The Terminator Page #7

beside the arsenal of perfectly legal anti-human artillery

already on the glass counter.

Terminator scans expressionlessly for additional selec-

tions.

CLERK:

Anything else?

TERMINATOR:

A phased plasma pulse-laser in

the forty watt range...

CLERK:

(annoyed)

Just what you see, pal.

He indicates the display case and wall racks with a

minimal gesture.

TERMINATOR:

The Uzi 9 millimeter.

CLERK:

(setting it out)

You know your weapons, buddy.

Terminator examines each in turn, working the actions with

curt, precise movements.

CLERK:

(continuing)

Any one of them's ideal for

home defense. Which'll it be?

TERMINATOR:

All.

The clerk digs deep and finds a scrap of a smile.

CLERK:

Maybe I'll close early.

Cash or charge?

Instead of replying, Terminator takes a box of shotgun shells

from a stack on the display case.

CLERK:

Sorry, I can't sell the ammo

with the guns. You'll have

to---Hey!

Terminator has calmly begun feeding the shells into the

shotgun.

CLERK:

(continuing)

You can't to that...

TERMINATOR:

(evenly)

Wrong.

He raises the barrel and pulls the trigger. The gun THUNDERS.

CUT TO:

30 EXT. GAS STATION/PHONE BOOTH - DAY 30

The yellow Maverick pulls to a stop beside a single phone

booth.

MOVING WITH TERMINATOR, as he gets out, walks to the booth

and rapidly pulls its occupant out by his greasy T-shirt,

flinging him backward into the parking lot. The guy is

bear-like, slab-handed, but Terminator doesn't even glance

back as he steps in to take the man's place.

MAN:

(outraged)

Hey, man...

CUT TO:

31 PHONE BOOTH

A woman's voice, a faint reedy monologue, issues from the

dangling receiver.

Terminator leafs rapidly through the directory.

ANGLE - C.U. PAGES FLIPPING

ANGLE - MACRO SHOT, as Terminator's finger comes to rest

beside a now-familiar listing:

CONNOR, SARAH

CUT TO:

32 INT. BIG BOB'S/DINING AREA

Sarah is bustling about, trying to service the start of

the dinner rush. In waitress parlance, she's 'in it'.

She runs the gauntlet between tables, precariously balancing

two full dinner plates on one arm and hand-carrying a

third. A customer tugs on her apron for attention and she

barely averts contributing the chili size to his wardrobe.

CUSTOMER:

Honey, can I get that coffee

now?

SARAH:

Yes sir, just a second.

She reaches her table after near collisions with a Mexican

busboy and two teenage girls doing cheerleading routines

in lock-step.

SARAH:

Who gets the Burly Burger?

CUSTOMER TWO:

I ordered Barbecue Beef.

CUSTOMER THREE:

Does mine come with fires?

CUSTOMER FOUR:

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