The Ninth Gate Page #16

CORSO and THE GIRL stand aside as an elevator door opens and some

camera-toting JAPANESE TOURISTS emerge. Meantime:

THE GIRL:
What'll you do when you see them?

CORSO (dryly):
Hide behind you, probably.

They enter the elevator. The doors glide shut.

89. HOTEL CRILLON: CORRIDOR INT/DAY

CORSO and THE GIRL walk down the corridor, checking numbers as

they go. They've almost reached the door of Suite 236-238 when it

opens abruptly. They jump back in alarm.

A BELLHOP emerges backside first, towing a baggage cart laden

with smart Vuitton suitcases.

CORSO and THE GIRL take refuge in a lateral passage a few feet to

their rear as the BELLHOP sets off down the corridor in the

opposite direction, leaving the door open.

CORSO pads silently up to the door and enters with THE GIRL at

his heels.

90. HOTEL CRILLON: SUITE INT/DAY

A deserted sitting room with an old 'Herald Tribune' lying

abandoned on the floor and two dirty coffee cups on the table. No

sound, no signs of recent occupation aside from a thin wisp of

smoke rising from the inefficiently stubbed-out remains of a

small cigar.

The bedroom door is ajar. THE GIRL stands watching as CORSO

tiptoes over pushes it open. The room is empty, the bed unmade.

CORSO:
Downstairs, quick!

91. HOTEL CRILLON: LOBBY INT/DAY

CORSO and THE GIRL have used the stairs for speed's sake.

Panting, they halt at the foot of the last flight and scan the

spacious but crowded lobby. it's a moment before they catch sight

of their quarry.

The MUSTACHE is standing at the cashier's desk with LIANA beside

him.

CORSO:
C'mon. Better grab a cab or we'll lose them.

Heads averted, they thread their way across the lobby and make

for the exit unobserved.

92. HOTEL CRILLON: CAB RANK EXT/DAY

CORSO and THE GIRL have stationed themselves at the cab rank on

the island. CORSO sees a cab approaching amid the stream of

traffic and tries to flag it down, but it's taken.

CORSO:
Damn!

93. HOTEL CRILLON: FORECOURT EXT/DAY

Meantime, in the forecourt, the DOORMAN hands LIANA into the

passenger seat of the Mercedes sedan while the MUSTACHE

supervises the BELLHOP as he stows their baggage in the trunk.

A Rolls pulls up behind the Mercedes, closely followed by a

yellow Lamborghini driven by a smartly dressed, mustachioed ARAB

with a BLOND BIMBO beside him.

The ARAB gets out, leaving his keys in the ignition. Nonchalantly

signaling to the DOORMAN to park his car, he disappears into the

hotel with the BIMBO in tow.

The DOORMAN acknowledges his gesture before smilingly accepting a

tip from the MUSTACHE, who gets in behind the wheel.

THE GIRL (O.S.):
They're going!

94. HOTEL CRILLON: CAB RANK, FORECOURT EXT/DAY

CORSO sights another cab approaching and cavorts into the

roadway, waving his arms like a madman.

The cab honks and swerves to avoid him, obstructing some other

vehicles, which honk in their turn. it's empty.

CORSO:
Bastard!

Frustrated yet again, he. retreats to the island.

Beyond his agitated figure in the forecourt, we see the Mercedes

drive off.

95. HOTEL CRILLON: FORECOURT, CAB RANK EXT/DAY

With a screech of tires, the yellow Lamborghini takes off fast in

reverse. Skirting the island, it backs out into the oncoming

traffic. Then, slammed into first, it skids to a halt beside the

curb at CORSO's elbow. The passenger door opens, THE GIRL cranes

over and looks up at him from behind the wheel.

THE GIRL:
Coming?

CORSO stares at her for an instant, then jumps in.

The Lamborghini sets off after the Mercedes, which is not far

ahead. it threads its way into the stream of traffic, pursued for

a few yards along the sidewalk by the wildly gesticulating

DOORMAN.

96. LAMBORGHINI/PARIS STREETS INT/EXT DAY

THE GIRL is expertly piloting the Lamborghini through heavy

traffic. The Mercedes can be seen a few cars ahead.

CORSO:
Couldn't you have pinched something a bit less

conspicuous?

THE GIRL:
Don't be so picky. Most people would give their

eyeteeth for a ride in this.

CORSO surveys the car's luxurious interior, opens the glove

compartment, removes the contents and inspects them: some CDs,

the car papers, a pair of expensive wrap-around sunglasses, an

Arab keffiyeh.

97. LAMBORGHINI/FREEWAY INT/EXT/LATE AFTERNOON

Visible through the windshield, the Mercedes is cruising along

several hundred yards ahead of the Lamborghini.

CORSO:
We can't sit on their tall forever. They're bound to smell

a rat.

98. FREEWAY EXT/DUSK

LONG SHOT of the Lamborghini accelerating to draw level with the

Mercedes.

99. MERCEDES/FREEWAY EXT/DUSK

The MUSTACHE, with LIANA at his elbow, glances sideways.

100. LAMBORGHINI/FREEWAY EXT/DUSK

The MUSTACHE's POV: the Lamborghini overtaking with a figure in

shades and a kefflyeh at the wheel.

It's THE GIRL. She looks straight ahead as she passes. No sign of

CORSO.

101. LAMBORGHINI/ FREEWAY EXT/DUSK

CORSO, who has been hiding below door level, sits up. After a

cursory glance over his shoulder, he settles back in his seat and

lights a Lucky, covertly eyeing THE GIRL.

THE GIRL:
How do I look?

CORSO:
You look a million. A million barrels of oil.

102. LAMBORGHINI/FREEWAY EXT/DUSK

The Lamborghini passes an exit. THE GIRL, who has discarded the

keffiyeh and shades, is driving with one eye on the rearview

mirror.

103. FREEWAY EXT/DUSK

The Mercedes indicates right, slows, and turns off at the exit.

THE GIRL (O.S.):
Sit tight!

104. LAMBORGHINI/FREEWAY EXT/DUSK

THE GIRL pulls over onto the shoulder and stands on the brakes.

Throwing the car into reverse almost before it's stationary, she

hurtles backward along the shoulder.

A couple of cars flash their headlights and blare as the

Lamborghini reaches the exit and skids to a halt, narrowly

missing a large truck that has beaten it to the exit.

105. LAMBORGHINI/EXIT ROAD EXT/DUSK

The Lamborghini crawls along behind the truck as it grinds up the

single-lane exit road.

CORSO (impatiently): C'mon, c'mon!

THE GIRL blasts the truck with her horn and flashes her

headlights. The truck's only response is to slow still further

before pulling up at a T junction.

CORSO (cont.):
What in hell's the matter with him?

Clearly visible in the glare of the Lamborghini's headlights, an

arm emerges from the truck's cab window and gives a prolonged,

one-fingered salute. The arm disappears, the truck moves off at

last and turns left across the bridge spanning the freeway. The

Mercedes is nowhere in sight.

The Lamborghini moves up to the T junction and stands there,

engine purring.

THE GIRL:
Take your pick.

CORSO:
No, you. You know everything.

THE GIRL:
If you say so.

She turns off right.

106. LAMBORGHINI/COUNTRY ROAR) EXT/NIGHT

It's dark now, and the Lamborghini is speeding along an avenue of

poplars. No sign of the Mercedes.

THE GIRL:
We lost them.

CORSO:
Not at this speed. They must have gone the other way.

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