POINT BREAK by James Cameron & Kathryn Bigelow From the Screenplay by W. Peter Iliff FADE IN: We are in the belly of a wave. Light refracts in a constant collision of water. SLOW MOTION, the hallucinatory prisms, like liquid diamonds taking flight, dreamlike... EXT. OCEAN - DUSK Backlit against a flaming sun a solitary SURFER glides across the green glassy peak. TIME IS STRETCHED until his movements gain a grace and fluidity not of this world. Total Zen concentration. Body weight centered, eyes forward and on the next section. EXT. URBAN STREET - DUSK SLOW MOTION ON a black sedan. Creeping along store fronts. Past a Winchell's. PEOPLE splash steps down rain-washed sidewalks in DREAM MOTION. The sedan turns past the FIRST VIRGINIA BANK and into an alley. INT. BLACK SEDAN TWO MEN and ONE WOMAN in SUSPENDED TIME put on overcoats and hats. Under their hats strips of Scotch tape stretch taut from the base of their nose to their forehead, hideously distorting their features. Makes them look like human PIGS. EXT. OCEAN SILVERY in this light, almost metallic, as if from some future-scape. The lone surfer SHREDS a long, endless right wall. ACCELERATING INTO REAL TIME -- as he stares into the pit, digs in, drops into the sweet spot on the wave, hunkers down. His moves becoming aggressive, frenzied-- INT. BLACK SEDAN An M-16 clip is SMACKED into place and cocked with a CACHACK! Ammo clips are SNICK-SNICKED into handgun butts and a long clip is SSSNICKED into an UZI. Watches are checked. The PIG NOSE people nod to each other. EXT. BANK Pig Nose #1, steals into position near the glass doors, slams his back to the wall, weapon to cheek, breath fast. EXT. OCEAN FAST NOW -- the surfboard rips a brutal gash in the face of the wave. The surfer TRIMS down the line, pivoting the board and going straight down, CARVING the bottom. He slashes viciously back toward the lip and-- In a radical INVERTED AIR ATTACK sails SIX feet above the wave in an explosion of water-- INT. BANK --BAAAAAAMMM! Glass doors explode OPEN and Pig Nose #1 SPINS inside. He fires a burst into the ceiling. BRRAAMM!! PIG NOSE #1 EVERYBODY on the floor! PEOPLE drop. VERY FAST HERE-- Two bandits handle BANK EMPLOYEES and customers-- Another PIG NOSE watches the door-- Pig Nose #1 moves behind counter, Uzi and canvas sack in hand. INT. SURVEILLANCE VAN Dark. Monitors SHOW SLOW SCANS of the bank INTERIOR. Two MEN wear headphones and black windbreakers with FBI stenciled on the back. One watches with binoculars. BINOCULARS Bingo. We're on. Let's go. Where's the big college quarterback?! Are you with us, Utah? EXT. BANK WALL A MAN in his twenties. His head spins revealing rain- slicked hair and face, eyes wide, bright. An edgy handsomeness to him. He pops a stick of Wrigley's in his mouth, rests a shotgun on one leg and leans against the wall. He wears a headset... through which we hear the FBI guy yelling for him. This is JOHNNY UTAH. BINOCULARS (FILTERED) Utah, where the hell are ya!? Utah takes his headset off... INT. BANK Pig Nose #1 LEAPS over the counter, holds a canvas sack filled with booty from tellers' drawers. PIG NOSE #1 Fuckin' shake it! Pig Nose #2 nods with his snubby nose, hurries toward the exit. EXT. FIRST VIRGINIA BANK The bandits burst through the doors and sprint to the alley where they jump into the SEDAN. THE DRIVER, the WOMAN PIG NOSE, punches it and the TIRES WHIRRR on the slick pavement. The sedan launches down the alley. Utah running. Like a freight train. Splashing through a cross-alley. He doesn't break stride as he slams his shoulder into a large, steel GARBAGE DUMPSTER. DRIVING it like a football training sled into the ALLEY where-- THE SEDAN LOCKS 'EM UP seconds too late as it SKIDS and SLAMS into it, CRUNCHING into the brick wall and-- Still alive -- GRINDS into reverse back down the alley, HEADLIGHTS SMASHED, it guns it backward as-- UTAH leaps over the dumpster and sprints after the car. He has a brick in his right hand. He cocks it back. Johnny HEAVES the brick thirty yards and-- SMASH! The brick EXPLODES into the windshield, SPIDERWEBBING the glass. Lady Pignose flinches from the glass fragments thrown into her face. LADY PIGNOSE Son of a bitch! The car slews backward onto the street, slamming a parked car. Lady Pignose slams the thing into DRIVE, cuts the wheel hard, and punches it, skidding on wet pavement. UTAH hurtles from the alley. He leaps, somehow TACKLES the DRIVER'S door handle and is dragged along the street. He pulls himself up, reaches inside the window, and whips the steering wheel hard right. The SEDAN fishtails into a parked Toyota. Utah bounces forward, slamming into the asphalt. Glass shards and crushed steel are strewn everywhere, as radiator steam whistles hot. Pig Nose #2, riding shotgun, is trapped. Can't get his crushed door open. The DRIVER pushes open her door. Gropes for her pistol. Utah springs -- no respect for a lady. He slams the door, pins her arm and slams again and again until the gun drops. Utah kicks it away as the woman collapses in pain. Pig Nose #1 bails out and runs across parking lot. Utah leaps up onto the crushed hood and draws down with the shotgun. UTAH Halt. FBI! Pig Nose #1 spins. We sense reckless anger. He raises the UZI. Utah squeezes the trigger. No death. No blood. Just buzzers and flashing bulbs. Pig Nose's flak vest lights up like a pinball machine. Utah's laser weapon hit the "kill zone". Pig Nose rips the tape off his face and the FBI CADET shakes his head in disgust. OBSERVERS step forward. Bank customers. Bank tellers. All FBI personnel. MEDICAL STAFF offer the woman driver assistance. Pig Nose #1 heads for Johnny, but is subdued by other agents. PIG NOSE #1 (FBI CADET) I wanna say just two words to you, asshole, SIMU-LATION!!! Johnny- fuckin' Utah. Guys like you will do anything to win! Utah stares back in defiance. The SURVEILLANCE van pulls up nearby. BINOCULARS runs out and pinches two fingers together, right in Johnny's face. BINOCULARS This far, Utah! You're this far from being the most overqualified guy Burger King ever had. Get me?! UTAH Yes sir. Sir? BINOCULARS What? Johnny gestures to the car. UTAH I did stop the perpetrators. Utah turns to go. As he passes he casually raises his laser-shotgun and re-triggers Pig Nose's flak vest. LIGHTS AND BUZZERS. Pig Nose explodes. More agents restrain him. Screams and shoving matches and pissed off guys. Utah walks off, down the simulated street, past a sign which bears the FBI SEAL and reads "Combat Village, Quantico, Virginia." DISSOLVE TO: EXT. PACIFIC OCEAN - DAY Red sky. A luminous Pacific. Five foot faces. Nice curl. A lineup of SURFERS wait outside the break. Silhouetted, bobbing like a pack of sea mammals. INT./ EXT. TAXI A flood of orange through the windshield as the cab crawls down Ocean Park to the sea. CAMERA HANDHELD from the back seat. The driver turns to us. DRIVER Anywhere? You don't care? UTAH (V.O.) Anywhere. I've just never seen the ocean before. CUT TO: EXT. VENICE BEACH JOHNNY UTAH trudging across the sand, holding his shoes. Garment bag and a big duffel over his shoulder. He looks silly in his dark suit, tie loosened, wearing a turned around baseball cap. He wiggles his toes in the sand, looks around like a kid. A pack of BOUNCING BEAUTIES jog through frame. Utah grins, reaches up and turns his cap around. It reads "I Love L.A." CUT TO: EXT. FEDERAL BUILDING Looking down the face of the concrete monolith at Wilshire and Veteran. Ant-like, Johnny Utah's tiny figure moves toward the entrance. VOICE (OVER) Day One in LA, special agent Utah. You may have been top two percent of your class at Quantico but you have exactly zero hours in the field here. You know nothing... INT. FEDERAL BUILDING - FBI BULLPEN Supervising Agent BEN HARP leads Utah across the bullpen. Rows of desks. Agents sitting at computer terminals. Data hell. Looks like he got a job at Xerox. HARP You know less than nothing. If you even knew that you knew nothing, at least that would be something, but you don't. UTAH Yes, sir. Utah is wearing a suit, carrying a briefcase. Harp is mid-thirties, confident of stride, tanned of skin, perfect of hair. GQ. Aggressive. HARP Eating solid breakfasts, Utah? UTAH Sir? HARP All the food groups? Avoiding sugar? Caffeine? I see to it that my people maintain cardiovascular fitness. We stay off hard liquor, cigarettes... UTAH (poker face) I take the skin off chicken. Harp glances at him, eyes narrowing. They reach a glassed-in compound of small offices. Harp swings the door open and the other agents look up as Utah enters. HARP This is us. Bank Robbery. And you're in the bank-robbery capital of the world-- UTAH 1322 last year in LA county. Up 26 percent from the year before. HARP That's right. And we nailed over a thousand of them. We did it by crunching data. Good crime-scene work, good lab work, good data-base analysis. Nobody had to tackle a car once. You getting the signal, special agent? UTAH Zero distortion, sir. He picks up a donut from someone's desk, a succulent glazed jelly. UTAH I love these things. He looks right at Harp. Takes a big fuck-you bite. HARP You're a real blue-flame special, aren't you, Utah? I don't know why they sent you to LA. Must be an asshole shortage. UTAH Not so far. CUT TO: UNDERWATER A blue field with a pulsing network of rippling lines. VOOM! A figure rockets down INTO FRAME in a curtain of bubbles. A gawky AGENT, in less than stylish FBI trunks, flails around blindfolded looking for bricks at the bottom of a pool. INT. GYMNASIUM POOL - DAY The pool casts wavy distortions upon TWO DOZEN MEN, all grumbling as they stand in line, wearing T-shirts with FBI logos, sweats and sneakers. We hear a splash, and the men shuffle forward. PAPPAS (V.O.) The dolls love this baby. It brings them luck when they rub it -- right between their buttons. CLOSE ON tape measure wrapped around a generous belly. PULL BACK to reveal VETERAN AGENT COREY measuring the ample waist of ANGELO PAPPAS. This 54 year old silver haired Greek stands rubbing his belly like a Zulu chief. COREY Angelo, we need a bigger tape. PAPPAS Just read the goddamn number. COREY Still a 46. Maybe we can cinch it down, wear a girdle-- PAPPAS Screw you and this holistic fitness crap! At least my arms don't flap in the wind. Corey secretly squeezes his bicep as... A whistle blows. A broad shouldered MAN wearing an FBI cap barks at the Greek. BIG SHOULDERS Okay, Pappas, let's put on the blindfold. Wanna see you retrieve at least two bricks from the bottom. JOHNNY UTAH enters the pool area in the distance. Says something to one of the agents. Is pointed toward us as-- Corey ties the blindfold and guides Pappas to the edge of the pool. PAPPAS I've been in the field 33 years, fired my piece 23 times in the line of duty, and I got no idea what a blind man fetching bricks has gotta do with being a Special Agent! Johnny has walked up. Pappas, blindfolded, turns directly to Utah as he continues, thinking it's Corey. PAPPAS Added to which indignity, I got three months left to retirement and they saddle me with some blue-flamer fresh out of Quantico for a partner. Some quarterback punk, Johnny Unitas or something. UTAH The shit they pull, huh? Pappas snorts agreement and cannonballs into the pool. Huge backblast of water. The other agents hoot and holler. Corey swears and wipes off his clipboard. Johnny steps to the edge, looks down. We see the blindfolded Pappas groveling along the bottom. The other agents cheer as Pappas heads for the surface. COREY Here he comes. Hold up a fish, he'll take it right outta your hand. Pappas surfaces in an explosion of spray as he sputters for breath. He grabs the edge and angrily slaps two bricks on the tiles. He rips off the blindfold looks up and frowns. A HAND ENTERS FRAME to help him up. Pappas takes it and Johnny hauls him on deck. COREY Hey Shamu, this is your guy. Pappas eyes the new agent warily. Extends his hand. PAPPAS Pappas. Angelo Pappas. UTAH Punk. Quarterback Punk. PAPPAS (grinning) Welcome to Sea World, kid. INT. SEDAN - DAY SERIES OF TIGHT SHOTS ECU sweep hand of a dive watch clicks through the seconds. Magnum shells are fed into a pump shotgun. Velcro straps of Second Chance body armor are fastened. White gloves are pulled snug over strong hands. A silk tie is straightened. A shotgun slide is cocked. The sweep hand approaches the twelve. A LATEX MASK is pulled over the back of a man's head. VOICE The little hand says... The mask turns into FULL CLOSE-UP. It is RONALD REAGAN. REAGAN ... let's rock and roll. INT. BANK OF AMERICA Business as usual. The scene so normal you know something is about to happen. An exiting MAN stuffs bucks into his wallet, reaching for the door which-- SLAMS INWARD. He is hit by a wall of EX-PRESIDENTS. REAGAN charges in with his buddies RICHARD M. NIXON, LYNDON BAINES JOHNSON and JOHN F. KENNEDY. Reagan throws the poor guy skidding across the floor. Nixon buttstrokes a guard, hard in the nuts, with his 12 gauge. The other guard goes for his holster -- finds himself facing three shotguns and one very large handgun. Reagan sights down the pistol. REAGAN Use a gun, go to heaven. The guard freezes. White and sweaty. Tricky Dick slips up to him and collects the pistol. Kennedy covers the stunned customers. Johnson backs up against the door jam, watching the street, and the sedan idling at the curb. REAGAN EVERYBODY FREEZE!! That's right. ALL TELLERS step back from the counter! Hands on heads! MOVE!! Nixon and Reagan move quickly to the counter as the tellers comply. REAGAN Everybody else on the floor! Do it! On the floor, let's go. NIXON SUCK LINOLEUM, BITCH!! You got earwax?! Nixon grabs a stunned woman by the arm and hurls her to the floor. She lands hard. Everyone is on the deck by now. The Presidents move fast. Reagan leaps onto the counter. Stands up where he can see all. Nixon hurdles to tellers' side and they start moving down the line together. Reagan controlling the room as Nixon quickly empties the tellers' cash drawers into the sack. His hands move like lightning. REAGAN Just stay cool. Everybody stay cool. Heads down. Eyes down. The money's insured-- TIGHT ON -- MONEY flying into the sack. REAGAN -- it's not worth dying for. Another 45 seconds of your time. That's all. Then -- Whoa, Tricky Dick! Nixon pulls a pack of twenties back out of the bag and tosses it to the BANK MANAGER. Who reflexively catches it. Then drops it like a hot-potato just before-- It EXPLODES into a cloud of blue ink. The manager is dyed blue. Burnt money showers on the terrified customers. LBJ looks at his watch and WHISTLES. The bandits sprint for the front doors. Kennedy exits first, followed by Reagan. LBJ pauses under the surveillance camera, drops his trousers and MOONS. Thank you is written across his white butt. BLACK AND WHITE VIDEO MONITOR-- High angle, distorted wide shot. LBJ hoists his pants and splits, followed out by Nixon, who exits backward with the famous double peace-sign held high overhead. IMAGE FREEZES. Victorious Nixon, grainy... something from a time warp. The image SUDDENLY GOES INTO HIGH-SPEED REVERSE. The bank robbery sequence zips backward. PAPPAS (V.O.) Twenty-seven banks in three years. In and out in 90 seconds. Nobody ever gets shot. We're talking solid professionals. WE ARE IN-- INT. BANK CRIME SCENE - LATER UTAH & PAPPAS are watching a monitor in the glassed-in office. The robbery REPLAYS on grainy BLACK & WHITE videotape. The bandits barge in, raise shotguns and order everybody to the floor. UTAH Good move. PAPPAS Yeah, they control the room well. Stick strictly to the cash drawers. VIDEO TAPE -- Utah is reverse-scanning. The bandits walk BACKWARD into the bank. The explosion of blue ink is sucked back into the pack of money, then leaps back into President Nixon's hand. UTAH They don't go for the vault? PAPPAS Never go for the vault. They never get greedy. UTAH Smart. You burn time in the vault. PAPPAS Reagan usually drives. Stolen switch car, they leave it running at the curb, looks parked from a distance. When they run, they dump the vehicle and vanish. And I mean vanish. Utah stops the video, now FAST-FORWARDING it, stopping where President Nixon separates the exploding "dye pack" planted with the money, before he tosses it aside. UTAH Surgical. Look at them separate the dye packs. Dick and Ronny know their jobs. PAPPAS The Ex-Presidents are the best I've seen, kid. Outside the windowed partition POLICE OFFICERS interview frightened customers. Hotshot agents MUNOZ and COLE enter from the main floor of the bank. Think they're very slick. MUNOZ Anytime you two are finished jerking off watching MTV I need to get a look at that tape. COLE (sloppy grin) Hey, Pappas, you tell the kid your theory on the Presidents? PAPPAS Just take the tape, Cole. Now Munoz starts to smile. MUNOZ Hang ten, Pappas, like totally rad... (to Utah) I gotta tell ya, the department loves it. UTAH What's he talking about, Angelo? Harp raps glass. Cole and Munoz look sharp. Harp enters addressing Pappas and Utah. HARP They found the drop car up on Mulholland. I want you two to go work it. PAPPAS What? Now I'm working the drop car? Who's handling the scene here? HARP Cole and Munoz. I'm uh... letting them run with the ball for a while. Cole and Munoz gloat. PAPPAS Cole and Munoz? I been on this case for two years. HARP (zeroing in on Pappas) That's the point, isn't it? PAPPAS Yeah, I get it. Time to play let's dick the old guys, huh, Harp? HARP Supervising Special Agent, Harp. Now I want you to go work the drop car, okay, Angelo? Okay? The Greek rises like a proud bull. PAPPAS Sure. No problem. How about your office? Your office need vacuuming? We could do that too. Pappas and Utah move toward the door. It's a tight squeeze as they pass Cole and Munoz. Especially Pappas. PAPPAS Excuse me. Read as fuck you. EXT. MULHOLLAND SCENIC TURNOUT - NIGHT The diamond field of LA glitters below. The small parking area off Mulholland is filled with squad cars. Red and blue disco. A flock of UNIFORMS milling about a non-descript CHEVY. INT. SEDAN FRONT SEAT FLASHLIGHT BEAM prowls the interior, stopping on a small printed card, folded like a pup tent, left upon the bench seat. It reads "Sanitized For Your Protection." PAPPAS Cute huh? They love to fuck with us. UTAH & PAPPAS pull their heads out of the sedan. Forensic expert, HALSEY, stands behind them. PAPPAS Don't tell me, let me guess. The switch-car was stolen this morning... (Halsey is nodding his head) They vacuumed and 409'd the interior, did the windows, emptied the ashtrays... HALSEY Yeah, the usual drill. Utah pulls on a rubber glove and lifts the card off the seat. Studies it. Talks to Halsey like Halsey's the one that just out of Quantico, not Utah. UTAH Could've taken their gloves off before setting that card. Laser it for prints. Maybe held it to his teeth -- check the edges for saliva. (a beat) Today was a scorcher. This Chevy doesn't have air conditioning... HALSEY Sweat secretions in the seatbacks? PAPPAS You through, Mr. Wizard? Let me know if you find Jimmy Hoffa under the seat while you're at it. (looks at his watch) Hell, it's only 7:30. The night's still young... you can solve this case and start on another one. UTAH Well, what're your ideas on these guys? PAPPAS Forget about it, kid. They're ghosts. Let the goddamn yuppie Mormon affirmative action assholes handle it. See I'm almost 55... so I must be senile, right? They better get me out before I start pissing myself in public. Drooling. It would look bad for the Bureau, right? UTAH So you're gonna coast to retirement, when you could nail these guys and go out with come dignity. PAPPAS You watch your fucking mouth! (pounds his chest) Mr. Hoover himself pinned the Seal of Honor right here! The two men glare at each other. Utah looks away. UTAH Sorry. PAPPAS Yeah. That was thirty years ago anyway. (stares out at the bright horizon) L.A.'s changed a lot since then. The air got dirty and the sex got clean. (after a beat) So you want to nail the Ex- Presidents? Be a big hero? UTAH Yeah. What's your theory? PAPPAS The fucking punks are surfers. CUT TO: GRAINY BLACK & WHITE VIDEO WITH TIME CODE Ex-Presidents charge into bank, raise shotguns. Image STOPS, then FAST-FORWARDS to the end. WE ARE IN-- INT. FEDERAL BUILDING - BULLPEN - NIGHT Dark, lit by the TV at the far end of the bullpen. PAPPAS and UTAH sit in front of the flickering Sony in the big empty room. Angelo punches a button on the VCR. ON THE SCREEN-- LBJ turns his back to the fish-eye lens, drops trousers and moons the camera. Thank you. Angelo FREEZES on LBJ'S butt. PAPPAS I'm tellin' ya, kid, it's in our face. Lookit the tan on this guy. The young agent looks forward. Stares at the white inscribed butt bracketed by deep bronze tan lines. UTAH Oh well he must be a surfer. PAPPAS Shutup, you might learn somethin' you're not careful... So last year Nixon scuffs a counter going over. There was a soil sample. Non- specific mud traces of asphalt, oils, blah, blah... sand and... carnuba wax. So I became a wax expert. There's 80 some uses for this stuff, something like five hundred products. He tosses Utah a ream of computer printout. Utah scans lists of brand names. UTAH Candle wax. Car wax. Mustache wax? Could be anything. Guy's waxing his mustache at the beach. Gets sand in it. Wipes it off with a shoe. Shoe scuffs the counter. PAPPAS The lab made three possible matches, this was one of 'em. Pappas opens his desk drawer, takes something out and throws it to Johnny. A pastel blue hockey puck wrapped in cellophane. A block of "Mr. Zog's Sex Wax". UTAH (reading) Sex wax? You're not into kinky shit, are you Angelo? PAPPAS Surfers use it on their boards. They rub sand into it for traction. UTAH Thanks for the tip. I needed this knowledge. Pappas shoves a thick file folder toward Utah. PAPPAS Now lookit the dates on the robberies. This is strictly a summer job for these guys. Johnny leafs through it. UTAH ... Four months. June to October. Mmmm...same the year before. PAPPAS Another month and we don't see 'em again 'til next summer. Utah stares at Angelo as it dawns. Grins suddenly. UTAH They're traveling the rest of the year on the money, going where the waves are... Pappas starts to smile. Suddenly, he jumps up onto his desk, gets down in a speed-crouch, arms extended. PAPPAS (to one and all) The Ex-Presidents rip off banks to finance their endless summer! Johnny watches, grinning. The night security GUARD walks in. Utah turns to the guard, shrugs. UTAH I think he needs a vacation. The guard nods understanding. CUT TO: INT. SURFSHOP - MALIBU PIER - DAY Long stack-up rack of gleaming SURFBOARDS. A HAND reaches in, pulling out a board from the middle of the deck. JOHNNY UTAH hefts it. Sights along it. Trying to look familiar with alien equipment. Behind him is a whip-thin 15 YEAR OLD SALESMAN. Nut-brown with platinum hair, jammed day-glo shorts, sleeveless T-shirt, unlaced Ug- boots. 15 Highest performance, very kind. If you want to get aggro, man, this stick can handle your best rage. Where you surf? UTAH I don't. 15 Whoa!! Back up! This's a 5'6" tri- fin squash-tail thruster. You'd eat major shit on this, dude. ACROSS THE ROOM we see Pappas trying on purple wraparound sunglasses. The salespunk pulls down a wide board with a garish firebird paint scheme. Like a lowrider flame-job. The logo reads "Dance with the Universe." 15 Here, you need a rhino chaser like this one to learn on. Good board. I mean for a pig board. Utah hefts the board. Scowls. Hates anything he's not great at. PAPPAS sets his purchases on a counter: the glasses, some plutonium-pink shorts, T-shirts, sun-block. The GIRL behind the counter is sixteen, barely contained in a macrame bikini-top and "Dolphin" shorts. Angelo picks up a package of Sex Wax from a rack. Sniffs it. PAPPAS (reading the label) "Best for your stick", huh? This might not be enough. I better get two. The girl stifles a grin. Thinks he's cute. At the other end of the counter, 15 is ringing up Utah's board. 15 Hey, man, guys your age learning to surf, it's cool, there's nothing wrong with it. UTAH I'm twenty-five. 15 See that's what I'm saying, it's never too late. Utah picks up the board and moves to leave. 15 Hope you stay with it. Surfin's the source. It'll change your life. Swear to God. EXT. MALIBU PIER - DAY Utah and Pappas walking back to the car. Two FBI agents in suits and ties walking with a day-glo orange surfboard. Surreal image. The ocean shimmers in B.G. PAPPAS Johnny, it's the only way. UTAH Why can't I just walk around with this thing under my arm and act stoned? Ask a few questions. Angelo stops at the railing, points toward the ocean. PAPPAS Look. Look at them out there. LONG LENS on packs of surfers sitting outside. Bobbing slowly. Hunched like sea birds. Waiting for an unseen sign. Disappearing and reappearing beyond the break. PAPPAS They're like some kind of tribe. Got their own language. You can't just walk up to these guys. You've got to get out there. Learn some moves. Get into their head. Pick up the speech. UTAH Angelo, this stuff is for little rubber people who don't shave yet. PAPPAS It's all balance, right? And coordination. How hard can it be? CUT TO: EXT. SURFRIDER BEACH - DAY WHAAAAAM! Johnny is CLOBBERED by a wave. He's flipped off his board and hits the water face-first as the wave crashes over him. Other surfers steer clear. PAPPAS lounges in a beach chair in his plutonium pink shorts, purple Vuarnet's and a T-shirt emblazoned with "Surf This" across the chest. A picnic basket sits close at hand. He winces at Utah's wipeout. Shouts from his beach chair. PAPPAS I think you gotta hit them straight on! UTAH (out of breath) Got it... UTAH holds the tip steady, gouges the face of a wave and squirts out the other side. Another wave rises and Utah glides up over the hump. He clears the swell and the ocean suddenly smooths out like a giant lake. Triumphant over having made the lineup, he sits up on the board, and falls over. PAPPAS slices a green apple, some feta cheese and eats off the knife. UTAH climbs back on his board. WHISTLES and HOOTS sound as SURFERS spot a new swell. Utah watches as the regulars start catching rides. Suddenly he feels like a lost dog on a busy freeway. A young LOCAL in a neon wetsuit slashes past him, inches away. LOCAL Outta the way, you dick! Another, shredding viciously, is blasting toward him. LOCAL 2 Move it, kook! Johnny paddles rapidly, ducks under. Sees another, bigger wave coming. Pissed off... at himself, at the downy-cheeked hotshots, at the frustration, he turns his board around and starts paddling hard. He somehow gets the soles of his feet in contact with the top of the board, then struggles up. He's standing -- sort of. Arms pinwheeling, he topples in a nasty crash... Right in front of a SHAVED-HEAD SURFER on full afterburner. Johnny vanishes in an explosion of spray. His board SHOOTS OUT. It SMASHES SIDEWAYS INTO RAZORHEAD. The guy does an ugly endo. Utah comes up GASPING for air, arms flailing. His board, floating a few feet away, tugging at his ankle. He drapes his torso across the board and pants for breath. Razorhead, already back on his board, paddles over. Points to a small dent in the fiberglass. RAZORHEAD You dinged my board, kook!! Utah looks up in apology as-- A CRUSHING RIGHT HOOK SMACKS HIS FACE! Knocks him under. Razorhead pulls a KNIFE from a sheath held by a thong around his neck. As Johnny surfaces, Razorhead slashes in a vicious arc-- Severing Utah's leash, close to the board. His flame-job surfboard bobs away. RAZORHEAD Politeness counts, ASSHOLE! The surf punk plunges under a wave, disappearing. UTAH Goddamn son-of-a-- Before Utah can finish, another wave engulfs him and he tumbles to shore, Razorhead nowhere to be seen. ON PAPPAS as Johnny's flame-job board washes in at his feet. He calmly picks it up as Utah staggers INTO FRAME out of the knee-deep whitewash. Johnny rubs his jaw. Spits blood. PAPPAS Kid, maybe this ain't your sport. Utah grabs the board out of Pappas' hands and stalks off across the beach. INT. UTAH'S BEDROOM - NIGHT Johnny dead asleep. Silence. Then BRRRRR!! He jacknifes up like he just took 20,000 volts. His eyes read panic. He rolls up, legs scissor against tangled sheets and he collapses over empty boxes. He stumbles like a blind man through the mess until he finds-- A tiny Indianapolis Colts FOOTBALL HELMET with a digital clock for eyes. 5:00 a.m. Johnny emits a drawn out groan. EXT. OCEAN - DAWN Deafening BOOM as a monster wave CRASHES below a sky the color of slate. A distant Pacific storm has brought the swell. 10 foot faces. Glassy, green walls the size of houses beckoning from beyond the soup. A lone FIGURE bobbing out beyond the break. The surfer disappears behind the swell. Then REAPPEARS, grinning across the smooth offshore barrel. UTAH wearing a wetsuit stands beside his surfboard, craning forward to get a better look. The surfer is a WOMAN. She moves with liquid grace, in perfect harmony with the sea, long hair flying out behind her. She undulates like a dancer. Dipping, carving, slicing, making it look sooooo easy. Johnny shakes his head. Oh man, if she can do it... UTAH Fuck it. He stands, grabs his board and heads out into the icy foam. OCEAN BREAK A horizon of whitecaps churn behind him. He lies on his board, rising and dropping with the swell. So far so good. He spots a wave. A fluid gray-green house rising, forever rising. Utah turns. Paddles. The house catching him, lifting him high upon its roof. Utah is committed. He gets to his feet as his board slices along the lip. He peers over the falls, down the face -- holy shit! -- it looks like Niagara. He loses balance and spirals airborne, falling bullseye into the IMPACT ZONE. The entire force of the wave crashing upon him, plunging him down into the-- WASHING MACHINE (UNDERWATER) where he SPINS like a whirling dervish, LASHED to a slamdancing surfboard at the mercy of God. He is held prisoner in a grey-green churning nightmare, like a six-ton pit bull has him by the neck, shaking him. He looks around. Can't tell up from down. WHAM! His head slams into the bottom -- rocks and sand. Stunned, he struggles toward the light, finally bursting to the-- SURFACE. Gasping for breath. The good news is he's breathing, the bad news is he's surfaced in the impact zone. Another wave crashes down, stuffing him back into the washing machine. Leaving no sign of life in the white froth. The orangeade surfboard launches high into the sky, spinning like a misfiring Trident missile, trailing its broken leash like a kite tail. IN THE WASHING MACHINE, Utah tumbles in a cold green hell. His chest is convulsing, needing air now. Suddenly a FIGURE lunges down INTO FRAME. A hand snatches a fistful of his hair and yanks him toward-- THE SURFACE. The WOMAN SURFER bursts through the foam. Grabs her board for leverage. Hauls Utah's head above the water with one strong arm. He is choking, coughing, slapping fatigued arms against the surf, panic registering in his movements. WOMAN SURFER (yelling above the roar) Swim, goddammit! Come on! Move it! The woman gets her board under one of his arms for support and sidekicks fiercely into the wave, holding him in a painful grip. With powerful strokes, she helps Utah make it to calmer water outside the break. The big waves, just forming up, lift them and drop them as they pass. Muted thunder when the waves hit the beach. She drags him half onto her surfboard. Practically slamming his face into the board. He's coughing out saltwater. ON THE WOMAN, our first good look at her. She is EXQUISITE. Hair slicked tight to her high- cheekboned face, she looks sleek and feral, with eyes that burn bright. Especially when she's pissed. WOMAN Look crazy son of a bitch! You wanna commit suicide, you do it someplace else! She undoes her leash and swims rapidly off, returning in a few seconds with Johnny's board. He takes it from her and flops over it, still coughing. Wipes at the salt-snot running out of his nose. There is a cut over his eye from when he re-arranged the rocks on the bottom. WOMAN Look at this pig-board piece-a-shit. It's still got the price tag on it, for Chrissakes. What'd you do, buy it yesterday? You've got no business out here whatsoever. Still gagging and gasping, Johnny manages a goofy grin. UTAH Well, I saw you and-- WOMAN Yeah, you saw me and you figured that if a mere girl can do it, a big strong stud like you shouldn't have any problem. Right?! Well you figured wrong, dork! She yanks her board around and strokes powerfully away from him. UTAH Hey! Uh, how do I get back in? WOMAN (without turning) Carefully, tough guy. Very carefully. UTAH (yelling now) My name's Johnny Utah! WOMAN Who cares! UTAH I'm telling you so when you look back on this moment, you can think... there was this guy named Utah and he was pretty much a dork but maybe not such a bad person and I let him drown in conditions he had no business being in whatsoever... when I could have easily helped him. Johnny calmly starts paddling toward shore. Thundering white water pounding the rocks ahead of him. He's stoic in the face of certain death. UTAH (over his shoulder, gamely) Bye. WOMAN Wait! Jesus Christ! (swimming back to him) You're fucking crazy, you know that? You go in there you're gonna eat it on the rocks. Here, follow me. The woman paddles parallel to the shore and Utah pumps along behind her. She gets him away from the rocks, then starts watching the incoming swell, timing it to the lull between sets... WOMAN Go when I say. But stay down. Just lie on the board. Alright, let's go! Utah paddles rapidly, following her, watching what she does. He is borne up by a low glassy wall. He bellyboards all the way into the mushy shorebreak. Tumbles. Stands unsteadily, grabbing his board. Runs clumsily out of the retreating foam as another wave comes, sucking water out. On terra firma he looks back to see the woman kick-out gracefully and disappear beyond the wave. He flops on the sand. Shivering. Miserable. EXT. COAST HIGHWAY - LATER LONG LENS... the woman is peeling off her wetsuit next to a BATHTUB PORSCHE that needs a paint job. Her board is propped in the passenger seat. Stereo is pumping. UTAH WATCHES THROUGH BINOCULARS from 50 yards up the road. THE WOMAN, in a bikini, towels off briskly. Swimmer's shoulders. Long muscular legs. Lean and mean. She jumps into the car without bothering to open the door. Looks at her watch -- her manner is late, in a hurry. Through the tiny windshield we watch her shimmy and shake as she pulls her bottoms off and struggles into something else, not too concerned about the morning traffic right next to her. She pulls on a T-shirt and them performs a Houdini act to extract the bikini top out of one sleeve hole. UTAH WATCHES IMPASSIVELY. He starts his car and pulls out onto PCH to follow as the bathtub Porsche zooms past. EXT. NEPTUNE'S NET Utah cruises up slowly, pulls off the road. Up ahead the Porsche turns into the parking lot of NEPTUNE'S NET, a Coast Highway hangout that serves high- grade steamed sea-critters and beer to low-grade road trash, bikers and surfers. Lean-and-Mean, wearing jeans and T-shirt, jumps out of the Porsche. She hurries to the door of the Net, unlocking it for a couple of Mexican cooks -- helpers wearing expressions like they wait like this for her every day. UTAH puts down his binoculars and jots the Porsche's license number down on a Tastee-Freeze bag. 867CDH. CUT TO: INT. COMPUTER ROOM - DAY Green glow washes the intent faces of Utah and Pappas as MISS DEER data specialist, enters 867 CDH into her computer. She is purebred American Indian, strong featured and beautiful. The screen freezes and the hard disk churns. The DMV rap sheet scrolls down the screen. PAPPAS This is your surfer contact? Female. Blond hair. Green eyes. 5'6". 119 lbs? MISS DEER Hmm, not bad, Utah. UTAH Tyler Ann Endicott. Born 11-27-64. The rap sheet scrolls and scrolls and scrolls. There is something frightening about the length of this file. UTAH (reading from the screen) ... Exhibition of speed. Indecent exposure inside moving vehicle... MISS DEER Hot, very hot. UTAH Felony arrest! "See adjoining file"... (he types quickly) Kidnapping?! Pappas crowds over Johnny's shoulder, reading. PAPPAS This is great. She ties some guy up. Nude. Leaves the scene and fails to return for 24 hours. No convection. MISS DEER Gotta avoid the rope tricks, Johnny. Utah gives her a "very funny" look. More data scrolls forth. UTAH What else they got on her? I still haven't found anything I can really use. I gotta find an approach, a way in -- here we go... (he reads) Both parents deceased. Plane crash. San Diego, '84. Mmmm. Yeah, definitely. CUT TO: EXT. NEPTUNE'S NET - DAY A fat biker pulls out on a loud Harley (like there's any other kind). The place is almost empty in the weekend lull between lunch and dinner. Utah's car pulls in off PCH. INT. NEPTUNE'S NET Tyler Endicott is working the counter. She jams an order on the wheel and turns TO US. TYLER Next! Oh, no. REVERSE ON Johnny standing there. Her only customer. TYLER What do you want? UTAH Shrimp and fries. TYLER I mean, what do you want? What are you doing hanging around here. UTAH (very serious) I need you to teach me. TYLER Gimme a break. (to cook) One shrimp and fries to go! (to Johnny) Anything to drink? UTAH I'm serious. TYLER I can see that. But forget it. Stick to tennis, or whatever you're good at. Miniature golf. Here, your number's 37. UTAH Well, I'm just gonna go back out there till I catch on to it or break my neck. She's looking at him. This guy's nuts. She laughs. TYLER What is it? You all of a sudden got this bug you had to go surfing? This is a line, right? UTAH No, no. See, all my life I've done things for other people. In high school I played football because my old man expected me to. Then my parents always figured I'd go to law school, so I did. Football scholarship. Graduated Phi Beta Kappa-- TYLER This gonna take long? UTAH Wait, so I'm a big hero to my folks, right? (he leans forward, a little awkward) But two years ago they got killed in a car wreck and I just suddenly realized all my goals had been their goals. And I hadn't been living my own life. So I wanted something for myself. Something that maybe didn't make any sense. You know what I mean? Tyler's smile has faded during this. He's managed to touch her, break through the tough-waitress act. Now she's looking him right in the eye. UTAH I came out here from Ohio a month ago. Never saw the ocean before. I didn't think it would effect me so much. Like I'm drawn to it, or something. I want to do what you do. It's the truth. TYLER Tomorrow, 6 AM. Here. If you're a minute late I'm gone. (he's grinning) And Stud... I didn't take you to raise. I can show you a few things but after that you're on your own. That'll be four fifty. He plunks down a ten and backs out the door, grinning. UTAH Keep the change, Teach. CUT TO: EXT. BEACH - DAWN UTAH & TYLER walk across the sand. Tyler drops her board. TYLER Stop here. (she turns to him) Do you agree to do exactly what I say when I say it? UTAH Sure. CUT TO: UTAH pops INTO FRAME, arms extended, one leg in front of the other, torso bent at the waist: classic surfing stance. Suddenly, he drops OUT OF FRAME. WE PULL BACK -- Revealing Utah on his board, on the sand. TYLER Do it again. Tyler is making him "pop" up to his feet. Again and again. GAWKERS stop to watch. Utah fights humiliation. He pops again. And again. Quick cuts. On the next pop we-- PULL BACK to reveal Utah on his board, in a wave. He is surfing. For about three seconds. He flies off the deck, ass over teakettle. On the SPLASH we start-- A SEQUENCE OF TIME CUTS Tyler and Utah straddle their boards outside the break. She nods as the set comes, mellow right tubes. Utah digs in, arms pumping. He feels the bite as the wave picks up his board and starts down the wall. And endos. CLOUDY PLATINUM DAWN... Tyler shouting at Utah as he fights for balance. He flies off again. BLINDING BRIGHT SUNRISE. TYLER NEXT TO UTAH in the lineup, straddling boards. She moves her hands like a fighter pilot explaining a dogfight maneuver. Utah watches intently. Utah, backlit in glorious slow motion, tries a little turn and feels his feet slip out. He slams down butt-first on the board, flips over, feet sticking straight up out of a blast of diamond spray. Tyler cringes, giving a look like it's hopeless. TYLER AND UTAH, at their cars, skinning out of their wetsuits. Utah looks exhausted, downcast. She snaps her wet towel at his ass, cheering him up. MALIBU PIER. RAIN. Tyler jumps out of her Porsche and sees Utah sitting in his car. She goes to him, opens the door and starts pulling him out. Come on you pussy. UTAH and TYLER wait their turn in the lineup. Rain pelts their faces. The waves are depressing inside mushers under a gray sky. Utah starts to paddle. Tyler shakes her head no. Utah is committed to the I'face. Tyler stifles a laugh. TYLER (to the other surfers) I'm not with him. Johnny gouges the lip, pops and begins the drop. Suddenly, miraculously, he catches an edge and, still standing, is carried along the tiny wall. The wall begins to sag. Utah shoots along the mush hooting and continues hooting madly as he thrashes all the way to shore. He turns and grins foolishly out to sea. Tyler bursts out laughing. EXT. MALIBU PIER - DUSK Big surf. Rough conditions. Closeout set. UTAH, board in arm, follows Tyler out of the whitewater onto the beach. TYLER It's closing out completely. Let's call it. Utah nods. His eyes track the unruly break. UTAH Who's that? A LONE SURFER slashing through the pilings of the pier. A real kamikaze run as the whitewater walls thunder behind him. SILHOUETTED against a crimson sky and backlit spray the figure pumps among the pier pilings in a frenzy of motion that is somehow balletic. Laying out bottom turns, torquing his body and blasting the lip a few times, moving so fast his long dark hair stands straight back as if he were leaning out a car window on the freeway. TYLER (V.O.) That's Bodhi. They call his the Bodhisattva. Utah watches as THE BODHISATTVA gets vertical with a snap, trims down the volcanic wall, carves the bottom, pivots, pumps to the top, gouging the lip, getting six feet of air. Gawkers HOWL and shout praise at the manic surfer. TYLER The modern savage. Guy's even crazier than you, Johnny Utah. C'mon. They start to walk. The sky darkens as the sea finally closes out completely. The Bodhisattva seems to levitate through the shapeless mush to shore. ROACH (O.S.) Brah! Suddenly a football whistles through the air above Utah's head. He watches as-- The Bodhisattva, board under arm, walking out of the whitewater, makes a one-handed chest catch. A few yards away two teams of SURFERS play football. Utah gazes down the beach at the Bodhisattva. Almost 30 years old, his body lean and hard as a tree trunk. Hardness in the face accented by long Comanche hair. BODHI Hey Tyler! She whirls. Bodhi pumps his arm. Tyler jogs back for the catch. Bullseye. She shoots Bodhi a look. Something crosses her face. Bodhi smiles. Tyler doesn't. Then it passes. She chucks the ball to Utah. Who drops his board and makes the catch in one move. He SPINS the football on his fingertip, drops it on his foot, kicks it up into his hands. Razzle dazzle. He grins evilly. EXT. BEACH - NIGHT Rimmed by a dozen car HEADLIGHTS at the edge of the sand. Utah crouches, waiting for the snap from NATHANIEL, ponytailed and powerfully built. Facing them on defense are Bodhi, Tyler and three others: ROACH, gonzo and spiked-haired. GROMMET... 17 and thin as a stick, and ROSIE, a biker with piggy eyes and arms blue with tattoos. MONTAGE STYLE -- Utah tosses a flurry of mindboggling passes. Every one picture perfect. Nathaniel scrambles z-out left, turns and the ball is practically waiting for him. Touchdowns galore. Endzone dancing. Bodhi stares at him curiously. Tyler rushes. Utah enjoys scrambling, ducking left and right, twisting her into a pretzel. Play after play. Utah tosses another touchdown, but Tyler keeps coming. Sacking him. They lie together in a heap, laughing. Bodhi quarterbacks. Utah rushes. Bodhi fakes a pass then runs, ball tucked in his arm. Utah tears after him. Flat out speed run. Roach attempts a block. Utah hits him like a freight train. Roach hits the sand face first. Grommet and Rosie the biker in a squeeze play. Utah, fierce now, blasts between them. No mercy. Utah can't play for fun. We see his expression. Something scary there. What we will call "juggernaut mode". Tyler just steps aside. Bodhi running along wet sand as a wave sweeps up the beach. Looks back. Sees a demon shooting up roostertails of spray behind him, gaining. Pours it on. Both of them pistoning through curtains of water. Not a game anymore. Closing on the endzone. 5 yards. Utah is airborne. SLAMS BODHI LIKE A SAM MISSILE. They crash and burn together in the surf. The other surfers run up. Who's this newcomer that just centerpunched their main man? Industrial strength tension. ROACH The fuck you doin' man?! You fuckin' crazy? Bodhi flashes a million dollar smile. BODHI Chill, brah. You know who this is? Johnny Utah. Ohio State, all- conference. (to Utah) Rose Bowl three years ago. Right? Johnny nods. Tyler looks at him -- no shit? ROACH Johnny fuckin' Utah! Fuckin'-A! Yeah, I remember that game, man. You were on-fire. They could not stop your ass. GROMMET Radical! Head-butt, dude!! Johnny gestures "Please no". Enthused by the concept, Grommet turns to Nathaniel. GROMMET Head-butt!!! They do. Their foreheads CRACK together. They stumble backwards in giddy euphoria. Nathaniel laughs like Pee Wee Herman. BODHI Something happened. You got nuked in the last quarter. UTAH Yeah, my knee got folded about 90 degrees the wrong way. BODHI And that's why you never went pro? UTAH Two years of surgery. I missed my window. Limped through law school instead. BODHI Mmm. A lawyer, huh? (like it's a disease) Too bad. But at least you're surfing now. So your life's not over yet, right? UTAH Not yet. CUT TO: INT. FEDERAL BUILDING - 16TH FLOOR - DAY Utah, in shorts and T-shirt, carries his flame-job surfboard past surveillance cameras and portraits of Bush, Hoover and Webster. Special Agent Cole walks by. Eyes the board. Speaks deadpan. COLE Like totally rad stick, dude. INT. BULLPEN Utah tries to act casual as he carries the board to his desk on the other side of the room. He has to walk past the entire gauntlet to get there. SEVERAL AGENTS Gnarly, man... hang ten... cowabunga... surf patrol... rip it up! Harp comes straight for him like a homing missile. HARP How was the beach? UTAH Fine. HARP Surf conditions okay? UTAH A little mushy. HARP A little mushy! You think the taxpayers would like it, Utah, if they knew they were paying a federal agent to surf and pick up girls? UTAH Babes. HARP What? UTAH The correct term is babes, sir. Uh, this type of undercover operation is entirely dependent on picking up the idiom of the speech. Otherwise penetration is not possible, sir. Of the social infrastructure, I mean. Harp inhales through his nose. A bad sign. HARP Where is Pappas? Utah points across the room. Harp turns. PAPPAS, sitting behind his desk in his "Surf This" T-shirt and pink shorts, lifts the purple Vuarnets like Tom Cruise in Risky Business. Looks directly at Harp. Smiles innocently. INT. HARP'S OFFICE Harp paces. Type-A suppressed rage. Utah and Pappas endure Harp's wrath. HARP Special Agent Utah, this is not some job flippin' burgers at the drive-in. Yes, the surfboard bothers me. Yes, your approach to this case bothers me. And yes, you bother me. You two have produced squat in the last two weeks, during which time the Ex- Presidents have robbed two more banks!! Do you have anything even remotely interesting to tell me? UTAH Caught my first tube this morning. Pappas signals, unseen by Harp, for Utah to shut the fuck up. INT. CORRIDOR TO COMPUTER ROOM Johnny and Angelo walking. PAPPAS What, you couldn't have just left the thing in your car? UTAH It sticks out, so I can't lock it. Look, Angelo, you think I joined the FBI to learn to surf? This was your lame-o idea in the first place. You gotta back me up on this. PAPPAS Johnny, all I can say is we better come up with something real soon. Johnny cocks an eyebrow and opens the door to the computer room ceremonially, like a doorman at the Ritz-Carlton. Miss Deer looks up as they enter. INT. COMPUTER ROOM TIGHT ON CRT as a lab report scrolls up the screen. Gas chromatography and spectroanalysis. Columns of elements and compounds, listed as percentage-of-sample. MISS DEER (V.O.) Encino Savings & Loan guard grabbed LBJ's ponytail. We recovered one hair. WIDER, showing Utah and Pappas over her shoulder at the terminal. PAPPAS Yeah, yeah, I remember, last year. Guy got his jaw broken for it. MISS DEER One four centimeter strand. Color brown. Oily. Slight wave. PAPPAS Hell, what're we waiting for, let's go pick the guy up. UTAH Angelo, pay attention. There's gonna be a test afterward. Lab is showing traces of toxins. PCBs. Heavy elements... selenium, titanium and arsenic. PAPPAS Guy's the Toxic Avenger. Utah is excited as he fits the pieces together for his partner. UTAH The beaches are always being closed because of waste spills, right? And surfers are territorial. They stick mostly to certain breaks. If we can get some hair samples, and get a match to a certain beach, we'd know which break the Ex-Presidents surf. You buyin' this? PAPPAS No. But let's do it, anyway. It's gonna bug the shit out of Harp. CUT TO: EXT. LATIGO - DAY Department of Health sign reads, "Beach Temporarily Closed." Beyond it crashes a wasted northwest swell. Two frustrated teenage SURFERS huddle underneath a towel. Marijuana smoke seeps upward. A sandaled FOOT enters frame and taps their leg. Angry heads poke up from beneath the towel, nostrils and mouths billowing smoke. The two wear T-shirts which read "Passion for Slashin" and "Psycho Stick". PAPPAS smiles, standing there in his beach wear, trying to blend in. He doesn't. PAPPAS When you two are done makin' out, I need to talk to you. "PSYCHO-STICK" T-SHIRT Hey, I ain't no butt-bouncer, dude. We're from the valley. Mall babes 'n shit. The kids proudly high-five. PAPPAS I just want to know if you surf here a lot. "PASSION FOR SLASHIN'" T-SHIRT Shit yeah, like totally everyday when it's jammin'. What is this, fucking narco entrapment or what, dude? Pappas flashes his FBI star. He whips out a pair of scissors. Brandishes them like some over-the-hill "Jason". PAPPAS Not exactly, dudes. EXT. COUNTY LINE - DAY Row of SURFMOBILES parked along a cliff, facing the ocean, doors open, stereos blasting, SURFERS hanging, sitting on hoods. Utah moves along the cars, looking surfed-out. He's tanned, relaxed. Hair starting to bleach out. One of the tribe. UTAH Whoa, brah, easy now... Don't move! (Utah bends close, reaching for Surf- Rat's ear) Got some huge sucker crawling into your-- (he plucks at a tuft of hair) Got it! Uuuughhh. SURF-RAT Leave some fuckin' hair, man! Utah squashes, then inspects the mysterious creepy-crawler hidden in his palm. He wipes his hand on his towel, which he keeps balled up in his other hand. SURF-RAT What was it? UTAH Saved your butt, bro. Close one. Utah shivers in disgust, then coyly turns and walks away. The surf-rat desperately pats his ear for traces. CUT TO: INT. FORENSICS LAB - NIGHT A long series of ENVELOPES are displayed on a desk. Each has the name of a Southern California beach and is attached to a forensic printout. HALSEY inspects each envelope. HALSEY Naw, this isn't it. UTAH holds up an envelope with a skinny woven ponytail sticking out. PAPPAS shrugs. PAPPAS He moved. Halsey picks up an envelope marked "Latigo Beach". HALSEY PCBs, selenium, titanium, arsenic. The percentages look right. Here's a match. UTAH Latigo Beach. Pappas grabs the envelope, studies it, crooks his head. PAPPAS Surf's up, ace. CUT TO: EXT. LATIGO BEACH - DAY EXTREME LONG LENS scans the beach from a height. A gray, miserable day. Beach crowd thin except for diehards. The image drifts across faces, BODIES. Surfers walking with boards. Talking, sitting with pubescent girls. The image settles on Johnny, astride his board, bobbing beyond the break. ON PAPPAS, scanning with powerful binoculars from his car. CLOSE ON UTAH, out among the flock of hardcore surfers. Ostensibly waiting for a wave, his eyes search the others around him, clicking methodically from face to face. Finally he swings his board around and awkwardly catches a ride. The modest wave carries him toward the beach as he balances, tense and style-less. He passes someone we've seen before. The RAZORHEAD from the first day. In concentration, Johnny doesn't see the guy. But Razorhead definitely sees him. JOHNNY reaches the beach and jogs up the sand. He picks up a towel and talks into it as he dries his hair. A glimpse of the walkie-talkie hidden beneath. UTAH Big zippo so far. How about you? PAPPAS (RADIO) Patience hotshot. Patience. It'll be subtle, if it's here at all. PAPPAS WATCHES as Johnny crosses toward the outside shower next to the public restroom. LONG LENS view of Utah passing OUT OF SIGHT behind the building. AT THE SHOWER Johnny sets down his gear and opens his wetsuit to the warm, salt-free jet of water. TRACKING SLOWLY IN on him as he lets it pour over his face. A HAND ENTERS FRAME, shutting off the water suddenly. TIGHT ON UTAH, his eyes opening. REVERSE, revealing RAZORHEAD and THREE OTHERS. They are powerfully built SURF-NAZIS. Scalps shaved on the sides. Hair military short on top, lengthening into pigtails in the back. Tattoos. Wrist chains. TONE, ARCHBOLD and WARCHILD. The one who socked Utah before is BUNKER. They spread out flanking him. WARCHILD This the guy? BUNKER Yeah. UTAH (good natured) Okay, so this is where you tell me all about how locals rule and yuppie insects like me shouldn't be surfing your break and all that, right? BUNKER No. TONE Waste of time. WARCHILD We're just going to fuck you up. UTAH Oh. As they lunge, Utah grabs his board and swings it in a whistling roundhouse. Its edge slams Warchild in the gut and folds him double. The bad news is... Warchild gets an arm around it and brings a pile-driver hammer-punch down. The board splits into two pieces. Utah drops his end as the others close. A flurry of punches and kicks, most of which he blocks. But he's lost the offensive. Bunker takes him to his knees with a vicious karate-style side-kick. TIGHT ON Utah's towel, talking with Pappas' voice. PAPPAS Johnny? You there? ANGELO gets out of the car fast. He jogs twenty feet and raises the binoculars. Catches a glimpse of the carnage around the edge of the building. Breaks into a run, massive legs pistoning. JOHNNY HITS THE GROUND hard. He rolls and comes up fast. The razorhead brothers are a little surprised. ARCHBOLD The dude can fight! Warchild grabs Utah from behind. Gets him in a headlock. Archbold and Tone pin his arms. Bunker starts working him like a practice bag. At this moment, Johnny is getting the proverbial shit beat out of him. SUDDENLY, a new figure blurs INTO FRAME. BODHI seizes Bunker and flings him aside. He spins with remarkable agility and drives his heel into Warchild's face. Utah breaks free, staggering back on the sand. The fight is still there in his eyes. Bodhi is at his side -- holding the others at bay with a raised hand and an evil look. BODHI Back off! Now!! Just let it go! BUNKER Stay outta this, Bodhi! BODHI He's with me. Now back off. Seriously.Just do it! (they relax slightly) You alright Warchild? WARCHILD (holding his bleeding nose) Fuck you. Everybody has backed off a bit, panting. Utah steps toward Bunker. Like he's maybe going to shake hands. UTAH What's your name? BUNKER Bunker. UTAH Well, listen, Bunker... I'm actually kinda glad you found me. BUNKER Yeah? Why? Johnny answers with a LIGHTNING ROUNDHOUSE that hits with a CRACK! They can hear it in Pomona. BUNKER HITS THE GROUND. Flat out. Lights out. Tone, Archbold and Warchild lunge like dogs. Bodhi yanks Utah out of the line of fire. BODHI Whoa! Whoa! Hold it, ladies. Give it a rest. (to Utah) Let's go. He literally turns Utah around. They begin to walk, stepping over the pieces of Johnny's board. BODHI (under his breath) Do me a favor, Johnny, just keep walking. Tone starts to go after them. Archbold grabs his arm. They help Bunker up. Warchild holds he bleeding nose. Utah and Bodhi start up the stairs, turn a corner and run HEAD-ON into a huffing PAPPAS. The big man clocks a battered but intact Utah. We see him shift gears in his head in 2 tenths of a second. PAPPAS (out of breath) Uh, you guys seen a kid, maybe 10, 12, running with a car stereo? Stole the fucking CD too, you believe it? Utah is grateful for the cover. UTAH No, but there are four guys back there you might check out. PAPPAS Thanks, buddy. He shoves on. EXT. PARKING LOT Bodhi and Utah weave among the cars and motorcycles, beach-types coming and going. UTAH Friends of yours, huh? BODHI The one you decked is Bunker Wiess. The big one is his brother, Warchild. The other two always hang. They think they're some kinda death squad around here. UTAH What's their program? BODHI They're punks. Nazis. Their brains are wired wrong. They hurt surfing because they give nothing back, and they have no respect for the sea. They just want to get radical. It's mindless aggression. They'll never get it, the spiritual side of it. UTAH You always talk like this? You're not gonna start chanting or anything are you? BODHI (laughing) No. (beat) So I was up the beach. I saw it going down. you didn't hesitate... they never backed you up an inch. That's rare in this world. UTAH Thanks for stepping in. BODHI De nada. Bodhi keeps on walking as Utah reaches his car and stops. Five paces on, he stops and turns back. A moment of decision... UTAH Gonna be some people at my house tonight. Maybe you can make it. UTAH Where? BODHI Come with Tyler. She knows. Bodhi turns and saunters away. Utah considers his last words, wondering how well Tyler and Bodhi know each other. CUT TO: INT./ EXT. CAR - PCH - SANTA MONICA - DAY Utah is struggling into a T-shirt as Pappas drives, intently following a beat-to-shit JEEP. Paramilitary olive-drab and full of surfboards. And razorhead. PAPPAS Ten seconds you're out of sight. Unbelievable. Johnny is equipment-juggling now... cradling a cellular phone at his ear while steadying Pappas' binoculars in front of his eyes. UTAH You're losin' them. (into phone) That's right. Two-denver-four-sam- niner-five-niner. Late seventies Jeep. LONG LENS, JOHNNY'S POV through binoculars. Bunker's jeep weaves aggressively through traffic ahead. Horns honk. Tone flips off the driver of a Toyota. PAPPAS Look, if you're gonna go leavin' your piece and your shield in the car, you can damn well stay in sight. Okay? UTAH Okay, Dad. EXT. VENICE STREET - DAY Low rent street off Washington. EXTREME LONG LENS on Jeep as it pulls onto the dead front lawn of a brown stucco house with bars on the windows. The razorheads get out, pulling boards and wetsuits from the Jeep. They are dressed now in ripped jeans, GI boots, sleeveless Megadeth T-shirts, etc. Watching, we become aware that two of them have brown hair in a radical style... shaved sides and a short ponytail. UTAH (V.O.) The jeep is registered to a Bradley Wiess. My buddy. Guy's got quite a sheet. (into phone) Yeah, yeah... skip all that. Gimme the greatest hits. Misdemeanor possession of cocaine. That's good... INT./ EXT. CAR Utah on the cellular, Pappas behind the wheel as they slide to a stop half a block from the stucco house. UTAH ... Felony B and E, three months in juvey. Better. Felony assault. Postgraduate work at Chino. Excellent. I'm lovin' it. What about the brother? (Utah is grinning) Great! Another model citizen. These guys really fit the profile. PAPPAS Remember, all bank robbers are losers, but not all losers are bank robbers. LONG LENS POV of Razorheads house. Through the windows we see the four moving inside. Tone throws Archbold and Bunker a Coors from the fridge. Archbold shakes his and opens it in Warchild's face. Warchild, in no mood, slams him against the wall. We feel the revved-up, chaotic energy of the group in silent pantomime. Bunker is met by a GIRL coming from the back of the house. She is wearing only panties and a black leather vest. Short black hair and tattoos stark on her white skin. Bunker puts one arm around her neck in a head lock embrace and slides his other hand under her vest. Tone pulls the curtains. UTAH These are the guys. I can feel it. I say we lay it on Harp. CUT TO: EXT. STREET NEAR HOUSE - NIGHT TELEPHOTO VIEW of house. Bunker and Archbold have partially disassembled the engine of a Kawasaki 1100 parked in the living room. They are drinking beer and arguing about the carburetors, lit by the blue glow of the TV. Warchild is watching a living- dead movie on tape. He replays the gory parts. Not a happening night at the Razorheads. REVERSE, as binoculars are lowered, revealing Cole. WIDER, to show the dynamic team of Cole and Munoz glowering in a plain sedan, Utah leaning in the side window. MUNOZ This is bullshit. This is a bullshit lead. This is totally bullshit. Harp must be fucking desperate if he's listening to you two flakes. UTAH See you bright and early, guys. Pappas walks up with a grease-stained box. Jams it through the window. PAPPAS Cold pizza? It's great for breakfast. INT./ EXT. PAPPAS' CAR - NIGHT Pappas pulls away from the curb, roaring past the other agents sedan. Utah and Cole flip each other off perfunctorily as they pass. UTAH When did Harp say they'd have the warrant? PAPPAS He's pushing it through first thing. You better get some sleep tonight, it could be an interesting morning. CUT TO: EXT. BODHI'S HOUSE - NIGHT A bunker-like structure built of stone and glass on a cliff overlooking the Pacific. Surfmobiles and motorcycles parked in front. A strong backbeat thumps through the open front doors. Tyler's Porsche pulls into the driveway. She and Johnny get out and head for the entrance. UTAH Nice place. TYLER He rents it for the summer. Bodhi always gets some slick place and throws it open to every surf burnout around. Most a these guys can't keep a job. When the swell comes, they're gone, they have to ride. INT./ EXT. BODHI'S HOUSE Tyler leads Utah through the steady flow of SURF-RATS and other PCH NOMADS toward a large outdoor deck where a barbecue is in progress. Moonlit waves pound the shore eighty feet below. They are immediately distracted by the small crowd gathering around GROMMET who has his nose pressed flat against the center of a dart board. His eyes swivels back to ROACH, standing fifteen feet away, dart in hand, getting ready to throw. GROMMET Do your worst, man! Roach drains a beer in one gulp, spies the sharp needle point of the dart, then squints at the target. ROSIE moves through the small crowd collecting bets. Suddenly Roaches arm snaps back. A collective hush... In a blur of tattoos the small feathered missile is airborne. TWAAAPPPPPP! Bulls-eye. Centimeters from flesh. Grommet secretly exhales. Roach howls as Rosie rains money on his head. The crowd goes wild. BODHI stands nearby with his arm around a BEAUTIFUL WOMAN. Pleased to see Utah, he motions him over. UTAH Don't you gamble? BODHI Only make bets I can't afford to lose. Only way to be 100% committed. With that, Bodhi smiles, then he and the woman vanish into the crowd. Utah watches them go, turns to Tyler. UTAH Who's the girl? TYLER Catch of the day. UTAH Oh, oh. That sounds personal. TYLER People are expendable to Bodhi. UTAH Meaning you were expendable. TYLER (shrugs) We went out for about five minutes... which is four minutes longer than most of them. But you can't hold it against him, he's... different. UTAH Sure, he's "the Bodhisattva". TYLER (she chuckles) Yeah, he thinks he's evolved to a higher plane of existence, or something. (thoughtful) Maybe he has. You've seen him surf... that frenzy. It seems like anger. It's not. It's the energy of lovemaking. The sea is the woman in his life. She's his only true lover. Utah studies her a moment. He's caught the faintest hint of regret in her voice. But also the straight-ahead pragmatism. He looks down at the waves pounding mercilessly against the rocks. UTAH All she does is beat the shit out of me. DISSOLVE TO: PARTY - LATER Lingering surf-rats stoned and drunk. Nathaniel stands on the railing of the deck, Corona in hand, gazing out at the black water. He grins sloppily, body wavering dangerously as he hunkers down into a surfing stance. NATHANIEL (beer soaked speech) ... Okay, so you're in the face, it's twenty-five feet straight down, your balls are about this big. (like he's holding up two BB's) And the whole thing's moving, right, roaring like you're stuck to the front of a freight train. There ain't nothin' like it, man. The ultimate rush. Forget about sex, it doesn't even come close. ROACH You lose it right then, you're history. The fish'll be pickin' you outta the coral. Nathaniel cackles that absurd Pee-Wee Herman laugh. He starts to flail, arms pinwheeling. Utah catches him by the back of the shorts and pulls him back. Nathaniel spins and drops clumsily onto the deck. NATHANIEL (matter of factly) Thanks, brah. Tyler sits next to Johnny, sipping a beer. Bodhi is not in sight. ROACH See, it's all dynamic, it's all in motion. You can't just stop and walk on in to the beach if you don't like the way things are going, y' know what I mean? You gotta ride it out man, all the way. GROMMET You ride the monsters, you gotta know you're ridin' a line between life and death. There ain't no forgiveness. UTAH So what's the biggest? Waimea? BODHI (V.O.) No, Bells Beach, Australia. Bodhi glides into the group and sits, his expression dark and enigmatic. The beautiful girl kneels behind him, massaging his neck. He seems not to notice. GROMMET Shit, yeah! I remember that day... gnarly fuckin' ass! Was your birthday-- ROACH The set was northwest. Jacking up like a fucking mountain of gray glass-- BODHI I made that one mistake you pray you'll never make-- NATHANIEL You shoulda fuckin' seen it... it was like he fell for-ever. Then the curl crashes down and he's gooone-- GROMMET -- held down in the washing machine, man... it was severe, we couldn't see nothin' thought it was all over for sure-- Nathaniel HOWLS. Tyler watches Utah watching Bodhi. Notices how he is mesmerized by these war stories. Bodhi smiles, unexpectedly. BODHI Not tragic to die doing what you love. You want the ultimate thrill, you gotta be willing to pay the ultimate price. NATHANIEL Fuckin' A. GROMMET (draining a Corona) Hell, I ain't gonna see 30. He and Nathaniel slap a warm, brotherly handshake. Utah notices that Tyler is giving him a dark look. She gets up suddenly and walks away from the group. UTAH (to the surfers, covering) Uh. I need another beer. He heads out after Tyler. INT. HALLWAY - DEN Johnny moves through the house, looking for her. As he passes the den, he sees Tyler standing inside, and goes into the dark room. It is the only personalized space we have seen in the house. A kind of shrine to the Bodhisattva. Shelves filled with books and artifacts from his travels. Maori masks, a blowgun, a skeletal shark mouth two feet across, a huge fossil ammonite... an unbelievable variety of tribal artifacts and marine specimens. The books include political literature, eastern religion, philosophy. A strange hodgepodge of titles and authors: Nietzsche, Marx, the Tao, "Steal this Book", "The Book of Five Rings", Frederick Forsyth thrillers. Tyler is looking at a wall of photographs and Johnny walks up behind her. Shots of Bodhi surfing a monster wave, mountain-biking, skydiving, flying an ultralight airplane, bungee-cord jumping, cliff diving. Every kamikaze activity in the book. TYLER Bunch of goddamn adrenaline junkies. I hope you're not buying into this banzai-bullshit like the rest of Bodhi's moonies. UTAH What are you talking about? TYLER I've seen that kamikaze look, Johnny. You've got it. And Bodhi can smell it a mile away. He'll take you to the edge... and past it. (she looks past Johnny, sees something) Hey, Bodhi. Utah turns. Bodhi is in the doorway. BODHI Johnny has his own demons, don't you, Johnny? Bodhi seems to stare into him. Utah breaks the look. Turns back to the photo gallery. Bodhi's eyes swivel. He ponders something. Looks at Tyler. BODHI Feel it? Roach and some of the other surfers appear in the hallway, wondering what happened to their leader. He turns to them. BODHI Gentlemen, it's time. HOOT AND CHEERS. Everyone bursts into motion. Yelling and running through the house. UTAH What's goin' on? TYLER Swell's here, Johnny. Bodhi always knows. Bodhi returns from another room with... AN ALL-BLACK SURFBOARD. It gleams like obsidian. Near the tip, in small gray letters it says "Stealth Fighter". Bodhi thrusts it into Johnny's hands. The others WHOOP maniacally. Johnny feels the challenge. The pull of the tribe. BODHI Let's go, Utah. Time for a little stealth mission. CUT TO: EXT. LATIGO BEACH - NIGHT SIX DARK FIGURES walk toward us out of shafts of light... the headlights of Bodhi's CHEVY 4WD and Tyler's Porsche. The figures are Bodhi, Johnny, Tyler and the other surfers. ROSIE hangs back with the idling vehicles, tattooed arms crossed. He puffs on a cigarette. A WIDE SHOT (MATTE) of the beach shows a pool of light from the headlights, beyond it a vast silver ocean under a black sky. The full moon casts the world in cold monochrome. The little figures reach the sea. ROACH (a voice in the distance) Gaping barrels! Way overhead, man! CLOSER, as moonlit figures run into the water. Utah stands on the beach, hoping his eyes will adjust. UTAH I can barely do this in broad daylight. TYLER Come on. At least no one's gonna see how bad you are. Johnny clenches his jaw and charges past her into the water. He strokes powerfully out through the black swell. UTAH'S EBONY BOARD pierces the wave and he slides down the backside to where the others are waiting. Roach and Nathaniel, silhouettes nearby, see one they like and take off yelling. Johnny turns as a figure glides up next to him. UTAH I gotta be fucking crazy. BODHI Yeah, but are you crazy enough? Grommet gets a ride, slicing across in front of them. A ghost moving off into the silvery distance. Tyler waves jauntily and takes the next one. It's Johnny's turn. BODHI Football's a man-made game. You keep score with numbers. But in this, there's no field, no rules, no opponent. Just you and the wave. UTAH I know that part. Tell me something I can use, here. BODHI I've watched you once or twice. You surf like it's some kind of street fight. You jerk along from moment to moment, fighting everything that comes at you. Always trying to win. UTAH A flaw I'm working on. BODHI The only way to win out here is to surrender. You have to feel what the wave is doing, accept its energy, get in sync. Just feel it all moving in the blackness... you don't need to see. UTAH Yeah, right, vision is highly over- rated. Bodhi is looking at the lights along the shoreline. Without looking back, he senses the incoming swell. BODHI This one's got your name on it, Johnny. Utah looks. Huge glassy face, perfectly formed. Black and terrifying. BODHI Let's go. Bodhi digs in with both hands, driving himself forward. Johnny starts grabbing water right behind him. The wave picks them up. UTAH Shit, I'm gonna die. I'm gonna die now. Johnny uses the patented Tyler-pop and makes it to his feet. Suddenly he's going like a shot. He moves back on the board, trims out, slowing down. Maintains a fragile control. On pure adrenalized instinct, heart pounding, he falls in behind Bodhi, taking the same line along the roaring black face. Bodhi is like the Silver Surfer, ahead of him in the moonlight. Not wanting to drop too far behind, Johnny walks a little forward on the board. The nose dips, picking up speed. Johnny starts letting the speed work for him, learning that he can make long floating turns up and down the glassy face. Feeling the water under his feet, the tons of water piling up behind him... feeling its awesome power and borrowing a little of it. The Silver Surfer and the quarterback rocket through the night. Utah has a big feral grin plastered on his face. Bodhi looks back. Gives him a thumbs up. Then he cuts left and drops giddily down to the bottom, slashing back and climbing. Utah tries it, feels the drop like freefall... feels the speed. He makes his bottom turn, nearly falling. The grin dropping off his face. He falls in behind Bodhi again as the wave wraps over them like a great black wing. TYLER, paddling back out, watches them shoot past her. Utah raises his arms above his head and HOWLS like a gonzo wolf as they go by. She grins to herself, watching him. Knows he's gotten the ride that will make him a surfer for life. EXT. BEACH PARKING LOT Rosie sits on the sand next to a blazing fire in a cement firepit. ANGLE THROUGH THE HEAT HAZE above the flames. Tyler punches through, a few feet away. She paddles toward him, coming alongside. TYLER You had enough? UTAH Yeah. I just want to sit out here for a minute. He watches the lights along the shoreline as the gentle swell between sets lifts and drops them. His face is somehow childlike. A slow grin spreads itself across his face. TYLER Look at you. UTAH What? TYLER Well, usually you have this sort of intense scowl of concentration, like you're doing this for a school project or something... I don't know, like something's driving you. (she puts her fingertip to his forehead) See, it's gone. If I didn't know better I'd say you looked almost happy. UTAH I... I don't know. I can't describe what I'm feeling. TYLER (smiling) You don't have to. Her face seems luminous in the moonlight. The ocean silver. The shore a shimmering line of gold. The sky black velvet. Utah turns to Tyler, eyes exploring her, as in a dream. Water beads on her dark skin like crawling diamonds. He glides closer, holding her board like an uneasy horse alongside his. He runs his fingertips down her arm. UTAH Goosebumps. Come here. She leans closer and he rubs his hands up and down her arms, warming her. His hands stop on her shoulders. He pulls her to his mouth. Her tongue meets his. She wants this. He is surprised by the fierceness of her kiss, which overwhelms his. TIGHT ON THE ZIPPER of her shorty wetsuit as Johnny's fingers draw it down. Slowly down, to where it ends between her legs. He spreads the front and slips his hands inside, along her ribs. TYLER Those are cold. UTAH Warm them up. She moves his strong hand onto her breast. His fingers massage her cold-stiffened nipple. She moans and grabs his wet hair in her other hand, pulling him into another intense kiss. EXT. OCEAN - UNDERWATER Looking up from the bottom, we see the silhouettes of two boards surrounded by pulsing shafts of moonlight. CAMERA TILTS DOWN to show the bottom. The dreamlike blue light shimmering on the sand and rocks. A big shark browses gracefully, ignoring the lovers. Their moment of harmony with the sea will be honored. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. BEACH - NIGHT Tyler's Porsche stands alone in an empty lot. Her surfboard sticks up in back, next to Utah's "stealth fighter". Rosie's fire is burning low. Tyler, half-wrapped in a blanket from the car, straddles Johnny on the sand like she straddles her board. The blanket slips down. Naked silhouettes in the firelight. She arches her back as they move together in prefect sync. Grips his shoulders and stares into his face, her teeth bared in a grimace of pleasure that looks like pain. She makes love like she does everything... with honesty and intensity. Utah, surprisingly, is gentle and slow. He strokes her hair after she collapses onto him. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. BEACH - DAWN ECU JOHNNY as he cracks one eye open, registering the dawn light. He bolts up, looking around. Tyler is asleep beside him, with the quilt from the car pulled up tight to her chin. She looks radiant in sleep. He grabs his watch out of the sand and looks at it. UTAH Holy shit. CUT TO: EXT. ALLEY BEHIND RAZORHEAD HOUSE LONG LENS on UTAH'S SEDAN fishtailing through the alley, narrowly missing dumpsters and parked cars. He pulls up next to several unmarked FBI sedans. No one in sight. UTAH jumps out tucking in yesterday's shirt, stuffing his Beretta into his waistband. He also shoves a small leather case into his belt. Utah pulls open the door to one of the unmarked cars and rips a walkie-talkie out of the charging rack on the front seat. Running, he passes a gate. Goes back. Looks. HIS POV -- FOUR MEN huddled behind a garage. COLE, MUNOZ, AND TWO OTHER AGENTS. All with guns and walkie-talkies. UTAH (whispering) You guys need any help? COLE (not amused) You're late. We hear Pappas' voice over the radio. PAPPAS (V.O.) Did that worthless punk partner of mine ever show up? UTAH (grinning) Right here, partner. EXT. STREET - NEARBY Pappas has his shirt hiked up as another agent, BABBIT, tapes a microphone transmitter to his stomach. Pappas talks into his top button. PAPPAS Good of you to join us, hotshot. (to Babbit) Watch it. I told you, not on the hairs, goddammit. Babbit moves the transmitter, putting the tape on differently. UTAH I'm ready to rock, Angelo. Where you want me? PAPPAS Cole and Munoz are going in the back door. Babbit is backing me. So I want you at the side window by the hedge. You're strictly backup, got it? UTAH Got it. PAPPAS Awright. Get into position. I'm rolling. Pappas pulls the loose Hawaiian shirt down over the radio- mike gear and his stalwart .38 snub. He steps out from behind a fence and walks along the sidewalk toward Bunker's house, two doors down. He is wearing polyester shorts and sandals, and carrying a DOG LEASH. PAPPAS Here Scooby! Where are you boy? Here Scooby!! You furball piece of shit. COLE AND MUNOZ snap around the corner of the garage and sprint low toward the rear of the brown stucco house. UTAH circles back out through the alley. TRACKING WITH HIM as he makes it to the neighbor's back hedge and crab- walks toward Bunker's house. BABBIT and ANOTHER AGENT make it to the front corner of the stucco house, staying out of sight of the windows. ANGELO is walking up to the falling-down porch of this low-rent roach-hotel. JOHNNY is elbow-crawling between the house and a tall hedge. He slides quietly in below a bedroom window. He pulls out the little leather kit he tucked in his waistband. Removes something from it. A DENTAL MIRROR. Moving slowly, he raises it above the window sill, angling it where he can see inside. TIGHT ON DENTAL MIRROR, Johnny's POV. We see a bedroom through a gap in the venetian blind. Tone is lying on the bed, wearing headphones. Cranked up speedmetal. His eyes are screwed shut, and his fists pump to the beat like karate on 40,000 volts. The door to a bathroom is open, and the black-haired girl can be made out behind rippled shower glass. TIGHT ON DOORBELL as Pappas rings it. UTAH JUMPS at an explosion of sound. He spins in a microsecond, pistol aimed at... A LAWN MOWER. Through the hedge we can just see THE NEIGHBOR, sixtyish and polyester clad, as he adjusts the choke on the roaring machine about two feet from Johnny's face. Utah exhales and lowers the gun. Wipes sweat from his eyes. TIGHT ON PAPPAS, smiling open-faced and goofily charming as... THE DOOR opens, revealing a GIRL we haven't seen before. She has hair like bleached fiberglass, black eye-makeup and nails. Ramones-style wardrobe. She looks tense, and won't open the door very far. FIBERGLASS Yeah? What? PAPPAS Have you seen a little dog? Kind of a cockapoo lookin' thing. About this big. FIBERGLASS No. UTAH blinks at what he sees. HIS POV, in the little mirror. Like a silent pantomime under the ROAR OF THE MOWER, he sees Bunker and Warchild come flying into the room. They are hyper and manic. Eyes wild. Bunker leaps clear over the bed. Grabs a COMBAT SHOTGUN from the closet. Throws it to Warchild. Tone is oblivious. Bunker thumps him in the chest and Tone leaps up like an overwound toy, gaping "What the fuck?!" we read his lips saying. Bunker grabs a STEYR ASSAULT RIFLE, white knuckled, while Tone fumbles around and comes up with a .45 COLT AUTO. UTAH (into his headset) Babbit. Get Angelo out of there. They're pulling out a fucking arsenal! Babbit, you copy? Cole? Don't let him pull his badge! EXT. BACK YARD Cole and Munoz push their earpieces in deeper. Scowl. MUNOZ Utah, say again. What? (to Cole) I can't hear jack shit over this lawnmower. Christ. INT. RAZORHEAD'S HOUSE In the bedroom, Bunker looks through a slit of door at Fiberglass. We hear Pappas just outside. PAPPAS (V.O.) ... and the guy next door said he saw it go into your backyard. My wife'll kill me if I lose the little bastard. Me, I could care less. Whole house smells from it's liftin' its leg all the time... Bunker looks like he's on paranoia overdrive. BUNKER Something's goin' down, man. This ain't right. TONE (freaked) No, man, it's nothin'. It's nothin'. BUNKER Will you shut the fuck up! Check the windows. Do it!! EXT. RAZORHEAD'S HOUSE Utah sucks up against the wall as Warchild looks furtively out the window. We see them both, but Warchild doesn't see Johnny, plastered right below him. Johnny closes his eyes and grits his teeth. Shiiiiittt! PAPPAS, AT THE FRONT DOOR, is bobbing his head, trying to look inside. PAPPAS You sure he isn't out back? You mind if I go take a look? FIBERGLASS Look, I don't know anything about your dog, okay-- PAPPAS Well is there anyone else here that might have seen him? FIBERGLASS There's nobody else here... INT. HOUSE Warchild slams into the wall next to Bunker. WARCHILD There's two guys by the back door. Ducked down. TONE Oh, shit. Shit!! We're fucked, man. BUNKER That fat fuck comes through the door I'm gonna pump him up. Swear to Christ, man, I'm gonna blow the dude up! Scared and vicious, like a cornered dog. We believe him. Bunker jacks the bolt on the Steyr. Warchild cocks the shotgun. EXT. HOUSE JOHNNY is pissing himself. He can see it all going down. So fast he doesn't have time to think. He goes into motion -- slipping rapidly along the wall to the next window. The bathroom window. PAPPAS, AT THE FRONT DOOR, makes his move. He pushes the door open, breaking the security chain, and jams his FBI shield in the girl's face as he grabs her arm. PAPPAS FBI, gorgeous. Now let's take a look around-- INT. HOUSE Bunker's eyes bug out as he sees Pappas coming through the door. He snaps the assault rifle to his shoulder. Suddenly Johnny is behind him -- half-in the bathroom window, pistol gripped double-handed like they taught him in Quantico. UTAH FBI!! DROP IT! Bunker whips around. Squeezing off a wild burst! B-B-B- BLAM! It rips the plaster next to Johnny's shoulder. Shatters the shower door behind him. The BLACK-HAIRED GIRL screams. Johnny flinches, FIRING RAPIDLY. Wild. Bunker drops, hit. Warchild lets go with the 12 gauge. KABOOM! Takes a chunk like a shark bite out of the doorframe by Johnny's head. Deafening in the confined space. Johnny flattens himself behind the doorframe. Tone just splits. Down the hall like a greyhound. PAPPAS is on one knee, his piece drawn fast, holding Fiberglass in a neck-lock with one massive arm. Bunker, wild-eyed and bleeding, is on his knees in the bathroom doorway. He raises the Steyr. Mistake. Angelo FIRES. 30 years in the field tends to show. Three rounds. Chest. Chest. Head. Bunker is off the planet. MUNOZ KICKS THE BACKDOOR IN like they do in the movies. He and Cole charge into the rancid kitchen. Badass FBI agents. JOHNNY, hotwired and hyperventilating, pops out for a shot around the doorframe. He gets a glimpse of Warchild's back disappearing into the hallway. FIRES. His shot is wasted, punching plaster. Suddenly a pink freight-train hits him. He forgot about the girl in the shower. Naked except for her tattoos, she bodyslams him face-first into the wall. As he tries to turn she grabs his hair in both hands and hammers his head into the medicine-cabinet -- CRASH -- shattering the mirror. Then she knees him in the balls as he ricochets off the wall into her. She drives her elbow into his back as he drops. "FREIGHT TRAIN" lands knee-first on his gun hand, and viciously kicks the pistol away with one bloody foot. It skitters under the bed. She's cut up from flying glass. Demon-eyed and wired, her body lithe and muscular under white skin. She sprints across the bedroom, leaving Utah slumped, heaving for breath. IN THE HALLWAY, Tone is hidden behind a doorway. White-knuckling the forty-five. A wild-eyed kid with a big gun and not the slightest idea how to use it. He hears footsteps POUNDING behind him and spins. It's Warchild, running with the shot-gun. WARCHILD Move it, man. Let's get the fuck out of here! Off-guard, Tone is SLAMMED BY THE DOOR as Munoz drives into it with his shoulder. Pounded between the door and wall, Tone is wired so tight he pulls the trigger and blows a hole through his own right foot. He screams and drops to the floor. Munoz sandwiches him with the door and draws down on Warchild, who dives into a doorway. Cole drives past Munoz, who has Tone pinned, and pounds down the corridor. Cole reaches the doorway and goes for the shot on Warchild. "Freight-train" appears behind him from another door. She raises a pair of scissors and drives them into his back up to the hilt. Pulls them out, going for another stab, when-- Pappas spins her around and slams her face-first into the wall. UTAH, in the bedroom, sees Warchild blur across his field of vision. On pure instinct, he kicks into overdrive. Johnny leaps the bed and goes ballistic. His flying tackle catches Warchild at the window. EXT. HOUSE The window EXPLODES OUTWARD in a spray of sunlit glass. Utah and Warchild crash to the ground. The razorhead, with 50 pounds on Johnny, rises like a bull. Bleeding from superficial lacerations, Warchild plows through the hedge. Johnny dives after him. The Polyester Neighbor stands paralyzed as the two crazed figures careen toward him. He is knocked flying, and the ROARING LAWNMOWER is flipped onto its side. Utah and Warchild are locked together. The shotgun lies nearby, out of play. Warchild jerks a 6 INCH KNIFE free from its sheath, hanging from a thong around his neck. He trusts straight at Johnny's throat. Johnny deflects the thrust -- INTO THE WHIRLING LAWNMOWER. KA-WHANGGG!!! The knife is hammered out of Warchild's hand. Whistles away, spinning. Warchild grabs Johnny as they scramble, and heaves him bodily toward the spinning blade. Utah catches the rim of the mower with both hands, stopping himself inches from the rotor. Warchild puts all his weight on Johnny. Pushing him face-first toward the blades. Johnny feels the wind on his face. The engine is roaring, full throttle. PAPPAS APPEARS BEHIND THEM. He aims the .38. FIRES TWICE. The little Briggs & Stratton dies young, its casing shattered. The rotor spins to a stop. Warchild looks up into the black eye of Pappas' gun. Two inched from his face. PAPPAS Speak into the microphone. The razorhead sags, the fight going out of him. Babbit kicks him off Johnny, face down onto the lawn. Cuffs him. INT. BATHROOM - BEDROOM - LATER UTAH dry heaves over the sink. Turns the faucet on full blast and hoses his head. He lifts a dripping face, wipes water out of his eyes, stops on the reflection in the mirror. Pappas is there. PAPPAS It's always been lasers and paper targets until today, right? Utah looks up at him and nods. He glances through the doorway at Bunker, dead in a pool of blood. Tone is wailing as paramedics work on his foot. Cole is being taken out on a stretcher. PAPPAS No difference, Utah. Just a little more to clean up. (squeezes the rookie's shoulder) It's alright. You did good today. Across the bedroom AGENT BABBIT rips the back off a big speaker unit. Behind it, taped to the woofer, are two large packets of a white substance. PAPPAS Oh shit. Utah stares at the dope. CUT TO: INT. POLICE HQ - OUTSIDE INTERROGATION ROOM - NIGHT TIGHT ON WARCHILD manacled to the chair screaming his head off. We cannot hear him through the glass. It looks like pantomime. UTAH and PAPPAS watch through the one way observation window. THWAAAAAP!! The two taped packets slam the wall inches from Utah's right ear. Johnny snaps his head around. Stares into the face of DIETZ who looks like Warchild's meaner brother. And he's pissed as hell... DIETZ You know what this is?! Two keys uncut crystal meth! UTAH What the hell's your problem? Dietz manically grabs a clump of his stringy hair. DIETZ You think I like this haircut? My wife wants me to stay at Ramada -- I been working on these guys for THREE MONTHS! Finally -- finally-- (nodding to Warchild) -- I get dickwad in there wantin' to play wheel of fortune so I can find out their supplier! HARP emerges from the interrogation room, we hear a sliver of Warchild's battle cry. He spies Utah. HARP This is agent Dietz, DEA. He's got a record of your suspect's movements every day for the last three months. DIETZ (stabbing the air with the packets) All I wanna know is how are these guys supposed to be holding up Tarzana City National on August 2nd, when they are in Fort-fucking- Lauderdale August 2ND!!! HARP Not an easy thing to do, is it, Utah? UTAH Aw shit. PAPPAS Nice tattoo, Dietz. We hear a faint BUZZ, growing louder as we... CUT TO: INT. BEDROOM - UTAH'S APARTMENT - DAWN The doorbell BUZZ shrieks through the room. It stops. Starts again. A ghostly dawn finds UTAH and TYLER sleeping peacefully, limbs entwined like vines. Johnny's eyes snap open. Spies the clock. 4:00 a.m. Tyler stirs beside him, coming out of sleep. Johnny wraps a blanket around his waist and staggers to the door. BODHI stands outside the door wearing a lunatic grin. Behind him NATHANIEL, ROACH and GROMMET hoot from the pickup. BODHI C'mon brah, there's a righteous swell. Let's go! Let's go! Tyler comes into the room, wrapped in a sheet. Utah sees her knowing smile. TYLER He does this. CUT TO: EXT. BEACH - PREDAWN Vampire morning. A misty predawn, bled of all color. Steel gray tones. The ocean vanishes in the fog a few feet from shore. Tyler and Johnny, carrying their boards, walk toward the water. TYLER Come on, Utah. Everybody's out there catchin' all the good rides. She realizes he has stopped ten feet behind her, like a great weight has dragged him to a halt. TYLER What's wrong Johnny? (goes back to him) You're like a different person. He stares at her. His expression dark... wrestling with something. UTAH I am a different person, Tyler. He lets out a long breath and looks away, out to sea. JOHNNY'S POV... the water receding into a backlit wall of mist. FIGURES APPEAR, faint silhouettes in the fog. Shades of gray in the gray. IN SLOW MOTION they weave hypnotically across the screen, their shapes merging and unmerging as they cross each other. STACKED UP BY THE EXTREME LONG LENS, Bodhi, Roach, Grommet and Nathaniel crave and slash toward us with mystical grace. In SUSPENDED TIME we see them hooting and grinning at each other as they cut aggressive moves close to each other. Dolphins playing. Challenging each other in mock combat. So good, their boards slash past each other with inches to spare. There is an incredible sense of freedom and exhilaration. Bonding forged through mastery of this arcane art. For the first time we see the core group of Bodhi's tribe, by themselves. It dawns on us... There are four of them. And at that moment Nathaniel drops in front of Bodhi, laughing at the near miss, and drops his pants in a nasty wig-wagging moon. TRACKING SLOWLY IN ON JOHNNY staring, mouth open. Watching the four horsemen of the Apocalypse ride toward him. IN SLOW MOTION, BODHI grins as he slashes past Nathaniel's shining white butt. ON JOHNNY, as he reacts to the dawning certainty. He feels weak, dizzy... like the ground is moving under him. TYLER Hey. You okay? You look like you saw a ghost. SHOCK CUT -- ANGELO TURNING TOWARD HIM, at the drop car scene. Eons ago. The sound of his voice ringing... PAPPAS Forget about it, kid, They're ghosts... BACK TO JOHNNY, as he backs away from Tyler. Still in shock, recoiling from the situation. UTAH I... I gotta go. TYLER Johnny... what's going on? I don't get it... did I do something? UTAH No. I'm sorry. I have to go. I'll, uh... I'll call you later. I'm sorry. He sets off running up the beach. Tyler stares after him. Confused and hurt. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. PAPPAS' HOUSE - NIGHT Early evening. Utah pulls into the driveway. When he kills the engine we hear Greek music from inside the house. AT THE ENTRANCE Johnny finds the door ajar. He pushes it open a little to reveal-- INT. HOUSE Pappas dancing alone in the living room with his shirt off, holding a glass of ouzo. Facing away from the door the ample Greek hears Utah's tentative knock. Without breaking from his dance or turning he calls out-- PAPPAS Hey, babe. Get on over here so the big dog can teach ya how to bark. Pappas howls like a bloodhound, then twirls around. UTAH Woof, woof. We see the startled Pappas, at a loss for the first time. PAPPAS Johnny! Uh, you, uh... should call first, you know? Hey, where the hell were you all day? You gotta at least call in or something. You okay? UTAH Angelo, we gotta talk. Pappas moves toward him, kind of subconsciously herding Utah back out the door. PAPPAS Listen, uh... if you're okay, can it wait till tomorrow morning, kid, I... Johnny hears footsteps and turns. Miss Deer comes through the door like it's not the first time, carrying a bag of groceries. MISS DEER Angie, they didn't have the kind of wine you like but I got... oh, hi Johnny! Her icy office persona obviously got left there. Her hair is unbound and flows around her shoulders, and in halter top and jeans she looks delectably off-duty. Angelo looks at Utah like don't you say a fucking word. CUT TO: EXT. HOUSE A few minutes later. Utah and Pappas leaning on his car. The younger agent seems to have regained his hunt-down fever. UTAH ... so I started tailing him. PAPPAS This Zen master surfer. UTAH Bodhi, yeah. I'm on him all day, right. He goes here, he goes there, he goes to Tower Records and buys come CDs, he has lunch at Patrick's Road House... (mock casual) ... he goes into the Assured Trust Savings and Loan. PAPPAS Did he rob it? UTAH Cute. He was inside for about 20 minutes. The other guy, Roach, waited in the truck. They were scoping it out, right?! UTAH Yeah, or cashing a check. UTAH Wait, wait. Then these guys go back to their beach house and box up all their shit. Load it in Bodhi's truck and take it to a public storage unit. You see? Summer's almost over. They're splitting. They're gonna pick up a little traveling money tomorrow. The next day at the outside latest. I got a feeling. PAPPAS Last time you got a feeling I had to kill a man, which I always hate because it looks bad on the report. UTAH Angelo... I'm right this time. We can still win this one. Angelo looks at the conviction in the other agent's eyes. Pappas sighs and puts a hand on Johnny's shoulder. PAPPAS Alright, look... banks are closed. Nothing's gonna go down tonight, right? So we'll be on these guys like white on rice... first thing tomorrow morning. Okay? Tomorrow. Okay? Utah nods. Then grins. Pappas starts backing up, like a long rubber band which was stretched taut is pulling him back into the house. UTAH Woof, woof. CUT TO: EXT. STREET NEAR BODHI'S HOUSE - DAY LONG LENS POV scanning Bodhi's house. There is a "FOR RENT" sign out front. The driveway and carpet are empty... no vehicles in sight. UTAH (V.O.) They're gone. Son of a bitch. We missed them. UTAH LOWERS HIS BINOCULARS. He's standing next to the car while Pappas sits on the hood, sipping coffee from a thermos. PAPPAS They're on their way to Maui. UTAH No way. Not yet. Come on. Utah jumps in and starts the car. Pappas is screwing the cap on the thermos. Johnny puts the car in gear, forcing Angelo to scramble in as the car starts to roll. PAPPAS Jesus Christ, kid! The banks don't open 'till nine. EXT. CITY STREET - TRAFFIC - DAY Johnny weaves the sedan among the creeping commuters. Long glittering lines and heat waves. UTAH I say we call it in. Get some backup. But you gotta do it. Harp won't listen to me. PAPPAS Sure. No problem. I'll just call up and tell him his favorite agent saw this one surfer moon another surfer yesterday and it looked real suspicious. Shit, he'll probably call out the National Guard. UTAH I say we don't call it in. Under no circumstance are we to call this in. PAPPAS Look, we handle it ourselves, for right now, okay? We cover the bank, whatever. You and me. That way if nothing happens, or more accurately, when nothing happens... I don't get my tits any further into the wringer than they already are. CUT TO: EXT. ASSURED TRUST SAVING AND LOAN SLOW PAN from the facade of the bank halfway up the block to Utah's sedan in the TIGHT F.G. Head flopped back over the seat, Angelo snoozes in the hot sun with a sports page over his face. Johnny looks at his watch for the fiftieth time. Whole lot of nothing going on. Angelo slides the sports page down to his chin, without otherwise moving. PAPPAS Time for lunch. UTAH Angelo, it's eleven thirty. PAPPAS That place up the street has meatball sandwiches. Get me two. Utah slides out of the car. Feeling a little exposed he pulls his Dodgers cap down a little tighter, and adjusts his sunglasses. He trudges off through the sidewalk crowd toward the FAST- FOOD STAND nearby. Pappas pulls the sports page back up to block the sun. CUT TO: EXT. FAST FOOD PLACE ON A LONG LENS, very stacked up, we see Johnny standing at the grody pick-up window. He keeps looking at the bank, visible B.G. The pick-up window opens and food appears, sliding out. Utah turns, pulling out his wallet. VOICE FROM INSIDE Two meatball, one tuna on wheat, two lemonades. Total's seven eighty four. As Johnny is counting out the bills, a BURGUNDY THUNDERBIRD pulls up in front of the bank. The doors fly open. The Ex-Presidents jump out. They sprint for the entrance. All this OUT OF FOCUS, B.G. Johnny misses it as he picks up the food order. The Presidents disappear inside. Johnny looks toward the bank again. There is no movement. REVERSE, as Utah walks back toward his car. Pappas is still under the paper. He slides it down when he smells food. UTAH Here, yours is the one that looks like a road kill. Enjoy. Utah throws a big stack of napkins through the window into Pappas' lap. Still standing next to the car. UTAH Here's your lemonade. (he looks down the street) Did you see that T-Bird pull up? Pappas pulls a disgusting mass from the bag, unwrapping one end. PAPPAS (without looking) Damn, I could eat the ass out of an elephant. I shoulda had you get me three a these. What T-Bird? Pappas is about to take a huge bite when a meatball falls out of the end of the sandwich. It lands on the seat next to him. He looks at it. Picks it up. Pops it into his mouth and-- Freezes, mouth open. Eyes focused on... The Ex-Presidents, in living color, flashing through the doors of the bank 80 feet away. Johnny is so astounded he doesn't do anything for about two seconds. Pappas coughs out his meatball, eyes bugging. PAPPAS Jesus Christ!! It's them! The Presidents are piling into the car. Johnny reacts characteristically. He whips out the Beretta and yells-- UTAH FBI!! Freeze!! Right now! NIXON spins, raising his shotgun. But Reagan knocks the muzzle down with his hand. Shoves him into the car. Then Reagan jumps behind the wheel. The back wheels light up, smoking, as the T-Bird launches. Utah FIRES. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! He puts two into the trunk and blows the back window into junk jewelry. The T-Bird peels out into traffic, clipping a Subaru which locks them up and spins. PAPPAS Come on, kid, get in the car! Jesus! INT./ EXT. SEDAN Pappas reaches across, starting the engine as Johnny jumps in the driver's side. Utah buries the throttle into the firewall and charges aggressively through the medium traffic. Their sedan slews around the back of an eighteen wheeler, fishtailing. It straightens out. No T-Bird in sight. UTAH The hell are they?! PAPPAS They took a left at the next light! UTAH You sure?! Utah is totally wired. Totally concentrated. The adrenalin is kicking in, flashing through his system. His brain is on turbo boost, reacting a thousand times a second as they hit sixty through the traffic, which seems to be standing still. UTAH I got 'em. I see 'em. I'm on it, I'm on it. High-speed slalom through cars and trucks. The world passes by in a hysterical blur. PAPPAS You even watching the road? A car pulls out, straight ahead. Utah swerves wildly, mostly gets around him. The guy's bumper and front grille are removed. Utah does a smoking skid-recovery. Doesn't even slow down. The late model T-Bird is weaving manically. It makes a sliding turn onto a cross street half a block ahead of the FBI agents. Utah cuts the wheel into a huge Ralph's parking lot. Pedestrians scatter. Utah center-punches a week's supply of groceries in a cart. INT./ EXT. T-BIRD The Presidents hold on desperately as Reagan white- knuckles it through civilian traffic. They're looking all around, trying to see where Utah went. LBJ Where are they, man? I don't see 'em. We lose 'em? Not exactly... THROUGH THE WINDSHIELD we see an airborne Utah hurtling from a Ralph's entrance. The sedan lands on the street, tearing chunks out of the asphalt with the undercarriage. An instant later it hammers into the side of the T-Bird. The two cars spin out of control. Utah cuts the wheel, slamming into them again. Side by side demolition derby. WHAM!! Utah hits them again. The Presidents lose control, jumping a curb, losing the right front tire in the process. Utah's car starts to swap ends. Hit the center island broadside. The sedan flips onto its back in an explosion of glass. SCREECH of steel on concrete as it comes to rest. Hanging upside down, Pappas is mightily pissed off. PAPPAS Nice fuckin' work, hotshot. Christ! They can see the T-Bird still moving. It slews drunkenly as the driver maintains speed on flapping rubber. Johnny shimmies out of the wreckage, sliding on his back in broken glass. Pappas is packed in, upside down, wriggling to get out through the side window. A tight fit. INT./ EXT. T-BIRD The Presidents are hammered up and down by the flailing tire. REAGAN Emergency sanitization! Here we go! EXT. GAS STATION The T-Bird vaults into the parking lot and slides to a smoking stop at one of the pump islands. The Presidents explode out of the car in a blur. Reagan bodyslams a TEENAGER putting gas in his MUSTANG. He flips his big pistol to LBJ as the other Presidents charge past him. Nixon jumps behind the wheel of the Mustang. LBJ and JFK pile in. Reagan grabs the gas nozzle out of the car. He pulls out a ZIPPO LIGHTER. Reagan raises the gas nozzle like a gun and holds the zippo below and slightly in front of it. He flicks the flame. Then pulls the trigger on the nozzle. Like an impromptu flame thrower, the nozzle spews A TWENTY FOOT JET OF FIRE which engulfs the T-Bird in an instant. Any physical evidence in the car is rapidly incinerated. Customers are running, screaming. Nixon has the Mustang fired up. NIXON Let's go! Move it, Ronny! Ronny's eyes sparkle behind his mask as he paints the scene with the jet of fire. You can see it getting good to him. In a second he's going to blow up the whole block. But he's getting his rocks off. He sets two other cars on fire. A FIGURE BLURS INTO FRAME. In a flying tackle, Utah catapults Reagan off his pins. They roll, skidding across the oily concrete. Spraying wild, the fire swirls around the pump island. Out of the black smoke, PAPPAS charges like an angry bull, his snubnose held high. NIXON sees him and floors it. The Mustang smokes out of the gas station as Pappas' shots blow out the back window. Utah and Reagan roll away from the blaze. Johnny's pants are burning. He gets to his knees in time for Reagan's kick to take him square in the solar plexus. He folds in half. Drops to the cement. Reagan kicks him