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1"SPOTTER"byDes NnochiriCopyright © Des Nnochiri 2007E-mail: desnnr@yahoo.co.ukWeb:<http://desnnochiri.250free.com>Tel: +234 803 3316667or +234 805 6059862
 
2FADE ININT. DARKENED OFFICE - NIGHTA gloved hand moves a mouse across a pad. In the monitor above,we can just see the reflection of a hooded figure in tintedglasses.He/she brings up a still image of a wounded deer. Attaches it toan e-mail. Clicks Send.We can’t make out the sender’s ID.The recipient has a nickname:Spotter.INT. JOEY DIAMOND’S OFFICE - NIGHTOn Joey’s laptop screen, the image of the wounded deer. Adecryption program breaks it down into a text file.It consists of a single name: Rachel Knight.And a simple statement: The Line Ends.There’s a PS at the bottom of the file: How’s Pop?JOEY (OS)He sleeps with the fishes, I think.JOEY DIAMOND, aka SPOTTER, sits back from his laptop. He’s mid-forties, craggy and lean. A face that looks lived-in. Andaltered, surgically.He takes the cap off a bottle of liquid paper. Holds it in onehand, as he slides open a desk drawer.Beside the 9mm automatic, there’s a framed photograph. Looks old.A smiling couple in their 30s. Couple of kids. He’d be about thesame age. But the man doesn’t look like our Joey.Joey thinks a moment. Takes out the 9mm. Sticks it in hiswaistband.Unseen by him, the motion knocks over a paperweight, on thedesktop. It rolls to the edge of the desk, drops off, andshatters on the floor with a loud CRACK.Joey jumps, startled, jerking the open bottle of liquid paper.
 
3Which splashes the top of the computer.JOEYShit!He pulls a tissue from a box on the desk. Tries to swab off theliquid paper stain. Smears it over a wider area. Gives up.He turns back to the photo in the drawer. Flips it over. Scrawledon the back are two sets of initials: FP and CP, beneath a seriesof liquid paper splodges.Joey swipes the liquid paper over the initials FP. Turns thephoto face up, again. Shuts the drawer.He picks up his laptop and exits the office, pulling the doorshut behind him.The legend on the door panel reads “Diamond Investigations.”EXT. MIMOSA NEGRA TAPAS BAR - NIGHTAn upscale Spanish eaterie and night-spot in central London. Aswe head for the door, we pass a flashy limousine (looks like arental), illegally parked in the street nearby.INT. MIMOSA NEGRA TAPAS BAR - NIGHTFRANCO “BIG DADDY” PADRONE sits at a table, with his entourage.He’s mid-fifties, paunchy, loud. Thinks he’s Old-School Mob, butcould be mistaken.He’s dissing his FLUNKIES, wheezing, telling jokes. Scoping outthe pretty young FLAMENCAS dotted around the restaurant, dancingup a storm.PADRONEYeah, baby! Work it!He makes a vain attempt to grab her ass, as one of them spinsround his table.Franco’s breath hitches suddenly. He clutches his chest. Momentslater, he’s face down in a bowl of tapas. Stone dead.The flunkies get up, look around. Frantic hands on the illegalhardware they’re not so discreetly carrying.One of them lifts the Don’s head out of his dinner plate.
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