Gone in Sixty Seconds

FADE IN:

EXT. LONG BEACH STREET - LOWER GRAND - NIGHT

The streets are empty. Low fog skims the sidewalks below a gray stew

of a sky. It's slightly fuzzy, slightly surreal. The vast Port of Los

Angeles is visible in the b.g... No cars parked here ... No cars

except -

A '67 SHELBY MUSTANG GT-500

Silver with deep grill, its sculptured side panels ending in air

scoops ... All cock and balls, it stands alone in the lonely cool

before dawn ... An old-school totem to speed and style... And then

SOMEONE approaches...

Through the mists of morning ... In leather coat and jack boots ...

He's early 30s, with the vaguely whimsical confidence of a shimmer

that refuses to fade ...

This is RANDALL RAINES, whom they call MEMPHIS - though know one's

quite sure why ... But they do know he's the auto-boost in Southern

California ...

Memphis approaches the Mustang with a gathering awe ... Like a desert

crash survivor coming upon an oasis ... He walks around it ...

Admiring it ... Adoring it ...

But then a FIREBIRD pulls up alongside him. Its driver -

ATLEY JACKSON, early 30s, handsome, jocular leans out for:

ATLEY JACKSON:

You gonna steal her or kneel down to

her and pray -- ?

Memphis looks at him, still enthralled...

ATLEY JACKSON (cont'd)

I know, I know ... It's Eleanor ...

Just take her, slick. - -

And Atley drives off slowly, Memphis looks this way and that ...

No one about ... He removes a SLIM JIM from a deep pocket in his

coat... He slims the door panel ... Pops the button ... opens the

door ...

Watch him work. Quick as sh*t. A SCREWDRIVER appears another

pocket ... He pops the BUTTERFLY to the IGNITION

A RATCHET appears... He strips the mechanism... Now a GIZMO - a,small

socket-like device - is pressed into the

ignition ... A twist of the wrist ... And the 320-bhp 289 V8 rumbles

like a jackhammer. The whole thing took 20 seconds.

He takes a cassette TAPE from another pocket ... Slaps it into the

deck. Bruce Springsteen's "Ramrod" wails from the coaxials.

And Memphis floors it... And off they tear...

The look on his face suggests a supreme satisfaction ... A grand

re-awakening of long-dormant pleasure centers ... A speed Jones,

fixed and fumy ...

He slots in behind Atley Jackson's Firebird ... And slotting in

behind Memphis, in a Z-28, is DONNY ASTRICKY, mid-30s ...

On they go ... The fore and aft car providing escort...

Except that, from seemingly out of nowhere --

A POLICE CAR:

appears behind them...

And Donny instantly goes into diversionary tactic ... He races

through a STOP SIGN ... And the cruiser's bubbles flash on ... And

Donny is pulled-over ... Atley and Memphis drive on in their

respective vehicles...

The UNIFORM COP gets out of his car, goes to Donny.

DONNY:

Problem, Officer?

POLICEMAN:

Yes. You're under arrest -- ?

DONNY:

For running a stop sign?

POLICEMAN:

For Grand Theft Auto -

And off of Donny's look --

We go to Memphis in the Shelby... As FOUR CRUISERS comes speeding

toward him, sirens wailing...

QUICK SHOTS of Memphis racing the Shelby through the early morning

harbor town streets ... Sirens peel ... Memphis turns up the music

... Pins the gas ... The chase is on ...

Memphis maneuvers the Mustang with a dazzling aplomb... Memphis

gutterballing the car, skating the shoulder, the cops in heavy

pursuit ...

And now he's picked up another CRUISER... He passes Atley Jackson,

heading in the opposite direction... Atley has picked-up a pair of

cruisers himself ...

Memphis on a straightaway now, speeds up, feels the boost. But up

ahead, a ROADBLOCK has formed... How'd they get that deployed so

fast? And behind him, the unmarks blaze ...

Guns his b*tch... Straight at the roadblock .. Three CRUISERS and

a PORTABLE WOODEN BARRICADE... Memphis pins her ... ZOOOOOM! Dead-on

to the roadblock ...

And, at the last moment, as the COPS dive out of the way, Memphis

bangs the gear shift into neutral -- yanks the parking brake --

And the Mustang spins on the straight -- Screeching spin ... And

Memphis takes the HARD LEFT ...

And he's managed to outrun them... Finding himself above Lower

Grand... Looking down ...

He can see the secondary pursuit down below ... Atley being

chased... IN THE DISTANCE - Atley is LAUNCHED FROM THE SHOULDER,

the Firebird rolling down a drainage culvert ...

Landing with a sickening thud on its back. Memphis is horrified.

EXT. LOWER GRAND - LATER

Rescue team presence. Atley being hauled out of the wreck... His

leg is a torn mess ... He's barely conscious... A cuffed Donny

Astricky is dragged to a waiting cruiser ...

A POLICE CAR pulls up ... And out steps

DETECTIVE ROLAND CASTLEBECK

of G.R.A.B. The Governor's Regional Auto-theft Bureau. Castlebeck

is mid-50s, black, saturnine. - But don't let the tacit nobility

fool you - the man's a street viper ...

Castlebeck goes to another cop - HAWKINGS..

HAWKINGS:

Astricky. And Jackson. No sign of

Raines...

DETECTIVE CASTLEBECK

Well, then it's all for naught,

ain't it, Hawkings?

Castlebeck looks out over the mess ... And then looks up...

Because, further down Lower Grand, a car is parked. It is the

Shelby. With Memphis leaning against its hood...

Castlebeck looks around him, but no one's noticed. So he walks

toward it, hand on hip...

DETECTIVE CASTLEBECK

I know you --

MEMPHIS:

You know my back -

DETECTIVE CASTLEBECK

You want to come along quiet?

MEMPHIS:

How's Atley -- ?

DETECTIVE CASTLEBECK

Leg's all banged-up. He made a

stupid play ... He'll limp around

the yard up at Folsom. But

Astricky will be there to take

care of him. With their priors,

they're looking at a serious bounce --

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