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TRANSCRIPT:
NB - The curly parentheses {} represent Michael's voiceovers.
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[Opening Montage.]


[Michael stands on the pavement in Warri, Nigeria, in the hot sun.]

{My name is Michael Westen.}

[He cocks a gun in the restroom.]
[He runs.]
[He's on a bike, pursued by guys firing at him from a sedan.]

{I used to be a spy until...}

[He listens in barely-concealed shock to the man on the phone.]
MAN: [from phone] We got a burn notice on you. You're blacklisted.

[Dressed as a messenger, he whistles.]
[As he walks down a street, he grimaces in pain (due to a couple of broken ribs).]

{When you're burned, you've got nothing.}

[Shot of his accounts statement on the computer ("Accounts Frozen"). He checks his cell phone as e gets off a bus.]

{No cash, no credit, no job history.}

[He manages to pull himself onto a plane. The plane takes off.]
[In a Miami motel room, he sits up groggily in bed, shirtless, while Fiona Glenanne sits nearby.]

{You're stuck in whatever city they decide to dump you in.}

MICHAEL WESTEN: Where am I?
FIONA GLENANNE: Miami.

[Shot of Miami Beaches.]
[At night, in his loft, he assembles a fake bomb.]
[He leans back and nearly falls off a small chair.]
[A car blows up in the night.]
[He and Sam Axe stand in front of a car.]
[He takes pictures from inside his car.]
[He laughs.]

{You do whatever work comes your way. You rely on anyone who's still talking to you...}

[Fiona cocks a 12-gauge shotgun inside Sam's car.]
[She kisses Michael outside his loft.]

{A trigger-happy ex-girlfriend.}

[He and Fiona have dinner in a Chinese Restaurant.]
FIONA GLENANNE: Should we shoot them?

[Sam smiles at Michael as he suns himself.]
[Sam walks, wearing sunglasses.]
[He holds a tape recorder to the phone.]

{A friend who's informing on you to the Feds.}

[He and Axe Sam talk in a caféeacute;.]
SAM AXE: You know spies. Bunch of bitchy little girls.

{And family, too.}

[Michael looks at his ringing cell phone, as Sam sits behind.]
SAM AXE: Hey, is that your mom again?
[Michael hangs up.]
[His mom, Madeline, smiles.]

{... if you're desperate.}

[At home, Madeline speaks to Michael.]
MADELINE WESTEN: Someone needs your help, Michael.

[Michael exits a mansion.]

{Bottom line - until you figure out who burned you...

[He looks through a cracked glass.]
[He moves out-of-sight behind a wall.]

{... you're not going anywhere.}





CUT TO:

[Sportsbar. Day. Michael and Sam sit at the counter, playing a football trivia drinking game, with Sam asking the questions. Michael takes a large swig of beer and lets out a satisfied grunt.]

SAM AXE: [reading off some cards] Okay, easy one. Who led the 'Phins in sacks, '06?

MICHAEL WESTEN: The 'Phins in Sacks, '06... [he puts his hand to his forehead as he struggles to remember] Ahh...

SAM AXE: [sniggers] See, Mike, these are the important things in life. This is what you miss when you were running around the world with a satellite phone and a gun.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Jason Taylor.

[Sam looks nonplussed that Michael got it right.]

FREEZE-FRAME: [Sam looks at Michael in surprise.]

{You want to blend into a new city, you better be up on local sports.}

RESUME.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [points to Sam's glass] Drink.

[Sam doesn't need to be told twice. Slapping the card on the bar counter, he goes for his beer. Behind them, at a table, an overweight sportsfan (wearing a bright red baseball jersey with "3" printed on it) flirts (or at least tries to) with a waitress.]

OVERWEIGHT SPORTSFAN: C'mon, sweetheart. Just gimme one kiss.

[The waitress smilingly blows him off and walks away.]

OVERWEIGHT SPORTSFAN: [calling after her] C'mon. Just one. Just one. Bitch.

[Always the observant spy, Michael takes note of this. Looking forward, he notices something in the mirror - a man in a dark-green jacket walking to a table, past the waitresses.]

SAM AXE: [looking at another card] Ah, another gimme. Who was the 'Phins' all-time passing leader?

[Michael doesn't hear Sam; he's too busy looking at the mystery guy in the mirror sit at his table. His eyes are wide in recognition.]

{Covert ops has its perks. You travel, make your own hours, and expense most of your meals. The downside - lots of people want you dead.}

[The guy is...]
JAN HASECK
CZECH ASSASSIN

[While Sam continues quizzing Michael, Michael slowly and carefully takes the dinner knife off the counter and starts twisting it.]

SAM AXE: Here's a hint. It's a quarterback.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [staying calm] 'Phins' all-time passing leader. [sighs] Uhhhh...

[A waitress comes up to Jan and takes his order. Michael watches him through the mirror like a hawk.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [absently] Barry Bonds?

SAM AXE: Barry Bonds?! Come on, Mike. It's not even the right sport. Drink.

[Michael stands and turns towards the tables, addressing everyone in a drunken voice.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [drawling loudly] Dwayne Wade sucks!

{If it looks like you're about to get into a fight that could get you killed, try starting another one.}

[Jan watches him carefully. The overweight sportsfan looks upset at the crude negative criticism of his Miami Heat idol.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I mean, he can dunk, but he's no Kobe Bryant.

OVERWEIGHT SPORTSFAN: Kobe sucks.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [animated] Kobe has a better free-throw percentage and three rings, dude.

OVERWEIGHT SPORTSFAN: Dwayne has a ring, too, "dude".

[Sam comes over, trying to calm Michael down.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: The rest of the league had an off year, just like any fat-ass loser can have a good day.

[Now that the sports insults have given way to personal ones, the big guy jumps up from his seat and advances menacingly on a laughing Michael.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Whoa!

OVERWEIGHT SPORTSFAN: [seriously] You got a problem?

SAM AXE: [uneasily] Hey, Mike, what are you doing? [to the sportsfan] He's drunk. Don't listen to him.

[Michael pokes the man in his chest.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Wow! Are those real? I'm thinking Double-Ds.

[That's too personal for the overweight guy. He punches Michael in the face. Michael deliberately staggers over to Jan's table, catching Jan off-guard. He sends his elbow hard into Jan's throat. Jan clutches at his throat, struggling to breathe. Michael grabs his neck from behind and readies his left fist, with the dinner knife now twisted around it (like brass knuckles).

MICHAEL WESTEN: Vítato Miami, *******.

TRANSLATION: WELCOME TO MIAMI, ASS****

[He smashes Jan in the head with his left fist, knocking him unconscious. He places his head on the table. Just then, the overweight sportsfan grabs Michael and pulls him away.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Uh-oh!

[The big guy, fully pumped up now, screams at Michael challengingly.]

OVERWEIGHT SPORTSFAN: C'MON!

[He moves forward, trying to punch Michael again, but Michael quickly sidesteps and slams the guy's head on a table. Michael and Sam beat a hasty retreat from the bar.]


CUT TO:

[Opening Title.]


CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. Fiona peers outside the kitchen window, watching Jan sit in his car, drinking coffee. He looks towards the loft at Fiona. Fiona just stares right back at him. He looks forward again.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Any ideas why your friend Jan there wants you dead?

[Michael, meanwhile, rigs a shotgun (fixed on the wall), aiming it towards the door from above.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Probably payback for a job I did.

{When booby-trapping your home, it's important to keep it simple.}

MICHAEL WESTEN: No coincidence a Czech wetwork guy is on me after I get burned.}

[He attaches a cord to the door.]

{Make it easy to set up, easy to disable.}

MICHAEL WESTEN: I need to find out what he knows...

[To test the booby-trap, he pulls open the door, consequently pulling the cord attached to the door. As the cord goes taut, a small weight is lifted towards the shotgun.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: ... about my situation.

[He closes the door. As the cord loosens, the weight hangs loosely.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Talk to Sam. He's the cold warrior with the direct line to the FBI.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Somebody's gotta feed the Feds something. It might as well be Sam.

[He looks outside the kitchen window at Jan. Jan starts the car and drives off.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You know, I just can't risk the Feds picking up Jan before I get a chance to talk to him.

[Michael's cell phone rings. He answers it.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Hi, mom.

MADELINE WESTEN: [from phone] The disposal is acting up again.

[Michael extracts a yogurt tub from the fridge.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Well, I'm really busy right now, so call a plumber.

MADELINE WESTEN: [from phone] There's something in there. I think I can get it.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] No, do not put your hand down the disposal. I'm coming over right now.

[He hangs up. The door opens and Sam walks in. SHCLICK! Lucky for Sam, the door-rigged shotgun is empty. He jumps at the sight of the shotgun staring down at him.]

{One more thing about booby traps. Make sure your friends know not to drop by unannounced.}

[In astonishment, he looks at Michael.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [sounding disappointed] A few minutes later. Oh, well.

[Sam, still wary of the gun, closes the door.]

SAM AXE: Mike, what the hell's going on? You got shotguns, you're picking fights for no reason.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Dwayne Wade is overrated.

SAM AXE: Fine. Lie to me. But next time you go Chuck Norris on some guy, don't do it in one of my favorite bars.

MICHAEL WESTEN: The Sandbar.

SAM AXE: They got dollar well drinks, DirecTV's NFL Sunday Ticket - in HD. And did you see the T-shirts those girls were wearin'? And now I can't go back there. That hurts.

[He removes a yogurt from the fridge, as Michael walks towards the door.]

SAM AXE: So, what's the deal?

MICHAEL WESTEN: The Charger's busted. You're driving me over to my mom's.

SAM AXE: I just got here.

[Michael's not discussing this. He unrigs the shotgun and walks out. Sam, irritably, puts the yogurt back in the fridge and walks after Michael, leaving Fiona alone. At the door, Sam keeps a healthy distance from the shotgun as he leaves.]


CUT TO:

[Madeline's House. Day. Michael opens the front door and enters.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Mom.

[He walks inside. No one else is inside.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Mom!

[Suddenly, a thin guy jumps from a corner and tries to blindside him, grabbing him across the chest. Michael, always prepared, grabs his arm.]

{You can learn good self-defense fighting with students in a class.}

[Bending over, he yanks the attacker over his head, lifting the guy right off his feet.]

{But great self-defense...}

[The attacker lands on the floor in front of Michael with a thud. Michael quickly grabs his throat. The attacker smiles at him.]

ATTACKER: You been lifting weights?

{... That you pick up fighting with your family.}

[The attacker is...]
NATE WESTEN
THE BROTHER

[Irritated, Michael lets go and gets up. Just then, Madeline enters seeing her younger son on the floor and the other one standing over him.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Michael, what are you doing?

NATE WESTEN: [breathlessly] It's all right, mom. I deserved it.

[He tries to pick himself off the floor.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: He deserves a lot more than that.

[Madeline helps Nate up.]

MADELINE WESTEN: You need to forgive your brother, Michael, alright? It was years ago.

MICHAEL WESTEN: He took out ten credit cards under my name. And then he hit me in the back of the head with a telephone book.

NATE WESTEN: [still grimacing in pain] He's right. It's true. I was totally wrong. But you were so angry, it was really more like self-defense.

[He sits at the dining table, and stretches out his back.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You lost my car in a card game!

NATE WESTEN: Well, I needed the money, and you weren't helping me out. Besides, nothing ventured, nothing gained, bro.

MICHAEL WESTEN: It was a rental car you ventured!

[Michael walks towards the kitchen.]

NATE WESTEN: Well, they didn't charge you for it. It's like playing with house money.

[At the sink, Michael puts the disposal on.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: The disposal works. There was nothing wrong with it, was there?

MADELINE WESTEN: Well, how else was I supposed to get you to see your brother? Someone needs your help, Michael. All right?

[Michael throws his head up in frustration.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Nate, tell him.

NATE WESTEN: Yeah, uh, your buddy Bill from high school.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Bill wasn't my buddy. I worked for his dad.

NATE WESTEN: Whatever. The point is, his daughter ran away. I told him you can help him out. Mom said you got this thing going, helping people.

[Michael, on his way out, stops.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [under his breath] It's not a thing.

MADELINE WESTEN: Nate said that Bill is desperate.

[Michael turns to his brother.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You took money from him, didn't you?

[Nate stays quiet.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Didn't you?

NATE WESTEN: It's not about money. I mean, it's a friend in need, bro.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [holding his hand out] How much? Let's see it. Come on.

[He snaps his fingers impatiently. Nate relents and digs into his pocket.]

NATE WESTEN: All right, he... he gave me a thousand bucks to find her, for expenses, okay? We'll...

[He holds a wad of cash up. Michael snatches it away from him.]

NATE WESTEN: We'll split it?

[Wordlessly, Michael strides towards the door.]

NATE WESTEN: So, you in?

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, I'm gonna go give him back the money.

NATE WESTEN: Who gives money back?

[Michael walks outside.]

NATE WESTEN: [calling] Hey!


FADE TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]


FADE TO:

[Reese Residence. Day. Michael's "buddy" walks outside into the covered porch, with two iced teas for Michael and Nate.]

MICHAEL'S BUDDY: Couldn't believe it when you went in the army.

[He is...]
BILL REESE
THE CLIENT

[Michael and Nate take the drinks from him.]

BILL REESE: Missed you at graduation. You just... disappeared, it seemed like.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Nate told me about your daughter. Y'know, it's something the police should handle.

BILL REESE: They won't do anything. Jenna's eighteen. I told them she's just a kid. She's still in high school. But they said she can still leave home.

NATE WESTEN: Can you believe that? C'mon, we gotta do something.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Nate. Why'd she leave, Bill?

BILL REESE: We argued about her boyfriend, Brandon Diggs, some half-assed modeling scout she met in a flashy car.

[Bill gets up and goes inside, as he talks.]

BILL REESE: Jenna wanted to model and paid for some of her photos.

[He comes back outside and gives Michael a photo album.]

BILL REESE: It's been a month. She called once, sounded messed up, like she was drunk. I asked where she was, and she wouldn't tell me.

[Michael looks at the modeling pictures of Jenna. Nate comes over to Michael.]

NATE WESTEN: Sounds like bad news. I think we got to help.

BILL REESE: I have the, uh, the rest of the money. The two thousand.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Wait. Nate told you three thousand?

[Nate looks busted.]

BILL REESE: He said that was the old-friend price, but I got more, if...

[Michael bares his teeth at Nate, who shrugs apologetically.]

BILL REESE: I just need to know if she's okay.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [nods] 'Course you do.

[Michael reluctantly looks outside a while.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [relents] Fine.

[Nate happily reaches for the rest of the money from Bill, but Michael grabs it away.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'll hold on to this for operating costs. You have Brandon's phone number?

BILL REESE: He disconnected it. I called it a million times trying to find her. [picks up an instant photo strip] All I got's this. It's a photo I found in Jenna's things.

[He hands it to Michael. It's a set of four photos of Jenna and Brandon sitting cheek-to-cheek, smiling at the camera.]


CUT TO:

[Bar. Day. Michael sits outside at a table with Fiona, discussing the Jan situation.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: It was just luck. I Caught him out of the corner of my eye.

[Sam sits at the table and hands Michael some papers.]

SAM AXE: Hey. His cell phone was linked to a bogus address, so no luck there.

[He calls a waiter.]

SAM AXE: Hermano!

[The waiter comes up.]

SAM AXE: Dos mojitos, arroz con pollo, and uno cerveza, por favor.

[The waiter takes the order and leaves.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [deadpan] Eating light?

SAM AXE: Hey, tracking this guy down was hard work, lemme tell you. I had to hit up a buddy of mine on the Bureau for a favor.

FIONA GLENANNE: Wow, hitting up some paper pusher for some information. You must really work up an appetite.

SAM AXE: He knows I'm not on their most-favored-nations list, all right? He insisted meeting on the QT during his spin class. Does a hell of a job on the acorns, let me tell you.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [reading the paperwork Sam gave him] Nice job. The kid's popular.

SAM AXE: [eating, mouth full] Yeah. I, uh, called some of his buddies, said I was his old pot dealer. Hangs out at a bar down on South Beach. We can go there and look around.

FIONA GLENANNE: Every third guy in a bar will tell you he's a modeling scout.

SAM AXE: Hey, I've used worse lines... and succeeded.

[He gives her a wink.]


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Night. Shots of clubs and bars.]


CUT TO:

[South Beach Bar. Night. Michael, Nate and Fiona walk inside.]

{Spies go to bars for the same reason people go to libraries. Full of information if you know how to ask.}

NATE WESTEN: [pleading his case] Seriously, that money Bill fronted us, I Need my half, bro.

MICHAEL WESTEN: We'll talk about it later. Let's just do this job.

[They walk up to the bar counter. Michael is about to work his charms on the muscular bartender, but Nate starts talking.]

NATE WESTEN: Excuse me. Uh, Brandon Diggs. I heard this is where he hangs out.

BARTENDER: Maybe you heard wrong.

[The bartender turns to move away, but Nate grabs his arm and pulls him back.]

NATE WESTEN: [low, serious voice] I need to talk to Brandon Diggs, okay?

[The huge bartender looks about ready to deck the little squirt, but Michael comes to his rescue.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [sounding amused] Jesus, Nate! Lay off. [to the unamused bartender] I take him out, and he comes on to every guy who looks like he can bench two hundred. [to Nate] Down, boy.

[Nate lets go of the bartender's arm. Michael speaks to the bartender, all business.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [shaking the bartender's arm] Frank Pierce, Coconut Grove Mercedes-Benz. This kid Brandon put a deposit down on an SL550. My salesman here wrote his number down wrong.

NATE WESTEN: [playing along] Yeah, it's a beautiful car. Pewter exterior, burl walnut trim, it's nice. The thing is, we got twenty people lined up behind him.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah, we don't wanna give it away, but we will if we have to. Can you help us out?

[Michael slaps a twenty on the counter. The bartender takes it.]

BARTENDER: Check the VIP Room upstairs.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Thank you kindly.

[They start to walk towards the stairs. Nate swipes a leather booklet containing loose change off the counter.]

NATE WESTEN: I was doing fine.

[Michael grabs the booklet from him and places it in a passing waitress' tray.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You were not doing fine. You looked like you were gonna slug the guy. You have no idea what you're doing. Y'know what?

[They start to squabble, but Fiona interrupts.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Why don't you boys wait outside, and I'll go get Brandon?

[She climbs a couple of stairs.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Are you sure? 'Cause we need...

FIONA GLENANNE: Believe me, Michael. If there's one thing I know how to do, it's to get a guy to leave a bar.

[The brothers smile.]


CUT TO:

[Outside Bar. Night. Fiona (who's just done the thing she know how to do) pushes Jenna's boyfriend up against a pole and starts kissing his neck, hungrily.]

JENNA'S BOYFRIEND: [aroused] Oh, damn, girl, you are fine.

[He is...]
BRANDON DIGGS
THE BOYFRIEND

[She looks at him, alluringly.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Where's your car?

BRANDON DIGGS: It's over there.

[She pulls him towards it. They walk up to the car and get inside. Just as they enter, Michael smashes a bottle against the car and busts into the back seat. He holds the jagged edges of the broken bottle to Brandon's throat.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Wow. This is a really nice car.

BRANDON DIGGS: Listen, bro, I don't want trouble, man, alright? Take the car. I got about a hundred bucks in my wallet.

FIONA GLENANNE: We're looking for Jenna Reese.

BRANDON DIGGS: I don't know any Jenna.

[Michael holds the photo strip in front of his face. Brandon sighs. Michael slaps the strip on his head a few times to jog his memory.]

BRANDON DIGGS: That Jenna.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Mm.

BRANDON DIGGS: [after a beat] Jenna's with the Wilhelm Brothers, okay? They're like an escort service. I recruit for them at the club sometimes.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Why don't you go and unrecruit her for us?

BRANDON DIGGS: Man, they got guys with guns watching those girls around the clock.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [that's original] Guys with guns? Of course.


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]


CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. Michael sits at his worktable upstairs, while Sam sits downstairs reading a magazine.]

SAM AXE: [paraphrasing] Says here the inside and lower areas of the arch are the most erogenous zones of the foot.

[Michael throws him a look.]

SAM AXE: What? It's research on the Wilhelm Brothers. I mean, they're fronting as fashion guys. My ex-girlfriend is totally into this crap. She says they're pretty well known in the Miami scene.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I looked them up on the Internet. They own a photo studio. It seems to be their only legitimate business. Find out anything about their escort service?

[Sam reads an article about the Wilhelm brothers, calling them "Miami's Baddest Fashion Boys".]

SAM AXE: No, but they're all over the charity circuit. I mean, when they're not pimping girls, they're donating ten thousand bucks to some "neuter your dog and cat" group, "save the everglades," etcetera, etcetera.

MICHAEL WESTEN: That's a perfect way to find rich johns. Talk to your ex, find out when the next event is happening. We're going.

[Michael's cell phone rings. He answers it.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Yeah, Fi.


CUT TO:

[Westin Diplomat Hotel. Day. Jan walks across the lobby, past Fiona who sits in a couch, speaking to Michael on her cell phone.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [to the tune of "Ring Around the Rosies"] I know where your assassin's staying. [regular voice] After he got tired staking out your place, I tailed him to this hotel near the convention center. He's in room 741. [listens] Be careful. It's a little too easy for a guy this good.

[She hangs up.]

[Michael hangs up and looks at Sam.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Hey, can I borrow your car?

SAM AXE: Where are you going?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Uh, just to the store to get some yogurt.

[Sam shuts the magazine, smiling.]

SAM AXE: C'mon, Mike. Fiona calls, whisper whisper. All of a sudden, you got to have yogurt? What's the big secret?

MICHAEL WESTEN: No big secret. Just love yogurt.

[Sam looks at him suspiciously. Michael holds his hand up for the keys.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: So?

[Sam picks up his keys off the end table and throws them weakly at Michael. They fall a good two feet away from Michael's feet. Michael picks them up.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You want anything?

SAM AXE: Yeah, a toothbrush. Yours is a little rough.

[Michael laughs. Sam stays straight-faced. Grossed out, Michael leaves.]


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]


CUT TO:

[Westin Diplomat Hotel, Seventh Floor. Day. Michael enters through the seventh floor emergency exit and walks along the hallway, looking for Jan's room. As he passes a mirror, he notices a sudden movement behind him. It's Jan, brandishing a knife. Michael whips his hand back and grabs Jan's knife hand and twists it above. They grapple violently a while. Jan manages to punch Michael in the face, pushing him back into the mirror, smashing it. Michael recovers quickly, holding the knife arm in one hand and the back of Jan's neck in the other.]

{The key to a good knife defense is to control the knife hand and strike with everything you've got.}

[Michael kicks him savagely in the ribs, then pivots the knife arm close to Jan's face, so that he and Jan can be face-to-face.]

JAN HASECK: [breathlessly] Good to see you. Long time.

MICHAEL WESTEN: We need to talk!

[Jan, however, is in no mood to talk. With his free arm, he flicks open another switchblade and swings it towards Michael's head. Michael grabs his arm with his free hand, keeping the knife at a safe distance.}

{Fighting is often about tactical retreats, like running away from two knives.}

[Michael releases both of Jan's arms and starts to run away. Jan pursues. Michael stops at a glass-enclosed fire extinguisher. Breaking the glass, he removes the extinguisher, holding it as a weapon. Jan swings at Michael with a knife. Keeping the extinguisher in front as a shield, Michael dodges the knife. Jan swings the other knife, with the same reaction from Michael. The Czech assassin tries to stab his combatant, but Michael parries the blow and slams the extinguisher on his face. Jan staggers disoriented. Michael runs past him, throwing the extinguisher at him, and enters an elevator, that just opens as he reaches it. Always the gentleman, he allows some people to get off the elevator before entering it. Jan runs up, but stops at the elevator, seeing it full.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [holding his hands out] We go back a long way, Jan.

{It's also knowing how to make the body count unacceptable.}

JAN HASECK: [breathless] Then we'll see each other again, yes?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [making a phone gesture with his fingers] Yeah, yeah, call me.

[The elevator doors close.]


CUT TO:

[Hotel. Day. A fashion show is underway. Models walk the catwalk with the latest (and most expensive) designs of the industry. An announcer stands on the catwalk, providing the spectators with information about the designs and the models.]

ANNOUNCER: Our next item up for bid, ladies and gentlemen, is a gorgeous gown from Designs by Renéeacute;e. Vanessa, you look wonderful in this. Very nice. We'll start the bidding off at ten thousand dollars. Who will give me ten thousand dollars?

[Michael and Fiona sit near the catwalk, more interested in watching the two guys sitting opposite them, across the catwalk. The older one (Carl Wilhelm) raises his hand, offering his bid. They are...]
WILHELM BROTHERS
PIMPS

{Pimps are all about show. High-end or low-end, they like to stand out.}

ANNOUNCER: [seeing the raised hand] Ten thousand dollars. Mr. Wilhelm opens the bidding. Thank you very much. Do we have eleven?

[Michael raises his hand.]

ANNOUNCER: Eleven thousand dollars from the gentleman in the front row. Do I have twelve?

[The Wilhelms look at Michael. Nate walks up and sits behind Michael.]

ANNOUNCER: We're looking for twelve thousand dollars.

CARL WILHELM: Twelve thousand dollars.

ANNOUNCER: Thirteen? Thirteen thousand dollars?

NATE WESTEN: [softly to Michael] If you want this guy to think you're a player, raise him again.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Nate, what the hell are you doing here?

NATE WESTEN: I heard you were doing a charity auction, Figured you could use the help.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I don't need any help.

[Nate tries to pull Michael's arm up, but Michael pulls it away. The announcer sees the arm.]

ANNOUNCER: Thirteen thousand dollars. Do we have fourteen?

[Carl raises again.]

ANNOUNCER: Fourteen thousand dollars. Do we have fifteen?

NATE WESTEN: One more time, bro.

{Compulsive gamblers get a lot of practice seeing people bluff, so the good news is they can usually pick up on people's tells. The bad news is when they're wrong, the consequences are very expensive.}

[Michael watches the Wilhelms carefully and then lifts his finger to the announcer.]

ANNOUNCER: Fifteen thousand dollars. Very generous. Do we have sixteen? Looking for sixteen now.

[The Wilhelms don't budge.]

ANNOUNCER: Fifteen thousand dollars going once.

[Carl shrugs at Michael. Michael stays poker-faced.]

NATE WESTEN: Relax, he's gonna bid again.

ANNOUNCER: Sixteen thousand doll...

[Carl removes his sunglasses, as his way of upping the bid.]

ANNOUNCER: Sixteen thousand dollars!

[People clap politely. Michael grins widely at the Wilhelms, conceding defeat.]


FLASH TO:

[Hotel. Day. People relax at the after-show party. Michael walks up to Carl Wilhelm. The model, wearing the dress they outbid Michael for, stands with him. Michael lightly claps on his champagne flute as he approaches them (he's wearing a wedding ring).]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Congratulations. That is one hell of a dress. Who's the lucky lady?

CARL WILHELM: You're looking at her.

[Michael raises his eyebrows looking at the beautiful model.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: If my wife looked like you, I might have spent a few more bucks.

CARL WILHELM: Your wife? Is she here?

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, she's at home. New York. I'm down here doing some business... and some pleasure. I like to combine both.

CARL WILHELM: We have something in common then.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [sounding envious] You're in fashion. It must be nice, All those beautiful women all the time.

CARL WILHELM: We're throwing a party this evening. Come by and see for yourself. Some of our girls will be there. They love meeting new people.

[Michael grins and takes a sip of champagne.]


FADE TO:

[Westin Diplomat Hotel. Day. Jan walks guardedly out of the hotel lobby. Fiona sits on a couch, wearing a large hat. As Jan passes her, she calls Michael on her cell phone.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [into phone] He just left.

[Hanging up, she gets up and goes to meet Michael.]

[Michael enters the lobby and picks up the phone and hits a button.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone, pleasantly] Housekeeping. Yes, I need fresh sheets in Room 740, please. Thank you.

[He hangs up and leaves.]


CUT TO:

[Westin Diplomat Hotel, Seventh Floor. Day. In a utility room, Michael fills up ice in an ice bucket. He starts to take his clothes off. Just as he starts to undo his pants, Fiona comes in. Michael becomes aware (and a bit self-conscious) of her seductive look.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Maybe we should get a room.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I could only afford about a half an hour in a place like this.

[Michael's down to his underwear.]

FIONA GLENANNE: That's all we need.

[She glides up to him and starts to caress his chest, laughing at his discomfort. Michael squirms as he tries to put on a bathrobe.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Fi, just... Fi. Keep a lookout.

[He hurries past her, while she feigns disappointment. He comes back, avoiding eye-contact, to pick up the ice bucket and walks off. Fiona smiles.]

[Outside Room 741, he walks in his bathrobe, the ice bucket in hand. The Hispanic maid is currently outside Room 740, taking fresh sheets inside. Michael walks up to 741 and starts putting his hand into his bathrobe pockets, as if looking for something.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, no, no, no.

[He turns to the maid and whispers]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Excuse me. Excuse me. I, uh, I forgot my key. My wife - mi esposa - [making a snoring sound, to say she's asleep], so, I don't wanna wake her. So, you open... key.

[The maid nods her understanding and pulls out her master keycard.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [whispering] Oh, thank you! Thank you!

[She nods with a smile and inserts her card into the slot on the door. Michael opens the door and enters.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [whispering] Thank you. Shh!

[Inside, he starts to look around.]

{Any good operative is careful not to leave much behind.}

[He looks in the bedroom. Finds nothing.]

{Everyone gets careless, though, And even the littlest things can turn out to be useful.}

[He sees a large papercup, on which "Toni's All American Hot Dog" is printed. Keeping it aside, he continues to look around. He looks at a sci-fi paperback.]

{A receipt, a paperback...}

[He turns the novel around and sees a half-torn label, which says "Rezoli". Turning on the TV to the "Hotel Concierge" screen, he brings up the Room Charges.]

{Room-service records... every bit helps.}


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]


CUT TO:

[Bar. Day. Sam speaks to his "FBI buddies", Agents Lane and Harris.]

SAM AXE: Guys, I'm telling you, I don't know what he's up to.

AGENT HARRIS: Don't jerk us around, Sam. The guy's sneaking around, and you don't know anything?

SAM AXE: What, you want me to make something up? Okay, he's got a goddamn spy satellite in his bathroom. I'm doing my best here.

AGENT HARRIS: You're supposed to be keeping an eye on him.

AGENT LANE: We need results, Sam, or we'll haul your ass off to DC for a little face time with the section chief.

[Sam doesn't like that idea a bit. The Feds get up and walk off.]

SAM AXE: [deadpan] Nice talking to you.


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Night.]


CUT TO:

[Wilhelm Mansion. Day. People mingle and drink to their hearts' contents at the party. A girl dives into the swimming pool outside. Michael enters and shares a cordial kiss with a hostess. He walks inside, grinning broadly to everyone. He keeps walking, till he sees just the girl he's looking for, surrounded by a trio of older guys, one of who keeps talking like

OLDER GUY: The next big thing - air-conditioning in China. Think about it. Billions of people, global warming, big bucks. We get rich. It's a great thing.

[Michael walks up to the group and addresses the young girl familiarly.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Hey, remember me from the skybar the other night?

[The girl laughs politely. She is...]
JENNA REESE
THE DAUGHTER

[Before the others can protest, he leads her away from the group.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Hey, I'm gonna just borrow her for one second. I'll bring her back, I promise.

[They move away. She speaks to him, sounding a bit drunk.]

JENNA REESE: I'm sorry. Do I know you?

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, but you looked bored, so I thought I'd help you out.

JENNA REESE: Oh, thanks, but those guys, they're real-really nice. Are you friends with Carl, too?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah, you can say that. How about you?

JENNA REESE: He's actually helping me with my modeling.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, yeah? Yeah? You're a model.

JENNA REESE: Yeah, well, not yet, but Carl just got me my first job in Dubai. That's near Saudi Arabia. And I'm gonna be flying there Thursday.

MICHAEL WESTEN: So, what are you doing here?

JENNA REESE: Networking.

[As she speaks, Michael looks around the place carefully. Just like Brandon mentioned, there are guys with guns around. One of them holds his finger to his earpiece as he speaks to someone through the radio.]

JENNA REESE: Carl says that businesspeople, they're always looking for models to be in commercials. And he's got this, like, total training program, as he calls it, y'know, where you learn about clothes and etiquette and things like that while he gets us jobs.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, hold on. Hold on. Why don't we just step outside for a little bit? I need to talk to you about something.

[Michael starts to usher her towards the door. Just as they reach the door, Carl comes up behind them.]

CARL WILHELM: Jenna! Be a sweetheart and get me a drink.

MICHAEL WESTEN: You know, we were just gonna, y'know...

CARL WILHELM: Y'know, some Merlot would be great.

JENNA REESE: Okay. All right, sure.

[Jenna leaves.]

CARL WILHELM: Is there, um, anything I can help you with?

[Jenna walks and is accosted by Oscar Wilhelm (the younger brother).]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [softly] I assume she's for hire.

OSCAR WILHELM: We tell you who to talk to, Jenna.

MICHAEL WESTEN: But I get the feeling she hasn't done this before.

CARL WILHELM: That's our specialty - girls who are new to the business.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I mean, she doesn't even look like she's the... she's the type.

CARL WILHELM: You're right. She isn't. But some clients appreciate girls with a little fight in them.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Name your price. I'm interested.

CARL WILHELM: I'm sorry? Oh, no. We don't offer that service... domestically. Strictly an overseas operation.

[Michael, acting thoroughly disappointed, grabs Carl's shoulders, as if for support.]

CARL WILHELM: Yes, so, if you're ever in the Middle East, let me know, huh? Come, I'll introduce you to some of our other girls. This way.

[Michael laughs and follows Carl into the garden.]


CUT TO:

[Reese Residence. Day. Michael and Nate explain the developments of the case to Bill.]

BILL REESE: We should call the police.

NATE WESTEN: Bill, what are the police gonna do? She'll just say she's doing a modeling job overseas.

BILL REESE: But she's not!

MICHAEL WESTEN: That's right. And if we tell her the truth, she won't believe us. The Wilhelms will have her on a plane by the next day.

BILL REESE: We can go over there right now. We can just go over and-and get her out.

[Steeling himself, he goes and takes out a baseball bat. Michael restrains his frustration and goes to stop him.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Bill, stop! Hey, whoa, whoa! Hold on!

[He takes the bat away from Bill and speaks to him.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You wanna spook them? She'll get hurt. Do you understand? Just... Hey... Trust me. Let us do our thing.

BILL REESE: [after a beat] You'll call me when you get her?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I promise.

[Michael and Nate walk outside, towards the car.]

NATE WESTEN: How exactly do you plan on keeping that promise?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I have no idea.


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]


CUT TO:

[Bar. Day. Michael, Sam and Fiona discuss the plan to rescue Jenna.]

SAM AXE: Grabbing Jenna shouldn't be that big a deal. In, out - couple minutes.

FIONA GLENANNE: And run away? I say we blow our way into the house, grab the girl, take the Wilhelms out as a bonus.

SAM AXE: That's great. Hey, let's storm a place guarded by guys with semiautomatics, get shot up, get the target killed.

FIONA GLENANNE: Maybe you don't have the stomach for it.

[Sam says nothing. He takes a sip of beer.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Mich...

MICHAEL WESTEN: Fi, the body count would be a little high. We know she's booked on a flight to Dubai.

SAM AXE: I checked that out. There's two flights on Thursday. A ten AM direct and a two PM through Switzerland.

MICHAEL WESTEN: We sit on the house. We take her when she goes to the airport.

SAM AXE: I like it. Deal with the guys in the car, pull her out. Nice. I'll see you. I'm gonna do some recon.

[He gets up and starts to walk.]

FIONA GLENANNE: D'you think I could convince your Czech assassin to switch targets? I mean, Sam is bigger, slower, easier to hit.

MICHAEL WESTEN: What about Jan's car? You check?

FIONA GLENANNE: Yeah, he's careful. he runs a mirror under the engine before he unlocks it, uses a remote to start the engine.

MICHAEL WESTEN: What about the book? You check the bookstores?

FIONA GLENANNE: All the local Rezolis. No scary Czechs buying sci-fi paperbacks on a regular basis. We won't be ambushing him there.

MICHAEL WESTEN: He's been ordering food at the hotel. I checked the bill.

FIONA GLENANNE: Not room service. He stops by the kitchen to place his order, oversees the cooking himself. Religious reasons. He wants to make sure the food is Halal.

MICHAEL WESTEN: "Halal"? Nice cover story. Jan isn't Muslim. There's got to be another reason why he's spending time in the kitchen.

[He fishes out some money.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Here's some cash. Spread it around the kitchen staff. See what you can find out.

[His cell phone rings. Looking at the call ID, he answers it, reluctantly.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Yeah, mom?

MADELINE WESTEN: [from phone, panicked] Michael, can you come over? It's an emergency. It's your brother.


CUT TO:

[Madeline's House. Day. Michael walks inside. Nate applies an ice-pack to his bruised face.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: What happened?

MADELINE WESTEN: [timidly] Um, I told 'em that Nate wasn't here, but they-they-they said they'd stay anyway. I tried to call you, and they wouldn't let me. Th-then Nate came in, and they started... [choking up] hitting him. They said he owed 'em money.

[Michael picks a chair off the floor and stands it up correctly.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [looking down] They broke the dishes?

MADELINE WESTEN: No, I did. Mrs. Hale's always coming over when I have the TV on too loud, so I figured she'd hear the crash. Anyway, they left when they saw her coming.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Why didn't you call the police?

MADELINE WESTEN: Because Nate said it would cause him even more trouble.

NATE WESTEN: [monotone] I got warrants.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Mom, I need to talk to Nate.

MADELINE WESTEN: Don't you get angry at him, all right? It's a sickness, Michael, just like your father.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [interrupting her] No, no, no. Don't even start.

NATE WESTEN: Look, I just need my half of the money so I can pay these guys, all right?

MICHAEL WESTEN: If I give you money, you'll go to the track, and you'll try to double it. And if you win, you'll try to make a little extra until it's gone.

[Nate looks away, angrily.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I can help you, Nate.

[Nate laughs derisively and puts the ice-pack aside.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I can get these guys off your back. You could hide out in my place.

NATE WESTEN: I don't need a goddamn place to hide! I can protect myself.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah, blocking punches with your face... real effective.

NATE WESTEN: I got a guy bringing me a gun.

MADELINE WESTEN: [shocked] A gun?

NATE WESTEN: I'm not gonna need to use it, mom, if he'll just give me the money.

MADELINE WESTEN: [emotionally] Michael, please.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [exasperated] I'll give him the money after the job. I'll make sure the money goes to the right place.

NATE WESTEN: Go to hell.

[He walks towards the door. He turns once to look at Michael.]

{A rescue attempt is hard enough when it's someone who actually wants to be rescued.}

[He turns around and walk out the door. Michael closes his eyes.]

{Doesn't matter whether it's a brother with a compulsive-gambling problem...}


CUT TO:

[Hardware Shop. Day. Michael picks up a heat gun (in a box). Fiona picks up a dark-tinted car window film. Michael picks up a window film squeegee and knife. Fiona picks up a window film application solution.]

{... or a girl who thinks she's about to launch her modeling career.


CUT TO:

[Outside Michael's Loft. Night. Sam and Michael pull off the insides of the car doors. Fiona sprays the solution on the car windows.]

{So, you eliminate escape options. Keep a low profile.}

[Michael applies the black-tinted window film on the windshield and uses the heat gun to stick it in place. He checks his watch,]

{But no matter what you do, you'll still have someone screaming bloody murder in the back of your car.}


FLASH TO:

[Madeline's Garage. Day. Michael does similar work on Nate's truck, while speaking to Bill on the phone.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone, comforting voice] Bill, don't worry. We've got a plan.

BILL REESE: [from phone] I'll go with you. I should be there.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] No. No, listen to me. The best thing for you to do is stay at home. You'll be the first one we call.

BILL REESE: [from phone] But... I don't...

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Talk to you soon.

[Madeline enters the garage just as Michael hangs up.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Michael? Is Nate with you?

MICHAEL WESTEN: No. I'm, uh, I'm just fixing his truck.

[He removes the license plates and keeps them aside. Looking up, he sees the troubled look on her face.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: What's wrong, mom?

MADELINE WESTEN: He said he was going over to your apartment to get his share of the money.

[Michael whips his head at her, alarmed.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: What? [urgently] Uh... he's going over to my place? What's his cell number?

MADELINE WESTEN: Nate doesn't have a cell. They cut him off months ago.

[Michael jumps into the truck, starts it up and takes off.]

MADELINE WESTEN: [confused] Michael!


CUT TO:

[Outside Michael's Loft. Day. Nate uses a crowbar, trying to force open the door. Michael drives up, honking the horn repeatedly, trying to get Nate's attention. Nate looks at Michael, but continues trying to force open the door. Michael opens the truck door, shouting to his brother.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Nate!

[Suddenly, his window shatters. Michael ducks for cover. Nate continues trying to force open the door. Keeping low, Michael manages to see Jan, firing at him with a silenced handgun. Michael starts to move towards the building.]

FREEZE-FRAME: [Michael bending low as he heads for his loft.]

{Some situations just come down to probabilities.}

FREEZE-FRAME: [Jan, aiming his silencer-equipped gun at Michael.]

{The chance that an assassin with a handgun can hit you at fifty yards, the number of shots he can get off.}

RESUME.

[Jan continues to fire at Michael. Michael takes cover behind the truck]

{Might have a one-in-five chance of taking a bullet, maybe a one-in-ten chance of dying.}

[Michael circles round the truck, shouting at his brother.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Nate!

[Nate doesn't listen. He seems close to getting through.]

FREEZE-FRAME: [Nate trying to force open the loft door.]

{Or a 100% chance of getting blown away by a shotgun wired to a door.}

FREEZE-FRAME: [The rigged shotgun, above the doorway, in Michael's loft.]

RESUME.

[Michael and Jan both wait a tense moment. Then, Michael starts to sprint towards the building. Jan fires, but hits a metal wall. Nate turns on hearing the sound and sees his brother being fired upon by the assassin. Jan fires again. The bullet hits the wall again, but ricochets and hits Michael in the back, near the left shoulder. Michael grimaces in pain and buckles to the floor.}

{A ricochet is usually not deadly, but it sure feels that way.}

[Jan advances upon Michael, gun leveled at him, ready to finish the job. Nate, seeing his brother in grave danger, runs towards them.]

NATE WESTEN: Michael!

[He pulls out his revolver and starts to fire at Jan, rather awkwardly. Jan, though hardly bothered by Nate's amateurish shooting skills, decides to cut and run. He gets in his car and drives off in reverse, as Nate continues to shoot at him. Michael, meanwhile, manages to lift himself off the ground, in excruciating pain, and prop himself against the truck. He groans in pain.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Aah!


CUT TO:

[Outside Wilhelm Mansion. Day. At the same time, Sam and Fiona sit in their car, waiting for Michael and Nate to show up for "Operation Grab-Jenna". Fiona loads her SPAS-12 pump-action shotgun with shells.]

SAM AXE: Where the hell is Michael? Off on one of your secret missions?

FIONA GLENANNE: Don't look at me.

SAM AXE: [checking his watch] These guys should be out pretty soon. Last flight to Dubai is in a couple hours.

[The loading done, Fiona pumps the shotgun foregrip.]

FIONA GLENANNE: I'm ready.

SAM AXE: Oh, no way. There's no way we're gonna do this without Mike. We don't have the manpower.

FIONA GLENANNE: We don't have a choice. [taunting] I knew it. You got no backbone.

SAM AXE: [insulted] Backbone? You remember how this works? You hold off the guy in the front. I take the guy in the back. Mike takes Jenna. What's missing from this picture? The guy that takes Jenna.

FIONA GLENANNE: So I'll take Jenna.

SAM AXE: Okay, so who takes the guy in the front? Nobody. What happens then? People start shooting. We lose, we're dead. We win, we got three bodies, a traumatized girl, and spots on the FBI's most wanted list.

FIONA GLENANNE: I've been on plenty of those lists. It's not so bad.

[Fiona looks back and sees a car driving towards them.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Here they are. Let's do this.

SAM AXE: No, we can't do it without Mike.

FIONA GLENANNE: Then I'll do it myself.

[Fiona starts to get out, but Sam gets out first. Bending, he looks at her through the window.]

SAM AXE: I got it, "honey".

[Fiona latches on the "honey" part. The Wilhelms' car comes up. Then, WHAM! A sound of glass breaking. Fiona gets out of the car, minus her SPAS-12. Sam lies splayed across the hood of the car.]

SAM AXE: Oh, my back! Aah!

[Fiona gets out of the car, playing the "angry yet loving wife" (the "honey" part).]

FIONA GLENANNE: [to the people in the car] What did you do?!

[Carl Wilhelm gets out of the lead car, to survey the damage to his car.]

SAM AXE: Aah, my back! Honey, call nine-one-one.

FIONA GLENANNE: Damn right I'm calling 911! You almost killed him!

SAM AXE: It's alright, it was an accident. I'm sure the cops will sort it all out.

[Jenna, inside the car, impatiently calls out.]

JENNA REESE: We're not going to make the flight.

[Carl looks concerned, but not for Sam or Jenna.]

{Any decent criminal will change his plans at the mention of the word "cops".}

[Leaning into the car, he speaks to Jenna.]

CARL WILHELM: Don't worry, Jenna. We'll catch a plane tomorrow. Best we sort this out.

[Carl circles round to where Sam moans and groans.]

SAM AXE: Hey, you guys got a pen? We could start exchanging information. I assume you guys have insurance, right?

CARL WILHELM: [pulling out a wad of cash] Oh, I don't think it's necessary for us to get the insurance companies involved.

[With his right hand, Carl starts to peel off couple of bills from his left hand. Sam grabs the money in his left hand.]

SAM AXE: Well, I don't know, pal. I got hit pretty good.

[Carl looks at Sam.]

CARL WILHELM: Don't come looking for more.

[He walks back to the car.]

CARL WILHELM: Let's go back to the house.

SAM AXE: [still selling his pain] Oh!

[Hissing in pretend-pain, he leans on Fiona, who dutifully supports her "husband", in his moment of pain. The Wilhelms' car starts to makes a large U-turn (pushing Fiona and Sam off the road) and drives back to the mansion.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Hey! It's illegal to drive away from an accident!

[Once they're out of sight, Fiona shrugs Sam's arm off her shoulder.]

SAM AXE: Mike better have one hell of an excuse for not being here.


CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. Michael lies prone on his bed, shirtless, while Nate tries to surgically extract "the hell of an excuse" from his back. Nate applies disinfectant to the wound.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [groans] Aah. Easy.

{Spend a lot of time in countries without hospitals, you pick up a few things.}

NATE WESTEN: [chuckles] Take it easy.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Now, make a small incision just above the wound.

NATE WESTEN: You want me to just, uh, dig in? [amused] I dunno. [laughs]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You're enjoying this way too much.

[Nate picks up a scalpel and prepares to start the "surgery".]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Disinfect the blade in the alcohol.

[Nate dips the blade in a rubbing alcohol bottle.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: And then run the lighter over the edge of the blade.

[Flicking open the lighter, Nate heats the blade. Michael puts a pencil between his teeth. Finished, Nate starts to incise above the wound.]

NATE WESTEN: God damn. [chuckling] This is kind of fun.

[Not so much for Michael, who bites down hard on the pencil in agony.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [tightly] Small incision. Small incision! Aah!

NATE WESTEN: Come on, the way you're yelling, you'd think I was pulling a goddamn cannonball out of your shoulder. Just a little more.

[Nate continues to dig.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: God!

[Finally, Nate manages to get the bullet out of Michael. Michael lets out a huge sigh and spits out the pencil. Nate bandages the wound.]

NATE WESTEN: Okay. Okay. All right.

[He gives the bandage a couple of brotherly slaps. Michael whines in pain, wide-eyed.]

NATE WESTEN: There you go, you big baby.

[Sam enters.]

SAM AXE: Jesus. What happened? Mike, you get shot? There's cops all over the street out there.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [fighting the pain] No, it was just this gang-bang... drive-by thing. It-it's really nothing. What happened with Jenna?

[Michael sits up.]

SAM AXE: Well, she's still for sale, but we kept her from boarding the plane, at least.

[Sam picks up the extracted bullet and looks at it.]

SAM AXE: Gangbangers, huh? What, you join the Crips or something?

[Michael gets up and laughs loudly.]

SAM AXE: I mean, Mike, look, you don't want to tell me, that's fine. But I'll keep my mouth shut. I'm your friend. I'm supposed to help you with crap like this. You've got to trust me.

[Michael starts to put his shirt back on.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Help me with my shirt. I do trust you, Sam. Keeping you in the dark gives you deniability.

SAM AXE: [hurt] Yeah, okay. I know how it works. All right, I'll go out and help you with your cop problem.

[Sam walks out. Behind Michael, Nate does a little one-man skit, as he cleans up.]

NATE WESTEN: [deeper voice] "Nice job, Nate. Thanks for pulling that bullet out of me." [normal voice] "Oh, yeah, hey, you're welcome, Mike. No problem." [deeper voice] "Hey, Nate, how 'bout that money I owe you?" [under his breath] Jackass.

[Michael, not wanting to owe his brother one, takes Nate's share of the money (in an envelope) from under his bed and goes over to Nate.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Nate.

[He holds up an envelope.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Thank you.

[Nate seems placated and grateful. Michael slaps it on the kitchen counter.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Pay them back.

[He moves away as Nate smiles.]


CUT TO:

[Bar. Day. Sam sits alone at the bar counter, feeling downcast, nursing his Long Island Iced Tea. Michael walks up.]

SAM AXE: Hey. How's your shoulder?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Patched up. It hurts, but it wasn't deep.

SAM AXE: Glad to hear it. [beat] Listen, Mike, I, um, I understand you got a situation, but... so do I. I mean, I'm covering for you, but if I lose my pension, you're gonna be changing my diapers when I'm ninety-five and drooling.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Sam, I would never let that happen. I'd smother you with a pillow first.

[Sam chuckles.]

SAM AXE: Just promise me you're not gonna pick any fights in this place. It's the only bar in Miami that will let me run a tab.

[Michael's cell phone rings. Checking the call ID, he puts the phone to his ear.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Hi, mom.

NATE WESTEN: [from phone] It's Nate. Bill's been hurt.


CUT TO:

[Reese Residence. Day. Bill washes his bruised knuckles under a tap. He's been in a fight (not a winning one for him, at least).]

BILL REESE: [monotone, accusingly] You said you were going to get her. I didn't hear from you. So I went to the house. Barely made it through the front gate. Thought you were my friend.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Sorry, something came up.

NATE WESTEN: He couldn't get away...

BILL REESE: [shouts] I need to call the police! This was a bad idea.

[Michael and Nate try to talk sense into him.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: She'll be on a plane within the hour. Don't call. We don't have time.

NATE WESTEN: Let him handle this.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [dead serious] I said I'll take care of it, and I'll take care of it.

BILL REESE: What are you gonna do?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Same plan as before, just a different target.


CUT TO:

[Outside Wilhelm Mansion. Day. A white Mercedes drives along the street. Suddenly, Fiona's car drives up, blocking its path. Fiona and Sam get out, brandishing guns. Behind the Merc, Nate's truck pulls up. Michael gets out, resting a crowbar on his shoulder. He walks towards the car, stone-faced.]

{Running an operation, you can't let personal feelings get in the way. It's about planning and execution.}

[He walks up to the car and sends the crowbar hard into the backseat window, breaking it.]

CAR OCCUPANT: [to the driver] Get outta her. Now! Now!

{Not about being angry.}

[Michael hits the window a couple more times, making a small hole.]

CAR OCCUPANT: Come on! Let's go! Move it!

MICHAEL WESTEN: Wow, this is really well-made.

[Dropping the crowbar, he pulls his gun out and aims it at the occupants through the hole he made in the glass. Aiming the gun at the driver, he yells.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Open the door. Open the door!

[The driver complies. Michael pulls open the door and yanks the guy in the backseat out, by his neck.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Out! Piss me off.

[Holding the guy's neck, he shoves him towards Fiona's car.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Move, move, move, move.

[We finally see that the abductee is Oscar Wilhelm, Carl's little brother.]

OSCAR WILHELM: Take it easy! Do you know who my brother is?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I know who he is, and I know what he does.

[Michael ushers Oscar towards the trunk. Oscar struggles out of Michael's grasp and faces him.]

OSCAR WILHELM: Get off me, man! You're making...!

[Michael clobbers Oscar on the head, with his gun. Oscar recoils backwards.]

{Although, occasionally, you may get a little angry.}

[Michael and Sam dump a much more docile Oscar into the trunk and leave.]


CUT TO:

[Beach Parking Lot. Day. Michael and Nate sit on top of Fiona's car's trunk, drinking beer.]

NATE WESTEN: Helping people's not a bad gig, bro, but if you want to make some real money, I could hook you up. Y'know what we should do?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [interrupts] Did you pay them back, these guys you owe?

NATE WESTEN: [nods unconvincingly] Yeah.

[Michael looks at Nate, who takes a swig of beer. Nate sees the unconvinced look in Michael's face.]

NATE WESTEN: [admits] Most of it. Look, they're not gonna be visiting mom for a while, all right?

[Michael lets it go. Nate sniggers and looks at the trunk.]

NATE WESTEN: Think he suffocated?

[Michael pounds the trunk.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You ready to call your brother, let him know you want to go home?

[Muffled sounds and thumps are heard from inside the trunk. Michael smiles at Nate, who laughs and nods.]

NATE WESTEN: I think that's a "yeah".


CUT TO:

[Beach Caféeacute;. Day. Michael and Nate talk terms with Carl Wilhelm.]

CARL WILHELM: I want my brother back. How much?

MICHAEL WESTEN: We don't want your money. [beat] Which is not to say that we want you to have it. We want all your records and all the money you made from all the girls you pimped.

CARL WILHELM: Pimped? I'm not a pimp.

MICHAEL WESTEN: You say tomayto. I say pimp. You can keep whatever you made legally from, y'know, the photo studio, but the girls
get the rest of it.

CARL WILHELM: What are you, some kind of crusading cop?

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, unfortunately for you, I'm just some guy you managed to piss off.

[Nate hands Carl a bunch of Polaroids of Oscar in the trunk, bound and scared.]

NATE WESTEN: Your brother's in a trunk of a car, Carl. He's eating on ten bucks a day. That's a bag of chips, a sandwich, and a coke. Tomorrow he eats on five, and we'll be down to sugar packets by Friday.

MICHAEL WESTEN: And just so there's no misunderstanding, you're going to explain to Jenna exactly what was waiting for her at the other end of that flight. I think that covers it. We'll wait for your call.

[Michael and Nate get up and walk, leaving Carl sitting alone.]

NATE WESTEN: Y'know, I think we could probably keep some of that money for ourselves. I mean, it's not like the girls are gonna miss it.

[Michael shoots him a look through his "Victory" sunglasses.]

NATE WESTEN: What? They don't know how much there is. And I-I met some of those girls at the party, y'know. Some of them probably couldn't even count.

[They continue to walk.]


FADE TO:

[Wilhelm Mansion, Courtyard. Day. Michael and Sam pull up in Fiona's car, with Oscar in the trunk.]

{There is a reason family is always a good source of leverage, whether it's a brother that always owes people money or a brother stuck in the trunk of a car. You can't really turn your back on them.}

[They get out and open the trunk, pulling Oscar out.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Out. C'mon.

[Once he's out, Michael points him to where Carl, Jenna and a handful of "guys with guns" stand.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [shoving him] Walk. Walk.

[Jenna stands near Carl, a fearful expression on her face. Carl motions for her to walk to Michael. Oscar walks away from Michael, cowering. Jenna, carrying her heavy backpack, walks up to Michael. Carl hugs his brother and glares angrily at Michael.]

JENNA REESE: [to Michael] Who are you?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'm a friend of your father's.


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]


FADE TO:

[Reese Residence. Day. Michael (carrying Jenna's backpack) and Jenna walk to the gate and enter. Jenna walks uneasily.


{The drive home is often a grueling experience for someone you've just rescued, especially if they were unaware of their situation. They ask a lot of questions. You fill them in on the answers, and then it dawns on them...}

[Jenna enters the house slowly. Bill, seeing his daughter, stops what he's doing and looks at her.]

{... the truth. It can be a little overwhelming.}

[Jenna starts to cry shamefully. Father and daughter walk up to each other and embrace lovingly and tearfully. Bill looks up to thank Michael, but Michael already on his way out.]


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Evening/Night. The sun sets.]


CUT TO:

[Toni's All American Hot Dog stand. Night. Jan sits alone at a picnic table, just about finished with his hot dog. He takes a sip of his drink and wipes his mouth. Suddenly, he stops. He starts to gasp for air, lurching forwards. He looks around and sees no one around to help. Quickly, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out an epinephrine pen (Epi-Pen). He removes the cover and prepares to inject himself, when Michael strides up and grabs it away from him. Jan struggles to snatch it back, but is too weak to do so.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Neat. What's this? What's this, huh? Oh, neat. [looks at the epi-pen] What does this say here? Anall-phyl... How do you say that word, Jan? Anaphylactic. What does that word mean?

JAN HASECK: [gasping] Can't... breathe.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, you can't breathe? Is this for when your throat closes up from allergies, like from pollen? 'Cause that's what I get. Or maybe it's the crushed peanuts I sprinkled on your hot dog.

[In between gasps for air, Jan looks up at Michael in shock.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah, I talked to the chef at the hotel. Seems like you're allergic to peanuts. Well, now that you've shot me, and I hold your life in my hands, I think it's time we talked.

[Jan lunges across the table, desperately trying to grab the epi-pen. Michael holds him at bay.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, no, no, no. Don't, don't, don't. Jan. Jan. After we talk, you get this. I need to know what you know about my situation.

JAN HASECK: Don't... know... much.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Come on, Jan. You're a pro. You must have asked around. Why was I burned? Who did this to me? Come on, Jan. I need to know what you know. Now would be the time to tell me.

JAN HASECK: Lot of people... want you dead... from old days. Now you out. No one to protect... That's all.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Why was I burned? Who did this to me? Jan.

[Jan weakly drops his head on the table.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [frustrated] Jan!

[Knowing that he can't get more from Jan, he goes over to Jan's side and stabs his right thigh with the epi-pen. Taking Jan's hand, he forces Jan to hold the pen, as the epinephrine flows into his system. Michael then crouches and zip-ties Jan's right leg to the park bench. Pulling out his cell phone, he calls Sam.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Sam, you know Toni's All American Hot Dog down by the boardwalk? [doesn't need an answer] 'Course you do. Get your FBI guys over there right away with an ambulance. If this doesn't get them off your ass, I don't know what will.

[Hanging up, he walks away.]


CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. Michael lies asleep in bed. Outside, a thump and footsteps are heard. Michael hears the sound and jumps up in bed, wide awake, a gun held out. He looks around, and gets off the bed. Gun leveled at the door, he walks carefully towards it. Slowly disengaging the shotgun trap, he pulls the door open. Nothing's outside, except for a big yellow smiley-face balloon that has been tied to a bouquet of flowers staircase. Attached to bouquet is a note, which says:

TAKE CARE OF THAT
SHOULDER, WE'LL BE IN
TOUCH SOON.
HUGS AND KISSES,
YOUR OLD
FRIENDS.

Michael picks up the note. Inside, he calls Sam on his cell phone.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Sam, did the FBI pick Jan up last night?

SAM AXE: [from phone] Yeah, I don't think these guys get a lot of action.


INTERCUT WITH:

[Bar. Day. Sam speaks to Michael on his cell phone.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] They were very excited to finally get their hands on a former Soviet Bloc wetwork guy. They were like kids on Christmas.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] What did they get out of him? I mean, he tried to kill me. I assume he's gonna try and finish the job.

SAM AXE: [into phone] Yeah, about that. Uh, I guess they never got a chance to talk to him.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Why is that?

SAM AXE: [from phone] Some guys came by in the middle of the night and took him away.

[Michael takes the bouquet (with the balloon still attached) and walks into the balcony.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] What guys?

SAM AXE: [into phone] Nobody knows. They walked in with some heavy-duty clearances, took Jan off the FBI's hands, and poof, they were gone. Word is they found Jan hanging from his shoelaces.

[Michael, who's watering the flowers in the bouquet, stops.]

SAM AXE: [from phone] I mean, who leaves a guy in a holding cell with shoelaces, right? Anyway, they're calling it a suicide. Michael.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Yeah.

SAM AXE: [from phone] Do you know what's going on?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Looks like whoever burned me has something planned. They don't want me leaving Miami, but they don't want me dead, either.

SAM AXE: [from phone] Do you know why?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Not yet.


FLASH TO WHITE.


[Closing Credits.]

FADE TO BLACK.

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TRANSCRIBED BY RAHUL KUDVA FOR WWW.TWIZTV.COM - FREE TV SCRIPTS DATABASE
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