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Burn Notice Transcripts

BURN NOTICE

1x06: Unpaid Debts

Original Airdate: 8/2/2007

Written by: Nick Thiel

Directed by: Paul Holahan

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 SPAS-12 shotgun inside Sam's car.]
[She kisses Michael outside his loft.]

{A trigger-happy ex-girlfriend.}

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

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

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

[He and Axe Sam talk in a 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. Night.]


CUT TO:

[Oleg's Nightclub. Night. Partygoers queue up outside the club, waiting to get in.]

{For most people, a night out at the Miami clubs is a chance to see and be seen.}

[Outside Michael's Loft. Night. Michael (in a dress suit) holds the aluminum door, leading to his loft, open for Fiona (who's dressed nicely as well). They notice the loft front door open. They climb the stairs leading to it.]

{When you're under government surveillance, it's a different story. You still want to know who's watching you, but the reasons are a little different.}

FIONA GLENANNE: Looks like you've had visitors.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Took 'em long enough.

[Michael's Loft. Night. The lights are off. Michael passes a UV light over the floor. Florescent footprints are visible as the light passes over them.]

{Sprinkle a mixture of flour and dayglo powder on your floor before you go out, and you'll know whether you've had any visitors and what they were after.}

FIONA GLENANNE: Three-man team?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Sounds about right. Two sneakers and a loafer.

FIONA GLENANNE: They're not terribly careful, your surveillance.

[Michael climbs upstairs to look around, while Fiona takes the UV light and examines the floor.]

{You don't always have to get that clever, though. Sometimes they want you to know what they're up to.}

[Upstairs, Michael touches his computer monitor, finding it warm due to recent use.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: They weren't hiding.

FIONA GLENANNE: I miss your FBI detail. They were really kind of sweet.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [walking downstairs] The Feds were errand boys. But these guys, on the other hand, might actually know something useful.

FIONA GLENANNE: Honestly, I don't know why they bother. They should just put a bullet in your head and be done with it.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Apparently, I'm more valuable alive than dead. But I'm sure they'll take it under advisement.

FIONA GLENANNE: You think they're listening?

[Michael's cell phone rings. Looking at the caller ID, he answers it reluctantly.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Yeah, mom.

MADELINE WESTEN: [from phone, frantic] Michael, there are men here outside the house with guns!

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] What? What men?

MADELINE WESTEN: [from phone] I don't know. They've been watching. They're coming inside!

[Urgently, Michael starts to run outside.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Call the cops. Call them right now.

[He hangs up as he runs.]


CUT TO:

[Miami Streets. Night. Michael and Fiona race to Madeline's house in the Charger.]


CUT TO:

[Madeline's House. Night. Outside the house, as they pull up, Michael turns off the headlights and turns off the engine. He stops a short distance away from the house. There's a van parked across the street. Michael and Fiona get outside quietly. Michael starts to run towards his mother's house.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Take the van and cover the street.

FIONA GLENANNE: Not a problem.

[Fiona walks calmly to the van. She knocks on the passenger window. The driver looks at her and smiles. We see she has her trusty SPAS-12 shotgun with her. One-hand-pumps it and aims it at the driver, who ducks for cover.]

[Michael runs up to the house. Inside, stuff is being thrown about and smashed. Michael enters through the front door. In the living room, a gunman turns towards him, aiming his gun at him.]

GUNMAN: Stop right there.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [holding his hands out] It's okay. It's okay.

[Michael suddenly grabs the guy's gun-hand and kicks him in the stomach, sending the guy crashing into a table, knocking all of Madeline's medication about. Another guy, toting a baseball bat, tries to swing it at Michael's head. Michael ducks and, while kneeling on the floor, punches the guy behind the knee. The batter cries out as his knee buckles. Michael shoves him hard into a large bookcase, causing the bookcase to fall on him. Michael picks up the gun and cocks it. Holding it in front of him, he looks for his mother.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Mom? Mom!

[Michael turns towards the kitchen, seeing his frightened mother being ushered into the living room, by a mystery man (a government agent).]

GOVERNMENT AGENT: Fourteen minutes? Aw, I figured you for twelve. It's probably those causeways. Oh, you'll have to forgive my sketchy Miami geography. I'm new in town. We nearly got lost coming from your place.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Mom, you okay?

MADELINE WESTEN: [tearfully] They cut the phone lines. I couldn't call the police. They broke in...

MICHAEL WESTEN: [comforting] 'S okay. 'S okay. [to the agent] Wanna tell me who you are?

GOVERNMENT AGENT: I'm the new man in your life.

[Sniggering, he pushes Madeline towards Michael. Whimpering, Madeline runs towards Michael. Michael keeps the gun trained on the agent.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [gently] It's okay. It's okay.

[The two beat-up agents pick themselves off the ground.]

GOVERNMENT AGENT: You pissed off a lot of people, getting your hands on the Homeland Security directive authorizing your burn notice. You're a private citizen now. You're not supposed to touch that kind of thing.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I asked nicely.

GOVERNMENT AGENT: You wanted attention from someone a little higher up on the food chain.

MICHAEL WESTEN: That's about right.

GOVERNMENT AGENT: It's your lucky day. Here I am. [picks up a ceramic vase] And here I will stay... [smashes the vase on the ground] until you back off.

MADELINE WESTEN: Michael, why are they doing this? Are you in some kind of trouble?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Not now. Not now, mom. [to the agent, angrily] Your problem is with me, not with her. You have no business coming here.

GOVERNMENT AGENT: Oh, no, no, but we do. See, you're a major security risk. You just assaulted two federal agents.

[Michael turns the gun around in his hand and holds it out for them.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Go ahead. Arrest me. I'd like to take a look at the indictment.

GOVERNMENT AGENT: [takes the gun] Wouldn't you, now?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah.

GOVERNMENT AGENT: [hands the gun to the gunman] Listen, you be a good boy, and I'll get out of your hair.

[He flicks open his switchblade.]

GOVERNMENT AGENT: Until then, I'll need to keep looking.

[Using the knife, he slashes Madeline's sofa.]

MADELINE WESTEN: God!

[Pulling out most of the sofa's stuffing, the agent stands up.]

GOVERNMENT AGENT: Sorry. Can't be too careful.

[Michael watches the agent and his cronies leave. Madeline is absolutely clueless.]

{There are two kinds of government surveillance - the kind that's there to look for something and the kind that's just there to make your life difficult.}

[Michael closes the door.]


CUT TO:

[Opening Title.]


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]


CUT TO:

[Hotel, Poolside. Day. People in swimsuits have fun at the pool, while Michael and Sam walk outside.]

SAM AXE: Mike, you get problems like that, call me. I still got pull in that department. Maybe I can get them to go home.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I don't want them to go home. I need this guy in town. I need to know who he is and what he knows.

SAM AXE: Well, I can help you with that, then.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I tried. I got your voice mail.

SAM AXE: Yeah, sorry about that. It's the new lady friend. Heh, she puts a lot of demands on my time, if you know what I mean.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I don't, and I don't wanna know.

SAM AXE: Well, at least I'm off your couch. So, who do you think was at your mom's? They sound like charmers.

[Sam reclines on a pool chair.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You tell me. What are your FBI friends telling you?

SAM AXE: Nothing. Believe me, they'd be pissed if they found out somebody pulled rank on them. These intelligence outfits, they're springing up faster than frickin' Starbucks these days.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [sighs, checks his watch] Let me know if you hear anything.

SAM AXE: [taking a sip of his drink] Mmm, where are you going?

MICHAEL WESTEN: I gotta scrounge up a job. My mom's house needs remodeling. I might have to call Lucy.

SAM AXE: What about my SEAL buddy, That thing I was telling you about?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Is that a job or a favor?

SAM AXE: No, it's a job. It's real money. He's a great guy, Mike. He saved my ass several times. He's a boat-repo guy. It's a tough job. He just needs some muscle.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Muscle? Great.

[Sam's new "lady friend", Veronica, walks up, smiling. She hands Sam a drink.]

SAM AXE: There she is.

VERONICA: There you go, Sammy.

SAM AXE: Thank you, doll. Plant one right there.

[She kisses Sam.]

VERONICA: [to Michael] You sure I can't get you anything?

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, thank you. I have out-of-town guests I need to attend to. You have fun.

SAM AXE: Mike, call me, now.


FLASH TO:

[Michael's Loft. Night. Michael works on one of his cell phones at his worktable. Using forceps, he pulls the bug out of the phone.]

{You can tie up a lot of resources by keeping a bugged phone line open. As long as it's open, they're supposed to keep listening.}

[He puts it back inside. He dials a number and puts the phone to his ear.]

VOICE: [from phone] You have reached the Consulate of the Commonwealth of Belize. Leave your message after the tone.

[Michael looks at a magazine and starts to recite some random code.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] D-D-7-2-4-7-8.

{Say a few cryptic things now and then and they'll be stuck in their little van, trying to figure out what the hell you're doing.}

[Looking at a subscription card, which reads "Order by 5:00 pm on March 15th and get a 20% discount", he speaks.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Five PM, March 15th, twenty percent.

{They can't go home, can't grab a bite to eat, can't take a leak.}

[Michael puts on his mini TV and places the bugged phone next to it. He pats the TV.]

TV PRESENTER: [on TV] Only you will have it and a limited number of viewers who are also gonna be lucky enough to buy...

[Eating yogurt, he watches a dark van parked outside.]

{And the longer they're stuck in a van with a set of headphones, the more you can find out about them.}

TV PRESENTER: [on TV] Look at that round cut - brilliant.


CUT TO:

[Everglades. Day. An airboat glides over the marsh. A couple of alligators snap at each other.]


CUT TO:

[Virgil's Place. Day. While some critters barbecue on the grill, Sam's SEAL buddy comes outside to meet Sam and Michael. He looks like he's been in a fight.]

SAM'S SEAL BUDDY: [Southern accent] Appreciate you coming, Mike. Sam's told me a good deal about you.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Really?

SAM AXE: C'mon, Mike, don't be like that. Virge is one of us.

SAM'S SEAL BUDDY: SEAL teams, Panama, Iraq, China. Last time I checked, I had top-secret clearance. But I haven't checked in a while. Sam tells me you're some kinda spy...

[He is...]
VIRGIL
POTENTIAL CLIENT

VIRGIL: ... or used to be. Y'all want a beer?

SAM AXE: [doesn't miss a beat] Yeah, I'll take one.

VIRGIL: Knew you'd want one, Sam. What about you, Mike? It might be hot in that jacket.

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, I'm good. What's the job?

VIRGIL: Pain in my ass. I was supposed to repo a Donzi 27 ZR for a guy who's done me a few favors. But I went to pick the thing up, and a couple of Jamaicans tuned me up but good. Damn embarrassing.

SAM AXE: Oh, c'mon, they had thirty years on you and a baseball bat.

VIRGIL: Well, I am on blood thinners. Goddamn pills make me light-headed. Oh, hell, that's no excuse. Anyway, now I'm in a bind. Word gets out I can't hack it - pfft! I'm done. Not one to ask for help, but there it is.

MICHAEL WESTEN: That's a fast boat. Smuggling?

VIRGIL: It's a high-performance speedboat in a crappy, little hellhole of a marina. What the hell else is it gonna be? Maybe Cuban cigars, maybe grass. Problem is, these guys have guns, and they like to wave them around. Listen, just pick the thing up, point A to point B. Pfft!

MICHAEL WESTEN: [deadpan] Oh, is that all? Point A to point B? Well, when you put it that way...

VIRGIL: All right, look... but look, I'd go down there with you guys, but these guys know me. Two grand each, cash on delivery. My buddy Mason is gonna be waiting for it at a repair warehouse up on 23rd.

[Sam comes up to Michael, who's still not sure.]

SAM AXE: Mike, we get Fi involved, we got a three-man team. Do it just like that personnel carrier in Bulgaria. I mean, look, I gotta get my new lady friend something nice, and you sure as hell need the cash.

VIRGIL: Free gator steaks in it for you. Best in the Everglades.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [how can I resist] I'll think about it.


CUT TO:

[Michael's Loft. Day. Michael walks outside his loft to see the government agent there, having the Charger towed.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [coolly] You're towing my car.

GOVERNMENT AGENT: Hey! Yeah. There might be evidence in here.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Evidence? There's a busted 8-track and one of my mom's lamps I'm trying to piece back together.

GOVERNMENT AGENT: Well, I guess we'll find out, won't we? Oh, by the way, we noticed suspicious activity on your phone line, so we took care of it for you.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, thanks.

GOVERNMENT AGENT: Alas, you won't have phone service for a while. Hey, you wanna stick of gum?

[He holds out some gum. Michael takes a stick.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah, thanks. I didn't catch your name.

GOVERNMENT AGENT: No, you didn't.

[Michael puts the gum in his mouth and starts chewing. The agent goes to the tow truck, while Michael climbs the stairs to his loft. He calls Sam.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Yeah, Sam, about that job. I'm in. Oh, oh, and tell Virgil I need to borrow his truck.

[The towtruck drives off, lugging the Charger along with it.]


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]


CUT TO:

[Marina. Day. Michael, Sam and Fiona watch from under a quay, as the Donzi 27 ZR cuts through the water and stops at a pier. A short distance away, a Jamaican (in a white suit) walks from his parked car to the boat. He is...]
ANDRE
BOAT OWNER

FIONA GLENANNE: Mmm, he's cute.

MICHAEL WESTEN: We're gonna take his boat. I doubt he's gonna give you his phone number.

FIONA GLENANNE: Who knows? I've had stranger dates.

SAM AXE: So, what's your cover ID, Mikey?

[Michael picks up a baseball cap and puts it on.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I think I'm gonna go with... devoted employee. How's, uh, "Homer"?

[D'oh!]

SAM AXE: Homer. I like it.

[Michael rubs his fingers on the greasy floor and smears the grease all over his vest, giving it a used look. Fiona sighs, almost getting turned on.]

{As a rule, spies don't like dealing with cops. Covert ops are illegal by definition. If they were legal, they wouldn't need to be covert.}

SAM AXE: [pointing to a sailboat at a different pier] Want me to set up that one, Mike? The sailboat?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah, that's good.

[He jerks his head at Fiona, beckoning her to follow him. She follows, as Sam dials 911 on his cell phone.]

{Still, the police can be useful if you need a little insurance against people shooting.}

SAM AXE: [into phone, sounding uncertain] Yeah, hi. Um, boy, I don't know if this is the sort of thing I should be calling the police about, but... Oh, I'm at the-the, uh, marina down on Waverly Street. Yeah, uh, I saw some men loading bags full of white powder into a sailboat. Kinda creeped me out, you know?

[Soon a police speedboat drifts by, sounding its siren. Andre and his Jamaican henchmen watch it pass by. Michael and Fiona choose that moment to walk up to Andre Dekker.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [Southern accent] Hey, there!

ANDRE DEKKER: Can I help you?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yessir. I'm here for that boat.

ANDRE DEKKER: Oh, you with the repo man, huh?

MICHAEL WESTEN: My boss, hell of a guy. He's like a father to me. You beat him up pretty good.

[On the other pier, Sam speaks to the cops about the sailboat.]

ANDRE DEKKER: Yeah, that was unfortunate. I tried to explain the situation to him, you know? But he forced me to clarify my position. This is my property.

FIONA GLENANNE: [Southern accent, holding up paper] We've got the papuh-work that says otherwise.

ANDRE DEKKER: Hmm, well, that paperwork is misinformed.

[Andre pulls back his jacket, exposing a gun shoved into his pants. Fiona acts timid at the sight of the gun.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Hmm. Why don't we ask the poh-lice to sort this out? I mean, they're right over there. I could holler over to 'em right now and ask them to come sort this out.

[Andre doesn't like that idea one bit. He pulls out his gun and holds it low at Michael, out of sight of the cops.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: That's a nice piece. You gonna shoot me with it? Probably gonna have to shoot her, too. Might be tough to explain to the cops.

FIONA GLENANNE: Or I could just start screaming.

MICHAEL WESTEN: The way I see it, if this is your boat, these guns are registuh'd, and you're hun'red puh-cent squeaky clean, you have nothing to worry about. But if not... heh!

[Andre pushes the gun back in his pants.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Awright.

[Patting Andre on his arm, he walks towards the boat with Fiona. Andre watches him walk, smiling. He walks up to Michael.]

ANDRE DEKKER: Making a serious mistake, mon. Do this, there's no turning back, you know?

[Fiona starts the boat, while Michael undoes the rope, holding it to the pier.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I can't leave without the boat. So, if you're gonna shoot us, get it done. Otherwise, we got places to be.

ANDRE DEKKER: You know, we'll deal with this another time, when I got a little bit more privacy.

FIONA GLENANNE: Ooh, leather seats. I can see why you're so attached to it.

ANDRE DEKKER: [pissed] Pretty lady, don't get too comfortable. I'll see you soon, huh? I promise.

[Hardly bothered, Michael pulls the Donzi away from the pier. As hip-hop music plays in the background, he and Fiona zoom through the open sea towards the drop-off point.]


CUT TO:

[Boatyard. Day. Fiona sits in a truck, towing the Donzi onto land, with Homer, uh, Michael sitting on it. Sam directs traffic.]

SAM AXE: Easy now. Whoa!

[Michael hits a button to open up the speedboat's engine. He starts to look for something.]

SAM AXE: What you looking for back there?

MICHAEL WESTEN: He was confident he was getting his boat back. I wanna make sure there's no surprises.

SAM AXE: Well, people get attached to their vehicles. I had a Cadillac El Dorado once. That thing was part of the family.

[Michael stands upright, holding up a credit-card-shaped device.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: GPS tracker. That's how our Jamaican friend was gonna find us.

SAM AXE: Son of a bitch.

[Michael places the GPS tracker close to the truck tire and stands to speak to Sam.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Sam, how well do you know Virgil? You trust him?

SAM AXE: He's like a brother, Mike. I mean, the guy saved my life.

[Michael accepts it. He pounds the truck's hood, signaling Fiona to go ahead. Starting up the truck, Fiona drives over the tracker, flattening it, rendering it useless.]


CUT TO:

[Grove Key Marina. Day. Michael and Sam drive up in the truck, lugging the speedboat behind them.]

{When you're going into a meeting cold with people you know nothing about, you have to be extra careful.}

[Michael gets out of the truck and starts walking towards the repair warehouse.]

{Pay attention to every detail. map out an escape route or two just in case.}

[He enters the repair warehouse, where three tough-looking, casually-dressed, middle-aged guys stand.]

{And never, ever show up as yourself.}

[Michael goes into "Homer" mode.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [Southern accent] You Mason?

[One of the three turns to him. He is...]
MASON
VIRGIL'S CLIENT

MASON: Yeah. Who the hell are you?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Waitin' on a boat deliv'ry?

[Mason looks at his colleagues, a concerned look on all their faces.]

MASON: Yeah, where's... where's Virgil?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, he can't make it. He sent me instead. I'm one of Virgil's drivers. My name's Homer.

MASON: Hold on, Homer. "Not coming"? What do you mean "not coming"? He's s'posed to be here.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [brushing it aside] You know how he is. Well, I got your boat outside with my team.

MASON: [not happy] Team?

[He motions to his boys to go outside and check it out.]

MASON: You got other guys outside?

[The three guys seem a little too concerned now. They have their hands on their holsters and start looking around shiftily.]

{Another thing you look for is people who seem overly upset that things have changed, details that shouldn't matter so much.}

[Michael, meanwhile, acts completely nonchalant, checking the place out.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [pointing at a boat engine] Damn! Wow! That is a twin supercharged Sterlin'. [claps his hands] Whoo-ee! I got a 400-horsepower back at home. I work on it a li'l bit.

[He looks to the side and sees a brick of C-4 explosive stuck to a chemical cylinder, attached to a detonator.]

{Some tip-offs aren't so subtle, like a detonator sitting on enough methyl chloride to incinerate a city block.}

MASON: Why don't we move this along? What do you say?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Awright, lemme go get your boat.

[Mason pulls out his gun.]

MASON: Well, we're all gonna go get the boat.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Whoa, cowboy. No need to get gun-happy. Calm down.

[Michael raises his arms as he speaks. Mason turns to his colleagues with a "do-you-believe-this-guy?" look. Michael takes advantage of the lapse and yanks down on a tubelight. The tubelight smashes against a worktable, loaded with chemicals. The chemicals ignite, setting the table and neighboring chemicals on fire. As the "clients" panic, Michael takes off.]

MASON: Put it out!

[One of the "clients" puts out the fire with a fire extinguisher, as Mason and the other guy run after Michael.]

[Sam, standing outside the warehouse near the truck, sees Michael sprinting towards him, with his attackers in pursuit. They start shooting at Michael, hitting everything but Michael. Sam jumps into the truck and starts 'er up. Michael jumps on the bed of the truck and stays low. They manage to get away.]


CUT TO:

[Hiding Spot. Day. Fiona walks near the truck, her trusty SPAS-12 shotgun held across her shoulders, keeping a look out. Michael, Sam and Virgil stand nearby.]

FIONA GLENANNE: It's clear. I don't think they followed you.

SAM AXE: So, Virge, it got pretty hairy back there. I mean, how well do you know these clients of yours?

VIRGIL: You mean Mason? Like I said, he... did me a few favors. He had all the paperwork. It seemed like a simple delivery.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Mason and his friends are cops, dirty cops.

[Sam is surprised.]

VIRGIL: Wha-what are you talking about?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, I wouldn't lie to me again, Virgil. They had department-issue Glocks on hip holsters, a late-model Crown Vic in the parking lot. In fact, I think they knew you. [getting angrily in Virgil's face] In fact, you know what it sounded like to me?!

[Sam tries to calm Michael down, but Virgil replies.]

VIRGIL: They do know me! From some boat repos that went bad. They came to me! I got a daughter in Tampa! They took pictures! They said they'd hurt her if I didn't help!

MICHAEL WESTEN: Why do they want that boat so bad?

VIRGIL: How the hell do I know? It's a Donzi 27 ZR! Must be worth a couple hundred grand.

MICHAEL WESTEN: They were ready to incinerate it and you. I mean, it's a nice boat, but it's not worth killing the four of us and blowing up a boatyard.

VIRGIL: Sam, you know I wouldn't do this to you. I may be a son of a bitch for dragging you into this, but if I had any other choice...

[Michael peevishly walks away.]

VIRGIL: C'mon! Please. Please.

[Sam seems torn. He turns to Michael.]

SAM AXE: Hey, Mike.

[Michael turns as Sam walks to him.]

SAM AXE: You know how I told you Virgil saved my life and all that? [beat] The truth is it's... it's more complicated. Back in '84, I was in East Germany. I made some mistakes, Mike. Did some stuff I shouldn't have. Virgil gave me a second chance when I sure as hell didn't deserve it. I owe him, Mike.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Sam...

SAM AXE: It's his daughter. Look, if you're not in on this, I got to handle it myself.

MICHAEL WESTEN: You can't handle this by yourself, Sam.

SAM AXE: Yeah, I know.

[Michael looks at Virgil and sighs. Sam looks at him questioningly. As always, Michael relents.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: We need a place to stash him.


CUT TO:

[Madeline's House. Day. Not a bad place to stash him. Virgil finds a more-than-attentive ear as he shares his war stories with Madeline at the table.]

VIRGIL: And my third tour, I was laid up for six months with infected feet and some kinda ... Agent Orange disease.

MADELINE WESTEN: Oh, that's horrible.

VIRGIL: Hurt all over, kinda achy, just... They thought I was after disability.

MADELINE WESTEN: [scoffs] I know that one.

[Michael enters through the back door.]

MADELINE WESTEN: [loudly, towards Michael] When they don't believe you.

[Michael stops, confused. He walks over to them.]

VIRGIL: Exactly. So, when I got back, I got into boat repo, And that was fine for a while. Till, of course, my wife passed away, and then things went downhill.

[Madeline seems sorry for the widower, but happy for herself.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I think we can skip the life story. Virgil's only going to be here a night, maybe two. Where's the hatchet, mom?

MADELINE WESTEN: [dismissive] Try the utility drawer.

[Michael is a bit taken aback by the tone of her voice.]

VIRGIL: No... I don't want to be an imposition. I can sleep out in the back if you need.

MADELINE WESTEN: Oh, no, I don't mind, really. I'd never see Michael at all if he didn't bring his friends over.

[Michael, rummaging the utility drawer for the hatchet, looks up at her.]

VIRGIL: I know what that's like. I don't get to see my daughter Trudy very much, either.

[Michael finds the hatchet.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Oh... Yeah. If was worse after he went overseas, and Michael's father died in '98. How did you lose your wife?

VIRGIL: Cancer.

MADELINE WESTEN: Ohh.

[Michael, keeping his eyes on them and twirling the hatchet in his hand, walks towards the back door.]

VIRGIL: She was a nurse at the VA. 'Course, that's how we met.

[In Madeline's backyard, Sam takes the Donzi apart. He manages (with a little difficulty) to get the seats off. Michael walks outside, twirling the hatchet.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Find anything?

SAM AXE: No. Tore the seats out. I'm working on the carpeting. Nothing yet.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [holding out the hatchet] Check under the subfloor.

[Sam, a vise grip in his other hand, takes the hatchet.]

SAM AXE: [making the point he has only two hands] Mike, I got a hatchet and a vise grip.

[Michael stares at him.]

SAM AXE: Okay. I'll work something out.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Call me if you find anything. My surveillance has had a good fourteen hours to get into my place again. I got to get back there.

[He walks away as Sam kneels on to the boat floor.]

SAM AXE: [waving from under the side of the boat] Say "hi" for me!


FADE TO:

[Michael's Loft. Night. Upstairs, Fiona holds a small TV set, fitted with a metal circle, and passes it over Michael's stuff.]

{You can turn an old TV into an oscilloscope with about a hundred-and-fifty-dollars worth of hardware. It'll electrocute you if you're not careful, but it makes a decent bug detector. If you don't wanna tip off anyone who might be listening, you have to be prepared to keep talking for a few hours.}

[At his downstairs worktable, Michael picks up the newspaper and reads aloud.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, another "no confidence" vote in the Italian Parliament. Any thoughts?

[Fiona walks downstairs, with the makeshift bug detector.]

FIONA GLENANNE: As interested as I am in European politics, I was thinking this would be a good opportunity for us to discuss why exactly... you left me.

[Uh-oh! Not expecting that, Michael looks at her. She smiles. He grabs a marker and starts to write something on a notepad.]

{Of course, when you have to keep talking, it's an opportunity for someone to hijack the conversation for their own purposes.}

[He holds up the notepad to her. The scribble says "NOT NOW!".]

FIONA GLENANNE: Oh, I think now is the perfect time.

[Knowing he can't get out of this, he smiles.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: It was a difficult time. There was an important reason. It was years ago. We should...

[As he speaks, she starts writing on another notepad.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Let me gather my thoughts, and we can talk about this another time.

FIONA GLENANNE: [looks up while writing] Not even a goodbye, Michael?

[She holds up the notepad. She has much better handwriting. It says "Nothing Transmitting Upstairs!!". He starts scribbling on his notepad. She smiles. He holds up the pad, which says "CHANGE TOPIC!". She shakes her head.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [resigned] If you remember, I made you dinner that night.

FIONA GLENANNE: Well, had I known it was the Last Supper, I would have chewed slower.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [sighs] If you recall, my cover was blown.

FIONA GLENANNE: You could have left a note.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [softly] Leaving notes is bad tradecraft. It could have put you in danger.

FIONA GLENANNE: [incredulous] You ran away in the middle of the night for my benefit?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Believe it or not, Fi, yeah, it was for your benefit.

FIONA GLENANNE: And yours.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yes, Fi, and mine.

FIONA GLENANNE: [bites her lower lip] Thanks, Michael. A little honesty is... [sighs] refreshing.

[They start writing simultaneously on their notepads. While writing, they look up at each other. Finished, Michael holds up his pad, which says "HAPPY NOW?". She nods her head sincerely. He seems relieved. Then, she holds up her pad in front of her face, which says "Optical Bug?". She brings the pad down, looking at him. He nods, holding up a digital camera.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Let us take some pictures to celebrate this special night.

MICHAEL WESTEN: What a great idea.

[She walks over the window and starts to pose in front of it.]

{The optical bug is a high-tech toy that shoots a light beam in a window. It picks up vibrations from the glass and translates it into speech.}

[Michael clicks her in different poses, always ensuring that he gets the window in the shot.]

FIONA GLENANNE: How's that one? Can I see it?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah.

[Michael goes up to her with the camera, to show her the pictures. All pictures are in infra-red co lour. But sure enough, there's a bright red spot on the window. Michael points to where it's coming from.]

{You can't see the beam with the naked eye, but take the infrared filter off a digital camera, and it shows up nicely. As high-tech as a laser mike is, they're not hard to defeat. They pick up vibrations on the glass, so you supply your own vibrations.}

[Fiona walks to the window. Michael gives her a vibrating personal massager, which she holds against the glass. Michael duct-tapes it to the glass and turns it on. Now that it's safe to talk, Michael gets candid with Fiona.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You had to do that now?

FIONA GLENANNE: I didn't say I'd help you for free. You found the eavesdropper. I'll go over to his little listening post, wait till he leaves, see where he scurries to. You think he's the one who burned you?

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, but he came here to show me who's boss. He's one step closer.

FIONA GLENANNE: [sighs cheerfully] We should do this more often.

[She leans in and kisses him lightly on his lips. He doesn't move, but doesn't resist either. She leaves. His cell phone rings. He answers it.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Yeah, Sam.

SAM AXE: [from phone] Mikey, I've been calling all night.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Yeah, it wasn't safe to talk earlier. What's up?


INTERCUT WITH:

[Madeline's House. Night. Sam has busted through the subfloor of the boat. Hidden beneath the subfloor is a literal boatload of cash.]

SAM AXE: [into phone] You better get over here... Now.


CUT TO:

[Madeline's House. Day. Madeline stands at the kitchen counter, making coffee. Looks like she's just showered. Michael enters through the back door.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Mom, where's Virgil? We need to talk.

MADELINE WESTEN: He's still asleep. Have you been up all night?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yeah. [calls] Virgil!

[He opens the guest bedroom door, but finds the room empty.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Where is he?

MADELINE WESTEN: [looking guilty, sounding firm] He's in my bedroom.

[Michael looks like he's about ten seconds away from throwing up.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Ugh.

MADELINE WESTEN: He's lonely, Michael...

[Michael doesn't want to hear it. He gestures for her not to say anything.]

MADELINE WESTEN: And so am I! It's been a long time since your father died.

[Michael breathes heavily, leaning on the counter.]

MADELINE WESTEN: And sometimes I think it would be good for us to have more of a family.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, with Virgil? He lives in a beat-up trailer. Half of his meals come from roadkill.

MADELINE WESTEN: [berating] Stop being so judgmental, Michael, all right? Your father had problems, too.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Wake him up! Have him meet me out in the backyard. It's important.

[He walks outside to the backyard. Madeline continues making coffee.]

[Later, in the yard, Sam unloads the large packs of cash and hands them to Michael outside the boat. Michael stacks the large packs on the ground. Virgil sits in stunned silence near the boat, watching the massive amount of money, that nearly cost him his life.]

SAM AXE: I ripped her open, and there it was. I'm guessing about ten million, give or take. [grunting as he lifts another one] Nobody ever thinks of packing it in something with a goddamn handle.

VIRGIL: Is this money real?

SAM AXE: Oh, yeah. It's probably headed toward Aruba or Anguilla. One of those Caribbean money holes.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Ten million reasons to want us dead.

SAM AXE: [chuckling] C'mon, Mike. That's a glass-half-empty way of looking at it.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [to Virgil] Mason probably stumbled upon the money-smuggling operation. Didn't want to risk pulling the heist himself. You were the cutout. You deliver the boat. He shoots you. And three hundred gallons of burning methyl chloride cleans up the mess.

VIRGIL: [in disbelief] Jesus. What do I do?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Well, for now... [to Sam] dump the boat.

[Sam nods. Virgil seems reluctant to dump such a fine boat.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: You have any way of reaching these cops?

[Sighing, Virgil stands and fishes his cell phone out.]

VIRGIL: I got a number.

[Virgil dials the number and hands the phone to Michael. When Mason answers, Michael goes back into "Homer" mode.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone, SOuthern accent] Naw, this ain't Virgil. This is your buddy Homer. 'Member me? [listens] Naw, he ain't around. Y'all have to deal with me now. And I want a meet'n'.


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day. Shots of the marina.]


CUT TO:

[Outside Miami City Hall. Day. Mason and his fellow dirty cops walk towards Michael, not looking too happy.]

{When working a cover identity, the safest thing is to let the target take the lead. You've got more information than he does. You want to keep that edge.}

[Michael leans on a car, eating fries from a paper bag.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [Southern accent] Hey, you brought your friends. We got a little party going on here, don't we? [chuckles, holds out the paper bag] You want some fries?

MASON: How'd you like to die choking on 'em?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Oh, they're good. Not that good, [chuckles] but they're good.

[Mason angrily slaps the paper bag out of Michael's hand. Michael pops the fry in his hand into his mouth.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Now, see, that is just unfriendly.

[Mason grabs Michael's arm.]

MASON: Where's Virgil?

[He drags Michael away, while his buddies keep watch.]


CUT TO:

[Empty field. Day. Sam and Virgil drive the truck, towing the boat, along a narrow path. They stop in an open part of the field. Getting out of the truck, they go to the back. Virgil stands on the trailer, preparing to unlock the boat.]

VIRGIL: Seems a shame just to dump it. It is a nice boat.

SAM AXE: Yeah, it's a nice boat. It's a nice boat with a great big hole in the deck and a bunch of guys with guns looking for it.

VIRGIL: Oh, yeah. Thank you, Sam.

SAM AXE: Yeah, Virge, when this is over, if we're not dead, thank me then.

VIRGIL: All right, Sam.

[They start to turn the winch to unlock the trailer.]


CUT TO:

[Marina, Parking Lot. Day. Michael is rudely shoved up against a car, while one of Mason's colleagues searches him. Mason leans on the car.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [Southern accent] I don't know where he is. He's holed up somewhere. Listen, we got a real problem here.

MASON: Well, that's right.

MICHAEL WESTEN: We want outta this. But those guys we took the boat from, they're comin' after us. If you could see your way to helping us with that...

MASON: [scoffs] That's your problem.

[Mason's colleague starts to pull Michael's hands behind his back.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Well, seeing how we have your ten million dollars, I guess that makes it your problem, too.

[Mason motions to his colleague to stop. The guy shoves Michael against the car, letting him go.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Now, I know you guys didn't wanna get involved in this. You wanted us to do your dirty work for you. It's ten million dollars. I know you must have big plans for it.

MASON: All right, fine. You give us a time and a place, put the Jamaicans there with my money, and we'll handle it.

MICHAEL WESTEN: And then we walk away? 'Cuz if I see another barrel of chemicals with my name on it...

MASON: Let me put it this way - you bring me my money, and you got nothing to worry about. Then you can disappear. Talk to the Jamaicans. I'll see you tomorrow.

[Beckoning his buddies, he walks off. One of them shoulder pushes Michael as he passes, while the other gives him a dirty look. Michael adjusts his baseball cap.]


CUT TO:

[Empty field. Day. Sam and Virgil are done unhooking the boat. They start to move towards the truck, when suddenly an SUV speeds towards them. The SUV occupants open fire at them, hitting the outside rear-view mirror, near Sam's head. Sam ducks for cover as bullets ping the truck. Sam runs to the truck.]

SAM AXE: Virge! Get down!

[It's the Jamaicans. One of them juts his head out of the SUV, firing at them. Sam and Virgil get inside and start the truck. Stopping the SUV, the Jamaicans, led by Andre, jump out of the SUV and fire at the truck. Sam returns fire, keeping the Jamaicans down. Sam and Virgil drive away. Andre keeps firing, but hits air.]

VIRGIL: How the hell did they find us?!

SAM AXE: Musta had a backup GPS tracker.

[Andre finally lowers his gun, seeing that the truck is out of range. He looks to one of his henchmen in the abandoned speedboat. The man shakes his head, signaling the money's gone. The Jamaicans react in frustration and anger.]


CUT TO:

[Madeline's House. Night. Madeline opens the door and sees a worn Virgil, followed by Michael and Sam.]

MADELINE WESTEN: [more interested in Virgil] What happened? You look awful!

VIRGIL: Trust me, sweet thing, you'd rather not know.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Can't believe we didn't find that other tracking device. Andre's good.

SAM AXE: And that's bad.

MADELINE WESTEN: [to Virgil] Do you want something to drink?

VIRGIL: Yeah. That sounds good. Maybe a scotch.

SAM AXE: I wouldn't mind a little something if you're gonna...

MICHAEL WESTEN: Sam! Not now.

[Sam looks disappointed, but accepts it. Michael turns to his mother.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: We need to talk alone, mom.

[Madeline looks at Virgil, who nods at her. She goes to put his hand on her face, but he hisses in pain (thanks to his previous encounter with the Jamaicans). Madeline leaves.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: We need to set up a meeting with Andre and the Jamaicans.

VIRGIL: Hey, Mason just showed me the boat. I don't know those guys.

SAM AXE: Yeah, and when we saw 'em, there wasn't a lot of time for conversation.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Call the marina, leave my number. Andre knows what he's doing. He'll have everyone from the harbormaster to the guy emptying trash cans looking for us. I'll see if I can stall Mason.

[Michael leaves. Sam gestures to Virgil if he'd still be interested in that drink.]


FADE TO:

[Marina. Day. Michael, as Homer, walks to where Mason stands. Mason carries a paper bag, similar to Michael's earlier. Michael tips his hat at Mason.]

MASON: Right on time.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Yep.

MASON: Fear brings out the best in people. Look, brought you some fries now that we're friends.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [taking a fry] Yeah, 'bout that, I haven't had time to talk to the Jamaicans yet.

MASON: Tch-tch-tch. That's not good, Homer. That's not good at all.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I repoed their boat. 'S not like I can go down to the crab shack and have a beer with them. I'm tryin'.

MASON: I don't give a damn about the Jamaicans. That's your problem. I just want the money.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I'm doin' the best I can! I just need a little more time, that's all.

[Mason holds up a folded piece of paper he's holding. Michael takes it.]

MASON: Well, here's a little incentive for Virgil. His daughter got picked up on a traffic warrant this morning. They haven't searched her car yet. But they do, they just might find drugs under the backseat. [raises his eyebrows at Michael] Pretty girls don't do very well in jail. The other girls tend to ugly 'em up real quick. Don't know how long the poor thing would last.

[He holds out the paper bag for Michael.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [seriously] You'll have your money tomorrow.

[Michael walks away.]


CUT TO:

[Outside The Berkeley Shore Hotel. Day. Michael and Fiona pull up in Sam's Mercedes.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [impressed] So, this is Sam's new ride.

MICHAEL WESTEN: His girlfriend loaned it to him. He loaned it to me.

FIONA GLENANNE: Tch. Love is a beautiful thing.

[Michael, ignoring the veiled hint in her words, continues what he's doing - wrapping copper wire around a coil.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Anyway, are you sure these guys aren't gonna show up and surprise me?

FIONA GLENANNE: You probably have a few hours. They're setting up surveillance cameras at your place.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Which room is his?

FIONA GLENANNE: Two-fifteen. I followed him here last night. The guy looked a little pissed. After that business with the personal massager, you sure you wanna upset him?

MICHAEL WESTEN: He's here to make me behave. I do that, he goes home, I never find out anything. I need him here. If I can't make him a friend...

[He gets out of the car.]

FIONA GLENANNE: [finishes for him] ...the next best thing is an enemy.


CUT TO:

[Hotel Room. Day. Michael picks the lock to Room 215. Soon, he's inside, checking out the place.]

{Anyone with a security clearance is going to know not to leave anything in a hotel room.}

[Sitting at the table, he starts taking stuff out from his small black bag - an aerosol can and the copper coil fitted to an electric cable.]

{They'll keep the important stuff with them. Usually it'll be in a secure laptop with a few layers of encryption. Means you can't break into it.}

[He turns the reading lamp (on the table) over and sprays the bottom of the lamp with the aerosol can. Removing the underside of the lamp (now unstuck, thanks to the glue dissolver), he fits the copper coil inside and wires it to the lamp. He puts the underside back.]

{But if you're just looking to make somebody angry, you don't need to break into it. Put a big enough magnet where that laptop is going to be, and you can turn it into an expensive paperweight.}

[He places the lamp back upright, His phone rings. He checks the called ID. Stop! Homer Time!]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [Southern accent] Yay-lo? [listens] Andre, 's good to hear from yew.

[He pulls out a metal pen from his bag and places it on the table. He turns on the lamp. The pen. attracted by the magnet, slides towards and sticks to the lamp. Michael smiles.]


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]


CUT TO:

[Club. Night. Beautiful ladies hang around and dance at the club.]

{Doctors are well-known to be the worst patients. Similarly, anyone with special-ops training is tough to protect. They think they can handle anything.}

[Madeline and Virgil (dressed in a nice shirt) enter the club.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Wow. That shirt looks so good on you. You're the same size my husband was.

VIRGIL: Oh, I don't wear this kinda thing much. I'm glad you like it.

MADELINE WESTEN: I do.

[A hostess comes up to them and pleasantly motions for them to follow her.]

MADELINE WESTEN: Thank you. Are you sure this is all right? Michael said you weren't supposed to be out.

VIRGIL: Don't worry. I can handle myself. [in her ear] It's fun sneaking out, though, isn't it?

MADELINE WESTEN: [giggles] It is.


CUT TO:

[Bar. Night. Michael meets Andre, who sits at the bar counter. Michael, playing Homer, acts as edgy as he can.]

ANDRE DEKKER: Have a drink, man. Relax yourself.

MICHAEL WESTEN: No, I-I-I'm relaxed.

ANDRE DEKKER: [chuckles] You know, you caused me quite a lot of trouble. At least do me the courtesy and have a drink, all right? [to the bartender] Flo, lemme get a rum punch for my friend here. [turning to Michael] So, the money you stole, that was a payment for a debt, a large quantity of merchandise delivered from one very powerful man to another. It's my job to deliver this money.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Lizzen, I don't want any...

ANDRE DEKKER: [intensely] I take my job very seriously. I stay in business because, when someone trusts me with their funds, I don't let nothing or no one come in the way of a safe delivery. I make a promise to my clients. I would sooner cut my own throat than leave a debt unpaid. You think I would hesitate to cut yours?

[Michael lets out a nervous laughs. Andre gives him an "I'm-not-kidding-mon" look. Michael drops his smile.]


CUT TO:

[Club. Night. Madeline and Virgil sit at a table on a higher floor, overlooking the entrance and the dance floor, having dinner.]

MADELINE WESTEN: I just wanted to know what Michael was doing or where he was all those years.

VIRGIL: Take it from me, sweetheart. I've been there. Half that classified crap is so borin' you'd tear your hair out, and the other half, you don't want to know.

MADELINE WESTEN: I think I could handle it. I put up with his father for thirty years.

VIRGIL: [sips his drink] Don't be too hard on him. You get into that line of work...

[Virgil suddenly sees one of Andre's Jamaican thugs enter the club, and he's not here for a good time. Madeline notices Virgil seeming distracted.]

VIRGIL: Sweetheart, somethin' real bad is about to happen. I need you to keep your head down and pretend you don't know me.

MADELINE WESTEN: [scared] What?

[Virgil gets up from the table.]

VIRGIL: I don't want you to get hurt. Do that for me, please.

[He walks away.]


CUT TO:

[Bar. Night. Andre speaks to "Homer".]

ANDRE DEKKER: So, now that we understand each other, where's my money?

MICHAEL WESTEN: We wanna give you your money back. We just need to arrange a time and a place.


CUT TO:

[Club. Night. The thug looks around and sees Virgil walking away. He strides after Virgil.]


SPLIT-SCREEN:
[Left-top - Bar. Night. Andre speaks to "Homer".]
[Right-bottom - CLub. Night. Virgil walks quickly to the back of the club.]

ANDRE DEKKER: So, we come and get it, and... what else is waiting for us when we get there?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Now, Andre, you're just gonna have to trust us.

[He smiles.]


CUT TO:

[Club. Night. As Virgil turns a corner, another Jamaican thug rushes at him, about to punch his face. The ex-SEAL parries the blow and, grabbing the guy by his arm, flips him to the floor. The first thug comes running and runs directly into a low elbow. Virgil pivots and whacks him with his forearm. The thug slams into the wall. Virgil turns his attention to the guy on the floor. But the first thug recovers quickly and pulls out his gun and cocks it, aiming it at Virgil, sideways.]

JAMAICAN THUG #1: Stop!

[Virgil, about to punch the fallen thug, freezes at the sight of the weapon.]

JAMAICAN THUG #1: You come with us now!

[Virgil, knowing he's beaten, releases the guy. The first thug keeps the gun trained on him. Virgil nods in surrender.]


CUT TO:

[Bar. Night. Andre's phone rings.]

ANDRE DEKKER: 'Scuse me.

[He answers the phone.]

ANDRE DEKKER: [into phone] Yeah, mon. Good. Good. Put him on the phone.

[He holds the phone out to Michael.]

ANDRE DEKKER: It's for you.

MICHAEL WESTEN: For me?

[Michael takes the phone nonchalantly.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Hello?

VIRGIL: [from phone, apologetically] It's Virgil. I was out to dinner with Madeline. I'm sorry. They must have had eyes on the street.

[Andre sniggers. Michael gives him back the phone, chuckling wryly.]

ANDRE DEKKER: So, we do this tomorrow at noon, 9th street bridge. We'll exchange Virgil for the ten million dollars. Everything go well, you'll both get to go home alive. If not... [raises his eyes and cocks his head at Michael]

[He slaps some money on the counter.]

ANDRE DEKKER: Enjoy your drink.

[Snorting, Andre leaves. Flo, the bartender, places Michael's rum punch on the counter. Michael seems concerned.]


CUT TO:

[Madeline's Garage. Night. The huge stacks of money are on the floor. Sam and Michael load them up into Virgil's truck. Fiona enters.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Calmed your mother down. [helps load the truck] I gave her enough sedatives to knock out a trucker.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Did you ask her what the hell she was doing out? I told her to keep him inside.

FIONA GLENANNE: Oh, go easy on them, Michael. They snuck out. A woman needs a little danger.

SAM AXE: So, what do we do about the cops and Mason, huh?

MICHAEL WESTEN: Well, I expect they're gonna be very disappointed when they find out we're giving the money to the Jamaicans. But we don't have any leverage.

SAM AXE: They got Virgil's daughter, Mike.

MICHAEL WESTEN: One problem at a time, Sam. First Virgil, then his daughter.

[They have loaded all but one of the stacks onto the bed of the truck. They look at the last stack lying temptingly on the floor.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: We could take some of the money... hire her a lawyer. That... could take care of it.

FIONA GLENANNE: That... could take care of us, too.

SAM AXE: [serious voice] I doubt they'll miss it, Mike.

[Michael considers it.]

[Later, as Michael settles the garage alone, his cell phone rings.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Hello?


INTERCUT WITH:

[Berkeley Shore Hotel Room. Day. The government agent is pissed. Throwing the Michael's copper-coil magnet on the table, he speaks angrily with Michael. His laptop (on the table) has a blank screen.]

GOVERNMENT AGENT: [into phone] You think you can play with me, you son of a bitch? You destroyed all my files!

SPLIT-SCREEN:
[Left-side - Agent.]
[Right-side - Michael.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Oh, it's good to hear from you, too. I'm right in the middle of something.

GOVERNMENT AGENT: [into phone] You broke into my room.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Well, I just wanted to get to know you better. Now then, I'm Michael Westen. And you are?

GOVERNMENT AGENT: [into phone] You don't need my name. I came down here to bring you a message - back off. People get fired all the time. Leave it alone.

[AS Michael speaks, he cleans an old sniper rifle and looks through the scope.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Oh, good. A message from who? I just wanted to send him a thank-you note.

GOVERNMENT AGENT: [into phone] Dream on, pal.

[The agent hangs up. He looks at his laptop screen and hits a few keys.]

[Michael calls Fiona.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Fi.

FIONA GLENANNE: [from phone] Yes?

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] My new friend just discovered I paid him a little visit. He'll be moving hotels.

FIONA GLENANNE: [from phone] I'll stay on him.

[Michael yawns drowsily.]


CUT TO:

[Stock footage of Miami. Day.]


CUT TO:

[9th Street Bridge. Day. The bridge is abandoned. Michael, Sam and Fiona survey the place as they await the crooks (Jamaicans and dirty cops). Michael looks through his binoculars at the roads approaching where they stand.]

{When something serious is going down, it's a good idea to show up nice and early so you can see the ground and assess the situation.}

SAM AXE: Mike, I should go. Virgil's my buddy. You don't owe him anything.

MICHAEL WESTEN: They know me and Fi. If you show up, they'll think something's wrong. Just cover us and keep an eye out.

SAM AXE: All right. Good luck.

[Sam takes the sniper rifle from the truck and climbs up a side-ramp.]

FIONA GLENANNE: It's cute, this loyalty of Sam's. I really like this side of him.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Thanks for doing this, Fi.

[Sam takes position on the bridge overlooking the 9th Street Bridge.]

FIONA GLENANNE: Oh, I'm not doing this for you. I promised your mom I'd bring Virgil back alive.

[Michael looks at her.]

[Some time passes. Fiona sits on the truckbed, sunning herself. Michael carries the money-stacks and piles them up on the road. He looks up and sees the Jamaicans' SUV driving towards them.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Hey, they're right on time. Let's make this trade, make it quick, and get out of here before things get...

[His cell phone rings.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: ...interesting.

[He answers the phone.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Yeah, Sam.

SAM AXE: [into phone] Your hunch about Mason was right, 'cause he and the boys just showed up.

[Michael looks at the opposite approaching road.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [into phone] Yeah, okay, I'm ready for them.

[He hangs up.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: The cops are coming.

[Showtime! Fiona casually jumps off the truckbed.]

FIONA GLENANNE: All righty, then.

[She gets behind the wheel of the truck, while Michael takes a can of gasoline and starts pouring it on the money. He has a blowtorch with him.]

{When enough people hate you, sometimes the only move is to just stand in the middle and hope they kill each other before they kill you.}

[The SUV grinds to a halt. Andre jumps out, shocked at seeing Michael dousing his money with gasoline.]

ANDRE DEKKER: Hey! What you doing, man? What are you doing?! I said stop it!

[Michael lights up the blowtorch and holds it above the money. Sam takes aim, in case things get dicey. The Jamaicans walk towards Michael, dragging Virgil with them.]

ANDRE DEKKER: Stop it!

[Sam fires off a shot. The shot hits the ground near Andre's foot, stopping the Jamaicans dead in their tracks. Andre looks around for the shooter. Michael pours the full can of gasoline onto the money.]

{Anyone who's ever handled large amounts of cash can tell you, it's one of the toughest things in the world to move. It's heavy and dense - dead weight. If it's on fire, of course, that complicates things further.}

[The dirty cops pull up their car. Mason and his colleagues jump out, guns leveled at Michael and the Jamaicans.]

MASON: Freeze! Drop it!

[The Jamaicans aim their guns at the cops.]

ANDRE DEKKER: Hey, you get back! I said back up! Back up!

[The cops and the Jamaicans exchange yells, while Michael holds the blowtorch above the very-flammable money. Michael drops the "Homer" persona and addresses the gathering in his normal accent.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [to the cops] You calm down! [to the Jamaicans] Calm down! [to everyone] Boys, boys, boys, calm down. [to the cops] We have a little bit of business first. [to Andre] Andre, let Virgil go.

[Andre holds his hand up, motioning to his thug not to release Virgil.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [forceful] Andre, let Virgil go!

ANDRE DEKKER: [enraged] I'm-a find you, boy, and I'm-a kill you.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [unfazed] I know, I know and then you'll cut my throat, I know, I know. Let him go.

[Andre hesitates.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Andre, it's the fumes that ignite. I don't even have to touch it.

[He brings the blowtorch closer to the money. Andre looks about ready to have a massive panic attack.]

ANDRE DEKKER: [screaming] Wait! Wait! Wait! Okay! Okay.

[Michael raises the blowtorch. Andre motions for Virgil to leave. Virgil runs towards the truck and stops near Michael.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: [to Andre] Have you two guys met? You have a lot to talk about. Andre, Detective Mason. Detective Mason, Andre.

[Mason holds up his badge.]

MASON: Get down on the ground!

ANDRE DEKKER: You ain't a cop! You a thief!

MASON: Okay, on the ground!

ANDRE DEKKER: You ain't no cop!

MASON: Get on the ground!

ANDRE DEKKER: Go on, call for backup! Call! You call for backup!

[While the two gun-toting sides exchange "pleasantries", Michael smiles and walks to the truck. Andre, seeing him walk away, levels his gun at Michael's back, readying to shoot. Virgil grabs Michael and drags him down. Andre's shot hits the truck, Sam fires from his perch, hitting Andre in the side. Andre falls to the ground, bleeding. His henchmen go to his aid, while trading gunfire with the dirty cops. Fiona starts the truck, while Virgil gets in next to her. Michael pounds on the truckbed.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Go! Go! Go!

[He throws the lit blowtorch on the money-stacks. Coming in contact with the flame, the money ignites into a huge conflagration. Andre watches in horror as the money burns. Michael leaps into the truckbed, keeping low. The Jamaican thugs drag away the wounded Andre.]

JAMAICAN THUG #2: Go! Go!

ANDRE DEKKER: Don't let it burn!

[On opposite sides of the fire, the cops and the Jamaicans keep firing at each other. Fiona guns the engine, driving the truck as far as she can from the shootout. She slams the cops' car out of the truck's way and races away. One of the other cops, who was sitting in the car, jumps out to help his colleagues in the gunfight. Michael and Virgil watch the shootout at they drive away.]

CUT TO:

[Madeline's House. Day. On the dining table sit three big bundles (not exactly as big as the stacks, but still quite substantial). Michael pushes the outer two bundles to Sam and Virgil, who sit at the table.]

SAM AXE: [chuckling] C'mon, Mike, I mean, you'd think we'd be able to keep a little more than this.

MICHAEL WESTEN: We took what we needed.

VIRGIL: My daughter called. She's pissed at me, as usual. But she's home. They dropped the charges.

MICHAEL WESTEN: They had to with the Jamaicans dead and the cops in jail. But unfortunately, you're going to have to get out of town for a while, Virgil.

[Virgil looks at Michael.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: With this all over the papers, there are still a few people out there who want to put a bullet in you.

VIRGIL: Well, I'll just get the boat fixed up and go down to the Bahamas for a while.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Great.

VIRGIL: You sure you're not just trying to keep me away from your sweet mama?

[Michael's smile morphs into a murderous look.]

SAM AXE: Hey, Virge? Don't push it.

[Michael gives him his trademark wide toothy grin.]

VIRGIL: O-kay. I'll go make my goodbyes. [getting up] Gentlemen.

[He leaves.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: I think you're even, Sam.

SAM AXE: Yeah. Phew. Oh, by the way, I, uh, made some calls, talked to a buddy of mine at the FBI. Looks like I got the Charger back.

[Michael nods gratefully.]

SAM AXE: Let's just call it a thank-you gift.

MICHAEL WESTEN: [genially] You're welcome, Sam.

[They share a small friendly moment, until Sam gets up.]

SAM AXE: Okay, I need a beer.

[Patting Michael on his back, he walks off. Michael looks at his share of the money.]


FADE TO:

[Seafood Restaurant. Day. The government agent sits at the counter, eating lunch. Michael walks up.]

{Getting information out of someone who doesn't want to give it up is all about upsetting the target's emotional balance, impairing their judgment. Fear's good for that. Anger's not bad either.}

MICHAEL WESTEN: Hey, buddy. I thought we could spend some more time together.

GOVERNMENT AGENT: You really don't understand the situation here, do you?

[Michael, still smiling, shakes his head.]

GOVERNMENT AGENT: You're out, man. That's it. You should be in jail.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Jail? That's interesting. [picking up the agent's sandwich] Why jail? I don't remember ever doing anything jail-worthy.

[He takes a bite of the sandwich, but the agent grabs it back.]

GOVERNMENT AGENT: Hey, hey, hey. Hey, don't get cute.

MICHAEL WESTEN: I want to know why I got burned. Show me the burn notice. Tell me... why.

GOVERNMENT AGENT: You know damn well why. I've seen the dossier.

MICHAEL WESTEN: Dossier? I'd like a look at that dossier. [grabbing the agent by his jacket lapels] You have it on you?

[As the agent struggles out of Michael's hold, Fiona walks past, bumping into the agent, and keeps walking.]

GOVERNMENT AGENT: Get off! Take your hands off me!

MICHAEL WESTEN: [holding his hands up, conceding] Okay, all right. All right. All right. Fine.

[He walks away. The agent smoothens his jacket.]

[A short distance away, Fiona walks on the pavement, her hands folded behind her back, the agent's ID in her hand.]

{Sometimes, intelligence gathering involves sophisticated techniques and a lot of high-tech equipment. But sometimes it's as simple as picking someone's pocket.}

[Michael joins her and takes the ID.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: How'd you do?

[He opens the ID. The agent works for the CSS (Central Security Service). His name is Jason Bly.]

MICHAEL WESTEN: Good to meet you, Agent Bly.

[Closing the ID, he and Fiona walk off, arm-in-arm.]


FADE TO BLACK.

[Closing credits.]