Thunderheart Page #2
- R
- Year:
- 1992
- 119 min
- 1,321 Views
BLACK MAN:
Hey, look who's here.
RAY:
Louis, my man, what's happenin'?
Ray walks up to the counter. Carl lingers, fidgeting. Ray
sets his briefcase on the counter and click-clicks it open.
The Hispanic fence man looks inside, and begins pulling out
stacks of treasury checks.
FENCE MAN:
Clean ones?
RAY:
Immaculate.
Ray gestures to Carl and he nervously sets his briefcase on
the counter, fumbles with the first latch. The second. He
flips it open.
The fence man casts his eyes down at a neat cache of Grade A
Treasury. A lot of it. Then his eyes rise to Carl.
FENCE MAN:
What ya got there, seventy-five
thousand?
CARL:
LOUIS (BLACK MAN)
Have the girl count it, we can't sit
around here countin' bonds, we got
things to do here.
The fence man pushes an intercom button and yells into a
speaker.
FENCE MAN:
SALLLLY!
Carl's eyes flit to Ray. Ray's eyes flit to Carl.
Louis crushes his newspaper down and lifts a big Colt Python
from his lap just as --
A section of sheetrock kicks open and THREE FEDERAL OFFICERS
bust out, each clutching a handgun, SHOUTING inaudibly.
LOUIS:
F.B.I.! Get your face on the f***in'
floor! MOVE!
Carl startled, does an almost effeminate dip down to one
knee, but that knee is swept out from under him, slapping
him flat onto plywood where he is instantly frisked down by
the fence man who is wielding a 9 mm handgun. But the white
collar criminal is more stunned by the fact that --
Ray is walking across the floor with his hands in his pockets
over to the Mr. Coffee. He pours one, and adds some milk.
Turns and watches the bust while opening a packet of Sweet
n'Low.
RAY:
Slam dunk.
LOUIS:
Beauty. Beauty...
Ray rests his weight against the coffee station, takes a
careful sip. Carl is yanked to his feet by the fence man and
he stands there, looking at Ray, baffled. Completely shocked.
CARL:
Jesus Christ, Larry, what the fu--
Larry. That's not even your name, is
it? What's your real name, you f***ing
scumbag?
RAY:
Don't have one, Carl. I have a number,
man. Just like the numbers on those
treasury checks. You stole from your
own country, Carl. Shame on you.
Coffee in hand, Ray walks briskly toward the door.
LOUIS:
Sugar Ray.
Ray turns. Louis takes a few steps toward him, putting his
gun back in his waistband.
LOUIS:
They want ya Home. Upstairs wants to
see ya.
Ray stands frozen, holding the door knob, and digesting what
are apparently influential words.
LOUIS:
Make sure ya spell my name right.
Ray just stares for a moment. Then hurries out the door.
Carl, being arm-gripped by two agents and photographed like
a trout, gazes bewildered at the door.
CARL:
(incredulous)
We just spent four months together...
I thought he was my friend... what
the f***, man?
(even more incredulous)
He had dinner at my mother's.
CAMERA FLASHES at him, an agent on either side, striking a
natural pose.
EXT. J. EDGAR HOOVER BUILDING - ESTABLISHING - DAY
The huge, imposing, mausoleum-like Hoover building, bordered
by artificial turf, hemmed by cherry trees in blossom. Turning
out to be a nice day on Pennsylvania Avenue.
INT. FBI DIRECTOR'S CONFERENCE ROOM - DAY
8x10 BLACK AND WHITE PHOTOS dealt like cards onto a table,
one on top of another.
1 -- an aerial shot of some wasteland.
2 -- a closer bird's eye of the same, what looks like a NASA
photo of Mars.
3 -- a vast expanse of the Great Plains.
ROBERT F. TULLY, Number-Two-in-Command, deals a fourth photo
onto the table. He is an understated, fatherly man, well-
manicured in cotton pencil-striped shirt, white-tab collar
and tie. The photos and maps and files a foot deep on the
huge table are neatly organized.
INTERCOM:
SA Levoi, Sir.
TULLY:
Please.
Seated, at the far end of the table, engrossed in the deep
spread of information, SA (Special Agent) FRANK COUTURE is
about to break the record for longest single ash on the end
of a cigarette and the smoke forces his eyes into tight,
concentrating, slits. "COOCH" as they call him in the Bureau
has seen thirty years in some rough "provinces". He has
survived the Hoover era and is a legend in the Sessions era
but survival has honed an edge. An edge with a touch of ironic
cop humor.
Ray enters, walks into a firm shake.
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"Thunderheart" Scripts.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 4 Nov. 2024. <https://www.scripts.com/script/thunderheart_415>.
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