The Terminator Page #8

in the phone book?

VUKOVICH:

No comment.

He and Traxler enter their office and shut the door.

CUT TO:

63 VUKOVICH'S OFFICE63

Vukovich drops his gun in the wastebasket, picks up a cup

of coffee from his desk and uses it to wash down a handful

of aspirins. Traxler grimaces.

TRAXLER:

That stuff's two hours cold.

VUKOVICH:

(nodding ab-

sently)

I know.

TRAXLER:

(eyeing him)

I put a cigarette out in it.

Vukovich, lost in thought, turns on him suddenly.

VUKOVICH:

Did you reach the next girl

yet?

TRAXLER:

No. Keep getting an answer-

ing machine.

VUKOVICH:

Send a unit.

TRAXLER:

I already did. No answer at

the door and the apartment

manager's out. I'm keeping

them there.

VUKOVICH:

Call her.

TRAXLER:

I just called.

VUKOVICH:

Call her again.

Traxler picks up the phone and begins to dial her number

as Vukovich sets down his coffee cup, unwraps a stick of

gum and pops it in his mouth.

VUKOVICH:

(continuing)

Got a cigarette?

CUT TO:

64 INT. SARAH'S APARTMENT - NIGHT 64

CLOSE ON PHONE, connected to the answering machine. The

outgoing message trigger after the second ring.

GINGER'S VOICE

(machine V.O.)

Hi there.

(long pause)

Ha ha ha, fooled you. You're

talking to a machine, but don't

by shy, it's okay. Machines need

love too, so talk to it and Ginger,

that's me, or Sarah will get back

to you. Wait for the beep.

As the message plays, CAMERA DOLLIES OFF the phone machine

and down the corridor of the dark apartment. As the bedroom

door draws near, Ginger's recorded voice fades and is super-

ceded by CRIES and MOANS.

CUT TO:

65 INT. BEDROOM 65

FULL SHOT, framed against the streetlit curtains, Ginger and

Matt from a beautiful tableau of lovemaking in silhouette.

Their perfect bodies glisten with backlight as they strain

in passion.

CLOSER - TIGHT TWO, revealing that Ginger is wearing her

earphones. Matt, without breaking rhythm, reaches out to

the night table and thumbs the volume higher.

Ginger cries out louder, apparently enjoying his sure touch

on her volume control.

CUT TO:

66 INT. DIVISION HEADQUARTERS - NIGHT 66

Traxler hangs up the phone.

TRAXLER:

Same sh*t.

VUKOVICH:

I can hear it now, it's gonna

be the goddamned 'Phone Book

Killer'.

TRAXLER:

I hate the press cases.

Especially the weird press

cases. Where you going?

VUKOVICH:

(heading for

the door)

To make a statement. I'm gonna

give them the name. Maybe the

jackals can help us out for

once.

He looks at his watch, then straightens his tie.

VUKOVICH:

(continuing)

If they can get this on the

tube by eleven, she may just

call us.

(pause)

How do I look?

TRAXLER:

Like sh*t, boss.

Vukovich goes out and the Minicam light hits him as the

door closes.

CUT TO:

67 INT. PIZZA PARLOR - NIGHT 67

TIGHT ON A TV SCREEN, a news cast in progress.

ANCHORMAN (V.O.)

...police had no further comment

on the apparent similarity between

the shooting death of an Encino

woman earlier today...

CUT WIDE to show Sarah watching the TV which is suspended

over the bar. The place is a crowded, post-movie hangout,

raucous with laughter and videogames. The newscast

continues, ignored by all except Sarah.

ANCHORMAN (V.O.)

(continuing)

...and this almost identical

killing two hours ago of a

Venice resident with virtually

the same name. Sarah Ann Connor,

a 24 year old legal secretary, was

pronounced dead at the scene in

her beachfront apartment...

A customer gestures for the bartender's attention.

CUSTOMER:

Hey, can we change this and

catch the ball scores.

BARTENDER:

(reaching for the

knob)

Sure.

Sarah leaps half over the bar, startling everyone.

SARAH:

(shouting)

Leave it where it is!

ANCHORMAN (V.O.)

...no other connections between

the two victims has been estab-

lished.

(pause)

On a lighter note, these was

cause for celebration at the

L.A. Zoo today, as...

Sarah leaves her half-finished pizza and beer, getting up

in a daze. Followed by puzzles glances, she makes her way

through the crowd.

CUT TO:

68 INT. PIZZA PARLOR HALLWAY 68

In the crowded hallway by the restrooms, Sarah goes to the

single payphone and seizes the directory. She flips rapidly

through it, then stops, looking down.

She sees that her name is next on the list.

The book slips out of her fingers.

Sarah turns and scans the crowd.

She's getting looks, covert and otherwise, like any unaccom-

panied girl on a Friday night. But is that all they mean?

Sarah back into the women's restroom.

CUT TO:

69 INT. RESTROOM 69

Sarah stumbles numbly to the sink.

She splashes her face with cold water. In the mirror

her terrified reflection looks back. Why me?

She hears a loud clatter and spins around.

It's just a drunken woman fumbling with a toilet stall door.

Sarah edges back out into the corridor.

CUT TO:

70 INT. HALLWAY 70

Sarah walks stiffly to the pay phone.

It's OUT OF ORDER.

CUT TO:

71 EXT. STREET/SIDEWALK - NIGHT 71

Sarah exits the pizza place into the sparse crowd on the

sidewalk. As she passes a figure leaning against the wall

just outside, the man turns his head to watch her.

It is Reese, his gaze impassive.

Streetlight catches the burn scar on his cheek.

He is motionless, sinister in his long coat.

Sarah shudders.

She walks on.

POV - SARAH, ON CROWD, moving toward and through approaching

groups of pedestrians. They seem to be glancing at her.

Was it always like that and she just never noticed?

C.U. - SARAH as she look over her shoulder.

POV - SARAH, ON PIZZA PARLOR DOORWAY. Reese is gone.

She resists the urge to run.

On the opposite side of the street an LAPD cruiser glides

slowly by. Sarah is about to call out but a bus blocks

her view and when it had passed, the car is turning away

down a side street.

She passes a large window with STOKER'S written on it, and

ducks quickly through the door.

CUT TO:

72 INT. STOKER'S - NIGHT 72

ANGLE THROUGH WINDOW, SARAH F.G., as Reese approaches.

Her knuckles clench white as he reaches the entrance and

walks by, unhurriedly, without a glance inside.

She turns and scan the gloomy interior, which reveals itself

to be less than savory. Pool tables and upper-middle lowlife

in submarine depths of smoky haze.

Sarah draws stares, menacing in their own right, as she

weaves between the pool tables to the back of the bar.

her hands are trembling as she drops a dime in the pay

phone and dials.

VOICE (V.O./RECORDED)

You have reached the Los Angeles

Police Department Emergency Number.

All lines are busy. If you need

a police car sent out to you, please

stay on the line...

Sarah holds the receiver pressed to her ear, glancing

around, fear feeding on frustration.

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