lethal weapon

by shane black

fade in:

city of angels

lies spread out beneath us in all its splendor, like a

bargain basement promised land.

camera soars, dips, winds its way slowly down, down,

bringing us in over the city as we:

super main titles.

titles end, as we --

spiral down toward a lush, high-rise apartment complex.

the moon reflected in glass.

camera continues to move in through billowing curtains,

into the inner sanctum of a penthouse apartment, and

here, boys and girls, is where we lose our breath,

because --

spread-eagled on a sumptuous designer sofa lies the

single most beautiful girl in the city.

blonde hair. a satin nightgown that positively glows.

sam cooke music, crooning from five hundred dollar

speakers.

pastel colors. window walls. new wave furniture tor-

tured into weird shapes. it looks like robots live here.

on the table next to the sleeping venus lies an open

bottle of pills ... next to that, a mirror dusted with

cocaine.

she rouses herself to smear some powder on her gums.

as she does, we see from her eyes that she is thoroughly,

completely whacked out of her mind...

she stands, stumbles across the room, pausing to glance

at a photograph on the wall:

two men. soldiers. young, rough-hewn, arms around each

other.

the girl throws open the glass doors ... steps out onto a

balcony, and there, beneath her, lies all of nighttime

l.a. panoramic splendor. her hair flies, her expression.

rapt, as she stands against this sea of technology. she

is beautiful.

on the balcony railing beside her stand three potted

plants.

the girl sees them, picks one up. looks over the balcony

railing ... it is ten stories down to the parking lot.

she squints, holds the plant over the edge.

girl

red car.

drops the plant. down it goes, spiralling end over end

-- until, finally ... bam -- ! shatters. dirt flies. a

red chevy is now minus a windshield. the girl takes

another plant.

girl

green car.

she drops it. green dodge. ten stories below, bam

impact city. scratch one paint job. grabs the final

plant and holds it out, saying:

girl

blue car.

pow. glass shatters. dirt sprays. a blue bmw this

time. the girl loves this game ... her expression is

slightly crazed. she reaches for another plant --

there aren't any. her smile fades -- and for a moment,

just a moment, the dullness leaves her eyes and she is

suddenly, incredibly sober. and tears fill her eyes as

she looks over the edge --

girl

yellow car.

and jumps the railing. plummets, head over heels like a

rag doll. hits the yellow car spot on. she lies, dead,

like an extinguished dream. still beautiful.

cut to:

1a ext. beneath the pier night 1a

four tough-looking dock workers are camped out under the

pier, warming themselves around a small bonfire, laughing

loudly. christmas decorations dangle above them from the

pier, and empty beer cans litter the sand around them.

camera pushes in to discover an old collie tied to one of

the pilings. then we realize that the dog is being tor-

mented by the dock workers. they flick lighted matches

at him. shake their beers and spray him in the face.

these guys are not rocket scientists.

the dog cowers, tugging bn the rope. tries to get away.

all to the great amusement of its tormentors.

one of them turns, laughing --

as a shadowy figure strides calmly up to the fire:

long hair.

cigarette dangling from-lower lip.

shirt-tails hanging loose below the waist.

nothing threatening in his manner as he plops down beside

the men, smiling.

they are immediately on their guard.

riggs (figure)

happy holidays. mind if i join

you?

punk #1

yes.

punk #2

fuck off.

riggs smiles at him innocently. strokes the collie's fur

with one hand.

with the other, he reaches intb a paper sack and produces,

a spanking new bottle of jack daniels, possibly the finest

drink mankind has yet produced.

riggs

i need help drinking this. cool?

the dock workers exchange glances. there seems to be no

harm in this. one of them frowns:

punk #1

you a homo?

riggs

do i look like a homo?

punk #1

you got long hair. homos got long

hair.

punk #3

i hate homos. arrggh.

riggs shakes his head, laughs.

riggs

boy, you guys are terrific. you

make me laugh, you just do.

at which point, appropriately enough, punk #4 shakes a

beer and sprays it in the old collie's face.

the dog pulls away, whining.

riggs leans forward.

riggs

this your dog? nice dog.

and then, he proceeds to do a peculiar thing:

he starts to talk to the dog --

in what seems to be the dog's own language.

very weird, folks...

he coos, snuffles, barks softly, then withdraws,

listening, his ear to the dog's muzzle.

riggs nods. frowns.

the others look on, puzzled.

then riggs looks at each of the four dock workers.

riggs

huh- you know what? he says he

doesn't want you to spray beer in

his face. he says he just hates

that.

a pause. uncomfortable. then --

punk #1

oh, he does ... ?

(beat)

well, mister, why don't you ask

him what he likes...?

the others snicker. riggs simply nods.

riggs

okay.

and once again, begins to confer with the dog. listens

intently, piecing together what he is hearing.

riggs

what ... ? you want ... oh. oh,

hell no, i couldn't do that ...

nossirree bob, you little nut.

he ruffles the dog's hair.

the men are more puzzled than ever as riggs turns and

says:

riggs

(chuckling)

get this: he wants me to beat

the shit out of you guys.

everything stops. a cloud passes over the assembled

faces and a pin-dropping silence ensues.

riggs, completely heedless, once again attends to the dog:

riggs

what's that ... ? the one ... in the

middle... 'is a stupid fat duck'...

what ... ?

(listens again)

oh ... oh! a 'stupid fat fuck!'

right.

he looks up, shakes his head.

riggs

boy, this dog is pissed.

the one in the middle grabs riggs by the collar.

hoists him to his feet. gulp.

stands, staring down at riggs, whose eyes are completely

neutral, like a snake's.

punk #1

buddy, you're shortening your

life span.

he flicks open a mean-looking switchblade.

riggs is dead meat.

so why then, does he choose this moment to execute a

three stooges' routine, consisting of nose tweak, eye

gouge, and rotating fist that bobs the dock worker on

the head... ?

he's nuts or something ...

riggs steps back and adopts a neutral fighting stance.

the others begin to circle.

the dog barks. riggs turns to the dog, but his eyes never

leave his grinning attackers.

riggs

(to the collie)

what's that ... ? you want me to

take the knife away... and break

his elbow... ?

circling ...

riggs, watching them, his eyes beginning to dance ...

breathing slow and even...

riggs

but that would be excruciatingly

painful ...

something inside riggs is gearing up ... the others can

perhaps sense it, their smiles falter a bit, they crouch,

combat-ready...

riggs, eyes blazing ...

riggs

and if i separated the fat one's

shoulder... he'd probably scream...

no doubt about it. we know from the look in riggs' eyes

he's nuts. he wants the fight, badly, all four of them

at once ...

and then punk #1 springs...

big mistake.

needless to say, mincemeat is made of the four meddlesome

dog-torturers.

the beach is littered with their writhing forms as riggs

does, finally, what he set out to do:

unties the dog.

starts to go.

as he does, he pats his shirt ...

pats his jeans ... realizes his wallet has flown free

during the fracas.

scoops to retrieve it from its resting place on the sand,

where it lies open, and as it lies open, yes, folks, that

is a badge we see.

riggs, we realize, is an officer of the law.

he lights a cigarette and notices the collie, seated.

frowns:

riggs

okay, skeezix. go on. get outta

here.

he begins to walk away. the dog remains close at his

heels. following him.

riggs

no, no. don't follow me. i'm an

asshole. go away.

the dog sits obediently and riggs walks away.

he can't help it, looks back over his shoulder...

sees the dog watching him with a beseeching expression.

pitiful.

riggs

aw, shit.

he signals the dog.

riggs

awright. move it. let's go.

the collie barks happily and dashes toward him through

the surf, kicking up sand and water.

as they shuffle off against the palm-lined skyline, we

hear, supered, riggs' voice.

riggs (v.o.)

so. you live in the area? what's

your major ... ?

and so on as we ...

cut to:

2 omitted 2

thru thru

4d 4d

5 ext. murtaugh's house - pre-dawn 5

palm trees cast shadows on the lawn. toys, lots of them,

littered across the lawn. a big wheel, a g.i. joe figure.

christmas lights are strung across the eaves.

cut to:

6 int. house - bathroom same 6

a real gun, a .38 police special, dangling in its hol-

ster from the back of a chair. next to it -- a real

badge, gleaming in the light. it identifies its owner

as lapd robbery/homicide.

7 another angle 7

a birthday cake comes into frame. a set of matronly

hands places it directly in front of --

8 detective roger murtaugh 8

seated in the bathtub. he groans, throws a towel over

himself, and mutters in mock indignation: roger is

tough: an old-fashioned fighter, wears his past like a

scar. piercing eyes; cynical. he is surrounded by his

family; wife and three children, names and ages as

follows: trish: roughly thirty-eight. she used to be a

stunner. nick: ten years old. precocious. carrie:

age seven. eyes like saucers. adorable. rianne:

heartbreaker stuff, seventeen. takes your breath away

folks. the cake is a real beauty.

carrie

make a wish, daddy.

rianne

go for it, dad.

murtaugh

(smiles)

go for it, huh...? okay, i'll

go for it.

he blows out the candles. applause. his gaze lingers

on -- the cake. or rather, the message scrawled atop it

in icing: welcome to the big 50

the presents arrive.

cut to:

9 ext. simi valley - morning 9

the scorched landscape stretches out beneath a lattice-

work of high-tension power lines. only scrub grass

grows here. rusted railroad tracks wander into the dis-

tance, and nestled beside them, like the last stop be-

fore death -- sits a lonely trailer home. battered tv

antenna. a dirt yard which houses a beat-up pickup

truck. dead garden sprouting weeds. the ground begins

to tremble ... like an earthquake, rattling the power

poles, as, without warning -- an express train blasts

by camepa and streaks past the trailer at seventy miles

an hour.

10 int. trailer home 10

now we are inside, the rumbling fainter ... and we are

looking at a tired, chiseled face. etched with line and

shadow. eyes closed, as the shadows from the speeding

train strobe across detective sergeant martin riggs.

morning is not a good time for riggs. the clock radio

suddenly blares to life: 'silver belllls ... it's

christmas tiiime in the city...' riggs snaps awake

instantly. alert. tense. face bathed in sweat.

11 another angle

he is not alone. in the doorway sits a thoroughly

loveable black labrador. sitting stock still. star3.ng

at riggs, watching him sleep. tail going thump-thump-

thump on the carpet.

riggs sits up. stares at the dog.

riggs

sam, today is the first day ...

of the rest of my life.

he lights a cigarette. inhales.

coughs and hacks.

the train throbs by outside, rattling his skull ...

cut to:

12 int. murtaugh home - same time 12

and it is a typical morning for detective roger murtaugh.

chaos. the television blares. young carrie murtaugh

wails like a banshee. her brother nick tells her to

shut up. trish murtaugh is burning eggs in the kitchen.

roger murtaugh enters then, fixing his tie. the follow-

ing dialogue is fast and furious, tossed over the shoul-

der as murtaugh scurries to and fro, getting dressed:

murtaugh

honey, what's this on my tie?

she looks.

trish

an ugly spot?

murtaugh

thanks. sharp as a pin.

trish

i'm thinking of going on 'jeopardy.'

murtaugh

don't take any questions on cooking.

trish

thanks. i love you, too.

carrie is still shrieking. tears stream down her face.

murtaugh

hey, kid, turn off the waterworks,

okay?

carrie

(points to nick)

daddy, he changed the channel!

murtaugh

noooooo.

nick

she's a crybaby, dad.

murtaugh

mind your own busines.

(nods toward the tv)

that's illegal.

nick

what's illegal?

murtaugh

can't put a dead body in an

ambulance. this 'kojak'?

nick

'starsky and hutch.'

murtaugh

huh. it's illegal. never put a

dead body in an ambulance, son,

you got that?

nick

sure, dad.

murtaugh

honey, where's the spot remover?

(turns to carrie)

young lady, stop crying or i'll

give you something to cry about.

damn.

he dabs at his tie. carrie screams. in the kitchen

trish drops the eggs, swears. the phone rings. carrie

screams.

murtaugh

that's it. i'm gonna give you

something to cry about.

he grabs a copy of newsweek and hands it to her.

murtaugh

starving children. see? they

haven't eaten, it's very sad.

cry.

he moves away.

carrie

daddy, you're weird ...

murtaugh

thank you, carrie. hear that,

honey, the children think i'm

weird.

trish

they're bright children.

(hangs up the

telephone)

honey, you know a man named dick

lloyd? don't step in the egg.

murtaugh

where's my thinking? i should've

checked the floor for egg. dick

lloyd ... ?

(beat)

jesus, dick lloyd. what's he want?

trish

the office called. he's been

trying to reach you for three days

now.

murtaugh

i haven't talked to him in... shit,

twelve years? no, wait a minute,

that would make me fifty years old,

that can't be right.

trish

(smiles)

you're not getting older, you're

getting better.

murtaugh

inform the children of this.

(kisses her; heads

for the door)

forget the eggs, i'll eat later.

trish

whatever.

(beat)

honey?

(as he stops)

how come i never heard of dick

lloyd?

murtaugh

i never talked about him.

trish

oh.

(beat)

vietnam buddy?

murtaugh

yeah. vietnam buddy.

he exits the kitchen, crosses the entrance hall. stops,

noticing rickles the cat, who is happily munching on the

remains of roger's birthday cake.

murtaugh

hey.

he swats it aside. pauses, his gaze lingering on the

silent message which gnaws at his guts.

the big 50 ...

he comes out the front door. flicks off the christmas

lights, crosses to the car. looks up, and sees -- his

oldest daughter rianne. jogging past. she wears an

adorable pair of dolphin shorts. walkman headphones.

she waves.

rianne

'bye, daddy.

he waves.

murtaugh

(shakes his head)

goddamn heartbreaker. she's a

heartbreaker.

cut to:

13 series of shots - riggs getting dressed 13

riggs enters the living room, naked. scars on his back,

the kind you get from knives. runs a hand through limp

hair. turns on the lamp. as he does -- the television

also springs to life; hooked to the same circuit. pops

three aspirin from a bottle. chews thein.

opens a bag of peanuts, throws it to the big lab, who

gobbles them down.

eats a sandwich, standing in the middle of his apartment.

'looking at the floor. what a lonely fucking guy ...

straps on his gun. .9 millimeter beretta, if it matters.

throws on a jacket. downs a shot of whiskey. pauses,

looking at a photograph on the wall. riggs, much younger,

along with a pretty and vivacious woman in a wedding gown:

his wife. stares at the photograph. his fingers twirl

the whiskey glass with completely unconscious skill.

tense. tense ... twirling the glass ... richard dawson

drones from the tv (our survey says -- !). riggs slings

the shotglass. dead center, shattering the tv screen.

cut to:

14 int. police firing pange - morning 14

targets: human silhouettes with kill zones numbered.

murtaugh enters. sheds his coat, unholsters the .38.

steps to the red line. shifts. stretches. cracks his

neck. this is a ritual for him. he stops to examine his

right hand, holding it steady before his eyes. except

there is a slight tremble. tiny, but it's there. he

frowns. braces himself: cross-draws with lightning

swiftness. -- bam! -- the sound is deafening in the

closed room. a neat round hole appears in the target.

perfect shot: a neat third eye. murtaugh smiles.

holsters his gun. puts on his coat -- and sings softly

to himself:

murtaugh

happy birthday to me ...

cut to:

15 int. car - day 15

sergeant martin riggs is driving. he looks like he

hasn't slept. he certainly hasn't shaved. the dispatch

radio squawks. he turns down the music from the car

radio and hears:

dispatcher (v.0.)

all units in the vicinity and

fourteen x-ray thirty-one,

shooting in progress at venice

beach, washington and navy.

three victims down, pa en route

fourteen x-ray thirty-one, handle

code three.

riggs hits the gas pedal and peels out.

cut to:

16 ext. century city parking lot - morning 16

the sky threatens rain. cars buzz by as the city

awakens.

a section of the parking lot is cordoned off by yellow

streamers which read: police line - do not cross, and

as we watch, a black and white patrol car pulls up,

admitting two beat cops and a young hooker. her name

is dixie, and she is not happy.

dixie

can i stay in the car?

cop #1

no.

dixie

aw, cut me a break. i told you

already: she came out on the

balcony --

cop #1

(points)

that balcony ... ?

dixie

-- no, the chandler fucking

pavillion, of course that fucking

balcony, and then slie jumped, and

then i puked in a trash can. can

i go now?

cop #1

not 'til you talk to the sarge.

dixie

terrific. where the hell is he?

17 int. murtaugh's car 17

the sarge drives up and gets out. a beat cop toes by.

beat cop

happy 50th, rog.

murtaugh

fuck you.

he crosses to the two cops and dixie.

cop #2

hey, sarge.

murtaugh

'morning, phil. get some rain,

looks like.

(beat)

hey, dixie. nice threads.

dixie

hey, murtaugh. tell these bozos

to lay off.

murtaugh

you. bozos. lay off.

cop #1

had a jumper last night, sarge.

dixie here was walking by, saw

the whole thing.

murtaugh

you got a statement? send her

home.

dixie

thanks, rog. i'm beat, you know

how it is.

murtaugh

sure.

(points to her

outfit)

all dressed up and no one to blow.

dixie

you're hilarious.

she exits. cop #2 escorts murtaugh across the parking

lot.

cop #2

nice wholesome girl. she got a

new job, you know.

murtaugh

what's that?

cop #2

county ceiling inspector.

(beat)

so. fifty years old, huh?

murtaugh

eat me.

they stop next to the porsche. murtaugh grimaces.

cop #2

name is amanda lloyd, age twenty-

two, prostitute, one arrest, no

convictions. born tennessee,

parents --

murtaugh

what was the name?

cop #2.

lloyd. amanda lloyd. you know

her ... ?

murtaugh looks stunned. he speaks very slowly:

murtaugh

i knew her dad.

cop #2

jesus.

(an awkward pause)

vehicle is registered to her. she

landed right on top of her own car.

murtaugh

find out who bought it for her.

her sugar daddy.

cop #2

take some looking into.

murtaugh

so look.

cut to:

18 omitted

19 int. amanda lloyd's apartment - day 19

murtaugh stares at the photograph we saw earlier. the

two soldiers. one, we can assume, is dick lloyd. the

other is murtaugh. younger, trimmer. he speaks into

the phone.

murtaugh

hello, honey ... ? give me the

number for dick lloyd. what ... ?

yes, the man who called me this

morning. his daughter just took

a dive out a window.

19a ext. christmas tree lot - day 19a

martin riggs and three lot employees are gathered around

the liftgate of a truck bearing a load of christmas trees.

the truck shields them from the view of customers picking

out trees in the lot.

the lot employees are actually drug dealers. they look

around nervously in all directions as riggs tastes a

sample of their wares.

riggs

good stuff.

drug dealer one

you better fuckin' believe it.

riggs

okay. let's do it. how much?

drug dealer two

how much for how much?

riggs

for all of it.

drug dealer three

you want it all?

riggs

yeah.

(glances at

the trees)

and maybe a nice big six-footer

to put it under.

drug dealer one

the tree you can have for nuthin'.

but the shit is gonna run you a

hundred.

riggs lets out a soft whistle at the amount.

riggs

that much, huh?

(digs into

his pocket)

okay. let's see what i got.

he pulls out a roll of money and begins to count it out

in twenties and small bills.

riggs

twenty, forty, sixty --

the drug dealers exchange dumbfounded expressions.

drug dealer one

hey, man. hey!

riggs

wait, wait ... shutup. i'm

losin count. where was i? oh,

yeah...

(continues to

peel off the

bills)

... eight, ninety, ninety-five,

ninety-six, ninety-seven...

(digs into his

pocket for

loose change)

... ninety-seven-fifty. sixty.

seventy-five. okay, there's

ninety-eight dollars and twenty

cents...

he is about to check his other pocket for change when

drug dealer one stops him.

drug dealer one

forget it, dumbshit.

riggs

c'mon. i'm almost there. gimme

a minute to --

drug dealer one

one hundred thousand, you stupid

fuck! one hundred thousand!

riggs is floored. he can't believe his ears.

riggs

oh, jesus ... i can't afford that.

not on my salary.

(beat)

look... let's do this instead ...

(pulls out his

wallet)

i take your complete stash, okay?

i take it all. for free. and

you assholes go to jail.

as he says this, he flips open his wallet and shows his

badge. the drug dealers at first look startled, then

disbelieving.

riggs

i could read you your rights,

but ... nah. you guys know what

your rights are.

drug dealer one

fuck you, man. that badge ain't

real. and you ain't real.

drug dealer two

but you're sure as hell one

crazy fuck!

riggs' eyes begin to blaze. his nostrils flare. like

a maniac, he lunges at drug dealer two.

riggs

you callin' me crazy!? you

think i'm crazy! you, wanna see

crazy? i'll show you crazy!

this is crazy!

riggs then proceeds to slap and pummel the drug dealer

in the manner of the 'three stooges'... complete with

'woo-woo' sound effects.

but he ends the routine by pulling a nine-millimeter

baretta from behind his back and pressing it against

the neck of drug dealer two.

riggs

that's a real badge. i'm a real

cop. and this is a real gun.

(to the other two

drug dealers)

face down on the ground. arms

and legs out. do it now!

dealer one and three begin to follow orders but riggs

sees a flicker in their eves that him to trouble.

he spins around -- a fourth drug dealer is behind him

with a shotgun. the shotgun explodes. riggs ducks,

allowing drug dealer two to take the full force of the

'blast in the face.

riggs rolls in the sawdust firing his beretta.

dealer four takes a bullet between the eyes.

dealer two now has an automatic rifle in his hand.

it chatters in riggs' direction. sawdust and pine

needles fly in the air -- but riggs is able to blow

him away.

one more drug dealer left. riggs can't find him.

his eyes dart in all directions. where is he?!

behind riggs, that's where! he presses a revolver to

the back of riggs' head, taking riggs' baretta from

him and tucking it into his belt.

that's when:

19b five narcotics officers 19b

come running from their stakeout positions around the

lot. but they stop short when they see that riggs is

being held with a gun pointed to his head.

the drug dealer begins to move with riggs toward a van

parked nearby.

riggs

(to officers)

shoot him! shoot him!

drug dealer

(to riggs)

shut up!

riggs

(to drug dealer)

fuck you!

(to officers)

shoot him! shoot him!

the narcotics officers don't know what to do. they

are frustrated. helpless. immobilized.

riggs sees the van looming up. the van means defeat.

the van means disgrace. the van means victory for the

bad guys, and we know that riggs would rather die than

be the instrument of the dealer's escape.

19c close on riggs and drug dealer 19c

the veins are popping out in riggs' neck. the drug

dealer is getting nervous and panicky. his gun hand

is trembling. the barrel of the gun jiggles against

the back of riggs' head.

riggs

(to drug dealer)

do it, asshole. pull the trigger.

pull the trigger.

drug dealer

shut the fuck up!

they move closer to the van. the narcotics officers

have their guns poised for action, but don't dare use

them.

drug dealer

(to officers)

guns down! guns down!

riggs

(to officers)

shoot him! kill him!

(to dealer)

pull the trigger!

(to officers).

waste him!

(to dealer)

shoot me!

(to officers)

kill him!!

the dealer is so freaked now that his grip on riggs

slips momentarily -- and riggs sees his opening.

he spins. kicks the dealer in the groin. dislocates

his arm -- sending tlie gun flying. riggs retrieves his

baretta from the dealer's belt and shoves the barrel

into the dealer's face.

riggs' entire body quakes with rage. his finger begins

to squeeze back on the trigger. he wants to kill the

guy so bad he can taste it... and yet, he doesn't do it.

the other officers arrive and step between riggs and

the dealer.

riggs turns away. breatliing hard. adrenalin pumping.

he tucks the baretta into his belt, then notices that

his hand is covered with the spilled blood of one of

the drug dealers.

it gives riggs pause. for a moment, he just looks at

it.

hold on riggs. very close. and the look in his eyes.

20 omitted 20

thru thru

25 25

26 int. metro squad room - morning 26

police have seldom looked this busy. yes, there are

ringing phones. yes, there are clattering typewriters.

yes, it looks like a circus. and here comes captain of

detectives ed murphy, moving like an after-breakfast

juggernaut. behind him, a young woman rushes to keep up.

the police psychologist, no less.

psychologist

i want martin riggs pulled from

duty.

murphy

um... no.

psychologist

no. no??? captain, he walked

into the line of fire.

murphy

very brave individual, don't

you think... ?

psychologist

this is utter bullshit.

murphy

oh, is it? forgive me.

psychologist

martin riggs is a cop with a

death wish.

murphy shoots her an incredulous look.

psychologist

you can quote me. it happens to

be my professional opinion.

murphy

um... good opinion. see you

tomorrow.

psychologist

captain...

murphy

look, doc, you're way off. way

off. know what i think? i think

riggs is pulling for a psycho

pension.

psychologist

oh, do you?

murphy

yeah. i am sure you're aware the

department offers a disability

stress pension --

psychologist

yes, i'm aware --

murphy

-- except we don't offer it to

everybody, only cops who seem to

suffer from

psychologist

-- from abnormal stress, yes, i

know. or suicidal tendencies.

murphy

give the lady a cigar.

psychologist

you think riggs is playing a game?

murphy

sure. he wants the cash. seen

it a hundred times. he'll come

around.

psychologist

sir, with all due respect ... i

think that's a dangerous attitude

to take. may i remind you that

his wife of eleven years was

recently killed in a car accident,

and

murphy

i know all about riggs, doc. he's

a tough bastard.

psychologist

(intense)

he is on the edge. he may be

psychotic.

murphy

bunch of psych bullshit- look,

can i pee now?

psychologist

i think you're making a mistake

by leaving him in the field.

he's suicidal.

murphy

end of discussion. we're gonna

wait. and then, if he offs

himself ... well, then we'll know

i was wrong.

psychologist

yes, sir. then we'll know.

cut to:

27 ext. simi valley - night 27

rain sweeps in off the desert. cold. drenching. riggs

walks slowly toward his trailer home, head down. the

rain beats on him. he doesn't notice. under his arm he

carries a large cardboard box.

28 int. riggs' trailer - same time 28

riggs enters, soaking wet. switches on the lamp.

depressing. jake appears, tail a-thump. tongue wagging

doggishly. riggs reaches atop the refrigerator, grabs

a bag of peanuts.

opens it, tosses it to the dog.

riggs

sam, every day ... in every way ...

i'm getting better and better.

opens the box and removes its contents. brand new color

television. plugs it in. switches it on. sits down

with a bottle of whiskey. drinks. on the screen, the

grinch steals christmas from the residents of whoville.

29 another angle 29

riggs opens a drawer beside him, and takes out a bottle

of sleeping pills. picks it up. as he does -- the sound

of the television fades out -- silence, dead silence...

as riggs rolls the bottle in his fingers. slowly,

thoughtfully, unscrews the cap ... dumps them on the table.

runs his fingers through them. click... click... stares.

mesmerized. rain beats on the window.

30 ext. trailer 30

the rain continues to hammer the lonely little pit which

riggs calls home.

cut to:

31 l.a.p.d. - morning 31

a zoo. a sign reads metro robbery/homicide.

roger murtaugh sits at his desk, lost in thought.

behind him, mccaskey, class three detective. he talks

to murtaugh:

mccaskey

see, you're behind the times,

sarge. guys in the eighties

aren't tough. they're sensitive

people. they show emotions around

women and shit like that.

(beat)

i think i'm an eighties man.

murtaugh

how you figure?

mccaskey

last night: i cried in bed, so

how's that?

murtaugh

were you with a woman?

mccaskey

no, i was alone, why the fuck you

think i was crying?

murtaugh

sounds like an eighties man to me.

another detective enters. rail-thin, nose like a beak.

his name is burke.

behind him in the door frame we see a fat cop pass by

down the hall, walking backwards; a beat, and then he is

followed by four more cops singing the world's shittiest

rendition of 'it came upon a midnight clear.' it sounds

like pigs mating.

burke approaches murtaugh:

burke

got some news on the lloyd case,

rog.

murtaugh

that was quick.

burke

so was the autopsy.

(takes a deep

breath)

you ready for this? they're not

calling it suicide.

murtaugh

what?

burke

surprise, surprise. first off,

coroner found evidence she took

barbiturates.

murtaugh

brilliant. there was an open

bottle on her table.

burke

right, right. that's not the

surprise. surprise is someone

doctored the pills.

(beat)

every capsule was loaded with

drain cleaner.

murtaugh

jesus ...

burke

if she hadn't jumped, she woulda

been dead inside fifteen minutes.

murtaugh

(sighs)

this case blows.

32 another angle 32

across the room, a detective takes off his gun and

slings the holster across his chair. as he exits frame

-- pan to reveal: martin riggs as he enters the squad

room. shuffles from foot to foot, looking lost. lights

a smoke.

33 across room 33

murtaugh slings on a jacket. turns to go. notices

riggs.

34 murtaugh's pov 34

riggs resembles a bag person. unshaven, limp dirty

hair, grimy leather jacket.

35 back to scene 35

he frowns, says:

murtaugh

mccaskey, if my wife calls, tell

her late dinner.

burke

ho, rog- i'm not through yet.

i'm supposed to tell you two more

things.

murtaugh

shoot.

he is still looking at riggs, who is slowly wandering

from desk to desk, smoking -- stopping near the desk with

the holstered gun.

burke

first, condition of the sheets and

mattress indicate someone was in

bed with amanda lloyd just before

she died. that's a.

murtaugh

what's b?

burke

b is, i'm supposed to tell you

you're breaking in a new partner

on this.

now murtaugh is eyeballing riggs. cautious.

murtaugh

(distracted)

i don't work partners.

burke

you do now. c.i.t. transfer, some

burnout they want you to keep on

a leash.

murtaugh

oh, perfect. can i trade in my

life for a new one?

at which point, across the room, riggs removes the hol-

stered gun and hefts it, curiously. suddenly all hell

breaks loose:

murtaugh

gun !!

he bolts like a cheetah.

cops dive for cover, a secretary shrieks, and murtaugh

goes plowing through the squad room like an express

train, blowing people out of the way -- cops grabbing

for their holsters -- riggs, meanwhile, looking around

frantically, he's trying to find the guy with the gun

who is, of course, himself.

murtaugh takes a flying leap sails across

the desk, going for the glory and riggs, in the

blink of an eye, simply ducks and flips murtaugh

neatly over one shoulder. there is a hideous crash

of breaking glass and overturning furniture. ouch...

mccaskey, meanwhile, screams to burke:

mccaskey

what the shit is going on?

burke sighs, shakes his head:

burke

roger just met his new partner.

36 int. office 36

darkness. a soft click as a gun is cocked. the barrel

gleams faintly in the dim light. a voice:

man (o.s.)

there are three guns on you.

visitor

easy. take it easy.

(beat)

i'm going to light a match.

he does. holds it near his face.

man (o.s.)

thank you, mr. mendez.

the lights come on. dazzling. mendez covers his eyes.

three men. seated in chairs. shirt sleeves and shoulder

holsters. the leader speaks.

leader

if you'll follow me, please.

mendez

who the hell are you?

leader

that's hardly important. if you

like, you may call me mr. joshua.

mendez

swell.

they move toward a door in the rear wall.

joshua (leader)

i trust you're having a pleasant

holiday season?

mendez

(looks at him)

yeah. it's a fucking joy, thank

you.

37 int. back office - same time 37

the door opens into a dimly-lit office. stained carpet.

rotten wood. a desk.

behind the desk sits a large, rugged man with eyes like

chips of stone. this is the general.

general

yes, joshua... ? ah, mr. mendez.

please, have a seat.

joshua stands off to one side. mendez sits.

mendez

(under his breath)

where'd you get him? psychos 'r.'

us?

general

hardly.

points to another merc.

mendez

i like the sunglasses. very

hollywood.

general

mr. larch is unfortunately missing

an eye. for anonymity's sake, he

chooses to forego wearing a patch.

mendez

swell. blind people with guns.

this is a class act. maybe we

can run over to the v.a. and

pick up a couple amputees.

bargain rates after six.

general

i don't find you funny.

mendez

i don't find this goddamn setup

funny.

(beat)

you're using mercenaries, for

chrissake. tell me i'm wrong.

general

no. you're not wrong.

mendez

and i'm supposed to trust these

bozos?

general

my people are loyal, mr. mendez.

they are loyal to me.

mendez

bullshit.

general

joshua. hold out your hand.

joshua steps up to the general and extends his arm.

general

do you smoke, mr. mendez?

mendez

yeah.

general

give me your lighter.

mendez frowns, cautiously hands a silver cigarette

lighter to the general.

who promptly pulls an old g. gordon liddy maneuver:

he holds the flame right under joshua's hand. searing

it. mendez looks on, a trifle pale.

as for joshua, he makes no sound at all. simply stands,

trance-like.

general

you wish to do business with us,

yes?

mendez

jesus ...

general

mr. joshua is in a great deal of

pain. you wish to make a purchase,

yes?

mendez

i ... yes. sure. jesus.

the general nods, hands the lighter back to mendez.

general

filthy habit, smoking.

(beat)

the bulk of the heroin will

arrive friday night. we will

make delivery at that time.

please have the money ready,

and no tricks. if you try to

cross us, i'll have joshua cut

out your eyes.

(beat)

merry christmas.

38 omitted 38

39 39

40 ext. unmarked police car - day 40

riggs and murtaugh cruise through downtown los angeles.

riggs drives, while murtaugh scowls. there is an awk-

ward pause.

murtaijgh

turn right.

(beat)

so. they tell me you're a good

cop.

riggs

i try.

murtaugh

heard about your little stunt

yesterday. pretty heroic stuff.

(as riggs does

not reply)

file says you worked for the

phoenix project in vietnam, that

right?

riggs

yes.

murtaugh

assassin stuff?

riggs

maybe.

murtaugh

and they gave you the

congressional medal of honor.

riggs

it was a lean year.

murtaugh

it's over, you know.

riggs

what is?

murtaugh

the war.

riggs

yes. i know.

murtaugh

just thought i'd remind you.

(beat)

check out your piece?

---------------------------------------------

 works the slide, ka-chik

murtaugh.

3 1.

_______________________________________________

he reaches across the get riggs' gun. at which point

riggs' hand shoots out -- and stops him cold.

riggs

bad manners, man.

riggs removes the gun himself. steers with his knees.

drops the chambered bullet. slips out the magazine,

hands the gun to ------------

riggs

don't hurt yourself.

murtaugh hefts the weapon, turning it over in his hand:

beretta .9 millimeter. smooth, well-oiled.

accurized. murtaugh frowns.

murtaugh

.9 millimeter beretta. that's

some serious shit.

riggs

military switched from colt to

beretta in 1985. it's a better

piece. wide ejection port, no

feed jams, no stovepipes.

murtaugh

what's it take?

riggs

fifteen in the mag, one up the

pipe. you carry a wheelgun?

murtaugh

.38 special.

riggs

lot of old-timers carry that.

murtaugh shoots him a look. replaces the gun.

murtaugh

file says you're registered with

newark p.d. as a lethal weapon.

riggs

file don't lie. look, friend,

let's cut the shit. we both

know why i was transferred.

everyone thinks i'm suicidal, in

which case i'm fucked and no one

wants to work with me. or they

think i'm faking to draw a psycho

pension, in which case i'm fucked

and no one wants to work with me.

basically, i'm fucked.

murtaugh

guess what?

riggs

what?

murtaugh

i don't want to work with you.

riggs

then don't.

murtaugh

ain't got no choice. damn.

we're both fucked.

riggs

terrific.

as they speak, riggs has pulled to a stop in front of a

large downtown bank building.

murtaugh

(rubs his eyes)

i'm very old ...

(sighs)

... god hates me, that's what

it is.

riggs

hate him back. works for me.

he lights a cigarette.

cut to:

41 int. bank building - day 41

dick lloyd's office: everything about it looks starched

and perfect. in the b.g., bank employees shuttle between

desks, building and toppling empires. dick lloyd paces

back and forth. he is the man we saw earlier in amanda's

pliotograph, standing next to murtaugh. now he looks like

shit. he addresses riggs and murtaugh, who are seated in

the office.

lloyd

murder ... but i thought ...

murtaugh

poisoned. even if she hadn't

jumped ... she'd still be dead.

lloyd

jesus.

(beat)

jesus, i can't take -------.

he sits, staring out the window. a broken man.

murtaugh

dick, why did you call me

yesterday?

lloyd

(very far away)

called you...? yeah. that's

right ... i heard you were working

out here ... i wanted you to find

her for me, roger. take her

murtaugh

out of what?

lloyd

she did movies, roger ... naked

movies ... saw one of them...... saw

my little baby ... smiling...... she

did it ... with a woman. she was

on top of a woman, roger-...!

murtaugh

easy, dick.

lloyd turns, facing them. intense:

lloyd

i want a promise.

(beat)

you owe me. you know you do.

murtaugh

yes. i know that.

lloyd

when you find who did it, i want

you to kill them. if it's more

than one, i want you to kill all of

them. make them squirm first, take

your time ... and fucking kill them.

murtaugh

i'm a police officer, dick.

lloyd

forget the law. it's easy to do.

you owe me.

murtaugh

(pause; then)

we have to go now.

lloyd does not look up. riggs and murtaugh head for the

door.

lloyd

i know you can, roger. you kill

them. you do that.