Assassins
Screenplay by Brian
Helgeland
Larry Wachowski
Andy Wachowski
Produced by Jim Van Wyck
Andrew
Lazar
Raynold Gideon
Bruce Evans
Joel Silver
Directed by Richard Donner
Cast List:
Sylvester Stallone Robert Rath
Antonio Banderas Miguel Bain
Julianne Moore Electra
Anatoli Davydov Nicolai
Muse Watson Ketcham
Stephen Kahan Alan Branch
Kelly Rowan Jennifer
Reed Diamond Bob
FADE IN:
EXT. PLAZA COLON / INT. BANK – DAY (1980)
BLACK AND WHITE. The past was so clear-cut. Or was it?
Tiled roofs, the stark white stucco of a colonial town square. Black
iron bars at a bank. A briefcase carried in a man's hand. A sniper's rifle
being assembled. Thick blocks of hundred dollar bills. Placed in the briefcase.
A man's teeth as he smiles grimly at the sight.
Sounds over a SUBJECTIVE VIEW. The BRIEFCASE SNAPS SHUT. A VAULT DOOR SLAMS. RUBBER SOLES WALK a tiled
floor. Ahead, brilliant, white light suffuses the exit. Like the way people
describe near-death experiences. We're either going outdoors or over to the
other side.
A long rifle silencer juts from a window. We see the shooter FROM BEHIND, a view OVER his shoulder.
In the bank, the man crushes out a cigarette. A pause and a DEEP EXHALE as we step outside
into a flood of light. In answer, the LOW PUFF of a SILENCER.
Only the plaza pigeons notice. As they take flight...
A man lies dead on the cobblestones. And as we look UP TOWARD the window, there's
nothing there. The pigeons wheel above the plaza. We FOLLOW, finally losing them to the sky. SLOWLY that sky BLEEDS from gray to blue.
And as we PAN BACK DOWN...
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. MARSH – SUNSET
We're no longer in a plaza, but in a vast marshland. Not in the past, but in the present. The sun sparkles over the water. Two silhouetted figures move past in the distance. One walks a little behind the other.
The man in front is KETCHAM. He wears an expensive suit and Gucci
loafers. He swats at flies nearly too small to see, curses under his breath at
the calf-deep mud.
The man behind is RATH. He moves easier; the flies don't seem to
bother him at all. His jeans are tucked into rubber boots. He holds a silenced
.22 at his side. Like it was part of him.
They continue until one of Ketcham's shoes is sucked off by the mud.
KETCHAM
Aw-shit...
Ketcham balances on one leg, holding his silk-socked foot in the air. The shoe disappears, filled with mud.
KETCHAM
When I first saw you I wasn't scared. I was just
wondering why you were dressed like that. Now I know.
Ketcham pulls off his sock, sticks his foot in the mud. He smiles.
It feels good. He pulls off the other shoe, tosses it. Grabbing for the other
sock, he loses his balance and sits down in the mud.
Rath waits patiently as Ketcham laughs at the absurdity of it all.
Ketcham finally pulls the sock off, then stands, digs his toes into the dark,
wet earth.
KETCHAM
This feels good.
They move on, Rath still a little behind. Ketcham enjoys the new sensation, but after a bit, the pleasure fades.
KETCHAM
It's twisted, but I'm honored. You're the best. It
means at least they're still afraid of me.
Ketcham looks ahead as they close on a grove of trees. He knew they were going somewhere, but it's a chilling realization all the same.
KETCHAM
I knew this day would come. But this morning, I
could've sworn I was going to live forever.
They're only a few steps away from the first of the trees. Desperation begins to creep into Ketcham's voice.
KETCHAM
Any chance of you telling me who the Contractor was?
Huh?
(off no answer)
At least tell me how much I was worth. A dime? Two?
They're into the trees. Ketcham doesn't need to be told. He stops just where a dead branch hangs from a tree.
KETCHAM
Here?
Rath uses the .22 to gesture Ketcham to the left. Ketcham gives the branch a wistful smile. Leaving his last hope behind, he takes a few steps over.
KETCHAM
We both play the game, Rath. Sooner or later the wheel
turns. For everybody. Who's got your bullet? What kind of shoes'll you be
wearing when the day comes?
Rath's answer is to move directly behind him. Ketcham is finally showing his fear.
KETCHAM
Whatever the contract is, I'll double it. Just say you
couldn't find me. Buy yourself some good karma.
Ketcham can't see, but he almost senses it as Rath raises the silenced .22 to the back of his head.
KETCHAM
Oh, God. Don't pull yet, not yet. Christ, I've done
some bad things in my time.
(trembling)
I can't die like this. Not like a mark. I'm not a
mark!
Finally, Ketcham begins to just cry. Nothing left to say. A man in mourning for himself. But Rath is not unaffected, not without his own peculiar version of mercy.
Keeping the .22 steady, an inch behind Ketcham's head, Rath reaches
into his jacket. He pulls out a second, nearly identical silenced .22. Ketcham
looks down, curious as the clip drops into the mud at his feet.
Rath, ready to fire at any sign of trouble, gently eases the gun
into Ketcham's hand. Ketcham looks down, smiles. It's his gun, his dignity.
KETCHAM
Hello, old friend.
(hefts it; knows)
One in the chamber.
Slowly, so Rath can see, Ketcham raises the .22, sets the tip of the silencer against the side of his head. He squints at the sun, the last thing he'll ever see.
KETCHAM
Last few years I've been looking for a sunrise. Maybe
a sunset's better.
(a beat)
Thanks, Rath.
The sun disappears over the horizon. Ketcham squeezes the trigger.
The SILENCER WHISPERS and he crumples, begins to sink into the mud.
Rath lowers his gun. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly,
standing alone in the middle of nowhere. We TILT DOWN TO an EXTREME CLOSEUP of blood
in the water.
INT. HOTEL ROOM – DAY (LATE AFTERNOON)
Rath closes the curtains. There is a makeshift office on the desk. A
cell phone is connected to a lap-top computer. The prompt flashes expectantly.
On the coffee table, we see the dismantled .22, spread clean on a
white towel.
Rath stands at a window looking out at the city. He leans forward
until his forehead rests against the window. He closes his eyes, enjoying the
cool of the glass.
A beat. Then he looks to the street below. For just an instant, he's
wondering what it would be like to fall. Breaking from his reverie, Rath steps
to the desk.
He sits, regards the computer with loathing, then types in a long
access code sequence. He waits.
After a few moments, a line of dialogue appears. Rath is
communicating with someone... The Contractor.
Contractor: "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN, ROBERT?"
Rath: "SICK. THE FLU."
INT. CONTRACTOR'S OFFICE – LATE AFTERNOON
EXTREME CLOSEUP OF eyes, hands, mouth, computer, etc.
Contractor: "I DON'T BELIEVE YOU."
BACK TO RATH
RATH
I don't care what you believe. I want out. I've had
it. Contractor: I've been sitting on a prime contract.
But these days, something else is on Rath's mind.
RATH
Who are you, you sonuvabitch?
Rath: "Send the file.
I'll have the estimate tonight."
Contractor: "I'm worried
about you, Robert."
You should be.
Rath: "Don't be."
Contractor: "Good. You
are my #1."
The screen goes blank. A beat and the word "TRANSMITTING"
appears. Rath stands.
A slimline PRINTER HUMS, starts to reproduce a newspaper photo of ALAN
BRANCH. Strong. Hard eyes which Rath
studies a moment, then circles. As a second sheet feeds, Rath isn't that
interested.
EXT. CITY STREETS – SUNSET
Mist fills the air. As night comes on, Rath walks. He has no real
purpose at the moment. And the crowds don't magically seem to get out of his
way. He watches them laughing, talking, hurrying this way and that. Rath's a
loner. An outsider. Life moves around him, but he's not part of it. At least
not this version. The mist turns to darkness.
INT. MALL – UPSCALE WOMEN'S CLOTHING STORE – NIGHT
Rath pauses, his eye caught by a scene inside.
A dowager berates a female CLERK. The Clerk takes it stoically, nodding,
placating. Huffing and puffing, the dowager heads back to the racks. The Clerk
watches her in exasperation. No one deserves this kind of abuse. Rath is going
to continue when, on an impulse, he decides to enter the store instead.
INT. UPSCALE WOMEN'S CLOTHING STORE – NIGHT
Rath steps inside, begins to look around. The Clerk sighs to
herself. Another customer and it's almost closing time.
The dowager jams the dress back on the rack and it falls to the
floor. She ignores it, but Rath doesn't.
I think you dropped something. The dowager gives him a
look. Maybe you better hang it back up.
And it isn't a question. The woman looks shocked, then gruffly
hanging the dress back up, hurries out of the store.
Tired, a bit apprehensive, the Clerk gives Rath a moment before
joining him.
Can I help you, sir? We're just closing.
Rath suddenly wonders what the hell he's doing here.
RATH
I'm looking for something. I... I'm not sure what.
CLERK
(knows the routine)
Birthday? Anniversary?
Rath shakes his head. There's something sad about him, but she misreads it.
CLERK
A fight.
Rath starts to say something, but then stops. She takes it as a yes to her question.
CLERK
You said something you regret?
A beat. It takes Rath a moment to confess:
RATH
Regret... Yes.
She thinks, decides on a way to get rid of him.
CLERK
Are you really sorry?
Rath nods. He is. Finding what she's looking for, she holds up an elegant red velvet dress.
CLERK
Bring this home and she'll say she's sorry. But it's
expensive.
That price tag should get him out of here. A beat. There's something oddly appealing about the moment. It's hard to say, but Rath is charmed. Then, almost shyly...
RATH
She's about your size. Would you?...
The Clerk is caught off guard by this request. She is all alone and it is getting late. Still, it'd be nice to end the day with a sale.
CLERK
Give me two minutes.
INT. MALL – UPSCALE WOMEN'S CLOTHING STORE – NIGHT
Rath stares out the window. There's something mournful almost haunting about him. An old soul to be sure.
INT. UPSCALE WOMEN'S CLOTHING STORE – NIGHT
Rath scans the empty store, then checks his watch. He's lost his mind. As he heads for the door, the Clerk steps out. The transformation is stunning. Rath stops short, takes in the beauty of it all.
CLERK
What do you think?
RATH
(soft, gentle)
It's perfect.
She can't believe it.
CLERK
I'll write it up?
She steps to a desk, scribbles out a receipt. Rath notices an open textbook, several lines have been highlighted.
RATH
College?
CLERK
Do you think I'm too old?... My daughter says I'm too
old to go to school... I just sit in right now. I don't have the money yet. But
I don't want to spend the rest of my life selling somebody else's dresses. I
mean, you're never too old to have dreams, right? To start over?
Rath looks away, can't hold her gaze.
RATH
I don't know.
An awkward beat. Then...
CLERK
Should I wrap it? Rath nods.
BACK ROOM
CLOSE as she finishes tying the box.
STORE
She steps out. Her smile fades as she sees he's gone. The sale is lost.
CLERK
Damn!
She plops the bow on the counter, then notices a wad of$100 bills sticking out from her textbook.
CLERK
(softly)
Damn...
She pulls them along with a note written on the back of a store business card. She reads it.
INSERT CARD: Your daughter is wrong.
She steps to the window, looks out. Rath's lonely figure exits to the street outside.
INT. HOTEL ROOM – NIGHT
Outside it is raining. Rath is at the window looking at a faded
photo of his net target, Alan Branch. On the street below a fire truck and an
ambulance race along – SIRENS BLARING. Rath crosses to his bed. He reviews
photos, scribbles notes as he scans articles, one head-line: "Billionaire
Recluse Linked to Financing of Central American Death Squads". A photo of
a brother. An obituary mentions "car accident."
Rath sketches a diagram on a legal pad.
Satisfied with what he's got, he calls up a box on his computer
screen and dials an Internet number. A beat and he enters the access code.
Rath picks up the photos of Branch. Studies the eyes – circled, the
only thing that matters. They're cruel eyes.
The network comes on line. Rath takes a breath, lets it out slow.
Types:
Rath: "I have my
bid."
EXT. AIRPORT – RUNWAY 32 – DAY
An American Airlines 757 approaches right to left, descends toward the runway.
INT. AMERICAN AIRLINES 757 – DAY
Staring pensively out the window, Rath barely notices as the plane touches down.
EXT. AIRPORT – RUNWAY 8 – DAY
Someone else is here. Left to right, an Avianca Airlines jumbo 747 glides silently down, its landing gear reaching out like talons. As it touches down...
INT. AMERICAN TERMINAL – DAY
Rath walks, blends in perfectly with the crowd.
INT. INTERNATIONAL TERMINAL – DAY
Tired travelers trudge, clogs the concourse. But one man moves
briskly. Singular of purpose. Dressed stylishly, we don't quite see his face.
He's BAIN, a
presence, and for whatever reason, no one ever seems to be in his way.
INT. LUGGAGE CAROUSEL – DAY
Rath reaches down, picks up a case.
INT. CUSTOMS – DAY
A glass booth. A similar case is checked off. The CUSTOMS OFFICER looks up at
Bain, who we still only see in glimpses. And reflections.
Is your visit business or pleasure?
BAIN
Both.
EXT. AMERICAN TERMINAL – DAY
Rath gets into a hotel courtesy van, blending in with everyone else.
EXT. INTERNATIONAL TERMINAL – DAY
Seen FROM BEHIND, Bain cuts a swath, raises a hand for a cab which immediately scoots
forward to meet him.
EXT. CITYSCAPE – DAY
Pretty, but with a sense of foreboding. It isn't big enough for the two of them. Bain's cab moves briskly along.
EXT. OAKWOOD CEMETERY – SUNSET
The sky glows red. The taxi waits, parked just inside the gates. In the distance, Bain moves among...
HEADSTONES
There are rows of chairs set up. A fresh grave has been dug. Preps
for a service tomorrow. Perfectly at home, Bain wanders as though looking for
something specific.
An old CARETAKER in a pair of worn coveralls watches from a mausoleum. His voice dies
on the wind.
CARETAKER
Can I help you?
Bain turns. It's our first good look. His features are strong, refined. He looks like a fine young man. He's not. He smiles warmly.
BAIN
I'm looking for someone.
CARETAKER
(steps over)
What's the name? I'll check the plot map for you.
BAIN
He's not dead yet.
Turning, Bain heads off. The Caretaker just shrugs.
INT. DRUG STORE – MAGIC HOUR
FROM OUTSIDE we see Rath move down the aisles. Selecting an odd array of items.
Rolls of gauze. A box of plaster of paris. A sling... He pays and exits onto
the busy sidewalk.
EXT. OAKWOOD CEMETERY – DAY (LATE AFTERNOON)
A crowd of onlookers. Police lines. Private security guards control entrance into the service area itself. The media are here in full force.
REPORTER #1
... Just witnessed the arrival of recluse billionaire
Alan Branch. Here attending the funeral of his brother, Samuel Branch, who died
last week in a tragic car accident...
WE MOVE PAST Reporter #1 TO...
REPORTER #2
Alan Branch has not been seen since testifying at a
Senate hearing ten years ago. At the time he was questioned for his alleged
financing of right wing death squads throughout South and Central America.
Branch was born in...
SECURITY TABLE
Seated, a "Security Systems" tech checks a name against a
driver's license with Rath's picture. It carries the name Paul Gray – the name
Rath typed into the computer. He looks up and hands the license back to Rath.
As he turns we see that under his jacket, his right arm is in a
cast, in a sling close to his side. He moves past a hearse and several
limousines as he joins other latecomers who are walking up a hill towards a
group at a gravesite.
EXT. GRAVESIDE – DAY (LATE AFTERNOON)
As a soloist finishes the last notes of "Ave Maria." The PRIEST invites those assembled
to stand. All do except for Alan Branch in his wheelchair. He is ten years
older than the photo – now frail but with the same eyes. His BODYGUARDS stand on either side.