Grosse Pointe Blank Page #6

MARTIN:

If it's not there, I can't proceed.

Tell them.

Martin hangs up. Picks up another phone and dials. As he

waits for an answer, he goes to a Fed Ex blueprint tube lying

on the bed.

MARTIN:

Tom. I've been waiting for an answer.

I'm only in town tonight.

He breaks the shipping seal and pulls out a series of finished

metal parts including a long thin barrel, a scope, and a

silencer.

MARTIN:

What's different this time than the

last time? I have to be down front...

INT. HOTEL ROOM - SAME

Martin stands in front of the window, phone in one hand, the

scope in the other. Next to him, the assembled rifle rests

across the arm of a chair.

MARTIN:

...I don't bother to call anyone

else because you always take care of

me.

He glances over to a second window to his left, which offers

a view further down the street. He goes to it. He raises the

scope and sees

MARTIN'S P.O.V./SCOPE- WINDOW #2

A few blocks down, small even through the high-powered scope,

is your average BICYCLE MESSENGER dressed in lycra racing

gear, weaving through traffic toward us. Slung low across

his right hip is a black canvas bag. The Messenger's hand is

hidden in it. The other phone begins to RING.

MARTIN:

Hold on a second, Tom. I got my hands

full here.

He sets down the phone and answers the other, still watching

the messenger.

MARTIN:

Good. Account number 3649367, transfer

to account number 96-546-38739-47825.

Ask for Mr. Sanchez, tell him it's

Mr. Duckman. If there are any

problems, access file 673594638-IO-

98, and look at it.

Martin drops the phone and moves away from Window #2 to the

rifle. He mounts the scope and he looks out Window #1 at the

high-rise.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes