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Point Break

Point Break

by

James Cameron

&

Kathryn Bigelow

From the Screenplay

by

W. Peter Iliff

FADE IN:

We are in the belly of a wave.

Light refracts in a constant collision of water.

SLOW MOTION, the hallucinatory prisms, like liquid

diamonds taking flight, dreamlike...

EXT.  OCEAN - DUSK

Backlit against a flaming sun a solitary SURFER glides

across the green glassy peak.  TIME IS STRETCHED until his

movements gain a grace and fluidity not of this world.

Total Zen concentration.  Body weight centered, eyes

forward and on the next section.

EXT.  URBAN STREET - DUSK

SLOW MOTION ON a black sedan.

Creeping along store fronts.  Past a Winchell's.

PEOPLE splash steps down rain-washed sidewalks in DREAM

MOTION.  The sedan turns past the FIRST VIRGINIA BANK and

into an alley.

INT.  BLACK SEDAN

TWO MEN and ONE WOMAN in SUSPENDED TIME put on overcoats

and hats.  Under their hats strips of Scotch tape stretch

taut from the base of their nose to their forehead,

hideously distorting their features.  Makes them look like

human PIGS.

EXT.  OCEAN

SILVERY in this light, almost metallic, as if from some

future-scape.  The lone surfer SHREDS a long, endless

right wall.

ACCELERATING INTO REAL TIME -- as he stares into the pit,

digs in, drops into the sweet spot on the wave, hunkers

down.

His moves becoming aggressive, frenzied--

INT.  BLACK SEDAN

An M-16 clip is SMACKED into place and cocked with a

CACHACK!  Ammo clips are SNICK-SNICKED into handgun butts

and a long clip is SSSNICKED into an UZI.

Watches are checked.  The PIG NOSE people nod to each

other.

EXT.  BANK

Pig Nose #1, steals into position near the glass doors,

slams his back to the wall, weapon to cheek, breath fast.

EXT.  OCEAN

FAST NOW -- the surfboard rips a brutal gash in the face

of the wave.  The surfer TRIMS down the line, pivoting the

board and going straight down, CARVING the bottom.  He

slashes viciously back toward the lip and--

In a radical INVERTED AIR ATTACK sails SIX feet above the

wave in an explosion of water--

INT.  BANK

--BAAAAAAMMM!

Glass doors explode OPEN and Pig Nose #1 SPINS inside.  He

fires a burst into the ceiling.  BRRAAMM!!

                         PIG NOSE #1

          EVERYBODY on the floor!

PEOPLE drop.

VERY FAST HERE--

Two bandits handle BANK EMPLOYEES and customers--

Another PIG NOSE watches the door--

Pig Nose #1 moves behind counter, Uzi and canvas sack in

hand.

INT.  SURVEILLANCE VAN

Dark. Monitors SHOW SLOW SCANS of the bank INTERIOR.

Two MEN wear headphones and black windbreakers with FBI

stenciled on the back.  One watches with binoculars.

                         BINOCULARS

          Bingo.  We're on.  Let's go.

          Where's the big college

          quarterback?!  Are you with us,

          Utah?

EXT.  BANK WALL

A MAN in his twenties.  His head spins revealing rain-

slicked hair and face, eyes wide, bright.  An edgy

handsomeness to him.

He pops a stick of Wrigley's in his mouth, rests a shotgun

on one leg and leans against the wall.  He wears a

headset... through which we hear the FBI guy yelling for

him.

This is JOHNNY UTAH.

                         BINOCULARS (FILTERED)

          Utah, where the hell are ya!?

Utah takes his headset off...

INT.  BANK

Pig Nose #1 LEAPS over the counter, holds a canvas sack

filled with booty from tellers' drawers.

                         PIG NOSE #1

          Fuckin' shake it!

Pig Nose #2 nods with his snubby nose, hurries toward the

exit.

EXT.  FIRST VIRGINIA BANK

The bandits burst through the doors and sprint to the

alley where they jump into the SEDAN.  THE DRIVER, the

WOMAN PIG NOSE, punches it and the TIRES WHIRRR on the

slick pavement.

The sedan launches down the alley.

Utah running.  Like a freight train.  Splashing through a

cross-alley.  He doesn't break stride as he slams his

shoulder into a large, steel GARBAGE DUMPSTER.

DRIVING it like a football training sled into the ALLEY

where--

THE SEDAN LOCKS 'EM UP seconds too late as it SKIDS and

SLAMS into it, CRUNCHING into the brick wall and--

Still alive -- GRINDS into reverse back down the alley,

HEADLIGHTS SMASHED, it guns it backward as--

UTAH leaps over the dumpster and sprints after the car.

He has a brick in his right hand.  He cocks it back.

Johnny HEAVES the brick thirty yards and--

SMASH!  The brick EXPLODES into the windshield,

SPIDERWEBBING the glass.

Lady Pignose flinches from the glass fragments thrown into

her face.

                         LADY PIGNOSE

          Son of a bitch!

The car slews backward onto the street, slamming a parked

car.  Lady Pignose slams the thing into DRIVE, cuts the

wheel hard, and punches it, skidding on wet pavement.

UTAH hurtles from the alley.  He leaps, somehow TACKLES

the DRIVER'S door handle and is dragged along the street.

He pulls himself up, reaches inside the window, and whips

the steering wheel hard right.

The SEDAN fishtails into a parked Toyota.  Utah bounces

forward, slamming into the asphalt.  Glass shards and

crushed steel are strewn everywhere, as radiator steam

whistles hot.

Pig Nose #2, riding shotgun, is trapped.  Can't get his

crushed door open.  The DRIVER pushes open her door.

Gropes for her pistol.  Utah springs -- no respect for a

lady.  He slams the door, pins her arm and slams again and

again until the gun drops.  Utah kicks it away as the

woman collapses in pain.

Pig Nose #1 bails out and runs across parking lot.  Utah

leaps up onto the crushed hood and draws down with the

shotgun.

                         UTAH

          Halt.  FBI!

Pig Nose #1 spins.  We sense reckless anger.  He raises

the UZI.  Utah squeezes the trigger.

No death.  No blood.

Just buzzers and flashing bulbs.

Pig Nose's flak vest lights up like a pinball machine.

Utah's laser weapon hit the "kill zone".  Pig Nose rips

the tape off his face and the FBI CADET shakes his head in

disgust.

OBSERVERS step forward.  Bank customers.  Bank tellers.

All FBI personnel.  MEDICAL STAFF offer the woman driver

assistance.  Pig Nose #1 heads for Johnny, but is subdued

by other agents.

                         PIG NOSE #1 (FBI CADET)

          I wanna say just two words to you,

          asshole, SIMU-LATION!!!  Johnny-

          fuckin' Utah.  Guys like you will do

          anything to win!

Utah stares back in defiance.

The SURVEILLANCE van pulls up nearby.

BINOCULARS runs out and pinches two fingers together,

right in Johnny's face.

                         BINOCULARS

          This far, Utah!  You're this far

          from being the most overqualified

          guy Burger King ever had.  Get me?!

                         UTAH

          Yes sir.  Sir?

                         BINOCULARS

          What?

Johnny gestures to the car.

                         UTAH

          I did stop the perpetrators.

Utah turns to go.  As he passes he casually raises his

laser-shotgun and re-triggers Pig Nose's flak vest.

LIGHTS AND BUZZERS.

Pig Nose explodes.  More agents restrain him.

Screams and shoving matches and pissed off guys.

Utah walks off, down the simulated street, past a sign

which bears the FBI SEAL and reads "Combat Village,

Quantico, Virginia."

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

EXT.  PACIFIC OCEAN - DAY

Red sky.  A luminous Pacific.  Five foot faces.  Nice

curl.  A lineup of SURFERS wait outside the break.

Silhouetted, bobbing like a pack of sea mammals.

INT./ EXT.  TAXI

A flood of orange through the windshield as the cab crawls

down Ocean Park to the sea.  CAMERA HANDHELD from the back

seat.

The driver turns to us.

                         DRIVER

          Anywhere?  You don't care?

                         UTAH (V.O.)

          Anywhere.  I've just never seen the

          ocean before.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  VENICE BEACH

JOHNNY UTAH trudging across the sand, holding his shoes.

Garment bag and a big duffel over his shoulder.

He looks silly in his dark suit, tie loosened, wearing a

turned around baseball cap.

He wiggles his toes in the sand, looks around like a kid.

A pack of BOUNCING BEAUTIES jog through frame.

Utah grins, reaches up and turns his cap around.

It reads "I Love L.A."

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  FEDERAL BUILDING

Looking down the face of the concrete monolith at Wilshire

and Veteran.  Ant-like, Johnny Utah's tiny figure moves

toward the entrance.

                         VOICE (OVER)

          Day One in LA, special agent Utah.

          You may have been top two percent of

          your class at Quantico but you have

          exactly zero hours in the field

          here.  You know nothing...

INT.  FEDERAL BUILDING - FBI BULLPEN

Supervising Agent BEN HARP leads Utah across the bullpen.

Rows of desks.  Agents sitting at computer terminals.

Data hell.  Looks like he got a job at Xerox.

                         HARP

          You know less than nothing.  If you

          even knew that you knew nothing, at

          least that would be something, but

          you don't.

                         UTAH

          Yes, sir.

Utah is wearing a suit, carrying a briefcase.  Harp is

mid-thirties, confident of stride, tanned of skin, perfect

of hair.  GQ.  Aggressive.

                         HARP

          Eating solid breakfasts, Utah?

                         UTAH

          Sir?

                         HARP

          All the food groups?  Avoiding

          sugar?  Caffeine?  I see to it that

          my people maintain cardiovascular

          fitness.  We stay off hard liquor,

          cigarettes...

                         UTAH

                  (poker face)

          I take the skin off chicken.

Harp glances at him, eyes narrowing.  They reach a

glassed-in compound of small offices.  Harp swings the

door open and the other agents look up as Utah enters.

                         HARP

          This is us.  Bank Robbery.  And

          you're in the bank-robbery capital

          of the world--

                         UTAH

          1322 last year in LA county.  Up 26

          percent from the year before.

                         HARP

          That's right.  And we nailed over a

          thousand of them.  We did it by

          crunching data.  Good crime-scene

          work, good lab work, good data-base

          analysis.  Nobody had to tackle a

          car once.  You getting the signal,

          special agent?

                         UTAH

          Zero distortion, sir.

He picks up a donut from someone's desk, a succulent

glazed jelly.

                         UTAH

          I love these things.

He looks right at Harp.  Takes a big fuck-you bite.

                         HARP

          You're a real blue-flame special,

          aren't you, Utah?  I don't know why

          they sent you to LA.  Must be an

          asshole shortage.

                         UTAH

          Not so far.

                                            CUT TO:

UNDERWATER

A blue field with a pulsing network of rippling lines.

VOOM!  A figure rockets down INTO FRAME in a curtain of

bubbles.  A gawky AGENT, in less than stylish FBI trunks,

flails around blindfolded looking for bricks at the bottom

of a pool.

INT.  GYMNASIUM POOL - DAY

The pool casts wavy distortions upon TWO DOZEN MEN, all

grumbling as they stand in line, wearing T-shirts with FBI

logos, sweats and sneakers.  We hear a splash, and the men

shuffle forward.

                         PAPPAS (V.O.)

          The dolls love this baby.  It brings

          them luck when they rub it -- right

          between their buttons.

CLOSE ON tape measure wrapped around a generous belly.

PULL BACK to reveal VETERAN AGENT COREY measuring the

ample waist of ANGELO PAPPAS.  This 54 year old silver

haired Greek stands rubbing his belly like a Zulu chief.

                         COREY

          Angelo, we need a bigger tape.

                         PAPPAS

          Just read the goddamn number.

                         COREY

          Still a 46.  Maybe we can cinch it

          down, wear a girdle--

                         PAPPAS

          Screw you and this holistic fitness

          crap!  At least my arms don't flap

          in the wind.

Corey secretly squeezes his bicep as...

A whistle blows.  A broad shouldered MAN wearing an FBI

cap barks at the Greek.

                         BIG SHOULDERS

          Okay, Pappas, let's put on the

          blindfold.  Wanna see you retrieve

          at least two bricks from the bottom.

JOHNNY UTAH enters the pool area in the distance.  Says

something to one of the agents.  Is pointed toward us as--

Corey ties the blindfold and guides Pappas to the edge of

the pool.

                         PAPPAS

          I've been in the field 33 years,

          fired my piece 23 times in the line

          of duty, and I got no idea what a

          blind man fetching bricks has gotta

          do with being a Special Agent!

Johnny has walked up.  Pappas, blindfolded, turns directly

to Utah as he continues, thinking it's Corey.

                         PAPPAS

          Added to which indignity, I got

          three months left to retirement and

          they saddle me with some blue-flamer

          fresh out of Quantico for a partner.

          Some quarterback punk, Johnny Unitas

          or something.

                         UTAH

          The shit they pull, huh?

Pappas snorts agreement and cannonballs into the pool.

Huge backblast of water.  The other agents hoot and

holler.

Corey swears and wipes off his clipboard.

Johnny steps to the edge, looks down.

We see the blindfolded Pappas groveling along the bottom.

The other agents cheer as Pappas heads for the surface.

                         COREY

          Here he comes.  Hold up a fish,

          he'll take it right outta your hand.

Pappas surfaces in an explosion of spray as he sputters

for breath.  He grabs the edge and angrily slaps two

bricks on the tiles.  He rips off the blindfold looks up

and frowns.

A HAND ENTERS FRAME to help him up.  Pappas takes it and

Johnny hauls him on deck.

                         COREY

          Hey Shamu, this is your guy.

Pappas eyes the new agent warily.  Extends his hand.

                         PAPPAS

          Pappas.  Angelo Pappas.

                         UTAH

          Punk.  Quarterback Punk.

                         PAPPAS

                  (grinning)

          Welcome to Sea World, kid.

INT.  SEDAN - DAY

SERIES OF TIGHT SHOTS

ECU sweep hand of a dive watch clicks through the

seconds.

Magnum shells are fed into a pump shotgun.

Velcro straps of Second Chance body armor are fastened.

White gloves are pulled snug over strong hands.

A silk tie is straightened.  A shotgun slide is cocked.

The sweep hand approaches the twelve.

A LATEX MASK is pulled over the back of a man's head.

                         VOICE

          The little hand says...

The mask turns into FULL CLOSE-UP.  It is RONALD REAGAN.

                         REAGAN

          ... let's rock and roll.

INT.  BANK OF AMERICA

Business as usual.  The scene so normal you know something

is about to happen.  An exiting MAN stuffs bucks into his

wallet, reaching for the door which--

SLAMS INWARD.  He is hit by a wall of EX-PRESIDENTS.

REAGAN charges in with his buddies RICHARD M. NIXON,

LYNDON BAINES JOHNSON and JOHN F. KENNEDY.

Reagan throws the poor guy skidding across the floor.

Nixon buttstrokes a guard, hard in the nuts, with his 12

gauge.

The other guard goes for his holster -- finds himself

facing three shotguns and one very large handgun.

Reagan sights down the pistol.

                         REAGAN

          Use a gun, go to heaven.

The guard freezes.  White and sweaty.

Tricky Dick slips up to him and collects the pistol.

Kennedy covers the stunned customers.

Johnson backs up against the door jam, watching the

street, and the sedan idling at the curb.

                         REAGAN

          EVERYBODY FREEZE!!  That's right.

          ALL TELLERS step back from the

          counter!  Hands on heads!  MOVE!!

Nixon and Reagan move quickly to the counter as the

tellers comply.

                         REAGAN

          Everybody else on the floor!  Do it!

          On the floor, let's go.

                         NIXON

          SUCK LINOLEUM, BITCH!!  You got

          earwax?!

Nixon grabs a stunned woman by the arm and hurls her to

the floor.

She lands hard.  Everyone is on the deck by now.

The Presidents move fast.

Reagan leaps onto the counter.  Stands up where he can see

all.

Nixon hurdles to tellers' side and they start moving down

the line together.  Reagan controlling the room as Nixon

quickly empties the tellers' cash drawers into the sack.

His hands move like lightning.

                         REAGAN

          Just stay cool.  Everybody stay

          cool.  Heads down.  Eyes down.  The

          money's insured--

TIGHT ON -- MONEY flying into the sack.

                         REAGAN

          -- it's not worth dying for.

          Another 45 seconds of your time.

          That's all.  Then -- Whoa, Tricky

          Dick!

Nixon pulls a pack of twenties back out of the bag and

tosses it to the BANK MANAGER.  Who reflexively catches

it.

Then drops it like a hot-potato just before--

It EXPLODES into a cloud of blue ink.  The manager is dyed

blue.

Burnt money showers on the terrified customers.

LBJ looks at his watch and WHISTLES.

The bandits sprint for the front doors.

Kennedy exits first, followed by Reagan.

LBJ pauses under the surveillance camera, drops his

trousers and MOONS.  Thank you is written across his white

butt.

BLACK AND WHITE VIDEO MONITOR--

High angle, distorted wide shot.  LBJ hoists his pants and

splits, followed out by Nixon, who exits backward with the

famous double peace-sign held high overhead.

IMAGE FREEZES.  Victorious Nixon, grainy... something from

a time warp.  The image SUDDENLY GOES INTO HIGH-SPEED

REVERSE.  The bank robbery sequence zips backward.

                         PAPPAS (V.O.)

          Twenty-seven banks in three years.

          In and out in 90 seconds.  Nobody

          ever gets shot.  We're talking solid

          professionals.

WE ARE IN--

INT.  BANK CRIME SCENE - LATER

UTAH & PAPPAS are watching a monitor in the glassed-in

office.  The robbery REPLAYS on grainy BLACK & WHITE

videotape.

The bandits barge in, raise shotguns and order everybody

to the floor.

                         UTAH

          Good move.

                         PAPPAS

          Yeah, they control the room well.

          Stick strictly to the cash drawers.

VIDEO TAPE -- Utah is reverse-scanning.  The bandits walk

BACKWARD into the bank.  The explosion of blue ink is

sucked back into the pack of money, then leaps back into

President Nixon's hand.

                         UTAH

          They don't go for the vault?

                         PAPPAS

          Never go for the vault.  They never

          get greedy.

                         UTAH

          Smart.  You burn time in the vault.

                         PAPPAS

          Reagan usually drives.  Stolen

          switch car, they leave it running at

          the curb, looks parked from a

          distance.  When they run, they dump

          the vehicle and vanish.  And I mean

          vanish.

Utah stops the video, now FAST-FORWARDING it, stopping

where President Nixon separates the exploding "dye pack"

planted with the money, before he tosses it aside.

                         UTAH

          Surgical.  Look at them separate the

          dye packs.  Dick and Ronny know

          their jobs.

                         PAPPAS

          The Ex-Presidents are the best I've

          seen, kid.

Outside the windowed partition POLICE OFFICERS interview

frightened customers.

Hotshot agents MUNOZ and COLE enter from the main floor of

the bank.  Think they're very slick.

                         MUNOZ

          Anytime you two are finished jerking

          off watching MTV I need to get a

          look at that tape.

                         COLE

                  (sloppy grin)

          Hey, Pappas, you tell the kid your

          theory on the Presidents?

                         PAPPAS

          Just take the tape, Cole.

Now Munoz starts to smile.

                         MUNOZ

          Hang ten, Pappas, like totally

          rad...

                  (to Utah)

          I gotta tell ya, the department

          loves it.

                         UTAH

          What's he talking about, Angelo?

Harp raps glass.  Cole and Munoz look sharp.

Harp enters addressing Pappas and Utah.

                         HARP

          They found the drop car up on

          Mulholland.  I want you two to go

          work it.

                         PAPPAS

          What?  Now I'm working the drop car?

          Who's handling the scene here?

                         HARP

          Cole and Munoz.  I'm uh... letting

          them run with the ball for a while.

Cole and Munoz gloat.

                         PAPPAS

          Cole and Munoz?  I been on this case

          for two years.

                         HARP

                  (zeroing in on

                   Pappas)

          That's the point, isn't it?

                         PAPPAS

          Yeah, I get it.  Time to play let's

          dick the old guys, huh, Harp?

                         HARP

          Supervising Special Agent, Harp.

          Now I want you to go work the drop

          car, okay, Angelo?  Okay?

The Greek rises like a proud bull.

                         PAPPAS

          Sure.  No problem.  How about your

          office?  Your office need vacuuming?

          We could do that too.

Pappas and Utah move toward the door.  It's a tight

squeeze as they pass Cole and Munoz.  Especially Pappas.

                         PAPPAS

          Excuse me.

Read as fuck you.

EXT.  MULHOLLAND SCENIC TURNOUT - NIGHT

The diamond field of LA glitters below.  The small parking

area off Mulholland is filled with squad cars.  Red and

blue disco.

A flock of UNIFORMS milling about a non-descript CHEVY.

INT.  SEDAN FRONT SEAT

FLASHLIGHT BEAM prowls the interior, stopping on a small

printed card, folded like a pup tent, left upon the bench

seat.  It reads "Sanitized For Your Protection."

                         PAPPAS

          Cute huh?  They love to fuck with

          us.

UTAH & PAPPAS pull their heads out of the sedan.  Forensic

expert, HALSEY, stands behind them.

                         PAPPAS

          Don't tell me, let me guess.  The

          switch-car was stolen this morning...

                  (Halsey is nodding

                   his head)

          They vacuumed and 409'd the

          interior, did the windows, emptied

          the ashtrays...

                         HALSEY

          Yeah, the usual drill.

Utah pulls on a rubber glove and lifts the card off the

seat.  Studies it.  Talks to Halsey like Halsey's the one

that just out of Quantico, not Utah.

                         UTAH

          Could've taken their gloves off

          before setting that card.  Laser it

          for prints.  Maybe held it to his

          teeth -- check the edges for saliva.

                  (a beat)

          Today was a scorcher.  This Chevy

          doesn't have air conditioning...

                         HALSEY

          Sweat secretions in the seatbacks?

                         PAPPAS

          You through, Mr. Wizard?  Let me

          know if you find Jimmy Hoffa under

          the seat while you're at it.

                  (looks at his watch)

          Hell, it's only 7:30.  The night's

          still young... you can solve this

          case and start on another one.

                         UTAH

          Well, what're your ideas on these

          guys?

                         PAPPAS

          Forget about it, kid.  They're

          ghosts.  Let the goddamn yuppie

          Mormon affirmative action assholes

          handle it.  See I'm almost 55... so

          I must be senile, right?  They

          better get me out before I start

          pissing myself in public.  Drooling.

          It would look bad for the Bureau,

          right?

                         UTAH

          So you're gonna coast to retirement,

          when you could nail these guys and

          go out with come dignity.

                         PAPPAS

          You watch your fucking mouth!

                  (pounds his chest)

          Mr. Hoover himself pinned the Seal

          of Honor right here!

The two men glare at each other.  Utah looks away.

                         UTAH

          Sorry.

                         PAPPAS

          Yeah.  That was thirty years ago

          anyway.

                  (stares out at the

                   bright horizon)

          L.A.'s changed a lot since then.

          The air got dirty and the sex got

          clean.

                  (after a beat)

          So you want to nail the Ex-

          Presidents?  Be a big hero?

                         UTAH

          Yeah.  What's your theory?

                         PAPPAS

          The fucking punks are surfers.

                                            CUT TO:

GRAINY BLACK & WHITE VIDEO WITH TIME CODE

Ex-Presidents charge into bank, raise shotguns.

Image STOPS, then FAST-FORWARDS to the end.

WE ARE IN--

INT.  FEDERAL BUILDING - BULLPEN - NIGHT

Dark, lit by the TV at the far end of the bullpen.  PAPPAS

and UTAH sit in front of the flickering Sony in the big

empty room.  Angelo punches a button on the VCR.

ON THE SCREEN--

LBJ turns his back to the fish-eye lens, drops trousers

and moons the camera.  Thank you.

Angelo FREEZES on LBJ'S butt.

                         PAPPAS

          I'm tellin' ya, kid, it's in our

          face.  Lookit the tan on this guy.

The young agent looks forward.

Stares at the white inscribed butt bracketed by deep

bronze tan lines.

                         UTAH

          Oh well he must be a surfer.

                         PAPPAS

          Shutup, you might learn somethin'

          you're not careful... So last year

          Nixon scuffs a counter going over.

          There was a soil sample.  Non-

          specific mud traces of asphalt,

          oils, blah, blah... sand and...

          carnuba wax.  So I became a wax

          expert.  There's 80 some uses for

          this stuff, something like five

          hundred products.

He tosses Utah a ream of computer printout.  Utah scans

lists of brand names.

                         UTAH

          Candle wax.  Car wax.  Mustache wax?

          Could be anything.  Guy's waxing his

          mustache at the beach.  Gets sand in

          it.  Wipes it off with a shoe.  Shoe

          scuffs the counter.

                         PAPPAS

          The lab made three possible matches,

          this was one of 'em.

Pappas opens his desk drawer, takes something out and

throws it to Johnny.  A pastel blue hockey puck wrapped in

cellophane.

A block of "Mr. Zog's Sex Wax".

                         UTAH

                  (reading)

          Sex wax?  You're not into kinky

          shit, are you Angelo?

                         PAPPAS

          Surfers use it on their boards.

          They rub sand into it for traction.

                         UTAH

          Thanks for the tip.  I needed this

          knowledge.

Pappas shoves a thick file folder toward Utah.

                         PAPPAS

          Now lookit the dates on the

          robberies.  This is strictly a

          summer job for these guys.

Johnny leafs through it.

                         UTAH

          ... Four months.  June to October.

          Mmmm...same the year before.

                         PAPPAS

          Another month and we don't see 'em

          again 'til next summer.

Utah stares at Angelo as it dawns.  Grins suddenly.

                         UTAH

          They're traveling the rest of the

          year on the money, going where the

          waves are...

Pappas starts to smile.  Suddenly, he jumps up onto his

desk, gets down in a speed-crouch, arms extended.

                         PAPPAS

                  (to one and all)

          The Ex-Presidents rip off banks to

          finance their endless summer!

Johnny watches, grinning.  The night security GUARD walks

in.  Utah turns to the guard, shrugs.

                         UTAH

          I think he needs a vacation.

The guard nods understanding.

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  SURFSHOP - MALIBU PIER - DAY

Long stack-up rack of gleaming SURFBOARDS.

A HAND reaches in, pulling out a board from the middle of

the deck.

JOHNNY UTAH hefts it.  Sights along it.  Trying to look

familiar with alien equipment.  Behind him is a whip-thin

15 YEAR OLD SALESMAN.  Nut-brown with platinum hair,

jammed day-glo shorts, sleeveless T-shirt, unlaced Ug-

boots.

                         15

          Highest performance, very kind.  If

          you want to get aggro, man, this

          stick can handle your best rage.

          Where you surf?

                         UTAH

          I don't.

                         15

          Whoa!!  Back up!  This's a 5'6" tri-

          fin squash-tail thruster.  You'd eat

          major shit on this, dude.

ACROSS THE ROOM we see Pappas trying on purple wraparound

sunglasses.

The salespunk pulls down a wide board with a garish

firebird paint scheme.  Like a lowrider flame-job.  The

logo reads "Dance with the Universe."

                         15

          Here, you need a rhino chaser like

          this one to learn on.  Good board.

          I mean for a pig board.

Utah hefts the board.  Scowls.  Hates anything he's not

great at.

PAPPAS sets his purchases on a counter: the glasses, some

plutonium-pink shorts, T-shirts, sun-block.  The GIRL

behind the counter is sixteen, barely contained in a

macrame bikini-top and "Dolphin" shorts.  Angelo picks up

a package of Sex Wax from a rack.  Sniffs it.

                         PAPPAS

                  (reading the label)

          "Best for your stick", huh?  This

          might not be enough.  I better get

          two.

The girl stifles a grin.  Thinks he's cute.  At the other

end of the counter, 15 is ringing up Utah's board.

                         15

          Hey, man, guys your age learning to

          surf, it's cool, there's nothing

          wrong with it.

                         UTAH

          I'm twenty-five.

                         15

          See that's what I'm saying, it's

          never too late.

Utah picks up the board and moves to leave.

                         15

          Hope you stay with it.  Surfin's

          the source.  It'll change your life.

          Swear to God.

EXT.  MALIBU PIER - DAY

Utah and Pappas walking back to the car.

Two FBI agents in suits and ties walking with a day-glo

orange surfboard.  Surreal image.  The ocean shimmers in

B.G.

                         PAPPAS

          Johnny, it's the only way.

                         UTAH

          Why can't I just walk around with

          this thing under my arm and act

          stoned?  Ask a few questions.

Angelo stops at the railing, points toward the ocean.

                         PAPPAS

          Look.  Look at them out there.

LONG LENS on packs of surfers sitting outside.  Bobbing

slowly.  Hunched like sea birds.  Waiting for an unseen

sign.  Disappearing and reappearing beyond the break.

                         PAPPAS

          They're like some kind of tribe.

          Got their own language.  You can't

          just walk up to these guys.  You've

          got to get out there.  Learn some

          moves.  Get into their head.  Pick

          up the speech.

                         UTAH

          Angelo, this stuff is for little

          rubber people who don't shave yet.

                         PAPPAS

          It's all balance, right?  And

          coordination.  How hard can it be?

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  SURFRIDER BEACH - DAY

WHAAAAAM!  Johnny is CLOBBERED by a wave.

He's flipped off his board and hits the water face-first

as the wave crashes over him.  Other surfers steer clear.

PAPPAS lounges in a beach chair in his plutonium pink

shorts, purple Vuarnet's and a T-shirt emblazoned with

"Surf This" across the chest.  A picnic basket sits close

at hand.  He winces at Utah's wipeout.  Shouts from his

beach chair.

                         PAPPAS

          I think you gotta hit them straight

          on!

                         UTAH

                  (out of breath)

          Got it...

UTAH holds the tip steady, gouges the face of a wave and

squirts out the other side.  Another wave rises and Utah

glides up over the hump.  He clears the swell and the

ocean suddenly smooths out like a giant lake.  Triumphant

over having made the lineup, he sits up on the board, and

falls over.

PAPPAS slices a green apple, some feta cheese and eats off

the knife.

UTAH climbs back on his board.  WHISTLES and HOOTS sound

as SURFERS spot a new swell.  Utah watches as the regulars

start catching rides.  Suddenly he feels like a lost dog

on a busy freeway.

A young LOCAL in a neon wetsuit slashes past him, inches

away.

                         LOCAL

          Outta the way, you dick!

Another, shredding viciously, is blasting toward him.

                         LOCAL 2

          Move it, kook!

Johnny paddles rapidly, ducks under.

Sees another, bigger wave coming.

Pissed off... at himself, at the downy-cheeked hotshots,

at the frustration, he turns his board around and starts

paddling hard.

He somehow gets the soles of his feet in contact with the

top of the board, then struggles up.  He's standing --

sort of.

Arms pinwheeling, he topples in a nasty crash...

Right in front of a SHAVED-HEAD SURFER on full

afterburner.

Johnny vanishes in an explosion of spray.  His board

SHOOTS OUT.

It SMASHES SIDEWAYS INTO RAZORHEAD.

The guy does an ugly endo.

Utah comes up GASPING for air, arms flailing.

His board, floating a few feet away, tugging at his ankle.

He drapes his torso across the board and pants for breath.

Razorhead, already back on his board, paddles over.

Points to a small dent in the fiberglass.

                         RAZORHEAD

          You dinged my board, kook!!

Utah looks up in apology as--

A CRUSHING RIGHT HOOK SMACKS HIS FACE!

Knocks him under.

Razorhead pulls a KNIFE from a sheath held by a thong

around his neck.  As Johnny surfaces, Razorhead slashes in

a vicious arc--

Severing Utah's leash, close to the board.

His flame-job surfboard bobs away.

                         RAZORHEAD

          Politeness counts, ASSHOLE!

The surf punk plunges under a wave, disappearing.

                         UTAH

          Goddamn son-of-a--

Before Utah can finish, another wave engulfs him and he

tumbles to shore, Razorhead nowhere to be seen.

ON PAPPAS as Johnny's flame-job board washes in at his

feet.  He calmly picks it up as Utah staggers INTO FRAME

out of the knee-deep whitewash.  Johnny rubs his jaw.

Spits blood.

                         PAPPAS

          Kid, maybe this ain't your sport.

Utah grabs the board out of Pappas' hands and stalks off

across the beach.

INT.  UTAH'S BEDROOM - NIGHT

Johnny dead asleep.  Silence.  Then BRRRRR!!

He jacknifes up like he just took 20,000 volts.  His eyes

read panic.  He rolls up, legs scissor against tangled

sheets and he collapses over empty boxes.  He stumbles

like a blind man through the mess until he finds--

A tiny Indianapolis Colts FOOTBALL HELMET with a digital

clock for eyes.  5:00 a.m.  Johnny emits a drawn out

groan.

EXT.  OCEAN - DAWN

Deafening BOOM as a monster wave CRASHES below a sky the

color of slate.  A distant Pacific storm has brought the

swell.  10 foot faces.  Glassy, green walls the size of

houses beckoning from beyond the soup.

A lone FIGURE bobbing out beyond the break.

The surfer disappears behind the swell.

Then REAPPEARS, grinning across the smooth offshore

barrel.

UTAH wearing a wetsuit stands beside his surfboard,

craning forward to get a better look.

The surfer is a WOMAN.

She moves with liquid grace, in perfect harmony with the

sea, long hair flying out behind her.  She undulates like

a dancer.

Dipping, carving, slicing, making it look sooooo easy.

Johnny shakes his head.  Oh man, if she can do it...

                         UTAH

          Fuck it.

He stands, grabs his board and heads out into the icy

foam.

OCEAN BREAK

A horizon of whitecaps churn behind him.

He lies on his board, rising and dropping with the swell.

So far so good.  He spots a wave.  A fluid gray-green

house rising, forever rising.  Utah turns.  Paddles.  The

house catching him, lifting him high upon its roof.

Utah is committed.  He gets to his feet as his board

slices along the lip.  He peers over the falls, down the

face -- holy shit!  -- it looks like Niagara.  He loses

balance and spirals airborne, falling bullseye into the

IMPACT ZONE.  The entire force of the wave crashing upon

him, plunging him down into the--

WASHING MACHINE (UNDERWATER)

where he SPINS like a whirling dervish, LASHED to a

slamdancing surfboard at the mercy of God.

He is held prisoner in a grey-green churning nightmare,

like a six-ton pit bull has him by the neck, shaking him.

He looks around.  Can't tell up from down.

WHAM!  His head slams into the bottom -- rocks and sand.

Stunned, he struggles toward the light, finally bursting

to the--

SURFACE.  Gasping for breath.

The good news is he's breathing, the bad news is he's

surfaced in the impact zone.  Another wave crashes down,

stuffing him back into the washing machine.  Leaving no

sign of life in the white froth.  The orangeade surfboard

launches high into the sky, spinning like a misfiring

Trident missile, trailing its broken leash like a kite

tail.

IN THE WASHING MACHINE, Utah tumbles in a cold green hell.

His chest is convulsing, needing air now.

Suddenly a FIGURE lunges down INTO FRAME.

A hand snatches a fistful of his hair and yanks him

toward--

THE SURFACE.  The WOMAN SURFER bursts through the foam.

Grabs her board for leverage.  Hauls Utah's head above the

water with one strong arm.

He is choking, coughing, slapping fatigued arms against

the surf, panic registering in his movements.

                         WOMAN SURFER

                  (yelling above the

                   roar)

          Swim, goddammit!  Come on!  Move

          it!

The woman gets her board under one of his arms for support

and sidekicks fiercely into the wave, holding him in a

painful grip.

With powerful strokes, she helps Utah make it to calmer

water outside the break.  The big waves, just forming up,

lift them and drop them as they pass.  Muted thunder when

the waves hit the beach.  She drags him half onto her

surfboard.

Practically slamming his face into the board.

He's coughing out saltwater.

ON THE WOMAN, our first good look at her.

She is EXQUISITE.  Hair slicked tight to her high-

cheekboned face, she looks sleek and feral, with eyes that

burn bright.

Especially when she's pissed.

                         WOMAN

          Look crazy son of a bitch!  You

          wanna commit suicide, you do it

          someplace else!

She undoes her leash and swims rapidly off, returning in a

few seconds with Johnny's board.  He takes it from her and

flops over it, still coughing.

Wipes at the salt-snot running out of his nose.

There is a cut over his eye from when he re-arranged the

rocks on the bottom.

                         WOMAN

          Look at this pig-board piece-a-shit.

          It's still got the price tag on it,

          for Chrissakes.  What'd you do, buy

          it yesterday?  You've got no

          business out here whatsoever.

Still gagging and gasping, Johnny manages a goofy grin.

                         UTAH

          Well, I saw you and--

                         WOMAN

          Yeah, you saw me and you figured

          that if a mere girl can do it, a big

          strong stud like you shouldn't have

          any problem.  Right?!  Well you

          figured wrong, dork!

She yanks her board around and strokes powerfully away

from him.

                         UTAH

          Hey!  Uh, how do I get back in?

                         WOMAN

                  (without turning)

          Carefully, tough guy.  Very

          carefully.

                         UTAH

                  (yelling now)

          My name's Johnny Utah!

                         WOMAN

          Who cares!

                         UTAH

          I'm telling you so when you look

          back on this moment, you can

          think... there was this guy named

          Utah and he was pretty much a dork

          but maybe not such a bad person and

          I let him drown in conditions he had

          no business being in whatsoever...

          when I could have easily helped him.

Johnny calmly starts paddling toward shore.

Thundering white water pounding the rocks ahead of him.

He's stoic in the face of certain death.

                         UTAH

                  (over his shoulder,

                   gamely)

          Bye.

                         WOMAN

          Wait!  Jesus Christ!

                  (swimming back to

                   him)

          You're fucking crazy, you know that?

          You go in there you're gonna eat it

          on the rocks.  Here, follow me.

The woman paddles parallel to the shore and Utah pumps

along behind her.  She gets him away from the rocks, then

starts watching the incoming swell, timing it to the lull

between sets...

                         WOMAN

          Go when I say.  But stay down.  Just

          lie on the board.  Alright, let's

          go!

Utah paddles rapidly, following her, watching what she

does.

He is borne up by a low glassy wall.

He bellyboards all the way into the mushy shorebreak.

Tumbles.  Stands unsteadily, grabbing his board.  Runs

clumsily out of the retreating foam as another wave comes,

sucking water out.

On terra firma he looks back to see the woman kick-out

gracefully and disappear beyond the wave.

He flops on the sand.  Shivering.  Miserable.

EXT.  COAST HIGHWAY - LATER

LONG LENS... the woman is peeling off her wetsuit next to

a BATHTUB PORSCHE that needs a paint job.  Her board is

propped in the passenger seat.  Stereo is pumping.

UTAH WATCHES THROUGH BINOCULARS from 50 yards up the road.

THE WOMAN, in a bikini, towels off briskly.

Swimmer's shoulders.  Long muscular legs.  Lean and mean.

She jumps into the car without bothering to open the door.

Looks at her watch -- her manner is late, in a hurry.

Through the tiny windshield we watch her shimmy and shake

as she pulls her bottoms off and struggles into something

else, not too concerned about the morning traffic right

next to her.

She pulls on a T-shirt and them performs a Houdini act to

extract the bikini top out of one sleeve hole.

UTAH WATCHES IMPASSIVELY.  He starts his car and pulls out

onto PCH to follow as the bathtub Porsche zooms past.

EXT.  NEPTUNE'S NET

Utah cruises up slowly, pulls off the road.

Up ahead the Porsche turns into the parking lot of

NEPTUNE'S NET, a Coast Highway hangout that serves high-

grade steamed sea-critters and beer to low-grade road

trash, bikers and surfers.

Lean-and-Mean, wearing jeans and T-shirt, jumps out of the

Porsche.  She hurries to the door of the Net, unlocking it

for a couple of Mexican cooks -- helpers wearing

expressions like they wait like this for her every day.

UTAH puts down his binoculars and jots the Porsche's

license number down on a Tastee-Freeze bag.  867CDH.

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  COMPUTER ROOM - DAY

Green glow washes the intent faces of Utah and Pappas as

MISS DEER data specialist, enters 867 CDH into her

computer.

She is purebred American Indian, strong featured and

beautiful.

The screen freezes and the hard disk churns.

The DMV rap sheet scrolls down the screen.

                         PAPPAS

          This is your surfer contact?

          Female.  Blond hair.  Green eyes.

          5'6".  119 lbs?

                         MISS DEER

          Hmm, not bad, Utah.

                         UTAH

          Tyler Ann Endicott.  Born 11-27-64.

The rap sheet scrolls and scrolls and scrolls.  There is

something frightening about the length of this file.

                         UTAH

                  (reading from the

                   screen)

          ... Exhibition of speed.  Indecent

          exposure inside moving vehicle...

                         MISS DEER

          Hot, very hot.

                         UTAH

          Felony arrest!  "See adjoining

          file"...

                  (he types quickly)

          Kidnapping?!

Pappas crowds over Johnny's shoulder, reading.

                         PAPPAS

          This is great.  She ties some guy

          up.  Nude.  Leaves the scene and

          fails to return for 24 hours.  No

          convection.

                         MISS DEER

          Gotta avoid the rope tricks, Johnny.

Utah gives her a "very funny" look.  More data scrolls

forth.

                         UTAH

          What else they got on her?  I still

          haven't found anything I can really

          use.  I gotta find an approach, a

          way in -- here we go...

                  (he reads)

          Both parents deceased.  Plane crash.

          San Diego, '84.  Mmmm.  Yeah,

          definitely.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  NEPTUNE'S NET - DAY

A fat biker pulls out on a loud Harley (like there's any

other kind).  The place is almost empty in the weekend

lull between lunch and dinner.

Utah's car pulls in off PCH.

INT.  NEPTUNE'S NET

Tyler Endicott is working the counter.  She jams an order

on the wheel and turns TO US.

                         TYLER

          Next!  Oh, no.

REVERSE ON Johnny standing there.  Her only customer.

                         TYLER

          What do you want?

                         UTAH

          Shrimp and fries.

                         TYLER

          I mean, what do you want?  What are

          you doing hanging around here.

                         UTAH

                  (very serious)

          I need you to teach me.

                         TYLER

          Gimme a break.

                  (to cook)

          One shrimp and fries to go!

                  (to Johnny)

          Anything to drink?

                         UTAH

          I'm serious.

                         TYLER

          I can see that.  But forget it.

          Stick to tennis, or whatever you're

          good at.  Miniature golf.  Here,

          your number's 37.

                         UTAH

          Well, I'm just gonna go back out

          there till I catch on to it or break

          my neck.

She's looking at him.  This guy's nuts.  She laughs.

                         TYLER

          What is it?  You all of a sudden got

          this bug you had to go surfing?

          This is a line, right?

                         UTAH

          No, no.  See, all my life I've done

          things for other people.  In high

          school I played football because my

          old man expected me to.  Then my

          parents always figured I'd go to law

          school, so I did.  Football

          scholarship.  Graduated Phi Beta

          Kappa--

                         TYLER

          This gonna take long?

                         UTAH

          Wait, so I'm a big hero to my folks,

          right?

                  (he leans forward, a

                   little awkward)

          But two years ago they got killed in

          a car wreck and I just suddenly

          realized all my goals had been their

          goals.  And I hadn't been living my

          own life.  So I wanted something for

          myself.  Something that maybe didn't

          make any sense.  You know what I

          mean?

Tyler's smile has faded during this.  He's managed to

touch her, break through the tough-waitress act.  Now

she's looking him right in the eye.

                         UTAH

          I came out here from Ohio a month

          ago.  Never saw the ocean before.  I

          didn't think it would effect me so

          much.  Like I'm drawn to it, or

          something.  I want to do what you

          do.  It's the truth.

                         TYLER

          Tomorrow, 6 AM.  Here.  If you're a

          minute late I'm gone.

                  (he's grinning)

          And Stud... I didn't take you to

          raise.  I can show you a few things

          but after that you're on your own.

          That'll be four fifty.

He plunks down a ten and backs out the door, grinning.

                         UTAH

          Keep the change, Teach.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  BEACH - DAWN

UTAH & TYLER walk across the sand.

Tyler drops her board.

                         TYLER

          Stop here.

                  (she turns to him)

          Do you agree to do exactly what I

          say when I say it?

                         UTAH

          Sure.

                                            CUT TO:

UTAH pops INTO FRAME, arms extended, one leg in front of

the other, torso bent at the waist: classic surfing

stance.

Suddenly, he drops OUT OF FRAME.

WE PULL BACK -- Revealing Utah on his board, on the sand.

                         TYLER

          Do it again.

Tyler is making him "pop" up to his feet.  Again and

again.  GAWKERS stop to watch.  Utah fights humiliation.

He pops again.  And again.  Quick cuts.

On the next pop we--

PULL BACK to reveal Utah on his board, in a wave.  He is

surfing.

For about three seconds.  He flies off the deck, ass over

teakettle.

On the SPLASH we start--

A SEQUENCE OF TIME CUTS

Tyler and Utah straddle their boards outside the break.

She nods as the set comes, mellow right tubes.  Utah digs

in, arms pumping.

He feels the bite as the wave picks up his board and

starts down the wall.

And endos.

CLOUDY PLATINUM DAWN...

Tyler shouting at Utah as he fights for balance.

He flies off again.

BLINDING BRIGHT SUNRISE.  TYLER NEXT TO UTAH in the

lineup, straddling boards.  She moves her hands like a

fighter pilot explaining a dogfight maneuver.  Utah

watches intently.

Utah, backlit in glorious slow motion, tries a little turn

and feels his feet slip out.  He slams down butt-first on

the board, flips over, feet sticking straight up out of a

blast of diamond spray.

Tyler cringes, giving a look like it's hopeless.

TYLER AND UTAH, at their cars, skinning out of their

wetsuits.  Utah looks exhausted, downcast.  She snaps her

wet towel at his ass, cheering him up.

MALIBU PIER.  RAIN.  Tyler jumps out of her Porsche and

sees Utah sitting in his car.  She goes to him, opens the

door and starts pulling him out.  Come on you pussy.

UTAH and TYLER wait their turn in the lineup.  Rain pelts

their faces.  The waves are depressing inside mushers

under a gray sky.

Utah starts to paddle.  Tyler shakes her head no.  Utah is

committed to the I'face.  Tyler stifles a laugh.

                         TYLER

                  (to the other

                   surfers)

          I'm not with him.

Johnny gouges the lip, pops and begins the drop.

Suddenly, miraculously, he catches an edge and, still

standing, is carried along the tiny wall.

The wall begins to sag.  Utah shoots along the mush

hooting and continues hooting madly as he thrashes all the

way to shore.

He turns and grins foolishly out to sea.

Tyler bursts out laughing.

EXT.  MALIBU PIER - DUSK

Big surf.  Rough conditions.  Closeout set.

UTAH, board in arm, follows Tyler out of the whitewater

onto the beach.

                         TYLER

          It's closing out completely.  Let's

          call it.

Utah nods.  His eyes track the unruly break.

                         UTAH

          Who's that?

A LONE SURFER slashing through the pilings of the pier.  A

real kamikaze run as the whitewater walls thunder behind

him.

SILHOUETTED against a crimson sky and backlit spray the

figure pumps among the pier pilings in a frenzy of motion

that is somehow balletic.

Laying out bottom turns, torquing his body and blasting

the lip a few times, moving so fast his long dark hair

stands straight back as if he were leaning out a car

window on the freeway.

                         TYLER (V.O.)

          That's Bodhi.  They call his the

          Bodhisattva.

Utah watches as THE BODHISATTVA gets vertical with a snap,

trims down the volcanic wall, carves the bottom, pivots,

pumps to the top, gouging the lip, getting six feet of

air.

Gawkers HOWL and shout praise at the manic surfer.

                         TYLER

          The modern savage.  Guy's even

          crazier than you, Johnny Utah.

          C'mon.

They start to walk.  The sky darkens as the sea finally

closes out completely.  The Bodhisattva seems to levitate

through the shapeless mush to shore.

                         ROACH (O.S.)

          Brah!

Suddenly a football whistles through the air above Utah's

head.

He watches as--

The Bodhisattva, board under arm, walking out of the

whitewater, makes a one-handed chest catch.

A few yards away two teams of SURFERS play football.

Utah gazes down the beach at the Bodhisattva.

Almost 30 years old, his body lean and hard as a tree

trunk.  Hardness in the face accented by long Comanche

hair.

                         BODHI

          Hey Tyler!

She whirls.  Bodhi pumps his arm.  Tyler jogs back for the

catch.  Bullseye.  She shoots Bodhi a look.  Something

crosses her face.

Bodhi smiles.  Tyler doesn't.  Then it passes.

She chucks the ball to Utah.

Who drops his board and makes the catch in one move.

He SPINS the football on his fingertip, drops it on his

foot, kicks it up into his hands.  Razzle dazzle.  He

grins evilly.

EXT.  BEACH - NIGHT

Rimmed by a dozen car HEADLIGHTS at the edge of the sand.

Utah crouches, waiting for the snap from NATHANIEL,

ponytailed and powerfully built.  Facing them on defense

are Bodhi, Tyler and three others: ROACH, gonzo and

spiked-haired.  GROMMET... 17 and thin as a stick, and

ROSIE, a biker with piggy eyes and arms blue with tattoos.

MONTAGE STYLE -- Utah tosses a flurry of mindboggling

passes.  Every one picture perfect.  Nathaniel scrambles

z-out left, turns and the ball is practically waiting for

him.  Touchdowns galore.  Endzone dancing.  Bodhi stares

at him curiously.

Tyler rushes.  Utah enjoys scrambling, ducking left and

right, twisting her into a pretzel.  Play after play.

Utah tosses another touchdown, but Tyler keeps coming.

Sacking him.

They lie together in a heap, laughing.

Bodhi quarterbacks.  Utah rushes.  Bodhi fakes a pass then

runs, ball tucked in his arm.  Utah tears after him.  Flat

out speed run.

Roach attempts a block.  Utah hits him like a freight

train.

Roach hits the sand face first.

Grommet and Rosie the biker in a squeeze play.

Utah, fierce now, blasts between them.  No mercy.

Utah can't play for fun.  We see his expression.

Something scary there.  What we will call "juggernaut

mode".

Tyler just steps aside.

Bodhi running along wet sand as a wave sweeps up the

beach.  Looks back.  Sees a demon shooting up roostertails

of spray behind him, gaining.  Pours it on.  Both of them

pistoning through curtains of water.  Not a game anymore.

Closing on the endzone.  5 yards.  Utah is airborne.

SLAMS BODHI LIKE A SAM MISSILE.  They crash and burn

together in the surf.

The other surfers run up.  Who's this newcomer that just

centerpunched their main man?  Industrial strength

tension.

                         ROACH

          The fuck you doin' man?!  You

          fuckin' crazy?

Bodhi flashes a million dollar smile.

                         BODHI

          Chill, brah.  You know who this is?

          Johnny Utah.  Ohio State, all-

          conference.

                  (to Utah)

          Rose Bowl three years ago.  Right?

Johnny nods.  Tyler looks at him -- no shit?

                         ROACH

          Johnny fuckin' Utah!  Fuckin'-A!

          Yeah, I remember that game, man.

          You were on-fire.  They could not

          stop your ass.

                         GROMMET

          Radical!  Head-butt, dude!!

Johnny gestures "Please no".

Enthused by the concept, Grommet turns to Nathaniel.

                         GROMMET

          Head-butt!!!

They do.  Their foreheads CRACK together.  They stumble

backwards in giddy euphoria.  Nathaniel laughs like Pee

Wee Herman.

                         BODHI

          Something happened.  You got nuked

          in the last quarter.

                         UTAH

          Yeah, my knee got folded about 90

          degrees the wrong way.

                         BODHI

          And that's why you never went pro?

                         UTAH

          Two years of surgery.  I missed my

          window.  Limped through law school

          instead.

                         BODHI

          Mmm.  A lawyer, huh?

                  (like it's a disease)

          Too bad.  But at least you're

          surfing now.  So your life's not

          over yet, right?

                         UTAH

          Not yet.

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  FEDERAL BUILDING - 16TH FLOOR - DAY

Utah, in shorts and T-shirt, carries his flame-job

surfboard past surveillance cameras and portraits of Bush,

Hoover and Webster.  Special Agent Cole walks by.  Eyes

the board.  Speaks deadpan.

                         COLE

          Like totally rad stick, dude.

INT.  BULLPEN

Utah tries to act casual as he carries the board to his

desk on the other side of the room.  He has to walk past

the entire gauntlet to get there.

                         SEVERAL AGENTS

          Gnarly, man... hang ten...

          cowabunga... surf patrol... rip it

          up!

Harp comes straight for him like a homing missile.

                         HARP

          How was the beach?

                         UTAH

          Fine.

                         HARP

          Surf conditions okay?

                         UTAH

          A little mushy.

                         HARP

          A little mushy!  You think the

          taxpayers would like it, Utah, if

          they knew they were paying a federal

          agent to surf and pick up girls?

                         UTAH

          Babes.

                         HARP

          What?

                         UTAH

          The correct term is babes, sir.  Uh,

          this type of undercover operation is

          entirely dependent on picking up the

          idiom of the speech.  Otherwise

          penetration is not possible, sir.

          Of the social infrastructure, I

          mean.

Harp inhales through his nose.  A bad sign.

                         HARP

          Where is Pappas?

Utah points across the room.  Harp turns.

PAPPAS, sitting behind his desk in his "Surf This" T-shirt

and pink shorts, lifts the purple Vuarnets like Tom Cruise

in Risky Business.

Looks directly at Harp.  Smiles innocently.

INT.  HARP'S OFFICE

Harp paces.  Type-A suppressed rage.

Utah and Pappas endure Harp's wrath.

                         HARP

          Special Agent Utah, this is not some

          job flippin' burgers at the drive-in.

          Yes, the surfboard bothers me.  Yes,

          your approach to this case bothers

          me.  And yes, you bother me.  You

          two have produced squat in the last

          two weeks, during which time the Ex-

          Presidents have robbed two more

          banks!!  Do you have anything even

          remotely interesting to tell me?

                         UTAH

          Caught my first tube this morning.

Pappas signals, unseen by Harp, for Utah to shut the fuck

up.

INT.  CORRIDOR TO COMPUTER ROOM

Johnny and Angelo walking.

                         PAPPAS

          What, you couldn't have just left

          the thing in your car?

                         UTAH

          It sticks out, so I can't lock it.

          Look, Angelo, you think I joined the

          FBI to learn to surf?  This was your

          lame-o idea in the first place.  You

          gotta back me up on this.

                         PAPPAS

          Johnny, all I can say is we better

          come up with something real soon.

Johnny cocks an eyebrow and opens the door to the computer

room ceremonially, like a doorman at the Ritz-Carlton.

Miss Deer looks up as they enter.

INT.  COMPUTER ROOM

TIGHT ON CRT as a lab report scrolls up the screen.  Gas

chromatography and spectroanalysis.  Columns of elements

and compounds, listed as percentage-of-sample.

                         MISS DEER (V.O.)

          Encino Savings & Loan guard grabbed

          LBJ's ponytail.  We recovered one

          hair.

WIDER, showing Utah and Pappas over her shoulder at the

terminal.

                         PAPPAS

          Yeah, yeah, I remember, last year.

          Guy got his jaw broken for it.

                         MISS DEER

          One four centimeter strand.  Color

          brown.  Oily.  Slight wave.

                         PAPPAS

          Hell, what're we waiting for, let's

          go pick the guy up.

                         UTAH

          Angelo, pay attention.  There's

          gonna be a test afterward.  Lab is

          showing traces of toxins.  PCBs.

          Heavy elements... selenium, titanium

          and arsenic.

                         PAPPAS

          Guy's the Toxic Avenger.

Utah is excited as he fits the pieces together for his

partner.

                         UTAH

          The beaches are always being closed

          because of waste spills, right?  And

          surfers are territorial.  They stick

          mostly to certain breaks.  If we can

          get some hair samples, and get a

          match to a certain beach, we'd know

          which break the Ex-Presidents surf.

          You buyin' this?

                         PAPPAS

          No.  But let's do it, anyway.  It's

          gonna bug the shit out of Harp.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  LATIGO - DAY

Department of Health sign reads, "Beach Temporarily

Closed." Beyond it crashes a wasted northwest swell.

Two frustrated teenage SURFERS huddle underneath a towel.

Marijuana smoke seeps upward.

A sandaled FOOT enters frame and taps their leg.  Angry

heads poke up from beneath the towel, nostrils and mouths

billowing smoke.

The two wear T-shirts which read "Passion for Slashin" and

"Psycho Stick".

PAPPAS smiles, standing there in his beach wear, trying to

blend in.  He doesn't.

                         PAPPAS

          When you two are done makin' out, I

          need to talk to you.

                         "PSYCHO-STICK" T-SHIRT

          Hey, I ain't no butt-bouncer, dude.

          We're from the valley.  Mall babes

          'n shit.

The kids proudly high-five.

                         PAPPAS

          I just want to know if you surf here

          a lot.

                         "PASSION FOR SLASHIN'" T-SHIRT

          Shit yeah, like totally everyday

          when it's jammin'.  What is this,

          fucking narco entrapment or what,

          dude?

Pappas flashes his FBI star.  He whips out a pair of

scissors.

Brandishes them like some over-the-hill "Jason".

                         PAPPAS

          Not exactly, dudes.

EXT.  COUNTY LINE - DAY

Row of SURFMOBILES parked along a cliff, facing the ocean,

doors open, stereos blasting, SURFERS hanging, sitting on

hoods.

Utah moves along the cars, looking surfed-out.

He's tanned, relaxed.  Hair starting to bleach out.  One

of the tribe.

                         UTAH

          Whoa, brah, easy now... Don't move!

                  (Utah bends close,

                   reaching for Surf-

                   Rat's ear)

          Got some huge sucker crawling into

          your--

                  (he plucks at a tuft

                   of hair)

          Got it!  Uuuughhh.

                         SURF-RAT

          Leave some fuckin' hair, man!

Utah squashes, then inspects the mysterious creepy-crawler

hidden in his palm.  He wipes his hand on his towel, which

he keeps balled up in his other hand.

                         SURF-RAT

          What was it?

                         UTAH

          Saved your butt, bro.  Close one.

Utah shivers in disgust, then coyly turns and walks away.

The surf-rat desperately pats his ear for traces.

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  FORENSICS LAB - NIGHT

A long series of ENVELOPES are displayed on a desk.  Each

has the name of a Southern California beach and is

attached to a forensic printout.

HALSEY inspects each envelope.

                         HALSEY

          Naw, this isn't it.

UTAH holds up an envelope with a skinny woven ponytail

sticking out.

PAPPAS shrugs.

                         PAPPAS

          He moved.

Halsey picks up an envelope marked "Latigo Beach".

                         HALSEY

          PCBs, selenium, titanium, arsenic.

          The percentages look right.  Here's

          a match.

                         UTAH

          Latigo Beach.

Pappas grabs the envelope, studies it, crooks his head.

                         PAPPAS

          Surf's up, ace.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  LATIGO BEACH - DAY

EXTREME LONG LENS scans the beach from a height.  A gray,

miserable day.  Beach crowd thin except for diehards.

The image drifts across faces, BODIES.  Surfers walking

with boards.

Talking, sitting with pubescent girls.

The image settles on Johnny, astride his board, bobbing

beyond the break.

ON PAPPAS, scanning with powerful binoculars from his car.

CLOSE ON UTAH, out among the flock of hardcore surfers.

Ostensibly waiting for a wave, his eyes search the others

around him, clicking methodically from face to face.

Finally he swings his board around and awkwardly catches a

ride.

The modest wave carries him toward the beach as he

balances, tense and style-less.

He passes someone we've seen before.  The RAZORHEAD from

the first day.  In concentration, Johnny doesn't see the

guy.

But Razorhead definitely sees him.

JOHNNY reaches the beach and jogs up the sand.  He picks

up a towel and talks into it as he dries his hair.  A

glimpse of the walkie-talkie hidden beneath.

                         UTAH

          Big zippo so far.  How about you?

                         PAPPAS (RADIO)

          Patience hotshot.  Patience.  It'll

          be subtle, if it's here at all.

PAPPAS WATCHES as Johnny crosses toward the outside shower

next to the public restroom.

LONG LENS view of Utah passing OUT OF SIGHT behind the

building.

AT THE SHOWER Johnny sets down his gear and opens his

wetsuit to the warm, salt-free jet of water.  TRACKING

SLOWLY IN on him as he lets it pour over his face.

A HAND ENTERS FRAME, shutting off the water suddenly.

TIGHT ON UTAH, his eyes opening.

REVERSE, revealing RAZORHEAD and THREE OTHERS.

They are powerfully built SURF-NAZIS.

Scalps shaved on the sides.  Hair military short on top,

lengthening into pigtails in the back.  Tattoos.  Wrist

chains.

TONE, ARCHBOLD and WARCHILD.  The one who socked Utah

before is BUNKER.  They spread out flanking him.

                         WARCHILD

          This the guy?

                         BUNKER

          Yeah.

                         UTAH

                  (good natured)

          Okay, so this is where you tell me

          all about how locals rule and yuppie

          insects like me shouldn't be surfing

          your break and all that, right?

                         BUNKER

          No.

                         TONE

          Waste of time.

                         WARCHILD

          We're just going to fuck you up.

                         UTAH

          Oh.

As they lunge, Utah grabs his board and swings it in a

whistling roundhouse.  Its edge slams Warchild in the gut

and folds him double.  The bad news is... Warchild gets an

arm around it and brings a pile-driver hammer-punch down.

The board splits into two pieces.

Utah drops his end as the others close.  A flurry of

punches and kicks, most of which he blocks.  But he's lost

the offensive.

Bunker takes him to his knees with a vicious karate-style

side-kick.

TIGHT ON Utah's towel, talking with Pappas' voice.

                         PAPPAS

          Johnny?  You there?

ANGELO gets out of the car fast.  He jogs twenty feet and

raises the binoculars.  Catches a glimpse of the carnage

around the edge of the building.  Breaks into a run,

massive legs pistoning.

JOHNNY HITS THE GROUND hard.  He rolls and comes up fast.

The razorhead brothers are a little surprised.

                         ARCHBOLD

          The dude can fight!

Warchild grabs Utah from behind.  Gets him in a headlock.

Archbold and Tone pin his arms.  Bunker starts working him

like a practice bag.  At this moment, Johnny is getting

the proverbial shit beat out of him.

SUDDENLY, a new figure blurs INTO FRAME.

BODHI seizes Bunker and flings him aside.  He spins with

remarkable agility and drives his heel into Warchild's

face.

Utah breaks free, staggering back on the sand.  The fight

is still there in his eyes.

Bodhi is at his side -- holding the others at bay with a

raised hand and an evil look.

                         BODHI

          Back off!  Now!!  Just let it go!

                         BUNKER

          Stay outta this, Bodhi!

                         BODHI

          He's with me.  Now back off.

          Seriously.Just do it!

                  (they relax slightly)

          You alright Warchild?

                         WARCHILD

                  (holding his bleeding

                   nose)

          Fuck you.

Everybody has backed off a bit, panting.

Utah steps toward Bunker.  Like he's maybe going to shake

hands.

                         UTAH

          What's your name?

                         BUNKER

          Bunker.

                         UTAH

          Well, listen, Bunker... I'm actually

          kinda glad you found me.

                         BUNKER

          Yeah?  Why?

Johnny answers with a LIGHTNING ROUNDHOUSE that hits with

a CRACK!  They can hear it in Pomona.

BUNKER HITS THE GROUND.  Flat out.  Lights out.

Tone, Archbold and Warchild lunge like dogs.

Bodhi yanks Utah out of the line of fire.

                         BODHI

          Whoa!  Whoa!  Hold it, ladies.  Give

          it a rest.

                  (to Utah)

          Let's go.

He literally turns Utah around.

They begin to walk, stepping over the pieces of Johnny's

board.

                         BODHI

                  (under his breath)

          Do me a favor, Johnny, just keep

          walking.

Tone starts to go after them.  Archbold grabs his arm.

They help Bunker up.  Warchild holds he bleeding nose.

Utah and Bodhi start up the stairs, turn a corner and run

HEAD-ON into a huffing PAPPAS.

The big man clocks a battered but intact Utah.

We see him shift gears in his head in 2 tenths of a

second.

                         PAPPAS

                  (out of breath)

          Uh, you guys seen a kid, maybe 10,

          12, running with a car stereo?

          Stole the fucking CD too, you

          believe it?

Utah is grateful for the cover.

                         UTAH

          No, but there are four guys back

          there you might check out.

                         PAPPAS

          Thanks, buddy.

He shoves on.

EXT.  PARKING LOT

Bodhi and Utah weave among the cars and motorcycles,

beach-types coming and going.

                         UTAH

          Friends of yours, huh?

                         BODHI

          The one you decked is Bunker Wiess.

          The big one is his brother,

          Warchild.  The other two always

          hang.  They think they're some kinda

          death squad around here.

                         UTAH

          What's their program?

                         BODHI

          They're punks.  Nazis.  Their brains

          are wired wrong.  They hurt surfing

          because they give nothing back, and

          they have no respect for the sea.

          They just want to get radical.  It's

          mindless aggression.  They'll never

          get it, the spiritual side of it.

                         UTAH

          You always talk like this?  You're

          not gonna start chanting or anything

          are you?

                         BODHI

                  (laughing)

          No.

                  (beat)

          So I was up the beach.  I saw it

          going down.  you didn't hesitate...

          they never backed you up an inch.

          That's rare in this world.

                         UTAH

          Thanks for stepping in.

                         BODHI

          De nada.

Bodhi keeps on walking as Utah reaches his car and stops.

Five paces on, he stops and turns back.  A moment of

decision...

                         UTAH

          Gonna be some people at my house

          tonight.  Maybe you can make it.

                         UTAH

          Where?

                         BODHI

          Come with Tyler.  She knows.

Bodhi turns and saunters away.  Utah considers his last

words, wondering how well Tyler and Bodhi know each other.

                                            CUT TO:

INT./ EXT.  CAR - PCH - SANTA MONICA - DAY

Utah is struggling into a T-shirt as Pappas drives,

intently following a beat-to-shit JEEP.  Paramilitary

olive-drab and full of surfboards.  And razorhead.

                         PAPPAS

          Ten seconds you're out of sight.

          Unbelievable.

Johnny is equipment-juggling now... cradling a cellular

phone at his ear while steadying Pappas' binoculars in

front of his eyes.

                         UTAH

          You're losin' them.

                  (into phone)

          That's right.  Two-denver-four-sam-

          niner-five-niner.  Late seventies

          Jeep.

LONG LENS, JOHNNY'S POV through binoculars.  Bunker's jeep

weaves aggressively through traffic ahead.  Horns honk.

Tone flips off the driver of a Toyota.

                         PAPPAS

          Look, if you're gonna go leavin'

          your piece and your shield in the

          car, you can damn well stay in

          sight.  Okay?

                         UTAH

          Okay, Dad.

EXT.  VENICE STREET - DAY

Low rent street off Washington.

EXTREME LONG LENS on Jeep as it pulls onto the dead front

lawn of a brown stucco house with bars on the windows.

The razorheads get out, pulling boards and wetsuits from

the Jeep.  They are dressed now in ripped jeans, GI boots,

sleeveless Megadeth T-shirts, etc.

Watching, we become aware that two of them have brown hair

in a radical style... shaved sides and a short ponytail.

                         UTAH (V.O.)

          The jeep is registered to a Bradley

          Wiess.  My buddy.  Guy's got quite a

          sheet.

                  (into phone)

          Yeah, yeah... skip all that.  Gimme

          the greatest hits.  Misdemeanor

          possession of cocaine.  That's

          good...

INT./ EXT.  CAR

Utah on the cellular, Pappas behind the wheel as they

slide to a stop half a block from the stucco house.

                         UTAH

          ... Felony B and E, three months in

          juvey.  Better.  Felony assault.

          Postgraduate work at Chino.

          Excellent.  I'm lovin' it.  What

          about the brother?

                  (Utah is grinning)

          Great!  Another model citizen.

          These guys really fit the profile.

                         PAPPAS

          Remember, all bank robbers are

          losers, but not all losers are bank

          robbers.

LONG LENS POV of Razorheads house.  Through the windows we

see the four moving inside.  Tone throws Archbold and

Bunker a Coors from the fridge.  Archbold shakes his and

opens it in Warchild's face.  Warchild, in no mood, slams

him against the wall.  We feel the revved-up, chaotic

energy of the group in silent pantomime.

Bunker is met by a GIRL coming from the back of the house.

She is wearing only panties and a black leather vest.

Short black hair and tattoos stark on her white skin.

Bunker puts one arm around her neck in a head lock embrace

and slides his other hand under her vest.  Tone pulls the

curtains.

                         UTAH

          These are the guys.  I can feel it.

          I say we lay it on Harp.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  STREET NEAR HOUSE - NIGHT

TELEPHOTO VIEW of house.

Bunker and Archbold have partially disassembled the engine

of a Kawasaki 1100 parked in the living room.  They are

drinking beer and arguing about the carburetors, lit by

the blue glow of the TV.  Warchild is watching a living-

dead movie on tape.

He replays the gory parts.  Not a happening night at the

Razorheads.

REVERSE, as binoculars are lowered, revealing Cole.

WIDER, to show the dynamic team of Cole and Munoz

glowering in a plain sedan, Utah leaning in the side

window.

                         MUNOZ

          This is bullshit.  This is a

          bullshit lead.  This is totally

          bullshit.  Harp must be fucking

          desperate if he's listening to you

          two flakes.

                         UTAH

          See you bright and early, guys.

Pappas walks up with a grease-stained box.  Jams it

through the window.

                         PAPPAS

          Cold pizza?  It's great for

          breakfast.

INT./ EXT.  PAPPAS' CAR - NIGHT

Pappas pulls away from the curb, roaring past the other

agents sedan.  Utah and Cole flip each other off

perfunctorily as they pass.

                         UTAH

          When did Harp say they'd have the

          warrant?

                         PAPPAS

          He's pushing it through first thing.

          You better get some sleep tonight,

          it could be an interesting morning.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  BODHI'S HOUSE - NIGHT

A bunker-like structure built of stone and glass on a

cliff overlooking the Pacific.  Surfmobiles and

motorcycles parked in front.  A strong backbeat thumps

through the open front doors.

Tyler's Porsche pulls into the driveway.  She and Johnny

get out and head for the entrance.

                         UTAH

          Nice place.

                         TYLER

          He rents it for the summer.  Bodhi

          always gets some slick place and

          throws it open to every surf burnout

          around.  Most a these guys can't

          keep a job.  When the swell comes,

          they're gone, they have to ride.

INT./ EXT.  BODHI'S HOUSE

Tyler leads Utah through the steady flow of SURF-RATS and

other PCH NOMADS toward a large outdoor deck where a

barbecue is in progress.  Moonlit waves pound the shore

eighty feet below.

They are immediately distracted by the small crowd

gathering around GROMMET who has his nose pressed flat

against the center of a dart board.

His eyes swivels back to ROACH, standing fifteen feet

away, dart in hand, getting ready to throw.

                         GROMMET

          Do your worst, man!

Roach drains a beer in one gulp, spies the sharp needle

point of the dart, then squints at the target.

ROSIE moves through the small crowd collecting bets.

Suddenly Roaches arm snaps back.  A collective hush...

In a blur of tattoos the small feathered missile is

airborne.

TWAAAPPPPPP!  Bulls-eye.  Centimeters from flesh.  Grommet

secretly exhales.  Roach howls as Rosie rains money on his

head.

The crowd goes wild.

BODHI stands nearby with his arm around a BEAUTIFUL WOMAN.

Pleased to see Utah, he motions him over.

                         UTAH

          Don't you gamble?

                         BODHI

          Only make bets I can't afford to

          lose.  Only way to be 100%

          committed.

With that, Bodhi smiles, then he and the woman vanish into

the crowd.  Utah watches them go, turns to Tyler.

                         UTAH

          Who's the girl?

                         TYLER

          Catch of the day.

                         UTAH

          Oh, oh.  That sounds personal.

                         TYLER

          People are expendable to Bodhi.

                         UTAH

          Meaning you were expendable.

                         TYLER

                  (shrugs)

          We went out for about five

          minutes... which is four minutes

          longer than most of them.  But you

          can't hold it against him, he's...

          different.

                         UTAH

          Sure, he's "the Bodhisattva".

                         TYLER

                  (she chuckles)

          Yeah, he thinks he's evolved to a

          higher plane of existence, or

          something.

                  (thoughtful)

          Maybe he has.  You've seen him

          surf... that frenzy.  It seems like

          anger.  It's not.  It's the energy

          of lovemaking.  The sea is the woman

          in his life.  She's his only true

          lover.

Utah studies her a moment.  He's caught the faintest hint

of regret in her voice.  But also the straight-ahead

pragmatism.  He looks down at the waves pounding

mercilessly against the rocks.

                         UTAH

          All she does is beat the shit out of

          me.

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

PARTY - LATER

Lingering surf-rats stoned and drunk.

Nathaniel stands on the railing of the deck, Corona in

hand, gazing out at the black water.  He grins sloppily,

body wavering dangerously as he hunkers down into a

surfing stance.

                         NATHANIEL

                  (beer soaked speech)

          ... Okay, so you're in the face,

          it's twenty-five feet straight down,

          your balls are about this big.

                  (like he's holding up

                   two BB's)

          And the whole thing's moving, right,

          roaring like you're stuck to the

          front of a freight train.  There

          ain't nothin' like it, man.  The

          ultimate rush.  Forget about sex, it

          doesn't even come close.

                         ROACH

          You lose it right then, you're

          history.  The fish'll be pickin' you

          outta the coral.

Nathaniel cackles that absurd Pee-Wee Herman laugh.  He

starts to flail, arms pinwheeling.

Utah catches him by the back of the shorts and pulls him

back.  Nathaniel spins and drops clumsily onto the deck.

                         NATHANIEL

                  (matter of factly)

          Thanks, brah.

Tyler sits next to Johnny, sipping a beer.  Bodhi is not

in sight.

                         ROACH

          See, it's all dynamic, it's all in

          motion.  You can't just stop and

          walk on in to the beach if you don't

          like the way things are going, y'

          know what I mean?  You gotta ride it

          out man, all the way.

                         GROMMET

          You ride the monsters, you gotta

          know you're ridin' a line between

          life and death.  There ain't no

          forgiveness.

                         UTAH

          So what's the biggest?  Waimea?

                         BODHI (V.O.)

          No, Bells Beach, Australia.

Bodhi glides into the group and sits, his expression dark

and enigmatic.  The beautiful girl kneels behind him,

massaging his neck.  He seems not to notice.

                         GROMMET

          Shit, yeah!  I remember that day...

          gnarly fuckin' ass!  Was your

          birthday--

                         ROACH

          The set was northwest.  Jacking up

          like a fucking mountain of gray

          glass--

                         BODHI

          I made that one mistake you pray

          you'll never make--

                         NATHANIEL

          You shoulda fuckin' seen it... it

          was like he fell for-ever.  Then the

          curl crashes down and he's gooone--

                         GROMMET

          -- held down in the washing machine,

          man... it was severe, we couldn't

          see nothin' thought it was all over

          for sure--

Nathaniel HOWLS.

Tyler watches Utah watching Bodhi.  Notices how he is

mesmerized by these war stories.  Bodhi smiles,

unexpectedly.

                         BODHI

          Not tragic to die doing what you

          love.  You want the ultimate thrill,

          you gotta be willing to pay the

          ultimate price.

                         NATHANIEL

          Fuckin' A.

                         GROMMET

                  (draining a Corona)

          Hell, I ain't gonna see 30.

He and Nathaniel slap a warm, brotherly handshake.

Utah notices that Tyler is giving him a dark look.

She gets up suddenly and walks away from the group.

                         UTAH

                  (to the surfers,

                   covering)

          Uh.  I need another beer.

He heads out after Tyler.

INT.  HALLWAY - DEN

Johnny moves through the house, looking for her.  As he

passes the den, he sees Tyler standing inside, and goes

into the dark room.

It is the only personalized space we have seen in the

house.

A kind of shrine to the Bodhisattva.

Shelves filled with books and artifacts from his travels.

Maori masks, a blowgun, a skeletal shark mouth two feet

across, a huge fossil ammonite... an unbelievable variety

of tribal artifacts and marine specimens.

The books include political literature, eastern religion,

philosophy.  A strange hodgepodge of titles and authors:

Nietzsche, Marx, the Tao, "Steal this Book", "The Book of

Five Rings", Frederick Forsyth thrillers.

Tyler is looking at a wall of photographs and Johnny walks

up behind her.  Shots of Bodhi surfing a monster wave,

mountain-biking, skydiving, flying an ultralight airplane,

bungee-cord jumping, cliff diving.

Every kamikaze activity in the book.

                         TYLER

          Bunch of goddamn adrenaline junkies.

          I hope you're not buying into this

          banzai-bullshit like the rest of

          Bodhi's moonies.

                         UTAH

          What are you talking about?

                         TYLER

          I've seen that kamikaze look,

          Johnny.  You've got it.  And Bodhi

          can smell it a mile away.  He'll

          take you to the edge... and past it.

                  (she looks past

                   Johnny, sees

                   something)

          Hey, Bodhi.

Utah turns.  Bodhi is in the doorway.

                         BODHI

          Johnny has his own demons, don't

          you, Johnny?

Bodhi seems to stare into him.

Utah breaks the look.  Turns back to the photo gallery.

Bodhi's eyes swivel.  He ponders something.  Looks at

Tyler.

                         BODHI

          Feel it?

Roach and some of the other surfers appear in the hallway,

wondering what happened to their leader.  He turns to

them.

                         BODHI

          Gentlemen, it's time.

HOOT AND CHEERS.  Everyone bursts into motion.  Yelling

and running through the house.

                         UTAH

          What's goin' on?

                         TYLER

          Swell's here, Johnny.  Bodhi always

          knows.

Bodhi returns from another room with... AN ALL-BLACK

SURFBOARD.  It gleams like obsidian.  Near the tip, in

small gray letters it says "Stealth Fighter".  Bodhi

thrusts it into Johnny's hands.

The others WHOOP maniacally.

Johnny feels the challenge.  The pull of the tribe.

                         BODHI

          Let's go, Utah.  Time for a little

          stealth mission.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  LATIGO BEACH - NIGHT

SIX DARK FIGURES walk toward us out of shafts of light...

the headlights of Bodhi's CHEVY 4WD and Tyler's Porsche.

The figures are Bodhi, Johnny, Tyler and the other

surfers.

ROSIE hangs back with the idling vehicles, tattooed arms

crossed.  He puffs on a cigarette.

A WIDE SHOT (MATTE) of the beach shows a pool of light

from the headlights, beyond it a vast silver ocean under a

black sky.  The full moon casts the world in cold

monochrome.  The little figures reach the sea.

                         ROACH

                  (a voice in the

                   distance)

          Gaping barrels!  Way overhead, man!

CLOSER, as moonlit figures run into the water.

Utah stands on the beach, hoping his eyes will adjust.

                         UTAH

          I can barely do this in broad

          daylight.

                         TYLER

          Come on.  At least no one's gonna

          see how bad you are.

Johnny clenches his jaw and charges past her into the

water.

He strokes powerfully out through the black swell.

UTAH'S EBONY BOARD pierces the wave and he slides down the

backside to where the others are waiting.  Roach and

Nathaniel, silhouettes nearby, see one they like and take

off yelling.

Johnny turns as a figure glides up next to him.

                         UTAH

          I gotta be fucking crazy.

                         BODHI

          Yeah, but are you crazy enough?

Grommet gets a ride, slicing across in front of them.

A ghost moving off into the silvery distance.

Tyler waves jauntily and takes the next one.  It's

Johnny's turn.

                         BODHI

          Football's a man-made game.  You

          keep score with numbers.  But in

          this, there's no field, no rules, no

          opponent.  Just you and the wave.

                         UTAH

          I know that part.  Tell me something

          I can use, here.

                         BODHI

          I've watched you once or twice.  You

          surf like it's some kind of street

          fight.  You jerk along from moment

          to moment, fighting everything that

          comes at you.  Always trying to win.

                         UTAH

          A flaw I'm working on.

                         BODHI

          The only way to win out here is to

          surrender.  You have to feel what

          the wave is doing, accept its

          energy, get in sync.  Just feel it

          all moving in the blackness... you

          don't need to see.

                         UTAH

          Yeah, right, vision is highly over-

          rated.

Bodhi is looking at the lights along the shoreline.

Without looking back, he senses the incoming swell.

                         BODHI

          This one's got your name on it,

          Johnny.

Utah looks.  Huge glassy face, perfectly formed.  Black

and terrifying.

                         BODHI

          Let's go.

Bodhi digs in with both hands, driving himself forward.

Johnny starts grabbing water right behind him.  The wave

picks them up.

                         UTAH

          Shit, I'm gonna die.  I'm gonna die

          now.

Johnny uses the patented Tyler-pop and makes it to his

feet.  Suddenly he's going like a shot.

He moves back on the board, trims out, slowing down.

Maintains a fragile control.

On pure adrenalized instinct, heart pounding, he falls in

behind Bodhi, taking the same line along the roaring black

face.

Bodhi is like the Silver Surfer, ahead of him in the

moonlight.

Not wanting to drop too far behind, Johnny walks a little

forward on the board.  The nose dips, picking up speed.

Johnny starts letting the speed work for him, learning

that he can make long floating turns up and down the

glassy face.

Feeling the water under his feet, the tons of water piling

up behind him... feeling its awesome power and borrowing a

little of it.

The Silver Surfer and the quarterback rocket through the

night.

Utah has a big feral grin plastered on his face.

Bodhi looks back.  Gives him a thumbs up.

Then he cuts left and drops giddily down to the bottom,

slashing back and climbing.

Utah tries it, feels the drop like freefall... feels the

speed.

He makes his bottom turn, nearly falling.

The grin dropping off his face.

He falls in behind Bodhi again as the wave wraps over them

like a great black wing.

TYLER, paddling back out, watches them shoot past her.

Utah raises his arms above his head and HOWLS like a gonzo

wolf as they go by.

She grins to herself, watching him.

Knows he's gotten the ride that will make him a surfer for

life.

EXT.  BEACH PARKING LOT

Rosie sits on the sand next to a blazing fire in a cement

firepit.

ANGLE THROUGH THE HEAT HAZE above the flames.  Tyler

punches through, a few feet away.  She paddles toward him,

coming alongside.

                         TYLER

          You had enough?

                         UTAH

          Yeah.  I just want to sit out here

          for a minute.

He watches the lights along the shoreline as the gentle

swell between sets lifts and drops them.  His face is

somehow childlike.

A slow grin spreads itself across his face.

                         TYLER

          Look at you.

                         UTAH

          What?

                         TYLER

          Well, usually you have this sort of

          intense scowl of concentration, like

          you're doing this for a school

          project or something... I don't

          know, like something's driving you.

                  (she puts her

                   fingertip to  his

                   forehead)

          See, it's gone.  If I didn't know

          better I'd say you looked almost

          happy.

                         UTAH

          I... I don't know.  I can't describe

          what I'm feeling.

                         TYLER

                  (smiling)

          You don't have to.

Her face seems luminous in the moonlight.  The ocean

silver.  The shore a shimmering line of gold.  The sky

black velvet.

Utah turns to Tyler, eyes exploring her, as in a dream.

Water beads on her dark skin like crawling diamonds.

He glides closer, holding her board like an uneasy horse

alongside his.

He runs his fingertips down her arm.

                         UTAH

          Goosebumps.  Come here.

She leans closer and he rubs his hands up and down her

arms, warming her.  His hands stop on her shoulders.

He pulls her to his mouth.  Her tongue meets his.

She wants this.

He is surprised by the fierceness of her kiss, which

overwhelms his.

TIGHT ON THE ZIPPER of her shorty wetsuit as Johnny's

fingers draw it down.  Slowly down, to where it ends

between her legs.

He spreads the front and slips his hands inside, along her

ribs.

                         TYLER

          Those are cold.

                         UTAH

          Warm them up.

She moves his strong hand onto her breast.

His fingers massage her cold-stiffened nipple.

She moans and grabs his wet hair in her other hand,

pulling him into another intense kiss.

EXT.  OCEAN - UNDERWATER

Looking up from the bottom,  we see the silhouettes of two

boards surrounded by pulsing shafts of moonlight.

CAMERA TILTS DOWN to show the bottom.

The dreamlike blue light shimmering on the sand and rocks.

A big shark browses gracefully, ignoring the lovers.

Their moment of harmony with the sea will be honored.

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

EXT.  BEACH - NIGHT

Tyler's Porsche stands alone in an empty lot.

Her surfboard sticks up in back, next to Utah's "stealth

fighter".

Rosie's fire is burning low.

Tyler, half-wrapped in a blanket from the car, straddles

Johnny on the sand like she straddles her board.  The

blanket slips down.

Naked silhouettes in the firelight.

She arches her back as they move together in prefect sync.

Grips his shoulders and stares into his face, her teeth

bared in a grimace of pleasure that looks like pain.

She makes love like she does everything... with honesty

and intensity.

Utah, surprisingly, is gentle and slow.

He strokes her hair after she collapses onto him.

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

EXT.  BEACH - DAWN

ECU JOHNNY as he cracks one eye open, registering the dawn

light.

He bolts up, looking around.  Tyler is asleep beside him,

with the quilt from the car pulled up tight to her chin.

She looks radiant in sleep.

He grabs his watch out of the sand and looks at it.

                         UTAH

          Holy shit.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  ALLEY BEHIND RAZORHEAD HOUSE

LONG LENS on UTAH'S SEDAN fishtailing through the alley,

narrowly missing dumpsters and parked cars.

He pulls up next to several unmarked FBI sedans.  No one

in sight.

UTAH jumps out tucking in yesterday's shirt, stuffing his

Beretta into his waistband.  He also shoves a small

leather case into his belt.

Utah pulls open the door to one of the unmarked cars and

rips a walkie-talkie out of the charging rack on the front

seat.

Running, he passes a gate.  Goes back.  Looks.

HIS POV -- FOUR MEN huddled behind a garage.  COLE, MUNOZ,

AND TWO OTHER AGENTS.  All with guns and walkie-talkies.

                         UTAH

                  (whispering)

          You guys need any help?

                         COLE

                  (not amused)

          You're late.

We hear Pappas' voice over the radio.

                         PAPPAS (V.O.)

          Did that worthless punk partner of

          mine ever show up?

                         UTAH

                  (grinning)

          Right here, partner.

EXT.  STREET - NEARBY

Pappas has his shirt hiked up as another agent, BABBIT,

tapes a microphone transmitter to his stomach.  Pappas

talks into his top button.

                         PAPPAS

          Good of you to join us, hotshot.

                  (to Babbit)

          Watch it.  I told you, not on the

          hairs, goddammit.

Babbit moves the transmitter, putting the tape on

differently.

                         UTAH

          I'm ready to rock, Angelo.  Where

          you want me?

                         PAPPAS

          Cole and Munoz are going in the back

          door.  Babbit is backing me.  So I

          want you at the side window by the

          hedge.  You're strictly backup, got

          it?

                         UTAH

          Got it.

                         PAPPAS

          Awright.  Get into position.  I'm

          rolling.

Pappas pulls the loose Hawaiian shirt down over the radio-

mike gear and his stalwart .38 snub.

He steps out from behind a fence and walks along the

sidewalk toward Bunker's house, two doors down.  He is

wearing polyester shorts and sandals, and carrying a DOG

LEASH.

                         PAPPAS

          Here Scooby!  Where are you boy?

          Here Scooby!!  You furball piece of

          shit.

COLE AND MUNOZ snap around the corner of the garage and

sprint low toward the rear of the brown stucco house.

UTAH circles back out through the alley.  TRACKING WITH

HIM as he makes it to the neighbor's back hedge and crab-

walks toward Bunker's house.  BABBIT and ANOTHER AGENT

make it to the front corner of the stucco house, staying

out of sight of the windows.

ANGELO is walking up to the falling-down porch of this

low-rent roach-hotel.

JOHNNY is elbow-crawling between the house and a tall

hedge.

He slides quietly in below a bedroom window.

He pulls out the little leather kit he tucked in his

waistband.  Removes something from it.  A DENTAL MIRROR.

Moving slowly, he raises it above the window sill, angling

it where he can see inside.

TIGHT ON DENTAL MIRROR, Johnny's POV.

We see a bedroom through a gap in the venetian blind.

Tone is lying on the bed, wearing headphones.  Cranked up

speedmetal.

His eyes are screwed shut, and his fists pump to the beat

like karate on 40,000 volts.

The door to a bathroom is open, and the black-haired girl

can be made out behind rippled shower glass.

TIGHT ON DOORBELL as Pappas rings it.

UTAH JUMPS at an explosion of sound.  He spins in a

microsecond, pistol aimed at... A LAWN MOWER.

Through the hedge we can just see THE NEIGHBOR, sixtyish

and polyester clad, as he adjusts the choke on the roaring

machine about two feet from Johnny's face.  Utah exhales

and lowers the gun.  Wipes sweat from his eyes.

TIGHT ON PAPPAS, smiling open-faced and goofily charming

as...

THE DOOR opens, revealing a GIRL we haven't seen before.

She has hair like bleached fiberglass, black eye-makeup

and nails.  Ramones-style wardrobe.  She looks tense, and

won't open the door very far.

                         FIBERGLASS

          Yeah?  What?

                         PAPPAS

          Have you seen a little dog?  Kind of

          a cockapoo lookin' thing.  About

          this big.

                         FIBERGLASS

          No.

UTAH blinks at what he sees.

HIS POV, in the little mirror.

Like a silent pantomime under the ROAR OF THE MOWER, he

sees Bunker and Warchild come flying into the room.

They are hyper and manic.  Eyes wild.

Bunker leaps clear over the bed.

Grabs a COMBAT SHOTGUN from the closet.  Throws it to

Warchild.  Tone is oblivious.

Bunker thumps him in the chest and Tone leaps up like an

overwound toy, gaping "What the fuck?!" we read his lips

saying.

Bunker grabs a STEYR ASSAULT RIFLE, white knuckled, while

Tone fumbles around and comes up with a .45 COLT AUTO.

                         UTAH

                  (into his headset)

          Babbit.  Get Angelo out of there.

          They're pulling out a fucking

          arsenal!  Babbit, you copy?  Cole?

          Don't let him pull his badge!

EXT.  BACK YARD

Cole and Munoz push their earpieces in deeper.  Scowl.

                         MUNOZ

          Utah, say again.  What?

                  (to Cole)

          I can't hear jack shit over this

          lawnmower.  Christ.

INT.  RAZORHEAD'S HOUSE

In the bedroom, Bunker looks through a slit of door at

Fiberglass.  We hear Pappas just outside.

                         PAPPAS (V.O.)

          ... and the guy next door said he

          saw it go into your backyard.  My

          wife'll kill me if I lose the little

          bastard.  Me, I could care less.

          Whole house smells from it's liftin'

          its leg all the time...

Bunker looks like he's on paranoia overdrive.

                         BUNKER

          Something's goin' down, man.  This

          ain't right.

                         TONE

                  (freaked)

          No, man, it's nothin'.  It's

          nothin'.

                         BUNKER

          Will you shut the fuck up!  Check

          the windows.  Do it!!

EXT.  RAZORHEAD'S HOUSE

Utah sucks up against the wall as Warchild looks furtively

out the window.  We see them both, but Warchild doesn't

see Johnny, plastered right below him.

Johnny closes his eyes and grits his teeth.  Shiiiiittt!

PAPPAS, AT THE FRONT DOOR, is bobbing his head, trying to

look inside.

                         PAPPAS

          You sure he isn't out back?  You

          mind if I go take a look?

                         FIBERGLASS

          Look, I don't know anything about

          your dog, okay--

                         PAPPAS

          Well is there anyone else here that

          might have seen him?

                         FIBERGLASS

          There's nobody else here...

INT.  HOUSE

Warchild slams into the wall next to Bunker.

                         WARCHILD

          There's two guys by the back door.

          Ducked down.

                         TONE

          Oh, shit.  Shit!!  We're fucked,

          man.

                         BUNKER

          That fat fuck comes through the door

          I'm gonna pump him up.  Swear to

          Christ, man, I'm gonna blow the dude

          up!

Scared and vicious, like a cornered dog.  We believe him.

Bunker jacks the bolt on the Steyr.  Warchild cocks the

shotgun.

EXT.  HOUSE

JOHNNY is pissing himself.  He can see it all going down.

So fast he doesn't have time to think.

He goes into motion -- slipping rapidly along the wall to

the next window.

The bathroom window.

PAPPAS, AT THE FRONT DOOR, makes his move.

He pushes the door open, breaking the security chain, and

jams his FBI shield in the girl's face as he grabs her

arm.

                         PAPPAS

          FBI, gorgeous.  Now let's take a

          look around--

INT.  HOUSE

Bunker's eyes bug out as he sees Pappas coming through the

door.  He snaps the assault rifle to his shoulder.

Suddenly Johnny is behind him -- half-in the bathroom

window, pistol gripped double-handed like they taught him

in Quantico.

                         UTAH

          FBI!!  DROP IT!

Bunker whips around.  Squeezing off a wild burst!  B-B-B-

BLAM!

It rips the plaster next to Johnny's shoulder.

Shatters the shower door behind him.  The BLACK-HAIRED

GIRL screams.

Johnny flinches, FIRING RAPIDLY.  Wild.

Bunker drops, hit.

Warchild lets go with the 12 gauge.  KABOOM!

Takes a chunk like a shark bite out of the doorframe by

Johnny's head.

Deafening in the confined space.

Johnny flattens himself behind the doorframe.

Tone just splits.  Down the hall like a greyhound.

PAPPAS is on one knee, his piece drawn fast, holding

Fiberglass in a neck-lock with one massive arm.

Bunker, wild-eyed and bleeding, is on his knees in the

bathroom doorway.

He raises the Steyr.  Mistake.

Angelo FIRES.  30 years in the field tends to show.

Three rounds.  Chest.  Chest.  Head.

Bunker is off the planet.

MUNOZ KICKS THE BACKDOOR IN like they do in the movies.

He and Cole charge into the rancid kitchen.  Badass FBI

agents.

JOHNNY, hotwired and hyperventilating, pops out for a shot

around the doorframe.  He gets a glimpse of Warchild's

back disappearing into the hallway.  FIRES.  His shot is

wasted, punching plaster.

Suddenly a pink freight-train hits him.

He forgot about the girl in the shower.

Naked except for her tattoos, she bodyslams him face-first

into the wall.

As he tries to turn she grabs his hair in both hands and

hammers his head into the medicine-cabinet -- CRASH --

shattering the mirror.

Then she knees him in the balls as he ricochets off the

wall into her.

She drives her elbow into his back as he drops.

"FREIGHT TRAIN" lands knee-first on his gun hand, and

viciously kicks the pistol away with one bloody foot.  It

skitters under the bed.

She's cut up from flying glass.  Demon-eyed and wired, her

body lithe and muscular under white skin.  She sprints

across the bedroom, leaving Utah slumped, heaving for

breath.

IN THE HALLWAY, Tone is hidden behind a doorway.

White-knuckling the forty-five.  A wild-eyed kid with a

big gun and not the slightest idea how to use it.

He hears footsteps POUNDING behind him and spins.

It's Warchild, running with the shot-gun.

                         WARCHILD

          Move it, man.  Let's get the fuck

          out of here!

Off-guard, Tone is SLAMMED BY THE DOOR as Munoz drives

into it with his shoulder.

Pounded between the door and wall, Tone is wired so tight

he pulls the trigger and blows a hole through his own

right foot.

He screams and drops to the floor.

Munoz sandwiches him with the door and draws down on

Warchild, who dives into a doorway.

Cole drives past Munoz, who has Tone pinned, and pounds

down the corridor.

Cole reaches the doorway and goes for the shot on

Warchild.

"Freight-train" appears behind him from another door.

She raises a pair of scissors and drives them into his

back up to the hilt.

Pulls them out, going for another stab, when--

Pappas spins her around and slams her face-first into the

wall.

UTAH, in the bedroom, sees Warchild blur across his field

of vision.

On pure instinct, he kicks into overdrive.  Johnny leaps

the bed and goes ballistic.  His flying tackle catches

Warchild at the window.

EXT.  HOUSE

The window EXPLODES OUTWARD in a spray of sunlit glass.

Utah and Warchild crash to the ground.

The razorhead, with 50 pounds on Johnny, rises like a

bull.

Bleeding from superficial lacerations, Warchild plows

through the hedge.

Johnny dives after him.

The Polyester Neighbor stands paralyzed as the two crazed

figures careen toward him.  He is knocked flying, and the

ROARING LAWNMOWER is flipped onto its side.

Utah and Warchild are locked together.

The shotgun lies nearby, out of play.

Warchild jerks a 6 INCH KNIFE free from its sheath,

hanging from a thong around his neck.  He trusts straight

at Johnny's throat.

Johnny deflects the thrust -- INTO THE WHIRLING LAWNMOWER.

KA-WHANGGG!!!  The knife is hammered out of Warchild's

hand.

Whistles away, spinning.

Warchild grabs Johnny as they scramble, and heaves him

bodily toward the spinning blade.  Utah catches the rim of

the mower with both hands, stopping himself inches from

the rotor.

Warchild puts all his weight on Johnny.

Pushing him face-first toward the blades.

Johnny feels the wind on his face.

The engine is roaring, full throttle.

PAPPAS APPEARS BEHIND THEM.

He aims the .38.  FIRES TWICE.

The little Briggs & Stratton dies young, its casing

shattered.

The rotor spins to a stop.

Warchild looks up into the black eye of Pappas' gun.

Two inched from his face.

                         PAPPAS

          Speak into the microphone.

The razorhead sags, the fight going out of him.

Babbit kicks him off Johnny, face down onto the lawn.

Cuffs him.

INT.  BATHROOM - BEDROOM - LATER

UTAH dry heaves over the sink.  Turns the faucet on full

blast and hoses his head.  He lifts a dripping face, wipes

water out of his eyes, stops on the reflection in the

mirror.  Pappas is there.

                         PAPPAS

          It's always been lasers and paper

          targets until today, right?

Utah looks up at him and nods.  He glances through the

doorway at Bunker, dead in a pool of blood.  Tone is

wailing as paramedics work on his foot.  Cole is being

taken out on a stretcher.

                         PAPPAS

          No difference, Utah.  Just a little

          more to clean up.

                  (squeezes the

                   rookie's  shoulder)

          It's alright.  You did good today.

Across the bedroom AGENT BABBIT rips the back off a big

speaker unit.  Behind it, taped to the woofer, are two

large packets of a white substance.

                         PAPPAS

          Oh shit.

Utah stares at the dope.

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  POLICE HQ - OUTSIDE INTERROGATION ROOM - NIGHT

TIGHT ON WARCHILD manacled to the chair screaming his head

off.  We cannot hear him through the glass.  It looks like

pantomime.

UTAH and PAPPAS watch through the one way observation

window.

THWAAAAAP!!  The two taped packets slam the wall inches

from Utah's right ear.  Johnny snaps his head around.

Stares into the face of DIETZ who looks like Warchild's

meaner brother.

And he's pissed as hell...

                         DIETZ

          You know what this is?!  Two keys

          uncut crystal meth!

                         UTAH

          What the hell's your problem?

Dietz manically grabs a clump of his stringy hair.

                         DIETZ

          You think I like this haircut?  My

          wife wants me to stay at Ramada -- I

          been working on these guys for THREE

          MONTHS!  Finally -- finally--

                  (nodding to Warchild)

          -- I get dickwad in there wantin' to

          play wheel of fortune so I can find

          out their supplier!

HARP emerges from the interrogation room, we hear a sliver

of Warchild's battle cry.  He spies Utah.

                         HARP

          This is agent Dietz, DEA.  He's got

          a record of your suspect's movements

          every day for the last three months.

                         DIETZ

                  (stabbing the air

                   with the packets)

          All I wanna know is how are these

          guys supposed to be holding up

          Tarzana City National on August 2nd,

          when they are in Fort-fucking-

          Lauderdale August 2ND!!!

                         HARP

          Not an easy thing to do, is it,

          Utah?

                         UTAH

          Aw shit.

                         PAPPAS

          Nice tattoo, Dietz.

We hear a faint BUZZ, growing louder as we...

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  BEDROOM - UTAH'S APARTMENT - DAWN

The doorbell BUZZ shrieks through the room.  It stops.

Starts again.  A ghostly dawn finds UTAH and TYLER

sleeping peacefully, limbs entwined like vines.

Johnny's eyes snap open.  Spies the clock.  4:00 a.m.

Tyler stirs beside him, coming out of sleep.

Johnny wraps a blanket around his waist and staggers to

the door.

BODHI stands outside the door wearing a lunatic grin.

Behind him NATHANIEL, ROACH and GROMMET hoot from the

pickup.

                         BODHI

          C'mon brah, there's a righteous

          swell.  Let's go!  Let's go!

Tyler comes into the room, wrapped in a sheet.

Utah sees her knowing smile.

                         TYLER

          He does this.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  BEACH - PREDAWN

Vampire morning.  A misty predawn, bled of all color.

Steel gray tones.  The ocean vanishes in the fog a few

feet from shore.

Tyler and Johnny, carrying their boards, walk toward the

water.

                         TYLER

          Come on, Utah.  Everybody's out

          there catchin' all the good rides.

She realizes he has stopped ten feet behind her, like a

great weight has dragged him to a halt.

                         TYLER

          What's wrong Johnny?

                  (goes back to him)

          You're like a different person.

He stares at her.  His expression dark... wrestling with

something.

                         UTAH

          I am a different person, Tyler.

He lets out a long breath and looks away, out to sea.

JOHNNY'S POV... the water receding into a backlit wall of

mist.

FIGURES APPEAR, faint silhouettes in the fog.

Shades of gray in the gray.

IN SLOW MOTION they weave hypnotically across the screen,

their shapes merging and unmerging as they cross each

other.

STACKED UP BY THE EXTREME LONG LENS, Bodhi, Roach, Grommet

and Nathaniel crave and slash toward us with mystical

grace.

In SUSPENDED TIME we see them hooting and grinning at each

other as they cut aggressive moves close to each other.

Dolphins playing.

Challenging each other in mock combat.

So good, their boards slash past each other with inches to

spare.

There is an incredible sense of freedom and exhilaration.

Bonding forged through mastery of this arcane art.

For the first time we see the core group of Bodhi's tribe,

by themselves.  It dawns on us...

There are four of them.

And at that moment Nathaniel drops in front of Bodhi,

laughing at the near miss, and drops his pants in a nasty

wig-wagging moon.

TRACKING SLOWLY IN ON JOHNNY staring, mouth open.

Watching the four horsemen of the Apocalypse ride toward

him.

IN SLOW MOTION, BODHI grins as he slashes past Nathaniel's

shining white butt.

ON JOHNNY, as he reacts to the dawning certainty.

He feels weak, dizzy... like the ground is moving under

him.

                         TYLER

          Hey.  You okay?  You look like you

          saw a ghost.

SHOCK CUT -- ANGELO TURNING TOWARD HIM, at the drop car

scene.  Eons ago.  The sound of his voice ringing...

                         PAPPAS

          Forget about it, kid, They're

          ghosts...

BACK TO JOHNNY, as he backs away from Tyler.  Still in

shock, recoiling from the situation.

                         UTAH

          I... I gotta go.

                         TYLER

          Johnny... what's going on?  I don't

          get it... did I do something?

                         UTAH

          No.  I'm sorry.  I have to go.

          I'll, uh... I'll call you later.

          I'm sorry.

He sets off running up the beach.

Tyler stares after him.  Confused and hurt.

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

EXT.  PAPPAS' HOUSE - NIGHT

Early evening.  Utah pulls into the driveway.  When he

kills the engine we hear Greek music from inside the

house.

AT THE ENTRANCE Johnny finds the door ajar.  He pushes it

open a little to reveal--

INT.  HOUSE

Pappas dancing alone in the living room with his shirt

off, holding a glass of ouzo.  Facing away from the door

the ample Greek hears Utah's tentative knock.  Without

breaking from his dance or turning he calls out--

                         PAPPAS

          Hey, babe.  Get on over here so the

          big dog can teach ya how to bark.

Pappas howls like a bloodhound, then twirls around.

                         UTAH

          Woof, woof.

We see the startled Pappas, at a loss for the first time.

                         PAPPAS

          Johnny!  Uh, you, uh... should call

          first, you know?  Hey, where the

          hell were you all day?  You gotta at

          least call in or something.  You

          okay?

                         UTAH

          Angelo, we gotta talk.

Pappas moves toward him, kind of subconsciously herding

Utah back out the door.

                         PAPPAS

          Listen, uh... if you're okay, can it

          wait till tomorrow morning, kid,

          I...

Johnny hears footsteps and turns.

Miss Deer comes through the door like it's not the first

time, carrying a bag of groceries.

                         MISS DEER

          Angie, they didn't have the kind of

          wine you like but I got... oh, hi

          Johnny!

Her icy office persona obviously got left there.  Her hair

is unbound and flows around her shoulders, and in halter

top and jeans she looks delectably off-duty.

Angelo looks at Utah like don't you say a fucking word.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  HOUSE

A few minutes later.  Utah and Pappas leaning on his car.

The younger agent seems to have regained his hunt-down

fever.

                         UTAH

          ... so I started tailing him.

                         PAPPAS

          This Zen master surfer.

                         UTAH

          Bodhi, yeah.  I'm on him all day,

          right.  He goes here, he goes there,

          he goes to Tower Records and buys

          come CDs, he has lunch at Patrick's

          Road House...

                  (mock casual)

          ... he goes into the Assured Trust

          Savings and Loan.

                         PAPPAS

          Did he rob it?

                         UTAH

          Cute.  He was inside for about 20

          minutes.  The other guy, Roach,

          waited in the truck.  They were

          scoping it out, right?!

                         UTAH

          Yeah, or cashing a check.

                         UTAH

          Wait, wait.  Then these guys go back

          to their beach house and box up all

          their shit.  Load it in Bodhi's

          truck and take it to a public

          storage unit.  You see?  Summer's

          almost over.  They're splitting.

          They're gonna pick up a little

          traveling money tomorrow.  The next

          day at the outside latest.  I got a

          feeling.

                         PAPPAS

          Last time you got a feeling I had to

          kill a man, which I always hate

          because it looks bad on the report.

                         UTAH

          Angelo... I'm right this time.  We

          can still win this one.

Angelo looks at the conviction in the other agent's eyes.

Pappas sighs and puts a hand on Johnny's shoulder.

                         PAPPAS

          Alright, look... banks are closed.

          Nothing's gonna go down tonight,

          right?  So we'll be on these guys

          like white on rice... first thing

          tomorrow morning.  Okay?  Tomorrow.

          Okay?

Utah nods.  Then grins.  Pappas starts backing up, like a

long rubber band which was stretched taut is pulling him

back into the house.

                         UTAH

          Woof, woof.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  STREET NEAR BODHI'S HOUSE - DAY

LONG LENS POV scanning Bodhi's house.  There is a "FOR

RENT" sign out front.  The driveway and carpet are

empty... no vehicles in sight.

                         UTAH (V.O.)

          They're gone.  Son of a bitch.  We

          missed them.

UTAH LOWERS HIS BINOCULARS.  He's standing next to the car

while Pappas sits on the hood, sipping coffee from a

thermos.

                         PAPPAS

          They're on their way to Maui.

                         UTAH

          No way.  Not yet.  Come on.

Utah jumps in and starts the car.  Pappas is screwing the

cap on the thermos.  Johnny puts the car in gear, forcing

Angelo to scramble in as the car starts to roll.

                         PAPPAS

          Jesus Christ, kid!  The banks don't

          open 'till nine.

EXT.  CITY STREET - TRAFFIC - DAY

Johnny weaves the sedan among the creeping commuters.

Long glittering lines and heat waves.

                         UTAH

          I say we call it in.  Get some

          backup.  But you gotta do it.  Harp

          won't listen to me.

                         PAPPAS

          Sure.  No problem.  I'll just call

          up and tell him his favorite agent

          saw this one surfer moon another

          surfer yesterday and it looked real

          suspicious.  Shit, he'll probably

          call out the National Guard.

                         UTAH

          I say we don't call it in.  Under no

          circumstance are we to call this in.

                         PAPPAS

          Look, we handle it ourselves, for

          right now, okay?  We cover the bank,

          whatever.  You and me.  That way if

          nothing happens, or more accurately,

          when nothing happens... I don't get

          my tits any further into the wringer

          than they already are.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  ASSURED TRUST SAVING AND LOAN

SLOW PAN from the facade of the bank halfway up the block

to Utah's sedan in the TIGHT F.G.  Head flopped back over

the seat, Angelo snoozes in the hot sun with a sports page

over his face.  Johnny looks at his watch for the fiftieth

time.  Whole lot of nothing going on.

Angelo slides the sports page down to his chin, without

otherwise moving.

                         PAPPAS

          Time for lunch.

                         UTAH

          Angelo, it's eleven thirty.

                         PAPPAS

          That place up the street has

          meatball sandwiches.  Get me two.

Utah slides out of the car.  Feeling a little exposed he

pulls his Dodgers cap down a little tighter, and adjusts

his sunglasses.

He trudges off through the sidewalk crowd toward the FAST-

FOOD STAND nearby.

Pappas pulls the sports page back up to block the sun.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  FAST FOOD PLACE

ON A LONG LENS, very stacked up, we see Johnny standing at

the grody pick-up window.  He keeps looking at the bank,

visible B.G.

The pick-up window opens and food appears, sliding out.

Utah turns, pulling out his wallet.

                         VOICE FROM INSIDE

          Two meatball, one tuna on wheat,

          two lemonades.  Total's seven eighty

          four.

As Johnny is counting out the bills, a BURGUNDY

THUNDERBIRD pulls up in front of the bank.  The doors fly

open.

The Ex-Presidents jump out.

They sprint for the entrance.  All this OUT OF FOCUS, B.G.

Johnny misses it as he picks up the food order.

The Presidents disappear inside.

Johnny looks toward the bank again.  There is no movement.

REVERSE, as Utah walks back toward his car.  Pappas is

still under the paper.  He slides it down when he smells

food.

                         UTAH

          Here, yours is the one that looks

          like a road kill.  Enjoy.

Utah throws a big stack of napkins through the window into

Pappas' lap.  Still standing next to the car.

                         UTAH

          Here's your lemonade.

                  (he looks down the

                   street)

          Did you see that T-Bird pull up?

Pappas pulls a disgusting mass from the bag, unwrapping

one end.

                         PAPPAS

                  (without looking)

          Damn, I could eat the ass out of an

          elephant.  I shoulda had you get me

          three a these.  What T-Bird?

Pappas is about to take a huge bite when a meatball falls

out of the end of the sandwich.  It lands on the seat next

to him.

He looks at it.  Picks it up.  Pops it into his mouth

and--

Freezes, mouth open.  Eyes focused on...

The Ex-Presidents, in living color, flashing through the

doors of the bank 80 feet away.

Johnny is so astounded he doesn't do anything for about

two seconds.  Pappas coughs out his meatball, eyes

bugging.

                         PAPPAS

          Jesus Christ!!  It's them!

The Presidents are piling into the car.

Johnny reacts characteristically.  He whips out the

Beretta and yells--

                         UTAH

          FBI!!  Freeze!!  Right now!

NIXON spins, raising his shotgun.

But Reagan knocks the muzzle down with his hand.  Shoves

him into the car.  Then Reagan jumps behind the wheel.

The back wheels light up, smoking, as the T-Bird launches.

Utah FIRES.

BLAM!  BLAM!  BLAM!

He puts two into the trunk and blows the back window into

junk jewelry.  The T-Bird peels out into traffic, clipping

a Subaru which locks them up and spins.

                         PAPPAS

          Come on, kid, get in the car!

          Jesus!

INT./ EXT.  SEDAN

Pappas reaches across, starting the engine as Johnny jumps

in the driver's side.  Utah buries the throttle into the

firewall and charges aggressively through the medium

traffic.

Their sedan slews around the back of an eighteen wheeler,

fishtailing.  It straightens out.  No T-Bird in sight.

                         UTAH

          The hell are they?!

                         PAPPAS

          They took a left at the next light!

                         UTAH

          You sure?!

Utah is totally wired.  Totally concentrated.  The

adrenalin is kicking in, flashing through his system.  His

brain is on turbo boost, reacting a thousand times a

second as they hit sixty through the traffic, which seems

to be standing still.

                         UTAH

          I got 'em.  I see 'em.  I'm on it,

          I'm on it.

High-speed slalom through cars and trucks.

The world passes by in a hysterical blur.

                         PAPPAS

          You even watching the road?

A car pulls out, straight ahead.

Utah swerves wildly, mostly gets around him.  The guy's

bumper and front grille are removed.  Utah does a smoking

skid-recovery.  Doesn't even slow down.

The late model T-Bird is weaving manically.  It makes a

sliding turn onto a cross street half a block ahead of the

FBI agents.

Utah cuts the wheel into a huge Ralph's parking lot.

Pedestrians scatter.  Utah center-punches a week's supply

of groceries in a cart.

INT./ EXT.  T-BIRD

The Presidents hold on desperately as Reagan white-

knuckles it through civilian traffic.  They're looking all

around, trying to see where Utah went.

                         LBJ

          Where are they, man?  I don't see

          'em.  We lose 'em?

Not exactly... THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD we see an airborne

Utah hurtling from a Ralph's entrance.  The sedan lands on

the street, tearing chunks out of the asphalt with the

undercarriage.

An instant later it hammers into the side of the T-Bird.

The two cars spin out of control.  Utah cuts the wheel,

slamming into them again.  Side by side demolition derby.

WHAM!!  Utah hits them again.  The Presidents lose

control, jumping a curb, losing the right front tire in

the process.

Utah's car starts to swap ends.  Hit the center island

broadside.

The sedan flips onto its back in an explosion of glass.

SCREECH of steel on concrete as it comes to rest.

Hanging upside down, Pappas is mightily pissed off.

                         PAPPAS

          Nice fuckin' work, hotshot.

          Christ!

They can see the T-Bird still moving.

It slews drunkenly as the driver maintains speed on

flapping rubber.

Johnny shimmies out of the wreckage, sliding on his back

in broken glass.  Pappas is packed in, upside down,

wriggling to get out through the side window.  A tight

fit.

INT./ EXT.  T-BIRD

The Presidents are hammered up and down by the flailing

tire.

                         REAGAN

          Emergency sanitization!  Here we go!

EXT.  GAS STATION

The T-Bird vaults into the parking lot and slides to a

smoking stop at one of the pump islands.  The Presidents

explode out of the car in a blur.

Reagan bodyslams a TEENAGER putting gas in his MUSTANG.

He flips his big pistol to LBJ as the other Presidents

charge past him.  Nixon jumps behind the wheel of the

Mustang.  LBJ and JFK pile in.

Reagan grabs the gas nozzle out of the car.

He pulls out a ZIPPO LIGHTER.

Reagan raises the gas nozzle like a gun and holds the

zippo below and slightly in front of it.  He flicks the

flame.

Then pulls the trigger on the nozzle.

Like an impromptu flame thrower, the nozzle spews A TWENTY

FOOT JET OF FIRE which engulfs the T-Bird in an instant.

Any physical evidence in the car is rapidly incinerated.

Customers are running, screaming.

Nixon has the Mustang fired up.

                         NIXON

          Let's go!  Move it, Ronny!

Ronny's eyes sparkle behind his mask as he paints the

scene with the jet of fire.  You can see it getting good

to him.  In a second he's going to blow up the whole

block.  But he's getting his rocks off.  He sets two other

cars on fire.

A FIGURE BLURS INTO FRAME.

In a flying tackle, Utah catapults Reagan off his pins.

They roll, skidding across the oily concrete.

Spraying wild, the fire swirls around the pump island.

Out of the black smoke, PAPPAS charges like an angry bull,

his snubnose held high.  NIXON sees him and floors it.

The Mustang smokes out of the gas station as Pappas' shots

blow out the back window.

Utah and Reagan roll away from the blaze.  Johnny's pants

are burning.  He gets to his knees in time for Reagan's

kick to take him square in the solar plexus.  He folds in

half.  Drops to the cement.

Reagan kicks him again and takes off running.

The President is burning.

His suit jacket is ablaze.  He shucks out of it as he

runs.

Gasping, Johnny rapidly slaps his jeans.  Puts himself

out.  He comes up running, pulling his Beretta.  Sees the

back of Reagan's head disappearing into an alley behind

the gas station.

EXT.  ALLEY

A non-descript L.A. alley... commercial buildings on one

side, walled suburb on the other.  Two men running all

out.

A recent President and a wild-eyed cop trailing smoke like

a crashing jet fighter.

Beyond the buildings behind them A FIREBALL EXPLODES

SKYWARD.  We hear sirens and shouting, which recede as the

two pelt along the alley.  It gets quieter.  Just the

machine-gun slap of the shoes on pavement, and the hard

breathing of the two men, each in overdrive, going all out

in long blurring strides.

REAGAN looks back.  Sees the demon cop behind him,

gaining.

Utah has become an engine, a running machine... juggernaut

mode.

AHEAD OF THEM a BLACK AND WHITE swings into the alley.

Reagan hangs a hard left and blasts a wooden gate half off

its hinges.  Utah whips through the gate a second later.

Diving into suburbia.

INT./ EXT.  NEIGHBORHOOD - FOOTCHASE SEQUENCE

It becomes a blur.  Pure kinetic energy.  Two meteors

rocketing through a low-rent suburb.  And God help anyone

who gets in the way.

Reagan crosses a cluttered backyard.

Broken field run through toys, swing set, stacks of god-

knows-what.

He runs through a Mr. Turtle Pool in an explosion of

spray.

Crashes through a hedge.

Through the narrow gap between houses.

Utah powers into the tight space behind him.

Blurring along between stucco walls.

They emerge into the front yard.

A WOMAN watering her lawn is so surprised she yelps and

falls down.

Reagan and Utah both hurdle her.

AHEAD, KIDS ON BIKES, racing along the sidewalk.

Reagan dodges the first, Utah slams into the next two.

He crashes, rolling, tangled up in bikes and squawking

teenagers.

He comes out of a pile-up somehow still in high gear.

Reagan flashes across the sunlit street.

Dodges in front of a GARBAGE TRUCK which locks up the

brakes.

It stops so fast, one of the guys falls off the back.

The GUY is getting up as Utah whips around the back of the

truck.

Knocks him sprawling.

Utah doesn't stop.  Doesn't look back.

Like he doesn't see anything in the real world but the

figure running ahead of him.  Like it's some kind of

hyperkinetic video game.

Everything is a blur.  Suburbia smeared into staccato

impressions.

The house across the street is blocked by fence on both

sides.

A MAN is picking up his mail.

Reagan pounds past him.  Right through the front door of

the house.

Utah follows.

Panting as he sprints down a dark hallway.

A WOMAN with a basket of washing SCREAMS as Reagan blasts

past her, knocking her flying.

Utah leaps over her sprawled legs.

Cats blur underfoot.  Utah crunches down on a tail.  A CAT

EXPLOSION.  Screeching merges with the woman's shrill

shouts as Utah slams the back screen door off its hinges.

Across the back yard.  Fence.  Over it.  Running on.

REAGAN looks back.

Sees Utah still behind him like in a bad dream.

He enters the next house.  Sliding glass door.

Utah sees Reagan pull it closed.  Locking it.

Without breaking stride Johnny grabs a potted plant off a

patio wall.

Heaves it ahead of him.

The glass BURST INTO A WALL OF DIAMONDS.

Utah blasts through a microsecond later.

Topples the kitchen table.  Furniture and crockery

crashing everywhere.

He sprints down a hallway after Reagan.

A FIERCE WOMAN in a housecoat shouting at them as they

pass, holding a vacuum cleaner like it's shot-gun.

                         WOMAN

          Get the fuck out of this house!

          What the fuck do you think you're

          doing--

Around a corner.  A VICIOUS SNARLING SOUND.

Utah sees something flying at him.  Reflexively catches

it.

Reagan has thrown a PIT-BULL.

The Fierce Woman's fierce dog.

UTAH'S POV -- the snarling little demon right in his face.

He drop-kicks it like a goddamn field-goal right through a

doorway and runs on.

Another door.  Another explosion of sunlight.  Another

yard.

Sprinklers this time.  Reagan and Utah running through

sunlit walls of rain.  They crash through another hedge.

Emerging drenched.

The ground drops away.  Slipping and sliding on iceplant,

they skid down a steep slope.  Reagan reaches bottom.

A TEN FOOT RETAINING WALL, dropping off like a cliff to

pavement below.

Reagan falls, landing on his feet.

Panting now, feeling it, he stumbles up and runs on.

Utah rips down through the iceplant like a human

lawnmower.

Slides over the edge.  Falls -- lands hard.

TIGHT ON HIS KNEE and SLOW MOTION.

Taking the impact.

We HEAR something go.

Utah crashes to the pavement, his face contorted with

pain.

He grabs his tortured knee with both hands.

                         UTAH

          Not now.  Not now!

Reagan runs on.  They are in an enclosed storage yard of

some kind.  Ten foot chainlink all around.

Utah struggles to get up and run.

He sprawls forward, biting back a howl of pain.

We see the incredible will driving him on.

He gets up and again, hobbling.  Trying to run.

Reagan reaches the fence.

He is heaving for breath.  Holding his side.

Utah stumbles, gets up, clutching his knee.

Hobbling forward.  His eyes wild, the veins in his neck

bulging.

Reagan starts to climb.  Utah collapses to his knees.  He

can't go on.

Reagan reaches the top of the fence.  He looks back.

UTAH HAS THE BERETTA POINTED RIGHT AT HIM.

Twenty feet away.  The muzzle rock-steady.  He can't miss.

They both are frozen, panting.  Locked into the moment.

                         REAGAN

          You want me, there's only one way.

PAPPAS reaches the top of the hill, 200 feet away, panting

like he's about to collapse.  He sees the tableau.

ECU -- UTAH'S FINGER on the trigger.  Tightening.

RACK TO his eyes.  Blinking, water running into them.

God, he wants to.

ECU -- REAGAN'S EYES, through the mask.  Locked with

Utah's.

UTAH suddenly snaps his hand up and FIRES VERTICALLY.

HE HOWLS WITH RAGE, FRUSTRATION AND PAIN.

FIRES AGAIN.  And AGAIN.

Slumping back, his shoulders slam down onto the concrete.

Straight-arming the Beretta he FIRES RAPIDLY...

Bulleting the blue sky.

HIGH ANGLE, looking straight down on the tableau.

Reagan leaps off the fence and runs OUT OF FRAME, as Utah

empties the magazine straight at us, the shots merging

with his agonized howl, echoing as we--

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  FBI BUILDING - BULLPEN - NIGHT

UTAH sits next to the DISPATCHER waiting for news like a

sailor in a storm.  His leg is popped up on a chair with

jeans split to the thigh and an ace bandage wrapped around

his knee.

His face is a nasty patchwork of scratches and bruises.

He drains his coffee and gazes out at the empty bullpen.

PAPPAS comes through the doors, wiping the remains of

dinner off his mouth.

                         PAPPAS

          Nothing?

                         UTAH

          Nothing.

The Dispatcher talks into his headset, glances up at

Pappas, shakes his head.

                         PAPPAS

          Go home, kid.  Get the hell outta

          here.  Get some sleep.  You look

          like shit.  They get anything even

          resembles your guy, I'm on your

          beeper.  Here.  You like feta?

He smiles warmly, handing his younger partner a brown

paper sack.

                         UTAH

          Feta.  My favorite.

Managing a weary smile.  Lifts his body out of the chair,

turns to go.

Angelo ponders something.

                         PAPPAS

          Johnny...

Utah stops.  Looks back at the man.

                         PAPPAS

          All I wanna know is one thing, why

          didn't you just take the shot?

Johnny's gaze turns inward.

                         UTAH

          I don't know.

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  BATHROOM - UTAH'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

UTAH sits on the bathroom floor as Tyler dabs Betadyne

antiseptic over his wounds.  Utah cringes.

                         UTAH

          Ouch.

                         TYLER

          Betadyne doesn't hurt.

                         UTAH

          You're kneeling on my hand.

She laughs, shifts her weight and keeps tending him.

                         TYLER

          So what'd the other guy look like?

                         UTAH

          Never saw him, was your basic hit

          and run.

                         TYLER

          But you look like you been in a

          train wreck, how'd he just drive

          away?

Utah acts like he wants to say something but his mouth

won't quite form the words.  Tyler dabs his face, touches

a finger to his forehead.

                         TYLER

          Johnny, what is it with you?  You

          have that look again, it's like

          you're about to tell me something

          and then you don't... or you can't.

          What's going on?

Johnny searches her eyes.

She stares at him, becoming fragile suddenly.

                         TYLER

          What?  What do you want to tell me?

Utah's brow unfurls.  The thought has passed.  He slowly

cups his hand over hers.  Gently pulling her close.

                         UTAH

          I'm glad you pulled me out of the

          water that day...

He presses his lips to the smooth curve of her forehead.

A kiss to each downcast eye.  Searching out her mouth with

his own as his hands glide down the small of her back.

Their reflection in the mirror as Utah slowly lowers Tyler

to the bathroom floor.  She clings tightly in a breathless

kiss.

EXT.  CLIFF - NIGHT

A Buddha in the moonlight, BODHI sits crosslegged upon the

cliff, staring at the ocean.

CAMERA CIRCLES AROUND HIM, focusing in upon his eyes.

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

INT.  BEDROOM - NIGHT

UTAH asleep, flopped in a spread-eagled X.

WE HEAR the bedroom door opening, see a slash of light

fall across the bed.

Johnny doesn't stir.

A shadow appears on the wall, moving toward him.

An outstretched arm holding a gun.

Utah snores softly, sleeping like a baby.

CAMERA TRACKS IN on his peaceful face.

A single eyelid flutters.  Total silence, until...

KABOOOOMMM!  The Pillow beside him EXPLODES into a

blizzard of goosedown.  Johnny rears up, eyes wide, mouth

agape.

TYLER stands above him, recovering from the kick of the

smoking 9mm Beretta in her hand.

                         TYLER

          A lawyer!?  You lied to me!

She throws his FBI gold star at his face.

                         TYLER

          Look, Tyler, I can--

BOOM!  Tyler SQUEEZES off another round.

Cascading goosefeathers falling like snow.

Utah flinches sideways.

                         TYLER

          Jesus Christ, Johnny -- you've been

          using me!  Your jacket's on the

          floor in the bathroom -- this

          goddamn thing's half out of the

          pocket... Oh God, it's all part of

          some case, isn't it?

                         UTAH

          Tyler, put the gun down.

                         TYLER

          You tell me the fucking truth

          Johnny... did your parents really

          die in a car crash?  DID THEY?!

She waves the Beretta in his face.

                         UTAH

          No.  They live in Columbus Ohio.

Tyler lowers the pistol slowly, the strength leaving her.

Her face begins to flood with tears.

                         UTAH

          I work bank robbery.  Guys I'm after

          are surfers.  I needed you, at

          first, but not--

                         TYLER

          Fuck you, Johnny Utah.  Fuck you!!

          Don't you have a soul?  Goddamn you

          to hell!

She goes limp as the sobs rack her body.  The gun flops

from her grip.

Utah sweeps it under the bed with his foot.

He moves to gently comfort her.

She bolts at his touch, running from the bedroom.

Utah is up and hopping into his pants to follow her.  He

stumbles.

                         UTAH

          Tyler!  Wait!!

From the living room we hear a rattling of keys, the front

door opens and slams shut.  He hobbles to the door,

favoring his knee.  Opens it.  We hear the Porsche

screeching away.

Utah sags, the breath coming out of him long and slow.

                                            CUT TO:

UTAH on the bed staring up at the ceiling.  Phone cradled,

listening to--

                         TYLER (V.O.)

          Hi, it's me.  Leave a message.

BEEP!  He rests the telephone on his chest, letting the

tape roll a moment before he speaks.

                         UTAH

          Tyler I... look, I fucked up, okay.

          I know I fucked up.  I wanted to

          tell you, but I couldn't -- I was

          afraid you'd leave... good guess,

          huh?

                  (grimacing)

          Fuck, why can't I ever say what I

          really mean?  I lied to you.  I'm an

          asshole... but I need you, Tyler.  I

          want you to know that I've never

          known anyone like you before in my

          life... and I... I hope you change

          your mind...

He cradles the receiver, looks out the window.  Black of

night.  Dead still.

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

UTAH asleep, telephone still perched on his bare chest.

BUZZZZZZ!  The rasp of the doorbell.

Johnny is airborne, phone flying across the floor.

Hunting for his pants, realizes they are already on, limps

in fast motion to the door.

                         UTAH

          Tyler!  Wait, I--

Whips it open.

BODHI standing in the doorway, smiling like an excited

child.

                         BODHI

          Howdy brah.

NATHANIEL, ROACH, and GROMMET are there behind him.

They look like sentry dogs.  Johnny freezes.

Bodhi walks past Utah, into the room.

                         BODHI

          C'mon, get your gear on, we're

          rollin'.

Cheerful, hardly able to contain his exuberance.

He moves through the room, grabbing Johnny's shirt from a

chair, a pair of sneakers on the floor.

Utah sees his FBI shield sitting on the dresser in plain

sight.

He palms it when Bodhi is turned away, and slips it into

his hip pocket to conceal it.

                         UTAH

          What going on, Bodhi?

Bodhi plucks a couple socks off the couch, hands them to

Utah.

                         BODHI

          Here.

                  (spying Johnny's cut

                   face)

          Hey, what happened?  Ya cut

          yourself shaving?

Johnny meets Bodhi's cold stare.

                         UTAH

          I don't think I wanna surf right

          now.

Bodhi's face takes on a crazy glow.

                         BODHI

          Naw, this is different, Johnny.

          This is something totally

          different... you're gonna love this.

He winds an arm around Johnny's shoulders, guides him

toward the door.

                         BODHI

          C'mon, let's go, let's go.  Time's

          wastin', brah.

Bodhi claps Utah on the back, ushering him outside.

Nathaniel, Roach and Grommet fall into step beside them.

The door closes behind them.

CAMERA DRIFTS back through the apartment, coming to rest

on the 9mm Beretta, on the floor under the bed... useless.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  BODHI'S PICKUP - PREDAWN

The pickup is a funnel of dust along the desert road.

Black mountains against a silver sky.

INT.  BODHI'S PICKUP

The tapedeck blasts.  BODHI and UTAH sit inside the cab.

Through the rear window, we see NATHANIEL, ROACH and

GROMMET in the flatbed.

Bodhi swivels his eyes to Johnny, lowers the volume.

                         BODHI

          Life's sure got a sick sense of

          humor, don't you think so Johnny?

Face splitting into a shit-eating grin.

                         UTAH

          How you figure?

                         BODHI

                  (slight laugh)

          News, last night... those guys, the

          Ex-Presidents... they robbed my bank

          yesterday.  And I was just there the

          day before, cashing a check.  See...

          look.  Assured Trust... same place.

He takes a beat up checkbook off the dash and flips it to

Johnny.

Utah opens the cover and looks.

Sure enough.  Assured Trust Savings and Loan.

                         BODHI

          I was picking up some bucks cause

          we're leaving town.  Bizarre, huh?

          If I'd waited a day I'd been right

          in the middle of it.  Kinda sorry I

          missed it.  I'd liked to've seen

          them.

A long pregnant pause.  Utah breathes deeply, remaining

calm, his voice carrying a chilling bravado.

                         UTAH

          Takes guts to rob a bank.  All that

          adrenalin pumping, waving loaded

          guns, taking out the guards, getting

          everybody on the floor, never

          knowin' who's gonna burst in...

                  (looks right at

                   Bodhi)

          ... wondering what it's like to take

          a bullet.  Must be some ride.

Utah's smile is a personal challenge.  Bodhi sits

perversely intrigued.  The mental warfare escalates.

                         BODHI

          Banks are insured, brah.  Long as

          nobody gets shot, it's really a

          victimless crime.  Just gotta scare

          'em a little, would be my guess.

                  (ponders something)

          Now if I was gonna rob a bank, with

          all those guys wearin' body armor

          these days, know what I'd carry?

Bodhi reaches his hand underneath the seat.

He pulls out a huge holstered handgun, rests it in his

lap, draws and holds the gun up against his cheek.

                         BODHI

          .454 Casull.  Most powerful handgun

          on the planet.  Muzzle velocity of

          2000 feet per second.  Twice the

          kinetic energy of a .44 Magnum.

Bodhi stares at Utah, then flashes his signature smile.

Utah says coldly.

                         UTAH

          One shot stopping.

                         BODHI

                  (laughs)

          'One shot stopping'... good, very

          good.  I like you, Johnny.  I like

          you because you'll sacrifice

          anything to win.  I respect that.

          It elevates you a little above the

          drones who have learned compromise.

          Here, hold it.  Check out the

          weight.

He twirls the gun, grabs the barrel and extends the handle

to Utah.

Johnny takes it slowly.  Now it's aimed at Bodhi.

                         BODHI

                  (cheerfully)

          Whoa.  Careful.  You got the muzzle

          pointing right at me, brah.

He casually pushes the barrel away, looking back at the

highway.

Johnny swings a stiff arm out his window and pumps a ROUND

into open desert.  KABOOOM!!  The recoil blows Johnny's

arm back over the top of the truck.  Practically breaks

his wrist.

Thunder rolls across the dark hills.

From the back of the pickup Nathaniel howls.

Grommet and Roach high five.

Johnny turns to Bodhi, breaking slowly into a feral grin.

                         UTAH

          Nice.

He hands the smoking weapon back to him.

As if to say "two can play this game".

Bodhi stands challenged.

Each snared in the other's power...

Bodhi takes the weapon back, casually.  Slips it under the

seat.

                         BODHI

          It's a special day, Johnny U.  A

          very special day...

Utah's gaze travels beyond the windshield.

Where tentacles of brand new morning light vein the sky.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  DESERT AIRSTRIP

TIGHT ON A turbo-prop engine ROARING.

WIDER reveals a big Cessna twin.  The PILOT, a weaselly

guy we haven't seen before, fires up the second engine.

The plane shudders eagerly in the metallic predawn light.

A desert airstrip near Palmdale.  A couple of aluminum-

siding hangers and no tower.  A few other planes around

but no activity besides Bodhi's rock-steady crew.

UTAH watches Grommet whip back a tarp in the bed of

Bodhi's truck and starts tossing out PARACHUTE PACKS.

Roach tosses one to Bodhi, who chucks it to Utah.

                         BODHI

          Ever done this before?

                         UTAH

          Once.

                         BODHI

          Pure adrenalin, right?!  The

          ultimate rush.  Other guys snort for

          it, jab a vein for it -- all you

          gotta do is jump.

                         UTAH

          Sure, it's a blast, but listen, I

          sorta screwed up my knee yesterday--

                         BODHI

          Yeah, I noticed you limping.

                  (grins)

          But don't worry about it, brah.

          Don't worry at all.  We're not gonna

          land on land!

Bodhi grabs his sleeve, ushering him into the plane.

                         UTAH

          Oh, well, that's fine then.  I feel

          so much better.

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  CESSNA

Utah sits, wearing a day-glo jump suit, hugging the chute

in his lap.  Next to him is the gaping door.  Beyond... a

spectacular down sunburst at 10,000 feet.  ROAR of wind

and engines.

Utah watches Bodhi, Nathaniel, Grommet and Roach wriggling

into their colorful freefall suits.  Nathaniel pulls on a

pair of purple shorts over his suit.  Looks real dorky.

Grommet has on duck feet.  Bodhi, apparently, is going to

jump barefoot.

Nobody has their chutes on yet.

Johnny hefts his, as if weighing it, somehow judging the

contents.  His brain is racing.  Bodhi shouts over the

roar.

                         BODHI

          It's a little ceremony we always

          have at the end of summer.  One last

          speedstar.

                         UTAH

          So, who... uh, who packed my chute?

                         BODHI

          I did.  What's the matter?  Don't

          trust me?

                         UTAH

          You gotta earn trust.

                         BODHI

          Then we'll earn it together.  Here,

          take mine.

Bodhi swaps chutes with Johnny.

Utah looks at the new chute uncertainly.

Is this a game?  Poker moves?

Did Bodhi anticipate this step?

                         ROACH

          Hey... you don't want Bodhi's, man.

          His pack-jobs suck... they only open

          half the time.  Take Grommet's, man.

Roach's grin is evil as he grabs Grommet's chute out of

his hands and switches it with Johnny's.  Keeps that one

and gives his to Grommet.

                         GROMMET

          Whoa, unfair, dude!

Grommet grabs his chute back and hands Johnny the one he

had, which was Roach's.  I think.

Johnny looks at the pack in his hands.  Then at the

grinning faces.

Russian surfer freefall roulette.  Shit.

Bodhi studying him.  Some kind of test.

Fuck it.  Utah starts putting the damn thing on.

                         UTAH

          We gonna jump or jerk off?

                         BODHI

          My man!

EXT.  10,000 FEET - DAWN

Multi-colored figures explode from the plane.  Leaping

into freefall.  Tumbling end over end.

WEARING HEADSETS, they hurtle downward.

                         BODHI (RADIO)

          Utah, you copy bruddah?

                         UTAH (RADIO)

          Whoooaaah!  Shhiiittt!  Whoooaaah!

                         BODHI

          I'll take that as a yes.

One by one they stabilize.  Falling face down, knees bent,

they angle their hands and feet minutely to move

laterally.  Utah flails, the last to trim out.  But he's

holding his own.

Grommet, working his duckfeet, pitches himself into a wild

spin, rotating like a dervish in a head down dive.  He

flares out and "flies" back to the others.

Rocketing through the void at 120 mph they seem to

paradoxically hang above the world, almost unmoving... on

a separate plane of existence.

A hurricane of wind.  Wild HOOTING.

Despite his terror, Johnny has to grin at Nathaniel,

falling butt first like he's sitting on a big inner tube

in the pool.

                         ROACH

          Whip it out dudes!  Cheap sex with

          the cosmos!

                         BODHI

          Ten thousand feet.  Let's do it.

The group stabilizes, moving together.

First Bodhi and Roach link arms, trimming constantly.

Concentrating.  Nathaniel flips over onto his stomach and

maneuvers toward them.  He grabs Roach's arm.

Grommet works his way next to Nathaniel.  Locks in.

They need Utah to complete the ring.

Four faces beckoning to him, distorted by the hurricane

wind.

                         BODHI

          Come on Johnny.  Get in here!

Johnny moves his hands like flippers and glides clumsily

toward them.  Bodhi and Grommet grab him.  He's in.

A perfect five-man star.

                         BODHI

          Relax, brah.  I got you, I got you.

                         GROMMET

          Righteous-ass speedstar, dudes!

                         BODHI

          You diggin' this?

                         UTAH

          Great!  GREAT!

Johnny is exhilarated more than he could have thought.

Screaming down through the dawn sky at 130.

Locked into the ring.  Part of something.

Connected to these guys far above the planet.

Less far every second... Bodhi's chest altimeter reads

6,000 feet.

                         BODHI

          Purty-thirty and we're meat waffles,

          folks.  See ya downtown!

He releases Roach's arm and the star disintegrates,

drifting apart.

Bodhi stays with Utah, falling parallel to the horizon,

facing each other, holding hands.  4000 feet.  Airspeed

140.

Grommet pulls his ripcord.  He seems to be jerked upward

by a great force.  Suddenly he is far above, a brightly

colored disc of fabric.

Utah is suddenly aware of the earth rushing up at him.

Nathaniel pulls, then Roach.  They shoot upward,

disappearing.

Bodhi and Utah fall on, alone.

                         BODHI

          You gonna pull?

                         UTAH

          After you, Alfonse.  I insist!

Bodhi looks at Utah.  A slow grin.  The meter on his chest

harness reads 2000 ft.  150 mph.  12 seconds to Valhalla.

                         BODHI

          Don't screw around man, pull it!

                         UTAH

          You do it... you first!

                         BODHI

          One thousand feet.  Pull the goddamn

          cord!

                         UTAH

          You first!

                         BODHI

          Okay!

Bodhi reaches out suddenly and pulls Utah's ripcord

handle.

He waves goodbye as Johnny's canopy deploys.  Utah is

jerked upward.  He feels his weight hanging brutally in

the harness.

Johnny looks down.

Impossibly close to the ground.  Bodhi's canopy BURSTS

OUT, an explosion of color.  Below him is the shimmering

mirror of a LARGE RESERVOIR.  Two seconds later the bright

yellow canopy meets its reflection and goes slack.  An

explosion of white water marks Bodhi's impact.

LOW ANGLE AT WATER LEVEL as Utah hits.

IN SLOW MOTION a glorious wall of backlit spray shouts

skyward.

Molten glass falling back in the bright desert dawn.

Utah surfaces, sputtering, and shucks out of the harness.

He floats like a jellyfish, gasping for breath.

                         UTAH

          Jesus Christ.  I gotta be losin' it.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  AIRFIELD - DAY

Bodhi walks toward us, dripping wet and grinning.

He wraps his arm around Utah's shoulders as the others

walk up.

They're all soaked and stoked.

                         BODHI

          Ya see... I told you Johnny U was

          gonna be just fine!

Roach and the others clap him on the back.  A moment of

acceptance into the tribe.  Utah isn't sure what it means

yet.

                         BODHI

          C'mere.  There's something you need

          to see.

Bodhi leads him toward a PLAIN UTILITY VAN parked nearby.

It was there earlier but Utah had no reason to notice it.

Bodhi opens the rear doors and motions Johnny inside.

Utah, puzzled and suddenly alert, steps in.  Bodhi

follows.

INT.  VAN - DAY

The interior is empty except for several canvas duffel

bags and a small portable VCR.  It is one of the new sales

presentation models, with deck and monitor together in one

tiny unit.

                         UTAH

          What's this?

                         BODHI

          Insurance policy.  Now this is going

          to sting a bit, but it's for your

          own growth, brah.  Press play.

Utah hits the button and an image comes up on the tiny

screen.

TIGHT ON SCREEN.  A night shot.  Rosie the biker has Tyler

in a powerful grip.  Her hands are cuffed behind her, and

her mouth is taped.  He has his switchblade up to her

throat.  Her eyes are wild, but with rage, not fear.

She's trying to struggle out of his grip, kicking at him

viciously.

He controls her efficiently.

Bodhi stops the tape.

                         BODHI

          She's a wild one, isn't she...

          Special Agent Utah?

Utah lunges, pinning Bodhi to the wall of the van... an

elbow across his throat.

                         UTAH

          You're a fucking dead man--

                         BODHI

                  (gasping for breath)

          Whoa, whoa!!  Think it through!  I'm

          the only one knows where they are.

          Just let me talk for a second.

Johnny pulls back.  Barely in control.

                         UTAH

          Talk.

                         BODHI

          She'll be fine, Rosie won't do

          anything.  At least not as long as I

          meet him at a certain place and time,

          about... let's see...

                  (he looks at his

                   dive Rolex)

          ... six hours from now.

Utah's voice sounds kind of strangled.

                         UTAH

          You call him... right now... and

          tell him to let her go.

                         BODHI

          Sorry, can't do it, brah.  He's on

          the road.  And where they're going

          there's no phones.  Damn, I hate

          this Johnny, I really do.  I hate

          violence.  See, that's why I need

          Rosie.  I could never make this

          thing work, myself.  No way I could

          hold a knife to Tyler's throat, man!

          She was my woman, once.  We shared

          time in this world.  But Rosie, he's

          kind of a... mechanism.  Once you

          set him in motion, he won't stop.

          That's his gift, a kind of...

          blankness.  Noon comes, straight up,

          he'll gut her like a pig and try not

          to get any on his shoes.  Nothing I

          can do, unless I get there.

Utah blanches as he takes this in.  Knows Bodhi well

enough now to know he means business.

                         BODHI

          So that makes us partners, doesn't

          it?  Because now we both have the

          same goal... to get me where I need

          to go.  Right?

Utah's expression turns suddenly cold as an executioner's.

                         UTAH

          We're wasting time.

                         BODHI

          See!  That's what I like about you,

          man!  You're just sharp as a razor

          blade.

Bodhi jumps out of the van and approaches the others,

gathered nearby.  He addresses the pilot first...

                         BODHI

          Get the plane down to Santa Monica

          and top up the tanks.

                  (to the others)

          Let's go.  Let's saddle up!

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  L.A. STREETS - DAY

A STYLIZED LONG LENS SHOT stacks the cars into a dreamlike

mirage.  The van weaves slowly among them with predatory

stealth.

                         BODHI (V.O.)

          Okay.  All I'm askin' for is ninety

          seconds of your life, Johnny.

          That's all.

INT.  VAN

EXTREME CLOSEUP ON the velcro straps of Second Chance

armor.  Tanned fingers cinch it tight.  A SHELL slides

into the cylinder of the Casull.  A SHOTGUN is cocked.

KACHACK!

                         BODHI

          It's basic dog psychology, brah.  If

          you scare them, get them pissing

          down their leg, they submit... you

          control them.  If you project

          weakness, you draw aggression...

          that's how people get hurt.

WIDER, revealing that Bodhi is in the back with Utah and

Roach.

Nathaniel and Grommet sit up front.

The duffels contents are strewn around.  Masks.  Weapons.

They're all pulling on suit pants and jackets.  Tying

ties.  Slipping on white gloves.  Snappy Oxfords.

Bodhi is pulling a suit jacket on over his BODY ARMOR.

Utah is fumbling with his armored vest.  He works with

vicious, jerky moves.  His jaw locked.  Eyes down.

                         BODHI

          Fear causes hesitation, and

          hesitation will cause your worst

          fears to come true.  You project

          strength to avoid conflict.

                         ROACH

          Peace through superior firepower,

          babe.

Bodhi conspicuously empties all the shells from a PUMP 12

GAUGE.

Pockets the shells.  Tosses the weapon to Utah.

                         BODHI

          Here, you need this.  You can't be

          comin' through that door with your

          dick in your hands, right?

                         UTAH

          I can't do this.

                         BODHI

          Sure you can!  You may even like

          it... it's a killer rush.  You'll

          see.  Hey, don't I show you things,

          Johnny U?

                         UTAH

          Bodhi, this is your wake up call,

          man -- I... am... an... Eff...

          Bee... Eye... Agent!!

                         BODHI

          Wild, ain't it?!  See, we exist on a

          higher plane, you and I.  We make

          our own rules.  Why be a servant of

          the law Johnny U... when you can be

          it's master?

                         GROMMET

          Fuckin' A!

                         BODHI

          Ninety seconds, man, door to door.

          A small price to pay for someone who

          loves you.

                  (he looks up)

          She does you know.  It's not her

          style to fall so hard... I don't

          think she did with me.

He pulls the Ronald Reagan mask over his head smoothly.

Roach pulls his on.  NIXON.  Nathaniel becomes KENNEDY.

Grommet transforms into LBJ.

Bodhi looks in the bag -- no more masks.

                         BODHI

          Sorry, Johnny.  Guess you don't get

          to be president.

JOHNNY'S POV -- the back doors of the van.  And the

promise of what is beyond.  Bodhi enters FRAME.  Looks

straight at us.

                         BODHI

          Rock and roll!

BOOM -- THE DOORS bang open, REVEALING--

EXT.  STREET - BANK - DAY

STILL IN POV (HANDHELD) we hurl ourselves from the dark

van into blasting daylight.  Bodhi is ahead of us in the

sprint for the bank doors.  Dizzying forward momentum as

we hammer through the doors into--

INT.  BANK

THE HANDHELD POV CONTINUES as we follow Bodhi, a wolf

plunging among the sheep.  A FAT GUARD inside the doors.

He turns to us just as Bodhi butt-strokes him hard in the

gut.

Someone screams.

                         BODHI

          Everybody freeze!!  Don't move!!

AHEAD of us GROMMET/LBJ covers the SECOND GUARD with his

12 gauge.

                         GROMMET

          Don't fucking do it, man!

The guy has his hand on the grip of his pistol but it's

like the thing suddenly weighs eight tons, he can't seem

to lift it from the holster.  ROACH/NIXON slips up next to

him and helps him with it.  The guy is visibly trembling.

A YOUNG JOCK makes a move to run.

'OUR' SHOTGUN comes up like a reflex, right in his face.

Roach/Nixon throws the guy to the floor by his hair.

AHEAD OF US, Bodhi is in action.  Moving to the counter,

shouting--

                         BODHI/REAGAN

          All Tellers back away from the

          counter!  Hands on your heads!

          RIGHT NOW!!  That's right.  You know

          the drill.

It's like a replay of the robbery Utah saw on video.  But

he's right in the middle of it, like in some kind of

nightmare.

WE'RE STILL IN POV, the image WHIPPING wildly from side to

side as Utah scans the room.  We whirl dervish among the

statuary of the customers and bank employees.  Our gaze

drifts across THE FLOOR MANAGER, a short guy in a brown

suit standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

                         BODHI/REAGAN

          All customers on the floor.  Let's

          go!  Move it!  Get down!  On the

          floor!  Right now!  Let's go.

Roach and Grommet are pushing them down.

Utah stands stiffly with the shotgun.  He seems dazed.

He catches the eye of a CUSTOMER.  In a tenth of a second

we see Johnny see the customer see his uncertainty.  Fear

has them both hyper-aware.

Johnny gestures fiercely with the shotgun.

                         UTAH

          On the floor, asshole!  What's your

          problem?!  I blow your fucking

          kneecaps out, you'll be on the

          floor!!

The guy hits the deck like a sack of cement.

BODHI/REAGAN floats beside Johnny, scanning with the

Casull.  He speaks without turning his head.

                         BODHI/REAGAN

          Kick in the ass, ain't it?  Gonna be

          kinda hard to explain though... when

          they play the tapes back down at the

          bureau.  Could look bad on your

          monthly evaluation.

Johnny looks up at surveillance camera.  He's quite

fucked.

                         UTAH

          Can we just get the goddamn money

          and get out of here?!

                         BODHI/REAGAN

          That's the spirit!!

                  (to the room)

          Head's down!  Eyes down!  Just a

          couple minutes of your life and

          we're gone.

Bodhi leaps to the counter, commanding the room.

But at this point they diverge from their time-proven

plan.

Roach isn't going for the drawers... he's sprinting for

the VAULT.

                         BODHI/REAGAN

          You!

                  (reading a name-tag)

          Miss Jennings... of New Accounts.

          Be a dear and open the inner gate

          for my associate.  NOW!!

                         MISS JENNINGS

          He -- he -- he has the keys.  Mr.

          Duggan.

                         BODHI/REAGAN

          Whatta say, Mr. Duggan?  Wanna give

          her the keys or do I pick through

          the blood and chunks for them?

DUGGAN, the bank manager, is surprisingly calm as he takes

the keys from his pocket.  Holds them out to the terrified

woman.

                         DUGGAN

          Do whatever they say, Terry.

MISS JENNINGS hurries to comply.

She unlocks the STEEL CAGE inside the big vault door.

Roach/Nixon and Grommet/LBJ take her inside with them.

A CUSTOMER, lying on the floor near the fat guard catches

his eye.

The guard, face jammed against the linoleum, blanches as

he sees the customer lift a corner of his shirt to reveal

THE BUTT OF A PISTOL.  The customer mouths the words "I'm

a cop".

The guard is hyperventilating.

AT THE FRONT DOORS A WOMAN comes in out of the bright

sunlight.

JFK pulls her in fast and throws her to the floor.  Then

goes back to watching the street.

JOHNNY is next to Bodhi/Reagan.

                         UTAH

          You're blowing it, man!  You're

          breaking your own rules... pulling

          too much time!

                         BODHI/REAGAN

          JFK, how we doin'?

                         NATHANIEL/JFK

          All clear, man!

INSIDE THE VAULT Grommet and Roach are pillaging rapidly.

Their hands blur as nice fat STACKS OF 20s and 100s are

dumped into canvas sacks.

ON THE MAIN FLOOR the OFF DUTY COP slips his hands slowly

around the butt of his pistol, concealing the move with

his body.

He signals with his eyes to the fat guard, glancing at the

guard's ankle.

TIGHT ON THE GUARD'S ANKLE where we can see a sliver of

BACK-UP GUN, a tiny .25 auto in an ankle holster.

The guard's eyes are pleading with the hard-on cop.

"Don't make me do this".

The guy is sweating, shaking.  A yellow liquid spreads

across the tiles next to his quivering hips.  He's

actually pissing himself, he's so scared.

TIGHT ON the off-duty cop.  Watching like a ferret.  He

cocks his .38.

ECU GUARD'S EYES, wide with terror.

It happens like lightning.  The cop pops to his knees,

straight-arming the .38.  The guard goes for his ankle

holster.

REAGAN spins.

The cop FIRES.  BLAM!

Reagan is catapulted backward off the counter by the

impact.

He crashes onto a desk on his back.  Slides off,

scattering papers.

A teller screams.  The cop spins toward Utah.

Johnny throws down the shotgun.  Shows his palms.  He's

holding out his gold star.

                         UTAH

          Federal agent!  Undercover!

The cop FIRES TWICE.  Two in the chest.  Utah is hurled

back.  Slams into the tellers' counter.

NATHANIEL/LBJ lets go with the 12 gauge.  BOOM!

The cop spins, hit by some 00 buck pellets.

The guard caps-off like a maniac.  BLAM, BLAM, BLAM,

BLAM!!!

All of them wild, but serving to get Nathaniel pinned down

behind a check-writing island.

ROACH/NIXON LEAPS THE COUNTER and lands behind the guard.

The guard's shoulder explodes as Roach's 12 gauge

detonates.  He pitches onto his face, screaming and

holding the wreckage of his upper arm.

Grommet/LBJ is coming over the counter behind Roach as the

off-duty cop spins and fires.  BLAM!  BLAM!  Roach takes

it in the chest.  Staggers back, firing into the floor.

Trips and drops his shotgun.

Grommet clutches his throat as blood streams over his

fingers.

IN SLOW MOTION Reagan's face rises above the counter.

The mask is askew.  In order to see, Bodhi pulls it off.

The Casull comes up in a slow, deliberate arc as--

THE COP turns, terrified now, whipping his gun around,

nightmarishly slow as--

BODHI COCKS THE CASULL in dream-time and--

KABOOOOM!!!  The world's most powerful handgun proves its

claim at 2000 feet per second.

A gout of hamburger explodes out of the cop's chest.

He is lifted off his feet.  Hits and slides across the

floor leaving a two-foot wide red smear.

Echoes slap the walls.  Then all is still.  Plaintive

whimpering and moaning.  The air is blue with smoke.

Johnny is trying to catch his breath.  He rips his shirt

open to see two deep indentations in the Second Chance

vest.  Flattened .38 slugs caught in the Kevlar mesh.  But

no blood.

Bodhi drops over the counter near Utah.

The two men look at each other.

Bodhi's eyes seem lost.  He stares around at the carnage

he has wrought, the bloody wreckage of his ego game.

His expression changes to something new -- truly crazed

now.  We feel that the madness which has been held in

check so long has been let off its leash.

                         BODHI

          Don't anybody fucking move!

Roach, clutching his side, moves to Grommet, who is on his

knees.

Beneath LBJ's stony countenance a river of blood flows

down Grommet's chest.  Roach pulls off the mask.

Revealing a terrified kid.

Grommet pulls his blood-drenched hand away from his

throat, stares at it bug-eyed.

                         GROMMET

          Oh no, oh my god, oh god... it's all

          comin' out man, gotta stop it...

          it's all gonna come out... do

          something!!

He's trying to hold it in with his hands.  This doesn't

work.

A paste-white frightened kid.  Eighteen years old.

Suddenly realizing that this is not some video game.  That

death is real.

He slumps back, losing the battle for consciousness.

WE HEAR SIRENS APPROACHING.

                         ROACH

                  (freaking to Bodhi)

          We gotta bug out, man!  We're eatin'

          it bad on this one.  Let's go!

Bodhi reaches down and picks up Johnny's FBI shield off

the floor.

He considers it for a long time.  Then looks up at Johnny.

His eyes seem to ask for forgiveness...

A moment before he smashes the Casull into Johnny's skull.

JOHNNY'S POV, as he drops to his knees.  Everything going

dark as we see Bodhi's face distantly, his mouth moving

slowly...

                         BODHI

          Goodbye, Johnny.

The floor rushes up and smashes us in the face.

A view of shoes, running away from us, leaving bloody

footprints.  Then total darkness.

                                            CUT TO:

INT./ EXT.  FIRST SECURITY BANK - LATER

Ten minutes later the bank "crime scene" is in full swing.

UNIFORM COPS are everywhere, trying to get statements from

sobbing witnesses.  HARP, MUNOZ, COLE AND PAPPAS represent

the FBI contingent.  Cole has one arm strapped to his body

in a fairly elaborate sling, and he moves slowly.

Harp is barking orders to everyone in sight.  Outside

(visible beyond the doors) it's total pandemonium, with

cops and ambulances, and of course a huge crowd of

rubberneckers.  A MINICAM CREW shows up.  Harp starts

shouting at them.

COLE, with evident pleasure, cinches down a pair of

handcuff's on Utah's wrists with his good hand.  Johnny

has a deep cut on his forehead, and the blood is trickling

into his eyes, but he seems not to notice.  Not to hear

MUNOZ speaking monotonously--

                         MUNOZ

          -- if you so desire, an attorney

          will be provided for you free of

          cost.  Do you understand these

          rights I have explained to you?

          Utah?

Pappas charges through the crowd, pushing Munoz aside.

                         PAPPAS

          He knows his goddamn rights!

                  (looks at Utah)

          Jesus, kid.  I knew you were getting

          too close to these guys.

                  (turns to the other

                   agents)

          Gimme the goddamn key to these

          things, Cole.  Christ!

He gestures to the cuffs still cutting into Johnny's

wrists.

Cole hands him the key.

Harp storms toward them.

                         HARP

          Don't take those off.  Just leave

          them on!  Your partner's an

          accessory to murder.  You realize

          that?

Harp spins Johnny by the shoulder to look at--

Paramedics carrying the covered body of the off-duty cop.

Beyond, still on the floor, is Grommet, his eyes staring

in death.

He was right about not making thirty.

                         HARP

          Three men dead.  One of them a cop.

          How's that sit in your gut, Utah?

                         UTAH

                  (cold and scary)

          Take your hand off my shoulder right

          now.

Harp pulls back instinctively.  Utah's eyes burn into him.

Looks like Johnny's not in the FBI anymore.

                         PAPPAS

          Look, Harp.  Don't turn him over to

          the uniforms like some punk.  Let me

          ride him in.

                         HARP

          Yeah, sure.  Why not?  You two

          screw-ups deserve each other.

          That's why I put you together in the

          first place.  Christ Pappas, you're

          as bad as he is... talk about the

          blind leading the blind--

Pappas steps close to the Supervising Agent.

                         PAPPAS

          Harp, let me tell you something.  I

          was an agent in this bureau when

          your mommy was still wiping your

          shinny pink ass, and you know one

          thing I learned in all those years

          that you still haven't?

                         HARP

          What that?

Angelo steps in with a roundhouse that has all of his 280

pounds behind it.

Harp's head snaps back, and he flops in a heap.

                         PAPPAS

          Respect your elders.

                  (he takes Utah by

                   the arm)

          Let's go kid.

Harp struggles to sit up, rubbing his jaw, as Pappas

stuffs Utah into his car.  Harp is so shocked he doesn't

say a word.

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  PAPPAS' CAR

They drive for a couple of blocks in silence, side by

side.

Utah in disgrace.  Contrite.  Stony.  Finally...

                         UTAH

          I know where they're going.

                         PAPPAS

          Figured you did.

Angelo flips Johnny the key.

Johnny lets himself out of the cuffs.  He sits rubbing his

wrists.

                         UTAH

          Only problem is... we can't arrest

          them or shoot them.

ON PAPPAS' "what the fuck?!" expression we--

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  SANTA MONICA AIRPORT

LONG LENS SHOT through a forest of small planes as Pappas'

sedan glides INTO FRAME.  It moves sharklike among through

the Cessna forest.  Slows to a stop.

Through the jungle of wings and fuselages we see Pappas

get out of the car and start working his way among the

aircraft.

Utah slides behind the wheel and drives on.

TIGHT ON TURBOPROP ENGINE roaring as it warms up.

The same aircraft as before.

Bodhi and Nathaniel are loading duffel bags into the open

back door as the pilot completes his pre-flight checks.

The Ex-President's suits have been removed, along with the

body armor, and no guns are in sight.  Just a couple of

guys getting ready for a charter flight.  Bodhi looks up

and stops his work as...

THE FBI SEDAN stops about 50 feet away.

Nathaniel pulls a shotgun out of one of the duffels.

Utah gets out.  He holds his hands out from his body and

turns completely around.  Without his jacket on, it is

evident that he is not carrying a gun.

He walks forward.

                         UTAH

          I'm not armed.

                         BODHI

          But you're not alone.

                         UTAH

          Good guess.  There's a gun on you

          right now.

Bodhi feigns casual interest.  Looks around.  He can't

see...

PAPPAS nearby.  Moving cat-like behind a row of service

vehicles.  He gets his snubnose .38 propped on the bumper

of one, with a clear shot at Bodhi and Nathaniel.

                         UTAH

          Where's Roach?

                         BODHI

          Around somewhere.  Listen, I'm in

          kind of a hurry, Johnny U.  What can

          I do for you?

                         UTAH

          You gotta tell me where she is.

                         BODHI

          And let my policy expire?  Sorry.

                         UTAH

          Look, Bodhi man.  People are dead.

          The ride is over.

                         BODHI

          I say when it's over!

                         UTAH

          The guy you killed was an off duty

          cop!  If you get out of here they'll

          nail you wherever you land.  They

          have a new thing called radar.

          Maybe you've heard of it.

Though he can't hear what's going on.  THE PILOT has

clocked the tension between the two men.  And the shotgun

in Nathaniel's hands.  He blanches, and starts to shut

down the plane's power.

By his reaction we see that he's obviously not in on it.

ROACH comes out of the hangar building nearby.  Neither

Utah nor Pappas see him.  But he sees Pappas drawn down on

Bodhi.  He drops quickly to one knee and opens the duffel

he was carrying.

TIGHT ON DUFFEL BAG, as it opens.  The pistol grip of a 12

gauge riot-gun sticks out of lots and lots of money.

Roach's hand slides the gun out slowly.

UTAH IS VERY CLOSE to Bodhi.

                         UTAH

          I know you man, when they fall on

          you, you won't back down.  They'll

          have to burn your ass to the ground.

          And I can't stop them... I'm the

          last person they're ready to listen

          to right now.  Thanks to you.

                         UTAH

          Shit may or may not happen.

                         UTAH

          Look, you got a death wish, you want

          to ride to glory... fine!  But don't

          take her with you, man.  I'm begging

          you... tell me where she is.  Then I

          walk away.  We've earned that much

          trust, haven't we?

The pilot opens the door and is climbing out when

Nathaniel wheels on him.  The pilot goes cross-eyed

staring down the muzzle of the 12 gauge, inches from his

face.

                         BODHI

                  (to the pilot)

          Back in the hotseat, campadre.

          NOW!

BEHIND THE TRUCKS, Pappas senses something.

His head snaps around.

Roach is behind him with the 12 gauge.  He FIRES.

Pappas hurls his weight sideways, as the buckshot punches

into the truck fender.  Some of it catches Pappas in the

hip.  He hits the ground hard and whips up the .38 BAM!

BAM!  BAM!

Roach flips onto his back.

The shotgun blows a hole in the sky as he hits the deck.

Pappas is on the ground, totally exposed, 20 feet from the

others.

NATHANIEL fires once, wild.  Terrified.  His shot blows a

divot out of the asphalt next to Pappas.

He pumps the slide, chambering another round.

Then Pappas' fourth and fifth rounds drill into him.

He slams back against the Cessna's fuselage.

Slides down.  Two red smears on the white aircraft.

Bodhi lunges for the fallen 12 gauge.

Pappas takes aim.  One round left.

Utah sprints between them.

                         UTAH

          Angelo!  Don't fire!

                         PAPPAS

          Kid, get outta the way!!

                         UTAH

          NOOO!!

Utah is blocking Bodhi with his body.

Bodhi's fingers are poised, frozen, a few inches from the

shotgun.

Standoff.

                         PAPPAS

          GODDAMMIT!!

He snaps the pistol up, aimed at the sky.

Pappas stands panting.  Enraged and frustrated.  Pain

searing his leg.  Everything is tense and electrified.

BOOM!!  Pappas' chest EXPLODES with a spray of blood!

BEHIND HIM, ROACH is lying on one elbow in a pool of

scarlet.

He cocks another round into the chamber and fires again.

BOOM!

Angelo drops to his knees, holding his ruined body like

he's hugging himself.  Johnny lunges toward him, his face

distorted with shock.

                         UTAH

          NNNOOOOOO!!!

Angelo's eyes meet his for a moment.

In his dilated pupils is the great question.

Then he slumps forward and lies very still.

The breath leaves his body and doesn't go back in.

Johnny moves toward his friend in a daze.  Drops to one

knee beside him.

Roach aims the shotgun at him, coughing blood.

Utah doesn't notice.  Or is beyond caring.

Bodhi holds his hand up in a gesture like a benediction.

Roach's finger relaxes on the trigger.

Utah puts his hand on Angelo's white crewcut hair.

He hears the scraping of steel on asphalt behind him as

Bodhi picks up the other twelve gauge.

Roach is working himself to his knees.  His breath is

sucking through a bloody hole in his chest as well as the

customary breathing orifices.  Bodhi crosses to him and

helps him up.  He covers Utah with the shot gun as he

half-carries Roach to the plane.  The pilot is white with

shock.  He'd run if he could remember how.

                         PILOT

          I ain't flyin' you guys to San

          Phillipe man, forget it.  Not now--

                         BODHI

          Thanks for telling the nice FBI

          agent where we're going.

Roach works his way up into the plane.  He waves the

shotgun at the pilot, his face a vicious, blood-flecked

mask.

                         ROACH

          Get in the fucking plane.

Bodhi stands behind Johnny, the shotgun aimed at his head.

Their expressions are lethally cold.

We see that Utah hates this man who was his friend, his

teacher, more now than he dreamed it was possible to hate.

                         BODHI

          We're gonna ride this out, all the

          way, Johnny.  You and me.  Let's go.

Johnny nods slowly, as if accepting that this was all

somehow pre-ordained, and that they both knew the game

would take them this far and beyond.  He stands and walks

to the plane.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  MEXICO - DAY

THE SCREEN EXPLODES WITH A BLUR OF MOTION.

POV of the ground racing below us at 180 mph.

REVERSE, preceding the plane as it rockets through barren

canyons.

As close to the earth as the terrified pilot will take it.

Under the radar.

INT.  PLANE

The aircraft bucks like a bull as the pilot jinks and

banks wildly.

Bodhi has the Casull aimed at the base of his skull from

the jump seat just behind him.

Roach holds the shotgun on Utah, seated across from him in

the rear seats.

Roach is a pale, sweaty mask.  He is propped against a

bulkhead, seemingly collapsed in on himself like a

discarded coat.

His entire shirtfront and lap are slick with blood.

But his gaze is steady, and the shotgun is aimed into

Utah's guts.

No one talks or moves on this grim hell-ride.

EXT.  ARROYO

Near noon.  The sun blisters a landscape out of time.

The white Cessna rockets above the saguaros, its shadow

pumping up and down over the broken terrain like some

manic alter ego below it.  It WOOSHES over us, raising

dust devils.

INT.  PLANE

The pilot yells over his shoulder to Bodhi...

                         PILOT

          Look, we been in Mexico the last

          half hour... can I quit mowing the

          lawn here or what?  I'm getting more

          brush in the wheels than I usually

          like, you know what I'm saying?!

                         BODHI

          Yeah, get some height.  Take her up

          to eight thousand on this heading.

The pilot pulls back on the yoke and the plane climbs.

Bodhi moves back next to Roach, who's fading.

                         ROACH

          We're gonna pop up on their screens.

                         BODHI

          Doesn't matter now.  We're almost

          there, man.  Here, let me help you

          get your gear on.

Bodhi drags a parachute pack up onto the seat next to

Roach and starts helping him into the harness.  Roach

keeps the shot gun pointed at Johnny.

                         ROACH

          I'm cold.

                         BODHI

          You're gonna be fine.  Just fine.

          Johnny, toss me that money bag will

          you.  Easy does it.

Utah hefts the duffel.  Weighs its contents, and their

price.

                         UTAH

          You're cold because all the blood is

          running out of your body, Roach.

          You're going to be dead soon.

                  (he tosses the bag)

          I hope it was worth it.

Roach clutches the canvas sack to his chest like a Teddy

bear.  Glares at Utah.  He hooks the strap of the duffel

over one shoulder.

                         BODHI

          Hey, Johnny's just trying to psych

          you man, forget it.  Just keep

          thinking about all those senoritas

          nursin' you back to health.  Come

          on, amigo, let's get you set for the

          jump.

Bodhi props Roach next to the open door and takes a

walkie-talkie from the seat, keying it.

                         BODHI

          Rosie, Rosie, this is Air Force One,

          do you copy, over?

A burst of static is followed by a surprisingly clear

voice.

                         ROSIE (V.O.)

          Copy you, Air Force One.  We have a

          visual on you.  Lookin' fine.

                         UTAH

          Tell him to release Tyler.

                         BODHI

          Why should I?

                         UTAH

          What if your chute fails, Bodhi?

          Rescind the order.  Let her off the

          hook, she's served her purpose.  Do

          it, man, you owe me that much.  Let

          me hear it before you check out.

Bodhi meets his eyes and considers for a couple of

seconds, then keys the walkie.

                         BODHI

          Rosie, listen carefully.  Surgery

          is canceled, is that clear?  Repeat

          it back to me.

                         ROSIE (V.O.)

          Copy you.  Surgery is canceled.

          I'm lettin' the bitch go.

Bodhi looks out the doorway.  Gauging distance, airspeed,

the geography below.  He looks at Utah, aiming the Casull

at him.

Johnny stares back at him like a pit viper.

                         BODHI

          I know it's hard for you Johnny.

          You want me so bad it's like acid in

          your mouth.  But not his time.

                  (he braces Roach at

                   the door)

          Let's go.

Bodhi signals the pilot and Utah feels the plane drop as

the engines are cut back to an idle.  Bodhi slaps Roach on

the shoulder and Roach slumps backward out of the plane.

Bodhi braces to jump, looking at Johnny for a last split-

second.

                         BODHI

          You lose, campadre.

He chucks the Casull onto the seat beside the door and

bails.

Bodhi tumbles out into space.  It's over.

Utah's knuckles are white, gripping the seat.  There's a

dynamo, spinning out of control in his head.  He leaps up

in an explosion of rage and drives his fists into a

bulkhead.  Looks around like a rabid animal.  TWO SECONDS.

THREE SECONDS.  Then...

                         UTAH

          FUCK IT!!!

Utah grabs the Casull off the seat and dives out of the

plane.

EXT.  PLANE

UTAH, WITHOUT A PARACHUTE, but carrying a very large gun,

rockets downward.  He presses his arms to his sides and

falls head-down, building speed.

Three hundred feet below him is Bodhi, freefalling in a

spread-eagle position.  Utah moves his feet and hands,

angling toward him.

Bodhi doesn't see him.  Falling flat, he tops out at

terminal velocity for that position.  130 mph.

Utah slashes downward at 160 mph.  The gap between them

closes.

Utah is almost blinded by the windstream.  His eyes burn.

His lips are peeled back by the blasting air.

Bodhi is eighty feet below him... 4000 feet to terra

firma.

Utah focuses all his incredible will and concentration.

He's only going to have one shot at this.

Bodhi is right below him.

Utah is closing like a SAM missile.

He trims a little, and...

WHAM!  Slams into Bodhi in a mid-air tackle.

Bodhi's eyes are wide with amazement as they tumble

together.

Utah has made the grab and locked his arms around Bodhi in

an iron grip.

He pulls the Casull's muzzle up to Bodhi's head and

screams in his face.

                         UTAH

          Pull the parachute!!

Bodhi looks at the gun.  Looks at Utah.  Grins wildly.

                         BODHI

          Pretty radical, Johnny.  Even for

          you.  Why don't you pull it?

                         UTAH

          No games, Bodhi.  Pull the cord!

          Now!!

                         BODHI

          Naw, you pull it!

Utah looks down.  The earth is rushing at them.  2500

feet.

                         BODHI

          Go on, Johnny.  Pull it.  But you

          gotta drop the gun, first!  Right?!

          You use your other hand what you

          gonna hold on with?

                         UTAH

          Pull it right now or I'll blow your

          fucking head off and pull it myself!

                         BODHI

          Well that's the only way it's gonna

          happen, man.  Do it!  Come on, you

          want to do it.  You're gonna die,

          Johnny.  Five more seconds.  Four...

1000 feet.  The ground is close enough to see details.

Cactus, sagebrush.  They rocket past the bright yellow

canopy of Roach's chute a hundred feet away.

                         UTAH

          You fucking crazy!?  Pull it!!

They're right in each other's faces.  Taking it way beyond

the edge.

Bodhi's eyes are wild.  A gleeful, adrenalized madness...

his pupils are the entrance to Hell.

                         BODHI

          Three seconds... two... one...

                         UTAH

          SHIT!!

Utah flings the Casull away and pulls the rip-cord so hard

he almost loses his grip anyway.  POOM!  The canopy cracks

out.

Full and round and bright red.

The ground roars at us.

WHAP!  Utah and Bodhi hit.  Hard.

They slide and tumble down the slope of an arroyo in a

cloud of dust.

Rocks and debris clatter into silence.

NEARBY Roach hits the ground limp as a rag doll.

He moves listlessly as his chute lines tug at him but his

eyes stare without blinking right at the sun.  Next to him

the money satchel's contents are spilled right into the

sand.  Roach's lifeless hands lie limp among the bills

that caper in the desert wind.

UTAH AND BODHI are both completely still as the dust

clears.  Finally they groan and stir.  Necks move, hands

move, legs move.  Bodhi rolls to his knees.  He is cut and

scraped, the blood running bright down his dust-covered

skin.

Utah looks around, blinking.

Surreal that he should be plopped down here in the red-hot

Mexican desert.

Bodhi staggers to his feet and grins at him.

                         BODHI

          Wild ride, huh?

                         UTAH

                  (gasping)

          Jesus Christ, Bodhi!

Utah tries to rise and -- grabs his knee in agony.  We see

by his mask of pain that it's totaled inside.

                         BODHI

          That pesky knee, huh?  Too bad.

He looks up at the sound of an engine.

BODHI'S POV of his big four-by roaring toward us with a

meteor tail of dust.  It slides to a stop next to them.

Rosie gets out of the driver's side and stands calmly with

a sawed-off over his shoulder.

Utah blinks through his sweat and pain at--

TYLER running toward him out of the dust.  She kneels next

to him and puts her arms around him.  Bodhi limps to the

truck.  Through the swirling dust we see him look back.

                         BODHI

          You had me worried there, for a

          second, Johnny U.

He swings up into the four-by and guns the engine.  Rosie

hops into the shotgun seat and the truck hurls up

roostertails as it tears out across the desert toward

Roach's billowing gravemarker.

Johnny touches Tyler's face tenderly, leaving a smear of

blood.

He gives her a wan version of the Johnny Utah grin.

HOLD ON the truck moving off in a heat-shimmered cloud of

dust, becoming a mirage, then a memory as we--

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

AN ENORMOUS WAVE which FILLS FRAME, seeming to rise

endlessly before thundering down in a holocaust of spray.

EXT.  BEACH DAY - DAY

An unfamiliar beach laid waste by monster waves under a

storm sky.

Wind whips sand across the narrow beach-road, throwing it

against the front doors of the LIGHTHOUSE PUB.

TITLE OVER: ONE YEAR LATER...

INT.  LIGHTHOUSE PUB - DAY

Dark.  Almost empty.  A snarling crocodile head is mounted

above a tapper of Guinness Stout.  A Koala bear with

plastic eyes holds a Foster's.  A BARTENDER with leathered

skin washes glasses.

At the bar, a single disheveled customer... human

driftwood.

GUST OF WIND blows open a shuttered window.

The bartender moves to close it.

                         BARTENDER

          Gonna close early today, mate, 'fore

          the bloody storm hits.

JOHNNY UTAH swivels toward CAMERA.  His tanned face is

barely recognizable, jaws hidden underneath a slight

beard, long bleach-out hair swept behind an ear.  His

muscular shoulders pop from a sleeveless football jersey.

The man seems deadly focused.

                         UTAH

          Storm's already here... It's

          bringing me the swell.

Johnny stares into his drink.

ANOTHER BLAST OF COLD as the front door opens.

Johnny turns at the sound.

TYLER takes a step inside.  Her hair is different, more

bleached out, frazzled from the sun.  Her eyes adjust to

the dark room.

                         TYLER

          John, they're here.

Utah downs the drink and slides off his stool.  He has a

pronounced limps as he crosses to Tyler at the door.

They exit into daylight under an old wooden sign which

reads: LIGHTHOUSE PUB - BELL'S BEACH, AUSTRALIA

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  LIGHTHOUSE PUB - DAY

UTAH and TYLER walk out onto the roadway as several

Australian Police cars converge on them.  A dozen

uniformed OFFICERS step out.  The ranking officer, a

fortyish LIEUTENANT, walks up to Utah.

                         LIEUTENANT

          D'you see him, Mr. Utah?

                         UTAH

          No.  But he's here.

                         LIEUTENANT

          Now, look, I know you used to be a

          federal agent up in the states and

          all that, but you're a citizen now,

          so just find him and we'll handle it

          from there.

                         UTAH

          No problem.  Just give me a couple

          minutes with him first.

Johnny limps out across the huge expanse of sand alone.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  BELL'S BEACH - AUSTRALIA - DAY

WALL OF SOLID WATER FIVE STORIES HIGH CRASHES straight

down in a holocaust of spray...

Rising up from the ocean to meet a tormented sky, roll the

most terrifying waves any surfer has ever seen.  They

close out, pummeling the ocean floor, casting a shockwave

up the shore.

SURFERS gather on the sand, gaze out to sea.

                         1ST SURFER

          Jesus Almighty, the bloody sand's

          shakin'.

The beach sounds like a MORTAR RANGE.

JOHNNY passes among the brahs.

                         2ND SURFER

          Totally closed-out.  It's fuckin'

          death on a stick.

ON BODHI, sitting crosslegged in the sand, arms folded

around his knees.  He stares pensively out at the waves.

His hand reaches out and absently strokes a surfboard

lying next to him.

                         UTAH (V.O.)

          I knew you wouldn't miss the fifty

          year storm, Bodhi.

Bodhi smiles, the odd smile of a sportsman who appreciates

the cunning of his opponent.  Utah sits beside his prey

and stares at the ocean.  Bodhi stares with glittering

eyes at the heaving ocean before him, face splitting into

that feral, death's head grin.

                         BODHI

          And I always knew I could count on

          you, Agent Utah.

                         UTAH

          I'm not FBI anymore.

                         BODHI

          You never were...

                         UTAH

          I asked them to give me a couple

          minutes...

Utah calmly glances over his shoulder.

Bodhi follows Johnny's gaze to the cops watching from the

road.

                         BODHI

          It went bad, brah.  Real bad.

                  (smiles inwardly)

          I just felt it was time...

A BOOMING ROAR sounds from the ocean.

Bodhi just stares at the waves, with awe and perhaps fear.

                         BODHI

          Time to dance with the universe.

                  (he turns to Utah)

          I could never handle a jail cell.

          You'll do this for me, won't you

          Johnny?  Haven't I earned this

          much?

Utah doesn't move to stop him as he stands, hefting the

longboard.

He half smiles, then turns toward the water, and starts

walking.

He stops.  Turns around.

                         BODHI

          Thanks, brah.

Bodhi doesn't wait for a reply.  He walks to the water's

edge, and never looks back.  He throws his board into the

foam and paddles, the riptide pulling him out.  The

monsters dwarf his body as they quickly suck him into the

trough of the holocaust.

UTAH stands and solemnly waits for the universe to deliver

final justice.  The cops are running clumsily across the

sand, too late to stop Bodhi.  Tyler steps up behind

Johnny, and puts her hands on his shoulders.

BODHI is nothing more than a SPECK as he shoots across the

lip of the colossal wave, carving the board downward -- AN

UNTHINKABLE FOREHAND BLAST sends him into a 180 degree

slide straight down the enormous face, eyes wild, his

mouth opens in a soundless howl -- Bodhi and the outer-

limits wave are locked for one impossible yet glorious

moment in perfect harmony, perfect symmetry, perfect

union... There is no fear in his face, only awe as the

mountain of water closes out, burying the Bodhisattva in a

whitewater grave... Pieces of broken surfboard explode

upward, only to fall back into the raging whiteness and

vanish.

UTAH remains pensive, eyes fixed on the riderless surf.

Tyler lowers her head.  A fragment of surfboard washes up

onto wet sand.  The wind gathers force.

Johnny finally turns to his woman, curls an arm around her

shoulder, gathering her close.  Tears are streaming down

her face as she stares at the sea.

                         UTAH

          He rode it all the way.

CAMERA PULLS BACK AND UP, rising high above their heads as

the liquid vertical walls continue to hammer the

Australian shore...

FADE TO BLACK

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