The Terminator Page #10

Call me, kiddo. I need you.

It's Stoker's on Pico. Bye.

Terminator is rapidly and methodically rifling the contents

of Sarah's small desk. SIREN'S WAIL, approaching.

He picks up a small card.

E.C.U. - CARD. It is Sarah's college I.D. card, complete with

color photo of her.

MACRO ON PICTURE.

E.C.U. - TERMINATOR'S EYES as he tosses the card down,

after a fraction of a second's scan. Picks up something else.

TIGHT ON SARAH'S ADDRESS BOOK, Terminator pockets this and

slips out the balcony door. Climbing over the railing, he

is gone.

CUT TO:

84 INT. STOKER'S BAR - NIGHT 84

Sarah is huddled, back to the wall, beside the phone.

SARAH:

(on phone, upset)

...look, Lieutenant...uh,

Vukovich, don't put me on

hold and don't transfer me

to another department...

CUT TO:

85 INT. VUKOVICH'S OFFICE - NIGHT 85

VUKOVICH:

(on phone)

I won't. Now just relax.

Where are you?

(pause)

Yeah, I know it...on Pico.

Are you alright?

CUT TO:

86 INT. STOKER'S BAT - NIGHT 86

SARAH:

(on phone)

Yes, but I don't want to

leave. I think this guy's

following me.

CUT TO:

87 INT. VUKOVICH'S OFFICE - NIGHT 87

VUKOVICH:

(on phone)

Alright, Ms. Connor. Listen

carefully. You're in a public

place, you'll be safe 'til we

get there. Stay visible.

Don't go outside or in the

restroom. I'll be there in

a few minutes.

He hangs up and grabs his coat, motioning to Traxler.

VUKOVICH:

Let's roll.

CUT TO:

88 INT. STOKER'S BAR - NIGHT 88

Sarah takes a seat at a booth near the bar, and picks up

a dog-eared menu, but can't concentrate on it. She looks

at her watch and glances around.

CUT TO:

89 EXT. STREET - NIGHT 89

The yellow Maverick hurtles along an empty street.

CLOSER ANGLE as streetlight glare slashes across Terminator's

face in flaring pulses.

CUT TO:

90 INT. PLAIN CAR - NIGHT 90

Vukovich draws his Colt Python .357 Magnum and check the

load. Traxler is driving.

VUKOVICH:

Let's see how this guy likes

playing hard-ball.

CUT TO:

91 INT. STOKER'S BAR - NIGHT 91

The waitress set a cup of coffee in front of Sarah.

WAITRESS:

Anything else?

Sarah shakes her head "No" and contemplates her trembling

hands. She half-turns, catching a glimpse of herself in

the mirror behind the bar.

TIGHT ON SARAH, reflected in the mirror. In the F.G. a

man at the bar looks up from his beer, straight into her eyes.

It is Reese.

He gazes at her coolly for a moment, then glances away.

C.U. - SARAH, feeling trapped, frantic.

ANGLE ON FRONT DOOR as it opens and a figure stands silhou-

etted briefly against a streetlight.

Reese turns, his eyes flickering to the mirror, the figure.

C.U. - REESE as he mechanically raises his beer. His knuckles

are white. He slowly undoes the top button of his overcoat.

There is a glint of metal in the shadows within.

Reese turns slowly on his barstool as the figure brushes past

him, out-of-focus F.G.

Sarah looks up.

E.C.U. - REESE'S HAND sliding slowly along polished steel,

a caress. His finger slips through the triggerguard of the

riot gun.

MEDIUM ON SARAH, as the man stops in front of her in close F.G.

He sits slowly in the booth opposite her. The angle is OVER

HIS SHOULDER.

SARAH:

(uncertainly)

Lieutenant Vukovich?

REVERSE ANGLE - It is not Lt. Vukovich.

Terminator sits motionless for a BEAT.

Blue eyes so pure and deep. The eyes of a saint, perhaps.

The .45 is out and cocked and AIMED DIRECTLY AT CAMERA, almost

in one motion.

The bore seems enormous.

BACK ON SARAH, over the gun barrel, her eyes go wide. We hold

a BEAT, like a frozen slice of nightmare.

MEDIUM ON REESE as he whips the riot-gun to a hip-firing posi-

tion, his overcoat falling back with a snap. HE FIRES.

ON TERMINATOR, as the shotgun blast hits his arm and he FIRES,

simultaneously. Sarah screams as the .45 round blows stuffing

out of the booth seat inches from her face. Her hair is

singed by burning gunpowder. An involuntary cry is punched

out of her by the double concussions.

Reese is stroking up another shell as Terminator half-rises

from booth.

OVER REESE'S SHOULDER, as he fires, c*cks the slide, fires

again, advancing on Sarah's booth.

Terminator is blown backward over the center divider,

crashing through the glasses and pitchers of beer on the

table opposite, and onto the floor.

Sarah is screaming, scrunched down in the booth.

Terminator is lying on his back at the feet of a table-

full of drunk patrons.

He has two rifled 12 gauge slugs in his chest and one

in the arm.

The bar customers are frozen in the weird tableau, cowering,

gaping.

Sarah stops screaming.

Reese stand motionless, gun aimed.

In the sudden silence, the sound of him cocking the shotgun

is abnormally loud.

ON TERMINATOR, very still.

Then he smoothly rolls to a crouch and slips the UZI machine

pistol from beneath his overcoat, where it has been hang-

ing on a shoulder strap.

He doesn't seem too impaired as he swings around to fire.

Reese rolls like a cat and comes up firing.

A burst from the UZI rakes the bar where he stood.

An orgy of shattering glass.

Total pandemonium.

SEVERAL ANGLES as patrons of the bar run, scream or dive

for cover, depending upon their level of intelligence.

Reese slides through the glass to Sarah's booth and seizes

her wrists.

ON TERMINATOR, kneeling amid the chaos, raising the UZI

one-handed.

Reese tugs viciously on Sarah's arm and she sprawls across

the booth seat a moment before the divider and seat cushion

erupt with hits from the UZI.

ANGLE ON A RUNNING PATRON as a burst of 9mm fire catches

him in the chest. He pitches into Sarah's booth, pinning

her.

Reese fires, ducks, fires again.

Tables crash over.

A window is blown out.

A table candle rolls into a pool of high-proof alcohol

behind the bar.

It ignites with a WHOOSH.

Reese feed two shells into the riot-gun.

TIGHT ON TERMINATOR, an island of slow, precise movement

amid the confusion. He drops a spent clip. Reaches for

another with his bloody hand.

MOVING WITH REESE as he vaults the row of booths and starts

firing. At point blank range he unloads the shotgun into

Terminator's belly.

CUT TO:

92 INT./EXT. STOKER'S/STREET - NIGHT 92

Terminator crashes backwards through two tables and a plate

glass window into the street.

CUT TO:

93 INT. STOKER'S BAR - NIGHT 93

The roaring fire behind the bar is spreading very quickly.

The air is thick with smoke.

Reese tosses the UZI, for which he has no ammo, into the

fire. He hauls the dead man off Sarah and reaches for her.

TIGHT ON SARAH, shrinking away from Reese, hysterical.

When he grabs her wrist she struggles, eyes wide.

C.U. - REESE, very intense.

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