The phone crackles to life.
You've got the money. Where's my daughter?
Ankles taped, Emily hops to the edge of the trunk to rummagefor more bondage paraphernalia and holds the voice filter carefully in placewhile she speaks:
You'll find her in the trunk of her car, which isin fifth level parking at --
She pulls a wrinkled slip of paper from her jeans pocketand squints at it --
352 East Tenth Street.
She hangs up and, working fast now, because time is runningout, gags herself -- a real gag: stuffing, knots, the works.
Lifting hand cuffs -- the final touch -- she crawls intothe car's trunk and, still clutching the handcuffs -- presumably for lateruse -- slams the lid closed from the inside.
The ECHO of the slamming trunk reverberates through thedim garage, and dies.
EXT. BRIDGE - DAY
Judging from the number of plain cars screaming out of parkingspaces, it's a good bet they got that address.
INT. DETECTIVE VAN - DAY
Sims comes out of the van at a dead run, talking into awalkie talkie, as undercover cars peel out, SIRENS wailing on as they go.
Odds are someone's still inside monitoring --
He glances at the distant parking structure.
They can still see us from there, turn off the goddamn sirens!
INT. PARKING GARAGE/UPPER LEVEL - DAY
The Mercedes sits innocently in its parking slot. Silence-- except for the slap slap slap of approaching footsteps, and a light,airy tune being whistled by the person approaching.
WILL POGUE ambles nonchalantly between cars, well dressedyuppie at large, just picking up his car and heading home -- or that's whatyou'd think, until he saunters to the Mercedes, casually glances both ways,and a slim jim flashes in the gloom.