RAIN. MAN Written by Ronald Bass SECOND DRAFT March 7, 1988RAIN MAN FADE IN: EXT. DOCK (SAN PEDRO) - DAY 1 SOFT FOCUS ON a blur of shapes and colors. SOUNDS of a major HARBOR working full-tilt. A green shape slowly moves INTO FRAME, And as MAIN TITLES begin, we SNAP TO SHARP FOCUS ON... s+. an apple-green Ferrari. Suspended from a towering crane. Cradled in a net all its own. A polished, glean- ing teasure, lofted gracefully above «+. @ teeming customs dock. Three cranes working to un- load cargo from a freighter's hold. As CREDITS CONTINUE, we s+. PAN the dock SLOWLY. Containers being opened for inspection. A pot-bellied man in a rumpled tie method- ically checks cartons of patio furniture against his manifest... +. a customs inspector in shirtsleeves stands with @ worried lady before a small cluster of antiques. She is tailored and hard. As the inspector talks, her fingers stroke the cracked surface of a broken armoire. She doesn't know what the hell she's going to do. And down the dock... :., our Ferrari has settled gently to earth. The net falls away, and we see that it stands next to arfother vintage Ferrari. Cream-colored, different model and year, just as exquisite. PULL BACK SLIGHTLY now to see where they are... ss. Six of them. Side by side. Gleaming black, silver, Ferrari red. An elegant line, aloof somehow from the common bustle surrounding them. And with the customs inspector stands... EXT. DOCK (SAN PEDRO) - DAY 2 .+. CHARLIE BABBITT. Mid-twenties, with dark good looks and a restless intelligence behind the eyes. His clothes show a trace of flash, but they are expensive. Then again, they would be if it took his last dollar. He pulls some papers from a slender briefcase. But even as he hands them to the inspector, Charlie's eyes are riveted on his shipment. He stalks the apple-green. Very slowly. Fingers absently tracing a polished fender. Stops now. The inspector is talking, but Charlie doesn't hear him. Sinking to his heels, Charlie gently releases the latch. Lifts the hood. (CONTINUED)CONTINUE! He stands now. Lights a Lucky straight. With eyes ex- perienced beyond his years, Charlie stares down every inch of the gleaming engine. And as CREDITS CONCLUDE, we HOLD ON his appraising gaze and... DISSOLVE TO BLACK. FADE IN: EXT. QUONSET HUT (SAN PEDRO) - LATE AFTERNOON 3 A street of junkyards and warehouses. The Quonset hut sits with its corrugated roof, peeling paint. The sign says HOLLYWOOD IMPORTS... INT. HUT - LATE AFTERNOON 4 Place isn't big, but it still seems empty. Three desks. Three phones. Orderliness a low priority. Hand-made charts on the walls. Map of Italy. Germany. Charlie stands at his desk, holding a receiver to his ear. He's listening and boiling. Ready to blow. No one else in the place but... ... DARYL, seated at the next desk, taking a call of his own. Daryl is a scrawny nineteen with darting eyes. Just now, he looks plenty scared. . DARYL No, sir, I spoke with Mr. Babbitt on that just this morning... He wants Charlie's attention, but he can't get it as... CHARLIE Yeah, well, it's been five and a half weeks! Weeks! (listens) How can you wash out with E.P.A. three times?? This is not great news to Daryl. Into his own phone... DARYL Yessir, they're finally clearing E.P.A. Just... one or two more days... CHARLIE, You're really on a roll here. Six cars, three times each. Zip for eighteen! What are you, a mechanic or a N.A.S.A. engineer? Daryl has problems of his own. And growing. (CONTINUED)