The Ninth Gate Page #13

THE GIRL calmly climbs the last few steps with CORSO, a beg in

one hand and his glasses in the other. She hands them to him.

THE GIRL:
They're broken. You should be more careful.

CORSO, leaning back against the promenade wall and breathing

heavily, stares at her with his mouth open. He slides down the

wall and subsides into a sitting position on the sidewalk.

67. RIVERSIDE STREET EXT/NIGHT

CORSO, one lens of his glasses cracked, is still sitting on the

sidewalk with his back against the wall. THE GIRL is sitting

beside him.

He produces a crumpled Lucky and lights it. it takes him quite a

while, his hands are shaking so badly.

THE GIRL's nose is bleeding. She wipes it on her sleeve. CORSO

produces a handkerchief as crumpled as his cigarette and hands it

to her.

CORSO:
When did you learn all that?

THE GIRL:
What?

CORSO aims a feeble kick in the air.

CORSO:
That stuff.

THE GIRL (casually): Oh, ages ago.

CORSO:
No sh*t.

THE GIRL gets up and holds out her hand. CORSO takes it and rises

with an effort. He flicks his cigarette over the parapet.

They walk off along the promenade side by side.

68. PARIS HOTEL:
LOBBY, RECEPTION DESK INT/NIGHT

CORSO goes up to the reception desk, where GRUBER is on duty.

CORSO:
I need a favor, Gruber.

GRUBER looks up, registers his broken glasses and dishevelled

condition. THE GIRL is standing in the background.

GRUBER:
Certainly, Mr. Corso.

CORSO:
Liana Telfer, maiden name Saint-Damien. Thirtyish, blond,

dishy. Probably accompanied by a big man with a Clark Gable

mustache.

Impassive as ever, GRUBER make some notes on a pad.

CORSO (cont.):
I want to know if they're staying at some hotel

here in Paris.

GRUBER:
It could take a little time.

CORSO:
Of course. Start with the five-stars. They're the best

bet.

GRUBER:
Very good, sir. (pause) Are you feeling all right?

CORSO:
I've felt better. Thanks, Gruber. Let me know if you

locate them.

GRUBER watches CORSO and THE GIRL walk to the elevators.

69. PARIS HOTEL:
BEDROOM INT/NIGHT

CORSO is filling a plastic laundry bag with ice from a tray in

the minibar.

THE GIRL is sitting on the bed with her head tilted back and a

bloodstained handkerchief to her nose. The bedside light bathes

the room in a subdued glow.

CORSO:
Here, hold this against your neck and lie back.

He sits down beside her and hands her the improvised ice pack.

She applies it to the nape of her neck, lies back and shuts her

eyes.

CORSO (cont.):
You were great down there by the river. I haven't

really thanked you.

She opens her eyes and smiles at him.

CORSO (cont.):
Like to tell me what's going on?

THE GIRL (shrugs faintly): Someone's after your book.

CORSO:
They didn't have to kill Fargas to get it. They didn't

have to mutilate his copy, either. They tore out the engravings

and ditched the rest. There's got to be more to it than that.

Her nose has stopped bleeding.

THE GIRL:
Do you believe in the Devil, Corso?

CORSO:
I'm being paid to. Do you?

THE GIRL (smiles): I'm a bit of a devil myself...

She reaches up, removes his glasses, and puts them on the bedside

table. CORSO eyes her uncertainly. Then the spell is broken: her

nose starts to bleed again.

She puts her fingertips to it and inspects the blood on them.

Very deliberately, she dabbles them in the blood some more,

reaches up, and gently draws four vertical lines down his face

from his forehead to his mouth, where her fingertips linger.

CORSO's face approaches hers. They melt into a passionate kiss,

Then she pushes W= away, rolls him over on his back, unbuttons

his shirt, and rests her palms on his chest. Playfully, she runs

her forefinger over the imprint of Liana's teeth.

THE GIRL (smiles mischievously): Would you know a devil if you

saw one?

70. PARIS HOTEL:
STAIRS, LOBBY, RECEPTION DESK INT/DAWN

CORSO, tieless and unshaven, descends the stairs to the lobby

carrying his beg. The JUNIOR DESK CLERK, a spotty youth, is

dozing on a chair behind the reception desk. CORSO goes over and

reps on the desk. The JUNIOR DESK CLERK springs to his feet like

a jack-in-a-box. CORSO jerks his chin at the door behind him.

CORSO:
Do you have a photocopier back there?

JUNIOR DESK CLERK: Er, yes, monsieur.

CORSO:
May I use it?

JUNIOR DESK CLERK: Are you a guest, monsieur?

CORSO:
You mean I don't look like one?

JUNIOR DESK CLERK: Of course, monsieur. This way, monsieur.

He lifts a flap and shows CORSO into the back office.

CORSO:
Room 35. And get them to send up breakfast for two.

71. PARIS HOTEL:
OFFICE INT/DAWN

CORSO has deposited his bag beside the photocopier and taken out

Balkan's 'Nine Gates'. He opens it at the first engraving - THE

KNIGHT WITH A FINGER TO HIS LIPS - and inverts it. Positioning it

on the photocopier, he shuts the flap and presses the start

button.

The photocopy glides out into the tray.

72. PARIS HOTEL:
CORSO'S ROOM INT/DAWN

CORSO enters, quietly closing the door behind him. THE GIRL is

lying sprawled among the rumpled sheets, fast asleep. Her clothes

are draped over a chair with her backpack alongside.

Stealthily, CORSO takes Balkan's 'Nine Gates' from his bag and

secretes it behind the minibar, then goes into the bathroom.

73. PARIS HOTEL:
BATHROOM, BEDROOM, CORRIDOR INT/DAY

CORSO, with his hair damp from the shower and a towel around his

waist, is halfway through shaving when there's a knock on the

bathroom door.

One cheek daubed with foam, he opens it to find himself

confronted by a FLOOR WAITER, check pad and ballpoint in hand.

FLOOR WAITER:
Bonjour, monsieur. Votre petit d‚jeuner.

CORSO:
Oh. Sure.

Taking the pad, he emerges into the bedroom and scribbles his

signature, then stops short: there's a breakfast cart in the

middle of the room, but the bed in empty and The Girl's clothes

and backpack have disappeared.

CORSO (cont.):
Where is she?

WAITER:
Pardon?

CORSO:
Madame, ou elle est?

FLOOR WAITER:
Je ne sais pas, m'sieur.

He makes for the door and exits.

CORSO catches hold of the door just as it's closing, puts his

head out into the corridor, looks right and left.

No one in sight but the FLOOR WAITER, who casts a puzzled glance

over his shoulder as he walks off.

CORSO steps back into the bedroom and shuts the door. He stands

there for a moment, frowning at the empty bed. Then, abruptly

galvanized, he dashes over to the minibar and looks behind it.

His fears are groundless: 'The Nine Gates' is still there.

Just then the phone rings. He picks up the receiver and puts it

to his ear on the clean-shaven side of his face.

CORSO:
Yes?

BALKAN (V.O.):
Come down. I'm in the cafe across the street.

74. PARIS HOTEL, CAFE. EXT/INT/DAY

CORSO, wearing his crumpled overcoat and carrying his bag,

emerges from the hotel and crosses the street to a cafe opposite.

He enters and looks around, catches sight of BALKAN's sleek gray

head at a table in the corner. He goes over to him.

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