INT. UPPER EAST SIDE APARTMENT -EARLY MORNING
A huge, tome-filled bookshelf looms in the b.g. of a
large, contemporary Mediterranean-style living room.
The large panoramic view shows a beautiful vantage of
Central Park below.
An ALARM CLOCK BEEPS.
INT. DARK MASTER BEDROOM -DIGITAL CLOCK
It reads six A.M. A man’s hand reaches over to stop it.
INT. PLUSH HOME GYMNASIUM
The MAN sprints on the treadmill. The time on it reads
40. The distance to the left --7.2 miles.
The PHONE RINGS in the b.g. but the Man can’t hear it.
INT. SPACIOUS STEAM/SHOWER
He sits on the bench, takes a steam, and shaves.
INT. BEDROOM -DRESSER
A money roll of hundreds. A cell phone. A Rolex
Presidente on top of a list of betting codes (i.e. K-41,
M-63, etc.), dollar amounts, and random sports cities.
The Man systematically puts everything in its proper
place and exits the bedroom.
INT. GIANT KITCHEN -LOUD BLENDER
The Man turns it off, pours his protein shake into a
glass, and takes a giant sip. A pot and pan holder
hovers above the marble island countertop.
The sports caption on the New York Times reads "THIS
WEEKEND --BREEDER’S CUP AT HOLLYWOOD PARK: A PREVIEW"
with a picture of a horse winning a race below. The
article reads "Sweet Di Eyes Triple Crown."
BACK TO SCENE:
A red light flashes on the MESSAGE RECORDER to his left.
He reaches over, pushes a button, and it BEEPS.
Hey, Jack. It’s Frank. Sorry to
be calling you so late. It’s...
Christ, three-forty, six-forty
The despondent male voice quickly comes to tears.
I’m sorry, Jackie. About
everything. But I really need to
talk to you. Call me... please.
The man hangs up and the RECORDER BEEPS.
TIGHT ON JACK CARTER
Hair slicked back, crisp blue suit, Windsor knot, and a
long leather "stand the fuck back" coat. You can’t tell
if the hard look in his eyes is sudden or permanent.
Jack stares at the cordless but doesn’t pick it up.
Tears of frustration almost formulate, he washes the rest
of the shake down the drain, and he exits. END CREDITS.
EXT. BEAUTIFUL APARTMENT COMPLEX -MORNING
The doorman opens the glass door. Jack’s exit exudes
power and charisma.
EXT. CENTRAL PARK WEST -SAME TIME
Jack crosses the street illegally in front of a police
car. The passenger cop yells at him, they lock eyes, and
Jack heads downstairs to the subway.
INT. SUBWAY STATION -CASHIER
Jack spots 25-year-old DEXTER MARTIN in sweats, gold
chains, untied high tops, and a NY Giants jacket. The
hard, young black man munches an Egg McMuffin.
You got an extra subway token on
Dexter turns and casually hands one to him.
Sorry you have to deal with this
fucking bullshit, Jack.
Just watch the language, huh, Dex?
The two go through the turnstile.
INT. SPEEDING SUBWAY CAR -JACK AND DEX
They sit away from the Wall Street suits and Brooklyn
Eighty-seven grand and he’s
blowing me off like some
A 4x6 photo of David Wheeler. In a NYSE trading jacket,
the large 34-year-old drags a cigarette.
BACK TO SCENE:
Name’s Davis Wheeler. Son of
Douglas Wheeler. C.E.O. of -
Wheeler Securities. Why didn’t
you call me on this right away?
I thought I could handle him.
Anyway, Sunday he took Dallas, the
Jets and Miami. Ten grand each...
none of ’em cover.
Miami was in Green Bay.