Wild Wild West Page #3

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JIM:

Eight? Is there some connection?

Did they know each other?

RICHARDS:

No. No connection at all. Other

than the fact that each one was a

top man in his field. A chemist,

an expert on electricity...

PANGBORN:

... a railroad engineer, a

ballistics expert...

GRANT:

Etcetera, etcetera. The terrible

thing of it is they've all turned

up dead a number of months later.

Brutally murdered.

(re the newspapers)

And I have little doubt the same

fate awaits this last poor fellow.

He opens another humidor -- damn, it's empty.

JIM:

But what would anyone have to gain

from all this...? Unless it were

a foreign power.

GRANT:

Exactly. Any number of nations

would love to cripple our scientific

growth. And what better way to

tip the scales in their favor than

by killing off the greatest minds

this country has produced.

He is now looking from one ashtray to another.

GRANT:

We find ourselves at the dawn of

the Golden Age of Science. And it

is the God-given destiny of this

glorious nation to carry the torch

that lights the way!

JIM:

(impressed)

Nicely said, sir.

GRANT:

(tossing it off)

Part of some speech they wrote for

this trip I'm taking.

Grant fishes an unappealing half-smoked cigar from an

ashtray, then catches himself:

GRANT:

Goddamnit! What am I doing?

(to Pangborn)

What's happened to all my cigars?

(to Jim)

Colonel Richards here has had a

dozen agents on these cases for

over a year. No arrests, no leads,

no clues...

JIM:

And?

GRANT:

And now the job's yours.

Grant smiles for the first time.

GRANT:

You start in the morning. Pangborn

here will make all the

arrangements... as soon as he brings

a goddamned cigar for the President

of the goddamned United States!

As Pangborn scurries out, we hear a STEAM WHISTLE BLOWING

and we:

CUT TO:

EXT. THE C STREET TRAIN STATION - PLATFORM - DAY

The train platform bustles with TRAVELERS and PORTERS.

Jim moves through it all, his saddlebags over his shoulder.

He stops short at the amazing sight of a strange vehicle --

a heavy-duty bicycle outfitted with an early, LOUDLY

ROARING, smoke-belching internal combustion engine. The

Harley Hog of its day -- the NITRO-CYCLE.

Its high-strung INVENTOR shouts at his ASSISTANT who is

trying to drive the vehicle up a ramp onto a freight car.

INVENTOR:

Gently, gently. It's not a horse,

you idiot!

Jim gazes at the amazing contraption but keeps moving

toward --

ANGLE - STEAM ENGINE NUMBER FOUR

A gleaming, steaming, new state-of-the-art steam engine

waits at the platform.

Jim eyes the train. Can this be the one? It's just an

engine, tender car and two custom private passenger cars.

He pulls out his orders to double-check.

Up in the cab is the engineer, DOYLE, a tough little

Irishman whose chaw of tobacco gives him the look of a

chipmunk in a derby hat. Jim calls to him:

JIM:

I'm looking for a train. Supposed

to be on track three. Did it leave

already?

Doyle spits out a stream of tobacco juice and smiles:

DOYLE:

Yes sir and no sir. Yes sir if

you're not who I think you are.

And no sir if you are.

Jim cuts to the chase:

JIM:

Look, I'm Captain James West...

DOYLE:

Well, Captain, then the answer is

your train is still here.

Jim eyes the train. It doesn't look long enough.

DOYLE:

Your private train, sir.

JIM:

Private train?

DOYLE:

(confidentially)

That would be correct. Orders

from the President himself. Trans-

portation at your beck and call.

No delays.

(shaking his head)

Although, the government's

generosity takes me a tad by

surprise, as well.

He hops down, doffs his derby, and pumps Jim's hand:

DOYLE:

Doyle's the name, sir. Of the

Connemara Doyles. And there's not

a man riding the rails who holds a

candle to meself. That having

been said, sir, you're five minutes

late so let's be on our way! Your

friend's already aboard.

JIM:

My friend?

EXT. THE WANDERER - PARLOUR CAR - OBSERVATION DECK - DAY

Jim reaches the end of the train and spots a plaque affixed

to the ornate railing: "The Wanderer." Not a bad name.

But as he climbs the steps he hears -- VIOLIN MUSIC?

It's coming from inside. He swings the door open

curiously.

INT. THE WANDERER - PARLOUR CAR - DAY

Jim stands in the doorway, impressed at the sight of the

richly furnished interior -- a Victorian parlour on wheels.

Half-unpacked crates and steamer trunks are scattered

about. Incongruously, there's a work table in one corner

cluttered with tools and lab equipment.

The VIOLIN MUSIC continues and now, out of the narrow

passage at the head of the car, steps Artemus -- playing

the violin, and not too badly. Artemus spots Jim but is

lost in the music:

ARTEMUS:

Just three more measures...

Finishing with a flourish, he comes back to earth, smiling.

ARTEMUS:

J. S. Bach.

JIM:

Jim West.

ARTEMUS:

Artemus Gordon.

(off Jim's confused look)

Bach, he's the composer.

JIM:

I don't mind him, but who the hell

are you... my valet or something?

ARTEMUS:

Valet? You jest of course. I am

a U.S. Marshal.

JIM:

Funny. So am I.

ARTEMUS:

Congratulations. Unfortunately,

my train is about to leave, and I

really must insist you disembark.

JIM:

Your train? Listen, friend, you're

obviously lost.

(pulling out his orders)

... I've got orders here to take

possession of this train and to

investigate a certain crime.

ARTEMUS:

(pulls out his orders)

Interesting. Mine say the same

thing, and they don't mention you,

not even as a valet, although we

could talk...

Jim takes a glance at Artemus' orders and thrusts them

back.

JIM:

Just another bureaucratic foul-up.

You know how these pencil-pushers

are. So, why don't you just run

on back and explain what happened?

ARTEMUS:

Funny, I was just thinking you

should do the same. Since I am

already in residence, and am

obviously the man for the job,

it's been grand making your

acquaintance, sir. And best of

luck in all your future endeavors.

Artemus steps to the rear door and swings it open for Jim

to leave. Jim can't believe this dude's moxie.

JIM:

You're quite the wordsmith, fiddle

boy. But nobody smooth-talks his

way into my assignment.

ARTEMUS:

If you're implying our little

imbroglio has reached an impasse

whose only resolution can be found

in a more primitive fashion, then

I for one am fully prepared to do

so... al fresco.

And with that, Artemus throws open the door, gesturing

outside.

JIM:

Suits me fine. I'm just glad you

got to the end of that sentence.

Jim eagerly steps out, ready to take this joker. Artemus

pauses by the door to talk into the end of a speaking

tube:

ARTEMUS:

Mr. Doyle. We're ready. Full

steam ahead, if you please.

EXT. THE WANDERER - PARLOUR CAR - OBSERVATION DECK - DAY

Jim steps off the car, pulling off his jacket. He spins

at the sound of the TRAIN WHISTLE, and is caught off guard

by Artemus giving him a swift kick.

Jim staggers back across the platform, crashing into a

stack of luggage and is buried under an avalanche. As

the train lurches forward, Artemus calls pleasantly:

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