The Terminator Page #4

She runs the gauntlet between tables, precariously balancing

two full dinner plates on one arm and hand-carrying a

third. A customer tugs on her apron for attention and she

barely averts contributing the chili size to his wardrobe.

CUSTOMER:

Honey, can I get that coffee

now?

SARAH:

Yes sir, just a second.

She reaches her table after near collisions with a Mexican

busboy and two teenage girls doing cheerleading routines

in lock-step.

SARAH:

Who gets the Burly Burger?

CUSTOMER TWO:

I ordered Barbecue Beef.

CUSTOMER THREE:

Does mine come with fires?

CUSTOMER FOUR:

He's got the Barbecue Beef,

I've got a Chili-Beef Deluxe.

SARAH:

Okay, who gets the Burly Beef?

CUSTOMER AT NEXT TABLE

Miss, we're ready to order.

In the process of setting down all the plates Sarah knocks

over someone's water glass.

SARAH:

(mopping fran-

tically)

Oh, sorry. That's not real

leather, is it?

As she cleans up the spill, a kid at the next booth reaches

over and dumps a scoop of ice cream into the top pouch of

Sarah's apron

She stares down at the mess melting over her hard-earned

and sags with defeat. NANCY, a plump, gum-chewing waitress,

stops beside her to whisper.

NANCY:

Look at it this way: in a

hundred years, who's gonna

care?

CUT TO:

33 EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - DAY

ANGLE on a standard-issue L.A. suburban street with kids

racing Big Wheels B.G.

LOW ANGLE with the FRAME comprising a single house, toy-

littered lawn and mailbox. EXTREME F.G., by the curb, is

a CHILD'S PLASTIC TRUCK.

There is the sound of a CAR ENGINE approaching, and the

front of the yellow Maverick appears, stopping at the curb.

Its front tire CRUSHES the toy.

PANAGLIDE ON TERMINATOR, preceding him as he steps out of the

car, pauses by the mailbox to check the name, and strides

toward the house.

A YOUNG BOY, playing in the driveway, watches him pass. The

boy's DOG, a small Terrier, growls low and mean, crouching

back from Terminator.

He rings the doorbell and waits, motionless.

The door opens a few inches, held by a security chain,

revealing a frail MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN in apron and rubber

cleaning gloves.

TERMINATOR:

Sarah Connor?

WOMAN:

No, she's upstairs. Who

shall I say is--

Terminator breaks the chain and pushes past her as if she

didn't exist.

CUT TO:

33A INT. HOUSE/FOYER 33A

PANAGLIDE ON TERMINATOR, preceding his as he crosses the

foyer and mounts the stairs. The woman starts after him.

WOMAN:

What do you think you're--

My God!

She gasps and stops in her tracks as Terminator smoothly

pulls the .45 from under his jacket and snaps the cocking

slide.

WOMAN:

(screeching)

Oh my God...Sarah!

CUT TO:

33B INT. BEDROOM 33B

Installed on her bed for an afternoon of 'soaps' is the

WRONG SARAH CONNOR. ELECTRODE PADS exercise her doughy

thighs as the 35 year old divorcee watches "GENERAL HOSPITAL".

She calls out distractedly:

WRONG SARAH CONNOR

What is it, Mom?

She jumps as the door BANGS open. And stares in dumb

amazement as the good-looking, intense-eyed man in the

strange clothes raises a pistol.

And aims it at her face.

It all seems less real than "GENERAL HOSPITAL" in that

half-second before he FIRES.

CUT TO:

33C INT. FOYER 33C

The mother is fumbling with a telephone when she hears

the SHOT. The silence stretches for several BEATS. Then

FIVE MORE SHOTS are heard.

The woman screams and drops the phone as she stares upward.

ANGLE ON CEILING above her. With each successive shot a

chuck of plaster explodes off the ceiling.

CUT TO:

33D INT. BEDROOM 33D

LOW ANGLE ON TERMINATOR, standing with the .45 aimed

down at the dead woman, just OUT OF FRAME on the floor.

He unhurriedly removes the spent clip, reloads the weapon

and replaces it under his jacket.

Crouching down, he turns the woman's body over, confirming

that she is dead.

CUT TO:

33E INT. FOYER 33E

The mother is frantically dialing the phone. She mis-

dials, starts over. Then stops as she hears the bedroom

door open.

Terminator stands at the head of the stairs.

His hand is bloody where he grasped the dead woman's

shoulder.

He starts down the stairs.

The mother stands paralyzed, unable to breathe.

He reaches the main floor and walks toward her.

She edges into a corner, eyes wide.

He reaches out.

And wipes his hands clean on her apron.

Terminator walks out, without expression, leaving the

woman to sag to the floor in a faint.

CUT TO:

34 INT./EXT. SERVICE TUNNEL - DAY 34

TIGHT ON KYLE REESE'S HANDS as they make the last few

strokes with a hacksaw to sever the wooden stock from

the riot gun. It clatters to the ground, leaving a short

stump, like a pistol grip.

CUT WIDER as Reese hefts the weapon. He is crouched in

an underground service tunnel below a busy street. Shadows

of people walking across a grating in the sidewalk above

him flicker past. They can't see him in the darkness below

their feet as he checks the gun's action carefully. He

slips it under his overcoat where it hangs from a jerry-

rigged sling.

CUT TO:

35 EXT. STREET - DAY35

Reese emerges from a stairwell behind a service station,

his overcoat done up to the top button.

He walks through the sparse morning crowd on the cluttered,

overbuilt commercial street.

He is out of sync.

A stranger in a strange land.

He holds himself tightly reined, cautious and feral as he

moves among the unconcerned pedestrians.

His eyes flick rapidly about.

He is seeing this Babylon for the first time.

Reese stops at a hole-in-the-wall take-out stand. He

watches people walk away with food. Moves closer.

Scrutinizes the next man as he orders.

TAKE-OUT CUSTOMER

Gimme a falafel with yogurt

dressing and, uh, Baco-bits.

The counterman hands him his food and change wordlessly

as Reese steps up.

REESE:

Gimme a falafel with, uh,

yogurt and Baco-bits.

The counterman barely looks up as he passes the mess

through the window.

COUNTERMAN:

That'll be one-sixty.

He glances up and Reese is gone. He leans half out the

window.

COUNTERMAN:

(continuing)

Hey! Son-of-a-b*tch.

CUT TO:

35 EXT. ALLEY - DAY 35

Reese crouches in an alley, out of sight of passersby,

wolfing his food. The sauce runs down his sleeve but he

doesn't notice.

CUT TO:

35A INT. BIG BOB'S/DINING AREA - DAY 35A

An old man with a shrunken, ungenerous face scowls at

the menu as Sarah wipes the tabletop in front of him.

SARAH:

I haven't seen you in here

lately, Mr. Miller.

MR. MILLER

What's it to ya?

SARAH:

You must have a girlfriend.

MR. MILLER

That's none of your business.

SARAH:

Aha! Is she young?

Mr. Miller lowers his menu and glares at her.

MR. MILLER

Compared to me she is. How

come you're not at the cash

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