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."

 

RATH

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.

 

RATH

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.

 

CLERK

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.

 

OFFICER

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.

 

We see Rath move into position across the grave from Branch. Rath removes a piece of white tape from his cast, exposes a barrel opening.

 

The Priest raises his hands, all heads bow. Branch's. Rath's – though his eyes stay on his mark.

 

PRIEST

I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord.

 

As the Priest continues, Rath twists his body slightly, taking aim with the .22 which must be inside the cast. He's got a clean shot at the back of Branch's head.

 

PRIEST

Shall not die, but have everlasting life.

 

Rath's about to squeeze the trigger...

 

PRIEST

Amen...

 

Water pelts as sprinklers surge to life on all sides of the service area. Bad timing. Or is it? All heads turn. Several people move to get away from the spray.

 

 

EXT. GRAVESTONE – DAY

 

It is Bain sighting along the barrel of his silenced rifle.

 

 

TELESCOPIC POV OF BRANCH

 

In his wheelchair.

 

TIGHT ON a spot above his heart.

 

 

BACK TO GRAVESITE K

 

Rath spins back to look toward Branch. The old man's head is still bowed in prayer. Or is it. Crimson spreads out across his white shirt. He's been shot through the heart. As one of the Bodyguards realizes...

 

BODYGUARD

He's been shot!

 

The crowd panics – people running everywhere. Rath spots a young caretaker. Wearing coveralls. Nonchalantly heading off beyond a mausoleum, wheeling a trash can full of leaves. It's Bain.

 

Rath turns his body to aim. In all the confusion, no one notices a .22 shell.

 

 

BAIN

 

Reacts as a BULLET drills the trash can. Pulling a sniper's rifle from the can, he runs, dives as another BULLET RICOCHETS off the tombstone just in front of him.

 

 

BODYGUARDS

 

All this has attracted their attention. Drawing guns, they charge after Bain. He comes up FIRING silently. The Bodyguards go down. But now police are on the way.

 

 

BAIN

 

Stands and tries to run. Again, he's pinned down as TWO BULLETS blossom granite around him. He scans the crowd, has no idea who's shooting at him.

 

 

CEMETERY

 

And a small army of POLICEMEN are advancing, service revolvers everywhere.

 

POLICEMAN

Drop it! Now!

 

Bain makes one last attempt to move. A BULLET nearly takes off his ear. Making a strategic decision, he tosses out his rifle and waits for the cops. In an instant, they've surrounded him. They pin him to the ground – find his .22 pistol and handcuff him.

 

 

RATH

 

He sidesteps for a clear shot; Police are everywhere.

 

RATH

Move, you sonuvabitch. Give me a line. Goddamnit, get out of the way.

 

Cursing again under his breath, he won't take the chance of hitting a cop.

 

 

BAIN

 

As they hustle him along, he ducks and weaves, perfectly aware of how to take advantage of his human shield. For an instant, he sees a man. Fifty yards away. Silhouetted by the low sun. Watching. Bain squints against the light, can't make him out, but knows it's Rath. He ducks.

 

 

CEMETERY

 

Far ahead Rath sees Bain being frisked against a police cruiser. The cops handcuff him, shove him in the back. His rifle goes in the front.

 

In a moment the cruiser rolls out, led by a second.

 

Rath hurries across the cemetery, headed for...

 

 

EXT. CEMETERY – UPPER ROADWAY

 

Rath climbs into his rent-a-car. He releases two Velcro strips and the cast neatly separates – revealing his silenced .22 held comfortably in his hand. He slaps in a new clip and ROARS forward.

 

 

EXT. INTERSECTION – LATE DAY

 

Rath eyeballs the street. Crowded with people and cars. The police cruisers are gone.

 

 

INT. RENT-A-CAR – MOVING – LATE DAY

 

Rath continues, reaches under the seat for a portable police band