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Burn Notice Transcripts

BURN NOTICE

1x02: Identity

Original Airdate: 7/5/2007

Written by: Matt Nix

Directed by: Rod Hardy

Transcribed by Rahul and hosted by TVTDB.com


[Opening Montage.]


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

{My name is Michael Westen.}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

{A trigger-happy ex-girlfriend.}

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

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

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

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

{And family, too.}

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

{... if you're desperate.}

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

[Michael exits a mansion.]

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

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

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


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]


CUT TO:

[Miami Suburbs, outside Madeline's House. Day. Michael stands on the street (wearing his "Victory" sunglasses), surveying the neighborhood, as he looks at the surveillance photos of him in Miami.]

{A surveillance photo can tell you a lot about the photographer.}

[He looks at two ladies walk on the sidewalk, talking. He looks a little to their right and focuses on a house.]
[CLICK: Freeze frame. B/W Screen. A picture of the house.]
[He turns, looking at the street, where some cars are parked.]
[CLICK: Freeze frame. B/W Screen. A picture of the cars and the street.]
[Turning, he looks at a bush. Pointing to it, he walks towards it. He looks at a guy riding a bicycle on the street.]
[CLICK: Freeze frame. B/W Screen. A picture of the rider.]
[He goes behind the bushes.]

{Surveillance takes planning. You have to scout the area.}

[Behind the bush, he looks at the pictures, seeing if they were taken from there.]

{You need a place to sit and wait for the target for an hour... or ten. You need to take a leak now and then. Lots of chances to get seen.}

[He walks back out on the street and looks at a house balcony, his view obstructed by a lot of greenery.]
[CLICK: Freeze frame. B/W Screen. A picture of the balcony.]
[He looks at the pictures. He walks towards his mother's house. A postman comes towards him, acknowledging him.]
[CLICK: Freeze frame. B/W Screen. A picture of Michael's back and the postman (his face hidden by a letter he holds up).]
[He runs up the stone steps to Madeline's porch. He walks past the window, where his mother stands, watching him.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Michael, good to see you.

[Michael stops and winces. He waits outside for his mother to open the door.]

{You can't choose your intelligence sources. Might be a heroin smuggler, a dictator, or your mom.}

[He puts on his best "good-son' smile, as his mother (cigarette in hand) opens the door.]

MADELINE WESTEN: I was beginning to wonder if you were gonna be standing in the road all day or come in for a visit.

[Madeline's House. She walks inside. He enters.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I need to ask you something. Anyone unknown to you been around the house last few months? Any unfamiliar faces on the street? Maybe a, uh, repair truck that just seemed to sit there?

[Michael shuts the door, but keeps looking outside through the window.]

MADELINE WESTEN: I don't know. I really don't notice what my neighbors do. I'm not interested in them.

MICHAEL WESTEN: You'd notice if the neighbor hasn't vacuumed his car, if the postman isn't wearing his wedding ring. Just tell me.

[He looks through another window, comparing the photos to the view.]

MADELINE WESTEN: As a matter of fact, few months ago, there were two men here taking pictures. They were very nice.

[Surprised, Michael looks at her.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You met them?

MADELINE WESTEN: Mm-hmm. They came in for coffee. I made them deviled-egg sandwiches. They were in some sort of, uhm, I don't know, some government something.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Wait, wait, wait. Government something? Who exactly do they work for?

[As she speaks, Michael moves his fingers under the mantelpiece, searching for bugs.]

MADELINE WESTEN: How should I know? All these years, I don't know who in the hell you work for. Travel all over the world saying, "Oh, can't talk about it."

MICHAEL WESTEN: [peering outside a window] Well, I don't have a job anymore, so there's nothing you have to worry about. What did they talk to you about? What did they ask?

MADELINE WESTEN: I don't know, but I did show one of them the garden.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Wait, you left one alone in here? How long?

MADELINE WESTEN: Hmm, I don't remember. The doctor says what's wrong with me could be affecting my memory.

[Still looking for bugs, Michael runs his fingers under a table.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [chuckles] Your memory's fine. If there's anyone who could use a little memory loss, it's you.

FREEZE-FRAME: [Madeline, not looking happy with that remark.]

{My mother's understanding of my career changes with what she wants from me. One day, she can name everyone on the National Security Council; the next day, she thinks I work for the Post Office.}

RESUME.

[Madeline stands and walks over.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Well, my friend Donna in my bridge group, she's had memory problems.

[Michael moves his fingers over a cabinet.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Which reminds me, I wanna talk to you about a friend of mine.

[Michael looks down at the plug sockets and has a thought.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: In a sec.

[Michael kneels and extracts a pen-knife.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Michael, what are you doing?

[He removes the board and pulls out the wiring, exposing a listening device.]

{Not all bugs are the same. If it's got a battery, it's disposable, short-term. If it's wired into the house power, it's a longer-term thing.}

[He pulls out the transmitter and looks at it.]

{If it has a transmitter, you can figure out how close the listener is.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Mom, are there any empty houses in the neighborhood within, say, hmm, three hundred and fifty meters?

MADELINE WESTEN: [thinks] Across the street, two doors down.

[Michael runs out the door, past a confused Madeline.]

[Outside, he runs on the street towards the "empty" house. He comes up to the for-sale house. In one quick motion, he leaps over the chain-link fence and runs towards the door. He kicks it in and enters.]

[Inside the house, he looks around and sees the fire alarm beeping, it's red LED glowing. He runs upstairs.]

{Once your surveillance knows you're onto them, the clock starts ticking.}

[Upstairs, he runs into a room and finds a lot of surveillance equipment on fire.

{They know you're coming, so the question for them is whether they can destroy their equipment and get out of there in time.}

[Quickly, Michael pulls up the carpet and drapes it over the burning equipment. He manages to put most of the fire out, but the smoke is getting thick.]

[Outside, two men (dressed casually) run to their car.]

[Michael gets to the window, shielding his face. Seeing them, he opens the window, causing the smoke to move outside. He sees the two men get into the car and start it. Unable to discern much from where he's standing, he goes to another window and opens it. He juts his head outside, trying to get a better look at the car or its occupants.]

{The question for you is whether you can find them before every bit of useful information is turned into a pile of burning slag.}

[He looks helplessly as the car drives away. Inside, what's left of the fire continues to burn. Michael keeps his head outside to protect it from the suffocatingly thick smoke. ]


CUT TO:

[Opening Title.]


CUT TO:

[Madeline's House. Day. Michael runs inside, coming from the burning house. Madeline looks at him.]

MADELINE WESTEN: What happened to you? You smell like burnt plastic.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah, uh, there's a fire down the road, um, and the smoke had drifted.

[He coughs as he washes his hands. Sirens are heard in the distance. Madeline seems interested in the sirens.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Mom, we need to talk about the men who came to the house. I need to know what they asked you, what you told them. It's important... for my job.

MADELINE WESTEN: I thought you didn't have a job.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [beat] Yeah, you know, it's-it's hard to explain.

MADELINE WESTEN: Yeah, well, I don't remember. [sounding distressed] This thing about my friend has me very upset. It's hard to think about anything else.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [relents] Fine, mother. Let's talk about your friend.

[She comes over to him at the sink.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Well, it's my neighbor Laura. All right, these people came over to her house with some kind of a scam. They got all of her bank-account numbers. They took everything that she has. And they beat her up, Michael. She's terrified.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Well, what'm I supposed to do?

MADELINE WESTEN: [smiles] Well, you'll think of something. She lives right across the street. You could go there now.

[She moves away. Annoyed, Michael throws down a towel and walks over to her.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I talk to your friend, and then we talk about the men who came to the house.

[Madeline smiles at him.]


CUT TO:

[Laura's House. Day. A beat-up old lady opens the door for Michael. Her left arm is in a cast and she has a black right eye. She is...]
LAURA
THE CLIENT

[Michael enters and follows her into the house. She's still shaken up.]

LAURA: Thank you so much for coming. When Madeline Said you could help me, I was so relieved.

[She sits as Michael closes the door.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Well, what happened, exactly?

LAURA: I got a letter about a month ago. Uh, said I'd won a prize, one of those magazine things.

[Michael sits.]

LAURA: I called, and they congratulated me. Said they had to send some people over to fill out some tax forms.

[She stops, stifling a sob.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [prompting] And they came over and...?

LAURA: There were two men and a woman. They were in such a hurry to get my information. Credit cards, bank accounts. I got nervous, and I asked them to leave. I tried to call the police, and they hit me, [pointing to the cast on her arm] broke my arm. I checked my bank account. [choked voice] It's all gone. [sobs] It's all I had.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [uncomfortable] Uh, do you... do you have anything that, uh, do you have a description of them?

LAURA: Oh, I'm not very good at that sort of thing. The main one, he was good-looking, blond. The other two were [shrugs] just regular with brown hair.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Regular-looking with brown hair?

LAURA: I have the prize letter.

[She pulls herself up laboriously. Michael half-heartedly tries to help, but she manages on her own. She gives him the letter and sits back down. Michael looks at the letter. It's got a gold foil star embossed on it.]

LAURA: My son wants to put me in a home now. Thinks I can't be trusted.

[Michael, more interested in the letter, looks at it against the light.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Uh, I'll see what I can do. I'm gonna need to borrow this, okay?

[She nods and starts to sob.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [awkwardly] I should go.

[She sobs again.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'm gonna go.

[He smiles at her.]


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]


CUT TO:

[Café. Day. Michael has breakfast with Sam, discussing the job.]

SAM AXE: [chuckling] So, you're helping old ladies now? Good for you, Mike. Hey, I saw a kitten up a tree on my way over here.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [mouth full] They beat her up, took her life savings. You in or not?

SAM AXE: Well, you put it that way, what can I say? What's the plan?

[Michael looks at the fake prize letter.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: The address and phone number are fake, but the printing, the foil embossing - there can't be more than one place in Miami that does that kind of work.

SAM AXE: [nods] Sounds good.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Uh, listen, the money on this one will be a little thin.

SAM AXE: Well, it's a public service. Hey, how about a trade? I, uh, had a little disagreement with the lady friend I was staying with, and I could use a place to crash.

[They start to leave.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Three days.

SAM AXE: I was thinking more like a week.

[Michael looks at Sam.]

SAM AXE: Mike, look, I can sweeten the pot on this. If I'm staying with you, the Feds will be off your back. I'll just tell them that I'm babysitting you.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Five days, you bring a sleeping bag, and you're out by the weekend?

SAM AXE: [chuckles] Done.

[Sam hails a cab.]


CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. Michael unlocks the door and enters. First thing he sees is a pair of toned, tanned legs balancing upwards on his bed. The legs belong to Fiona, who looks behind at him. She puts the beer she's been drinking on the sidetable. Michael removes his sunglasses and looks at her. She turns halfway, in a rather seductive pose.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Hello, Michael.

MICHAEL WESTEN: ["uh-oh" smile] Fi, you're... here.

FIONA GLENANNE: I came by for a visit. The door was locked, so I broke in.

[Hey! Where's the Irish accent? It's a propah English accent now. Michael notices.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: New accent. [looks at her rather revealing clothes] New... style?

FIONA GLENANNE: Well, I'm in Miami now. I can't very well be talking like a [Irish accent] freakin' leprechaun now, can I?

[Michael nods. He looks behind to the door.]

FIONA GLENANNE: This is the new me, Michael... for now.

MICHAEL WESTEN: So you're staying in town, then. That's great. Listen, Fi. Now's not a really good time for you to be...

[Sam enters, carrying a satchel over his shoulder. He and Fiona notice each other, neither too happy about it though.]

SAM AXE: Oh, Jesus, Mike. You didn't tell me she was gonna be here.

[She jumps up from the bed and lunges towards him. Michael grabs her and yanks her away. Sam starts to climb the stairs coolly.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [seething] You cost me a lot of money, you son of a bitch! I've been waiting to talk to you for a long time.

[She pulls out of Michael's grasp and holds a "don't-touch-me" finger at him. Sam stops climbing the steps and turns to her. Michael still stands between them, trying to keep the peace.]

SAM AXE: I cost you? Okay, for starters, what you're talking about never officially happened, all right? But unofficially, even if it had, you deserved a hell of a lot worse than what you got, lady.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [admonishing] Sam.

[Fiona grabs the beer bottle and prepares to fling it at Sam, who resumes climbing upstairs.]

FREEZE-FRAME: [Michael's wide-eyed look towards a bottle-toting Fiona.]

{There's a reason spies don't have a lot of parties. Everybody's got a history with everyone else.}

RESUME.

[She throws it towards Sam. Fortunately for him, it smashes on a metal column, between him and Fiona. He turns around.]

FIONA GLENANNE: That was a legitimate purchase! The US Government has no business...

[She starts to lunge for him again. Michael stops her again.]

SAM AXE: [walking up] Yeah? Legitimate? A Libyan arms dealer? How do you figure that?

[Michael, who's barely holding them apart, has had enough.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Fi, I'm thrilled that you've come by, but Sam and I need to talk about a job, so you need...

FIONA GLENANNE: A job?

[In a petty mood, she sits on the bed, acting interested.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Hmm. That sounds like fun. I'm in.

[Defeated, Michael looks at Sam. Sam makes a dismissive snort and walks upstairs. Michael turns to Fiona, giving her a wide-eyed chiding look.]


CUT TO:

[Printing Press. Day. As the presses work, Fiona flirt/speaks to the overweight manager, who's more than happy to oblige her request to inspect the fake prize letter.]

MANAGER: I do work like that, yeah. I don't remember this piece, but we do a lot of volume. You need more like this, with the foil embossing?

FIONA GLENANNE: Yeah, I mean, I don't know a lot about printing, but something like that. [smiling] You got some big machines.

MANAGER: Oh, just upgraded. State-of-the-art. Want me to show you around?

FIONA GLENANNE: Mm-hmm.

[They go off-screen. Standing outside, Michael peers inside through a cracked window. He watches Fiona keep the manager busy.]

{Often, the best way to get intel is to provoke action, set people in motion.}

[As they pass by, one of the employees watches them and sees the fake prize letter in Fiona's hand. He looks concerned. Michael picks up on his concern.]

{Pros know better, but they usually have to work with a few amateurs, and they panic.}


[Outside the printing press, the employee runs outside and jumps into his car. As he drives off, Michael (keeping his face hidden by a magazine), gets into a car (stolen or rental, dunno) to follow.]

{So you beat the bushes a little and see what flies out.}


[The pursuit leads Michael to the Marina. The printing press employee pulls up to an expensive-looking yacht, harbored there, where three people sit. He gets out and gets on the yacht. Michael watches from a safe distance.]

{Once your frightened amateur leads you to the pros, the work begins.}

[The employee walks up to the people on the yacht. One of them - a blond, good-looking guy - seems surprised to see him. He is...]
QUENTIN
CON ARTIST

[The other guy on the yacht is a young, regular-looking guy, with brown hair. Michael watches them and clicks a picture on a digital camera.]

{Con artists and spies are both professional liars. Cons do it for the money, and spies do it for the flag, but it's mostly the same gig.}

[The flustered employee gets in Quentin's face. The regular-looking guy tries to restrain him, but he jerks free. A sour-faced regular-looking girl walks into frame.]
[CLICK: Freeze frame. B/W Screen. A picture of the con artists.]
[CLICK: Freeze frame. B/W Screen. A picture of the regular-looking guy showing the employee the way out.]
[CLICK: Freeze frame. B/W Screen. A picture of the regular-looking guy and employee exchanging words.]

{They run operations, they follow security procedures, they recruit support staff and issue orders.}

[The regular-looking guy ushers the employee off the yacht. Quentin stands and shrugs as the pissed employee walks off in a huff. In the car, Michael smiles. The regular-looking guy sits next to the regular-looking girl. They are...]
GREG AND BONNIE
APPRENTICE CON ARTISTS

[Quentin just smiles cheerfully.]
[CLICK: Freeze frame. B/W Screen. A picture of Quentin smiling.]
[CLICK: Freeze frame. B/W Screen. Two quick pictures of Quentin putting on his sunglasses.]


FADE TO:

[Michael's Loft. Evening. Michael is upstairs, reading something. Sam walks up, wearing only a vest and boxers, holding a beer and a file.]

SAM AXE: Hey, so this guy Quentin, your con artist, hangs out at a club down in South Beach called Onyx. It's nice. Want me to go down there and do some surveillance?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [still reading] No, I think we're fine.

SAM AXE: I got a cover ID for you, Mikey. How do you like the name Peter Jordan?

[Michael looks at Sam in his underwear.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Would you put some pants on?

SAM AXE: What? I work better when I can breathe down there. I mean, do you wanna hear about this guy or no?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah, tell me about Peter Jordan.

[They sit on a couch.]

SAM AXE: He was cell-mates with an ex-partner of Quentin's.

[Sam hands Michael the file. Michael, still not comfortable with sitting next to Sam in skivvies, takes it.]

SAM AXE: He jumped parole about a month ago. They caught him. He's in a Phoenix holding cell, but they haven't put him back through the system yet.

[He points to a picture of Peter Jordan.]

SAM AXE: He kind of looks like you, too, you know, more or less.

["A lot less" seems closer.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Not bad for a man in his underwear.

SAM AXE: Hey, you think that's good, you should see me without 'em. [takes a swig of beer]

[Michael doesn't know how to respond to that, so he doesn't.]


CUT TO:

[Stock Footage of Miami. Night.]


CUT TO:

[Club Onyx. Night. Loud salsa music plays, as people dance around the club. In a private seating area, Quentin King sits, surrounded by pretty girls, having a blast and drinking champagne.]

{When you go after a spy, you send another spy. The same goes for con artists. To catch one, you've got to beat him at his own game, be a better liar than he is.}

[Michael walks up to the Club Maitre D' and passes him a couple of bills. He goes to Quentin's seating area. Suavely brushing a girl to the side, he sits on the couch. He picks up a champagne flute and starts to pour himself some champagne, when Quentin notices him.]

QUENTIN KING: 'Scuse me, can I help you?

[Michael turns to Quentin, smiling widely. The girl sitting between them obliges by leaning forward so they can talk. Michael puts on a fake but rather convincing Bronx accent.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Quentin King, right?

QUENTIN KING: Yeah.

MICHAEL WESTEN: We have a mutual friend up in New York - Paco.

[Quentin doesn't seem happy to hear that name.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Few weeks ago, I'm at a dog track in Newark freezin' my nuts off, when I remember that Paco said if I ever got down to Miami, I should look you up. So I'm thinkin', "Hell, anywhere's nicer than Newark.", y'know what I'm sayin'? So I got my ass down to Miami. [raises his glass] Peter Jordan, hey.

[Michael takes a swig of the bubbly.]

QUENTIN KING: Pete, you got the wrong guy.

[Quentin motions for the girl between him and Michael to sit upright again. Persisting, Michael leans forward to speak to Quentin.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, no, I don't think so. See, I was roommates with your buddy Paco for a year. He told me about that job you pulled off up in Tampa. Real nice. I have a business opportunity I wanna discuss with you.

[Quentin whispers to the girl to give them privacy. Michael leans back, drinking champagne.]

{No matter how good your cover identity is, you've gotta sell it, and that's not always easy.}

[The girl leaves.]

QUENTIN KING: Like I said, you got the wrong guy. I don't know you. I don't know this Paco. I don't have business...

[Michael moves closer to Quentin.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Hey, I went to a lot of trouble to find you. [seriously] I got a warrant on my ass. Will you hear me out?

QUENTIN KING: I'm in water-filter sales. Now, you want a water filter, I can help you out.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [laughs] I don't wanna argue with you, but what's a water-filter salesman doin' with a .45 inside a shoulder holster?

[Quentin looks at him suspiciously. Michael looks at him, still smiling. Quentin pulls his coat over the gun.]

QUENTIN KING: That's my business, but you know what is your business?

[Michael moves in closer to listen.]

QUENTIN KING: [pointing to the bar] There's a couple of cops that are sitting over there by the bar, talking to the manager. Been there for a while, probably liquor license. How 'bout I bring them over here and we talk about the terms of your parole?

[Michael still smiles at him.]

{Sometimes you have to decide just how committed you are to pretending you are who you say you are.}

[Quentin starts to get up, but Michael jumps up and, putting his arm around his shoulder, pulls him back down. Reaching inside Quentin's coat, he yanks out the .45 and pokes it into Quentin's ribs.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Anyone ever tell you you're bad at making friends? Paco said you had some issues, but I like to give people a chance. Just how I am. This is what happens: You're gonna get us out of here because I like Miami, and I'm not goin' back to jail. So if those cops even look at me, we'll see how many slugs I can put through your liver before they take me down. I got twenty bucks on four. You wanna take the over or the under?

[Waiting for Quentin's response and keeping the gun in place, Michael starts to shake his head to the beat.]

QUENTIN KING: All right, let's go out back.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Smile. Stand up. Put your arm around me and act like the friends I wanted us to be.

[They get up and walk out, arms around each other's shoulders, laughing loudly.]


[Outside the club. They exit through the back door, Michael still jabbing the gun in Quentin's ribs.

QUENTIN KING: All right, here we are. You wanna take that thing out of my ribs now?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, and then you send the cops right after me? Uh-huh.

[He lets go of Quentin and starts to walk away, past the police cruiser that's parked nearby.]

{I don't like running from cops, but it has its advantages.}

[Quite flamboyantly, crossing his arms, he fires at the cruiser's tire. The tire flattens and the cruiser jerks downwards.]

{It builds your credibility with a criminal when you flee a crime scene.}

[He shoots out the back tire as well and walks calmly. As he walks, he turns to Quentin.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'll be in touch.

[He breaks into a run. Quentin, impressed, watches him run.]


CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Night. Michael sits at the worktable, working on some stamp-sized bugs.]

{Eavesdropping and fieldwork go hand in hand. You wanna know what your target is saying and what he's typing into his computer, but technology can't work miracles.}

[He puts a bug in a small circular transparent container and fills it with a clear fluid. Closing the container, he shakes it. He continues.]

{Bugs don't plant themselves. The fact is, even the fanciest equipment usually needs help from a good, old-fashioned crowbar.}


CUT TO:

[Marina Parking Lot. Day. Michael pulls up to the parking lot. Fiona and Sam are in the car - Fiona sits in the back and Sam in the front passenger seat. Michael hands them his bag.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Get onto the boat, plant the bugs, get out quick.

SAM AXE: Yep, gotcha.

[Fiona extracts a crowbar from the bag.]

SAM AXE: Okay, what's that for?

FIONA GLENANNE: [smiling at Sam] Oh, I could think of something.

MICHAEL WESTEN: It's for the lock if you have trouble, Sam.

SAM AXE: Well, Mike, give me some credit. I mean, I can handle a lock.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Quentin had a colt .45 with extended controls and a beveled magwell. He's serious. Be careful, Sam. Yeah, Fi, I want you to fix Quentin's car so we can disable it if anything happens. You think you can handle that?

FIONA GLENANNE: [acting insulted] I'm not gonna answer that.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [holding up some papers] I'm off to make friends.

[Michael gets out of the car and walks away.]


[Marina Café. Day. Quentin sits at a table, talking with a girl in a bikini. Michael walks up nonchalantly.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [Bronx accent] It's me again.

[Quentin looks up at Michael, then whispers to the girl.]

QUENTIN KING: Do me a favor, babe, take a swim. Water's great.

[The girl gets up and leaves.]

QUENTIN KING: You want a drink?

MICHAEL WESTEN: It depends. [sitting] Am I talking to Quentin King or some water-filter salesman?

QUENTIN KING: You know how it is. You could be a cop, you could be a Fed, you could be anyone.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'm not just anyone.

QUENTIN KING: Well, you can handle yourself, I'll give you that. So, you have something.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [coldly] If you burn me...

QUENTIN KING: Let's hear your proposal. You'll meet my team, we'll see.

[Michael looks around. Pulling out Quentin's .45 (wrapped in a napkin), he puts it on the table.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: There's your gun back.

[Quentin carefully takes the gun and puts it under the table. Michael flashes him his trademark grin.]


[Marina Parking Lot. Day. Sam stands next to Quentin's car, while Fiona works under it.]

{It's always useful to be able to disable a car remotely. A cellphone, some wire - you can ground the circuit on the electrical system with a phone call.}

SAM AXE: Are you just about done down there?

FIONA GLENANNE: In a second. This... is an art.

SAM AXE: No. Wiring crap into a car is not an art. It's about as subtle as hitting someone with a brick.

FIONA GLENANNE: Hitting someone with a brick takes a lot of skill.

[She slides out from under the car and keeps kneeling. Moving on her knees, she approaches Sam.]

FIONA GLENANNE:You should try it sometime. It's all in the wrist.

SAM AXE: Sorry, not my style.

FIONA GLENANNE: [stands] I know. That's right, I forgot. You only do what the suits tell you.

[She walks away.]

SAM AXE: You know, that was a cheap shot.

[He follows her off-screen.]


CUT TO:

[Overhead Shot of the Marina. Day.]

{A good cover identity keeps the target feeling in control. You talk too much, drink too much just to let him know he's got the edge.}


CUT TO:

[Walkway near Marina. Day. Michael walks with Quentin, Greg and Bonnie, trying to sell his "scam".]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I respect what you're doin' - goin' after checkin' accounts, consumer credit. I mean, it's easy. It's like pickin' up coconuts on the beach. I like coconuts as much as the next guy, but I'm talkin' about somethin' bigger than coconuts.

QUENTIN KING: Enough with the coconuts. What's the scam?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Annuities. [he hands Greg and Bonnie some papers to read] You sell someone an annuity, and they dig deep. Home equity, major assets, the money they're savin' up for their grandkids. You give them a piece of paper, and you walk away with everythin' they own.

QUENTIN KING: Why do you need us?

[Greg, definitely interested, moves in front of them, walking sideways.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You've got leads. What was your hit rate on your last scam, one in fifty? You go back to every one you missed, you nail one in five. fifty, hundred grand. I got tax documents, marketin' stuff, and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue, and we're done.

[Greg smiles. Quentin reads through Michael's paperwork and closes it.]

QUENTIN KING: Well, you know, we're making money. And this forged crap, Feds are all over that.

GREG: But hundred grand per mark? Dude, that's millions.

QUENTIN KING: Greg, take a walk. [pats Greg's shoulder] Okay?

[Greg and Bonnie walk away, miffed. Michael watches them leave.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Listen, you don't want this, I don't want this. In fact, I don't need this. No, no, no, I'll walk away.

QUENTIN KING: [interrupts] I wanna talk about this. Come on, let's talk. Let's talk about it.

[They walk.]


CUT TO:

[Quentin's Yacht. Day. Sam connects a USB dongle to the laptop, while Fiona keeps a lookout.]

FIONA GLENANNE: You boys and your computers.

SAM AXE: If you've got a better way to find encrypted passwords and account information, I'm all ears, baby.


CUT TO:

[Marina Café. Day. Quentin speaks to Michael, who texts Fiona on her cell phone, surreptitiously under the table.]
GREG N BONNIE
COMING. GET OUT.


CUT TO:

[Quentin's Yacht. Day. Fiona's cell phone vibrates near Sam, who works on the laptop, unaware of Michael's text message. He turns to Fiona.]

SAM AXE: Here you go. [tosses her Michael's bug] Stick that up there and hurry up about it. We'd have been out of here ten minutes ago if you didn't argue about every little thing.


CUT TO:

[Marina Café. Day. At the bar, Quentin holds up a bottle of rum for Michael, giving Michael a thumbs-up. Michael smiles at him, all the while feverishly clicking away on his cell phone, texting Fiona.]
GET OUT. R U THERE?


CUT TO:

[Quentin's Yacht. Day. Fiona's cell phone vibrates again, but is drowned out by Fiona's voice.]

FIONA GLENANNE: I've heard surveillance through these things. It sounds like everyone's underwater.

[She fixes it inside an overhead light fixture.]

SAM AXE: Hey, if you have a way to put a recording studio in a light fixture, love to hear it


CUT TO:

[Marina, near Quentin's Yacht. Day. Greg and Bonnie walk towards the boat, Greg bitching about Quentin's attitude.]

GREG: It's millions of dollars. Quentin acts like I'm a goddamn kid and tells me to go home.


[Inside the yacht, Fiona notices the two apprentice crooks walking up.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Uh-oh.

[Sam sees them and starts to pack up.]

[Greg and Bonnie get on the yacht and enter. They notice a lady's high-heeled shoe on the floor. Bonnie picks it up and shows it to Greg, who hears something in the cabin below. They run over and open the cabin door. They see Sam and Fiona making out (or so it seems) on the bed. Fiona's top is off (she's wearing a bra though). They jump up on seeing Greg and Bonnie.]

GREG: What the hell are you doing here?

FIONA GLENANNE: [sitting up] What are you doing here?

GREG: We live here.

SAM AXE: Wha...?

FIONA GLENANNE: You... you live here?

[She looks at Sam in feigned shock. Greg nods. Fiona acts like she's pissed at Sam for lying to her. Sam, acting like he's busted, gets off the bed, his hands up in apology.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Oh, god, you liar. You liar! You son of a bitch!

SAM AXE: I can explain, baby.

[WHAP! She slaps his hard on the face (no acting there). Sam even looks surprised.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Explain what? That you told me you had a yacht so you could get in my pants? Is that about right?

SAM AXE: I'm sorry, babe.

[WHAP! Again! The other cheek this time. Sam frowns at her to cool it. She picks up her top and covers her bra with it.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [whiney voice, to Greg and Bonnie] I can't believe this. This is our third date. He said this was his boat.

[She puts her top on.]

GREG: [politely] Get out.

FIONA GLENANNE: Where's my shoe?

BONNIE: Here.

[Bonnie holds the shoe up. Fiona takes it, still whining.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Oh.

[She starts to move out, turning to glare menacingly at Sam for a second. Sam squeezes past Greg and Bonnie awkwardly.]

FIONA GLENANNE: You are taking me home right now. We are leaving. We are leaving!

[She starts to hit Sam on the shoulder with her shoe.]

SAM AXE: Fine, okay, Jesus, ow.

[Bonnie looks at Greg, in amusement. Sam turns to them, holding his hand out in apology.]

SAM AXE: We're so sorry about this.

[He then lifts Fiona up, putting her over his shoulder, and leaves.]

SAM AXE: Let's go.


CUT TO:

[Bar. Day. Michael, Fiona and Sam discuss the case.]

SAM AXE: And eventually we got out of there. I mean, anyway, it's all good. It was just a little... painful in the end. [looking at Fiona] Of course, it wouldn't have been a problem if I didn't have someone second-guessing me and slowing the whole thing down.

[Fiona glares right back at him, addressing Michael.]

FIONA GLENANNE: It was fine, Michael. Next time I'll check my phone.

SAM AXE: [to Michael] Hey, how'd it go? Is Quentin your new best buddy?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Hardly. I've cracked ex-KGB officers easier than this guy. We're gonna have to push these guys, drive his little team apart.

SAM AXE: Old school. You know I like that. Do you want the full-on disinformation campaign?

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, keep it small. Just enough to nudge him in my direction.

SAM AXE: Can do. Who wants another beer?

FIONA GLENANNE: Me.

[Sam gets up and goes for the beers.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [nicely] Fi...

FIONA GLENANNE: Yes?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [reluctant] I need a favor. I need some information from my mom. She's not gonna talk about it unless we...

FIONA GLENANNE: [finishes his sentence] Go to dinner. I talked to her yesterday.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [tight smile, nods] You talked to her. Of course you did.

FIONA GLENANNE: And I accepted. Bringing a vegetable.

[Playfully, she punches him lightly on the cheek.]

FIONA GLENANNE: I can't wait.

[Michael chuckles uncomfortably.]


CUT TO:

[Stock Footage of Miami (Clubs). Night. Party music plays.]


CUT TO:

[Club Onyx. Night. People do their thing in the club. Michael sits with Quentin at his seating area.]

{Go after a group of people directly, and they pull together, they get stronger. Taking out a tight-knit group is about making them turn on each other. Plant the seeds of distrust and watch them grow.}

QUENTIN KING: [eating, mouth full] I'm still thinking about it.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I talked to Greg and Bonnie and...

QUENTIN KING: Enough about Greg and Bonnie. They're not in charge here.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Fine, I'm just sayin', we can't delay this much longer. Tax season is comin' up. If people buy in, they do it just before April.

[Quentin considers this. He takes a sip of his drink, then turns to Michael.]

QUENTIN KING: So you and Paco. You were cell-mates, what, a year?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I could think of worse ways to do time.

QUENTIN KING: [chuckling] Paco, man. He still make that Pruno? I did a couple months with him in County, and, man, he made the best prison wine.

[Michael takes a sip of his drink as he considers how to respond to that.]

{Of course, sowing seeds of distrust is harder when nobody trusts you.}

MICHAEL WESTEN: Paco doesn't drink. What're you trying to pull?

[Quentin looks at Michael and nods.]

QUENTIN KING: Yeah. Of course. I forgot.

[Michael looks at him for a second, then lightly taps his shoulder and laughs with him. He turns his head away and exhales in relief. Phew!]


CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. Sam speaks to Michael on the phone.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] What, so you just guessed?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] Either he drank or he didn't. Fifty-fifty shot, and I guessed right.


INTERCUT WITH:

[Outside Madeline's House. Day. Michael pulls up to his mom's house, in a cab.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Good thing. I think he was planning on shooting me if I got it wrong.

SAM AXE: [from phone] Ah, nice work, Mike.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] How's the betrayal paper trail coming?

SAM AXE: [into phone] Oh, great. It's actually some of my best work. I got plane tickets for Greg and Bonnie and a couple of offshore bank accounts. I'll get it over there tonight and plant it.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] Alright.

SAM AXE: [into phone] Now, are you seriously taking Fiona to your mom's?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] Not like I have a choice.

SAM AXE: [into phone] Good luck with that, brother.

[He hangs up.]

[Michael walks around the cab, towards his mom's house. Fiona (bringing a vegetable) gets out from the other side of the cab. She joins him as they walk.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [sighs] Fi, just do me a favor. Just... go... easy tonight.


[Madeline's House. Day. Madeline opens the door and beams at her son and Fiona. Fiona hugs and kisses her warmly.]

FIONA GLENANNE: It is such a pleasure to finally meet you.

MADELINE WESTEN: Oh, welcome. Please come in, come in.

[Laura is inside. She pulls herself up from the sofa.]

MADELINE WESTEN: This is my friend Laura. She just came by to say "hi", see how things were going.

LAURA: [to Michael] Madeline said she was sure you could take care of it.

[Michael stands silent, a grin plastered to his face.]

MADELINE WESTEN: [to Fiona] Why don't you let me take that?

[She takes the casserole from Fiona and heads to the kitchen.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [to Laura] Everything's going to be fine. [whispers] He used to be a secret agent.

[Michael rolls his eyes and walks past them.]

LAURA: Well... I-I don't wanna intrude on your supper. I brought a peach cobbler for dessert.

FIONA GLENANNE: Yummm.

[Michael sits at the table, grinning widely (but probably, gritting his teeth inside).]

LAURA: So, are you two getting married?

[Madeline, behind the fridge, juts her head out, interested in the reply.]

FIONA GLENANNE: We're thinking about it.

[Michael finally loses the grin and looks up, nonplussed.]

FIONA GLENANNE: I'd like to be a June bride.

[She looks coyly at Michael, who looks murderously at her. Madeline jumps in excitement, pumping her fist.]


[Later, Michael, Fiona and Madeline have lunch. Michael shovels food into his mouth, trying to keep it full enough so as not to have to speak.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Mmm. [wipes her mouth] That was delicious.

MADELINE WESTEN: Thank you. So, um, Fiona, do you live in Miami now?

FIONA GLENANNE: Well, we'll see. I like it here.

MADELINE WESTEN: Do you have a job?

FIONA GLENANNE: I'm in between jobs, bit like Michael.

[Michael ignores the jibe and continues eating.]

FIONA GLENANNE: I'll-I'll get the dishes.

[Fiona stands.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Thank you.

[Deliberately, Fiona picks up Michael's plate (which still has food on it) along with other dishes. As she moves it away, Michael leans towards it and continues to eat off of it.]

MADELINE WESTEN: [stern] Michael.

[Michael sits back straight, but shovels the last morsel of food on the fork into his mouth, looking defiant.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Thank you, Fiona.

[Fiona goes to the kitchen. When she's gone, Michael swallows his food and turns to his mom.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [wipes his mouth] Mom, we had an agreement. Tell me about the men who came to the house.

MADELINE WESTEN: Um, they asked about you, how often you come to Miami, whether you have any friends here, and... they asked if we were close.

MICHAEL WESTEN: You and me?

[Madeline nods, as she lights up a cigarette.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: What did you tell them?

MADELINE WESTEN: [takes a drag] I told them that you were the perfect son, that you always wrote me, and you called me all the time and that the most important thing to you was family. I told them that, and they wrote it down.

[Michael looks down.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [softly] Why did you tell them that?

MADELINE WESTEN: I don't know, Michael. [beat] It just seemed nicer than the truth.

[Michael's cell phone rings, interrupting the sentimental mother-son moment.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: 'Scuse me. I got a phone call.

[Michael gets up and goes outside, while Madeline has a sad look on her face.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Hello.


INTERCUT WITH:

[Quentin's Yacht. Day. The boat looks like it's been ransacked. Quentin walks into the galley, yelling into his cell phone, pissed.]

QUENTIN KING: [into phone] Were you in on this? Answer me!

[Michael walks outside the house.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [Bronx accent, into phone] Quentin, Calm down. What are you talkin' about?

QUENTIN KING: [screams in rage, into phone] Answer me!

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] I don't know what you're talkin' abou...

QUENTIN KING: [into phone] I got bank statements, I got plane tickets. Huh? Greg and Bonnie had some plans.

[Michael puts his hand to his head in disbelief.]

FREEZE-FRAME: [Michael with his hand on his forehead.]

{Sometimes a great plan comes together just a little bit too early.}

RESUME.

QUENTIN KING: [into phone] What, you thought you could go around me? Is that what you thought, huh?

[Pissed, he kicks something.]

[Michael grits his teeth, thinking fast.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Why would I do that? Yeah, you think about it. I need your leads. Without that, I got nothin'. Greg and Bonnie, two stupid kids I'd have to share my score with? You know what I'm sayin'?

QUENTIN KING: [calming down a bit, into phone] I swear to god, if I find out you're lying to me...

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] I'm tellin' you the truth. This might not be what it looks like.

[Quentin picks up a bottle of champagne, and waves it around in the air as if Michael can see it.]

QUENTIN KING: [into phone] They got a goddamn bottle of champagne! They were gonna rip me off and go to the Caymans or the Seychelles, for cryin' out loud!

[He throws the bottle aside.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Just don't do anything without me, okay?

[Quentin picks up his .45.]

QUENTIN KING: [through clenched teeth, into phone] This will be over tonight.

[He pulls back the slide of the .45.]

[Michael grimaces in dismay.]

FREEZE-FRAME: [Michael grimacing.]
FREEZE-FRAME: [Quentin pulling back the slide of the .45.]

{You've been in the business way too long when you recognize the sound of a .45 caliber over a phone.}

MICHAEL WESTEN: [sternly, into phone] Don't do anythin' stupid.


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Evening.]


CUT TO:

[Marina Parking Loft. Night. Sam pulls up to the lot, close to where Quentin's yacht is docked. He calls Michael.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] Okay, Mike, I'm here. I'm at the marina.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] If Quentin leaves the boat, Sam, our plan is in serious trouble.

SAM AXE: [looking at the yacht, into phone] Yep, just calm down, he's here. I can see him walking around on the boat.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] You've got to make sure he doesn't go anywhere.

SAM AXE: [into phone] Don't worry about it. I'll keep an eye on him.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] He's planning to kill Greg and Bonnie, then blowing out of town with the money.

[Sam notices something.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] Hang on.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] What do you see?

[Sam sees Quentin stride out towards his car.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] He's coming out right now. Tell you what, I'll use Fiona's gizmo. I'll just zap the car.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] Call me when it's done.

SAM AXE: [into phone] Alright.

[Sam hangs up and dials the cell phone, which Fiona wired to the car. A few seconds later...]

[KA-BLAM!!]

[Quentin's car explodes in a fireball. Sam gets a start. Quentin gets thrown to the floor, unhurt

{That's what happens when you wire a cell phone to a blasting cap in the gas tank instead of to the electrical system.}

SAM AXE: Son of a bitch!

[Sam fumbles for the ignition. Quentin rolls over and looks in shock at the burning wreckage that used to be his car. Sam starts his car and high-tails it out of there.]


CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Night. Michael, Sam and Fiona try to figure out what went wrong and how to recover.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Fiona, you were supposed to stop the car, not blow it into the Everglades. What happened to shorting the ignition?

FIONA GLENANNE: [chastised] Well, you said, "disable". It's not going anywhere.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [frustrated] You know what I meant. I almost had him. I was this close. The FBI is back, I see. I'm under surveillance again. Sam, I thought you were supposed to handle that.

[Michael looks outside the window and sees Agents Harris and Lane sitting in their car, watching the loft, through binoculars.]

SAM AXE: Mike, there's only so much I can do. I got to tell the suits why we're down at the marina to keep them off our back, but if somebody starts blowing up cars down at the marina...

FIONA GLENANNE: Remind why you're friends with someone who put the FBI back onto you.

SAM AXE: That is so unfair.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Sam, what about Quentin? You were supposed to nudge him, not send him into a homicidal frenzy.

SAM AXE: Look, you guys were off doing your thing, so I signed up Greg and Bonnie through this Medallion Airways Executive Service to the Cayman Islands, you know, as part of the setup.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah?

SAM AXE: Well, they got this new thing where they overnight a bottle of champagne to the new members. Quentin started sniffing around, and in less than an hour, he found everything that I did. It was a bunch of little stuff, but he put it all together.

[Fiona opens the refrigerator, while Michael (at a loss, for once) leans over the kitchen counter.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Turn him around. Make him trust you.

MICHAEL WESTEN: He's not in a trusting mood, Fi.

[She takes a tub of yogurt from the fridge.]

FIONA GLENANNE: I know you're angry, Michael. But I know that an exploding car can throw a man off-balance. You'll thank me.

MICHAEL WESTEN: He won't even talk to me. He won't even answer my calls.

FIONA GLENANNE: Well, you'll have to be extra charming.

[She holds a spoonful of yogurt in front of his mouth. He doesn't react.]


CUT TO:

[Club Onyx. Night. As usual, the club is packed with people. The bartenders pour drinks, showboat with bottles.]

{Whether you're in Moscow, Tehran, or Miami, club girls are a good source of information. Men say things to a beautiful woman. They give out phone numbers, hotel keys. They let down their guard.}

[Michael hands drinks around to pretty club girls.]

{Getting information from a club girl means buying drinks. It's no problem with an operational slush fund. It's a big problem if you're spending cash scrounged from your mom's purse.}

MICHAEL WESTEN: [to the girls] You have to help me out, please, please. We're doing this night at a club in Hollywood Beach. Amazing. [enthusiastically] I mean, I'm flying in a DJ From Berlin. It's gonna be crazy. Quentin reserves a VIP table for four thousand bucks, and I can't get in touch with him to tell him the date changed. Can you help me out, please? He's gonna be pissed, and you know how angry he gets.

CLUB GIRL: So how about us? Are we on the list?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, one hundred percent. You're all in. Just please, please help me out, please.

CLUB GIRL: [pulling out her cell phone] Well, I think he only uses this number for girls, but...

[He shows Michael the number, which Michael saves to his cell phone.]


CUT TO:

[Outside Club Onyx. Night. A luxury car pulls up to the door, while people wait in line to enter. Michael walks out, speaking to Quentin.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [Bronx accent, into phone] You're a hard man to reach.

QUENTIN KING: [from phone] Yeah, well, things have been a little bit busy. What do you want?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Same thing as before - make some money. Where are you?


INTERCUT WITH:

[Motel Room. Night. The lights are off. In the darkened room, Quentin draws the curtains, on the phone with Michael.]

QUENTIN KING: [into phone] I'm laying low.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] When can we get together?

[Quentin puts on the lamp.]

QUENTIN KING: [into phone] I don't think that's a very good idea right now.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] Quentin, buddy...

SPLIT-SCREEN: [Michael on the left screen, Quentin on the right.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] I'm the only guy you can trust right now. Your partners just tried to kill you. You need a friend. Quentin, you need to learn to reach out. We can help each other.

[Quentin presses his temples with his fingers, trying to think.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [from phone] Quentin...

QUENTIN KING: [caves, into phone] Fine. Where?


CUT TO:

[Near the Marina. Night. Under a bridge, Quentin walks nervously, gun in hand, looking for Michael. He passes by a bridge pillar, against which Michael leans. Suddenly noticing Michael, he whips the gun towards him.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [Bronx accent, unfazed] Whoa, whoa, buddy. It's me.

[Quentin drops his arm.]

QUENTIN KING: I've been waiting here, man.

MICHAEL WESTEN: You said two. [checks his watch] It's two.

QUENTIN KING: You know they're back on my yacht? I'm gonna go down there, I swear to God.

[STeeling himself, he starts to walk towards the yacht, but Michael grabs his arm.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Listen, two bodies, a murder weapon. And you're suspect number one. I mean, you know my style. I'm not afraid to pull a trigger if that's what has to happen. Let's be smart about this.

QUENTIN KING: You got a better idea?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah. [beat] I know a guy. Know what I'm sayin'? Someone who can deal with this. It'll cost some money, but he'll make this go away. Quiet, no connection to you. One wire transfer, it's done, And then we can go on with our business.

FREEZE-FRAME: [Michael speaking to Quentin.]
FREEZE-FRAME: [The intense look on Michael's face.]
FREEZE-FRAME: [Quentin listening in rapt attention.]

{A hit man is like a plumber, a dentist, or a mechanic. Everybody's always looking for a good one.}

RESUME.

QUENTIN KING: [nods] All right, let's set that up. He'll do both of them? How much?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Fifty thousand.

QUENTIN KING: They'll both be dead, no connection to me?

[Michael calmly shakes his head no.]

QUENTIN KING: Okay.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'll be in touch.

QUENTIN KING: Okay.

[Michael starts to walk away. Quentin, gun still in hand, goes the other way. Michael looks behind to ensure that Quentin's out of earshot and call Sam on his cell phone.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Sam, Quentin bit. I need you and Fiona to deal with Bonnie and Greg. It's time they got out of town.

SAM AXE: [from phone] Can do, Mike. You know you're out of orange juice?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Sam...


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day. The sun rises. Shot of the marina.]


CUT TO:

[Quentin's Yacht. Day. Greg and Bonnie wonder where Quentin could be.]

GREG: [shouting] What am I supposed to do? His car blew up. He's gone. Maybe he's got enemies he didn't tell us about.

[Bonnie sees Fiona and Sam (dressed rather formally this time, wearing sunglasses) come up to the boat. Fiona knocks on the door.]

BONNIE: It's that couple that broke into the boat.

[Greg turns and goes up to them.]

SAM AXE: [sounding official] Good afternoon. Miami PD I'm Detective Cagney. This is Detective Lacey.

[Original!!]

FIONA GLENANNE: [taking off her sunglasses, Irish accent again] We'd like to talk to you.

[Greg looks back at Bonnie, nervously. Bonnie, though sour-faced, is equally nervous.]

[A short while later, Sam speaks to the couple on the deck.]

SAM AXE: I'm not gonna lie to you. You two are in a lot of trouble. We'd like to know where your partner is.

GREG: You tell me.

SAM AXE: [chuckles] You know, you might wanna be more cooperative.

[Fiona comes outside from the boat, past Greg.]

SAM AXE: We've been monitoring you two for quite a while. You might recall walking in on us as we were planting this.

[He holds up the USB dongle. The two junior cons are a hair's breadth away from panicking.]

SAM AXE: We have all the financial transactions off your computer. So, your partner?

BONNIE: We don't know, okay? He's just gone.

FIONA GLENANNE: Too bad. There's no deal for you if he doesn't show up. You go down for the whole show. Miami juries, they don't like people who rob retirees and beat up grandmas.

BONNIE: That wasn't us. That was Quentin. We never touched them. Quentin was the one smacking them around.

GREG: [nudging her, whispers] Shut up, Bonnie.

BONNIE: [ignores him, real scared] We don't even have the money! Quentin transferred it all to his own account...

GREG: [exasperated] Shut up!

[She obeys this time.]

SAM AXE: Of course, you could help us find him, testify for a reduced sentence, and only get, I don't know, five to ten.

[Despite the generous offer, Greg and Bonnie don't seem excited.]

GREG: I wanna talk to a lawyer.

FIONA GLENANNE: Go ahead. Don't take too long and don't go anywhere.

[She and Sam get off the boat, leaving the apprentice cons to think about what to do.]


FADE TO:

[Marina. Day. Sam and Fiona walk on a causeway, overlooking the docked boats. They walk towards the spot overlooking Quentin's yacht.]

SAM AXE: Y'know, for all your antigovernment speechifying, you do lady cop pretty well.

FIONA GLENANNE: Thanks.

[From where they stand, they see Greg and Bonnie argue fiercely.]

SAM AXE: Okay, so you bet they would be gone by four o'clock. Well, another couple minutes. After that, I'm twenty bucks richer.

FIONA GLENANNE: I'll win.

[Greg seems to be getting close to convincing Bonnie.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Greg comes on strong when you can tell he's scared of prison. He's selling her on the sandy beaches of Cancun right now.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Mexico, you think?

FIONA GLENANNE: Or the Caribbean.

[The argument done, Greg jumps off the boat and undoes the rope tying it to the marina.]

SAM AXE: Uh-oh. [chuckles sportingly] Okay, there they go.

[He fishes out his wallet and slaps a twenty into her outstretched palm. With a smug smile, she clenches her fist around the bill.]

SAM AXE: Don't look so smug.

[He walks away. Greg and Bonnie sail out.]


CUT TO:

[Walnut Motel Apartments. Day. Kids cycle by.]

{I don't much like dealing with paranoids.}

[Quentin comes out of his room, looking around. He starts to walk out.]

{They get erratic, make bad decisions. Of course, that could be a help when you need them to make a bad decision.}

[Michael walks guardedly up to him, then grabs him and pushes him back.]

QUENTIN KING: [getting a start] Whoa, Jesus Christ! You scared the crap out...

MICHAEL WESTEN: [Bronx accent, angry] What the hell do you think you're doin'?

QUENTIN KING: I'm going to the bank like we said.

MICHAEL WESTEN: With the FBI watchin' you?

QUENTIN KING: FBI? What are you talking about?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Right there, look.

[Michael points to the street, where Agents Lane and Harris (who are there to watch Michael) sit in there car. Quentin however believes they're there for him.]

QUENTIN KING: FBI? How?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I don't know. You tell me, Quentin.

QUENTIN KING: [thinks a sec] Greg and Bonnie. I took the cash. They must have gone to the Feds.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [incensed] You're careless. You're careless and you're gonna get us caught. I am not goin' back to prison, you hear me?

QUENTIN KING: Okay, shut up for a second and let me think.

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, there is no time for that. You need Greg and Bonnie dead more than ever. They're your only witnesses. They know me. This is a disaster, Quentin.

QUENTIN KING: Fine, we'll go to the bank. I'll wire the money to your guy like we talked about.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Wire the money? With an FBI tail?

[Michael pulls out his gun and aims it at Quentin's chest.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Are you stupid, or are you just trying to get us caught? You know what? Have a nice life.

[Michael starts to leave.]

QUENTIN KING: Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

[Michael turns around, half-heartedly.]

QUENTIN KING: Maybe we could get somebody else to make the transfer.

MICHAEL WESTEN: It has to happen right now. What are you gonna do, find some guy on the street, say, "Can you wire money to Aruba?" Nice try.

QUENTIN KING: No, you do it.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [shaking his head] No. I'm not cleaning up your mess.

QUENTIN KING: They don't know you. I'll give you my account numbers, You send the money, and we'll meet up later.

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, I take all the risk and I save your ass. No, thank you.

QUENTIN KING: No, I'm telling you. It's gonna work. [smiles convincingly] Telling ya.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [cheers up] And then we make some money?

QUENTIN KING: [grins widely] Then we make some money.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Fine. But you make sure the feds follow you. [threateningly] 'Cause if they follow me, you'll wish I put a bullet in your head right here.

[He takes Quentin's account information and leaves. Quentin looks nervous as hell over the threat.]


CUT TO:

[Dade Trust Bank. Day. Michael pulls up to the parking lot. He gets out of the car and walks towards the bank, accommodatingly making way for two cops to pass by.]

[Inside the bank, he hands the teller a fake driver's licence, with his picture and name as Quentin King. The teller looks at the licence, then a funds transfer application form (in Quentin's name). He transfers the funds through the computer. On a paper, Michael ticks off different people's names, who were conned by Quentin. The same sequence is repeated in fast motion.]

{Truth is, identity theft isn't hard. A number and an ID is all you need to drain a bank account and return a lot of money to some very surprised retirees.}


CUT TO:

[Walnut Motel Apartments. Day. Michael watches in amusement from his car, as Quentin is led out in handcuffs by cops.]

{But why stop there? As long as you're stealing someone's identity, why not use it to contact some known terrorist organizations on unsecured phone lines? Why not use it to threaten some federal judges and insult the local drug cartel?}

[Quentin is ushered into the police cruiser. Michael grins widely.]

{Most fun I've had in Miami.}


CUT TO:

[Madeline's House. Day. Michael listens to a much happier Laura, who looks at her bank statement. Madeline sits at the table with Laura, beaming happily.]

LAURA: It was all there. I looked at my bank statement, And there it was. All the money.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'm glad it could work out.

MADELINE WESTEN: [to Laura] I told you. Didn't I tell you?

LAURA: How did you do it? How did you get it all back?

MICHAEL WESTEN: You don't wanna know.

[Laura looks at him intrigued.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, really, you don't wanna know.

LAURA: [nods] Oh. Well, how much do I owe you?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Well, I didn't do it for the money. Let's call it five hundred for expenses.

[Laura and Madeline look shocked.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Call it three hundred.

[Laura likes that figure better.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: And you promise not to enter any more contests?

LAURA: [holds up her hand] I promise.

[She laughs.]


CUT TO:

[Outside Madeline's House. Day. Michael walks out of the house. Madeline runs outside, after him.]

MADELINE WESTEN: [calls] Michael!

MICHAEL WESTEN: [turns to her] Yeah, ma?

MADELINE WESTEN: Thank you.

[He nods at her and starts walking again.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Wait.

[He stops again. She walks up to him.]

MADELINE WESTEN: There's one more thing.

[She reaches into her bra and pulls out a piece of paper.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Those men who came to the house asking me questions, they gave me this. [gives it to him] They asked me to call them if you should ever come to Miami or try to contact me.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Did you contact them?

MADELINE WESTEN: [smiles] No, Michael, I did not. Family comes first.

[Putting the cigarette to her lips, she walks to the house. Michael pulls out his cell phone and dials the number. It rings a couple of times. Then, someone answers.]

MAN'S VOICE: [from phone] You've been a busy boy, Michael. Very impressive.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Glad to be appreciated. Who is this?

MAN'S VOICE: Oh, just a friend.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [harshly, into phone] Who is this?

MAN'S VOICE: [from phone] Stay out of trouble, Michael. We'll be in touch.

[The line disconnects. Michael looks up. He turns his head.]

ECU: [His eyes looking intensely at the camera.]


CUT TO:

[Closing credits.]