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Point Break Movie Script

Writer(s) : W. Peter Iliff, Rick King, Kathryn Bigelow

Genres : Action, Adventure, Crime, Drama, Thriller

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                        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 again and takes off running.
The President is burning.
His suit jacket is ablaze.  He shucks out of it as he
runs.

Gasping, Johnny rapidly slaps his jeans.  Puts himself
out.  He comes up running, pulling his Beretta.  Sees the
back of Reagan's head disappearing into an alley behind
the gas station.


EXT.  ALLEY

A non-descript L.A. alley... commercial buildings on one
side, walled suburb on the other.  Two men running all
out.
A recent President and a wild-eyed cop trailing smoke like
a crashing jet fighter.

Beyond the buildings behind them A FIREBALL EXPLODES
SKYWARD.  We hear sirens and shouting, which recede as the
two pelt along the alley.  It gets quieter.  Just the
machine-gun slap of the shoes on pavement, and the hard
breathing of the two men, each in overdrive, going all out
in long blurring strides.

REAGAN looks back.  Sees the demon cop behind him,
gaining.
Utah has become an engine, a running machine... juggernaut
mode.

AHEAD OF THEM a BLACK AND WHITE swings into the alley.
Reagan hangs a hard left and blasts a wooden gate half off
its hinges.  Utah whips through the gate a second later.
Diving into suburbia.


INT./ EXT.  NEIGHBORHOOD - FOOTCHASE SEQUENCE

It becomes a blur.  Pure kinetic energy.  Two meteors
rocketing through a low-rent suburb.  And God help anyone
who gets in the way.

Reagan crosses a cluttered backyard.
Broken field run through toys, swing set, stacks of god-
knows-what.
He runs through a Mr. Turtle Pool in an explosion of
spray.
Crashes through a hedge.
Through the narrow gap between houses.
Utah powers into the tight space behind him.
Blurring along between stucco walls.

They emerge into the front yard.
A WOMAN watering her lawn is so surprised she yelps and
falls down.
Reagan and Utah both hurdle her.

AHEAD, KIDS ON BIKES, racing along the sidewalk.
Reagan dodges the first, Utah slams into the next two.
He crashes, rolling, tangled up in bikes and squawking
teenagers.
He comes out of a pile-up somehow still in high gear.

Reagan flashes across the sunlit street.
Dodges in front of a GARBAGE TRUCK which locks up the
brakes.
It stops so fast, one of the guys falls off the back.
The GUY is getting up as Utah whips around the back of the
truck.
Knocks him sprawling.
Utah doesn't stop.  Doesn't look back.
Like he doesn't see anything in the real world but the
figure running ahead of him.  Like it's some kind of
hyperkinetic video game.

Everything is a blur.  Suburbia smeared into staccato
impressions.
The house across the street is blocked by fence on both
sides.
A MAN is picking up his mail.
Reagan pounds past him.  Right through the front door of
the house.
Utah follows.

Panting as he sprints down a dark hallway.
A WOMAN with a basket of washing SCREAMS as Reagan blasts
past her, knocking her flying.
Utah leaps over her sprawled legs.
Cats blur underfoot.  Utah crunches down on a tail.  A CAT
EXPLOSION.  Screeching merges with the woman's shrill
shouts as Utah slams the back screen door off its hinges.

Across the back yard.  Fence.  Over it.  Running on.

REAGAN looks back.
Sees Utah still behind him like in a bad dream.
He enters the next house.  Sliding glass door.
Utah sees Reagan pull it closed.  Locking it.
Without breaking stride Johnny grabs a potted plant off a
patio wall.
Heaves it ahead of him.

The glass BURST INTO A WALL OF DIAMONDS.
Utah blasts through a microsecond later.
Topples the kitchen table.  Furniture and crockery
crashing everywhere.
He sprints down a hallway after Reagan.
A FIERCE WOMAN in a housecoat shouting at them as they
pass, holding a vacuum cleaner like it's shot-gun.

                         WOMAN
          Get the fuck out of this house!
          What the fuck do you think you're
          doing--

Around a corner.  A VICIOUS SNARLING SOUND.
Utah sees something flying at him.  Reflexively catches
it.
Reagan has thrown a PIT-BULL.
The Fierce Woman's fierce dog.

UTAH'S POV -- the snarling little demon right in his face.
He drop-kicks it like a goddamn field-goal right through a
doorway and runs on.
Another door.  Another explosion of sunlight.  Another
yard.
Sprinklers this time.  Reagan and Utah running through
sunlit walls of rain.  They crash through another hedge.
Emerging drenched.

The ground drops away.  Slipping and sliding on iceplant,
they skid down a steep slope.  Reagan reaches bottom.
A TEN FOOT RETAINING WALL, dropping off like a cliff to
pavement below.
Reagan falls, landing on his feet.
Panting now, feeling it, he stumbles up and runs on.

Utah rips down through the iceplant like a human
lawnmower.
Slides over the edge.  Falls -- lands hard.

TIGHT ON HIS KNEE and SLOW MOTION.
Taking the impact.
We HEAR something go.
Utah crashes to the pavement, his face contorted with
pain.
He grabs his tortured knee with both hands.

                         UTAH
          Not now.  Not now!

Reagan runs on.  They are in an enclosed storage yard of
some kind.  Ten foot chainlink all around.
Utah struggles to get up and run.
He sprawls forward, biting back a howl of pain.
We see the incredible will driving him on.
He gets up and again, hobbling.  Trying to run.

Reagan reaches the fence.
He is heaving for breath.  Holding his side.
Utah stumbles, gets up, clutching his knee.
Hobbling forward.  His eyes wild, the veins in his neck
bulging.

Reagan starts to climb.  Utah collapses to his knees.  He
can't go on.
Reagan reaches the top of the fence.  He looks back.

UTAH HAS THE BERETTA POINTED RIGHT AT HIM.
Twenty feet away.  The muzzle rock-steady.  He can't miss.
They both are frozen, panting.  Locked into the moment.

                         REAGAN
          You want me, there's only one way.

PAPPAS reaches the top of the hill, 200 feet away, panting
like he's about to collapse.  He sees the tableau.

ECU -- UTAH'S FINGER on the trigger.  Tightening.
RACK TO his eyes.  Blinking, water running into them.
God, he wants to.

ECU -- REAGAN'S EYES, through the mask.  Locked with
Utah's.

UTAH suddenly snaps his hand up and FIRES VERTICALLY.
HE HOWLS WITH RAGE, FRUSTRATION AND PAIN.
FIRES AGAIN.  And AGAIN.
Slumping back, his shoulders slam down onto the concrete.
Straight-arming the Beretta he FIRES RAPIDLY...
Bulleting the blue sky.

HIGH ANGLE, looking straight down on the tableau.
Reagan leaps off the fence and runs OUT OF FRAME, as Utah
empties the magazine straight at us, the shots merging
with his agonized howl, echoing as we--

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  FBI BUILDING - BULLPEN - NIGHT

UTAH sits next to the DISPATCHER waiting for news like a
sailor in a storm.  His leg is popped up on a chair with
jeans split to the thigh and an ace bandage wrapped around
his knee.
His face is a nasty patchwork of scratches and bruises.
He drains his coffee and gazes out at the empty bullpen.

PAPPAS comes through the doors, wiping the remains of
dinner off his mouth.

                         PAPPAS
          Nothing?

                         UTAH
          Nothing.

The Dispatcher talks into his headset, glances up at
Pappas, shakes his head.

                         PAPPAS
          Go home, kid.  Get the hell outta
          here.  Get some sleep.  You look
          like shit.  They get anything even
          resembles your guy, I'm on your
          beeper.  Here.  You like feta?

He smiles warmly, handing his younger partner a brown
paper sack.

                         UTAH
          Feta.  My favorite.

Managing a weary smile.  Lifts his body out of the chair,
turns to go.
Angelo ponders something.

                         PAPPAS
          Johnny...

Utah stops.  Looks back at the man.

                         PAPPAS
          All I wanna know is one thing, why
          didn't you just take the shot?

Johnny's gaze turns inward.

                         UTAH
          I don't know.

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  BATHROOM - UTAH'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

UTAH sits on the bathroom floor as Tyler dabs Betadyne
antiseptic over his wounds.  Utah cringes.

                         UTAH
          Ouch.

                         TYLER
          Betadyne doesn't hurt.

                         UTAH
          You're kneeling on my hand.

She laughs, shifts her weight and keeps tending him.

                         TYLER
          So what'd the other guy look like?

                         UTAH
          Never saw him, was your basic hit
          and run.

                         TYLER
          But you look like you been in a
          train wreck, how'd he just drive
          away?

Utah acts like he wants to say something but his mouth
won't quite form the words.  Tyler dabs his face, touches
a finger to his forehead.

                         TYLER
          Johnny, what is it with you?  You
          have that look again, it's like
          you're about to tell me something
          and then you don't... or you can't.
          What's going on?

Johnny searches her eyes.
She stares at him, becoming fragile suddenly.

                         TYLER
          What?  What do you want to tell me?

Utah's brow unfurls.  The thought has passed.  He slowly
cups his hand over hers.  Gently pulling her close.

                         UTAH
          I'm glad you pulled me out of the
          water that day...

He presses his lips to the smooth curve of her forehead.
A kiss to each downcast eye.  Searching out her mouth with
his own as his hands glide down the small of her back.
Their reflection in the mirror as Utah slowly lowers Tyler
to the bathroom floor.  She clings tightly in a breathless
kiss.


EXT.  CLIFF - NIGHT

A Buddha in the moonlight, BODHI sits crosslegged upon the
cliff, staring at the ocean.
CAMERA CIRCLES AROUND HIM, focusing in upon his eyes.

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

INT.  BEDROOM - NIGHT

UTAH asleep, flopped in a spread-eagled X.
WE HEAR the bedroom door opening, see a slash of light
fall across the bed.
Johnny doesn't stir.
A shadow appears on the wall, moving toward him.
An outstretched arm holding a gun.
Utah snores softly, sleeping like a baby.
CAMERA TRACKS IN on his peaceful face.
A single eyelid flutters.  Total silence, until...

KABOOOOMMM!  The Pillow beside him EXPLODES into a
blizzard of goosedown.  Johnny rears up, eyes wide, mouth
agape.
TYLER stands above him, recovering from the kick of the
smoking 9mm Beretta in her hand.

                         TYLER
          A lawyer!?  You lied to me!

She throws his FBI gold star at his face.

                         TYLER
          Look, Tyler, I can--

BOOM!  Tyler SQUEEZES off another round.
Cascading goosefeathers falling like snow.
Utah flinches sideways.

                         TYLER
          Jesus Christ, Johnny -- you've been
          using me!  Your jacket's on the
          floor in the bathroom -- this
          goddamn thing's half out of the
          pocket... Oh God, it's all part of
          some case, isn't it?

                         UTAH
          Tyler, put the gun down.

                         TYLER
          You tell me the fucking truth
          Johnny... did your parents really
          die in a car crash?  DID THEY?!

She waves the Beretta in his face.

                         UTAH
          No.  They live in Columbus Ohio.

Tyler lowers the pistol slowly, the strength leaving her.
Her face begins to flood with tears.

                         UTAH
          I work bank robbery.  Guys I'm after
          are surfers.  I needed you, at
          first, but not--

                         TYLER
          Fuck you, Johnny Utah.  Fuck you!!
          Don't you have a soul?  Goddamn you
          to hell!

She goes limp as the sobs rack her body.  The gun flops
from her grip.
Utah sweeps it under the bed with his foot.
He moves to gently comfort her.
She bolts at his touch, running from the bedroom.
Utah is up and hopping into his pants to follow her.  He
stumbles.

                         UTAH
          Tyler!  Wait!!

From the living room we hear a rattling of keys, the front
door opens and slams shut.  He hobbles to the door,
favoring his knee.  Opens it.  We hear the Porsche
screeching away.
Utah sags, the breath coming out of him long and slow.

                                            CUT TO:

UTAH on the bed staring up at the ceiling.  Phone cradled,
listening to--

                         TYLER (V.O.)
          Hi, it's me.  Leave a message.

BEEP!  He rests the telephone on his chest, letting the
tape roll a moment before he speaks.

                         UTAH
          Tyler I... look, I fucked up, okay.
          I know I fucked up.  I wanted to
          tell you, but I couldn't -- I was
          afraid you'd leave... good guess,
          huh?
                  (grimacing)
          Fuck, why can't I ever say what I
          really mean?  I lied to you.  I'm an
          asshole... but I need you, Tyler.  I
          want you to know that I've never
          known anyone like you before in my
          life... and I... I hope you change
          your mind...

He cradles the receiver, looks out the window.  Black of
night.  Dead still.

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

UTAH asleep, telephone still perched on his bare chest.

BUZZZZZZ!  The rasp of the doorbell.
Johnny is airborne, phone flying across the floor.
Hunting for his pants, realizes they are already on, limps
in fast motion to the door.

                         UTAH
          Tyler!  Wait, I--

Whips it open.
BODHI standing in the doorway, smiling like an excited
child.

                         BODHI
          Howdy brah.

NATHANIEL, ROACH, and GROMMET are there behind him.
They look like sentry dogs.  Johnny freezes.
Bodhi walks past Utah, into the room.

                         BODHI
          C'mon, get your gear on, we're
          rollin'.

Cheerful, hardly able to contain his exuberance.
He moves through the room, grabbing Johnny's shirt from a
chair, a pair of sneakers on the floor.
Utah sees his FBI shield sitting on the dresser in plain
sight.
He palms it when Bodhi is turned away, and slips it into
his hip pocket to conceal it.

                         UTAH
          What going on, Bodhi?

Bodhi plucks a couple socks off the couch, hands them to
Utah.

                         BODHI
          Here.
                  (spying Johnny's cut
                   face)
          Hey, what happened?  Ya cut
          yourself shaving?

Johnny meets Bodhi's cold stare.

                         UTAH
          I don't think I wanna surf right
          now.

Bodhi's face takes on a crazy glow.

                         BODHI
          Naw, this is different, Johnny.
          This is something totally
          different... you're gonna love this.

He winds an arm around Johnny's shoulders, guides him
toward the door.

                         BODHI
          C'mon, let's go, let's go.  Time's
          wastin', brah.

Bodhi claps Utah on the back, ushering him outside.
Nathaniel, Roach and Grommet fall into step beside them.
The door closes behind them.
CAMERA DRIFTS back through the apartment, coming to rest
on the 9mm Beretta, on the floor under the bed... useless.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  BODHI'S PICKUP - PREDAWN

The pickup is a funnel of dust along the desert road.
Black mountains against a silver sky.


INT.  BODHI'S PICKUP

The tapedeck blasts.  BODHI and UTAH sit inside the cab.
Through the rear window, we see NATHANIEL, ROACH and
GROMMET in the flatbed.
Bodhi swivels his eyes to Johnny, lowers the volume.

                         BODHI
          Life's sure got a sick sense of
          humor, don't you think so Johnny?

Face splitting into a shit-eating grin.

                         UTAH
          How you figure?

                         BODHI
                  (slight laugh)
          News, last night... those guys, the
          Ex-Presidents... they robbed my bank
          yesterday.  And I was just there the
          day before, cashing a check.  See...
          look.  Assured Trust... same place.

He takes a beat up checkbook off the dash and flips it to
Johnny.
Utah opens the cover and looks.
Sure enough.  Assured Trust Savings and Loan.

                         BODHI
          I was picking up some bucks cause
          we're leaving town.  Bizarre, huh?
          If I'd waited a day I'd been right
          in the middle of it.  Kinda sorry I
          missed it.  I'd liked to've seen
          them.

A long pregnant pause.  Utah breathes deeply, remaining
calm, his voice carrying a chilling bravado.

                         UTAH
          Takes guts to rob a bank.  All that
          adrenalin pumping, waving loaded
          guns, taking out the guards, getting
          everybody on the floor, never
          knowin' who's gonna burst in...
                  (looks right at
                   Bodhi)
          ... wondering what it's like to take
          a bullet.  Must be some ride.

Utah's smile is a personal challenge.  Bodhi sits
perversely intrigued.  The mental warfare escalates.

                         BODHI
          Banks are insured, brah.  Long as
          nobody gets shot, it's really a
          victimless crime.  Just gotta scare
          'em a little, would be my guess.
                  (ponders something)
          Now if I was gonna rob a bank, with
          all those guys wearin' body armor
          these days, know what I'd carry?

Bodhi reaches his hand underneath the seat.
He pulls out a huge holstered handgun, rests it in his
lap, draws and holds the gun up against his cheek.

                         BODHI
          .454 Casull.  Most powerful handgun
          on the planet.  Muzzle velocity of
          2000 feet per second.  Twice the
          kinetic energy of a .44 Magnum.

Bodhi stares at Utah, then flashes his signature smile.
Utah says coldly.

                         UTAH
          One shot stopping.

                         BODHI
                  (laughs)
          'One shot stopping'... good, very
          good.  I like you, Johnny.  I like
          you because you'll sacrifice
          anything to win.  I respect that.
          It elevates you a little above the
          drones who have learned compromise.
          Here, hold it.  Check out the
          weight.

He twirls the gun, grabs the barrel and extends the handle
to Utah.
Johnny takes it slowly.  Now it's aimed at Bodhi.

                         BODHI
                  (cheerfully)
          Whoa.  Careful.  You got the muzzle
          pointing right at me, brah.

He casually pushes the barrel away, looking back at the
highway.
Johnny swings a stiff arm out his window and pumps a ROUND
into open desert.  KABOOOM!!  The recoil blows Johnny's
arm back over the top of the truck.  Practically breaks
his wrist.
Thunder rolls across the dark hills.
From the back of the pickup Nathaniel howls.
Grommet and Roach high five.

Johnny turns to Bodhi, breaking slowly into a feral grin.

                         UTAH
          Nice.

He hands the smoking weapon back to him.
As if to say "two can play this game".
Bodhi stands challenged.
Each snared in the other's power...
Bodhi takes the weapon back, casually.  Slips it under the
seat.

                         BODHI
          It's a special day, Johnny U.  A
          very special day...

Utah's gaze travels beyond the windshield.
Where tentacles of brand new morning light vein the sky.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  DESERT AIRSTRIP

TIGHT ON A turbo-prop engine ROARING.

WIDER reveals a big Cessna twin.  The PILOT, a weaselly
guy we haven't seen before, fires up the second engine.
The plane shudders eagerly in the metallic predawn light.
A desert airstrip near Palmdale.  A couple of aluminum-
siding hangers and no tower.  A few other planes around
but no activity besides Bodhi's rock-steady crew.

UTAH watches Grommet whip back a tarp in the bed of
Bodhi's truck and starts tossing out PARACHUTE PACKS.
Roach tosses one to Bodhi, who chucks it to Utah.

                         BODHI
          Ever done this before?

                         UTAH
          Once.

                         BODHI
          Pure adrenalin, right?!  The
          ultimate rush.  Other guys snort for
          it, jab a vein for it -- all you
          gotta do is jump.

                         UTAH
          Sure, it's a blast, but listen, I
          sorta screwed up my knee yesterday--

                         BODHI
          Yeah, I noticed you limping.
                  (grins)
          But don't worry about it, brah.
          Don't worry at all.  We're not gonna
          land on land!

Bodhi grabs his sleeve, ushering him into the plane.

                         UTAH
          Oh, well, that's fine then.  I feel
          so much better.

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  CESSNA

Utah sits, wearing a day-glo jump suit, hugging the chute
in his lap.  Next to him is the gaping door.  Beyond... a
spectacular down sunburst at 10,000 feet.  ROAR of wind
and engines.

Utah watches Bodhi, Nathaniel, Grommet and Roach wriggling
into their colorful freefall suits.  Nathaniel pulls on a
pair of purple shorts over his suit.  Looks real dorky.
Grommet has on duck feet.  Bodhi, apparently, is going to
jump barefoot.
Nobody has their chutes on yet.
Johnny hefts his, as if weighing it, somehow judging the
contents.  His brain is racing.  Bodhi shouts over the
roar.

                         BODHI
          It's a little ceremony we always
          have at the end of summer.  One last
          speedstar.

                         UTAH
          So, who... uh, who packed my chute?

                         BODHI
          I did.  What's the matter?  Don't
          trust me?

                         UTAH
          You gotta earn trust.

                         BODHI
          Then we'll earn it together.  Here,
          take mine.

Bodhi swaps chutes with Johnny.
Utah looks at the new chute uncertainly.
Is this a game?  Poker moves?
Did Bodhi anticipate this step?

                         ROACH
          Hey... you don't want Bodhi's, man.
          His pack-jobs suck... they only open
          half the time.  Take Grommet's, man.

Roach's grin is evil as he grabs Grommet's chute out of
his hands and switches it with Johnny's.  Keeps that one
and gives his to Grommet.

                         GROMMET
          Whoa, unfair, dude!

Grommet grabs his chute back and hands Johnny the one he
had, which was Roach's.  I think.
Johnny looks at the pack in his hands.  Then at the
grinning faces.
Russian surfer freefall roulette.  Shit.
Bodhi studying him.  Some kind of test.
Fuck it.  Utah starts putting the damn thing on.

                         UTAH
          We gonna jump or jerk off?

                         BODHI
          My man!


EXT.  10,000 FEET - DAWN

Multi-colored figures explode from the plane.  Leaping
into freefall.  Tumbling end over end.
WEARING HEADSETS, they hurtle downward.

                         BODHI (RADIO)
          Utah, you copy bruddah?

                         UTAH (RADIO)
          Whoooaaah!  Shhiiittt!  Whoooaaah!

                         BODHI
          I'll take that as a yes.

One by one they stabilize.  Falling face down, knees bent,
they angle their hands and feet minutely to move
laterally.  Utah flails, the last to trim out.  But he's
holding his own.

Grommet, working his duckfeet, pitches himself into a wild
spin, rotating like a dervish in a head down dive.  He
flares out and "flies" back to the others.
Rocketing through the void at 120 mph they seem to
paradoxically hang above the world, almost unmoving... on
a separate plane of existence.
A hurricane of wind.  Wild HOOTING.
Despite his terror, Johnny has to grin at Nathaniel,
falling butt first like he's sitting on a big inner tube
in the pool.

                         ROACH
          Whip it out dudes!  Cheap sex with
          the cosmos!

                         BODHI
          Ten thousand feet.  Let's do it.

The group stabilizes, moving together.
First Bodhi and Roach link arms, trimming constantly.
Concentrating.  Nathaniel flips over onto his stomach and
maneuvers toward them.  He grabs Roach's arm.
Grommet works his way next to Nathaniel.  Locks in.
They need Utah to complete the ring.
Four faces beckoning to him, distorted by the hurricane
wind.

                         BODHI
          Come on Johnny.  Get in here!

Johnny moves his hands like flippers and glides clumsily
toward them.  Bodhi and Grommet grab him.  He's in.
A perfect five-man star.

                         BODHI
          Relax, brah.  I got you, I got you.

                         GROMMET
          Righteous-ass speedstar, dudes!

                         BODHI
          You diggin' this?

                         UTAH
          Great!  GREAT!

Johnny is exhilarated more than he could have thought.
Screaming down through the dawn sky at 130.
Locked into the ring.  Part of something.
Connected to these guys far above the planet.
Less far every second... Bodhi's chest altimeter reads
6,000 feet.

                         BODHI
          Purty-thirty and we're meat waffles,
          folks.  See ya downtown!

He releases Roach's arm and the star disintegrates,
drifting apart.
Bodhi stays with Utah, falling parallel to the horizon,
facing each other, holding hands.  4000 feet.  Airspeed
140.

Grommet pulls his ripcord.  He seems to be jerked upward
by a great force.  Suddenly he is far above, a brightly
colored disc of fabric.
Utah is suddenly aware of the earth rushing up at him.
Nathaniel pulls, then Roach.  They shoot upward,
disappearing.
Bodhi and Utah fall on, alone.

                         BODHI
          You gonna pull?

                         UTAH
          After you, Alfonse.  I insist!

Bodhi looks at Utah.  A slow grin.  The meter on his chest
harness reads 2000 ft.  150 mph.  12 seconds to Valhalla.

                         BODHI
          Don't screw around man, pull it!

                         UTAH
          You do it... you first!

                         BODHI
          One thousand feet.  Pull the goddamn
          cord!

                         UTAH
          You first!

                         BODHI
          Okay!

Bodhi reaches out suddenly and pulls Utah's ripcord
handle.
He waves goodbye as Johnny's canopy deploys.  Utah is
jerked upward.  He feels his weight hanging brutally in
the harness.
Johnny looks down.
Impossibly close to the ground.  Bodhi's canopy BURSTS
OUT, an explosion of color.  Below him is the shimmering
mirror of a LARGE RESERVOIR.  Two seconds later the bright
yellow canopy meets its reflection and goes slack.  An
explosion of white water marks Bodhi's impact.

LOW ANGLE AT WATER LEVEL as Utah hits.
IN SLOW MOTION a glorious wall of backlit spray shouts
skyward.
Molten glass falling back in the bright desert dawn.
Utah surfaces, sputtering, and shucks out of the harness.
He floats like a jellyfish, gasping for breath.

                         UTAH
          Jesus Christ.  I gotta be losin' it.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  AIRFIELD - DAY

Bodhi walks toward us, dripping wet and grinning.
He wraps his arm around Utah's shoulders as the others
walk up.
They're all soaked and stoked.

                         BODHI
          Ya see... I told you Johnny U was
          gonna be just fine!

Roach and the others clap him on the back.  A moment of
acceptance into the tribe.  Utah isn't sure what it means
yet.

                         BODHI
          C'mere.  There's something you need
          to see.

Bodhi leads him toward a PLAIN UTILITY VAN parked nearby.
It was there earlier but Utah had no reason to notice it.
Bodhi opens the rear doors and motions Johnny inside.
Utah, puzzled and suddenly alert, steps in.  Bodhi
follows.


INT.  VAN - DAY

The interior is empty except for several canvas duffel
bags and a small portable VCR.  It is one of the new sales
presentation models, with deck and monitor together in one
tiny unit.

                         UTAH
          What's this?

                         BODHI
          Insurance policy.  Now this is going
          to sting a bit, but it's for your
          own growth, brah.  Press play.

Utah hits the button and an image comes up on the tiny
screen.

TIGHT ON SCREEN.  A night shot.  Rosie the biker has Tyler
in a powerful grip.  Her hands are cuffed behind her, and
her mouth is taped.  He has his switchblade up to her
throat.  Her eyes are wild, but with rage, not fear.
She's trying to struggle out of his grip, kicking at him
viciously.
He controls her efficiently.
Bodhi stops the tape.

                         BODHI
          She's a wild one, isn't she...
          Special Agent Utah?

Utah lunges, pinning Bodhi to the wall of the van... an
elbow across his throat.

                         UTAH
          You're a fucking dead man--

                         BODHI
                  (gasping for breath)
          Whoa, whoa!!  Think it through!  I'm
          the only one knows where they are.
          Just let me talk for a second.

Johnny pulls back.  Barely in control.

                         UTAH
          Talk.

                         BODHI
          She'll be fine, Rosie won't do
          anything.  At least not as long as I
          meet him at a certain place and time,
          about... let's see...
                  (he looks at his
                   dive Rolex)
          ... six hours from now.

Utah's voice sounds kind of strangled.

                         UTAH
          You call him... right now... and
          tell him to let her go.

                         BODHI
          Sorry, can't do it, brah.  He's on
          the road.  And where they're going
          there's no phones.  Damn, I hate
          this Johnny, I really do.  I hate
          violence.  See, that's why I need
          Rosie.  I could never make this
          thing work, myself.  No way I could
          hold a knife to Tyler's throat, man!
          She was my woman, once.  We shared
          time in this world.  But Rosie, he's
          kind of a... mechanism.  Once you
          set him in motion, he won't stop.
          That's his gift, a kind of...
          blankness.  Noon comes, straight up,
          he'll gut her like a pig and try not
          to get any on his shoes.  Nothing I
          can do, unless I get there.

Utah blanches as he takes this in.  Knows Bodhi well
enough now to know he means business.

                         BODHI
          So that makes us partners, doesn't
          it?  Because now we both have the
          same goal... to get me where I need
          to go.  Right?

Utah's expression turns suddenly cold as an executioner's.

                         UTAH
          We're wasting time.

                         BODHI
          See!  That's what I like about you,
          man!  You're just sharp as a razor
          blade.

Bodhi jumps out of the van and approaches the others,
gathered nearby.  He addresses the pilot first...

                         BODHI
          Get the plane down to Santa Monica
          and top up the tanks.
                  (to the others)
          Let's go.  Let's saddle up!

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  L.A. STREETS - DAY

A STYLIZED LONG LENS SHOT stacks the cars into a dreamlike
mirage.  The van weaves slowly among them with predatory
stealth.

                         BODHI (V.O.)
          Okay.  All I'm askin' for is ninety
          seconds of your life, Johnny.
          That's all.


INT.  VAN

EXTREME CLOSEUP ON the velcro straps of Second Chance
armor.  Tanned fingers cinch it tight.  A SHELL slides
into the cylinder of the Casull.  A SHOTGUN is cocked.
KACHACK!

                         BODHI
          It's basic dog psychology, brah.  If
          you scare them, get them pissing
          down their leg, they submit... you
          control them.  If you project
          weakness, you draw aggression...
          that's how people get hurt.

WIDER, revealing that Bodhi is in the back with Utah and
Roach.
Nathaniel and Grommet sit up front.
The duffels contents are strewn around.  Masks.  Weapons.
They're all pulling on suit pants and jackets.  Tying
ties.  Slipping on white gloves.  Snappy Oxfords.
Bodhi is pulling a suit jacket on over his BODY ARMOR.
Utah is fumbling with his armored vest.  He works with
vicious, jerky moves.  His jaw locked.  Eyes down.

                         BODHI
          Fear causes hesitation, and
          hesitation will cause your worst
          fears to come true.  You project
          strength to avoid conflict.

                         ROACH
          Peace through superior firepower,
          babe.

Bodhi conspicuously empties all the shells from a PUMP 12
GAUGE.
Pockets the shells.  Tosses the weapon to Utah.

                         BODHI
          Here, you need this.  You can't be
          comin' through that door with your
          dick in your hands, right?

                         UTAH
          I can't do this.

                         BODHI
          Sure you can!  You may even like
          it... it's a killer rush.  You'll
          see.  Hey, don't I show you things,
          Johnny U?

                         UTAH
          Bodhi, this is your wake up call,
          man -- I... am... an... Eff...
          Bee... Eye... Agent!!

                         BODHI
          Wild, ain't it?!  See, we exist on a
          higher plane, you and I.  We make
          our own rules.  Why be a servant of
          the law Johnny U... when you can be
          it's master?

                         GROMMET
          Fuckin' A!

                         BODHI
          Ninety seconds, man, door to door.
          A small price to pay for someone who
          loves you.
                  (he looks up)
          She does you know.  It's not her
          style to fall so hard... I don't
          think she did with me.

He pulls the Ronald Reagan mask over his head smoothly.
Roach pulls his on.  NIXON.  Nathaniel becomes KENNEDY.
Grommet transforms into LBJ.
Bodhi looks in the bag -- no more masks.

                         BODHI
          Sorry, Johnny.  Guess you don't get
          to be president.

JOHNNY'S POV -- the back doors of the van.  And the
promise of what is beyond.  Bodhi enters FRAME.  Looks
straight at us.

                         BODHI
          Rock and roll!

BOOM -- THE DOORS bang open, REVEALING--


EXT.  STREET - BANK - DAY

STILL IN POV (HANDHELD) we hurl ourselves from the dark
van into blasting daylight.  Bodhi is ahead of us in the
sprint for the bank doors.  Dizzying forward momentum as
we hammer through the doors into--


INT.  BANK

THE HANDHELD POV CONTINUES as we follow Bodhi, a wolf
plunging among the sheep.  A FAT GUARD inside the doors.
He turns to us just as Bodhi butt-strokes him hard in the
gut.
Someone screams.

                         BODHI
          Everybody freeze!!  Don't move!!

AHEAD of us GROMMET/LBJ covers the SECOND GUARD with his
12 gauge.

                         GROMMET
          Don't fucking do it, man!

The guy has his hand on the grip of his pistol but it's
like the thing suddenly weighs eight tons, he can't seem
to lift it from the holster.  ROACH/NIXON slips up next to
him and helps him with it.  The guy is visibly trembling.

A YOUNG JOCK makes a move to run.
'OUR' SHOTGUN comes up like a reflex, right in his face.
Roach/Nixon throws the guy to the floor by his hair.
AHEAD OF US, Bodhi is in action.  Moving to the counter,
shouting--

                         BODHI/REAGAN
          All Tellers back away from the
          counter!  Hands on your heads!
          RIGHT NOW!!  That's right.  You know
          the drill.

It's like a replay of the robbery Utah saw on video.  But
he's right in the middle of it, like in some kind of
nightmare.

WE'RE STILL IN POV, the image WHIPPING wildly from side to
side as Utah scans the room.  We whirl dervish among the
statuary of the customers and bank employees.  Our gaze
drifts across THE FLOOR MANAGER, a short guy in a brown
suit standing with his hands clasped behind his back.

                         BODHI/REAGAN
          All customers on the floor.  Let's
          go!  Move it!  Get down!  On the
          floor!  Right now!  Let's go.

Roach and Grommet are pushing them down.
Utah stands stiffly with the shotgun.  He seems dazed.
He catches the eye of a CUSTOMER.  In a tenth of a second
we see Johnny see the customer see his uncertainty.  Fear
has them both hyper-aware.
Johnny gestures fiercely with the shotgun.

                         UTAH
          On the floor, asshole!  What's your
          problem?!  I blow your fucking
          kneecaps out, you'll be on the
          floor!!

The guy hits the deck like a sack of cement.
BODHI/REAGAN floats beside Johnny, scanning with the
Casull.  He speaks without turning his head.

                         BODHI/REAGAN
          Kick in the ass, ain't it?  Gonna be
          kinda hard to explain though... when
          they play the tapes back down at the
          bureau.  Could look bad on your
          monthly evaluation.

Johnny looks up at surveillance camera.  He's quite
fucked.

                         UTAH
          Can we just get the goddamn money
          and get out of here?!

                         BODHI/REAGAN
          That's the spirit!!
                  (to the room)
          Head's down!  Eyes down!  Just a
          couple minutes of your life and
          we're gone.

Bodhi leaps to the counter, commanding the room.
But at this point they diverge from their time-proven
plan.
Roach isn't going for the drawers... he's sprinting for
the VAULT.

                         BODHI/REAGAN
          You!
                  (reading a name-tag)
          Miss Jennings... of New Accounts.
          Be a dear and open the inner gate
          for my associate.  NOW!!

                         MISS JENNINGS
          He -- he -- he has the keys.  Mr.
          Duggan.

                         BODHI/REAGAN
          Whatta say, Mr. Duggan?  Wanna give
          her the keys or do I pick through
          the blood and chunks for them?

DUGGAN, the bank manager, is surprisingly calm as he takes
the keys from his pocket.  Holds them out to the terrified
woman.

                         DUGGAN
          Do whatever they say, Terry.

MISS JENNINGS hurries to comply.
She unlocks the STEEL CAGE inside the big vault door.
Roach/Nixon and Grommet/LBJ take her inside with them.

A CUSTOMER, lying on the floor near the fat guard catches
his eye.
The guard, face jammed against the linoleum, blanches as
he sees the customer lift a corner of his shirt to reveal
THE BUTT OF A PISTOL.  The customer mouths the words "I'm
a cop".
The guard is hyperventilating.

AT THE FRONT DOORS A WOMAN comes in out of the bright
sunlight.
JFK pulls her in fast and throws her to the floor.  Then
goes back to watching the street.

JOHNNY is next to Bodhi/Reagan.

                         UTAH
          You're blowing it, man!  You're
          breaking your own rules... pulling
          too much time!

                         BODHI/REAGAN
          JFK, how we doin'?

                         NATHANIEL/JFK
          All clear, man!

INSIDE THE VAULT Grommet and Roach are pillaging rapidly.
Their hands blur as nice fat STACKS OF 20s and 100s are
dumped into canvas sacks.

ON THE MAIN FLOOR the OFF DUTY COP slips his hands slowly
around the butt of his pistol, concealing the move with
his body.
He signals with his eyes to the fat guard, glancing at the
guard's ankle.

TIGHT ON THE GUARD'S ANKLE where we can see a sliver of
BACK-UP GUN, a tiny .25 auto in an ankle holster.
The guard's eyes are pleading with the hard-on cop.
"Don't make me do this".
The guy is sweating, shaking.  A yellow liquid spreads
across the tiles next to his quivering hips.  He's
actually pissing himself, he's so scared.

TIGHT ON the off-duty cop.  Watching like a ferret.  He
cocks his .38.
ECU GUARD'S EYES, wide with terror.

It happens like lightning.  The cop pops to his knees,
straight-arming the .38.  The guard goes for his ankle
holster.
REAGAN spins.
The cop FIRES.  BLAM!
Reagan is catapulted backward off the counter by the
impact.
He crashes onto a desk on his back.  Slides off,
scattering papers.
A teller screams.  The cop spins toward Utah.
Johnny throws down the shotgun.  Shows his palms.  He's
holding out his gold star.

                         UTAH
          Federal agent!  Undercover!

The cop FIRES TWICE.  Two in the chest.  Utah is hurled
back.  Slams into the tellers' counter.

NATHANIEL/LBJ lets go with the 12 gauge.  BOOM!
The cop spins, hit by some 00 buck pellets.
The guard caps-off like a maniac.  BLAM, BLAM, BLAM,
BLAM!!!
All of them wild, but serving to get Nathaniel pinned down
behind a check-writing island.

ROACH/NIXON LEAPS THE COUNTER and lands behind the guard.
The guard's shoulder explodes as Roach's 12 gauge
detonates.  He pitches onto his face, screaming and
holding the wreckage of his upper arm.
Grommet/LBJ is coming over the counter behind Roach as the
off-duty cop spins and fires.  BLAM!  BLAM!  Roach takes
it in the chest.  Staggers back, firing into the floor.
Trips and drops his shotgun.
Grommet clutches his throat as blood streams over his
fingers.

IN SLOW MOTION Reagan's face rises above the counter.
The mask is askew.  In order to see, Bodhi pulls it off.
The Casull comes up in a slow, deliberate arc as--

THE COP turns, terrified now, whipping his gun around,
nightmarishly slow as--

BODHI COCKS THE CASULL in dream-time and--
KABOOOOM!!!  The world's most powerful handgun proves its
claim at 2000 feet per second.

A gout of hamburger explodes out of the cop's chest.
He is lifted off his feet.  Hits and slides across the
floor leaving a two-foot wide red smear.
Echoes slap the walls.  Then all is still.  Plaintive
whimpering and moaning.  The air is blue with smoke.

Johnny is trying to catch his breath.  He rips his shirt
open to see two deep indentations in the Second Chance
vest.  Flattened .38 slugs caught in the Kevlar mesh.  But
no blood.

Bodhi drops over the counter near Utah.
The two men look at each other.
Bodhi's eyes seem lost.  He stares around at the carnage
he has wrought, the bloody wreckage of his ego game.
His expression changes to something new -- truly crazed
now.  We feel that the madness which has been held in
check so long has been let off its leash.

                         BODHI
          Don't anybody fucking move!

Roach, clutching his side, moves to Grommet, who is on his
knees.
Beneath LBJ's stony countenance a river of blood flows
down Grommet's chest.  Roach pulls off the mask.
Revealing a terrified kid.
Grommet pulls his blood-drenched hand away from his
throat, stares at it bug-eyed.

                         GROMMET
          Oh no, oh my god, oh god... it's all
          comin' out man, gotta stop it...
          it's all gonna come out... do
          something!!

He's trying to hold it in with his hands.  This doesn't
work.
A paste-white frightened kid.  Eighteen years old.
Suddenly realizing that this is not some video game.  That
death is real.
He slumps back, losing the battle for consciousness.
WE HEAR SIRENS APPROACHING.

                         ROACH
                  (freaking to Bodhi)
          We gotta bug out, man!  We're eatin'
          it bad on this one.  Let's go!

Bodhi reaches down and picks up Johnny's FBI shield off
the floor.
He considers it for a long time.  Then looks up at Johnny.
His eyes seem to ask for forgiveness...
A moment before he smashes the Casull into Johnny's skull.

JOHNNY'S POV, as he drops to his knees.  Everything going
dark as we see Bodhi's face distantly, his mouth moving
slowly...

                         BODHI
          Goodbye, Johnny.

The floor rushes up and smashes us in the face.
A view of shoes, running away from us, leaving bloody
footprints.  Then total darkness.

                                            CUT TO:

INT./ EXT.  FIRST SECURITY BANK - LATER

Ten minutes later the bank "crime scene" is in full swing.
UNIFORM COPS are everywhere, trying to get statements from
sobbing witnesses.  HARP, MUNOZ, COLE AND PAPPAS represent
the FBI contingent.  Cole has one arm strapped to his body
in a fairly elaborate sling, and he moves slowly.

Harp is barking orders to everyone in sight.  Outside
(visible beyond the doors) it's total pandemonium, with
cops and ambulances, and of course a huge crowd of
rubberneckers.  A MINICAM CREW shows up.  Harp starts
shouting at them.

COLE, with evident pleasure, cinches down a pair of
handcuff's on Utah's wrists with his good hand.  Johnny
has a deep cut on his forehead, and the blood is trickling
into his eyes, but he seems not to notice.  Not to hear
MUNOZ speaking monotonously--

                         MUNOZ
          -- if you so desire, an attorney
          will be provided for you free of
          cost.  Do you understand these
          rights I have explained to you?
          Utah?

Pappas charges through the crowd, pushing Munoz aside.

                         PAPPAS
          He knows his goddamn rights!
                  (looks at Utah)
          Jesus, kid.  I knew you were getting
          too close to these guys.
                  (turns to the other
                   agents)
          Gimme the goddamn key to these
          things, Cole.  Christ!

He gestures to the cuffs still cutting into Johnny's
wrists.
Cole hands him the key.
Harp storms toward them.

                         HARP
          Don't take those off.  Just leave
          them on!  Your partner's an
          accessory to murder.  You realize
          that?

Harp spins Johnny by the shoulder to look at--
Paramedics carrying the covered body of the off-duty cop.
Beyond, still on the floor, is Grommet, his eyes staring
in death.
He was right about not making thirty.

                         HARP
          Three men dead.  One of them a cop.
          How's that sit in your gut, Utah?

                         UTAH
                  (cold and scary)
          Take your hand off my shoulder right
          now.

Harp pulls back instinctively.  Utah's eyes burn into him.
Looks like Johnny's not in the FBI anymore.

                         PAPPAS
          Look, Harp.  Don't turn him over to
          the uniforms like some punk.  Let me
          ride him in.

                         HARP
          Yeah, sure.  Why not?  You two
          screw-ups deserve each other.
          That's why I put you together in the
          first place.  Christ Pappas, you're
          as bad as he is... talk about the
          blind leading the blind--

Pappas steps close to the Supervising Agent.

                         PAPPAS
          Harp, let me tell you something.  I
          was an agent in this bureau when
          your mommy was still wiping your
          shinny pink ass, and you know one
          thing I learned in all those years
          that you still haven't?

                         HARP
          What that?

Angelo steps in with a roundhouse that has all of his 280
pounds behind it.
Harp's head snaps back, and he flops in a heap.

                         PAPPAS
          Respect your elders.
                  (he takes Utah by
                   the arm)
          Let's go kid.

Harp struggles to sit up, rubbing his jaw, as Pappas
stuffs Utah into his car.  Harp is so shocked he doesn't
say a word.

                                            CUT TO:

INT.  PAPPAS' CAR

They drive for a couple of blocks in silence, side by
side.
Utah in disgrace.  Contrite.  Stony.  Finally...

                         UTAH
          I know where they're going.

                         PAPPAS
          Figured you did.

Angelo flips Johnny the key.
Johnny lets himself out of the cuffs.  He sits rubbing his
wrists.

                         UTAH
          Only problem is... we can't arrest
          them or shoot them.

ON PAPPAS' "what the fuck?!" expression we--

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  SANTA MONICA AIRPORT

LONG LENS SHOT through a forest of small planes as Pappas'
sedan glides INTO FRAME.  It moves sharklike among through
the Cessna forest.  Slows to a stop.
Through the jungle of wings and fuselages we see Pappas
get out of the car and start working his way among the
aircraft.
Utah slides behind the wheel and drives on.

TIGHT ON TURBOPROP ENGINE roaring as it warms up.
The same aircraft as before.
Bodhi and Nathaniel are loading duffel bags into the open
back door as the pilot completes his pre-flight checks.
The Ex-President's suits have been removed, along with the
body armor, and no guns are in sight.  Just a couple of
guys getting ready for a charter flight.  Bodhi looks up
and stops his work as...

THE FBI SEDAN stops about 50 feet away.
Nathaniel pulls a shotgun out of one of the duffels.
Utah gets out.  He holds his hands out from his body and
turns completely around.  Without his jacket on, it is
evident that he is not carrying a gun.
He walks forward.

                         UTAH
          I'm not armed.

                         BODHI
          But you're not alone.

                         UTAH
          Good guess.  There's a gun on you
          right now.

Bodhi feigns casual interest.  Looks around.  He can't
see...

PAPPAS nearby.  Moving cat-like behind a row of service
vehicles.  He gets his snubnose .38 propped on the bumper
of one, with a clear shot at Bodhi and Nathaniel.

                         UTAH
          Where's Roach?

                         BODHI
          Around somewhere.  Listen, I'm in
          kind of a hurry, Johnny U.  What can
          I do for you?

                         UTAH
          You gotta tell me where she is.

                         BODHI
          And let my policy expire?  Sorry.

                         UTAH
          Look, Bodhi man.  People are dead.
          The ride is over.

                         BODHI
          I say when it's over!

                         UTAH
          The guy you killed was an off duty
          cop!  If you get out of here they'll
          nail you wherever you land.  They
          have a new thing called radar.
          Maybe you've heard of it.

Though he can't hear what's going on.  THE PILOT has
clocked the tension between the two men.  And the shotgun
in Nathaniel's hands.  He blanches, and starts to shut
down the plane's power.
By his reaction we see that he's obviously not in on it.

ROACH comes out of the hangar building nearby.  Neither
Utah nor Pappas see him.  But he sees Pappas drawn down on
Bodhi.  He drops quickly to one knee and opens the duffel
he was carrying.

TIGHT ON DUFFEL BAG, as it opens.  The pistol grip of a 12
gauge riot-gun sticks out of lots and lots of money.
Roach's hand slides the gun out slowly.

UTAH IS VERY CLOSE to Bodhi.

                         UTAH
          I know you man, when they fall on
          you, you won't back down.  They'll
          have to burn your ass to the ground.
          And I can't stop them... I'm the
          last person they're ready to listen
          to right now.  Thanks to you.

                         UTAH
          Shit may or may not happen.

                         UTAH
          Look, you got a death wish, you want
          to ride to glory... fine!  But don't
          take her with you, man.  I'm begging
          you... tell me where she is.  Then I
          walk away.  We've earned that much
          trust, haven't we?

The pilot opens the door and is climbing out when
Nathaniel wheels on him.  The pilot goes cross-eyed
staring down the muzzle of the 12 gauge, inches from his
face.

                         BODHI
                  (to the pilot)
          Back in the hotseat, campadre.
          NOW!

BEHIND THE TRUCKS, Pappas senses something.
His head snaps around.
Roach is behind him with the 12 gauge.  He FIRES.
Pappas hurls his weight sideways, as the buckshot punches
into the truck fender.  Some of it catches Pappas in the
hip.  He hits the ground hard and whips up the .38 BAM!
BAM!  BAM!
Roach flips onto his back.
The shotgun blows a hole in the sky as he hits the deck.
Pappas is on the ground, totally exposed, 20 feet from the
others.

NATHANIEL fires once, wild.  Terrified.  His shot blows a
divot out of the asphalt next to Pappas.
He pumps the slide, chambering another round.
Then Pappas' fourth and fifth rounds drill into him.
He slams back against the Cessna's fuselage.
Slides down.  Two red smears on the white aircraft.
Bodhi lunges for the fallen 12 gauge.
Pappas takes aim.  One round left.
Utah sprints between them.

                         UTAH
          Angelo!  Don't fire!

                         PAPPAS
          Kid, get outta the way!!

                         UTAH
          NOOO!!

Utah is blocking Bodhi with his body.
Bodhi's fingers are poised, frozen, a few inches from the
shotgun.
Standoff.

                         PAPPAS
          GODDAMMIT!!

He snaps the pistol up, aimed at the sky.
Pappas stands panting.  Enraged and frustrated.  Pain
searing his leg.  Everything is tense and electrified.
BOOM!!  Pappas' chest EXPLODES with a spray of blood!

BEHIND HIM, ROACH is lying on one elbow in a pool of
scarlet.
He cocks another round into the chamber and fires again.
BOOM!

Angelo drops to his knees, holding his ruined body like
he's hugging himself.  Johnny lunges toward him, his face
distorted with shock.

                         UTAH
          NNNOOOOOO!!!

Angelo's eyes meet his for a moment.
In his dilated pupils is the great question.
Then he slumps forward and lies very still.
The breath leaves his body and doesn't go back in.

Johnny moves toward his friend in a daze.  Drops to one
knee beside him.
Roach aims the shotgun at him, coughing blood.
Utah doesn't notice.  Or is beyond caring.
Bodhi holds his hand up in a gesture like a benediction.
Roach's finger relaxes on the trigger.

Utah puts his hand on Angelo's white crewcut hair.
He hears the scraping of steel on asphalt behind him as
Bodhi picks up the other twelve gauge.

Roach is working himself to his knees.  His breath is
sucking through a bloody hole in his chest as well as the
customary breathing orifices.  Bodhi crosses to him and
helps him up.  He covers Utah with the shot gun as he
half-carries Roach to the plane.  The pilot is white with
shock.  He'd run if he could remember how.

                         PILOT
          I ain't flyin' you guys to San
          Phillipe man, forget it.  Not now--

                         BODHI
          Thanks for telling the nice FBI
          agent where we're going.

Roach works his way up into the plane.  He waves the
shotgun at the pilot, his face a vicious, blood-flecked
mask.

                         ROACH
          Get in the fucking plane.

Bodhi stands behind Johnny, the shotgun aimed at his head.
Their expressions are lethally cold.
We see that Utah hates this man who was his friend, his
teacher, more now than he dreamed it was possible to hate.

                         BODHI
          We're gonna ride this out, all the
          way, Johnny.  You and me.  Let's go.

Johnny nods slowly, as if accepting that this was all
somehow pre-ordained, and that they both knew the game
would take them this far and beyond.  He stands and walks
to the plane.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  MEXICO - DAY

THE SCREEN EXPLODES WITH A BLUR OF MOTION.
POV of the ground racing below us at 180 mph.

REVERSE, preceding the plane as it rockets through barren
canyons.
As close to the earth as the terrified pilot will take it.
Under the radar.


INT.  PLANE

The aircraft bucks like a bull as the pilot jinks and
banks wildly.
Bodhi has the Casull aimed at the base of his skull from
the jump seat just behind him.
Roach holds the shotgun on Utah, seated across from him in
the rear seats.
Roach is a pale, sweaty mask.  He is propped against a
bulkhead, seemingly collapsed in on himself like a
discarded coat.
His entire shirtfront and lap are slick with blood.
But his gaze is steady, and the shotgun is aimed into
Utah's guts.
No one talks or moves on this grim hell-ride.


EXT.  ARROYO

Near noon.  The sun blisters a landscape out of time.
The white Cessna rockets above the saguaros, its shadow
pumping up and down over the broken terrain like some
manic alter ego below it.  It WOOSHES over us, raising
dust devils.


INT.  PLANE

The pilot yells over his shoulder to Bodhi...

                         PILOT
          Look, we been in Mexico the last
          half hour... can I quit mowing the
          lawn here or what?  I'm getting more
          brush in the wheels than I usually
          like, you know what I'm saying?!

                         BODHI
          Yeah, get some height.  Take her up
          to eight thousand on this heading.

The pilot pulls back on the yoke and the plane climbs.
Bodhi moves back next to Roach, who's fading.

                         ROACH
          We're gonna pop up on their screens.

                         BODHI
          Doesn't matter now.  We're almost
          there, man.  Here, let me help you
          get your gear on.

Bodhi drags a parachute pack up onto the seat next to
Roach and starts helping him into the harness.  Roach
keeps the shot gun pointed at Johnny.

                         ROACH
          I'm cold.

                         BODHI
          You're gonna be fine.  Just fine.
          Johnny, toss me that money bag will
          you.  Easy does it.

Utah hefts the duffel.  Weighs its contents, and their
price.

                         UTAH
          You're cold because all the blood is
          running out of your body, Roach.
          You're going to be dead soon.
                  (he tosses the bag)
          I hope it was worth it.

Roach clutches the canvas sack to his chest like a Teddy
bear.  Glares at Utah.  He hooks the strap of the duffel
over one shoulder.

                         BODHI
          Hey, Johnny's just trying to psych
          you man, forget it.  Just keep
          thinking about all those senoritas
          nursin' you back to health.  Come
          on, amigo, let's get you set for the
          jump.

Bodhi props Roach next to the open door and takes a
walkie-talkie from the seat, keying it.

                         BODHI
          Rosie, Rosie, this is Air Force One,
          do you copy, over?

A burst of static is followed by a surprisingly clear
voice.

                         ROSIE (V.O.)
          Copy you, Air Force One.  We have a
          visual on you.  Lookin' fine.

                         UTAH
          Tell him to release Tyler.

                         BODHI
          Why should I?

                         UTAH
          What if your chute fails, Bodhi?
          Rescind the order.  Let her off the
          hook, she's served her purpose.  Do
          it, man, you owe me that much.  Let
          me hear it before you check out.

Bodhi meets his eyes and considers for a couple of
seconds, then keys the walkie.

                         BODHI
          Rosie, listen carefully.  Surgery
          is canceled, is that clear?  Repeat
          it back to me.

                         ROSIE (V.O.)
          Copy you.  Surgery is canceled.
          I'm lettin' the bitch go.

Bodhi looks out the doorway.  Gauging distance, airspeed,
the geography below.  He looks at Utah, aiming the Casull
at him.
Johnny stares back at him like a pit viper.

                         BODHI
          I know it's hard for you Johnny.
          You want me so bad it's like acid in
          your mouth.  But not his time.
                  (he braces Roach at
                   the door)
          Let's go.

Bodhi signals the pilot and Utah feels the plane drop as
the engines are cut back to an idle.  Bodhi slaps Roach on
the shoulder and Roach slumps backward out of the plane.
Bodhi braces to jump, looking at Johnny for a last split-
second.

                         BODHI
          You lose, campadre.

He chucks the Casull onto the seat beside the door and
bails.
Bodhi tumbles out into space.  It's over.

Utah's knuckles are white, gripping the seat.  There's a
dynamo, spinning out of control in his head.  He leaps up
in an explosion of rage and drives his fists into a
bulkhead.  Looks around like a rabid animal.  TWO SECONDS.
THREE SECONDS.  Then...

                         UTAH
          FUCK IT!!!

Utah grabs the Casull off the seat and dives out of the
plane.


EXT.  PLANE

UTAH, WITHOUT A PARACHUTE, but carrying a very large gun,
rockets downward.  He presses his arms to his sides and
falls head-down, building speed.

Three hundred feet below him is Bodhi, freefalling in a
spread-eagle position.  Utah moves his feet and hands,
angling toward him.
Bodhi doesn't see him.  Falling flat, he tops out at
terminal velocity for that position.  130 mph.

Utah slashes downward at 160 mph.  The gap between them
closes.
Utah is almost blinded by the windstream.  His eyes burn.
His lips are peeled back by the blasting air.
Bodhi is eighty feet below him... 4000 feet to terra
firma.
Utah focuses all his incredible will and concentration.
He's only going to have one shot at this.
Bodhi is right below him.
Utah is closing like a SAM missile.
He trims a little, and...
WHAM!  Slams into Bodhi in a mid-air tackle.

Bodhi's eyes are wide with amazement as they tumble
together.
Utah has made the grab and locked his arms around Bodhi in
an iron grip.
He pulls the Casull's muzzle up to Bodhi's head and
screams in his face.

                         UTAH
          Pull the parachute!!

Bodhi looks at the gun.  Looks at Utah.  Grins wildly.

                         BODHI
          Pretty radical, Johnny.  Even for
          you.  Why don't you pull it?

                         UTAH
          No games, Bodhi.  Pull the cord!
          Now!!

                         BODHI
          Naw, you pull it!

Utah looks down.  The earth is rushing at them.  2500
feet.

                         BODHI
          Go on, Johnny.  Pull it.  But you
          gotta drop the gun, first!  Right?!
          You use your other hand what you
          gonna hold on with?

                         UTAH
          Pull it right now or I'll blow your
          fucking head off and pull it myself!

                         BODHI
          Well that's the only way it's gonna
          happen, man.  Do it!  Come on, you
          want to do it.  You're gonna die,
          Johnny.  Five more seconds.  Four...

1000 feet.  The ground is close enough to see details.
Cactus, sagebrush.  They rocket past the bright yellow
canopy of Roach's chute a hundred feet away.

                         UTAH
          You fucking crazy!?  Pull it!!

They're right in each other's faces.  Taking it way beyond
the edge.
Bodhi's eyes are wild.  A gleeful, adrenalized madness...
his pupils are the entrance to Hell.

                         BODHI
          Three seconds... two... one...

                         UTAH
          SHIT!!

Utah flings the Casull away and pulls the rip-cord so hard
he almost loses his grip anyway.  POOM!  The canopy cracks
out.
Full and round and bright red.
The ground roars at us.
WHAP!  Utah and Bodhi hit.  Hard.

They slide and tumble down the slope of an arroyo in a
cloud of dust.
Rocks and debris clatter into silence.

NEARBY Roach hits the ground limp as a rag doll.
He moves listlessly as his chute lines tug at him but his
eyes stare without blinking right at the sun.  Next to him
the money satchel's contents are spilled right into the
sand.  Roach's lifeless hands lie limp among the bills
that caper in the desert wind.

UTAH AND BODHI are both completely still as the dust
clears.  Finally they groan and stir.  Necks move, hands
move, legs move.  Bodhi rolls to his knees.  He is cut and
scraped, the blood running bright down his dust-covered
skin.

Utah looks around, blinking.
Surreal that he should be plopped down here in the red-hot
Mexican desert.
Bodhi staggers to his feet and grins at him.

                         BODHI
          Wild ride, huh?

                         UTAH
                  (gasping)
          Jesus Christ, Bodhi!

Utah tries to rise and -- grabs his knee in agony.  We see
by his mask of pain that it's totaled inside.

                         BODHI
          That pesky knee, huh?  Too bad.

He looks up at the sound of an engine.

BODHI'S POV of his big four-by roaring toward us with a
meteor tail of dust.  It slides to a stop next to them.
Rosie gets out of the driver's side and stands calmly with
a sawed-off over his shoulder.

Utah blinks through his sweat and pain at--

TYLER running toward him out of the dust.  She kneels next
to him and puts her arms around him.  Bodhi limps to the
truck.  Through the swirling dust we see him look back.

                         BODHI
          You had me worried there, for a
          second, Johnny U.

He swings up into the four-by and guns the engine.  Rosie
hops into the shotgun seat and the truck hurls up
roostertails as it tears out across the desert toward
Roach's billowing gravemarker.

Johnny touches Tyler's face tenderly, leaving a smear of
blood.
He gives her a wan version of the Johnny Utah grin.

HOLD ON the truck moving off in a heat-shimmered cloud of
dust, becoming a mirage, then a memory as we--

                                            DISSOLVE TO:

AN ENORMOUS WAVE which FILLS FRAME, seeming to rise
endlessly before thundering down in a holocaust of spray.


EXT.  BEACH DAY - DAY

An unfamiliar beach laid waste by monster waves under a
storm sky.
Wind whips sand across the narrow beach-road, throwing it
against the front doors of the LIGHTHOUSE PUB.
TITLE OVER: ONE YEAR LATER...


INT.  LIGHTHOUSE PUB - DAY

Dark.  Almost empty.  A snarling crocodile head is mounted
above a tapper of Guinness Stout.  A Koala bear with
plastic eyes holds a Foster's.  A BARTENDER with leathered
skin washes glasses.
At the bar, a single disheveled customer... human
driftwood.
GUST OF WIND blows open a shuttered window.
The bartender moves to close it.

                         BARTENDER
          Gonna close early today, mate, 'fore
          the bloody storm hits.

JOHNNY UTAH swivels toward CAMERA.  His tanned face is
barely recognizable, jaws hidden underneath a slight
beard, long bleach-out hair swept behind an ear.  His
muscular shoulders pop from a sleeveless football jersey.
The man seems deadly focused.

                         UTAH
          Storm's already here... It's
          bringing me the swell.

Johnny stares into his drink.
ANOTHER BLAST OF COLD as the front door opens.
Johnny turns at the sound.
TYLER takes a step inside.  Her hair is different, more
bleached out, frazzled from the sun.  Her eyes adjust to
the dark room.

                         TYLER
          John, they're here.

Utah downs the drink and slides off his stool.  He has a
pronounced limps as he crosses to Tyler at the door.
They exit into daylight under an old wooden sign which
reads: LIGHTHOUSE PUB - BELL'S BEACH, AUSTRALIA

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  LIGHTHOUSE PUB - DAY

UTAH and TYLER walk out onto the roadway as several
Australian Police cars converge on them.  A dozen
uniformed OFFICERS step out.  The ranking officer, a
fortyish LIEUTENANT, walks up to Utah.

                         LIEUTENANT
          D'you see him, Mr. Utah?

                         UTAH
          No.  But he's here.

                         LIEUTENANT
          Now, look, I know you used to be a
          federal agent up in the states and
          all that, but you're a citizen now,
          so just find him and we'll handle it
          from there.

                         UTAH
          No problem.  Just give me a couple
          minutes with him first.

Johnny limps out across the huge expanse of sand alone.

                                            CUT TO:

EXT.  BELL'S BEACH - AUSTRALIA - DAY

WALL OF SOLID WATER FIVE STORIES HIGH CRASHES straight
down in a holocaust of spray...
Rising up from the ocean to meet a tormented sky, roll the
most terrifying waves any surfer has ever seen.  They
close out, pummeling the ocean floor, casting a shockwave
up the shore.
SURFERS gather on the sand, gaze out to sea.

                         1ST SURFER
          Jesus Almighty, the bloody sand's
          shakin'.

The beach sounds like a MORTAR RANGE.
JOHNNY passes among the brahs.

                         2ND SURFER
          Totally closed-out.  It's fuckin'
          death on a stick.

ON BODHI, sitting crosslegged in the sand, arms folded
around his knees.  He stares pensively out at the waves.
His hand reaches out and absently strokes a surfboard
lying next to him.

                         UTAH (V.O.)
          I knew you wouldn't miss the fifty
          year storm, Bodhi.

Bodhi smiles, the odd smile of a sportsman who appreciates
the cunning of his opponent.  Utah sits beside his prey
and stares at the ocean.  Bodhi stares with glittering
eyes at the heaving ocean before him, face splitting into
that feral, death's head grin.

                         BODHI
          And I always knew I could count on
          you, Agent Utah.

                         UTAH
          I'm not FBI anymore.

                         BODHI
          You never were...

                         UTAH
          I asked them to give me a couple
          minutes...

Utah calmly glances over his shoulder.
Bodhi follows Johnny's gaze to the cops watching from the
road.

                         BODHI
          It went bad, brah.  Real bad.
                  (smiles inwardly)
          I just felt it was time...

A BOOMING ROAR sounds from the ocean.
Bodhi just stares at the waves, with awe and perhaps fear.

                         BODHI
          Time to dance with the universe.
                  (he turns to Utah)
          I could never handle a jail cell.
          You'll do this for me, won't you
          Johnny?  Haven't I earned this
          much?

Utah doesn't move to stop him as he stands, hefting the
longboard.
He half smiles, then turns toward the water, and starts
walking.
He stops.  Turns around.

                         BODHI
          Thanks, brah.

Bodhi doesn't wait for a reply.  He walks to the water's
edge, and never looks back.  He throws his board into the
foam and paddles, the riptide pulling him out.  The
monsters dwarf his body as they quickly suck him into the
trough of the holocaust.

UTAH stands and solemnly waits for the universe to deliver
final justice.  The cops are running clumsily across the
sand, too late to stop Bodhi.  Tyler steps up behind
Johnny, and puts her hands on his shoulders.

BODHI is nothing more than a SPECK as he shoots across the
lip of the colossal wave, carving the board downward -- AN
UNTHINKABLE FOREHAND BLAST sends him into a 180 degree
slide straight down the enormous face, eyes wild, his
mouth opens in a soundless howl -- Bodhi and the outer-
limits wave are locked for one impossible yet glorious
moment in perfect harmony, perfect symmetry, perfect
union... There is no fear in his face, only awe as the
mountain of water closes out, burying the Bodhisattva in a
whitewater grave... Pieces of broken surfboard explode
upward, only to fall back into the raging whiteness and
vanish.

UTAH remains pensive, eyes fixed on the riderless surf.
Tyler lowers her head.  A fragment of surfboard washes up
onto wet sand.  The wind gathers force.
Johnny finally turns to his woman, curls an arm around her
shoulder, gathering her close.  Tears are streaming down
her face as she stares at the sea.

                         UTAH
          He rode it all the way.

CAMERA PULLS BACK AND UP, rising high above their heads as
the liquid vertical walls continue to hammer the
Australian shore...

FADE TO BLACK