Wild Wild West

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FADE IN:

CAMERA MOVES OVER the warehouse district of town. It's

night. A dog barks in the distance. A train whistle

blows. Then silence.

SUPER:
"SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS -- 1873"

CAMERA STOPS ON:

EXT. WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

A deserted cobblestone street leads downhill to a bleak

warehouse.

INT. WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

START CLOSE on a combination lock. PULL BACK to reveal a

large ornate SAFE. A safe-cracker, SLIM, is hard at work,

listening with a stethoscope as he spins the tumblers.

REVEAL a tough gang of TRAIN ROBBERS. The safe sits in

the back of a wagon that was used to carry it there.

The gang's leader, LARSON, is one cold-blooded character.

He paces, occasionally glancing out the windows.

LARSON:

Come on, come on. How much longer?

SLIM:

Keep your britches on. This is a

tough one. Railroad's getting

tired of losing their money.

EXT. WAREHOUSE - UP THE STREET - NIGHT

CLOSE ON a pair of feet scurrying along the cobblestones.

MOVE UP to reveal WALTERS, a pudgy local sheriff, WHEEZING

as he runs along. He's headed for the warehouse when --

A hand shoots out of the darkness and bodily yanks him

into a shadowy doorway. He YELPS in panic, then realizes

he's face to face with a U.S. Marshal --

CAPTAIN JAMES T. WEST. From his distinctive Western attire

to his "Colt Single-Action Army," this guy's the real

thing. He's here to catch bad guys and nothing else.

This is one dog you don't turn your back on.

WALTERS:

Jesus, Marshal! I'm like to have

wet myself!

Jim is wound up, itching for action, glancing toward the

warehouse every few seconds.

JIM:

Well?

WALTERS:

(placating)

They're coming.

JIM:

(gritting it out)

When are they coming?

WALTERS:

They're rounding up a posse. Figure

an hour?

JIM:

(re the warehouse)

In an hour they're gone!

Jim's eyes dart everywhere. He's going to will a solution

into existence. He spots something. An idea hatches.

He whips out his Colt SAA. Then grabs Walters' pistol,

too.

WALTERS:

Hey...!

JIM:

You're not going to use it, are

you?

WALTERS:

Well, come on, that's half a dozen

armed men...

JIM:

Right.

And Jim's gone.

ANGLE - A FREIGHT WAGON

sits at a loading dock across the way, parked on a grade,

the rear wheels chocked, piled high with a load of

supplies, barrels, etc. Jim races over and eyeballs the

sloping street -- it leads straight down toward the

warehouse.

He yanks out the chocks and heaves on the spokes of the

rear wheel. With an ominous CREAK, the heavy wagon starts

to roll backward. He moves to the front, grabs the wagon

tongue, tilts it back against the seat and leaps aboard.

The wagon's iron-rimmed wheels CLANG along the cobblestones

as it rumbles faster and faster. Jim stands atop the

load, steering the unwieldy rig by muscling the tongue

left and right like a ship's tiller.

It's not easy to control -- first the wagon SCRAPES along

an iron fence -- SPARKS FLYING. Then it veers the other

way, taking out a row of horse hitches. But Jim wrestles

it back on course, straight for the warehouse doors.

Closer. Closer. He gets ready to duck.

INT. WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

Slim swings the safe door open and the men start swiftly

transferring cash and gold bars to saddlebags. But now

they hear the thunderous CLATTER of the approaching wagon.

Larson peers out a window in the warehouse doors.

He staggers back, panic-stricken.

LARSON:

What the hell...? Look out! LOOK

OUT!

The gang scrambles back across the room. They dive for

cover as the wagon EXPLODES into the warehouse, crushing

everything in its path, finally smashing into the wagon

carrying the safe. The room is choked with dust.

Before they can get their bearings, Jim leaps up on the

load of barrels, two six-guns ready.

The men get up, slowly realizing it's just one guy.

LARSON:

What the hell is this?

JIM:

This? This is where you surrender.

Tense standoff. Suddenly two of the men draw! Jim FIRES

dropping the first before he can even get off a shot.

Jim dives to one side to avoid the second man's shot,

FIRING as he goes. It's fast, furious.

Jim drills the second man, who spins in agony, colliding

with Larson and Slim. A third man draws and fires.

Bullets ripping into the wagon around him, Jim coolly

nails the fool -- leg, chest, head. The guy drops.

The remaining men throw up their hands.

LARSON:

We're done! We're done!

Jim rises slowly, pistols poised, his eyes darting. The

bad guys don't move. They know this guy can go off at

any time. But now there's a weird sound. CREAKING and

CRACKING from below. Just as Jim glances down --

The floor collapses beneath the weight of the safe and

the wagons! With a ROAR, it all plummets into the

basement!

INT. WAREHOUSE LOWER FLOOR - NIGHT

Jim lies dazed in the wagon, its wheels pancaked under

it. The massive safe has just missed crushing him. A

few barrels have broken open under him. In the darkness

whatever has spilled out feels like sand. Jim gets to

his knees, realizing -- he's lost his guns in the stuff.

Then he notices the labels on the barrels -- "TITAN

BLASTING POWDER." He's knee-deep in explosives. As he

frantically digs in the powder, he hears from above:

LARSON (O.S.)

Get him! Shoot the bastard!

The gang appears above him at the jagged hole, GUNS

COCKING. Jim dives aside into the darkness!

Hidden in the shadows, he sneaks along the wall, looking

for a way out. He spots a stairway leading up. He heads

for it, but

light hits him as the stairway door opens above. There

stands Slim, his gun drawn. He grins:

SLIM:

Aww, you lost your shooters.

Slim gleefully c*cks his gun, but Jim reaches into his

lapel, pulling out a deadly throwing knife. SWISH! Slim

is pinned to the wall by his ear. He screams in agony.

More FOOTSTEPS above. In seconds the other men will be

upon him. Jim backs up, looking around, trapped.

Larson and his men clatter down the stairs. They fan

out, warily looking for their dangerous prey. But there's

no sign of him. Suddenly, with a HISS, a brilliant light

flares up. The men spin, aiming their guns. Oh sh*t!

It's a flaming trail of blasting powder -- racing toward

the jumble of broken powder kegs!

The horrified gunmen YELL in panic as they scramble over

themselves trying to get away. They don't make it.

EXT. WAREHOUSE - NIGHT

We hear the men SCREAMING. Then the whole place goes up

in a HUGE EXPLOSION.

The debris rains down all over the street. As the smoke

clears, a stunned, awestruck Sheriff Walters peeks out

from his hiding place, then edges cautiously up to the

smoldering crater.

ANGLE - CRATER

Down in the ruins nothing is recognizable except -- the

scorched safe, now lying on its side. Its door THUDS

open. And out rises dazed Jim. He looks up at Walters.

JIM:

See? Stand up to 'em and they go

all to pieces.

We hear the CLINK of wine glasses and a MOZART QUARTET

and

CUT TO:

INT. MANSION - DRAWING ROOM - NIGHT

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