The Limey Page #17

UNCLE JOHN:

That don't mean nothin'.

Stacy knows better than to argue with a moron.

UNCLE JOHN:

She's nice lookin'.

STACY:

So what.

UNCLE JOHN:

I dunno. I just said she's nice lookin'.

STACY:

And I said so what. You think she's any

happier?

UNCLE JOHN:

What d'you mean, any happier?

STACY:

Any happier than any other a**hole in

life.

Pause.

UNCLE JOHN:

I dunno. I never met her.

CUT.

INT. SOUND STUDIO. DAY.

On screen:
A BEAUTIFUL MODEL -- but speaking in ELAINE'S

VOICE.

ELAINE:

At a mic. Wearing headphones. Matching her voice to the

model's lip movements. Looping this commercial or whatever

it is.

INT. HALLWAY.

Wilson. Comes to a window where he can see Elaine inside in

the sound-proofed studio.

CUT.

INT. SOUND STUDIO. DAY.

Wilson and Elaine talk while technicians change reels.

ELAINE:

-- they want Southern, I do Southern,

they want Midwest, I do Midwest, they

want tall, blonde, and twenty-two, I'm

sh*t out of luck.

(pauses)

One thing I can't do is English.

Americans can't. Shouldn't even try.

And Laurence Olivier couldn't do us.

WILSON:

You ever been to London?

ELAINE:

Only in the movies.

WILSON:

I've 'ardly ever left it.

ELAINE:

Yeah, well, you're here now --

(re Wilson's accent)

-- where hurricanes hardly ever happen.

WILSON:

I've got the hang of the driving. Found

this place all right.

ELAINE:

Stick with me, kid. Looks big when you

get here but you can cover it in five

minutes.

Beat.

ELAINE (cont'd)

So, is there anybody in your family who's

not a criminal?

WILSON:

Not that I recall.

ELAINE:

What about your grandmother?

WILSON:

Nah -- she was married to me grandad --

he was as bent as a boomerang -- used to

make knuckle-dusters down the shop.

Crafty old sod.

ELAINE:

He alive to see this?

WILSON:

(shakes head)

Dropped dead in the stalls in the Odeon,

Muswell Hill. Watching Doris Day.

ELAINE:

What'd your father do?

WILSON:

Black market during the war.

Elaine shakes her head.

ELAINE:

I guess you're just habitual.

WILSON:

You sound like my f***ing probation

officer.

ELAINE:

Won't he be looking for you about now?

WILSON:

Good luck to him. He couldn't find his

prick if he didn't wear Y-fronts.

ELAINE:

Minor officials bother you, don't they?

WILSON:

Do us a favor. Can't even go have a

slash without 'em saying, what're you

going in there for?

EXT. ELAINE'S BUILDING. DAY.

Elaine and Wilson enter. Stacy not far behind. Catches

outside gate before it slams shut.

CUT.

INT. ELAINE'S BUILDING. DAY.

Wilson and Elaine turn the corner into the corridor

approaching her apartment door. Pause to kiss. Walk closer.

And Stacy appears at the other end of the hall. Both arms

stretched out with the .38 at the end of them.

STACY:

Hi, kids.

Starts to squeeze off a shot. As Wilson pushes Elaine to the

floor. As another SHOT rings out from further along the hall

behind Stacy. Catching him across the cheek. Only skimming

him. But knocking him down. Bullet chipping the wall.

UNCLE JOHN:

Across from Stacy. Freezes, his own gun in hand.

AT THE STAIRS:

Three BLACK GUYS. Including Thompson. They approach. Guns

pointed at Stacy and Uncle John.

WILSON:

Hand on his .45 now. But a fourth Black Guy coming up behind

him. Wilson lowers the .45.

ELAINE:

Flattened herself back against a wall. Petrified.

STACY:

Sits on the floor. Holds his hurt face. Thompson walks over

and picks up Stacy's gun. One of the other blacks relieves a

reluctant Uncle John of his.

THOMPSON:

(stops at Wilson)

Come with us.

If there's any doubt whether Wilson will -- one of the blacks

gently puts the muzzle of a gun to Elaine's head. C*cks the

hammer.

They all go off down the stairwell. Except Stacy and Uncle

John.

Hit men wondering what hit them.

CUT.

INT. ROOM. DAY.

Like Wilson's motel room, another version of a cell.

A small window, high up. Bricks and debris around the floor.

And Wilson and Elaine. Sitting, leaning against opposite

stone walls.

ELAINE:

Tell me you wouldn't prefer a steady

income.

Wilson takes a cigarette pack from a pocket. Lights himself

one. Then tosses the stuff over to Elaine.

WILSON:

I got a steady income -- I'm on the dole.

ELAINE:

(lights up)

A leech on the welfare state in addition.

You don't miss a trick.

WILSON:

I fiddle it. They got me down as an

immigrant with five kids.

Elaine sort of shares a laugh at that.

ELAINE:

Yeah... Jenny spoke fondly of her

imaginary siblings.

Though real ones might have been nice. This an unspoken

thought between them.

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