The Limey Page #20

WILSON:

(over)

Bloke told me.

Beat.

WILSON (cont'd)

(over)

You shouldn't go back to your place. Not

till... this is resolved.

Another beat.

ELAINE:

(over)

I hear it's a nice drive.

CUT.

EXT. RESTAURANT. BACK ALLEY.

Ed gets into Wilson's car. Elaine in there too.

CUT.

EXT. COAST HIGHWAY. DAY.

Wilson's rented car. Heading for Big Sur.

INT. CAR.

Ed drives. Wilson beside him. Elaine in the back.

ED:

What d'you say, Elaine?

ELAINE:

Not much -- you?

ED:

Same.

ELAINE:

Uh-huh.

ED:

Last time I saw you, weren't you up for

some equity-waiver thing?

ELAINE:

Probably.

ED:

I was gonna be in that Michael Mann

movie, you know -- with Pacino and

DeNiro. Got three callbacks.

ELAINE:

Really.

ED:

Didn't get it.

ELAINE:

Well, those are the breaks.

ED:

Not no more, they ain't. I quit that

acting sh*t, man.

ELAINE:

You just cooking then?

ED:

Hell, no. I started writing.

Elaine and Wilson exchange glances.

EXT. HIGHWAY. DAY.

Onwards.

CUT.

INT. BAR. DAY.

Stacy and Uncle John sit and drink. Uncle John lamenting

their monetary loss. Stacy thinking to himself.

UNCLE JOHN:

We coulda used the other two-and-a-half

grand.

STACY:

There's more than a measly few grand in

this.

UNCLE JOHN:

There is?

STACY:

Something's on.

UNCLE JOHN:

What?

STACY:

I happen to know more about Mr. Whatever-

his-name-is than he thinks I know about

him and his operation.

UNCLE JOHN:

You do?

STACY:

You bet.

UNCLE JOHN:

Like what.

STACY:

Like he'd never hire me for real. Not

week-to-week. I don't have the

credentials. He thinks I'm just a

sociopath, someone he can turn to when he

needs "plausible denial."

UNCLE JOHN:

Well, we blew it, didn't we? He ain't

wrong.

STACY:

(savage mimicry)

"He ain't wrong." Listen, I know this

a**hole who did just go to work for him.

Full-time. And this d*ckhead's parents

just told me he took a road trip up the

coast. That's the type of individual gets

hired, someone who'll shoot his mouth off

to his family while on the job.

UNCLE JOHN:

I don't get it.

STACY:

I don't know who that English guy is.

Some kind of --

(finding the word)

-- courier or something. Maybe a seller.

Maybe a buyer. But Mr. Avery wanted him,

those jigs wanted him -- and I betcha

there's a briefcase somewhere.

UNCLE JOHN:

What's in it?

STACY:

(shrugs)

Drugs? Cash? Both if we're lucky.

UNCLE JOHN:

How we gonna get that lucky?

STACY:

While they're all f***ing each other

over... couple of parties like us could

move right in.

CUT.

EXT. HIGHWAY. DAY.

Wilson's car.

Closer to Big Sur. Scenery more magnificent.

INT. WILSON'S CAR.

Ed still driving. Wilson next to him. Opening a new

cigarette pack.

ED:

I've been wondering something.

WILSON:

Again?

ED:

Do you have any friends, man?

WILSON:

Yeah, I suppose. Call 'em that, yeah.

Down the boozer Saturday night. Meet

some of the lads.

ELAINE:

(a little more pointed)

Friends and colleagues.

WILSON:

You can't count on very many people,

that's the trouble. Number of times a

decent job's been cocked up...

ELAINE:

Poor baby.

Little back-seat sarcasm there. Wilson looks kind of bitter.

WILSON:

Useless gits. I was gonna do the Post

Office once.

ED:

What post office?

WILSON:

The lot. The whole British bloody Post

Office. I had a brilliant plan -- all

worked out -- work of genius, it was.

Could I get anybody interested? No --

they're too busy pinching orange squash

from the milkman. Lazy sods. Jumble

sale on in Watford, they'll be up at the

crack of dawn.

ELAINE:

You're just on a higher plane, Wilson.

WILSON:

Too bleeding true, 'n' it.

Flicks some cigarette pack paper out the window.

EXT. HIGHWAY.

The car speeds along.

CUT.

EXT. HOUSE. BIG SUR. DAY.

An impressive clifftop dwelling. Isolated on a winding road.

On a beautiful promontory overlooking the sea. Valentine

RINGS the DOORBELL (actually CHIME). It's opened by his ex-

wife. SUSAN. Very well-maintained. 50-something.

Surprised to see him. But not overjoyed.

VALENTINE:

Hello there.

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