The Limey Page #9

They stand here a while. Listening to the BREAKERS hit the

shore.

CUT.

INT. ELAINE'S APARTMENT. NIGHT.

They come in.

ELAINE:

Make yourself at home. Steal something.

That gets her a look.

ELAINE:

There's nothing I can't afford to lose.

She goes to make coffee. Wilson looks around.

ELAINE:

Do you even know who Terry Valentine is?

WILSON:

Well, I gathered something from the

article what Eddie sent me. Some sort of

pop music producer, wasn't it.

Maybe a smile from Elaine at the quaintness of "pop" music.

ELAINE:

Rock n' roll, is what we called it. He's

sort of a forgotten figure now, but back

when the West Coast was the grooviest

place on earth, Terry Valentine was where

all the happenings happened. More of a

kind of promoter, I guess, whatever that

means. Just took that whole Southern

California Sixties Zeitgeist and ran with

it. Packaged and sold it. Made out like

a bandit.

FLASH CUTS:

VALENTINE. At home. Watching as Adhara undresses, either

deliberately for him, or just casually. She smiles as she

notices he's looking.

WILSON:

What's he done lately.

That line pregnant with meaning. Elaine looks at him.

Avoids answering the question actually implied there.

ELAINE:

(brings a tray over)

Lives high off the hog and waits for the

next big thing. Like me -- but on a

grander scale of failure.

WILSON:

Now, you shouldn't run yourself down. My

employer, Mr. Lindgren --

ELAINE:

-- Your employer?

WILSON:

-- Mr. Lindgren.

ELAINE:

Who's Mr. Lindgren?

WILSON:

My employer.

ELAINE:

What line is he in.

WILSON:

Proprietor of a London firm. Of

longstanding.

ELAINE:

I see.

WILSON:

Based in London, but with international

concerns.

ELAINE:

I bet.

WILSON:

Various enterprises, style of thing.

ELAINE:

I thought you said you never did an

honest day's work in your life.

WILSON:

Well, not to say Mr. Lindgren is

dishonest, exactly.

ELAINE:

(she gets the picture)

Right.

WILSON:

Anyhow, he's always saying to me, Dave,

never run yourself down, son -- 'cause

there'll always be plenty of people

willing to do it for you.

ELAINE:

In what capacity are you employed by this

Mr. Lindgren?

WILSON:

This and that. Y'know. Ways and means.

ELAINE:

-- When he wants someone run down, you're

willing to do it for him.

They sort of come together -- in mutual understanding -- and

sit down. Coffee steaming.

ELAINE:

So what's the deal. You and Terry

Valentine at twenty paces. Is that what

this is about.

WILSON:

Why not.

ELAINE:

Are you serious.

WILSON:

Have you ever known me not to be.

Elaine looks away:

ELAINE:

You f***in' guys and your d*cks.

WILSON:

What'd you want me to do. Stay at home,

twiddlin' me thumbs. Doing sweet F.A.

[F*** All].

ELAINE:

You don't believe it was a car accident.

WILSON:

What do you think.

ELAINE:

Terry's never going to give you

satisfaction. Not the type.

WILSON:

Depends, don' it.

ELAINE:

On what. What makes you so certain.

WILSON:

I'll bloody well ask him.

ELAINE:

There's the phone. You want his number.

WILSON:

That look again.

WILSON:

I got his number.

ELAINE:

Past caring.

ELAINE:

I'm not going to help you.

She goes into a bathroom. Shutting the door behind her.

WILSON:

Sips coffee. Bites into a cookie.

CUT.

EXT. HILLSIDE. UNDERBRUSH. LATE AFTERNOON.

Thickets part and we SEE Wilson scrambling up a rather steep

hill. Coming to a ridge where he settles down to look at

something O.S. His expression changes by degrees from

curiosity to dawning realization to a kind of frustrated

disappointment.

INT. WILSON'S CAR (ON THE ROAD BELOW). LATE AFTERNOON.

Ed sits in here, RADIO on. Wilson appears out of the brush,

gets in. Ed turns the radio down.

ED:

(mindful of the odd car driving

past)

Told you you wouldn't be able to see

through that gate.

WILSON:

Gate's open. I had a butcher's at the

house.

ED:

(alarmed)

Who'd you butcher at the house?

WILSON:

Butcher's hook. Look.

(doesn't anyone speak English

in this f***ing country?)

I don't much reckon those minders of his.

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