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... THE END
 Professional assassin Martin Blank finds himself depressed, disenchanted and bored with his work. A major problem is his chief rival Grocer, whose effort to cartelize the hitman business puts him at potentially lethal odds with the unaffiliated Martin. Following a botched contract, Martin receives an invitation to his 10-year high school reunion in his hometown of Grosse Pointe, Michigan. Initially reluctant to attend, he is pressured into it by both his therapist, Dr. Oatman, and his secretary, Marcella. She books him a contract in Michigan that coincides with the reunion, ostensibly to smooth things over with the client whose contract was botched.
Upon arriving in Grosse Pointe, Martin reconnects with his friend Paul and seeks out his high school sweetheart Debi Newberry, now a radio DJ, whom Martin had abandoned on prom night to enlist in the Army. When asked about his livelihood, Martin readily reveals that he is a professional killer, a response taken as a joke by everyone he meets.
Meanwhile, Martin is being stalked by Felix LaPoubelle, who attempts to kill Martin in the convenience store that stands in place of his childhood home. He is also tailed by two National Security Agency agents who were tipped off to Martin's contract by Grocer. Despite these dangers, Martin remains distracted by his desire to make amends with Debi and fails to open the background dossier on his prospective target.
At the reunion, Martin mingles with his former classmates, one of whom hands him her toddler. Martin then experiences an epiphany, recognizing that his recent disillusionment with his work and his amends with Debi signify an opportunity to change his life for good. Moments later, while exploring the halls, Martin is attacked by LaPoubelle, whom he kills in self-defense. Debi stumbles upon the scene and, horrified to find that Martin was not joking about his work after all, flees the reunion. Paul arrives only moments later to find Martin, who corrals him into helping to dispose of LaPoubelle's body in the school furnace. Realizing that his friend was not joking about his profession, Paul walks away from Martin after they dispose of LaPoubelle.
Later Debi confronts Martin in his hotel room, where he reveals that psychological testing in the Army showed he was suited to work as a hitman for the CIA; after leaving the CIA when the Eastern Bloc fell, he went into business for himself. He does not like Spetsnaz. His rationalizations for his work only horrify Debi even more; she rejects his attempts at reconciliation and storms out. Martin, concluding that it is futile to try to change his life, fires his psychiatrist over the phone, notifies Marcella that he is laying her off (but directs her to a brick of cash hidden in the office, set aside for her severance pay) and finally opens the dossier containing the details of the contract that brought him to Grosse Pointe. He is startled to find that the target is Debi's father, Bart, who is scheduled to testify against Martin's client.
Grocer decides to kill Bart himself to impress Martin's client. Martin abandons the contract and rescues Bart from certain death, driving him to the Newberry house and holing up inside, narrowly ahead of Grocer and his team of mercenaries. During the siege, Martin finally reveals that he stood Debi up on prom night to enlist in the Army to protect her from his homicidal urges. Martin gradually kills the team of mercenaries. The NSA agents are gunned down by Grocer and Martin. By this point, Martin has run out of ammunition, and when Grocer tries to trick him into "selling" him a weapon for $100,000, Martin kills him by crushing his head with a television. Injured and winded, Martin proposes marriage to Debi, who, shell-shocked from the day's events, does not respond. In the end, Debi and Martin leave Grosse Pointe together.
Professional assassin Martin Blank finds himself depressed , disenchanted and bored with his work . A major problem is his chief rival Grocer , whose effort to cartelize the hitman business puts him at potentially lethal odds with the unaffiliated Martin . Following a botched contract , Martin receives an invitation to his 10-year high school reunion in his hometown of Grosse Pointe , Michigan . Initially reluctant to attend , he is pressured into it by both his therapist , Dr. Oatman , and his secretary , Marcella . She books him a contract in Michigan that coincides with the reunion , ostensibly to smooth things over with the client whose contract was botched . Upon arriving in Grosse Pointe , Martin reconnects with his friend Paul and seeks out his high school sweetheart Debi Newberry , now a radio DJ , whom Martin had abandoned on prom night to enlist in the Army . When asked about his livelihood , Martin readily reveals that he is a professional killer , a response taken as a joke by everyone he meets . Meanwhile , Martin is being stalked by Felix LaPoubelle , who attempts to kill Martin in the convenience store that stands in place of his childhood home . He is also tailed by two National Security Agency agents who were tipped off to Martin s contract by Grocer . Despite these dangers , Martin remains distracted by his desire to make amends with Debi and fails to open the background dossier on his prospective target . At the reunion , Martin mingles with his former classmates , one of whom hands him her toddler . Martin then experiences an epiphany , recognizing that his recent disillusionment with his work and his amends with Debi signify an opportunity to change his life for good . Moments later , while exploring the halls , Martin is attacked by LaPoubelle , whom he kills in self-defense . Debi stumbles upon the scene and , horrified to find that Martin was not joking about his work after all , flees the reunion . Paul arrives only moments later to find Martin , who corrals him into helping to dispose of LaPoubelle s body in the school furnace . Realizing that his friend was not joking about his profession , Paul walks away from Martin after they dispose of LaPoubelle . Later Debi confronts Martin in his hotel room , where he reveals that psychological testing in the Army showed he was suited to work as a hitman for the CIA ; after leaving the CIA when the Eastern Bloc fell , he went into business for himself . He does not like Spetsnaz . His rationalizations for his work only horrify Debi even more ; she rejects his attempts at reconciliation and storms out . Martin , concluding that it is futile to try to change his life , fires his psychiatrist over the phone , notifies Marcella that he is laying her off ( but directs her to a brick of cash hidden in the office , set aside for her severance pay ) and finally opens the dossier containing the details of the contract that brought him to Grosse Pointe . He is startled to find that the target is Debi s father , Bart , who is scheduled to testify against Martin s client . Grocer decides to kill Bart himself to impress Martin s client . Martin abandons the contract and rescues Bart from certain death , driving him to the Newberry house and holing up inside , narrowly ahead of Grocer and his team of mercenaries . During the siege , Martin finally reveals that he stood Debi up on prom night to enlist in the Army to protect her from his homicidal urges . Martin gradually kills the team of mercenaries . The NSA agents are gunned down by Grocer and Martin . By this point , Martin has run out of ammunition , and when Grocer tries to trick him into selling him a weapon for $ 100,000 , Martin kills him by crushing his head with a television . Injured and winded , Martin proposes marriage to Debi , who , shell-shocked from the day s events , does not respond . In the end , Debi and Martin leave Grosse Pointe together .
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grosse_Pointe_Blank
Grosse Pointe Blank
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<b>					  GROSSE POINTE BLANK
</b>		First Draft: Tom Jankiewicz Revised 
		Draft: D.V. deVincentis & S.K. Boatman 
		& John Cusack
<b>		NEW CRIME PRODUCTIONS
</b>		Registered WGA
		--address deleted --for privacy --
		phone deleted
<b>		MAY 4, 1994
</b>
<b>	FADE IN:
</b>
<b>	ROLL CREDITS OVER:
</b>
<b>	EXT. GOLF COURSE - DAWN
</b>
	VARIOUS EXTRA CLOSE-UPS of this luxurious patchwork of 
	brilliant greens:

<b>	A POLISHED BRASS SPRINKLER HEAD
</b>
	pops up from the ground and begins to water the already dew-
	soaked lawn.

<b>	FLEET OF DUCKLINGS
</b>
	No mother in sight, cruise through the thrushes.

<b>	GRAVEYARD OF GOLF BALLS, UNDERWATER
</b>
	At the bottom of a water hazard.

<b>	PALM FRONDS
</b>
	After a neat they sway, revealing the barren desert that 
	surrounds the artificial oasis. The sun already bakes the 
	air. We hear the opening guitar strains of the Kim Deal-Kurt 
	Cobain suet of "WHAT I DID FOR LOVE," as we CRANE DOWN the 
	palms to

<b>	A BRAND-NEW TITLEIST 3 BALL.
</b>
	Just on the edge of the rough. A pair of yellow trousers 
	moves in. An iron confidently addresses the ball, and chips 
	it out. The trousers walk out after it.

<b>	HANDS
</b>
	Digging dirt out of the grooves of the iron's face with a 
	golf tee, while on the way to the green. Both hands are 
	gloved, instead of one, and the gloves are black.

<b>	YELLOW TROUSERS
</b>
	In a squat over the ball, sizing up the curvy, fifty-foot 
	journey to the hole. The figure positions himself and the 
	putter above the ball, then pops the ball lightly. The ball 
	rolls and bobs with purpose toward the hole, dodging hazards 
	and finding lanes, until it finally falls off of the green 
	and into the hole.

<b>	THE GLOVED HAND
</b>
	Sets the ball on the next tee. The figure moves to a leather 
	golf bag. The hands pull the wipe rag off of the top of the 
	bag and drop it on the ground, reach into the bag, drawing 
	out a compact SNIPER RIFLE, affixed with a long silencer. 
	The figure drops one knee down onto the rag, the other foot 
	firmly setting its spikes. We move the figure to see the 
	face of the sniper, concentrating down the scope in his half-
	squat. He is MARTIN BLANK.

	We SWING AROUND behind his head to look down the barrel with 
	him. Four-hundred yards away, on another part of the course, 
	another green is barely visible through groves of trees and 
	rough. Three miniscule, SILVER-HAIRED FIGURES come into view. 
	One of them, in a RED SWEATER sets up for first putt. He 
	could be an investment banker, or an arms trader.

<b>	MARTIN'S ARM
</b>
	Flinches, and a low THUNK reports from the rifle. A second 
	later in the distance, the

<b>	RED SWEATER'S HEAD
</b>
	Seems to vanish from his shoulders into a crimson mist. His 
	body crumples to the green.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	Returns the rifle to the bag, pulls out a driver, moves to 
	the tee and whacks the ball. He watches its path and whispers 
	absently...

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Hooked it. 

<b>	INT. CLUB HOUSE PATIO - LATER
</b>
	The outdoor post-golf luncheon area of an elite Texas golf 
	club. Martin sits in on the fringes of a conversation between 
	a group of executive types. CLUB MEMBER #1 has a Buddha-like 
	peace in his eyes through the philosophical talk.

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #1
</b>		I'd come to the realization that 
		everything I'd based my life on was 
		false. And that my life had no 
		meaning.

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #2
</b>			(to Martin)
		He gets this way when he hits over 
		eighty-five.

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #1
</b>		It seemed like my life was slipping 
		away, somehow. I was a knot in the 
		middle of a wet rope. Everything was 
		futile and nothing had value.

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #3
</b>		That's the way life is. The only 
		meaning and value is what we create. 
		Through structure, and discipline. 
		Though they seem to limit our freedom, 
		they actually give us great comfort. 
		Your problem is you're looking for 
		some great answer. Some ultimate 
		truth. When what you really should 
		do is go to work and go home.

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #2
</b>		And take golf lessons.

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #1
</b>		That's a tragedy. Can I finish my 
		story please? I began my search for 
		meaning. I was a Catholic, Jew, 
		Scientologist, Sufi, Buddhist. I 
		went to a Psychologist, psychiatrist, 
		herbalist, nutritionist, a shaman, 
		and a psychic. And they all pretty 
		much say the same stuff.

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #2
</b>		A Jew, a shaman, and a herbalist are 
		telling you the same thing? You're 
		insane.

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #1
</b>		Basically the same thing. In a very 
		evolved, esoteric way.

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #2
</b>		Insane.

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #1
</b>		To make a long story short...

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #3
</b>		--Thank God--

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #1
</b>		...at last I found the holistic system 
		of systems that opened up the doors 
		of heaven for me right here on earth. 
		And everyday I see the world through 
		the eyes of a child. A world of 
		creation and wonder.

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #2
</b>		Jesus...

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #1
</b>		Overflowing with love.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Tell me about it.

	Club Member #1 turns to Martin.

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #1
</b>		P.P.P. Personal Pan Power. All the 
		secrets of your universe are divided 
		up into eight easily digestible 
		slices.

	Club Member #1 pulls a laminated card from his wallet and 
	hands it over to Martin. In the distance, sirens begin to 
	wail.

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #1
</b>		See, see. It's in the accessible and 
		everyday shape of a pan pizza. Each 
		day you have a little slice of 
		peace...

<b>	INSERT - WALLET-SIZE P.P.P. CARD
</b>
	A pizza-shaped diagram showing six "sections".

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Oh I see. You got your individual 
		slices of hope, dignity, confidence, 
		self-love, justice, and harmony.

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #1
</b>		You open 'em up and there's the 
		sayings, stories, little bites of 
		insight. It's the P.P.P. Six Day 
		Week.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		So you eat-- read it everyday?

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #1
</b>		Yes.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		And these pan pizzas have opened up 
		the doors to heaven?

<b>				  CLUB MEMBER #1
</b>		Correct.
			(re: the card)
		That's for you. Keep it.

	Sirens are getting louder, closer to the club.

<b>	EXT. COUNTRY CLUB - DAY
</b>
	The source of the sirens are almost upon us. Martin walks 
	toward his rented Town Car as the VALET pulls it up. He meets 
	the Valet by the trunk, where he trades tip for keys.

<b>				  MARTIN AT CAR
</b>		He fishes out the laminated "Personal 
		Pan Power" card, looks at it, and 
		tosses it onto the ground. Police 
		cars, now visible in the distance, 
		wind into the long club driveway. 
		Martin gets into his car and pulls 
		away.

<b>	LAMINATED CARD
</b>
	As it lays on the asphalt. The wheel of a police car rolls 
	to a stop on it.

<b>	INT. AIRLINER - DAY
</b>
	Martin sits in a first class seat, the tray table flipped 
	down. On the left side of the tray is a stack of magazines 
	of all kinds - Sports Illustrated, Mademoiselle, Wired, 
	Rolling Stone, National Review, Spin, National Geographic, 
	and on. He draws one off the top, and flips through it, 
	impassively taking in images and reading nothing. When he is 
	done with one, he discards it into the empty seat next to 
	him and draws another-- Martin's way of instantly and 
	massively uploading the world around him:

	Toothless hockey player in triumph, Sony product parade, 
	crouched starving child with vulture in the background, 
	supermodel in suede, Tic Tacs, living former Presidents, arm 
	in arm, smiling, etc.

<b>	INT. HIRED CAR, NEW YORK - DAY
</b>
	The livery weaves out of the arrival lanes at Kennedy airport. 
	Martin reclines in the back seat, a conversation having 
	already begun.

<b>				  DRIVER
</b>		How was your day, today, sir?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Effective. But to tell you the truth, 
		I've lost my passion for work.

<b>				  DRIVER
</b>		Do you like the people you work with?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I work alone.

<b>				  DRIVER
</b>		That's it then. That's it. I've always 
		been alone. That's why I'm a good 
		driver. I can handle it. See, I can 
		think on my feet. I survive, I'm a 
		thinker. And I can sit there in front 
		of your house for two hours and it 
		don't bother me. Some people can't 
		do it! Some people are ranting and 
		raving, "Tell them fuckin' people to 
		get out here and get in this car, I 
		can't-- I want a go!" Where you gonna 
		go? You're gonna wind up back in 
		your garage at seven o'clock at night. 
		You ain't going nowhere. You leave 
		your house in the morning you get 
		back to your house in the evening. 
		What's the big deal, right?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		You understand the psychology of the 
		job.

<b>				  DRIVER
</b>		I do. Some guys can't adjust to it; 
		they can't handle it.

<b>	INT. CAR - MANHATTAN STREETS - LATER
</b>
	The car cuts through the upper east side. Martin and the 
	Driver exchange looks through the rear-view mirror.

<b>				  DRIVER
</b>		You look like you're far away. Far 
		away and thinking about other things. 
		I'm right about that, aren't I?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		No.

<b>				  DRIVER
</b>		Well, let's just say that sometimes 
		I'm right. Sometimes you are.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Sometimes I am. Sometimes. It's only 
		natural.

<b>				  DRIVER
</b>			(laughs to himself at 
			this great truth)
		It's only natural....

	The Driver pauses for dramatic emphasis

<b>				  DRIVER
</b>		I been looking at you, and I've 
		decided that I want to share something 
		with you.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Okay.

<b>				  DRIVER
</b>		Because your problem is you're bored. 
		And you have a very big mind.
			(beat)
		I am part of what I call a brain 
		syndicate.

	No reaction from Martin.

<b>				  DRIVER
</b>		I am part of a network of minds, a 
		group of five people who are all 
		connected, over hundreds, even 
		thousands of miles, through the mind. 
		We can think with each other, think 
		for each other. I can be driving 
		somewhere, sleeping with a woman-- 
		whatever it is-- and at the same 
		time be thinking a thought in someone 
		else's mind, far away. Running someone 
		else's brain.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(indicates)
		Up on the right.

<b>				  DRIVER
</b>		And when you think of it, it's not 
		so surprising that a small group of 
		people control the whole world, is 
		it?

<b>	INT. HOTEL ROOM, NEW YORK CITY - DAY
</b>
	A sedate and well-appointed four-star suite on the Upper 
	East Side. Martin stands in front of one of the open windows 
	watching the canopied entrance of an elegant high-rise across 
	the street. He lifts an eye rinse cup to his eye and tilts 
	it back. A cellular phone RINGS, interrupting him. He moves 
	to the desk and draws one of three phones from his briefcase, 
	depresses a scrambler module, flips it open, and listens for 
	a moment.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		If it's not there, I can't proceed. 
		Tell them.

	Martin hangs up. Picks up another phone and dials. As he 
	waits for an answer, he goes to a Fed Ex blueprint tube lying 
	on the bed.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Tom. I've been waiting for an answer. 
		I'm only in town tonight.

	He breaks the shipping seal and pulls out a series of finished 
	metal parts including a long thin barrel, a scope, and a 
	silencer.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		What's different this time than the 
		last time? I have to be down front...

<b>	INT. HOTEL ROOM - SAME
</b>
	Martin stands in front of the window, phone in one hand, the 
	scope in the other. Next to him, the assembled rifle rests 
	across the arm of a chair.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		...I don't bother to call anyone 
		else because you always take care of 
		me.

	He glances over to a second window to his left, which offers 
	a view further down the street. He goes to it. He raises the 
	scope and sees

<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V./SCOPE- WINDOW #2
</b>
	A few blocks down, small even through the high-powered scope, 
	is your average BICYCLE MESSENGER dressed in lycra racing 
	gear, weaving through traffic toward us. Slung low across 
	his right hip is a black canvas bag. The Messenger's hand is 
	hidden in it. The other phone begins to RING.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Hold on a second, Tom. I got my hands 
		full here.

	He sets down the phone and answers the other, still watching 
	the messenger.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Good. Account number 3649367, transfer 
		to account number 96-546-38739-47825. 
		Ask for Mr. Sanchez, tell him it's 
		Mr. Duckman. If there are any 
		problems, access file 673594638-IO-
		98, and look at it.

	Martin drops the phone and moves away from Window #2 to the 
	rifle. He mounts the scope and he looks out Window #1 at the 
	high-rise.

<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V./SCOPE - WINDOW #1
</b>
	Of a DOORMAN opening the door for a group of five men in 
	suits. Four BODYGUARDS form a perimeter around the fifth 
	man, a mall, avuncular figure in his forties dressed in 
	Saville Row finery.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	Takes a step back into the shadows of the room, and raises 
	the rifle toward Window #2.

<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V./SCOPE - WINDOW #2
</b>
	of an empty street. The bicycle messenger flashes past.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	concentrating, tracks the path of the Messenger, leading him 
	left to right across the blind spot of the hotel room wall 
	between Window #2 and Window #1.

<b>	STREET
</b>
	the bicycle Messenger bears down on the group of men, drawing 
	a Mac-10 submachine gun from his bag. The group see him-- 
	just as Martin's sniper FIRE explodes the Messenger's chest. 
	Two of the Bodyguards collapse onto their boss. The other 
	two open fire on the Messenger as he wipes out horribly into 
	a parked car in front of them.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	withdraws from the window, and picks up the phone again and 
	begins to break down the rifle.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Sorry Tom. But look, I know it's the 
		playoffs. That's why I'm offering a 
		thousand dollars for one seat...

	Martin listens patiently as he works.

<b>	EXT. STREET - SAME - INTERCUT
</b>
<b>	DOORMAN'S HANDS
</b>
	unbuttoning his double-breasted long coat.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	just finishes packing.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		...Well let me ask you, Tom. What do 
		I have to do to get courtside tickets 
		for the Knicks...?

<b>	STREET
</b>
	The two bodyguards kick at the Messenger's body. The other 
	two begin to move off of their boss, who rises cowering. The 
	Doorman stands behind it all, unbuttoning his coat.

<b>	DOORMAN
</b>
	a tall, dark, sharp-featured man in his forties, wearing a 
	handlebar moustache. He moves toward the group of men as he 
	flips open his coat back over two huge chrome .44 Magnum 
	Charthouse Bulldog revolvers and OPENS FIRE on them.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	is closing his bag when he hears the gun-thunder.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Never mind. I gotta go.

	Martin drops the phone, grabs his scope, and spins to the 
	window.

<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V./SCOPE
</b>
	of the Doorman kicking through the pile of dead bodyguards. 
	He gets to the man at the bottom-- their boss. The Doorman 
	FIRES both guns.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	reacts, surprised to see a second shooter. He pulls himself 
	from the window, puts away his scope, and accelerates his 
	exit.

<b>	HIGH-RISE FOYER
</b>
	Outside, we see the doorman drop both guns on the pile of 
	bodies. He walks back toward us through the glass doors and 
	makes his way through the building toward the service exit. 
	He sheds his uniform and stuffs it into a plastic bag.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	his two parcels in hand, exits out the side door of the hotel 
	and walks down the street.

<b>	DOORMAN
</b>
	now wearing rich man's sweats, hops off the loading dock, 
	walks to a Lincoln Town Car, and drives off.

<b>	INT. MARTIN'S AND GROCERS CARS - DAY
</b>
	Martin rolls down FDR Drive in a Lincoln Town Car once again 
	on the cellular.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		...Tell them that's not my problem. 
		I was paid for one job-- the cyclist-- 
		not two. See you tomorrow, Marcella.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		Wait. I have Mr. Grocer for you.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Patch him through....

	Martin notices another Town Car appears in the next lane. We 
	recognize the Doorman behind the wheel, phone in hand. He is 
<b>	GROCER.
</b>
<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		What do you want?

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		I'm setting up a concern that would 
		enable those of us in our rarefied 
		profession to consolidate our efforts.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Like a union?

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		Like a club. Work less, make more.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Thank you, no.

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		We could be working together, making 
		big money, killing important people... 
		I'm willing to let you in on the 
		ground floor.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		And you could be... sort of like... 
		a father figure to me....

	Grocer ignores this.

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		It's a free-market evolution. You'll 
		wake up to it... c'mon Kid. We used 
		to run together when you were a 
		rookie. I don't want to run against 
		you. This thing's real. Everybody's 
		in.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Not me. So don't paw at me with your 
		dirty little guild.

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		I'm gonna get you, kid.

	Martin hangs up and pulls away.

<b>	INT. AIRLINER - DAY
</b>
	Martin sits in first class, wiping his face and hands with 
	an airline hot towel. He folds the wet cloth and once again 
	speeds through the images from a thick stack of magazines. 
	He looks up as he hears PILOT V.O.  It's seventy-six degrees 
	and partly cloudy in Chicago this afternoon...

<b>	INT. APARTMENT, CHICAGO - NIGHT
</b>
	Martin walks into a sparsely furnished apartment. He wearily 
	drops his carry-on bag and briefcase in the hall.

<b>	INT. LIVING ROOM - LATER
</b>
	Martin sits on a futon couch watching MTV with no sound. On 
	the coffee table in front of him is a phalanx of vitamin 
	bottles. Martin takes some capsules from each and washes 
	them down with a reddish-orange beverage.

<b>	INT. LIVING ROOM - LATER
</b>
	Martin lies on his back on the hardwood floor. His eyes are 
	closed and he wears a set of headphones as he absently taps 
	his chest.

<b>				  WOMAN (V.O.)
</b>		"Dear Alumni: Can you believe it's 
		been ten years? Where are you now...?

	After a moment, his eyes open, alerted. His head turns to 
	the side, and his hands lightly cup the headphones.

<b>	CLOSE-UP: WIRE
</b>
	from the headphones as it winds to a small metal box, with 
	one unmarked switch and one amber light- definitely not a 
	walkman. The wire continues out of the other side of the 
	box, across the floor, connecting to a suction cup stuck to 
	the floor.

<b>				  WOMAN (V.O.)
</b>		...Are you guiding an Outward Bound 
		canoe trip like Brook Stinson? Or 
		perhaps in charge of appearances for 
		the NFL like Leslie Gunther....?

<b>	MARTIN - A MINUTE LATER
</b>
	draws a pre-cut section of the floor, the width of a pencil 
	and twice as long, by a string.

<b>	VIDEO MONITOR - A MINUTE LATER
</b>
	The greenish Starlight (night vision) image of a young, HUSKY 
	MAN sleeping on his back, as seen from above. A fine thread 
	snakes from behind CAMERA to just above the man's slack mouth. 
	We PULL BACK to reveal a Sony Watchman that holds the IMAGE. 
	KEEP PULLING to reveal Martin watching it as he maneuvers 
	the thread down past the fiber-optic cable through the hole 
	in the floor.

<b>	MARTIN - A MINUTE LATER
</b>
	concentrates as he applies three drops of blue liquid on the 
	thread. As the drops run down along the thread through the 
	floor, his attention shifts to the

<b>	VIDEO MONITOR
</b>
	The drops, huge in the foreground, become smaller as they 
	make their way down the line toward the sleeping man.

<b>				  WOMAN (V.O.)
</b>		...Could it be that you're like Chip 
		Longfellow, at the trade-relations 
		tank in Washington. Sandy Glasser 
		owns a cheese shop...!

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	adjusts the thread minutely with one hand, and lowers the 
	fiber-optic cable with the other.

<b>	VIDEO MONITOR
</b>
	The face begins to fill the screen as the fiber-optic follows 
	the drops toward it. Suddenly, the man snorts and turns his 
	face...

<b>	A DROP FALLS
</b>
	It misses the man's mouth and hit's his cheek.

<b>	VIDEO MONITOR
</b>
	The man's eyes snap open in terror as he looks directly into 
	CAMERA. His image falls away as the fiber-optic is jerked 
	back up through the hole in the floor.

<b>				  WOMAN (V.O.)
</b>		...Looking at yearbooks and pictures 
		evokes so many memories...!

<b>				  MARTIN (V.O.)
</b>			(hushed)
		Fuck!

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	stuffs the apparati into an open duffel bag, and flies out 
	of frame.

<b>				  WOMAN (V.O.)
</b>		...Some good. Some bad. But all 
		interesting...

<b>	INT. HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER
</b>
	A BODYGUARD sits outside an apartment door. A muffled but 
	dire scream is heard from within and he is on his feet, gun 
	in hand. An exit door in the hallway slams open revealing 
	Martin, his gun already pointed at the Bodyguard. The 
	Bodyguard levels his at Martin.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Freeze! Police!

	The Bodyguard hesitates just long enough to get double-tapped 
	through the head.

<b>				  WOMAN (V.O.)
</b>		...As a graduate of the class of 
		1984, you are someone special...

	Martin moves to the dead Bodyguard, and locates a retractable 
	key chain on his belt. He unreels the ring of keys and opens 
	the door. He lets the keys retract back to the belt and drags 
	him into the apartment.

<b>	INT. HUSKY MAN'S APARTMENT - SECONDS LATER
</b>
	Martin moves silently down the hall in a crouch. He comes to 
	the bedroom and slips across the threshold.

<b>				  WOMAN (V.O.)
</b>		...Whenever news of you filters back, 
		the school is excited and proud of 
		your accomplishments...

<b>	INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS
</b>
	Martin crouches down outside the bedroom door. He points the 
	gun at the door, and reaching up turns the knob. As the door 
	opens, the Husky Man FIRES wildly over Martin's head. Martin 
	returns with one shot to the hut which sits the man down on 
	the floor.

<b>				  WOMAN (V.O.)
</b>		...We hope Grosse Pointe High prepared 
		you well to lead the kind of life 
		that makes an impact on the world...

	Martin kicks the gun away from the fallen man, and raises 
	his barrel to the man's forehead.

<b>				  WOMAN (V.O.)
</b>		...Remember, "there's no where you 
		can go that you haven't learned how 
		to go in time... It's easy..."

<b>				  HUSKY MAN
</b>			(in severe pain)
		Whatever it is that I'm doing that 
		you don't like I'll stop doing it.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It's not me.

	Martin cocks the gun....

<b>	EXT. EAST-WEST HOLDING COMPANY, LOS ANGELES - DAY
</b>
	The perpetual sun shines down on a small lot of pre-fab office 
	bungalows.

<b>	INT. BLANK HOLDING COMPANY
</b>
	A small suite of dry-walled offices.

<b>	EAST-WEST HOLDING COMPANY
</b>
	is stenciled on glass doors behind Martin who stands in front 
	of a young woman reading from some kind of invitation. She 
	is MARCELLA MAYES.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		...So come on back to the old oak 
		tree, acorns. Signed, the reunion 
		committee."

	Marcella holds up the mauve envelope and smiles slyly. For 
	the first time, Martin looks scared.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Throw that away.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		This?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Don't tease me. You know what I do 
		for a living.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		It's from one of those P.O. Boxes. 
		How was the trip?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Tedious. I now authorize you to throw 
		away all personal mail.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		All of it?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		And not show it to me. Ever again.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		That's going to cost.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I'll pay.

	Martin begins to walk past her into his office, but Marcella 
	stops him.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		They're not happy, sir.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I'm not happy.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		They say their friend was suppose to 
		have a heart attack and die in his 
		sleep.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		He didn't.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		They blame you for the compromise.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		And they want me to make up for it.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		In Detroit. This weekend.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Tell them that's impossible. I need 
		my normal lead time.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		They were very upset.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Would you describe their position as 
		inflexible?

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		Intractable, sir. You leave tonight.

	Marcella looks concerned.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		And sir, I also get that broken-
		mirror, black-cat, Friday-the-
		thirteenth kind of feeling about 
		this one....

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		There's nothing to be done about it.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		I liquidated the last account in 
		Zurich, and split it into two new 
		ones in Estonia.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Good. What else? Anything interesting?

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		Mmm, not really. But you're gonna 
		love this one.

	She hands him a piece of paper. He scans it.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		Enough?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Never enough.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		But it's a Greenpeace boat. It'd be 
		so easy.

	Martin looks at her wearily. He puts it into the paper 
	shredder at the side of her desk.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I have scruples. Next.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		Paperwork on the Detroit thing. It's 
		a full dossier. Very comprehensive.

	She raises a thick brown dossier from the top of her desk 
	and puts it down again. Martin moves through a door to his 
	private office.

<b>	MARTIN'S OFFICE
</b>
	Martin goes into his office and sits at his desk. On the 
	walls are a couple of boring prints of tallships. A bookshelf 
	holds trappings of a loose attempt at a cover-- a few shipping 
	manifests, sealane tables, and other specialized reference 
	books on import/export. He sits and stares.

<b>	NEW ANGLE
</b>
	Time has passed, and Martin still sits at his desk massaging 
	his gums with a rubber-tipped dental pointer.

<b>	C.U. MARTIN'S TEETH
</b>
	The dental tool jumps across the gaps between his teeth like 
	a hummingbird.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>			(off-screen)
		You should get going....

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	pulls back his jacket lapel and fits the utensil into a pocket 
	protector that is also home to a toothbrush, emery board, 
	tweezers, and comb. He stands and walks out of his office.

<b>	FOYER
</b>
	Martin moves toward the door. As he passes Marcella she hands 
	him the mauve envelope and a travel portfolio.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		Don't forget your identity.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		See you next week.

	Martin stops short as he reaches the threshold. He holds up 
	the envelope, and stares a dagger through it. On his way 
	out, over his shoulder...

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Tell Dr. Oatman I'm on my way.

<b>	INT. DR. OATMAN'S OFFICE - DAY
</b>
	Martin slouches on a leather couch. He holds the mauve 
	envelope, now open.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN (V.O.)
</b>		Why don't you want to go to your 
		high school reunion?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It's in Michigan. Honestly, what do 
		I have in common with those people? 
		Or with anyone?

	DR. OATMAN sits in the window. He is Kris Kringle-esque, and 
	wears a sheepskin vest, rough-hewn shirt, faded Levis, and 
	old Frye boots. Oatman nods with the suave understanding of 
	a man happy to collect fifty thousand in fees before asking 
	a tough question.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		You went to school with these people.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Come on.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		We've spent a lot of time discussing 
		those years. Remember we said that 
		fear is a transfer of the bodily 
		hurt associated by experience with 
		the thing feared, to the thought of 
		the thing. Thus we fear a dog without 
		distinctly imagining its bite.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Shouldn't you be taking notes?

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		Tell me about your vision of the 
		reunion.

<b>	CLOSE-UP - MARTIN
</b>
<b>								   CUT TO:
</b>
<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V. - FROM ABOVE
</b>
	Of a crowded gymnasium. The alumni below stops what they are 
	doing and look up at Martin, DRAWING GUNS OF ALL SHAPES AND 
<b>	SIZES AND OPEN FIRE ON MARTIN. THE UNITED FORCE INSTANTLY 
</b><b>	DISINTEGRATES, AND ALL 400 PEOPLE TURN THEIR GUNS ON EACH 
</b><b>	OTHER. A BLOODBATH ENSUES. ONE ALUMNI SHOOTS HER OWN HEAD 
</b><b>	OFF, ANOTHER MOWS DOWN THE BAR, ETC.
</b>
<b>							   CUT BACK TO:
</b>
<b>	MARTIN AND OATMAN
</b>
<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It'll be depressing.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		How do you know?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I just know.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		Say more.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		They'll have husbands and wives and 
		children and houses and dogs.... 
		made themselves a part of something. 
		And they can talk about what they 
		do. What am I going to say?
			(sarcastic)
		"I killed the President of Paraguay 
		with a fork."

	Oatman twitches nervously, almost spilling his coffee.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		You needn't be so frank with me about 
		your work.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Why not. I trust you. You couldn't 
		turn me in because of Doctor-Patient 
		privilege... and I don't want to be 
		"withholding"... and I know where 
		you live.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		You know where I live?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		We're both professionals, Oatman.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		I think what you fear Martin is 
		domesticity. It's the greatest fear 
		that men have who belong to Western 
		Culture. It's centuries old. Like 
		King Phillip, in the 11th or 12th 
		century who decided one day that he 
		was so bored with his dreary life at 
		home with his wife he thought, "Well, 
		wouldn't it be great if we hit the 
		road and fought... oh... the 
		Saracens."  So he put the word out 
		and was amazed when a million men 
		signed up and all of them wanted to 
		go and fight in distant lands and do 
		terrible things to people rather 
		than stay at home with their families.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		So you're saying that Ulysses--
		everything he said to his queen when 
		he came back--everything was a lie? 
		He just wanted to fuck around?

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		Yes.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Mmm.

	Beat.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		And how have you been feeling about 
		your... work lately?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Uneasy. Dispassionate. Bored. It's 
		just getting hard to go to work in a 
		good mood. I'm starting to think 
		I've been in the business too long. 
		Last week I did a guy younger than 
		me.

<b>	INT. CHURCH -
</b>
<b>	SERIES OF QUICK SHOTS:
</b>
<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	From the back of the darkened empty church, we see him mount 
	the altar.  A priest in fact.

<b>	MARTIN'S HANDS
</b>
	open the gilded doors to reveal the chalice. He removes it, 
	squirts a clear liquid into the cup, and swishes it out. He 
	returns the chalice to the cabinet.

<b>				  MARTIN (V.O.)
</b>		The church seems to be purging itself 
		of it's pedophile.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	Sits in the back pew of the church, now crowded for Mann. He 
	watches the PRIEST lift the chalice into the air, murmur a 
	prayer, and drink from it. The Priest collapses behind the 
	altar.

<b>				  MARTIN (V.O.)
</b>		It's a bull market.

<b>	C.U. OF ALTAR CARPET
</b>
	The chalice bounces free from the Priest's hand as it hits 
	the ground.

<b>				  MARTIN (V.O.)
</b>		Anyway, that never use to happen. I 
		was always the prodigy. Now I'm just 
		one of the guys.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN (V.O.)
</b>		Maybe some of the discomfort you're 
		feeling is... guilt. Remorse. Over 
		the innocent people you've killed.

<b>	INT. OATMAN'S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
</b>
<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		If I show up at your door, chances 
		are you did something to bring me 
		there. I don't care about that stuff, 
		anyway.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		What stuff?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(dismissive)
		Morality.

	Oatman's glad the session's just about over.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		Go to your reunion, Martin. See those 
		people and discover what they mean 
		to you. Try not to kill anybody for 
		a few days, see how you feel.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		If I get antsy I'll kill a few small 
		animals.

<b>				  OATMAN
</b>		Now we're making progress.

<b>	INT. CONDO - NIGHT
</b>
	Very dark. No pictures or plants. Almost no furniture, and 
	what he does have is black. The only sign of life is a CAT. 
	The cat watches on as Martin sorts through a cardboard box, 
	finally coming to a photo album.

<b>				  CAT
</b>		Meow.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Just a minute.

<b>	INSERT-ALBUM
</b>
	A teen-aged Martin Blank: shy boy with a nervous smile. He 
	poses with his mother, an older woman with a kind smile... 
	but her eyes are dark; aged by a life of work and worry. On 
	the opposing page is a gilt funeral announcement that reads: 
<b>	"IN LOVING MEMORY... VISTOR ALLEN BLANK...."
</b>
<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	turns the page.

<b>	INSERT-PHOTO ALBUM
</b>
	A photograph of a tall, thin girl: a bright smile from within 
	a bulky winter coat. A girl he's always wondered about: DEBI 
	NEWBERRY. Handwritten on the photo in girlish loops: "Would 
	you rather...?!"

<b>				  CAT
</b>		Meow!

<b>	INT. KITCHEN - SAME
</b>
	Martin pulls himself away from the album and the cat follows 
	him, moaning hungrily--

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Food soon...

	Martin opens a restaurant-style refrigerator. It holds various 
	bottles of vitamins, spirulina, wheatgrass, digestible 
	hydrogen peroxide, fluoride treatment, oxygenated mouth rinse, 
	and thirty cans of CATFOOD.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Tuna or liver?

<b>				  CAT
</b>		Meow.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Tuna it is.

	He opens a can for the cat and a bottle for himself. While 
	the cat eats, he returns to the cardboard box. Finds a 
	YEARBOOK. Flips it open....

<b>	INSERT-YEARBOOK
</b>
	A picture of a senior class "Blues Brothers" party: a group 
	of teens mug to the camera in Blues Brothers get-ups. 
	Sprinters race for a finish line, their chests stretching 
	for the tape.

<b>	DEBI NEWBERY'S SENIOR PICTURE
</b>
	A more mature version of the girl in the album. Her name 
	appears under his picture...

<b>	INT. GROCER'S KITCHEN - NIGHT
</b>
	Track light fills the gourmet-rustic kitchen. GROCER stands, 
	wearing a burgundy Fila sweat suit, pushing beets into a 
	vegetable juicer. Next to the juicer are piles of celery and 
	carrots, as well. A low-key BLIP is heard from another room. 
	Grocer tops off the glass and takes it out of the kitchen.

<b>	INT. GROCER'S GREAT ROOM - CONTINUOUS
</b>
	Grocer enters the main room of the villa-style A-frame. He 
	moves to an antique oak desk and sits in front of a COMPUTER.

<b>	ON-SCREEN GRAPHICS
</b>
		  "Click OK for remote access caller"

	OK is clicked.

		   "Availability for two days in Detroit area"

				 "Terms"

<b>				"$560,000"
</b>
				  "When"

				  "Now"

				"OK/ FAX materials"

	Grocer leans back in his chair and sips the juice. After a 
	moment, the FAX machine on the desk rattles. The computer 
	beeps.

	  "confirmation number of wire transfer#: AJ6687-OI99471"

	Grocer hits the return button after taking in the number. A 
	graphic appears:

		"Connection is terminated/ Status idle"

	Grocer's FAX begins to moan and chatter. Grocer raises his 
	juice glass to the computer in a lazy toast.

<b>	INT. PLANE - NIGHT
</b>
	Martin reclines in first class, soaring toward the Midwest 
	on the red-eye. He has already scanned his magazines and 
	they are piled in the empty seat next to him. He sets aside 
	a Powerbar. Martin reads Kill Without Joy. After a moment, 
	he sets the book down and takes up Iron John.

<b>	INT. DETROIT AIRPORT TERMINAL - EARLY MORNING
</b>
	At the edge of the airport bar sits LARDNER and MCCULLERS, 
	two Government Spooks, agency unknown. They are both in 
	blazers, no ties, early thirties, and they watch the passing 
	crowd.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		You always say that. You always say 
		that. I'm telling you, you never met 
		the man.

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		Seventeen months ago I was posting a 
		walk in Lisbon, and he was there. He 
		never saw me. But I saw him, though.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		Lisbon?

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		In Portugal, yes.

	In the background, Martin passes by them as he walks down 
	the hall. Without directly regarding him, the two stand, 
	drop some cash on the bar, and begin to leave.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		Here's the news: He hasn't been in 
		Portugal since '90. I know that from 
		the file. Why don't you read the 
		file, man?

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		In fact, I think I talked with him, 
		in Bonn.

	Lardner can neither confirm nor deny this.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		You always say that. You always have 
		to know everybody. Why don't I just 
		take the weekend off and let you 
		kill him. Since you two are so close.

	They exit.

<b>	EXT. EXIT RAMP, DETROIT AIRPORT - MORNING
</b>
<b>	INSIDE MARTIN'S CAR
</b>
	Martin, in a black Lincoln Town Car, veers off of the airport 
	artery and on to a turnpike. The radio broadcasts the news.

<b>				  BROADCAST (V.O.)
</b>		...with highs today in the upper 
		seventies. Related stocks on Wall 
		Street today as scandal continues to 
		rock the joint U.S.-Japanese Tech 
		Center...

<b>	MARTIN'S CAR
</b>
	blows past CAMERA and on down the road. After a beat, a mid-
	eighties Ford Country Squire station wagon follows, occupied 
	by two figures.

<b>	INSIDE THE COUNTRY SQUIRE
</b>
	are Lardner and McCullers. They listen to the same broadcast.

<b>				  BROADCAST (V.O.)
</b>		...An unknown "whistle-blower" has 
		leaked a number of critical flaws in 
		the safety designs of next year's 
		models to authorities that could 
		cost millions in recalls....

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	flips through the dial, pausing on Rush Limbaugh who waxes 
	fascistically.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Mein hero.

	...and then turns the dial again and cuts in on "Armageddon 
	Time," slow reggae vibe by The Clash.

<b>	EXT. HIGHWAY-
</b>
	Martin drives down the roadway... headlong into his past. 
	Dig it...

<b>	INT. MARTIN'S CAR
</b>
	Martin turns up the volume as he reacts to a familiar 
	voice....

<b>				  FEMALE DEEJAY (V.O.)
</b>			(on radio)
		--this is WFRN, all vinyl, all the 
		time. Oldies from the eighties. It's 
		a cold summer day in Grosse Pointe--

<b>								   CUT TO:
</b>
<b>	CLOSE-UP - A FULL, FEMALE MOUTH
</b>
	lit only by dime slivers of sunlight, in front of a 
	microphone. Stray, gossamer strands of hair hanging in her 
	face move in front of her mouth as she speaks....

<b>				  FEMALE DEEJAY
</b>		--and I'm ready for some good tunes 
		and angry talk. Or angry tunes and 
		good talk--

<b>								   CUT TO:
</b>
<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	looking somewhere far away, beyond what is before him in the 
	windshield...

<b>				  FEMALE DEEJAY (V.O.)
</b>		--Or maybe we'll just play the Cocteau 
		Twins and get over the goo-angry-
		talking music. As you know--

<b>								   CUT TO:
</b>
<b>	THE DEEJAY'S HANDS
</b>
	as they distractedly toy with the wire at the base of the 
	mic.

<b>				  FEMALE DEEJAY (V.O.)
</b>		--for some moments in life there are 
		no words, and a little nonsense now 
		and then is relished by the wisest 
		man--

<b>								   CUT TO:
</b>
<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	still rapt, makes a sharp turn into a shopping district.

<b>								   CUT TO:
</b>
<b>	HER MOUTH
</b>
<b>				  FEMALE DEEJAY
</b>		--The Cocteau Twins, though also a 
		band of the nineties, will be aired 
		due to the fact that they created 
		their own language to sing by--

<b>								   CUT TO:
</b>
<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	slows on a quaint street of cute shops. He creeps up to a 
	storefront on hid right and stops, staring through the 
	passenger window....

<b>								   CUT TO:
</b>
<b>	DEBI NEWBERRY
</b>
	the female deejay. She sits slumped in a well-worn executive 
	chair, her back to the studio console and the picture window 
	behind it that opens to the street....

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		--Now that's freedom--

	she swivels in the chair to face the street....

<b>	DEBI'S P.O.V.
</b>
	of Martin's Town Car outside, Martin silhouetted in shadow.

<b>	DEBI
</b>
	Her brow furrowed as she peers at the car, something summoned 
	by the dark figure. Her words falter almost imperceptibly.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		--The best I can do is a rhyme: Where 
		are all the good men dead? In the 
		heart or in the head? Back later....

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	Shaken from his trance by her stare, pulls back into the 
	street and disappears....

<b>	INT. MARTIN'S CAR - MORNING
</b>
	Martin drives, listening to the radio. He turns the corner 
	with an expectant look on his face. Suddenly his face drops 
	as he slows and pulls over....

<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V. - 7-11 STORE
</b>
	Martin looks left of the store, then right, behind him, then 
	back at the store. Bewildered, he gets out of the car.

<b>	WIDE SHOT
</b>
	of Martin as he walks with purpose. He halts in the middle 
	of the lot. He puts his hands on his hips, stares, then moves 
	in... We stay wide as he enters the store and addresses the 
	clerk inside.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		What are you doing here?

	CARL, the store clerk tries to get a grip on this question.

<b>				  CARL
</b>		A double shift. What's it look like?
			(softening)
		Can I help you with something?

	Martin's head pans the room, processing.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I don't think so.

<b>	EXT. 7-11 PAYPHONE - MORNING
</b>
	Martin continues to gaze at the structure as if it's a lunar 
	landscape.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(into phone)
		Dr. Oatman. Dr. Oatman. Please pick 
		up if you're there... It's Martin 
		Blank. It's gone. My house. It's not 
		here. My house is gone and now there's 
		a 7-11 here... And that's 
		unfortunate... You can never go home 
		again, Dr. Oatman.

	Martin hangs up. He watches one-stop shoppers come and go.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(to himself)
		But I guess you can shop there.

<b>	INT. NURSING HOME - DAY
</b>
<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V.
</b>
	of a NURSE leading him down a drab, antiseptic hallway. She 
	banks into the sunlit room where a wispy woman in her late 
	fifties sits expectantly on the edge of the bed clutching 
	her purse in one hand, a filterless Pall-Mall in the other, 
	a light coat on. This is MARY BLANK. She suffers from 
	Alzheimer's or something just as debilitating.

<b>				  NURSE
</b>		Mary, your son's here.

	The nurse gently eases Mary up. Martin hugs Mary stiffly and 
	pats her shoulders. Mary takes hold of Martin's arm. They 
	start out of the room.

<b>	EXT. SUBURBAN STREET - DAY
</b>
	They walk past a school-yard park fitted with a set of swings, 
	baseball diamonds, and a small grove of trees. She smokes 
	and hacks.

<b>				  MARY
</b>		I bought a new rug.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		That's wonderful, Mom.

<b>				  MARY
</b>		What's a revival tent?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It's a place where religious people--

<b>				  MARY
</b>			(knowingly)
		Marlin Perkins and Jim!

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Jim?

<b>				  MARY
</b>		His assistant. He acted like Marlin's 
		son, only he wasn't. At least they 
		never said he was... I bet they were 
		lovers, faggots. Yes, gay lovers. 
		Wild Kingdom my ass!

	Mary coughs horribly.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It's good to see you. I'm sure you're 
		curious about what I've been doing.

<b>				  MARY
</b>		I spoke to your father the other 
		day.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I imagine that'd be rather difficult.

<b>				  MARY
</b>		Nature made him then broke the mold.

	Martin decides to change the subject.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		They told me you're taking lithium, 
		mom.

<b>				  MARY
</b>		Yes, they give me headaches. I have 
		a headache.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		You have a headache?

<b>				  MARY
</b>		I have a headache. You have a 
		headache?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		No, I don't have one.

<b>				  MARY
</b>		You don't have a headache. I have a 
		headache.

	Mary leans in close, smiling.

<b>				  MARY
</b>		We had a good laugh, didn't we?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Yeah. I guess we did.

<b>	EXT. NURSING HOME - DAY
</b>
	As they head toward Martin's car, Mary stops and points to 
	it.

<b>				  MARY
</b>		Why don't you return this car and 
		borrow mine? Have Debi follow you to 
		the rent-a-car so you can get a ride 
		back.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I think I'll go see Debi today.

<b>				  MARY
</b>		Of course you will.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I can't think of anything to say to 
		her that seems appropriate given I 
		left and never said goodbye to her.

<b>				  MARY
</b>		Take care of her. She's a keeper.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Yeah...

<b>				  MARY
</b>		And a leader. Didn't she meet Castro 
		on foreign exchange?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I have always thought about her and 
		missed her.

	A nurse approaches with a wheelchair.

<b>				  MARY
</b>		Separate the wheat from the chaff 
		and you've got the candle cat.

	Together, Martin and the nurse help Mary into it. Mary gazes 
	at Martin, taking him in.

<b>				  MARY
</b>		Remember no matter how impossible 
		your problems feel. I've known people 
		without a chance in the world. And 
		all of a sudden, they have lives.  
		Time allows miracles. Let yourself 
		breathe, son.

	Martin bends down and kisses her on the cheek. The nurse 
	spins the chair around and heads toward the building. He is 
	somewhat fatigued from the experience, but he tries once 
	more to connect.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Mom...

	The nurse stops and turns Mary around to face him. Mary looks 
	up at Martin and brightens. She starts to sing out like Ethel 
	Merman, arms out Broadway style.

<b>				  MARY
</b>		"What's up doc/ what's cookin'?/ 
		What's up doc?/ Are ya lookin'?/ 
		Hey! Look out!  You're gonna hurt 
		someone,/ with that old shotgun,/ 
		Hey... what's... up... Doooooc...!/ 
		We really mean it!"

	Mary stops short, and squints at Martin.

<b>				  MARY
</b>		Hey, you're a handsome devil. What's 
		your name?

<b>	EXT. GRAVEYARD ROAD - DAY
</b>
	Martin stops the car and looks out the window at the sea of 
	headstones. He jerks his hand in a stiff wave...

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Hey Pop... You got off easy. The 
		house is a 7-11. Mom's a psycho-
		pharmacological punching bag and I 
		murder for cash. If you were here I 
		think you'd be proud.

	He drives off.

<b>	INT. MARTIN'S SUITE - DAY
</b>
	The room features a big square bed, dresser and television. 
	Martin enters, kicks a leather bag under the bed, and grabs 
	the steel-sided briefcase.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		pries out a wall vent, slides in the 
		case and replaces the vent.

<b>	EXT. MAIN STREET - DAY
</b>
	Lardner and McCullers are staked out along the main strip of 
	town. Lardner snores, face pressed up against the passenger 
	window. McCullers lays back in his seat, a to-go cup in his 
	lap. He taps the cup with one finger as he absently sings 
	his favorite Bob Seeger song to himself...

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		"...Against the wind... just a young 
		man running... Against the wind... 
		let the cowboy's ride!... Blame on 
		it the thuuunder! Night moves..."

	McCullers catches of Martin's Town Car coming down the street. 
	He nudges Lardner, and points.

<b>	LARDNER AND MCCULLERS P.O.V.
</b>
	of Martin pulling into a space on the street outside the 
	radio station. He gets out, looking nervous.

<b>	INT. RADIO STATION - DAY
</b>
	Debi flips on the "ON-AIR" switch and prepares to speak into 
	the microphone. Martin walks in. Debi sees him. They stare 
	at each other. The song ends. Dead air. After a moment...

<b>				  DEBI
</b>			(on air, groping)
		WRFN playing all vinyl, all the time. 
		Oldies from the eighties. That was 
		ah... the Specials. Doing... one of 
		their songs...

	Debi turns to turntable B and finds it empty. She turns back 
	to turntable A and lets the record roll on.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		...and here's another.

	Debi swivels around to face Martin.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		"Oldies from the eighties?"

	After a long pause....

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		I just play my own collection.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It's nice to see you again.

	Debi says nothing, just stares at him, in shock.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		How long has it been?

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Since you stood me up on prom night 
		and vanished without saying a word?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Ten years, I think. What I miss?

	Debi slowly grooves into irony, her best defense.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Well, let me see... they tore down 
		the George Orwell monument and put 
		up a bust of George Michael. Main 
		Street's a four-laner, no left turns 
		four to seven. I was married and 
		divorced. And Grosse Pointe is now 
		officially the new sister city to 
		Lower Hutt, New Zealand. We have 
		fiber-optic town meetings every two 
		months.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Here is now there. There is here.

	Their eyes lock on each other...

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Those are the headlines.

	The request line buzzes.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Hold that thought.
			(into phone)
		WRFN FM, Grosse Pointe. All vinyl, 
		all the...
			(pauses)
		No Pearl Jam. Call back in ten years.

	Beat. Debi makes the move.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Tell me about yourself.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I'm in California most of the time. 
		Traveling a lot on business. That's 
		about it, really.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		That's it?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Not much else.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		What's your business?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I'm a professional killer.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Professional killer. Do you get dental 
		with that?

	Beat.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Well, I'm in town for a few days, 
		anyway.

	They run out of words, the moment too big for small talk. 
	Martin gets the fear, breaks it off.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Well, I gotta go. But I'll come back.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Okay.

	Martin leaves Debi sitting alone, in disbelief.

<b>	EXT. RADIO STATION - DAY
</b>
	Martin steps out of the storefront station along the 
	fashionable Grosse Pointe shopping district. He stops in the 
	middle of the street with a strained look on his face.

<b>	INT. LARDNER & MCCULLERS' COUNTRY SQUIRE - SAME
</b>
<b>	LARDNER & MCCULLERS' P.O.V.
</b>
	of Martin standing in the street.

<b>	LARDNER AND MCCULLERS
</b>
	They frown, wondering at Martin's next move.

<b>	INT. DEEJAY BOOTH -
</b>
	Debi lost in thought, still. After a moment, she sits upright 
	and flips the "ON-AIR" switch.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>			(into mike)
		A man comes to you. He is from the 
		past bringing you pain long since 
		put behind you. He says peculiar 
		things and leaves abruptly. It all 
		comes flooding back...

<b>	EXT. STREET -
</b>
	Martin stops in his tracks. His face softens, then becomes 
	determined. He turns and walks back toward the station.

<b>	INT. DEEJAY BOOTH -
</b>
	Debi broadcasting...

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		It felt like an apparition, or some 
		cheap, gruesome Rod Serling time 
		warp I'd been thrust back into without 
		warning. There's a strangeness in 
		the air and I don't mind telling 
		you, I'm a little spooked. He was a 
		man from my past. A man I loved. A 
		man who disappeared.

<b>	DEBI'S P.O.V.
</b>
	of Martin walking back into the station.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		A man who's walking back into the 
		station.

	Martin comes into the booth. The temperature rises as they 
	square off.

<b>	INT. COUNTRY SQUIRE -
</b>
<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		Well?

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		I don't think so.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		Well, remember when Frysal's men 
		paid off the Deejay in Cairo to 
		announce a bogus press conference in 
		the --

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		--Nooo--

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		--Yes. And the Munich Olympics in 
		'72. A local radio station started 
		broadcasting news of the massacre 
		two minutes before it happened.

	McCullers is not to be outdone.

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		That's strictly Bàader-Meinhof stuff.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		It was the PLO.

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		Whatever.

<b>	INT. DEEJAY BOOTH
</b>
	Martin and Debi locked in a passionate embrace. They break 
	away.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Sit.

	Martin obeys. Debi clandestinely flips the "ON-AIR" switch 
	as she drops into her chair. The "ON-AIR" light bar goes on 
	above and behind Martin. Unbeknownst to him their conversation 
	is put out over the airwaves.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		All right mystery man. I want some 
		answers. Let's recap. Spring of '84. 
		Two young lovers with frightening 
		natural chemistry. The girl sits in 
		a seven-hundred dollar prom dress at 
		her father's house waiting for the 
		most romantic night of her young 
		life. The boy never shows up, until 
		now. So, what's the question?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Where have I been?

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		More like what happened? What 
		happened, Mr. Blank?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I don't know exactly. I could venture 
		a guess but it would sound like a 
		rationalization... I thought you 
		know... maybe seeing you, some 
		friends, my house... of course now a 
<b>		7-11--
</b>
<b>				  DEBI
</b>		--Torn down in the name of convenience--

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		--and I guess, sure, seeing you would 
		be part of that whole equation... I 
		suppose the most important thing, 
		really. I don't know. Anyway, this 
		whole thing's my therapist's idea. 
		It's my shrink, really.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Ohhh. You're in therapy too, Marty?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		You see someone?

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Uh, no. So you're back now, a decade 
		later, and you want to sort things 
		out with me. The question now is, do 
		I allow you... access... to my being?

	Martin says nothing.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		All right then. Would you like to 
		share any more deeply personal 
		thoughts with our listening audience 
		before we go to our phone poll and 
		see how the folks in radioland come 
		down on this one?

	A beat as Martin realizes he's been had. He seems about to 
	bolt.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Should a broken-hearted girl give a 
		guy a second chance at love....

	Debi jabs a phone line on the console.

<b>				  DEBI
</b><b>			(HARD)
</b>		You're on the air.

	Martin deflates.

<b>				  OLD WOMAN'S VOICE
</b>		I think this young man has avoided 
		the question completely. Has not 
		discussed "what happened" nor if 
		he's sorry for what he has done. 
		Therefore, I don't see any reason 
		why you should see him until he fully 
		discloses his intentions and feelings.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Thank you caller.

	Stabs another line.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		You're on the air.

<b>				  DUMB GUY VOICE
</b>		Are you there?

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Yes.

<b>				  DUMB GUY VOICE
</b>		No, the guy.

	Martin looks up, humiliated.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Yeah....

<b>				  DUMB GUY VOICE
</b>		Uh... when you guys use to go out... 
		Did you guys ever... heh heh heh 
		heh... ever fuckin', ever totally 
		fuckin' heh heh heh-

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Next caller.

<b>				  GUFF MAN VOICE
</b>		I don't know, Debi. Sounds like bad 
		gas to me. I would not allow him 
		access to your being.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Thank you.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Grosse Pointe Michigan, I hear you 
		loud and clear: "If you love something 
		set it free. If it comes back to you 
		it's, well...

	She turns to him and shrugs apologetically.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		...Broken...."

	Martin has his answer.

<b>	EXT. RADIO STATION - DAY
</b>
	Martin leaves the station, alone and beaten down.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Dammit. Never trust my instincts.

	He scans the main strip.

<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V.
</b>
	A MAN walks down the street. He is FELIX, a bookish, 
	forgettable man in his forties, wearing Le Coq Sportif sweats 
	and shoes. He looks as if he has a dark cloud over his head. 
	Martin's seen him somewhere, and doesn't like what he 
	remembers. Martin's POV TRACKS him.

<b>	FELIX'S P.O.V.
</b>
	As he walks down the street, he spots the Country Squire, 
	and eyes Lardner and McCullers in the front seat.

<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V.
</b>
	follows Felix's eyes to Lardner and McCullers and catches 
	their look. Their eyes lock, neither wanting to betray that 
	they've made each other. They all do a pretty good job. His 
	P.O.V. swings to a square-jawed, hale fellow wearing dark 
	sunglasses who is approaching directly and only a few feet 
	away. The man is going for something in his breast pocket...

	Reaches into his own jacket, most likely for a gun....

<b>	THE MAN
</b>
	pulls out a glasses case, and takes off his shades-- He is 
<b>	PAUL SWIDERSKI.
</b>
<b>	MARTIN AND PAUL
</b>
	Martin relaxes.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>			(grinning ear-to-ear)
		Hell, I would've voted for you, but 
		there's all this apple sauce stuck 
		in my phone... I don't wanna talk 
		about it. How the hell are you?!
			(extends his hand)
		Here's five good ones!

	No trace of recognition on Martin's face.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		Marty! It's me. Paul.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(realizing)
		Paul?

<b>				  PAUL
</b>			(re: hand)
		You're leaving me hanging here...

	They shake. Martin looks him up and down, astonished at the 
	respectable veneer of his old burn-out friend.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		Hey. Give me a break.

<b>	INT. PAUL'S BMW - DAY
</b>
	Martin and Paul rive through Grosse Pointe, Michigan: Wide 
	streets lined with huge, shady oaks. Castle-like homes on 
	golf-course green lawns. A comfortable, Midwestern Beverly 
	Hills. They are cruising their old haunts, Paul smoking a 
	joint.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		This won't take but a minute. I just 
		gotta hold their hands for a final 
		walk-through. I'll take them in, get 
		'em out, then you and I can grab a 
		little quality time.

	Martin looks out the window, breathing in the past.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		Goddamn, It's good to see you. I was 
		afraid you joined a cult or something. 
		I half-expected you to come back to 
		town in a fennel wreath and paper 
		pants.

	Paul offers Martin the joint. He declines.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		There was no money in it.

	Martin regards Paul archly.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(grinning)
		So what happened to you?

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		Same thing that happened to you-- I 
		stopped poutin' there on the 
		sidelines. Got in. Got on the team.  
		I joined the working week, you slick 
		fucking asshole, so why don't you 
		valet park your high horse and take 
		it easy on your old buddy, Paul.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Fair enough.

	Beat.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		God it's great to see you.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		You too.

<b>	EXT. FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT HOUSE - DAY
</b>
<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V.
</b>
	of a lovely YOUNG COUPLE on the front porch of a mid-sized 
	Wright home... Perhaps that could be him if things were 
	different, but for now it feels like along shot. Paul is 
	hawking the house to them out of earshot.

<b>				  SOUTHTEC GUARD (V.O.)
</b>		Well, we do what we have to do if we 
		find you on the property. But we 
		don't really enforce the law, we 
		execute company policy for homeowners.

<b>	MARTIN AND THE GUARD
</b>
	standing in the driveway.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		So when are you authorized to use 
		deadly force?

<b>				  SOUTHTEC GUARD
</b>		Well, a 'course, taxes provide your 
		basic service-- police and whatnot. 
		But our customers need a little more 
		than just that, you understand? This 
		badge doesn't mean that I am a peace 
		officer.

	The woman turns at Martin and smiles. Martin smiles back.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		So it's not a meaningful symbol, or 
		anything. That badge is just the 
		badge of your company. If I look 
		suspicious on your customers' property--
		well, under those heightened 
		circumstances you have the authority 
		to, ah... To shoot me.

<b>				  SOUTHTEC GUARD
</b>		To shoot you. Correct.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		How did you get this job?

<b>				  SOUTHTEC GUARD
</b>		Well, they were hiring, and it was 
		only a two week course...

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(pleasantly)
		Wow.

	Paul walks the happy couple down the steps.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>			(to couple)
		...What more can I say.

<b>				  HUSBAND
</b>			(smiling)
		We'll talk soon.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>			(much hand gesturing)
		You'll be raising your new family in 
		a work of art. A work of art in a 
		work of art.

	Paul looks at Martin and the Guard, inviting them into the 
	sell.

<b>				  SOUTHTEC GUARD
</b>		I'm sure you'll be very happy.

	All look to Martin....

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(heartfelt)
		When my time comes, if it ever does, 
		I want a beautiful, normal place 
		like this... and a wife like you...

	All are confused. Martin thumbs to the guard.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		...and you'll be safe here...

	Paul looks at his shoes and rolls his shoulders.

<b>	EXT. FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT HOUSE
</b>
	Lardner and McCullers sit in the wagon, watching the house 
	in the distance.

<b>	INT. PAUL'S BMW - LATER
</b>
	Martin and Paul cut through a particularly charming 
	neighborhood.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		Now. I don't make a habit of pimping 
		my friends, but there is one prime 
		little piece of land that you must 
		see...

<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V.
</b>
	A sprawling gingerbread mansion rises into view. A long and 
	winding driveway cuts through thickly wooded property to the 
	house.

<b>				  MARTIN (V.O.)
</b>		Debi's house.

<b>				  PAUL (V.O.)
</b>		Kind of crept up on you, didn't it?

<b>	C.U. OF MARTIN
</b>
<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		No. You drove us here.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		Yeah, but it's still kind of eerie, 
		isn't it?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		No.

	Martin's not listening. His eyes track the house out the 
	window.

<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V.
</b>
	of the mansion.

	They roll slowly by Debi's house.

	They drive in silence for a beat. Paul suddenly swerves to 
	the shoulder, jams the brake, and turns on Martin.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		Ten years. What happened!?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I freaked out, joined the Army, worked 
		for the government, and went into 
		business for myself... I'm a 
		professional killer.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		Thank you.

	Paul, satisfied, gets back on the road.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		Professional killer, huh? Does that 
		come with a good HMO?

<b>	EXT. ROAD - DAY
</b>
	Paul makes a turn. They approach a large car dealership. The 
	sign above it says

<b>		  "DESTEPHANO'S BAVARIAN MOTOR WORKS"
</b>
<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(looking ahead)
		He sells BMW's?

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		He sold me this bad boy.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		How could you put your hard-earned 
		dollars into the hands of the class 
		bully?

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		He gave me a great deal.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Mein Dealer.

	Paul slows outside the lot. BOB DESTEPHANO-- a big, angry-
	looking man in an expensive suit-- stands in the lot, puffing 
	up amidst his stable of expensive cars.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		Hey! Bob! The car's running great.

<b>				  BOB
</b>			(dismissive)
		Glad to hear it.

	Bob turns his back on them and begins to walk away.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(shouts)
		Bob...

<b>				  BOB
</b>			(turning)
		What?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It's me. Martin Blank.

<b>				  BOB
</b>		Really...? So what?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Okay. See you later.

<b>	EXT. RADIO STATION - NIGHT
</b>
	Martin climbs out of Paul's car and begins to walk toward 
	his own. Paul calls after him.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		See you at the left-a-boy-came-back-
		a-man-made-good party.

	Martin nods him off. Paul pulls away.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	stands across the street from the radio station, looking at 
	Debi in the window... Martin draws a thin rifle scope from 
	his back pocket, and lifts it to his eye...

<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V. - SCOPE
</b>
	of Debi, in the crosshairs, bored, tapping a pencil to the 
	beat of an unheard song.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	dejected. He puts the scope away and gets in his car.

<b>	INT. 7-11 - NIGHT
</b>
	Martin walks into the store, looking around once again at 
	his old home. To the left of the door, a typical suburban 
	teenage SKATEBOARDER is lost in the "Mortal Combat" video 
	game and something too loud from his walkman. Carl, still 
	working the double, nods to Martin.

<b>				  CARL
</b>		Can I help you?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		What's done is done.

	Martin moves up one aisle to the gum rack. He picks out a 
	pack of Beaman's and unwraps a stick as he heads to the 
	counter. On the way, he makes a black Town Car pulling into 
	a spot next to his own. He immediately changes course, and 
	bee-lines for a rear aisle where he ducks down...

<b>	FELIX
</b>
	Comes through the door, drawing a Mac-10 for each hand.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	grabs the gum out of his mouth and sticks it onto the bottom 
	of the Glock .9mm he has produced from somewhere in his suit.

<b>	CARL
</b>
	grabs the cash drawer, sets it on the counter, and puts his 
	hands up.

<b>	THE SKATEBOARDER
</b>
	Plays on.

<b>	FELIX AND CARL
</b>
	Felix shoots CARL DEAD on his way toward

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	Bolts up the cooler aisle. Bursts of FIRE follow him, taking 
	out each freezer door behind him.

<b>	MARTIN AND FELIX
</b>
	EXCHANGE FIRE John Woo-style between the aisles of the cramped 
	store. Felix delivers a close-to-home burst as he jumps the 
	counter, sending Martin diving out of view.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	pinned behind the Slurpee machine, pauses to reload his now 
	two Glock nines. Martin steals a glance to get a bead on 
	Felix and is met with a salvo that rocks the Slurpee machine, 
	spattering him with several flavors... and that's all he can 
	take. Martin comes up BLASTING with both guns, but all that's 
	left of Felix is swinging doors and squealing tires.

	Martin moves to the cashier island, low to the ground.

<b>	THE SKATEBOARDER
</b>
	Twitches and jerks, still absorbed in his game and oblivious 
	to the surrounding carnage.

<b>	CASHIER ISLAND
</b>
	Martin crawls through the waist-level swinging door and moves 
	to Carl.

<b>	CARL
</b>
	is really dead. Martin rolls him over to check it out and 
	finds

<b>	A BOMB
</b>
	under the corpse.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	Flips the corpse back on top of the device and leaps the 
	counter toward the doors. He grabs the shoulder or the 
	Skateboarder, who shrugs him off, annoyed--

<b>				  SKATEBOARDER
</b>		What the fuck, man?!

	The video game screen explodes. Shot full of Martin's bullets. 
	The Skateboarder reacts backward and Martin jerks him out of 
	the double doors.

<b>	EXT. 7-11 - CONTINUOUS
</b>
	The Skateboarder is running like crazy, and Martin's car is 
	peeling out in reverse as the 7-11 is blown to hell.

<b>	INT. MARTIN'S CAR - MOMENTS LATER
</b>
	Martin's hair is matted with Slurpee as he tries to drive 
	and cool out. He sees his do in the mirror, pulls out a comb 
	and starts to comb it back into a slick Pat Riley style.

<b>	EXT. RADIO STATION - NIGHT
</b>
	Martin walks in, not looking half bad, considering. Debi 
	looks up from some reading. "Naïve Melody" by the Talking 
	Heads plays in the studio.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Are you going to the reunion?

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		No. I'm not going. Is that why you're 
		here?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		That's part of it.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Well, you'll have a ball. You seem 
		to have everything everybody wants 
		when they go back. The car, the suit, 
		the watch. The look. That just leaves 
		the little things, like happiness, 
		character, point of view...

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It's always the little things.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Yep.

	Beat.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I'm wondering how you've been. How 
		you are. I'd like to catch up with 
		you. If it's possible.

	Beat as Debi considers. She spins her seat to face him.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Okay. Let's catch up. You go first.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Well, there's not much to tell.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		I'm sure you've done worthwhile things 
		in the last ten years. You've had 
		experiences.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Bad experiences.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		You met people.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Bad people.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Watched television?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Bad television.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>			(amused)
		Jesus. Marty. You're pathetic. It 
		sounds like you need a Shockabuku.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		What's that?

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		It's a swift spiritual kick to the 
		head that alters your reality forever.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		That'd be good.

	Beat.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		What do you want?

	The question is open.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I figured I could pick you up tomorrow 
		around seven o'clock.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Let me get this straight, are you 
		asking me out?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Yes.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Unbelievable.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Seven it is.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		I'll think about it.

<b>	EXT. JOSHUA TREE CAMPSITE - NIGHT
</b>
	Under a crisp and starry night, a man and a woman sit around 
	a campfire. As we MOVE CLOSER we see that the woman is 
	Marcella reading, "Women Who Run With Wolves."  She tends to 
	s'mores on the campfire, assembles one, and hands it to MONTY, 
	her young outdoorsman boyfriend. Monty is perched on a small 
	boulder, engaged in a Tai-Chi-like ritual, wearing Patagonia's 
	finest. There is a path of crystals leading from the fire to 
	the boulder. In the background is a tent and a Nissan 
	Pathfinder. Monty's watch goes off.

<b>				  MONTY
</b>		Baby, it's eight o'clock.

	Marcella gets up.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		Thanks, Monty.

	She tousles Monty's hair on the way to the truck.

<b>	INT. TRUCK - CONTINUOUS
</b>
	Marcella gets in. She shuts the door and dials the phone.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		Hey there, how'd it go?

<b>	INT. MARTIN'S SUITE - NIGHT - INTERCUT
</b>
	Martin sits on the edge of the bed in a towel.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It isn't done.

	Marcella pauses, taking this in.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		This is not good.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I'll do it tomorrow.

	Marcella considers this.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		What's it look like?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It's fine.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		You haven't looked at the dossier.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(a little defensive)
		I've looked at it.

	Martin eyes the vent.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		You have.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Yes. It's the same as usual. Nothing 
		remarkable about it at all.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		I have to call the client and give 
		them a reason why you're late.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Tell them my house exploded.

	Beat. Marcella doesn't know what to make of this.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		I'll call them and tell them you're 
		taking your time. Being a 
		professional.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Okay, call them. Fine. Oh-- And if 
		you could find out why they double-
		booked the job, and who is trying to 
		kill me, and call me back-- that's 
		be great.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		Will do.

	Martin hangs up. He moves up to the air vent, deciding to 
	get down to business. He pries it open, and withdraws his 
	briefcase, putting it down on the bed and propping it open. 
	He looks at the unopened dossier for a moment, flips it over 
	in his hands, and tosses it on the bed.

<b>	BRIEFCASE
</b>
	We catch a glimpse of Martin's weapons. Martin picks up the 
	envelope and is about to tear the seal when

<b>	THE PHONE RINGS
</b>
	Martin drops the envelope and lifts the receiver.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>			(filtered)
		Are you there?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Yes.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Pick me up at my father's house at 
		around seven. And don't be late this 
		time.

	Beat.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Hello...?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		This night, this reunion will be an 
		important step in our relationship.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		You're fucking psycho.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Don't rush to judgement until all 
		the facts are in.

	She hangs up. Martin smiles and replaces the receiver. He 
	turns to the apparatus laid out on the bed.

<b>	GUNS, BULLETS, ETC.
</b>
	What has been his life is beginning to look more like death 
	to him. He places the envelope in the case, then returns the 
	case to its hiding place.

<b>	EXT. DINER - DAY
</b>
	Lardner and McCullers stake out Martin from the Country Squire 
	across the street.

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		I wish he'd do his job already so we 
		could do our job.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		We can't do our job unless he does 
		his job.

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		Why don't we just do his job then, 
		so we can do our job, and get the 
		fuck out of here.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		Do his job? I'm not a cold-blooded 
		killer.

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		Wait a minute--

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		-Look. You want to kill a Good Guy, 
		but not be a Bad Guy, you wait until 
		a Bad Guy kills the Good Guy, and 
		then you come in and kill the Bad 
		Guy, and then you're the Good Guy.

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		So if we do his job, we're the bad 
		guys. If we do our job, we're the 
		good guys.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		Yup.

	They both laugh, as if at some great joke. Their laughter is 
	caught short by the sight of

<b>	LARDNER AND MCCULLERS' POV
</b>
<b>				  GROCER
</b>		moving into the diner.

<b>	INT. DINER - LATE MORNING
</b>
	Martin sits in a window booth splitting nutrient caplets 
	into an apple juice and looking out the window.

<b>	GROCER
</b>
	slides into the booth, across from Martin.

<b>	MARTIN AND GROCER
</b>
	Martin draws a nasty little PPK pistol from his waist, and 
	levels it at Grocer under the table-- but Grocer is already 
	drawing his pistol down there, and there is an instant Mexican 
	breakfast stand-off.

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		Easy, tiger.

	A waitress approaches.

<b>				  WAITRESS
</b>		Hi. Welcome to B.I. McCafferty's. My 
		name is Melanie and I'll be your 
		server this morning. Let me tell you 
		about some of our specials. Today we 
		have the "Alfalfa on My Mind," our 
		feature omelette. And there's our 
		"Gatsby's West Egg Omelette." And if 
		you're in the mood for something 
		different there's the "I left my 
		heart in San Franchezie."

	Martin and Grocer's eyes remain locked.

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		I want two eggs poached, hash brown 
		well-done. English muffin for the 
		bread. And a coffee.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Whole-grain pancakes. And an egg-
		white omelette.

<b>				  WAITRESS
</b>		What would you like in the omelette?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Nothing in the omelette. Nothing at 
		all.

	The waitress nods pertly and leaves.

<b>				  GROCER
</b>			(re: the omelette)
		Come on, live a little. I'm sorry 
		about the incident yesterday.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		No harm no foul.

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		A little misunderstanding among my 
		associates.

	Beat.

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		I told them to kill you and they 
		didn't.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Hard to get good help these days.

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		But since we're both here, I think 
		it's time to take a fresh look at 
		our relationship.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I didn't get into this business to 
		have "associates." And I don't want 
		to join your Goddamned union. "Loner--
		" "Loner gunman." Get it? "On my 
		own." That's the whole point. Why 
		don't you become a cop, or something. 
		You can drink coffee in the morning... 
		with friends!

	Grocer looks a little hurt.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(easing up)
		Look, this is a one-on-one business... 
		Every time you get to know people, 
		bad things happen. If it'll make you 
		feel any better, this is my last 
		job. So what do you say we put our 
		guns away and forget the whole damn 
		thing.

	Grocer loses it.

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		Fuck you! No scabs! From now on, 
		everything's regulated!

	Long beat as Grocer gets a hold of himself.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		No deal.

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		Fine. But we're not going to let you 
		do your job. Because we're gonna do 
		it. And then, after we do your job, 
		we're gonna do another little job...

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(Wry)
		Is that right?

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		Yeah-- after I shoot you through the 
		fucking forehead I'm gonna fuck you 
		in the bullethole.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Nice talk, Sugarmouth.

<b>	INT. SUITE - BATHROOM - NIGHT
</b>
	Martin sits at a desk, staring at the reunion card. He tosses 
	it aside, gets up, and moves in front of a mirror. He wears 
	a crisp black suit and practices his greeting smile...

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(trying on smile)
		Yes, I'm a pet psychiatrist. I sell 
		couch insurance. I test-market 
		positive thinking. I lead a weekend 
		men's group, actually. We specialize 
		in ritual killings. I'm hungry, are 
		you hungry, I'm hungry, oooh, ooh.
			(sarcastic)
		Hi, I'm Martin Blank, remember me?  
		I'm not married, I have no kids and 
		I'd blow your brains out if someone 
		paid me enough... So how've you been? 
		Where do you stand on The Issues? 
		Are you Left? Right? Up, down, proud, 
		shamed, blahblahblahblah--

<b>	EXT. DEBI'S HOUSE - EARLY EVENING
</b>
	Martin makes his way up the walk leading to the front door, 
	holding a simple bouquet of flowers. He skips up the front 
	steps and finds the doorbell. After a moment, Debi answers.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Flowers. That's funny.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		As long as I get the laugh.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>			(taking them)
		Here. Let me put these in some rubbing 
		alcohol.

	She backs into the house, and he follows.

<b>	INT. NEWBERRY FOYER - CONTINUOUS
</b>
	Martin follows Debi into the hall. Both are enjoying this 
	atavistic ritual.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		You look beautiful.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Okay... Hold on...

<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V.
</b>
	through a doorway leading into a den. All that's visible of 
	MR. NEWBERRY, Debi's father, is a pair of legs resting in a 
	Barcolounger.

<b>				  DEBI (V.O.)
</b>		...Let me get my coat.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I'll just help myself to a cocktail.

<b>	DEBI
</b>
	moves up the stairs and disappears.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	looks at the legs, rolls his shoulders, and heads into the 
	den.

<b>	INT. DEN - CONTINUOUS
</b>
	Mr. Newberry sits in the recliner reading a Tom Clancy novel. 
	He is a corporate Aspen-dude-ranch sort with a good head of 
	hair. He sighs, closes the book on his knee and looks up to 
	Martin.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Good evening, Mr. Newberry.

<b>				  MR. NEWBERRY
</b>		Good evening, Mr. Blank.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		How are you? How's business?

<b>				  MR. NEWBERRY
</b>		Martin, I don't know where you've 
		been since you abandoned my daughter 
		ten years ago, and I don't care. It 
		was good that you left, and I'm glad 
		you did. So what do you want to talk 
		about? You've grown up a bit. Maybe 
		I had you figured wrong.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		How's that?

<b>				  MR. NEWBERRY
</b>		I visualized you, in a haze, as one 
		of the slackster, flannel-wearing, 
		coffeehouse-misanthropes I've been 
		seeing in Newsweek.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I took the other road. I'm more of a 
		self-reflective young lion who does 
		business with lead-pipe cruelty and 
		goes home to drink light beer in 
		milky-eyes isolation. I love sports 
		and sex and have no real relationships 
		with anyone. And you?

<b>				  MR. NEWBERRY
</b>		Oh, you know me, Martin. I'm the 
		same old sell-out baby-boomer, 
		exploiting the oppressed I got shot 
		for at Kent State. But why don't we 
		have a drink and forget the whole 
		thing?

	Newberry lays down his book, and moves behind the wet bar.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Why not?

<b>				  MR. NEWBERRY
</b>		So what are you doing with your life 
		now, son?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I'm a professional killer.

<b>				  MR. NEWBERRY
</b>		That's good.

	Debi's footsteps are heard coming down the stairs.

<b>				  DEBI (O.S.)
</b>		Okay

	Mr. Newberry watches Martin turn and walk out of the room.

<b>	EXT. DEBI'S HOUSE
</b>
	Martin and Debi pull away from the curb.

<b>	INT. CAR - DUSK
</b>
	Martin and Debi drive through that to Debi is town, and to 
	Martin is a widening pool of quicksand.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Do you want to get a drink first?

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		I think they'll probably have booze 
		there.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Right.

	Martin's right hand shakes off of the wheel a bit. He grips 
	it tighter. Suddenly, Martin turns the wheel and pulls into 
	a gas station parking lot, halting next to a pay phone.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I'll just be a second.

	Debi nods, a little confused but going with it.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Okay...

<b>	EXT. PAYPHONE - MINUTES LATER
</b>
	Martin stands at the kiosk next to the Town Car, mid-
	conversation.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(defensive)
		...Well, I didn't kill anyone, but 
		someone tried to kill me and the guy 
		in the middle got killed. So if I 
		see that guy again I'm definitely 
		going to kill him, but I won't kill 
		anyone else. Oh, except for the guy 
		I was sent here to kill. I don't 
		know...

<b>	INT. OATMAN'S OFFICE - INTERCUT
</b>
	Oatman treats his patient.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		What else? Say more.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Saw my mom... I'm with Debi, and I'm 
		on my way to the reunion.

	In the background, Lardner and McCullers drive past the 
	station.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		Okay. Repeat this after me.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Out Loud?

	Martin looks to Debi. She looks up and smiles. We hear Dr. 
	Oatman's command, Martin mumbles them back.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		...I am at home with the me. I am 
		rooted in me, who is on this 
		adventure.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		Take a deep breath and realize, that 
		this is me breathing.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		This is me breating.

	Martin takes in a few breaths.

<b>				  MARITN
</b>		Alright, look. I gotta go.

<b>				  DR. OATMAN
</b>		And don't kill anyone.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Right. Don't kill anyone...

<b>	INT. MARTIN'S SUITE - SAME
</b>
	Felix rummages delicately around the room. He goes to the

<b>	NIGHTSTAND
</b>
	The reunion invite.

<b>	FELIX
</b>
	picks it up and scans it.

<b>	EXT. GROSSE POINT HIGH SCHOOL - DUSK
</b>
	Lardner and McCullers sit it the parking lot. They watch 
	Martin and Debi pull into a space.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		He's falling for her. Look at him.

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		He using her.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		You're wrong. Look at his face.

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		One cannot love and kill.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>			(defensive)
		I love. I kill.

<b>	MARTIN AND DEBI
</b>
	climb out of the car. Martin, breathing deeply and wiping 
	his sweaty palms, leans against the car and tries to calm 
	himself. Eighties music echoes from the gym.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(to himself)
		Shoulda brought my gun.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		What?

	He pulls himself off the car and heads toward

<b>	GROSSE POINTE HIGH SCHOOL
</b>
	A sprawling red-brick Gothic structure with many wings. It 
	is topped by church-like towers. It's scary.

<b>	INT. GYM - NIGHT
</b>
	Martin and Debi enter and pause to take in the entire scene. 
	A benevolent Ronald Reagan hangs crookedly above. Basketball 
	nets are swung back, draped with crepe. Lights are half-low 
	and the music is loud. Alumni are dancing.

<b>				  ARLENE
</b>		Welcome back! I'm Arlene Oslott-
		Joseph.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I'm Martin Blank.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Debi Newberry.

	Debi heads off into the gym, smiling back as she strands 
	Martin. Arlene rises from a card table. They have little to 
	say. Martin wasn't part of her crowd.

<b>				  ARLENE
</b>		Marty, you haven't changed a bit!

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Don't say that.

	Arlene gives him a NAMETAG. As a special torture, the tags 
	have YEARBOOK PHOTOS. Martin looks at the name tag 
	uncomfortably.

<b>				  ARLENE
</b>		We had pictures put on, that way 
		everybody knows who everybody was!

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Wonderful.

<b>				  ARLENE
</b>		So, what are you doing now?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Whatever I can get away with.

	She smiles at his joke and is immediately distracted by the 
	next arrival. Martin moves off...

<b>				  ARLENE
</b>			(to the next person)
		Isn't it cute. It's so everybody 
		knows who everybody was!

	He circles the crowded gym. Looking for familiar faces. He 
	stops at the open bar.

<b>				  BATENDER
</b>		What can I make you?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Beer.

	The bartender gets him a beer. Martin recognizes a guy at 
	the bar. He is well-appointed and shiny. He is KEN ALDRIDGE.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Hey, Ken. How have you been?

<b>				  KEN
</b>			(glancing at Martin's 
			name tag)
		Hello Martin. How have you been?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Not bad. You?

	Bob Destephano arrives next to them and orders a drink. Eye 
	contact is made.

<b>				  KEN
</b>		Hello, Bob.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Hey, Bob.

	Bob turns slightly toward them. They continue in their 
	conversation.

<b>				  KEN
</b>		I'm an attorney. I'm with Moss, Brice 
		& Fromeyer.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		That sounds pretty interesting...

	Bob wants to join the conversation but doesn't know how.

<b>				  KEN
</b>		Sometimes. I'm in divorce, mainly. 
		Some property. Some personal injury.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Those all seem kind of related...

	Bob takes another drink and mopes off, Martin watches him 
	go.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Tragedy makes you thirsty.

	Ken chuckles. The bartender arrives with the bottle. Martin 
	grabs it and begins to move off.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Well... I have to take this over to 
		Debi.

<b>				  KEN
</b>		Here. Take my card. Wait a minute... 
		here's a special one. For top-shelf 
		clients.

	Ken hands Martin a Monte Blanc pen with Ken's title and 
	business address printed on the shaft. Martin reads it and 
	puts it in his kerchief pocket.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Thanks.

	Ken goes back to listening to the Guys at the bar.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	makes his way through the upbeat crowd of well-wishers. TERRY 
	emerges like an inkspot on a clean white whirt, and intercepts 
	Martin. His angst is barely under control as he sidles up to 
	Martin.

<b>				  TERRY
</b>		I don't know, Blank, all these fucking 
		people, driving me crazy. Look at 
		them over there, memorializing old 
		times, acting all like it was 
		something "life-changing." And the 
		people in the National Honor Society? 
		The name tags?

	Martin shrugs.

<b>				  TERRY
</b>		They have special blue starts on 
		them like it fucking matters now 
		that they were in the honor club ten 
		years ago. I'm getting fucking 
		nauseous from all this sentimental 
		bullshit. It's making me sick.

	Terry stops suddenly as if he's finished. Martin reads this 
	man's nametag.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Why are you here... Terry?

	Terry turns on a dime.

<b>				  TERRY
</b>		I wanted to see a couple people. But 
		I don't want to talk about the old 
		days... What did we have together, 
		Martin? Typing?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(remembering)
		Drafting.

<b>				  TERRY
</b>		Yeah, I couldn't stand that fucking 
		class. But I appreciate you helping 
		me out, man.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Don't mention it.

<b>				  TERRY
</b>		Yeah, thanks. Well I'm going to try 
		and get out of here, man. I'll see 
		you later.

	Terry slinks off.

<b>	BAR - SAME
</b>
	Bob Destephano grabs two more scotches off the bar and turns 
	to leave, thoroughly morose. In his path, he finds DAN 
	KORETZKY, the good-looking side of brainy.

<b>				  DAN
</b>		Bob. Bob Destephano.

<b>				  BOB
</b>		What?

<b>				  DAN
</b>		I'm Dan. Dan Koretzky.

<b>				  BOB
</b>		Computer guy.

<b>				  DAN
</b>		Yeah... Hey, I saw you at your dad's 
		dealership the other day.

<b>				  BOB
</b>		I sell BMW's. What do you do?

<b>				  DAN
</b>		Not much, actually. My software 
		company just went public so I'm 
		just... hanging out, really.

	There's a sudden lull in the conversation. Bob tries his 
	drunken hand at relating...

<b>				  BOB
</b>		Remember high school?

<b>				  DAN
</b>		Sure. Listen. Why don't you join us 
		up in the grandstands?

	Dan points up to a group of happy, laughing people. Bob walks 
	off shaking his head and smiling bitterly.

<b>	INT. GYM - LATER
</b>
	Debi and Martin are seated at a round table with six others 
	in an area blocked off for dinner. Plates of gumbo are 
	arriving and the wine is poured. DARIUS, an African-American, 
	is in mid-conversation with AMY, who looks like she walked 
	out of a Laura Ashley catalog and sits on the other side of 
	Martin. DENNIS and MIKE are two suits in the midst of a non-
	stop sports conversation.

<b>				  MIKE
</b>		...You gotta hold the fans 
		responsible, though, Dennis, because 
		they're the ones putting up with the 
		mediocre product.

<b>				  DENNIS
</b>		I guess, though, you know, if you 
		look at it Mike, that park is a 
		beautiful park, I've gone to that 
		park many times - I've had the 
		greatest time of my life at that 
		ballpark and let's face it, I tell 
		you this, Mike, by the sixth inning, 
		if you're having the fun you should 
		be having at Tigers Stadium, you 
		don't even know what the hell's going 
		on anyway...

	They both crack up at this.

<b>	ANGLE ON DARIUS, MARTIN, & DEBI
</b>
<b>				  DARIUS
</b>		Have you two been together since 
		high school?

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		No--

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		--Yes. Actually we just bought that 
		little Frank Lloyd Wright on Pine 
		Avenue... Debi's a social worker and 
		I mow down insurance claims at Aetna--

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		We haven't seen each other since 
		high school.

<b>				  DARIUS
</b>		I figured. You two look too happy 
		together. I shouldn't say that though, 
		I'm married... So, Martin-- what are 
		you up to these days? What do you do 
		for a living?

	Debi perks up; this should be interesting.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I'm in pro-active international 
		relations. It's a very specialized 
		company. We execute economic 
		investment opportunities. Sort of 
		economic clean-up... with an emphasis 
		on personnel. It's boring, you know, 
		it's boring. I don't like to talk 
		about it because I don't think what 
		a man does necessarily reflects who 
		he is...

	Martin begins to draw strange looks from all over the table. 
	Martin may be in trouble.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		...I've always tried to refrain from 
		a black-and-white moral lexicon--you 
		know, good, bad, right, wrong--I've 
		been more interested in the gray 
		areas.

	Silence. Martin pushes on.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		But that's no way to live. I guess 
		you've got to just take the leap of 
		faith. Believe in something. Fuck 
		it.

<b>				  DARIUS
</b>		Sounds complicated, Martin. Are you 
		happy?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I just have to close this one last 
		account. I'd like to just stop now, 
		today, but I can't... It's a step in 
		the right direction.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		I don't know, Martin. It sounds like 
		you're feeling compromised. Live the 
		way you want. The only thing that's 
		inexcusable, to me, is cynicism. 
		That's the biggest cop-out there is.

	Nods of assent come from around the table. A brief silence, 
	and then...

<b>				  AMY
</b>		But wait. I still don't understand 
		what you do.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I work at Kentucky Fried Chicken.

	Debi suppresses a laugh.

<b>				  AMY
</b>		You do not.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Yes I do.

<b>				  AMY
</b>		You don't...

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		In the corporate offices.

<b>				  AMY
</b>		Oh... really?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Yeah...

<b>				  AMY
</b>		What do you do?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I sell biscuits to the Southland.

<b>				  AMY
</b>		You do not.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It's what I do.

<b>				  AMY
</b>		You're so funny...

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I sell biscuits and gravy all over 
		the Southland--

<b>				  AMY
</b>		--Stop it--

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		You know those horsey biscuit gravy 
		packets? I move all of those--

<b>				  AMY
</b>		--No.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Sometimes we sell them to McDonald's 
		and just change them to special 
		barbecue sauce.

	Across the table from Martin and Debi, Dennis turns to Darius.

<b>				  DENNIS
</b>		What do you think about black coaching 
		in the NFL, Darius? Because I think 
		it's great.

<b>				  DARIUS
</b>		I don't pay much attention to 
		football.

<b>				  MIKE
</b>		I have to agree with you Dennis. 
		It's good to see that the owners are 
		willing to put the franchise behind 
		a black head coach or QB when for 
		years in the league they've been 
		kept out of the thinking positions 
		and relegated mainly to the physical 
		game.

<b>				  DENNIS
</b>		But now, you see, you have Warren 
		Moon at the helm, Cunningham, Art 
		Shell, and the coach up at 
		Minnesota...

<b>				  MIKE
</b>		Dennis Green. And if you remember, 
		Doug Williams was the first black 
		man to prove that on a Superbowl 
		Sunday.

	Amy leans in to Martin.

<b>				  AMY
</b>			(to Martin)
		I'm teaching art at Cedar Junior 
		High School.

<b>				  DENNIS
</b>		...Yeah, listen. Where do you stand 
		on this whole Louis Farrakhan 
		issue...?

<b>				  DARIUS
</b>			(facetious)
		I'm a De Klerk man myself.

	Debi nods, indicating to the deejay stand.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		I'm going over to play some tunes.

	Martin watches her walk away.

<b>	INT. GYM - GRANDSTANDS - LATER
</b>
	Dan Koretzky sits with two other FORMER-SQUARES-turned-
	handsome-fellas who now enjoy a confidence that comes with 
	early investment in Microsoft.

	Martin looks out over the milieu below, enjoying the seene. 
	He eavesdrops on a group of men from a few rows back.

<b>	GROUP OF MEN
</b>
<b>				  DAN
</b>		Look at her. There it is. Jenny 
		Slater. The finest thing that ever 
		walked these halls.

<b>				  FORMER-SQUARE #2
</b>		I believe she married the state of 
		Maine.

<b>				  DAN
</b>		Yeah, he's around here somewhere. 
		What a shame. She would have looked 
		great in my fucking Bentley.

<b>				  FORMER-SQUARE #3
</b>		No, my friends, Jenny Beam. Not only 
		was she as fine, if not finer, than 
		Slater, but she had the "bad girl" 
		thing going for her. And the red 
		hair. C'mon.

<b>				  DAN
</b>		She's a paramedic in Skokie, Illinois.

<b>				  FORMER-SQUARE #2
</b>		You both are mistaken. Jenny Maretti 
		was the finest. No question about 
		it.

<b>				  FORMER-SQUARE #3
</b>		The three Jenny's. Three Jenny's. 
		All named Jenny...

<b>				  DAN
</b>		You know what I'm really hoping? 
		That Jenny Slater gets divorced. And 
		she's twenty-eight--

<b>				  FORMER-SQUARE #3
</b>		--she's got half the state of Maine--

<b>				  DAN
</b>		She's twenty-eight years old, with 
		two kids, she's still really really 
		fine, and I see her at a bookstore 
		or something, and she sees me for 
		what I was then, and what I am now: 
		the redemption for all her failure.

<b>				  FORMER-SQUARE #3
</b>		You mean the redemption for all your 
		failure.

	They ponder this. Martin looks down on the gym, concentrating 
	on Debi.

<b>	BOB DESTEPHANO
</b>
	Dancing drunkenly, miserable, like an unbalanced orangutan.

<b>								   CUT TO:
</b>
<b>	INT. GYM - DEEJAY BOOTH - LATER
</b>
	Martin stands by Debi as she sits in for a set in the deejay 
	booth, on a raised stage. They are playing an old sophomoric 
	game.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Which would you rather...?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Okay... Would you rather... commit 
		yourself sexually to a four-by-nine 
		cell with former President George 
		Herbert Walker Bush dressed as a 
		super-model for a month, or make 
		love to a otter on crank for a week?

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Soft. I'll take the junkie otter, 
		clearly! I'd let the little beast 
		scratch and claw all he wants... 
		Okay. Would you rather make love to 
		the candied corpse of Phyllis Diller--

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		--She's not dead---

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		It's just a game...! Alright. Candied 
		Diller, or... wear a hot pork vest 
		across the desert with a fully 
		digested crab apple in your mouth?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Wow. I have to give this some thought.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		No time.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Okay, then. Clearly candied Diller.

	STACEY breaks the moment, looking up at the two, horrified 
	and unsure at what she's heard.

<b>				  STACEY
</b>		Marty! Debi! How are you! So many 
		people came, but I never expected to 
		see you Marty. Or you Debi... I 
		mean... because of what your 
		divorce... I didn't mean to say that. 
		I just meant you look so good.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Thank you.

<b>				  STACEY
</b>		Do you think you could play "Too 
		Shy'" by Kaja Goo Goo?

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Stacey, why don't you come up here 
		and take over for a little while?

<b>				  STACEY
</b>		I'd love to.

	Stacey nods thanks and makes her way up into the booth as 
	Martin and Debi make their way down.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>			(to Martin)
		Everybody thinks they know me now 
		that I'm divorced.

	She leads Martin toward the exit.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		It's time to see you in private.

<b>	INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY
</b>
	Martin and Debi walk down the hallway, alone together.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Even though I left, you never left 
		me. Not just memory but a substance 
		in my blood.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>			(smiling)
		Like heroin?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Too junky-kitschy. Deeper, deeper.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>			(enjoying this)
		Like love?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Could be. The physical substance of 
		love.

	Debi stops.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		I'll accept that. Follow me.

	Together they move into what appears to be the Nurse's Office, 
	and close the door behind them.

<b>	INT. NURSE'S OFFICE
</b>
	Martin and Debi make wild banshee love.

<b>	EXT. PARKING LOT - SAME
</b>
	Lardner and McCullers watch Felix into the gym.

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		Looks like someone keeps trying to 
		do our job for us.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		If he does our job, he's our job.

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		I get it.

<b>	INT. GYM - SAME
</b>
<b>	FELIX
</b>
	steps through the doorway he's standing in and strolls into 
	the crowded gym. He wears the standard khaki-pants-blue-blazer 
	combo, with no nametag. He's clearly too old for the class 
	of 1984.

<b>	INT. HALLWAY - LATER
</b>
	Martin and Debi come out of the Nurse's Office. The post-
	coital mood is broken as they hear The Human League's "Don't 
	You Want Me, Baby?"  blasting from the gym. Martin and Debi 
	tune in on the song for a moment, unhappy at remembering 
	that particular moment in pop music history. Debi looks to 
	Martin, something must be done about it.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		I'll be right back....

	Debi kisses him. They split up. Martin walks off, the happiest 
	we've seen him....

<b>	INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY
</b>
	Bob and several others from the muscle-to-fat crew play a 
	drunken scrimmage with a papier-mache table ornament footbal 
	that is coming unwound. Bob quarterbacks and begins to recite 
	a long, complicated, and forgotten play. Martin approaches 
	from behind Bob and glides through the ad-hoc line-up, 
	continuing down the hall. Bob yells "hike" as he stares after 
	Martin, distracted. Bob's rushed upon and sacked. He lets 
	the papier-mache ball drop and crack on the floor.

<b>	INT. SCHOOL HALLWAY - LATER
</b>
	Martin walks down a silent, deserted hall of lockers and 
	classroom doors. The only sounds are his footsteps and the 
	echoed strains of Iggy Pop's "Wild Child" from the distant 
	gym. He stops at locker number 1963 and flips the dial: Right-
	back left-right again. It opens. He pops up the steel false 
	ceiling in the empty locker, fishes his hand in the opening, 
	and withdraws what he is looking for: an ancient joint. He 
	holds it up and examines the now brown and dried reefer. He 
	grinds it into dust in his hand.

<b>	INT. HALLWAY
</b>
	Debi comes out of the gym and starts down the hall, the music 
	changed for the better.

<b>	INT. HALLWAY - SAME
</b>
	Martin senses he is not alone. He turns to find Bob 
	Destephano. The big man holds a glass unsteadily and slurs 
	slightly when he speaks. Bob is looking sad and scary. He 
	leans into Martin

<b>				  BOB
</b>		So. You and Debi. Gonna hit that 
		shit again?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Fine, Bob. How are you?

<b>				  BOB
</b>		Never better.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Really?

	Bob crumbles.

<b>				  BOB
</b>		Ahhh... it's all fucked up. Nothing 
		adds up to nothing... you work your 
		whole life, day in and day out-- try 
		to make sense of it all. One day 
		you're twenty-seven and what do you 
		get to show for it...

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		You could've been a contender, huh?

	Bob realizes he can't even express his own tragedy without 
	the use of cliches.

<b>				  BOB
</b>		Smart boy. Real smart. Let's see how 
		smart you are with my foot up your 
		ass! I'm gonna kick your ass!

	Martin steps to Bob.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Why would you want to hit me, Bob? 
		Do you really believe that there's 
		some stored up conflict that needs 
		resolution between us? We don't exist. 
		There's nothing between us. So who 
		do you want to hit, Bob? It's not 
		me.

	Bob slumps against the lockers, deflated.

<b>				  BOB
</b>		What am I gonna do?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		What do you want to do?

<b>				  BOB
</b>		I want to be an actor.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Then express yourself, Bob.

	Bob frowns, trying to think of a way to express himself.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(catching him)
		Be honest...

	Bob backs up and lets out a huge, drunken caveman scream, 
	then stops abruptly, and smiles.

<b>				  BOB
</b>		Later, Martin.

	Bob backpedals down the hallway and out of sight. Martin 
	watches him stumble out of the hallway and bang through the 
	doors of a stairwell, disappearing.

<b>	INT. STAIRWELL - CONTINUOUS
</b>
	Bob slams through the doors and begins to stumble down the 
	stairs. He encounters Debi, on her way up. He glances at her 
	but does not break stride. Debi gives him wide berth, and 
	quickens her pace up the stairs...

<b>	INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS
</b>
	Martin watches the doors swing to a stop. He exhales and 
	relaxes... AND THEN Spin-pivots on his right heel, as a BURST 
	from a silenced pistol pierces the space where his head was 
	a split-second before/ As he spins around, his right hand 
	withdraws Ken's give-away pen from his kerchief pocket, pops 
	the cap off, and drive the pen up and through the throat of 
	his attacker--

<b>	FELIX
</b>
	impaled through the throat on the pen, his head snapped back.

<b>	MARTIN AND FELIX
</b>
	are frozen for a moment. Blood runs quickly down the front 
	of Felix's body, off of his shoes, and on to the floor. The 
	stairwell doors band open. Martin's head turns toward the 
	sound. His eyes lock onto

<b>	DEBI
</b>
	who is frozen, horrified for a moment. She flees.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	looks back at

<b>	FELIX
</b>
	Dead.

<b>	THE FLOOR
</b>
	A growing pool of blood.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	Looks around wildly, holding Felix up against the lockers. 
	Above the lockers is a plastic banner proclaiming

<b>		 "SPANISH CLUB FIESTA FUN-RAISER SATURDAY JUNE 1"
</b>
<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	rips it down from the wall with his free hand, wraps it around 
	Felix, stuffs the body into his open locker, and slams it 
	shut. He pulls off his shoes and socks, puts a sock over 
	each hand like mittens, and wipes up the small pool of blood. 
	He stuffs the socks into his pockets, takes off down the 
	hall, and bangs through the doors.

<b>	INT. GYM - GRANDSTANDS - MOMENTS LATER
</b>
	Martin blasts through the upstairs doors to the grandstands 
	looking for Debi below. She is nowhere to be found. He scans 
	the party in progress-- It is the same frame of image as the 
	one in Oatman's office. In the middle of the floor, Terry 
	slowly turns up to meet Martin's eyes.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	pulls the doors shut, and takes off down the hall.

<b>	INT. HALLWAY - MINUTES LATER
</b>
	Martin opens his locker, withdraws the corpse, and hefts it 
	over his shoulder.

<b>	INT. STAIRWELL - A MINUTE LATER
</b>
	Brick-walled, darkly lit, and narrow. Martin bounds down the 
	steep steps with his load.

<b>	INT. BASEMENT LOCKER ROOM HALLWAY - MINUTE LATER
</b>
	Martin hustles toward a cage door in front of him. He kicks 
	through it and dumps Felix into a canvas laundry cart on 
	casters and begins rolling.

<b>	INT. PUMP AND FURNACE ROOM - A MINUTE LATER
</b>
	The door bangs open and light pours into the room from behind 
	Martin. He negotiates the cart over the dirt floor and stops 
	next to the furnace that heats the swimming pool. He pauses 
	and looks to the ceiling: the music from the reunion pulses 
	into the floor above him. Martin picks up a large metal bar 
	and works open the door on the hulking cast-iron furnace. A 
	white-hot blaze roars within.

<b>	INT. GYM - NIGHT
</b>
	The party is winding down. A harried-looking Martin walks in 
	and looks around once more for Debi-- nothing.

<b>	MARTIN'S POV
</b>
	of the Deejay booth. It is empty.

	He moves over to the bar and joins Ken Aldridge. He motions 
	to the bartender who opens a beer for him.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Have you seen Debi Newberry?

<b>				  KEN
</b>		Nope.

	They both look around at the last of the reunion.

<b>				  KEN
</b>		The more things change, the more 
		they Goddamned well stay the same.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I guess.

	Before Ken can get started again...

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Take care of yourself, Ken. Thanks 
		for the pen.

	Martin walks out of the gym.

<b>	EXT. HIGH SCHOOL PARKING LOT - CONTINUOUS
</b>
	Paul is leaning against his Beemer, having a smoke.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		What the hell happened to you?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I was catching up with Bob Destephano.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		As long as you had a good time.

	Beat. Martin scans the lot for sign of Debi.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		What now? Chase the girl?

	There is a beat of silence. Nothing seems worth saying.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It didn't work out.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		That's too bad.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I have to get my head back into my 
		work.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		Work's good for the soul.

	Martin gets up to leave.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		When you see Debi, tell her I'm sorry.

<b>				  PAUL
</b>		See you in ten years.

	Paul watches him leave. He almost stops him, but thinks better 
	of it.

<b>	INT. MARTIN'S SUITE - NIGHT
</b>
	Martin hunches over his briefcase that lays open on the bed.

<b>	MARTIN PULLS
</b>
	THE DOSSIER from the briefcase. It's seal is broken, but the 
	contents remain enclosed... He withdraws the package and 
	dumps the contents on the bed. His face registers muted shock.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Dumb fucking luck...

<b>	THE CONTENTS
</b>
	include various photos of MR. NEWBERRY, Mr. Newberry with 
	Debi, and the house. The photos are mingled with official-
	looking papers including credit reports, medical records, 
	etc... Newberry's life.

	He cocks his head toward the door anticipating a... KNOCK. 
	He freezes, then plucks a gun tapped under a desk, and moves 
	toward the door, pointing. Halfway to the door, his face and 
	body slacken. He lobs the gun onto the bed. With everything 
	gone wrong, there is nothing left to defend. He goes to the 
	door and opens it, body relaxed, expecting a bullet...

	Debi moves past him into the room. She is completely calm.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		He was trying to kill you, right!

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Yes.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Not the other way around...?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		No.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Is it something you've done?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It's something I do...

	Beat.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		...Professionally...

	Beat.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		...About five years now.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>			(stunned)
		Get the fuck outta here.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Seriously, when I left, I joined the 
		Army and took the service exam. They 
		found my psych results fit a certain 
		profile. A certain "Moral flexibility" 
		would be the best way to describe 
		it... I was loaned out to a CIA-
		sponsored program. It's called 
		"mechanical operations." We sort of 
		found each other...

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		You're a government spook?

	Martin says nothing.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I was, but no... yes... I was before, 
		but now I'm not. It's irrelevant, 
		really. The idea of governments, 
		nations, it's mostly a public 
		relations theory at this point, 
		anyway. But I'll tell you something, 
		until about five months ago, I really 
		enjoyed my work.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Jesus Christ!

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Then I started losing my taste for 
		it. Which usually means your time is 
		up. But then I realized it was 
		something entirely different... I 
		started getting the sneaking, dark 
		suspicion that maybe there was... 
		meaning to life.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Okay. Great, Martin, that's just 
		great. Meaning to life... Mmm....

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Like, that there's a point? An organic 
		connection between all living things.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Let me help you along, Martin. You're 
		a sociopath!

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(defensive)
		A sociopath kills for no reason. I 
		kill for money.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		You never could have kept this from 
		me.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I was leaving.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		That's probably a good idea.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Will you come with me?

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		I'm staying here.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		What if I come back?

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		I'll hide.

	She goes for the door.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Don't go.

	She stops at the door. Slowly, she turns.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		You don't get to have me. You are a 
		monster, I'm a human being. We're 
		not going to mate.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		You don't understand...

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		That's because I speak human, and 
		you speak monster.

	Debi bolts out of the room. Martin is left alone.

	Martin looks over at his gear on the bed. After a beat, he 
	walks slowly over and surveys his tools. He picks up a 
	cleaning rag and begins to go over the weapons, absently 
	singing to himself...

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		"What's up Doc? What's cookin'? What's 
		up Doc, are you lookin'...?

<b>	INT. MARTIN'S SUITE - DAWN
</b>
	Morning light comes through the slit in the curtains, picking 
	up four or five exquisitely clean guns are laid out on the 
	bed, almost geometrically spaced. Martin lifts one at a time, 
	checking their bores and actions...

<b>	INT. COUNTRY SQUIRE - MORNING
</b>
	Lardner and McCullers gear up. They each finish loading the 
	last of many clips...

<b>	EXT. MICHIGAN HIGHWAY - MORNING
</b>
	Grocer and Company, not in a Ford Passenger Van, veer off 
	onto an exit ramp. Grocer has assembled a team of about nine. 
	They draw different guns from their kit bags and begin 
	loading...

<b>	INT. COUNTRY SQUIRE - SAME
</b>
	Lardner and McCullers jam clips into their service autos and 
	knock the slides...

<b>	INT. MARTIN'S SUITE - SAME
</b>
	Martin finished loading his guns, and puts them in his case. 
	He shuts it and moves for the door. On the way out he stops 
	and looks himself in the mirror before exiting.

<b>	EXT. THREE DIFFERENT ROADS - INTERCUT
</b>
	Each car whooshes by camera, on its way to the inevitable...

<b>	INT. EASTWEST HOLDING COMPANY - INTERCUT
</b>
	Marcella has a cordless tucked between her shoulder and ear, 
	and holds a two-gallon gas can. She moves from room to room 
	pouring gasoline onto the computers, desks, and piles of 
	paper stacked on the floor. She adds a splash to her copy of 
	"Women Who Run With the Wolves."

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		I'm bringing down the office now.

	She picks up her hard drive and smashes it on the floor. 
	It's cathartic.

<b>	INTERCUT WITH MARTIN IN THE TOWN CAR -
</b>
<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I'll put things right. Then I'll 
		find you.

	Silence on the line.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>			(apprehensive)
		Uh... why?

	Martin finishes his weapons check, and pulls out the dossier.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Don't worry. I left you a little 
		something under your desk.

	Martin hangs up.

	Marcella goes to it and pulls loose from underneath a shrink-
	wrapped brick of $100 bills, probably a $100,000 or so.

<b>				  MARCELLA
</b>		All right!!

<b>	INT. MARTIN'S TOWN CAR
</b>
	Martin makes his way down the road to the Newberry's. In the 
	distance, he sees a lone figure jogging on the shoulder, 
	away from him.

<b>	INT. GROCER'S VAN - SAME
</b>
	Grocer and Company are parked off to the side, watching 
	Newberry, in the distance, jog toward them. A SNIPER prepares 
	to blow Newberry's head off.

<b>	INT. MARTIN'S TOWN CAR - SAME
</b>
	As he approaches the figure, he recognizes it as Newberry, 
	he accelerates.

<b>	INT. GROCER'S VAN - SAME
</b>
	Grocer spots Martin's car speeding at Newberry.

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		Oh shit...

<b>	EXT. ROAD - SAME
</b>
	Newberry stops jogging and turns to face the Town Car bearing 
	down on him. His face goes slack, expecting to be creamed.

<b>	INT. TOWN CAR - SAME
</b>
	Martin roars straight at Newberry, his engine shrieking. As 
	the distance between them turns from yards to feet... Martin 
	swerves hard, just missing Newberry and comes to a halt next 
	to him, blocking the Sniper's line of fire. After a moment, 
	Newberry opens the passenger door.

<b>				  NEWBERRY
</b>		What the fuck is the matter with 
		you?!

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Well, I was hired to kill you. It's 
		what I do, and come to think of it, 
		I told you that, but... Okay. I'm 
		not going to do it. Get in the car.

	He does. They drive on.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It's either because I'm in love with 
		your daughter, or because I have a 
		new-found respect for life. Or both. 
		But I don't know.

<b>	INT. GROCER'S VAN - SAME
</b>
	Grocer and company watch in amazement.

<b>	GROCER'S P.O.V.
</b>
	of Martin's car disappearing into Newberry's long and wooded 
	driveway.

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		That punk is either in love with 
		that guy's daughter or he has new 
		found respect for life... Let's go.

<b>	EXT. NEWBERRY HOUSE - SAME
</b>
	Martin pulls up in front and stops. Both men scramble out 
	and head toward the front door at a quick clip. Newberry is 
	shaken; Martin seems at ease, at home in his element.

<b>				  NEWBERRY
</b>		Why? I build cars! They're paying 
		you to kill me? Why?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It was a cost-cutting effort. They 
		can't afford a recall.

<b>				  NEWBERRY
</b>		It was a leaky sunroof! A design 
		flaw! I reported a leaky sunroof! 
		You want to kill me because of that?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It's not me! Why does everybody think 
		it's personal?!

	They go through the front door and shut it behind them.

<b>	INT. GROCER'S VAN - SAME
</b>
	Grocer drops the van into gear and heads toward the driveway.

<b>	INT. COUNTRY SQUIRE - SAME
</b>
	Lardner and McCullers approach the scene. They get within 
	viewing distance in time to see Grocer's Town Car turn into 
	the driveway.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		We'll go in through the woods.

<b>	INT. NEWBERRY HOUSE
</b>
	Martin's briefcase is open on the large oak table. The 
	contents of the dossier are spilled out onto the table. 
	Newberry and Debi watch him, dumbstruck, as he draws a huge 
	Desert Eagle automatic and jerks back the slide. He turns to 
	Debi.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I was sitting in my house on prom 
		night wearing that Goddamned rented 
		tuxedo, a corsage in one hand, a 
		bottle of champagne in the other. So 
		I was just sitting there, and then 
		the whole night flashed before my 
		eyes, and it struck me like a bullet 
		in the head-- I realized, finally, 
		and for the first time, that... I 
		wanted to kill somebody. So I figured 
		because I loved you so much, that'd 
		it'd be a good idea if I didn't see 
		you anymore. But now I'm different.

	He turns and points the gun at the front door and FIRES two 
	shots through it, leaving two baseball-size holes in the 
	door.

	Martin bolts out of the room toward the back of the house. 
	Debi and Newberry run as fast as they can away from Martin. 
	Newberry opens the front door, preparing to rush out with 
	Debi. They stop at what they see:

<b>	NEWBERRY'S & DEBI'S P.O.V.
</b>
	As ASSASSIN lies on the porch, shot dead through the door by 
	Martin. IN one hand is a gun, in the other is a Fuller Brush 
	kit. Two men, GROCER and an ASSASSIN, clamber out of van, 
	their guns rising up fast toward us.

	Debi pulls Newberry inside, slams the front door, and locks 
	it. They dive away just before ten rounds hit the door from 
	outside.

<b>	INT. KITCHEN - SAME
</b>
	Martin rushes toward the back door which is already opening. 
	A barrel comes through and FIRES at Martin. Martin pulls 
	back behind the refrigerator and returns FIRE. An ASSASSIN 
	comes through the door in a crouch and takes cover behind 
	the cooking island. Martin, yelling back to Debi...

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I'm in love with you. I know we can 
		make this work!

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	rushes toward the island, grabbing an iron skillet off the 
	range, and holds it up like a crossing-guard stop sign. He 
	steps toward the hidden Assassin just as the Assassin rises 
	SHOOTING. The skillet takes two rounds before Martin hammers 
	the Assassin's head with it. Debi and Newberry arrive in the 
	kitchen.

<b>	NEW ANGLE - LOW DUTCH
</b>
	Martin bashes the skillet into the Assassin's skull, which 
	is beyond our view. He rises spattered with blood and looks 
	at Debi.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I was afraid to commit to a 
		relationship, but now I know I'm 
		ready to make it happen.

	Martin drops the skillet and grabs Newberry and Debi gently 
	be the wrists.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I just need time to change.

	He ushers them past the bludgeoned corpse and up the back 
	stairs. He spins and FIRES twice back down the stairs at 
	another ASSASSIN coming up, blowing his arms off.

<b>	HALLWAY
</b>
	He leads them quickly.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		It's not easy for me. I was raised 
		to close off, to control my 
		feelings...

	He takes them into a bedroom, and BLOWS AWAY, an ASSASSIN 
	coming in through the window, emptying his auto. Martin pushes 
	Debi and Newberry into an adjoining bathroom. He backs out 
	through the doorway.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Lock the door.

	They do. Martin starts away, but stops to get something 
	straight.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I wasn't raised in a loving 
		environment.
			(beat)
		But that's not an excuse. It's a 
		reason.

<b>	INT. FOYER
</b>
	Martin corners the banister and springs half-way down the 
	stairs, then hears the front door begin to open.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		My soul was empty--

	Martin jams in another clip, and chambers a round. He sees 
	Grocer beginning to slip in.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		--and it's up to me to fill it.

	Martin FIRES the twelve-round clip into the door until the 
	slide locks back empty again. Grocer backs out fast. Martin 
	hears a gun REPORT from upstairs and moves back toward it, 
	tossing the spent weapon.

<b>	INT. BEDROOM
</b>
	An ASSASSIN slams his body against the bathroom door while 
	Debi and Newberry scream from within. Martin flies at him. 
	The Assassin wheels on Martin FIRING. Martin pivots out of 
	the line of fire, still moving forward. He takes hold of 
	Assassin's neck and snaps it. Martin drops the corpse.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>			(through the door)
		It's okay. It's Martin The door begins 
		to open revealing Debi and Newberry.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I know what I do isn't moral, per 
		se, but if you could just look past 
		that, you'd see a man worth loving.

<b>				  GROCER (O.S.)
</b>		Don't listen to him, he's a 
		professional.

	Martin stops short and cocks his head toward Grocer's muffled 
	voice coming from the vent. Grocer continues...

<b>				  GROCER (O.S.)
</b>		You're breaking my heart down here, 
		Blank. I can't shoot through the 
		tears.

	Martin, incensed, bends down and takes the gun from the dead 
	man. He runs out of the bedroom, gun poised for a kamikaze 
	firefight...

<b>	EXT. NEWBERRY HOUSE - SAME
</b>
	Lardner and McCullers are poised outside the front door, 
	about to enter the mix. McCullers peers through the window.

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		Did you see Blank in there?

<b>				  MCCULLERS
</b>		No...

<b>				  LARDNER
</b>		Good. For a second there I thought 
		we were in trouble.

<b>	INT. NEWBERRY FOYER - CONTINUOUS
</b>
<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	reaches the top of the front stairs to find Grocer heading 
	up the stairs at him. They lift their guns at each other to 
	FIRE, when they hear...

<b>	LARDNER AND MCCULLERS
</b>
	power through the front door, guns BLAZING at floor-level, 
	ala Butch and Sundance.

	Martin and Grocer, above, spin on them instinctively, and 
	FIRE, killing them. Grocer dives off of the stairs and rolls 
	out of view.

<b>	KITCHEN - INTERCUT
</b>
<b>	GROCER
</b>
	heads up the back stairs.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	works his way toward Grocer, moving with stealth toward the 
	kitchen.

<b>	GROCER
</b>
	hears him and starts back down.

	Martin dives behind the cooking island just as Grocer comes 
	out of the stairwell blasting. They unload at each other as 
	Grocer runs a pattern across the kitchen, FIRING at Martin, 
	crouched, who BLASTS back. Grocer vaults himself through the 
	air toward a serving window from the kitchen to the dining 
	room, still firing.

<b>	C.U. - MARTIN'S GUN - SLOW MOTION
</b>
	The last casing floats out of the chamber into the air, and 
	the slide on the auto locks back-- empty.

<b>	NORMAL SPEED
</b>
<b>	GROCER
</b>
	Flying through the air disappearing through the shuttered 
	serving window, his flight carrying him past a television 
	that sits on a lazy susan.

<b>	MARTIN AND GROCER - INTERCUT
</b>
	Martin and Grocer sit on the floor, backs up against opposite 
	side of the counter-- Martin in the kitchen and Grocer in 
	the dining room. The hulking old television sits on the 
	counter above and between them.

	Martin looks up and spies the TELEVISION

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		...How about I sell you two rounds 
		for a hundred grand a piece?

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		Okay.

	Martin takes out a checkbook, and tears one free. He wads it 
	into a loose ball and tosses it over the counter.

<b>	BALLED CHECK
</b>
	sails over the television and comes down, bouncing off 
	Grocer's head and into his lap.

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		There you go. I left it blank.

<b>				  GROCER
</b>		Excellent. Here they come.

	Grocer pulls two rounds from the clip of his semi-automatic 
	and pushes the clip back into the gun. Grocer arcs the TWO 
	BULLETS into the air.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	rises and springs at the television, gripping it. The TWO 
	BULLETS sail past his head.

<b>	GROCER
</b>
	begins to rise from his side of the counter, cocking his 
	gun.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	puts all his weight and motion behind the television. Martin 
	and the television careen off of the counter toward Grocer.

<b>	GROCER
</b>
	gets off one round before

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	flies onto Grocer, smashing the seventy-five pound television 
	over his Goddamn head. Martin sails past the collision, 
	landing on his back in the dining room. He rolls over to see

<b>	GROCER
</b>
	Body crumpled, neck is snapped, head encased in the shattered 
	picture tube. He is dead.

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	runs up the front stairs, retrieving the spent gun he 
	discarded earlier, and heads into the bedroom.

<b>	INT. BEDROOM - MINUTES LATER
</b>
	Martin opens the bathroom door. Inside, Debi sits on the 
	edge of the tub, her face in her hands. Newberry kneels with 
	his arms around her. Martin takes this in, and walks back 
	into the bedroom. Newberry stands and follows him out.

<b>	MARTIN AND NEWBERRY
</b>
	MARTIN a bloody, tattered mess, wipes off the gun and puts 
	it into Newberry's hand. Newberry, in total shock, grips it. 
	Martin looks past Newberry.

<b>	MARTIN'S P.O.V.
</b>
	Of Debi, head in hands.

<b>				  MARTIN (V.O.)
</b>		Debi... will you marry me?

	Debi doesn't look up. After a moment, she reaches out, head 
	still down, and closes the bathroom door...

<b>	INT. RADIO STATION - DAY
</b>
	Outside is a Michigan autumn. Debi sits at her console, 
	bringing in the mike as she fades out of a tune...

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		This is WRFN Radio Free Newberry 
		cause that's what it does. Bringing 
		you New Ones for the Nineties, a 
		fresh new format designed to pull 
		you out of what's come before, and 
		reel you into what's coming soon--

<b>	THE PHONE CONSOLE
</b>
	lights up with an incoming cal...

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		I tell you what's coming soon for 
		me, or at least what I dreamed this 
		morning in that weird time just before 
		you actually wake up. But first this 
		commercial. Back after this...

	She pushes a couple of buttons, slaps a cartridge in a player, 
	and answers the phone. We hear the commercial over the studio 
	monitor:

<b>				  ANNOUNCER
</b>		Don't miss the show of the season at 
		Bilkin Community Center! "Brigadoon!" 
		A musical for all ages! "Brigadoon," 
		starring Carol Plummer, Thomas 
		Canchola, Bob Destephano, and Lee 
		Ordman!...

	Debi picks up the phone.

<b>				  DEBI
</b><b>		RFN...
</b>
	Her face goes slack as she listens... not good, not bad... 
	Then she hangs up slowly. The commercial ends. A moment of 
	dead air, then she snaps to.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Hey out there... Okay... I'm going 
		to finish up that fantasy later. 
		First I'll give you an hour of nonstop 
		music... If I don't come back on 
		after that-- well, nevermind.

	Debi turns on a reel-to-reel, and leaves.

<b>	EXT. FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT HOUSE - DAY
</b>
	Debi pulls up and gets out. She begins toward the door but 
	stops dead when she sees

<b>	MARTIN
</b>
	sitting on the front steps.

	Debi moves slowly up the walk and sits next to him on the 
	porch. They sit, gazing out over the grass and trees beyond. 
	After a while...

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		This will never work out.

	She turns to him, serious.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		You kill people.
			(beat)

<b>				  MARTIN
</b>		I have no illusions about the future. 
		What is, is. We make choices. And we 
		become the sum total of our choices. 
		I can live with that.

<b>				  DEBI
</b>		Other people can't.

	Martin looks at her earnestly... And smiles ever so slightly. 
	She does the same, and then just a little wider. He the same. 
	They turn back out to face the lawn, and they share a laugh...

<b>								   THE END
</b>

</pre>
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	<td><h1>Grosse Point Blank</h1><br><br>
	    <b>Writers</b> : &nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="/writer.php?w=Tom Jankiewicz" title="Scripts by Tom Jankiewicz">Tom Jankiewicz</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="/writer.php?w= D.V. deVincentis" title="Scripts by  D.V. deVincentis"> D.V. deVincentis</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="/writer.php?w= S.K. Boatman" title="Scripts by  S.K. Boatman"> S.K. Boatman</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="/writer.php?w=John Cusack" title="Scripts by John Cusack">John Cusack</a><br>
    	<b>Genres</b> : &nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="/genre/Crime" title="Crime Scripts">Crime</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="/genre/Comedy" title="Comedy Scripts">Comedy</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="/genre/Romance" title="Romance Scripts">Romance</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<a href="/genre/Thriller" title="Thriller Scripts">Thriller</a><br><br><br>
		
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Who is the rival that contributes to Blank's depression?
Who is the rival that contributes to Blank s depression ?
Grocer
Grocer
Grocer
Grocer