Crampton (2 page)

Sorry, Agent Sweeten. First day?

HELEN

Transfer.

BRADY

(holding out his hand)

I'm Brady Wells.
Agent
Brady Wells.

HELEN

(taking his hand)

Agent Wells.

She shakes his hand in a way that says she considers the conversation over.

INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS - LOBBY

A MAN enters the lobby. At first we see only his shoes--shiny and black, like the kind that come with a rented tuxedo.

He walks toward the security guard, who is concentrating on the newspaper crossword.

VIDEO MONITOR - The man steps into the camera's view. Prom this HIGH ANGLE we can't see his face, only slicked-back hair and his clothes: a black suit, stiff white cuffs, white gloves--classic stage magician attire. He's only on screen for a second when THE PICTURE GOES ALL SCREWY, filling with snow and ghost images.

LOBBY

The man passes through the electronic arch and into the heart of FBI headquarters. The guard never even looks up.

INT. ELEVATOR

Brady and Helen, just standing there, watching the floor number change.

BRADY

So ... what's your favorite movie?

HELEN

I beg your pardon?

BRADY

Mine's
Titanic
. I've got it on DVD. Dolby sound system. It's almost like--

HELEN

Does this really work?

BRADY

What's that?

HELEN

This thing where you try to pick up women by talking about
Titanic
. Like you're going to seem all sensitive or something.

BRADY

I'm just making conversation.

HELEN

(a long pause; then)

For the record, I've never seen
Titanic
. But you know what? I'll bet the boat sinks, doesn't it?

BRADY

Yes.

HELEN

There, see? I already know how it ends.

INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS - OFFICES

The man in the black suit walks the halls with a deliberate but unhurried pace. Though he walks without pretense of stealth, his passage seems completely undetected: the FBI agents that mill about don't bother to look up as he goes by, or their attention is drawn elsewhere just as he comes into view. Those in his path step out of his way without even knowing it.

The man enters a door marked "Criminal Division" that leads to a room full of desks. Sitting at one is Larry Johnson. He is studying a sheaf of what appear to be enlarged photographs. He looks vaguely troubled.

The man strides to Larry's desk. He reaches into his Jacket.

MAN IN BLACK SUIT

(in a dead voice)

Larry Johnson?

LARRY

(looking up)

Yes?

Johnson's face goes ashen.

LARRY

How did you get in here?

LARRY'S POV - we get a vary brief glimpse of the man's face--handsome but bland, forgettable--before it is blocked by the barrel of a .44. The .44 EXPLODES--BANG!

INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS - HALLWAY.

Elevator doors slide open. Just as Brady and Helen step out, they hear the .44 FIRING TWO MORE SHOTS. Lightning-fast, Brady's gun is in his hand. He moves toward the door.

INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS - OFFICES

The man in the black suit fires THREE FINAL BULLETS into Larry's body. Larry is SLAMMED BACKWARDS out of his chair.

The ROAR of gunfire breaks the spell--all the FBI agents in the room turn toward the assassin. One leaps at the man, catching him in a flying tackle.

They hit the ground with an alarming CLATTER. The man in the black suit seems to fall apart--arms, legs and head all breaking off.

The door to the office opens and Brady rushes in, entering a scene of utter chaos. What previously was a man dressed in stage magician's clothes is now a broken-up plaster mannequin. The head is STILL SPINNING at Brady's feet.

CUT TO:

INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS - BRIEFING ROOM - LATER THAT DAY

Several dozen FBI agents sit waiting for something to happen. There is a low-level buzz of conversation, but the mood is pretty grim. Brady is sitting near the front.

The door BANGS open and the SECTION CHIEF stalks in. He's carrying a black plastic crate marked "EVIDENCE." He looks pissed. The conversation level drops to zero.

SECTION CHIEF

(addressing the room)

I just spent the last half hour getting my ass chewed out by the deputy director, who spent the previous hour getting
his
ass chewed out by the director. This is one fucked-up situation, people. Someone enters the most secure non-military building in the country, carries a gun through a metal detector without a beep, walks past almost a hundred armed FBI agents, puts six bullets into a man, then vanishes. And we don't have the first clue how he did it. All we have is this...

He takes the mannequin head out of the crate and places it on the table.

SECTION CHIEF

Does anybody know what this is?

FBI AGENT #1

It's a head.

SECTION CHIEF

Wrong. It is somebody's way of saying "fuck you" to the FBI. Until we have that person in custody, this is the only case on your desks. The director wants 100 percent commitment on this one. Everything else can wait.

A few grumbles from the agents.

SECTION CHIEF

Shut up. Here's where we stand so far. The security tapes are useless--looks like somebody tampered with the cameras so they'd malfunction, start picking up television signals--so we've got no idea what the guy looks like. Ballistics has the gun, and forensics has the rest of this...

He taps the mannequin head.

SECTION CHIEF

We should hear something back from them within the hour. In the meantime, I want you to work in teams of two. Until we have a better idea what we're dealing with, we're going to look at this thing from every possible angle. Your individual supervisors will give you your orders. Remember--there are no shit jobs. Anything might get us a lead. Any questions?

No hands go up.

SECTION CHIEF

Good. One last thing. The media is already halfway up our ass. In about an hour the director will issue a statement. During the course of this statement he will say that the Bureau has not ruled out the possibility that Agent Johnson's murder was a terrorist act.

BRADY

(to himself; skeptically)

Sure, why not.

SECTION CHIEF

Does anyone here have a better explanation for what happened this morning?

The agents remain silent.

SECTION CHIEF

Right. Now, get back to your divisions.

The agents start getting up and talking loudly to each other. Brady gets out of his chair.

SECTION CHIEF

Agent Wells, can I see you for a second?

BRADY

What's up, Chief?

SECTION CHIEF

You seen anything like this before?

BRADY

No. The fraud cases I usually handle, they're all about profit. This seems more like a revenge deal. There's no profit in revenge.

SECTION CHIEF

How about the disappearing act? You deal with people who know about that kind of thing, right?

BRADY

Yeah, I was thinking about that, too. But those guys ... when they're gone, they're gone--zap. No little mementos.

SECTION CHIEF

Follow up on it anyway. I already talked to your supervisor. You'll report back to me directly.

BRADY

No problem.

Brady turns to go.

SECTION CHIEF

Hang on. Teams of two, remember?

BRADY

What?

SECTION CHIEF points to a chair in the third row, where Helen is sitting.

INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS - HALLWAY

Brady walking down the hall, fuming. Helen is a step behind, matching his pace.

HELEN

Is this going to be a problem for you?

BRADY

No.

HELEN

Then what's your damage?

BRADY

(stopping short)

My "damage?" My "damage" is that I've been slaving away working bunco jobs for five years, and this is what it gets me--a rinky-dink assignment with a newbie partner.

HELEN

Gee, Agent Titanic, sorry the murder of another FBI agent didn't help your career more.

(she starts walking again, leaving Brady behind)

Asshole.

She exits through a door marked "GARAGE". Brady follows.

INT. FBI HEADQUARTERS - PARKING GARAGE

Helen steps up to a CLERK's window.

HELEN

Sweeten, badge number 3293-2211. Need a car.

CLERK

Hang on.

Brady comes through the door.

BRADY

Who the hell are you, anyway?

HELEN

What does that mean?

BRADY

It means do you know what you're doing, or do I have to worry that you're going to get your gun caught on your purse and accidentally shoot me.

HELEN

It won't be accidentally.

The clerk passes Helen a set of keys.

CLERK

B-64.

HELEN

Thank you.

She walks up the ramp. Again, Brady follows.

HELEN

Look, Agent ... what's your name again?

BRADY

Brady Wells.

HELEN

... Agent Wells, I put up with this FBI boys club bullshit for seven years down in Florida, and I'll tell you, southerners are a lot better at it than you. So do us both a favor and drop it.

They reach a parking spot marked "B-64," where a nondescript sedan is parked. She tosses him the keys.

HELEN

Here. Make yourself useful.

He snatches them out of the air.

CUT TO:

EXT. WASHINGTON D.C. - DAY

The FBI car cruises through downtown Washington.

INT. CAR - DAY

Brady driving, Helen in the passenger's seat, uncomfortable silence between them. Brady's chewing his bottom lip, trying to decide whether or not to try to be friendly to this woman. Finally...

BRADY

So, Florida, huh?

HELEN

Yes.

BRADY

Whereabouts?

HELEN

Tampa.

BRADY

Oh, yeah. Lot of gangs around there. The average age is, what, around seventy-eight? Why do they need a Bureau shop? A rash of denture thefts?

HELEN

Every year, American senior citizens are defrauded of over fifty million dollars. Insurance cons. Phantom stocks. Counterfeit lottery tickets. The St. Petersburg area offers a high concentration of financially secure men and women trying to enjoy their golden years. Awfully tempting for scam runners.

BRADY

Well, Agent Sweeten, welcome to our nation's capital. We've got your kidnapping, your extortion, your crooked congressmen, your international spies, your violent whackos both foreign and domestic,
real
terrorism, and let's not forget the most powerful man in the world driving around town like a big-ass bullseye. So, if we see any little old ladies getting rolled for their bingo money, I'll let you take point. Otherwise, Just follow my lead.

HELEN

Are you always such a prick?

BRADY

Pretty much.

EXT. JOEY'S GAME ROOM - DAY

The FBI sedan stops in front of a divey bar on a divey street.

INT. CAR

Brady puts it in "park."

BRADY

Here's the deal. This bar ... it's a regular hangout for cons.
Long
con specialists. I'm talking guys who will string a mark along for years before they move, then bleed him dry and be gone before anyone knows it happened. Real stonefaced motherfuckers.

HELEN

What, you don't do anything about this?

BRADY

This isn't one of your lottery swindles, Sweeten. These guys are like fucking groundhogs--they stick their heads out maybe once, and if they see a shadow they vanish. There was this investigation a few years ago--I managed to pick up a couple of them, but the bastards covered their trail so deep we couldn't make it stick. I kind of got to know them during the case. They're really not that bad ... you know, for thieves. I occasionally come to them for advice in situations like these.

HELEN

So they're snitches?

BRADY

Yes.

HELEN

Why don't you Just come out and say that? Jesus...

BRADY

The point is, despite our relationship, the guys in here can he a little jumpy, so just ... play it cool.

INT. JOEY'S GAME ROOM

The place is small but clean--a bar, a row of booths, a pool table, and a door that leads to a back room. At the bar, a DARK-HAIRED MAN is talking to a BLOND WOMAN.

Brady leads Helen inside, making a beeline for the booths. The only other people in the place are sitting at one of the booths; the SNITCHES--one very tall with a ponytail, the other rather short--and two of their CON-MAN BUDDIES.

BIG SNITCH

(laughing, to CON BUDDIES)

... and the guy says--this is the best part--the guy says, "Can I give you a ride to the airport?" And I say, "Yeah, but can we swing by the bank first?"

(the CON BUDDIES laugh)

... So, he's waiting outside while I empty out his bank account. And he gets a parking ticket! (now they're laughing so hard they're crying) All the rest of the ride, he's telling me about how bad his day is, and I'm thinking, "Buddy, you don't even know."

Brady and Helen stand next to the booth. The big snitch stops laughing.

BIG SNITCH

Shh. It's the Ed-fays.

The other con artists clam up fast and excuse themselves. Brady slides into the booth next to the little snitch.

BRADY

Good morning, gentlemen.

BIG SNITCH

Blow me, g-man.

(to LITTLE SNITCH)

You--don't say
anything
.

The little snitch makes a zipping motion across his lips.

HELEN

You're pretty snippy for a snitch.

The snitches notice her for the first time.

BIG SNITCH

We prefer the epithet "paid informant" ... accent on "paid."

(to BRADY)

Who is this person? It's not bad enough you make this unannounced appearance on our home turf, you've gotta bring a stranger with you?