Assassins Page #5

CLERK:

I'll write it up?

She steps to a desk, scribbles out a receipt. Rath

notices an open textbook, several lines have been

highlighted.

RATH:

College?

CLERK:

Do you think I'm too old?... My

daughter says I'm too old to go

to school... I just sit in right

now. I don't have the money yet.

But I don't want to spend the rest

of my life selling somebody else's

dresses. I mean, you're never too

old to have dreams, right? To

start over?

Rath looks away, can't hold her gaze.

RATH:

I don't know.

An awkward beat. Then...

CLERK:

Should I wrap it?

Rath nods.

BACK ROOM:

CLOSE as she finishes tying the box.

STORE:

She steps out. Her smile fades as she sees he's gone.

The sale is lost.

CLERK:

Damn!

She plops the bow on the counter, then notices a wad of

$100 bills sticking out from her textbook.

CLERK:

(softly)

Damn...

She pulls them along with a note written on the back of

a store business card. She reads it.

INSERT CARD:
Your daughter is wrong.

She steps to the window, looks out. Rath's lonely figure

exits to the street outside.

INT. HOTEL ROOM - NIGHT

Outside it is raining. Rath is at the window looking at

a faded photo of his next target, Alan Branch. On the

street below a fire truck and an ambulance race along --

SIRENS BLARING. Rath crosses to his bed. He reviews

photos, scribbles notes as he scans articles, one head-

line:
"Billionaire Recluse Linked to Financing of

Central American Death Squads." A photo of a brother.

An obituary mentions "car accident."

Rath sketches a diagram on a legal pad.

Satisfied with what he's got, he calls up a box on his

computer screen and dials an Internet number. A beat

and he enters the access code.

Rath picks up the photos of Branch. Studies the eyes --

circled, the only thing that matters. They're cruel

eyes.

The network comes on line. Rath takes a brath, lets it

out slow. Types:

Rath:
I have my bid.

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