Modesty Blaise
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FADE IN: EXT. CITY SQUARE - DAY A building pock-marked with bullet-holes. SANCHEZ (V.O.) (heavily accented English) The Presidential Palace. Building with the most bullet-holes in the world. National symbol. (beat) Tells you all need to know about this country. WILLIE (V.O.) (thick Cockney accent) Looks like room for a few more yet. PULL BACK away from the building, taking in the full expanse of the main square - the hustle and bustle of traffic and pedestrians clashing with the classical buildings. LA PAZ, BOLIVIA Continue to PULL BACK until we FOCUS on a cafeteria, tables lining the pavement - waiters dashing around to deal with the rash of customers. Mid-afternoon rush. PUSH IN on two middle-aged men at one table, both neglecting their coffees, preferring to stare at each other instead. One’s swarthy, curly-haired and native - SANCHEZ. The other is shaven-headed, well-built, with dangerous eyes. He smokes a cigarette casually, but he’s ready for anything. Meet WILLIE GARVIN. SANCHEZ In Bolivia, a gun’s like part of your hand. Natural. Is a great day when a boy gets his first gun. Tradition. He leans forward, sneering at an impassive Willie. SANCHEZ (CONT’D) So why do you not have one? You’re insulting us. Our ways. Why? Are you a coward? SLAM! Willie moves like lightning - he pulls a knife out of his jacket and HAMMERS it into the table. Perfectly between the fingers of Sanchez’ outlaid hand. Getting to his feet, Willie seethes in Sanchez’ ear. 2. WILLIE Listen here, sonny Juan. No-one calls me a coward. Sanchez SQUIRMS as Willie looks down at the embedded knife. WILLIE (CONT’D) Good job for you I’m out of practice, ain’t it? He pulls the knife out, watching it GLEAM in the sun, before shifting his gaze back to Sanchez. WILLIE (CONT’D) Remember. I’m not in this for your cause, your revolution, your money. I’m in it for the action. That’s it. (looks around) Which there isn’t much of at the minute. Tell me it’s not just the two of us. Sanchez takes that as his cue - he lets out a piercing WHISTLE. As one, all the patrons of the cafe get to their feet - each one brandishing a firearm of some description. Sanchez pushes his chair back and STANDS, revealing the Uzi he was holding on his lap. He eyes Willie nervously. SANCHEZ As you say in English - showtime. With that, he leads his men into the square proper, dodging traffic and mingling with pedestrians. They head towards the Palace. As they run forward, Sanchez hoists his Uzi into the air, letting rip with a VOLLEY of shots - officially starting the demonstration. One of Sanchez’ compatriots, carrying a heavy tape deck on his shoulder, presses a button, and “I Predict A Riot” by the Kaiser Chiefs begins to play, albeit tinnily. Sanchez and his men CHARGE forward, CHANTING and CHEERING in their native tongue, heading for the Palace. Willie hangs back, eyes darting around, looking for any sign of trouble. The Palace doors SWING open, and a group of Presidential Guards emerge, armed with truncheons and tazers. Immediately, the atmosphere starts to change - becoming a lot more hostile and edgy. 3. Some of the passers-by hurry away - eager not to get caught up in all this. Others remain, watching out of a grisly fascination. Most alarmingly, some continue with their business as if nothing’s happening. The two parties CLASH in the middle ground, no quarter given. Brutal and bloody beatings going on. Willie SNAPS into action, LEAPING into the fray - a man on a mission. Fists flying, he helps turn the tide, each BLOW hitting their mark with precision. A Guard takes a SWING for him, but Willie ducks underneath the clumsy attempt, SWEEP-KICKING the guard’s feet out from under him with ease. One Guard grabs Willie from behind and PULLS his arms back. Another Guard steps into Willie’s face, THUMPING him across the jaw. GROWLING, Willie LUNGES forward, viciously HEAD-BUTTING the guard in front of him, before SWINGING around and SMACKING the other guard with a full-on PUNCH. Willie steps back, taking in the full extent of the mayhem going around him. Violence is everywhere - and now there’s a crowd forming that’s baying for blood. Looking around, he sees Sanchez in trouble - backed against a wall by one of the Guards. The Guard WHACKS Sanchez in the stomach with his truncheon, bringing him to his knees. Another THUMP to the back of the head, and Sanchez is reeling. Fast as lightning, Willie pulls out his knife and HURLS it through the melee. FOLLOW the knife as it SAILS through the air, KNOCKING the truncheon out of the Guard’s hand, PINNING him against the wall by the sleeve. Getting to his feet, Sanchez NODS to Willie in acknowledgement, before he draws his gun and BLASTS the helpless Guard in the head! Willie’s eyes FLARE in astonishment and anger! He makes a decision, BARRELING through the mayhem, eyes locked on Sanchez. He catches up to his target in seconds. WILLIE What the hell was that? 4. SANCHEZ (matter-of-fact) Us or them. How it is. It’s what true believers do. WILLIE You forget. I’m not a believer. THUMP! He belts Sanchez around the head, knocking him spark out. WILLIE (CONT’D) Call that my resignation. With that, he CHARGES back into the mix, now very much a one- man army. He PUSHES aside Guards and protesters alike, trying his best to break up the chaos. But it’s a drop in the ocean - violence is erupting everywhere. Police have started cordoning off the action, keeping the growing crowds back. Many are trying to get a glimpse of events - several are recording the action on their phones. A RIOT VAN SKIDS to a halt outside the palace. The doors SLIDE open and a SWAT team emerge, looking heavy-duty. They FIRE tear-gas cartridges into the air, causing a CLOUD of condensation to form... Willie keeps on fighting, but it’s getting harder - he starts to COUGH, and his movements get slower and groggier, like he’s wading through treacle. Down he goes, collapsing to his knees, in the throes of a major COUGHING fit. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. CLICK. Looking up, Willie finds himself faced by the SWAT team, guns drawn, staring right down the barrel. Hesitantly, Willie holds his hands up in surrender... INT. PRISON CELL - NIGHT WILLIE gets roughly thrown into the dark, dingy cell. He’s stripped to the waist, and in the half-light, we can see channels of blood RUNNING down his back. SLAM! The heavy metal door resoundingly locks him in. 5. Immediately, Willie’s on his feet, rushing up to the door. He STARES through the tiny window at his unseen captors. WILLIE I want a phone call! PRISON GUARD (O.S.) No phone calls. Not allowed. WILLIE My right innit? One phone call, all I’m asking. PRISON GUARD (O.S.) No phone calls. No lawyers. Willie breaks out into a deadly grin, eyes shining. WILLIE Who said I wanted a lawyer...? “Bad Reputation” by Joan Jett and the Blackhearts FADES UP on the soundtrack, as we CUT TO: EXT. CITY STREETS - DAY A snazzy, shiny green Dodge Viper convertible WEAVES in and out of traffic at speed. LONDON, ENGLAND PUSH IN on the driver - a twenty-something brunette, athletic, luscious, and with a veneer of class. This is MODESTY BLAISE. She’s driving one-handed, manoeuvreing with ease and poise. The other hand DRUMS along to the tune on the windowsill. As the Viper approaches a set of traffic-lights, they turn red. Cursing, Modesty BRAKES HARD. The lights go GREEN again quicker than expected, and Modesty has to shuffle through the gears a little. Another car SHOOTS past her with the tell-tale HONK of an annoyed driver. Smirking a little, Modesty takes up the challenge, pushing the gear-stick forward. The Viper’s powerful engine ROARS into life, and within seconds, Modesty is level with the other car. As she EASES past, Modesty can’t help herself - giving the astonished driver a cheeky little wave. 6. Modesty YANKS the wheel to the right, making a sharp turn, before SCREECHING the car to a halt outside a fairly modern, pricey-looking block of flats. As she climbs out of the car, the music cuts out. She locks the car with a casual air, swinging her keys around in her fingers as she strides into the building. TILT UP all the way to the top floor, where we PUSH IN, MELTING through the huge bay windows, and into: INT. MODESTY’S PENTHOUSE - DAY A plush open-plan penthouse apartment. Expensive furnishings, ornaments, and objets d’art scattered around stylishly. The room just oozes class. The lift doors at the far end of the living room PART, and Modesty walks through, completely at home here. Two men get up off the sofa to greet her. One’s in his 50s, pompous and portly - SIR GERALD TARRANT. His colleague is slightly younger, nervous and fidgetty - JACK FRASER. Modesty shows no outward signs of surprise at seeing them there, playing it cool, continuing to walk through the flat. SIR GERALD I believe I’m speaking to Miss Blaise? (after an off-hand nod from Modesty) I’m Sir Gera - - MODESTY (cut-glass accent) No need for introductions. I know who and what you are.