Ticker Page #2

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Swan's eyes flare. He steps out into the open, gun aimed at

Rice, eyes locked murderously on Reilly.

SWAN:

Let her go.

Reilly c*cks his hammer, fingers trembling. The Girl

stiffens, terrified.

Beard emerges behind Reilly. Deadly silent, he raises an

automatic, trying to get a clear shot between machines...

SWAN (cont.)

No, the girl!

Reilly whirls, sees Beard, shrinks back to stay covered.

EARRING:

(to Swan)

We gotta get outta here!

REILLY:

(to Swan)

Tell them to drop it - now!

A deadly stalemate. Faraway SIRENS WAIL.

SWAN:

You have no idea how sorry you're going to be.

(to The Girl)

Don't worry.

Beard smolders, Earring sweats. Keeping their guns up, the

three men grab tool bags, work their way to the alley door

and slip out.

The moment they're gone, Reilly quickly handcuffs The Girl to

a machine, kneels, cradles Rice.

RICE:

Mike...

REILLY:

Don't talk.

RICE:

Take your time... one day at a time, kid...

Rice takes Reilly's hand and pats it on his wristwatch.

RICE (cont.)

It's all I got... it's yours.

REILLY:

It don't work-

RICE:

(grinning)

Ain't that a sh*t--

Rice's eyes go blank, he exhales his last breath.

Reilly winces, eyes welling up. His gaze moves at the Girl.

The Girl stares uncomfortably, a blink of sympathy stealing

past her hard exterior ...

INT. POLICE HEADQUARTERS - MORNING

Looking numb, out of place, Rice's blood still on his

trenchcoat, Reilly walks in, weaves through a chaos of

ringing phones, overworked cops, suspects being booked.

Cops look up, whisper about him.

Turning a corner, Reilly bumps into a bulldog of a cop,

HARRY, hustling The Girl out of a booking room. She's got a

shiner where Reilly hit her.

The Girl and Reilly make eye contact, intimate somehow, a

flash of vulnerability and fear in The Girl's face...

HARRY:

Hey, Reilly, Captain's looking

for you.

Reilly snaps out of it, continues on. Reilly nods as Harry

hustles the girl away.

INT. CAPTAIN'S OFFICE - DAY

Behind his desk, a work-weary captain, WINTERS, 50s, sucks

coffee as he grills ARTIE PLUCHINSKY, 40s, a slick suit-and-

tie homicide detective.

WINTERS:

Prints?

PLUCHINSKY:

Nothing so far.

WINTERS:

What about the ballistics report?

PLUCHINSKY:

Lab's backed up, we're still waiting

for it.

Reilly walks in.

REILLY:

Captain...

WINTERS:

Reilly, what the hell happened out there? Why

didn't you call for back-up?

REILLY:

(at a loss, sad)

Sir, I--

Reilly looks at his watch (we notice he's now wearing Rice's

watch). He taps it, listens to see if it's ticking.

WINTERS (contíd)

(softening)

Dammit, Rice was a good man,

REILLY:

I want to work this.

PLUCHINSKY:

You're vice, not homicide. Besides, you don't

have the experience and you're too personally

involved.

REILLY:

But sir--

WINTERS:

You know the rules. You're off the street

`til I.A.D. clears the investigation. Now go

home and clean yourself up, get some rest...

Harry barges in, dumps a bag of personal effects on the desk.

HARRY:

She won't talk. Look at this sh*t, no I.D.,

nothing...

Reilly picks up a twisted plastic-wire bracelet.

PLUCHINSKY:

What's that?

HARRY:

Bracelet she was wearing.

REILLY:

Looks like the stuff my dad used to use to

blow up tree stumps back in Scranton.

PLUCHINSKY:

Maybe she knows your old man.

Reilly sears into Pluchinsky.

WINTERS:

Take it down to the Bomb Squad, Artie-

REILLY:

I'll do it.

Winters eyes him for a beat, relents...

WINTERS:

Okay, kid. Run this down to the Cave.

Reilly spins and exits quickly.

INT. POLICE STATION - BASEMENT - DAY

Emerging from a dingy back staircase, Reilly enters a hallway

and moves to a door a door marked "BOMB SQUAD."

INT. POLICE STATION - "THE CAVE" - DAY

Reilly enters into another world - a dungeon cluttered with

bomb paraphernalia, defusing equipment, a dog house, ping-

pong table, Sheryl Crow pin-up, Chicago Bears posters, Yassir

Arafat dartboard, a photo-shrine to dead Bomb Squaders.

A plain, fresh-faced assistant, BEV, 30s, looks up from her

computer station.

BEV:

May I help you?

REILLY:

I'm looking for the Bomb Squad.

BEV:

They're not here.

REILLY:

Where are they?

BEV:

And you are...?

REILLY:

Officer Reilly, vice.

BEV:

There out on a call, perhaps I can help you-

REILLY:

-Where?

BEV:

f 2600 block of Lakefront. A limousine. But, I-

REILLY:

Thanks.

Reilly sprints out. Bev tries to finish but he's gone.

EXT. CITY STREETS - DAY

The Studebaker coughs and smokes in and out of traffic.

EXT. LAKEFRONT STREET - DAY

A young, uniformed police OFFICER stops Reilly in front of a

cordoned-off section of the street.

REILLY:

(flashes badge)

Bomb Squad.

The Officer nods and moves the barricade out of the way,

Reilly hits the gas, rumbles through.

The Studebaker swings past a fire truck, an ambulance, and

two squads cars.

Two OFFICERS stand near a building with a worried BUSINESSMAN

and his CHAUFFEUR.

Reilly parks 50 yards from a limo stopped in the middle of

the street. A Bomb Squad van and sleek black Harley Davidson

parked beyond it.

Reilly hops out, heads cautiously for the limo

POOCH, 50s, a barrel-chested ex-football player is on his

hands and knees looking under the limo. Red rubber ball in

hand, Hawaiian shirt half-tucked in, he leads around an

equally scruffy Labrador Retriever, SCHNOZ.

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