October 1987

FADE IN:

EXT. MOJAVE DESERT - DAY (TELEVISION IMAGE)

A LONG LENS SHOT of a far distant metallic object hovering

just above the ground -- maybe two or three miles away.

The heat waves and the light refraction off the desert-

scape make the object undulate rhythmically, keeping its

true shape and appearance indistinct.

The VIDEO CAMERA recording this scene zooms back, then

pans over -- revealing a semicircle of US Army vehicles

and personnel. Army Engineers with their tripod-mounted

scopes and binoculars are shoulder to shoulder with the

armed infantry. Everyone stares off at the same point on

the horizon. Waiting.

The VIDEO CAMERA movements are HANDHELD, unsteady, as it

moves through the line of Army personnel to reveal a

second, less organized semicircle of observers fifty yards

behind the Army. LOCALS from nearby towns perch in truck

beds and on car roofs, Budweiser and Fritos at hand, eyes

glued to the distant object.

The VIDEO CAMERA image climbs up onto the roof of a parked

local TV van, finds the object again in the distance,

zooms in, and waits, like everyone else.

Abruptly the VIDEO IMAGE contracts, becoming a box

CHROMAKEYED behind CNN reporter DUNCAN CRAIS.

CRAIS

That was the scene in California's

Mojave Desert three years ago today

-- the historic first view of the

Newcomer ship upon its dramatic

arrival. As with the assassination

of John Kennedy, who among us does

not remember exactly where he was

that October nineteenth morning,

when news first broke: that people

have landed... from another star.

We PULL BACK from a large television set to reveal...

INT. A CROWDED BAR - LOS ANGELES - NIGHT

The Hollowpoint Lounge -- a cop bar.

The off-duty uniformed and plainclothes cops are mostly

ignoring the TV, except for two detectives, FEDORCHUK and

ALTEREZ, who are waiting for the ball scores.

FEDORCHUK

I remember where I was -- pissing

off my balcony at the neighbor's

dog!

Others laugh.

ALTEREZ

(yells at Crais on TV)

Get to the goddamn ball scores!

ON THE TV SCREEN, an on-location interview with a CAL-TECH

PROFESSOR comes up. Her name and title appear across the

bottom of the screen.

CAL-TECH PROFESSOR

From the time mankind first gazed up

at the stars there had been

speculation about a visit by people

from "out there." How ironic that

when that first contact was made,

the two hundred and sixty thousand

occupants aboard the craft were as

surprised as we were about their

arrival. That they awakened from

frozen hibernation to find their

malfunctioning autopilot had landed

them here by mistake.

The CNN reporter, Duncan Crais, appears again.

CRAIS

These "Newcomers," we soon learned,

were a genetically-engineered race,

adapted for hard labor in almost any

environmental condition. In effect,

their ship was a slave ship...

washed ashore on Earth with no way

to get back to where they came

from...

A dishwasher tray filled with beer glasses CUTS ACROSS

FRAME, and we PAN WITH IT as it is slammed down on the

countertop.

Now an interview with a FRESNO HOUSEWIFE standing outside

a supermarket comes on the TV SCREEN.

FRESNO HOUSEWIFE

When the Newcomers were first let

out of the ship, they were

quarantined in a camp not ten miles

from the town here. You can imagine

how the people around here felt

about that. But once they were

releases from the camp and we got a

chance to know them, we saw what

nice, quiet people they really are...

WIDER

revealing a MASSIVE ALIEN FIGURE in a filthy white

busboy's uniform. His back is to us as he picks up two

trays from the counter. The bartender is dwarfed by this

Newcomer, but works around him without apparent concern.

Fedorchuk addresses the alien busboy.

FEDORCHUK

Hey, Henry, how you doin' tonight?

Workin' hard?

The Newcomer turns -- his face is humanoid, but

disturbingly alien.

FEDORCHUK

You got your green card, buddy? You

didn't leave home without it?

The cops at the bar crack up. Henry looks at Fedorchuk --

his eyes carrying no malice... or pain. He merely blinks.

CUT TO:

INT./ EXT. SLUG-MOBILE - STREET - NIGHT

An explosion of color and movement as OPENING TITLES PLAY

very quickly. We're TRAVELING the streets in a n.d.

sedan, getting MOVING GLIMPSES of the aliens living among

us now:

-- A coffee shop where aliens eat at some window tables.

-- A Newcomer leaving a night school with an armload of

books.

-- A city park where a number of alien families have

gathered to play some arcane alien game.

SYKES

Jeez... they call that gang-bang a

game...?

-- A billboard for Pepsi featuring an alien.

-- The sedan has pulled to a stop at a red light.

Suddenly a hand thumps against the glass next to Sykes'

head... and alien hand. Sykes jumps. It's a NEWCOMER

DERELICT standing there, weaving, mumbling in his own

language. In one filthy hand holds a quart carton of

milk. We know immediately what he wants. Sykes rolls

down the window.

SYKES

Take a hike.

Sykes gets a whiff of the derelict's breath as the light

changes and the sedan pulls away, leaving him in the

street. Sykes grimaces at the smell.

SYKES

Why's it have to be sour milk that

these guys get wasted on? What the

hell's wrong with Jack Daniels, or

Thunderbird for chrissakes?

(beat; disgusted)

Slagtown. Shit...

-- Aliens hanging around outside their homes.

-- Alien hookers plying their trade.

SYKES

Hope their plumbing's the same.

TUGGLE

It is.

(and Sykes gives him

a look)

-- A Newcomer lowrider pulls up beside the slug-mobile.

-- An alien couple exit a theater playing "Terminator

III".

-- An alien wig shop.

ANGLE

TITLES END, and we start to PULL BACK into the slug-mobile

and HEAR:

TUGGLE (O.S.)

So you gonna go, or you not gonna

go?

INT. SLUG-MOBILE - NIGHT

The dashboard is littered with fast-food detritus and two

coffees in styrofoam cups making fog circles on the

windshield. A hand picks up one of the coffees and we

FOLLOW IT to a face, a forty-year-old cop face that's seen

some wear and tear -- behind the wheel is MATT SYKES.

Beside him is his partner of nine years, BILL TUGGLE.

Tuggle expertly munches on a slice of pizza as he talks.

SYKES

How can I go?

TUGGLE

Put on your wash-and-wear suit and

your clip-on tie, have your landlady

tie your shoes for you, and show up

at the church. Simple.

(beat)

Me and Carol are going.

SYKES

What?

TUGGLE

Hey, look -- we've known Kristin

since... since she was conceived in

that cabin up in Big Bear.

Remember? You and Edie banged the

wall so hard, me and Carol were

picking plaster out of our hair for

a week...

SYKES

Goddammit, Tug -- I want to see

Kristin get married, okay? But--

TUGGLE

But you're bummed because your ex

and her new husband are paying for

the whole thing.

SYKES

Shit, if Kristin had to get married

where I could afford it, we'd be

holding the reception at Buddy's

Burgers.

Sykes stares out the window, wallowing in his pissed-off

mood. Then he spots something that twinges his street-cop

radar.

SYKES

Uh-oh... Check it out.

THROUGH THE WINDOW Tuggle sees what Sykes sees: two ALIENS

in long coats moving down the sidewalk, entering a mom-

and-pop mini-mart on the corner. One of them wears dark

glasses and a red bandana (KIPLING): the other has on a

black vinyl raincoat.

SYKES

Does that look at all suspicious to

you?

TUGGLE

Whatever gave you that idea?

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

Sykes continues up a quarter of a block, pulls to the curb

among other parked cars.

INT. SEDAN - NIGHT

Sykes is already pulling his gun. Tuggle quickly reaches

for the radio in the glovebox.

TUGGLE

This is one-Henry-seven, we've got a

possible two-eleven in progress at

Porter's Mini-Mart, corner of Court

and Alvarado. Requesting backup.

Impulsive Sykes is already opening his door and climbing

out.

SYKES

Let's do it, partner.

Tuggle drops the radio mike and follows Sykes as the Radio

Dispatcher confirms the call.

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

The two cops, guns in hand, move along the row of parked

cars across the street from the mini-mart. Through the

store window they see the old alien PROPRIETOR behind the

counter. His eyes go wide as Kipling whips back his coat

and yanks out a short combat pump-shotgun and aims it

right at him. The Raincoat alien pulls an identical gun

and covers the door.

Sykes and Tuggle react to the firepower inside.

SYKES

You got your vest?

TUGGLE

Of course. Right in the trunk of

the car.

SYKES

Yeah, that's comforting. Mine, too.

Through the store window the robbery continues in

pantomime. Kipling gestures viciously with the shotgun,

yelling orders in the alien language. The Proprietor is

quickly filling a paper bag with cash from the register.

The PROPRIETOR'S WIFE, a middle-aged alien woman, stands

in the doorway from the back, frozen in fear. The

Raincoat alien dances from foot to foot, antsy, wired.

Sykes and Tuggle crouch at the car directly across the

street from the store entrance.

TUGGLE

Watch the driver. I'm going for a

better angle on the door.

SYKES

I got him. Don't get pinned.

Tuggle leaves the cover provided by the car, runs cater-

corner across the intersection.

Through the store window Sykes sees Kipling grab the bag

of cash, shove it in his coat pocket. Bills fall out, but

he doesn't care. Then, without warning, Kipling whips up

the twelve gauge and blows a hole in the Proprietor's

chest! The Proprietor slams back against the shelves,

slides to the floor. Kipling leans over the counter and

FIRES another round into the Proprietor.

SYKES

(under his breath)

Aw, shit.

Tuggle is almost across the street when he hears the

shots.

The human DRIVER of the getaway car (parked at the curb a

few doors down from the mini-mart) glances up, spots

Tuggle. He leans on the HORN, reaches for a machine

pistol on the seat next to him.

INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT

Kipling and Raincoat alien react to the horn honk. They

spot Tuggle through the store window and open fire --

BLASTING THROUGH THE GLASS.

A civilian car enters the intersection. The engine is hit

by shotgun fire, and the car skids to a stop in the

intersection, steam rising from the radiator.

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

Tuggle dives behind a lamp post.

The Driver is out of the car now, brings up the machine

pistol to fire at Tuggle. Sykes sees this and opens fire

at the Driver. The Driver turns and fires at Sykes.

Sykes ducks down, and the car he's hiding behind is

sprayed with bullets.

A forty-foot moving van pulls down the street between

Sykes and the Driver. Once the truck is past, Sykes is

standing behind the bullet-riddled car, gun ready. He

rapid-fires -- creaming the human Driver.

Tuggle is pinned down behind the thin lamp post by the

shotgun fire from Kipling and Raincoat alien.

SYKES

Get outta there!

TUGGLE

I can't! Do you mind!

SYKES

I'll cover you! Get outta there!!

Sykes rises and runs across the street toward the getaway

car, firing toward the store as he goes.

Kipling and Raincoat dodge behind cover.

Tuggle seizes the opportunity, jumps from behind the lamp

post and runs to the stalled civilian car. He slides

across the hood and drops behind the car for cover.

Tuggle slowly pokes his head up to peer through the car

window. His gaze is met by the face of the OLD MAN driver

who is still inside the car.

OLD MAN

Can I get out now?

TUGGLE

Move it!

Sykes doesn't have a clear firing line on the aliens in

the store. As he considers his next move--

Tuggle fires at the two aliens. They return fire and he

slides down to safety behind the car. Or so he thinks.

Glass rains down on him as the car windows are cremated by

the shotgun blasts. He flinches as another blast hits the

car. He looks over. There's a big exit hole in the

fender beside him. THE SHOT WENT RIGHT THROUGH THE CAR.

Another exit hole is BLASTED, inches from his shoulder.

Panicked, he scrambles along the side of the car -- BLASTS

and exit holes following him until he reaches the front of

the car. He has nowhere left to go and--

-- a BLAST comes through the car and catches him squarely

in the chest throwing him back onto the street.

Sykes' head jerks around -- in time to see his partner of

nine years blown away.

Kipling keeps firing in Tuggle's direction until his

shotgun CLICKS empty.

INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT

Kipling grabs Raincoat and throws him toward the back exit

of the store. The shotgun falls from Raincoat's hands.

The two of them run out the back.

EXT. STREET - NIGHT

Sykes runs to Tuggle's spread-eagled body. One glance is

enough. Nobody ever looked deader.

SYKES

Aw shit, Tug, Jesus! Goddamn it!

He stares, shocked and incredulous. He can't find a way

to think or feel about this. Then we see him going crazy

right before our eyes, the rage revving. He takes off

toward the store as SIRENS are HEARD rapidly approaching

in background.

INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT

Sykes moves through like a locomotive skidding on broken

glass, bangs through the exit.

EXT. ALLEY - NIGHT

Sykes catches sight of the two aliens just as they round

the corner at the far end of the alley. He takes off,

quickly cranking up to full speed.

EXT. BACK STREET - NIGHT

Sykes rounds the corner. Doesn't see them anymore. He

slows... moves along this street with some caution. Lots

of shadows, lots of hiding places. Sykes HEARS a NOISE,

looks up... just in time to see Raincoat on a high, huge

billboard. He cuts loose with the shotgun. Sykes dives.

Huge chunks of the crate he dives behind fly off into the

night. Sykes, on his belly, scrambles deeper among the

crates.

Raincoat's shotgun CLICKS empty now. He drops it, swings

down off the fire escape, runs off.

Sykes is up again in a flash, pounding after him.

EXT. TUNNEL STREET - NIGHT

Sykes rounds this second corner, races down the street.

The only route they could've taken is through a tunnel up

ahead. Sykes approaches the tunnel, all senses wide open.

INT. TUNNEL - NIGHT

The murkiness of the tunnel engulfs him as he moves

through the mouth. He tries to control his breathing so

he can hear. The only SOUND is his own shoes scuffing

along the asphalt.

Then he HEARS -- another set of FOOTSTEPS. Rapid

footsteps, coming toward him, ECHOING. He can't tell from

which direction! He spins, just as a LARGE SHAPE lunges

for him with an alien CRY.

It's the wired Raincoat alien. Sykes gets his gun up just

in time and FIRES -- once, twice, three times. Raincoat

alien is knocked backwards to the wet asphalt by the

blasts. Sykes approaches the body slowly. With an

inhuman ROAR, the alien snaps forward, lunging at Sykes

with outstretched arms. Sykes jumps back, startled, and

FIRES twice more at the pale figure. Raincoat goes down

and stays down.

Sykes relaxes for the briefest moment. Then he HEARS

it... a distinctive CLICKING SOUND, metal on metal. Sykes

looks up and -- Kipling drops down on him from directly

above! Sykes goes down in a heap. He's managed to hold

onto the gun and as Kipling comes for him, he swings the

gun hand around. Kipling sees it, lashes out, slamming

the gun from Sykes' hand. Sykes tries to get to his feet,

but the alien grabs him and flings him down the tunnel.

A SIREN is HEARD approaching in background.

Kipling moves in to deliver the coup de grace. As he

draws near, Sykes HEARS that distinctive CLICKING SOUND

again.

SYKES' P.O.V.

Though his vision is BLURRED, Sykes still gets a good look

at an exotic silver bracelet on the alien's wrist. The

strands of this bracelet are what make the CLINKING NOISE.

ANGLE

The alien rears back, and as he does, the approaching

SIREN suddenly WAILS louder as a backup patrol car swings

onto the street heading this way. Kipling sees this and

leaves Sykes, running off down the dark tunnel.

ON SYKES

dazed, struggling to rise. WE HEAR running FOOTSTEPS

approaching. Sykes turns, his eyes wild and unfocused.

SYKES' P.O.V.

An OUT-OF-FOCUS ALIEN FACE looming over him.

ANGLE

Sykes whips around in a roundhouse swing with all his

weight on it, pistoning his fist straight into the alien

face. The alien, caught by surprise and off balance,

sprawls backward OUT OF FRAME. Sykes is grabbed by a

human uniformed cop, as he tries to swing again.

HUMAN COP

Whoa, whoa... hold it. Take it easy.

(to alien on the

ground)

You okay?

Sykes stops struggling, and his eyes focus. He looks at

the alien he just decked, sprawled on his ass ten feet

away. The alien is a uniformed cop... his name is JETSON.

JETSON

I am all right.

He gets up. A trickle of purple blood runs from his nose.

HUMAN COP

I better call in.

He moves off. Jetson moves toward Sykes and the Raincoat

alien's body. Sykes tenses, thinking Jetson might

retaliate in some way. But Jetson simply steps past him

to kneel beside the dead alien. He checks for a pulse on

the underside of the dead alien's upper arm. Nothing.

Sykes is holding his punching hand in obvious pain. He

struggles to rise. Jetson gets an arm around him to help

him up.

JETSON

Your hand will require attention.

Sykes roughly jerks himself free of Jetson's grip.

SYKES

Get the hell away from me! I don't

need your goddamn help.

He almost loses his balance and has to steady himself

against the tunnel wall. Sykes leans there, the picture

of impotent rage and frustration. Jetson looks at him,

with that slight inquisitive expression aliens exhibit

when trying to understand human nature.

EXT. MINI-MART - NIGHT

OPEN on Tuggle's body, as the body bag is zipped up over

his face, and the litter is lifted into the back of the

Coroner's wagon.

WIDEN to reveal Sykes, standing nearby, watching. The

Wagon pulls out, and Sykes turns, moving past all the LAPD

black-and-whites and forensics wagons, and COPS (two of

them aliens) and DETECTIVES, and RUBBERNECKERS (some

alien). He moves into:

INT. MINI-MART - NIGHT

The CRIME SCENE TEAM is checking for prints, digging slugs

out of the wall, photographing everything. Several

UNIFORMED COPS mill around. Sykes moves aimlessly around

the room like a stranger at a party.

The Proprietor's Wife stands near the body in a strange

rigid posture, a thin, mournful KEENING SOUND coming from

her lips. A harried female uniformed cop is trying to get

her away from the body, but can't get her to budge.

MINKLER, a ballistics guy, is tagging the pump-shotgun the

Raincoat alien dropped here. NATUZZI, a mean-looking

veteran uniform cop is with him.

NATUZZI

Looks like a standard combat pump-

action.

MINKLER

It is.

NATUZZI

So what punched holes clear through

that car out there?

Minkler pulls an evidence baggie from his work box.

Inside are four unfired twelve gauge shells.

MINKLER

BRI Sabot slugs. These puppies are

nasty. Two plastic sabots fall away

in flight leaving a fifty-caliber

slug going two thousand feet per

second. Tug might as well've been

hiding behind a rosebush.

Minkler senses somebody has just stepped up beside him.

He looks. It's Sykes.

NATUZZI

Pretty heavy artillery for knocking

over a liquor store.

A new voice enters the conversation.

JETSON (O.S.)

An identical round was used in the

shooting of a Newcomer named

Hubley, two days ago.

Sykes turns -- surprised, and not especially pleased to

see the voice is Jetson's.

MINKLER

Yeah? So why the extra fire power?

JETSON

Perhaps because even the larger

caliber handguns aren't always

effective against my people.

SYKES

(mulls this, then)

You saying there's some connection

to this other homicide?

Before Jetson can say, the female cop who was talking to

the Proprietor's Wife steps up.

FEMALE COP

Hey, give me a hand with this woman,

will ya Jetson? We've got to get

her to Division for her statement

and she won't budge.

JETSON

(to Sykes)

Excuse me.

And he moves off with his partner. Sykes calls after him,

but Jetson is already approaching the woman and doesn't

turn.

SYKES

So, you think there's a connection,

or what? Hey!

CUT TO:

EXT. SYKES' APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT

The slug-mobile pulls up. A drained Sykes moves up the

walk to his front door.

INT. SYKES' APARTMENT - NIGHT

Sykes enters his apartment, an untidy bachelor place

decorated with negative taste. It's obviously the maid's

decade off.

By rote, he hits the rewind switch on the answering

machine on his way into the kitchen. The tape rewinds.

He opens the fridge. Not much here. Left-over take-out

pizza carton. Left-over take-out Chinese food cartons.

Left-over take-out burger wrappers.

The answering machine message begins -- he glances over

his shoulder as he HEARS his daughter's VOICE. During the

following, he reaches the fridge. Brings out a milk

carton that's in his way, sets it on the counter. Reaches

in again and this time brings out a bottle of Stoly. Then

searches for a semi-clean glass.

KRISTIN'S VOICE

(bouncy, bride-to-be

happy)

Hi, Daddy, it's me. I'm over at

Danny's parents' house... talking

about Sunday. I thought maybe you'd

be home by now. Anyway, uh, nothing

really. I just wanted to call and

say I love you. I love you, Daddy.

(she giggles)

Uh-oh, I shouldn't'a done that.

Knowing you, you'll probably pull

this tape out of your machine and

save it -- in that drawer where you

keep every card I ever gave you, and

all of my old baby teeth... gross!

Anyway, Daddy, don't save this tape

-- but I do love you, and I'll talk

to you before Sunday.

(beat)

Oh, Tug and Carol came by and met

Danny last week.

(Sykes stiffens)

Danny thought Tug was the greatest

-- but, then, who doesn't? Anyway,

love you, talk to you soon. 'Bye.

The machine BEEPS and HISSES. Sykes take the glass and

the bottle of vodka, crosses back toward the living room,

switching off the answering machine as he goes.

Then he stops, turns back, takes the message tape out of

the machine and tosses it into a drawer.

FADE TO:

INT. DETECTIVE SQUAD ROOM - DAY

Sykes enters, stirring a jumbo coffee. He's slept about

four hours, and his face looks like he went a few with

Hagler. He crosses straight to Fedorchuk's desk.

SYKES

So what've you got on Tuggle's

killers?

FEDORCHUK

Jesus, Sykes -- it's been less than

ten hours. Me and Alterez are on

it, okay?

SYKES

You don't have squat.

FEDORCHUK

You ever try to make a case in

Slagtown? The list of Newcomer

informants is about as long as the

list of Mexican war heroes...

ALTEREZ

Up yours.

FEDORCHUK

... Nobody talks to nobody down

there. Half of them don't speak

English and the other half only when

it suits them. It's gonna take some

time.

SYKES

Yeah, I know it's gonna take time.

Like until the Ice Capades opens in

Hell, with you two on it.

Across the room, the Captain's door BANGS open and CAPTAIN

WARNER pounds out, his deep voice booming through the

squad room.

WARNER

Nobody wanders off! I got an

announcement. Get your asses back

in here.

Two detectives on their way out, stop, and head back into

the room. Everybody gathers around, curious, as Warner

stands holding a sheet of paper.

WARNER

I'll make this short. This is a

directive from Chief Evaner, who is

acting on orders from the Mayor, who

is under mandate from the Federal

Bureau of Newcomer Relations. As of

nine o'clock this morning, one

Newcomer uniform officer has been

promoted to the rank of Detective,

third grade.

The detectives GROAN... some angrier ones grumble, "This

is bullshit!", etc.

WARNER

And we've got him, gentleman.

(more groans)

Volunteers for duty with the new

detective should see me in my

office... otherwise I will choose a

volunteer myself. That is all.

He turns and heads back to his office in the wake of

continued grumbling from the detectives. Sykes, standing

to one side, absently watches Warner return to his glass-

walled office. Waiting inside are a balding man and an

alien in a grey suit. Sykes reacts. The alien in the

suit is Jetson.

The grumbling continues around him as Sykes considers

something.

FEDORCHUK

Unbelievable bullshit.

ALTEREZ

How long has this Slag been on the

force? A year, max -- right?

DETECTIVE

I don't know about the rest of you,

but I sure as hell ain't gonna sit

still for this. I'm calling the

union, pronto.

Others grumble. "Yeah!". Meanwhile, Sykes has decided

something. He heads toward Warner's office. Fedorchuk

sees this.

FEDORCHUK

Where the hell is he going?

INT. WARNER'S OFFICE - DAY

Sykes KNOCKS and enters.

WARNER

Yeah, Sykes?

SYKES

Captain. I'd like to volunteer for

duty with the new detective.

Warner is surprised. He never expected Sykes.

WARNER

... All right. Detective Sergeant

Sykes, this is Detective... Jetson.

JETSON

We have met.

Warner looks up, clocking this. He looks at Sykes,

starting to smell something fishy.

The balding man, GOLDRUP, rises to shake their hands.

GOLDRUP

Victor Goldrup, Mayor's office.

Congratulations, gentlemen.

Warner is starting to suspect what Sykes is up to.

WARNER

(to Sykes)

You are to have nothing to do with

the investigation into Bill Tuggle's

death. You know that. Leave that

for Fedorchuk.

SYKES

(nodding)

Departmental policy.

WARNER

(to Jetson)

You?

JETSON

Yes, sir.

WARNER

Good.

SYKES

There's another case I'd like to

take. A homicide -- a Newcomer

named Hubley.

Jetson looks over at Sykes, knows he's up to something.

Sykes avoids his look.

WARNER

Granger and Pitts are already on it.

SYKES

Granger and Pitts have one hell of a

caseload... and I would have thought

with Jetson here being the first

Newcomer plainclothes, and Hubley's

body being found over in the

Newcomer community...

WARNER

Don't tell me what to think.

GOLDRUP

He's got a point. That's the sort

of thing we should be doing with

this early advancement program...

Long-suffering Warner looks up at Goldrup, then finally

sighs with resignation. Sykes grins.

CUT TO:

INT. STAIRWELL - FIRST FLOOR HALLWAY - DAY

The steel door BANGS open and Sykes and Jetson exit. Next

to Sykes' slept-in look, Jetson in his grey suit looks

like a Jehovah's Witness canvasser. They move past all

the black-and-whites pulling out on p.m. watch during:

SYKES

... and we work my hours. I'll do

the driving, you do the paperwork.

You gotta learn it so you might as

well do it all.

JETSON

(after a moment)

Sergeant... I'd like to thank you

for what you're doing.

SYKES

What's that?

(then realizing)

Look, Jetson. Get this straight in

your head. We're not pals, we're

not married, and we ain't gonna take

long moonlight walks together...

We're just partners. And don't call

me Sergeant. Call me Sykes... or

Matt if you have to.

JETSON

I am George.

Sykes nods absently, and they walk on... four and a half

steps to be exact. Then it hits Sykes. He seizes up

cold.

SYKES

Wait a minute. George? George

Jetson?

Jetson nods... he's used to this.

Sykes cracks up.

SYKES

(between laughs)

Man, somebody really hung one on

you! I've heard some good ones for

you guys... Humphrey Bogart, Harley

Davidson. I guess the people at

immigration got a little punchy

after a while, coming up with names

for a quarter of a million of you.

You weren't at the back of the line,

were you, George?

JETSON

My true name is Ss'tangya

T'ssorentsa'.

SYKES

Gesundheit. You don't mind if I

stick to George, do you?

EXT. POLICE STATION PARKING AREA - DAY

They approach Sykes' ugly sedan, the slug-mobile.

SYKES

Anyway, what's it matter to you if

we think it's funny, right? Whatta

you care?

JETSON

That is exactly so.

(completely deadpan)

It is like your name... Sykes. I'm

sure it doesn't bother you at all

that it sounds like "ss'ai k'ss",

two words in my language which mean

"excrement" and "cranium".

Sykes looks at him, perplexed.

JETSON

"Shit... head".

Jetson gets in and slams the door, leaving Sykes standing

there, the smirk dropping from his face.

CUT TO:

INT. SLUG-MOBILE - DAY

They're cruising along in downtown traffic. Sykes drives.

Jetson is somewhat cramped in the passenger seat.

SYKES

Let's talk Hubley.

JETSON

(refers to a folder

he holds)

His body was discovered three days

ago, in an alley off of Central

Avenue, near downtown.

SYKES

With two BRI Sabot slugs in the

chest.

JETSON

(gently correcting

him)

Through the chest. Rupturing both

the primary and secondary hearts.

SYKES

(out the window)

Nice signal, dickwad!

Jetson is momentarily thrown by this outburst from Sykes.

Then...

JETSON

He was employed at the Northwest

Petroleum Refinery in Torrance. He

was manager of the Methane Facility.

He was also a principle partner in a

real estate venture to develop low-

cost housing for Newcomers.

Sykes grimaces at the mention of "Newcomer housing".

SYKES

Terrific. A real pillar of the

community.

(beat)

Was Hubley missing anything when

they found him? Was he ripped off?

JETSON

(checks file)

There was no wallet... but he was

still wearing a watch and two rings.

SYKES

The guys at the mini-mart last night

made a half-assed stab at the money

in the till -- but I don't think

that's what they were there for. I

think we got us a couple'a

executions on our hands, George...

JETSON

The murder at the mini-mart is not

our case. The Captain said--

Sykes looks over at Jetson, pissed.

SYKES

Look, you want to fit in here,

right? You want to learn how to get

along?

JETSON

Yes.

SYKES

Well, there's a thing about

partners, about being somebody's

partner. You do for each other.

And other people's rules don't mean

shit. It's the rules set up between

the two of you, that's all that

counts. Understand?

(Jetson nods)

Okay. Well, my friend and partner

was shot last night and I'm after

the shitbag that did it. As my

partner, I'm asking you to respect

me and help me find him.

Jetson considers this several moments, then--

JETSON

And as my partner, I ask you to

respect me and my desire not to

break with procedure.

Sykes stares at him, exasperated. Without warning, he

slams the car to a stop right in the middle of heavy

traffic, puts it in "Park." Jetson, who is already a

little too close to the dashboard, bangs up against it.

HORNS instantly go crazy behind them.

JETSON

What is wrong?

SYKES

(very calm)

Nothing's wrong. I just want to get

something straight. You agree that

there's a good chance these two

shootings are somehow related,

right?

YELLING joins the HORNS outside. Jetson is visibly

unsettled by the chaos.

JETSON

Well... yes, quite possibly.

SYKES

Possibly. Good. Well, would you be

willing to accept the theory,

George, that... possibly... by

examining the evidence from one case

we might shed some small ray of

light on the other? Does that sound

unreasonable to you?

JETSON

Yes... no, it is not unreasonable.

Although I--

SYKES

Great.

(a relieved sigh)

Well, I'm sure glad that's settled,

aren't you?

And with that he puts the car in gear and pulls rapidly

out.

SYKES

I think we're really starting to

click now, George -- hmmm?

Jetson doesn't know what to think -- he just holds on.

CUT TO:

INT. HALLWAY - L.A. COUNTY MORGUE - DAY

WINTER, a deputy Medical Examiner (human), is leading

Sykes and Jetson along the hall. He reads on the fly from

a case file in his hand.

WINTER

You know I've been over all this

with Fedorchuk and Alterez this

morning...

SYKES

Come on. You got nothin' better to

do, cushy county job like yours.

INT. AUTOPSY ROOM - DAY

They enter briskly through a swinging door. They move

among the tables (some occupied, some not) during:

WINTER

Yeah, right. Don't push your luck.

Anyway, according to the sheet, the

guy you nailed outside by the car--

SYKES

The human?

WINTER

Yeah... he was one Martin Helder.

White male, twenty-seven. Let's

see... wrap sheet shows one armed

robbery conviction, a couple for

sale of a controlled substance.

Oh yeah, and he was wired on coke

when you stopped his clock.

They have reached a table holding a covered body. Winter

unceremoniously throws back the cover. There lies the

pale naked body of the Raincoat alien.

JETSON

Have you identified this one?

WINTER

So far he's a John Doe. Or a Sam

Slag, if you like.

Jetson smiles slightly out of politeness.

WINTER

No I.D. on him and -- well, you

know, no fingerprints -- so it could

be tough. Your buddies this morning

went through the mug book but

couldn't make a facial match.

SYKES

Fedorchuk couldn't find his ass with

his hands in his back pockets.

Jetson nonchalantly looks over the alien body while Winter

and Sykes continue talking off to one side.

WINTER

(referring to

Raincoat alien)

You took this gut out, too, didn't

you?

SYKES

Yeah.

WINTER

Lucky for you, you got him in both

of his... well, what we loosely

refer to as... hearts.

SYKES

Lucky nothing. I had to empty my

damn gun into him.

WINTER

That's the way these people are.

You don't hit both pumps you just

piss them off.

During this, Jetson has turned the dead alien's hand over

-- sees something that brings a frown of curiosity to his

face. He leans closer, examining the palm carefully.

Then he peels back the alien's upper lip.

Jetson frowns anew, with concern this time. He looks

around, spots a Newcomer lab assistant nearby -- BENTNER.

Jetson motions him over. Jetson begins questioning him

using the alien language. Sykes and Winter nearby, remain

oblivious.

WINTER

Oh, here's an extra headshot if you

need one.

(hands Sykes a

polariod of dead

alien's face)

We're just about to start cutting

in. You're welcome to stick around

if you want. It's really

fascinating stuff.

SYKES

Yeah, I'll bet.

Sykes looks over, now noticing Jetson and Bentner in

earnest conversation. He only catches snatches of the

alien language. Bentner appears very unsettled by what

Jetson is telling him. In response to Jetson's final

statement, Bentner nods -- as if agreeing to do something

Jetson has requested. Sykes goes over to Jetson.

SYKES

What's this? What's going on?

JETSON

Nothing.

SYKES

(really suspicious

now)

Nothing?

JETSON

(looking away)

Shouldn't we examine their personal

effects?

Jetson moves off, leaving Sykes there wondering.

CUT TO:

INT. PROPERTY ROOM - COUNTY MORGUE - DAY

Two large plastic packets are dumped of their contents

onto a formica counter. Sykes looks through the dead

alien's effects while Jetson goes through the human's.

ORTIZ, the college girl working the property counter, sits

nearby doing homework.

Jetson holds up a little foil packet with a puzzled frown.

JETSON

What is this?

SYKES

(looks, then)

A rubber. A condom. You know...

Coney Island whitefish?

(Jetson doesn't know

what one is)

Men, human men, put them on their,

uh -- penises -- to protect against

having babies.

(Jetson still doesn't

get it; Sykes turns

to Ortiz)

You need this for anything?

ORTIZ

Nope, got my own. Anything you guys

don't use gets stuffed away in

storage.

Sykes tears open the packet, unrolls the condom, dangles

it before Jetson.

SYKES

Get the picture?

JETSON

(frowning)

And that fits?

SYKES

Well... Yeah, it's rubber. It

stretches.

JETSON

And still it fits?

Sykes looks at Jetson's serious expression. He tosses the

condom and packet back into the counter and continues

searching. A beat, then he can't stop himself -- he

steals a glance at Jetson's crotch.

Still searching, Sykes picks up one of the dead alien's

well-worn heavy work boots. He grimaces... the sides and

soles are painted with a viscous black substance. He very

tentatively sniffs it... and is grateful that it's not

what he thought it might be.

SYKES

What is this stuff?

Sykes gets some on his hands, doesn't know where to wipe

it. Jetson glances over.

JETSON

It is a resin.

Sykes looks at him... surprised that he knows.

JETSON

(continuing)

Newcomers working near methane

gasses at oil refineries must paint

it on their boots to protect against

sparks.

SYKES

How the hell do you know that?

JETSON

A large number of my people were

hired by refineries because the

methane fumes are not harmful to us.

My spouse's brother is one.

SYKES

So the Slag they're cutting into

upstairs worked at a refinery just

like Hubley worked