIGHT

Steve bangs a fist against the steel security door that

covers the closed store. The steel door rises up and once

again Yevhen unlocks another door.

YEVHEN:

You're early.

STEVE:

And I'm in a hurry, okay?

INT. YEVHEN'S COINS & BULLION STORE -NIGHT

It doesn't seem to matter if Steve's in a hurry or not,

Yevhen still runs at the mouth while heading into the back

room.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUEDONTINUED:

YEVHEN '

Of course the Florida vote rigging was a

CIA and Mob operation. ,

STEVE:

(with total disinterest)

That a fact?

YEVHEN:

You want facts? Fact: CIA officials

were allowed free — and illegal — access

to official election material.

Steve puts his duffel bag down on the table. It THUDS. Once

again, he pulls out three gold bricks that each weigh 25

pounds.

YEVHEN (CONT'D)

Now given the sordid history in Miami of

joint ventures between Central

Intelligence and the Mob, which led to

the unsuccessful attempts to kill Fidel

Castro and the successful assassination

of your President John F. Kennedy, this

conjunction raises numerous red flags.

STEVE:

And I'd love to hear more about it, but

like I said...

YEVHEN:

Don't worry, we'll have you out in no

time. The cash is on its way.

Steve c*cks his head, as if he could not have heard right.

STEVE:

On its way?

YEVHEN:

My cousin is bringing it over.

STEVE:

Your cousin?

YEVHEN:

Yes. Cousin Mashkov.

STEVE:

He's on his way?

YEVHEN:

Don't worry, he will be here any minute.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED:
(2)

Steve looks up to the security camera.

STEVE:

The tape's off?

YEVHEN:

Of course. Believe me, he doesn't want

to be on video, either.

STEVE:

Yevhen. Didn't I tell you, many times,

that I never wanted to meet with anyone

but you?

Yevhen sweats a bit.

YEVHEN:

I know. But it's his cash. He uses me

to launder money. I'm just a middleman.

STEVE:

And a middleman is supposed to stay in

the middle.

YEVHEN:

YEVHEN:

But you were early. Please. Don't

worry. It will be fine. My cousin's a

cool guy. Like I am.

STEVE:

What you are, is a Dixie cup.

Yevhen smiles quizzically, not sure if he's being

complimented or insulted.

YEVHEN:

Dixie cup?

Before the words are out of Yevhen's mouth, Steve grabs one

of the 25 pound gold bricks and slaps it across Yevhen's

face, shattering his jaw.

Yevhen's falls to the floor and Steve lifts the brick again

and rams it down onto his head with an ugglyyTHUD. And aggain.

And again.

He then takes the gold brick — slathered in blood — and

places it back in his duffle bag.

CUT TO:

INT. YEVHEN'S COINS & BULLION STORE -TEN MINUTES LATER

Yevhen's Ukrainian cousin, MASHKOV, stares down at the

corpse. Steve is long gone.

Mashkov kneels down by the body and starts sobbing.

INT. HOUSE -NIGHT

Mashkov walks through a living room, past some lighting

equipment and a video camera and we get just enough of a look

to realize that a porno is being shot here but he couldn't

care less as he makes his way into the kitchen where —

His boss, DANYA, 60, the owner of this house, is eating a

bowl of Frosted Flakes at the kitchen table. They speak in a

colloquial Ukrainian tongue that we SUBTITLE.

MASHKOV:

My cousin Yevhen was beaten to death.

DANYA:

By who?

MASHKOV:

That's what I'm going to find out.

They stop talking for a moment as one of the "ACTRESSES"

comes in, plops herself down next to Danya and pours herself

a bowl of cereal. She puts her hand on Danya's leg. She's

young and it's a disturbing image and we RECOGNIZE HER:

she's the HITCHHIKER who Lyle passed in the taxi ride down

Figueroa Street when he first arrived in L.A.

Danya goes back to speaking SUBTITLED UKRAINIAN.

DANYA:

And what will you do when you find this

piece of sh*t who killed your cousin?

MASHKOV:

I'll hack off his limbs and bury him

while he's still alive.

DANYA:

Okay. But now we should stop talking

Ukrainian, it's rude to my girl.

(switching to accented ENGLISH)

How are you tonight, Karen?

KAREN:

Hungry.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUED:

DANYA:

Then eat your Frosted Flakes.

KAREN:

(like Tony the Tiger)

They're grrrreat!

Danya laughs pleasantly.

DANYA:

Such a perfect girl.

But as she eats her cereal, we see a troubled, sad look on

her face.

INT. RENTED WAREHOUSE -DAY

The three Minis are parked inside: one red, one white, one

blue. Handsome Rob and Stella are doing custom work under

the hoods. Lyle is wearing the strap-on laptop and typing

away. Half-Ear squeezes silver Haliburton suitcases into the

Minis' trunks as Charlie enters —

CHARLIE:

How are our matchbox cars?

HANDSOME ROB:

Souped.

STELLA:

Don't let their size fool you. These

were rally cars back in the day. 135

mph, 155 horsepower —

LYLE:

Do I get to drive one?

HANDSOME ROB:

He.

LYLE:

Why not?

HANDSOME ROB:

Because you can't navigate your way out

of a parking lot. Here's your ride.

He pulls a blanket off a Vespa. Lyle points at Half-Ear.

LYLE:

But he ran into me.

(CONTINUED)

CONTINUEDONTINUED:

HANDSOME ROB:

He's not driving either.

(to Stella)

You ever got a speeding ticket?

STELLA:

Let's put it this way: I can only get

insurance through companies that

advertise on TV at 3:00 in the morning.

HANDSOME ROB:

You drive. I drive. Charlie drives.

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