Q: Who is the mob boss who threatens Lucas' family?
Text: <b>                        AMERICAN GANGSTER
</b>



                           Written by

                        Steven Zaillian




<b>                                                      FINAL SHOOTING SCRIPT
</b>                                                              July 27, 2006
<b>
</b>


<b>1   EXT. JAZZ CLUB - DAY                                                  1
</b>
    A tall, handsome man in a dark suit emerges from a Lincoln
    Towncar and enters a small, basement R&B/Jazz club.

<b>2   INT. JAZZ CLUB - DAY                                                  2
</b>
    He approaches a booth, says something in the din to the men
    there, then calmly shoots them and exits.


<b>                           AMERICAN GANGSTER
</b>


<b>3   EXT. HARLEM STREET - DAY (NOVEMBER)                                   3
</b>
    Bumpy Johnson, an elderly but still sturdy black man,
    elegantly dressed - cashmere overcoat, gloves, Homburg -
    stands in falling snow atop a flatbed truck - as he does
    every Thanksgiving - tossing down turkeys to the poor -
    like a benign king.

    Legend:   Harlem

    A younger man, the gunman from the club - Frank Lucas -
    Bumpy's driver/bodyguard/collector/protege - watches from
    below.

<b>4   INT/EXT. STREET / DISCOUNT EMPORIUM - DAY (NOVEMBER)                  4
</b>
    Whispering gunfire from a television set veiled by
    foreground snow: Soldiers in the jungles of Vietnam in
    1970. A rich, cultured, authoritative voice offers:
<b>                            BUMPY O/S
</b>               This is the problem. This is what's
               wrong with America.

    The war footage multiplies by twenty: a stack of TVs with
    price tags dangling from the knobs behind a display window.

<b>                            BUMPY O/S
</b>               It's gotten so big you can't find your
               way.

    People on the sidewalk, out of respect or fear, part to let
    Frank and Bumpy and Bumpy's German shepherd pass.

<b>                            BUMPY
</b>               The corner grocery's a supermarket.
               Candy store's a MacDonald's. And this
               place.
<b>                            (MORE)
</b><b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      2.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>4   CONTINUED:                                                          4
</b><b>                              BUMPY (CONT'D)
</b>                 Where's the pride of ownership here?
                 Where's the personal service? Does
                 anybody work here?

    Inside, the emporium is vast, with aisles that seem to
    stretch off into infinity. The TVs give way to a display
    window full of Japanese stereo componentry.

<b>                              BUMPY
</b>                 What right do they have cutting out the
                 suppliers, pushing all the middlemen out,
                 buying direct from the manufacturer -
                 Sony this, Toshiba that, all them Chinks -
                 putting Americans out of work?

    He's not really asking Frank, so Frank doesn't answer.

<b>                              BUMPY
</b>                 What am I supposed to do with a place
                 like this, Frank? Who am I supposed to
                 ask for, the assistant manager?
                        (pause)
                 This is the problem. This is the way it
                 is now: You can't find the heart of
                 anything to stick the knife.

    Bumpy stops before a display of cameras and stares in.
    They're all pointed at him as a pain grips his chest and he
    sinks to his knees. Frank kneels down.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                 What is it?

    Bumpy seems unable to speak, looks to Frank confused.
<b>                              FRANK
</b>                 Somebody call an ambulance!

    But the store suddenly seems empty. Frank yells into the
    emporium but can't be heard above the Muzak and the cash
    registers ringing up sales Bumpy will never see a piece of.
    Looking up at Frank, Bumpy manages weakly -

<b>                              BUMPY
</b>                 Forget it, Frank. No one's in charge.

<b>5   EXT. BUMPY'S APARTMENT - DAY                                        5
</b>
    Limousines from the funeral disgorge mourners: family,
    friends, celebrities, politicians. Cops on horseback move
    through the enormous crowd that has gathered to watch. FBI
    agents in cars snap pictures with long lenses of Italian
    mobsters like Albert Tosca.

<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     3.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>5   CONTINUED:                                                         5
</b>

<b>                              REPORTER
</b>                 - whose passing has brought together a
                 who's who of mourners on this chilly
                 afternoon. The Governor has come down.
                 The mayor of New York - its Chief of
                 Police and Commissioner - sports and
                 entertainment luminaries -

    A white Bentley pulls up, disgorging Jackie Fox - the
    original Superfly - and his entourage. With his trademark
    tinted Gucci glasses on, he happily poses for anyone with a
    camera - including the Feds - before going inside.

<b>6   INT. BUMPY'S APARTMENT - LATER                                     6
</b>
    The report continues on a TV no one's really watching here:
    a March of Time-like history of Bumpy Johnson, famed Harlem
    gangster, Robin Hood and killer.

<b>                              REPORTER ON TV
</b>                 He was a Great Man, according to the
                 eulogies. A giving man. A man of the
                 people. No one chose to include in their
                 remembrances the word most often
                 associated with Ellsworth Bumpy Johnson:
                 Gangster.

    Sitting off by himself in Bumpy's elegant garden apartment,
    heretofore his private sanctuary, Frank surveys the mourners
    circling the place like vultures:

    Tango Black, a huge brute, scavenging the catered food and
    tended bar ... Jackie Fox, surrounded by his ever-present
    coterie of sycophants ... Albert Tosca, an elegant Italian
    capo, and an underling, Rossi, at the bar.

<b>                              TOSCA
</b>                 White wine, please.

    A white man who looks like a banker - and is - sits down
    next to Frank.

<b>                              BANKER
</b>                 How you doing, Frank?

<b>                              FRANK
</b>                 All right.

<b>                              BANKER
</b>                 What a loss.
                        (Frank nods)
                 How are you otherwise?   Things okay
                 financially?
<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    4.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>6   CONTINUED:                                                        6
</b>

    Frank doesn't say. It feels unseemly to him to be talking
    about money here. He watches Tango carelessly set a watery
    glass of ice on an antique inlaid chess table.

<b>                              BANKER
</b>                 Bumpy set something up for you?

    Frank excuses himself without an answer, crosses to where
    Tango left the glass, and sets it on a coaster.

<b>                              TANGO
</b>                 Hey, Frank, get me an ashtray while
                 you're at it.

    Bumpy's German shepherd watches as Frank reaches into his
    jacket, revealing a gun nestled in its shoulder holster. He
    takes out a handkerchief, wipes the condensation dry, opens
    a drawer and removes an ashtray. He holds it out to Tango -
    who isn't sure it's not a dare and decides to wander off.

<b>                              CHARLIE
</b>                 I know you're hurting, Frank.    So am I.

    Frank sits back down with Charlie Williams, an older dope
    man.

<b>                              CHARLIE
</b>                 You going to be all right?

<b>                             FRANK
</b>                 Yeah.

<b>                              CHARLIE
</b>                 I'm sure Bumpy never told you, but he
                 made me promise, anything ever happened
                 to him, I'd make sure you didn't go
                 without.

<b>                              FRANK
</b>                 I'll be fine, Charlie. Half the people
                 here owed Bumpy money when he died. A
                 lot of money. If they think I'm going
                 to forget to collect, they're wrong.

<b>                              CHARLIE
</b>                 That's the spirit. Go get them.

    On the TV, over archive film and photographs of crime
    figures from the 1940's and `50's, the opinion is offered
    that Bumpy's death "marks the end of an era ..."
<b>
</b><b>                                                                     5.
</b><b>                              
</b>



<b>A7   INT. CLASSROOM - NIGHT                                           A7
</b>
     A figure, his back to us, walks slowly toward a blackboard
     like a man to the gallows.

<b>                             RICHIE V.O.
</b>                I live in fear of hearing my name                             
                called.                                                       

<b>                             PROFESSOR
</b>                Mr. Roberts, Give us U.S. vs. Meade -                         

<b>                             RICHIE V.O.                                      
</b>                Of walking up there, turning around,                          
                knowing every one of them knows more                          
                than I do -                                                   

<b>                             PROFESSOR                                        
</b>                Subject, issues, what the determination                       
                was and what it means to us today.                            

     Richie Roberts turns and faces his classmates, all of them a
     decade or more younger than him.

<b>7    EXT. MOTEL - NEW JERSEY - DAY                                        7
</b>
     Harlem's jagged teeth skyline juts across the river at the
     other end of the George Washington Bridge. On this side - a
     sledgehammer gripped in Richie's fist, on the move, suddenly
     fills the frame.

<b>                             RICHIE                                           
</b>                You know the Number 1 fear of most                            
                people isn't dying; it's public speaking.                     
                They get physically ill. They throw up.                       

<b>                             RIVERA                                           
</b>                And that's what you want to do for a
                living.

<b>                             RICHIE
</b>                I don't like being like that.     I want to                   
                beat it.

     Armed with the sledgehammer, Richie and his partner - Javy               
     Rivera - come past a seedy motel office where a TV shows                 
     another report about Bumpy Johnson.

     Legend:   New Jersey

     A motel clerk looks up, glimpses the sledgehammer -


<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     6.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>7   CONTINUED:                                                         7
</b>

<b>                              CLERK
</b>                 Hey -

    Rivera flashes a New Jersey detective's shield without                   
    breaking stride. Takes a subpoena out of another pocket.                 

<b>                              RIVERA                                         
</b>                 Who's going to do this?                                     

<b>                              RICHIE
</b>                 He knows me, he'll take it from me.                         
                 I've known him since high school.                           

<b>                              RIVERA                                         
</b>                 Just throw it in, he doesn't take it.                       
                 That's good service.                                        

    They reach a particular motel room door. Rivera knocks.                  
    The door opens the length of a chain, revealing a wise guy
    in an undershirt, who, when he sees the subpoena, start to               
    close the door -                                                         

<b>                              RIVERA                                         
</b>                 Throw it -                                                  

    As Richie flings the subpoena in, the door slams on his                  
    hand. He wails in agony, tries to shoulder it open, hears                
    the dead bolt lock on the other side, feels Campizi's teeth              
    bite into his fingers, watches his blood run down the frame.             

<b>                              RIVERA                                         
</b>                 Down -                                                      

    Richie hangs down from his hand as the sledgehammer swings               
    past his head shattering the door -                                      

<b>8   INT/EXT. MOTEL ROOM - CONTINUOUS                                   8
</b>
    The door rips from its hinges and the detectives crash in.
    The wise guy - Campizi - hurries for the bathroom, slams the             
    door. This one's hollow and the detectives more easily                   
    break through it -                                                       

    Campizi tries to climb out the bathroom window. Richie                   
    grabs him, throws him into the shower stall, taking the
    plastic curtain down with them, smearing it with blood as
    Richie beats at him before Rivera can pull him off.                      

<b>9   INT. AMBULANCE - MOVING - DAY                                      9
</b>
    A male paramedic attends to Campizi's bloodied face while a
    female paramedic cleans Richie's bloodied hand.

<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     7.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>9    CONTINUED:                                                        9
</b>

<b>                               CAMPIZI
</b>                  I swear to God, Richie, I didn't know it
                  was you. I would never slam a door on
                  your hand. Knowingly.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  You bit my fuckin hand -

     Richie lunges at him, hits him again with his injured hand -
     which hurts Richie more than it does Campizi. The
     paramedics manage to pull him away.

<b>                               CAMPIZI
</b>                  What can we do, Richie? You don't want
                  to do this. For old times sake, what can
                  we do? Who do you want? Who can I give
                  you? You want Big Sal's bookie? You want
                  his accountant? I'll give him to you.

     Richie regards him a moment. A policy ring's accountant
     wouldn't be bad. He glances back to his paramedic dabbing
     at his bloody hand, and notices she's not bad-looking. She
     smiles back.

<b>10   INT. NY POLICE HQ - ENTRANCE/STAIRS - DAY                        10
</b>
     Four men in long black leather coats stride toward like
     they own the city. It's impossible to tell if they're cops
     or gangsters.

     Legend:   New York City

<b>11   INT. NEW YORK POLICE ANNEX - PROPERTY ROOM - DAY                 11
</b>     One of the same undercover cops - Detective Trupo -
     scribbles a signature and badge number different from the
     one on his gold shield lying next to the voucher requesting
     evidence needed in court.

     He pushes the voucher under a sign - "All Handguns and
     Narcotics Before 10am Next Window" - to a clerk who takes it
     past floor-to-ceiling shelves covered with files, plastic
     bags bulging with handguns, knives and gambling receipts.
     Bulkier items - like shotguns and baseball bats - lie
     unwrapped with dangling tags.

     The clerk reaches a chain-link cage where the most valuable
     items are locked up - narcotics, pornography, cash - checks
     the voucher against tags, takes down an old green suitcase.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                          8.
</b><b>                                    
</b>



<b>12        EXT. WAREHOUSE - DAY                                             12
</b>
          Trupo's car - a Shelby Mustang - roars up. He climbs out,
          crosses to a warehouse with the suitcase as the other three
          SIU Princes of the City follow from another car, cradling
          grocery bags.

<b>13        INT. WAREHOUSE - DAY                                             13
</b>
          Trupo snaps the suitcase open revealing five half-kilo bags
          of uncut heroin in clear plastic bags. The other cops pull
          from the grocery bags: a Pyrex mixing bowl, flour sifter,
          boxes of milk-sugar, latex kitchen gloves, a medical scale,
          and yellow baggies.

          Hands peel back the distinctive black and green "evidence"
          tape on the clear plastic bags. Dump the heroin into twenty
          yellow baggies. A half-kilo of lactose is poured into each
          of the now-empty property room bags.

<b>                                 TRUPO
</b>                    Now just enough for the reagent test.

          He removes one tablespoon of heroin from each of the
          baggies, and the now-almost-heroin-free powder is mixed
          through the flour sifter, poured back into the clear bags,
          the tape resealed, the bags returned to the suitcase.

<b>14        INT. NY COURTROOM - DAY                                          14
</b>
          The suitcase and   "heroin," and some weapons and money, have
          been arranged on   an evidence table with the care of a Macy's
          display window.    Trupo - the officer in charge of the case -
          watches the jury   files in -
<b>15        EXT. UNDER EXPRESSWAY - DAY                                      15
</b>
          A Lincoln Continental pulls up. Trupo climbs out of his
          Shelby with a sports bag, crosses to the Lincoln, climbs in
          back where an Italian wise guy - Rossi - sits. Trupo unzips
          the bag revealing the recut heroin - in the yellow plastic.

<b>                                 ROSSI V/O
</b>                    This is the French Connection dope.
                    The same dope Popeye Doyle and Sonny
                    Grasso took from us.

<b>16 OMIT                                                             16 OMIT
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       9.
</b><b>                                
</b>



<b>17     INT. ITALIAN BAR - NY - DAY                                      17
</b>
       Frank comes into an empty bar, chairs up on tables. A
       middle-aged man mopping up glances up at him as he crosses
       to a back room.

<b>                              ROSSI V/O
</b>                 They seize it, arrest everybody,
                 whack it up and sell it back to us.
                 Our dope. They been living off it for
                 years, these New York cops.

<b>18     INT. ITALIAN BAR - BACK ROOM - NY - DAY                          18
</b>
       Several ounces of the dope sits in foreground on a table.

<b>                              ROSSI
</b>                 They basically control the market with
                 it. What the fuck has happened to the
                 world, Frank?

<b>                              FRANK
</b>                 Fuckin crooks.

       Rossi, who looks more like a middle-aged accountant than the
       Italian dope supplier he is, makes two espressos.

<b>                              ROSSI
</b>                 Sad about Bumpy.

       Behind Frank, a TV airs a report by Walter Cronkite on the
       heroin problem among GIs in Vietnam.

<b>                              ROSSI
</b>                 Things are never going to be the same in
                 Harlem. The girls, the clubs, the music -
                 walk down the street, nobody bothers you
                 because Bumpy's making sure of it.
                        (hands Frank one of the
                         espressos)
                 How bad is it there now?

18pt   FLASHCUTS TO HARLEM                                            18pt

       Guys barge into a room, steal money from a crap game at
       gunpoint - Cops push guys against a bar, empty their pockets
       - A dealer shoots another dealer in an alley -

18pt   BACK TO THE HOTEL ROOM                                         18pt

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                 It's chaos.    Every gorilla for himself.

<b>                                                                      (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                          10.
</b><b>                                   
</b>18pt   CONTINUED:                                                        18pt


<b>                                 ROSSI
</b>                    Who can live like that? There has to
                    be order. That would never happen with
                    Italians. More important than any one
                    man's life - is order.

<b>19     EXT. HARLEM - DAY                                                   19
</b>
       A street sign on a corner:        116th and 8th Avenue.

<b>20     INT. DINER - HARLEM - DAY                                           20
</b>
       As is his custom, Frank eats breakfast alone. A middle-
       aged waitress appears when he's done, picks up his plate
       and refills his coffee.

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                    Thank you, Charlene.      Last one.

<b>                                 CHARLENE
</b>                    It's all right with me, Frank, you can
                    stay all day if you want, but I wouldn't.
                    It's nice outside.

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                    Then maybe I'll have to go for a walk.
                    Just cause you said so.

       She smiles and leaves. Frank pours some sugar in his
       coffee. Someone taps on the window and he looks up, sees
       two servicemen - one in uniform - one he recognizes.

<b>21     INT. REDTOP'S APARTMENT BUILDING - DAY                              21
</b>       Frank leads the servicemen up the stairs of a building.

<b>22     INT. REDTOP'S APARTMENT - DAY                                       22
</b>
       Corner apartment above the street. A girl sits smoking at
       a work table covered with drug-cutting apparatus. Another -
       Frank's cutter and sometimes-girlfriend, Red Top - sets a
       couple of packets of heroin in front of the servicemen.

<b>                                 RED TOP
</b>                    On the house for our men in uniform.

<b>                                 SERVICEMAN 1
</b>                    Why, thank you, sugar, that's very kind.

<b>                                   RED TOP
</b>                    Thank Frank.


<b>                                                                         (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                           11.
</b><b>                                     
</b><b>22        CONTINUED:                                                         22
</b>

          Frank nods, you're welcome before the man can thank him.
          The servicemen start cooking up the dope.

<b>                                     FRANK
</b>                       How's Nate?   You seen him?

<b>                                    SERVICEMAN 1
</b>                       All the time. Nate is everywhere.
                       He's good. Got himself a club now.

<b>                                    FRANK
</b>                       Where, Saigon?

<b>                                     SERVICEMAN 1
</b>                       Bangkok.

<b>                                    SERVICEMAN 2
</b>                       I don't think he's ever coming home.

          Regarding the dope as the servicemen shoot it up -

<b>                                    FRANK
</b>                       You're gonna have to boot it a couple
                       times. Cops keep cutting it, selling it,
                       cutting it -

<b>                                    SERVICEMAN 1
</b>                       I don't want to say anything cause the
                       price is right - but the shit in Nam is
                       way, way, way, way, way -

          He begins to nod out before he can finish the sentence.

<b>23 OMIT                                                                23 OMIT
</b><b>24        EXT. SOCIAL CLUB - NEWARK - LATE AFTERNOON                         24
</b>
          Across the river, Richie, Rivera and Campizi sit in the car             
          parked across from a closed social club. A man carrying a
          grocery bag comes out and Campizi ducks lower in the seat.

<b>                                     CAMPIZI
</b>                       That's him.

          Newsboy Moriarty's mob accountant puts the grocery bag in
          the trunk of a car, climbs in behind the wheel.

<b>25        EXT. NEWARK - SCRAP METAL YARD - LATE AFTERNOON                    25
</b>
          From the parked car they observe the accountant putting
          another bag in his trunk.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                  12.
</b><b>                            
</b>



<b>26   EXT. STREET - NEWARK - LATE AFTERNOON                          26
</b>
     He comes out of another place with another bag.       To Campizi -

<b>                             RICHIE
</b>               All right.   Get lost.    Get out.

     Campizi slinks out of the car. Richie and Rivera follow               
     after Newsboy Moriarty's accountant's car.

<b>27   EXT. PARKING LOT - LATE AFTERNOON                              27
</b>
     They tail the car into a lot, park and watch the accountant
     leave his car and get into another car that's parked there.

<b>                            RIVERA                                         
</b>               We gonna stay with him or the car?

     Whatever they do, they'll have to decide quick.

<b>                            RICHIE
</b>               Let's see who comes for the car.

<b>28   EXT. PARKING LOT - NEWARK - NIGHT                              28
</b>
     All the other cars are gone. Rivera climbs into Richie's              
     with coffee and a Coke in a bag, hands him the can.                   

<b>                            RIVERA                                         
</b>               Think he made us?

     Richie doesn't know. Glances at his watch.      Cranes in his
     seat to look behind them.
<b>                            RICHIE
</b>               You called for the warrant?     Where are
               they?

<b>                            RIVERA                                         
</b>               I just called. I called and walked back
               here and ten seconds has gone by.

     Richie watches an attendant lock up, listens to the street
     lamps buzz, grows impatient. Indicating the other car:

<b>                            RICHIE
</b>               We saw him with the slips, Javy.                            

<b>                            RIVERA                                         
</b>               You saw policy slips? You saw grocery
               bags. You don't know what's in them.


<b>                                                                  (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      13.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>28   CONTINUED:                                                         28
</b>

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  Yes, I do, and so do you, don't give me
                  that bullshit -

<b>                               RIVERA                                          
</b>                  What's the rush? Half an hour the
                  warrant'll be here -

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  I got night school.

<b>                               RIVERA                                          
</b>                  Guess you're going to miss it.
                         (Rivera sips at his coffee;                           
                          then:)                                               
                  You know, what you were saying before
                  - about throwing up in front of people -
                  money will take that feeling away.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  Not when it's less.

<b>                               RIVERA                                          
</b>                  Less than what.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  Than what I make now.

<b>                               RIVERA                                          
</b>                  No lawyer on earth makes less than a cop.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  They do in the Prosecutor's Office.
                  Three thousand less.
<b>                               RIVERA                                          
</b>                  You're fuckin kidding me.

     Richie isn't kidding. Rivera stares at him like he's crazy.               
     Richie checks his watch. He's waited long enough.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                  Fuck this -

<b>                                RIVERA                                         
</b>                  Richie -

     Richie gets out, opens the trunk, grabs a Slimjim and
     bolt cutters, cuts through a gate chain and strides to the
     accountant's car, Rivera following. Richie trips the                      
     passenger door lock and pulls at the trunk release, and, as
     he comes around back to search it -

<b>                                                                      (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    14.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>28   CONTINUED:                                                       28
</b>

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  Check inside.

     Rivera may as well; the damage to the case, if there is one           
     anymore, is done. He crawls inside the car to look under
     the seats and in the glove compartment. Gravely -

<b>                              RICHIE
</b>                  Javy ...                                                 

     Richie's staring into the trunk like there's a body inside.
     Rivera comes over, takes a look, sees it's money: stacks of           
     it rubber-banded together, spilling from grocery bags - more          
     than either of them has ever seen. As the trunk closes -              

<b>29   EXT. PARKING LOT / RICHIE'S CAR - LATER - NIGHT                  29   
</b>
     Richie and Rivera sit in their car in silence, staring out            
     at the car with the money in it. Eventually -                         

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  This isn't a couple of bucks.

<b>                               RIVERA                                      
</b>                  It's the same thing.   In principle.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  We're talking about principle?

<b>                               RIVERA                                      
</b>                  Richie, a cop who turns in this kind of
                  money says one thing: He'll turn in cops
                  who take money. We'll be pariahs.
<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  We're fucked either way.

<b>                               RIVERA                                      
</b>                  Not if we keep it. Only if we don't.
                  Then we're fucked, you're right. But not
                  if we keep it.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                         (more to himself)
                  Yes, we are.

<b>                               RIVERA                                      
</b>                  Goddamn it, did we ask for this? Did we
                  put a gun to someone's head and say, Give
                  us your money? Cops kill cops they can't                 
                  trust. We can't turn it in.                              

     They regard each other again in silence ...
<b>
</b><b>                                                                 15.
</b><b>                           
</b>



<b>30   INT. NEWARK POLICE STATION - LATER - NIGHT                    30
</b>
     As a police captain counts the stacks of money, Lou Toback,
     Richie's superior from the prosecutors office, walks in, his
     night out interrupted by this emergency. He crossed to where
     Richie and Rivera sit alone in a corner. Quietly:                    

<b>                            TOBACK
</b>               How much.

<b>                            RICHIE
</b>               Nine hundred and eighty thousand.

<b>                            TOBACK
</b>               What happened to the rest?

     It's a joke but isn't funny, not even to Toback. He regards
     his men who turned it in, then the other cops in the place -
     who are watching them and the money being counted. Toback
     walks over to the captain, and, quietly:

<b>                            TOBACK
</b>               What're you doing counting this in front                   
               of everybody? Are you out of your fuckin
               mind? Take it into a room. Now.

     Richie's glance to Rivera says, You're right, we're fucked.          

<b>31   INT/EXT. NEWARK POLICE STATION - PRE-DAWN                     31
</b>
     As Richie leaves alone, he's aware of all the eyes on him -
     knowing the other cops' looks don't signify awe or respect,
     but contempt and fear, like Rivera predicted. Neither will           
     ever be trusted again. He climbs into his car, drives off.
<b>32   INT. DINER - HARLEM - DAY                                     32
</b>
     Tango and his bodyguard come in and approach Frank's table
     where he reads the morning paper as he eats breakfast.

<b>                            TANGO
</b>               Didn't you see the jar, Frank?
               I think you walked right past it.

     Frank ignores him, forks at his eggs, eats.    Tango sits.

<b>                            TANGO
</b>               The money jar. On the corner.      What I
               got to do, put a sign on it?

     Frank indicates that he would answer if his mouth wasn't
     full. He swallows finally, but then only reaches for his
     coffee cup to take a sip, further irritating Tango.
<b>                                                                 (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     16.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>32   CONTINUED:                                                        32
</b>

<b>                               TANGO
</b>                  Bumpy don't own 116th Street no more,
                  Frank. Bumpy don't own no real estate in
                  Harlem no more. I'm the landlord now and
                  the lease is twenty-percent.

     Frank dabs at his mouth with a napkin and gives Tango a look
     that says that won't be happening.

<b>                               TANGO
</b>                  Then don't sell dope, Frank. Get a
                  fuckin job. You need a job? You can be
                  my driver, drive me around, open my door,
                  yes, sir, no sir, where to, sir, right
                  away, Massa Johnson, sir.

     Right now Tango is dead. No doubt about it.          On the
     surface, though, Frank remains cool.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  Twenty percent?

<b>                               TANGO
</b>                  Of every dollar. Every VIG, every
                  truckload, every girl, every ounce.      In
                  the jar.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  Twenty percent's my profit. If I'm
                  giving it to you then what am I doing?
                  Twenty percent puts me, and everyone you
                  know, out of business, which puts you out
                  of business.
                         (reaches for his breakfast
                          check)
                  There are ways to make money
                  legitimately, and then there's this way.
                  Not even Bumpy took twenty percent.

<b>                               TANGO
</b>                  Bumpy's fuckin dead.

     Frank regards Tango a moment, gets up, takes out his money
     clip, covers the check on the table with a five, peels off a
     $1 bill from the clip, tosses it down in front of Tango.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                  There.   That's twenty-percent.

     As he turns and leaves, Tango watches after him ...
<b>
</b><b>                                                                 17.
</b><b>                           
</b>



<b>33   INT. RICHIE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT                               33     
</b>
     Stitched-up, black and blue hands dump a can of soup in a
     pot, put it on the stove.

<b>34   INT. FRANK'S APARTMENT - NIGHT - INTERCUT                     34     
</b>
     A pencil clutched by long fingers scribbles figures. But
     no matter how many times Frank does the arithmetic, there's
     not much left, he calculates, after he pays the Italian
     suppliers and, if he were to, Tango.

<b>35   INT. RICHIE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT - CONTINUED                   35     
</b>
     Richie has moved to a small desk cluttered with law
     textbooks. He cracks one open to study for the New Jersey            
     Bar exam as he eats the soup out of the pot he heated it in.         
     Above him on the wall is a framed photograph of Joe Louis            
     standing over a sprawled-on-the-mat Billy Conn.                      

<b>36   EXT. CONEY ISLAND - BEACH - DAY - INTERCUT                    36
</b>
     A bleak day. Seagulls fighting over scraps on the sand as
     others hover overhead, flapping and cawing. Alone near the
     water, Frank tosses a stick for the German shepherd he
     inherited.

<b>37   INT. RICHIE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT - INTERCUT                    37     
</b>
     Richie opens a small wooden box in his bleak apartment,
     revealing an ounce of marijuana, rolling papers and clips.
     As he rolls a joint -

<b>                            BUMPY V/O
</b>               A leader is like a shepherd -

<b>38   EXT. CONEY ISLAND - BEACH - DAY - CONTINUED                   38
</b>
     The sounds of the gulls and surf and roller coaster begin to
     fade as Frank throws the stick again.

<b>                            BUMPY V/O
</b>               Sends the fast nimble sheep out front,
               and the others follow as the shepherd
               walks quietly behind -

     The dog retrieves the stick, but this time - somehow - it's
     to Bumpy's hand he returns it. Frank listens attentively.

<b>                            BUMPY
</b>               He's got the stick - the cane - and
               he'll use if he has to.
<b>                            (MORE)
</b><b>                                                                 (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    18.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>38   CONTINUED:                                                       38
</b><b>                               BUMPY (CONT'D)
</b>                  But most of the time he doesn't have to.
                  He moves the whole herd - quietly.

     Bumpy smiles and tosses the stick.

<b>39   INT. RICHIE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT - INTERCUT                       39   
</b>
     The smoke from the joint rises to the ceiling as Richie               
     studies.                                                              

<b>40   EXT. CONEY ISLAND - BEACH - DAY - CONTINUED                      40
</b>
     The dog trots back to Bumpy and Frank with the stick.

<b>41   EXT. BOARDWALK - CONEY ISLAND - LATER                            41
</b>
     Hot dog stand. Bumpy hands a hot dog to Frank, holds out
     another to the shepherd. To camera:

<b>                               BUMPY
</b>                  What right do they have cutting out the
                  suppliers, the middlemen, buying direct,
                  putting Americans out of work ... This
                  is the way it is now, Frank.

     Frank nods. The vender hands him a napkin. The shepherd
     is still with him, but Bumpy is gone, and the gulls and the
     people on the roller coaster squeal as Frank comes out of
     his meditative trance with an idea.

<b>42   CLOSE-UP: (DOCTOR'S OFFICE)                                      42
</b>
     A needle pierces the crook of Frank's arm.       Slight grimace.
     A cotton ball is pushed onto the puncture.       Malaria shot.
<b>43   CLOSE-UP: (PHOTOGRAPHY SHOP)                                     43
</b>
     A strobe lights up Frank's face:      a passport photo.

<b>44   CLOSE-UP: (POST OFFICE)                                          44
</b>
     The photo and a duplicate are stapled to a passport
     application.

<b>45   INT. CHEMICAL BANK - SAFETY-DEPOSIT ROOM - DAY                   45
</b>
     Keys turn the locks of a safety-deposit box. The lid lifts
     revealing decks of cash. Frank takes it all out, slips one
     slender packet into Bumpy's banker's jacket pocket.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  Get yourself a new suit.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                      19.
</b><b>                                
</b>



<b>46      INT. CHEMICAL BANK - VICE PRESIDENT'S OFFICE - DAY              46
</b>
        Under portraits of bank Vice Presidents before him, the man
        types out a Chemical Bank check for Frank for $400,000.                

<b>47 - 48 OMIT                                                47 - 48 OMIT
</b>
<b>49      EXT. PARK - NEWARK - DAY - SAME TIME                            49
</b>
        The sound of the plane growls and fades overhead as Richie's
        ex-wife keeps an eye on their son playing on a grassy area.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                  I'm sorry.

<b>                               LAURIE
</b>                  I don't know, Richie.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  It couldn't be avoided. Next weekend
                  I'll be able to take him.

        She regards him with a weary look, but he's looking over at
        one of the other - better-looking - moms in the park.

<b>                                LAURIE
</b>                  I'm moving.

        He looks back, not sure he heard right.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                  What?   Where?

<b>                               LAURIE
</b>                  To the St. Regis, what do you care.
                         (pause)
                  My sister's.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  Your sister's. In Vegas?

        He glances away to a sound: shattering glass.        Some teen-
        agers breaking bottles on the ground.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  You can't move to Vegas.     Not with
                  Michael anyway.

<b>                               LAURIE
</b>                  What am I supposed to do with him?       Leave
                  him with you? There's a picture.


<b>                                                                      (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       20.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>49   CONTINUED:                                                          49
</b>

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                         (to the vandals)
                  Hey, you want to shut up over there?

     The teenagers ignore him. He tries to ignore them, but it's
     hard with the constant noise.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  No court will allow it for one thing.
                  I won't allow it.

<b>                                 LAURIE
</b>                  You?

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  When am I supposed to see my son?

<b>                               LAURIE
</b>                  Last weekend!

     Their son glances over at them. Richie looks over at the
     teenagers again breaking bottles, then back to Laurie.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  Laurie, you can't raise a kid in Las
                  Vegas.                                                        

<b>                               LAURIE
</b>                  Oh, like this is a good environment.
                  Around your friends. There are less                           
                  creeps in Vegas.                                              

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  What's he going to grow up to be in a                         
                  mobbed up place like that? What are you                       
                  thinking?

<b>                               LAURIE
</b>                  I'm thinking - Richie - of him!

<b>                                 RICHIE
</b>                  Goddamn it -

     The noise of the glass is driving him crazy. He strides
     over to the teenagers, who look at him like, What are you
     gonna do, old man, it's four against one.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  I told you nice to shut the fuck up.
                  Now I'm gonna kill you.

     He pulls out his gun and aims it at one of them, then the
     others. All instinctively try to cover their heads.
<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       21.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>49      CONTINUED:                                                       49
</b>

<b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                     Pick up the fuckin glass!

        As they dive to their knees to do what they're told, Laurie
        walks away with her son, who looks back over his shoulder at
        his father with his gun out.

<b>50      EXT. BANGKOK - NIGHT                                             50     
</b>
        Frank sits in the back of a motor samlor.       Bicycles dart
        around it like flies.

<b>51 - 52 OMIT                                                 51 - 52 OMIT       
</b>
<b>53      INT. SOUL BROTHERS BAR - NIGHT                                   53
</b>
        The clientele is almost exclusively black servicemen on R&R
        and Asian women. A trio of ex-GI's plays authentic Southern
        blues on a small stage. Ham hocks and collard greens come
        out of the kitchen. Smoke chokes the place.

        Frank, one of the few men not in uniform, and not drunk or
        stoned, sits alone at a table with a Coca-Cola and surveys
        the activity: Dope being rolled. Dope being smoked. Dope
        being shot. GI's and prostitutes climbing a staircase.

        His eyes follow an Army Master Sergeant, moving among the
        tables as if checking on the GI's well being. But at some,
        his hand takes money, leaves in its place packets of powder.

        The Sergeant feels eyes on him and glances up, catching
        Frank watching him from across the room. He squints through
        the smoke at the figure at the table in the shadows, and, in
        a kind of shock, more to himself -
<b>                                 NATE
</b>                     Frank - ?

        Frank half-lifts his glass to wave, and Nate beams.

<b>54      INT. SOUL BROTHERS BAR - NIGHT                                   54
</b>
        Frank has guests at his table now: his cousin Nate the
        Sergeant, and two young Asian wise guys. They talk about
        him in Thai (subtitled):

<b>                                  THAI
</b>                     He say how much he wants?

<b>                                  NATE
</b>                     He said "a lot." What that means, I
                     don't know. Four or five keys?

<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    22.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>54   CONTINUED:                                                       54
</b>

     The Thais regard Frank a moment, size him up.

<b>                               THAI
</b>                  He's your cousin.

<b>                               NATE
</b>                  My cousin-in-law.    My ex-wife's cousin.

<b>                               THAI
</b>                  Ask him how much he wants.

<b>                               NATE
</b>                  How much you gonna want, Frank?

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  A hundred kilos.

     Nate blinks like there's something in his eye ...

<b>55   EXT. BANGKOK - STREET VENDER - DAY                               55
</b>
     Steam and neon.    Frank and Nate at a crowded stand.

<b>                               NATE
</b>                  No one I know can get that much. It'd
                  have to be pieced together from several
                  suppliers and none of it's gonna be 100-
                  percent pure.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  That's not what I want.

<b>                               NATE
</b>                  I know that. But that means dealing
                  with the Chiu-Chou syndicates in Cholon
                  or Saigon - if they'll deal with you -

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  No, even then it's too late. It's been
                  chopped. I want to get it where they get
                  it. From the source.

     Nate stares at him ... then laughs.       Frank doesn't.

<b>                               NATE
</b>                  You're gonna go get it.

<b>                              FRANK
</b>                  Why not.

<b>                               NATE
</b>                  You're gonna go into the fuckin jungle -

<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      23.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>55     CONTINUED:                                                       55
</b>

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                    I've lived in jungles all my (life) -

<b>                                NATE
</b>                    No. This is the jungle. Tigers.
                    Vietcong. The fuckin snakes alone will
                    kill you.

<b>AA56   INT. NEW JERSEY BOARD OF BAR EXAMINERS - DAY                   AA56   
</b>
       A room of student-type desks and no character. Richie,                
       and fifty others, have been here for hours taking the exam            
       less than half of them will pass.                                     

<b>A56    EXT. JUNGLE - DAY                                               A56
</b>
       A motley bunch of Thai thugs and black American soldiers
       with automatic weapons ride mules through the dense jungle
       with Nate and Frank, who - armed with a pistol, a rifle and
       ammo bandolier like Pancho Villa - is enjoying himself.
       From his POV, the jungle canopy suddenly opens up on a poppy
       field the size of Manhattan. Frank stares down at it.

<b>B56    EXT. JUNGLE RISE / OPIUM FARM - DAY                             B56
</b>
       On the ground now with their small private army, Nate speaks
       with one of the Thais, then translates for Frank.

<b>                                 NATE
</b>                    He says this whole area's controlled
                    by the Kuomintang - Chiang Kai-Shek's
                    defeated army.

       Some of whom they can see down below on the opium farm -
       Chinese soldiers with outdated weapons. Frank tips his head
       to Nate at some other figures below -

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                    They ain't Chinese.

       A handful of better-armed American sentries at the perimeter
       of the farm. CIA. Frank, Nate and the others hang back as
       one of the Thais steps ahead to speak to the guerillas.

<b>C56    EXT. OPIUM FARM - LATER                                         C56
</b>
       The processing center for the entire region. The Thai
       translator is with Frank to negotiate with a vanquished
       Chinese general. Other Americans and Thais guard them
       while the Chinese with their CIA advisors guard them.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                   24.
</b><b>                            
</b>



<b>D56   INT. BAMBOO DWELLING - LATER - DAY                            D56
</b>
      The Chinese general examines Frank's papers - passport,
      visa, bank receipts - and lots of cash - then studies Frank.

<b>                             GENERAL
</b>                How would you get it into the States?

<b>                             FRANK
</b>                What do you care?

<b>                             GENERAL
</b>                Who do you work for in there?

<b>                             FRANK
</b>                What do you care?

<b>                             GENERAL
</b>                Who are you really?

<b>                             FRANK
</b>                It says right there.   Frank Lucas.

<b>                             GENERAL
</b>                I mean, who you represent?

<b>                             FRANK
</b>                Me.

      The man doesn't believe it, but lets it go.

<b>                             GENERAL
</b>                You think you're going to take a hundred
                kilos of heroin into the US and you don't
                work for anyone? Someone is going to
                allow that?

      Frank shrugs. The general regards one of his men.       In
      Chinese, subtitled:

<b>                             GENERAL
</b>                I don't believe a word of this.

      The general regards the cash and paperwork again for a
      moment. And, to Frank:

<b>                             GENERAL
</b>                After this first purchase, if you're not
                killed by Marseilles importers - or their
                people in the States - then what?



<b>                                                                   (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     25.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>D56   CONTINUED:                                                     D56
</b>

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Then there'd be more. On a regular basis.
                   Though I'd rather not have to drag my ass
                   all the way up here every time.

      The man regards Frank for a long moment.       Glances back to
      the cash and paperwork again. Finally -

<b>                                GENERAL
</b>                   Of course not.

<b>E56   EXT. JUNGLE ARMY LZ - VIETNAM - DAY                             E56
</b>
      Torrential monsoon rains. Dripping camouflage. Nate and
      Frank climb down from the Huey. Frank no longer wears the
      bandolier. Now a press card dangles from his neck.

<b>F56   INT/EXT. TENT / JUNGLE ARMY LZ - LATER - DAY                    F56
</b>
      Stripes on the uniform of a black colonel with Nate under a
      canopy. Outside, in the distance, in the rain, Frank hangs
      out with some other black servicemen.

<b>                                COLONEL
</b>                   Where's it now?

<b>                               NATE
</b>                   Bangkok. I can bring it here or anywhere
                   in between.

<b>                                COLONEL
</b>                   A hundred kilos.
                          (Nate nods)
                   I never seen that much dope in one place.
<b>                                NATE
</b>                   It's bigger than an Amana refrigerator-
                   freezer.

<b>G56   INT/EXT. JUNGLE ARMY LZ - LATER - DAY                           G56
</b>
      Nate and Frank watch the colonel emerge from the tent and
      cross through the rain on duck-boards to another tent to
      speak with a white officer, a 2-star general.

<b>                                NATE
</b>                   Fifty grand. In advance. That'll
                   cover them, the pilots and the guys on
                   the other end.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Give them a hundred.

<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       26.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>G56   CONTINUED:                                                       G56
</b>

<b>                                NATE
</b>                   Fifty, to cover them all.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   A hundred. And it's all I got left. So
                   if that dope doesn't arrive, for whatever
                   reason -
                          (embraces Nate and whispers)
                   Cousin or no cousin - don't let me down.

      He holds out a business envelope fat with money. Nate
      hesitates, knowing Frank has just said he'll kill him if
      things don't go right, then takes it.

<b>                                NATE
</b>                   I'll let you know when it's in the air.

<b>56    INT. RICHIE'S APARTMENT - NEWARK - DAWN                            56
</b>
      The nurse/paramedic who stitched up his hand is in Richie's
      bed making so much noise he's worried someone will call the
      cops. The phone rings. And won't stop. Neither will the
      nurse as Richie answers it -

<b>                                RIVERA V/O                                      
</b>                   Richie? Richie, I'm in trouble.    This
                   fuckin guy "made" me - I don't know how
                   but he did. He went for his gun. I had
                   to do it, I swear to God. Now they're
                   going to kill me.

      Richie can hear in Sander's voice how serious it is and
      manages to disentangle himself from the woman.
<b>                                 RICHIE
</b>                   Who.

<b>                                RIVERA V/O                                      
</b>                   There's a hundred people out there heard
                   the shots. You gotta help me. You gotta
                   do something.

<b>                                 RICHIE
</b>                   Is he dead?

<b>                                  RIVERA V/O                                    
</b>                   He's dead.    I'm dead. They're gonna kill
                   me.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Where are you? Javy, where are you?                          


<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     27.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>56    CONTINUED:                                                       56
</b>

<b>                                RIVERA V/O                                    
</b>                   That's the problem.

<b>A57   INT. RICHIE'S CAR - MOVING - EARLY MORNING                      A57
</b>
      Richie on his police radio, which cuts in and out -

<b>                                DISPATCHER
</b>                   There are no cars in that area,
                   Detective Roberts.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Bullshit. I got a man in trouble and I
                   need back-up.

<b>                                DISPATCHER
</b>                   I missed that - you're breaking up -

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I said, put the fucking call out again -

<b>                                DISPATCHER
</b>                   I just did. No one responded.     I'll try
                   again, but -                                               

<b>                                RICHIE                                        
</b>                   Fuck you, too.                                             

      He slams the mic down.

<b>57    EXT. STEPHEN CRANE PROJECTS - MORNING                            57
</b>
      As Richie's car turns a corner, the Stephen Crane Projects -
      the most foreboding place on earth - rises up: three dark
      30-floor towers planted on war-torn grounds where a long-ago
      torched and abandoned patrol car sits like a monument.

      He parks and moves through an agitated all-black crowd, past
      an ambulance outside one of the towers, through oppressive
      heat. It's riot weather.

<b>58    INT. STEPHEN CRANE PROJECTS - MORNING                            58
</b>
      Drugs on a coffee table. Body on the floor. Rivera,                     
      despondent, on the couch. The male paramedics, scared.                  
      Richie on the phone -                                                   

<b>                                RICHIE                                        
</b>                   Sergeant, I'm not asking, I'm fuckin                       
                   telling you: Get some patrolmen over                       
                   here now.                                                  


<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       28.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>58    CONTINUED:                                                         58
</b>

      Dial tone: the police sergeant has hung up on him.           Richie       
      throws the phone. The paramedics stare at him.                            

<b>                                PARAMEDIC
</b>                   You got no back-up? Why is that?                             

      The only other person who would know the answer to that is
      Rivera, who just shakes his head in despair.                              

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Bandage his head.

<b>                                PARAMEDIC
</b>                   Detective ... he's dead.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I know he's fucking dead. Bandage his
                   head, clean him up, put him on a gurney
                   and prop it up so he's sitting. And open
                   his eyes.

<b>59    EXT. STEPHEN CRANE PROJECTS - MORNING                              59
</b>
      Richie comes out ahead of the gurney, moving quickly like
      it's a matter of life and death (which it is), motioning at
      the crowd to allow a path to the ambulance.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Step back, injured man coming out. Let
                   them do their job and he'll be all right.
                   Ma'am. Excuse me. Step back. Sir.
                   Please.

      The people step back when they see the victim on the gurney:
      tubes in his nostrils, IV in his arm, eyes open. Before they
      can look any closer, he's put in the ambulance. As it pulls
      out, siren wailing, Richie leads Rivera safely away -                     

<b>A60   EXT. ALLEY NEAR STEPHEN CRANE PROJECTS - MORNING                  A60
</b>
      They cross through an alley near the Projects and Rivera                  
      finally breathes a sigh of relief.

<b>                                 RIVERA                                         
</b>                   Thank you -

      The words aren't out of his mouth before Richie shoves him                
      up against a car.                                                         

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   You robbed him, didn't you.


<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       29.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>A60   CONTINUED:                                                       A60
</b>

<b>                                 RIVERA                                         
</b>                   What?   What are you talking about?

      Richie rips Rivera's jacket pockets.        Money spills out.             

<b>                                 RICHIE
</b>                   This.   Where'd this come from?

<b>                                RIVERA                                          
</b>                   What. That's my money. I've never
                   taken dirty money in my life.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   You lying piece of shit -

<b>                                RIVERA                                          
</b>                   Maybe the occasional gratuity. Like
                   anybody else. You're going to tell me
                   that's wrong?

<b>                                 RICHIE
</b>                   Yeah.

<b>                                RIVERA                                          
</b>                   No, it isn't. It's part of the salary
                   for getting shot at. For that, certain
                   courtesies are shown. In gratitude -                         

      Richie, disgusted with him, lets go of him.         Rivera is             
      embarrassed, almost crying, pleading -                                    

<b>                                RIVERA                                          
</b>                   A discount on a TV, a Doughboy in the                        
                   backyard, a new dress for your girlfriend                    
                   maybe once a year. I'm talking about not                     
                   living in fucking poverty. You want to                       
                   call that wrong, call it wrong.

<b>                                 RICHIE                                         
</b>                   It's wrong.                                                  

<b>                                RIVERA                                          
</b>                   Then goddamn it, pay me fifty grand a                        
                   year, you son of a bitch. Pay me what I
                   deserve for getting shot at. No? Fine.
                   Next time four guys come into your place
                   with sawed-off shotguns, you take care of
                   it.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   You robbed him, and then you shot him,
                   and I helped you get out of there. How
                   many more you shot?
<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       30.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>A60     CONTINUED:                                                     A60
</b>

        Rivera suddenly tries to get tough -                                    

<b>                                  RIVERA                                        
</b>                     You know what, Richie? Fuck you, you
                     make that kind of accusation against your
                     own kind. And you know why.

        He takes out his car keys, turns to leave. Comes past                   
        Richie who grabs his arm and pushes the sleeve up exposing a            
        line of puncture scabs and scars.

<b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                     You're a disgrace.

<b>                                  RIVERA                                        
</b>                     I'm a leper. Because I listened to you
                     and turned in a million fucking dollars.
                     You know who'll work with me after that?
                     Same as you. No one.

        Richie squeezes Rivera's hand around the car key.                       

<b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                     Don't look down there. Look here.
                            (at Richie's eyes)
                     You ever fuckin threaten me again, I'll
                     kill you.

        Richie squeezes Sander's hand so hard the car key cuts
        through the skin, drawing blood.

<b>60 - 69 OMIT                                                 60 - 69 OMIT
</b>
<b>70      EXT. ARMY BASE, NEW JERSEY - DUSK                                70
</b>        Silence. Marshland. A beat-up Chevy parked alongside a
        perimeter fence. Frank waits by the car as a military Jeep
        with its lights out comes across a firing range. It slows,
        stops. In it, the silhouettes of three servicemen, black,
        armed with M-16's. Silence again, before:

<b>                                  ARMY CAPTAIN
</b>                     Open the trunk.

        Frank does it, then stands aside as the other servicemen
        drag four large taped-up duffel bags from the Jeep to his
        car, lift them into his trunk and slam it shut.

<b>71      INT. FRANK'S APARTMENT - LATER - NIGHT                           71
</b>
        The duffel bags, still closed, on a table. Frank regards
        them, nursing a drink, putting off the moment of discovery
        that he has perhaps spent his life's savings on nothing.
<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     31.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>71    CONTINUED:                                                       71
</b>

      The German shepherd watches as Frank removes the tape from
      one of the bags. He pulls it open - has almost no reaction -
      except to breathe again - then opens the next, and the next.

      And we see: Several brick-like packages of No. 4 heroin
      wrapped in paper marked with Chinese writing, stamped with
      a label: two lions on their hind legs, paws on a globe,
      and, in English: DOUBLE UOGLOBE BRAND 100%.

<b>A72   INT. FRANK'S APARTMENT - LATER - DAWN                           A72     
</b>
      The duffel bags are elsewhere. The only evidence of any
      drugs is the small amount Frank has given a chemist - who
      looks like a Harvard student - to test. It responds                     
      instantly. The young man looks at Frank.                                

<b>                                CHEMIST
</b>                   Typically what I see is 25 to 45                           
                   percent pure. I've never seen anything                     
                   like this. No alkaloids, no adulterants,                   
                   no dilutents. It's a hundred percent.                      
                   May I?                                                     

      The chemist opens a leather travel syringe kit to shoot up,             
      but Frank gives him some to take home instead.                          

<b>                                FRANK                                         
</b>                   Take it with you. I don't want to have                     
                   to call the coroner.                                       

      The chemist gathers his things to leave, offering a last                
      piece of advice -                                                       

<b>                                CHEMIST                                       
</b>                   Store it in a cool, dark place.                            

<b>72    EXT. GREENSBORO, NORTH CAROLINA - DUSK                           72
</b>
      A clapboard house set down on a piece of land that was
      probably once worked by sharecroppers. An elderly woman
      framed in a lit kitchen window, doing dishes.

      Dark yew trees and scavenged, discarded cars and car parts
      like patches of rusty snow. Crickets and bullfrogs. From a
      mound of dirt, a young man hurls a baseball to another with
      a catcher's mitt exactly sixty feet away. The kid's got a
      major league arm.

      Legend:   Greensboro, North Carolina

      A glow spills out from a detached shed where a short man in
      his early 30's works on a stock car.

<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      32.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>72   CONTINUED:                                                         72
</b>
     A greasy phone on the workbench rings and another
     disreputable-looking man, thumbing through a magazine,
     answers.

<b>                               JIMMY
</b>                  Yeah ... for you.

<b>                                TEDDY
</b>                  Who is it?

     Jimmy doesn't know, sets it down. Teddy comes over wiping
     his hands on a rag, takes the phone.

<b>                                TEDDY
</b>                  Yeah.

<b>                                FRANK V/O
</b>                  Teddy.

<b>                                TEDDY
</b>                  Who's this?

<b>                                FRANK V/O
</b>                  Frank.

<b>                                TEDDY
</b>                  Frank who?

<b>                               FRANK V/0
</b>                  Frank your brother.

<b>73   INT. COURTROOM - DAY                                               73
</b>
     Divorced couples in custody battles wait with their                       
     attorneys in a packed courthouse. An lawyer carrying papers               
     clipped with a $10 bill, comes past Richie, who's sitting                 
     with his lawyer, a woman he's probably slept with.                        

<b>                               SHEILA
</b>                  I'm not talking about your proclivities,
                  Richie. Those I only know too well. I'm
                  talking about being a cop.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  About taking money? I don't care about                       
                  money. I don't do that.                                      

<b>                               SHEILA
</b>                  Because it'll come out. You're going to
                  have to sit down with shrinks and social
                  workers, her lawyers, the judge, lots of
                  questions.


<b>                                                                      (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      33.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>73   CONTINUED:                                                         73
</b>

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  What's going on there?                                       

     The judge's assistant rearranging the pre-trial cases in                  
     order of the amount of gratuity clipped to each - $5, $10,                
     $20 bills.                                                                

<b>                                SHEILA                                         
</b>                  Scheduling.                                                  

<b>                               RICHIE                                          
</b>                  No, the money.                                               

<b>                               SHEILA                                          
</b>                  Scheduling. What about your friends                          
                  from the neighborhood? You still hang
                  out with them?

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  I play softball on Sundays with some
                  guys.

<b>                                 SHEILA
</b>                  Wise guys.    That's going to look good.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  I grew up with them, big deal.

<b>                               SHEILA
</b>                  What about Anthony Zaca?                                     

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  What about him?
<b>                               SHEILA
</b>                  Richie, I'm just trying to understand
                  things your wife has said. If they're
                  not true, tell me.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  Yeah, Tony's one of them.

<b>                               SHEILA
</b>                  Is he also your son's godfather?

     Richie nods. Sheila glances over to where Richie's ex-wife
     sits with her own lawyer across the room.

<b>                               SHEILA
</b>                  Do you really care about this? Or do
                  you just not want her to win - ever. How
                  often do you see your son as it is?

<b>                                                                      (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      34.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>73   CONTINUED:                                                         73
</b>

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                  Not enough.   But she wants to make it                       
                  never.                                                       

<b>                               SHEILA                                          
</b>                  Yeah, all right. Give me a twenty.                           
                         (Richie doesn't reach for                             
                          his wallet)                                          
                  Well, I'm not going to sit here all day.                     

     She takes a twenty from her purse and carries it up to the                
     judge's assistant clipped to their paperwork.                             

<b>                                BAILIFF
</b>                  All rise -

<b>74   EXT. HOUSE - TEANECK, NEW JERSEY - DAY                             74
</b>
     Frank and the dog in the back yard of a suburban house.
     His neighbors - those he can see - are white. He hears a
     sound - cars arriving - and crosses toward the house where
     a sold "For Sale" sign leans against a half-built kennel.

     Out front, a caravan of cars and pickup trucks - North
     Carolina plates - loaded with boxes and suitcases - has just
     arrived. Exhausted from the drive but excited to be here,
     the travelers climb out: Frank's five brothers, their wives
     and kids, and their mother.

     Teddy thinks it's the right place. The others aren't as
     sure. The house is too nice. There's a new Lincoln Towncar
     parked outside the garage. They'll probably be shot for
     trespassing.
     The front door opens and Frank comes out, trailed by his
     dog. He first gathers his mother in an embrace, then each
     of his startled brothers.

<b>75   INT. FRANK'S TEANECK HOUSE - LATER - DAY                           75
</b>
     The house is alive with the noise of family and scent of
     home-cooked food as the extended Lucas clan - there's more
     than twenty of them - sits around a big dining room table
     passing the platters around. Frank, at the head of the
     table, clearly loves having them all here.

<b>                               TURNER
</b>                  He got an arm on him.     Major League arm,
                  ain't that right.

     Everyone agrees as Turner's son - Frank's nephew - the 18-
     year-old boy seen pitching in the North Carolina back yard -
     tries to shrug.
<b>                                                                      (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      35.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>75   CONTINUED:                                                         75
</b>

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  You show me after supper.

<b>                               TURNER
</b>                  You can't catch him. He'll take your
                  head off. We're talking 95-mile-an-hour.
                  You know how fast that is? You see the
                  ball leave his hand, and that's the last
                  you see it before it knocks you down.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                         (smiling; happy)
                  Is that right.

<b>76   INT. FRANK'S TEANECK HOUSE - LATER - DAY                           76
</b>
     The wonderful noise continues downstairs as Frank leads his
     mother on a tour of the upstairs. The place is a showroom
     of traditional Americana.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  This is your room.

     Mrs. Lucas is   in awe of the splendor of the bedroom and its
     furnishings.    It's unlike anything she's used ever seen -
     not Graceland   exactly - but not far off. Her eyes settle on
     an old vanity   dotted with French perfume bottles.

<b>                               MRS. LUCAS
</b>                  How did you ...

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  I had it made. From memory.
<b>                               MRS. LUCAS
</b>                  You were five when they took it away.
                  How could you remember it?

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                  I remember.

     She's stunned. Touches the reproduction of the vanity her
     son last saw more than thirty years ago.

<b>                               MRS. LUCAS
</b>                  It's perfect.
                         (looks at the room)
                  It's all perfect.
                         (she looks at him)
                  I'm so proud of you.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                 36.
</b><b>                           
</b>



<b>77   EXT. HUDSON RIVER - DAY                                       77
</b>
     The Statue of Liberty against the New York skyline.

<b>                            FRANK V/O
</b>               The man I worked for ran one of the
               biggest companies in New York City for
               almost fifty years.

<b>78   EXT. HARLEM - DAY                                             78
</b>
     As Frank leads his brothers down the sidewalk, the Towncar
     that was parked at the Teaneck house, driven by Frank's body-
     guard, Doc, follows alongside at the same pace they walk.

<b>                            FRANK
</b>               I was with him every day for fifteen of
               them, looking after him, taking care of
               things, protecting him, learning from
               him.

     The brothers can't help but notice the storekeepers who wave
     to Frank, the women who smile, the men who step out of his
     path like there's a red carpet under his polished shoes.

<b>                            FRANK
</b>               Bumpy was rich, but never white   man rich.
               Why? Because he didn't own the    company.
               He thought he did. He didn't.     He only
               managed it. Someone else owned    it. So
               they owned him.

<b>79   INT/EXT. REDTOP'S APARTMENT BUILDING - HARLEM - DAY           79
</b>     Frank leads his brothers up the stairs and down the hall.

<b>                            FRANK
</b>               Nobody owns me. Because I own my
               company.

     INTERCUT: Feminine hands stamp small packets of blue
     cellophane with the words `Blue Magic' -

<b>                            FRANK
</b>               And my company sells a product that's
               better than the competition's at a price
               that's lower.

     Frank stops outside an apartment door.

<b>                            TEDDY
</b>               What are we selling, Frank?

<b>                                                                 (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     37.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>79   CONTINUED:                                                        79
</b>

     Frank pushes the door open, revealing -

<b>80   INT. REDTOP'S APARTMENT - CONTINUOUS - DAY                        80
</b>
     Five naked women at work tables, their faces veiled by
     surgical masks, cutting heroin with lactose and quinine in a
     precise mixture of controlled purity. The Lucas brothers
     stare as the supervisor of the activity - clothed, with red
     hair - comes over.

<b>                               REDTOP
</b>                  Hi, Frank.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  Honey, these are my brothers.

<b>81   EXT. HARLEM - LATER - DAY                                         81
</b>
     Tango strolls down the street like he's the Godfather of
     Harlem, girl on his arm, bodyguard at his side.

<b>82   INT. DINER - SAME TIME                                            82
</b>
     As his brothers eat lunch, Frank - who can see Tango outside
     - uncaps a glass sugar container.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  What matters in business is honesty,
                  integrity, hard work, loyalty, and never
                  forgetting where you came from.

     For reasons his brothers can't imagine, Frank empties all
     sugar from the container onto his plate.
<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  You are what you are and that's one of
                  two things. You're nothing ... or you're
                  something. Understand what I'm saying?

     The brothers nod tentatively, stare at the now-empty glass
     container. Frank wipes his mouth with a napkin, gets up.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  I'll be right back.

<b>83   EXT/INT. DINER - MOMENTS LATER                                    83
</b>
     He comes out of the diner, crosses the street toward Tango,
     who's buying fruit. Greets him cheerfully -

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  Hey, Tango, what's up.    I was just
                  thinking about you.
<b>                               (MORE)
</b><b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    38.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>83   CONTINUED:                                                       83
</b><b>                               FRANK (CONT'D)
</b>                  I was looking at the jar and you know
                  what? I didn't    see nothing in it.

<b>                               TANGO
</b>                  The fuck you want, Frank -

     Before the last word is out of Tango's mouth, Frank's got a
     gun pressed against his forehead. Silence. Everyone backs
     away - the bodyguard, too. Tango's girl pulls her arm from
     his and takes off. Eventually -

<b>                               TANGO
</b>                  What're you going to do, boy? Shoot me
                  in broad daylight? In front of everyone?

     It's as if life on the street has stopped. No one moves;
     everyone is looking at Frank; maybe that's what he wants.
     As Tango laughs at the thought -

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  Yeah, that's right.

     Frank pulls the trigger and the big man falls back like
     someone hit with a board. Frank stands over him and empties
     the gun in his chest, the shots echoing down the street.

     Then it's quiet again. Everyone's still looking him, but
     Frank doesn't run. Instead, he calmly reaches into Tango's
     suit pocket, takes out a money clip thick with cash, drops
     it in the "jar" and sets it next to the body.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  For the cops. Should be enough.

     Frank returns to the diner and sits back down, ignoring the
     astonished stares from his brothers and everyone else in the
     place. Tries to remember where he was in his lecture as he
     tucks the napkin back in his shirt collar.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  That basically's the whole picture right
                  there.

<b>84   INT. MORGUE - NIGHT                                              84
</b>
     A cadaver drawer slides open revealing - not Tango - but
     Rivera, staring up lifeless, his arms, stomach, legs and                
     toes dotted with the scabs of a longtime addict.

<b>                               DETECTIVE
</b>                  Did you know his girlfriend? Good-
                  looking girl. One of his informants.


<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    39.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>84   CONTINUED:                                                       84
</b>

<b>                              RICHIE
</b>                  Beth.

     The medical examiner slides open another cadaver drawer
     containing her body. Richie stares at it.

<b>                               DETECTIVE
</b>                  Should've seen their place.    Like animals
                  lived there.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  I have seen it.

<b>                               DETECTIVE
</b>                         (to the examiner)
                  Chose a good night, huh?   Grand Central
                  Station in here.

<b>                               MEDICAL EXAMINER
</b>                  It's been like this. I'm lucky I get
                  home before midnight; lots of careless-
                  ness.

     Richie regards Rivera's personal effects resting on his                 
     chest in a plastic bag: few bucks, the Corvette key, a half-
     empty packet of heroin in blue cellophane. Richie takes the
     blue cellophane from the bag and, as the drawer closes
     entombing Sanders, holds it in his hand ...

<b>                               REPORTER V/O
</b>                  Heroin addiction is no longer exclusive
                  to big city neighborhoods; it's epidemic -

<b>85   TIME CUT.    A TELEVISION:                                       85
</b>     The reports shows lawmakers on Capitol Hill juxtaposed
     against images of inner-cities, junkies, homicide victims
     and, perhaps most telling, white suburbia.

<b>                               REPORTER ON TV
</b>                  Since 1965, law enforcement has watched
                  its steady increase and with it a rise in
                  violent crime. Now unaccountably, it has
                  exploded, reaching into cities as a whole
                  - our suburbs and towns - our schools.

<b>     INT. POLICE GYM - DAY
</b>
     The TV is in a small police gym where Richie lifts weights,
     very much aware of his pariah status as out-of-shape cops               
     come in, only to leave again when they see him.


<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    40.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>     CONTINUED:
</b>

<b>                               REPORTER ON TV
</b>                  Someone is finally saying: enough.
                  Federal authorities have announced their
                  intention to establish special narcotics
                  bureaus in Washington, New York, Los
                  Angeles, Chicago, Boston, Newark and
                  other major cities -

     Toback comes in, watches Richie, alone, working out.

<b>                               RICHIE V/O
</b>                  It's a dog and pony show.                                  

<b>                               TOBACK V/O
</b>                  It's not being advertised as one.

<b>86   INT. POLICE GYM - LATER - DAY                                    86     
</b>
     Richie's changing into his street clothes.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  But it's federal. I'd have to answer
                  to who? FBI?

<b>                               TOBACK
</b>                  Me and the U.S. Attorney. No one else.
                  No FBI. Hoover knows better than to mix
                  his men with dope. Too much temptation
                  for the feeble-minded.

     Though he's not in much of a position to refuse the
     assignment, Richie still isn't convinced it's a good idea.
     Toback levels with him -
<b>                               TOBACK
</b>                  Richie, a detective who doesn't have
                  the cooperation of his fellow detectives
                  can't be effective.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  You know why I don't have it.

<b>                               TOBACK
</b>                  Doesn't matter.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  No, they're all on the take and I'm not                    
                  and it doesn't matter to anyone. Instead
                  of giving you a medal for turning in
                  money, they bury you.



<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    41.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>86   CONTINUED:                                                       86
</b>

<b>                               TOBACK
</b>                  It's fucked up. You're right. Maybe                        
                  this's an opportunity away from all that.                  

     They regard each other.    Eventually -

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  I'll do it, but only like this: I
                  don't set foot in a police station again.
                  I work out of a place of my own. And I
                  pick my own guys. Guys I know wouldn't
                  take a nickel off the sidewalk.

<b>                               TOBACK
</b>                  Done.

<b>87   EXT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - DAY                           87
</b>
     An old building that was once an Episcopal church.

<b>88   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - DAY                           88
</b>
     The place has been long abandoned. The city maintenance
     worker who let Richie in watches him move through the debris-
     strewn church.

<b>89   INT. PENTHOUSE - NEW YORK - DAY                                  89
</b>
     A real estate broker watches Frank consider the high-
     ceilinged spaciousness of a grand, unfurnished 50's modern
     Upper East Side penthouse -

<b>90   INT. BASEMENT - NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - DAY                         90
</b>     Richie regards the colored light thrown down by the stained
     glass windows -

<b>91   INT. PENTHOUSE - NEW YORK - DAY                                  91
</b>
     Frank regards light streaming in from the garden terrace -

<b>92   INT. MAIN FLOOR - NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - DAY                       92
</b>
     Richie picks up a faded photograph of a priest in a broken
     frame. To the maintenance man:

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  This is the only floor we'll be using.

<b>93   INT. PENTHOUSE - NEW YORK - DAY                                  93
</b>
     Frank distractedly opens and closes a 12' high curtain in
     one of the rooms -
<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    42.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>93   CONTINUED:                                                       93
</b>

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  No loan, no contingencies.    Cash sale.

<b>94   EXT. SMALL'S PARADISE - NIGHT                                    94
</b>
     Wet streets and neon. Well-dressed crowd behind a velvet
     rope outside the club. The Apollo in the background: James
     Brown on the marquee.

<b>95   INT. SMALL'S PARADISE - NIGHT                                    95
</b>
     A still-powerful older man in a nice suit rises from his
     chair to wild applause. From the stage -

<b>                               SINGER
</b>                  Mr. Joe Louis, ladies and gentlemen.

     Joe bows graciously, gives a little wave to the crowd, and
     sits back down as the band starts up again.

     At another table, Frank sits with Charlie Williams and
     Rossi, slightly older dope men. Like Frank, they favor
     expensive tailored suits. Their dates, too, are nicely
     dressed - not too much make-up or jewelry. Frank's glance
     moves from Joe Louis and his wife to a beautiful young woman
     at the table.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  Who's the beauty queen?

<b>                               CHARLIE
</b>                  She is a beauty queen.    No kidding.
                  Miss Puerto Rico.
     Her glance crosses Frank's briefly but is yanked to the
     entrance of the club when Frank's brothers come in with
     their wives and girlfriends. Teddy's in a parrot green
     suit, gold chains, hat, acting like he owns the place.

<b>96   INT. BACK ROOM - SMALL'S PARADISE - LATER                        96
</b>
     Frank hustles Teddy into an empty back room.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  What is this?

     He turns Teddy so he's facing a mirror.

<b>                               TEDDY
</b>                  What. These are clothes.     This is a very
                  nice (suit) -


<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    43.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>96   CONTINUED:                                                       96
</b>

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  I'm wearing clothes. These are clothes.
                  Those -
                         (Teddy's in the mirror)
                  - are a costume. With a sign on it that
                  says Arrest me. You look like fuckin
                  Jackie Fox.

<b>                               TEDDY
</b>                  What's wrong with Jackie.    I like Jackie.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  You like Jackie? You want to be
                  Superfly? Go work for him, end up in a
                  cell with him.

     Teddy pulls himself from Frank's grasp. Smooths his shirt,
     adjusts his hat. Frank tries to explain to him:

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  The guy making all the noise in the room
                  is the weak one. That's not who you want
                  to be.

<b>                               TEDDY
</b>                  He wants to talk to you by the way.     I
                  told him I'd tell you.

     Frank stares at his brother's reflection in the mirror.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  You and Jackie were talking about me?

<b>                               TEDDY
</b>                  Not about you. We were talking. He said
                  he wanted to talk to you about something.

     Frank clearly wants nothing to do with Jackie Fox.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  I'm taking you shopping tomorrow.

<b>                               TEDDY
</b>                  I went shopping today.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  You go shopping every day.    Like a girl.

<b>97   EXT. SMALL'S PARADISE - LATER - NIGHT                            97
</b>
     A creme Bentley pulls up and out pour Jackie Fox and his
     entourage.

<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     44.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>97   CONTINUED:                                                        97
</b>
     He's got an armful of New York Times Magazines -with him on
     the cover, flaunting Gangster Chic. He starts handing them
     out to the crowd on his way into the club.

<b>98   INT. SMALL'S PARADISE - CONTINUOUS - NIGHT                        98
</b>
     Joe Louis has come over to speak to Frank at his table.

<b>                               JOE LOUIS
</b>                  It's a tax thing. It's a mistake my
                  lawyers will straighten out, but for the
                  time being it's a headache -

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  How much you owe?

<b>                               JOE LOUIS
</b>                  It's nothing, like - fifty grand.

     Frank isn't sure if it's an honor or a curse to have a
     celebrity like Joe Louis asking to borrow money, but nods.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                  Sure.   Don't worry about it.

<b>                                JOE LOUIS
</b>                  Thank you.   I'll pay you back soon as -

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  Joe. It's a gift. Not a loan.       You
                  don't owe me nothing.

     Jackie glides into the club with his magazines and
     entourage. Frank watches him make the rounds, lingering at
     Miss Puerto Rico's table and holding her hand longer than he
     should with his girlfriend on his arm. Frank glances to
     Teddy wearily, then to Doc, alone at the next table like a
     sentry. Frank doesn't have to say he's ready to leave. Doc
     knows the look. Gets up.

<b>99   INT. SMALL'S PARADISE - LATER - NIGHT                             99
</b>
     Frank comes into the coat check area where Doc waits with
     his overcoat. As Frank slips into it, Miss Puerto Rico -
     returning from the ladies room - comes through.

<b>                                ANA
</b>                  Hi.   I'm Ana.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                  I'm Frank.



<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     45.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>99    CONTINUED:                                                       99
</b>

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   You're Frank and this is your place.
                          (he doesn't say whether
                           it is or not)
                   Why's it called Small's? Why don't you
                   call it Frank's?

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Because I don't have to.

      He smiles, and it's hard to tell which is more enchanted
      with the other.

<b>100   INT. NIGHTCLUB - NEWARK - SAME TIME - NIGHT                     100
</b>
      A club across the river. Not nearly as nice as Small's -
      much louder - but like Small's, almost all black. Richie
      shares a booth with a black undercover detective.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I'm reluctant to bring anyone in I
                   don't personally know.

<b>                                SPEARMAN
</b>                   You know me, and I vouch for them.

      Richie nods, Yeah, he knows that, but remains unconvinced.

<b>                                SPEARMAN
</b>                   Richie, we work together. You want me,
                   you got to take them, too.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Where are they?
      Spearman looks out across the crowded dance floor.

<b>                                SPEARMAN
</b>                   That's Jones. With the skinny white
                   woman.

      Richie's glance finds a young black man dancing wildly with
      his skinny white date.

<b>                                SPEARMAN
</b>                   That's Abruzzo, with the fat black one.

      Richie sees a young Italian with tatoos - the only other
      white man in the place - dancing with a heavy black woman.
      Both Jones and Abruzzo look more like criminals than cops.



<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      46.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>100   CONTINUED:                                                      100
</b>

<b>                                SPEARMAN
</b>                   Both are good with wires. Have good
                   informants. They're honest. And they're
                   fearless. They'll do anything. They're
                   insane, Richie, like you.

<b>101   INT. FRANK'S CAR - MOVING - NEW YORK - DAY                       101
</b>
      Frank sits in back alone. Peers ahead through the
      windshield. His face relaxes as he sees -

<b>102   EXT. RIVERSIDE - DAY                                             102
</b>
      Ana waiting on a corner, dressed nice, handbag.         The Towncar
      pulls to the curb.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I got it.

      Frank gets out before Doc can, and escorts Ana to the car.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I hope you weren't waiting long. A
                   woman as beautiful as you shouldn't have
                   to wait for anything.

      He opens the door for her like a perfect gentleman, slides
      in after her.

<b>103   EXT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - DAY                      103
</b>
      Outside the house, Doc sits in the car reading a newspaper.

<b>104   INT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - DAY                      104
</b>      Ana considers some family photographs on a mantle.

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   This is your father?

      Frank shakes his head no.       It's a picture of Bumpy.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   You really don't know who that is?
                          (she doesn't)
                   It's Martin Luther King.

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   It is not.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   You're right. He was as important as Dr.
                   King, though.
<b>                                                                      (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     47.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>104   CONTINUED:                                                     104
</b>

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   What'd he do?

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   A lot of things. He had a lot of
                   friends. He served New York and it
                   served him.

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   What was he to you?

      Frank has to think.     Bumpy was more than his employer.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Teacher.

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   What'd he teach you?

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   How to take my time ... how if you're
                   going to do something, do it with care
                   ... do it with love.

      And it's working here.     It's seductive.

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   Anything else?

<b>      FLASHCUTS -
</b>
      Sudden bursts of violence - guys beat up - others shot - one
      being poured with gasoline as Bumpy looks on calmly -
<b>      BACK TO FRANK'S LIVING ROOM
</b>
      The same calm, benign face in the photograph.        Frank nods.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   How be a gentleman.

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   That's what you are?

      Ana smiles like she knows better. Any second now, like
      every other guy she's ever met, she's sure he'll try to take
      her upstairs.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I got five different apartments in the
                   city I could've taken you to. I brought
                   you here instead -

<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                          48.
</b><b>                                    
</b><b>           CONTINUED:
</b>

           Ana glances to the stairs which Frank's mother is coming
           down.

<b>                                    FRANK
</b>                        To meet my mother.

<b>                                     MRS. LUCAS
</b>                        Is this her? Oh, she's beautiful,
                        Frank. Look at her. She's an angel
                        come down from heaven.

           Mrs. Lucas embraces Ana like family.

<b>105 OMIT                                                            105 OMIT
</b>
<b>106        INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - DAY                          106
</b>
           A single, half-empty packet of heroin, the same one from the
           morgue, in distinctive blue cellophane, tacked to a bulletin
           board. Richie, perched on a desk in front of it.

<b>                                     RICHIE
</b>                        Our mandate is to make major arrests.
                        No street guys - we want the suppliers -
                        the distributors.

           Spearman, Jones and Abruzzo sit in the back, looking like
           delinquent students. Of everyone in the open ground-floor
           that's been only slightly renovated - and there are about
           fifteen of them - they're the most disreputable-looking.

<b>                                     RICHIE
</b>                        Heroin, cocaine, amphetamines. No
                        grass under a thousand pounds. Less than                   
                        that, someone else can waste their time.

           Jones nudges Abruzzo to pay attention. Abruzzo elbows him
           back. Richie just waits like a teacher for their attention.

<b>                                     RICHIE
</b>                        We'll be handling big shipments, big
                        money, big temptation.
                               (Jones raises his hand)
                        Yeah.

<b>                                     JONES
</b>                        There's a story about you. About
                        turning in some money. A lot of money.
                        Is it true?

           Jones isn't the only one here curious to know.        Simply:


<b>                                                                          (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     49.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>106   CONTINUED:                                                     106
</b>

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   It's not true.                                           

<b>107   INT/EXT. CAR / STREET - NEWARK - DAY                            107
</b>
      Abruzzo, looking like a junkie, dirty jeans, wool cap,
      approaches a dealer on the corner. The perspective shifts
      to Richie, Spearman and Jones in a car, watching as Abruzzo
      chats briefly with the dealer before the exchange takes
      place: $10 for a blue-cellophane packet.

<b>108   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - LATER - DAY                  108
</b>
      Richie and the others watch Jones tests the heroin.

<b>                                JONES
</b>                   Stuff's ten percent pure. Strong
                   enough to smoke for all those suburban
                   white kids afraid of needles.

      The other detectives are exchange a glance.       None has ever
      heard of anything on the street that pure.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   You paid ten bucks for it?

<b>                                JONES
</b>                   And it's all that's out there.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Now, how is that possible? Who can
                   afford to sell shit twice as good for
                   half as much?
      Richie glances to a Table of Organization: Surveillance
      photos haphazardly thumb-tacked to a bulletin board - known
      dope men in the hierarchies of their individual crime
      families - almost all of them Italian.

<b>      WOMB TO TOMB SEQUENCE:
</b>
      An R & B song begins and continues over -

<b>109   CLOSE-UPS:                                                      109
</b>
      A poppy bulb being pierced, the white liquid oozing,
      changing into filthy liquids in wooden bowls, and finally
      a gray paste ...

<b>110   INT. BANK VICE PRESIDENT'S OFFICE - CHEMICAL BANK - DAY 110
</b>
      Frank sits with the bank Vice President who wires a transfer
      to:
<b>
</b><b>                                                                  50.
</b><b>                            
</b>



<b>111   INT. BANGKOK BANK - DAY                                      111
</b>
      Where Nate sits with the same Thai bank president as before
      who converts the transfer to cash.

<b>112   INT. SOUL BROTHERS BAR - BANGKOK - DAY                       112
</b>
      Nate slides cash across a table to a couple of Chinese
      gangsters.

<b>113   EXT. JUNGLE ARMY BASE - VIETNAM - DAY                        113
</b>
      A tent: Nate hands more cash - the military brass's cut -
      to the 2-star general from before.

      An airstrip: Slicing propellers. Wounded soldiers on
      stretchers, helped onto a transport plane. Nearby, four
      large crates - Japanese TVs - under cargo netting. The
      pilot stuffs more cash in a pouch and salutes Nate.

<b>114   TV IMAGE:                                                    114
</b>
      General Westmoreland returns a salute (archive).

<b>115   EXT. ARMY BASE - NORTH CAROLINA - DUSK                       115
</b>
      The same plane on the tarmac here, taxiing. A pile of
      discarded TV boxes outside a supply warehouse.

      At the perimeter of the base, black servicemen transfer
      heavy taped-up duffel bags from an Army Jeep to a station
      wagon, hoisting those that won't fit inside onto a roof
      rack. Two Lucas brothers tie them down with twine.
<b>116   INT/EXT. CAR / HIGHWAY - NEAR WASHINGTON DC - DUSK           116
</b>
      The station wagon heading north on a rain-slicked highway,
      the canvas tarpaulin on top flapping. In the distance, the
      spire of the Washington monument glows.

<b>117   EXT. DISCOUNT DRUGSTORE - HARLEM - DAY                       117
</b>
      A black woman pushes a shopping cart containing a baby,
      Pampers, and cases of milk sugar across a parking lot.

<b>118   INT. RED TOP'S APARTMENT - HARLEM - DAY                      118
</b>
      Empty milk sugar boxes. Redtop and her five table workers
      - clothed now, the surgical masks dangling from their necks -
      wiping down table surfaces, scales and apparatus. Tens of
      thousands of blue-cellophane packets of heroin neatly cover
      two of the folding tables.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                  51.
</b><b>                            
</b>



<b>119   EXT. HARLEM STREET - DAY                                     119
</b>
      August. Hot. Kids wrench open a fire hydrant and with an
      empty soda can direct the water into a fountain. The water
      sprays down onto the windshield of a beat-up Chevy coming
      slowly through, revealing when it clears, Frank behind the
      wheel. He parks. Glances at his watch.

<b>120   INT. NYPD 23RD PRECINCT - LOCKER ROOM - DAY                  120
</b>
      Clock on the wall of a locker area: 3:58. Shift change.
      Cops in t-shirts. Fans blowing the humid air around.

<b>121   INT/EXT. NYPD 23RD PRECINCT GARAGE - DAY                     121
</b>
      Blue and whites arriving and leaving, shirts coming off as
      the cops alight.

<b>122   INT. BUS - MOVING ON 116TH STREET - DAY                      122
</b>
      The driver checks his watch:   3:59.   Turns his almost-empty
      bus up 8th Avenue.

<b>123   INT/EXT. FRANK'S PARKED CHEVY - HARLEM - DAY                 123
</b>
      Air conditioner full blast. Radio announcing the time: 4
      o'clock. Frank glances out the wet windshield of the Chevy
      and watches 116th Street transform:

      It's as if an outdoor market has just opened its stalls.
      Junkies and dealers emerging from the alleys, storefronts,
      tenements and side streets - from the street itself it seems
      - snarling the cars and delivery trucks caught unaware.
      Small blue cellophane packets - and only blue - are pulled
      from pockets and change hands. In alleyways it's cooked up
      and sucked into syringes, and in dank, grim, indescribably
      filthy rooms, plunged into veins -

<b>124   AND THE REVERSE:                                             124
</b>
      10 and 20 dollar bills changing hands - decks of cash
      rubber-banded together - put into envelopes and delivered
      to the Lucas brothers, to:

125   LESTER at his metal door shop.                               125

126   EUGENE at his dry cleaners.                                  126

127   TURNER at his tire service shop.                             127

128   EARL at his electrical shop.                                 128

<b>                                                                  (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      52.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>123   CONTINUED:                                                      123
</b>

129   TEDDY at his body shop.                                          129

<b>130   INT. REDTOP'S APARTMENT - DAY                                    130
</b>
      Piles of cash.    The brothers try counting it all, but it's
      just too much.    It's actually tiring.

<b>                                TEDDY
</b>                   We're going to be here all night if we
                   count every bill.

      TIME CUT: A money-counting machine flips through the
      bills, its counter flying. The brothers rubberband it all
      in $100,000 decks. Jot down the numbers. Put the money
      in newly-assembled file boxes. Tape them shut.

<b>131   INT. CHEMICAL BANK - SAFETY-DEPOSIT ROOM - DAY                   131
</b>
      Alone in the room, Frank transfers stacks of $100's from the
      file boxes into several open safety-deposit boxes.

<b>132   INT. FRANK'S PENTHOUSE APARTMENT - NIGHT                         132
</b>
      The penthouse is now richly decorated. The R & B music
      playing through a state-of-the-art stereo system. It's a
      kind of office party for Frank's brothers, cousins, wives
      and girlfriends, distributors like Rossi and other East
      Harlem guys, Charlie Williams, couple of cops on Frank's
      payroll, and the Chemical Bank Vice President.

<b>                                BANKER
</b>                   You got a stockbroker, Frank?

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I deal with enough crooks as it is.

      The banker jots down a name and phone number on the back of
      one of his business cards.

<b>                                BANKER
</b>                   This one couldn't be more honest. Ask
                   around. He's got a lot of clients in the
                   business. You can't leave all your money
                   in safety deposit boxes; give him a call.

      The banker hands him the card and moves on. Frank's trying
      to have a good time, but the level of noise and revelry is
      beginning to make him uncomfortable.

<b>                                 CHARLIE
</b>                   Frank.   This is Mike Sibota.

      Sibota tries not to look as nervous as he feels.
<b>                                                                      (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       53.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>132   CONTINUED:                                                       132
</b>

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                   Mr. Sibota.   What can I get you?

<b>                                SIBOTA
</b>                   A left-hander from what Charlie tells me.
                   Your nephew?

      Frank points to his nephew, Stevie, across the room.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   It's been his dream all his life to play
                   for the Yankees - and he's good enough.

<b>                                SIBOTA
</b>                   So I hear. You have him come see me.
                   We'll give him a try-out.

      As the scout hands his card to Frank, we whip over to where
      Teddy, his driver Jimmy Racine and their girlfriends, coked
      up, are laughing as a black cop, flashing his detective's
      shield, pretends to frisk Jimmy.

<b>                                DETECTIVE
</b>                   What's this?
                          (taking a .45 from Jimmy's
                           pocket)
                   Oh, that's it, I'm taking you in.

<b>                                JIMMY
</b>                          (joking)
                   You can't take me in for that, I got       a
                   license for that, motherfucker.

<b>                                DETECTIVE
</b>                          (gives the gun back)
                   This then -
                          (the pile of coke on the
                           coffee table)
                   But first -

      The cop sucks up a line before pretending to cuff Jimmy.

<b>                                DETECTIVE
</b>                   All right, now I'm arresting you.

      Everybody laughs.    Teddy peels $100's from a money clip.

<b>                                 TEDDY
</b>                   Let him go.   This is for you.

<b>                                DETECTIVE
</b>                   What is that, a bribe?     Oh, now you're
                   all under arrest.
<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     54.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>132   CONTINUED:                                                     132
</b>

      The cop pretends to arrest them all, but what he doesn't
      pretend is the hand he puts on Jimmy's girlfriend's breast
      as he frisks her.

<b>                                JIMMY
</b>                   What is that?

      It was quick but Jimmy saw it, even though his girlfriend
      didn't react. The cop, oblivious, is cuffing Teddy now.

<b>                                DETECTIVE
</b>                   I'm taking you all in.

<b>                                JIMMY
</b>                   I said, what the fuck was that?

<b>                                DETECTIVE
</b>                   What was what?

      The room explodes with a boom and the detective crumples to
      the floor, clutching at his leg, blood running through his
      fingers onto the carpet. Frank stares.

<b>                                JIMMY
</b>                   Oh, he's all right. I just shot him in
                   the leg. You got a health plan, what are
                   you complaining about. He's fine. Here -
                          (peels off some money)
                   Five hundred all right? Six? Look, he's
                   feeling better all the time.

      Suddenly, Frank grabs Jimmy and throws him against the wall.

<b>133   INT. FRANK'S PENTHOUSE APARTMENT - NIGHT                        133
</b>      As Ana tries to clean the blood stain on the rug with salt
      and soda water, Frank sits with his five brothers in the
      debris-strewn aftermath of the party. Silence before:

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I can't have this kind of stupidity.

<b>                                TEDDY
</b>                   It was an accident.   He feels terrible
                   about it.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   He doesn't feel shit, coked up all the
                   time. Get rid of him.




<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                        55.
</b><b>                                  
</b><b>133   CONTINUED:                                                        133
</b>

<b>                               TEDDY
</b>                   Frank. He's your cousin. What's he
                   gonna do? Go back home? I'll talk to
                   him. I'll straighten him out.

      Frank looks at Teddy in his tinted Jackie Fox-like goggle
      glasses - like he's going to straighten anybody out.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Gimme those glasses.

<b>                                  TEDDY
</b>                   What?   Why?

      Frank pulls them from Teddy's face and crushes them.

<b>134   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - DAY                             134
</b>
      Richie sifts through the morning mail at his desk. Stops                   
      on an envelope from the New Jersey Bar Association. As he                  
      works up the nerve to open it, Spearman, Jones and Abruzzo                 
      organize the Italian wise guys' photos on the T.O.                         

<b>                                JONES
</b>                   Ice Pick Paul goes here -

<b>                                ABRUZZO
</b>                   No, he's under Benny Two-Socks -

<b>                                JONES
</b>                   No, you're thinking of Benny the Bishop.
                   Benny Two-Socks is Tosca's deadbeat son-                      
                   in-law.
<b>                                SPEARMAN
</b>                   Jonesy's right.                                               

      Richie comes over, studies the Table of Organization a                     
      moment, then begins untacking the photos from the top down -               

<b>                                JONES
</b>                   What're you doing?     We just -

<b>                                RICHIE                                           
</b>                   For a cop the uppermost thing is the                          
                   arrest. For a prosecutor, the arrest is                       
                   nothing without the evidence to convict.                      
                   We don't have any real evidence on anyone                     
                   on this board, so they're coming down.                        
                   We're starting over from the street.                          



<b>                                                                        (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     56.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>134   CONTINUED:                                                     134
</b>

<b>                                ABRUZZO                                       
</b>                   What are you, a prosecutor all of a                        
                   sudden?                                                    

      Richie tacks his exam results onto the T.O.       He passed.            

<b>135   EXT. STREET - NEWARK - DAY                                      135     
</b>
      Richie and the Amigos observe a buy from a parked car, the
      blue cellophane changing hands. Ignoring the buyer as he
      walks away, they keep watching the seller.

<b>136   EXT. GAS STATION / CAR WASH - NEWARK - DAY                      136
</b>
      The seller is observed coming out of a mechanics garage.
      Richie ignores him as he walks away, watching instead the
      garage. Eventually, a mechanic wiping his hands on a rag
      steps out, and Richie raises a camera. The image of the
      mechanic - a supplier - freezes -

<b>137   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - DAY                          137
</b>
      A slightly-blurred photo of the mechanic goes up on a new,
      almost bare Table of Organization.                                      

<b>138   EXT. GAS STATION / CAR WASH - NEWARK - DAY                      138     
</b>
      Atop of a telephone pole, Abruzzo, dripping with lineman                
      equipment, works to attach a `slave' to the lines -                     

<b>139   INT. STOREFRONT APARTMENT - DAY                                 139
</b>
      Bare room. Richie, Jones and Spearman eating take-out food
      as tape recorder reels turn.
<b>                                PHONE VOICE
</b>                   Those snow tires you give me last time
                   come in yet? I'm going to want some more
                   of them, gimme one and a half more of
                   them.

      The detectives laugh.

<b>140   INT. PROSECUTOR'S OFFICE - DAY                                  140
</b>
      Toback has Richie sign a voucher for $20,000 cash.

<b>                                TOBACK
</b>                   This is more than a year's salary,
                   Richie. If it disappears, I won't be
                   able to get it for you again.


<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     57.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>140   CONTINUED:                                                     140
</b>

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   It'll never be out of my sight.

<b>141   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - DAY                          141
</b>
      Jones tapes a tape recorder the size of a pack of cigarettes
      to Richie's bare chest.

<b>142   INT. GAS STATION GARAGE - DAY                                   142
</b>
      Undercover in a wise guy's cashmere sweater and slacks,
      Richie watches the mechanic count the $10,000 he's given
      him.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   It's got to be `Blue Magic.'

<b>                                MECHANIC
</b>                   Yeah, yeah, it's `Blue.' You can pick
                   it up here tomorrow. Where's the rest of
                   the money?

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   That's half. I'll give you the other
                   half tomorrow when you give -

<b>                                MECHANIC
</b>                   No, no, no, I don't do that.    Go fuck
                   yourself.

      Richie rather reluctantly hands over the rest of the 20K.

<b>143   INT/EXT. SPEARMAN'S CAR - MOVING - NEAR GW BRIDGE - DAY 143
</b>      Spearman watches the pickup truck driven by the mechanic
      change lanes up ahead - heading for the George Washington
      Bridge - and glances over concerned to Richie, who is
      changing the cashmere sweater for an old t-shirt.

<b>                                SPEARMAN
</b>                   He's going into New York.   Are we?

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   What are they going to do, arrest us?

<b>                                SPEARMAN
</b>                   They could. New York cops.     They can
                   do worse than that.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   We're not losing that money.    Go.


<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     58.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>143   CONTINUED:                                                     143
</b>

      As Spearman follows the truck, the George Washington Bridge,
      linking Jersey to Manhattan, looms in the windshield ...

<b>144   EXT. EAST HARLEM STREET - DAY                                   144
</b>
      The pickup pulls to the curb outside a Pleasant Avenue
      grocery store. As the guy enters the place, Spearman's car
      stops long enough for Richie to climb out, and continues on.

      Richie crosses the street, tries to see who the guy is
      talking to inside, but he's just buying a cup of coffee to
      go. Spearman's car turns the corner to circle around the
      block. As soon as it's gone, the man emerges from the
      restaurant with the coffee and walks straight at Richie who
      has to double back quickly not to be seen

      Richie sees a delivery truck double-parked, guys unloading
      crates. Hears a horn and knows it's must be Spearman stuck
      on the side street. The mechanic starts his truck.
      Desperate not to lose him (and his money), Richie hurries               
      over to a taxi stopped at a light, flashes his badge.                   

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                   Get out.

<b>                               TAXI DRIVER
</b>                   What?

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Get the fuck out of the car!

      The driver realizes the man outside his taxi is crazy and
      tries to get his window rolled up. Reaching in, Richie gets
      his arm stuck, pulls at the lock, yanks the door open, drags
      the driver out, breaking the cabbie's arm, and jumps in.

      He swings the cab into opposing lanes to get around traffic,
      screeches around the corner, glimpses the truck far up ahead
      - guns the engine, flies through a red light, glances at his
      mirror at the cars that just missed him almost colliding -

      The truck turns up ahead, and Richie barrels through another
      red light, turns the corner and keeps the truck, a couple
      car-lengths ahead - in sight.

<b>145   EXT. EAST HARLEM - DAY                                          145
</b>
      Richie curbs the cab as the guy goes into a dingy pizza
      parlor. Richie climbs out, crosses the street. Coming past
      the place, he tries to look inside without breaking stride.



<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      59.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>145   CONTINUED:                                                      145
</b>

      From around a corner, striding toward him, come four men
      looking like Gestapo thugs in leather coats, manicured hair -
      the Princes of the City. Richie detours into an alley as
      they enter the restaurant.

      Richie peers in at the restaurant kitchen through a grimy
      basement window. Watches Trupo and his SIU detectives burst
      in, guns drawn. They rough everybody up, get some down on
      the floor. One detective gathers the money and stuffs it in
      a bag. Another gathers the dope. The mechanic tries to
      protest and Trupo slaps him down with his pistol.

      Richie keeps watching as the NY cops arrest no one - but
      take the dope and the money (Richie's money) - and stride
      out as abruptly as they appeared, like bandits. As they
      come past Richie -

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   That's my money.

<b>                                SIU DET 1
</b>                   The fuck are you. What money?

      Richie shows them his Bureau of Narcotics ID.                            

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   The bills are sequenced and registered
                   with the Essex County Prosecutors Office.
                   All begin with CF3500. Take a look.

      One of them checks some of the bills and sees he's right.

<b>                                SIU DET. 2
</b>                   Goddamn it, I thought we had a score.
                   I thought I had a fucking Chris-Craft
                   sitting in my driveway.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Honest mistake. Just give it back to me.

<b>                                SIU DET. 1
</b>                   This time.

      Three of the four cops laugh. It's an affable gang of
      thieves. The one who doesn't laugh hangs back as the others
      start off. He examines Richie's New Jersey ID.                           

<b>                                TRUPO
</b>                   When's the last time I was in Jersey?
                   Let me think. Never. What're you doing
                   coming over here without letting anybody
                   know? You don't know you can get hurt
                   doing that?
<b>                                (MORE)
</b><b>                                                                      (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       60.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>145     CONTINUED:                                                     145
</b><b>                                  TRUPO (CONT'D)
</b>                            (Trupo smiles; Richie smiles)
                     You got your money. Now, never, ever,
                     come into the city again unannounced. You                  
                     come in to see a fuckin Broadway show you
                     call ahead first to see if it's okay with
                     me.

        Trupo pats him on the back and leaves with the others.                  

<b>                                  TOBACK V.O.
</b>                     What do we hate most? Isn't it the
                     transgressions of others we fear we're
                     capable of ourselves?                                      

<b>147 - 148 OMIT                                            147 - 148 OMIT        
</b>
<b>149     INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - LATER - NIGHT                149     
</b>
        It's very late.    Richie and Toback are alone.      Eventually -       

<b>                                  TOBACK                                        
</b>                     Richie - cops are like -

<b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                     Yeah, I know, like everyone else.
                     Some of them will steal no matter what.                    
                     There can be a camera on them they'll do
                     it. Some'll never do it. The rest are                      
                     capable of either, depending how their
                     department leans ... Only theirs isn't
                     leaning, it's fallen over. The patrol                      
                     cars don't even stop in Harlem, just roll                  
                     down the window so the dealers can throw                   
                     the money in. I saw drops made on                          
                     precinct steps.                                            
<b>                                  TOBACK
</b>                     What were you doing there?

<b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                     It's where this dope is coming from.                       
                     Blue Magic. Out of New York. What am
                     I supposed to do, ignore it?

<b>                                  TOBACK
</b>                     The cab driver's filed aggravated assault                  
                     and grand theft charges -                                  

<b>                                  RICHIE                                        
</b>                     He wouldn't stop. Motherfucker almost                      
                     ran me over.                                               



<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                          61.
</b><b>                                    
</b><b>149     CONTINUED:                                                        149
</b>

<b>                                  TOBACK                                          
</b>                     - which he may reconsider depending on                       
                     the amount the State of New Jersey offers                    
                     to settle -                                                  

<b>                                  RICHIE                                          
</b>                     I told him I was a cop.      I showed him my                 
                     identification.                                              

<b>                                  TOBACK                                          
</b>                     You stole his cab and broke his arm.                         

<b>                                  RICHIE                                          
</b>                     I was chasing your 20 thousand dollars.                      

<b>                                  TOBACK                                          
</b>                     I don't want to hear about you going
                     into New York anymore.

<b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                     Then my investigation's over.

<b>                                  TOBACK
</b>                     You're not listening to me. I said:
                     I don't want to hear about it ... You do
                     whatever you have to do, go wherever you
                     have to go to find out who's bringing
                     this shit into the country ... Just don't
                     tell me.
                            (turns to leave)
                     Get some sleep.                                              
<b>A150 - 152 OMIT                                       A150 - 152 OMIT             
</b>
<b>AA153   INT. RICHIE'S APARTMENT - MORNING                                 AA153   
</b>        Richie - in robe and underwear - opens the door to find a                 
        woman in the hall holding a briefcase.                                    

<b>                                    VIDA                                          
</b>                     Mr. Roberts?    I'm here for our                             
                     appointment.                                                 

        He has no idea who the black woman is. An old girlfriend                  
        he's forgotten maybe. Behind him, Vida can see a stewardess               
        buttoning up her uniform by a little travel case on wheels.               
        The apartment itself, she can also see, is a mess.                        

<b>                                  VIDA                                            
</b>                     From Child Social Services?                                  

<b>A153 - 155 OMIT                                             A153 - 155 OMIT
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                   62.
</b><b>                             
</b>



<b>156   EXT/INT. TONY ZACA'S BACKYARD & POOL HOUSE - DAY              156     
</b>
      Barbecue after their Sunday softball game. Richie and his
      O.C. friends - wise guys - still in their brown and orange
      Weequahie jerseys, drinking beer, cooking hamburgers.

<b>                             TONY
</b>                When you asked me to be your son's
                godfather, I took it very seriously.

<b>                             RICHIE
</b>                I know.

      Richie and Tony Zaca relax in the den-like pool house.

<b>                             TONY
</b>                I said yes, I'd take on this
                responsibility, take care of your son,
                God forbid something happened to you -

<b>                             RICHIE
</b>                Tony, the things she's telling Child
                Social Services make me look very bad:
                Out all night. Lowlife informants
                hanging around.   Women -

<b>                             TONY
</b>                Old friends like me.

      Richie feels horrible doing this.    Silence.   Then:

<b>                             TONY
</b>                It's all right. I understand. They
                ask me, I'll tell them what you want me
                to tell them. I'll lie for you.

<b>                             RICHIE
</b>                Thank you.

      Tony nods, You're welcome.    Can tell there's something else
      on Richie's mind.

<b>                             TONY
</b>                What.

<b>                             RICHIE
</b>                You don't have to talk about it, you
                don't want. What do you hear about Blue
                Magic? Anything?

<b>                             TONY
</b>                A lot of sorrow and misery from guys
                being put out of business. That's all.
<b>                                                                   (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     63.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>156   CONTINUED:                                                     156
</b>

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Nothing about who's bringing it in?

<b>                                TONY
</b>                   Guys down south is all I heard.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Down south, Florida?   Cubans?   What.

<b>                                TONY
</b>                   I don't know. All I can tell you is
                   whoever it is, they're upsetting the
                   natural order of things.

      Among the framed family photos around them, is a picture
      of Tony's uncle, Albert Tosca.

<b>157   EXT. LIVINGSTON, NEW JERSEY - DAY                               157
</b>
      A Napoleonic statue of the same man on horseback in a
      fountain outside a castle-like mansion. Next to it "ride"
      three others on marble horses - a woman and two children.

<b>                               TOSCA
</b>                   Pull -

      A clay pigeon sails out across the manicured garden. A
      shotgun blast shatters it. The man with the gun - Albert
      Tosca - hands another to Frank. As Frank sets to shoot, Ana
      can seen behind them, with Tosca's wife in the opulent
      house, looking uncomfortable.

<b>                                MRS. TOSCA
</b>                   The whole place was imported brick by
                   brick from Gloucestershire.

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   It's very nice.

      Mrs. Tosca nods. Ana nods. A strained silence thicker than
      the tapestries settles over them until -

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                   Pull -

      The shotgun booms -

<b>158   INT. TOSCA'S MANSION - LATER - DAY                              158
</b>
      As servants stand by, Tosca and his wife and their only
      guests - Frank and Ana - finished with lunch, get up from
      the table in the formal Formal dining room.

<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      64.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>158   CONTINUED:                                                      158
</b>
      As Mrs. Tosca leads Ana off to give her a tour of the house,
      the men head off the other way.

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   She's a lovely girl.    You should marry
                   her.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Too many things to look after right now
                   to think about that.

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   Frank. That's a mistake. If I may say.
                   Don't take her for granted, girl like
                   that.

      They enter a rich, wood-paneled study lined with books.

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   You interested in history, Frank? The
                   events that have brought us to where we
                   are today? You know who was? Bumpy.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Bumpy was interested in a lot of things.

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   I always wonder if people know when
                   history's being made. And what they're
                   doing at the time. This, for instance,
                   could be a historic moment, and you're
                   sipping a glass of ice water.

      Droplets snake down Frank's glass. He senses Tosca has
      finally gotten around to why he was invited here.
<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   Bumpy and I did a lot of business
                   together, as you know. Whatever he
                   needed, he'd come to me and I'd do my
                   best to provide it. He came to me, I
                   didn't go to him, is the point I'm trying
                   to make. You know why?

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   He didn't have what you needed. You had
                   what he needed. We've always had to come
                   to you.

<b>                                 TOSCA
</b>                   Yes.   Until now.

      Tosca studies Frank, who is a study in inscrutability.

<b>                                                                      (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     65.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>158   CONTINUED:                                                     158
</b>

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   Monopolies are illegal in this country,
                   Frank, because no one can compete with a
                   monopoly. If they let the dairy farmers
                   do that, half of them would go out of
                   business tomorrow.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I'm just trying to make a living.

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   Which is your right. Because this is
                   America. But not at the unreasonable
                   expense of others. That's un-American.
                          (he studies Frank)
                   You know the price you pay for a gallon
                   of milk doesn't represent its true cost
                   of production. It's controlled. Set.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I set a price I think is fair.

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   It's very unfair, in fact. Your
                   customers are happy, but what about your
                   fellow dairy farmers? You're not
                   thinking of them.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                          (very calmly)
                   I'm thinking of them as much as they ever
                   thought of me.

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   All right. I can see you're getting
                   excited. Don't get excited. That's not
                   why I invited you to my home. To get
                   excited.

      Frank doesn't look excited at all. He's the picture of
      calm. Tosca smiles benignly and gets up.

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   Here, I got something for you.

<b>159   INT. TOSCA'S SMOKING ROOM    - LATER - DAY                      159
</b>
      Tosca opens a humidor, takes out a couple of Cuban cigars.

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   Now what if - I'm just thinking out loud -
                   you sold some of your inventory wholesale
                   and I helped with the distribution.
<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     66.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>159   CONTINUED:                                                     159
</b>

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I don't need it. I already got
                   everything from 110th Street to Yankee
                   Stadium, river to river.

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   Which is a little mom and pop store
                   compared to what I'm talking about. I
                   could make you bigger than K-Mart. L.A.,
                   Chicago, Detroit, Vegas. I'm speaking
                   nationwide. And I'd guarantee you peace
                   of mind. You know what I mean by that.

      Frank does. It's a backhanded threat.        Tosca clips the
      cigars with a gold guillotine

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   Frank. You can see I'm a Renaissance
                   man. Unfortunately not all my people are
                   as enlightened. Ask them, What is civil
                   rights, they don't know. They're not as
                   open to change from the way things are
                   done and who's doing it. But I can talk
                   to them so there won't be any
                   misunderstanding. That's what I mean by
                   peace of mind.

      Frank knows, in truth, he's not being given any choice in
      this matter. Still, maybe it's not so bad.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   You pay what a kilo now, 75, 80? I'd
                   consider 50. And I can get you as much
                   as you want.
      Tosca slips on his best poker face. Fifty thousand a kilo
      would be an extraordinary coup for him.

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   You see, I was right. This is a
                   historic moment. You're going to be
                   bigger than Bumpy himself.

      He hands Frank one of the cigars, expertly prepared.

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   Can't smoke it here, unfortunately.
                   Grace doesn't like it. Take it with you.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                   67.
</b><b>                             
</b>



<b>160   INT/EXT. TOSCA'S MANSION - LATER - DAY                        160
</b>
      Doc waits by the car as Frank and Ana walk toward him.
      The Toscas wave goodbye from the front step of the mansion.
      Frank slips the cigar into his top pocket as they climb in.

<b>                             ANA
</b>                Why would you trust these people, the way
                they look at you?

<b>                             FRANK
</b>                They look at me like it's Christmas and
                I'm Santa Claus.

<b>                             ANA
</b>                They looked at us like we're the help.

<b>                              FRANK
</b>                        (kisses her cheek)
                No.   They're working for me now.

<b>161   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - DAY                        161
</b>
      A TV: Muhammad Ali, the black man's black man, and Joe
      Frazier, the white man's black man, at their 1971 Madison
      Square Garden press conference where Ali says as much.

      Most of the guys watching it. Richie isn't. He comes
      over to Table of Organization. Tacks his Bar Association
      notice to it. Regards the photographs, like tentacles of
      octopus yet to have a head.

      Only the lowest section is made up of blacks (including
      Charlie Williams and Jackie Fox, but not Frank Lucas). The
      rest of the faces are white and stop about midway up.
      They've hit a wall they can't get past.

<b>162   INT. FRANK'S PENTHOUSE - DUSK                                 162
</b>
      Another TV here: Howard Cosell, ringside at the Garden as
      the first early fans arrive, pointing out that the fight,
      because of the political stand Ali's taken, is less about
      boxers than war versus anti-war.

      Frank chooses a linen jacket from his extensive color-
      coordinated racks of Phil Cromfeld suits as Ana, in her
      lingerie, puts on make-up at a vanity. He comes up behind
      her and sets down a small jewelry box.

<b>163   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - SAME TIME                  163
</b>
      The TV in the background as Richie puts a camera with a long
      lens in a sports bag and reaches for his coat -                       
<b>                                                                   (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                            68.
</b><b>                                      
</b><b>163        CONTINUED:                                                       163
</b>

<b>164 OMIT                                                              164 OMIT
</b>
<b>165        INT. FRANK'S PENTHOUSE - CONTINUED                                165
</b>
           Ana's reflection in the vanity mirror as Frank slips the
           engagement ring on her finger. She wipes at a tear, then
           gets up and hugs him.

<b>                                      ANA
</b>                        Yes.

           She kisses him.     Admires the ring.     And -

<b>                                     ANA
</b>                        I bought you something, too.

           She crosses past the TV, takes a garment bag down from her
           side of the closet, lays it on the bed next to Frank's suit
           jacket. She takes hold of the zipper but doesn't
           immediately pull it, hoping perhaps to create some dramatic
           tension.

<b>                                      FRANK
</b>                        What is it?

           She unzips the bag like she's unveiling great art. But
           instead of seeing what's inside, we're allowed only Frank's
           reaction: his smile of anticipation slowly changing to
           chagrin.

<b>166        INT/EXT. MADISON SQUARE GARDEN - BACK ENTRANCE - NIGHT            166
</b>
           Richie observes celebrities and gangsters arriving in
           limousines - Sammy Davis Jr. and his wife, Joe Louis and
           his, Tosca and some of his guys - then enters the arena as
           another limo pulls up. Ana climbs out.

<b>                                     ANA
</b>                        Come on. You look great.
                               (no one else emerges)
                        You want to miss the fight? Come on.

           Finally, a patent leather shoe pokes out, sets down on the
           curb. Then its mate beside it. The shoes step away from
           the limo and -

<b>167        INT. MADISON SQUARE GARDEN - NIGHT                                167
</b>
           Pre-fight. Richie, blended in with the a group of press
           photographers, regards the organized crime figures ringside.
           He takes a few pictures with the long lens camera as -


<b>                                                                            (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       69.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>167   CONTINUED:                                                       167
</b>

      The owner of the gleaming patent leather shoes is shown to
      his second row ringside seat just behind the sports writers,
      and we move up the full-length chinchilla coat to Frank's
      uneasy expression -

      Richie's camera roams the faces of the prime ticket holders
      ringside: organized crime figures, celebrities, politicians,              
      women with plunging necklines and platinum hair -                         

<b>                                 JOE LOUIS                                      
</b>                   Excuse me -                                                  

      Richie can't believe it's Joe Louis brushing past him -                   

<b>                                 RICHIE                                         
</b>                   Mr. Louis -                                                  

      Joe looks back as Richie approaches him -                                 

<b>                                RICHIE                                          
</b>                   I'm sorry, but I just have to tell you,                      
                   sir, you were a hero to me growing up. I                     
                   still push elevator buttons eight times                      
                   for the rounds you beat Billy Conn in.                       
                   For luck.                                                    

      Louis acknowledges Richie only slightly more than not at                  
      all. Turns away to join his friends. Richie watches after                 
      him, stung by Louis's disregard.                                          

      He snaps a picture of an Italian wise guy he doesn't                      
      recognize ... sifts the camera's view past Frank in the                   
      chinchilla coat ... then returns to him, watches as Tosca                 
      and his guys sit down behind Frank. Richie can't hear -                   
      but can see - their good-natured exchange -

<b>                                TOSCA
</b>                   Hey, Frank, you keep that hat on, I'm
                   gonna miss the fight -

      The odd thing to Richie is, Chinchilla's seat is better
      than all the Italians'. Detective Trupo notices this, too.
      Richie focuses on the Chincilla's date, a stunning girl, a
      beauty queen, then shifts back to her boyfriend who's now
      shaking the proffered hands of other Italians, then Don
      King. Joe Louis himself - who barely acknowledged Richie's                
      existence - comes over and playfully exchanges "punches"                  
      with the man in the chinchilla coat.

      A sudden roar from the crowd as the lights go out except
      for the spot on the ring. Ali and Frazier are coming down
      the steps through the crush of fans and reporters, preceded
      by soldiers carrying flags -
<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     70.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>167   CONTINUED:                                                     167
</b>

      Richie tries to find the guy in the chinchilla coat, but
      he's hidden by a flag. Then he glimpses him again just as
      Ali shakes his hand before climbing into the ring -

      Flashbulbs pop throughout the arena as Robert Goulet
      begins the National Anthem. Ali pointedly doesn't sing
      along. Richie frames the shadowy figure in the chinchilla
      coat, focuses as sharp as he can in the bad light, and
      snaps the shutter -

<b>168   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - DAY                          168
</b>
      Richie tacks the photograph of the man in the chinchilla
      coat to his Table of Organization - low and off to the side
      by other pieces of the puzzle that don't fit, other new
      faces with no names. Spearman holds a scrap of paper -

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   That's is the plate number on the limo.
                   Check with the company, who rented it.

<b>                                SPEARMAN
</b>                   He's a supplier at most. Or just a pimp.
                   We'd've heard of him otherwise.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   No, he's bigger than that. His seats                       
                   were phenomenal; better than Al Tosca's.                   
                   Joe Louis and Ali shook his fuckin hand.                   

      They look from Tosca's high position on the board to Frank's
      low one, and a wedding march played in traditional fashion
      on organ begins and carries over:
<b>169   INT. BAPTIST CHURCH - DAY                                       169
</b>
      From above, a sea of ladies' hats, all coral and pink.
      Below, Frank stands at the altar, waiting for his bride.

<b>                                RICHIE V/O
</b>                   His name is Frank Lucas ...

<b>170   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - DAY                          170
</b>
      Toback sifts through documents Richie has gathered:
      limousine company records, Frank's thin arrest record, mug
      shots of him years younger, the photograph from the fights
      and some more from subsequent surveillances.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Originally from Greensboro, North
                   Carolina. Couple of arrests years ago.
                   Gambling, robbery, unlicensed firearm.
<b>                                (MORE)
</b><b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     71.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>170   CONTINUED:                                                     170
</b><b>                                RICHIE (CONT'D)
</b>                   For fifteen years he was Bumpy Johnson's
                   collector, bodyguard and driver. He was
                   with him when he died.

<b>171   INT. BAPTIST CHURCH - CONTINUED                                 171
</b>
      Ana's family and friends on one side of the aisle, the
      extended Lucas family - on the other. Frank's mother looks
      at her eldest son at the altar with pride.

<b>172   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - CONTINUED                    172
</b>
<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Five brothers, he's the oldest, lots of
                   cousins, all living here now, spread out
                   around the boroughs and Jersey. The
                   brothers are -

<b>173   INT. DRY CLEANERS - DAY                                         173
</b>
      A Lucas brother hands some dry cleaning to Spearman -

<b>                                RICHIE V/O
</b>                   Eugene Lucas in Brooklyn -

<b>174   INT. ELECTRICAL SHOP - DAY                                      174
</b>
      Another Lucas brother examines a lamp with a frayed cord
      brought in by Jones.

<b>                                RICHIE V/O
</b>                   Earl Lucas in Newark -

<b>175   INT. METAL DOOR SHOP - DAY                                      175
</b>      Another brother at the register, hands Abruzzo a receipt -

<b>                                RICHIE V/O
</b>                   Lester Lucas in Queens -

<b>176   EXT. TIRE SERVICE SHOP - DAY                                    176
</b>
      Another brother is photographed by Spearman from a parked
      car as he changes tires on a car up on a hoist.

<b>                                RICHIE V/O
</b>                   Turner Lucas, the Bronx -

<b>177   EXT. STREET - NEWARK - DAY                                      177
</b>
      Richie kicks a dent into the fender of his old car.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                       72.
</b><b>                                 
</b>



<b>178        EXT/INT. BODY SHOP - DAY                                     178
</b>
           As an appraiser writes up an estimate, Richie observes
           Teddy, attending to paperwork inside.

<b>                                  RICHIE V/O
</b>                     And Teddy Lucas, in Bergen County.

<b>179        INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - CONTINUED                 179
</b>
           A photograph of Teddy goes up on the T.O. next to Frank and
           the other brothers and some cousins -

<b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                     Except for the chinchilla coat, which
                     no one can explain, Frank's life seems
                     orderly and legitimate.

<b>180        INT. BAPTIST CHURCH - CONTINUED - DAY                        180
</b>
           Best Man Teddy standing next to Frank at the altar as the
           bride is escorted down the aisle by her father. Tight on
           Frank in a beautiful tuxedo -

<b>181        EXT. FRANK'S PENTHOUSE BUILDING - DAWN                       181
</b>
           A light goes on in a penthouse window. Down below, by his
           parked car, Richie shivers in the early morning cold.

<b>                                  RICHIE V/O
</b>                     He gets up early. Five a.m.

<b>182        INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - CONTINUED                 182
</b><b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                     Has breakfast at a Midtown place,
                     usually alone.

<b>183        INT/EXT. DINER - MORNING                                     183
</b>
           Richie tosses a glance inside a restaurant as he passes the
           window to where Frank sits eating at a table, Doc nearby.

<b>184        INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - CONTINUED                 184
</b>
<b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                     Then goes to work. Meeting with his
                     accountant, or lawyer, dropping in on one
                     of the several office buildings he owns.

<b>185 OMIT                                                         185 OMIT     
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       73.
</b><b>                                 
</b>



<b>186        INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - CONTINUED                 186
</b>
<b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                     Nights, he usually stays home. When
                     he does go out, it's to a club or dinner -
                     with his new wife - friends, celebrities,
                     sports figures - never O.C. guys.

<b>187        EXT. SMALL'S PARADISE - NIGHT                                187
</b>
           Richie sits in his car across from Small's where bouncers
           keep out people like him. Frank, Ana, Wilt Chamberlain and
           his wife emerge from the restaurant together.

<b>188 OMIT                                                         188 OMIT
</b>
<b>189        INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - CONTINUED                 189
</b>
<b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                     Sundays he takes his mother to church.
                     Then drives out to change the flowers on
                     Bumpy's grave. Every Sunday, no matter
                     what.

<b>190        INT. BAPTIST CHURCH - CONTINUED - DAY                        190
</b>
           Frank's mother tearfully watches her son slip a ring onto
           Ana's finger next to the fat engagement diamond - before
           Ana, in turn, puts a gold band on Frank's. The minister
           pronounces them husband and wife, the veil is lifted, and
           they kiss to great applause -

<b>191        EXT. BAPTIST CHURCH - DAY                                    191
</b>           As a photographer takes the official photograph of the
           wedding party on the steps of the church -

<b>192        INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - CONTINUED                 192
</b>
           Lou Toback looks from a surveillance photo of the wedding
           party in his hands, to Richie's Table of Organization: The
           Lucas brothers and cousins - in the streets of New York and
           New Jersey, arranged in some imagined hierarchy.

<b>                                  TOBACK
</b>                     Not your typical day in the life of a
                     dope man, Richie.

<b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                     Neither was Bumpy Johnson's and he owned
                     Harlem.


<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      74.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>192   CONTINUED:                                                      192
</b>

<b>                                TOBACK
</b>                   You think Frank Lucas took over for Bumpy
                   Johnson? His driver? That's a little
                   far-fetched.

<b>                                 RICHIE
</b>                   Is it?   Everything he does, he does like
                   Bumpy.

<b>                                TOBACK
</b>                   Bumpy never wore a chinchilla coat in his
                   life.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   We haven't seen that again. That
                   apparently has been retired to the
                   closet.

<b>193   EXT. BAPTIST CHURCH - DAY                                        193
</b>
      Frank and Charlie look on as Ana throws the bouquet.

<b>                                CHARLIE
</b>                   She's the most beautiful bride I ever
                   saw, Frank.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I wish Bumpy could've met her.     I wish
                   she could've met him.

<b>194   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - CONTINUED                     194
</b>
      Looking at the Lucas Table of Organization -
<b>                                TOBACK
</b>                   What do you got on him you can use in
                   court? Because this isn't it. You try                     
                   this without informants and powder, no                    
                   one's going to jail.                                      

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Won't get any informants. Not inside.
                   It's like a Sicilian family. Like he's
                   structured his own family the same way to
                   protect himself.

<b>195   EXT. BAPTIST CHURCH - CONTINUED                                  195
</b>
      Exactly like one, like a scene from The Godfather as Frank
      dances with Ana before the reception guests.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                   75.
</b><b>                             
</b>



<b>196   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - CONTINUED                  196
</b>
<b>                             RICHIE
</b>                Being with Bumpy long as he was, he
                would have been around Italians a lot.
                Enough to learn that much.

<b>197   EXT. BAPTIST CHURCH - CONTINUED                               197
</b>
      Rice rains down on the bride and groom as they climb into
      the back of the Towncar. Doc comes around to the driver's
      side, gets in and slowly pushes through the crush of guests
      waving and throwing kisses.

<b>198   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - CONTINUED                  198
</b>
<b>                             RICHIE
</b>                But it's not even Frank Lucas I want. I
                want to know who he's working for: Which
                Italians are bringing the heroin in.

<b>199   INT/EXT. TOWNCAR / NEW YORK - TWILIGHT                        199
</b>
      Flanked front and rear by Frank's security, the marriage
      car moves along a rain-slick street. The newlyweds cuddle
      in back. Another car pulls up alongside - Trupo's Shelby -
      and Doc's right hand instinctively comes off the steering
      wheel to settle on his holstered gun. Trupo smiles and
      shakes his head, no.

<b>200   EXT. CENTRAL PARK - LATER - TWILIGHT                          200
</b>
      The Lincoln and security cars and Trupo's Shelby parked.
<b>                             FRANK
</b>                       (to Ana)
                Stay in the car

      As Frank and Doc climb out, Frank motions to his other
      security men to remain calm, he'll handle this.

<b>                             TRUPO
</b>                Hello, Frank.

      If Frank is surprised Trupo knows his name, he doesn't show
      it, or anything else except an air of professional courtesy.

<b>                             FRANK
</b>                Detective.

      Trupo looks in at Ana in the back seat, smiles at her. She
      turns her head away and closes the door. Trupo leads Frank
      away for a private conversation -
<b>                                                                   (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       76.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>200   CONTINUED:                                                       200
</b>

<b>                                TRUPO
</b>                   You sure you done the right thing?
                   She's a beautiful girl - there's no
                   question - but she's got an attitude
                   on (her) -

<b>                                  FRANK
</b>                   Listen   to me. Before you say another
                   word -   about her - or me - remember that
                   you're   saying it on the most important
                   fuckin   day of my life.

<b>                                TRUPO
</b>                   Man walks around in a fifty thousand
                   dollar chinchilla coat and he never even
                   bought me a cup of coffee? Something
                   wrong there.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I don't know what you're talking about.

<b>                                TRUPO
</b>                   You pay your bills, Frank?

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   You want to keep talking, talk to my
                   lawyer, here's his card. You call him,
                   because we're done here -

<b>                                TRUPO
</b>                   Do you pay your bills, I asked you.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   If you're not getting your share, it's
                   not my fault, go ask the chief of police.

<b>                                TRUPO
</b>                   What's my share? You don't even know me.
                   Maybe I'm special.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   No, you're all the fuckin same.

<b>                                TRUPO
</b>                          (shows his shield)
                   What does that say?
                          (Frank ignores him)
                   Special - Investigations - Unit. See
                   that word there? "Special."
                          (he takes out a restaurant
                           business card)
                   Ten grand, first of each month, delivered
                   here.
<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                        77.
</b><b>                                  
</b><b>200   CONTINUED:                                                        200
</b>

      Frank ignores the card, stares at Trupo like he's a fool.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Detective ... There are some things you
                   don't do. This is one of them. Not on a
                   man's wedding day.

      Frank's resolve throws Trupo off his rhythm.           He manages:

<b>                                TRUPO
</b>                   Have a nice honeymoon.

<b>201   INT. FRANK'S PENTHOUSE - LATER - NIGHT                             201
</b>
      Frank doesn't carry Ana across the threshold. He strides in
      leaving her at the front door, throws a match in the gas
      fireplace, comes back from the bedroom a moment later with
      the $50,000 chinchilla coat and throws it on the flames.

<b>202   TELEVISION IMAGE:                                                  202
</b>
      A march on Washington, protesting the war (archive).

<b>      INT. JIMMY RACINE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT
</b>
      The report continues on a TV here as Teddy's driver, Jimmy
      Racine, yells at his girlfriend -

<b>                                  JIMMY
</b>                   Where is it?

<b>                                DARYLYNN
</b>                   Fuck you, I'm not telling you.
      She comes past the TV and into the kitchen past a table
      covered with dope paraphernalia.

<b>                                JIMMY
</b>                   Where is my fuckin dope? You and your
                   girlfriends take it again? I'll fuckin
                   kill you.

      She yanks open a drawer, grabs a knife and slashes it at
      him. He grabs a gun and she runs for the stairs -

<b>203   EXT. JIMMY RACINE'S - APARTMENT - NIGHT                            203
</b>
      He chases her into the street, yelling, raises the gun and
      fires, and she goes down, clutching at her butt, moaning -
<b>
</b><b>                                                                   78.
</b><b>                             
</b>



<b>204   INT. RICHIE'S APARTMENT - SAME NIGHT                          204
</b>
      Moaning here, too.   Richie's lawyer-ex-girlfriend, in bed
      with him.

<b>                             SHEILA
</b>                Richie, yes, fuck me like a cop, not
                a lawyer -
                       (the phone rings)
                Oh, God, Richie, no - don't answer it -
                       (he reaches to pick it up)
                No, no, no -

<b>                              RICHIE
</b>                Yeah -

<b>                             SPEARMAN V/O PHONE
</b>                Richie. Newark just picked up one of the
                celebrities on our Wall of Fame: Teddy's
                driver. For attempted murder.

<b>205   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - NIGHT                      205
</b>
      Richie's had Jimmy Racine brought over. Sits with him as
      the Three Amigos watch from the shadows. Just coming off
      his high, and the attempted murder, Jimmy looks disoriented
      as he sits in cuffs in the dungeon-like basement.

<b>                             RICHIE
</b>                Because it's an attempted homicide,
                that's Grand Jury. Now, that Grand Jury
                could come in very favorably. Might turn
                out to be Attempted Manslaughter. Self
                Defense even. She had a knife. Depends
                on how I want to deal with you. You see
                where this is going.

      Jimmy looks around at the basement dungeon with concern.

<b>                             JIMMY
</b>                The fuck is this place?

<b>                             RICHIE
</b>                Let's say you beat it somehow. What do
                you think Cousin Frank'll think of that?
                He knows you had to sit here listening to
                something like this. And then you beat
                an attempted murder? Is he stupid?
                He'll assume you talked.

      Jimmy can easily imagine that scenario and it frightens him.


<b>                                                                   (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      79.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>205   CONTINUED:                                                      205
</b>

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   You fucked up, Jimmy. But nobody knows.
                   Frank doesn't know. Yet. Do you want him
                   to read about it in the paper? Or do you
                   want to walk out of here - no bail, no
                   trial - just walk out, now.

<b>206   EXT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - DAWN                          206
</b>
      Jimmy has thought about it all night and walks out of the
      building into the chilly morning air.

<b>                                 RICHIE V/O
</b>                   Jimmy?   Look at me -

      Jimmy looks over his shoulder as if Richie just called to
      him from it, which he didn't. There's no one in sight -

<b>                                RICHIE V/O
</b>                   Any time I want to change my mind? I
                   don't like the quality of your work? I
                   can find a witness saw you shoot your
                   girlfriend. It just took me a while. I
                   even know what he'll look like. He'll
                   look just like you.

<b>207   EXT. MEAT PACKING DISTRICT - DAY                                 207
</b>
      Teddy's car comes around a corner and down the street.

<b>208   INT. TEDDY'S CAR - MOVING - DAY                                  208
</b>
      Jimmy Racine, wired, looks in the rear view mirror at Teddy
      in the back seat, and, behind him, Richie's car following.
<b>209   INT. RICHIE'S CAR - SAME TIME                                    209
</b>
      Richie keeps Teddy's car in view ahead. Glances in his
      mirror at the cars following him. His detectives.

<b>210   EXT. MEAT PACKING DISTRICT - LATER - DAY                         210
</b>
      The detectives' cars parked behind a warehouse. Richie
      peers into binoculars at: Teddy's car parked by Frank's
      outside another warehouse loading dock. Frank gets out,
      discusses something with his brother, comes past Jimmy to
      some men in bloody white coats.

      He talks to them, returns to his car, takes a valise from
      the trunk. He snaps it open revealing stacks of cash, hands
      it over and walks to a semi-truck, glancing once in Richie's
      direction. Though he can't see anyone there he gives a wave
      to them - or is it to the truck driver to pull out -
<b>
</b><b>                                                                   80.
</b><b>                             
</b>



<b>211    EXT. HARLEM STREET - DAY                                     211
</b>
       Like Bumpy used to do every Thanksgiving, Frank and his
       brothers, from the back of the truck, hand out hundreds of
       freshly-butchered turkeys to the poor.

<b>212    INT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - DAY                  212
</b>
       Frank, in an apron, carries in a huge cooked turkey as the
       extended Lucas family gathers around the table. It's like
       Norman Rockwell painting -

<b>213    INT/EXT. ALLEY / ROOMS HARLEM - SAME TIME - DAY              213
</b>
       Another Thanksgiving picture: addicts shooting up and
       nodding out in alleys and dingy rooms. Tight on needles,
       veins, spoons, filth -

<b>214    INT. RICHIE'S APARTMENT - SAME TIME - DAY                    214
</b>
       Richie alone at his kitchen table with a sandwich and a
       beer. The Macy's parade plays silently on his TV.

<b>A215   INT/EXT. TRUPO'S HOUSE - SAME TIME - DAY                    A215
</b>
       A doorbell summons Trupo. He comes through his entry.
       Opens the front door. Finds no one there - except a large
       live turkey on the doorstep. He stares at it nonplussed,
       then looks up to a sound - a whoosh - as flames engulf the
       interior and spit out the windows of his Shelby Mustang ...

<b>B215   INT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - DAY                 B215
</b>
       The big knife in Frank's hand slices into the turkey and
       lifts meat onto a plate that's passed from hand to hand, the
       family engaged in several conversations at once, laughing -

<b>215    INT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - DAY                  215
</b>
       Bathroom. Jimmy Racine, shirt off, wired, changes the
       batteries of the little tape recorder.

<b>216    EXT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - DAY                  216
</b>
       Jimmy comes out, tries to take a chair not too far from
       Frank who's watching his nephew toss pop-up flies for the
       younger kids to catch.

<b>                              FRANK
</b>                 Stevie. Come over here.
                        (the nephew comes over)
                 I heard you didn't show up.
<b>                              (MORE)
</b><b>                                                                   (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       81.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>216   CONTINUED:                                                       216
</b><b>                                 FRANK (CONT'D)
</b>                   You're     too busy to meet with Billy
                   Martin?   After I set it up?

      Stevie shifts around, not wanting to make Frank mad ...

<b>                                STEVIE
</b>                   I don't want to play pro ball, I decided.

<b>                                  FRANK
</b>                   What're you   talking about? This is your
                   dream since   you were their age -
                          (the   younger kids)
                   Maybe I can   set it up again.

      Stevie just stands there, uncomfortable.         Finally -

<b>                                STEVIE
</b>                   It's not what I want. I want to do what
                   you do, Uncle Frank. I want to be you.

      Frank stares at him unhappily.       Teddy comes over but Frank
      barely notices.

<b>                                TEDDY
</b>                   We got a problem.

<b>217   INT. TEDDY'S CAR - MOVING - LATE AFTERNOON                        217
</b>
      Jimmy Racine behind the wheel.       Frank and Teddy in back,
      speaking quietly.

<b>                                TEDDY
</b>                   He's been cutting it so much it's down
                   to two, three percent pure.
<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   You tested it. You're sure.

      Teddy nods. Frank notices Jimmy looking at them in the rear
      view mirror.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   The fuck you looking at?

<b>218   EXT. JACKIE FOX'S CLUB - NEW YORK - DUSK                          218
</b>
      The car pulls up in front of a building in the clothing
      district. Jimmy stays while Teddy and Frank go inside.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                   82.
</b><b>                             
</b>



<b>219   INT. JACKIE FOX'S CLUB - DUSK                                 219
</b>
      Jackie's club looks like a set from a blaxploitation film.
      Frank and Teddy, led by a bodyguard, come past some turkey
      carcasses and other remnants of Thanksgiving to where Jackie
      and a couple friends cavort with some naked girls.

<b>                              JACKIE
</b>                Frank.   Welcome.

<b>                             FRANK
</b>                We need to talk.

<b>                              JACKIE
</b>                Great.   Girls, get out.

      The girls gather their things and leave. Frank wipes at a
      modern leather chair with his handkerchief, throws it away,
      sits. Jackie lays out a couple lines, offers Frank a rolled
      up hundred dollar straw. Frank shakes his head, no thanks.

<b>                             JACKIE
</b>                You talked to Charlie. You want to hear
                more about my Black Coalition. Let me
                explain it to you -

      But first, let me suck up a line of coke -

<b>                             FRANK
</b>                That's not why I'm here.
                       (Jackie glances up from the
                        powder. No?)
                Everybody's happy, Jackie. Charlie, Baz,
                the cops, the Italians, everybody.
                Everybody except you.

<b>                             JACKIE
</b>                I'm happy.

<b>                             FRANK
</b>                Then I don't understand. Why do you have
                to take something that's perfectly good
                the way it is, and wreck it?

      Jackie doesn't seem to understand.

<b>                             FRANK
</b>                Brand names mean something, Jackie.
                Consumers rely on them to know what
                they're getting. They know the company
                isn't going to try to fool them with an
                inferior product. They buy a Ford, they
                know they're gonna get a Ford.
<b>                             (MORE)
</b><b>                                                                   (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     83.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>219   CONTINUED:                                                     219
</b><b>                                FRANK (CONT'D)
</b>                   Not a fuckin Datsun.
                          (his look says, right?)
                   Blue Magic is a brand name; as much a
                   brand name as Pepsi. I own it. I stand
                   behind it. I guarantee it and people
                   know that even if they don't know me any
                   more than they know the chairman of
                   General Foods.

<b>                                JACKIE
</b>                   What the fuck are you talking about,
                   Frank?

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   What you're doing, as far as I'm
                   concerned, when you chop my dope down to
                   five percent, is trademark infringement.

      That.   That's what this is about.      Jackie nods, but -

<b>                                JACKIE
</b>                   With all due respect, Frank, if I buy
                   something, I can do whatever I want with
                   it.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   That's not true. That's where you're
                   wrong.

<b>                                JACKIE
</b>                   If I buy a car, I can paint it, God damn
                   it.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Jackie, you don't need to. You don't
                   need to make more money than you can with
                   Blue the way it is. No one does. At a
                   certain point it's just greed.

<b>                                JACKIE
</b>                   What do you want, Frank?    You want me to
                   call it something else?

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I have to insist. You call it Blue
                   Magic, that's misrepresentation.

<b>                                JACKIE
</b>                   Fine. I'll call it Red Magic, even
                   though it doesn't sound as good.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   That's all I'm saying.   Wrap it in red
                   cellophane and -
<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       84.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>219   CONTINUED:                                                       219
</b>

<b>                                 JACKIE
</b>                   Pink Magic.   Black Magic -

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Whack it down to nothing, tie a bow
                   around it and call it Blue Dogshit if you
                   want, just don't let me catch you doing
                   this again.

      Jackie regards Frank for a long moment ...

<b>                                JACKIE
</b>                   Catch me? Insist? Infringement? I
                   don't like these words as much as please -
                   thank you - sorry to bother you, Jackie.
                   These are better words to use you come
                   into my place without an invitation.

      Jackie waits to hear a kinder word but Frank doesn't offer
      one. Jackie nods, Fine, okay, but it's more like a warning.

<b>220   INT. JACKIE'S CLUB - DUSK                                         220
</b>
      Frank pulls a girl off Teddy's lap and points him toward
      the door. Jackie watches them leave.

<b>221   EXT. JACKIE'S CLUB - DUSK                                         221
</b>
      They emerge from the building to where Jimmy waits.

<b>                                TEDDY
</b>                   Give me the keys; take a cab home.

<b>222   INT. TEDDY'S CAR - MOVING - NIGHT                                 222
</b>      Frank and Teddy driving in silence.        Eventually -

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   You don't go over there any more.

      Teddy doesn't like it, but nods. Suddenly his face is
      illuminated by light reflecting in the rear view mirror, an
      unmarked police car behind them, flashing its brights.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   It's all right, pull over, what are they
                   going to do? Give us a ticket?

      But Teddy isn't as calm as he begins to pull over.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                     85.
</b><b>                               
</b>



<b>223   EXT. GARMENT WAREHOUSE DISTRICT - NY - LATE AFTERNOON           223
</b>
      As Trupo and his partner climb out of their car and approach
      Teddy's -

<b>                              TEDDY
</b>                Frank?   Some of it's in the trunk.

      Frank regards him with utter disbelief. Teddy shies as if
      he expects to get hit. The SIU detectives arrive.

<b>                             TRUPO
</b>                Hello, Frank.

<b>                             FRANK
</b>                Detective. How's it going?        You have a
                nice Thanksgiving?

<b>                             TRUPO
</b>                I did not, as a matter of fact.       Get out
                of the car.

      The Lucases climb out.

<b>                             FRANK
</b>                Where's the Shelby?

<b>                             TRUPO
</b>                The Shelby's gone, Frank.

      Trupo reaches in the driver's side window, takes the keys
      from the ignition and comes around to the trunk. Frank and
      Teddy exchange a glance as it opens. Silence. Then -
<b>                             TRUPO
</b>                Want to come over here a minute, Frank?

      Six kilos of heroin are illuminated by the trunk light.
      Frank and Trupo regard it in silence. Then -

<b>                             TRUPO
</b>                Now what are we gonna do about this?

<b>                             FRANK
</b>                We're gonna shut the trunk and say good
                night, forget you pulled us over.

<b>                             TRUPO
</b>                I got a better idea.

      Trupo reaches into the trunk, picks up two of the heroin
      bricks, tucks them under his arm and looks at Frank -

<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                          86.
</b><b>                                    
</b><b>223    CONTINUED:                                                         223
</b>

<b>                                 TRUPO
</b>                    Or would you rather I took it all and
                    threw you and your brother in the fuckin
                    river?

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                    I don't know, would you rather it's your
                    fuckin house blows up next time?

       They hold each others' stare for a long moment.

<b>                                 TRUPO
</b>                    I loved that car.

<b>                                    FRANK
</b>                    I know.

       Trupo closes the trunk and walks away with his cut of the
       heroin, calling to his partner -

<b>                                    TRUPO
</b>                    Let's go.

       As the SIU cops walk to their car, the perspective shifts,
       through binoculars: Richie watching.

<b>A224   INT. TEDDY'S CAR / STREET - LATER - NIGHT                          A224
</b>
       From outside the driver's side, Teddy's head, inside the
       car, suddenly smashes against the window, cracking it. His
       groan is interrupted by Frank's muffled voice -

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                    Don't you ever put me in a car with dope
                    in it.

<b>224    INT. RICHIE'S APARTMENT - NIGHT                                     224
</b>
       Richie comes in, opens the fridge and stares in, his mind
       elsewhere. A ringing phone pulls him out of it.

<b>                                    RICHIE
</b>                    Yeah.   Tony.    How's it going?

<b>225    INT/EXT. TONY ZACA'S HOUSE - DAY                                    225
</b>
       Tony's wife and daughters can be seen in the suburban
       backyard. Here in the kitchen Tony and Richie watch kernels                 
       of popcorn bounce off the inside walls of the first Amana                   
       microwave oven. It's noisier than modern ones.                              

<b>                                 RICHIE                                            
</b>                    The fuck is a `micro' wave?                                    
<b>                                                                          (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       87.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>225   CONTINUED:                                                       225
</b>

<b>                                TONY                                            
</b>                   It's a scientific force like atomic                          
                   energy. It rearranges the molecules.                         

<b>                                 RICHIE                                         
</b>                   Of what.                                                     

<b>                                TONY                                            
</b>                   Of anything. Of popcorn. You don't                           
                   want to put your head in there.                              

      Tony rakes out the plain, `pre-microwaveable' popcorn,                    
      using his hand. Gives some to Richie. Half of it's burnt.                 

<b>                                TONY                                            
</b>                   I can get you one of these. Just like                        
                   this, brand new. I'll have it delivered.                     

<b>                                 RICHIE                                         
</b>                   No, thanks.   I don't want one.                              

      Tony hands Richie some snapshots: The Zaca family on the                  
      slopes of a resort, and in and outside a beautiful snow-
      dotted cabin.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   This is nice, where's this?

<b>                                 TONY
</b>                   Aspen.   Just got back.    Had a great time.                 

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I'd like to ski Aspen some day.
<b>                                TONY
</b>                   Know who we met? Burt Reynolds. I'm not
                   kidding. Lot of people from Hollywood go
                   up there now, buying up everything.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   This is your place?

<b>                                TONY
</b>                   Are you kidding? You know what it's
                   worth? Ski-in-ski-out, five bedrooms,
                   sauna, everything. We were guests.
                          (pause)
                   No ... No, that's your place.

      Everything seems to stop. Richie becomes aware of the
      sounds around them, the girls splashing around outside ...


<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       88.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>225   CONTINUED:                                                       225
</b>

<b>                                TONY
</b>                   Isn't there something we can do - about
                   leaving the big guy alone? You know who
                   I mean.

      What Richie knows is that no matter what he does or says at
      this point he's got a problem.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   If I don't report what you just said
                   to me, you know I could be in a lot of
                   trouble. If I do, then it's you.

<b>                                TONY
</b>                   I'm hoping you won't do that.

      Richie considers the room itself, measuring the odds of
      microphones and a recorder being in it somewhere.

<b>                                TONY
</b>                   I'm not taping it. How do you know?
                   Because we're friends and I'm telling
                   you. This is a real offer.                                

<b>                                RICHIE                                       
</b>                   From who, your uncle?                                     
                          (Tony doesn't say)                                 
                   Why would you do this? Why would you                      
                   risk our friendship?                                      

<b>                                TONY                                         
</b>                   Because I care what happens to you.                       

<b>                                RICHIE                                       
</b>                   You shouldn't have done it.                               

<b>                               TONY                                          
</b>                   I had to. I had no choice. Neither do                     
                   you. Leave Frank Lucas alone.                             

<b>                                RICHIE                                       
</b>                   He's not important enough for you to do                   
                   this.                                                     

<b>                                 TONY                                        
</b>                   Yes, he is.                                               

      Richie stares at Tony, then puts the pictures in his hand.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Tell Marie I'm sorry I had to leave.
                   You can tell her why.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                     89.
</b><b>                               
</b>



<b>226     INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - LATER - NIGHT                       226
</b>
        Alone in the empty building, he stares at the T.O.: The
        higher echelon Italians like Tosca; lower echelon Harlem
        guys like Charlie Williams and Frank Lucas.

        He gets up then, untacks Frank's photograph from its lowly
        position and moves it to a place no black has ever occupied -
        to the top of the pyramid - above the mafia.

<b>                                                                              
</b>
<b>227 - 230 OMIT                                          227 - 230 OMIT        
</b>
<b>A231    INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - DAY                                A231     
</b>
        Toback regards Frank's picture at top of the Lucas T.O.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  INS, FBI, IRS - I can't get anything out
                  of them. Nothing on his travel, his bank
                  accounts, property holdings - nothing.

<b>                               TOBACK
</b>                  That's because they all think you're on
                  the take and you think they are.

<b>                               RICHIE                                         
</b>                  They don't want this to stop. It                            
                  employs too many people. Cops, lawyers,                     
                  judges, probation officers, prison                          
                  guards. The day dope stops coming into                      
                  this country, a hundred thousand people                     
                  lose their jobs.                                            
        Toback isn't as sure the corruption of the official world is
        that complete.

<b>                                SPEARMAN
</b>                  Richie.   Excuse me.

        Spearman gestures to a couple of men in suits who want to
        talk to him.

<b>B231    INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - LATER - DAY                        B231     
</b>
        Richie and Tobacke regard the two stone-faced FBI agents -

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                  Who took it out?
                         (nothing from the agents)
                  If there's a contract on me, it would be
                  nice to know who took it out.
<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                          90.
</b><b>                                   
</b><b>B231   CONTINUED:                                                        B231
</b>

<b>                                 FBI AGENT
</b>                    We can't say without compromising our
                    source. You understand.

<b>                                   RICHIE
</b>                    No.    I don't. Not when it's my life.

<b>                                 FBI AGENT
</b>                    If you want, we can assign someone to
                    you.

<b>                                    RICHIE
</b>                    Who?    FBI?   You're going to protect me?

       Richie almost laughs at the thought, looks to Toback.             In
       fact, none of this is funny.

<b>C231   EXT. STREET - NEWARK - NIGHT                                      C231
</b>
       Walking toward his apartment down its dark street, bag of
       groceries in arm, Richie becomes aware someone is following
       him. He slows to let the figure get closer, closer, then
       turns fast, drops the guy and puts a gun to his head.

<b>                                   MAN
</b>                    Don't shoot!    For God's sake.

       Richie keeps the gun pressed against the guy's forehead.

<b>                                   RICHIE
</b>                    Talk.

<b>                                 MAN
</b>                    Are you Richard Roberts?      I got a
                    subpoena.

<b>231    INT. COURTROOM - NEWARK - DAY                                      231
</b>
       Richie and Laurie sit with their respective lawyers, waiting
       for the judge to appear. He leans over -

<b>                                 RICHIE
</b>                    Laurie. I'm sorry I couldn't give you
                    the kind of life you wanted. I'm sorry
                    it was never enough. But don't punish me
                    for being honest. Don't take my son
                    away.

       She stares at him in disbelief.        Then responds in a louder
       voice than his -



<b>                                                                         (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      91.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>231   CONTINUED:                                                      231
</b>

<b>                                LAURIE
</b>                   What are you saying? That because you
                   were "honest" and didn't take money like
                   every other cop, I left you?

      The bailiff looks over, but she doesn't care.

<b>                                LAURIE
</b>                   You don't take money for one reason:
                   to buy being dishonest about everything
                   else. And that's worse than taking money
                   nobody gives a shit about - drug money,
                   gambling money nobody's gonna miss.
                          (more people look over)
                   I'd rather you took it and been honest
                   with me. Or don't take it, I don't care.
                   But don't then go cheat on me. Don't
                   cheat on your kid by never being around.
                   Don't go out and get laid by your
                   snitches and secretaries and strippers.
                   I can tell just by looking, she's one
                   of them.

      His lawyer.    Which is true.    Everyone's watching them now.

<b>                                LAURIE
</b>                   You think you're going to heaven because
                   your "honest." You're not. You're going
                   to the same hell as the crooked cops you
                   can't stand.

<b>                                BAILIFF
</b>                   All rise -
<b>232   INT. COURTROOM - LATER - DAY                                     232
</b>
      The same judge who sends a collection plate around sits
      before Richie and Laurie and their attorneys.

<b>                                SHEILA
</b>                   Your honor, a lot has been said here
                   today about how unsavory Mr. Roberts'
                   environment is for a child. How
                   dangerous it is. I'm sorry, but this is
                   our world. This is where we live and we
                   tell him, Protect us. We give him that
                   responsibility, and then say, Oh, but we
                   don't trust you to raise a child. We
                   don't think you're fit for that.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I'm not.

<b>                                                                      (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                          92.
</b><b>                                    
</b><b>232        CONTINUED:                                                     232
</b>

           Silence. Sheila looks at him, but he's looking at Laurie,
           and speaks to her like they're alone in the room:

<b>                                     RICHIE
</b>                        You're right. This is no place for him.
                        Around me. Take him. The further away
                        the better. For him.

<b>233 OMIT                                                            233 OMIT
</b>
<b>234        TV IMAGE (ARCHIVE):                                             234
</b>
           The lights on the Rockefeller Christmas tree blink on to
           applause. A carol begins and continues over:

<b>A235 OMIT                                                          A235 OMIT       
</b>
<b>235        INT/EXT. FRANK'S CAR / FRANK'S PENTHOUSE - NIGHT                235
</b>
           Seats covered with Christmas presents. Doc, driving, sees
           Trupo's car parked out front Frank's penthouse.

<b>                                    DOC
</b>                        Frank -

<b>                                     FRANK
</b>                        Yeah, I see them.

           Doc pulls to the curb outside Frank's building. As the
           doorman helps Doc with the big Christmas tree tied to the
           roof of the car, Frank crosses to Trupo's car with a couple
           of bottles of Crystal tied with holiday bows.

<b>                                     FRANK
</b>                        Here you go, boys.   Merry Christmas.

<b>236 OMIT                                                            236 OMIT
</b>
<b>237        INT. FRANK'S PENTHOUSE - NIGHT                                  237
</b>
           Charlie has come to visit. A Christmas carol plays as Frank
           strings the tree with some lights.

<b>                                     FRANK
</b>                        Paying cops is one thing, I understand
                        that. I been paying them since I was ten
                        - put more of their kids through college
                        than the National Merit Award. This is
                        different, this Special Investigations
                        Unit. They think they are special.



<b>                                                                          (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     93.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>237   CONTINUED:                                                     237
</b>

<b>                                CHARLIE
</b>                   They're fucking crooks.   No code of
                   ethics.

      Frank plugs the cord in and the tree lights up.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Someone's been following me. Besides
                   cops. I see cars where they shouldn't
                   be. Guys I don't know -

<b>                                CHARLIE
</b>                   Me, too.

      They regard each other.    The carol continues over:

<b>238   INT. FRANK'S PENTHOUSE - LATER - NIGHT                          238
</b>
      Ana hangs tinsel on the tree as Frank gives the shepherd
      some dog toy presents he's bought. More to himself:

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Bumpy hardly ever went out at a certain
                   point. He stayed in - read - watched TV -
                   played chess. I thought he chose to lead
                   a quiet life. He didn't. He couldn't go
                   out without something happening.

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   We can still go out.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Where? With who? Everyone I know is
                   under surveillance. I can't even be with
                   my family at Christmas anymore.

      He gets up, pets the dog, and looks out the window at
      Christmas angels stretched across the street, at people on
      the sidewalk, wondering perhaps which of them are undercover
      cops, at Trupo's car, still parked outside.

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   Why don't you just pay who you have to
                   pay?

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I do pay them, I pay them all. Cops,
                   accountants, lawyers, who don't I pay?
                   Everybody. I pay them a fortune, it
                   doesn't matter. It doesn't satisfy them.
                   The more you pay, the more they expect.
<b>                                (MORE)
</b>
<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                             94.
</b><b>                                       
</b><b>238        CONTINUED:                                                        238
</b><b>                                     FRANK (CONT'D)
</b>                        You can't start with them because they
                        can't stop. It's like dope. They
                        always want more.

           Ana looks vulnerable. Frank almost feels bad that it's his
           life and problems that have put them here. Eventually, to
           try to turn it around -

<b>                                     FRANK
</b>                        Put on something nice, we're going out.

<b>239        INT/EXT. FRANK'S PENTHOUSE BUILDING - NIGHT                        239
</b>
         Frank and Ana emerge from a service elevator, come down   a
         dark hall and out the back door to an alley to where Doc
         waits with the car in the falling snow.
<b>240 OMIT                                                    240 OMIT                  
</b>
<b>241        EXT. SMALL'S PARADISE - LATER - NIGHT                              241
</b>
           Frank's car approaches Small's just as Jackie, with a
           Santa Claus hat on, climbs out of a sky blue Bentley with
           his entourage. Frank groans to Doc -

<b>                                       FRANK
</b>                        Keep going.

<b>                                       DOC
</b>                        Around back?

<b>                                    FRANK
</b>                        Fuck that. I'm not going to sneak into
                        my own club. Just drive.

<b>242 OMIT                                                               242 OMIT       
</b><b>243        INT. CHINESE TAKE-OUT PLACE - NIGHT                                243
</b>
           Waiting for a take-out order under harsh fluorescent lights -

<b>                                     ANA
</b>                        I'm going to wait in the car.

<b>                                     DOC
</b>                        Go ahead, Frank.       I'll wait for it.

<b>                                     FRANK
</b>                        You can carry it all?      We ordered a lot.

           Doc nods, go on, go with Ana. Frank hands him a couple
           twenties. Ana's already outside.



<b>                                                                             (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                          95.
</b><b>                                    
</b><b>243        CONTINUED:                                                     243
</b>

<b>                                     FRANK
</b>                        Don't forget the yellow sauce.
<b>244 OMIT                                                            244 OMIT     
</b>
<b>245        EXT. STREET - CHINATOWN - NIGHT                                 245
</b>
           Ana's half a block ahead, waiting outside the locked car by
           the time Frank arrives and realizes -

<b>                                     FRANK
</b>                        Doc's got the keys.   Let's go back.

<b>                                     ANA
</b>                        The lights give me a headache, you go.

<b>                                     FRANK
</b>                        I'm not leaving you on the street.

<b>                                     ANA
</b>                        Get the keys, Frank, it's cold.

           He starts back through cascading snow.       Notices a car coming
           slowly down the street -

<b>246        INT. CHINESE PLACE - CONTINUED                                  246
</b>
           The cook dumps sizzling vegetables into a take-out container
           and puts it in a bag -

<b>247        EXT. STREET - CHINATOWN - CONTINUED                             247
</b>
         The car passes, continues to the end of the block, turns the
         corner.
<b>248 OMIT                                                    248 OMIT             
</b><b>249        INT. CHINESE PLACE - CONTINUED                                  249
</b>
           Doc hands over money, waits for his change -

<b>                                     DOC
</b>                        Gimme some of that yellow sauce.

<b>250        EXT. STREET - MIDTOWN - CONTINUED                               250
</b>
           Frank sees the car again, coming around the corner, walks
           briskly back to where Ana waits. The car is almost upon
           them as he grabs her by the wrist and pulls her hard along
           the sidewalk. The car guns its engine -

<b>251 OMIT                                                            251 OMIT     
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       96.
</b><b>                                 
</b>



<b>252        INT/EXT. CHINESE PLACE - CONTINUED                           252
</b>
           As Frank pushes in past the doors with Ana, the windows
           explode. They dive to the floor, bullets ripping through
           the place.

           Doc draws his two guns and fires back at the car, hitting
           it a couple times as it screeches off. He gathers Ana and
           Frank off the floor like a presidential bodyguard, hustles
           them out to the car. Frank's shoulder is bleeding.

<b>                                  DOC
</b>                     You hit?

<b>                                  FRANK
</b>                     What the fuck was that?

           They pile in and Doc screeches away from the curb.

<b>253 OMIT                                                         253 OMIT       
</b>
<b>254        INT. FRANK'S PENTHOUSE - NIGHT                               254
</b>
           Heavy security in the hallways: Frank's own men and some
           cops he's got on the payroll. Ana steps from the elevator
           and hurries past, early edition New York paper in hand.

<b>255        INT. FRANK'S PENTHOUSE - NIGHT                               255
</b>
           The brothers watch as a private doctor attends Frank's
           wounds. He seems all right fine except for the fact that
           someone had the fucking nerve to take a shot at him - and
           Charlie he sees in the newspaper - gunned down, dead, lurid
           Weegee-like photo of him on the front page.
<b>                                  TEDDY
</b>                     Was it Jackie?
                            (Frank doesn't say)
                     I'll fuckin kill him whether it was or
                     not, you tell me to.
                            (nothing from Frank)
                     What do you want us to do, Frank? We
                     can't just sit here and -

<b>                                  FRANK
</b>                     Who didn't like Charlie?   Everybody liked
                     Charlie ...

<b>                                  ANA
</b>                     Who shot at us?
                            (Frank can't tell her)
                     It doesn't matter. We're leaving.

<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                        97.
</b><b>                                  
</b><b>255   CONTINUED:                                                        255
</b>

      She pulls a drawer open. Takes out their passports.
      Begins packing. The brothers watch, not sure what to do,
      or say. To them -

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                   Go home.   Go see your kids.

      He obviously wants to talk to Ana alone. Pulls away from
      the doctor. They all leave. Ana keeps packing.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   What are you doing?     Where've you been?

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   We're leaving from here.      Money's in
                   the car.

<b>                                  FRANK
</b>                   What money?

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   Everything from your mother's house.

<b>                                  FRANK
</b>                   In your car?

<b>                                  ANA
</b>                   Yes.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Where's the car?

<b>                                  ANA
</b>                   Out front.
<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   With ten million dollars in it?

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   I didn't count it.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Are you crazy? Take it back to Teaneck.
                   What are you doing driving around without
                   security? Doc'll take you back.

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   We're not going there, we're going to the
                   airport. We're leaving the country.

<b>                                  FRANK
</b>                   To go where?    No, we're not.

<b>                                                                        (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                        98.
</b><b>                                  
</b><b>255     CONTINUED:                                                      255
</b>

<b>                                  ANA
</b>                     Frank, Charlie's dead. They tried to
                     kill us. What else has to happen - ?

        He grabs her and holds her to calm her down.

<b>                                   FRANK
</b>                     Shhh.   Come on, now.   Shhh.

        He holds her close, waits for her breathing to slow before:

<b>                                  FRANK
</b>                     Where are we going to go? Spain?
                     China? Which fuckin place is it going
                     to be?

<b>                                  ANA
</b>                     We can go anywhere we want.     We can live
                     anywhere.

<b>                                  FRANK
</b>                     We can run and hide is what you're
                     saying.

        He slowly shakes his head: that's something he'll never do.

<b>                                  FRANK
</b>                     This is where I'm from. This is where
                     my family is. My business. My mother.
                     This is my place. This is my country.
                     This is America.

<b>256 - 263 OMIT                                             256 - 263 OMIT
</b><b>264     EXT. HUDSON RIVER - MORNING                                      264
</b>
        The Statue of Liberty in morning light and mist rises from
        the waters of the Hudson River.

<b>A265    INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - MORNING                      A265
</b>
        Richie, at his desk, looks up to see Trupo walking through
        the squad room, followed by Spearman.

<b>                                  SPEARMAN
</b>                     Said he'll only talk to you.

<b>B265    INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - LATER - MORNING              B265
</b>
        Trupo's attitude has completely changed from the first time
        they met. He talks to Richie now like a fellow conspirator -


<b>                                                                        (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       99.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>B265   CONTINUED:                                                     B265
</b>

<b>                                 TRUPO
</b>                    From what I hear, it was the Corsicans.
                    The French Connection, Fernando Rey, the
                    exporters Frank has put out of business.
                    Now, I can take care of him in New York,
                    but I don't want to have to worry every
                    time he drives across the bridge to
                    Jersey someone's gonna take another shot
                    at him.

       Richie gives nothing away even as it stuns him that Trupo
       would speak to him this blatantly.

<b>                                 TRUPO
</b>                    We need to start working together. We
                    need to step up our efforts. Next time
                    their aim could be better. We need to
                    keep this cash cow alive.

       Jimmy Racine comes in - sees Trupo - and leaves - but not
       before Trupo has seen him. And now he sees the Lucas Table
       of Organization he didn't notice when he came in. Gets up
       and walks over to it now and takes a closer look. Sees
       Frank's picture at the top, like Enemy Number 1.

<b>                                 TRUPO
</b>                    Jesus. What the fuck you doing here?
                    You actually going to arrest Frank Lucas?
                    What's the matter with you?

<b>                                 RICHIE
</b>                    I'm crazy. Can't you tell that? I'm
                    crazy enough to shoot someone and make it
                    look like an accident next time he comes
                    over the bridge without my permission.
                    Get the fuck out of New Jersey.

       They regard each other a moment before Trupo turns to leave.

<b>C265   INT. FRANK'S PENTHOUSE - DAY                                   C265
</b>
       A large TV shows chaotic scenes in Saigon. The US is
       pulling out of Vietnam. Tosca has come to see how Frank is
       recovering, and finds him, agitated, too long in bed even
       though it's only been a day, changing into a nice shirt,
       putting on his shoes -

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                    "I can guarantee you peace of mind,"
                    you said. Do I look like a man with
                    peace of mind to you? They shot at my
                    wife. Who does that?
<b>                                 (MORE)
</b><b>                                                                      (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       100.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>C265   CONTINUED:                                                      C265
</b><b>                                 FRANK (CONT'D)
</b>                    Who was it, which one of your people?
                    I'll take that gun away and shove it up
                    their ass.

<b>                                 TOSCA
</b>                    I don't know that it was any of them,
                    Frank. Neither do you.

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                    Then maybe I'll kill them all just to
                    make a fuckin point.

       Tosca seems more philosophical about it - like Bumpy might
       have been - but it wasn't him who was shot at.

<b>                                 TOSCA
</b>                    You want to know who it was? I can
                    tell you. It was a junkie. Or a rival.
                    Or some dumb ass kid trying to make a
                    name for himself. Or someone you forgot
                    to pay off. Or slighted without
                    realizing it. Or someone you put out of
                    business by being too successful.
                           (pause)
                    Success has a lot of enemies. Your
                    success is who took a shot at you. How
                    you gonna kill it? By being
                    unsuccessful? You can be successful and
                    have enemies, or unsuccessful and have
                    friends. It's the choice we make.

<b>265    INT. MASSAGE ROOM - SOUL BROTHERS BAR - NIGHT                    265
</b>
       A call has interrupted Nate's massage (and later activities)
       with a bevy of Thai girls. He wraps himself in a robe,
       takes the phone.

<b>                                  NATE
</b>                    Hello?

<b>266    INT. REGENCY HOTEL - SAME TIME - DAY                             266
</b>
       Frank on a pay phone in a comfortable alcove with a stack
       of quarters. Other guests are gathered around a TV in the
       lounge that shows images of helicopters plucking diplomats
       off the roof of the American Embassy in Saigon.

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                    I'm watching the news.     Where the hell's
                    everyone going?

<b>                                   NATE
</b>                    Home.    The war's over.

<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      101.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>266   CONTINUED:                                                       266
</b>

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Just like that? We're going to leave the
                   fuckin country to the communists?

<b>                                NATE
</b>                   We been here since 1961, Frank.

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                   I haven't!                                                

<b>      HARD CUT TO:
</b>
<b>267   EXT. JUNGLE - DAY                                                267   
</b>
      Frank and Nate and their "army" of black servicemen and Thai
      thugs wind through the jungle with pack mules.                         

<b>268   INT. BAMBOO DWELLING - OPIUM FARM - DAY                          268
</b>
      The same farm and hut as before. Frank and the Chinese
      General sip tea. The four million dollars in cash Frank
      brought sits on the table.

<b>                                GENERAL
</b>                   Opium plants are hearty enough to
                   outlive any war. They'll still be here
                   long after the troops are gone. But what
                   are you going to do for transportation
                   when the last US plane goes home?

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I'll figure something out.      You'll see
                   me again.
      The General seems fond of Frank, and not only because of all
      the money on the table.

<b>                                GENERAL
</b>                   It's not in my best interest to say
                   this, Frank ... but quitting while you're
                   ahead is not the same as quitting.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   That's what my wife thinks.

<b>                                GENERAL
</b>                   But you don't think she's right.

      Frank doesn't say.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                     102.
</b><b>                               
</b>



<b>269    EXT. OPIUM FARM - DAY                                           269
</b>
       Mules are loaded up with burlap bags containing 3,000 kilos
       of heroin.

<b>A270   EXT. OPIUM FARM / JUNGLE - DAY                                 A270
</b>
       The mule train approaches the jungle that surrounds the
       opium farm. Nate's Thai thugs, left behind in sniper
       positions in the trees, stand ready to open fire if they
       have to as Frank, Nate, the soldiers and mules pass below.

<b>B270   EXT. JUNGLE - LATER - DAY                                      B270
</b>
       They seem to have made it, winding back down through the
       jungle with the mules. Suddenly a barrage of gunfire erupts
       from the trees - a couple of Nate's men are hit as the rest
       dive for cover, shouting "Vietcong," and returning the fire.
       Frank drops down from his mule, gets a pistol out and shoots
       into the trees. Bullet-severed palm fronds rain down.

<b>                              FRANK
</b>                 Give them half!

       Nate, pinned down by the mules, can't hear him over the
       noise.

<b>                              FRANK
</b>                 Cut half of them loose!      The mules!

       Nate cuts the mule-train tether in the middle, slaps at the
       animals. As the freed mules disappear into a wall of trees
       the shooting subsides, then stops altogether. Smoke from
       all the gunfire rises like mist around the half dozen Thais
       and Americans lying dead on the ground.

<b>270    EXT. STREET - NIGHT                                             270
</b>
       Teddy makes out with a girl in the back seat of his car.
       The pay phone just outside on the corner rings, and he gets
       out, steps past Jimmy, answers it -

<b>271    INT. SOUL BROTHERS BAR - BANGKOK - INTERCUT - DAY               271
</b>
       A Thai singer attempts Otis Redding on the little stage.
       Frank, at a table here, with a drink and a phone.

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                 Newark.     Short Term Parking Lot 3.

<b>                              TEDDY V/O
</b>                 When you need it? Today?

<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    103.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>271   CONTINUED:                                                     271
</b>

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Tomorrow will be fine.

<b>272   EXT. STREET - CONTINUED                                        272
</b>
      Jimmy loiters close enough to the open pay phone, to hear
      Teddy's side of the conversation.

<b>                                TEDDY
</b>                   Short Term Lot 3. This the Mustang were
                   talking about ... Camero? ... What's the
                   plate number?
                          (writes on a napkin)
                   Yeah, I got it ... I got it, Frank ...
                          (sighs; reads from the
                           napkin:)
<b>                   KA 760.
</b>
<b>273   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - DAY                         273
</b>
      Jimmy's come over to share his news with the detectives.
      But Richie isn't pleased with it - or with Jimmy.

<b>                                ABRUZZO
</b>                   There's no Short Term Lot 3 at Newark.
                   They're lettered, A, B, C, D -

<b>                                JIMMY
</b>                   I'm just telling you what I heard -

<b>                                ABRUZZO
</b>                   Then you heard wrong!

      Jimmy shies back a step in case Abruzzo takes a swing.
<b>                                SPEARMAN
</b>                   Maybe he means the time?   3 o'clock?

<b>                                JONES
</b>                   And this isn't a Jersey plate. Or New
                   York. Not with just two letters. It's
                   three and three, not two and three -

<b>                                JIMMY
</b>                   It's what he said -

<b>                                JONES
</b>                   Then what the fuck is it -

<b>                                JIMMY
</b>                   The fuck should I know -


<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                         104.
</b><b>                                   
</b><b>273        CONTINUED:                                                     273
</b>

<b>                                     ABRUZZO
</b>                        You're fuckin lying -

<b>                                     JIMMY
</b>                        It's what he said.   I'm sure.

<b>                                    SPEARMAN
</b><b>                        KA 760 -
</b>
<b>                                    JIMMY
</b>                        Yes!

           Silence.   They all look at each other.       After a moment -

<b>                                     RICHIE
</b>                        None of you ever been in the service?
                        It's an Air Force tail number.

<b>274        EXT. SKY - DAY                                                 274
</b>
           The plane, with that tail number, descends through clouds.

<b>275        EXT. NEWARK AIRPORT - DAY                                      275
</b>
           Richie's entire staff of detectives, along with Toback, the
           DA and several customs agents, stand on the tarmac, watching
           the military plane taxiing toward them -

<b>276        EXT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - DAY                    276
</b>
           Quiet sounds of suburban domesticity - chirping birds, a
           distant lawn mower -

<b>277        EXT. NEWARK AIRPORT - CONTINUED                                277
</b>           The cabin door slides up, the passengers begin emerging:
           Military officers, embassy personnel and families. Richie's
           detectives and Toback watch him with concern as the official
           passengers, met by a bevy of assistants, file past -

<b>278        INT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - CONTINUED              278
</b>
           The kitchen. Frank's mother shows Ana some old photographs             
           of Frank as a boy as they sip coffee. There's a tap on the             
           glass French door. The women look up and see Trupo just                
           outside it, and other police moving past. He waves.                    

<b>279 OMIT                                                            279 OMIT
</b>
<b>280        EXT. NEWARK AIRPORT - CONTINUED                                280
</b>
           An Army captain approaches Richie's law enforcement group.

<b>                                                                         (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    105.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>280   CONTINUED:                                                     280
</b>

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Captain, I'm Richard Roberts, Director of
                   the Essex County Narcotics Bureau.

<b>281   INT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - CONTINUED              281
</b>
      Front door. Trupo sort of waves a search warrant at Julie              
      as invites himself in. The NY cops follow, fan out. Trupo              
      and his detectives head upstairs -                                     

<b>282   INT. AIRPORT HANGAR - LATER                                    282     
</b>
      The plane has been brought into a hangar where it's being
      taken apart like a car stripped by thieves. Inside the
      cabin, seats are removed and inspected, carpeting pulled up,
      panels unscrewed, lavatories dismantled.

<b>283   INT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - CONTINUED              283
</b>
      Downstairs - Ana and Frank's mother, guarded, can hear                 
      Trupo and his detectives, upstairs, ransacking a bedroom.              

      Upstairs - the SIU detectives pull open drawers, throw                 
      clothes from the closets.   Trupo picks up an invitation to            
      a United Nations ball, tosses it down again. Finds a safety-           
      deposit box key in a sock drawer, puts it in his pocket.               

<b>284   INT. AIRPORT HANGAR - CONTINUED                                284
</b>
      The engines and landing gear are disassembled, the tires
      opened up and searched. A nozzle plunges into a toilet and
      pumps out the contents into barrels detectives fish through
      with gloved hands -
<b>285   INT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - LATER - DAY            285
</b>
      Ana is taken upstairs, brought before the SIU detectives               
      who wait for the NYPD cops to leave the room. The place
      has been torn apart.

<b>                                TRUPO
</b>                   Your husband's illustrious career is
                   over. The Feds are going to come in and
                   take it all. Everything. But not before
                   I get my gratuity. Where's the money?

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   There was some on that dresser, but it's
                   gone now so I guess you (took it) -

<b>                                TRUPO
</b>                   The money! The getaway money Frank and
                   every other gangster keeps in his house!
<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      106.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>285   CONTINUED:                                                       285
</b>

<b>                                ANA
</b>                   If you leave now, there's a chance
                   Frank might not kill you -

      Trupo slaps her hard across the face -

<b>286   INT. AIRPORT HANGAR - LATER                                      286
</b>
      Richie, off by himself, watches with a growing sense of
      panic as the mechanics, detectives and customs agents begin
      removing the metal skin from the plane. Coffins are being
      off-loaded.

<b>287   INT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - LATER                    287
</b>
      Downstairs, Mama Lucas puts washcloth on Ana's swollen
      cheek. They can hear the search continuing upstairs: things
      being ripped from the walls, the walls themselves splintered
      apart with sledgehammers, glass breaking. To Mama Lucas -

<b>                                 ANA
</b>                   I'm sorry.

<b>288   INT. AIRPORT HANGAR - LATER                                      288
</b>
      They've looked everywhere and found nothing. The plane,
      in fact, hardly resembles a plane anymore - no panel left
      that hasn't been removed, no cavity not probed - except -

      Richie's glance settles on the military caskets as they're
      loaded onto a truck, armed soldiers standing guard -

<b>289   INT/EXT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - DAY                  289
</b>      Frank's bedroom has been destroyed. Trupo, standing at a
      window glances out at the sound of a barking of a dog to see
      Frank's German shepherd down in its kennel.

<b>290   INT. AIRPORT HANGAR - CONTINUED                                  290
</b>
      Richie gets up slowly and approaches the coffins as -

<b>291   EXT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - DAY                      291
</b>
      Trupo crosses the lawn toward the kennel and barking dog -

<b>292   INT. AIRPORT HANGAR - CONTINUED                                  292
</b>
      Richie stands over the nearest coffin -

<b>                                 RICHIE
</b>                   Open it.

<b>                                                                      (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    107.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>292   CONTINUED:                                                     292
</b>

      The army captain regards the detective for a long moment.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   The warrant permits me to search the
                   plane and its cargo.

      The captain doesn't comply. Richie moves to open the coffin
      himself and every soldier's shouldered rifle immediately
      comes into firing position, aimed at him.

<b>                                ARMY CAPTAIN
</b>                   But you don't have my permission.

      Richie stares at the weapons and the uniformed men holding
      them, safeties off, fingers on the triggers; all they're
      waiting for is their commander's order to fire.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I don't need it.

<b>293   EXT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - CONTINUED              293
</b>
      Trupo regards the shepherd snarling at him from behind the
      kennel fence. Comes around back. Pushes at the frame. It
      moves a little, like it's levered -

<b>294   INT. AIRPORT HANGAR - CONTINUED                                294
</b>
      With the rifles still pointed at him, Richie kneels down,
      pulls the latches of the coffins, half expecting to hear an
      accompanying barrage of gunfire. He lifts the lid. Sees a
      long black body bag inside -

<b>295   EXT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - CONTINUED              295
</b>      Trupo comes around to the front of the kennel again with his
      gun out and aims it at the dog. As he fires -

<b>296   INT. AIRPORT HANGAR - CONTINUED                                296
</b>
      Richie pulls at the zipper, parting the plastic body bag,
      revealing the remains of a young soldier -

<b>                                US ATTORNEY
</b>                   That's enough.

<b>297   EXT. MAMA LUCAS'S TEANECK, N.J. HOUSE - CONTINUED              297
</b>
      The dead dog slides against the fencing as Trupo overturns
      the kennel to reveal Frank's stash of cash.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                 108.
</b><b>                           
</b>



<b>298   INT. AIRPORT HANGER OFFICE - MINUTES LATER - DAY             298
</b>
      Richie and Toback sit before the Federal Attorneys and
      customs agents. The US Attorney hangs up a phone ... then:

<b>                             US ATTORNEY
</b>                That was a military transport plane. If
                there was heroin on board then someone in
                the military would have to be involved.
                Which means that even as it fights a war
                that's claimed 50,000 Americans lives,
                the military is smuggling narcotics.

      Richie's in serious trouble and knows it.    As does Toback.

<b>                             US ATTORNEY
</b>                That's how these events are being
                interpreted by General Easton in that
                call to me. That someone employed by the
                this office believes the United States
                Army is in the drug trafficking business -
                and is trying to prove it by desecrating
                the remains of young men who've given
                their lives in the defence of democracy.

<b>                             RICHIE
</b>                There are drugs on that plane -

<b>                             US ATTORNEY
</b>                Shut the fuck up.

      Richie does, but can't conceal the contempt he feels for
      these men who've never spent a minute on the street but act
      as if know more than him, and who are, in the unfortunate
      organization of his world, his superiors.

<b>                             US ATTORNEY
</b>                Is it any wonder then, because of your
                actions, the entire federal narcotics
                program is now in jeopardy of being
                dismantled as completely and enthusiastic-
                ally as that fucking transport plane?
                That's what you've accomplished Mr.
                Roberts. Single-handedly.

<b>                             RICHIE
</b>                I had good information the target of my
                investigation was bringing dope in on
                that plane.

<b>                             US ATTORNEY
</b>                And that target is?

<b>                                                                 (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    109.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>298   CONTINUED:                                                     298
</b>

<b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                   Frank Lucas.

      No one in the room, except Richie and Toback, has ever
      heard the name. The federal men regard one another blankly.

<b>                                US ATTORNEY
</b>                   Who?  Who's Frank Lucas?
                          (no one seems to know)
                   Who's he work for? Which family?

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   He's not Italian. He's black.

      Now there's a longer, even deeper silence, before -

<b>                                US ATTORNEY
</b>                   Is that supposed to be some kind of joke?
                   You're this close to the end of your
                   career in law enforcement, you're making
                   jokes?

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I believe Frank Lucas is above the mafia
                   in the dope business. I believe he buys
                   direct from the source in Southeast Asia,
                   cuts out all the middlemen, and uses US
                   military planes and personnel to bring
                   pure No. 4 heroin into United States.

      Richie is looking at faces that are still trying to make
      sense out of his ridiculous theory. Toback tries to come to
      his defense -
<b>                                TOBACK
</b>                   Richie has a lot of experience -

<b>                                US ATTORNEY
</b>                   Does he. And how many arrests has he
                   made in his so-called investigation?

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I was promised when I took this job, it
                   was about real arrests.

<b>                                US ATTORNEY
</b>                   Does that mean `none?'

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I have cases against most of Frank's
                   organization. Not him -


<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                           110.
</b><b>                                     
</b><b>298        CONTINUED:                                                       298
</b>

<b>                                     US ATTORNEY
</b>                               (more to the others)
                        Frank's organization -

<b>                                     RICHIE
</b>                        That's right.

<b>                                     US ATTORNEY
</b>                        No fucking nigger has accomplished what
                        the American Mafia hasn't in a hundred
                        years!

<b>                                     RICHIE
</b>                        Yeah, you'd know, sitting here, having
                        never been on the (street) -

<b>                                     US ATTORNEY
</b>                        Lou, get this fucking kike out of here -

           Richie goes for him and lands several punches before Toback
           and the others can pull him off.

<b>299 OMIT                                                              299 OMIT
</b>
<b>300        INT/EXT. AIRPORT HANGAR OFFICE - DAY                             300
</b>
           Richie and Toback walk briskly across the lobby -

<b>                                     TOBACK
</b>                        He was out of line, Richie.

           Richie isn't really listening. Strides past his detectives
           on his way out of the building. To Spearman -
<b>                                      TOBACK
</b>                        It's over.   You're shut down.

           Toback watches as the detectives follow after Richie
           striding toward his car.

<b>301 - 302 OMIT                                                 301 - 302 OMIT
</b>
<b>A303       INT/EXT. AIRPORT TERMINAL - NIGHT                                A303
</b>
           Frank comes out with an airline representative to find Doc
           waiting for him. He can tell immediately something's wrong.

<b>B303       INT. FRANK'S PENTHOUSE - NIGHT                                   B303    
</b>
           Frank slaps a cartridge into the butt of a pistol.

<b>                                     FRANK
</b>                        Ten million dollars means nothing to me.
<b>                                                                           (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      111.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>B303   CONTINUED:                                                     B303
</b>

       Ana stares at the floor. It all just seems to get worse and
       worse. They had their chance to get out and missed it.

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                    This - is his death warrant.

       He lightly touches his wife's bruised face and walks out.

<b>C303   INT. FRANK'S PENTHOUSE - NIGHT                                  C303    
</b>
       He comes down the stairs to where Doc waits.         As they head
       for the door -

<b>                                 MRS. LUCAS
</b>                    Frankie -

       Frank glances to where his mother sits in the living room.
       Nods to Doc to say, Get the car, I'll be out in a minute.
       Goes over to his mother.

<b>                                 MRS. LUCAS
</b>                    Sit down.

       He sits. She studies him in a way she hasn't since he was
       little. Eventually -

<b>                                 MRS. LUCAS
</b>                    If you'd have been a preacher, your
                    brothers would be preachers. If you'd
                    been a soldier, they'd be soldiers. Do
                    you know that?
                           (he doesn't say)
                    They all came here because of you. You
                    called and they came running. They look
                    up to you. They expect you to always
                    know what's best.
                           (pause)
                    But even they know you don't shoot
                    cops. Even I know that. Ana knows it.
                    You seem to be the only one who doesn't.

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                    Is that where I'm going?

<b>                                 MRS. LUCAS
</b>                    I never asked you where all this came
                    from because I didn't want to hear you
                    lie to me. Don't lie to me. Don't do
                    that, too.

       She's not pleading, she's telling.       Silence.    Then -


<b>                                                                      (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                      112.
</b><b>                                
</b><b>C303    CONTINUED:                                                    C303
</b>

<b>                                  MRS. LUCAS
</b>                     Do you really want to make things so
                     bad for your family they'll leave you?
                     Because they will. She will -
                            (points upstairs)
                     I know I will.

        Frank has some trouble looking at her. But then gets up.
        Walks toward the front door to leave. Hesitates near it a
        long moment. Then turns and walks upstairs. Trupo will
        live, at least for now, because of her.

<b>D303    INT. ARMY HOSPITAL - NIGHT                                     D303
</b>
        Down in the basement, the body bags are lifted from the
        wooden coffins. Set down on tables. The bags unzipped and
        the bodies removed.

        A rack of clean uniforms is brought in. The morticians
        begin dressing the corpses and applying make-up on the dry
        gray skin.

        New white military caskets are trundled in. Gold handles
        lifted. The bodies, clothed and painted now, are deposited
        on the silk linings. The lids of the coffins come down and
        cellophane bags containing folded flags are taped on top.

<b>303 - 309 OMIT                                            303 - 309 OMIT      
</b>
<b>310     EXT. ARMY HOSPITAL - NIGHT                                     310
</b>
        The white caskets are taken to a loading dock, put in a
        military truck. Papers are signed, copies exchanged. As
        the truck drives off -
<b>311     INT. ARMY HOSPITAL - NIGHT                                     311
</b>
        Two black privates on janitorial duty come into the room
        where the original plain wooden coffins have been discarded.
        They remove the lids, then the finely-crafted false bottoms,
        revealing in 4-inch cavities of each, tightly-packed bricks
        of Double UO Globe heroin. As they take them out, a gospel
        choir begins and continues over:

<b>312     EXT. ARMY HOSPITAL - MORNING                                   312    
</b>
        A laundry truck idles. Stevie, the Lucas nephew who could
        have played for Yankees, jumps down, helps the two privates
        toss several laundry bags into the back of the truck.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                         113.
</b><b>                                   
</b>



<b>A313       EXT. BAPTIST CHURCH - MORNING                                  A313   
</b>
           A minister on the steps welcomes the congregation which
           includes Frank, his mother, and Ana -

<b>313        EXT. PERIMETER OF THE ARMY BASE - MORNING                       313   
</b>
           The laundry truck comes past a guard gate, leaves the base,
           drives past a stand of trees. As it passes, Richie, parked            
           by his detectives' cars, recognizes the young driver - who's          
           wearing the same Yankee baseball cap in his T.O. photo.               

           As Richie and his detectives climb into their cars, two               
           Lucas cars fold in behind the laundry truck. The detectives           
           follow at a distance -                                                

<b>A314 OMIT                                                          A314 OMIT
</b>
<b>314        INT. BAPTIST CHURCH - MORNING                                   314   
</b>
           The sea of ladies' hats from above move in time with the
           gospel choir. As always, no matter what else is going on in
           his complicated life, Frank sits with his mother and Ana in
           their usual pew. The gospel music continues over:                     

<b>A315       EXT. BAPTIST CHURCH - MORNING                                  A315
</b>
           Frank emerges from the church, kisses his mother and Ana and
           put them in a car with a driver. He climbs into Doc's
           alone. His mother watches, wondering perhaps if he intends
           to go kill Trupo after all. As Doc's car leaves, so does
           another.

<b>315 - 318 OMIT                                               315 - 318 OMIT      
</b><b>319        INT/EXT. RICHIE'S CAR - MOVING - NEAR GW BRIDGE - MORNING19
</b><b>                                                                   3
</b>
           The laundry truck approaches a ramp leading to the George
           Washington Bridge. Richie, a couple of car lengths behind,
           follows. The truck continues straight.

<b>320 OMIT                                                            320 OMIT
</b>
<b>321        EXT. NEWARK - MORNING                                           321   
</b>
           From overhead, the laundry truck, the gun car and the van -
           and the detectives' cars following them all - converge from
           different directions -
<b>
</b><b>                                                                   114.
</b><b>                             
</b>



<b>322    EXT. NEWARK - NEAR STEPHEN CRANE PROJECTS - MORNING           322
</b>
       Red Top's van makes a turn. As Abruzzo's makes the same
       turn behind it, the infamous Stephen Crane Projects rise up
       in his windshield.

       His foot comes off the gas. As the gun car passes, he
       sees Jones's car slow. Teddy's car approaches from another
       direction into the Projects, and Abruzzo sees Spearman pull
       over. Then the laundry truck turns in, and Richie's slows
       to a stop, like Abruzzo's, outside the grounds of the
       foreboding towers. The gospel music ends.

<b>A323   EXT. CEMETERY - MORNING                                      A323
</b>
       Doc waits in the car while Frank buys some flowers at a
       cemetery flower stand. The surveillance car cruises past.

<b>323    INT. TOBACK'S HOUSE - MORNING                                 323
</b>
       Toback, in his bathrobe, glass of milk in one hand, phone in
       the other ...

<b>                                 TOBACK
</b>                 Where is it?

<b>                              RICHIE V/O
</b>                 Somewhere in the South tower.

<b>                              TOBACK
</b>                 You know that it's there.     You're sure.

<b>                                 RICHIE V/O
</b>                 Positive.
<b>324    EXT. STEPHEN CRANE PROJECTS - SAME TIME                       324
</b>
       Richie, on a pay phone across down the street from the
       Projects, looks up at the dark South tower.

<b>                              RICHIE
</b>                 Lou. We're ready to go in there
                 knowing there's a good chance we won't
                 all come out. That's what we're willing
                 to do. All I'm asking you to do get me a
                 warrant.

       Silence on the other end of the line ...

<b>                              RICHIE
</b>                 We don't have a lot of time to fuck
                 around -

<b>                                                                   (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     115.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>324    CONTINUED:                                                     324
</b>

<b>                                 TOBACK V/O
</b>                    I'll call in the warrant. And some
                    backup. Don't go in before either gets
                    there.

       This call disconnects.

<b>325    INT. APARTMENT, THE PROJECTS - MORNING                         325
</b>
       The girls spread and tape plastic sheeting to tabletops,
       then begin changing for work, which means undressing.

<b>326    EXT. STEPHEN CRANE PROJECTS - MORNING                          326
</b>
       Richie and his guys wait for the warrant by their cars.

<b>                                 JONES
</b>                    How long we gonna wait for it?

<b>327    INT. APARTMENT, THE PROJECTS - MORNING                         327
</b>
       Pharmaceutical scales balance to their counterweights as
       the five naked, masked women cut the heroin with quinine to
       Frank's exacting standards. Red Top puts on some coffee.

<b>328    EXT. STEPHEN CRANE PROJECTS - MORNING                          328
</b>
       Richie stares down the street, waiting for whatever it is
       they're waiting for. Spearman looks at his watch.

<b>                                 RICHIE
</b>                    It'll be here.

<b>329    INT. APARTMENT, THE PROJECTS - MORNING                         329
</b>       A paper-cutter blade slices a sheet of blue cellophane.
       The girls at the tables, with the expertise of Cuban cigar
       makers, wrap pieces of the cellophane like tobacco leaves
       around precisely-measured 1/4-ounce drifts of Black Magic.

<b>A330   EXT. CEMETERY - MORNING                                        A330
</b>
       Frank's car winds up the road of the cemetery. The
       surveillance car comes through the main gate and parks.

<b>330    EXT. STEPHEN CRANE PROJECTS - MORNING                          330
</b>
       Several black and white and undercover cars approach,
       sirens off. Toback himself climbs out of one of the cars
       and hands Richie the search warrant.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                  116.
</b><b>                            
</b>



<b>331    EXT. STEPHEN CRANE PROJECTS - MORNING                        331
</b>
       The tall buildings cast long shadows of dread on every
       activity below, no matter how routine: A woman pushing a
       stroller, guys shooting hoops, a couple arguing, kids on
       bikes, old men resting on a graffiti-covered bench.

       The unmarked cars drive slowly through it all. The place
       teeters on the brink of violence you can feel as gangs move
       under the shadow of the towers.

<b>332    INT. GROUND FLOOR, SOUTH TOWER, THE PROJECTS - DAY           332
</b>
       Richie removes the cover plate of an elevator, cuts the
       wires, disengaging it, then leads the Amigos, followed by
       more detectives to a stairwell. The place is like Beirut.
       Debris-strewn, graffiti-covered.

<b>A333   EXT. CEMETERY - CONTINUED - DAY                             A333
</b>
       Frank walks past graves to Bumpy's. Replaces some dried
       flowers with fresh ones. Looks around for something to sit
       on. Sees some wooden folding chairs around a fresher grave
       nearby. Doc waits by the car in the distance.

<b>333    INT. STAIRWELL - FLOORS - SOUTH TOWER - DAY                  333
</b>
       Floor by floor, they work their way up the tower like
       commandos, the squalor and decay and hopelessness somehow
       intensifying the higher up they go.

       Reaching the 17th floor, they listen to a strange sound
       before easing the fire door open enough to see a kid on a
       Big Wheels pedalling straight at them. He passes and the
       sound fades.

<b>334    INT. 17TH FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY                                334
</b>
       Half the apartment doors are gone. TVs and radios echo,
       voices argue, infants wail. The detectives come around a
       corner and see at the end of it: a couple of guys with a
       sawed-off shotguns sitting outside a closed door.

       They step back. Consider one other. Spearman volunteers
       with a nod, continues on alone as the others wait. He walks
       up to the guys with the guns.

<b>                              SPEARMAN
</b>                 I got to talk to Teddy.

<b>                              GUY WITH GUN
</b>                 Get the fuck out of here.

<b>                                                                  (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    117.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>334   CONTINUED:                                                     334
</b>

<b>                                SPEARMAN
</b>                   What the fuck is that? I got business
                   with Teddy and it's none of your fuckin
                   business except to knock on the fuckin
                   door and get him.

      As the guy stands, pumping the shotgun, Spearman yanks it
      hard against his throat like a garrote, forcing him to the
      floor. The shotgun explodes, showering plaster and pellets.
      Jones and Abruzzo are instantly all over the other guy as
      Richie swings the sledgehammer into the door -

<b>335   INT. APARTMENT, THE PROJECTS - CONTINUOUS                      335
</b>
      The door splinters - the room already in chaos - Teddy,
      panicked, runs for the bedroom - the detectives crash in
      yelling at the girls to get down - a shot from somewhere
      inside wings Abruzzo - Jones and Spearman firing back -
      crawling across the floor like an infantrymen -

      Richie comes into the darkened bedroom leading with his
      pistol. But Teddy's gone. He sees a tapestry of a tiger on
      a wall. Pulls at it, finds a big hole knocked into another
      dark apartment, climbs through, sees an open door -

<b>336   INT. THE PROJECTS BUILDING - CONTINUOUS                        336
</b>
      As Richie rushes out to the hallway he can hear footfalls
      echoing in the stairwell. He starts down, taking the stairs
      five at a time, chases Teddy down two flights -                      

      Teddy yanks open a door, runs down a corridor, bangs into            
      an apartment. Richie reaches the apartment just as Teddy is          
      goes out onto an exterior balcony -                                  
      Richie continues along the interior corridor, running                
      parallel to Teddy on the balcony, who trips over some debris         
      and garbage, looking over his shoulder for Richie -                  

      Richie cuts through another apartment to head him off, but           
      the door to the balcony is nailed shut. So are the windows.          
      Richie looks around, grabs a small portable television and,          
      just as Teddy runs past, hurls it through a window at him,           
      hitting him in the head.                                             

      He falls hard, dazed. Richie hurries through the broken              
      window. Teddy comes to and fights back, until Richie breaks          
      his femur with his bare hands. Teddy howls in excruciating
      pain -

<b>337   INT/EXT. DRY CLEANERS - DAY                                    337
</b>
      Police cars outside.    Eugene Lucas is cuffed and led away.
<b>
</b><b>                                                                    118.
</b><b>                              
</b>



<b>338    EXT. METAL DOOR SHOP - DAY                                     338
</b>
       More police outside Lester's place.     They cuff him.

<b>339    EXT. TIRE SERVICE SHOP - DAY                                   339
</b>
       New Jersey troopers cuff Turner Lucas and lead him away.

<b>340    EXT. ELECTRICAL SHOP - DAY                                     340
</b>
       Cuffed, Earl Lucas is put in the back of a patrol car.

<b>341    EXT. CEMETERY - CONTINUED - DAY                                341
</b>
       Frank, on a wooden folding chair at Bumpy's grave, hears
       the gunning of engines and barking of cops. He turns to see
       Doc being handcuffed on the ground by the Towncar. Glances
       to a lone figure walking toward him over a rise. Richie.

       Richie arrives at the grave. Regards the monument to
       Ellsworth Johnson, and Frank sitting calmly regarding him.
       Richie glances around the peaceful surroundings ...

<b>                              RICHIE
</b>                 What kind of trees are these?

       Frank looks at the trees, then at Richie, with equal
       serenity.

<b>                              FRANK
</b>                 You think you got Frank Lucas.      You
                 got nothing.

<b>A342   INT. RICHIE'S APARTMENT - DAY                                 A342    
</b>       Richie cuts the tags off a new, inexpensive suit. Slips               
       the jacket on, which seemed somehow to fit a little better            
       at the store. Cuts the tags off a tie.                                

<b>B342   INT. COURTHOUSE MENS ROOM - DAY                               B342    
</b>
       Someone throwing up in a stall. The toilet flushes, the               
       door opens and Richie steps up to a sink, regards his face            
       in the mirror. Under the fluorescent lights - maybe under             
       any kind - his skin is a shade of death. He splashes water            
       on it and tries to gather himself.                                    

<b>342    INT. COURTROOM - DAY                                           342
</b>
       At the prosecutors table, Richie steals glances at the
       battery of expensive attorneys over at the defense table.


<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    119.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>342   CONTINUED:                                                     342
</b>

      The courtroom doors swing open and Richie sees Frank Lucas,
      in a tailored suit, escorted in without cuffs by an amiable-           
      looking federal marshal.

      As Frank moves through the gallery, Richie sees it's full of
      the gangster's friends, many of them celebrities, who smile
      and greet and fawn as if the Pope has arrived.

      Richie has evidence tables covered with cash, weapons,
      stocks, bonds, property deeds, pictures of Frank's holdings,
      heroin in blue cellophane.

      Frank has celebrities, community leaders, Joe Louis himself
      who will testify to Frank's benevolent character. The Champ
      hugs the heroin trafficker warmly in front of everyone and
      Richie wonders if he should just give up now.

      Richie sees it in slow motion: the hands reaching out to
      Frank, the pats on his back, lipsticked mouths of beautiful
      women offering kisses and words of encouragement, his old
      mother giving him a hug.

      He watches Frank's head turn slowly, his eyes passing his
      phalanx of attorneys, the jury, finally settling on Richie
      in his cheap suit seated at the prosecutors table.

      Frank's eyes smile as they regard Richie, and seem to ask,
      Can you see this - can you see what you're up against - can
      you see how insignificant you are?                                     

      Reaching the end of the welcoming line finally, Frank                  
      brushes by Richie and disappears from view somewhere within            
      the protective husk of his multi-million-dollar legal team.            
<b>                                JUDGE                                        
</b>                   Mr. Roberts -                                             

      Richie slowly lifts himself from his chair, steps forward,             
      turns to look at the jury that's studying him, finally finds           
      his voice:                                                             

<b>                                RICHIE                                       
</b>                   Thank you, your Honor.   Ladies and                       
                   gentlemen -                                               

<b>343   INT. COUNTY JAIL - INTERVIEW ROOM - DAY                        343
</b>
      Wire mesh separates Frank from his battalion of lawyers.
      He glances over them to Richie being led through the large
      Visiting Room.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Here he is, let me talk to him alone.
<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                       120.
</b><b>                                 
</b><b>343   CONTINUED:                                                        343
</b>

      The attorneys get up and leave. Richie takes their place.
      Frank regards him a moment, offering the same knowing smile
      from the courtroom. Richie offers nothing.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I just heard something. I said it
                   couldn't be true. You didn't really
                   turn in a million dollars you found
                   in the trunk of a car, did you?

      Richie doesn't say. Frank searches his face for some clue
      to where on earth he's from.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Want me to tell you what happened to
                   it? It ended up in cops' pockets.

<b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                   Maybe.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Maybe? No. It did. All you did was
                   give it to them for nothing in return.
                   Not nothing: You got their contempt.

      Frank studies him.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Why'd you do that? What're you trying
                   to prove, you're better than them? You're
                   not better than them. You are them.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I don't have the time or interest to
                   listen to (this) -

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   You did it because it was right.
                   That's all. Why's that hard to say?
                   The question is would you do it again?
                   That was a long time ago. It'd be very
                   easy to find out. Tell me you want to
                   find out, tell me the address, and a car
                   will be there, the trunk loaded.

      Richie knows Frank isn't kidding ...

<b>                                  RICHIE
</b>                   No, thanks.

      Frank suddenly explodes -


<b>                                                                       (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     121.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>343   CONTINUED:                                                      343
</b>

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Who the fuck are you to say no to
                   that? You think that impresses me?

      Guards look over, then glance away once it's clear the
      outburst is through. Richie remains serene. Eventually -

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Let me ask you something. You think by
                   putting me in jail, you're going to stop
                   even one junkie from dying? Because you
                   won't. If it isn't me, it'll be someone
                   else. With me or without me, nothing's
                   going to change.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Then that's the way it is.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   You have any sort of case? Or just
                   that idiot drives for my brother. Is he
                   your case? Because if it's just him and
                   the powder, it's not enough.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Then you got nothing to worry about.

      But Frank is worried, most of all by this cop who doesn't
      take money sitting placidly in front of him.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   My brothers won't talk to you. My
                   cousins. None of my family. No one but
                   that mother fucking driver.
<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I got more than that. I got a line of
                   people wanting to testify that stretches
                   out the door and around the block.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Bullshit.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Is it? Tony the Bug.     Benny Two-Socks.
                   Carmine Camanetti.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Who the fuck are they? I don't know
                   them and they don't know me.



<b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    122.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>343   CONTINUED:                                                     343
</b>

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   They sell dope for the Mazzano crime                      
                   family. Which you all but put out of
                   business.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   This is who you're going to put on the
                   stand? Guys who don't know me? Who got
                   nothing to do with me?

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   They have everything to do with you.
                   And the only thing they hate more than
                   you is what you represent.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I don't represent nothing.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   You don't? Black businessman like you?
                   Of course you do. But once you're gone,
                   things can return to normal.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Look at me. You looking? Can you tell
                   by looking it would mean nothing to me if
                   tomorrow you turned up dead?

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Get in line. That one stretches around
                   the block, too.

      Frank has never been so frustrated by anyone in his life.
      He wants to work something out with Richie obviously, but he
      can't figure out how. Frank studies him.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   What can we do?

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   You know what you have to do.                             

      Frank does, but doesn't like it, and doesn't know if he can            
      do it.                                                                 

<b>                                FRANK                                        
</b>                   I could give you cops, but that's not                     
                   who you want, is it. You want organized                   
                   crime names.                                              

<b>                                RICHIE                                       
</b>                   I'll take them, too.   I want them all.                   

<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    123.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>343   CONTINUED:                                                     343
</b>

      Frank isn't sure he heard right.                                       

<b>                                FRANK                                        
</b>                   You'll take them, too? You'd go after                     
                   cops? Are you serious? You'd do that?                     
                   Lock up your own kind?

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   They're not. Not the ones in business                     
                   with you. They're not my kind any more                    
                   than the Italians are yours.

      They regard one another in silence.      Richie can tell Frank
      sees daylight.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   What can you promise me?

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I can promise you if you lie to me about
                   one name, you'll never get out of prison.
                   Lie about one dollar in one offshore
                   account, you'll never get out. You can
                   live rich in jail the rest of your life,
                   or poor outside it, that's what I can
                   promise.

      Frank is silent for several moments.      Finally -

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   You know, I don't care if the feds take
                   all my buildings, my stocks, my off-shore
                   accounts. They can take it all, I don't
                   care - use it to build battleships, paint
                   bridges, whatever the fuck they want.
                   Fight another war. But those other
                   motherfuckers - the cops - put my money
                   in their pockets. Millions.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I believe it.

      Frank debates with himself the step he's about to take ...

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I want to know everyone   you've met for                  
                   the last twenty years.    Everyone you sold               
                   to. Every cop you ever    paid off. Every                 
                   one who ever stole from   you. Every one
                   you remember.



<b>                                                                    (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                    124.
</b><b>                              
</b><b>343   CONTINUED:                                                     343
</b>

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Oh, I remember them all.   That's not the
                   problem.

<b>                               RICHIE
</b>                   What is?

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   The jail's aren't big enough.

<b>344   INT. COUNTY JAIL CELL / STREETS OF NEW YORK - DAY              344
</b>
      Surveillance photographs of cops seen earlier taking
      envelopes of money on 116th Street and other drops go up
      on a new, elaborate Table of Organization - of cops.

<b>345   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - DAY                         345   
</b>
      Richie dismantles the Lucas Table of Organization here,
      taking down the photographs. As it collapses -

<b>346   INT. COUNTY JAIL CELL - CONTINUED                              346
</b>
      Frank puts up photographs of detectives -

347   QUICK CUTS of the same detectives, in handcuffs, led through
<b>                                                              347
</b>      police stations past other cops watching with dread like
      maybe they're next -

      A surveillance photograph of the four Princes of the City
      striding down a sidewalk goes up on the cell wall -

348   FLASHCUT as three of the four SIU cops are led away in cuffs
<b>                                                              348
</b>      from a golf course -
349   A surveillance photograph of Trupo in a black hand -           349

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   You go up here. Your "special."

      As Frank tapes the picture of Trupo at the top of the
      pyramid of corruption -

<b>350   INT/EXT. TRUPO'S GARAGE - MORNING                              350
</b>
      Trupo, coffee in hand, comes into his garage from his
      kitchen. Opens the garage door and sees two squad cars
      parked outside ...

351   A TV: A report on the indictments handed down by the    351
      Manhattan DA's office against 53 NYPD and SIU detectives -
<b>
</b><b>                                                                  125.
</b><b>                            
</b>



<b>352   INT. PRISON CELL - DAY (YEARS LATER)                          352
</b>
      Frank gathers his few personal belongings and puts them in
      a box. Stands with the box and waits for the cell door to
      open. The Table of Organization and files are gone.

      Legend:   Frank Lucas was convicted of Conspiracy to
                Distribute Narcotics and sentenced to 70 years.
                He served 15 of them.

      Legend:   Federal authorities confiscated over 250 million
                dollars from him in real estate, equities and cash
                in US and foreign banks.

<b>353   INT. NARCOTICS SQUAD HQ - NEWARK - DAY                        353
</b>
      Richie, too, is packing, putting personal items into boxes.

      Legend:   The day after he convicted Frank Lucas and 30 of
                his Country Boy relatives, Richard Roberts borrowed
                $400 from his credit union to help pay for a 3-day
                vacation to the Bahamas.

      Richie, carrying the box, switches off the lights and closes
      the door behind him on his way out.

      Legend:   Six months later, he quit the Prosecutors Office
                to become a defense attorney. His first client was
                Frank Lucas.

<b>354   EXT. PRISON - DAY (1990)                                      354
</b>
      Frank steps out into sunlight, free but owning nothing but
      the cardboard box in his arms. Looks out across the parking
      lot to see if anyone has come to pick him up. Sees Richie
      by his car, hand raised above his head like a flag.

<b>355   EXT. 116TH STREET, HARLEM - DAY                               355
</b>
      The two of them stand outside Richie's car on the same
      corner Frank shot Tango. Frank looks up at the street signs
      that used to say 116th Street and 8th Avenue. Now they say
      116th Street and Frederick Douglass Boulevard.

<b>                              FRANK
</b>                 Frederick Douglass Boulevard? What was
                 wrong with just plain 8th Avenue?

      He considers the street itself. It too has changed. The
      corner groceries, as Bumpy prophesied, really are gone now.



<b>                                                                  (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     126.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>355   CONTINUED:                                                      355
</b>

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I used to sit here with Ana in my old
                   car. She hated it. Now I don't even
                   have a car. Or her.

      Frank glances to where his favorite diner used to be, and
      across the street to where he shot Tango. It isn't a fruit
      stand any more.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Just do what?

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   What?

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   The fuck is that? Just do what?

      It's a Nike store with huge paintings of Michael Jordan and
      the admonition "Just Do It."

<b>                                 RICHIE
</b>                   Sneakers.   Expensive ones.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Who the fuck would buy those?

      A car equipped with sub-woofer bass comes booming past.
      Frank stares at it with the same pained look Bumpy had at
      the discount emporium.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   Your brothers know you're out?
<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   I haven't talked to them in years. It's
                   better that way. For them. I don't know
                   where they are. Went back to Greensboro
                   when they got out, I guess.

      Richie nods.    Frank looks back at the new storefronts.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   What am I going to do now, be a janitor?
                   What do I know how to do? How am I going
                   to live?

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   I told you I wouldn't let you starve.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   You told me but you can barely take care
                   of yourself.
<b>                                (MORE)
</b><b>                                                                     (CONT)
</b><b>
</b><b>                                                                     127.
</b><b>                               
</b><b>355   CONTINUED:                                                      355
</b><b>                                FRANK (CONT'D)
</b>                          (glances to a pay phone on
                           the corner)
                   You know, one phone call, Richie, I could
                   be back in business.

      The look Richie gives him calmly assures Frank if he did
      that it'd be the last phone he made outside prison - ever.

<b>                                 FRANK
</b>                   I won't.   I'm just saying I could.

      He buttons the cuffs of the fake Members Only windbreaker
      Richie bought him off the street.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Thanks for the clothes.

<b>                                RICHIE
</b>                   You're welcome.

      Frank glances away to three young hoods coming toward them
      like they own the sidewalk and everything around it - baggy
      pants, bandanas tied around their heads.

<b>                               FRANK
</b>                   Uh-oh. Look out. Here come the
                   gangsters.

      Frank's right in their path but doesn't move, forcing one
      of them to squeeze between him and a parking meter. The
      gangsta looks back, is about to say something, or do
      something, but, examining the expression of quiet menace on
      Frank's face, thinks better of it. The others stop.

<b>                                GANGSTA 2
</b>                   What.

      The first one is still staring at Frank, but finally has the
      good sense to let it go.

<b>                                GANGSTA 1
</b>                   Nothing.

      They move on.    Frank glances to Richie.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Every idiot gets to be young once.

      Frank zips up his Members Only jacket, props up the collar
      and points himself in the other direction.

<b>                                FRANK
</b>                   Let's get out of here.
<b>
</b>
Dominic Cattano